Middlemarch

George Eliot














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Middlemarch
2 of 1492
To my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes,
in this nineteenth year of our blessed union.
Middlemarch
3 of 1492
PRELUDE
Who that cares much to know the history of man, and
how the mysterious mixture behaves under the varying
experiments of Time, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on the
life of Saint Theresa, has not smiled with some gentleness
at the thought of the little girl walking forth one morning
hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and seek
martyrdom in the country of the Moors? Out they toddled
from rugged Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-looking as two
fawns, but with human hearts, already beating to a
national idea; until domestic reality met them in the shape
of uncles, and turned them back from their great resolve.
That child-pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Theresas
passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic life: what were
many-volumed romances of chivalry and the social
conquests of a brilliant girl to her? Her flame quickly
burned up that light fuel; and, fed from within, soared
after some illimitable satisfaction, some object which
would never justify weariness, which would reconcile self-
despair with the rapturous consciousness of life beyond
self. She found her epos in the reform of a religious order.
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Middlemarch
4 of 1492
That Spanish woman who lived three hundred years
ago, was certainly not the last of her kind. Many Theresas
have been born who found for themselves no epic life
wherein there was a constant unfolding of far-resonant
action; perhaps only a life of mistakes, the offspring of a
certain spiritual grandeur ill-matched with the meanness of
opportunity; perhaps a tragic failure which found no
sacred poet and sank unwept into oblivion. With dim
lights and tangled circumstance they tried to shape their
thought and deed in noble agreement; but after all, to
common eyes their struggles seemed mere inconsistency
and formlessness; for these later-born Theresas were
helped by no coherent social faith and order which could
perform the function of knowledge for the ardently
willing soul. Their ardor alternated between a vague ideal
and the common yearning of womanhood; so that the one
was disapproved as extravagance, and the other
condemned as a lapse.
Some have felt that these blundering lives are due to
the inconvenient indefiniteness with which the Supreme
Power has fashioned the natures of women: if there were
one level of feminine incompetence as strict as the ability
to count three and no more, the social lot of women
might be treated with scientific certitude. Meanwhile the
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5 of 1492
indefiniteness remains, and the limits of variation are really
much wider than any one would imagine from the
sameness of womens coiffure and the favorite love-stories
in prose and verse. Here and there a cygnet is reared
uneasily among the ducklings in the brown pond, and
never finds the living stream in fellowship with its own
oary-footed kind. Here and there is born a Saint Theresa,
foundress of nothing, whose loving heart-beats and sobs
after an unattained goodness tremble off and are dispersed
among hindrances, instead of centring in some long-
recognizable deed.
Middlemarch
6 of 1492
BOOK I.

MISS BROOKE.
Middlemarch
7 of 1492
Chapter I
Since I can do no good because a woman,
Reach constantly at something that is near it.
The Maids Tragedy: BEAUMONT AND
FLETCHER.
Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be
thrown into relief by poor dress. Her hand and wrist were
so finely formed that she could wear sleeves not less bare
of style than those in which the Blessed Virgin appeared to
Italian painters; and her profile as well as her stature and
bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain
garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her
the impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible,or
from one of our elder poets,in a paragraph of to-days
newspaper. She was usually spoken of as being remarkably
clever, but with the addition that her sister Celia had more
common-sense. Nevertheless, Celia wore scarcely more
trimmings; and it was only to close observers that her dress
differed from her sisters, and had a shade of coquetry in its
arrangements; for Miss Brookes plain dressing was due to
mixed conditions, in most of which her sister shared. The
pride of being ladies had something to do with it: the
Brooke connections, though not exactly aristocratic, were
unquestionably good: if you inquired backward for a
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8 of 1492
generation or two, you would not find any yard-
measuring or parcel-tying forefathersanything lower
than an admiral or a clergyman; and there was even an
ancestor discernible as a Puritan gentleman who served
under Cromwell, but afterwards conformed, and managed
to come out of all political troubles as the proprietor of a
respectable family estate. Young women of such birth,
living in a quiet country-house, and attending a village
church hardly larger than a parlor, naturally regarded
frippery as the ambition of a hucksters daughter. Then
there was well-bred economy, which in those days made
show in dress the first item to be deducted from, when
any margin was required for expenses more distinctive of
rank. Such reasons would have been enough to account
for plain dress, quite apart from religious feeling; but in
Miss Brookes case, religion alone would have determined
it; and Celia mildly acquiesced in all her sisters sentiments,
only infusing them with that common-sense which is able
to accept momentous doctrines without any eccentric
agitation. Dorothea knew many passages of Pascals
Pensees and of Jeremy Taylor by heart; and to her the
destinies of mankind, seen by the light of Christianity,
made the solicitudes of feminine fashion appear an
occupation for Bedlam. She could not reconcile the
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9 of 1492
anxieties of a spiritual life involving eternal consequences,
with a keen interest in gimp and artificial protrusions of
drapery. Her mind was theoretic, and yearned by its
nature after some lofty conception of the world which
might frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own
rule of conduct there; she was enamoured of intensity and
greatness, and rash in embracing whatever seemed to her
to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom, to make
retractations, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a
quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly such
elements in the character of a marriageable girl tended to
interfere with her lot, and hinder it from being decided
according to custom, by good looks, vanity, and merely
canine affection. With all this, she, the elder of the sisters,
was not yet twenty, and they had both been educated,
since they were about twelve years old and had lost their
parents, on plans at once narrow and promiscuous, first in
an English family and afterwards in a Swiss family at
Lausanne, their bachelor uncle and guardian trying in this
way to remedy the disadvantages of their orphaned
condition.
It was hardly a year since they had come to live at
Tipton Grange with their uncle, a man nearly sixty, of
acquiescent temper, miscellaneous opinions, and uncertain
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10 of 1492
vote. He had travelled in his younger years, and was held
in this part of the county to have contracted a too
rambling habit of mind. Mr. Brookes conclusions were as
difficult to predict as the weather: it was only safe to say
that he would act with benevolent intentions, and that he
would spend as little money as possible in carrying them
out. For the most glutinously indefinite minds enclose
some hard grains of habit; and a man has been seen lax
about all his own interests except the retention of his
snuff-box, concerning which he was watchful, suspicious,
and greedy of clutch.
In Mr. Brooke the hereditary strain of Puritan energy
was clearly in abeyance; but in his niece Dorothea it
glowed alike through faults and virtues, turning sometimes
into impatience of her uncles talk or his way of letting
things be on his estate, and making her long all the more
for the time when she would be of age and have some
command of money for generous schemes. She was
regarded as an heiress; for not only had the sisters seven
hundred a-year each from their parents, but if Dorothea
married and had a son, that son would inherit Mr.
Brookes estate, presumably worth about three thousand a-
yeara rental which seemed wealth to provincial families,
still discussing Mr. Peels late conduct on the Catholic
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11 of 1492
question, innocent of future gold-fields, and of that
gorgeous plutocracy which has so nobly exalted the
necessities of genteel life.
And how should Dorothea not marry?a girl so
handsome and with such prospects? Nothing could hinder
it but her love of extremes, and her insistence on
regulating life according to notions which might cause a
wary man to hesitate before he made her an offer, or even
might lead her at last to refuse all offers. A young lady of
some birth and fortune, who knelt suddenly down on a
brick floor by the side of a sick laborer and prayed fervidly
as if she thought herself living in the time of the
Apostleswho had strange whims of fasting like a Papist,
and of sitting up at night to read old theological books!
Such a wife might awaken you some fine morning with a
new scheme for the application of her income which
would interfere with political economy and the keeping of
saddle-horses: a man would naturally think twice before
he risked himself in such fellowship. Women were
expected to have weak opinions; but the great safeguard of
society and of domestic life was, that opinions were not
acted on. Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that
if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid
them.
Middlemarch
12 of 1492
The rural opinion about the new young ladies, even
among the cottagers, was generally in favor of Celia, as
being so amiable and innocent-looking, while Miss
Brookes large eyes seemed, like her religion, too unusual
and striking. Poor Dorothea! compared with her, the
innocent-looking Celia was knowing and worldly-wise; so
much subtler is a human mind than the outside tissues
which make a sort of blazonry or clock-face for it.
Yet those who approached Dorothea, though
prejudiced against her by this alarming hearsay, found that
she had a charm unaccountably reconcilable with it. Most
men thought her bewitching when she was on horseback.
She loved the fresh air and the various aspects of the
country, and when her eyes and cheeks glowed with
mingled pleasure she looked very little like a devotee.
Riding was an indulgence which she allowed herself in
spite of conscientious qualms; she felt that she enjoyed it
in a pagan sensuous way, and always looked forward to
renouncing it.
She was open, ardent, and not in the least self-
admiring; indeed, it was pretty to see how her imagination
adorned her sister Celia with attractions altogether
superior to her own, and if any gentleman appeared to
come to the Grange from some other motive than that of
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13 of 1492
seeing Mr. Brooke, she concluded that he must be in love
with Celia: Sir James Chettam, for example, whom she
constantly considered from Celias point of view, inwardly
debating whether it would be good for Celia to accept
him. That he should be regarded as a suitor to herself
would have seemed to her a ridiculous irrelevance.
Dorothea, with all her eagerness to know the truths of life,
retained very childlike ideas about marriage. She felt sure
that she would have accepted the judicious Hooker, if she
had been born in time to save him from that wretched
mistake he made in matrimony; or John Milton when his
blindness had come on; or any of the other great men
whose odd habits it would have been glorious piety to
endure; but an amiable handsome baronet, who said
Exactly to her remarks even when she expressed
uncertainty,how could he affect her as a lover? The
really delightful marriage must be that where your
husband was a sort of father, and could teach you even
Hebrew, if you wished it.
These peculiarities of Dorotheas character caused Mr.
Brooke to be all the more blamed in neighboring families
for not securing some middle-aged lady as guide and
companion to his nieces. But he himself dreaded so much
the sort of superior woman likely to be available for such a
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14 of 1492
position, that he allowed himself to be dissuaded by
Dorotheas objections, and was in this case brave enough
to defy the worldthat is to say, Mrs. Cadwallader the
Rectors wife, and the small group of gentry with whom
he visited in the northeast corner of Loamshire. So Miss
Brooke presided in her uncles household, and did not at
all dislike her new authority, with the homage that
belonged to it.
Sir James Chettam was going to dine at the Grange to-
day with another gentleman whom the girls had never
seen, and about whom Dorothea felt some venerating
expectation. This was the Reverend Edward Casaubon,
noted in the county as a man of profound learning,
understood for many years to be engaged on a great work
concerning religious history; also as a man of wealth
enough to give lustre to his piety, and having views of his
own which were to be more clearly ascertained on the
publication of his book. His very name carried an
impressiveness hardly to be measured without a precise
chronology of scholarship.
Early in the day Dorothea had returned from the infant
school which she had set going in the village, and was
taking her usual place in the pretty sitting-room which
divided the bedrooms of the sisters, bent on finishing a
Middlemarch
15 of 1492
plan for some buildings (a kind of work which she
delighted in), when Celia, who had been watching her
with a hesitating desire to propose something, said
Dorothea, dear, if you dont mindif you are not
very busysuppose we looked at mammas jewels to-day,
and divided them? It is exactly six months to-day since
uncle gave them to you, and you have not looked at them
yet.
Celias face had the shadow of a pouting expression in
it, the full presence of the pout being kept back by an
habitual awe of Dorothea and principle; two associated
facts which might show a mysterious electricity if you
touched them incautiously. To her relief, Dorotheas eyes
were full of laughter as she looked up.
What a wonderful little almanac you are, Celia! Is it six
calendar or six lunar months?
It is the last day of September now, and it was the first
of April when uncle gave them to you. You know, he said
that he had forgotten them till then. I believe you have
never thought of them since you locked them up in the
cabinet here.
Well, dear, we should never wear them, you know.
Dorothea spoke in a full cordial tone, half caressing, half
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Middlemarch
16 of 1492
explanatory. She had her pencil in her hand, and was
making tiny side-plans on a margin.
Celia colored, and looked very grave. I think, dear, we
are wanting in respect to mammas memory, to put them
by and take no notice of them. And, she added, after
hesitating a little, with a rising sob of mortification,
necklaces are quite usual now; and Madame Poincon,
who was stricter in some things even than you are, used to
wear ornaments. And Christians generallysurely there
are women in heaven now who wore jewels. Celia was
conscious of some mental strength when she really applied
herself to argument.
You would like to wear them? exclaimed Dorothea,
an air of astonished discovery animating her whole person
with a dramatic action which she had caught from that
very Madame Poincon who wore the ornaments. Of
course, then, let us have them out. Why did you not tell
me before? But the keys, the keys! She pressed her hands
against the sides of her head and seemed to despair of her
memory.
They are here, said Celia, with whom this explanation
had been long meditated and prearranged.
Pray open the large drawer of the cabinet and get out
the jewel-box.
Middlemarch
17 of 1492
The casket was soon open before them, and the various
jewels spread out, making a bright parterre on the table. It
was no great collection, but a few of the ornaments were
really of remarkable beauty, the finest that was obvious at
first being a necklace of purple amethysts set in exquisite
gold work, and a pearl cross with five brilliants in it.
Dorothea immediately took up the necklace and fastened
it round her sisters neck, where it fitted almost as closely
as a bracelet; but the circle suited the Henrietta-Maria style
of Celias head and neck, and she could see that it did, in
the pier-glass opposite.
There, Celia! you can wear that with your Indian
muslin. But this cross you must wear with your dark
dresses.
Celia was trying not to smile with pleasure. O Dodo,
you must keep the cross yourself.
No, no, dear, no, said Dorothea, putting up her hand
with careless deprecation.
Yes, indeed you must; it would suit youin your
black dress, now, said Celia, insistingly. You MIGHT
wear that.
Not for the world, not for the world. A cross is the last
thing I would wear as a trinket. Dorothea shuddered
slightly.
Middlemarch
18 of 1492
Then you will think it wicked in me to wear it, said
Celia, uneasily.
No, dear, no, said Dorothea, stroking her sisters
cheek. Souls have complexions too: what will suit one
will not suit another.
But you might like to keep it for mammas sake.
No, I have other things of mammasher sandal-
wood box which I am so fond ofplenty of things. In
fact, they are all yours, dear. We need discuss them no
longer. Theretake away your property.
Celia felt a little hurt. There was a strong assumption of
superiority in this Puritanic toleration, hardly less trying to
the blond flesh of an unenthusiastic sister than a Puritanic
persecution.
But how can I wear ornaments if you, who are the
elder sister, will never wear them?
Nay, Celia, that is too much to ask, that I should wear
trinkets to keep you in countenance. If I were to put on
such a necklace as that, I should feel as if I had been
pirouetting. The world would go round with me, and I
should not know how to walk.
Celia had unclasped the necklace and drawn it off. It
would be a little tight for your neck; something to lie
down and hang would suit you better, she said, with
Middlemarch
19 of 1492
some satisfaction. The complete unfitness of the necklace
from all points of view for Dorothea, made Celia happier
in taking it. She was opening some ring-boxes, which
disclosed a fine emerald with diamonds, and just then the
sun passing beyond a cloud sent a bright gleam over the
table.
How very beautiful these gems are! said Dorothea,
under a new current of feeling, as sudden as the gleam. It
is strange how deeply colors seem to penetrate one, like
scent I suppose that is the reason why gems are used as
spiritual emblems in the Revelation of St. John. They look
like fragments of heaven. I think that emerald is more
beautiful than any of them.
And there is a bracelet to match it, said Celia. We did
not notice this at first.
They are lovely, said Dorothea, slipping the ring and
bracelet on her finely turned finger and wrist, and holding
them towards the window on a level with her eyes. All
the while her thought was trying to justify her delight in
the colors by merging them in her mystic religious joy.
You WOULD like those, Dorothea, said Celia, rather
falteringly, beginning to think with wonder that her sister
showed some weakness, and also that emeralds would suit
her own complexion even better than purple amethysts.
Middlemarch
20 of 1492
You must keep that ring and braceletif nothing else.
But see, these agates are very pretty and quiet.
Yes! I will keep thesethis ring and bracelet, said
Dorothea. Then, letting her hand fall on the table, she said
in another toneYet what miserable men find such
things, and work at them, and sell them! She paused
again, and Celia thought that her sister was going to
renounce the ornaments, as in consistency she ought to
do.
Yes, dear, I will keep these, said Dorothea, decidedly.
But take all the rest away, and the casket.
She took up her pencil without removing the jewels,
and still looking at them. She thought of often having
them by her, to feed her eye at these little fountains of
pure color.
Shall you wear them in company? said Celia, who was
watching her with real curiosity as to what she would do.
Dorothea glanced quickly at her sister. Across all her
imaginative adornment of those whom she loved, there
darted now and then a keen discernment, which was not
without a scorching quality. If Miss Brooke ever attained
perfect meekness, it would not be for lack of inward fire.
Perhaps, she said, rather haughtily. I cannot tell to
what level I may sink.
Middlemarch
21 of 1492
Celia blushed, and was unhappy: she saw that she had
offended her sister, and dared not say even anything pretty
about the gift of the ornaments which she put back into
the box and carried away. Dorothea too was unhappy, as
she went on with her plan-drawing, questioning the purity
of her own feeling and speech in the scene which had
ended with that little explosion.
Celias consciousness told her that she had not been at
all in the wrong: it was quite natural and justifiable that
she should have asked that question, and she repeated to
herself that Dorothea was inconsistent: either she should
have taken her full share of the jewels, or, after what she
had said, she should have renounced them altogether.
I am sureat least, I trust, thought Celia, that the
wearing of a necklace will not interfere with my prayers.
And I do not see that I should be bound by Dorotheas
opinions now we are going into society, though of course
she herself ought to be bound by them. But Dorothea is
not always consistent.
Thus Celia, mutely bending over her tapestry, until she
heard her sister calling her.
Here, Kitty, come and look at my plan; I shall think I
am a great architect, if I have not got incompatible stairs
and fireplaces.
Middlemarch
22 of 1492
As Celia bent over the paper, Dorothea put her cheek
against her sisters arm caressingly. Celia understood the
action. Dorothea saw that she had been in the wrong, and
Celia pardoned her. Since they could remember, there had
been a mixture of criticism and awe in the attitude of
Celias mind towards her elder sister. The younger had
always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature
without its private opinions?
Middlemarch
23 of 1492
Chapter II
Dime; no ves aquel caballero que hacia nosotros viene
sobre un caballo rucio rodado que trae puesto en la cabeza
un yelmo de oro? Lo que veo y columbro, respondio
Sancho, no es sino un hombre sobre un as no pardo como
el mio, que trae sobre la cabeza una cosa que relumbra.
Pues ese es el yelmo de Mambrino, dijo Don Quijote.
CERVANTES.
Seest thou not yon cavalier who cometh toward us on
a dapple-gray steed, and weareth a golden helmet? What
I see, answered Sancho, is nothing but a man on a gray
ass like my own, who carries something shiny on his
head. Just so, answered Don Quixote: and that
resplendent object is the helmet of Mambrino.
Sir Humphry Davy? said Mr. Brooke, over the soup,
in his easy smiling way, taking up Sir James Chettams
remark that he was studying Davys Agricultural
Chemistry. Well, now, Sir Humphry Davy; I dined with
him years ago at Cartwrights, and Wordsworth was there
toothe poet Wordsworth, you know. Now there was
something singular. I was at Cambridge when
Wordsworth was there, and I never met himand I dined
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24 of 1492
with him twenty years afterwards at Cartwrights. Theres
an oddity in things, now. But Davy was there: he was a
poet too. Or, as I may say, Wordsworth was poet one, and
Davy was poet two. That was true in every sense, you
know.
Dorothea felt a little more uneasy than usual. In the
beginning of dinner, the party being small and the room
still, these motes from the mass of a magistrates mind fell
too noticeably. She wondered how a man like Mr.
Casaubon would support such triviality. His manners, she
thought, were very dignified; the set of his iron-gray hair
and his deep eye-sockets made him resemble the portrait
of Locke. He had the spare form and the pale complexion
which became a student; as different as possible from the
blooming Englishman of the red-whiskered type
represented by Sir James Chettam.
I am reading the Agricultural Chemistry, said this
excellent baronet, because I am going to take one of the
farms into my own hands, and see if something cannot be
done in setting a good pattern of farming among my
tenants. Do you approve of that, Miss Brooke?
A great mistake, Chettam, interposed Mr. Brooke,
going into electrifying your land and that kind of thing,
and making a parlor of your cow-house. It wont do. I
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25 of 1492
went into science a great deal myself at one time; but I
saw it would not do. It leads to everything; you can let
nothing alone. No, nosee that your tenants dont sell
their straw, and that kind of thing; and give them
draining-tiles, you know. But your fancy farming will not
dothe most expensive sort of whistle you can buy: you
may as well keep a pack of hounds.
Surely, said Dorothea, it is better to spend money in
finding out how men can make the most of the land
which supports them all, than in keeping dogs and horses
only to gallop over it. It is not a sin to make yourself poor
in performing experiments for the good of all.
She spoke with more energy than is expected of so
young a lady, but Sir James had appealed to her. He was
accustomed to do so, and she had often thought that she
could urge him to many good actions when he was her
brother-in-law.
Mr. Casaubon turned his eyes very markedly on
Dorothea while she was speaking, and seemed to observe
her newly.
Young ladies dont understand political economy, you
know, said Mr. Brooke, smiling towards Mr. Casaubon. I
remember when we were all reading Adam Smith.
THERE is a book, now. I took in all the new ideas at one
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26 of 1492
timehuman perfectibility, now. But some say, history
moves in circles; and that may be very well argued; I have
argued it myself. The fact is, human reason may carry you
a little too farover the hedge, in fact. It carried me a
good way at one time; but I saw it would not do. I pulled
up; I pulled up in time. But not too hard. I have always
been in favor of a little theory: we must have Thought;
else we shall be landed back in the dark ages. But talking
of books, there is Southeys Peninsular War. I am reading
that of a morning. You know Southey?
No said Mr. Casaubon, not keeping pace with Mr.
Brookes impetuous reason, and thinking of the book
only. I have little leisure for such literature just now. I
have been using up my eyesight on old characters lately;
the fact is, I want a reader for my evenings; but I am
fastidious in voices, and I cannot endure listening to an
imperfect reader. It is a misfortune, in some senses: I feed
too much on the inward sources; I live too much with the
dead. My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient,
wandering about the world and trying mentally to
construct it as it used to be, in spite of ruin and confusing
changes. But I find it necessary to use the utmost caution
about my eyesight.
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27 of 1492
This was the first time that Mr. Casaubon had spoken
at any length. He delivered himself with precision, as if he
had been called upon to make a public statement; and the
balanced sing-song neatness of his speech, occasionally
corresponded to by a movement of his head, was the more
conspicuous from its contrast with good Mr. Brookes
scrappy slovenliness. Dorothea said to herself that Mr.
Casaubon was the most interesting man she had ever seen,
not excepting even Monsieur Liret, the Vaudois
clergyman who had given conferences on the history of
the Waldenses. To reconstruct a past world, doubtless with
a view to the highest purposes of truthwhat a work to
be in any way present at, to assist in, though only as a
lamp-holder! This elevating thought lifted her above her
annoyance at being twitted with her ignorance of political
economy, that never-explained science which was thrust
as an extinguisher over all her lights.
But you are fond of riding, Miss Brooke, Sir James
presently took an opportunity of saying. I should have
thought you would enter a little into the pleasures of
hunting. I wish you would let me send over a chestnut
horse for you to try. It has been trained for a lady. I saw
you on Saturday cantering over the hill on a nag not
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Middlemarch
28 of 1492
worthy of you. My groom shall bring Corydon for you
every day, if you will only mention the time.
Thank you, you are very good. I mean to give up
riding. I shall not ride any more, said Dorothea, urged to
this brusque resolution by a little annoyance that Sir James
would be soliciting her attention when she wanted to give
it all to Mr. Casaubon.
No, that is too hard, said Sir James, in a tone of
reproach that showed strong interest. Your sister is given
to self-mortification, is she not? he continued, turning to
Celia, who sat at his right hand.
I think she is, said Celia, feeling afraid lest she should
say something that would not please her sister, and
blushing as prettily as possible above her necklace. She
likes giving up.
If that were true, Celia, my giving-up would be self-
indulgence, not self-mortification. But there may be good
reasons for choosing not to do what is very agreeable, said
Dorothea.
Mr. Brooke was speaking at the same time, but it was
evident that Mr. Casaubon was observing Dorothea, and
she was aware of it.
Exactly, said Sir James. You give up from some high,
generous motive.
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29 of 1492
No, indeed, not exactly. I did not say that of myself,
answered Dorothea, reddening. Unlike Celia, she rarely
blushed, and only from high delight or anger. At this
moment she felt angry with the perverse Sir James. Why
did he not pay attention to Celia, and leave her to listen to
Mr. Casaubon?if that learned man would only talk,
instead of allowing himself to be talked to by Mr. Brooke,
who was just then informing him that the Reformation
either meant something or it did not, that he himself was a
Protestant to the core, but that Catholicism was a fact; and
as to refusing an acre of your ground for a Romanist
chapel, all men needed the bridle of religion, which,
properly speaking, was the dread of a Hereafter.
I made a great study of theology at one time, said Mr.
Brooke, as if to explain the insight just manifested. I
know something of all schools. I knew Wilberforce in his
best days. Do you know Wilberforce?
Mr. Casaubon said, No.
Well, Wilberforce was perhaps not enough of a
thinker; but if I went into Parliament, as I have been asked
to do, I should sit on the independent bench, as
Wilberforce did, and work at philanthropy.
Mr. Casaubon bowed, and observed that it was a wide
field.
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30 of 1492
Yes, said Mr. Brooke, with an easy smile, but I have
documents. I began a long while ago to collect
documents. They want arranging, but when a question has
struck me, I have written to somebody and got an answer.
I have documents at my back. But now, how do you
arrange your documents?
In pigeon-holes partly, said Mr. Casaubon, with rather
a startled air of effort.
Ah, pigeon-holes will not do. I have tried pigeon-
holes, but everything gets mixed in pigeon-holes: I never
know whether a paper is in A or Z.
I wish you would let me sort your papers for you,
uncle, said Dorothea. I would letter them all, and then
make a list of subjects under each letter.
Mr. Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr.
Brooke, You have an excellent secretary at hand, you
perceive.
No, no, said Mr. Brooke, shaking his head; I cannot
let young ladies meddle with my documents. Young ladies
are too flighty.
Dorothea felt hurt. Mr. Casaubon would think that her
uncle had some special reason for delivering this opinion,
whereas the remark lay in his mind as lightly as the broken
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wing of an insect among all the other fragments there, and
a chance current had sent it alighting on HER.
When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone,
Celia said
How very ugly Mr. Casaubon is!
Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking
men I ever saw. He is remarkably like the portrait of
Locke. He has the same deep eye-sockets.
Had Locke those two white moles with hairs on
them?
Oh, I dare say! when people of a certain sort looked at
him, said Dorothea, walking away a little.
Mr. Casaubon is so sallow.
All the better. I suppose you admire a man with the
complexion of a cochon de lait.
Dodo! exclaimed Celia, looking after her in surprise.
I never heard you make such a comparison before.
Why should I make it before the occasion came? It is a
good comparison: the match is perfect.
Miss Brooke was clearly forgetting herself, and Celia
thought so.
I wonder you show temper, Dorothea.
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It is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at
human beings as if they were merely animals with a toilet,
and never see the great soul in a mans face.
Has Mr. Casaubon a great soul? Celia was not without
a touch of naive malice.
Yes, I believe he has, said Dorothea, with the full
voice of decision. Everything I see in him corresponds to
his pamphlet on Biblical Cosmology.
He talks very little, said Celia
There is no one for him to talk to.
Celia thought privately, Dorothea quite despises Sir
James Chettam; I believe she would not accept him. Celia
felt that this was a pity. She had never been deceived as to
the object of the baronets interest. Sometimes, indeed,
she had reflected that Dodo would perhaps not make a
husband happy who had not her way of looking at things;
and stifled in the depths of her heart was the feeling that
her sister was too religious for family comfort. Notions
and scruples were like spilt needles, making one afraid of
treading, or sitting down, or even eating.
When Miss Brooke was at the tea-table, Sir James came
to sit down by her, not having felt her mode of answering
him at all offensive. Why should he? He thought it
probable that Miss Brooke liked him, and manners must
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be very marked indeed before they cease to be interpreted
by preconceptions either confident or distrustful. She was
thoroughly charming to him, but of course he theorized a
little about his attachment. He was made of excellent
human dough, and had the rare merit of knowing that his
talents, even if let loose, would not set the smallest stream
in the county on fire: hence he liked the prospect of a
wife to whom he could say, What shall we do? about this
or that; who could help her husband out with reasons, and
would also have the property qualification for doing so. As
to the excessive religiousness alleged against Miss Brooke,
he had a very indefinite notion of what it consisted in, and
thought that it would die out with marriage. In short, he
felt himself to be in love in the right place, and was ready
to endure a great deal of predominance, which, after all, a
man could always put down when he liked. Sir James had
no idea that he should ever like to put down the
predominance of this handsome girl, in whose cleverness
he delighted. Why not? A mans mindwhat there is of
ithas always the advantage of being masculine,as the
smallest birch-tree is of a higher kind than the most
soaring palm,and even his ignorance is of a sounder
quality. Sir James might not have originated this estimate;
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but a kind Providence furnishes the limpest personality
with a little gunk or starch in the form of tradition.
Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution
about the horse, Miss Brooke, said the persevering
admirer. I assure you, riding is the most healthy of
exercises.
I am aware of it, said Dorothea, coldly. I think it
would do Celia goodif she would take to it.
But you are such a perfect horsewoman.
Excuse me; I have had very little practice, and I should
be easily thrown.
Then that is a reason for more practice. Every lady
ought to be a perfect horsewoman, that she may
accompany her husband.
You see how widely we differ, Sir James. I have made
up my mind that I ought not to be a perfect horsewoman,
and so I should never correspond to your pattern of a
lady. Dorothea looked straight before her, and spoke with
cold brusquerie, very much with the air of a handsome
boy, in amusing contrast with the solicitous amiability of
her admirer.
I should like to know your reasons for this cruel
resolution. It is not possible that you should think
horsemanship wrong.
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35 of 1492
It is quite possible that I should think it wrong for me.
Oh, why? said Sir James, in a tender tone of
remonstrance.
Mr. Casaubon had come up to the table, teacup in
hand, and was listening.
We must not inquire too curiously into motives, he
interposed, in his measured way. Miss Brooke knows that
they are apt to become feeble in the utterance: the aroma
is mixed with the grosser air. We must keep the
germinating grain away from the light.
Dorothea colored with pleasure, and looked up
gratefully to the speaker. Here was a man who could
understand the higher inward life, and with whom there
could be some spiritual communion; nay, who could
illuminate principle with the widest knowledge a man
whose learning almost amounted to a proof of whatever
he believed!
Dorotheas inferences may seem large; but really life
could never have gone on at any period but for this liberal
allowance of conclusions, which has facilitated marriage
under the difficulties of civilization. Has any one ever
pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of pre-
matrimonial acquaintanceship?
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36 of 1492
Certainly, said good Sir James. Miss Brooke shall not
be urged to tell reasons she would rather be silent upon. I
am sure her reasons would do her honor.
He was not in the least jealous of the interest with
which Dorothea had looked up at Mr. Casaubon: it never
occurred to him that a girl to whom he was meditating an
offer of marriage could care for a dried bookworm
towards fifty, except, indeed, in a religious sort of way, as
for a clergyman of some distinction.
However, since Miss Brooke had become engaged in a
conversation with Mr. Casaubon about the Vaudois
clergy, Sir James betook himself to Celia, and talked to her
about her sister; spoke of a house in town, and asked
whether Miss Brooke disliked London. Away from her
sister, Celia talked quite easily, and Sir James said to
himself that the second Miss Brooke was certainly very
agreeable as well as pretty, though not, as some people
pretended, more clever and sensible than the elder sister.
He felt that he had chosen the one who was in all respects
the superior; and a man naturally likes to look forward to
having the best. He would be the very Mawworm of
bachelors who pretended not to expect it.
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37 of 1492
Chapter III
Say, goddess, what ensued, when Raphael,
The affable archangel
Eve
The story heard attentive, and was filled
With admiration, and deep muse, to hear
Of things so high and strange.
Paradise Lost, B. vii.
If it had really occurred to Mr. Casaubon to think of
Miss Brooke as a suitable wife for him, the reasons that
might induce her to accept him were already planted in
her mind, and by the evening of the next day the reasons
had budded and bloomed. For they had had a long
conversation in the morning, while Celia, who did not
like the company of Mr. Casaubons moles and sallowness,
had escaped to the vicarage to play with the curates ill-
shod but merry children.
Dorothea by this time had looked deep into the
ungauged reservoir of Mr. Casaubons mind, seeing
reflected there in vague labyrinthine extension every
quality she herself brought; had opened much of her own
experience to him, and had understood from him the
scope of his great work, also of attractively labyrinthine
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extent. For he had been as instructive as Miltons affable
archangel; and with something of the archangelic manner
he told her how he had undertaken to show (what indeed
had been attempted before, but not with that
thoroughness, justice of comparison, and effectiveness of
arrangement at which Mr. Casaubon aimed) that all the
mythical systems or erratic mythical fragments in the
world were corruptions of a tradition originally revealed.
Having once mastered the true position and taken a firm
footing there, the vast field of mythical constructions
became intelligible, nay, luminous with the reflected light
of correspondences. But to gather in this great harvest of
truth was no light or speedy work. His notes already made
a formidable range of volumes, but the crowning task
would be to condense these voluminous still-accumulating
results and bring them, like the earlier vintage of
Hippocratic books, to fit a little shelf. In explaining this to
Dorothea, Mr. Casaubon expressed himself nearly as he
would have done to a fellow-student, for he had not two
styles of talking at command: it is true that when he used a
Greek or Latin phrase he always gave the English with
scrupulous care, but he would probably have done this in
any case. A learned provincial clergyman is accustomed to
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think of his acquaintances as of lords, knyghtes, and other
noble and worthi men, that conne Latyn but lytille.
Dorothea was altogether captivated by the wide
embrace of this conception. Here was something beyond
the shallows of ladies school literature: here was a living
Bossuet, whose work would reconcile complete
knowledge with devoted piety; here was a modern
Augustine who united the glories of doctor and saint.
The sanctity seemed no less clearly marked than the
learning, for when Dorothea was impelled to open her
mind on certain themes which she could speak of to no
one whom she had before seen at Tipton, especially on
the secondary importance of ecclesiastical forms and
articles of belief compared with that spiritual religion, that
submergence of self in communion with Divine perfection
which seemed to her to be expressed in the best Christian
books of widely distant ages, she found in Mr. Casaubon a
listener who understood her at once, who could assure her
of his own agreement with that view when duly tempered
with wise conformity, and could mention historical
examples before unknown to her.
He thinks with me, said Dorothea to herself, or
rather, he thinks a whole world of which my thought is
but a poor twopenny mirror. And his feelings too, his
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Middlemarch
40 of 1492
whole experiencewhat a lake compared with my little
pool!
Miss Brooke argued from words and dispositions not
less unhesitatingly than other young ladies of her age.
Signs are small measurable things, but interpretations are
illimitable, and in girls of sweet, ardent nature, every sign
is apt to conjure up wonder, hope, belief, vast as a sky,
and colored by a diffused thimbleful of matter in the shape
of knowledge. They are not always too grossly deceived;
for Sinbad himself may have fallen by good-luck on a true
description, and wrong reasoning sometimes lands poor
mortals in right conclusions: starting a long way off the
true point, and proceeding by loops and zigzags, we now
and then arrive just where we ought to be. Because Miss
Brooke was hasty in her trust, it is not therefore clear that
Mr. Casaubon was unworthy of it.
He stayed a little longer than he had intended, on a
slight pressure of invitation from Mr. Brooke, who offered
no bait except his own documents on machine-breaking
and rick-burning. Mr. Casaubon was called into the library
to look at these in a heap, while his host picked up first
one and then the other to read aloud from in a skipping
and uncertain way, passing from one unfinished passage to
another with a Yes, now, but here! and finally pushing
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41 of 1492
them all aside to open the journal of his youthful
Continental travels.
Look herehere is all about Greece. Rhamnus, the
ruins of Rhamnusyou are a great Grecian, now. I dont
know whether you have given much study to the
topography. I spent no end of time in making out these
thingsHelicon, now. Here, now!We started the next
morning for Parnassus, the double-peaked Parnassus. All
this volume is about Greece, you know, Mr. Brooke
wound up, rubbing his thumb transversely along the edges
of the leaves as he held the book forward.
Mr. Casaubon made a dignified though somewhat sad
audience; bowed in the right place, and avoided looking at
anything documentary as far as possible, without showing
disregard or impatience; mindful that this desultoriness was
associated with the institutions of the country, and that the
man who took him on this severe mental scamper was not
only an amiable host, but a landholder and custos
rotulorum. Was his endurance aided also by the reflection
that Mr. Brooke was the uncle of Dorothea?
Certainly he seemed more and more bent on making
her talk to him, on drawing her out, as Celia remarked to
herself; and in looking at her his face was often lit up by a
smile like pale wintry sunshine. Before he left the next
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morning, while taking a pleasant walk with Miss Brooke
along the gravelled terrace, he had mentioned to her that
he felt the disadvantage of loneliness, the need of that
cheerful companionship with which the presence of youth
can lighten or vary the serious toils of maturity. And he
delivered this statement with as much careful precision as
if he had been a diplomatic envoy whose words would be
attended with results. Indeed, Mr. Casaubon was not used
to expect that he should have to repeat or revise his
communications of a practical or personal kind. The
inclinations which he had deliberately stated on the 2d of
October he would think it enough to refer to by the
mention of that date; judging by the standard of his own
memory, which was a volume where a vide supra could
serve instead of repetitions, and not the ordinary long-used
blotting-book which only tells of forgotten writing. But in
this case Mr. Casaubons confidence was not likely to be
falsified, for Dorothea heard and retained what he said
with the eager interest of a fresh young nature to which
every variety in experience is an epoch.
It was three oclock in the beautiful breezy autumn day
when Mr. Casaubon drove off to his Rectory at Lowick,
only five miles from Tipton; and Dorothea, who had on
her bonnet and shawl, hurried along the shrubbery and
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across the park that she might wander through the
bordering wood with no other visible companionship than
that of Monk, the Great St. Bernard dog, who always took
care of the young ladies in their walks. There had risen
before her the girls vision of a possible future for herself
to which she looked forward with trembling hope, and
she wanted to wander on in that visionary future without
interruption. She walked briskly in the brisk air, the color
rose in her cheeks, and her straw bonnet (which our
contemporaries might look at with conjectural curiosity as
at an obsolete form of basket) fell a little backward. She
would perhaps be hardly characterized enough if it were
omitted that she wore her brown hair flatly braided and
coiled behind so as to expose the outline of her head in a
daring manner at a time when public feeling required the
meagreness of nature to be dissimulated by tall barricades
of frizzed curls and bows, never surpassed by any great
race except the Feejeean. This was a trait of Miss Brookes
asceticism. But there was nothing of an ascetics expression
in her bright full eyes, as she looked before her, not
consciously seeing, but absorbing into the intensity of her
mood, the solemn glory of the afternoon with its long
swathes of light between the far-off rows of limes, whose
shadows touched each other.
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44 of 1492
All people, young or old (that is, all people in those
ante-reform times), would have thought her an interesting
object if they had referred the glow in her eyes and cheeks
to the newly awakened ordinary images of young love: the
illusions of Chloe about Strephon have been sufficiently
consecrated in poetry, as the pathetic loveliness of all
spontaneous trust ought to be. Miss Pippin adoring young
Pumpkin, and dreaming along endless vistas of unwearying
companionship, was a little drama which never tired our
fathers and mothers, and had been put into all costumes.
Let but Pumpkin have a figure which would sustain the
disadvantages of the shortwaisted swallow-tail, and
everybody felt it not only natural but necessary to the
perfection of womanhood, that a sweet girl should be at
once convinced of his virtue, his exceptional ability, and
above all, his perfect sincerity. But perhaps no persons
then livingcertainly none in the neighborhood of
Tiptonwould have had a sympathetic understanding for
the dreams of a girl whose notions about marriage took
their color entirely from an exalted enthusiasm about the
ends of life, an enthusiasm which was lit chiefly by its own
fire, and included neither the niceties of the trousseau, the
pattern of plate, nor even the honors and sweet joys of the
blooming matron.
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45 of 1492
It had now entered Dorotheas mind that Mr.
Casaubon might wish to make her his wife, and the idea
that he would do so touched her with a sort of reverential
gratitude. How good of himnay, it would be almost as if
a winged messenger had suddenly stood beside her path
and held out his hand towards her! For a long while she
had been oppressed by the indefiniteness which hung in
her mind, like a thick summer haze, over all her desire to
made her life greatly effective. What could she do, what
ought she to do?she, hardly more than a budding
woman, but yet with an active conscience and a great
mental need, not to be satisfied by a girlish instruction
comparable to the nibblings and judgments of a discursive
mouse. With some endowment of stupidity and conceit,
she might have thought that a Christian young lady of
fortune should find her ideal of life in village charities,
patronage of the humbler clergy, the perusal of Female
Scripture Characters, unfolding the private experience of
Sara under the Old Dispensation, and Dorcas under the
New, and the care of her soul over her embroidery in her
own boudoirwith a background of prospective marriage
to a man who, if less strict than herself, as being involved
in affairs religiously inexplicable, might be prayed for and
seasonably exhorted. From such contentment poor
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46 of 1492
Dorothea was shut out. The intensity of her religious
disposition, the coercion it exercised over her life, was but
one aspect of a nature altogether ardent, theoretic, and
intellectually consequent: and with such a nature
struggling in the bands of a narrow teaching, hemmed in
by a social life which seemed nothing but a labyrinth of
petty courses, a walled-in maze of small paths that led no
whither, the outcome was sure to strike others as at once
exaggeration and inconsistency. The thing which seemed
to her best, she wanted to justify by the completest
knowledge; and not to live in a pretended admission of
rules which were never acted on. Into this soul-hunger as
yet all her youthful passion was poured; the union which
attracted her was one that would deliver her from her
girlish subjection to her own ignorance, and give her the
freedom of voluntary submission to a guide who would
take her along the grandest path.
I should learn everything then, she said to herself, still
walking quickly along the bridle road through the wood.
It would be my duty to study that I might help him the
better in his great works. There would be nothing trivial
about our lives. Every-day things with us would mean the
greatest things. It would be like marrying Pascal. I should
learn to see the truth by the same light as great men have
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47 of 1492
seen it by. And then I should know what to do, when I
got older: I should see how it was possible to lead a grand
life herenowin England. I dont feel sure about doing
good in any way now: everything seems like going on a
mission to a people whose language I dont know;unless
it were building good cottagesthere can be no doubt
about that. Oh, I hope I should be able to get the people
well housed in Lowick! I will draw plenty of plans while I
have time.
Dorothea checked herself suddenly with self-rebuke for
the presumptuous way in which she was reckoning on
uncertain events, but she was spared any inward effort to
change the direction of her thoughts by the appearance of
a cantering horseman round a turning of the road. The
well-groomed chestnut horse and two beautiful setters
could leave no doubt that the rider was Sir James
Chettam. He discerned Dorothea, jumped off his horse at
once, and, having delivered it to his groom, advanced
towards her with something white on his arm, at which
the two setters were barking in an excited manner.
How delightful to meet you, Miss Brooke, he said,
raising his hat and showing his sleekly waving blond hair.
It has hastened the pleasure I was looking forward to.
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48 of 1492
Miss Brooke was annoyed at the interruption. This
amiable baronet, really a suitable husband for Celia,
exaggerated the necessity of making himself agreeable to
the elder sister. Even a prospective brother-in-law may be
an oppression if he will always be presupposing too good
an understanding with you, and agreeing with you even
when you contradict him. The thought that he had made
the mistake of paying his addresses to herself could not
take shape: all her mental activity was used up in
persuasions of another kind. But he was positively
obtrusive at this moment, and his dimpled hands were
quite disagreeable. Her roused temper made her color
deeply, as she returned his greeting with some haughtiness.
Sir James interpreted the heightened color in the way
most gratifying to himself, and thought he never saw Miss
Brooke looking so handsome.
I have brought a little petitioner, he said, or rather, I
have brought him to see if he will be approved before his
petition is offered. He showed the white object under his
arm, which was a tiny Maltese puppy, one of natures
most naive toys.
It is painful to me to see these creatures that are bred
merely as pets, said Dorothea, whose opinion was
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forming itself that very moment (as opinions will) under
the heat of irritation.
Oh, why? said Sir James, as they walked forward.
I believe all the petting that is given them does not
make them happy. They are too helpless: their lives are
too frail. A weasel or a mouse that gets its own living is
more interesting. I like to think that the animals about us
have souls something like our own, and either carry on
their own little affairs or can be companions to us, like
Monk here. Those creatures are parasitic.
I am so glad I know that you do not like them, said
good Sir James. I should never keep them for myself, but
ladies usually are fond of these Maltese dogs. Here, John,
take this dog, will you?
The objectionable puppy, whose nose and eyes were
equally black and expressive, was thus got rid of, since
Miss Brooke decided that it had better not have been
born. But she felt it necessary to explain.
You must not judge of Celias feeling from mine. I
think she likes these small pets. She had a tiny terrier once,
which she was very fond of. It made me unhappy, because
I was afraid of treading on it. I am rather short-sighted.
You have your own opinion about everything, Miss
Brooke, and it is always a good opinion.
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50 of 1492
What answer was possible to such stupid
complimenting?
Do you know, I envy you that, Sir James said, as they
continued walking at the rather brisk pace set by
Dorothea.
I dont quite understand what you mean.
Your power of forming an opinion. I can form an
opinion of persons. I know when I like people. But about
other matters, do you know, I have often a difficulty in
deciding. One hears very sensible things said on opposite
sides.
Or that seem sensible. Perhaps we dont always
discriminate between sense and nonsense.
Dorothea felt that she was rather rude.
Exactly, said Sir James. But you seem to have the
power of discrimination.
On the contrary, I am often unable to decide. But that
is from ignorance. The right conclusion is there all the
same, though I am unable to see it.
I think there are few who would see it more readily.
Do you know, Lovegood was telling me yesterday that
you had the best notion in the world of a plan for
cottagesquite wonderful for a young lady, he thought.
You had a real GENUS, to use his expression. He said
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you wanted Mr. Brooke to build a new set of cottages, but
he seemed to think it hardly probable that your uncle
would consent. Do you know, that is one of the things I
wish to doI mean, on my own estate. I should be so
glad to carry out that plan of yours, if you would let me
see it. Of course, it is sinking money; that is why people
object to it. Laborers can never pay rent to make it
answer. But, after all, it is worth doing.
Worth doing! yes, indeed, said Dorothea,
energetically, forgetting her previous small vexations. I
think we deserve to be beaten out of our beautiful houses
with a scourge of small cordsall of us who let tenants
live in such sties as we see round us. Life in cottages might
be happier than ours, if they were real houses fit for
human beings from whom we expect duties and
affections.
Will you show me your plan?
Yes, certainly. I dare say it is very faulty. But I have
been examining all the plans for cottages in Loudons
book, and picked out what seem the best things. Oh what
a happiness it would be to set the pattern about here! I
think instead of Lazarus at the gate, we should put the
pigsty cottages outside the park-gate.
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Middlemarch
52 of 1492
Dorothea was in the best temper now. Sir James, as
brother in-law, building model cottages on his estate, and
then, perhaps, others being built at Lowick, and more and
more elsewhere in imitationit would be as if the spirit of
Oberlin had passed over the parishes to make the life of
poverty beautiful!
Sir James saw all the plans, and took one away to
consult upon with Lovegood. He also took away a
complacent sense that he was making great progress in
Miss Brookes good opinion. The Maltese puppy was not
offered to Celia; an omission which Dorothea afterwards
thought of with surprise; but she blamed herself for it. She
had been engrossing Sir James. After all, it was a relief that
there was no puppy to tread upon.
Celia was present while the plans were being examined,
and observed Sir Jamess illusion. He thinks that Dodo
cares about him, and she only cares about her plans. Yet I
am not certain that she would refuse him if she thought he
would let her manage everything and carry out all her
notions. And how very uncomfortable Sir James would
be! I cannot bear notions.
It was Celias private luxury to indulge in this dislike.
She dared not confess it to her sister in any direct
statement, for that would be laying herself open to a
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demonstration that she was somehow or other at war with
all goodness. But on safe opportunities, she had an indirect
mode of making her negative wisdom tell upon Dorothea,
and calling her down from her rhapsodic mood by
reminding her that people were staring, not listening.
Celia was not impulsive: what she had to say could wait,
and came from her always with the same quiet staccato
evenness. When people talked with energy and emphasis
she watched their faces and features merely. She never
could understand how well-bred persons consented to sing
and open their mouths in the ridiculous manner requisite
for that vocal exercise.
It was not many days before Mr. Casaubon paid a
morning visit, on which he was invited again for the
following week to dine and stay the night. Thus Dorothea
had three more conversations with him, and was
convinced that her first impressions had been just. He was
all she had at first imagined him to be: almost everything
he had said seemed like a specimen from a mine, or the
inscription on the door of a museum which might open
on the treasures of past ages; and this trust in his mental
wealth was all the deeper and more effective on her
inclination because it was now obvious that his visits were
made for her sake. This accomplished man condescended
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to think of a young girl, and take the pains to talk to her,
not with absurd compliment, but with an appeal to her
understanding, and sometimes with instructive correction.
What delightful companionship! Mr. Casaubon seemed
even unconscious that trivialities existed, and never
handed round that small-talk of heavy men which is as
acceptable as stale bride-cake brought forth with an odor
of cupboard. He talked of what he was interested in, or
else he was silent and bowed with sad civility. To
Dorothea this was adorable genuineness, and religious
abstinence from that artificiality which uses up the soul in
the efforts of pretence. For she looked as reverently at Mr.
Casaubons religious elevation above herself as she did at
his intellect and learning. He assented to her expressions of
devout feeling, and usually with an appropriate quotation;
he allowed himself to say that he had gone through some
spiritual conflicts in his youth; in short, Dorothea saw that
here she might reckon on understanding, sympathy, and
guidance. On oneonly oneof her favorite themes she
was disappointed. Mr. Casaubon apparently did not care
about building cottages, and diverted the talk to the
extremely narrow accommodation which was to be had in
the dwellings of the ancient Egyptians, as if to check a too
high standard. After he was gone, Dorothea dwelt with
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some agitation on this indifference of his; and her mind
was much exercised with arguments drawn from the
varying conditions of climate which modify human needs,
and from the admitted wickedness of pagan despots.
Should she not urge these arguments on Mr. Casaubon
when he came again? But further reflection told her that
she was presumptuous in demanding his attention to such
a subject; he would not disapprove of her occupying
herself with it in leisure moments, as other women
expected to occupy themselves with their dress and
embroiderywould not forbid it whenDorothea felt
rather ashamed as she detected herself in these
speculations. But her uncle had been invited to go to
Lowick to stay a couple of days: was it reasonable to
suppose that Mr. Casaubon delighted in Mr. Brookes
society for its own sake, either with or without
documents?
Meanwhile that little disappointment made her delight
the more in Sir James Chettams readiness to set on foot
the desired improvements. He came much oftener than
Mr. Casaubon, and Dorothea ceased to find him
disagreeable since he showed himself so entirely in earnest;
for he had already entered with much practical ability into
Lovegoods estimates, and was charmingly docile. She
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proposed to build a couple of cottages, and transfer two
families from their old cabins, which could then be pulled
down, so that new ones could be built on the old sites. Sir
James said Exactly, and she bore the word remarkably
well.
Certainly these men who had so few spontaneous ideas
might be very useful members of society under good
feminine direction, if they were fortunate in choosing
their sisters-in-law! It is difficult to say whether there was
or was not a little wilfulness in her continuing blind to the
possibility that another sort of choice was in question in
relation to her. But her life was just now full of hope and
action: she was not only thinking of her plans, but getting
down learned books from the library and reading many
things hastily (that she might be a little less ignorant in
talking to Mr. Casaubon), all the while being visited with
conscientious questionings whether she were not exalting
these poor doings above measure and contemplating them
with that self-satisfaction which was the last doom of
ignorance and folly.
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Chapter IV
1st Gent. Our deeds are fetters that we forge ourselves.
2d Gent. Ay, truly: but I think it is the world
That brings the iron.
Sir James seems determined to do everything you
wish, said Celia, as they were driving home from an
inspection of the new building-site.
He is a good creature, and more sensible than any one
would imagine, said Dorothea, inconsiderately.
You mean that he appears silly.
No, no, said Dorothea, recollecting herself, and laying
her hand on her sisters a moment, but he does not talk
equally well on all subjects.
I should think none but disagreeable people do, said
Celia, in her usual purring way. They must be very
dreadful to live with. Only think! at breakfast, and always.
Dorothea laughed. O Kitty, you are a wonderful
creature! She pinched Celias chin, being in the mood
now to think her very winning and lovelyfit hereafter to
be an eternal cherub, and if it were not doctrinally wrong
to say so, hardly more in need of salvation than a squirrel.
Of course people need not be always talking well. Only
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one tells the quality of their minds when they try to talk
well.
You mean that Sir James tries and fails.
I was speaking generally. Why do you catechise me
about Sir James? It is not the object of his life to please
me.
Now, Dodo, can you really believe that?
Certainly. He thinks of me as a future sisterthat is
all. Dorothea had never hinted this before, waiting, from
a certain shyness on such subjects which was mutual
between the sisters, until it should be introduced by some
decisive event. Celia blushed, but said at once
Pray do not make that mistake any longer, Dodo.
When Tantripp was brushing my hair the other day, she
said that Sir Jamess man knew from Mrs. Cadwalladers
maid that Sir James was to marry the eldest Miss Brooke.
How can you let Tantripp talk such gossip to you,
Celia? said Dorothea, indignantly, not the less angry
because details asleep in her memory were now awakened
to confirm the unwelcome revelation. You must have
asked her questions. It is degrading.
I see no harm at all in Tantripps talking to me. It is
better to hear what people say. You see what mistakes you
make by taking up notions. I am quite sure that Sir James
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means to make you an offer; and he believes that you will
accept him, especially since you have been so pleased with
him about the plans. And uncle tooI know he expects
it. Every one can see that Sir James is very much in love
with you.
The revulsion was so strong and painful in Dorotheas
mind that the tears welled up and flowed abundantly. All
her dear plans were embittered, and she thought with
disgust of Sir Jamess conceiving that she recognized him
as her lover. There was vexation too on account of Celia.
How could he expect it? she burst forth in her most
impetuous manner. I have never agreed with him about
anything but the cottages: I was barely polite to him
before.
But you have been so pleased with him since then; he
has begun to feel quite sure that you are fond of him.
Fond of him, Celia! How can you choose such odious
expressions? said Dorothea, passionately.
Dear me, Dorothea, I suppose it would be right for
you to be fond of a man whom you accepted for a
husband.
It is offensive to me to say that Sir James could think I
was fond of him. Besides, it is not the right word for the
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feeling I must have towards the man I would accept as a
husband.
Well, I am sorry for Sir James. I thought it right to tell
you, because you went on as you always do, never looking
just where you are, and treading in the wrong place. You
always see what nobody else sees; it is impossible to satisfy
you; yet you never see what is quite plain. Thats your
way, Dodo. Something certainly gave Celia unusual
courage; and she was not sparing the sister of whom she
was occasionally in awe. Who can tell what just criticisms
Murr the Cat may be passing on us beings of wider
speculation?
It is very painful, said Dorothea, feeling scourged. I
can have no more to do with the cottages. I must be
uncivil to him. I must tell him I will have nothing to do
with them. It is very painful. Her eyes filled again with
tears.
Wait a little. Think about it. You know he is going
away for a day or two to see his sister. There will be
nobody besides Lovegood. Celia could not help relenting.
Poor Dodo, she went on, in an amiable staccato. It is
very hard: it is your favorite FAD to draw plans.
FAD to draw plans! Do you think I only care about
my fellow-creatures houses in that childish way? I may
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well make mistakes. How can one ever do anything nobly
Christian, living among people with such petty thoughts?
No more was said; Dorothea was too much jarred to
recover her temper and behave so as to show that she
admitted any error in herself. She was disposed rather to
accuse the intolerable narrowness and the purblind
conscience of the society around her: and Celia was no
longer the eternal cherub, but a thorn in her spirit, a pink-
and-white nullifidian, worse than any discouraging
presence in the Pilgrims Progress. The FAD of drawing
plans! What was life worthwhat great faith was possible
when the whole effect of ones actions could be withered
up into such parched rubbish as that? When she got out of
the carriage, her cheeks were pale and her eyelids red. She
was an image of sorrow, and her uncle who met her in the
hall would have been alarmed, if Celia had not been close
to her looking so pretty and composed, that he at once
concluded Dorotheas tears to have their origin in her
excessive religiousness. He had returned, during their
absence, from a journey to the county town, about a
petition for the pardon of some criminal.
Well, my dears, he said, kindly, as they went up to
kiss him, I hope nothing disagreeable has happened while
I have been away.
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No, uncle, said Celia, we have been to Freshitt to
look at the cottages. We thought you would have been at
home to lunch.
I came by Lowick to lunchyou didnt know I came
by Lowick. And I have brought a couple of pamphlets for
you, Dorotheain the library, you know; they lie on the
table in the library.
It seemed as if an electric stream went through
Dorothea, thrilling her from despair into expectation.
They were pamphlets about the early Church. The
oppression of Celia, Tantripp, and Sir James was shaken
off, and she walked straight to the library. Celia went up-
stairs. Mr. Brooke was detained by a message, but when
he re-entered the library, he found Dorothea seated and
already deep in one of the pamphlets which had some
marginal manuscript of Mr. Casaubons,taking it in as
eagerly as she might have taken in the scent of a fresh
bouquet after a dry, hot, dreary walk.
She was getting away from Tipton and Freshitt, and her
own sad liability to tread in the wrong places on her way
to the New Jerusalem.
Mr. Brooke sat down in his arm-chair, stretched his
legs towards the wood-fire, which had fallen into a
wondrous mass of glowing dice between the dogs, and
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rubbed his hands gently, looking very mildly towards
Dorothea, but with a neutral leisurely air, as if he had
nothing particular to say. Dorothea closed her pamphlet,
as soon as she was aware of her uncles presence, and rose
as if to go. Usually she would have been interested about
her uncles merciful errand on behalf of the criminal, but
her late agitation had made her absent-minded.
I came back by Lowick, you know, said Mr. Brooke,
not as if with any intention to arrest her departure, but
apparently from his usual tendency to say what he had said
before. This fundamental principle of human speech was
markedly exhibited in Mr. Brooke. I lunched there and
saw Casaubons library, and that kind of thing. Theres a
sharp air, driving. Wont you sit down, my dear? You
look cold.
Dorothea felt quite inclined to accept the invitation.
Some times, when her uncles easy way of taking things
did not happen to be exasperating, it was rather soothing.
She threw off her mantle and bonnet, and sat down
opposite to him, enjoying the glow, but lifting up her
beautiful hands for a screen. They were not thin hands, or
small hands; but powerful, feminine, maternal hands. She
seemed to be holding them up in propitiation for her
passionate desire to know and to think, which in the
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Middlemarch
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unfriendly mediums of Tipton and Freshitt had issued in
crying and red eyelids.
She bethought herself now of the condemned criminal.
What news have you brought about the sheep-stealer,
uncle?
What, poor Bunch?well, it seems we cant get him
offhe is to be hanged.
Dorotheas brow took an expression of reprobation and
pity.
Hanged, you know, said Mr. Brooke, with a quiet
nod. Poor Romilly! he would have helped us. I knew
Romilly. Casaubon didnt know Romilly. He is a little
buried in books, you know, Casaubon is.
When a man has great studies and is writing a great
work, he must of course give up seeing much of the
world. How can he go about making acquaintances?
Thats true. But a man mopes, you know. I have
always been a bachelor too, but I have that sort of
disposition that I never moped; it was my way to go about
everywhere and take in everything. I never moped: but I
can see that Casaubon does, you know. He wants a
companiona companion, you know.
It would be a great honor to any one to be his
companion, said Dorothea, energetically.
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You like him, eh? said Mr. Brooke, without showing
any surprise, or other emotion. Well, now, Ive known
Casaubon ten years, ever since he came to Lowick. But I
never got anything out of himany ideas, you know.
However, he is a tiptop man and may be a bishopthat
kind of thing, you know, if Peel stays in. And he has a
very high opinion of you, my dear.
Dorothea could not speak.
The fact is, he has a very high opinion indeed of you.
And he speaks uncommonly welldoes Casaubon. He has
deferred to me, you not being of age. In short, I have
promised to speak to you, though I told him I thought
there was not much chance. I was bound to tell him that.
I said, my niece is very young, and that kind of thing. But
I didnt think it necessary to go into everything. However,
the long and the short of it is, that he has asked my
permission to make you an offer of marriageof marriage,
you know, said Mr. Brooke, with his explanatory nod. I
thought it better to tell you, my dear.
No one could have detected any anxiety in Mr.
Brookes manner, but he did really wish to know
something of his nieces mind, that, if there were any need
for advice, he might give it in time. What feeling he, as a
magistrate who had taken in so many ideas, could make
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room for, was unmixedly kind. Since Dorothea did not
speak immediately, he repeated, I thought it better to tell
you, my dear.
Thank you, uncle, said Dorothea, in a clear
unwavering tone. I am very grateful to Mr. Casaubon. If
he makes me an offer, I shall accept him. I admire and
honor him more than any man I ever saw.
Mr. Brooke paused a little, and then said in a lingering
low tone, Ah? Well! He is a good match in some
respects. But now, Chettam is a good match. And our
land lies together. I shall never interfere against your
wishes, my dear. People should have their own way in
marriage, and that sort of thingup to a certain point,
you know. I have always said that, up to a certain point. I
wish you to marry well; and I have good reason to believe
that Chettam wishes to marry you. I mention it, you
know.
It is impossible that I should ever marry Sir James
Chettam, said Dorothea. If he thinks of marrying me, he
has made a great mistake.
That is it, you see. One never knows. I should have
thought Chettam was just the sort of man a woman would
like, now.
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Pray do not mention him in that light again, uncle,
said Dorothea, feeling some of her late irritation revive.
Mr. Brooke wondered, and felt that women were an
inexhaustible subject of study, since even he at his age was
not in a perfect state of scientific prediction about them.
Here was a fellow like Chettam with no chance at all.
Well, but Casaubon, now. There is no hurryI mean
for you. Its true, every year will tell upon him. He is over
five-and-forty, you know. I should say a good seven-and-
twenty years older than you. To be sure,if you like
learning and standing, and that sort of thing, we cant have
everything. And his income is goodhe has a handsome
property independent of the Churchhis income is good.
Still he is not young, and I must not conceal from you, my
dear, that I think his health is not over-strong. I know
nothing else against him.
I should not wish to have a husband very near my own
age, said Dorothea, with grave decision. I should wish to
have a husband who was above me in judgment and in all
knowledge.
Mr. Brooke repeated his subdued, Ah?I thought you
had more of your own opinion than most girls. I thought
you liked your own opinionliked it, you know.
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I cannot imagine myself living without some opinions,
but I should wish to have good reasons for them, and a
wise man could help me to see which opinions had the
best foundation, and would help me to live according to
them.
Very true. You couldnt put the thing better
couldnt put it better, beforehand, you know. But there
are oddities in things, continued Mr. Brooke, whose
conscience was really roused to do the best he could for
his niece on this occasion. Life isnt cast in a mouldnot
cut out by rule and line, and that sort of thing. I never
married myself, and it will be the better for you and yours.
The fact is, I never loved any one well enough to put
myself into a noose for them. It IS a noose, you know.
Temper, now. There is temper. And a husband likes to be
master.
I know that I must expect trials, uncle. Marriage is a
state of higher duties. I never thought of it as mere
personal ease, said poor Dorothea.
Well, you are not fond of show, a great establishment,
balls, dinners, that kind of thing. I can see that Casaubons
ways might suit you better than Chettams. And you shall
do as you like, my dear. I would not hinder Casaubon; I
said so at once; for there is no knowing how anything may
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turn out. You have not the same tastes as every young
lady; and a clergyman and scholarwho may be a
bishopthat kind of thingmay suit you better than
Chettam. Chettam is a good fellow, a good sound-hearted
fellow, you know; but he doesnt go much into ideas. I
did, when I was his age. But Casaubons eyes, now. I
think he has hurt them a little with too much reading.
I should be all the happier, uncle, the more room there
was for me to help him, said Dorothea, ardently.
You have quite made up your mind, I see. Well, my
dear, the fact is, I have a letter for you in my pocket. Mr.
Brooke handed the letter to Dorothea, but as she rose to
go away, he added, There is not too much hurry, my
dear. Think about it, you know.
When Dorothea had left him, he reflected that he had
certainly spoken strongly: he had put the risks of marriage
before her in a striking manner. It was his duty to do so.
But as to pretending to be wise for young people,no
uncle, however much he had travelled in his youth,
absorbed the new ideas, and dined with celebrities now
deceased, could pretend to judge what sort of marriage
would turn out well for a young girl who preferred
Casaubon to Chettam. In short, woman was a problem
which, since Mr. Brookes mind felt blank before it, could
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be hardly less complicated than the revolutions of an
irregular solid.
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Chapter V
Hard students are commonly troubled with gowts,
catarrhs, rheums, cachexia, bradypepsia, bad eyes, stone,
and collick, crudities, oppilations, vertigo, winds,
consumptions, and all such diseases as come by over-much
sitting: they are most part lean, dry, ill-colored and all
through immoderate pains and extraordinary studies. If
you will not believe the truth of this, look upon great
Tostatus and Thomas Aquainas works; and tell me
whether those men took pains.BURTONS Anatomy
of Melancholy, P. I, s. 2.
This was Mr. Casaubons letter.
MY DEAR MISS BROOKE,I have your guardians
permission to address you on a subject than which I have
none more at heart. I am not, I trust, mistaken in the
recognition of some deeper correspondence than that of
date in the fact that a consciousness of need in my own life
had arisen contemporaneously with the possibility of my
becoming acquainted with you. For in the first hour of
meeting you, I had an impression of your eminent and
perhaps exclusive fitness to supply that need (connected, I
may say, with such activity of the affections as even the
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preoccupations of a work too special to be abdicated could
not uninterruptedly dissimulate); and each succeeding
opportunity for observation has given the impression an
added depth by convincing me more emphatically of that
fitness which I had preconceived, and thus evoking more
decisively those affections to which I have but now
referred. Our conversations have, I think, made
sufficiently clear to you the tenor of my life and purposes:
a tenor unsuited, I am aware, to the commoner order of
minds. But I have discerned in you an elevation of
thought and a capability of devotedness, which I had
hitherto not conceived to be compatible either with the
early bloom of youth or with those graces of sex that may
be said at once to win and to confer distinction when
combined, as they notably are in you, with the mental
qualities above indicated. It was, I confess, beyond my
hope to meet with this rare combination of elements both
solid and attractive, adapted to supply aid in graver labors
and to cast a charm over vacant hours; and but for the
event of my introduction to you (which, let me again say,
I trust not to be superficially coincident with
foreshadowing needs, but providentially related thereto as
stages towards the completion of a lifes plan), I should
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presumably have gone on to the last without any attempt
to lighten my solitariness by a matrimonial union.
Such, my dear Miss Brooke, is the accurate statement
of my feelings; and I rely on your kind indulgence in
venturing now to ask you how far your own are of a
nature to confirm my happy presentiment. To be accepted
by you as your husband and the earthly guardian of your
welfare, I should regard as the highest of providential gifts.
In return I can at least offer you an affection hitherto
unwasted, and the faithful consecration of a life which,
however short in the sequel, has no backward pages
whereon, if you choose to turn them, you will find
records such as might justly cause you either bitterness or
shame. I await the expression of your sentiments with an
anxiety which it would be the part of wisdom (were it
possible) to divert by a more arduous labor than usual. But
in this order of experience I am still young, and in looking
forward to an unfavorable possibility I cannot but feel that
resignation to solitude will be more difficult after the
temporary illumination of hope.
In any case, I shall remain,
Yours with sincere devotion,
EDWARD CASAUBON.
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Dorothea trembled while she read this letter; then she
fell on her knees, buried her face, and sobbed. She could
not pray: under the rush of solemn emotion in which
thoughts became vague and images floated uncertainly, she
could but cast herself, with a childlike sense of reclining,
in the lap of a divine consciousness which sustained her
own. She remained in that attitude till it was time to dress
for dinner.
How could it occur to her to examine the letter, to
look at it critically as a profession of love? Her whole soul
was possessed by the fact that a fuller life was opening
before her: she was a neophyte about to enter on a higher
grade of initiation. She was going to have room for the
energies which stirred uneasily under the dimness and
pressure of her own ignorance and the petty
peremptoriness of the worlds habits.
Now she would be able to devote herself to large yet
definite duties; now she would be allowed to live
continually in the light of a mind that she could reverence.
This hope was not unmixed with the glow of proud
delightthe joyous maiden surprise that she was chosen
by the man whom her admiration had chosen. All
Dorotheas passion was transfused through a mind
struggling towards an ideal life; the radiance of her
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transfigured girlhood fell on the first object that came
within its level. The impetus with which inclination
became resolution was heightened by those little events of
the day which had roused her discontent with the actual
conditions of her life.
After dinner, when Celia was playing an air, with
variations, a small kind of tinkling which symbolized the
aesthetic part of the young ladies education, Dorothea
went up to her room to answer Mr. Casaubons letter.
Why should she defer the answer? She wrote it over three
times, not because she wished to change the wording, but
because her hand was unusually uncertain, and she could
not bear that Mr. Casaubon should think her handwriting
bad and illegible. She piqued herself on writing a hand in
which each letter was distinguishable without any large
range of conjecture, and she meant to make much use of
this accomplishment, to save Mr. Casaubons eyes. Three
times she wrote.
MY DEAR MR. CASAUBON,I am very grateful
to you for loving me, and thinking me worthy to be your
wife. I can look forward to no better happiness than that
which would be one with yours. If I said more, it would
only be the same thing written out at greater length, for I
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Middlemarch
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cannot now dwell on any other thought than that I may
be through life
Yours devotedly,
DOROTHEA BROOKE.
Later in the evening she followed her uncle into the
library to give him the letter, that he might send it in the
morning. He was surprised, but his surprise only issued in
a few moments silence, during which he pushed about
various objects on his writing-table, and finally stood with
his back to the fire, his glasses on his nose, looking at the
address of Dorotheas letter.
Have you thought enough about this, my dear? he
said at last.
There was no need to think long, uncle. I know of
nothing to make me vacillate. If I changed my mind, it
must be because of something important and entirely new
to me.
Ah!then you have accepted him? Then Chettam has
no chance? Has Chettam offended youoffended you,
you know? What is it you dont like in Chettam?
There is nothing that I like in him, said Dorothea,
rather impetuously.
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Mr. Brooke threw his head and shoulders backward as
if some one had thrown a light missile at him. Dorothea
immediately felt some self-rebuke, and said
I mean in the light of a husband. He is very kind, I
thinkreally very good about the cottages. A well-
meaning man.
But you must have a scholar, and that sort of thing?
Well, it lies a little in our family. I had it myselfthat love
of knowledge, and going into everythinga little too
muchit took me too far; though that sort of thing
doesnt often run in the female-line; or it runs
underground like the rivers in Greece, you knowit
comes out in the sons. Clever sons, clever mothers. I went
a good deal into that, at one time. However, my dear, I
have always said that people should do as they like in these
things, up to a certain point. I couldnt, as your guardian,
have consented to a bad match. But Casaubon stands well:
his position is good. I am afraid Chettam will be hurt,
though, and Mrs. Cadwallader will blame me.
That evening, of course, Celia knew nothing of what
had happened. She attributed Dorotheas abstracted
manner, and the evidence of further crying since they had
got home, to the temper she had been in about Sir James
Chettam and the buildings, and was careful not to give
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further offence: having once said what she wanted to say,
Celia had no disposition to recur to disagreeable subjects.
It had been her nature when a child never to quarrel with
any one only to observe with wonder that they
quarrelled with her, and looked like turkey-cocks;
whereupon she was ready to play at cats cradle with them
whenever they recovered themselves. And as to Dorothea,
it had always been her way to find something wrong in
her sisters words, though Celia inwardly protested that
she always said just how things were, and nothing else: she
never did and never could put words together out of her
own head. But the best of Dodo was, that she did not
keep angry for long together. Now, though they had
hardly spoken to each other all the evening, yet when
Celia put by her work, intending to go to bed, a
proceeding in which she was always much the earlier,
Dorothea, who was seated on a low stool, unable to
occupy herself except in meditation, said, with the musical
intonation which in moments of deep but quiet feeling
made her speech like a fine bit of recitative
Celia, dear, come and kiss me, holding her arms open
as she spoke.
Celia knelt down to get the right level and gave her
little butterfly kiss, while Dorothea encircled her with
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gentle arms and pressed her lips gravely on each cheek in
turn.
Dont sit up, Dodo, you are so pale to-night: go to
bed soon, said Celia, in a comfortable way, without any
touch of pathos.
No, dear, I am very, very happy, said Dorothea,
fervently.
So much the better, thought Celia. But how
strangely Dodo goes from one extreme to the other.
The next day, at luncheon, the butler, handing
something to Mr. Brooke, said, Jonas is come back, sir,
and has brought this letter.
Mr. Brooke read the letter, and then, nodding toward
Dorothea, said, Casaubon, my dear: he will be here to
dinner; he didnt wait to write moredidnt wait, you
know.
It could not seem remarkable to Celia that a dinner
guest should be announced to her sister beforehand, but,
her eyes following the same direction as her uncles, she
was struck with the peculiar effect of the announcement
on Dorothea. It seemed as if something like the reflection
of a white sunlit wing had passed across her features,
ending in one of her rare blushes. For the first time it
entered into Celias mind that there might be something
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more between Mr. Casaubon and her sister than his
delight in bookish talk and her delight in listening.
Hitherto she had classed the admiration for this ugly and
learned acquaintance with the admiration for Monsieur
Liret at Lausanne, also ugly and learned. Dorothea had
never been tired of listening to old Monsieur Liret when
Celias feet were as cold as possible, and when it had really
become dreadful to see the skin of his bald head moving
about. Why then should her enthusiasm not extend to Mr.
Casaubon simply in the same way as to Monsieur Liret?
And it seemed probable that all learned men had a sort of
schoolmasters view of young people.
But now Celia was really startled at the suspicion which
had darted into her mind. She was seldom taken by
surprise in this way, her marvellous quickness in observing
a certain order of signs generally preparing her to expect
such outward events as she had an interest in. Not that she
now imagined Mr. Casaubon to be already an accepted
lover: she had only begun to feel disgust at the possibility
that anything in Dorotheas mind could tend towards such
an issue. Here was something really to vex her about
Dodo: it was all very well not to accept Sir James
Chettam, but the idea of marrying Mr. Casaubon! Celia
felt a sort of shame mingled with a sense of the ludicrous.
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But perhaps Dodo, if she were really bordering on such an
extravagance, might be turned away from it: experience
had often shown that her impressibility might be
calculated on. The day was damp, and they were not
going to walk out, so they both went up to their sitting-
room; and there Celia observed that Dorothea, instead of
settling down with her usual diligent interest to some
occupation, simply leaned her elbow on an open book and
looked out of the window at the great cedar silvered with
the damp. She herself had taken up the making of a toy for
the curates children, and was not going to enter on any
subject too precipitately.
Dorothea was in fact thinking that it was desirable for
Celia to know of the momentous change in Mr.
Casaubons position since he had last been in the house: it
did not seem fair to leave her in ignorance of what would
necessarily affect her attitude towards him; but it was
impossible not to shrink from telling her. Dorothea
accused herself of some meanness in this timidity: it was
always odious to her to have any small fears or
contrivances about her actions, but at this moment she was
seeking the highest aid possible that she might not dread
the corrosiveness of Celias pretty carnally minded prose.
Her reverie was broken, and the difficulty of decision
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banished, by Celias small and rather guttural voice
speaking in its usual tone, of a remark aside or a by the
bye.
Is any one else coming to dine besides Mr. Casaubon?
Not that I know of.
I hope there is some one else. Then I shall not hear
him eat his soup so.
What is there remarkable about his soup-eating?
Really, Dodo, cant you hear how he scrapes his
spoon? And he always blinks before he speaks. I dont
know whether Locke blinked, but Im sure I am sorry for
those who sat opposite to him if he did.
Celia, said Dorothea, with emphatic gravity, pray
dont make any more observations of that kind.
Why not? They are quite true, returned Celia, who
had her reasons for persevering, though she was beginning
to be a little afraid.
Many things are true which only the commonest
minds observe.
Then I think the commonest minds must be rather
useful. I think it is a pity Mr. Casaubons mother had not a
commoner mind: she might have taught him better. Celia
was inwardly frightened, and ready to run away, now she
had hurled this light javelin.
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Dorotheas feelings had gathered to an avalanche, and
there could be no further preparation.
It is right to tell you, Celia, that I am engaged to marry
Mr. Casaubon.
Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before. The
paper man she was making would have had his leg injured,
but for her habitual care of whatever she held in her
hands. She laid the fragile figure down at once, and sat
perfectly still for a few moments. When she spoke there
was a tear gathering
Oh, Dodo, I hope you will be happy. Her sisterly
tenderness could not but surmount other feelings at this
moment, and her fears were the fears of affection.
Dorothea was still hurt and agitated.
It is quite decided, then? said Celia, in an awed under
tone. And uncle knows?
I have accepted Mr. Casaubons offer. My uncle
brought me the letter that contained it; he knew about it
beforehand.
I beg your pardon, if I have said anything to hurt you,
Dodo, said Celia, with a slight sob. She never could have
thought that she should feel as she did. There was
something funereal in the whole affair, and Mr. Casaubon
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seemed to be the officiating clergyman, about whom it
would be indecent to make remarks.
Never mind, Kitty, do not grieve. We should never
admire the same people. I often offend in something of
the same way; I am apt to speak too strongly of those who
dont please me.
In spite of this magnanimity Dorothea was still
smarting: perhaps as much from Celias subdued
astonishment as from her small criticisms. Of course all the
world round Tipton would be out of sympathy with this
marriage. Dorothea knew of no one who thought as she
did about life and its best objects.
Nevertheless before the evening was at an end she was
very happy. In an hours tete-a-tete with Mr. Casaubon
she talked to him with more freedom than she had ever
felt before, even pouring out her joy at the thought of
devoting herself to him, and of learning how she might
best share and further all his great ends. Mr. Casaubon was
touched with an unknown delight (what man would not
have been?) at this childlike unrestrained ardor: he was not
surprised (what lover would have been?) that he should be
the object of it.
My dear young ladyMiss BrookeDorothea! he
said, pressing her hand between his hands, this is a
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happiness greater than I had ever imagined to be in reserve
for me. That I should ever meet with a mind and person
so rich in the mingled graces which could render marriage
desirable, was far indeed from my conception. You have
allnay, more than allthose qualities which I have ever
regarded as the characteristic excellences of womanhood.
The great charm of your sex is its capability of an ardent
self-sacrificing affection, and herein we see its fitness to
round and complete the existence of our own. Hitherto I
have known few pleasures save of the severer kind: my
satisfactions have been those of the solitary student. I have
been little disposed to gather flowers that would wither in
my hand, but now I shall pluck them with eagerness, to
place them in your bosom.
No speech could have been more thoroughly honest in
its intention: the frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as
the bark of a dog, or the cawing of an amorous rook.
Would it not be rash to conclude that there was no
passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as
the thin music of a mandolin?
Dorotheas faith supplied all that Mr. Casaubons words
seemed to leave unsaid: what believer sees a disturbing
omission or infelicity? The text, whether of prophet or of
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poet, expands for whatever we can put into it, and even
his bad grammar is sublime.
I am very ignorantyou will quite wonder at my
ignorance, said Dorothea. I have so many thoughts that
may be quite mistaken; and now I shall be able to tell
them all to you, and ask you about them. But, she added,
with rapid imagination of Mr. Casaubons probable
feeling, I will not trouble you too much; only when you
are inclined to listen to me. You must often be weary with
the pursuit of subjects in your own track. I shall gain
enough if you will take me with you there.
How should I be able now to persevere in any path
without your companionship? said Mr. Casaubon, kissing
her candid brow, and feeling that heaven had vouchsafed
him a blessing in every way suited to his peculiar wants.
He was being unconsciously wrought upon by the charms
of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations
either for immediate effects or for remoter ends. It was this
which made Dorothea so childlike, and, according to
some judges, so stupid, with all her reputed cleverness; as,
for example, in the present case of throwing herself,
metaphorically speaking, at Mr. Casaubons feet, and
kissing his unfashionable shoe-ties as if he were a
Protestant Pope. She was not in the least teaching Mr.
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Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but
merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good
enough for Mr. Casaubon. Before he left the next day it
had been decided that the marriage should take place
within six weeks. Why not? Mr. Casaubons house was
ready. It was not a parsonage, but a considerable mansion,
with much land attached to it. The parsonage was
inhabited by the curate, who did all the duty except
preaching the morning sermon.
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Chapter VI
My ladys tongue is like the meadow blades,
That cut you stroking them with idle hand.
Nice cutting is her function: she divides
With spiritual edge the millet-seed,
And makes intangible savings.
As Mr. Casaubons carriage was passing out of the
gateway, it arrested the entrance of a pony phaeton driven
by a lady with a servant seated behind. It was doubtful
whether the recognition had been mutual, for Mr.
Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady
was quick-eyed, and threw a nod and a How do you do?
in the nick of time. In spite of her shabby bonnet and very
old Indian shawl, it was plain that the lodge-keeper
regarded her as an important personage, from the low
curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small
phaeton.
Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?
said the high-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest
chiselled utterance.
Pretty well for laying, madam, but theyve taen to
eating their eggs: Ive no peace o mind with em at all.
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Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once.
What will you sell them a couple? One cant eat fowls of a
bad character at a high price.
Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldnt let em go, not
under.
Half-a-crown, these times! Come nowfor the
Rectors chicken-broth on a Sunday. He has consumed all
ours that I can spare. You are half paid with the sermon,
Mrs. Fitchett, remember that. Take a pair of tumbler-
pigeons for themlittle beauties. You must come and see
them. You have no tumblers among your pigeons.
Well, madam, Master Fitchett shall go and see em
after work. Hes very hot on new sorts; to oblige you.
Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A
pair of church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish
fowls that eat their own eggs! Dont you and Fitchett boast
too much, that is all!
The phaeton was driven onwards with the last words,
leaving Mrs. Fitchett laughing and shaking her head
slowly, with an interjectional SureLY, sureLY!from
which it might be inferred that she would have found the
country-side somewhat duller if the Rectors lady had
been less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both
the farmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and
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Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation but for
the stories about what Mrs. Cadwallader said and did: a
lady of immeasurably high birth, descended, as it were,
from unknown earls, dim as the crowd of heroic shades
who pleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in
the most companionable manner, though with a turn of
tongue that let you know who she was. Such a lady gave a
neighborliness to both rank and religion, and mitigated the
bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A much more exemplary
character with an infusion of sour dignity would not have
furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles,
and would have been less socially uniting.
Mr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwalladers merits from a
different point of view, winced a little when her name was
announced in the library, where he was sitting alone.
I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here, she said,
seating herself comfortably, throwing back her wraps, and
showing a thin but well-built figure. I suspect you and he
are brewing some bad polities, else you would not be
seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform against
you: remember you are both suspicious characters since
you took Peels side about the Catholic Bill. I shall tell
everybody that you are going to put up for Middlemarch
on the Whig side when old Pinkerton resigns, and that
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Casaubon is going to help you in an underhand manner:
going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open
the public-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!
Nothing of the sort, said Mr. Brooke, smiling and
rubbing his eye-glasses, but really blushing a little at the
impeachment. Casaubon and I dont talk politics much.
He doesnt care much about the philanthropic side of
things; punishments, and that kind of thing. He only cares
about Church questions. That is not my line of action,
you know.
Ra-a-ther too much, my friend. I have heard of your
doings. Who was it that sold his bit of land to the Papists
at Middlemarch? I believe you bought it on purpose. You
are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you are not burnt in effigy
this 5th of November coming. Humphrey would not
come to quarrel with you about it, so I am come.
Very good. I was prepared to be persecuted for not
persecutingnot persecuting, you know.
There you go! That is a piece of clap-trap you have
got ready for the hustings. Now, DO NOT let them lure
you to the hustings, my dear Mr. Brooke. A man always
makes a fool of himself, speechifying: theres no excuse
but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing
on your humming and hawing. You will lose yourself, I
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forewarn you. You will make a Saturday pie of all parties
opinions, and be pelted by everybody.
That is what I expect, you know, said Mr. Brooke,
not wishing to betray how little he enjoyed this prophetic
sketchwhat I expect as an independent man. As to the
Whigs, a man who goes with the thinkers is not likely to
be hooked on by any party. He may go with them up to a
certain pointup to a certain point, you know. But that is
what you ladies never understand.
Where your certain point is? No. I should like to be
told how a man can have any certain point when he
belongs to no partyleading a roving life, and never
letting his friends know his address. Nobody knows
where Brooke will betheres no counting on Brooke
that is what people say of you, to be quite frank. Now, do
turn respectable. How will you like going to Sessions with
everybody looking shy on you, and you with a bad
conscience and an empty pocket?
I dont pretend to argue with a lady on politics, said
Mr. Brooke, with an air of smiling indifference, but
feeling rather unpleasantly conscious that this attack of
Mrs. Cadwalladers had opened the defensive campaign to
which certain rash steps had exposed him. Your sex are
not thinkers, you knowvarium et mutabile semper
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that kind of thing. You dont know Virgil. I knewMr.
Brooke reflected in time that he had not had the personal
acquaintance of the Augustan poetI was going to say,
poor Stoddart, you know. That was what HE said. You
ladies are always against an independent attitudea mans
caring for nothing but truth, and that sort of thing. And
there is no part of the county where opinion is narrower
than it is hereI dont mean to throw stones, you know,
but somebody is wanted to take the independent line; and
if I dont take it, who will?
Who? Why, any upstart who has got neither blood nor
position. People of standing should consume their
independent nonsense at home, not hawk it about. And
you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as your
daughter, to one of our best men. Sir James would be
cruelly annoyed: it will be too hard on him if you turn
round now and make yourself a Whig sign-board.
Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorotheas
engagement had no sooner been decided, than he had
thought of Mrs. Cadwalladers prospective taunts. It might
have been easy for ignorant observers to say, Quarrel with
Mrs. Cadwallader; but where is a country gentleman to
go who quarrels with his oldest neighbors? Who could
taste the fine flavor in the name of Brooke if it were
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delivered casually, like wine without a seal? Certainly a
man can only be cosmopolitan up to a certain point.
I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but
I am sorry to say there is no prospect of his marrying my
niece, said Mr. Brooke, much relieved to see through the
window that Celia was coming in.
Why not? said Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharp note of
surprise. It is hardly a fortnight since you and I were
talking about it.
My niece has chosen another suitorhas chosen him,
you know. I have had nothing to do with it. I should have
preferred Chettam; and I should have said Chettam was
the man any girl would have chosen. But there is no
accounting for these things. Your sex is capricious, you
know.
Why, whom do you mean to say that you are going to
let her marry? Mrs. Cadwalladers mind was rapidly
surveying the possibilities of choice for Dorothea.
But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the
garden, and the greeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke
from the necessity of answering immediately. He got up
hastily, and saying, By the way, I must speak to Wright
about the horses, shuffled quickly out of the room.
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My dear child, what is this?this about your sisters
engagement? said Mrs. Cadwallader.
She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon, said Celia,
resorting, as usual, to the simplest statement of fact, and
enjoying this opportunity of speaking to the Rectors wife
alone.
This is frightful. How long has it been going on?
I only knew of it yesterday. They are to be married in
six weeks.
Well, my dear, I wish you joy of your brother-in-law.
I am so sorry for Dorothea.
Sorry! It is her doing, I suppose.
Yes; she says Mr. Casaubon has a great soul.
With all my heart.
Oh, Mrs. Cadwallader, I dont think it can be nice to
marry a man with a great soul.
Well, my dear, take warning. You know the look of
one now; when the next comes and wants to marry you,
dont you accept him.
Im sure I never should.
No; one such in a family is enough. So your sister
never cared about Sir James Chettam? What would you
have said to HIM for a brother-in-law?
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I should have liked that very much. I am sure he
would have been a good husband. Only, Celia added,
with a slight blush (she sometimes seemed to blush as she
breathed), I dont think he would have suited Dorothea.
Not high-flown enough?
Dodo is very strict. She thinks so much about
everything, and is so particular about what one says. Sir
James never seemed to please her.
She must have encouraged him, I am sure. That is not
very creditable.
Please dont be angry with Dodo; she does not see
things. She thought so much about the cottages, and she
was rude to Sir James sometimes; but he is so kind, he
never noticed it.
Well, said Mrs. Cadwallader, putting on her shawl,
and rising, as if in haste, I must go straight to Sir James
and break this to him. He will have brought his mother
back by this time, and I must call. Your uncle will never
tell him. We are all disappointed, my dear. Young people
should think of their families in marrying. I set a bad
examplemarried a poor clergyman, and made myself a
pitiable object among the De Bracysobliged to get my
coals by stratagem, and pray to heaven for my salad oil.
However, Casaubon has money enough; I must do him
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that justice. As to his blood, I suppose the family
quarterings are three cuttle-fish sable, and a commentator
rampant. By the bye, before I go, my dear, I must speak to
your Mrs. Carter about pastry. I want to send my young
cook to learn of her. Poor people with four children, like
us, you know, cant afford to keep a good cook. I have no
doubt Mrs. Carter will oblige me. Sir Jamess cook is a
perfect dragon.
In less than an hour, Mrs. Cadwallader had
circumvented Mrs. Carter and driven to Freshitt Hall,
which was not far from her own parsonage, her husband
being resident in Freshitt and keeping a curate in Tipton.
Sir James Chettam had returned from the short journey
which had kept him absent for a couple of days, and had
changed his dress, intending to ride over to Tipton
Grange. His horse was standing at the door when Mrs.
Cadwallader drove up, and he immediately appeared there
himself, whip in hand. Lady Chettam had not yet
returned, but Mrs. Cadwalladers errand could not be
despatched in the presence of grooms, so she asked to be
taken into the conservatory close by, to look at the new
plants; and on coming to a contemplative stand, she said
I have a great shock for you; I hope you are not so far
gone in love as you pretended to be.
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It was of no use protesting, against Mrs. Cadwalladers
way of putting things. But Sir Jamess countenance
changed a little. He felt a vague alarm.
I do believe Brooke is going to expose himself after all.
I accused him of meaning to stand for Middlemarch on
the Liberal side, and he looked silly and never denied it
talked about the independent line, and the usual
nonsense.
Is that all? said Sir James, much relieved.
Why, rejoined Mrs. Cadwallader, with a sharper note,
you dont mean to say that you would like him to turn
public man in that waymaking a sort of political Cheap
Jack of himself?
He might be dissuaded, I should think. He would not
like the expense.
That is what I told him. He is vulnerable to reason
therealways a few grains of common-sense in an ounce
of miserliness. Miserliness is a capital quality to run in
families; its the safe side for madness to dip on. And there
must be a little crack in the Brooke family, else we should
not see what we are to see.
What? Brooke standing for Middlemarch?
Worse than that. I really feel a little responsible. I
always told you Miss Brooke would be such a fine match.
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I knew there was a great deal of nonsense in hera flighty
sort of Methodistical stuff. But these things wear out of
girls. However, I am taken by surprise for once.
What do you mean, Mrs. Cadwallader? said Sir James.
His fear lest Miss Brooke should have run away to join the
Moravian Brethren, or some preposterous sect unknown
to good society, was a little allayed by the knowledge that
Mrs. Cadwallader always made the worst of things. What
has happened to Miss Brooke? Pray speak out.
Very well. She is engaged to be married. Mrs.
Cadwallader paused a few moments, observing the deeply
hurt expression in her friends face, which he was trying to
conceal by a nervous smile, while he whipped his boot;
but she soon added, Engaged to Casaubon.
Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it up.
Perhaps his face had never before gathered so much
concentrated disgust as when he turned to Mrs.
Cadwallader and repeated, Casaubon?
Even so. You know my errand now.
Good God! It is horrible! He is no better than a
mummy! (The point of view has to be allowed for, as that
of a blooming and disappointed rival.)
She says, he is a great soul.A great bladder for dried
peas to rattle in! said Mrs. Cadwallader.
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What business has an old bachelor like that to marry?
said Sir James. He has one foot in the grave.
He means to draw it out again, I suppose.
Brooke ought not to allow it: he should insist on its
being put off till she is of age. She would think better of it
then. What is a guardian for?
As if you could ever squeeze a resolution out of
Brooke!
Cadwallader might talk to him.
Not he! Humphrey finds everybody charming I never
can get him to abuse Casaubon. He will even speak well
of the bishop, though I tell him it is unnatural in a
beneficed clergyman; what can one do with a husband
who attends so little to the decencies? I hide it as well as I
can by abusing everybody myself. Come, come, cheer up!
you are well rid of Miss Brooke, a girl who would have
been requiring you to see the stars by daylight. Between
ourselves, little Celia is worth two of her, and likely after
all to be the better match. For this marriage to Casaubon is
as good as going to a nunnery.
Oh, on my own accountit is for Miss Brookes sake
I think her friends should try to use their influence.
Well, Humphrey doesnt know yet. But when I tell
him, you may depend on it he will say, Why not?
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Casaubon is a good fellowand youngyoung enough.
These charitable people never know vinegar from wine till
they have swallowed it and got the colic. However, if I
were a man I should prefer Celia, especially when
Dorothea was gone. The truth is, you have been courting
one and have won the other. I can see that she admires
you almost as much as a man expects to be admired. If it
were any one but me who said so, you might think it
exaggeration. Good-by!
Sir James handed Mrs. Cadwallader to the phaeton, and
then jumped on his horse. He was not going to renounce
his ride because of his friends unpleasant newsonly to
ride the faster in some other direction than that of Tipton
Grange.
Now, why on earth should Mrs. Cadwallader have
been at all busy about Miss Brookes marriage; and why,
when one match that she liked to think she had a hand in
was frustrated, should she have straightway contrived the
preliminaries of another? Was there any ingenious plot,
any hide-and-seek course of action, which might be
detected by a careful telescopic watch? Not at all: a
telescope might have swept the parishes of Tipton and
Freshitt, the whole area visited by Mrs. Cadwallader in her
phaeton, without witnessing any interview that could
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excite suspicion, or any scene from which she did not
return with the same unperturbed keenness of eye and the
same high natural color. In fact, if that convenient vehicle
had existed in the days of the Seven Sages, one of them
would doubtless have remarked, that you can know little
of women by following them about in their pony-
phaetons. Even with a microscope directed on a water-
drop we find ourselves making interpretations which turn
out to be rather coarse; for whereas under a weak lens you
may seem to see a creature exhibiting an active voracity
into which other smaller creatures actively play as if they
were so many animated tax-pennies, a stronger lens reveals
to you certain tiniest hairlets which make vortices for
these victims while the swallower waits passively at his
receipt of custom. In this way, metaphorically speaking, a
strong lens applied to Mrs. Cadwalladers match-making
will show a play of minute causes producing what may be
called thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort of
food she needed. Her life was rurally simple, quite free
from secrets either foul, dangerous, or otherwise
important, and not consciously affected by the great affairs
of the world. All the more did the affairs of the great
world interest her, when communicated in the letters of
high-born relations: the way in which fascinating younger
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sons had gone to the dogs by marrying their mistresses; the
fine old-blooded idiocy of young Lord Tapir, and the
furious gouty humors of old Lord Megatherium; the exact
crossing of genealogies which had brought a coronet into
a new branch and widened the relations of scandal,these
were topics of which she retained details with the utmost
accuracy, and reproduced them in an excellent pickle of
epigrams, which she herself enjoyed the more because she
believed as unquestionably in birth and no-birth as she did
in game and vermin. She would never have disowned any
one on the ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take
his dinner in a basin would have seemed to her an
example of pathos worth exaggerating, and I fear his
aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But her
feeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious
hatred: they had probably made all their money out of
high retail prices, and Mrs. Cadwallader detested high
prices for everything that was not paid in kind at the
Rectory: such people were no part of Gods design in
making the world; and their accent was an affliction to the
ears. A town where such monsters abounded was hardly
more than a sort of low comedy, which could not be
taken account of in a well-bred scheme of the universe.
Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs.
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Cadwallader inquire into the comprehensiveness of her
own beautiful views, and be quite sure that they afford
accommodation for all the lives which have the honor to
coexist with hers.
With such a mind, active as phosphorus, biting
everything that came near into the form that suited it,
how could Mrs. Cadwallader feel that the Miss Brookes
and their matrimonial prospects were alien to her?
especially as it had been the habit of years for her to scold
Mr. Brooke with the friendliest frankness, and let him
know in confidence that she thought him a poor creature.
From the first arrival of the young ladies in Tipton she had
prearranged Dorotheas marriage with Sir James, and if it
had taken place would have been quite sure that it was her
doing: that it should not take place after she had
preconceived it, caused her an irritation which every
thinker will sympathize with. She was the diplomatist of
Tipton and Freshitt, and for anything to happen in spite of
her was an offensive irregularity. As to freaks like this of
Miss Brookes, Mrs. Cadwallader had no patience with
them, and now saw that her opinion of this girl had been
infected with some of her husbands weak charitableness:
those Methodistical whims, that air of being more
religious than the rector and curate together, came from a
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deeper and more constitutional disease than she had been
willing to believe.
However, said Mrs. Cadwallader, first to herself and
afterwards to her husband, I throw her over: there was a
chance, if she had married Sir James, of her becoming a
sane, sensible woman. He would never have contradicted
her, and when a woman is not contradicted, she has no
motive for obstinacy in her absurdities. But now I wish
her joy of her hair shirt.
It followed that Mrs. Cadwallader must decide on
another match for Sir James, and having made up her
mind that it was to be the younger Miss Brooke, there
could not have been a more skilful move towards the
success of her plan than her hint to the baronet that he had
made an impression on Celias heart. For he was not one
of those gentlemen who languish after the unattainable
Sapphos apple that laughs from the topmost boughthe
charms which
Smile like the knot of cowslips on the cliff,
Not to be come at by the willing hand.
He had no sonnets to write, and it could not strike him
agreeably that he was not an object of preference to the
woman whom he had preferred. Already the knowledge
that Dorothea had chosen Mr. Casaubon had bruised his
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attachment and relaxed its hold. Although Sir James was a
sportsman, he had some other feelings towards women
than towards grouse and foxes, and did not regard his
future wife in the light of prey, valuable chiefly for the
excitements of the chase. Neither was he so well
acquainted with the habits of primitive races as to feel that
an ideal combat for her, tomahawk in hand, so to speak,
was necessary to the historical continuity of the marriage-
tie. On the contrary, having the amiable vanity which
knits us to those who are fond of us, and disinclines us to
those who are indifferent, and also a good grateful nature,
the mere idea that a woman had a kindness towards him
spun little threads of tenderness from out his heart towards
hers.
Thus it happened, that after Sir James had ridden rather
fast for half an hour in a direction away from Tipton
Grange, he slackened his pace, and at last turned into a
road which would lead him back by a shorter cut. Various
feelings wrought in him the determination after all to go
to the Grange to-day as if nothing new had happened. He
could not help rejoicing that he had never made the offer
and been rejected; mere friendly politeness required that
he should call to see Dorothea about the cottages, and
now happily Mrs. Cadwallader had prepared him to offer
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his congratulations, if necessary, without showing too
much awkwardness. He really did not like it: giving up
Dorothea was very painful to him; but there was
something in the resolve to make this visit forthwith and
conquer all show of feeling, which was a sort of file-biting
and counter-irritant. And without his distinctly
recognizing the impulse, there certainly was present in
him the sense that Celia would be there, and that he
should pay her more attention than he had done before.
We mortals, men and women, devour many a
disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep
back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in
answer to inquiries say, Oh, nothing! Pride helps us; and
pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our
own hurtsnot to hurt others.
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Chapter VII
Piacer e popone
Vuol la sua stagione.
Italian Proverb.
Mr. Casaubon, as might be expected, spent a great deal
of his time at the Grange in these weeks, and the
hindrance which courtship occasioned to the progress of
his great workthe Key to all Mythologiesnaturally
made him look forward the more eagerly to the happy
termination of courtship. But he had deliberately incurred
the hindrance, having made up his mind that it was now
time for him to adorn his life with the graces of female
companionship, to irradiate the gloom which fatigue was
apt to hang over the intervals of studious labor with the
play of female fancy, and to secure in this, his culminating
age, the solace of female tendance for his declining years.
Hence he determined to abandon himself to the stream of
feeling, and perhaps was surprised to find what an
exceedingly shallow rill it was. As in droughty regions
baptism by immersion could only be performed
symbolically, Mr. Casaubon found that sprinkling was the
utmost approach to a plunge which his stream would
afford him; and he concluded that the poets had much
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exaggerated the force of masculine passion. Nevertheless,
he observed with pleasure that Miss Brooke showed an
ardent submissive affection which promised to fulfil his
most agreeable previsions of marriage. It had once or
twice crossed his mind that possibly there, was some
deficiency in Dorothea to account for the moderation of
his abandonment; but he was unable to discern the
deficiency, or to figure to himself a woman who would
have pleased him better; so that there was clearly no
reason to fall back upon but the exaggerations of human
tradition.
Could I not be preparing myself now to be more
useful? said Dorothea to him, one morning, early in the
time of courtship; could I not learn to read Latin and
Greek aloud to you, as Miltons daughters did to their
father, without understanding what they read?
I fear that would be wearisome to you, said Mr.
Casaubon, smiling; and, indeed, if I remember rightly, the
young women you have mentioned regarded that exercise
in unknown tongues as a ground for rebellion against the
poet.
Yes; but in the first place they were very naughty girls,
else they would have been proud to minister to such a
father; and in the second place they might have studied
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privately and taught themselves to understand what they
read, and then it would have been interesting. I hope you
dont expect me to be naughty and stupid?
I expect you to be all that an exquisite young lady can
be in every possible relation of life. Certainly it might be a
great advantage if you were able to copy the Greek
character, and to that end it were well to begin with a
little reading.
Dorothea seized this as a precious permission. She
would not have asked Mr. Casaubon at once to teach her
the languages, dreading of all things to be tiresome instead
of helpful; but it was not entirely out of devotion to her
future husband that she wished to know Latin and Creek.
Those provinces of masculine knowledge seemed to her a
standing-ground from which all truth could be seen more
truly. As it was, she constantly doubted her own
conclusions, because she felt her own ignorance: how
could she be confident that one-roomed cottages were not
for the glory of God, when men who knew the classics
appeared to conciliate indifference to the cottages with
zeal for the glory? Perhaps even Hebrew might be
necessaryat least the alphabet and a few rootsin order
to arrive at the core of things, and judge soundly on the
social duties of the Christian. And she had not reached
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that point of renunciation at which she would have been
satisfier with having a wise husband: she wished, poor
child, to be wise herself. Miss Brooke was certainly very
naive with al: her alleged cleverness. Celia, whose mind
had never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness
of other peoples pretensions much more readily. To have
in general but little feeling, seems to be the only security
against feeling too much on any particular occasion.
However, Mr. Casaubon consented to listen and teach
for an hour together, like a schoolmaster of little boys, or
rather like a lover, to whom a mistresss elementary
ignorance and difficulties have a touching fitness. Few
scholars would have disliked teaching the alphabet under
such circumstances. But Dorothea herself was a little
shocked and discouraged at her own stupidity, and the
answers she got to some timid questions about the value of
the Greek accents gave her a painful suspicion that here
indeed there might be secrets not capable of explanation to
a womans reason.
Mr. Brooke had no doubt on that point, and expressed
himself with his usual strength upon it one day that he
came into the library while the reading was going forward.
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Middlemarch
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Well, but now, Casaubon, such deep studies, classics,
mathematics, that kind of thing, are too taxing for a
womantoo taxing, you know.
Dorothea is learning to read the characters simply, said
Mr. Casaubon, evading the question. She had the very
considerate thought of saving my eyes.
Ah, well, without understanding, you knowthat
may not be so bad. But there is a lightness about the
feminine minda touch and gomusic, the fine arts, that
kind of thingthey should study those up to a certain
point, women should; but in a light way, you know. A
woman should be able to sit down and play you or sing
you a good old English tune. That is what I like; though I
have heard most thingsbeen at the opera in Vienna:
Gluck, Mozart, everything of that sort. But Im a
conservative in musicits not like ideas, you know. I
stick to the good old tunes.
Mr. Casaubon is not fond of the piano, and I am very
glad he is not, said Dorothea, whose slight regard for
domestic music and feminine fine art must be forgiven
her, considering the small tinkling and smearing in which
they chiefly consisted at that dark period. She smiled and
looked up at her betrothed with grateful eyes. If he had
always been asking her to play the Last Rose of Summer,
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she would have required much resignation. He says there
is only an old harpsichord at Lowick, and it is covered
with books.
Ah, there you are behind Celia, my dear. Celia, now,
plays very prettily, and is always ready to play. However,
since Casaubon does not like it, you are all right. But its a
pity you should not have little recreations of that sort,
Casaubon: the bow always strungthat kind of thing, you
knowwill not do.
I never could look on it in the light of a recreation to
have my ears teased with measured noises, said Mr.
Casaubon. A tune much iterated has the ridiculous effect
of making the words in my mind perform a sort of minuet
to keep timean effect hardly tolerable, I imagine, after
boyhood. As to the grander forms of music, worthy to
accompany solemn celebrations, and even to serve as an
educating influence according to the ancient conception, I
say nothing, for with these we are not immediately
concerned.
No; but music of that sort I should enjoy, said
Dorothea. When we were coming home from Lausanne
my uncle took us to hear the great organ at Freiberg, and
it made me sob.
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That kind of thing is not healthy, my dear, said Mr.
Brooke. Casaubon, she will be in your hands now: you
must teach my niece to take things more quietly, eh,
Dorothea?
He ended with a smile, not wishing to hurt his niece,
but really thinking that it was perhaps better for her to be
early married to so sober a fellow as Casaubon, since she
would not hear of Chettam.
It is wonderful, though, he said to himself as he
shuffled out of the roomit is wonderful that she should
have liked him. However, the match is good. I should
have been travelling out of my brief to have hindered it,
let Mrs. Cadwallader say what she will. He is pretty certain
to be a bishop, is Casaubon. That was a very seasonable
pamphlet of his on the Catholic Question:a deanery at
least. They owe him a deanery.
And here I must vindicate a claim to philosophical
reflectiveness, by remarking that Mr. Brooke on this
occasion little thought of the Radical speech which, at a
later period, he was led to make on the incomes of the
bishops. What elegant historian would neglect a striking
opportunity for pointing out that his heroes did not
foresee the history of the world, or even their own
actions?For example, that Henry of Navarre, when a
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Protestant baby, little thought of being a Catholic
monarch; or that Alfred the Great, when he measured his
laborious nights with burning candles, had no idea of
future gentlemen measuring their idle days with watches.
Here is a mine of truth, which, however vigorously it may
be worked, is likely to outlast our coal.
But of Mr. Brooke I make a further remark perhaps less
warranted by precedentnamely, that if he had
foreknown his speech, it might not have made any great
difference. To think with pleasure of his nieces husband
having a large ecclesiastical income was one thingto
make a Liberal speech was another thing; and it is a
narrow mind which cannot look at a subject from various
points of view.
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Chapter VIII
Oh, rescue her! I am her brother now,
And you her father. Every gentle maid
Should have a guardian in each gentleman.
It was wonderful to Sir James Chettam how well he
continued to like going to the Grange after he had once
encountered the difficulty of seeing Dorothea for the first
time in the light of a woman who was engaged to another
man. Of course the forked lightning seemed to pass
through him when he first approached her, and he
remained conscious throughout the interview of hiding
uneasiness; but, good as he was, it must be owned that his
uneasiness was less than it would have been if he had
thought his rival a brilliant and desirable match. He had no
sense of being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon; he was only
shocked that Dorothea was under a melancholy illusion,
and his mortification lost some of its bitterness by being
mingled with compassion.
Nevertheless, while Sir James said to himself that he
had completely resigned her, since with the perversity of a
Desdemona she had not affected a proposed match that
was clearly suitable and according to nature; he could not
yet be quite passive under the idea of her engagement to
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Mr. Casaubon. On the day when he first saw them
together in the light of his present knowledge, it seemed
to him that he had not taken the affair seriously enough.
Brooke was really culpable; he ought to have hindered it.
Who could speak to him? Something might be done
perhaps even now, at least to defer the marriage. On his
way home he turned into the Rectory and asked for Mr.
Cadwallader. Happily, the Rector was at home, and his
visitor was shown into the study, where all the fishing
tackle hung. But he himself was in a little room adjoining,
at work with his turning apparatus, and he called to the
baronet to join him there. The two were better friends
than any other landholder and clergyman in the countya
significant fact which was in agreement with the amiable
expression of their faees.
Mr. Cadwallader was a large man, with full lips and a
sweet smile; very plain and rough in his exterior, but with
that solid imperturbable ease and good-humor which is
infectious, and like great grassy hills in the sunshine, quiets
even an irritated egoism, and makes it rather ashamed of
itself. Well, how are you? he said, showing a hand not
quite fit to be grasped. Sorry I missed you before. Is there
anything particular? You look vexed.
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Sir Jamess brow had a little crease in it, a little
depression of the eyebrow, which he seemed purposely to
exaggerate as he answered.
It is only this conduct of Brookes. I really think
somebody should speak to him.
What? meaning to stand? said Mr. Cadwallader, going
on with the arrangement of the reels which he had just
been turning. I hardly think he means it. But wheres the
harm, if he likes it? Any one who objects to Whiggery
should be glad when the Whigs dont put up the strongest
fellow. They wont overturn the Constitution with our
friend Brookes head for a battering ram.
Oh, I dont mean that, said Sir James, who, after
putting down his hat and throwing himself into a chair,
had begun to nurse his leg and examine the sole of his
boot with much bitterness. I mean this marriage. I mean
his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon.
What is the matter with Casaubon? I see no harm in
himif the girl likes him.
She is too young to know what she likes. Her guardian
ought to interfere. He ought not to allow the thing to be
done in this headlong manner. I wonder a man like you,
Cadwalladera man with daughters, can look at the affair
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with indifference: and with such a heart as yours! Do think
seriously about it.
I am not joking; I am as serious as possible, said the
Rector, with a provoking little inward laugh. You are as
bad as Elinor. She has been wanting me to go and lecture
Brooke; and I have reminded her that her friends had a
very poor opinion of the match she made when she
married me.
But look at Casaubon, said Sir James, indignantly. He
must be fifty, and I dont believe he could ever have been
much more than the shadow of a man. Look at his legs!
Confound you handsome young fellows! you think of
having it all your own way in the world. Tou dont under
stand women. They dont admire you half so much as you
admire yourselves. Elinor used to tell her sisters that she
married me for my uglinessit was so various and
amusing that it had quite conquered her prudence.
You! it was easy enough for a woman to love you. But
this is no question of beauty. I dont LIKE Casaubon.
This was Sir Jamess strongest way of implying that he
thought ill of a mans character.
Why? what do you know against him? said the
Rector laying down his reels, and putting his thumbs into
his armholes with an air of attention.
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Sir James paused. He did not usually find it easy to give
his reasons: it seemed to him strange that people should
not know them without being told, since he only felt
what was reasonable. At last he said
Now, Cadwallader, has he got any heart?
Well, yes. I dont mean of the melting sort, but a
sound kernel, THAT you may be sure of. He is very good
to his poor relations: pensions several of the women, and is
educating a young fellow at a good deal of expense.
Casaubon acts up to his sense of justice. His mothers sister
made a bad matcha Pole, I thinklost herselfat any
rate was disowned by her family. If it had not been for
that, Casaubon would not have had so much money by
half. I believe he went himself to find out his cousins, and
see what he could do for them. Every man would not ring
so well as that, if you tried his metal. YOU would,
Chettam; but not every man.
I dont know, said Sir James, coloring. I am not so
sure of myself. He paused a moment, and then added,
That was a right thing for Casaubon to do. But a man
may wish to do what is right, and yet be a sort of
parchment code. A woman may not be happy with him.
And I think when a girl is so young as Miss Brooke is, her
friends ought to interfere a little to hinder her from doing
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anything foolish. You laugh, because you fancy I have
some feeling on my own account. But upon my honor, it
is not that. I should feel just the same if I were Miss
Brookes brother or uncle.
Well, but what should you do?
I should say that the marriage must not be decided on
until she was of age. And depend upon it, in that case, it
would never come off. I wish you saw it as I doI wish
you would talk to Brooke about it.
Sir James rose as he was finishing his sentence, for he
saw Mrs. Cadwallader entering from the study. She held
by the hand her youngest girl, about five years old, who
immediately ran to papa, and was made comfortable on his
knee.
I hear what you are talking about, said the wife. But
you will make no impression on Humphrey. As long as
the fish rise to his bait, everybody is what he ought to be.
Bless you, Casaubon has got a trout-stream, and does not
care about fishing in it himself: could there be a better
fellow?
Well, there is something in that, said the Rector, with
his quiet, inward laugh. It is a very good quality in a man
to have a trout-stream.
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But seriously, said Sir James, whose vexation had not
yet spent itself, dont you think the Rector might do
some good by speaking?
Oh, I told you beforehand what he would say,
answered Mrs. Cadwallader, lifting up her eyebrows. I
have done what I could: I wash my hands of the marriage.
In the first place, said the Rector, looking rather
grave, it would be nonsensical to expect that I could
convince Brooke, and make him act accordingly. Brooke
is a very good fellow, but pulpy; he will run into any
mould, but he wont keep shape.
He might keep shape long enough to defer the
marriage, said Sir James.
But, my dear Chettam, why should I use my influence
to Casaubons disadvantage, unless I were much surer than
I am that I should be acting for the advantage of Miss
Brooke? I know no harm of Casaubon. I dont care about
his Xisuthrus and Fee-fo-fum and the rest; but then he
doesnt care about my fishing-tackle. As to the line he
took on the Catholic Question, that was unexpected; but
he has always been civil to me, and I dont see why I
should spoil his sport. For anything I can tell, Miss Brooke
may be happier with him than she would be with any
other man.
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Humphrey! I have no patience with you. You know
you would rather dine under the hedge than with
Casaubon alone. You have nothing to say to each other.
What has that to do with Miss Brookes marrying him?
She does not do it for my amusement.
He has got no good red blood in his body, said Sir
James.
No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying-glass
and it was all semicolons and parentheses, said Mrs.
Cadwallader.
Why does he not bring out his book, instead of
marrying, said Sir James, with a disgust which he held
warranted by the sound feeling of an English layman.
Oh, he dreams footnotes, and they run away with all
his brains. They say, when he was a little boy, he made an
abstract of Hop o my Thumb, and he has been making
abstracts ever since. Ugh! And that is the man Humphrey
goes on saying that a woman may be happy with.
Well, he is what Miss Brooke likes, said the Rector. I
dont profess to understand every young ladys taste.
But if she were your own daughter? said Sir James.
That would be a different affair. She is NOT my
daughter, and I dont feel called upon to interfere.
Casaubon is as good as most of us. He is a scholarly
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Middlemarch
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clergyman, and creditable to the cloth. Some Radical
fellow speechifying at Middlemarch said Casaubon was the
learned straw-chopping incumbent, and Freke was the
brick-and-mortar incumbent, and I was the angling
incumbent. And upon my word, I dont see that one is
worse or better than the other. The Rector ended with
his silent laugh. He always saw the joke of any satire
against himself. His conscience was large and easy, like the
rest of him: it did only what it could do without any
trouble.
Clearly, there would be no interference with Miss
Brookes marriage through Mr. Cadwallader; and Sir
James felt with some sadness that she was to have perfect
liberty of misjudgment. It was a sign of his good
disposition that he did not slacken at all in his intention of
carrying out Dorotheas de. sign of the cottages. Doubtless
this persistence was the best course for his own dignity:
but pride only helps us to be generous; it never makes us
so, any more than vanity makes us witty. She was now
enough aware of Sir Jamess position with regard to her, to
appreciate the rectitude of his perseverance in a landlords
duty, to which he had at first been urged by a lovers
complaisance, and her pleasure in it was great enough to
count for something even in her present happiness. Per.
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haps she gave to Sir James Chettams cottages all the
interest she could spare from Mr. Casaubon, or rather
from the symphony of hopeful dreams, admiring trust, and
passionate self devotion which that learned gentleman had
set playing in her soul. Hence it happened that in the good
baronets succeed ing visits, while he was beginning to pay
small attentions to Celia, he found himself talking with
more and more pleasure to Dorothea. She was perfectly
unconstrained and without irritation towards him now,
and he was gradually discovering the delight there is in
frank kindness and companionship between a man and a
woman who have no passion to hide or confess.
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Chapter IX
1st Gent. An ancient land in ancient oracles
Is called law-thirsty": all the struggle there
Was after order and a perfect rule.
Pray, where lie such lands now?
2d Gent. Why, where they lay of oldin human souls.
Mr. Casaubons behavior about settlements was highly
satisfactory to Mr. Brooke, and the preliminaries of
marriage rolled smoothly along, shortening the weeks of
courtship. The betrothed bride must see her future home,
and dictate any changes that she would like to have made
there. A woman dictates before marriage in order that she
may have an appetite for submission afterwards. And
certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals
make when we have our own way might fairly raise some
wonder that we are so fond of it.
On a gray but dry November morning Dorothea drove
to Lowick in company with her uncle and Celia. Mr.
Casaubons home was the manor-house. Close by, visible
from some parts of the garden, was the little church, with
the old parsonage opposite. In the beginning of his career,
Mr. Casaubon had only held the living, but the death of
his brother had put him in possession of the manor also. It
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had a small park, with a fine old oak here and there, and
an avenue of limes towards the southwest front, with a
sunk fence between park and pleasure-ground, so that
from the drawing-room windows the glance swept
uninterruptedly along a slope of greensward till the limes
ended in a level of corn and pastures, which often seemed
to melt into a lake under the setting sun. This was the
happy side of the house, for the south and east looked
rather melancholy even under the brightest morning. The
grounds here were more confined, the flower-beds
showed no very careful tendance, and large clumps of
trees, chiefly of sombre yews, had risen high, not ten yards
from the windows. The building, of greenish stone, was in
the old English style, not ugly, but small-windowed and
melancholy-looking: the sort of house that must have
children, many flowers, open windows, and little vistas of
bright things, to make it seem a joyous home. In this latter
end of autumn, with a sparse remnant of yellow leaves
falling slowly athwart the dark evergreens in a stillness
without sunshine, the house too had an air of autumnal
decline, and Mr. Casaubon, when he presented himself,
had no bloom that could be thrown into relief by that
background.
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Oh dear! Celia said to herself, I am sure Freshitt Hall
would have been pleasanter than this. She thought of the
white freestone, the pillared portico, and the terrace full of
flowers, Sir James smiling above them like a prince issuing
from his enchantment in a rose-bush, with a handkerchief
swiftly metamorphosed from the most delicately odorous
petalsSir James, who talked so agreeably, always about
things which had common-sense in them, and not about
learning! Celia had those light young feminine tastes
which grave and weatherworn gentlemen sometimes
prefer in a wife; but happily Mr. Casaubons bias had been
different, for he would have had no chance with Celia.
Dorothea, on the contrary, found the house and
grounds all that she could wish: the dark book-shelves in
the long library, the carpets and curtains with colors
subdued by time, the curious old maps and birds-eye
views on the walls of the corridor, with here and there an
old vase below, had no oppression for her, and seemed
more cheerful than the easts and pictures at the Grange,
which her uncle had long ago brought home from his
travelsthey being probably among the ideas he had
taken in at one time. To poor Dorothea these severe
classical nudities and smirking Renaissance-Correggiosities
were painfully inexplicable, staring into the midst of her
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Puritanic conceptions: she had never been taught how she
could bring them into any sort of relevance with her life.
But the owners of Lowick apparently had not been
travellers, and Mr. Casaubons studies of the past were not
carried on by means of such aids.
Dorothea walked about the house with delightful
emotion. Everything seemed hallowed to her: this was to
be the home of her wifehood, and she looked up with
eyes full of confidence to Mr. Casaubon when he drew
her attention specially to some actual arrangement and
asked her if she would like an alteration. All appeals to her
taste she met gratefully, but saw nothing to alter. His
efforts at exact courtesy and formal tenderness had no
defect for her. She filled up all blanks with unmanifested
perfections, interpreting him as she interpreted the works
of Providence, and accounting for seeming discords by her
own deafness to the higher harmonies. And there are
many blanks left in the weeks of courtship which a loving
faith fills with happy assurance.
Now, my dear Dorothea, I wish you to favor me by
pointing out which room you would like to have as your
boudoir, said Mr. Casaubon, showing that his views of
the womanly nature were sufficiently large to include that
requirement.
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It is very kind of you to think of that, said Dorothea,
but I assure you I would rather have all those matters
decided for me. I shall be much happier to take everything
as it isjust as you have been used to have it, or as you
will yourself choose it to be. I have no motive for wishing
anything else.
Oh, Dodo, said Celia, will you not have the bow-
windowed room up-stairs?
Mr. Casaubon led the way thither. The bow-window
looked down the avenue of limes; the furniture was all of
a faded blue, and there were miniatures of ladies and
gentlemen with powdered hair hanging in a group. A
piece of tapestry over a door also showed a blue-green
world with a pale stag in it. The chairs and tables were
thin-legged and easy to upset. It was a room where one
might fancy the ghost of a tight-laced lady revisiting the
scene of her embroidery. A light bookcase contained
duodecimo volumes of polite literature in calf, completing
the furniture.
Yes, said Mr. Brooke, this would be a pretty room
with some new hangings, sofas, and that sort of thing. A
little bare now.
No, uncle, said Dorothea, eagerly. Pray do not speak
of altering anything. There are so many other things in the
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world that want alteringI like to take these things as
they are. And you like them as they are, dont you? she
added, looking at Mr. Casaubon. Perhaps this was your
mothers room when she was young.
It was, he said, with his slow bend of the head.
This is your mother, said Dorothea, who had turned
to examine the group of miniatures. It is like the tiny one
you brought me; only, I should think, a better portrait.
And this one opposite, who is this?
Her elder sister. They were, like you and your sister,
the only two children of their parents, who hang above
them, you see.
The sister is pretty, said Celia, implying that she
thought less favorably of Mr. Casaubons mother. It was a
new open ing to Celias imagination, that he came of a
family who had all been young in their timethe ladies
wearing necklaces.
It is a peculiar face, said Dorothea, looking closely.
Those deep gray eyes rather near togetherand the
delicate irregular nose with a sort of ripple in itand all
the powdered curls hanging backward. Altogether it seems
to me peculiar rather than pretty. There is not even a
family likeness between her and your mother.
No. And they were not alike in their lot.
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You did not mention her to me, said Dorothea.
My aunt made an unfortunate marriage. I never saw
her.
Dorothea wondered a little, but felt that it would be
indelicate just then to ask for any information which Mr.
Casaubon did not proffer, and she turned to the window
to admire the view. The sun had lately pierced the gray,
and the avenue of limes cast shadows.
Shall we not walk in the garden now? said Dorothea.
And you would like to see the church, you know,
said Mr. Brooke. It is a droll little church. And the
village. It all lies in a nut-shell. By the way, it will suit
you, Dorothea; for the cottages are like a row of alms-
houseslittle gardens, gilly-flowers, that sort of thing.
Yes, please, said Dorothea, looking at Mr. Casaubon,
I should like to see all that. She had got nothing from
him more graphic about the Lowick cottages than that
they were not bad.
They were soon on a gravel walk which led chiefly
between grassy borders and clumps of trees, this being the
nearest way to the church, Mr. Casaubon said. At the little
gate leading into the churchyard there was a pause while
Mr. Casaubon went to the parsonage close by to fetch a
key. Celia, who had been hanging a little in the rear, came
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up presently, when she saw that Mr. Casaubon was gone
away, and said in her easy staccato, which always seemed
to contradict the suspicion of any malicious intent
Do you know, Dorothea, I saw some one quite young
coming up one of the walks.
Is that astonishing, Celia?
There may be a young gardener, you knowwhy
not? said Mr. Brooke. I told Casaubon he should change
his gardener.
No, not a gardener, said Celia; a gentleman with a
sketch-book. He had light-brown curls. I only saw his
back. But he was quite young.
The curates son, perhaps, said Mr. Brooke. Ah, there
is Casaubon again, and Tucker with him. He is going to
introduce Tucker. You dont know Tucker yet.
Mr. Tucker was the middle-aged curate, one of the
inferior clergy, who are usually not wanting in sons. But
after the introduction, the conversation did not lead to any
question about his family, and the startling apparition of
youthfulness was forgotten by every one but Celia. She
inwardly declined to believe that the light-brown curls and
slim figure could have any relationship to Mr. Tucker,
who was just as old and musty-looking as she would have
expected Mr. Casaubons curate to be; doubtless an
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excellent man who would go to heaven (for Celia wished
not to be unprincipled), but the corners of his mouth were
so unpleasant. Celia thought with some dismalness of the
time she should have to spend as bridesmaid at Lowick,
while the curate had probably no pretty little children
whom she could like, irrespective of principle.
Mr. Tucker was invaluable in their walk; and perhaps
Mr. Casaubon had not been without foresight on this
head, the curate being able to answer all Dorotheas
questions about the villagers and the other parishioners.
Everybody, he assured her, was well off in Lowick: not a
cottager in those double cottages at a low rent but kept a
pig, and the strips of garden at the back were well tended.
The small boys wore excellent corduroy, the girls went
out as tidy servants, or did a little straw-plaiting at home:
no looms here, no Dissent; and though the public
disposition was rather towards laying by money than
towards spirituality, there was not much vice. The
speckled fowls were so numerous that Mr. Brooke
observed, Your farmers leave some barley for the women
to glean, I see. The poor folks here might have a fowl in
their pot, as the good French king used to wish for all his
people. The French eat a good many fowlsskinny fowls,
you know.
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I think it was a very cheap wish of his, said Dorothea,
indignantly. Are kings such monsters that a wish like that
must be reckoned a royal virtue?
And if he wished them a skinny fowl, said Celia, that
would not be nice. But perhaps he wished them to have
fat fowls.
Yes, but the word has dropped out of the text, or
perhaps was subauditum; that is, present in the kings
mind, but not uttered, said Mr. Casaubon, smiling and
bending his head towards Celia, who immediately
dropped backward a little, because she could not bear Mr.
Casaubon to blink at her.
Dorothea sank into silence on the way back to the
house. She felt some disappointment, of which she was yet
ashamed, that there was nothing for her to do in Lowick;
and in the next few minutes her mind had glanced over
the possibility, which she would have preferred, of finding
that her home would be in a parish which had a larger
share of the worlds misery, so that she might have had
more active duties in it. Then, recurring to the future
actually before her, she made a picture of more complete
devotion to Mr. Casaubons aims in which she would
await new duties. Many such might reveal themselves to
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the higher knowledge gained by her in that
companionship.
Mr. Tucker soon left them, having some clerical work
which would not allow him to lunch at the Hall; and as
they were re-entering the garden through the little gate,
Mr. Casaubon said
You seem a little sad, Dorothea. I trust you are pleased
with what you have seen.
I am feeling something which is perhaps foolish and
wrong, answered Dorothea, with her usual openness
almost wishing that the people wanted more to be done
for them here. I have known so few ways of making my
life good for anything. Of course, my notions of usefulness
must be narrow. I must learn new ways of helping
people.
Doubtless, said Mr. Casaubon. Each position has its
corresponding duties. Yours, I trust, as the mistress of
Lowick, will not leave any yearning unfulfilled.
Indeed, I believe that, said Dorothea, earnestly. Do
not suppose that I am sad.
That is well. But, if you are not tired, we will take
another way to the house than that by which we came.
Dorothea was not at all tired, and a little circuit was
made towards a fine yew-tree, the chief hereditary glory of
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the grounds on this side of the house. As they approached
it, a figure, conspicuous on a dark background of
evergreens, was seated on a bench, sketching the old tree.
Mr. Brooke, who was walking in front with Celia, turned
his head, and said
Who is that youngster, Casaubon?
They had come very near when Mr. Casaubon
answered
That is a young relative of mine, a second cousin: the
grandson, in fact, he added, looking at Dorothea, of the
lady whose portrait you have been noticing, my aunt
Julia.
The young man had laid down his sketch-book and
risen. His bushy light-brown curls, as well as his
youthfulness, identified him at once with Celias
apparition.
Dorothea, let me introduce to you my cousin, Mr.
Ladislaw. Will, this is Miss Brooke.
The cousin was so close now, that, when he lifted his
hat, Dorothea could see a pair of gray eves rather near
together, a delicate irregular nose with a little ripple in it,
and hair falling backward; but there was a mouth and chin
of a more prominent, threatening aspect than belonged to
the type of the grandmothers miniature. Young Ladislaw
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did not feel it necessary to smile, as if he were charmed
with this introduction to his future second cousin and her
relatives; but wore rather a pouting air of discontent.
You are an artist, I see, said Mr. Brooke, taking up
the sketch-book and turning it over in his unceremonious
fashion.
No, I only sketch a little. There is nothing fit to be
seen there, said young Ladislaw, coloring, perhaps with
temper rather than modesty.
Oh, come, this is a nice bit, now. I did a little in this
way myself at one time, you know. Look here, now; this
is what I call a nice thing, done with what we used to call
BRIO. Mr. Brooke held out towards the two girls a large
colored sketch of stony ground and trees, with a pool.
I am no judge of these things, said Dorothea, not
coldly, but with an eager deprecation of the appeal to her.
You know, uncle, I never see the beauty of those pictures
which you say are so much praised. They are a language I
do not understand. I suppose there is some relation
between pictures and nature which I am too ignorant to
feeljust as you see what a Greek sentence stands for
which means nothing to me. Dorothea looked up at Mr.
Casaubon, who bowed his head towards her, while Mr.
Brooke said, smiling nonchalantly
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Bless me, now, how different people are! But you had
a bad style of teaching, you knowelse this is just the
thing for girlssketching, fine art and so on. But you
took to drawing plans; you dont understand morbidezza,
and that kind of thing. You will come to my house, I
hope, and I will show you what I did in this way, he
continued, turning to young Ladislaw, who had to be
recalled from his preoccupation in observing Dorothea.
Ladislaw had made up his mind that she must be an
unpleasant girl, since she was going to marry Casaubon,
and what she said of her stupidity about pictures would
have confirmed that opinion even if he had believed her.
As it was, he took her words for a covert judgment, and
was certain that she thought his sketch detestable. There
was too much cleverness in her apology: she was laughing
both at her uncle and himself. But what a voice! It was
like the voice of a soul that had once lived in an AEolian
harp. This must be one of Natures inconsistencies. There
could be no sort of passion in a girl who would marry
Casaubon. But he turned from her, and bowed his thanks
for Mr. Brookes invitation.
We will turn over my Italian engravings together,
continued that good-natured man. I have no end of those
things, that I have laid by for years. One gets rusty in this
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part of the country, you know. Not you, Casaubon; you
stick to your studies; but my best ideas get undermost
out of use, you know. You clever young men must guard
against indolence. I was too indolent, you know: else I
might have been anywhere at one time.
That is a seasonable admonition, said Mr. Casaubon;
but now we will pass on to the house, lest the young
ladies should be tired of standing.
When their backs were turned, young Ladislaw sat
down to go on with his sketching, and as he did so his face
broke into an expression of amusement which increased as
he went on drawing, till at last he threw back his head and
laughed aloud. Partly it was the reception of his own
artistic production that tickled him; partly the notion of
his grave cousin as the lover of that girl; and partly Mr.
Brookes definition of the place he might have held but
for the impediment of indolence. Mr. Will Ladislaws
sense of the ludicrous lit up his features very agreeably: it
was the pure enjoyment of comicality, and had no mixture
of sneering and self-exaltation.
What is your nephew going to do with himself,
Casaubon? said Mr. Brooke, as they went on.
My cousin, you meannot my nephew.
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Yes, yes, cousin. But in the way of a career, you
know.
The answer to that question is painfully doubtful. On
leaving Rugby he declined to go to an English university,
where I would gladly have placed him, and chose what I
must consider the anomalous course of studying at
Heidelberg. And now he wants to go abroad again,
without any special object, save the vague purpose of what
he calls culture, preparation for he knows not what. He
declines to choose a profession.
He has no means but what you furnish, I suppose.
I have always given him and his friends reason to
understand that I would furnish in moderation what was
necessary for providing him with a scholarly education,
and launching him respectably. I am-therefore bound to
fulfil the expectation so raised, said Mr. Casaubon, putting
his conduct in the light of mere rectitude: a trait of
delicacy which Dorothea noticed with admiration.
He has a thirst for travelling; perhaps he may turn out
a Bruce or a Mungo Park, said Mr. Brooke. I had a
notion of that myself at one time.
No, he has no bent towards exploration, or the
enlargement of our geognosis: that would be a special
purpose which I could recognize with some approbation,
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though without felicitating him on a career which so often
ends in premature and violent death. But so far is he from
having any desire for a more accurate knowledge of the
earths surface, that he said he should prefer not to know
the sources of the Nile, and that there should be some
unknown regions preserved as hunting grounds for the
poetic imagination.
Well, there is something in that, you know, said Mr.
Brooke, who had certainly an impartial mind.
It is, I fear, nothing more than a part of his general
inaccuracy and indisposition to thoroughness of all kinds,
which would be a bad augury for him in any profession,
civil or sacred, even were he so far submissive to ordinary
rule as to choose one.
Perhaps he has conscientious scruples founded on his
own unfitness, said Dorothea, who was interesting herself
in finding a favorable explanation. Because the law and
medicine should be very serious professions to undertake,
should they not? Peoples lives and fortunes depend on
them.
Doubtless; but I fear that my young relative Will
Ladislaw is chiefly determined in his aversion to these
callings by a dislike to steady application, and to that kind
of acquirement which is needful instrumentally, but is not
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charming or immediately inviting to self-indulgent taste. I
have insisted to him on what Aristotle has stated with
admirable brevity, that for the achievement of any work
regarded as an end there must be a prior exercise of many
energies or acquired facilities of a secondary order,
demanding patience. I have pointed to my own
manuscript volumes, which represent the toil of years
preparatory to a work not yet accomplished. But in vain.
To careful reasoning of this kind he replies by calling
himself Pegasus, and every form of prescribed work
harness.
Celia laughed. She was surprised to find that Mr.
Casaubon could say something quite amusing.
Well, you know, he may turn out a Byron, a
Chatterton, a Churchillthat sort of thingtheres no
telling, said Mr. Brooke. Shall you let him go to Italy, or
wherever else he wants to go?
Yes; I have agreed to furnish him with moderate
supplies for a year or so; he asks no more. I shall let him
be tried by the test of freedom.
That is very kind of you, said Dorothea, looking up at
Mr. Casaubon with delight. It is noble. After all, people
may really have in them some vocation which is not quite
plain to themselves, may they not? They may seem idle
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and weak because they are growing. We should be very
patient with each other, I think.
I suppose it is being engaged to be married that has
made you think patience good, said Celia, as soon as she
and Dorothea were alone together, taking off their
wrappings.
You mean that I am very impatient, Celia.
Yes; when people dont do and say just what you like.
Celia had become less afraid of saying things to Dorothea
since this engagement: cleverness seemed to her more
pitiable than ever.
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Chapter X
He had catched a great cold, had he had no other
clothes to wear than the skin of a bear not yet killed.
FULLER.
Young Ladislaw did not pay that visit to which Mr.
Brooke had invited him, and only six days afterwards Mr.
Casaubon mentioned that his young relative had started
for the Continent, seeming by this cold vagueness to
waive inquiry. Indeed, Will had declined to fix on any
more precise destination than the entire area of Europe.
Genius, he held, is necessarily intolerant of fetters: on the
one hand it must have the utmost play for its spontaneity;
on the other, it may confidently await those messages from
the universe which summon it to its peculiar work, only
placing itself in an attitude of receptivity towards all
sublime chances. The attitudes of receptivity are various,
and Will had sincerely tried many of them. He was not
excessively fond of wine, but he had several times taken
too much, simply as an experiment in that form of ecstasy;
he had fasted till he was faint, and then supped on lobster;
he had made himself ill with doses of opium. Nothing
greatly original had resulted from these measures; and the
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effects of the opium had convinced him that there was an
entire dissimilarity between his constitution and De
Quinceys. The superadded circumstance which would
evolve the genius had not yet come; the universe had not
yet beckoned. Even Caesars fortune at one time was, but
a grand presentiment. We know what a masquerade all
development is, and what effective shapes may be
disguised in helpless embryos.In fact, the world is full of
hopeful analogies and handsome dubious eggs called
possibilities. Will saw clearly enough the pitiable instances
of long incubation producing no chick, and but for
gratitude would have laughed at Casaubon, whose
plodding application, rows of note-books, and small taper
of learned theory exploring the tossed ruins of the world,
seemed to enforce a moral entirely encouraging to Wills
generous reliance on the intentions of the universe with
regard to himself. He held that reliance to be a mark of
genius; and certainly it is no mark to the contrary; genius
consisting neither in self-conceit nor in humility, but in a
power to make or do, not anything in general, but
something in particular. Let him start for the Continent,
then, without our pronouncing on his future. Among all
forms of mistake, prophecy is the most gratuitous.
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But at present this caution against a too hasty judgment
interests me more in relation to Mr. Casaubon than to his
young cousin. If to Dorothea Mr. Casaubon had been the
mere occasion which had set alight the fine inflammable
material of her youthful illusions, does it follow that he
was fairly represented in the minds of those less
impassioned personages who have hitherto delivered their
judgments concerning him? I protest against any absolute
conclusion, any prejudice derived from Mrs. Cadwalladers
contempt for a neighboring clergymans alleged greatness
of soul, or Sir James Chettams poor opinion of his rivals
legs,from Mr. Brookes failure to elicit a companions
ideas, or from Celias criticism of a middle-aged scholars
personal appearance. I am not sure that the greatest man of
his age, if ever that solitary superlative existed, could
escape these unfavorable reflections of himself in various
small mirrors; and even Milton, looking for his portrait in
a spoon, must submit to have the facial angle of a
bumpkin. Moreover, if Mr. Casaubon, speaking for
himself, has rather a chilling rhetoric, it is not therefore
certain that there is no good work or fine feeling in him.
Did not an immortal physicist and interpreter of
hieroglyphs write detestable verses? Has the theory of the
solar system been advanced by graceful manners and
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conversational tact? Suppose we turn from outside
estimates of a man, to wonder, with keener interest, what
is the report of his own consciousness about his doings or
capacity: with what hindrances he is carrying on his daily
labors; what fading of hopes, or what deeper fixity of self-
delusion the years are marking off within him; and with
what spirit he wrestles against universal pressure, which
will one day be too heavy for him, and bring his heart to
its final pause. Doubtless his lot is important in his own
eyes; and the chief reason that we think he asks too large a
place in our consideration must be our want of room for
him, since we refer him to the Divine regard with perfect
confidence; nay, it is even held sublime for our neighbor
to expect the utmost there, however little he may have got
from us. Mr. Casaubon, too, was the centre of his own
world; if he was liable to think that others were
providentially made for him, and especially to consider
them in the light of their fitness for the author of a Key to
all Mythologies, this trait is not quite alien to us, and, like
the other mendicant hopes of mortals, claims some of our
pity.
Certainly this affair of his marriage with Miss Brooke
touched him more nearly than it did any one of the
persons who have hitherto shown their disapproval of it,
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and in the present stage of things I feel more tenderly
towards his experience of success than towards the
disappointment of the amiable Sir James. For in truth, as
the day fixed for his marriage came nearer, Mr. Casaubon
did not find his spirits rising; nor did the contemplation of
that matrimonial garden scene, where, as all experience
showed, the path was to be bordered with flowers, prove
persistently more enchanting bo him than the accustomed
vaults where he walked taper in hand. He did not confess
to himself, still less could he have breathed to another, his
surprise that though he had won a lovely and noble-
hearted girl he had not won delight,which he had also
regarded as an object to be found by search. It is true that
he knew all the classical passages implying the contrary;
but knowing classical passages, we find, is a mode of
motion, which explains why they leave so little extra force
for their personal application.
Poor Mr. Casaubon had imagined that his long studious
bachelorhood had stored up for him a compound interest
of enjoyment, and that large drafts on his affections would
not fail to be honored; for we all of us, grave or light, get
our thoughts entangled in metaphors, and act fatally on the
strength of them. And now he was in danger of being
saddened by the very conviction that his circumstances
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were unusually happy: there was nothing external by
which he could account for a certain blankness of
sensibility which came over him just when his expectant
gladness should have been most lively, just when he
exchanged the accustomed dulness of his Lowick library
for his visits to the Grange. Here was a weary experience
in which he was as utterly condemned to loneliness as in
the despair which sometimes threatened him while toiling
in the morass of authorship without seeming nearer to the
goal. And his was that worst loneliness which would
shrink from sympathy. He could not but wish that
Dorothea should think him not less happy than the world
would expect her successful suitor to be; and in relation to
his authorship he leaned on her young trust and
veneration, he liked to draw forth her fresh interest in
listening, as a means of encouragement to himself: in
talking to her he presented all his performance and
intention with the reflected confidence of the pedagogue,
and rid himself for the time of that chilling ideal audience
which crowded his laborious uncreative hours with the
vaporous pressure of Tartarean shades.
For to Dorothea, after that toy-box history of the
world adapted to young ladies which had made the chief
part of her education, Mr. Casaubons talk about his great
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book was full of new vistas; and this sense of revelation,
this surprise of a nearer introduction to Stoics and
Alexandrians, as people who had ideas not totally unlike
her own, kept in abeyance for the time her usual eagerness
for a binding theory which could bring her own life and
doctrine into strict connection with that amazing past, and
give the remotest sources of knowledge some bearing on
her actions. That more complete teaching would come
Mr. Casaubon would tell her all that: she was looking
forward to higher initiation in ideas, as she was looking
forward to marriage, and blending her dim conceptions of
both. It would be a great mistake to suppose that
Dorothea would have cared about any share in Mr.
Casaubons learning as mere accomplishment; for though
opinion in the neighborhood of Freshitt and Tipton had
pronounced her clever, that epithet would not have
described her to circles in whose more precise vocabulary
cleverness implies mere aptitude for knowing and doing,
apart from character. All her eagerness for acquirement lay
within that full current of sympathetic motive in which
her ideas and impulses were habitually swept along. She
did not want to deck herself with knowledgeto wear it
loose from the nerves and blood that fed her action; and if
she had written a book she must have done it as Saint
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Theresa did, under the command of an authority that
constrained her conscience. But something she yearned for
by which her life might be filled with action at once
rational and ardent; and since the time was gone by for
guiding visions and spiritual directors, since prayer
heightened yearning but not instruction, what lamp was
there but knowledge? Surely learned men kept-the only
oil; and who more learned than Mr. Casaubon?
Thus in these brief weeks Dorotheas joyous grateful
expectation was unbroken, and however her lover might
occasionally be conscious of flatness, he could never refer
it to any slackening of her affectionate interest.
The season was mild enough to encourage the project
of extending the wedding journey as far as Rome, and Mr.
Casaubon was anxious for this because he wished to
inspect some manuscripts in the Vatican.
I still regret that your sister is not to accompany us, he
said one morning, some time after it had been ascertained
that Celia objected to go, and that Dorothea did not wish
for her companionship. You will have many lonely hours,
Dorotheas, for I shall be constrained to make the utmost
use of my time during our stay in Rome, and I should feel
more at liberty if you had a companion.
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The words I should feel more at liberty grated on
Dorothea. For the first time in speaking to Mr. Casaubon
she colored from annoyance.
You must have misunderstood me very much, she
said, if you think I should not enter into the value of your
timeif you think that I should not willingly give up
whatever interfered with your using it to the best
purpose.
That is very amiable in you, my dear Dorothea, said
Mr. Casaubon, not in the least noticing that she was hurt;
but if you had a lady as your companion, I could put you
both under the care of a cicerone, and we could thus
achieve two purposes in the same space of time.
I beg you will not refer to this again, said Dorothea,
rather haughtily. But immediately she feared that she was
wrong, and turning towards him she laid her hand on his,
adding in a different tone, Pray do not be anxious about
me. I shall have so much to think of when I am alone.
And Tantripp will be a sufficient companion, just to take
care of me. I could not bear to have Celia: she would be
miserable.
It was time to dress. There was to be a dinner-party
that day, the last of the parties which were held at the
Grange as proper preliminaries to the wedding, and
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Dorothea was glad of a reason for moving away at once on
the sound of the bell, as if she needed more than her usual
amount of preparation. She was ashamed of being irritated
from some cause she could not define even to herse1f; for
though she had no intention to be untruthful, her reply
had not touched the real hurt within her. Mr. Casaubons
words had been quite reasonable, yet they had brought a
vague instantaneous sense of aloofness on his part.
Surely I am in a strangely selfish weak state of mind,
she said to herself. How can I have a husband who is so
much above me without knowing that he needs me less
than I need him?
Having convinced herself that Mr. Casaubon was
altogether right, she recovered her equanimity, and was an
agreeable image of serene dignity when she came into the
drawing-room in her silver-gray dressthe simple lines of
her dark-brown hair parted over her brow and coiled
massively behind, in keeping with the entire absence from
her manner and expression of all search after mere effect.
Sometimes when Dorothea was in company, there seemed
to be as complete an air of repose about her as if she had
been a picture of Santa Barbara looking out from her
tower into the clear air; but these intervals of quietude
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made the energy of her speech and emotion the more
remarked when some outward appeal had touched her.
She was naturally the subject of many observations this
evening, for the dinner-party was large and rather more
miscellaneous as to the male portion than any which had
been held at the Grange since Mr. Brookes nieces had
resided with him, so that the talking was done in duos and
trios more or less inharmonious. There was the newly
elected mayor of Middlemarch, who happened to be a
manufacturer; the philanthropic banker his brother-in-law,
who predominated so much in the town that some called
him a Methodist, others a hypocrite, according to the
resources of their vocabulary; and there were various
professional men. In fact, Mrs. Cadwallader said that
Brooke was beginning to treat the Middlemarchers, and
that she preferred the farmers at the tithe-dinner, who
drank her health unpretentiously, and were not ashamed
of their grandfathers furniture. For in that part of the
country, before reform had done its notable part in
developing the political consciousness, there was a clearer
distinction of ranks and a dimmer distinction of parties; so
that Mr. Brookes miscellaneous invitations seemed to
belong to that general laxity which came from his
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inordinate travel and habit of taking too much in the form
of ideas.
Already, as Miss Brooke passed out of the dining-room,
opportunity was found for some interjectional asides.
A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine
woman, by God! said Mr. Standish, the old lawyer, who
had been so long concerned with the landed gentry that
he had become landed himself, and used that oath in a
deep-mouthed manner as a sort of armorial bearings,
stamping the speech of a man who held a good position.
Mr. Bulstrode, the banker, seemed to be addressed, but
that gentleman disliked coarseness and profanity, and
merely bowed. The remark was taken up by Mr.
Chichely, a middle-aged bachelor and coursing celebrity,
who had a complexion something like an Easter egg, a few
hairs carefully arranged, and a carriage implying the
consciousness of a distinguished appearance.
Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who
lays herself out a little more to please us. There should be
a little filigree about a womansomething of the
coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. The more of a
dead set she makes at you the better.
Theres some truth in that, said Mr. Standish, disposed
to be genial. And, by God, its usually the way with them.
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I suppose it answers some wise ends: Providence made
them so, eh, Bulstrode?
I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another
source, said Mr. Bulstrode. I should rather refer it to the
devil.
Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a
woman, said Mr. Chichely, whose study of the fair sex
seemed to have been detrimental to his theology. And I
like them blond, with a certain gait, and a swan neck.
Between ourselves, the mayors daughter is more to my
taste than Miss Brooke or Miss Celia either. If I were a
marrying man I should choose Miss Vincy before either of
them.
Well, make up, make up, said Mr. Standish, jocosely;
you see the middle-aged fellows early the day.
Mr. Chichely shook his head with much meaning: he
was not going to incur the certainty of being accepted by
the woman he would choose.
The Miss Vincy who had the honor of being Mr.
Chichelys ideal was of course not present; for Mr.
Brooke, always objecting to go too far, would not have
chosen that his nieces should meet the daughter of a
Middlemarch manufacturer, unless it were on a public
occasion. The feminine part of the company included
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none whom Lady Chettam or Mrs. Cadwallader could
object to; for Mrs. Renfrew, the colonels widow, was not
only unexceptionable in point of breeding, but also
interesting on the ground of her complaint, which puzzled
the doctors, and seemed clearly a case wherein the fulness
of professional knowledge might need the supplement of
quackery. Lady Chettam, who attributed her own
remarkable health to home-made bitters united with
constant medical attendance, entered with much exercise
of the imagination into Mrs. Renfrews account of
symptoms, and into the amazing futility in her case of all,
strengthening medicines.
Where can all the strength of those medicines go, my
dear? said the mild but stately dowager, turning to Mrs.
Cadwallader reflectively, when Mrs. Renfrews attention
was called away.
It strengthens the disease, said the Rectors wife,
much too well-born not to be an amateur in medicine.
Everything depends on the constitution: some people
make fat, some blood, and some bilethats my view of
the matter; and whatever they take is a sort of grist to the
mill.
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Then she ought to take medicines that would
reducereduce the disease, you know, if you are right,
my dear. And I think what you say is reasonable.
Certainly it is reasonable. You have two sorts of
potatoes, fed on the same soil. One of them grows more
and more watery
Ah! like this poor Mrs. Renfrewthat is what I think.
Dropsy! There is no swelling yetit is inward. I should
say she ought to take drying medicines, shouldnt you?
or a dry hot-air bath. Many things might be tried, of a
drying nature.
Let her try a certain persons pamphlets, said Mrs.
Cadwallader in an undertone, seeing the gentlemen enter.
He does not want drying.
Who, my dear? said Lady Chettam, a charming
woman, not so quick as to nullify the pleasure of
explanation.
The bridegroomCasaubon. He has certainly been
drying up faster since the engagement: the flame of
passion, I suppose.
I should think he is far from having a good
constitution, said Lady Chettam, with a still deeper
undertone. And then his studiesso very dry, as you say.
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Really, by the side of Sir James, he looks like a deaths
head skinned over for the occasion. Mark my words: in a
year from this time that girl will hate him. She looks up to
him as an oracle now, and by-and-by she will be at the
other extreme. All flightiness!
How very shocking! I fear she is headstrong. But tell
meyou know all about himis there anything very
bad? What is the truth?
The truth? he is as bad as the wrong physicnasty to
take, and sure to disagree.
There could not be anything worse than that, said
Lady Chettam, with so vivid a conception of the physic
that she seemed to have learned something exact about
Mr. Casaubons disadvantages. However, James will hear
nothing against Miss Brooke. He says she is the mirror of
women still.
That is a generous make-believe of his. Depend upon
it, he likes little Celia better, and she appreciates him. I
hope you like my little Celia?
Certainly; she is fonder of geraniums, and seems more
docile, though not so fine a figure. But we were talking of
physic. Tell me about this new young surgeon, Mr.
Lydgate. I am told he is wonderfully clever: he certainly
looks ita fine brow indeed.
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He is a gentleman. I heard him talking to Humphrey.
He talks well.
Yes. Mr. Brooke says he is one of the Lydgates of
Northumberland, really well connected. One does not
expect it in a practitioner of that kind. For my own part, I
like a medical man more on a footing with the servants;
they are often all the cleverer. I assure you I found poor
Hickss judgment unfailing; I never knew him wrong. He
was coarse and butcher-like, but he knew my constitution.
It was a loss to me his going off so suddenly. Dear me,
what a very animated conversation Miss Brooke seems to
be having with this Mr. Lydgate!
She is talking cottages and hospitals with him, said
Mrs. Cadwallader, whose ears and power of interpretation
were quick. I believe he is a sort of philanthropist, so
Brooke is sure to take him up.
James, said Lady Chettam when her son came near,
bring Mr. Lydgate and introduce him to me. I want to
test him.
The affable dowager declared herself delighted with this
opportunity of making Mr. Lydgates acquaintance, having
heard of his success in treating fever on a new plan.
Mr. Lydgate had the medical accomplishment of
looking perfectly grave whatever nonsense was talked to
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him, and his dark steady eyes gave him impressiveness as a
listener. He was as little as possible like the lamented
Hicks, especially in a certain careless refinement about his
toilet and utterance. Yet Lady Chettam gathered much
confidence in him. He confirmed her view of her own
constitution as being peculiar, by admitting that all
constitutions might be called peculiar, and he did not deny
that hers might be more peculiar than others. He did not
approve of a too lowering system, including reckless
cupping, nor, on the other hand, of incessant port wine
and bark. He said I think so with an air of so much
deference accompanying the insight of agreement, that she
formed the most cordial opinion of his talents.
I am quite pleased with your protege, she said to Mr.
Brooke before going away.
My protege?dear me!who is that? said Mr.
Brooke.
This young Lydgate, the new doctor.-He seems to me
to understand his profession admirably.
Oh, Lydgate! he is not my protege, you know; only I
knew an uncle of his who sent me a letter about him.
However, I think he is likely to be first-ratehas studied
in Paris, knew Broussais; has ideas, you knowwants to
raise the profession.
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Lydgate has lots of ideas, quite new, about ventilation
and diet, that sort of thing, resumed Mr. Brooke, after he
had handed out Lady Chettam, and had returned to be
civil to a group of Middlemarchers.
Hang it, do you think that is quite sound?upsetting
The old treatment, which has made Englishmen what they
re? said Mr. Standish.
Medical knowledge is at a low ebb among us, said Mr.
Bulstrode, who spoke in a subdued tone, and had rather a
sickly wir I, for my part, hail the advent of Mr. Lydgate. I
hope to find good reason for confiding the new hospital to
his management.
That is all very fine, replied Mr. Standish, who was
not fond of Mr. Bulstrode; if you like him to try
experiments on your hospital patients, and kill a few
people for charity I have no objection. But I am not going
to hand money out of my purse to have experiments tried
on me. I like treatment that has been tested a little.
Well, you know, Standish, every dose you take is an
experiment-an experiment, you know, said Mr. Brooke,
nodding towards the lawyer.
Oh, if you talk in that sense! said Mr. Standish, with
as much disgust at such non-legal quibbling as a man can
well betray towards a valuable client.
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I should be glad of any treatment that would cure me
without reducing me to a skeleton, like poor Grainger,
said Mr. Vincy, the mayor, a florid man, who would have
served for a study of flesh in striking contrast with the
Franciscan tints of Mr. Bulstrode. Its an uncommonly
dangerous thing to be left without any padding against the
shafts of disease, as somebody said,and I think it a very
good expression myself.
Mr. Lydgate, of course, was out of hearing. He had
quitted the party early, and would have thought it
altogether tedious but for the novelty of certain
introductions, especially the introduction to Miss Brooke,
whose youthful bloom, with her approaching marriage to
that faded scholar, and her interest in matters socially
useful, gave her the piquancy of an unusual combination.
She is a good creaturethat fine girlbut a little too
earnest, he thought. It is troublesome to talk to such
women. They are always wanting reasons, yet they are too
ignorant to understand the merits of any question, and
usually fall hack on their moral sense to settle things after
their own taste.
Evidently Miss Brooke was not Mr. Lydgates style of
woman any more than Mr. Chichelys. Considered,
indeed, in relation to the latter, whose mied was matured,
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she was altogether a mistake, and calculated to shock his
trust in final causes, including the adaptation of fine young
women to purplefaced bachelors. But Lydgate was less
ripe, and might possibly have experience before him
which would modify his opinion as to the most excellent
things in woman.
Miss Brooke, however, was not again seen by either of
these gentlemen under her maiden name. Not long after
that dinner-party she had become Mrs. Casaubon, and was
on her way to Rome.
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Chapter XI
But deeds and language such as men do use,
And persons such as comedy would choose,
When she would show an image of the times,
And sport with human follies, not with crimes.
BEN JONSON.
Lydgate, in fact, was already conscious of being
fascinated by a woman strikingly different from Miss
Brooke: he did not in the least suppose that he had lost his
balance and fallen in love, but he had said of that particular
woman, She is grace itself; she is perfectly lovely and
accomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she
ought to produce the effect of exquisite music. Plain
women he regarded as he did the other severe facts of life,
to be faced with philosophy and investigated by science.
But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have the true melodic
charm; and when a man has seen the woman whom he
would have chosen if he had intended to marry speedily,
his remaining a bachelor will usually depend on her
resolution rather than on his. Lydgate believed that he
should not marry for several years: not marry until he had
trodden out a good clear path for himself away from the
broad road which was quite ready made. He had seen Miss
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Vincy above his horizon almost as long as it had taken Mr.
Casaubon to become engaged and married: but this
learned gentleman was possessed of a fortune; he had
assembled his voluminous notes, and had made that sort of
reputation which precedes performance,often the larger
part of a mans fame. He took a wife, as we have seen, to
adorn the remaining quadrant of his course, and be a little
moon that would cause hardly a calculable perturbation.
But Lydgate was young, poor, ambitious. He had his half-
century before him instead of behind him, and he had
come to Middlemarch bent on doing many things that
were not directly fitted to make his fortune or even secure
him a good income. To a man under such circumstances,
taking a wife is something more than a question of
adornment, however highly he may rate this; and Lydgate
was disposed to give it the first place among wifely
functions. To his taste, guided by a single conversation,
here was the point on which Miss Brooke would be found
wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. She did
not look at things from the proper feminine angle. The
society of such women was about as relaxing as going
from your work to teach the second form, instead of
reclining in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes,
and blue eyes for a heaven.
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Certainly nothing at present could seem much less
important to Lydgate than the turn of Miss Brookes
mind, or to Miss Brooke than the qualities of the woman
who had attracted this young surgeon. But any one
watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots,
sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another,
which tells like a calculated irony on the indifference or
the frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced
neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatis
personae folded in her hand.
Old provincial society had its share of this subtle
movement: had not only its striking downfalls, its brilliant
young professional dandies who ended by living up an
entry with a drab and six children for their establishment,
but also those less marked vicissitudes which are constantly
shifting the boundaries of social intercourse, and begetting
new consciousness of interdependence. Some slipped a
little downward, some got higher footing: people denied
aspirates, gained wealth, and fastidious gentlemen stood for
boroughs; some were caught in political currents, some in
ecclesiastical, and perhaps found themselves surprisingly
grouped in consequence; while a few personages or
families that stood with rocky firmness amid all this
fluctuation, were slowly presenting new aspects in spite of
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solidity, and altering with the double change of self and
beholder. Municipal town and rural parish gradually made
fresh threads of connectiongradually, as the old stocking
gave way to the savings-bank, and the worship of the solar
guinea became extinct; while squires and baronets, and
even lords who had once lived blamelessly afar from the
civic mind, gathered the faultiness of closer
acquaintanceship. Settlers, too, came from distant counties,
some with an alarming novelty of skill, others with an
offensive advantage in cunning. In fact, much the same
sort of movement and mixture went on in old England as
we find in older Herodotus, who also, in telling what had
been, thought it well to take a womans lot for his
starting-point; though Io, as a maiden apparently beguiled
by attractive merchandise, was the reverse of Miss Brooke,
and in this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to
Rosamond Vincy, who had excellent taste in costume,
with that nymph-like figure and pure blindness which give
the largest range to choice in the flow and color of
drapery. But these things made only part of her charm.
She was admitted to be the flower of Mrs. Lemons
school, the chief school in the county, where the teaching
included all that was demanded in the accomplished
femaleeven to extras, such as the getting in and out of a
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carriage. Mrs. Lemon herself had always held up Miss
Vincy as an example: no pupil, she said, exceeded that
young lady for mental acquisition and propriety of speech,
while her musical execution was quite exceptional. We
cannot help the way in which people speak of us, and
probably if Mrs. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet
or Imogen, these heroines would not have seemed
poetical. The first vision of Rosamond would have been
enough with most judges to dispel any prejudice excited
by Mrs. Lemons praise.
Lydgate could not be long in Middlemarch without
having that agreeable vision, or even without making the
acquaintance of the Vincy family; for though Mr.
Peacock, whose practice he had paid something to enter
on, had not been their doctor (Mrs. Vincy not liking the
lowering system adopted by him), he had many patients
among their connections and acquaintances. For who of
any consequence in Middlemarch was not connected or at
least acquainted with the Vincys? They were old
manufacturers, and had kept a good house for three
generations, in which there had naturally been much
intermarrying with neighbors more or less decidedly
genteel. Mr. Vincys sister had made a wealthy match in
accepting Mr. Bulstrode, who, however, as a man not
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born in the town, and altogether of dimly known origin,
was considered to have done well in uniting himself with
a real Middlemarch family; on the other hand, Mr. Vincy
had descended a little, having taken an innkeepers
daughter. But on this side too there was a cheering sense
of money; for Mrs. Vincys sister had been second wife to
rich old Mr. Featherstone, and had died childless years
ago, so that her nephews and nieces might be supposed to
touch the affections of the widower. And it happened that
Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Featherstone, two of Peacocks
most important patients, had, from different causes, given
an especially good reception to his successor, who had
raised some partisanship as well as discussion. Mr. Wrench,
medical attendant to the Vincy family, very early had
grounds for thinking lightly of Lydgates professional
discretion, and there was no report about him which was
not retailed at the Vincys, where visitors were frequent.
Mr. Vincy was more inclined to general good-fellowship
than to taking sides, but there was no need for him to be
hasty in making any new man acquaintance. Rosamond
silently wished that her father would invite Mr. Lydgate.
She was tired of the faces and figures she had always been
used tothe various irregular profiles and gaits and turns
of phrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men
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Middlemarch
172 of 1492
whom she had known as boys. She had been at school
with girls of higher position, whose brothers, she felt sure,
it would have been possible for her to be more interested
in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. But
she would not have chosen to mention her wish to her
father; and he, for his part, was in no hurry on the subject.
An alderman about to be mayor must by-and-by enlarge
his dinner-parties, but at present there were plenty of
guests at his well-spread table.
That table often remained covered with the relics of
the family breakfast long after Mr. Vincy had gone with
his second son to the warehouse, and when Miss Morgan
was already far on in morning lessons with the younger
girls in the schoolroom. It awaited the family laggard, who
found any sort of inconvenience (to others) less
disagreeable than getting up when he was called. This was
the case one morning of the October in which we have
lately seen Mr. Casaubon visiting the Grange; and though
the room was a little overheated with the fire, which had
sent the spaniel panting to a remote corner, Rosamond,
for some reason, continued to sit at her embroidery longer
than usual, now and then giving herself a little shake, and
laying her work on her knee to contemplate it with an air
of hesitating weariness. Her mamma, who had returned
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from an excursion to the kitchen, sat on the other side of
the small work-table with an air of more entire placidity,
until, the clock again giving notice that it was going to
strike, she looked up from the lace-mending which was
occupying her plump fingers and rang the bell.
Knock at Mr. Freds door again, Pritchard, and tell
him it has struck half-past ten.
This was said without any change in the radiant good-
humor of Mrs. Vincys face, in which forty-five years had
delved neither angles nor parallels; and pushing back her
pink capstrings, she let her work rest on her lap, while she
looked admiringly at her daughter.
Mamma, said Rosamond, when Fred comes down I
wish you would not let him have red herrings. I cannot
bear the smell of them all over the house at this hour of
the morning.
Oh, my dear, you are so hard on your brothers! It is
the only fault I have to find with you. You are the
sweetest temper in the world, but you are so tetchy with
your brothers.
Not tetchy, mamma: you never hear me speak in an
unladylike way.
Well, but you want to deny them things.
Brothers are so unpleasant.
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Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be
thankful if they have good hearts. A woman must learn to
put up with little things. You will be married some day.
Not to any one who is like Fred.
Dont decry your own brother, my dear. Few young
men have less against them, although he couldnt take his
degreeIm sure I cant understand why, for he seems to
me most clever. And you know yourself he was thought
equal to the best society at college. So particular as you
are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a
gentlemanly young man for a brother. You are always
finding fault with Bob because he is not Fred.
Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob.
Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch
young man who has not something against him.
Buthere Rosamonds face broke into a smile which
suddenly revealed two dimples. She herself thought
unfavorably of these dimples and smiled little in general
society. But I shall not marry any Middlemarch young
man.
So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused
the pick of them; and if theres better to be had, Im sure
theres no girl better deserves it.
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Excuse me, mammaI wish you would not say, the
pick of them.
Why, what else are they?
I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression.
Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker.
What should I say?
The best of them.
Why, that seems just as plain and common. If I had
had time to think, I should have said, the most superior
young men. But with your education you must know.
What must Rosy know, mother? said Mr. Fred, who
had slid in unobserved through the half-open door while
the ladies were bending over their work, and now going
up to the fire stood with his back towards it, warming the
soles of his slippers.
Whether its right to say superior young men, said
Mrs. Vincy, ringing the bell.
Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now.
Superior is getting to be shopkeepers slang.
Are you beginning to dislike slang, then? said
Rosamond, with mild gravity.
Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It
marks a class.
There is correct English: that is not slang.
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I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs
who write history and essays. And the strongest slang of all
is the slang of poets.
You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point.
Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox
a leg-plaiter.
Of course you can call it poetry if you like.
Aha, Miss Rosy, you dont know Homer from slang. I
shall invent a new game; I shall write bits of slang and
poetry on slips, and give them to you to separate.
Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people
talk! said Mrs. Vincy, with cheerful admiration.
Have you got nothing else for my breakfast,
Pritchard? said Fred, to the servant who brought in coffee
and buttered toast; while he walked round the table
surveying the ham, potted beef, and other cold remnants,
with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance from
signs of disgust.
Should you like eggs, sir?
Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone.
Really, Fred, said Rosamond, when the servant had
left the room, if you must have hot things for breakfast, I
wish you would come down earlier. You can get up at six
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oclock to go out hunting; I cannot understand why you
find it so difficult to get up on other mornings.
That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up
to go hunting because I like it.
What would you think of me if I came down two
hours after every one else and ordered grilled bone?
I should think you were an uncommonly fast young
lady, said Fred, eating his toast with the utmost
composure.
I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves
disagreeable, any more than sisters.
I dont make myself disagreeable; it is you who find
me so. Disagreeable is a word that describes your feelings
and not my actions.
I think it describes the smell of grilled bone.
Not at all. It describes a sensation in your little nose
associated with certain finicking notions which are the
classics of Mrs. Lemons school. Look at my mother you
dont see her objecting to everything except what she does
herself. She is my notion of a pleasant woman.
Bless you both, my dears, and dont quarrel, said Mrs.
Vincy, with motherly cordiality. Come, Fred, tell us all
about the new doctor. How is your uncle pleased with
him?
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Pretty well, I think. He asks Lydgate all sorts of
questions and then screws up his face while he hears the
answers, as if they were pinching his toes. Thats his way.
Ah, here comes my grilled bone.
But how came you to stay out so late, my dear? You
only said you were going to your uncles.
Oh, I dined at Plymdales. We had whist. Lydgate was
there too.
And what do you think of him? He is very
gentlemanly, I suppose. They say he is of excellent
familyhis relations quite county people.
Yes, said Fred. There was a Lydgate at Johns who
spent no end of money. I find this man is a second cousin
of his. But rich men may have very poor devils for second
cousins.
It always makes a difference, though, to be of good
family, said Rosamond, with a tone of decision which
showed that she had thought on this subject. Rosamond
felt that she might have been happier if she had not been
the daughter of a Middlemarch manufacturer. She disliked
anything which reminded her that her mothers father had
been an innkeeper. Certainly any one remembering the
fact might think that Mrs. Vincy had the air of a very
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handsome good-humored landlady, accustomed to the
most capricious orders of gentlemen.
I thought it was odd his name was Tertius, said the
bright-faced matron, but of course its a name in the
family. But now, tell us exactly what sort of man he is.
Oh, tallish, dark, clevertalks wellrather a prig, I
think.
I never can make out what you mean by a prig, said
Rosamond.
A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions.
Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions, said Mrs.
Vincy. What are they there for else?
Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig
is a fellow who is always making you a present of his
opinions.
I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate, said
Rosamond, not without a touch of innuendo.
Really, I cant say. said Fred, rather glumly, as he left
the table, and taking up a novel which he had brought
down with him, threw himself into an arm-chair. If you
are jealous of her, go oftener to Stone Court yourself and
eclipse her.
I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have
finished, pray ring the bell.
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It is true, thoughwhat your brother says,
Rosamond, Mrs. Vincy began, when the servant had
cleared the table. It is a thousand pities you havent
patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud of you
as he is, and wanted you to live with him. Theres no
knowing what he might have done for you as well as for
Fred. God knows, Im fond of having you at home with
me, but I can part with my children for their good. And
now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will
do something for Mary Garth.
Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because
she likes that better than being a governess, said
Rosamond, folding up her work. I would rather not have
anything left to me if I must earn it by enduring much of
my uncles cough and his ugly relations.
He cant be long for this world, my dear; I wouldnt
hasten his end, but what with asthma and that inward
complaint, let us hope there is something better for him in
another. And I have no ill-will towards Mary Garth, but
theres justice to be thought of. And Mr. Featherstones
first wife brought him no money, as my sister did. Her
nieces and nephews cant have so much claim as my
sisters. And I must say I think Mary Garth a dreadful plain
girlmore fit for a governess.
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Every one would not agree with you there, mother,
said Fred, who seemed to be able to read and listen too.
Well, my dear, said Mrs. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, if
she HAD some fortune left her,a man marries his wifes
relations, and the Garths are so poor, and live in such a
small way. But I shall leave you to your studies, my dear;
for I must go and do some shopping.
Freds studies are not very deep, said Rosamond,
rising with her mamma, he is only reading a novel.
Well, well, by-and-by hell go to his Latin and things,
said Mrs. Vincy, soothingly, stroking her sons head.
Theres a fire in the smoking-room on purpose. Its your
fathers wish, you knowFred, my dearand I always
tell him you will be good, and go to college again to take
your degree.
Fred drew his mothers hand down to his lips, but said
nothing.
I suppose you are not going out riding to-day? said
Rosamond, lingering a little after her mamma was gone.
No; why?
Papa says I may have the chestnut to ride now.
You can go with me to-morrow, if you like. Only I
am going to Stone Court, remember.
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I want to ride so much, it is indifferent to me where
we go. Rosamond really wished to go to Stone Court, of
all other places.
Oh, I say, Rosy, said Fred, as she was passing out of
the room, if you are going to the piano, let me come and
play some airs with you.
Pray do not ask me this morning.
Why not this morning?
Really, Fred, I wish you would leave off playing the
flute. A man looks very silly playing the flute. And you
play so out of tune.
When next any one makes love to you, Miss
Rosamond, I will tell him how obliging you are.
Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing
you play the flute, any more than I should expect you to
oblige me by not playing it?
And why should you expect me to take you out
riding?
This question led to an adjustment, for Rosamond had
set her mind on that particular ride.
So Fred was gratified with nearly an hours practice of
Ar hyd y nos, Ye banks and braes, and other favorite
airs from his Instructor on the Flute; a wheezy
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performance, into which he threw much ambition and an
irrepressible hopefulness.
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Middlemarch
184 of 1492
Chapter XII
He had more tow on his distaffe
Than Gerveis knew.
CHAUCER.
The ride to Stone Court, which Fred and Rosamond
took the next morning, lay through a pretty bit of midland
landscape, almost all meadows and pastures, with
hedgerows still allowed to grow in bushy beauty and to
spread out coral fruit for the birds. Little details gave each
field a particular physiognomy, dear to the eyes that have
looked on them from childhood: the pool in the corner
where the grasses were dank and trees leaned
whisperingly; the great oak shadowing a bare place in
mid-pasture; the high bank where the ash-trees grew; the
sudden slope of the old marl-pit making a red background
for the burdock; the huddled roofs and ricks of the
homestead without a traceable way of approach; the gray
gate and fences against the depths of the bordering wood;
and the stray hovel, its old, old thatch full of mossy hills
and valleys with wondrous modulations of light and
shadow such as we travel far to see in later life, and see
larger, but not more beautiful. These are the things that
make the gamut of joy in landscape to midland-bred
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soulsthe things they toddled among, or perhaps learned
by heart standing between their fathers knees while he
drove leisurely.
But the road, even the byroad, was excellent; for
Lowick, as we have seen, was not a parish of muddy lanes
and poor tenants; and it was into Lowick parish that Fred
and Rosamond entered after a couple of miles riding.
Another mile would bring them to Stone Court, and at
the end of the first half, the house was already visible,
looking as if it had been arrested in its growth toward a
stone mansion by an unexpected budding of farm-
buildings on its left flank, which had hindered it from
becoming anything more than the substantial dwelling of a
gentleman farmer. It was not the less agreeable an object
in the distance for the cluster of pinnacled corn-ricks
which balanced the fine row of walnuts on the right.
Presently it was possible to discern something that
might be a gig on the circular drive before the front door.
Dear me, said Rosamond, I hope none of my uncles
horrible relations are there.
They are, though. That is Mrs. Waules gigthe last
yellow gig left, I should think. When I see Mrs. Waule in
it, I understand how yellow can have been worn for
mourning. That gig seems to me more funereal than a
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hearse. But then Mrs. Waule always has black crape on.
How does she manage it, Rosy? Her friends cant always
be dying.
I dont know at all. And she is not in the least
evangelical, said Rosamond, reflectively, as if that
religious point of view would have fully accounted for
perpetual crape. And, not poor, she added, after a
moments pause.
No, by George! They are as rich as Jews, those Waules
and Featherstones; I mean, for people like them, who
dont want to spend anything. And yet they hang about
my uncle like vultures, and are afraid of a farthing going
away from their side of the family. But I believe he hates
them all.
The Mrs. Waule who was so far from being admirable
in the eyes of these distant connections, had happened to
say this very morning (not at all with a defiant air, but in a
low, muffied, neutral tone, as of a voice heard through
cotton wool) that she did not wish to enjoy their good
opinion. She was seated, as she observed, on her own
brothers hearth, and had been Jane Featherstone five-and-
twenty years before she had been Jane Waule, which
entitled her to speak when her own brothers name had
been made free with by those who had no right to it.
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What are you driving at there? said Mr. Featherstone,
holding his stick between his knees and settling his wig,
while he gave her a momentary sharp glance, which
seemed to react on him like a draught of cold air and set
him coughing.
Mrs. Waule had to defer her answer till he was quiet
again, till Mary Garth had supplied him with fresh syrup,
and he had begun to rub the gold knob of his stick,
looking bitterly at the fire. It was a bright fire, but it made
no difference to the chill-looking purplish tint of Mrs.
Waules face, which was as neutral as her voice; having
mere chinks for eyes, and lips that hardly moved in
speaking.
The doctors cant master that cough, brother. Its just
like what I have; for Im your own sister, constitution and
everything. But, as I was saying, its a pity Mrs. Vincys
family cant be better conducted.
Tchah! you said nothing o the sort. You said
somebody had made free with my name.
And no more than can be proved, if what everybody
says is true. My brother Solomon tells me its the talk up
and down in Middlemarch how unsteady young Vincy is,
and has been forever gambling at billiards since home he
came.
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Nonsense! Whats a game at billiards? Its a good
gentlemanly game; and young Vincy is not a clodhopper.
If your son John took to billiards, now, hed make a fool
of himself.
Your nephew John never took to billiards or any other
game, brother, and is far from losing hundreds of pounds,
which, if what everybody says is true, must be found
somewhere else than out of Mr. Vincy the fathers pocket.
For they say hes been losing money for years, though
nobody would think so, to see him go coursing and
keeping open house as they do. And Ive heard say Mr.
Bulstrode condemns Mrs. Vincy beyond anything for her
flightiness, and spoiling her children so.!
Whats Bulstrode to me? I dont bank with him.
Well, Mrs. Bulstrode is Mr. Vincys own sister, and
they do say that Mr. Vincy mostly trades on the Bank
money; and you may see yourself, brother, when a
woman past forty has pink strings always flying, and that
light way of laughing at everything, its very unbecoming.
But indulging your children is one thing, and finding
money to pay their debts is another. And its openly said
that young Vincy has raised money on his expectations. I
dont say what expectations. Miss Garth hears me, and is
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welcome to tell again. I know young people hang
together.
No, thank you, Mrs. Waule, said Mary Garth. I
dislike hearing scandal too much to wish to repeat it.
Mr. Featherstone rubbed the knob of his stick and
made a brief convulsive show of laughter, which had
much the same genuineness as an old whist-players
chuckle over a bad hand. Still looking at the fire, he said
And who pretends to say Fred Vincy hasnt got
expectations? Such a fine, spirited fellow is like enough to
have em.
There was a slight pause before Mrs. Waule replied,
and when she did so, her voice seemed to be slightly
moistened with tears, though her face was still dry.
Whether or no, brother, it is naturally painful to me
and my brother Solomon to hear your name made free
with, and your complaint being such as may carry you off
sudden, and people who are no more Featherstones than
the Merry-Andrew at the fair, openly reckoning on your
property coming to THEM. And me your own sister, and
Solomon your own brother! And if thats to be it, what
has it pleased the Almighty to make families for? Here
Mrs. Waules tears fell, but with moderation.
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Come, out with it, Jane! said Mr. Featherstone,
looking at her. You mean to say, Fred Vincy has been
getting somebody to advance him money on what he says
he knows about my will, eh?
I never said so, brother (Mrs. Waules voice had again
become dry and unshaken). It was told me by my brother
Solomon last night when he called coming from market to
give me advice about the old wheat, me being a widow,
and my son John only three-and-twenty, though steady
beyond anything. And he had it from most undeniable
authority, and not one, but many.
Stuff and nonsense! I dont believe a word of it. Its all
a got-up story. Go to the window, missy; I thought I
heard a horse. See if the doctors coming.
Not got up by me, brother, nor yet by Solomon, who,
whatever else he may beand I dont deny he has
odditieshas made his will and parted his property equal
between such kin as hes friends with; though, for my part,
I think there are times when some should be considered
more than others. But Solomon makes it no secret what
he means to do.
The more fool he! said Mr. Featherstone, with some
difficulty; breaking into a severe fit of coughing that
required Mary Garth to stand near him, so that she did not
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find out whose horses they were which presently paused
stamping on the gravel before the door.
Before Mr. Featherstones cough was quiet, Rosamond
entered, bearing up her riding-habit with much grace. She
bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Waule, who said stiffly,
How do you do, miss? smiled and nodded silently to
Mary, and remained standing till the coughing should
cease, and allow her uncle to notice her.
Heyday, miss! he said at last, you have a fine color.
Wheres Fred?
Seeing about the horses. He will be in presently.
Sit down, sit down. Mrs. Waule, youd better go.
Even those neighbors who had called Peter
Featherstone an old fox, had never accused him of being
insincerely polite, and his sister was quite used to the
peculiar absence of ceremony with which he marked his
sense of blood-relationship. Indeed, she herself was
accustomed to think that entire freedom from the
necessity of behaving agreeably was included in the
Almightys intentions about families. She rose slowly
without any sign of resentment, and said in her usual
muffled monotone, Brother, I hope the new doctor will
be able to do something for you. Solomon says theres
great talk of his cleverness. Im sure its my wish you
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should be spared. And theres none more ready to nurse
you than your own sister and your own nieces, if youd
only say the word. Theres Rebecca, and Joanna, and
Elizabeth, you know.
Ay, ay, I rememberyoull see Ive remembered em
allall dark and ugly. Theyd need have some money, eh?
There never was any beauty in the women of our family;
but the Featherstones have always had some money, and
the Waules too. Waule had money too. A warm man was
Waule. Ay, ay; moneys a good egg; and if you ve got
money to leave behind you, lay it in a warm nest. Good-
by, Mrs. Waule. Here Mr. Featherstone pulled at both
sides of his wig as if he wanted to deafen himself, and his
sister went away ruminating on this oracular speech of his.
Notwithstanding her jealousy of the Vincys and of Mary
Garth, there remained as the nethermost sediment in her
mental shallows a persuasion that her brother Peter
Featherstone could never leave his chief property away
from his blood-relations:else, why had the Almighty
carried off his two wives both childless, after he had gained
so much by manganese and things, turning up when
nobody expected it?and why was there a Lowick parish
church, and the Waules and Powderells all sit ting in the
same pew for generations, and the Featherstone pew next
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to them, if, the Sunday after her brother Peters death,
everybody was to know that the property was gone out of
the family? The human mind has at no period accepted a
moral chaos; and so preposterous a result was not strictly
conceivable. But we are frightened at much that is not
strictly conceivable.
When Fred came in the old man eyed him with a
peculiar twinkle, which the younger had often had reason
to interpret as pride in the satisfactory details of his
appearance.
You two misses go away, said Mr. Featherstone. I
want to speak to Fred.
Come into my room, Rosamond, you will not mind
the cold for a little while, said Mary. The two girls had
not only known each other in childhood, but had been at
the same provincial school together (Mary as an articled
pupil), so that they had many memories in common, and
liked very well to talk in private. Indeed, this tete-a-tete
was one of Rosamonds objects in coming to Stone Court.
Old Featherstone would not begin the dialogue till the
door had been closed. He continued to look at Fred with
the same twinkle and with one of his habitual grimaces,
alternately screwing and widening his mouth; and when
he spoke, it was in a low tone, which might be taken for
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that of an informer ready to be bought off, rather than for
the tone of an offended senior. He was not a man to feel
any strong moral indignation even on account of trespasses
against himself. It was natural that others should want to
get an advantage over him, but then, he was a little too
cunning for them.
So, sir, youve been paying ten per cent for money
which youve promised to pay off by mortgaging my land
when Im dead and gone, eh? You put my life at a
twelvemonth, say. But I can alter my will yet.
Fred blushed. He had not borrowed money in that
way, for excellent reasons. But he was conscious of having
spoken with some confidence (perhaps with more than he
exactly remembered) about his prospect of getting
Featherstones land as a future means of paying present
debts.
I dont know what you refer to, sir. I have certainly
never borrowed any money on such an insecurity. Please
to explain.
No, sir, its you must explain. I can alter my will yet,
let me tell you. Im of sound mindcan reckon
compound interest in my head, and remember every fools
name as well as I could twenty years ago. What the deuce?
Im under eighty. I say, you must contradict this story.
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I have contradicted it, sir, Fred answered, with a
touch of impatience, not remembering that his uncle did
not verbally discriminate contradicting from disproving,
though no one was further from confounding the two
ideas than old Featherstone, who often wondered that so
many fools took his own assertions for proofs. But I
contradict it again. The story is a silly lie.
Nonsense! you must bring dockiments. It comes from
authority.
Name the authority, and make him name the man of
whom I borrowed the money, and then I can disprove the
story.
Its pretty good authority, I thinka man who knows
most of what goes on in Middlemarch. Its that fine,
religious, charitable uncle o yours. Come now! Here Mr.
Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake which signified
merriment.
Mr. Bulstrode?
Who else, eh?
Then the story has grown into this lie out of some
sermonizing words he may have let fall about me. Do they
pretend that he named the man who lent me the money?
If there is such a man, depend upon it Bulstrode
knows him. But, supposing you only tried to get the
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Middlemarch
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money lent, and didnt get itBulstrode ud know that
too. You bring me a writing from Bulstrode to say he
doesnt believe youve ever promised to pay your debts
out o my land. Come now!
Mr. Featherstones face required its whole scale of
grimaces as a muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the
soundness of his faculties.
Fred felt himself to be in a disgusting dilemma.
You must be joking, sir. Mr. Bulstrode, like other
men, believes scores of things that are not true, and he has
a prejudice against me. I could easily get him to write that
he knew no facts in proof of the report you speak of,
though it might lead to unpleasantness. But I could hardly
ask him to write down what he believes or does not
believe about me. Fred paused an instant, and then added,
in politic appeal to his uncles vanity, That is hardly a
thing for a gentleman to ask. But he was disappointed in
the result.
Ay, I know what you mean. Youd sooner offend me
than Bulstrode. And whats he?hes got no land
hereabout that ever I heard tell of. A speckilating fellow!
He may come down any day, when the devil leaves off
backing him. And thats what his religion means: he wants
God Amighty to come in. Thats nonsense! Theres one
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thing I made out pretty clear when I used to go to
churchand its this: God Amighty sticks to the land. He
promises land, and He gives land, and He makes chaps
rich with corn and cattle. But you take the other side.
You like Bulstrode and speckilation better than
Featherstone and land.
I beg your pardon, sir, said Fred, rising, standing with
his back to the fire and beating his boot with his whip. I
like neither Bulstrode nor speculation. He spoke rather
sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.
Well, well, you can do without me, thats pretty clear,
said old Featherstone, secretly disliking the possibility that
Fred would show himself at all independent. You neither
want a bit of land to make a squire of you instead of a
starving parson, nor a lift of a hundred pound by the way.
Its all one to me. I can make five codicils if I like, and I
shall keep my bank-notes for a nest-egg. Its all one to
me.
Fred colored again. Featherstone had rarely given him
presents of money, and at this moment it seemed almost
harder to part with the immediate prospect of bank-notes
than with the more distant prospect of the land.
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I am not ungrateful, sir. I never meant to show
disregard for any kind intentions you might have towards
me. On the contrary.
Very good. Then prove it. You bring me a letter from
Bulstrode saying he doesnt believe youve been cracking
and promising to pay your debts out o my land, and then,
if theres any scrape youve got into, well see if I cant
back you a bit. Come now! Thats a bargain. Here, give
me your arm. Ill try and walk round the room.
Fred, in spite of his irritation, had kindness enough in
him to be a little sorry for the unloved, unvenerated old
man, who with his dropsical legs looked more than usually
pitiable in walking. While giving his arm, he thought that
he should not himself like to be an old fellow with his
constitution breaking up; and he waited good-temperedly,
first before the window to hear the wonted remarks about
the guinea-fowls and the weather-cock, and then before
the scanty book-shelves, of which the chief glories in dark
calf were Josephus, Culpepper, Klopstocks Messiah, and
several volumes of the Gentlemans Magazine.
Read me the names o the books. Come now! youre
a college man.
Fred gave him the titles.
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What did missy want with more books? What must
you be bringing her more books for?
They amuse her, sir. She is very fond of reading.
A little too fond, said Mr. Featherstone, captiously.
She was for reading when she sat with me. But I put a
stop to that. Shes got the newspaper to read out loud.
Thats enough for one day, I should think. I cant abide to
see her reading to herself. You mind and not bring her any
more books, do you hear?
Yes, sir, I hear. Fred had received this order before,
and had secretly disobeyed it. He intended to disobey it
again.
Ring the bell, said Mr. Featherstone; I want missy to
come down.
Rosamond and Mary had been talking faster than their
male friends. They did not think of sitting down, but
stood at the toilet-table near the window while Rosamond
took off her hat, adjusted her veil, and applied little
touches of her finger-tips to her hairhair of infantine
fairness, neither flaxen nor yellow. Mary Garth seemed all
the plainer standing at an angle between the two
nymphsthe one in the glass, and the one out of it, who
looked at each other with eyes of heavenly blue, deep
enough to hold the most exquisite meanings an ingenious
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beholder could put into them, and deep enough to hide
the meanings of the owner if these should happen to be
less exquisite. Only a few children in Middlemarch looked
blond by the side of Rosamond, and the slim figure
displayed by her riding-habit had delicate undulations. In
fact, most men in Middlemarch, except her brothers, held
that Miss Vincy was the best girl in the world, and some
called her an angel. Mary Garth, on the contrary, had the
aspect of an ordinary sinner: she was brown; her curly dark
hair was rough and stubborn; her stature was low; and it
would not be true to declare, in satisfactory antithesis, that
she had all the virtues. Plainness has its peculiar
temptations and vices quite as much as beauty; it is apt
either to feign amiability, or, not feigning it, to show all
the repulsive ness of discontent: at any rate, to be called an
ugly thing in contrast with that lovely creature your
companion, is apt to produce some effect beyond a sense
of fine veracity and fitness in the phrase. At the age of
two-and-twenty Mary had certainly not attained that
perfect good sense and good principle which are usually
recommended to the less fortunate girl, as if they were to
be obtained in quantities ready mixed, with a flavor of
resignation as required. Her shrewdness had a streak of
satiric bitterness continually renewed and never carried
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utterly out of sight, except by a strong current of gratitude
towards those who, instead of telling her that she ought to
be contented, did something to make her so. Advancing
womanhood had tempered her plainness, which was of a
good human sort, such as the mothers of our race have
very commonly worn in all latitudes under a more or less
becoming headgear. Rembrandt would have painted her
with pleasure, and would have made her broad features
look out of the canvas with intelligent honesty. For
honesty, truth-telling fairness, was Marys reigning virtue:
she neither tried to create illusions, nor indulged in them
for her own behoof, and when she was in a good mood
she had humor enough in her to laugh at herself. When
she and Rosamond happened both to be reflected in the
glass, she said, laughingly
What a brown patch I am by the side of you, Rosy!
You are the most unbecoming companion.
Oh no! No one thinks of your appearance, you are so
sensible and useful, Mary. Beauty is of very little
consequence in reality, said Rosamond, turning her head
towards Mary, but with eyes swerving towards the new
view of her neck in the glass.
You mean my beauty, said Mary, rather sardonically.
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Rosamond thought, Poor Mary, she takes the kindest
things ill. Aloud she said, What have you been doing
lately?
I? Oh, minding the housepouring out syrup
pretending to be amiable and contentedlearning to have
a bad opinion of everybody.
It is a wretched life for you.
No, said Mary, curtly, with a little toss of her head. I
think my life is pleasanter than your Miss Morgans.
Yes; but Miss Morgan is so uninteresting, and not
young.
She is interesting to herself, I suppose; and I am not at
all sure that everything gets easier as one gets older.
No, said Rosamond, reflectively; one wonders what
such people do, without any prospect. To be sure, there is
religion as a support. But, she added, dimpling, it is very
different with you,Mary. You may have an offer.
Has any one told you he means to make me one?
Of course not. I mean, there is a gentleman who may
fall in love with you, seeing you almost every day.
A certain change in Marys face was chiefly determined
by the resolve not to show any change.
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Does that always make people fall in love? she
answered, carelessly; it seems to me quite as often a reason
for detesting each other.
Not when they are interesting and agreeable. I hear
that Mr. Lydgate is both.
Oh, Mr. Lydgate! said Mary, with an unmistakable
lapse into indifference. You want to know something
about him, she added, not choosing to indulge
Rosamonds indirectness.
Merely, how you like him.
There is no question of liking at present. My liking
always wants some little kindness to kindle it. I am not
magnanimous enough to like people who speak to me
without seeming to see me.
Is he so haughty? said Rosamond, with heightened
satisfaction. You know that he is of good family?
No; he did not give that as a reason.
Mary! you are the oddest girl. But what sort of looking
man is he? Describe him to me.
How can one describe a man? I can give you an
inventory: heavy eyebrows, dark eyes, a straight nose,
thick dark hair, large solid white handsandlet me
seeoh, an exquisite cambric pocket-handkerchief. But
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you will see him. You know this is about the time of his
visits.
Rosamond blushed a little, but said, meditatively, I
rather like a haughty manner. I cannot endure a rattling
young man.
I did not tell you that Mr. Lydgate was haughty; but il
y en a pour tous les gouts, as little Mamselle used to say,
and if any girl can choose the particular sort of conceit she
would like, I should think it is you, Rosy.
Haughtiness is not conceit; I call Fred conceited.
I wish no one said any worse of him. He should be
more careful. Mrs. Waule has been telling uncle that Fred
is very unsteady. Mary spoke from a girlish impulse which
got the better of her judgment. There was a vague
uneasiness associated with the word unsteady which she
hoped Rosamond might say something to dissipate. But
she purposely abstained from mentioning Mrs. Waules
more special insinuation.
Oh, Fred is horrid! said Rosamond. She would not
have allowed herself so unsuitable a word to any one but
Mary.
What do you mean by horrid?
He is so idle, and makes papa so angry, and says he will
not take orders.
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I think Fred is quite right.
How can you say he is quite right, Mary? I thought
you had more sense of religion.
He is not fit to be a clergyman.
But he ought to be fit.Well, then, he is not what
he ought to be. I know some other people who are in the
same case.
But no one approves of them. I should not like to
marry a clergyman; but there must be clergymen.
It does not follow that Fred must be one.
But when papa has been at the expense of educating
him for it! And only suppose, if he should have no fortune
left him?
I can suppose that very well, said Mary, dryly.
Then I wonder you can defend Fred, said Rosamond,
inclined to push this point.
I dont defend him, said Mary, laughing; I would
defend any parish from having him for a clergyman.
But of course if he were a clergyman, he must be
different.
Yes, he would be a great hypocrite; and he is not that
yet.
It is of no use saying anything to you, Mary. You
always take Freds part.
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Why should I not take his part? said Mary, lighting
up. He would take mine. He is the only person who takes
the least trouble to oblige me.
You make me feel very uncomfortable, Mary, said
Rosamond, with her gravest mildness; I would not tell
mamma for the world.
What would you not tell her? said Mary, angrily.
Pray do not go into a rage, Mary, said Rosamond,
mildly as ever.
If your mamma is afraid that Fred will make me an
offer, tell her that I would not marry him if he asked me.
But he is not going to do so, that I am aware. He certainly
never has asked me.
Mary, you are always so violent.
And you are always so exasperating.
I? What can you blame me for?
Oh, blameless people are always the most exasperating.
There is the bellI think we must go down.
I did not mean to quarrel, said Rosamond, putting on
her hat.
Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarrelled. If one is
not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of
being friends?
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Am I to repeat what you have said? Just as you please.
I never say what I am afraid of having repeated. But let us
go down.
Mr. Lydgate was rather late this morning, but the
visitors stayed long enough to see him; for Mr.
Featherstone asked Rosamond to sing to him, and she
herself was-so kind as to propose a second favorite song of
hisFlow on, thou shining riverafter she had sung
Home, sweet home (which she detested). This hard-
headed old Overreach approved of the sentimental song,
as the suitable garnish for girls, and also as fundamentally
fine, sentiment being the right thing for a song.
Mr. Featherstone was still applauding the last
performance, and assuring missy that her voice was as clear
as a blackbirds, when Mr. Lydgates horse passed the
window.
His dull expectation of the usual disagreeable routine
with an aged patientwho can hardly believe that
medicine would not set him up if the doctor were only
clever enoughadded to his general disbelief in
Middlemarch charms, made a doubly effective background
to this vision of Rosamond, whom old Featherstone made
haste ostentatiously to introduce as his niece, though he
had never thought it worth while to speak of Mary Garth
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Middlemarch
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in that light. Nothing escaped Lydgate in Rosamonds
graceful behavior: how delicately she waived the notice
which the old mans want of taste had thrust upon her by
a quiet gravity, not showing her dimples on the wrong
occasion, but showing them afterwards in speaking to
Mary, to whom she addressed herself with so much good-
natured interest, that Lydgate, after quickly examining
Mary more fully than he had done before, saw an adorable
kindness in Rosamonds eyes. But Mary from some cause
looked rather out of temper.
Miss Rosy has been singing me a songyouve
nothing to say against that, eh, doctor? said Mr.
Featherstone. I like it better than your physic.
That has made me forget how the time was going,
said Rosamond, rising to reach her hat, which she had laid
aside before singing, so that her flower-like head on its
white stem was seen in perfection above-her riding-habit.
Fred, we must really go.
Very good, said Fred, who had his own reasons for
not being in the best spirits, and wanted to get away.
Miss Vincy is a musician? said Lydgate, following her
with his eyes. (Every nerve and muscle in Rosamond was
adjusted to the consciousness that she was being looked at.
She was by nature an actress of parts that entered into her
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physique: she even acted her own character, and so well,
that she did not know it to be precisely her own.)
The best in Middlemarch, Ill be bound, said Mr.
Featherstone, let the next be who she will. Eh, Fred?
Speak up for your sister.
Im afraid Im out of court, sir. My evidence would be
good for nothing.
Middlemarch has not a very high standard, uncle, said
Rosamond, with a pretty lightness, going towards her
whip, which lay at a distance.
Lydgate was quick in anticipating her. He reached the
whip before she did, and turned to present it to her. She
bowed and looked at him: he of course was looking at
her, and their eyes met with that peculiar meeting which
is never arrived at by effort, but seems like a sudden divine
clearance of haze. I think Lydgate turned a little paler than
usual, but Rosamond blushed deeply and felt a certain
astonishment. After that, she was really anxious to go, and
did not know what sort of stupidity her uncle was talking
of when she went to shake hands with him.
Yet this result, which she took to be a mutual
impression, called falling in love, was just what Rosamond
had contemplated beforehand. Ever since that important
new arrival in Middlemarch she had woven a little future,
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of which something like this scene was the necessary
beginning. Strangers, whether wrecked and clinging to a
raft, or duly escorted and accompanied by portmanteaus,
have always had a circumstantial fascination for the virgin
mind, against which native merit has urged itself in vain.
And a stranger was absolutely necessary to Rosamonds
social romance, which had always turned on a lover and
bridegroom who was not a Middlemarcher, and who had
no connections at all like her own: of late, indeed, the
construction seemed to demand that he should somehow
be related to a baronet. Now that she and the stranger had
met, reality proved much more moving than anticipation,
and Rosamond could not doubt that this was the great
epoch of her life. She judged of her own symptoms as
those of awakening love, and she held it still more natural
that Mr. Lydgate should have fallen in love at first sight of
her. These things happened so often at balls, and why not
by the morning light, when the complexion showed all
the better for it? Rosamond, though no older than Mary,
was rather used to being fallen in love with; but she, for
her part, had remained indifferent and fastidiously critical
towards both fresh sprig and faded bachelor. And here was
Mr. Lydgate suddenly corresponding to her ideal, being
altogether foreign to Middlemarch, carrying a certain air
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of distinction congruous with good family, and possessing
connections which offered vistas of that middle-class
heaven, rank: a man of talent, also, whom it would be
especially delightful to enslave: in fact, a man who had
touched her nature quite newly, and brought a vivid
interest into her life which was better than any fancied
might-be such as she was in the habit of opposing to the
actual.
Thus, in riding home, both the brother and the sister
were preoccupied and inclined to be silent. Rosamond,
whose basis for her structure had the usual airy slightness,
was of remarkably detailed and realistic imagination when
the foundation had been once presupposed; and before
they had ridden a mile she was far on in the costume and
introductions of her wedded life, having determined on
her house in Middle-march, and foreseen the visits she
would pay to her husbands high-bred relatives at a
distance, whose finished manners she could appropriate as
thoroughly as she had done her school accomplishments,
preparing herself thus for vaguer elevations which might
ultimately come. There was nothing financial, still less
sordid, in her previsions: she cared about what were
considered refinements, and not about the money that was
to pay for them.
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Freds mind, on the other hand, was busy with an
anxiety which even his ready hopefulness could not
immediately quell. He saw no way of eluding
Featherstones stupid demand without incurring
consequences which he liked less even than the task of
fulfilling it. His father was already out of humor with him,
and would be still more so if he were the occasion of any
additional coolness between his own family and the
Bulstrodes. Then, he himself hated having to go and speak
to his uncle Bulstrode, and perhaps after drinking wine he
had said many foolish things about Featherstones
property, and these had been magnified by report. Fred
felt that he made a wretched figure as a fellow who
bragged about expectations from a queer old miser like
Featherstone, and went to beg for certificates at his
bidding. Butthose expectations! He really had them, and
he saw no agreeable alternative if he gave them up;
besides, he had lately made a debt which galled him
extremely, and old Featherstone had almost bargained to
pay it off. The whole affair was miserably small: his debts
were small, even his expectations were not anything so
very magnificent. Fred had known men to whom he
would have been ashamed of confessing the smallness of
his scrapes. Such ruminations naturally produced a streak
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of misanthropic bitterness. To be born the son of a
Middlemarch manufacturer, and inevitable heir to nothing
in particular, while such men as Mainwaring and Vyan
certainly life was a poor business, when a spirited young
fellow, with a good appetite for the best of everything,
had so poor an outlook.
It had not occurred to Fred that the introduction of
Bulstrodes name in the matter was a fiction of old
Featherstones; nor could this have made any difference to
his position. He saw plainly enough that the old man
wanted to exercise his power by tormenting him a little,
and also probably to get some satisfaction out of seeing
him on unpleasant terms with Bulstrode. Fred fancied that
he saw to the bottom of his uncle Featherstones soul,
though in reality half what he saw there was no more than
the reflex of his own inclinations. The difficult task of
knowing another soul is not for young gentlemen whose
consciousness is chiefly made up of their own wishes.
Freds main point of debate with himself was, whether
he should tell his father, or try to get through the affair
without his fathers knowledge. It was probably Mrs.
Waule who had been talking about him; and if Mary
Garth had repeated Mrs. Waules report to Rosamond, it
would be sure to reach his father, who would as surely
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question him about it. He said to Rosamond, as they
slackened their pace
Rosy, did Mary tell you that Mrs. Waule had said
anything about me?
Yes, indeed, she did.
What?
That you were very unsteady.
Was that all?
I should think that was enough, Fred.
You are sure she said no more?
Mary mentioned nothing else. But really, Fred, I think
you ought to be ashamed.
Oh, fudge! Dont lecture me. What did Mary say
about it?
I am not obliged to tell you. You care so very much
what Mary says, and you are too rude to allow me to
speak.
Of course I care what Mary says. She is the best girl I
know.
I should never have thought she was a girl to fall in
love with.
How do you know what men would fall in love with?
Girls never know.
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At least, Fred, let me advise YOU not to fall in love
with her, for she says she would not marry you if you
asked her.
She might have waited till I did ask her.
I knew it would nettle you, Fred.
Not at all. She would not have said so if you had not
provoked her. Before reaching home, Fred concluded
that he would tell the whole affair as simply as possible to
his father, who might perhaps take on himself the
unpleasant business of speaking to Bulstrode.
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BOOK II.
OLD AND YOUNG.
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Chapter XIII
1st Gent. How class your man?as better than the most,
Or, seeming better, worse beneath that cloak?
As saint or knave, pilgrim or hypocrite?
2d Gent. Nay, tell me how you class your wealth of books
The drifted relics of all time.
As well sort them at once by size and livery:
Vellum, tall copies, and the common calf
Will hardly cover more diversity
Than all your labels cunningly devised
To class your unread authors.
In consequence of what he had heard from Fred, Mr.
Vincy determined to speak with Mr. Bulstrode in his
private room at the Bank at half-past one, when he was
usually free from other callers. But a visitor had come in at
one oclock, and Mr. Bulstrode had so much to say to
him, that there was little chance of the interview being
over in half an hour. The bankers speech was fluent, but
it was also copious, and he used up an appreciable amount
of time in brief meditative pauses. Do not imagine his
sickly aspect to have been of the yellow, black-haired sort:
he had a pale blond skin, thin gray-besprinkled brown
hair, light-gray eyes, and a large forehead. Loud men
called his subdued tone an undertone, and sometimes
implied that it was inconsistent with openness; though
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there seems to be no reason why a loud man should not
be given to concealment of anything except his own
voice, unless it can be shown that Holy Writ has placed
the seat of candor in the lungs. Mr. Bulstrode had also a
deferential bending attitude in listening, and an apparently
fixed attentiveness in his eyes which made those persons
who thought themselves worth hearing infer that he was
seeking the utmost improvement from their discourse.
Others, who expected to make no great figure, disliked
this kind of moral lantern turned on them. If you are not
proud of your cellar, there is no thrill of satisfaction in
seeing your guest hold up his wine-glass to the light and
look judicial. Such joys are reserved for conscious merit.
Hence Mr. Bulstrodes close attention was not agreeable to
the publicans and sinners in Middlemarch; it was
attributed by some to his being a Pharisee, and by others
to his being Evangelical. Less superficial reasoners among
them wished to know who his father and grandfather
were, observing that five-and-twenty years ago nobody
had ever heard of a Bulstrode in Middlemarch. To his
present visitor, Lydgate, the scrutinizing look was a matter
of indifference: he simply formed an unfavorable opinion
of the bankers constitution, and concluded that he had an
eager inward life with little enjoyment of tangible things.
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I shall be exceedingly obliged if you will look in on
me here occasionally, Mr. Lydgate, the banker observed,
after a brief pause. If, as I dare to hope, I have the
privilege of finding you a valuable coadjutor in the
interesting matter of hospital management, there will be
many questions which we shall need to discuss in private.
As to the new hospital, which is nearly finished, I shall
consider what you have said about the advantages of the
special destination for fevers. The decision will rest with
me, for though Lord Medlicote has given the land and
timber for the building, he is not disposed to give his
personal attention to the object.
There are few things better worth the pains in a
provincial town like this, said Lydgate. A fine fever
hospital in addition to the old infirmary might be the
nucleus of a medical school here, when once we get our
medical reforms; and what would do more for medical
education than the spread of such schools over the
country? A born provincial man who has a grain of public
spirit as well as a few ideas, should do what he can to resist
the rush of everything that is a little better than common
towards London. Any valid professional aims may often
find a freer, if not a richer field, in the provinces.
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Middlemarch
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One of Lydgates gifts was a voice habitually deep and
sonorous, yet capable of becoming very low and gentle at
the right moment. About his ordinary bearing there was a
certain fling, a fearless expectation of success, a confidence
in his own powers and integrity much fortified by
contempt for petty obstacles or seductions of which he had
had no experience. But this proud openness was made
lovable by an expression of unaffected good-will. Mr.
Bulstrode perhaps liked him the better for the difference
between them in pitch and manners; he certainly liked
him the better, as Rosamond did, for being a stranger in
Middlemarch. One can begin so many things with a new
person! even begin to be a better man.
I shall rejoice to furnish your zeal with fuller
opportunities, Mr. Bulstrode answered; I mean, by
confiding to you the superintendence of my new hospital,
should a maturer knowledge favor that issue, for I am
determined that so great an object shall not be shackled by
our two physicians. Indeed, I am encouraged to consider
your advent to this town as a gracious indication that a
more manifest blessing is now to be awarded to my efforts,
which have hitherto been much with stood. With regard
to the old infirmary, we have gained the initial pointI
mean your election. And now I hope you will not shrink
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from incurring a certain amount of jealousy and dislike
from your professional brethren by presenting yourself as a
reformer.
I will not profess bravery, said Lydgate, smiling, but I
acknowledge a good deal of pleasure in fighting, and I
should not care for my profession, if I did not believe that
better methods were to be found and enforced there as
well as everywhere else.
The standard of that profession is low in Middlemarch,
my dear sir, said the banker. I mean in knowledge and
skill; not in social status, for our medical men are most of
them connected with respectable townspeople here. My
own imperfect health has induced me to give some
attention to those palliative resources which the divine
mercy has placed within our reach. I have consulted
eminent men in the metropolis, and I am painfully aware
of the backwardness under which medical treatment labors
in our provincial districts.
Yes;with our present medical rules and education,
one must be satisfied now and then to meet with a fair
practitioner. As to all the higher questions which
determine the starting-point of a diagnosisas to the
philosophy of medial evidenceany glimmering of these
can only come from a scientific culture of which country
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practitioners have usually no more notion than the man in
the moon.
Mr. Bulstrode, bending and looking intently, found the
form which Lydgate had given to his agreement not quite
suited to his comprehension. Under such circumstances a
judicious man changes the topic and enters on ground
where his own gifts may be more useful.
I am aware, he said, that the peculiar bias of medical
ability is towards material means. Nevertheless, Mr.
Lydgate, I hope we shall not vary in sentiment as to a
measure in which you are not likely to be actively
concerned, but in which your sympathetic concurrence
may be an aid to me. You recognize, I hope; the existence
of spiritual interests in your patients?
Certainly I do. But those words are apt to cover
different meanings to different minds.
Precisely. And on such subjects wrong teaching is as
fatal as no teaching. Now a point which I have much at
heart to secure is a new regulation as to clerical attendance
at the old infirmary. The building stands in Mr.
Farebrothers parish. You know Mr. Farebrother?
I have seen him. He gave me his vote. I must call to
thank him. He seems a very bright pleasant little fellow.
And I understand he is a naturalist.
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Mr. Farebrother, my dear sir, is a man deeply painful
to contemplate. I suppose there is not a clergyman in this
country who has greater talents. Mr. Bulstrode paused and
looked meditative.
I have not yet been pained by finding any excessive
talent in Middlemarch, said Lydgate, bluntly.
What I desire, Mr. Bulstrode continued, looking still
more serious, is that Mr. Farebrothers attendance at the
hospital should be superseded by the appointment of a
chaplainof Mr. Tyke, in fact and that no other
spiritual aid should be called in.
As a medial man I could have no opinion on such a
point unless I knew Mr. Tyke, and even then I should
require to know the cases in which he was applied.
Lydgate smiled, but he was bent on being circumspect.
Of course you cannot enter fully into the merits of this
measure at present. Buthere Mr. Bulstrode began to
speak with a more chiselled emphasisthe subject is
likely to be referred to the medical board of the infirmary,
and what I trust I may ask of you is, that in virtue of the
cooperation between us which I now look forward to,
you will not, so far as you are concerned, be influenced by
my opponents in this matter.
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I hope I shall have nothing to do with clerical
disputes, said Lydgate. The path I have chosen is to work
well in my own profession.
My responsibility, Mr. Lydgate, is of a broader kind.
With me, indeed, this question is one of sacred
accountableness; whereas with my opponents, I have good
reason to say that it is an occasion for gratifying a spirit of
worldly opposition. But I shall not therefore drop one iota
of my convictions, or cease to identify myself with that
truth which an evil generation hates. I have devoted
myself to this object of hospital-improvement, but I will
boldly confess to you, Mr. Lydgate, that I should have no
interest in hospitals if I believed that nothing more was
concerned therein than the cure of mortal diseases. I have
another ground of action, and in the face of persecution I
will not conceal it.
Mr. Bulstrodes voice had become a loud and agitated
whisper as he said the last words.
There we certainly differ, said Lydgate. But he was
not sorry that the door was now opened, and Mr. Vincy
was announced. That florid sociable personage was
become more interesting to him since he had seen
Rosamond. Not that, like her, he had been weaving any
future in which their lots were united; but a man naturally
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remembers a charming girl with pleasure, and is willing to
dine where he may see her again. Before he took leave,
Mr. Vincy had given that invitation which he had been in
no hurry about, for Rosamond at breakfast had
mentioned that she thought her uncle Featherstone had
taken the new doctor into great favor.
Mr. Bulstrode, alone with his brother-in-law, poured
himself out a glass of water, and opened a sandwich-box.
I cannot persuade you to adopt my regimen, Vincy?
No, no; Ive no opinion of that system. Life wants
padding, said Mr. Vincy, unable to omit his portable
theory. However, he went on, accenting the word, as if
to dismiss all irrelevance, what I came here to talk about
was a little affair of my young scapegrace, Freds.
That is a subject on which you and I are likely to take
quite as different views as on diet, Vincy.
I hope not this time. (Mr. Vincy was resolved to be
good-humored.) The fact is, its about a whim of old
Featherstones. Somebody has been cooking up a story out
of spite, and telling it to the old man, to try to set him
against Fred. Hes very fond of Fred, and is likely to do
something handsome for him; indeed he has as good as
told Fred that he means to leave him his land, and that
makes other people jealous.
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Vincy, I must repeat, that you will not get any
concurrence from me as to the course you have pursued
with your eldest son. It was entirely from worldly vanity
that you destined him for the Church: with a family of
three sons and four daughters, you were not warranted in
devoting money to an expensive education which has
succeeded in nothing but in giving him extravagant idle
habits. You are now reaping the consequences.
To point out other peoples errors was a duty that Mr.
Bulstrode rarely shrank from, but Mr. Vincy was not
equally prepared to be patient. When a man has the
immediate prospect of being mayor, and is ready, in the
interests of commerce, to take up a firm attitude on
politics generally, he has naturally a sense of his
importance to the framework of things which seems to
throw questions of private conduct into the background.
And this particular reproof irritated him more than any
other. It was eminently superfluous to him to be told that
he was reaping the consequences. But he felt his neck
under Bulstrodes yoke; and though he usually enjoyed
kicking, he was anxious to refrain from that relief.
As to that, Bulstrode, its no use going back. Im not
one of your pattern men, and I dont pretend to be. I
couldnt foresee everything in the trade; there wasnt a
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finer business in Middlemarch than ours, and the lad was
clever. My poor brother was in the Church, and would
have done wellhad got preferment already, but that
stomach fever took him off: else he might have been a
dean by this time. I think I was justified in what I tried to
do for Fred. If you come to religion, it seems to me a man
shouldnt want to carve out his meat to an ounce
beforehand:one must trust a little to Providence and be
generous. Its a good British feeling to try and raise your
family a little: in my opinion, its a fathers duty to give his
sons a fine chance.
I dont wish to act otherwise than as your best friend,
Vincy, when I say that what you have been uttering just
now is one mass of worldliness and inconsistent folly.
Very well, said Mr. Vincy, kicking in spite of
resolutions, I never professed to be anything but worldly;
and, whats more, I dont see anybody else who is not
worldly. I suppose you dont conduct business on what
you call unworldly principles. The only difference I see is
that one worldliness is a little bit honester than another.
This kind of discussion is unfruitful, Vincy, said Mr.
Bulstrode, who, finishing his sandwich, had thrown
himself back in his chair, and shaded his eyes as if weary.
You had some more particular business.
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Yes, yes. The long and short of it is, somebody has
told old Featherstone, giving you as the authority, that
Fred has been borrowing or trying to borrow money on
the prospect of his land. Of course you never said any such
nonsense. But the old fellow will insist on it that Fred
should bring him a denial in your handwriting; that is, just
a bit of a note saying you dont believe a word of such
stuff, either of his having borrowed or tried to borrow in
such a fools way. I suppose you can have no objection to
do that.
Pardon me. I have an objection. I am by no means
sure that your son, in his recklessness and ignoranceI
will use no severer word has not tried to raise money by
holding out his future prospects, or even that some one
may not have been foolish enough to supply him on so
vague a presumption: there is plenty of such lax money-
lending as of other folly in the world.
But Fred gives me his honor that he has never
borrowed money on the pretence of any understanding
about his uncles land. He is not a liar. I dont want to
make him better than he is. I have blown him up well
nobody can say I wink at what he does. But he is not a
liar. And I should have thoughtbut I may be wrong
that there was no religion to hinder a man from believing
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the best of a young fellow, when you dont know worse.
It seems to me it would be a poor sort of religion to put a
spoke in his wheel by refusing to say you dont believe
such harm of him as youve got no good reason to
believe.
I am not at all sure that I should be befriending your
son by smoothing his way to the future possession of
Featherstones property. I cannot regard wealth as a
blessing to those who use it simply as a harvest for this
world. You do not like to hear these things, Vincy, but on
this occasion I feel called upon to tell you that I have no
motive for furthering such a disposition of property as that
which you refer to. I do not shrink from saying that it will
not tend to your sons eternal welfare or to the glory of
God. Why then should you expect me to pen this kind of
affidavit, which has no object but to keep up a foolish
partiality and secure a foolish bequest?
If you mean to hinder everybody from having money
but saints and evangelists, you must give up some
profitable partnerships, thats all I can say, Mr. Vincy burst
out very bluntly. It may be for the glory of God, but it is
not for the glory of the Middlemarch trade, that
Plymdales house uses those blue and green dyes it gets
from the Brassing manufactory; they rot the silk, thats all I
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know about it. Perhaps if other people knew so much of
the profit went to the glory of God, they might like it
better. But I dont mind so much about thatI could get
up a pretty row, if I chose.
Mr. Bulstrode paused a little before he answered. You
pain me very much by speaking in this way, Vincy. I do
not expect you to understand my grounds of actionit is
not an easy thing even to thread a path for principles in
the intricacies of the world still less to make the thread
clear for the careless and the scoffing. You must
remember, if you please, that I stretch my tolerance
towards you as my wifes brother, and that it little
becomes you to complain of me as withholding material
help towards the worldly position of your family. I must
remind you that it is not your own prudence or judgment
that has enabled you to keep your place in the trade.
Very likely not; but you have been no loser by my
trade yet, said Mr. Vincy, thoroughly nettled (a result
which was seldom much retarded by previous resolutions).
And when you married Harriet, I dont see how you
could expect that our families should not hang by the
same nail. If youve changed your mind, and want my
family to come down in the world, youd better say so.
Ive never changed; Im a plain Churchman now, just as I
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used to be before doctrines came up. I take the world as I
find it, in trade and everything else. Im contented to be
no worse than my neighbors. But if you want us to come
down in the world, say so. I shall know better what to do
then.
You talk unreasonably. Shall you come down in the
world for want of this letter about your son?
Well, whether or not, I consider it very unhandsome
of you to refuse it. Such doings may be lined with
religion, but outside they have a nasty, dog-in-the-manger
look. You might as well slander Fred: it comes pretty near
to it when you refuse to say you didnt set a slander going.
Its this sort of thing-this tyrannical spirit, wanting to
play bishop and banker everywhereits this sort of thing
makes a mans name stink.
Vincy, if you insist on quarrelling with me, it will be
exceedingly painful to Harriet as well as myself, said Mr.
Bulstrode, with a trifle more eagerness and paleness than
usual.
I dont want to quarrel. Its for my interestand
perhaps for yours toothat we should be friends. I bear
you no grudge; I think no worse of you than I do of other
people. A man who half starves himself, and goes the
length in family prayers, and so on, that you do, believes
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in his religion whatever it may be: you could turn over
your capital just as fast with cursing and swearing:
plenty of fellows do. You like to be master, theres no
denying that; you must be first chop in heaven, else you
wont like it much. But youre my sisters husband, and
we ought to stick together; and if I know Harriet, shell
consider it your fault if we quarrel because you strain at a
gnat in this way, and refuse to do Fred a good turn. And I
dont mean to say I shall bear it well. I consider it
unhandsome.
Mr. Vincy rose, began to button his great-coat, and
looked steadily at his brother-in-law, meaning to imply a
demand for a decisive answer.
This was not the first time that Mr. Bulstrode had
begun by admonishing Mr. Vincy, and had ended by
seeing a very unsatisfactory reflection of himself in the
coarse unflattering mirror which that manufacturers mind
presented to the subtler lights and shadows of his fellow-
men; and perhaps his experience ought to have warned
him how the scene would end. But a full-fed fountain will
be generous with its waters even in the rain, when they
are worse than useless; and a fine fount of admonition is
apt to be equally irrepressible.
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It was not in Mr. Bulstrodes nature to comply directly
in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions. Before
changing his course, he always needed to shape his
motives and bring them into accordance with his habitual
standard. He said, at last
I will reflect a little, Vincy. I will mention the subject
to Harriet. I shall probably send you a letter.
Very well. As soon as you can, please. I hope it will all
be settled before I see you to-morrow.
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Chapter XIV
Follows here the strict receipt
For that sauce to dainty meat,
Named Idleness, which many eat
By preference, and call it sweet:
First watch for morsels, like a hound
Mix well with buffets, stir them round
With good thick oil of flatteries,
And froth with mean self-lauding lies.
Serve warm: the vessels you must choose
To keep it in are dead mens shoes.
Mr. Bulstrodes consultation of Harriet seemed to have
had the effect desired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next
morning a letter came which Fred could carry to Mr.
Featherstone as the required testimony.
The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of
the cold weather, and as Mary Garth was not to be seen in
the sitting-room, Fred went up-stairs immediately and
presented the letter to his uncle, who, propped up
comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual to
enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and
frustrating mankind. He put on his spectacles to read the
letter, pursing up his lips and drawing down their corners.
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Under the circumstances I will not decline to state my
conviction tchah! what fine words the fellow puts! Hes
as fine as an auctioneer that your son Frederic has not
obtained any advance of money on bequests promised by
Mr. Featherstonepromised? who said I had ever
promised? I promise nothingI shall make codicils as long
as I likeand that considering the nature of such a
proceeding, it is unreasonable to presume that a young
man of sense and character would attempt itah, but the
gentleman doesnt say you are a young man of sense and
character, mark you that, sir!As to my own concern
with any report of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I
never made any statement to the effect that your son had
borrowed money on any property that might accrue to
him on Mr. Featherstones demise bless my heart!
propertyaccruedemise! Lawyer Standish is nothing
to him. He couldnt speak finer if he wanted to borrow.
Well, Mr. Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at
Fred, while he handed back the letter to him with a
contemptuous gesture, you dont suppose I believe a
thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?
Fred colored. You wished to have the letter, sir. I
should think it very likely that Mr. Bulstrodes denial is as
good as the authority which told you what he denies.
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Every bit. I never said I believed either one or the
other. And now what d you expect? said Mr.
Featherstone, curtly, keeping on his spectacles, but
withdrawing his hands under his wraps.
I expect nothing, sir. Fred with difficulty restrained
himself from venting his irritation. I came to bring you
the letter. If you like I will bid you good morning.
Not yet, not yet. Ring the bell; I want missy to come.
It was a servant who came in answer to the bell.
Tell missy to come! said Mr. Featherstone,
impatiently. What business had she to go away? He
spoke in the same tone when Mary came.
Why couldnt you sit still here till I told you to go?
want my waistcoat now. I told you always to put it on the
bed.
Marys eyes looked rather red, as if she had been
crying. It was clear that Mr. Featherstone was in one of his
most snappish humors this morning, and though Fred had
now the prospect of receiving the much-needed present of
money, he would have preferred being free to turn round
on the old tyrant and tell him that Mary Garth was too
good to be at his beck. Though Fred had risen as she
entered the room, she had barely noticed him, and looked
as if her nerves were quivering with the expectation that
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something would be thrown at her. But she never had
anything worse than words to dread. When she went to
reach the waistcoat from a peg, Fred went up to her and
said, Allow me.
Let it alone! You bring it, missy, and lay it down here,
said Mr. Featherstone. Now you go away again till I call
you, he added, when the waistcoat was laid down by him.
It was usual with him to season his pleasure in showing
favor to one person by being especially disagreeable to
another, and Mary was always at hand to furnish the
condiment. When his own relatives came she was treated
better. Slowly he took out a bunch of keys from the
waistcoat pocket, and slowly he drew forth a tin box
which was under the bed-clothes.
You expect I am going to give you a little fortune,
eh? he said, looking above his spectacles and pausing in
the act of opening the lid.
Not at all, sir. You were good enough to speak of
making me a present the other day, else, of course, I
should not have thought of the matter. But Fred was of a
hopeful disposition, and a vision had presented itself of a
sum just large enough to deliver him from a certain
anxiety. When Fred got into debt, it always seemed to
him highly probable that something or other he did not
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necessarily conceive whatwould come to pass enabling
him to pay in due time. And now that the providential
occurrence was apparently close at hand, it would have
been sheer absurdity to think that the supply would be
short of the need: as absurd as a faith that believed in half a
miracle for want of strength to believe in a whole one.
The deep-veined hands fingered many bank-notes-one
after the other, laying them down flat again, while Fred
leaned back in his chair, scorning to look eager. He held
himself to be a gentleman at heart, and did not like
courting an old fellow for his money. At last, Mr.
Featherstone eyed him again over his spectacles and
presented him with a little sheaf of notes: Fred could see
distinctly that there were but five, as the less significant
edges gaped towards him. But then, each might mean fifty
pounds. He took them, saying
I am very much obliged to you, sir, and was going to
roll them up without seeming to think of their value. But
this did not suit Mr. Featherstone, who was eying him
intently.
Come, dont you think it worth your while to count
em? You take money like a lord; I suppose you lose it
like one.
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I thought I was not to look a gift-horse in the mouth,
sir. But I shall be very happy to count them.
Fred was not so happy, however, after he had counted
them. For they actually presented the absurdity of being
less than his hopefulness had decided that they must be.
What can the fitness of things mean, if not their fitness to a
mans expectations? Failing this, absurdity and atheism
gape behind him. The collapse for Fred was severe when
he found that he held no more than five twenties, and his
share in the higher education of this country did not seem
to help him. Nevertheless he said, with rapid changes in
his fair complexion
It is very handsome of you, sir.
I should think it is, said Mr. Featherstone, locking his
box and replacing it, then taking off his spectacles
deliberately, and at length, as if his inward meditation had
more deeply convinced him, repeating, I should think it
handsome.
I assure you, sir, I am very grateful, said Fred, who
had had time to recover his cheerful air.
So you ought to be. You want to cut a figure in the
world, and I reckon Peter Featherstone is the only one
youve got to trust to. Here the old mans eyes gleamed
with a curiously mingled satisfaction in the consciousness
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that this smart young fellow relied upon him, and that the
smart young fellow was rather a fool for doing so.
Yes, indeed: I was not born to very splendid chances.
Few men have been more cramped than I have been, said
Fred, with some sense of surprise at his own virtue,
considering how hardly he was dealt with. It really seems
a little too bad to have to ride a broken-winded hunter,
and see men, who, are not half such good judges as
yourself, able to throw away any amount of money on
buying bad bargains.
Well, you can buy yourself a fine hunter now. Eighty
pound is enough for that, I reckonand youll have
twenty pound over to get yourself out of any little scrape,
said Mr. Featherstone, chuckling slightly.
You are very good, sir, said Fred, with a fine sense of
contrast between the words and his feeling.
Ay, rather a better uncle than your fine uncle
Bulstrode. You wont get much out of his spekilations, I
think. Hes got a pretty strong string round your fathers
leg, by what I hear, eh?
My father never tells me anything about his affairs, sir.
Well, he shows some sense there. But other people
find em out without his telling. HELL never have much
to leave you: hell most-like die without a willhes the
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sort of man to do it let em make him mayor of
Middlemarch as much as they like. But you wont get
much by his dying without a will, though you ARE the
eldest son.
Fred thought that Mr. Featherstone had never been so
disagreeable before. True, he had never before given him
quite so much money at once.
Shall I destroy this letter of Mr. Bulstrodes, sir? said
Fred, rising with the letter as if he would put it in the fire.
Ay, ay, I dont want it. Its worth no money to me.
Fred carried the letter to the fire, and thrust the poker
through it with much zest. He longed to get out of the
room, but he was a little ashamed before his inner self, as
well as before his uncle, to run away immediately after
pocketing the money. Presently, the farm-bailiff came up
to give his master a report, and Fred, to his unspeakable
relief, was dismissed with the injunction to come again
soon.
He had longed not only to be set free from his uncle,
but also to find Mary Garth. She was now in her usual
place by the fire, with sewing in her hands and a book
open on the little table by her side. Her eyelids had lost
some of their redness now, and she had her usual air of
self-command.
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Am I wanted up-stairs? she said, half rising as Fred
entered.
No; I am only dismissed, because Simmons is gone
up.
Mary sat down again, and resumed her work. She was
certainly treating him with more indifference than usual:
she did not know how affectionately indignant he had felt
on her behalf up-stairs.
May I stay here a little, Mary, or shall I bore you?
Pray sit down, said Mary; you will not be so heavy a
bore as Mr. John Waule, who was here yesterday, and he
sat down without asking my leave.’
Poor fellow! I think he is in love with you.
I am not aware of it. And to me it is one of the most
odious things in a girls life, that there must always be
some supposition of falling in love coming between her
and any man who is kind to her, and to whom she is
grateful. I should have thought that I, at least, might have
been safe from all that. I have no ground for the
nonsensical vanity of fancying everybody who comes near
me is in love with me.
Mary did not mean to betray any feeling, but in spite of
herself she ended in a tremulous tone of vexation.
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Confound John Waule! I did not mean to make you
angry. I didnt know you had any reason for being grateful
to me. I forgot what a great service you think it if any one
snuffs a candle for you. Fred also had his pride, and was
not going to show that he knew what had called forth this
outburst of Marys.
Oh, I am not angry, except with the ways of the
world. I do like to be spoken to as if I had common-sense.
I really often feel as if I could understand a little more than
I ever hear even from young gentlemen who have been to
college. Mary had recovered, and she spoke with a
suppressed rippling under-current of laughter pleasant to
hear.
I dont care how merry you are at my expense this
morning, said Fred, I thought you looked so sad when
you came up-stairs. It is a shame you should stay here to
be bullied in that way.
Oh, I have an easy lifeby comparison. I have tried
being a teacher, and I am not fit for that: my mind is too
fond of wandering on its own way. I think any hardship is
better than pretending to do what one is paid for, and
never really doing it. Everything here I can do as well as
any one else could; perhaps better than someRosy, for
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example. Though she is just the sort of beautiful creature
that is imprisoned with ogres in fairy tales.
ROSY! cried Fred, in a tone of profound brotherly
scepticism.
Come, Fred! said Mary, emphatically; you have no
right to be so critical.
Do you mean anything particularjust now?
No, I mean something generalalways.
Oh, that I am idle and extravagant. Well, I am not fit
to be a poor man. I should not have made a bad fellow if I
had been rich.
You would have done your duty in that state of life to
which it has not pleased God to call you, said Mary,
laughing.
Well, I couldnt do my duty as a clergyman, any more
than you could do yours as a governess. You ought to
have a little fellow-feeling there, Mary.
I never said you ought to be a clergyman. There are
other sorts of work. It seems to me very miserable not to
resolve on some course and act accordingly.
So I could, if Fred broke off, and stood up, leaning
against the mantel-piece.
If you were sure you should not have a fortune?
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I did not say that. You want to quarrel with me. It is
too bad of you to be guided by what other people say
about me.
How can I want to quarrel with you? I should be
quarrelling with all my new books, said Mary, lifting the
volume on the table. However naughty you may be to
other people, you are good to me.
Because I like you better than any one else. But I
know you despise me.
Yes, I doa little, said Mary, nodding, with a smile.
You would admire a stupendous fellow, who would
have wise opinions about everything.
Yes, I should. Mary was sewing swiftly, and seemed
provokingly mistress of the situation. When a conversation
has taken a wrong turn for us, we only get farther and
farther into the swamp of awkwardness. This was what
Fred Vincy felt.
I suppose a woman is never in love with any one she
has always known ever since she can remember; as a
man often is. It is always some new fellow who strikes a
girl.
Let me see, said Mary, the corners of her mouth
curling archly; I must go back on my experience. There is
Julietshe seems an example of what you say. But then
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Ophelia had probably known Hamlet a long while; and
Brenda Troilshe had known Mordaunt Merton ever
since they were children; but then he seems to have been
an estimable young man; and Minna was still more deeply
in love with Cleveland, who was a stranger. Waverley was
new to Flora MacIvor; but then she did not fall in love
with him. And there are Olivia and Sophia Primrose, and
Corinnethey may be said to have fallen in love with
new men. Altogether, my experience is rather mixed.
Mary looked up with some roguishness at Fred, and
that look of hers was very dear to him, though the eyes
were nothing more than clear windows where observation
sat laughingly. He was certainly an affectionate fellow, and
as he had grown from boy to man, he had grown in love
with his old playmate, notwithstanding that share in the
higher education of the country which had exalted his
views of rank and income.
When a man is not loved, it is no use for him to say
that he could be a better fellowcould do anythingI
mean, if he were sure of being loved in return.
Not of the least use in the world for him to say he
COULD be better. Might, could, wouldthey are
contemptible auxiliaries.
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I dont see how a man is to be good for much unless
he has some one woman to love him dearly.
I think the goodness should come before he expects
that.
You know better, Mary. Women dont love men for
their goodness.
Perhaps not. But if they love them, they never think
them bad.
It is hardly fair to say I am bad.
I said nothing at all about you.
I never shall be good for anything, Mary, if you will
not say that you love meif you will not promise to
marry meI mean, when I am able to marry.
If I did love you, I would not marry you: I would
certainly not promise ever to marry you.
I think that is quite wicked, Mary. If you love me, you
ought to promise to marry me.
On the contrary, I think it would be wicked in me to
marry you even if I did love you.
You mean, just as I am, without any means of
maintaining a wife. Of course: I am but three-and-
twenty.
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In that last point you will alter. But I am not so sure of
any other alteration. My father says an idle man ought not
to exist, much less, be married.
Then I am to blow my brains out?
No; on the whole I should think you would do better
to pass your examination. I have heard Mr. Farebrother
say it is disgracefully easy.
That is all very fine. Anything is easy to him. Not that
cleverness has anything to do with it. I am ten times
cleverer than many men who pass.
Dear me! said Mary, unable to repress her sarcasm;
that accounts for the curates like Mr. Crowse. Divide
your cleverness by ten, and the quotientdear me!is
able to take a degree. But that only shows you are ten
times more idle than the others.
Well, if I did pass, you would not want me to go into
the Church?
That is not the questionwhat I want you to do. You
have a conscience of your own, I suppose. There! there is
Mr. Lydgate. I must go and tell my uncle.
Mary, said Fred, seizing her hand as she rose; if you
will not give me some encouragement, I shall get worse
instead of better.
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I will not give you any encouragement, said Mary,
reddening. Your friends would dislike it, and so would
mine. My father would think it a disgrace to me if I
accepted a man who got into debt, and would not work!
Fred was stung, and released her hand. She walked to
the door, but there she turned and said: Fred, you have
always been so good, so generous to me. I am not
ungrateful. But never speak to me in that way again.
Very well, said Fred, sulkily, taking up his hat and
whip. His complexion showed patches of pale pink and
dead white. Like many a plucked idle young gentleman,
he was thoroughly in love, and with a plain girl, who had
no money! But having Mr. Featherstones land in the
background, and a persuasion that, let Mary say what she
would, she really did care for him, Fred was not utterly in
despair.
When he got home, he gave four of the twenties to his
mother, asking her to keep them for him. I dont want to
spend that money, mother. I want it to pay a debt with.
So keep it safe away from my fingers.
Bless you, my dear, said Mrs. Vincy. She doted on her
eldest son and her youngest girl (a child of six), whom
others thought her two naughtiest children. The mothers
eyes are not always deceived in their partiality: she at least
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can best judge who is the tender, filial-hearted child. And
Fred was certainly very fond of his mother. Perhaps it was
his fondness for another person also that made him
particularly anxious to take some security against his own
liability to spend the hundred pounds. For the creditor to
whom he owed a hundred and sixty held a firmer security
in the shape of a bill signed by Marys father.
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Chapter XV
Black eyes you have left, you say,
Blue eyes fail to draw you;
Yet you seem more rapt to-day,
Than of old we saw you.
Oh, I track the fairest fair
Through new haunts of pleasure;
Footprints here and echoes there
Guide me to my treasure:
Lo! she turnsimmortal youth
Wrought to mortal stature,
Fresh as starlights aged truth
Many-named Nature!
A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, who
had the happiness to be dead a hundred and twenty years
ago, and so to take his place among the colossi whose
huge legs our living pettiness is observed to walk under,
glories in his copious remarks and digressions as the least
imitable part of his work, and especially in those initial
chapters to the successive books of his history, where he
seems to bring his armchair to the proscenium and chat
with us in all the lusty ease of his fine English. But
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Fielding lived when the days were longer (for time, like
money, is measured by our needs), when summer
afternoons were spacious, and the clock ticked slowly in
the winter evenings. We belated historians must not linger
after his example; and if we did so, it is probable that our
chat would be thin and eager, as if delivered from a
campstool in a parrot-house. I at least have so much to do
in unraveling certain human lots, and seeing how they
were woven and interwoven, that all the light I can
command must be concentrated on this particular web,
and not dispersed over that tempting range of relevancies
called the universe.
At present I have to make the new settler Lydgate
better known to any one interested in him than he could
possibly be even to those who had seen the most of him
since his arrival in Middlemarch. For surely all must admit
that a man may be puffed and belauded, envied, ridiculed,
counted upon as a tool and fallen in love with, or at least
selected as a future husband, and yet remain virtually
unknown known merely as a cluster of signs for his
neighbors false suppositions. There was a general
impression, however, that Lydgate was not altogether a
common country doctor, and in Middlemarch at that time
such an impression was significant of great things being
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expected from him. For everybodys family doctor was
remarkably clever, and was understood to have
immeasurable skill in the management and training of the
most skittish or vicious diseases. The evidence of his
cleverness was of the higher intuitive order, lying in his
lady-patients immovable conviction, and was unassailable
by any objection except that their intuitions were opposed
by others equally strong; each lady who saw medical truth
in Wrench and the strengthening treatment regarding
Toller and the lowering system as medical perdition. For
the heroic times of copious bleeding and blistering had not
yet departed, still less the times of thorough-going theory,
when disease in general was called by some bad name, and
treated accordingly without shilly-shallyas if, for
example, it were to be called insurrection, which must not
be fired on with blank-cartridge, but have its blood drawn
at once. The strengtheners and the lowerers were all
clever men in somebodys opinion, which is really as
much as can be said for any living talents. Nobodys
imagination had gone so far as to conjecture that Mr.
Lydgate could know as much as Dr. Sprague and Dr.
Minchin, the two physicians, who alone could offer any
hope when danger was extreme, and when the smallest
hope was worth a guinea. Still, I repeat, there was a
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general impression that Lydgate was something rather
more uncommon than any general practitioner in
Middlemarch. And this was true. He was but seven-and-
twenty, an age at which many men are not quite
commonat which they are hopeful of achievement,
resolute in avoidance, thinking that Mammon shall never
put a bit in their mouths and get astride their backs, but
rather that Mammon, if they have anything to do with
him, shall draw their chariot.
He had been left an orphan when he was fresh from a
public school. His father, a military man, had made but
little provision for three children, and when the boy
Tertius asked to have a medical education, it seemed easier
to his guardians to grant his request by apprenticing him to
a country practitioner than to make any objections on the
score of family dignity. He was one of the rarer lads who
early get a decided bent and make up their minds that
there is something particular in life which they would like
to do for its own sake, and not because their fathers did it.
Most of us who turn to any subject with love remember
some morning or evening hour when we got on a high
stool to reach down an untried volume, or sat with parted
lips listening to a new talker, or for very lack of books
began to listen to the voices within, as the first traceable
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beginning of our love. Something of that sort happened to
Lydgate. He was a quick fellow, and when hot from play,
would toss himself in a corner, and in five minutes be
deep in any sort of book that he could lay his hands on: if
it were Rasselas or Gulliver, so much the better, but
Baileys Dictionary would do, or the Bible with the
Apocrypha in it. Something he must read, when he was
not riding the pony, or running and hunting, or listening
to the talk of men. All this was true of him at ten years of
age; he had then read through Chrysal, or the Adventures
of a Guinea, which was neither milk for babes, nor any
chalky mixture meant to pass for milk, and it had already
occurred to him that books were stuff, and that life was
stupid. His school studies had not much modified that
opinion, for though he did his classics and mathematics,
he was not pre-eminent in them. It was said of him, that
Lydgate could do anything he liked, but he had certainly
not yet liked to do anything remarkable. He was a
vigorous animal with a ready understanding, but no spark
had yet kindled in him an intellectual passion; knowledge
seemed to him a very superficial affair, easily mastered:
judging from the conversation of his elders, he had
apparently got already more than was necessary for mature
life. Probably this was not an exceptional result of
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expensive teaching at that period of short-waisted coats,
and other fashions which have not yet recurred. But, one
vacation, a wet day sent him to the small home library to
hunt once more for a book which might have some
freshness for him: in vain! unless, indeed, he took down a
dusty row of volumes with gray-paper backs and dingy
labelsthe volumes of an old Cyclopaedia which he had
never disturbed. It would at least be a novelty to disturb
them. They were on the highest shelf, and he stood on a
chair to get them down. But he opened the volume which
he first took from the shelf: somehow, one is apt to read in
a makeshift attitude, just where it might seem
inconvenient to do so. The page he opened on was under
the head of Anatomy, and the first passage that drew his
eyes was on the valves of the heart. He was not much
acquainted with valves of any sort, but he knew that
valvae were folding-doors, and through this crevice came
a sudden light startling him with his first vivid notion of
finely adjusted mechanism in the human frame. A liberal
education had of course left him free to read the indecent
passages in the school classics, but beyond a general sense
of secrecy and obscenity in connection with his internal
structure, had left his imagination quite unbiassed, so that
for anything he knew his brains lay in small bags at his
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temples, and he had no more thought of representing to
himself how his blood circulated than how paper served
instead of gold. But the moment of vocation had come,
and before he got down from his chair, the world was
made new to him by a presentiment of. endless processes
filling the vast spaces planked out of his sight by that
wordy ignorance which he had supposed to be
knowledge. From that hour Lydgate felt the growth of an
intellectual passion.
We are not afraid of telling over and over again how a
man comes to fall in love with a woman and be wedded
to her, or else be fatally parted from her. Is it due to excess
of poetry or of stupidity that we are never weary of
describing what King James called a womans makdom
and her fairnesse, never weary of listening to the
twanging of the old Troubadour strings, and are
comparatively uninterested in that other kind of makdom
and fairnesse which must be wooed with industrious
thought and patient renunciation of small desires? In the
story of this passion, too, the development varies:
sometimes it is the glorious marriage, sometimes
frustration and final parting. And not seldom the
catastrophe is bound up with the other passion, sung by
the Troubadours. For in the multitude of middle-aged
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men who go about their vocations in a daily course
determined for them much in the same way as the tie of
their cravats, there is always a good number who once
meant to shape their own deeds and alter the world a little.
The story of their coming to be shapen after the average
and fit to be packed by the gross, is hardly ever told even
in their consciousness; for perhaps their ardor in generous
unpaid toil cooled as imperceptibly as the ardor of other
youthful loves, till one day their earlier self walked like a
ghost in its old home and made the new furniture ghastly.
Nothing in the world more subtle than the process of their
gradual change! In the beginning they inhaled it
unknowingly: you and I may have sent some of our breath
towards infecting them, when we uttered our conforming
falsities or drew our silly conclusions: or perhaps it came
with the vibrations from a womans glance.
Lydgate did not mean to be one of those failures, and
there was the better hope of him because his scientific
interest soon took the form of a professional enthusiasm:
he had a youthful belief in his bread-winning work, not to
be stifled by that initiation in makeshift called his prentice
days; and he carried to his studies in London, Edinburgh,
and Paris, the conviction that the medical profession as it
might be was the finest in the world; presenting the most
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perfect interchange between science and art; offering the
most direct alliance between intellectual conquest and the
social good. Lydgates nature demanded this combination:
he was an emotional creature, with a flesh-and-blood
sense of fellowship which withstood all the abstractions of
special study. He cared not only for cases, but for John
and Elizabeth, especially Elizabeth.
There was another attraction in his profession: it
wanted reform, and gave a man an opportunity for some
indignant resolve to reject its venal decorations and other
humbug, and to be the possessor of genuine though
undemanded qualifications. He went to study in Paris with
the determination that when he provincial home again he
would settle in some provincial town as a general
practitioner, and resist the irrational severance between
medical and surgical knowledge in the interest of his own
scientific pursuits, as well as of the general advance: he
would keep away from the range of London intrigues,
jealousies, and social truckling, and win celebrity, however
slowly, as Jenner had done, by the independent value of
his work. For it must be remembered that this was a dark
period; and in spite of venerable colleges which used great
efforts to secure purity of knowledge by making it scarce,
and to exclude error by a rigid exclusiveness in relation to
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fees and appointments, it happened that very ignorant
young gentlemen were promoted in town, and many
more got a legal right to practise over large areas in the
country. Also, the high standard held up to the public
mind by the College of which which gave its peculiar
sanction to the expensive and highly rarefied medical
instruction obtained by graduates of Oxford and
Cambridge, did not hinder quackery from having an
excellent time of it; for since professional practice chiefly
consisted in giving a great many drugs, the public inferred
that it might be better off with more drugs still, if they
could only be got cheaply, and hence swallowed large
cubic measures of physic prescribed by unscrupulous
ignorance which had taken no degrees. Considering that
statistics had not yet embraced a calculation as to the
number of ignorant or canting doctors which absolutely
must exist in the teeth of all changes, it seemed to Lydgate
that a change in the units was the most direct mode of
changing the numbers. He meant to be a unit who would
make a certain amount of difference towards that
spreading change which would one day tell appreciably
upon the averages, and in the mean time have the pleasure
of making an advantageous difference to the viscera of his
own patients. But he did not simply aim at a more
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genuine kind of practice than was common. He was
ambitious of a wider effect: he was fired with the
possibility that he might work out the proof of an
anatomical conception and make a link in the chain of
discovery.
Does it seem incongruous to you that a Middlemarch
surgeon should dream of himself as a discoverer? Most of
us, indeed, know little of the great originators until they
have been lifted up among the constellations and already
rule our fates. But that Herschel, for example, who broke
the barriers of the heavensdid he not once play a
provincial church-organ, and give music-lessons to
stumbling pianists? Each of those Shining Ones had to
walk on the earth among neighbors who perhaps thought
much more of his gait and his garments than of anything
which was to give him a title to everlasting fame: each of
them had his little local personal history sprinkled with
small temptations and sordid cares, which made the
retarding friction of his course towards final
companionship with the immortals. Lydgate was not blind
to the dangers of such friction, but he had plenty of
confidence in his resolution to avoid it as far as possible:
being seven-and-twenty, he felt himself experienced. And
he was not going to have his vanities provoked by contact
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with the showy worldly successes of the capital, but to live
among people who could hold no rivalry with that pursuit
of a great idea which was to be a twin object with the
assiduous practice of his profession. There was fascination
in the hope that the two purposes would illuminate each
other: the careful observation and inference which was his
daily work, the use of the lens to further his judgment in
special cases, would further his thought as an instrument of
larger inquiry. Was not this the typical pre-eminence of
his profession? He would be a good Middlemarch doctor,
and by that very means keep himself in the track of far-
reaching investigation. On one point he may fairly claim
approval at this particular stage of his career: he did not
mean to imitate those philanthropic models who make a
profit out of poisonous pickles to support themselves while
they are exposing adulteration, or hold shares in a
gambling-hell that they may have leisure to represent the
cause of public morality. He intended to begin in his own
case some particular reforms which were quite certainly
within his reach, and much less of a problem than the
demonstrating of an anatomical conception. One of these
reforms was to act stoutly on the strength of a recent legal
decision, and simply prescribe, without dispensing drugs
or taking percentage from druggists. This was an
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innovation for one who had chosen to adopt the style of
general practitioner in a country town, and would be felt
as offensive criticism by his professional brethren. But
Lydgate meant to innovate in his treatment also, and he
was wise enough to see that the best security for his
practising honestly according to his belief was to get rid of
systematic temptations to the contrary.
Perhaps that was a more cheerful time for observers and
theorizers than the present; we are apt to think it the finest
era of the world when America was beginning to be
discovered, when a bold sailor, even if he were wrecked,
might alight on a new kingdom; and about 1829 the dark
territories of Pathology were a fine America for a spirited
young adventurer. Lydgate was ambitious above all to
contribute towards enlarging the scientific, rational basis of
his profession. The more he became interested in special
questions of disease, such as the nature of fever or fevers,
the more keenly he felt the need for that fundamental
knowledge of structure which just at the beginning of the
century had been illuminated by the brief and glorious
career of Bichat, who died when he was only one-and-
thirty, but, like another Alexander, left a realm large
enough for many heirs. That great Frenchman first carried
out the conception that living bodies, fundamentally
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considered, are not associations of organs which can be
understood by studying them first apart, and then as it
were federally; but must be regarded as consisting of
certain primary webs or tissues, out of which the various
organsbrain, heart, lungs, and so on are compacted, as
the various accommodations of a house are built up in
various proportions of wood, iron, stone, brick, zinc, and
the rest, each material having its peculiar composition and
proportions. No man, one sees, can understand and
estimate the entire structure or its partswhat are its
frailties and what its repairs, without knowing the nature
of the materials. And the conception wrought out by
Bichat, with his detailed study of the different tissues,
acted necessarily on medical questions as the turning of
gas-light would act on a dim, oil-lit street, showing new
connections and hitherto hidden facts of structure which
must be taken into account in considering the symptoms
of maladies and the action of medicaments. But results
which depend on human conscience and intelligence
work slowly, and now at the end of 1829, most medical
practice was still strutting or shambling along the old
paths, and there was still scientific work to be done which
might have seemed to be a direct sequence of Bichats.
This great seer did not go beyond the consideration of the
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tissues as ultimate facts in the living organism, marking the
limit of anatomical analysis; but it was open to another
mind to say, have not these structures some common basis
from which they have all started, as your sarsnet, gauze,
net, satin, and velvet from the raw cocoon? Here would
be another light, as of oxy-hydrogen, showing the very
grain of things, and revising ail former explanations. Of
this sequence to Bichats work, already vibrating along
many currents of the European mind, Lydgate was
enamoured; he longed to demonstrate the more intimate
relations of living structure, and help to define mens
thought more accurately after the true order. The work
had not yet been done, but only prepared for those who
knew how to use the preparation. What was the primitive
tissue? In that way Lydgate put the question not quite in
the way required by the awaiting answer; but such missing
of the right word befalls many seekers. And he counted on
quiet intervals to be watchfully seized, for taking up the
threads of investigationon many hints to be won from
diligent application, not only of the scalpel, but of the
microscope, which research had begun to use again with
new enthusiasm of reliance. Such was Lydgates plan of his
future: to do good small work for Middlemarch, and great
work for the world.
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He was certainly a happy fellow at this time: to be
seven-and-twenty, without any fixed vices, with a
generous resolution that his action should be beneficent,
and with ideas in his brain that made life interesting quite
apart from the cultus of horseflesh and other mystic rites of
costly observance, which the eight hundred pounds left
him after buying his practice would certainly not have
gone far in paying for. He was at a starting-point which
makes many a mans career a fine subject for betting, if
there were any gentlemen given to that amusement who
could appreciate the complicated probabilities of an
arduous purpose, with all the possible thwartings and
furtherings of circumstance, all the niceties of inward
balance, by which a man swims and makes his point or
else is carried headlong. The risk would remain even with
close knowledge of Lydgates character; for character too is
a process and an unfolding. The man was still in the
making, as much as the Middlemarch doctor and immortal
discoverer, and there were both virtues and faults capable
of shrinking or expanding. The faults will not, I hope, be a
reason for the withdrawal of your interest in him. Among
our valued friends is there not some one or other who is a
little too self-confident and disdainful; whose distinguished
mind is a little spotted with commonness; who is a little
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pinched here and protuberant there with native.
prejudices; or whose better energies are liable to lapse
down the wrong channel under the influence of transient
solicitations? All these things might be alleged against
Lydgate, but then, they are the periphrases of a polite
preacher, who talks of Adam, and would not like to
mention anything painful to the pew-renters. The
particular faults from which these delicate generalities are
distilled have distinguishable physiognomies, diction,
accent, and grimaces; filling up parts in very various
dramas. Our vanities differ as our noses do: all conceit is
not the same conceit, but varies in correspondence with
the minutiae of mental make in which one of us differs
from another. Lydgates conceit was of the arrogant sort,
never simpering, never impertinent, but massive in its
claims and benevolently contemptuous. He would do a
great deal for noodles, being sorry for them, and feeling
quite sure that they could have no power over him: he
had thought of joining the Saint Simonians when he was
in Paris, in order to turn them against some of their own
doctrines. All his faults were marked by kindred traits, and
were those of a man who had a fine baritone, whose
clothes hung well upon him, and who even in his ordinary
gestures had an air of inbred distinction. Where then lay
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the spots of commonness? says a young lady enamoured of
that careless grace. How could there be any commonness
in a man so well-bred, so ambitious of social distinction,
so generous and unusual in his views of social duty? As
easily as there may be stupidity in a man of genius if you
take him unawares on the wrong subject, or as many a
man who has the best will to advance the social
millennium might be ill-inspired in imagining its lighter
pleasures; unable to go beyond Offenbachs music, or the
brilliant punning in the last burlesque. Lydgates spots of
commonness lay in the complexion of his prejudices,
which, in spite of noble intention and sympathy, were half
of them such as are found in ordinary men of the world:
that distinction of mind which belonged to his intellectual
ardor, did not penetrate his feeling and judgment about
furniture, or women, or the desirability of its being known
(without his telling) that he was better born than other
country surgeons. He did not mean to think of furniture at
present; but whenever he did so it was to be feared that
neither biology nor schemes of reform would lift him
above the vulgarity of feeling that there would be an
incompatibility in his furniture not being of the best.
As to women, he had once already been drawn
headlong by impetuous folly, which he meant to be final,
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since marriage at some distant period would of course not
be impetuous. For those who want to be acquainted with
Lydgate it will be good to know what was that case of
impetuous folly, for it may stand as an example of the fitful
swerving of passion to which he was prone, together with
the chivalrous kindness which helped to make him
morally lovable. The story can be told without many
words. It happened when he was studying in Paris, and
just at the time when, over and above his other work, he
was occupied with some galvanic experiments. One
evening, tired with his experimenting, and not being able
to elicit the facts he needed, he left his frogs and rabbits to
some repose under their trying and mysterious
dispensation of unexplained shocks, and went to finish his
evening at the theatre of the Porte Saint Martin, where
there was a melodrama which he had already seen several
times; attracted, not by the ingenious work of the
collaborating authors, but by an actress whose part it was
to stab her lover, mistaking him for the evil-designing
duke of the piece. Lydgate was in love with this actress, as
a man is in love with a woman whom he never expects to
speak to. She was a Provencale, with dark eyes, a Greek
profile, and rounded majestic form, having that sort of
beauty which carries a sweet matronliness even in youth,
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and her voice was a soft cooing. She had but lately come
to Paris, and bore a virtuous reputation, her husband
acting with her as the unfortunate lover. It was her acting
which was no better than it should be, but the public was
satisfied. Lydgates only relaxation now was to go and look
at this woman, just as he might have thrown himself under
the breath of the sweet south on a bank of violets for a
while, without prejudice to his galvanism, to which he
would presently return. But this evening the old drama
had a new catastrophe. At the moment when the heroine
was to act the stabbing of her lover, and he was to fall
gracefully, the wife veritably stabbed her husband, who fell
as death willed. A wild shriek pierced the house, and the
Provencale fell swooning: a shriek and a swoon were
demanded by the play, but the swooning too was real this
time. Lydgate leaped and climbed, he hardly knew how,
on to the stage, and was active in help, making the
acquaintance of his heroine by finding a contusion on her
head and lifting her gently in his arms. Paris rang with the
story of this death:was it a murder? Some of the actresss
warmest admirers were inclined to believe in her guilt,
and liked her the better for it (such was the taste of those
times); but Lydgate was not one of these. He vehemently
contended for her innocence, and the remote impersonal
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passion for her beauty which he had felt before, had passed
now into personal devotion, and tender thought of her lot.
The notion of murder was absurd: no motive was
discoverable, the young couple being understood to dote
on each other; and it was not unprecedented that an
accidental slip of the foot should have brought these grave
consequences. The legal investigation ended in Madame
Laures release. Lydgate by this time had had many
interviews with her, and found her more and more
adorable. She talked little; but that was an additional
charm. She was melancholy, and seemed grateful; her
presence was enough, like that of the evening light.
Lydgate was madly anxious about her affection, and
jealous lest any other man than himself should win it and
ask her to marry him. But instead of reopening her
engagement at the Porte Saint Martin, where she would
have been all the more popular for the fatal episode, she
left Paris without warning, forsaking her little court of
admirers. Perhaps no one carried inquiry far except
Lydgate, who felt that all science had come to a stand-still
while he imagined the unhappy Laure, stricken by ever-
wandering sorrow, herself wandering, and finding no
faithful comforter. Hidden actresses, however, are not so
difficult to find as some other hidden facts, and it was not
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long before Lydgate gathered indications that Laure had
taken the route to Lyons. He found her at last acting with
great success at Avignon under the same name, looking
more majestic than ever as a forsaken wife carrying her
child in her arms. He spoke to her after the play, was
received with the usual quietude which seemed to him
beautiful as clear depths of water, and obtained leave to
visit her the next day; when he was bent on telling her
that he adored her, and on asking her to marry him. He
knew that this was like the sudden impulse of a
madmanincongruous even with his habitual foibles. No
matter! It was the one thing which he was resolved to do.
He had two selves within him apparently, and they must
learn to accommodate each other and bear reciprocal
impediments. Strange, that some of us, with quick
alternate vision, see beyond our infatuations, and even
while we rave on the heights, behold the wide plain
where our persistent self pauses and awaits us.
To have approached Laure with any suit that was not
reverentially tender would have been simply a
contradiction of his whole feeling towards her.
You have come all the way from Paris to find me? she
said to him the next day, sitting before him with folded
arms, and looking at him with eyes that seemed to wonder
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as an untamed ruminating animal wonders. Are all
Englishmen like that?
I came because I could not live without trying to see
you. You are lonely; I love you; I want you to consent to
be my wife; I will wait, but I want you to promise that
you will marry me no one else.
Laure looked at him in silence with a melancholy
radiance from under her grand eyelids, until he was full of
rapturous certainty, and knelt close to her knees.
I will tell you something, she said, in her cooing way,
keeping her arms folded. My foot really slipped.
I know, I know, said Lydgate, deprecatingly. It was a
fatal accident a dreadful stroke of calamity that bound
me to you the more.
Again Laure paused a little and then said, slowly, I
MEANT TO DO IT.
Lydgate, strong man as he was, turned pale and
trembled: moments seemed to pass before he rose and
stood at a distance from her.
There was a secret, then, he said at last, even
vehemently. He was brutal to you: you hated him.
No! he wearied me; he was too fond: he would live in
Paris, and not in my country; that was not agreeable to
me.
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Great God! said Lydgate, in a groan of horror. And
you planned to murder him?
I did not plan: it came to me in the playI MEANT
TO DO IT.
Lydgate stood mute, and unconsciously pressed his hat
on while he looked at her. He saw this womanthe first
to whom he had given his young adorationamid the
throng of stupid criminals.
You are a good young man, she said. But I do not
like husbands. I will never have another.
Three days afterwards Lydgate was at his galvanism
again in his Paris chambers, believing that illusions were at
an end for him. He was saved from hardening effects by
the abundant kindness of his heart and his belief that
human life might be made better. But he had more reason
than ever for trusting his judgment, now that it was so
experienced; and henceforth he would take a strictly
scientific view of woman, entertaining no expectations but
such as were justified beforehand.
No one in Middle march was likely to have such a
notion of Lydgates past as has here been faintly shadowed,
and indeed the respectable townsfolk there were not more
given than mortals generally to any eager attempt at
exactness in the representation to themselves of what did
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not come under their own senses. Not only young virgins
of that town, but gray-bearded men also, were often in
haste to conjecture how a new acquaintance might be
wrought into their purposes, contented with very vague
knowledge as to the way in which life had been shaping
him for that instrumentality. Middlemarch, in fact,
counted on swallowing Lydgate and assimilating him very
comfortably.
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Chapter XVI
All that in woman is adored
In thy fair self I find
For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.
SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.
The question whether Mr. Tyke should be appointed
as salaried chaplain to the hospital was an exciting topic to
the Middlemarchers; and Lydgate heard it discussed in a
way that threw much light on the power exercised in the
town by Mr. Bulstrode. The banker was evidently a ruler,
but there was an opposition party, and even among his
supporters there were some who allowed it to be seen that
their support was a compromise, and who frankly stated
their impression that the general scheme of things, and
especially the casualties of trade, required you to hold a
candle to the devil.
Mr. Bulstrodes power was not due simply to his being
a country banker, who knew the financial secrets of most
traders in the town and could touch the springs of their
credit; it was fortified by a beneficence that was at once
ready and severeready to confer obligations, and severe
in watching the result. He had gathered, as an industrious
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man always at his post, a chief share in administering the
town charities, and his private charities were both minute
and abundant. He would take a great deal of pains about
apprenticing Tegg the shoemakers son, and he would
watch over Teggs church-going; he would defend Mrs.
Strype the washerwoman against Stubbss unjust exaction
on the score of her drying-ground, and he would himself-
scrutinize a calumny against Mrs. Strype. His private
minor loans were numerous, but he would inquire strictly
into the circumstances both before and after. In this way a
man gathers a domain in his neighbors hope and fear as
well as gratitude; and power, when once it has got into
that subtle region, propagates itself, spreading out of all
proportion to its external means. It was a principle with
Mr. Bulstrode to gain as much power as possible, that he
might use it for the glory of God. He went through a
great deal of spiritual conflict and inward argument in
order to adjust his motives, and make clear to himself what
Gods glory required. But, as we have seen, his motives
were not always rightly appreciated. There were many
crass minds in Middlemarch whose reflective scales could
only weigh things in the lump; and they had a strong
suspicion that since Mr. Bulstrode could not enjoy life in
their fashion, eating and drinking so little as he did, and
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worreting himself about everything, he must have a sort of
vampires feast in the sense of mastery.
The subject of the chaplaincy came up at Mr. Vincys
table when Lydgate was dining there, and the family
connection with Mr. Bulstrode did not, he observed,
prevent some freedom of remark even on the part of the
host himself, though his reasons against the proposed
arrangement turned entirely on his objection to Mr.
Tykes sermons, which were all doctrine, and his
preference for Mr. Farebrother, whose sermons were free
from that taint. Mr. Vincy liked well enough the notion of
the chaplains having a salary, supposing it were given to
Farebrother, who was as good a little fellow as ever
breathed, and the best preacher anywhere, and
companionable too.
What line shall you take, then? said Mr. Chichely, the
coroner, a great coursing comrade of Mr. Vincys.
Oh, Im precious glad Im not one of the Directors
now. I shall vote for referring the matter to the Directors
and the Medical Board together. I shall roll some of my
responsibility on your shoulders, Doctor, said Mr. Vincy,
glancing first at Dr. Sprague, the senior physician of the
town, and then at Lydgate who sat opposite. You medical
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gentlemen must consult which sort of black draught you
will prescribe, eh, Mr. Lydgate?
I know little of either, said Lydgate; but in general,
appointments are apt to be made too much a question of
personal liking. The fittest man for a particular post is not
always the best fellow or the most agreeable. Sometimes, if
you wanted to get a reform, your only way would be to
pension off the good fellows whom everybody is fond of,
and put them out of the question.
Dr. Sprague, who was considered the physician of most
weight, though Dr. Minchin was usually said to have
more penetration, divested his large heavy face of all
expression, and looked at his wine-glass while Lydgate was
speaking. Whatever was not problematical and suspected
about this young manfor example, a certain showiness as
to foreign ideas, and a disposition to unsettle what had
been settled and forgotten by his elders was positively
unwelcome to a physician whose standing had been fixed
thirty years before by a treatise on Meningitis, of which at
least one copy marked own was bound in calf. For my
part I have some fellow-feeling with Dr. Sprague: ones
self-satisfaction is an untaxed kind of property which it is
very unpleasant to find deprecated.
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Lydgates remark, however, did not meet the sense of
the company. Mr. Vincy said, that if he could have HIS
way, he would not put disagreeable fellows anywhere.
Hang your reforms! said Mr. Chichely. Theres no
greater humbug in the world. You never hear of a reform,
but it means some trick to put in new men. I hope you
are not one of the Lancets men, Mr. Lydgatewanting
to take the coronership out of the hands of the legal
profession: your words appear to point that way.
I disapprove of Wakley, interposed Dr. Sprague, no
man more: he is an ill-intentioned fellow, who would
sacrifice the respectability of the profession, which
everybody knows depends on the London Colleges, for
the sake of getting some notoriety for himself. There are
men who dont mind about being kicked blue if they can
only get talked about. But Wakley is right sometimes, the
Doctor added, judicially. I could mention one or two
points in which Wakley is in the right.
Oh, well, said Mr. Chichely, I blame no man for
standing up in favor of his own cloth; but, coming to
argument, I should like to know how a coroner is to judge
of evidence if he has not had a legal training?
In my opinion, said Lydgate, legal training only
makes a man more incompetent in questions that require
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knowledge a of another kind. People talk about evidence
as if it could really be weighed in scales by a blind Justice.
No man can judge what is good evidence on any
particular subject, unless he knows that subject well. A
lawyer is no better than an old woman at a post-mortem
examination. How is he to know the action of a poison?
You might as well say that scanning verse will teach you
to scan the potato crops.
You are aware, I suppose, that it is not the coroners
business to conduct the post-mortem, but only to take the
evidence of the medical witness? said Mr. Chichely, with
some scorn.
Who is often almost as ignorant as the coroner
himself, said Lydgate. Questions of medical jurisprudence
ought not to be left to the chance of decent knowledge in
a medical witness, and the coroner ought not to be a man
who will believe that strychnine will destroy the coats of
the stomach if an ignorant practitioner happens to tell him
so.
Lydgate had really lost sight of the fact that Mr.
Chichely was his Majestys coroner, and ended innocently
with the question, Dont you agree with me, Dr.
Sprague?
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To a certain extentwith regard to populous districts,
and in the metropolis, said the Doctor. But I hope it will
be long before this part of the country loses the services of
my friend Chichely, even though it might get the best
man in our profession to succeed him. I am sure Vincy
will agree with me.
Yes, yes, give me a coroner who is a good coursing
man, said Mr. Vincy, jovially. And in my opinion, youre
safest with a lawyer. Nobody can know everything. Most
things are visitation of God. And as to poisoning, why,
what you want to know is the law. Come, shall we join
the ladies?
Lydgates private opinion was that Mr. Chichely might
be the very coroner without bias as to the coats of the
stomach, but he had not meant to be personal. This was
one of the difficulties of moving in good Middlemarch
society: it was dangerous to insist on knowledge as a
qualification for any salaried office. Fred Vincy had called
Lydgate a prig, and now Mr. Chichely was inclined to call
him prick-eared; especially when, in the drawing-room,
he seemed to be making himself eminently agreeable to
Rosamond, whom he had easily monopolized in a tete-a-
tete, since Mrs. Vincy herself sat at the tea-table. She
resigned no domestic function to her daughter; and the
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matrons blooming good-natured face, with the two
volatile pink strings floating from her fine throat, and her
cheery manners to husband and children, was certainly
among the great attractions of the Vincy house
attractions which made it all the easier to fall in love with
the daughter. The tinge of unpretentious, inoffensive
vulgarity in Mrs. Vincy gave more effect to Rosamonds
refinement, which was beyond what Lydgate had
expected.
Certainly, small feet and perfectly turned shoulders aid
the impression of refined manners, and the right thing said
seems quite astonishingly right when it is accompanied
with exquisite curves of lip and eyelid. And Rosamond
could say the right thing; for she was clever with that sort
of cleverness which catches every tone except the
humorous. Happily she never attempted to joke, and this
perhaps was the most decisive mark of her cleverness.
She and Lydgate readily got into conversation. He
regretted that he had not heard her sing the other day at
Stone Court. The only pleasure he allowed himself during
the latter part of his stay in Paris was to go and hear music.
You have studied music, probably? said Rosamond.
No, I know the notes of many birds, and I know many
melodies by ear; but the music that I dont know at all,
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and have no notion about, delights meaffects me. How
stupid the world is that it does not make more use of such
a pleasure within its reach!
Yes, and you will find Middlemarch very tuneless.
There are hardly any good musicians. I only know two
gentlemen who sing at all well.
I suppose it is the fashion to sing comic songs in a
rhythmic way, leaving you to fancy the tunevery much
as if it were tapped on a drum?
Ah, you have heard Mr. Bowyer, said Rosamond,
with one of her rare smiles. But we are speaking very ill
of our neighbors.
Lydgate was almost forgetting that he must carry on the
conversation, in thinking how lovely this creature was, her
garment seeming to be made out of the faintest blue sky,
herself so immaculately blond, as if the petals of some
gigantic flower had just opened and disclosed her; and yet
with this infantine blondness showing so much ready, self-
possessed grace. Since he had had the memory of Laure,
Lydgate had lost all taste for large-eyed silence: the divine
cow no longer attracted him, and Rosamond was her very
opposite. But he recalled himself.
You will let me hear some music to-night, I hope.
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I will let you hear my attempts, if you like, said
Rosamond. Papa is sure to insist on my singing. But I
shall tremble before you, who have heard the best singers
in Paris. I have heard very little: I have only once been to
London. But our organist at St. Peters is a good musician,
and I go on studying with him.
Tell me what you saw in London.
Very little. (A more naive girl would have said, Oh,
everything! But Rosamond knew better.) A few of the
ordinary sights, such as raw country girls are always taken
to.
Do you call yourself a raw country girl? said Lydgate,
looking at her with an involuntary emphasis of admiration,
which made Rosamond blush with pleasure. But she
remained simply serious, turned her long neck a little, and
put up her hand to touch her wondrous hair-plaits an
habitual gesture with her as pretty as any movements of a
kittens paw. Not that Rosamond was in the least like a
kitten: she was a sylph caught young and educated at Mrs.
Lemons.
I assure you my mind is raw, she said immediately; I
pass at Middlemarch. I am not afraid of talking to our old
neighbors. But I am really afraid of you.
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An accomplished woman almost always knows more
than we men, though her knowledge is of a different sort.
I am sure you could teach me a thousand thingsas an
exquisite bird could teach a bear if there were any
common language between them. Happily, there is a
common language between women and men, and so the
bears can get taught.
Ah, there is Fred beginning to strum! I must go and
hinder him from jarring all your nerves, said Rosamond,
moving to the other side of the room, where Fred having
opened the piano, at his fathers desire, that Rosamond
might give them some music, was parenthetically
performing Cherry Ripe! with one hand. Able men who
have passed their examinations will do these things
sometimes, not less than the plucked Fred.
Fred, pray defer your practising till to-morrow; you
will make Mr. Lydgate ill, said Rosamond. He has an
ear.
Fred laughed, and went on with his tune to the end.
Rosamond turned to Lydgate, smiling gently, and said,
You perceive, the bears will not always be taught.
Now then, Rosy! said Fred, springing from the stool
and twisting it upward for her, with a hearty expectation
of enjoyment. Some good rousing tunes first.
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Rosamond played admirably. Her master at Mrs.
Lemons school (close to a county town with a memorable
history that had its relics in church and castle) was one of
those excellent musicians here and there to be found in
our provinces, worthy to compare with many a noted
Kapellmeister in a country which offers more plentiful
conditions of musical celebrity. Rosamond, with the
executants instinct, had seized his manner of playing, and
gave forth his large rendering of noble music with the
precision of an echo. It was almost startling, heard for the
first time. A hidden soul seemed to be flowing forth from
Rosamonds fingers; and so indeed it was, since souls live
on in perpetual echoes, and to all fine expression there
goes somewhere an originating activity, if it be only that
of an interpreter. Lydgate was taken possession of, and
began to believe in her as something exceptional. After all,
he thought, one need not be surprised to find the rare
conjunctions of nature under circumstances apparently
unfavorable: come where they may, they always depend
on conditions that are not obvious. He sat looking at her,
and did not rise to pay her any compliments, leaving that
to others, now that his admiration was deepened.
Her singing was less remarkable? but also well trained,
and sweet to hear as a chime perfectly in tune. It is true
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she sang Meet me by moonlight, and Ive been
roaming; for mortals must share the fashions of their time,
and none but the ancients can be always classical. But
Rosamond could also sing Black-eyed Susan with effect,
or Haydns canzonets, or Voi, che sapete, or Batti,
battishe only wanted to know what her audience liked.
Her father looked round at the company, delighting in
their admiration. Her mother sat, like a Niobe before her
troubles, with her youngest little girl on her lap, softly
beating the childs hand up and down in time to the
music. And Fred, notwithstanding his general scepticism
about Rosy, listened to her music with perfect allegiance,
wishing he could do the same thing on his flute. It was the
pleasantest family party that Lydgate had seen since he
came to Middlemarch. The Vincys had the readiness to
enjoy, the rejection of all anxiety, and the belief in life as a
merry lot, which made a house exceptional in most
county towns at that time, when Evangelicalism had east a
certain suspicion as of plague-infection over the few
amusements which survived in the provinces. At the
Vincys there was always whist, and the card-tables stood
ready now, making some of the company secretly
impatient of the music. Before it ceased Mr. Farebrother
came in a handsome, broad-chested but otherwise small
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man, about forty, whose black was very threadbare: the
brilliancy was all in his quick gray eyes. He came like a
pleasant change in the light, arresting little Louisa with
fatherly nonsense as she was being led out of the room by
Miss Morgan, greeting everybody with some special word,
and seeming to condense more talk into ten minutes than
had been held all through the evening. He claimed from
Lydgate the fulfilment of a promise to come and see him.
I cant let you off, you know, because I have some beetles
to show you. We collectors feel an interest in every new
man till he has seen all we have to show him.
But soon he swerved to the whist-table, rubbing his
hands and saying, Come now, let us be serious! Mr.
Lydgate? not play? Ah! you are too young and light for
this kind of thing.
Lydgate said to himself that the clergyman whose
abilities were so painful to Mr. Bulstrode, appeared to
have found an agreeable resort in this certainly not erudite
household. He could half understand it: the good-humor,
the good looks of elder and younger, and the provision for
passing the time without any labor of intelligence, might
make the house beguiling to people who had no particular
use for their odd hours.
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Everything looked blooming and joyous except Miss
Morgan, who was brown, dull, and resigned, and
altogether, as Mrs. Vincy often said, just the sort of person
for a governess. Lydgate did not mean to pay many such
visits himself. They were a wretched waste of the
evenings; and now, when he had talked a little more to
Rosamond, he meant to excuse himself and go.
You will not like us at Middlemarch, I feel sure, she
said, when the whist-players were settled. We are very
stupid, and you have been used to something quite
different.
I suppose all country towns are pretty much alike, said
Lydgate. But I have noticed that one always believes ones
own town to be more stupid than any other. I have made
up my mind to take Middlemarch as it comes, and shall be
much obliged if the town will take me in the same way. I
have certainly found some charms in it which are much
greater than I had expected.
You mean the rides towards Tipton and Lowick; every
one is pleased with those, said Rosamond, with
simplicity.
No, I mean something much nearer to me.
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Rosamond rose and reached her netting, and then said,
Do you care about dancing at all? I am not quite sure
whether clever men ever dance.
I would dance with you if you would allow me.
Oh! said Rosamond, with a slight deprecatory laugh.
I was only going to say that we sometimes have dancing,
and I wanted to know whether you would feel insulted if
you were asked to come.
Not on the condition I mentioned.
After this chat Lydgate thought that he was going, but
on moving towards the whist-tables, he got interested in
watching Mr. Farebrothers play, which was masterly, and
also his face, which was a striking mixture of the shrewd
and the mild. At ten oclock supper was brought in (such
were the customs of Middlemarch) and there was punch-
drinking; but Mr. Farebrother had only a glass of water.
He was winning, but there seemed to be no reason why
the renewal of rubbers should end, and Lydgate at last
took his leave.
But as it was not eleven oclock, he chose to walk in
the brisk air towards the tower of St. Botolphs, Mr.
Farebrothers church, which stood out dark, square, and
massive against the starlight. It was the oldest church in
Middlemarch; the living, however, was but a vicarage
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worth barely four hundred a-year. Lydgate had heard that,
and he wondered now whether Mr. Farebrother cared
about the money he won at cards; thinking, He seems a
very pleasant fellow, but Bulstrode may have his good
reasons. Many things would be easier to Lydgate if it
should turn out that Mr. Bulstrode was generally
justifiable. What is his religious doctrine to me, if he
carries some good notions along with it? One must use
such brains as are to be found.
These were actually Lydgates first meditations as he
walked away from Mr. Vincys, and on this ground I fear
that many ladies will consider him hardly worthy of their
attention. He thought of Rosamond and her music only in
the second place; and though, when her turn came, he
dwelt on the image of her for the rest of his walk, he felt
no agitation, and had no sense that any new current had
set into his life. He could not marry yet; he wished not to
marry for several years; and therefore he was not ready to
entertain the notion of being in love with a girl whom he
happened to admire. He did admire Rosamond
exceedingly; but that madness which had once beset him
about Laure was not, he thought, likely to recur in
relation to any other woman Certainly, if falling in love
had been at all in question, it would have been quite safe
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with a creature like this Miss Vincy, who had just the kind
of intelligence one would desire in a woman polished,
refined, docile, lending itself to finish in all the delicacies
of life, and enshrined in a body which expressed this with
a force of demonstration that excluded the need for other
evidence. Lydgate felt sure that if ever he married, his wife
would have that feminine radiance, that distinctive
womanhood which must be classed with flowers and
music, that sort of beauty which by its very nature was
virtuous, being moulded only for pure and delicate joys.
But since he did not mean to marry for the next five
years his more pressing business was to look into Louis
new book on Fever, which he was specially interested in,
because he had known Louis in Paris, and had followed
many anatomical demonstrations in order to ascertain the
specific differences of typhus and typhoid. He went home
and read far into the smallest hour, bringing a much more
testing vision of details and relations into this pathological
study than he had ever thought it necessary to apply to the
complexities of love and marriage, these being subjects on
which he felt himself amply informed by literature, and
that traditional wisdom which is handed down in the
genial conversation of men. Whereas Fever had obscure
conditions, and gave him that delightful labor of the
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imagination which is not mere arbitrariness, but the
exercise of disciplined powercombining and
constructing with the clearest eye for probabilities and the
fullest obedience to knowledge; and then, in yet more
energetic alliance with impartial Nature, standing aloof to
invent tests by which to try its own work.
Many men have been praised as vividly imaginative on
the strength of their profuseness in indifferent drawing or
cheap narration: reports of very poor talk going on in
distant orbs; or portraits of Lucifer coming down on his
bad errands as a large ugly man with bats wings and spurts
of phosphorescence; or exaggerations of wantonness that
seem to reflect life in a diseased dream. But these kinds of
inspiration Lydgate regarded as rather vulgar and vinous
compared with the imagination that reveals subtle actions
inaccessible by any sort of lens, but tracked in that outer
darkness through long pathways of necessary sequence by
the inward light which is the last refinement of Energy,
capable of bathing even the ethereal atoms in its ideally
illuminated space. He for his part had tossed away all
cheap inventions where ignorance finds itself able and at
ease: he was enamoured of that arduous invention which
is the very eye of research, provisionally framing its object
and correcting it to more and more exactness of relation;
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he wanted to pierce the obscurity of those minute
processes which prepare human misery and joy, those
invisible thoroughfares which are the first lurking-places of
anguish, mania, and crime, that delicate poise and
transition which determine the growth of happy or
unhappy consciousness.
As he threw down his book, stretched his legs towards
the embers in the grate, and clasped his hands at the back
of his head, in that agreeable afterglow of excitement
when thought lapses from examination of a specific object
into a suffusive sense of its connections with all the rest of
our existenceseems, as it were, to throw itself on its
back after vigorous swimming and float with the repose of
unexhausted strengthLydgate felt a triumphant delight
in his studies, and something like pity for those less lucky
men who were not of his profession.
If I had not taken that turn when I was a lad, he
thought, I might have got into some stupid draught-horse
work or other, and lived always in blinkers. I should never
have been happy in any profession that did not call forth
the highest intellectual strain, and yet keep me in good
warm contact with my neighbors. There is nothing like
the medical profession for that: one can have the exclusive
scientific life that touches the distance and befriend the old
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fogies in the parish too. It is rather harder for a clergyman:
Farebrother seems to be an anomaly.
This last thought brought back the Vincys and all the
pictures of the evening. They floated in his mind agreeably
enough, and as he took up his bed-candle his lips were
curled with that incipient smile which is apt to accompany
agreeable recollections. He was an ardent fellow, but at
present his ardor was absorbed in love of his work and in
the ambition of making his life recognized as a factor in
the better life of mankindlike other heroes of science
who had nothing but an obscure country practice to begin
with.
Poor Lydgate! or shall I say, Poor Rosamond! Each
lived in a world of which the other knew nothing. It had
not occurred to Lydgate that he had been a subject of
eager meditation to Rosamond, who had neither any
reason for throwing her marriage into distant perspective,
nor any pathological studies to divert her mind from that
ruminating habit, that inward repetition of looks, words,
and phrases, which makes a large part in the lives of most
girls. He had not meant to look at her or speak to her with
more than the inevitable amount of admiration and
compliment which a man must give to a beautiful girl;
indeed, it seemed to him that his enjoyment of her music
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had remained almost silent, for he feared falling into the
rudeness of telling her his great surprise at her possession
of such accomplishment. But Rosamond had registered
every look and word, and estimated them as the opening
incidents of a preconceived romanceincidents which
gather value from the foreseen development and climax.
In Rosamonds romance it was not necessary to imagine
much about the inward life of the hero, or of his serious
business in the world: of course, he had a profession and
was clever, as well as sufficiently handsome; but the
piquant fact about Lydgate was his good birth, which
distinguished him from all Middlemarch admirers, and
presented marriage as a prospect of rising in rank and
getting a little nearer to that celestial condition on earth in
which she would have nothing to do with vulgar people,
and perhaps at last associate with relatives quite equal to
the county people who looked down on the
Middlemarchers. It was part of Rosamonds cleverness to
discern very subtly the faintest aroma of rank, and once
when she had seen the Miss Brookes accompanying their
uncle at the county assizes, and seated among the
aristocracy, she had envied them, notwithstanding their
plain dress.
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If you think it incredible that to imagine Lydgate as a
man of family could cause thrills of satisfaction which had
anything to do with the sense that she was in love with
him, I will ask you to use your power of comparison a
little more effectively, and consider whether red cloth and
epaulets have never had an influence of that sort. Our
passions do not live apart in locked chambers, but, dressed
in their small wardrobe of notions, bring their provisions
to a common table and mess together, feeding out of the
common store according to their appetite.
Rosamond, in fact, was entirely occupied not exactly
with Tertius Lydgate as he was in himself, but with his
relation to her; and it was excusable in a girl who was
accustomed to hear that all young men might, could,
would be, or actually were in love with her, to believe at
once that Lydgate could be no exception. His looks and
words meant more to her than other mens, because she
cared more for them: she thought of them diligently, and
diligently attended to that perfection of appearance,
behavior, sentiments, and all other elegancies, which
would find in Lydgate a more adequate admirer than she
had yet been conscious of.
For Rosamond, though she would never do anything
that was disagreeable to her, was industrious; and now
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more than ever she was active in sketching her landscapes
and market-carts and portraits of friends, in practising her
music, and in being from morning till night her own
standard of a perfect lady, having always an audience in
her own consciousness, with sometimes the not
unwelcome addition of a more variable external audience
in the numerous visitors of the house. She found time also
to read the best novels, and even the second best, and she
knew much poetry by heart. Her favorite poem was Lalla
Rookh.
The best girl in the world! He will be a happy fellow
who gets her! was the sentiment of the elderly gentlemen
who visited the Vincys; and the rejected young men
thought of trying again, as is the fashion in country towns
where the horizon is not thick with coming rivals. But
Mrs. Plymdale thought that Rosamond had been educated
to a ridiculous pitch, for what was the use of
accomplishments which would be all laid aside as soon as
she was married? While her aunt Bulstrode, who had a
sisterly faithfulness towards her brothers family, had two
sincere wishes for Rosamondthat she might show a
more serious turn of mind, and that she might meet with a
husband whose wealth corresponded to her habits.
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Chapter XVII
The clerkly person smiled and said
Promise was a pretty maid,
But being poor she died unwed.
The Rev. Camden Farebrother, whom Lydgate went
to see the next evening, lived in an old parsonage, built of
stone, venerable enough to match the church which it
looked out upon. All the furniture too in the house was
old, but with another grade of agethat of Mr.
Farebrothers father and grandfather. There were painted
white chairs, with gilding and wreaths on them, and some
lingering red silk damask with slits in it. There were
engraved portraits of Lord Chancellors and other
celebrated lawyers of the last century; and there were old
pier-glasses to reflect them, as well as the little satin-wood
tables and the sofas resembling a prolongation of uneasy
chairs, all standing in relief against the dark wainscot This
was the physiognomy of the drawing-room into which
Lydgate was shown; and there were three ladies to receive
him, who were also old-fashioned, and of a faded but
genuine respectability: Mrs. Farebrother, the Vicars
white-haired mother, befrilled and kerchiefed with dainty
cleanliness, up right, quick-eyed, and still under seventy;
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Miss Noble, her sister, a tiny old lady of meeker aspect,
with frills and kerchief decidedly more worn and mended;
and Miss Winifred Farebrother, the Vicars elder sister,
well-looking like himself, but nipped and subdued as
single women are apt to be who spend their lives in
uninterrupted subjection to their elders. Lydgate had not
expected to see so quaint a group: knowing simply that
Mr. Farebrother was a bachelor, he had thought of being
ushered into a snuggery where the chief furniture would
probably be books and collections of natural objects. The
Vicar himself seemed to wear rather a changed aspect, as
most men do when acquaintances made elsewhere see
them for the first time in their own homes; some indeed
showing like an actor of genial parts disadvantageously cast
for the curmudgeon in a new piece. This was not the case
with Mr. Farebrother: he seemed a trifle milder and more
silent, the chief talker being his mother, while he only put
in a good-humored moderating remark here and there.
The old lady was evidently accustomed to tell her
company what they ought to think, and to regard no
subject as quite safe without her steering. She was afforded
leisure for this function by having all her little wants
attended to by Miss Winifred. Meanwhile tiny Miss Noble
carried on her arm a small basket, into which she diverted
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a bit of sugar, which she had first dropped in her saucer as
if by mistake; looking round furtively afterwards, and
reverting to her teacup with a small innocent noise as of a
tiny timid quadruped. Pray think no ill of Miss Noble.
That basket held small savings from her more portable
food, destined for the children of her poor friends among
whom she trotted on fine mornings; fostering and petting
all needy creatures being so spontaneous a delight to her,
that she regarded it much as if it had been a pleasant vice
that she was addicted to. Perhaps she was conscious of
being tempted to steal from those who had much that she
might give to those who had nothing, and carried in her
conscience the guilt of that repressed desire. One must be
poor to know the luxury of giving!
Mrs. Farebrother welcomed the guest with a lively
formality and precision. She presently informed him that
they were not often in want of medical aid in that house.
She had brought up her children to wear flannel and not
to over-eat themselves, which last habit she considered the
chief reason why people needed doctors. Lydgate pleaded
for those whose fathers and mothers had over-eaten
themselves, but Mrs. Farebrother held that view of things
dangerous: Nature was more just than that; it would be
easy for any felon to say that his ancestors ought to have
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been hanged instead of him. If those he had bad fathers
and mothers were bad themselves, they were hanged for
that. There was no need to go back on what you couldnt
see.
My mother is like old George the Third, said the
Vicar, she objects to metaphysics.
I object to what is wrong, Camden. I say, keep hold of
a few plain truths, and make everything square with them.
When I was young, Mr. Lydgate, there never was any
question about right and wrong. We knew our catechism,
and that was enough; we learned our creed and our duty.
Every respectable Church person had the same opinions.
But now, if you speak out of the Prayer-book itself, you
are liable to be contradicted.
That makes rather a pleasant time of it for those who
like to maintain their own point, said Lydgate.
But my mother always gives way, said the Vicar, slyly.
No, no, Camden, you must not lead Mr. Lydgate into
a mistake about ME. I shall never show that disrespect to
my parents, to give up what they taught me. Any one may
see what comes of turning. If you change once, why not
twenty times?
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Middlemarch
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A man might see good arguments for changing once,
and not see them for changing again, said Lydgate,
amused with the decisive old lady.
Excuse me there. If you go upon arguments, they are
never wanting, when a man has no constancy of mind.
My father never changed, and he preached plain moral
sermons without arguments, and was a good man few
better. When you get me a good man made out of
arguments, I will get you a good dinner with reading you
the cookery-book. Thats my opinion, and I think
anybodys stomach will bear me out.
About the dinner certainly, mother, said Mr.
Farebrother.
It is the same thing, the dinner or the man. I am nearly
seventy, Mr. Lydgate, and I go upon experience. I am not
likely to follow new lights, though there are plenty of
them here as elsewhere. I say, they came in with the
mixed stuffs that will neither wash nor wear. It was not so
in my youth: a Churchman was a Churchman, and a
clergyman, you might be pretty sure, was a gentleman, if
nothing else. But now he may be no better than a
Dissenter, and want to push aside my son on pretence of
doctrine. But whoever may wish to push him aside, I am
proud to say, Mr. Lydgate, that he will compare with any
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preacher in this kingdom, not to speak of this town, which
is but a low standard to go by; at least, to my thinking, for
I was born and bred at Exeter.
A mother is never partial, said Mr. Farebrother,
smiling. What do you think Tykes mother says about
him?
Ah, poor creature! what indeed? said Mrs.
Farebrother, her sharpness blunted for the moment by her
confidence in maternal judgments. She says the truth to
herself, depend upon it.
And what is the truth? said-Lydgate. I am curious to
know.
Oh, nothing bad at all, said Mr. Farebrother. He is a
zealous fellow: not very learned, and not very wise, I
think because I dont agree with him.
Why, Camden! said Miss Winifred, Griffin and his
wife told me only to-day, that Mr. Tyke said they should
have no more coals if they came to hear you preach.
Mrs. Farebrother laid down her knitting, which she had
resumed after her small allowance of tea and toast, and
looked at her son as if to say You hear that? Miss Noble
said, Oh poor things! poor things! in reference, probably,
to the double loss of preaching and coal. But the Vicar
answered quietly
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That is because they are not my parishioners. And I
dont think my sermons are worth a load of coals to them.
Mr. Lydgate, said Mrs. Farebrother, who could not let
this pass, you dont know my son: he always undervalues
himself. I tell him he is undervaluing the God who made
him, and made him a most excellent preacher.
That must be a hint for me to take Mr. Lydgate away
to my study, mother, said the Vicar, laughing. I promised
to show you my collection, he added, turning to Lydgate;
shall we go?
All three ladies remonstrated. Mr. Lydgate ought not to
be hurried away without being allowed to accept another
cup of tea: Miss Winifred had abundance of good tea in
the pot. Why was Camden in such haste to take a visitor
to his den? There was nothing but pickled vermin, and
drawers full of blue-bottles and moths, with no carpet on
the floor. Mr. Lydgate must excuse it. A game at cribbage
would be far better. In short, it was plain that a vicar
might be adored by his womankind as the king of men
and preachers, and yet be held by them to stand in much
need of their direction. Lydgate, with the usual
shallowness of a young bachelor. wondered that Mr.
Farebrother had not taught them better.
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My mother is not used to my having visitors who can
take any interest in my hobbies, said the Vicar, as he
opened the door of his study, which was indeed as bare of
luxuries for the body as the ladies had implied, unless a
short porcelain pipe and a tobacco-box were to be
excepted.
Men of your profession dont generally smoke, he
said. Lydgate smiled and shook his head. Nor of mine
either, properly, I suppose. You will hear that pipe alleged
against me by Bulstrode and Company. They dont know
how pleased the devil would be if I gave it up.
I understand. You are of an excitable temper and want
a sedative. I am heavier, and should get idle with it. I
should rush into idleness, and stagnate there with all my
might.
And you mean to give it all to your work. I am some
ten or twelve years older than you, and have come to a
compromise. I feed a weakness or two lest they should get
clamorous. See, continued the Vicar, opening several
small drawers, I fancy I have made an exhaustive study of
the entomology of this district. I am going on both with
the fauna and flora; but I have at least done my insects
well. We are singularly rich in orthoptera: I dont know
whetherAh! you have got hold of that glass jar you
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are looking into that instead of my drawers. You dont
really care about these things?
Not by the side of this lovely anencephalous monster. I
have never had time to give myself much to natural
history. I was early bitten with an interest in structure, and
it is what lies most directly in my profession. I have no
hobby besides. I have the sea to swim in there.
Ah! you are a happy fellow, said Mr. Farebrother,
turning on his heel and beginning to fill his pipe. You
dont know what it is to want spiritual tobaccobad
emendations of old texts, or small items about a variety of
Aphis Brassicae, with the well-known signature of
Philomicron, for the Twaddlers Magazine; or a learned
treatise on the entomology of the Pentateuch, including all
the insects not mentioned, but probably met with by the
Israelites in their passage through the desert; with a
monograph on the Ant, as treated by Solomon, showing
the harmony of the Book of Proverbs with the results of
modern research. You dont mind my fumigating you?
Lydgate was more surprised at the openness of this talk
than at its implied meaningthat the Vicar felt himself
not altogether in the right vocation. The neat fitting-up of
drawers and shelves, and the bookcase filled with
expensive illustrated books on Natural History, made him
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think again of the winnings at cards and their destination.
But he was beginning to wish that the very best
construction of everything that Mr. Farebrother did
should be the true one. The Vicars frankness seemed not
of the repulsive sort Chat comes from an uneasy
consciousness seeking to forestall the judgment of others,
but simply the relief of a desire to do with as little pretence
as possible. Apparently he was not without a sense that his
freedom of speech might seem premature, for he presently
said
I have not yet told you that I have the advantage of
you, Mr. Lydgate, and know you better than you know
me. You remember Trawley who shared your apartment
at Paris for some time? I was a correspondent of his, and
he told me a good deal about you. I was not quite sure
when you first came that you were the same man. I was
very glad when I found that you were. Only I dont forget
that you have not had the like prologue about me.
Lydgate divined some delicacy of feeling here, but did
not half understand it. By the way, he said, what has
become of Trawley? I have quite lost sight of him. He was
hot on the French social systems, and talked of going to
the Backwoods to found a sort of Pythagorean
community. Is he gone?
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Not at all. He is practising at a German bath, and has
married a rich patient.
Then my notions wear the best, so far, said Lydgate,
with a short scornful laugh. He would have it, the
medical profession was an inevitable system of humbug. I
said, the fault was in the men men who truckle to lies
and folly. Instead of preaching against humbug outside the
walls, it might be better to set up a disinfecting apparatus
within. In shortI am reporting my own conversation
you may be sure I had all the good sense on my side.
Your scheme is a good deal more difficult to carry out
than the Pythagorean community, though. You have not
only got the old Adam in yourself against you, but you
have got all those descendants of the original Adam who
form the society around you. You see, I have paid twelve
or thirteen years more than you for my knowledge of
difficulties. ButMr. Farebrother broke off a moment,
and then added, you are eying that glass vase again. Do
you want to make an exchange? You shall not have it
without a fair barter.
I have some sea-micefine specimensin spirits. And
I will throw in Robert Browns new thingMicroscopic
Observations on the Pollen of Plantsif you dont
happen to have it already.
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Why, seeing how you long for the monster, I might
ask a higher price. Suppose I ask you to look through my
drawers and agree with me about all my new species? The
Vicar, while he talked in this way, alternately moved
about with his pipe in his mouth, and returned to hang
rather fondly over his drawers. That would be good
discipline, you know, for a young doctor who has to
please his patients in Middlemarch. You must learn to be
bored, remember. However, you shall have the monster
on your own terms.
Dont you think men overrate the necessity for
humoring everybodys nonsense, till they get despised by
the very fools they humor? said Lydgate, moving to Mr.
Farebrothers side, and looking rather absently at the
insects ranged in fine gradation, with names subscribed in
exquisite writing. The shortest way is to make your value
felt, so that people must put up with you whether you
flatter them or not.
With all my heart. But then you must be sure of
having the value, and you must keep yourself
independent. Very few men can do that. Either you slip
out of service altogether, and become good for nothing, or
you wear the harness and draw a good deal where your
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yoke-fellows pull you. But do look at these delicate
orthoptera!
Lydgate had after all to give some scrutiny to each
drawer, the Vicar laughing at himself, and yet persisting in
the exhibition.
Apropos of what you said about wearing harness,
Lydgate began, after they had sat down, I made up my
mind some time ago to do with as little of it as-possible.
That was why I determined not to try anything in
London, for a good many years at least. I didnt like what I
saw when I was studying thereso much empty
bigwiggism, and obstructive trickery. In the country,
people have less pretension to knowledge, and are less of
companions, but for that reason they affect ones amour-
propre less: one makes less bad blood, and can follow
ones own course more quietly.
Yeswellyou have got a good start; you are in the
right profession, the work you feel yourself most fit for.
Some people miss that, and repent too late. But you must
not be too sure of keeping your independence.
You mean of family ties? said Lydgate, conceiving that
these might press rather tightly on Mr. Farebrother.
Not altogether. Of course they make many things
more difficult. But a good wifea good unworldly
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womanmay really help a man, and keep him more
independent. Theres a parishioner of mine a fine
fellow, but who would hardly have pulled through as he
has done without his wife. Do you know the Garths? I
think they were not Peacocks patients.
No; but there is a Miss Garth at old Featherstones, at
Lowick.
Their daughter: an excellent girl.
She is very quietI have hardly noticed her.
She has taken notice of you, though, depend upon it.
I dont understand, said Lydgate; he could hardly say
Of course.
Oh, she gauges everybody. I prepared her for
confirmation she is a favorite of mine.
Mr. Farebrother puffed a few moments in silence,
Lydgate not caring to know more about the Garths. At last
the Vicar laid down his pipe, stretched out his legs, and
turned his bright eyes with a smile towards Lydgate,
saying
But we Middlemarchers are not so tame as you take us
to be. We have our intrigues and our parties. I am a party
man, for example, and Bulstrode is another. If you vote
for me you will offend Bulstrode.
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What is there against Bulstrode? said Lydgate,
emphatically.
I did not say there was anything against him except
that. If you vote against him you will make him your
enemy.
I dont know that I need mind about that, said
Lydgate, rather proudly; but he seems to have good ideas
about hospitals, and he spends large sums on useful public
objects. He might help me a good deal in carrying out my
ideas. As to his religious notions why, as Voltaire said,
incantations will destroy a flock of sheep if administered
with a certain quantity of arsenic. I look for the man who
will bring the arsenic, and dont mind about his
incantations.
Very good. But then you must not offend your
arsenic-man. You will not offend me, you know, said
Mr. Farebrother, quite unaffectedly. I dont translate my
own convenience into other peoples duties. I am opposed
to Bulstrode in many ways. I dont like the set he belongs
to: they are a narrow ignorant set, and do more to make
their neighbors uncomfortable than to make them better.
Their system is a sort of worldly-spiritual cliqueism: they
really look on the rest of mankind as a doomed carcass
which is to nourish them for heaven. But, he added,
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smilingly, I dont say that Bulstrodes new hospital is a bad
thing; and as to his wanting to oust me from the old
onewhy, if he thinks me a mischievous fellow, he is
only returning a compliment. And I am not a model
clergyman only a decent makeshift.
Lydgate was not at all sure that the Vicar maligned
himself. A model clergyman, like a model doctor, ought
to think his own profession the finest in the world, and
take all knowledge as mere nourishment to his moral
pathology and therapeutics. He only said, What reason
does Bulstrode give for superseding you?
That I dont teach his opinionswhich he calls
spiritual religion; and that I have no time to spare. Both
statements are true. But then I could make time, and I
should be glad of the forty pounds. That is the plain fact of
the case. But let us dismiss it. I only wanted to tell you
that if you vote for your arsenic-man, you are not to cut
me in consequence. I cant spare you. You are a sort of
circumnavigator come to settle among us, and will keep
up my belief in the antipodes. Now tell me all about them
in Paris.
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Middlemarch
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Chapter XVIII
Oh, sir, the loftiest hopes on earth
Draw lots with meaner hopes: heroic breasts,
Breathing bad air, ran risk of pestilence;
Or, lacking lime-juice when they cross the Line,
May languish with the scurvy.
Some weeks passed after this conversation before the
question of the chaplaincy gathered any practical import
for Lydgate, and without telling himself the reason, he
deferred the predetermination on which side he should
give his vote. It would really have been a matter of total
indifference to himthat is to say, he would have taken
the more convenient side, and given his vote for the
appointment of Tyke without any hesitationif he had
not cared personally for Mr. Farebrother.
But his liking for the Vicar of St. Botolphs grew with
growing acquaintanceship. That, entering into Lydgates
position as a new-comer who had his own professional
objects to secure, Mr. Farebrother should have taken pains
rather to warn off than to obtain his interest, showed an
unusual delicacy and generosity, which Lydgates nature
was keenly alive to. It went along with other points of
conduct in Mr. Fare brother which were exceptionally
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fine, and made his character resemble those southern
landscapes which seem divided between natural grandeur
and social slovenliness. Very few men could have been as
filial and chivalrous as he was to the mother, aunt, and
sister, whose dependence on him had in many ways
shaped his life rather uneasily for himself; few men who
feel the pressure of small needs are so nobly resolute not to
dress up their inevitably self-interested desires in a pretext
of better motives. In these matters he was conscious that
his life would bear the closest scrutiny; and perhaps the
consciousness encouraged a little defiance towards the
critical strictness of persons whose celestial intimacies
seemed not to improve their domestic manners, and
whose lofty aims were not needed to account for their
actions. Then, his preaching was ingenious and pithy, like
the preaching of the English Church in its robust age, and
his sermons were delivered without book. People outside
his parish went to hear him; and, since to fill the church
was always the most difficult part of a clergymans
function, here was another ground for a careless sense of
superiority. Besides, he was a likable man: sweet-
tempered, ready-witted, frank, without grins of suppressed
bitterness or other conversational flavors which make half
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of us an affliction to our friends. Lydgate liked him
heartily, and wished for his friendship.
With this feeling uppermost, he continued to waive the
question of the chaplaincy, and to persuade himself that it
was not only no proper business of his, but likely enough
never to vex him with a demand for his vote. Lydgate, at
Mr. Bulstrodes request, was laying down plans for the
internal arrangements of the new hospital, and the two
were often in consultation. The banker was always
presupposing that he could count in general on Lydgate as
a coadjutor, but made no special recurrence to the coming
decision between Tyke and Farebrother. When the
General Board of the Infirmary had met, however, and
Lydgate had notice that the question of the chaplaincy was
thrown on a council of the directors and medical men, to
meet on the following Friday, he had a vexed sense that
he must make up his mind on this trivial Middlemarch
business. He could not help hearing within him the
distinct declaration that Bulstrode was prime minister, and
that the Tyke affair was a question of office or no office;
and he could not help an equally pronounced dislike to
giving up the prospect of office. For his observation was
constantly confirming Mr. Farebrothers assurance that the
banker would not overlook opposition. Confound their
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petty politics! was one of his thoughts for three mornings
in the meditative process of shaving, when he had begun
to feel that he must really hold a court of conscience on
this matter. Certainly there were valid things to be said
against the election of Mr. Farebrother: he had too much
on his hands already, especially considering how much
time he spent on non-clerical occupations. Then again it
was a continually repeated shock, disturbing Lydgates
esteem, that the Vicar should obviously play for the sake
of money, liking the play indeed, but evidently liking
some end which it served. Mr. Farebrother contended on
theory for the desirability of all games, and said that
Englishmens wit was stagnant for want of them; but
Lydgate felt certain that he would have played very much
less but for the money. There was a billiard-room at the
Green Dragon, which some anxious mothers and wives
regarded as the chief temptation in Middlemarch. The
Vicar was a first-rate billiard-player, and though he did not
frequent the Green Dragon, there were reports that he had
sometimes been there in the daytime and had won money.
And as to the chaplaincy, he did not pretend that he cared
for it, except for the sake of the forty pounds. Lydgate was
no Puritan, but he did not care for play, and winning
money at it had always seemed a meanness to him; besides,
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he had an ideal of life which made this subservience of
conduct to the gaining of small sums thoroughly hateful to
him. Hitherto in his own life his wants had been supplied
without any trouble to himself, and his first impulse was
always to be liberal with half-crowns as matters of no
importance to a gentleman; it had never occurred to him
to devise a plan for getting half-crowns. He had always
known in a general way that he was not rich, but he had
never felt poor, and he had no power of imagining the
part which the want of money plays in determining the
actions of men. Money had never been a motive to him.
Hence he was not ready to frame excuses for this
deliberate pursuit of small gains. It was altogether repulsive
to him, and he never entered into any calculation of the
ratio between the Vicars income and his more or less
necessary expenditure. It was possible that he would not
have made such a calculation in his own case.
And now, when the question of voting had come, this
repulsive fact told more strongly against Mr. Farebrother
than it had done before. One would know much better
what to do if mens characters were more consistent, and
especially if ones friends were invariably fit for any
function they desired to undertake! Lydgate was
convinced that if there had been no valid objection to Mr.
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Farebrother, he would have voted for him, whatever
Bulstrode might have felt on the subject: he did not intend
to be a vassal of Bulstrodes. On the other hand, there was
Tyke, a man entirely given to his clerical office, who was
simply curate at a chapel of ease in St. Peters parish, and
had time for extra duty. Nobody had anything to say
against Mr. Tyke, except that they could not bear him,
and suspected him of cant. Really, from his point of view,
Bulstrode was thoroughly justified.
But whichever way Lydgate began to incline, there was
something to make him wince; and being a proud man, he
was a little exasperated at being obliged to wince. He did
not like frustrating his own best purposes by getting on
bad terms with Bulstrode; he did not like voting against
Farebrother, and helping to deprive him of function and
salary; and the question occurred whether the additional
forty pounds might not leave the Vicar free from that
ignoble care about winning at cards. Moreover, Lydgate
did not like the consciousness that in voting for Tyke he
should be voting on the side obviously convenient for
himself. But would the end really be his own
convenience? Other people would say so, and would
allege that he was currying favor with Bulstrode for the
sake of making himself important and getting on in the
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world. What then? He for his own part knew that if his
personal prospects simply had been concerned, he would
not have cared a rotten nut for the bankers friendship or
enmity. What he really cared for was a medium for his
work, a vehicle for his ideas; and after all, was he not
bound to prefer the object of getting a good hospital,
where he could demonstrate the specific distinctions of
fever and test therapeutic results, before anything else
connected with this chaplaincy? For the first time Lydgate
was feeling the hampering threadlike pressure of small
social conditions, and their frustrating complexity. At the
end of his inward debate, when he set out for the hospital,
his hope was really in the chance that discussion might
somehow give a new aspect to the question, and make the
scale dip so as to exclude the necessity for voting. I think
he trusted a little also to the energy which is begotten by
circumstancessome feeling rushing warmly and making
resolve easy, while debate in cool blood had only made it
more difficult. However it was, he did not distinctly say to
himself on which side he would vote; and all the while he
was inwardly resenting the subjection which had been
forced upon him. It would have seemed beforehand like a
ridiculous piece of bad logic that he, with his unmixed
resolutions of independence and his select purposes, would
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find himself at the very outset in the grasp of petty
alternatives, each of which was repugnant to him. In his
students chambers, he had prearranged his social action
quite differently.
Lydgate was late in setting out, but Dr. Sprague, the
two other surgeons, and several of the directors had
arrived early; Mr. Bulstrode, treasurer and chairman, being
among those who were still absent. The conversation
seemed to imply that the issue was problematical, and that
a majority for Tyke was not so certain as had been
generally supposed. The two physicians, for a wonder,
turned out to be unanimous, or rather, though of different
minds, they concurred in action. Dr. Sprague, the rugged
and weighty, was, as every one had foreseen, an adherent
of Mr. Farebrother. The Doctor was more than suspected
of having no religion, but somehow Middlemarch
tolerated this deficiency in him as if he had been a Lord
Chancellor; indeed it is probable that his professional
weight was the more believed in, the world-old
association of cleverness with the evil principle being still
potent in the minds even of lady-patients who had the
strictest ideas of frilling and sentiment. It was perhaps this
negation in the Doctor which made his neighbors call him
hard-headed and dry-witted; conditions of texture which
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were also held favorable to the storing of judgments
connected with drugs. At all events, it is certain that if any
medical man had come to Middlemarch with the
reputation of having very definite religious views, of being
given to prayer, and of otherwise showing an active piety,
there would have been a general presumption against his
medical skill.
On this ground it was (professionally speaking)
fortunate for Dr. Minchin that his religious sympathies
were of a general kind, and such as gave a distant medical
sanction to all serious sentiment, whether of Church or
Dissent, rather than any adhesion to particular tenets. If
Mr. Bulstrode insisted, as he was apt to do, on the
Lutheran doctrine of justification, as that by which a
Church must stand or fall, Dr. Minchin in return was
quite sure that man was not a mere machine or a
fortuitous conjunction of atoms; if Mrs. Wimple insisted
on a particular providence in relation to her stomach
complaint, Dr. Minchin for his part liked to keep the
mental windows open and objected to fixed limits; if the
Unitarian brewer jested about the Athanasian Creed, Dr.
Minchin quoted Popes Essay on Man. He objected to
the rather free style of anecdote in which Dr. Sprague
indulged, preferring well-sanctioned quotations, and liking
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refinement of all kinds: it was generally known that he had
some kinship to a bishop, and sometimes spent his holidays
at the palace.
Dr. Minchin was soft-handed, pale-complexioned, and
of rounded outline, not to be distinguished from a mild
clergyman in appearance: whereas Dr. Sprague was
superfluously tall; his trousers got creased at the knees, and
showed an excess of boot at a time when straps seemed
necessary to any dignity of bearing; you heard him go in
and out, and up and down, as if he had come to see after
the roofing. In short, he had weight, and might be
expected to grapple with a disease and throw it; while Dr.
Minchin might be better able to detect it lurking and to
circumvent it. They enjoyed about equally the mysterious
privilege of medical reputation, and concealed with much
etiquette their contempt for each others skill. Regarding
themselves as Middlemarch institutions, they were ready
to combine against all innovators, and against non-
professionals given to interference. On this ground they
were both in their hearts equally averse to Mr. Bulstrode,
though Dr. Minchin had never been in open hostility with
him, and never differed from him without elaborate
explanation to Mrs. Bulstrode, who had found that Dr.
Minchin alone understood her constitution. A layman
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who pried into the professional conduct of medical men,
and was always obtruding his reforms, though he was
less directly embarrassing to the two physicians than to the
surgeon-apothecaries who attended paupers by contract,
was nevertheless offensive to the professional nostril as
such; and Dr. Minchin shared fully in the new pique
against Bulstrode, excited by his apparent determination to
patronize Lydgate. The long-established practitioners, Mr.
Wrench and Mr. Toller; were just now standing apart and
having a friendly colloquy, in which they agreed that
Lydgate was a jackanapes, just made to serve Bulstrodes
purpose. To non-medical friends they had already
concurred in praising the other young practitioner, who
had come into the town on Mr. Peacocks retirement
without further recommendation than his own merits and
such argument for solid professional acquirement as might
be gathered from his having apparently wasted no time on
other branches of knowledge. It was clear that Lydgate, by
not dispensing drugs, intended to cast imputations on his
equals, and also to obscure the limit between his own rank
as a general practitioner and that of the physicians, who, in
the interest of the profession, felt bound to maintain its
various grades, especially against a man who had not
been to either of the English universities and enjoyed the
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absence of anatomical and bedside study there, but came
with a libellous pretension to experience in Edinburgh and
Paris, where observation might be abundant indeed, but
hardly sound.
Thus it happened that on this occasion Bulstrode
became identified with Lydgate, and Lydgate with Tyke;
and owing to this variety of interchangeable names for the
chaplaincy question, diverse minds were enabled to form
the same judgment concerning it.
Dr. Sprague said at once bluntly. to the group
assembled when he entered, I go for Farebrother. A
salary, with all my heart. But why take it from the Vicar?
He has none too muchhas to insure his life, besides
keeping house, and doing a vicars charities. Put forty
pounds in his pocket and youll do no harm. Hes a good
fellow, is Farebrother, with as little of the parson about
him as will serve to carry orders.
Ho, ho! Doctor, said old Mr. Powderell, a retired
iron-monger of some standinghis interjection being
something between a laugh and a Parliamentary
disapproval; we must let you have your say. But what we
have to consider is not anybodys incomeits the souls of
the poor sick peoplehere Mr. Powderells voice and
face had a sincere pathos in them. He is a real Gospel
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preacher, is Mr. Tyke. I should vote against my
conscience if I voted against Mr. Tyke I should indeed.
Mr. Tykes opponents have not asked any one to vote
against his conscience, I believe, said Mr. Hackbutt, a rich
tanner of fluent speech, whose glittering spectacles and
erect hair were turned with some severity towards
innocent Mr. Powderell. But in my judgment it behoves
us, as Directors, to consider whether we will regard it as
our whole business to carry out propositions emanating
from a single quarter. Will any member of the committee
aver that he would have entertained the idea of displacing
the gentleman who has always discharged the function of
chaplain here, if it had not been suggested to him by
parties whose disposition it is to regard every institution of
this town as a machinery for carrying out their own views?
I tax no mans motives: let them lie between himself and a
higher Power; but I do say, that there are influences at
work here which are incompatible with genuine
independence, and that a crawling servility is usually
dictated by circumstances which gentlemen so conducting
themselves could not afford either morally or financially to
avow. I myself am a layman, but I have given no
inconsiderable attention to the divisions in the Church
and
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Oh, damn the divisions! burst in Mr. Frank Hawley,
lawyer and town-clerk, who rarely presented himself at
the board, but now looked in hurriedly, whip in hand.
We have nothing to do with them here. Farebrother has
been doing the workwhat there waswithout pay, and
if pay is to be given, it should be given to him. I call it a
confounded job to take the thing away from Farebrother.
I think it would be as well for gentlemen not to give
their remarks a personal bearing, said Mr. Plymdale. I
shall vote for the appointment of Mr. Tyke, but I should
not have known, if Mr. Hackbutt hadnt hinted it, that I
was a Servile Crawler.
I disclaim any personalities. I expressly said, if I may be
allowed to repeat, or even to conclude what I was about
to say
Ah, heres Minchin! said Mr. Frank Hawley; at which
everybody turned away from Mr. Hackbutt, leaving him
to feel the uselessness of superior gifts in Middlemarch.
Come, Doctor, I must have you on the right side, eh?
I hope so, said Dr. Minchin, nodding and shaking
hands here and there; at whatever cost to my feelings.
If theres any feeling here, it should be feeling for the
man who is turned out, I think, said Mr. Frank Hawley.
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I confess I have feelings on the other side also. I have a
divided esteem, said Dr. Minchin, rubbing his hands. I
consider Mr. Tyke an exemplary mannone more so
and I believe him to be proposed from unimpeachable
motives. I, for my part, wish that I could give him my
vote. But I am constrained to take a view of the case
which gives the preponderance to Mr. Farebrothers
claims. He is an amiable man, an able preacher, and has
been longer among us.
Old Mr. Powderell looked on, sad and silent. Mr.
Plymdale settled his cravat, uneasily.
You dont set up Farebrother as a pattern of what a
clergyman ought to be, I hope, said Mr. Larcher, the
eminent carrier, who had just come in. I have no ill-will
towards him, but I think we owe something to the public,
not to speak of anything higher, in these appointments. In
my opinion Farebrother is too lax for a clergyman. I dont
wish to bring up particulars against him; but he will make
a little attendance here go as far as he can.
And a devilish deal better than too much, said Mr.
Hawley, whose bad language was notorious in that part of
the county. Sick people cant bear so much praying and
preaching. And that methodistical sort of religion is bad
for the spirits bad for the inside, eh? he added, turning
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quickly round to the four medical men who were
assembled.
But any answer was dispensed with by the entrance of
three gentlemen, with whom there were greetings more
or less cordial. These were the Reverend Edward
Thesiger, Rector of St. Peters, Mr. Bulstrode, and our
friend Mr. Brooke of Tipton, who had lately allowed
himself to be put on the board of directors in his turn, but
had never before attended, his attendance now being due
to Mr. Bulstrodes exertions. Lydgate was the only person
still expected.
Every one now sat down, Mr. Bulstrode presiding, pale
and self-restrained as usual. Mr. Thesiger, a moderate
evangelical, wished for the appointment of his friend Mr.
Tyke, a zealous able man, who, officiating at a chapel of
ease, had not a cure of souls too extensive to leave him
ample time for the new duty. It was desirable that
chaplaincies of this kind should be entered on with a
fervent intention: they were peculiar opportunities for
spiritual influence; and while it was good that a salary
should be allotted, there was the more need for scrupulous
watching lest the office should be perverted into a mere
question of salary. Mr. Thesigers manner had so much
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quiet propriety that objectors could only simmer in
silence.
Mr. Brooke believed that everybody meant well in the
matter. He had not himself attended to the affairs of the
Infirmary, though he had a strong interest in whatever was
for the benefit of Middlemarch, and was most happy to
meet the gentlemen present on any public question any
public question, you know, Mr. Brooke repeated, with
his nod of perfect understanding. I am a good deal
occupied as a magistrate, and in the collection of
documentary evidence, but I regard my time as being at
the disposal of the publicand, in short, my friends have
convinced me that a chaplain with a salarya salary, you
know is a very good thing, and I am happy to be able to
come here and vote for the appointment of Mr. Tyke,
who, I understand, is an unexceptionable man, apostolic
and eloquent and everything of that kind and I am the
last man to withhold my voteunder the circumstances,
you know.
It seems to me that you have been crammed with one
side of the question, Mr. Brooke, said Mr. Frank Hawley,
who was afraid of nobody, and was a Tory suspicious of
electioneering intentions. You dont seem to know that
one of the worthiest men we have has been doing duty as
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chaplain here for years without pay, and that Mr. Tyke is
proposed to supersede him.
Excuse me, Mr. Hawley, said Mr. Bulstrode. Mr.
Brooke has been fully informed of Mr. Farebrothers
character and position.
By his enemies, flashed out Mr. Hawley.
I trust there is no personal hostility concerned here,
said Mr. Thesiger.
Ill swear there is, though, retorted Mr. Hawley.
Gentlemen, said Mr. Bulstrode, in a subdued tone,
the merits of the question may be very briefly stated, and
if any one present doubts that every gentleman who is
about to give his vote has not been fully informed, I can
now recapitulate the considerations that should weigh on
either side.
I dont see the good of that, said Mr. Hawley. I
suppose we all know whom we mean to vote for. Any
man who wants to do justice does not wait till the last
minute to hear both sides of the question. I have no time
to lose, and I propose that the matter be put to the vote at
once.
A brief but still hot discussion followed before each
person wrote Tyke or Farebrother on a piece of paper
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and slipped it into a glass tumbler; and in the mean time
Mr. Bulstrode saw Lydgate enter.
I perceive that the votes are equally divided at present,
said Mr. Bulstrode, in a clear biting voice. Then, looking
up at Lydgate
There is a casting-vote still to be given. It is yours, Mr.
Lydgate: will you be good enough to write?
The thing is settled now, said Mr. Wrench, rising.
We all know how Mr. Lydgate will vote.
You seem to speak with some peculiar meaning, sir,
said Lydgate, rather defiantly, and keeping his pencil
suspended.
I merely mean that you are expected to vote with Mr.
Bulstrode. Do you regard that meaning as offensive?
It may be offensive to others. But I shall not desist
from voting with him on that account. Lydgate
immediately wrote down Tyke.
So the Rev. Walter Tyke became chaplain to the
Infirmary, and Lydgate continued to work with Mr.
Bulstrode. He was really uncertain whether Tyke were
not the more suitable candidate, and yet his consciousness
told him that if he had been quite free from indirect bias
he should have voted for Mr. Farebrother. The affair of
the chaplaincy remained a sore point in his memory as a
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case in which this petty medium of Middlemarch had
been too strong for him. How could a man be satisfied
with a decision between such alternatives and under such
circumstances? No more than he can be satisfied with his
hat, which he has chosen from among such shapes as the
resources of the age offer him, wearing it at best with a
resignation which is chiefly supported by comparison.
But Mr. Farebrother met him with the same
friendliness as before. The character of the publican and
sinner is not always practically incompatible with that of
the modern Pharisee, for the majority of us scarcely see
more distinctly the faultiness of our own conduct than the
faultiness of our own arguments, or the dulness of our
own jokes. But the Vicar of St. Botolphs had certainly
escaped the slightest tincture of the Pharisee, and by dint
of admitting to himself that he was too much as other men
were, he had become remarkably unlike them in this
that he could excuse other; for thinking slightly of him,
and could judge impartially of their conduct even when it
told against him.
The world has been to strong for ME, I know, he said
one day to Lydgate. But then I am not a mighty manI
shall never be a man of renown. The choice of Hercules is
a pretty fable; but Prodicus makes it easy work for the
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hero, as if the first resolves were enough. Another story
says that he came to hold the distaff, and at last wore the
Nessus shirt. I suppose one good resolve might keep a man
right if everybody elses resolve helped him.
The Vicars talk was not always inspiriting: he had
escaped being a Pharisee, but he had not escaped that low
estimate of possibilities which we rather hastily arrive at as
an inference from our own failure. Lydgate thought that
there was a pitiable infirmity of will in Mr. Farebrother.
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Chapter XIX
L altra vedete chha fatto alla guancia
Della sua palma, sospirando, letto.
Purgatorio, vii.
When George the Fourth was still reigning over the
privacies of Windsor, when the Duke of Wellington was
Prime Minister, and Mr. Vincy was mayor of the old
corporation in Middlemarch, Mrs. Casaubon, born
Dorothea Brooke, had taken her wedding journey to
Rome. In those days the world in general was more
ignorant of good and evil by forty years than it is at
present. Travellers did not often carry full information on
Christian art either in their heads or their pockets; and
even the most brilliant English critic of the day mistook
the flower-flushed tomb of the ascended Virgin for an
ornamental vase due to the painters fancy. Romanticism,
which has helped to fill some dull blanks with love and
knowledge, had not yet penetrated the times with its
leaven and entered into everybodys food; it was
fermenting still as a distinguishable vigorous enthusiasm in
certain long-haired German artists at Rome, and the youth
of other nations who worked or idled near them were
sometimes caught in the spreading movement.
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One fine morning a young man whose hair was not
immoderately long, but abundant and curly, and who was
otherwise English in his equipment, had just turned his
back on the Belvedere Torso in the Vatican and was
looking out on the magnificent view of the mountains
from the adjoining round vestibule. He was sufficiently
absorbed not to notice the approach of a dark-eyed,
animated German who came up to him and placing a
hand on his shoulder, said with a strong accent, Come
here, quick! else she will have changed her pose.
Quickness was ready at the call, and the two figures
passed lightly along by the Meleager, towards the hall
where the reclining Ariadne, then called the Cleopatra,
lies in the marble voluptuousness of her beauty, the
drapery folding around her with a petal-like ease and
tenderness. They were just in time to see another figure
standing against a pedestal near the reclining marble: a
breathing blooming girl, whose form, not shamed by the
Ariadne, was clad in Quakerish gray drapery; her long
cloak, fastened at the neck, was thrown backward from
her arms, and one beautiful ungloved hand pillowed her
cheek, pushing somewhat backward the white beaver
bonnet which made a sort of halo to her face around the
simply braided dark-brown hair. She was not looking at
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the sculpture, probably not thinking of it: her large eyes
were fixed dreamily on a streak of sunlight which fell
across the floor. But she became conscious of the two
strangers who suddenly paused as if to contemplate the
Cleopatra, and, without looking at them, immediately
turned away to join a maid-servant and courier who were
loitering along the hall at a little distance off.
What do you think of that for a fine bit of antithesis?
said the German, searching in his friends face for
responding admiration, but going on volubly without
waiting for any other answer. There lies antique beauty,
not corpse-like even in death, but arrested in the complete
contentment of its sensuous perfection: and here stands
beauty in its breathing life, with the consciousness of
Christian centuries in its bosom. But she should be dressed
as a nun; I think she looks almost what you call a Quaker;
I would dress her as a nun in my picture. However, she is
married; I saw her wedding-ring on that wonderful left
hand, otherwise I should have thought the sallow
Geistlicher was her father. I saw him parting from her a
good while ago, and just now I found her in that
magnificent pose. Only think! he is perhaps rich, and
would like to have her portrait taken. Ah! it is no use
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Middlemarch
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looking after her there she goes! Let us follow her
home!
No, no, said his companion, with a little frown.
You are singular, Ladislaw. You look struck together.
Do you know her?
I know that she is married to my cousin, said Will
Ladislaw, sauntering down the hall with a preoccupied air,
while his German friend kept at his side and watched him
eagerly.
What! the Geistlicher? He looks more like an unclea
more useful sort of relation.
He is not my uncle. I tell you he is my second cousin,
said Ladislaw, with some irritation.
Schon, schon. Dont be snappish. You are not angry
with me for thinking Mrs. Second-Cousin the most
perfect young Madonna I ever saw?
Angry? nonsense. I have only seen her once before, for
a couple of minutes, when my cousin introduced her to
me, just before I left England. They were not married
then. I didnt know they were coming to Rome.
But you will go to see them nowyou will find out
what they have for an addresssince you know the name.
Shall we go to the post? And you could speak about the
portrait.
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Confound you, Naumann! I dont know what I shall
do. I am not so brazen as you.
Bah! that is because you are dilettantish and
amateurish. If you were an artist, you would think of
Mistress Second-Cousin as antique form animated by
Christian sentimenta sort of Christian Antigone
sensuous force controlled by spiritual passion.
Yes, and that your painting her was the chief outcome
of her existencethe divinity passing into higher
completeness and all but exhausted in the act of covering
your bit of canvas. I am amateurish if you like: I do NOT
think that all the universe is straining towards the obscure
significance of your pictures.
But it is, my dear!so far as it is straining through me,
Adolf Naumann: that stands firm, said the good-natured
painter, putting a hand on Ladislaws shoulder, and not in
the least disturbed by the unaccountable touch of ill-
humor in his tone. See now! My existence presupposes
the existence of the whole universe does it NOT? and
my function is to paintand as a painter I have a
conception which is altogether genialisch, of your great-
aunt or second grandmother as a subject for a picture;
therefore, the universe is straining towards that picture
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through that particular hook or claw which it puts forth in
the shape of me not true?
But how if another claw in the shape of me is straining
to thwart it? the case is a little less simple then.
Not at all: the result of the struggle is the same thing
picture or no picturelogically.
Will could not resist this imperturbable temper, and the
cloud in his face broke into sunshiny laughter.
Come now, my friendyou will help? said
Naumann, in a hopeful tone.
No; nonsense, Naumann! English ladies are not at
everybodys service as models. And you want to express
too much with your painting. You would only have made
a better or worse portrait with a background which every
connoisseur would give a different reason for or against.
And what is a portrait of a woman? Your painting and
Plastik are poor stuff after all. They perturb and dull
conceptions instead of raising them. Language is a finer
medium.
Yes, for those who cant paint, said Naumann. There
you have perfect right. I did not recommend you to paint,
my friend.
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The amiable artist carried his sting, but Ladislaw did
not choose to appear stung. He went on as if he had not
heard.
Language gives a fuller image, which is all the better
for beings vague. After all, the true seeing is within; and
painting stares at you with an insistent imperfection. I feel
that especially about representations of women. As if a
woman were a mere colored superficies! You must wait
for movement and tone. There is a difference in their very
breathing: they change from moment to moment.This
woman whom you have just seen, for example: how
would you paint her voice, pray? But her voice is much
diviner than anything you have seen of her.
I see, I see. You are jealous. No man must presume to
think that he can paint your ideal. This is serious, my
friend! Your great-aunt! Der Neffe als Onkel in a tragic
senseungeheuer!
You and I shall quarrel, Naumann, if you call that lady
my aunt again.
How is she to be called then?
Mrs. Casaubon.
Good. Suppose I get acquainted with her in spite of
you, and find that she very much wishes to be painted?
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Yes, suppose! said Will Ladislaw, in a contemptuous
undertone, intended to dismiss the subject. He was
conscious of being irritated by ridiculously small causes,
which were half of his own creation. Why was he making
any fuss about Mrs. Casaubon? And yet he felt as if
something had happened to him with regard to her. There
are characters which are continually creating collisions and
nodes for themselves in dramas which nobody is prepared
to act with them. Their susceptibilities will clash against
objects that remain innocently quiet.
CHAPTER XX.
A child forsaken, waking suddenly,
Whose gaze afeard on all things round doth rove,
And seeth only that it cannot see
The meeting eyes of love.
Two hours later, Dorothea was seated in an inner room
or boudoir of a handsome apartment in the Via Sistina.
I am sorry to add that she was sobbing bitterly, with
such abandonment to this relief of an oppressed heart as a
woman habitually controlled by pride on her own account
and thoughtfulness for others will sometimes allow herself
when she feels securely alone. And Mr. Casaubon was
certain to remain away for some time at the Vatican.
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Yet Dorothea had no distinctly shapen grievance that
she could state even to herself; and in the midst of her
confused thought and passion, the mental act that was
struggling forth into clearness was a self-accusing cry that
her feeling of desolation was the fault of her own spiritual
poverty. She had married the man of her choice, and with
the advantage over most girls that she had contemplated
her marriage chiefly as the beginning of new duties: from
the very first she had thought of Mr. Casaubon as having a
mind so much above her own, that he must often be
claimed by studies which she could not entirely share;
moreover, after the brief narrow experience of her
girlhood she was beholding Rome, the city of visible
history, where the past of a whole hemisphere seems
moving in funeral procession with strange ancestral images
and trophies gathered from afar.
But this stupendous fragmentariness heightened the
dreamlike strangeness of her bridal life. Dorothea had now
been five weeks in Rome, and in the kindly mornings
when autumn and winter seemed to go hand in hand like
a happy aged couple one of whom would presently
survive in chiller loneliness, she had driven about at first
with Mr. Casaubon, but of late chiefly with Tantripp and
their experienced courier. She had been led through the
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best galleries, had been taken to the chief points of view,
had been shown the grandest ruins and the most glorious
churches, and she had ended by oftenest choosing to drive
out to the Campagna where she could feel alone with the
earth and sky, away-from the oppressive masquerade of
ages, in which her own life too seemed to become a
masque with enigmatical costumes.
To those who have looked at Rome with the
quickening power of a knowledge which breathes a
growing soul into all historic shapes, and traces out the
suppressed transitions which unite all contrasts, Rome may
still be the spiritual centre and interpreter of the world.
But let them conceive one more historical contrast: the
gigantic broken revelations of that Imperial and Papal city
thrust abruptly on the notions of a girl who had been
brought up in English and Swiss Puritanism, fed on
meagre Protestant histories and on art chiefly of the hand-
screen sort; a girl whose ardent nature turned all her small
allowance of knowledge into principles, fusing her actions
into their mould, and whose quick emotions gave the
most abstract things the quality of a pleasure or a pain; a
girl who had lately become a wife, and from the
enthusiastic acceptance of untried duty found herself
plunged in tumultuous preoccupation with her personal
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lot. The weight of unintelligible Rome might lie easily on
bright nymphs to whom it formed a background for the
brilliant picnic of Anglo-foreign society; but Dorothea had
no such defence against deep impressions. Ruins and
basilicas, palaces and colossi, set in the midst of a sordid
present, where all that was living and warm-blooded
seemed sunk in the deep degeneracy of a superstition
divorced from reverence; the dimmer but yet eager
Titanic life gazing and struggling on walls and ceilings; the
long vistas of white forms whose marble eyes seemed to
hold the monotonous light of an alien world: all this vast
wreck of ambitious ideals, sensuous and spiritual, mixed
confusedly with the signs of breathing forgetfulness and
degradation, at first jarred her as with an electric shock,
and then urged themselves on her with that ache
belonging to a glut of confused ideas which check the
flow of emotion. Forms both pale and glowing took
possession of her young sense, and fixed themselves in her
memory even when she was not thinking of them,
preparing strange associations which remained through her
after-years. Our moods are apt to bring with them images
which succeed each other like the magic-lantern pictures
of a doze; and in certain states of dull forlornness Dorothea
all her life continued to see the vastness of St. Peters, the
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huge bronze canopy, the excited intention in the attitudes
and garments of the prophets and evangelists in the
mosaics above, and the red drapery which was being hung
for Christmas spreading itself everywhere like a disease of
the retina.
Not that this inward amazement of Dorotheas was
anything very exceptional: many souls in their young
nudity are tumbled out among incongruities and left to
find their feet among them, while their elders go about
their business. Nor can I suppose that when Mrs.
Casaubon is discovered in a fit of weeping six weeks after
her wedding, the situation will be regarded as tragic. Some
discouragement, some faintness of heart at the new real
future which replaces the imaginary, is not unusual, and
we do not expect people to be deeply moved by what is
not unusual. That element of tragedy which lies in the
very fact of frequency, has not yet wrought itself into the
coarse emotion of mankind; and perhaps our frames could
hardly bear much of it. If we had a keen vision and feeling
of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the
grass grow and the squirrels heart beat, and we should die
of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is,
the quickest of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.
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However, Dorothea was crying, and if she had been
required to state the cause, she could only have done so in
some such general words as I have already used: to have
been driven to be more particular would have been like
trying to give a history of the lights and shadows, for that
new real future which was replacing the imaginary drew
its material from the endless minutiae by which her view
of Mr. Casaubon and her wifely relation, now that she was
married to him, was gradually changing with the secret
motion of a watch-hand from what it had been in her
maiden dream. It was too early yet for her fully to
recognize or at least admit the change, still more for her to
have readjusted that devotedness which was so necessary a
part of her mental life that she was almost sure sooner or
later to recover it. Permanent rebellion, the disorder of a
life without some loving reverent resolve, was not possible
to her; but she was now in an interval when the very force
of her nature heightened its confusion. In this way, the
early months of marriage often are times of critical
tumultwhether that of a shrimp-pool or of deeper
waterswhich afterwards subsides into cheerful peace.
But was not Mr. Casaubon just as learned as before?
Had his forms of expression changed, or his sentiments
become less laudable? Oh waywardness of womanhood!
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did his chronology fail him, or his ability to state not only
a theory but the names of those who held it; or his
provision for giving the heads of any subject on demand?
And was not Rome the place in all the world to give free
play to such accomplishments? Besides, had not
Dorotheas enthusiasm especially dwelt on the prospect of
relieving the weight and perhaps the sadness with which
great tasks lie on him who has to achieve them? And
that such weight pressed on Mr. Casaubon was only
plainer than before.
All these are crushing questions; but whatever else
remained the same, the light had changed, and you cannot
find the pearly dawn at noonday. The fact is unalterable,
that a fellow-mortal with whose nature you are acquainted
solely through the brief entrances and exits of a few
imaginative weeks called courtship, may, when seen in the
continuity of married companionship, be disclosed as
something better or worse than what you have
preconceived, but will certainly not appear altogether the
same. And it would be astonishing to find how soon the
change is felt if we had no kindred changes to compare
with it. To share lodgings with a brilliant dinner-
companion, or to see your favorite politician in the
Ministry, may bring about changes quite as rapid: in these
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cases too we begin by knowing little and believing much,
and we sometimes end by inverting the quantities.
Still, such comparisons might mislead, for no man was
more incapable of flashy make-believe than Mr. Casaubon:
he was as genuine a character as any ruminant animal, and
he had not actively assisted in creating any illusions about
himself. How was it that in the weeks since her marriage,
Dorothea had not distinctly observed but felt with a
stifling depression, that the large vistas and wide fresh air
which she had dreamed of finding in her husbands mind
were replaced by anterooms and winding passages which
seemed to lead nowhither? I suppose it was that in
courtship everything is regarded as provisional and
preliminary, and the smallest sample of virtue or
accomplishment is taken to guarantee delightful stores
which the broad leisure of marriage will reveal. But the
door-sill of marriage once crossed, expectation is
concentrated on the present. Having once embarked on
your marital voyage, it is impossible not to be aware that
you make no way and that the sea is not within sight
that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin.
In their conversation before marriage, Mr. Casaubon
had often dwelt on some explanation or questionable
detail of which Dorothea did not see the bearing; but such
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imperfect coherence seemed due to the brokenness of
their intercourse, and, supported by her faith in their
future, she had listened with fervid patience to a recitation
of possible arguments to be brought against Mr.
Casaubons entirely new view of the Philistine god Dagon
and other fish-deities, thinking that hereafter she should
see this subject which touched him so nearly from the
same high ground whence doubtless it had become so
important to him. Again, the matter-of-course statement
and tone of dismissal with which he treated what to her
were the most stirring thoughts, was easily accounted for
as belonging to the sense of haste and preoccupation in
which she herself shared during their engagement. But
now, since they had been in Rome, with all the depths of
her emotion roused to tumultuous activity, and with life
made a new problem by new elements, she had been
becoming more and more aware, with a certain terror,
that her mind was continually sliding into inward fits of
anger and repulsion, or else into forlorn weariness. How
far the judicious Hooker or any other hero of erudition
would have been the same at Mr. Casaubons time of life,
she had no means of knowing, so that he could not have
the advantage of comparison; but her husbands way of
commenting on the strangely impressive objects around
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them had begun to affect her with a sort of mental shiver:
he had perhaps the best intention of acquitting himself
worthily, but only of acquitting himself. What was fresh to
her mind was worn out to his; and such capacity of
thought and feeling as had ever been stimulated in him by
the general life of mankind had long shrunk to a sort of
dried preparation, a lifeless embalmment of knowledge.
When he said, Does this interest you, Dorothea? Shall
we stay a little longer? I am ready to stay if you wish it,
it seemed to her as if going or staying were alike dreary.
Or, Should you like to go to the Farnesina, Dorothea? It
contains celebrated frescos designed or painted by
Raphael, which most persons think it worth while to
visit.
But do you care about them? was always Dorotheas
question.
They are, I believe, highly esteemed. Some of them
represent the fable of Cupid and Psyche, which is probably
the romantic invention of a literary period, and cannot, I
think, be reckoned as a genuine mythical product. But if
you like these wall-paintings we can easily drive thither;
and you ill then, I think, have seen the chief works of
Raphael, any of which it were a pity to omit in a visit to
Rome. He is the painter who has been held to combine
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the most complete grace of form with sublimity of
expression. Such at least I have gathered to be the opinion
of conoscenti.
This kind of answer given in a measured official tone,
as of a clergyman reading according to the rubric, did not
help to justify the glories of the Eternal City, or to give
her the hope that if she knew more about them the world
would be joyously illuminated for her. There is hardly any
contact more depressing to a young ardent creature than
that of a mind in which years full of knowledge seem to
have issued in a blank absence of interest or sympathy.
On other subjects indeed Mr. Casaubon showed a
tenacity of occupation and an eagerness which are usually
regarded as the effect of enthusiasm, and Dorothea was
anxious to follow this spontaneous direction of his
thoughts, instead of being made to feel that she dragged
him away from it. But she was gradually ceasing to expect
with her former delightful confidence that she should see
any wide opening where she followed him. Poor Mr.
Casaubon himself was lost among small closets and
winding stairs, and in an agitated dimness about the
Cabeiri, or in an exposure of other mythologists ill-
considered parallels, easily lost sight of any purpose which
had prompted him to these labors. With his taper stuck
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before him he forgot the absence of windows, and in
bitter manuscript remarks on other mens notions about
the solar deities, he had become indifferent to the sunlight.
These characteristics, fixed and unchangeable as bone
in Mr. Casaubon, might have remained longer unfelt by
Dorothea if she had been encouraged to pour forth her
girlish and womanly feelingif he would have held her
hands between his and listened with the delight of
tenderness and understanding to all the little histories
which made up her experience, and would have given her
the same sort of intimacy in return, so that the past life of
each could be included in their mutual knowledge and
affectionor if she could have fed her affection with those
childlike caresses which are the bent of every sweet
woman, who has begun by showering kisses on the hard
pate of her bald doll, creating a happy soul within that
woodenness from the wealth of her own love. That was
Dorotheas bent. With all her yearning to know what was
afar from her and to be widely benignant, she had ardor
enough for what was near, to have kissed Mr. Casaubons
coat-sleeve, or to have caressed his shoe-latchet, if he
would have made any other sign of acceptance than
pronouncing her, with his unfailing propriety, to be of a
most affectionate and truly feminine nature, indicating at
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the same time by politely reaching a chair for her that he
regarded these manifestations as rather crude and startling.
Having made his clerical toilet with due care in the
morning, he was prepared only for those amenities of life
which were suited to the well-adjusted stiff cravat of the
period, and to a mind weighted with unpublished matter.
And by a sad contradiction Dorotheas ideas and
resolves seemed like melting ice floating and lost in the
warm flood of which they had been but another form. She
was humiliated to find herself a mere victim of feeling, as
if she could know nothing except through that medium:
all her strength was scattered in fits of agitation, of
struggle, of despondency, and then again in visions of
more complete renunciation, transforming all hard
conditions into duty. Poor Dorothea! she was certainly
troublesometo herself chiefly; but this morning for the
first time she had been troublesome to Mr. Casaubon.
She had begun, while they were taking coffee, with a
determination to shake off what she inwardly called her
selfishness, and turned a face all cheerful attention to her
husband when he said, My dear Dorothea, we must now
think of all that is yet left undone, as a preliminary to our
departure. I would fain have returned home earlier that
we might have been at Lowick for the Christmas; but my
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inquiries here have been protracted beyond their
anticipated period. I trust, however, that the time here has
not been passed unpleasantly to you. Among the sights of
Europe, that of Rome has ever been held one of the most
striking and in some respects edifying. I well remember
that I considered it an epoch in my life when I visited it
for the first time; after the fall of Napoleon, an event
which opened the Continent to travellers. Indeed I think
it is one among several cities to which an extreme
hyperbole has been applied See Rome and die: but in
your case I would propose an emendation and say, See
Rome as a bride, and live henceforth as a happy wife.
Mr. Casaubon pronounced this little speech with the
most conscientious intention, blinking a little and swaying
his head up and down, and concluding with a smile. He
had not found marriage a rapturous state, but he had no
idea of being anything else than an irreproachable
husband, who would make a charming young woman as
happy as she deserved to be.
I hope you are thoroughly satisfied with our stayI
mean, with the result so far as your studies are concerned,
said Dorothea, trying to keep her mind fixed on what
most affected her husband.
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Yes, said Mr. Casaubon, with that peculiar pitch of
voice which makes the word half a negative. I have been
led farther than I had foreseen, and various subjects for
annotation have presented themselves which, though I
have no direct need of them, I could not pretermit. The
task, notwithstanding the assistance of my amanuensis, has
been a somewhat laborious one, but your society has
happily prevented me from that too continuous
prosecution of thought beyond the hours of study which
has been the snare of my solitary life.
I am very glad that my presence has made any
difference to you, said Dorothea, who had a vivid
memory of evenings in which she had supposed that Mr.
Casaubons mind had gone too deep during the day to be
able to get to the surface again. I fear there was a little
temper in her reply. I hope when we get to Lowick, I
shall be more useful to you, and be able to enter a little
more into what interests you.
Doubtless, my dear, said Mr. Casaubon, with a slight
bow. The notes I have here made will want sifting, and
you can, if you please, extract them under my direction.
And all your notes, said Dorothea, whose heart had
already burned within her on this subject, so that now she
could not help speaking with her tongue. All those rows
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of volumeswill you not now do what you used to speak
of?will you not make up your mind what part of them
you will use, and begin to write the book which will
make your vast knowledge useful to the world? I will
write to your dictation, or I will copy and extract what
you tell me: I can be of no other use. Dorothea, in a most
unaccountable, darkly feminine manner, ended with a
slight sob and eyes full of tears.
The excessive feeling manifested would alone have
been highly disturbing to Mr. Casaubon, but there were
other reasons why Dorotheas words were among the
most cutting and irritating to him that she could have been
impelled to use. She was as blind to his inward troubles as
he to hers: she had not yet learned those hidden conflicts
in her husband which claim our pity. She had not yet
listened patiently to his heartbeats, but only felt that her
own was beating violently. In Mr. Casaubons ear,
Dorotheas voice gave loud emphatic iteration to those
muffled suggestions of consciousness which it was possible
to explain as mere fancy, the illusion of exaggerated
sensitiveness: always when such suggestions are
unmistakably repeated from without, they are resisted as
cruel and unjust. We are angered even by the full
acceptance of our humiliating confessionshow much
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more by hearing in hard distinct syllables from the lips of a
near observer, those confused murmurs which we try to
call morbid, and strive against as if they were the
oncoming of numbness! And this cruel outward accuser
was there in the shape of a wifenay, of a young bride,
who, instead of observing his abundant pen-scratches and
amplitude of paper with the uncritical awe of an elegant-
minded canary-bird, seemed to present herself as a spy
watching everything with a malign power of inference.
Here, towards this particular point of the compass, Mr.
Casaubon had a sensitiveness to match Dorotheas, and an
equal quickness to imagine more than the fact. He had
formerly observed with approbation her capacity for
worshipping the right object; he now foresaw with sudden
terror that this capacity might be replaced by presumption,
this worship by the most exasperating of all criticism,
that which sees vaguely a great many fine ends, and has
not the least notion what it costs to reach them.
For the first time since Dorothea had known him, Mr.
Casaubons face had a quick angry flush upon it.
My love, he said, with irritation reined in by
propriety, you may rely upon me for knowing the times
and the seasons, adapted to the different stages of a work
which is not to be measured by the facile conjectures of
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ignorant onlookers. It had been easy for me to gain a
temporary effect by a mirage of baseless opinion; but it is
ever the trial of the scrupulous explorer to be saluted with
the impatient scorn of chatterers who attempt only the
smallest achievements, being indeed equipped for no
other. And it were well if all such could be admonished to
discriminate judgments of which the true subject-matter
lies entirely beyond their reach, from those of which the
elements may be compassed by a narrow and superficial
survey.
This speech was delivered with an energy and readiness
quite unusual with Mr. Casaubon. It was not indeed
entirely an improvisation, but had taken shape in inward
colloquy, and rushed out like the round grains from a fruit
when sudden heat cracks it. Dorothea was not only his
wife: she was a personification of that shallow world
which surrounds the appreciated or desponding author.
Dorothea was indignant in her turn. Had she not been
repressing everything in herself except the desire to enter
into some fellowship with her husbands chief interests?
My judgment WAS a very superficial onesuch as I
am capable of forming, she answered, with a prompt
resentment, that needed no rehearsal. You showed me the
rows of notebooksyou have often spoken of themyou
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have often said that they wanted digesting. But I never
heard you speak of the writing that is to be published.
Those were very simple facts, and my judgment went no
farther. I only begged you to let me be of some good to
you.
Dorothea rose to leave the table and Mr. Casaubon
made no reply, taking up a letter which lay beside him as
if to reperuse it. Both were shocked at their mutual
situationthat each should have betrayed anger towards
the other. If they had been at home, settled at Lowick in
ordinary life among their neighbors, the clash would have
been less embarrassing: but on a wedding journey, the
express object of which is to isolate two people on the
ground that they are all the world to each other, the sense
of disagreement is, to say the least, confounding and
stultifying. To have changed your longitude extensively
and placed yourselves in a moral solitude in order to have
small explosions, to find conversation difficult and to hand
a glass of water without looking, can hardly be regarded as
satisfactory fulfilment even to the toughest minds. To
Dorotheas inexperienced sensitiveness, it seemed like a
catastrophe, changing all prospects; and to Mr. Casaubon
it was a new pain, he never having been on a wedding
journey before, or found himself in that close union which
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was more of a subjection than he had been able to
imagine, since this charming young bride not only obliged
him to much consideration on her behalf (which he had
sedulously given), but turned out to be capable of agitating
him cruelly just where he most needed soothing. Instead
of getting a soft fence against the cold, shadowy,
unapplausive audience of his life, had he only given it a
more substantial presence?
Neither of them felt it possible to speak again at
present. To have reversed a previous arrangement and
declined to go out would have been a show of persistent
anger which Dorotheas conscience shrank from, seeing
that she already began to feel herself guilty. However just
her indignation might be, her ideal was not to claim
justice, but to give tenderness. So when the carriage came
to the door, she drove with Mr. Casaubon to the Vatican,
walked with him through the stony avenue of inscriptions,
and when she parted with him at the entrance to the
Library, went on through the Museum out of mere
listlessness as to what was around her. She had not spirit to
turn round and say that she would drive anywhere. It was
when Mr. Casaubon was quitting her that Naumann had
first seen her, and he had entered the long gallery of
sculpture at the same time with her; but here Naumann
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Middlemarch
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had to await Ladislaw with whom he was to settle a bet of
champagne about an enigmatical mediaeval-looking figure
there. After they had examined the figure, and had walked
on finishing their dispute, they had parted, Ladislaw
lingering behind while Naumann had gone into the Hall
of Statues where he again saw Dorothea, and saw her in
that brooding abstraction which made her pose
remarkable. She did not really see the streak of sunlight on
the floor more than she saw the statues: she was inwardly
seeing the light of years to come in her own home and
over the English fields and elms and hedge-bordered
highroads; and feeling that the way in which they might
be filled with joyful devotedness was not so clear to her as
it had been. But in Dorotheas mind there was a current
into which all thought and feeling were apt sooner or later
to flowthe reaching forward of the whole consciousness
towards the fullest truth, the least partial good. There was
clearly something better than anger and despondency.
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Chapter XXI
Hire facounde eke full womanly and plain,
No contrefeted termes had she
To semen wise.
CHAUCER.
It was in that way Dorothea came to be sobbing as
soon as she was securely alone. But she was presently
roused by a knock at the door, which made her hastily dry
her eyes before saying, Come in. Tantripp had brought a
card, and said that there was a gentleman waiting in the
lobby. The courier had told him that only Mrs. Casaubon
was at home, but he said he was a relation of Mr.
Casaubons: would she see him?
Yes, said Dorothea, without pause; show him into
the salon. Her chief impressions about young Ladislaw
were that when she had seen him at Lowick she had been
made aware of Mr. Casaubons generosity towards him,
and also that she had been interested in his own hesitation
about his career. She was alive to anything that gave her
an opportunity for active sympathy, and at this moment it
seemed as if the visit had come to shake her out of her
self-absorbed discontentto remind her of her husbands
goodness, and make her feel that she had now the right to
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be his helpmate in all kind deeds. She waited a minute or
two, but when she passed into the next room there were
just signs enough that she had been crying to make her
open face look more youthful and appealing than usual.
She met Ladislaw with that exquisite smile of good-will
which is unmixed with vanity, and held out her hand to
him. He was the elder by several years, but at that
moment he looked much the younger, for his transparent
complexion flushed suddenly, and he spoke with a shyness
extremely unlike the ready indifference of his manner with
his male companion, while Dorothea became all the
calmer with a wondering desire to put him at ease.
I was not aware that you and Mr. Casaubon were in
Rome, until this morning, when I saw you in the Vatican
Museum, he said. I knew you at oncebutI mean,
that I concluded Mr. Casaubons address would be found
at the Poste Restante, and I was anxious to pay my
respects to him and you as early as possible.
Pray sit down. He is not here now, but he will be glad
to hear of you, I am sure, said Dorothea, seating herself
unthinkingly between the fire and the light of the tall
window, and pointing to a chair opposite, with the
quietude of a benignant matron. The signs of girlish
sorrow in her face were only the more striking. Mr.
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Casaubon is much engaged; but you will leave your
address will you not?and he will write to you.
You are very good, said Ladislaw, beginning to lose
his diffidence in the interest with which he was observing
the signs of weeping which had altered her face. My
address is on my card. But if you will allow me I will call
again to-morrow at an hour when Mr. Casaubon is likely
to be at home.
He goes to read in the Library of the Vatican every
day, and you can hardly see him except by an
appointment. Especially now. We are about to leave
Rome, and he is very busy. He is usually away almost
from breakfast till dinner. But I am sure he will wish you
to dine with us.
Will Ladislaw was struck mute for a few moments. He
had never been fond of Mr. Casaubon, and if it had not
been for the sense of obligation, would have laughed at
him as a Bat of erudition. But the idea of this dried-up
pedant, this elaborator of small explanations about as
important as the surplus stock of false antiquities kept in a
vendors back chamber, having first got this adorable
young creature to marry him, and then passing his
honeymoon away from her, groping after his mouldy
futilities (Will was given to hyperbole) this sudden
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picture stirred him with a sort of comic disgust: he was
divided between the impulse to laugh aloud and the
equally unseasonable impulse to burst into scornful
invective.
For an instant he felt that the struggle, was causing a
queer contortion of his mobile features, but with a good
effort he resolved it into nothing more offensive than a
merry smile.
Dorothea wondered; but the smile was irresistible, and
shone back from her face too. Will Ladislaws smile was
delightful, unless you were angry with him beforehand: it
was a gush of inward light illuminating the transparent
skin as well as the eyes, and playing about every curve and
line as if some Ariel were touching them with a new
charm, and banishing forever the traces of moodiness. The
reflection of that smile could not but have a little
merriment in it too, even under dark eyelashes still moist,
as Dorothea said inquiringly, Something amuses you?
Yes, said Will, quick in finding resources. I am
thinking of the sort of figure I cut the first time I saw you,
when you annihilated my poor sketch with your
criticism.
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My criticism? said Dorothea, wondering still more.
Surely not. I always feel particularly ignorant about
painting.
I suspected you of knowing so much, that you knew
how to say just what was most cutting. You saidI dare
say you dont remember it as I do that the relation of
my sketch to nature was quite hidden from you. At least,
you implied that. Will could laugh now as well as smile.
That was really my ignorance, said Dorothea,
admiring
Wills good-humor. I must have said so only because I
never could see any beauty in the pictures which my uncle
told me all judges thought very fine. And I have gone
about with just the same ignorance in Rome. There are
comparatively few paintings that I can really enjoy. At first
when I enter a room where the walls are covered with
frescos, or with rare pictures, I feel a kind of awelike a
child present at great ceremonies where there are grand
robes and processions; I feel myself in the presence of
some higher life than my own. But when I begin to
examine the pictures one by on the life goes out of them,
or else is something violent and strange to me. It must be
my own dulness. I am seeing so much all at once, and not
understanding half of it. That always makes one feel
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stupid. It is painful to be told that anything is very fine and
not be able to feel that it is finesomething like being
blind, while people talk of the sky.
Oh, there is a great deal in the feeling for art which
must be acquired, said Will. (It was impossible now to
doubt the directness of Dorotheas confession.) Art is an
old language with a great many artificial affected styles,
and sometimes the chief pleasure one gets out of knowing
them is the mere sense of knowing. I enjoy the art of all
sorts here immensely; but I suppose if I could pick my
enjoyment to pieces I should find it made up of many
different threads. There is something in daubing a little
ones self, and having an idea of the process.
You mean perhaps to be a painter? said Dorothea,
with a new direction of interest. You mean to make
painting your profession? Mr. Casaubon will like to hear
that you have chosen a profession.
No, oh no, said Will, with some coldness. I have
quite made up my mind against it. It is too one-sided a
life. I have been seeing a great deal of the German artists
here: I travelled from Frankfort with one of them. Some
are fine, even brilliant fellows but I should not like to
get into their way of looking at the world entirely from
the studio point of view.
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That I can understand, said Dorothea, cordially. And
in Rome it seems as if there were so many things which
are more wanted in the world than pictures. But if you
have a genius for painting, would it not be right to take
that as a guide? Perhaps you might do better things than
theseor different, so that there might not be so many
pictures almost all alike in the same place.
There was no mistaking this simplicity, and Will was
won by it into frankness. A man must have a very rare
genius to make changes of that sort. I am afraid mine
would not carry me even to the pitch of doing well what
has been done already, at least not so well as to make it
worth while. And I should never succeed in anything by
dint of drudgery. If things dont come easily to me I never
get them.
I have heard Mr. Casaubon say that he regrets your
want of patience, said Dorothea, gently. She was rather
shocked at this mode of taking all life as a holiday.
Yes, I know Mr. Casaubons opinion. He and I differ.
The slight streak of contempt in this hasty reply
offended Dorothea. She was all the more susceptible about
Mr. Casaubon because of her mornings trouble.
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Certainly you differ, she said, rather proudly. I did
not think of comparing you: such power of persevering
devoted labor as Mr. Casaubons is not common.
Will saw that she was offended, but this only gave an
additional impulse to the new irritation of his latent dislike
towards Mr. Casaubon. It was too intolerable that
Dorothea should be worshipping this husband: such
weakness in a woman is pleasant to no man but the
husband in question. Mortals are easily tempted to pinch
the life out of their neighbors buzzing glory, and think
that such killing is no murder.
No, indeed, he answered, promptly. And therefore it
is a pity that it should be thrown away, as so much English
scholarship is, for want of knowing what is being done by
the rest of the world. If Mr. Casaubon read German he
would save himself a great deal of trouble.
I do not understand you, said Dorothea, startled and
anxious.
I merely mean, said Will, in an offhand way, that the
Germans have taken the lead in historical inquiries, and
they laugh at results which are got by groping about in
woods with a pocket-compass while they have made good
roads. When I was with Mr. Casaubon I saw that he
deafened himself in that direction: it was almost against his
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will that he read a Latin treatise written by a German. I
was very sorry.
Will only thought of giving a good pinch that would
annihilate that vaunted laboriousness, and was unable to
imagine the mode in which Dorothea would be wounded.
Young Mr. Ladislaw was not at all deep himself in
German writers; but very little achievement is required in
order to pity another mans shortcomings.
Poor Dorothea felt a pang at the thought that the labor
of her husbands life might be void, which left her no
energy to spare for the question whether this young
relative who was so much obliged to him ought not to
have repressed his observation. She did not even speak,
but sat looking at her hands, absorbed in the piteousness of
that thought.
Will, however, having given that annihilating pinch,
was rather ashamed, imagining from Dorotheas silence
that he had offended her still more; and having also a
conscience about plucking the tail-feathers from a
benefactor.
I regretted it especially, he resumed, taking the usual
course from detraction to insincere eulogy, because of my
gratitude and respect towards my cousin. It would not
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signify so much in a man whose talents and character were
less distinguished.
Dorothea raised her eyes, brighter than usual with
excited feeling, and said in her saddest recitative, How I
wish I had learned German when I was at Lausanne!
There were plenty of German teachers. But now I can be
of no use.
There was a new light, but still a mysterious light, for
Will in Dorotheas last words. The question how she had
come to accept Mr. Casaubonwhich he had dismissed
when he first saw her by saying that she must be
disagreeable in spite of appearanceswas not now to be
answered on any such short and easy method. Whatever
else she might be, she was not disagreeable. She was not
coldly clever and indirectly satirical, but adorably simple
and full of feeling. She was an angel beguiled. It would be
a unique delight to wait and watch for the melodious
fragments in which her heart and soul came forth so
directly and ingenuously. The AEolian harp again came
into his mind.
She must have made some original romance for herself
in this marriage. And if Mr. Casaubon had been a dragon
who had carried her off to his lair with his talons simply
and without legal forms, it would have been an
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unavoidable feat of heroism to release her and fall at her
feet. But he was something more unmanageable than a
dragon: he was a benefactor with collective society at his
back, and he was at that moment entering the room in all
the unimpeachable correctness of his demeanor, while
Dorothea was looking animated with a newly roused
alarm and regret, and Will was looking animated with his
admiring speculation about her feelings.
Mr. Casaubon felt a surprise which was quite unmixed
with pleasure, but he did not swerve from his usual
politeness of greeting, when Will rose and explained his
presence. Mr. Casaubon was less happy than usual, and
this perhaps made him look all the dimmer and more
faded; else, the effect might easily have been produced by
the contrast of his young cousins appearance. The first
impression on seeing Will was one of sunny brightness,
which added to the uncertainty of his changing expression.
Surely, his very features changed their form, his jaw
looked sometimes large and sometimes small; and the little
ripple in his nose was a preparation for metamorphosis.
When he turned his head quickly his hair seemed to shake
out light, and some persons thought they saw decided
genius in this coruscation. Mr. Casaubon, on the contrary,
stood rayless.
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As Dorotheas eyes were turned anxiously on her
husband she was perhaps not insensible to the contrast, but
it was only mingled with other causes in making her more
conscious of that new alarm on his behalf which was the
first stirring of a pitying tenderness fed by the realities of
his lot and not by her own dreams. Yet it was a source of
greater freedom to her that Will was there; his young
equality was agreeable, and also perhaps his openness to
conviction. She felt an immense need of some one to
speak to, and she had never before seen any one who
seemed so quick and pliable, so likely to understand
everything.
Mr. Casaubon gravely hoped that Will was passing his
time profitably as well as pleasantly in Romehad
thought his intention was to remain in South Germany
but begged him to come and dine to-morrow, when he
could converse more at large: at present he was somewhat
weary. Ladislaw understood, and accepting the invitation
immediately took his leave.
Dorotheas eyes followed her husband anxiously, while
he sank down wearily at the end of a sofa, and resting his
elbow supported his head and looked on the floor. A little
flushed, and with bright eyes, she seated herself beside
him, and said
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Forgive me for speaking so hastily to you this
morning. I was wrong. I fear I hurt you and made the day
more burdensome.
I am glad that you feel that, my dear, said Mr.
Casaubon. He spoke quietly and bowed. his head a little,
but there was still an uneasy feeling in his eyes as he
looked at her.
But you do forgive me? said Dorothea, with a quick
sob. In her need for some manifestation of feeling she was
ready to exaggerate her own fault. Would not love see
returning penitence afar off, and fall on its neck and kiss it?
My dear Dorotheawho with repentance is not
satisfied, is not of heaven nor earth:you do not think
me worthy to be banished by that severe sentence, said
Mr. Casaubon, exerting himself to make a strong
statement, and also to smile faintly.
Dorothea was silent, but a tear which had come up
with the sob would insist on falling.
You are excited, my dear.. And I also am feeling some
unpleasant consequences of too much mental disturbance,
said Mr. Casaubon. In fact, he had it in his thought to tell
her that she ought not to have received young Ladislaw in
his absence: but he abstained, partly from the sense that it
would be ungracious to bring a new complaint in the
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moment of her penitent acknowledgment, partly because
he wanted to avoid further agitation of himself by speech,
and partly because he was too proud to betray that
jealousy of disposition which was not so exhausted on his
scholarly compeers that there was none to spare in other
directions. There is a sort of jealousy which needs very
little fire: it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the
cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.
I think it is time for us to dress, he added, looking at
his watch. They both rose, and there was never any
further allusion between them to what had passed on this
day.
But Dorothea remembered it to the last with the
vividness with which we all remember epochs in our
experience when some dear expectation dies, or some new
motive is born. Today she had begun to see that she had
been under a wild illusion in expecting a response to her
feeling from Mr. Casaubon, and she had felt the waking of
a presentiment that there might be a sad consciousness in
his life which made as great a need on his side as on her
own.
We are all of us born in moral stupidity, taking the
world as an udder to feed our supreme selves: Dorothea
had early begun to emerge from that stupidity, but yet it
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had been easier to her to imagine how she would devote
herself to Mr. Casaubon, and become wise and strong in
his strength and wisdom, than to conceive with that
distinctness which is no longer reflection but feeling an
idea wrought back to the directness of sense, like the
solidity of objectsthat he had an equivalent centre of
self, whence the lights and shadows must always fall with a
certain difference.
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Chapter XXII
Nous causames longtemps; elle etait simple et bonne.
Ne sachant pas le mal, elle faisait le bien;
Des richesses du coeur elle me fit laumone,
Et tout en ecoutant comme le coeur se donne,
Sans oser y penser je lui donnai le mien;
Elle emporta ma vie, et nen sut jamais rien.
ALFRED DE MUSSET.
Will Ladislaw was delightfully agreeable at dinner the
next day, and gave no opportunity for Mr. Casaubon to
show disapprobation. On the contrary it seemed to
Dorothea that Will had a happier way of drawing her
husband into conversation and of deferentially listening to
him than she had ever observed in any one before. To be
sure, the listeners about Tipton were not highly gifted!
Will talked a good deal himself, but what he said was
thrown in with such rapidity, and with such an
unimportant air of saying something by the way, that it
seemed a gay little chime after the great bell. If Will was
not always perfect, this was certainly one of his good days.
He described touches of incident among the poor people
in Rome, only to be seen by one who could move about
freely; he found himself in agreement with Mr. Casaubon
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as to the unsound opinions of Middleton concerning the
relations of Judaism and Catholicism; and passed easily to a
half-enthusiastic half-playful picture of the enjoyment he
got out of the very miscellaneousness of Rome, which
made the mind flexible with constant comparison, and
saved you from seeing the worlds ages as a set of box-like
partitions without vital connection. Mr. Casaubons
studies, Will observed, had always been of too broad a
kind for that, and he had perhaps never felt any such
sudden effect, but for himself he confessed that Rome had
given him quite a new sense of history as a whole: the
fragments stimulated his imagination and made him
constructive. Then occasionally, but not too often, he
appealed to Dorothea, and discussed what she said, as if
her sentiment were an item to be considered in the final
judgment even of the Madonna di Foligno or the
Laocoon. A sense of contributing to form the worlds
opinion makes conversation particularly cheerful; and Mr.
Casaubon too was not without his pride in his young wife,
who spoke better than most women, as indeed he had
perceived in choosing her.
Since things were going on so pleasantly, Mr.
Casaubons statement that his labors in the Library would
be suspended for a couple of days, and that after a brief
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renewal he should have no further reason for staying in
Rome, encouraged Will to urge that Mrs. Casaubon
should not go away without seeing a studio or two.
Would not Mr. Casaubon take her? That sort of thing
ought not to be missed: it was quite special: it was a form
of life that grew like a small fresh vegetation with its
population of insects on huge fossils. Will would be happy
to conduct themnot to anything wearisome, only to a
few examples.
Mr. Casaubon, seeing Dorothea look earnestly towards
him, could not but ask her if she would be interested in
such visits: he was now at her service during the whole
day; and it was agreed that Will should come on the
morrow and drive with them.
Will could not omit Thorwaldsen, a living celebrity
about whom even Mr. Casaubon inquired, but before the
day was far advanced he led the way to the studio of his
friend Adolf Naumann, whom he mentioned as one of the
chief renovators of Christian art, one of those who had not
only revived but expanded that grand conception of
supreme events as mysteries at which the successive ages
were spectators, and in relation to which the great souls of
all periods became as it were contemporaries. Will added
that he had made himself Naumanns pupil for the nonce.
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I have been making some oil-sketches under him, said
Will. I hate copying. I must put something of my own in.
Naumann has been painting the Saints drawing the Car of
the Church, and I have been making a sketch of
Marlowes Tamburlaine Driving the Conquered Kings in
his Chariot. I am not so ecclesiastical as Naumann, and I
sometimes twit him with his excess of meaning. But this
time I mean to outdo him in breadth of intention. I take
Tamburlaine in his chariot for the tremendous course of
the worlds physical history lashing on the harnessed
dynasties. In my opinion, that is a good mythical
interpretation. Will here looked at Mr. Casaubon, who
received this offhand treatment of symbolism very
uneasily, and bowed with a neutral air.
The sketch must be very grand, if it conveys so much,
said Dorothea. I should need some explanation even of
the meaning you give. Do you intend Tamburlaine to
represent earthquakes and volcanoes?
Oh yes, said Will, laughing, and migrations of races
and clearings of forestsand America and the steam-
engine. Everything you can imagine!
What a difficult kind of shorthand! said Dorothea,
smiling towards her husband. It would require all your
knowledge to be able to read it.
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Mr. Casaubon blinked furtively at Will. He had a
suspicion that he was being laughed at. But it was not
possible to include Dorothea in the suspicion.
They found Naumann painting industriously, but no
model was present; his pictures were advantageously
arranged, and his own plain vivacious person set off by a
dove-colored blouse and a maroon velvet cap, so that
everything was as fortunate as if he had expected the
beautiful young English lady exactly at that time.
The painter in his confident English gave little
dissertations on his finished and unfinished subjects,
seeming to observe Mr. Casaubon as much as he did
Dorothea. Will burst in here and there with ardent words
of praise, marking out particular merits in his friends
work; and Dorothea felt that she was getting quite new
notions as to the significance of Madonnas seated under
inexplicable canopied thrones with the simple country as a
background, and of saints with architectural models in
their hands, or knives accidentally wedged in their skulls.
Some things which had seemed monstrous to her were
gathering intelligibility and even a natural meaning: but all
this was apparently a branch of knowledge in which Mr.
Casaubon had not interested himself.
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I think I would rather feel that painting is beautiful
than have to read it as an enigma; but I should learn to
understand these pictures sooner than yours with the very
wide meaning, said Dorothea, speaking to Will.
Dont speak of my painting before Naumann, said
Will. He will tell you, it is all pfuscherei, which is his
most opprobrious word!
Is that true? said Dorothea, turning her sincere eyes
on Naumann, who made a slight grimace and said
Oh, he does not mean it seriously with painting. His
walk must be belles-lettres. That is wi-ide.
Naumanns pronunciation of the vowel seemed to
stretch the word satirically. Will did not half like it, but
managed to laugh: and Mr. Casaubon, while he felt some
disgust at the artists German accent, began to entertain a
little respect for his judicious severity.
The respect was not diminished when Naumann, after
drawing Will aside for a moment and looking, first at a
large canvas, then at Mr. Casaubon, came forward again
and said
My friend Ladislaw thinks you will pardon me, sir, if I
say that a sketch of your head would be invaluable to me
for the St. Thomas Aquinas in my picture there. It is too
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much to ask; but I so seldom see just what I wantthe
idealistic in the real.
You astonish me greatly, sir, said Mr. Casaubon, his
looks improved with a glow of delight; but if my poor
physiognomy, which I have been accustomed to regard as
of the commonest order, can be of any use to you in
furnishing some traits for the angelical doctor, I shall feel
honored. That is to say, if the operation will not be a
lengthy one; and if Mrs. Casaubon will not object to the
delay.
As for Dorothea, nothing could have pleased her more,
unless it had been a miraculous voice pronouncing Mr.
Casaubon the wisest and worthiest among the sons of
men. In that case her tottering faith would have become
firm again.
Naumanns apparatus was at hand in wonderful
completeness, and the sketch went on at once as well as
the conversation. Dorothea sat down and subsided into
calm silence, feeling happier than she had done for a long
while before. Every one about her seemed good, and she
said to herself that Rome, if she had only been less
ignorant, would have been full of beauty its sadness would
have been winged with hope. No nature could be less
suspicious than hers: when she was a child she believed in
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the gratitude of wasps and the honorable susceptibility of
sparrows, and was proportionately indignant when their
baseness was made manifest.
The adroit artist was asking Mr. Casaubon questions
about English polities, which brought long answers, and,
Will meanwhile had perched himself on some steps in the
background overlooking all.
Presently Naumann saidNow if I could lay this by
for half an hour and take it up againcome and look,
LadislawI think it is perfect so far.
Will vented those adjuring interjections which imply
that admiration is too strong for syntax; and Naumann said
in a tone of piteous regret
Ahnowif I could but have had morebut you
have other engagements I could not ask itor even to
come again to-morrow.
Oh, let us stay! said Dorothea. We have nothing to
do to-day except go about, have we? she added, looking
entreatingly at Mr. Casaubon. It would be a pity not to
make the head as good as possible.
I am at your service, sir, in the matter, said Mr.
Casaubon, with polite condescension. Having given up
the interior of my head to idleness, it is as well that the
exterior should work in this way.
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You are unspeakably goodnow I am happy! said
Naumann, and then went on in German to Will, pointing
here and there to the sketch as if he were considering that.
Putting it aside for a moment, he looked round vaguely, as
if seeking some occupation for his visitors, and afterwards
turning to Mr. Casaubon, said
Perhaps the beautiful bride, the gracious lady, would
not be unwilling to let me fill up the time by trying to
make a slight sketch of hernot, of course, as you see, for
that picture only as a single study.
Mr. Casaubon, bowing, doubted not that Mrs.
Casaubon would oblige him, and Dorothea said, at once,
Where shall I put myself?
Naumann was all apologies in asking her to stand, and
allow him to adjust her attitude, to which she submitted
without any of the affected airs and laughs frequently
thought necessary on such occasions, when the painter
said, It is as Santa Clara that I want you to stand leaning
so, with your cheek against your handsolooking at
that stool, please, so!
Will was divided between the inclination to fall at the
Saints feet and kiss her robe, and the temptation to knock
Naumann down while he was adjusting her arm. All this
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was impudence and desecration, and he repented that he
had brought her.
The artist was diligent, and Will recovering himself
moved about and occupied Mr. Casaubon as ingeniously
as he could; but he did not in the end prevent the time
from seeming long to that gentleman, as was clear from his
expressing a fear that Mrs. Casaubon would be tired.
Naumann took the hint and said
Now, sir, if you can oblige me again; I will release the
lady-wife.
So Mr. Casaubons patience held out further, and when
after all it turned out that the head of Saint Thomas
Aquinas would be more perfect if another sitting could be
had, it was granted for the morrow. On the morrow Santa
Clara too was retouched more than once. The result of all
was so far from displeasing to Mr. Casaubon, that he
arranged for the purchase of the picture in which Saint
Thomas Aquinas sat among the doctors of the Church in a
disputation too abstract to be represented, but listened to
with more or less attention by an audience above. The
Santa Clara, which was spoken of in the second place,
Naumann declared himself to be dissatisfied with he
could not, in conscience, engage to make a worthy picture
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of it; so about the Santa Clara the arrangement was
conditional.
I will not dwell on Naumanns jokes at the expense of
Mr. Casaubon that evening, or on his dithyrambs about
Dorotheas charm, in all which Will joined, but with a
difference. No sooner did Naumann mention any detail of
Dorotheas beauty, than Will got exasperated at his
presumption: there was grossness in his choice of the most
ordinary words, and what business had he to talk of her
lips? She was not a woman to be spoken of as other
women were. Will could not say just what he thought,
but he became irritable. And yet, when after some
resistance he had consented to take the Casaubons to his
friends studio, he had been allured by the gratification of
his pride in being the person who could grant Naumann
such an opportunity of studying her lovelinessor rather
her divineness, for the ordinary phrases which might apply
to mere bodily prettiness were not applicable to her.
(Certainly all Tipton and its neighborhood, as well as
Dorothea herself, would have been surprised at her beauty
being made so much of. In that part of the world Miss
Brooke had been only a fine young woman.)
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Oblige me by letting the subject drop, Naumann. Mrs.
Casaubon is not to be talked of as if she were a model,
said Will. Naumann stared at him.
Schon! I will talk of my Aquinas. The head is not a
bad type, after all. I dare say the great scholastic himself
would have been flattered to have his portrait asked for.
Nothing like these starchy doctors for vanity! It was as I
thought: he cared much less for her portrait than his own.
Hes a cursed white-blooded pedantic coxcomb, said
Will, with gnashing impetuosity. His obligations to Mr.
Casaubon were not known to his hearer, but Will himself
was thinking of them, and wishing that he could discharge
them all by a check.
Naumann gave a shrug and said, It is good they go
away soon, my dear. They are spoiling your fine temper.
All Wills hope and contrivance were now
concentrated on seeing Dorothea when she was alone. He
only wanted her to take more emphatic notice of him; he
only wanted to be something more special in her
remembrance than he could yet believe himself likely to
be. He was rather impatient under that open ardent good-
will, reach he saw was her usual state of feeling. The
remote worship of a woman throned out of their reach
plays a great part in mens lives, but in most cases the
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worshipper longs for some queenly recognition, some
approving sign by which his souls sovereign may cheer
him without descending from her high place. That was
precisely what Will wanted. But there were plenty of
contradictions in his imaginative demands. It was beautiful
to see how Dorotheas eyes turned with wifely anxiety and
beseeching to Mr. Casaubon: she would have lost some of
her halo if she had been without that duteous
preoccupation; and yet at the next moment the husbands
sandy absorption of such nectar was too intolerable; and
Wills longing to say damaging things about him was
perhaps not the less tormenting because he felt the
strongest reasons for restraining it.
Will had not been invited to dine the next day. Hence
he persuaded himself that he was bound to call, and that
the only eligible time was the middle of the day, when
Mr. Casaubon would not be at home.
Dorothea, who had not been made aware that her
former reception of Will had displeased her husband, had
no hesitation about seeing him, especially as he might be
come to pay a farewell visit. When he entered she was
looking at some cameos which she had been buying for
Celia. She greeted Will as if his visit were quite a matter of
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course, and said at once, having a cameo bracelet in her
hand
I am so glad you are come. Perhaps you understand all
about cameos, and can tell me if these are really good. I
wished to have you with us in choosing them, but Mr.
Casaubon objected: he thought there was not time. He
will finish his work to-morrow, and we shall go away in
three days. I have been uneasy about these cameos. Pray
sit down and look at them.
I am not particularly knowing, but there can be no
great mistake about these little Homeric bits: they are
exquisitely neat. And the color is fine: it will just suit you.
Oh, they are for my sister, who has quite a different
complexion. You saw her with me at Lowick: she is light-
haired and very pretty at least I think so. We were
never so long away from each other in our lives before.
She is a great pet and never was naughty in her life. I
found out before I came away that she wanted me to buy
her some cameos, and I should be sorry for them not to be
goodafter their kind. Dorothea added the last words
with a smile.
You seem not to care about cameos, said Will, seating
himself at some distance from her, and observing her
while she closed the oases.
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No, frankly, I dont think them a great object in life,
said Dorothea
I fear you are a heretic about art generally. How is
that? I should have expected you to be very sensitive to
the beautiful everywhere.
I suppose I am dull about many things, said Dorothea,
simply. I should like to make life beautifulI mean
everybodys life. And then all this immense expense of art,
that seems somehow to lie outside life and make it no
better for the world, pains one. It spoils my enjoyment of
anything when I am made to think that most people are
shut out from it.
I call that the fanaticism of sympathy, said Will,
impetuously. You might say the same of landscape, of
poetry, of all refinement. If you carried it out you ought
to be miserable in your own goodness, and turn evil that
you might have no advantage over others. The best piety
is to enjoywhen you can. You are doing the most then
to save the earths character as an agreeable planet. And
enjoyment radiates. It is of no use to try and take care of
all the world; that is being taken care of when you feel
delight in art or in anything else. Would you turn all
the youth of the world into a tragic chorus, wailing and
moralizing over misery? I suspect that you have some false
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belief in the virtues of misery, and want to make your life
a martyrdom. Will had gone further than he intended,
and checked himself. But Dorotheas thought was not
taking just the same direction as his own, and she
answered without any special emotion
Indeed you mistake me. I am not a sad, melancholy
creature. I am never unhappy long together. I am angry
and naughtynot like Celia: I have a great outburst, and
then all seems glorious again. I cannot help believing in
glorious things in a blind sort of way. I should be quite
willing to enjoy the art here, but there is so much that I
dont know the reason ofso much that seems to me a
consecration of ugliness rather than beauty. The painting
and sculpture may be wonderful, but the feeling is often
low and brutal, and sometimes even ridiculous. Here and
there I see what takes me at once as noblesomething
that I might compare with the Alban Mountains or the
sunset from the Pincian Hill; but that makes it the greater
pity that there is so little of the best kind among all that
mass of things over which men have toiled so.
Of course there is always a great deal of poor work:
the rarer things want that soil to grow in.
Oh dear, said Dorothea, taking up that thought into
the chief current of her anxiety; I see it must be very
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difficult to do anything good. I have often felt since I have
been in Rome that most of our lives would look much
uglier and more bungling than the pictures, if they could
be put on the wall.
Dorothea parted her lips again as if she were going to
say more, but changed her mind and paused.
You are too youngit is an anachronism for you to
have such thoughts, said Will, energetically, with a quick
shake of the head habitual to him. You talk as if you had
never known any youth. It is monstrous as if you had
had a vision of Hades in your childhood, like the boy in
the legend. You have been brought up in some of those
horrible notions that choose the sweetest women to
devourlike Minotaurs And now you will go and be shut
up in that stone prison at Lowick: you will be buried alive.
It makes me savage to think of it! I would rather never
have seen you than think of you with such a prospect.
Will again feared that he had gone too far; but the
meaning we attach to words depends on our feeling, and
his tone of angry regret had so much kindness in it for
Dorotheas heart, which had always been giving out ardor
and had never been fed with much from the living beings
around her, that she felt a new sense of gratitude and
answered with a gentle smile
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It is very good of you to be anxious about me. It is
because you did not like Lowick yourself: you had set
your heart on another kind of life. But Lowick is my
chosen home.
The last sentence was spoken with an almost solemn
cadence, and Will did not know what to say, since it
would not be useful for him to embrace her slippers, and
tell her that he would die for her: it was clear that she
required nothing of the sort; and they were both silent for
a moment or two, when Dorothea began again with an air
of saying at last what had been in her mind beforehand.
I wanted to ask you again about something you said
the other day. Perhaps it was half of it your lively way of
speaking: I notice that you like to put things strongly; I
myself often exaggerate when I speak hastily.
What was it? said Will, observing that she spoke with
a timidity quite new in her. I have a hyperbolical tongue:
it catches fire as it goes. I dare say I shall have to retract.
I mean what you said about the necessity of knowing
GermanI mean, for the subjects that Mr. Casaubon is
engaged in. I have been thinking about it; and it seems to
me that with Mr. Casaubons learning he must have before
him the same materials as German scholarshas he not?
Dorotheas timidity was due to an indistinct consciousness
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that she was in the strange situation of consulting a third
person about the adequacy of Mr. Casaubons learning.
Not exactly the same materials, said Will, thinking
that he would be duly reserved. He is not an Orientalist,
you know. He does not profess to have more than second-
hand knowledge there.
But there are very valuable books about antiquities
which were written a long while ago by scholars who
knew nothing about these modern things; and they are still
used. Why should Mr. Casaubons not be valuable, like
theirs? said Dorothea, with more remonstrant energy. She
was impelled to have the argument aloud, which she had
been having in her own mind.
That depends on the line of study taken, said Will,
also getting a tone of rejoinder. The subject Mr.
Casaubon has chosen is as changing as chemistry: new
discoveries are constantly making new points of view.
Who wants a system on the basis of the four elements, or a
book to refute Paracelsus? Do you not see that it is no use
now to be crawling a little way after men of the last
century men like Bryantand correcting their
mistakes?living in a lumber-room and furbishing up
broken-legged theories about Chus and Mizraim?
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How can you bear to speak so lightly? said Dorothea,
with a look between sorrow and anger. If it were as you
say, what could be sadder than so much ardent labor all in
vain? I wonder it does not affect you more painfully, if
you really think that a man like Mr. Casaubon, of so much
goodness, power, and learning, should in any way fail in
what has been the labor of his best years. She was
beginning to be shocked that she had got to such a point
of supposition, and indignant with Will for having led her
to it.
You questioned me about the matter of fact, not of
feeling, said Will. But if you wish to punish me for the
fact, I submit. I am not in a position to express my feeling
toward Mr. Casaubon: it would be at best a pensioners
eulogy.
Pray excuse me, said Dorothea, coloring deeply. I am
aware, as you say, that I am in fault in having introduced
the subject. Indeed, I am wrong altogether. Failure after
long perseverance is much grander than never to have a
striving good enough to be called a failure.
I quite agree with you, said Will, determined to
change the situation so much so that I have made up
my mind not to run that risk of never attaining a failure.
Mr. Casaubons generosity has perhaps been dangerous to
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Middlemarch
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me, and I mean to renounce the liberty it has given me. I
mean to go back to England shortly and work my own
way depend on nobody else than myself.
That is fineI respect that feeling, said Dorothea,
with returning kindness. But Mr. Casaubon, I am sure,
has never thought of anything in the matter except what
was most for your welfare.
She has obstinacy and pride enough to serve instead of
love, now she has married him, said Will to himself.
Aloud he said, rising
I shall not see you again.
Oh, stay till Mr. Casaubon comes, said Dorothea,
earnestly. I am so glad we met in Rome. I wanted to
know you.?
And I have made you angry, said Will. I have made
you think ill of me.
Oh no. My sister tells me I am always angry with
people who do not say just what I like. But I hope I am
not given to think ill of them. In the end I am usually
obliged to think ill of myself. for being so impatient.
Still, you dont like me; I have made myself an
unpleasant thought to you.
Not at all, said Dorothea, with the most open
kindness. I like you very much.
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Will was not quite contented, thinking that he would
apparently have been of more importance if he had been
disliked. He said nothing, but looked lull, not to say sulky.
And I am quite interested to see what you will do,
Dorothea went on cheerfully. I believe devoutly in a
natural difference of vocation. If it were not for that belief,
I suppose I should be very narrow there are so many
things, besides painting, that I am quite ignorant of. You
would hardly believe how little I have taken in of music
and literature, which you know so much of. I wonder
what your vocation will turn out to be: perhaps you will
be a poet?
That depends. To be a poet is to have a soul so quick
to discern that no shade of quality escapes it, and so quick
to feel, that discernment is but a hand playing with finely
ordered variety on the chords of emotiona soul in
which knowledge passes instantaneously into feeling, and
feeling flashes back as a new organ of knowledge. One
may have that condition by fits only.
But you leave out the poems, said Dorothea. I think
they are wanted to complete the poet. I understand what
you mean about knowledge passing into feeling, for that
seems to be just what I experience. But I am sure I could
never produce a poem.
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You ARE a poemand that is to be the best part of a
poet what makes up the poets consciousness in his best
moods, said Will, showing such originality as we all share
with the morning and the spring-time and other endless
renewals.
I am very glad to hear it, said Dorothea, laughing out
her words in a bird-like modulation, and looking at Will
with playful gratitude in her eyes. What very kind things
you say to me!
I wish I could ever do anything that would be what
you call kind that I could ever be of the slightest service
to you I fear I shall never have the opportunity. Will
spoke with fervor.
Oh yes, said Dorothea, cordially. It will come; and I
shall remember how well you wish me. I quite hoped that
we should be friends when I first saw youbecause of
your relationship to Mr. Casaubon. There was a certain
liquid brightness in her eyes, and Will was conscious that
his own were obeying a law of nature and filling too. The
allusion to Mr. Casaubon would have spoiled all if
anything at that moment could have spoiled the subduing
power, the sweet dignity, of her noble unsuspicious
inexperience.
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And there is one thing even now that you can do, said
Dorothea, rising and walking a little way under the
strength of a recurring impulse. Promise me that you will
not again, to any one, speak of that subject I mean
about Mr. Casaubons writingsI mean in that kind of
way. It was I who led to it. It was my fault. But promise
me.
She had returned from her brief pacing and stood
opposite Will, looking gravely at him.
Certainly, I will promise you, said Will, reddening
however. If he never said a cutting word about Mr.
Casaubon again and left off receiving favors from him, it
would clearly be permissible to hate him the more. The
poet must know how to hate, says Goethe; and Will was
at least ready with that accomplishment. He said that he
must go now without waiting for Mr. Casaubon, whom
he would come to take leave of at the last moment.
Dorothea gave him her hand, and they exchanged a simple
Good-by.
But going out of the porte cochere he met Mr.
Casaubon, and that gentleman, expressing the best wishes
for his cousin, politely waived the pleasure of any further
leave-taking on the morrow, which would be sufficiently
crowded with the preparations for departure.
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I have something to tell you about our cousin Mr.
Ladislaw, which I think will heighten your opinion of
him, said Dorothea to her husband in the coarse of the
evening. She had mentioned immediately on his entering
that Will had just gone away, and would come again, but
Mr. Casaubon had said, I met him outside, and we made
our final adieux, I believe, saying this with the air and
tone by which we imply that any subject, whether private
or public, does not interest us enough to wish for a further
remark upon it. So Dorothea had waited.
What is that, my love? said Mr Casaubon (he always
said my love when his manner was the coldest).
He has made up his mind to leave off wandering at
once, and to give up his dependence on your generosity.
He means soon to go back to England, and work his own
way. I thought you would consider that a good sign, said
Dorothea, with an appealing look into her husbands
neutral face.
Did he mention the precise order of occupation to
which he would addict himself?
No. But he said that he felt the danger which lay for
him in your generosity. Of course he will write to you
about it. Do you not think better of him for his resolve?
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I shall await his communication on the subject, said
Mr. Casaubon.
I told him I was sure that the thing you considered in
all you did for him was his own welfare. I remembered
your goodness in what you said about him when I first
saw him at Lowick, said Dorothea, putting her hand on
her husbands
I had a duty towards him, said Mr. Casaubon, laying
his other hand on Dorotheas in conscientious acceptance
of her caress, but with a glance which he could not hinder
from being uneasy. The young man, I confess, is not
otherwise an object of interest to me, nor need we, I
think, discuss his future course, which it is not ours to
determine beyond the limits which I have sufficiently
indicated. Dorothea did not mention Will again.
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BOOK III.
WAITING FOR DEATH.
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Chapter XXIII
"Your horses of the Sun, he said,
And first-rate whip Apollo!
Whateer they be, Ill eat my head,
But I will beat them hollow.
Fred Vincy, we have seen. had a debt on his mind, and
though no such immaterial burthen could depress that
buoyant-hearted young gentleman for many hours
together, there were circumstances connected with this
debt which made the thought of it unusually importunate.
The creditor was Mr. Bambridge a horse-dealer of the
neighborhood, whose company was much sought in
Middlemarch by young men understood to be addicted to
pleasure. During the vacations Fred had naturally required
more amusements than he had ready money for, and Mr.
Bambridge had been accommodating enough not only to
trust him for the hire of horses and the accidental expense
of ruining a fine hunter, but also to make a small advance
by which he might be able to meet some losses at billiards.
The total debt was a hundred and sixty pounds.
Bambridge was in no alarm about his money, being sure
that young Vincy had backers; but he had required
something to show for it, and Fred had at first given a bill
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with his own signature. Three months later he had
renewed this bill with the signature of Caleb Garth. On
both occasions Fred had felt confident that he should meet
the bill himself, having ample funds at disposal in his own
hopefulness. You will hardly demand that his confidence
should have a basis in external facts; such confidence, we
know, is something less coarse and materialistic: it is a
comfortable disposition leading us to expect that the
wisdom of providence or the folly of our friends, the
mysteries of luck or the still greater mystery of our high
individual value in the universe, will bring about agreeable
issues, such as are consistent with our good taste in
costume, and our general preference for the best style of
thing. Fred felt sure that he should have a present from his
uncle, that he should have a run of luck, that by dint of
swapping he should gradually metamorphose a horse
worth forty pounds into a horse that would fetch a
hundred at any momentjudgment being always
equivalent to an unspecified sum in hard cash. And in any
case, even supposing negations which only a morbid
distrust could imagine, Fred had always (at that time) his
fathers pocket as a last resource, so that his assets of
hopefulness had a sort of gorgeous superfluity about them.
Of what might be the capacity of his fathers pocket, Fred
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had only a vague notion: was not trade elastic? And would
not the deficiencies of one year be made up for by the
surplus of another? The Vincys lived in an easy profuse
way, not with any new ostentation, but according to the
family habits and traditions, so that the children had no
standard of economy, and the elder ones retained some of
their infantine notion that their father might pay for
anything if he would. Mr. Vincy himself had expensive
Middlemarch habitsspent money on coursing, on his
cellar, and on dinner-giving, while mamma had those
running accounts with tradespeople, which give a cheerful
sense of getting everything one wants without any
question of payment. But it was in the nature of fathers,
Fred knew, to bully one about expenses: there was always
a little storm over his extravagance if he had to disclose a
debt, and Fred disliked bad weather within doors. He was
too filial to be disrespectful to his father, and he bore the
thunder with the certainty that it was transient; but in the
mean time it was disagreeable to see his mother cry, and
also to be obliged to look sulky instead of having fun; for
Fred was so good-tempered that if he looked glum under
scolding, it was chiefly for proprietys sake. The easier
course plainly, was to renew the bill with a friends
signature. Why not? With the superfluous securities of
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hope at his command, there was no reason why he should
not have increased other peoples liabilities to any extent,
but for the fact that men whose names were good for
anything were usually pessimists, indisposed to believe that
the universal order of things would necessarily be
agreeable to an agreeable young gentleman.
With a favor to ask we review our list of friends, do
justice to their more amiable qualities, forgive their little
offenses, and concerning each in turn, try to arrive at the
conclusion that he will be eager to oblige us, our own
eagerness to be obliged being as communicable as other
warmth. Still there is always a certain number who are
dismissed as but moderately eager until the others have
refused; and it happened that Fred checked off all his
friends but one, on the ground that applying to them
would be disagreeable; being implicitly convinced that he
at least (whatever might be maintained about mankind
generally) had a right to be free from anything
disagreeable. That he should ever fall into a thoroughly
unpleasant positionwear trousers shrunk with washing,
eat cold mutton, have to walk for want of a horse, or to
duck under in any sort of waywas an absurdity
irreconcilable with those cheerful intuitions implanted in
him by nature. And Fred winced under the idea of being
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looked down upon as wanting funds for small debts. Thus
it came to pass that the friend whom he chose to apply to
was at once the poorest and the kindestnamely, Caleb
Garth.
The Garths were very fond of Fred, as he was of them;
for when he and Rosamond were little ones, and the
Garths were better off, the slight connection between the
two families through Mr. Featherstones double marriage
(the first to Mr. Garths sister, and the second to Mrs.
Vincys) had led to an acquaintance which was carried on
between the children rather than the parents: the children
drank tea together out of their toy teacups, and spent
whole days together in play. Mary was a little hoyden, and
Fred at six years old thought her the nicest girl in the
world making her his wife with a brass ring which he had
cut from an umbrella. Through all the stages of his
education he had kept his affection for the Garths, and his
habit of going to their house as a second home, though
any intercourse between them and the elders of his family
had long ceased. Even when Caleb Garth was prosperous,
the Vincys were on condescending terms with him and his
wife, for there were nice distinctions of rank in
Middlemarch; and though old manufacturers could not
any more than dukes be connected with none but equals,
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Middlemarch
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they were conscious of an inherent social superiority
which was defined with great nicety in practice, though
hardly expressible theoretically. Since then Mr. Garth had
failed in the building business, which he had unfortunately
added to his other avocations of surveyor, valuer, and
agent, had conducted that business for a time entirely for
the benefit of his assignees, and had been living narrowly,
exerting himself to the utmost that he might after all pay
twenty shillings in the pound. He had now achieved this,
and from all who did not think it a bad precedent, his
honorable exertions had won him due esteem; but in no
part of the world is genteel visiting founded on esteem, in
the absence of suitable furniture and complete dinner-
service. Mrs. Vincy had never been at her ease with Mrs.
Garth, and frequently spoke of her as a woman who had
had to work for her bread meaning that Mrs. Garth had
been a teacher before her marriage; in which case an
intimacy with Lindley Murray and Mangnalls Questions
was something like a drapers discrimination of calico
trademarks, or a couriers acquaintance with foreign
countries: no woman who was better off needed that sort
of thing. And since Mary had been keeping Mr.
Featherstones house, Mrs. Vincys want of liking for the
Garths had been converted into something more positive,
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by alarm lest Fred should engage himself to this plain girl,
whose parents lived in such a small way. Fred, being
aware of this, never spoke at home of his visits to Mrs.
Garth, which had of late become more frequent, the
increasing ardor of his affection for Mary inclining him the
more towards those who belonged to her.
Mr. Garth had a small office in the town, and to this
Fred went with his request. He obtained it without much
difficulty, for a large amount of painful experience had not
sufficed to make Caleb Garth cautious about his own
affairs, or distrustful of his fellow-men when they had not
proved themselves untrustworthy; and he had the highest
opinion of Fred, was sure the lad would turn out well
an open affectionate fellow, with a good bottom to his
characteryou might trust him for anything. Such was
Calebs psychological argument. He was one of those rare
men who are rigid to themselves and indulgent to others.
He had a certain shame about his neighbors errors, and
never spoke of them willingly; hence he was not likely to
divert his mind from the best mode of hardening timber
and other ingenious devices in order to preconceive those
errors. If he had to blame any one, it was necessary for
him to move all the papers within his reach, or describe
various diagrams with his stick, or make calculations with
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the odd money in his pocket, before he could begin; and
he would rather do other mens work than find fault with
their doing. I fear he was a bad disciplinarian.
When Fred stated the circumstances of his debt, his
wish to meet it without troubling his father, and the
certainty that the money would be forthcoming so as to
cause no one any inconvenience, Caleb pushed his
spectacles upward, listened, looked into his favorites clear
young eyes, and believed him, not distinguishing
confidence about the future from veracity about the past;
but he felt that it was an occasion for a friendly hint as to
conduct, and that before giving his signature he must give
a rather strong admonition. Accordingly, he took the
paper and lowered his spectacles, measured the space at his
command, reached his pen and examined it, dipped it in
the ink and examined it again, then pushed the paper a
little way from him, lifted up his spectacles again, showed
a deepened depression in the outer angle of his bushy
eyebrows, which gave his face a peculiar mildness (pardon
these details for onceyou would have learned to love
them if you had known Caleb Garth), and said in a
comfortable tone
It was a misfortune, eh, that breaking the horses
knees? And then, these exchanges, they dont answer
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when you have cute jockeys to deal with. Youll be wiser
another time, my boy.
Whereupon Caleb drew down his spectacles, and
proceeded to write his signature with the care which he
always gave to that performance; for whatever he did in
the way of business he did well. He contemplated the
large well-proportioned letters and final flourish, with his
head a trifle on one side for an instant, then handed it to
Fred, said Good-by, and returned forthwith to his
absorption in a plan for Sir James Chettams new farm-
buildings.
Either because his interest in this work thrust the
incident of the signature from his memory, or for some
reason of which Caleb was more conscious, Mrs. Garth
remained ignorant of the affair.
Since it occurred, a change had come over Freds sky,
which altered his view of the distance, and was the reason
why his uncle Featherstones present of money was of
importance enough to make his color come and go, first
with a too definite expectation, and afterwards with a
proportionate disappointment. His failure in passing his
examination, had made his accumulation of college debts
the more unpardonable by his father, and there had been
an unprecedented storm at home. Mr. Vincy had sworn
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that if he had anything more of that sort to put up with,
Fred should turn out and get his living how he could; and
he had never yet quite recovered his good-humored tone
to his son, who had especially enraged him by saying at
this stage of things that he did not want to be a clergyman,
and would rather not go on with that. Fred was
conscious that he would have been yet more severely dealt
with if his family as well as himself had not secretly
regarded him as Mr. Featherstones heir; that old
gentlemans pride in him, and apparent fondness for him,
serving in the stead of more exemplary conductjust as
when a youthful nobleman steals jewellery we call the act
kleptomania, speak of it with a philosophical smile, and
never think of his being sent to the house of correction as
if he were a ragged boy who had stolen turnips. In fact,
tacit expectations of what would be done for him by uncle
Featherstone determined the angle at which most people
viewed Fred Vincy in Middlemarch; and in his own
consciousness, what uncle Featherstone would do for him
in an emergency, or what he would do simply as an
incorporated luck, formed always an immeasurable depth
of aerial perspective. But that present of bank-notes, once
made, was measurable, and being applied to the amount of
the debt, showed a deficit which had still to be filled up
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either by Freds judgment or by luck in some other
shape. For that little episode of the alleged borrowing, in
which he had made his father the agent in getting the
Bulstrode certificate, was a new reason against going to his
father for money towards meeting his actual debt. Fred
was keen enough to foresee that anger would confuse
distinctions, and that his denial of having borrowed
expressly on the strength of his uncles will would be
taken as a falsehood. He had gone to his father and told
him one vexatious affair, and he had left another untold:
in such cases the complete revelation always produces the
impression of a previous duplicity. Now Fred piqued
himself on keeping clear of lies, and even fibs; he often
shrugged his shoulders and made a significant grimace at
what he called Rosamonds fibs (it is only brothers who
can associate such ideas with a lovely girl); and rather than
incur the accusation of falsehood he would even incur
some trouble and self-restraint. It was under strong inward
pressure of this kind that Fred had taken the wise step of
depositing the eighty pounds with his mother. It was a
pity that he had not at once given them to Mr. Garth; but
he meant to make the sum complete with another sixty,
and with a view to this, he had kept twenty pounds in his
own pocket as a sort of seed-corn, which, planted by
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judgment, and watered by luck, might yield more than
threefolda very poor rate of multiplication when the
field is a young gentlemans infinite soul, with all the
numerals at command.
Fred was not a gambler: he had not that specific disease
in which the suspension of the whole nervous energy on a
chance or risk becomes as necessary as the dram to the
drunkard; he had only the tendency to that diffusive form
of gambling which has no alcoholic intensity, but is
carried on with the healthiest chyle-fed blood, keeping up
a joyous imaginative activity which fashions events
according to desire, and having no fears about its own
weather, only sees the advantage there must be to others
in going aboard with it. Hopefulness has a pleasure in
making a throw of any kind, because the prospect of
success is certain; and only a more generous pleasure in
offering as many as possible a share in the stake. Fred liked
play, especially billiards, as he liked hunting or riding a
steeple-chase; and he only liked it the better because he
wanted money and hoped to win. But the twenty pounds
worth of seed-corn had been planted in vain in the
seductive green plotall of it at least which had not been
dispersed by the roadsideand Fred found himself close
upon the term of payment with no money at command
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beyond the eighty pounds which he had deposited with
his mother. The broken-winded horse which he rode
represented a present which had been made to him a long
while ago by his uncle Featherstone: his father always
allowed him to keep a horse, Mr. Vincys own habits
making him regard this as a reasonable demand even for a
son who was rather exasperating. This horse, then, was
Freds property, and in his anxiety to meet the imminent
bill he determined to sacrifice a possession without which
life would certainly be worth little. He made the
resolution with a sense of heroismheroism forced on
him by the dread of breaking his word to Mr. Garth, by
his love for Mary and awe of her opinion. He would start
for Houndsley horse-fair which was to be held the next
morning, andsimply sell his horse, bringing back the
money by coach?Well, the horse would hardly fetch
more than thirty pounds, and there was no knowing what
might happen; it would be folly to balk himself of luck
beforehand. It was a hundred to one that some good
chance would fall in his way; the longer he thought of it,
the less possible it seemed that he should not have a good
chance, and the less reasonable that he should not equip
himself with the powder and shot for bringing it down.
He would ride to Houndsley with Bambridge and with
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Horrock the vet, and without asking them anything
expressly, he should virtually get the benefit of their
opinion. Before he set out, Fred got the eighty pounds
from his mother.
Most of those who saw Fred riding out of
Middlemarch in company with Bambridge and Horrock,
on his way of course to Houndsley horse-fair, thought that
young Vincy was pleasure-seeking as usual; and but for an
unwonted consciousness of grave matters on hand, he
himself would have had a sense of dissipation, and of
doing what might be expected of a gay young fellow.
Considering that Fred was not at all coarse, that he rather
looked down on the manners and speech of young men
who had not been to the university, and that he had
written stanzas as pastoral and unvoluptuous as his flute-
playing, his attraction towards Bambridge and Horrock
was an interesting fact which even the love of horse-flesh
would not wholly account for without that mysterious
influence of Naming which determinates so much of
mortal choice. Under any other name than pleasure the
society of Messieurs Bambridge and Horrock must
certainly have been regarded as monotonous; and to arrive
with them at Houndsley on a drizzling afternoon, to get
down at the Red Lion in a street shaded with coal-dust,
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and dine in a room furnished with a dirt-enamelled map of
the county, a bad portrait of an anonymous horse in a
stable, His Majesty George the Fourth with legs and
cravat, and various leaden spittoons, might have seemed a
hard business, but for the sustaining power of
nomenclature which determined that the pursuit of these
things was gay.
In Mr. Horrock there was certainly an apparent
unfathomableness which offered play to the imagination.
Costume, at a glance, gave him a thrilling association with
horses (enough to specify the hat-brim which took the
slightest upward angle just to escape the suspicion of
bending downwards), and nature had given him a face
which by dint of Mongolian eyes, and a nose, mouth, and
chin seeming to follow his hat-brim in a moderate
inclination upwards, gave the effect of a subdued
unchangeable sceptical smile, of all expressions the most
tyrannous over a susceptible mind, and, when
accompanied by adequate silence, likely to create the
reputation of an invincible understanding, an infinite fund
of humor too dry to flow, and probably in a state of
immovable crust, and a critical judgment which, if you
could ever be fortunate enough to know it, would be
THE thing and no other. It is a physiognomy seen in all
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vocations, but perhaps it has never been more powerful
over the youth of England than in a judge of horses.
Mr. Horrock, at a question from Fred about his horses
fetlock, turned sideways in his saddle, and watched the
horses action for the space of three minutes, then turned
forward, twitched his own bridle, and remained silent
with a profile neither more nor less sceptical than it had
been.
The part thus played in dialogue by Mr. Horrock was
terribly effective. A mixture of passions was excited in
Freda mad desire to thrash Horrocks opinion into
utterance, restrained by anxiety to retain the advantage of
his friendship. There was always the chance that Horrock
might say something quite invaluable at the right moment.
Mr. Bambridge had more open manners, and appeared
to give forth his ideas without economy. He was loud,
robust, and was sometimes spoken of as being given to
indulgencechiefly in swearing, drinking, and beating his
wife. Some people who had lost by him called him a
vicious man; but he regarded horse-dealing as the finest of
the arts, and might have argued plausibly that it had
nothing to do with morality. He was undeniably a
prosperous man, bore his drinking better than others bore
their moderation, and, on the whole, flourished like the
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green bay-tree. But his range of conversation was limited,
and like the fine old tune, Drops of brandy, gave you
after a while a sense of returning upon itself in a way that
might make weak heads dizzy. But a slight infusion of Mr.
Bambridge was felt to give tone and character to several
circles in Middlemarch; and he was a distinguished figure
in the bar and billiard-room at the Green Dragon. He
knew some anecdotes about the heroes of the turf, and
various clever tricks of Marquesses and Viscounts which
seemed to prove that blood asserted its pre-eminence even
among black-legs; but the minute retentiveness of his
memory was chiefly shown about the horses he had
himself bought and sold; the number of miles they would
trot you in no time without turning a hair being, after the
lapse of years, still a subject of passionate asseveration, in
which he would assist the imagination of his hearers by
solemnly swearing that they never saw anything like it. In
short, Mr. Bambridge was a man of pleasure and a gay
companion.
Fred was subtle, and did not tell his friends that he was
going to Houndsley bent on selling his horse: he wished to
get indirectly at their genuine opinion of its value, not
being aware that a genuine opinion was the last thing
likely to be extracted from such eminent critics. It was not
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Middlemarch
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Mr. Bambridges weakness to be a gratuitous flatterer. He
had never before been so much struck with the fact that
this unfortunate bay was a roarer to a degree which
required the roundest word for perdition to give you any
idea of it.
You made a bad hand at swapping when you went to
anybody but me, Vincy! Why, you never threw your leg
across a finer horse than that chestnut, and you gave him
for this brute. If you set him cantering, he goes on like
twenty sawyers. I never heard but one worse roarer in my
life, and that was a roan: it belonged to Pegwell, the corn-
factor; he used to drive him in his gig seven years ago, and
he wanted me to take him, but I said, Thank you, Peg, I
dont deal in wind-instruments. That was what I said. It
went the round of the country, that joke did. But, what
the hell! the horse was a penny trumpet to that roarer of
yours.
Why, you said just now his was worse than mine, said
Fred, more irritable than usual.
I said a lie, then, said Mr. Bambridge, emphatically.
There wasnt a penny to choose between em.
Fred spurred his horse, and they trotted on a little way.
When they slackened again, Mr. Bambridge said
Not but what the roan was a better trotter than yours.
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Im quite satisfied with his paces, I know, said Fred,
who required all the consciousness of being in gay
company to support him; I say his trot is an uncommonly
clean one, eh, Horrock?
Mr. Horrock looked before him with as complete a
neutrality as if he had been a portrait by a great master.
Fred gave up the fallacious hope of getting a genuine
opinion; but on reflection he saw that Bambridges
depreciation and Horrocks silence were both virtually
encouraging, and indicated that they thought better of the
horse than they chose to say.
That very evening, indeed, before the fair had set in,
Fred thought he saw a favorable opening for disposing
advantageously of his horse, but an opening which made
him congratulate himself on his foresight in bringing with
him his eighty pounds. A young farmer, acquainted with
Mr. Bambridge, came into the Red Lion, and entered into
conversation about parting with a hunter, which he
introduced at once as Diamond, implying that it was a
public character. For himself he only wanted a useful hack,
which would draw upon occasion; being about to marry
and to give up hunting. The hunter was in a friends stable
at some little distance; there was still time for gentlemen to
see it before dark. The friends stable had to be reached
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through a back street where you might as easily have been
poisoned without expense of drugs as in any grim street of
that unsanitary period. Fred was not fortified against
disgust by brandy, as his companions were, but the hope
of having at last seen the horse that would enable him to
make money was exhilarating enough to lead him over the
same ground again the first thing in the morning. He felt
sure that if he did not come to a bargain with the farmer,
Bambridge would; for the stress of circumstances, Fred
felt, was sharpening his acuteness and endowing him with
all the constructive power of suspicion. Bambridge had
run down Diamond in a way that he never would have
done (the horse being a friends) if he had not thought of
buying it; every one who looked at the animaleven
Horrockwas evidently impressed with its merit. To get
all the advantage of being with men of this sort, you must
know how to draw your inferences, and not be a spoon
who takes things literally. The color of the horse was a
dappled gray, and Fred happened to know that Lord
Medlicotes man was on the look-out for just such a horse.
After all his running down, Bambridge let it out in the
course of the evening, when the farmer was absent, that he
had seen worse horses go for eighty pounds. Of course he
contradicted himself twenty times over, but when you
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know what is likely to be true you can test a mans
admissions. And Fred could not but reckon his own
judgment of a horse as worth something. The farmer had
paused over Freds respectable though broken-winded
steed long enough to show that he thought it worth
consideration, and it seemed probable that he would take
it, with five-and-twenty pounds in addition, as the
equivalent of Diamond. In that case Fred, when he had
parted with his new horse for at least eighty pounds,
would be fifty-five pounds in pocket by the transaction,
and would have a hundred and thirty-five pounds towards
meeting the bill; so that the deficit temporarily thrown on
Mr. Garth would at the utmost be twenty-five pounds. By
the time he was hurrying on his clothes in the morning,
he saw so clearly the importance of not losing this rare
chance, that if Bambridge and Horrock had both dissuaded
him, he would not have been deluded into a direct
interpretation of their purpose: he would have been aware
that those deep hands held something else than a young
fellows interest. With regard to horses, distrust was your
only clew. But scepticism, as we know, can never be
thoroughly applied, else life would come to a standstill:
something we must believe in and do, and whatever that
something may be called, it is virtually our own judgment,
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even when it seems like the most slavish reliance on
another. Fred believed in the excellence of his bargain,
and even before the fair had well set in, had got possession
of the dappled gray, at the price of his old horse and thirty
pounds in additiononly five pounds more than he had
expected to give.
But he felt a little worried and wearied, perhaps with
mental debate, and without waiting for the further gayeties
of the horse-fair, he set out alone on his fourteen miles
journey, meaning to take it very quietly and keep his
horse fresh.
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Chapter XXIV
The offenders sorrow brings but small relief
To him who wears the strong offences cross.
SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.
I am sorry to say that only the third day after the
propitious events at Houndsley Fred Vincy had fallen into
worse spirits than he had known in his life before. Not
that he had been disappointed as to the possible market for
his horse, but that before the bargain could be concluded
with Lord Medlicotes man, this Diamond, in which hope
to the amount of eighty pounds had been invested, had
without the slightest warning exhibited in the stable a
most vicious energy in kicking, had just missed killing the
groom, and had ended in laming himself severely by
catching his leg in a rope that overhung the stable-board.
There was no more redress for this than for the discovery
of bad temper after marriage which of course old
companions were aware of before the ceremony. For
some reason or other, Fred had none of his usual elasticity
under this stroke of ill-fortune: he was simply aware that
he had only fifty pounds, that there was no chance of his
getting any more at present, and that the bill for a hundred
and sixty would be presented in five days. Even if he had
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applied to his father on the plea that Mr. Garth should be
saved from loss, Fred felt smartingly that his father would
angrily refuse to rescue Mr. Garth from the consequence
of what he would call encouraging extravagance and
deceit. He was so utterly downcast that he could frame no
other project than to go straight to Mr. Garth and tell him
the sad truth, carrying with him the fifty pounds, and
getting that sum at least safely out of his own hands. His
father, being at the warehouse, did not yet know of the
accident: when he did, he would storm about the vicious
brute being brought into his stable; and before meeting
that lesser annoyance Fred wanted to get away with all his
courage to face the greater. He took his fathers nag, for
he had made up his mind that when he had told Mr.
Garth, he would ride to Stone Court and confess all to
Mary. In fact, it is probable that but for Marys existence
and Freds love for her, his conscience would hare been
much less active both in previously urging the debt on his
thought and impelling him not to spare himself after his
usual fashion by deferring an unpleasant task, but to act as
directly and simply as he could. Even much stronger
mortals than Fred Vincy hold half their rectitude in the
mind of the being they love best. The theatre of all my
actions is fallen, said an antique personage when his chief
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friend was dead; and they are fortunate who get a theatre
where the audience demands their best. Certainly it would
have made a considerable difference to Fred at that time if
Mary Garth had had no decided notions as to what was
admirable in character.
Mr. Garth was not at the office, and Fred rode on to
his house, which was a little way outside the towna
homely place with an orchard in front of it, a rambling,
old-fashioned, half-timbered building, which before the
town had spread had been a farm-house, but was now
surrounded with the private gardens of the townsmen. We
get the fonder of our houses if they have a physiognomy
of their own, as our friends have. The Garth family, which
was rather a large one, for Mary had four brothers and one
sister, were very fond of their old house, from which all
the best furniture had long been sold. Fred liked it too,
knowing it by heart even to the attic which smelt
deliciously of apples and quinces, and until to-day he had
never come to it without pleasant expectations; but his
heart beat uneasily now with the sense that he should
probably have to make his confession before Mrs. Garth,
of whom he was rather more in awe than of her husband.
Not that she was inclined to sarcasm and to impulsive
sallies, as Mary was. In her present matronly age at least,
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Mrs. Garth never committed herself by over-hasty speech;
having, as she said, borne the yoke in her youth, and
learned self-control. She had that rare sense which discerns
what is unalterable, and submits to it without murmuring.
Adoring her husbands virtues, she had very early made up
her mind to his incapacity of minding his own interests,
and had met the consequences cheerfully. She had been
magnanimous enough to renounce all pride in teapots or
childrens frilling, and had never poured any pathetic
confidences into the ears of her feminine neighbors
concerning Mr. Garths want of prudence and the sums he
might have had if he had been like other men. Hence
these fair neighbors thought her either proud or eccentric,
and sometimes spoke of her to their husbands as your fine
Mrs. Garth. She was not without her criticism of them in
return, being more accurately instructed than most
matrons in Middlemarch, andwhere is the blameless
woman?apt to be a little severe towards her own sex,
which in her opinion was framed to be entirely
subordinate. On the other hand, she was
disproportionately indulgent towards the failings of men,
and was often heard to say that these were natural. Also, it
must be admitted that Mrs. Garth was a trifle too emphatic
in her resistance to what she held to be follies: the passage
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from governess into housewife had wrought itself a little
too strongly into her consciousness, and she rarely forgot
that while her grammar and accent were above the town
standard, she wore a plain cap, cooked the family dinner,
and darned all the stockings. She had sometimes taken
pupils in a peripatetic fashion, making them follow her
about in the kitchen with their book or slate. She thought
it good for them to see that she could make an excellent
lather while she corrected their blunders without
looking, that a woman with her sleeves tucked up
above her elbows might know all about the Subjunctive
Mood or the Torrid Zonethat, in short, she might
possess education and other good things ending in tion,
and worthy to be pronounced emphatically, without being
a useless doll. When she made remarks to this edifying
effect, she had a firm little frown on her brow, which yet
did not hinder her face from looking benevolent, and her
words which came forth like a procession were uttered in
a fervid agreeable contralto. Certainly, the exemplary Mrs.
Garth had her droll aspects, but her character sustained her
oddities, as a very fine wine sustains a flavor of skin.
Towards Fred Vincy she had a motherly feeling, and
had always been disposed to excuse his errors, though she
would probably not have excused Mary for engaging
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herself to him, her daughter being included in that more
rigorous judgment which she applied to her own sex. But
this very fact of her exceptional indulgence towards him
made it the harder to Fred that he must now inevitably
sink in her opinion. And the circumstances of his visit
turned out to be still more unpleasant than he had
expected; for Caleb Garth had gone out early to look at
some repairs not far off. Mrs. Garth at certain hours was
always in the kitchen, and this morning she was carrying
on several occupations at once theremaking her pies at
the well-scoured deal table on one side of that airy room,
observing Sallys movements at the oven and dough-tub
through an open door, and giving lessons to her youngest
boy and girl, who were standing opposite to her at the
table with their books and slates before them. A tub and a
clothes-horse at the other end of the kitchen indicated an
intermittent wash of small things also going on.
Mrs. Garth, with her sleeves turned above her elbows,
deftly handling her pastryapplying her rolling-pin and
giving ornamental pinches, while she expounded with
grammatical fervor what were the right views about the
concord of verbs and pronouns with nouns of multitude
or signifying many, was a sight agreeably amusing. She
was of the same curly-haired, square-faced type as Mary,
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but handsomer, with more delicacy of feature, a pale skin,
a solid matronly figure, and a remarkable firmness of
glance. In her snowy-frilled cap she reminded one of that
delightful Frenchwoman whom we have all seen
marketing, basket on arm. Looking at the mother, you
might hope that the daughter would become like her,
which is a prospective advantage equal to a dowrythe
mother too often standing behind the daughter like a
malignant prophecy Such as I am, she will shortly be.
Now let us go through that once more, said Mrs.
Garth, pinching an apple-puff which seemed to distract
Ben, an energetic young male with a heavy brow, from
due attention to the lesson. Not without regard to the
import of the word as conveying unity or plurality of
ideatell me again what that means, Ben.
(Mrs. Garth, like more celebrated educators, had her
favorite ancient paths, and in a general wreck of society
would have tried to hold her Lindley Murray above the
waves.)
Ohit meansyou must think what you mean, said
Ben, rather peevishly. I hate grammar. Whats the use of
it?
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Middlemarch
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To teach you to speak and write correctly, so that you
can be understood, said Mrs. Garth, with severe precision.
Should you like to speak as old Job does?
Yes, said Ben, stoutly; its funnier. He says, Yo
goo thats just as good as You go.
But he says, A ships in the garden, instead of a
sheep, said Letty, with an air of superiority. You might
think he meant a ship off the sea.
No, you mightnt, if you werent silly, said Ben.
How could a ship off the sea come there?
These things belong only to pronunciation, which is
the least part of grammar, said Mrs. Garth. That apple-
peel is to be eaten by the pigs, Ben; if you eat it, I must
give them your piece of pasty. Job has only to speak about
very plain things. How do you think you would write or
speak about anything more difficult, if you knew no more
of grammar than he does? You would use wrong words,
and put words in the wrong places, and instead of making
people understand you, they would turn away from you as
a tiresome person. What would you do then?
I shouldnt care, I should leave off, said Ben, with a
sense that this was an agreeable issue where grammar was
concerned.
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I see you are getting tired and stupid, Ben, said Mrs.
Garth, accustomed to these obstructive arguments from
her male offspring. Having finished her pies, she moved
towards the clothes-horse, and said, Come here and tell
me the story I told you on Wednesday, about
Cincinnatus.
I know! he was a farmer, said Ben.
Now, Ben, he was a Romanlet ME tell, said Letty,
using her elbow contentiously.
You silly thing, he was a Roman farmer, and he was
ploughing.
Yes, but before thatthat didnt come firstpeople
wanted him, said Letty.
Well, but you must say what sort of a man he was
first, insisted Ben. He was a wise man, like my father,
and that made the people want his advice. And he was a
brave man, and could fight. And so could my father
couldnt he, mother?
Now, Ben, let me tell the story straight on, as mother
told it us, said Letty, frowning. Please, mother, tell Ben
not to speak.
Letty, I am ashamed of you, said her mother,
wringing out the caps from the tub. When your brother
began, you ought to have waited to see if he could not tell
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the story. How rude you look, pushing and frowning, as if
you wanted to conquer with your elbows! Cincinnatus, I
am sure, would have been sorry to see his daughter behave
so. (Mrs. Garth delivered this awful sentence with much
majesty of enunciation, and Letty felt that between
repressed volubility and general disesteem, that of the
Romans inclusive, life was already a painful affair.) Now,
Ben.
Wellohwellwhy, there was a great deal of
fighting, and they were all blockheads, and—I
cant tell it just how you told it but they wanted a man
to be captain and king and everything
Dictator, now, said Letty, with injured looks, and not
without a wish to make her mother repent.
Very well, dictator! said Ben, contemptuously. But
that isnt a good word: he didnt tell them to write on
slates.
Come, come, Ben, you are not so ignorant as that,
said Mrs. Garth, carefully serious. Hark, there is a knock
at the door! Run, Letty, and open it.
The knock was Freds; and when Letty said that her
father was not in yet, but that her mother was in the
kitchen, Fred had no alternative. He could not depart
from his usual practice of going to see Mrs. Garth in the
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kitchen if she happened to be at work there. He put his
arm round Lettys neck silently, and led her into the
kitchen without his usual jokes and caresses.
Mrs. Garth was surprised to see Fred at this hour, but
surprise was not a feeling that she was given to express,
and she only said, quietly continuing her work
You, Fred, so early in the day? You look quite pale.
Has anything happened?
I want to speak to Mr. Garth, said Fred, not yet ready
to say more and to you also, he added, after a little
pause, for he had no doubt that Mrs. Garth knew
everything about the bill, and he must in the end speak of
it before her, if not to her solely.
Caleb will be in again in a few minutes, said Mrs.
Garth, who imagined some trouble between Fred and his
father. He is sure not to be long, because he has some
work at his desk that must be done this morning. Do you
mind staying with me, while I finish my matters here?
But we neednt go on about Cincinnatus, need we?
said Ben, who had taken Freds whip out of his hand, and
was trying its efficiency on the eat.
No, go out now. But put that whip down. How very
mean of you to whip poor old Tortoise! Pray take the
whip from him, Fred.
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Come, old boy, give it me, said Fred, putting out his
hand.
Will you let me ride on your horse to-day? said Ben,
rendering up the whip, with an air of not being obliged to
do it.
Not to-dayanother time. I am not riding my own
horse.
Shall you see Mary to-day?
Yes, I think so, said Fred, with an unpleasant twinge.
Tell her to come home soon, and play at forfeits, and
make fun.
Enough, enough, Ben! run away, said Mrs. Garth,
seeing that Fred was teased
Are Letty and Ben your only pupils now, Mrs. Garth?
said Fred, when the children were gone and it was needful
to say something that would pass the time. He was not yet
sure whether he should wait for Mr. Garth, or use any
good opportunity in conversation to confess to Mrs. Garth
herself, give her the money and ride away.
Oneonly one. Fanny Hackbutt comes at half past
eleven. I am not getting a great income now, said Mrs.
Garth, smiling. I am at a low ebb with pupils. But I have
saved my little purse for Alfreds premium: I have ninety-
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two pounds. He can go to Mr. Hanmers now; he is just at
the right age.
This did not lead well towards the news that Mr. Garth
was on the brink of losing ninety-two pounds and more.
Fred was silent. Young gentlemen who go to college are
rather more costly than that, Mrs. Garth innocently
continued, pulling out the edging on a cap-border. And
Caleb thinks that Alfred will turn out a distinguished
engineer: he wants to give the boy a good chance. There
he is! I hear him coming in. We will go to him in the
parlor, shall we?
When they entered the parlor Caleb had thrown down
his hat and was seated at his desk.
What! Fred, my boy! he said, in a tone of mild
surprise, holding his pen still undipped; you are here
betimes. But missing the usual expression of cheerful
greeting in Freds face, he immediately added, Is there
anything up at home?anything the matter?
Yes, Mr. Garth, I am come to tell something that I am
afraid will give you a bad opinion of me. I am come to tell
you and Mrs. Garth that I cant keep my word. I cant find
the money to meet the bill after all. I have been
unfortunate; I have only got these fifty pounds towards the
hundred and sixty.
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While Fred was speaking, he had taken out the notes
and laid them on the desk before Mr. Garth. He had burst
forth at once with the plain fact, feeling boyishly miserable
and without verbal resources. Mrs. Garth was mutely
astonished, and looked at her husband for an explanation.
Caleb blushed, and after a little pause said
Oh, I didnt tell you, Susan: I put my name to a bill
for Fred; it was for a hundred and sixty pounds. He made
sure he could meet it himself.
There was an evident change in Mrs. Garths face, but
it was like a change below the surface of water which
remains smooth. She fixed her eyes on Fred, saying
I suppose you have asked your father for the rest of the
money and he has refused you.
No, said Fred, biting his lip, and speaking with more
difficulty; but I know it will be of no use to ask him; and
unless it were of use, I should not like to mention Mr.
Garths name in the matter.
It has come at an unfortunate time, said Caleb, in his
hesitating way, looking down at the notes and nervously
fingering the paper, Christmas upon usIm rather hard
up just now. You see, I have to cut out everything like a
tailor with short measure. What can we do, Susan? I shall
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want every farthing we have in the bank. Its a hundred
and ten pounds, the deuce take it!
I must give you the ninety-two pounds that I have put
by for Alfreds premium, said Mrs. Garth, gravely and
decisively, though a nice ear might have discerned a slight
tremor in some of the words. And I have no doubt that
Mary has twenty pounds saved from her salary by this
time. She will advance it.
Mrs. Garth had not again looked at Fred, and was not
in the least calculating what words she should use to cut
him the most effectively. Like the eccentric woman she
was, she was at present absorbed in considering what was
to be done, and did not fancy that the end could be better
achieved by bitter remarks or explosions. But she had
made Fred feel for the first time something like the tooth
of remorse. Curiously enough, his pain in the affair
beforehand had consisted almost entirely in the sense that
he must seem dishonorable, and sink in the opinion of the
Garths: he had not occupied himself with the
inconvenience and possible injury that his breach might
occasion them, for this exercise of the imagination on
other peoples needs is not common with hopeful young
gentlemen. Indeed we are most of us brought up in the
notion that the highest motive for not doing a wrong is
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something irrespective of the beings who would suffer the
wrong. But at this moment he suddenly saw himself as a
pitiful rascal who was robbing two women of their
savings.
I shall certainly pay it all, Mrs. Garthultimately, he
stammered out.
Yes, ultimately, said Mrs. Garth, who having a special
dislike to fine words on ugly occasions, could not now
repress an epigram. But boys cannot well be apprenticed
ultimately: they should be apprenticed at fifteen. She had
never been so little inclined to make excuses for Fred.
I was the most in the wrong, Susan, said Caleb. Fred
made sure of finding the money. But Id no business to be
fingering bills. I suppose you have looked all round and
tried all honest means? he added, fixing his merciful gray
eyes on Fred. Caleb was too delicate, to specify Mr.
Featherstone.
Yes, I have tried everythingI really have. I should
have had a hundred and thirty pounds ready but for a
misfortune with a horse which I was about to sell. My
uncle had given me eighty pounds, and I paid away thirty
with my old horse in order to get another which I was
going to sell for eighty or moreI meant to go without a
horse but now it has turned out vicious and lamed itself.
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I wish I and the horses too had been at the devil, before I
had brought this on you. Theres no one else I care so
much for: you and Mrs. Garth have always been so kind
to me. However, its no use saying that. You will always
think me a rascal now.
Fred turned round and hurried out of the room,
conscious that he was getting rather womanish, and feeling
confusedly that his being sorry was not of much use to the
Garths. They could see him mount, and quickly pass
through the gate.
I am disappointed in Fred Vincy, said Mrs. Garth. I
would not have believed beforehand that he would have
drawn you into his debts. I knew he was extravagant, but I
did not think that he would be so mean as to hang his risks
on his oldest friend, who could the least afford to lose.
I was a fool, Susan:.
That you were, said the wife, nodding and smiling.
But I should not have gone to publish it in the market-
place. Why should you keep such things from me? It is
just so with your buttons: you let them burst off without
telling me, and go out with your wristband hanging. If I
had only known I might have been ready with some
better plan.
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You are sadly cut up, I know, Susan, said Caleb,
looking feelingly at her. I cant abide your losing the
money youve scraped together for Alfred.
It is very well that I HAD scraped it together; and it is
you who will have to suffer, for you must teach the boy
yourself. You must give up your bad habits. Some men
take to drinking, and you have taken to working without
pay. You must indulge yourself a little less in that. And
you must ride over to Mary, and ask the child what
money she has.
Caleb had pushed his chair back, and was leaning
forward, shaking his head slowly, and fitting his finger-tips
together with much nicety.
Poor Mary! he said. Susan, he went on in a lowered
tone, Im afraid she may be fond of Fred.
Oh no! She always laughs at him; and he is not likely
to think of her in any other than a brotherly way.
Caleb made no rejoinder, but presently lowered his
spectacles, drew up his chair to the desk, and said, Deuce
take the bill I wish it was at Hanover! These things are a
sad interruption to business!
The first part of this speech comprised his whole store
of maledictory expression, and was uttered with a slight
snarl easy to imagine. But it would be difficult to convey
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to those who never heard him utter the word business,
the peculiar tone of fervid veneration, of religious regard,
in which he wrapped it, as a consecrated symbol is
wrapped in its gold-fringed linen.
Caleb Garth often shook his head in meditation on the
value, the indispensable might of that myriad-headed,
myriad-handed labor by which the social body is fed,
clothed, and housed. It had laid hold of his imagination in
boyhood. The echoes of the great hammer where roof or
keel were a-making, the signal-shouts of the workmen,
the roar of the furnace, the thunder and plash of the
engine, were a sublime music to him; the felling and
lading of timber, and the huge trunk vibrating star-like in
the distance along the highway, the crane at work on the
wharf, the piled-up produce in warehouses, the precision
and variety of muscular effort wherever exact work had to
be turned out,all these sights of his youth had acted on
him as poetry without the aid of the poets. had made a
philosophy for him without the aid of philosophers, a
religion without the aid of theology. His early ambition
had been to have as effective a share as possible in this
sublime labor, which was peculiarly dignified by him with
the name of business; and though he had only been a
short time under a surveyor, and had been chiefly his own
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Middlemarch
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teacher, he knew more of land, building, and mining than
most of the special men in the county.
His classification of human employments was rather
crude, and, like the categories of more celebrated men,
would not be acceptable in these advanced times. He
divided them into business, politics, preaching, learning,
and amusement. He had nothing to say against the last
four; but he regarded them as a reverential pagan regarded
other gods than his own. In the same way, he thought
very well of all ranks, but he would not himself have liked
to be of any rank in which he had not such close contact
with business as to get often honorably decorated with
marks of dust and mortar, the damp of the engine, or the
sweet soil of the woods and fields. Though he had never
regarded himself as other than an orthodox Christian, and
would argue on prevenient grace if the subject were
proposed to him, I think his virtual divinities were good
practical schemes, accurate work, and the faithful
completion of undertakings: his prince of darkness was a
slack workman. But there was no spirit of denial in Caleb,
and the world seemed so wondrous to him that he was
ready to accept any number of systems, like any number of
firmaments, if they did not obviously interfere with the
best land-drainage, solid building, correct measuring, and
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judicious boring (for coal). In fact, he had a reverential
soul with a strong practical intelligence. But he could not
manage finance: he knew values well, but he had no
keenness of imagination for monetary results in the shape
of profit and loss: and having ascertained this to his cost,
he determined to give up all forms of his beloved
business which required that talent. He gave himself up
entirely to the many kinds of work which he could do
without handling capital, and was one of those precious
men within his own district whom everybody would
choose to work for them, because he did his work well,
charged very little, and often declined to charge at all. It is
no wonder, then, that the Garths were poor, and lived in
a small way. However, they did not mind it.
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Chapter XXV
Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care
But for another gives its ease
And builds a heaven in hells despair.
Love seeketh only self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in anothers loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heavens despite.
W. BLAKE: Songs of Experience
Fred Vincy wanted to arrive at Stone Court when
Mary could not expect him, and when his uncle was not
down-stairs in that case she might be sitting alone in the
wainscoted parlor. He left his horse in the yard to avoid
making a noise on the gravel in front, and entered the
parlor without other notice than the noise of the door-
handle. Mary was in her usual corner, laughing over Mrs.
Piozzis recollections of Johnson, and looked up with the
fun still in her face. It gradually faded as she saw Fred
approach her without speaking, and stand before her with
his elbow on the mantel-piece, looking ill. She too was
silent, only raising her eyes to him inquiringly.
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Mary, he began, I am a good-for-nothing
blackguard.
I should think one of those epithets would do at a
time, said Mary, trying to smile, but feeling alarmed.
I know you will never think well of me any more.
You will think me a liar. You will think me dishonest.
You will think I didnt care for you, or your father and
mother. You always do make the worst of me, I know.
I cannot deny that I shall think all that of you, Fred, if
you give me good reasons. But please to tell me at once
what you have done. I would rather know the painful
truth than imagine it.
I owed moneya hundred and sixty pounds. I asked
your father to put his name to a bill. I thought it would
not signify to him. I made sure of paying the money
myself, and I have tried as hard as I could. And now, I
have been so unluckya horse has turned out badly I
can only pay fifty pounds. And I cant ask my father for
the money: he would not give me a farthing. And my
uncle gave me a hundred a little while ago. So what can I
do? And now your father has no ready money to spare,
and your mother will have to pay away her ninety-two
pounds that she has saved, and she says your savings must
go too. You see what a
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Oh, poor mother, poor father! said Mary, her eyes
filling with tears, and a little sob rising which she tried to
repress. She looked straight before her and took no notice
of Fred, all the consequences at home becoming present to
her. He too remained silent for some moments, feeling
more miserable than ever. I wouldnt have hurt you for
the world, Mary, he said at last. You can never forgive
me.
What does it matter whether I forgive you? said Mary,
passionately. Would that make it any better for my
mother to lose the money she has been earning by lessons
for four years, that she might send Alfred to Mr.
Hanmers? Should you think all that pleasant enough if I
forgave you?
Say what you like, Mary. I deserve it all.
I dont want to say anything, said Mary, more quietly,
and my anger is of no use. She dried her eyes, threw
aside her book, rose and fetched her sewing.
Fred followed her with his eyes, hoping that they
would meet hers, and in that way find access for his
imploring penitence. But no! Mary could easily avoid
looking upward.
I do care about your mothers money going, he said,
when she was seated again and sewing quickly. I wanted
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to ask you, Mary dont you think that Mr.
Featherstoneif you were to tell him tell him, I mean,
about apprenticing Alfredwould advance the money?
My family is not fond of begging, Fred. We would
rather work for our money. Besides, you say that Mr.
Featherstone has lately given you a hundred pounds. He
rarely makes presents; he has never made presents to us. I
am sure my father will not ask him for anything; and even
if I chose to beg of him, it would be of no use.
I am so miserable, Maryif you knew how miserable
I am, you would be sorry for me.
There are other things to be more sorry for than that.
But selfish people always think their own discomfort of
more importance than anything else in the world. I see
enough of that every day.
It is hardly fair to call me selfish. If you knew what
things other young men do, you would think me a good
way off the worst.
I know that people who spend a great deal of money
on themselves without knowing how they shall pay, must
be selfish. They are always thinking of what they can get
for themselves, and not of what other people may lose.
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Any man may be unfortunate, Mary, and find himself
unable to pay when he meant it. There is not a better man
in the world than your father, and yet he got into trouble.
How dare you make any comparison between my
father and you, Fred? said Mary, in a deep tone of
indignation. He never got into trouble by thinking of his
own idle pleasures, but because he was always thinking of
the work he was doing for other people. And he has fared
hard, and worked hard to make good everybodys loss.
And you think that I shall never try to make good
anything, Mary. It is not generous to believe the worst of
a man. When you have got any power over him, I think
you might try and use it to make him better i but that is
what you never do. However, Im going, Fred ended,
languidly. I shall never speak to you about anything again.
Im very sorry for all the trouble Ive causedthats all.
Mary had dropped her work out of her hand and
looked up. There is often something maternal even in a
girlish love, and Marys hard experience had wrought her
nature to an impressibility very different from that hard
slight thing which we call girlishness. At Freds last words
she felt an instantaneous pang, something like what a
mother feels at the imagined sobs or cries of her naughty
truant child, which may lose itself and get harm. And
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when, looking up, her eyes met his dull despairing glance,
her pity for him surmounted her anger and all her other
anxieties.
Oh, Fred, how ill you look! Sit down a moment.
Dont go yet. Let me tell uncle that you are here. He has
been wondering that he has not seen you for a whole
week. Mary spoke hurriedly, saying the words that came
first without knowing very well what they were, but
saying them in a half-soothing half-beseeching tone, and
rising as if to go away to Mr. Featherstone. Of course Fred
felt as if the clouds had parted and a gleam had come: he
moved and stood in her way.
Say one word, Mary, and I will do anything. Say you
will not think the worst of mewill not give me up
altogether.
As if it were any pleasure to me to think ill of you,
said Mary, in a mournful tone. As if it were not very
painful to me to see you an idle frivolous creature. How
can you bear to be so contemptible, when others are
working and striving, and there are so many things to be
donehow can you bear to be fit for nothing in the
world that is useful? And with so much good in your
disposition, Fred, you might be worth a great deal.
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I will try to be anything you like, Mary, if you will say
that you love me.
I should be ashamed to say that I loved a man who
must always be hanging on others, and reckoning on what
they would do for him. What will you be when you are
forty? Like Mr. Bowyer, I suppose just as idle, living in
Mrs. Becks front parlorfat and shabby, hoping
somebody will invite you to dinnerspending your
morning in learning a comic songoh no! learning a tune
on the flute.
Marys lips had begun to curl with a smile as soon as
she had asked that question about Freds future (young
souls are mobile), and before she ended, her face had its
full illumination of fun. To him it was like the cessation of
an ache that Mary could laugh at him, and with a passive
sort of smile he tried to reach her hand; but she slipped
away quickly towards the door and said, I shall tell uncle.
You MUST see him for a moment or two.
Fred secretly felt that his future was guaranteed against
the fulfilment of Marys sarcastic prophecies, apart from
that anything which he was ready to do if she would
define it He never dared in Marys presence to approach
the subject of his expectations from Mr. Featherstone, and
she always ignored them, as if everything depended on
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himself. But if ever he actually came into the property, she
must recognize the change in his position. All this passed
through his mind somewhat languidly, before he went up
to see his uncle. He stayed but a little while, excusing
himself on the ground that he had a cold; and Mary did
not reappear before he left the house. But as he rode
home, he began to be more conscious of being ill, than of
being melancholy.
When Caleb Garth arrived at Stone Court soon after
dusk, Mary was not surprised, although he seldom had
leisure for paying her a visit, and was not at all fond of
having to talk with Mr. Featherstone. The old man, on
the other hand, felt himself ill at ease with a brother-in-
law whom he could not annoy, who did not mind about
being considered poor, had nothing to ask of him, and
understood all kinds of farming and mining business better
than he did. But Mary had felt sure that her parents would
want to see her, and if her father had not come, she would
have obtained leave to go home for an hour or two the
next day. After discussing prices during tea with Mr.
Featherstone Caleb rose to bid him good-by, and said, I
want to speak to you, Mary.
She took a candle into another large parlor, where
there was no fire, and setting down the feeble light on the
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dark mahogany table, turned round to her father, and
putting her arms round his neck kissed him with childish
kisses which he delighted in,the expression of his large
brows softening as the expression of a great beautiful dog
softens when it is caressed. Mary was his favorite child,
and whatever Susan might say, and right as she was on all
other subjects, Caleb thought it natural that Fred or any
one else should think Mary more lovable than other girls.
Ive got something to tell you, my dear, said Caleb in
his hesitating way. No very good news; but then it might
be worse.
About money, father? I think I know what it is.
Ay? how can that be? You see, Ive been a bit of a fool
again, and put my name to a bill, and now it comes to
paying; and your mother has got to part with her savings,
thats the worst of it, and even they wont quite make
things even. We wanted a hundred and ten pounds: your
mother has ninety-two, and I have none to spare in the
bank; and she thinks that you have some savings.
Oh yes; I have more than four-and-twenty pounds. I
thought you would come, father, so I put it in my bag.
See! beautiful white notes and gold.
Mary took out the folded money from her reticule and
put it into her fathers hand.
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Well, but howwe only want eighteenhere, put
the rest back, child,but how did you know about it?
said Caleb, who, in his unconquerable indifference to
money, was beginning to be chiefly concerned about the
relation the affair might have to Marys affections.
Fred told me this morning.
Ah! Did he come on purpose?
Yes, I think so. He was a good deal distressed.
Im afraid Fred is not to be trusted, Mary, said the
father, with hesitating tenderness. He means better than
he acts, perhaps. But I should think it a pity for any bodys
happiness to be wrapped up in him, and so would your
mother.
And so should I, father, said Mary, not looking up,
but putting the back of her fathers hand against her cheek.
I don’t want to pry, my dear. But I was
afraid there might be something between you and Fred,
and I wanted to caution you. You see, Maryhere
Calebs voice became more tender; he had been pushing
his hat about on the table and looking at it, but finally he
turned his eyes on his daughtera woman, let her be as
good as she may, has got to put up with the life her
husband makes for her. Your mother has had to put up
with a good deal because of me.
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Mary turned the back of her fathers hand to her lips
and smiled at him.
Well, well, nobodys perfect, buthere Mr. Garth
shook his head to help out the inadequacy of words
what I am thinking of is what it must be for a wife
when shes never sure of her husband, when he hasnt got
a principle in him to make him more afraid of doing the
wrong thing by others than of getting his own toes
pinched. Thats the long and the short of it, Mary. Young
folks may get fond of each other before they know what
life is, and they may think it all holiday if they can only
get together; but it soon turns into working day, my dear.
However, you have more sense than most, and you
havent been kept in cotton-wool: there may be no
occasion for me to say this, but a father trembles for his
daughter, and you are all by yourself here.
Dont fear for me, father, said Mary, gravely meeting
her fathers eyes; Fred has always been very good to me;
he is kind-hearted and affectionate, and not false, I think,
with all his self-indulgence. But I will never engage myself
to one who has no manly independence, and who goes on
loitering away his time on the chance that others will
provide for him. You and my mother have taught me too
much pride for that.
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Thats rightthats right. Then I am easy, said Mr.
Garth, taking up his {hat or bet. ????} But its hard to run
away with your earnings, eh child.
Father! said Mary, in her deepest tone of
remonstrance. Take pocketfuls of love besides to them all
at home, was her last word before he closed the outer
door on himself.
I suppose your father wanted your earnings, said old
Mr. Featherstone, with his usual power of unpleasant
surmise, when Mary returned to him. He makes but a
tight fit, I reckon. Youre of age now; you ought to be
saving for yourself.
I consider my father and mother the best part of
myself, sir, said Mary, coldly.
Mr. Featherstone grunted: he could not deny that an
ordinary sort of girl like her might be expected to be
useful, so he thought of another rejoinder, disagreeable
enough to be always apropos. If Fred Vincy comes to-
morrow, now, dont you keep him chattering: let him
come up to me.
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Chapter XXVI
"He beats me and I rail at him: O worthy satisfaction!
would it were otherwisethat I could beat him while he
railed at me.
Troilus and Cressida.
But Fred did not go to Stone Court the next day, for
reasons that were quite peremptory. From those visits to
unsanitary Houndsley streets in search of Diamond, he had
brought back not only a bad bargain in horse-flesh, but the
further misfortune of some ailment which for a day or two
had deemed mere depression and headache, but which got
so much worse when he returned from his visit to Stone
Court that, going into the dining-room, he threw himself
on the sofa, and in answer to his mothers anxious
question, said, I feel very ill: I think you must send for
Wrench.
Wrench came, but did not apprehend anything serious,
spoke of a slight derangement, and did not speak of
coming again on the morrow. He had a due value for the
Vincys house, but the wariest men are apt to be dulled by
routine, and on worried mornings will sometimes go
through their business with the zest of the daily bell-
ringer. Mr. Wrench was a small, neat, bilious man, with a
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well-dressed wig: he had a laborious practice, an irascible
temper, a lymphatic wife and seven children; and he was
already rather late before setting out on a four-miles drive
to meet Dr. Minchin on the other side of Tipton, the
decease of Hicks, a rural practitioner, having increased
Middlemarch practice in that direction. Great statesmen
err, and why not small medical men? Mr. Wrench did not
neglect sending the usual white parcels, which this time
had black and drastic contents. Their effect was not
alleviating to poor Fred, who, however, unwilling as he
said to believe that he was in for an illness, rose at his
usual easy hour the next morning and went down-stairs
meaning to breakfast, but succeeded in nothing but in
sitting and shivering by the fire. Mr. Wrench was again
sent for, but was gone on his rounds, and Mrs. Vincy
seeing her darlings changed looks and general misery,
began to cry and said she would send for Dr. Sprague.
Oh, nonsense, mother! Its nothing, said Fred, putting
out his hot dry hand to her, I shall soon be all right. I
must have taken cold in that nasty damp ride.
Mamma! said Rosamond, who was seated near the
window (the dining-room windows looked on that highly
respectable street called Lowick Gate), there is Mr.
Lydgate, stopping to speak to some one. If I were you I
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would call him in. He has cured Ellen Bulstrode. They say
he cures every one.
Mrs. Vincy sprang to the window and opened it in an
instant, thinking only of Fred and not of medical etiquette.
Lydgate was only two yards off on the other side of some
iron palisading, and turned round at the sudden sound of
the sash, before she called to him. In two minutes he was
in the room, and Rosamond went out, after waiting just
long enough to show a pretty anxiety conflicting with her
sense of what was becoming.
Lydgate had to hear a narrative in which Mrs. Vincys
mind insisted with remarkable instinct on every point of
minor importance, especially on what Mr. Wrench had
said and had not said about coming again. That there
might be an awkward affair with Wrench, Lydgate saw at
once; but the ease was serious enough to make him
dismiss that consideration: he was convinced that Fred was
in the pink-skinned stage of typhoid fever, and that he had
taken just the wrong medicines. He must go to bed
immediately, must have a regular nurse, and various
appliances and precautions must be used, about which
Lydgate was particular. Poor Mrs. Vincys terror at these
indications of danger found vent in such words as came
most easily. She thought it very ill usage on the part of
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Mr. Wrench, who had attended their house so many years
in preference to Mr. Peacock, though Mr. Peacock was
equally a friend. Why Mr. Wrench should neglect her
children more than others, she could not for the life of her
understand. He had not neglected Mrs. Larchers when
they had the measles, nor indeed would Mrs. Vincy have
wished that he should. And if anything should happen
Here poor Mrs. Vincys spirit quite broke down, and
her Niobe throat and good-humored face were sadly
convulsed. This was in the hall out of Freds hearing, but
Rosamond had opened the drawing-room door, and now
came forward anxiously. Lydgate apologized for Mr.
Wrench, said that the symptoms yesterday might have
been disguising, and that this form of fever was very
equivocal in its beginnings: he would go immediately to
the druggists and have a prescription made up in order to
lose no time, but he would write to Mr. Wrench and tell
him what had been done.
But you must come againyou must go on attending
Fred. I cant have my boy left to anybody who may come
or not. I bear nobody ill-will, thank God, and Mr.
Wrench saved me in the pleurisy, but hed better have let
me dieifif
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I will meet Mr. Wrench here, then, shall I? said
Lydgate, really believing that Wrench was not well
prepared to deal wisely with a case of this kind.
Pray make that arrangement, Mr. Lydgate, said
Rosamond, coming to her mothers aid, and supporting
her arm to lead her away.
When Mr. Vincy came home he was very angry with
Wrench, and did not care if he never came into his house
again. Lydgate should go on now, whether Wrench liked
it or not. It was no joke to have fever in the house.
Everybody must be sent to now, not to come to dinner on
Thursday. And Pritchard neednt get up any wine: brandy
was the best thing against infection. I shall drink brandy,
added Mr. Vincy, emphaticallyas much as to say, this
was not an occasion for firing with blank-cartridges. Hes
an uncommonly unfortunate lad, is Fred. Hed need
havesome luck by-and-by to make up for all thiselse I
dont know whod have an eldest son.
Dont say so, Vincy, said the mother, with a quivering
lip, if you dont want him to be taken from me.
It will worret you to death, Lucy; THAT I can see,
said Mr. Vincy, more mildly. However, Wrench shall
know what I think of the matter. (What Mr. Vincy
thought confusedly was, that the fever might somehow
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have been hindered if Wrench had shown the proper
solicitude about his the Mayorsfamily.) Im the last
man to give in to the cry about new doctors, or new
parsons eitherwhether theyre Bulstrodes men or not.
But Wrench shall know what I think, take it as he will.
Wrench did not take it at all well. Lydgate was as polite
as he could be in his offhand way, but politeness in a man
who has placed you at a disadvantage is only an additional
exasperation, especially if he happens to have been an
object of dislike beforehand. Country practitioners used to
be an irritable species, susceptible on the point of honor;
and Mr. Wrench was one of the most irritable among
them. He did not refuse to meet Lydgate in the evening,
but his temper was somewhat tried on the occasion. He
had to hear Mrs. Vincy say
Oh, Mr. Wrench, what have I ever done that you
should use me so? To go away, and never to come
again! And my boy might have been stretched a corpse!
Mr. Vincy, who had been keeping up a sharp fire on
the enemy Infection, and was a good deal heated in
consequence, started up when he heard Wrench come in,
and went into the hall to let him know what he thought.
Ill tell you what, Wrench, this is beyond a joke, said
the Mayor, who of late had had to rebuke offenders with
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an official air, and how broadened himself by putting his
thumbs in his armholes. To let fever get unawares into
a house like this. There are some things that ought to be
actionable, and are not so thats my opinion.
But irrational reproaches were easier to bear than the
sense of being instructed, or rather the sense that a
younger man, like Lydgate, inwardly considered him in
need of instruction, for in point of fact, Mr. Wrench
afterwards said, Lydgate paraded flighty, foreign notions,
which would not wear. He swallowed his ire for the
moment, but he afterwards wrote to decline further
attendance in the case. The house might be a good one,
but Mr. Wrench was not going to truckle to anybody on a
professional matter. He reflected, with much probability
on his side, that Lydgate would by-and-by be caught
tripping too, and that his ungentlemanly attempts to
discredit the sale of drugs by his professional brethren,
would by-and-by recoil on himself. He threw out biting
remarks on Lydgates tricks, worthy only of a quack, to get
himself a factitious reputation with credulous people. That
cant about cures was never got up by sound practitioners.
This was a point on which Lydgate smarted as much as
Wrench could desire. To be puffed by ignorance was not
only humiliating, but perilous, and not more enviable than
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the reputation of the weather-prophet. He was impatient
of the foolish expectations amidst which all work must be
carried on, and likely enough to damage himself as much
as Mr. Wrench could wish, by an unprofessional openness.
However, Lydgate was installed as medical attendant on
the Vincys, and the event was a subject of general
conversation in Middlemarch. Some said, that the Vincys
had behaved scandalously, that Mr. Vincy had threatened
Wrench, and that Mrs. Vincy had accused him of
poisoning her son. Others were of opinion that Mr.
Lydgates passing by was providential, that he was
wonderfully clever in fevers, and that Bulstrode was in the
right to bring him forward. Many people believed that
Lydgates coming to the town at all was really due to
Bulstrode; and Mrs. Taft, who was always counting
stitches and gathered her information in misleading
fragments caught between the rows of her knitting, had
got it into her head that Mr. Lydgate was a natural son of
Bulstrodes, a fact which seemed to justify her suspicions
of evangelical laymen.
She one day communicated this piece of knowledge to
Mrs. Farebrother, who did not fail to tell her son of it,
observing
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I should not be surprised at anything in Bulstrode, but
I should be sorry to think it of Mr. Lydgate.
Why, mother, said Mr. Farebrother, after an explosive
laugh, you know very well that Lydgate is of a good
family in the North. He never heard of Bulstrode before
he came here.
That is satisfactory so far as Mr. Lydgate is concerned,
Camden, said the old lady, with an air of precision.But
as to Bulstrode the report may be true of some other
son.
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Chapter XXVII
Let the high Muse chant loves Olympian: We are but
mortals, and must sing of man.
An eminent philosopher among my friends, who can
dignify even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the
serene light of science, has shown me this pregnant little
fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel
made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and
multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now
against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and
lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine
series of concentric circles round that little sun. It is
demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere
impartially and it is only your candle which produces the
flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light
falling with an exclusive optical selection. These things are
a parable. The scratches are events, and the candle is the
egoism of any person now absent of Miss Vincy, for
example. Rosamond had a Providence of her own who
had kindly made her more charming than other girls, and
who seemed to have arranged Freds illness and Mr.
Wrenchs mistake in order to bring her and Lydgate
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Middlemarch
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within effective proximity. It would have been to
contravene these arrangements if Rosamond had
consented to go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as her
parents wished her to do, especially since Mr. Lydgate
thought the precaution needless. Therefore, while Miss
Morgan and the children were sent away to a farmhouse
the morning after Freds illness had declared itself,
Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma.
Poor mamma indeed was an object to touch any
creature born of woman; and Mr. Vincy, who doted on
his wife, was more alarmed on her account than on Freds.
But for his insistence she would have taken no rest: her
brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume
which had always been se fresh and gay, she was like a sick
bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled, her senses
dulled to the sights and sounds that used most to interest
her. Freds delirium, in which he seemed to be wandering
out of her reach, tore her heart. After her first outburst
against-Mr. Wrench she went about very quietly: her one
low cry was to Lydgate. She would follow him out of the
room and put her hand on his arm moaning out, Save my
boy. Once she pleaded, He has always been good to me,
Mr. Lydgate: he never had a hard word for his mother,
as if poor Freds suffering were an accusation against him.
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All the deepest fibres of the mothers memory were
stirred, and the young man whose voice took a gentler
tone when he spoke to her, was one with the babe whom
she had loved, with a love new to her, before he was
born.
I have good hope, Mrs. Vincy, Lydgate would say.
Come down with me and let us talk about the food. In
that way he led her to the parlor where Rosamond was,
and made a change for her, surprising her into taking some
tea or broth which had been prepared for her. There was a
constant understanding between him and Rosamond on
these matters. He almost always saw her before going to
the sickroom, and she appealed to him as to what she
could do for mamma. Her presence of mind and adroitness
in carrying out his hints were admirable, and it is not
wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to
mingle itself with his interest in the case. Especially when
the critical stage was passed, and he began to feel confident
of Freds recovery. In the more doubtful time, he had
advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could, would
rather have remained neutral on Wrenchs account); but
after two consultations, the conduct of the case was left to
Lydgate, and there was every reason to make him
assiduous. Morning and evening he was at Mr. Vincys,
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and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became
simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost
petting but conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if,
after all, the illness had made a festival for her tenderness.
Both father and mother held it an added reason for
good spirits, when old Mr. Featherstone sent messages by
Lydgate, saying that Fred-must make haste and get well, as
he, Peter Featherstone, could not do without him, and
missed his visits sadly. The old man himself was getting
bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these messages to Fred when
he could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate,
pinched face, from which all the thick blond hair had been
cut away, and in which the eyes seemed to have got
larger, yearning for some word about Marywondering
what she felt about his illness. No word passed his lips; but
to hear with eyes belongs to loves rare wit, and the
mother in the fulness of her heart not only divined Freds
longing, but felt ready for any sacrifice in order to satisfy
him.
If I can only see my boy strong again, she said, in her
loving folly; and who knows?perhaps master of Stone
Court! and he can marry anybody he likes then.
Not if they wont have me, mother, said Fred. The
illness had made him childish, and tears came as he spoke.
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Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear, said Mrs. Vincy,
secretly incredulous of any such refusal.
She never left Freds side when her husband was not in
the house, and thus Rosamond was in the unusual position
of being much alone. Lydgate, naturally, never thought of
staying long with her, yet it seemed that the brief
impersonal conversations they had together were creating
that peculiar intimacy which consists in shyness. They
were obliged to look at each other in speaking, and
somehow the looking could not be carried through as the
matter of course which it really was. Lydgate began to feel
this sort of consciousness unpleasant and one day looked
down, or anywhere, like an ill-worked puppet. But this
turned out badly: the next day, Rosamond looked down,
and the consequence was that when their eyes met again,
both were more conscious than before. There was no help
for this in science, and as Lydgate did not want to flirt,
there seemed to be no help for it in folly. It was therefore
a relief when neighbors no longer considered the house in
quarantine, and when the chances of seeing Rosamond
alone were very much reduced.
But that intimacy of mutual embarrassment, in which
each feels that the other is feeling something, having once
existed, its effect is not to be done away with. Talk about
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the weather and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a
hollow device, and behavior can hardly become easy
unless it frankly recognizes a mutual fascinationwhich of
course need not mean anything deep or serious. This was
the way in which Rosamond and Lydgate slid gracefully
into ease, and made their intercourse lively again. Visitors
came and went as usual, there was once more music in the
drawing-room, and all the extra hospitality of Mr. Vincys
mayoralty returned. Lydgate, whenever he could, took his
seat by Rosamonds side, and lingered to hear her music,
calling himself her captivemeaning, all the while, not to
be her captive. The preposterousness of the notion that he
could at once set up a satisfactory establishment as a
married man was a sufficient guarantee against danger.
This play at being a little in love was agreeable, and did
not interfere with graver pursuits. Flirtation, after all, was
not necessarily a singeing process. Rosamond, for her part,
had never enjoyed the days so much in her life before: she
was sure of being admired by some one worth captivating,
and she did not distinguish flirtation from love, either in
herself or in another. She seemed to be sailing with a fair
wind just whither she would go, and her thoughts were
much occupied with a handsome house in Lowick Gate
which she hoped would by-and-by be vacant. She was
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quite determined, when she was married, to rid herself
adroitly of all the visitors who were not agreeable to her at
her fathers; and she imagined the drawing-room in her
favorite house with various styles of furniture.
Certainly her thoughts were much occupied with
Lydgate himself; he seemed to her almost perfect: if he had
known his notes so that his enchantment under her music
had been less like an emotional elephants, and if he had
been able to discriminate better the refinements of her
taste in dress, she could hardly have mentioned a
deficiency in him. How different he was from young
Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Those young men had
not a notion of French, and could speak on no subject
with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and
carrying trades, which of course they were ashamed to
mention; they were Middlemarch gentry, elated with their
silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but embarrassed in
their manners, and timidly jocose: even Fred was above
them, having at least the accent and manner of a university
man. Whereas Lydgate was always listened to, bore himself
with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and
seemed to have the right clothes on by a certain natural
affinity, without ever having to think about them.
Rosamond was proud when he entered the room, and
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when he approached her with a distinguishing smile, she
had a delicious sense that she was the object of enviable
homage. If Lydgate had been aware of all the pride he
excited in that delicate bosom, he might have been just as
well pleased as any other man, even the most densely
ignorant of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he held it
one of the prettiest attitudes of the feminine mind to adore
a mans pre-eminence without too precise a knowledge of
what it consisted in. But Rosamond was not one of those
helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and whose
behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of
being steered by wary grace and propriety. Do you
imagine that her rapid forecast and rumination concerning
house-furniture and society were ever discernible in her
conversation, even with her mamma? On the contrary,
she would have expressed the prettiest surprise and
disapprobation if she had heard that another young lady
had been detected in that immodest prematureness
indeed, would probably have disbelieved in its possibility.
For Rosamond never showed any unbecoming
knowledge, and was always that combination of correct
sentiments, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing,
private album for extracted verse, and perfect blond
loveliness, which made the irresistible woman for the
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doomed man of that date. Think no unfair evil of her,
pray: she had no wicked plots, nothing sordid or
mercenary; in fact, she never thought of money except as
something necessary which other people would always
provide. She was not in the habit of devising falsehoods,
and if her statements were no direct clew to fact, why,
they were not intended in that light they were among
her elegant accomplishments, intended to please. Nature
had inspired many arts in finishing Mrs. Lemons favorite
pupil, who by general consent (Freds excepted) was a rare
compound of beauty, cleverness, and amiability.
Lydgate found it more and more agreeable to be with
her, and there was no constraint now, there was a
delightful interchange of influence in their eyes, and what
they said had that superfluity of meaning for them, which
is observable with some sense of flatness by a third person;
still they had no interviews or asides from which a third
person need have been excluded. In fact, they flirted; and
Lydgate was secure in the belief that they did nothing else.
If a man could not love and be wise, surely he could flirt
and be wise at the same time? Really, the men in
Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were great bores,
and Lydgate did not care about commercial politics or
cards: what was he to do for relaxation? He was often
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invited to the Bulstrodes; but the girls there were hardly
out of the schoolroom; and Mrs. Bulstrodes NAIVE way
of conciliating piety and worldliness, the nothingness of
this life and the desirability of cut glass, the consciousness
at once of filthy rags and the best damask, was not a
sufficient relief from the weight of her husbands invariable
seriousness. The Vincys house, with all its faults, was the
pleasanter by contrast; besides, it nourished Rosamond
sweet to look at as a half-opened blush-rose, and adorned
with accomplishments for the refined amusement of man.
But he made some enemies, other than medical, by his
success with Miss Vincy. One evening he came into the
drawing-room rather late, when several other visitors were
there. The card-table had drawn off the elders, and Mr.
Ned Plymdale (one of the good matches in Middlemarch,
though not one of its leading minds) was in tete-a-tete
with Rosamond. He had brought the last Keepsake, the
gorgeous watered-silk publication which marked modern
progress at that time; and he considered himself very
fortunate that he could be the first to look over it with
her, dwelling on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny
copper-plate cheeks and copper-plate smiles, and pointing
to comic verses as capital and sentimental stories as
interesting. Rosamond was gracious, and Mr. Ned was
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satisfied that he had the very best thing in art and literature
as a medium for paying addressesthe very thing to
please a nice girl. He had also reasons, deep rather than
ostensible, for being satisfied with his own appearance. To
superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect,
looking as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did
indeed cause him some difficulty about the fit of his satin
stocks, for which chins were at that time useful.
I think the Honorable Mrs. S. is something like you,
said Mr. Ned. He kept the book open at the bewitching
portrait, and looked at it rather languishingly.
Her back is very large; she seems to have sat for that,
said Rosamond, not meaning any satire, but thinking how
red young Plymdales hands were, and wondering why
Lydgate did not come. She went on with her tatting all
the while.
I did not say she was as beautiful as you are, said Mr.
Ned, venturing to look from the portrait to its rival.
I suspect you of being an adroit flatterer, said
Rosamond, feeling sure that she should have to reject this
young gentleman a second time.
But now Lydgate came in; the book was closed before
he reached Rosamonds corner, and as he took his seat
with easy confidence on the other side of her, young
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Plymdales jaw fell like a barometer towards the cheerless
side of change. Rosamond enjoyed not only Lydgates
presence but its effect: she liked to excite jealousy.
What a late comer you are! she said, as they shook
hands. Mamma had given you up a little while ago. How
do you find Fred?
As usual; going on well, but slowly. I want him to go
away to Stone Court, for example. But your mamma
seems to have some objection.
Poor fellow! said Rosamond, prettily. You will see
Fred so changed, she added, turning to the other suitor;
we have looked to Mr. Lydgate as our guardian angel
during this illness.
Mr. Ned smiled nervously, while Lydgate, drawing the
Keepsake towards him and opening it, gave a short
scornful laugh and tossed up his chill, as if in wonderment
at human folly.
What are you laughing at so profanely? said
Rosamond, with bland neutrality.
I wonder which would turn out to be the silliestthe
engravings or the writing here, said Lydgate, in his most
convinced tone, while he turned over the pages quickly,
seeming to see all through the book in no time, and
showing his large white hands to much advantage, as
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Rosamond thought. Do look at this bridegroom coming
out of church: did you ever see such a sugared
inventionas the Elizabethans used to say? Did any
haberdasher ever look so smirking? Yet I will answer for it
the story makes him one of the first gentlemen in the
land.
You are so severe, I am frightened at you, said
Rosamond, keeping her amusement duly moderate. Poor
young Plymdale had lingered with admiration over this
very engraving, and his spirit was stirred.
There are a great many celebrated people writing in
the Keepsake, at all events, he said, in a tone at once
piqued and timid. This is the first time I have heard it
called silly.
I think I shall turn round on you and accuse you of
being a Goth, said Rosamond, looking at Lydgate with a
smile. I suspect you know nothing about Lady
Blessington and L. E. L. Rosamond herself was not
without relish for these writers, but she did not readily
commit herself by admiration, and was alive to the
slightest hint that anything was not, according to Lydgate,
in the very highest taste.
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Middlemarch
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But Sir Walter ScottI suppose Mr. Lydgate knows
him, said young Plymdale, a little cheered by this
advantage.
Oh, I read no literature now, said Lydgate, shutting
the book, and pushing it away. I read so much when I
was a lad, that I suppose it will last me all my life. I used to
know Scotts poems by heart.
I should like to know when you left off, said
Rosamond, because then I might be sure that I knew
something which you did not know.
Mr. Lydgate would say that was not worth knowing,
said Mr. Ned, purposely caustic.
On the contrary, said Lydgate, showing no smart; but
smiling with exasperating confidence at Rosamond. It
would be worth knowing by the fact that Miss Vincy
could tell it me.
Young Plymdale soon went to look at the whist-
playing, thinking that Lydgate was one of the most
conceited, unpleasant fellows it had ever been his ill-
fortune to meet.
How rash you are! said Rosamond, inwardly
delighted. Do you see that you have given offence?
What! is it Mr. Plymdales book? I am sorry. I didnt
think about it.
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I shall begin to admit what you said of yourself when
you first came herethat you are a bear, and want
teaching by the birds.
Well, there is a bird who can teach me what she will.
Dont I listen to her willingly?
To Rosamond it seemed as if she and Lydgate were as
good as engaged. That they were some time to be engaged
had long been an idea in her mind; and ideas, we know,
tend to a more solid kind of existence, the necessary
materials being at hand. It is true, Lydgate had the
counter-idea of remaining unengaged; but this was a mere
negative, a shadow east by other resolves which
themselves were capable of shrinking. Circumstance was
almost sure to be on the side of Rosamonds idea, which
had a shaping activity and looked through watchful blue
eyes, whereas Lydgates lay blind and unconcerned as a
jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it.
That evening when he went home, he looked at his
phials to see how a process of maceration was going on,
with undisturbed interest; and he wrote out his daily notes
with as much precision as usual. The reveries from which
it was difficult for him to detach himself were ideal
constructions of something else than Rosamonds virtues,
and the primitive tissue was still his fair unknown.
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Moreover, he was beginning to feel some zest for the
growing though half-suppressed feud between him and
the other medical men, which was likely to become more
manifest, now that Bulstrodes method of managing the
new hospital was about to be declared; and there were
various inspiriting signs that his non-acceptance by some
of Peacocks patients might be counterbalanced by the
impression he had produced in other quarters. Only a few
days later, when he had happened to overtake Rosamond
on the Lowick road and had got down from his horse to
walk by her side until he had quite protected her from a
passing drove, he had been stopped by a servant on
horseback with a message calling him in to a house of
some importance where Peacock had never attended; and
it was the second instance of this kind. The servant was Sir
James Chettams, and the house was Lowick Manor.
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Chapter XXVIII
1st Gent. All times are good to seek your wedded home
Bringing a mutual delight.
2d Gent. Why, true.
The calendar hath not an evil day
For souls made one by love, and even death
Were sweetness, if it came like rolling waves
While they two clasped each other, and foresaw
No life apart.
Mr. and Mrs. Casaubon, returning from their wedding
journey, arrived at Lowick Manor in the middle of
January. A light snow was falling as they descended at the
door, and in the morning, when Dorothea passed from
her dressing-room avenue the blue-green boudoir that we
know of, she saw the long avenue of limes lifting their
trunks from a white earth, and spreading white branches
against the dun and motionless sky. The distant flat shrank
in uniform whiteness and low-hanging uniformity of
cloud. The very furniture in the room seemed to have
shrunk since she saw it before: the slag in the tapestry
looked more like a ghost in his ghostly blue-green world;
the volumes of polite literature in the bookcase looked
morn like immovable imitations of books. The bright fire
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of dry oak-boughs burning on the dogs seemed an
incongruous renewal of life and glowlike the figure of
Dorothea herself as she entered carrying the red-leather
cases containing the cameos for Celia.
She was glowing from her morning toilet as only
healthful youth can glow: there was gem-like brightness
on her coiled hair and in her hazel eyes; there was warm
red life in her lips; her throat had a breathing whiteness
above the differing white of the fur which itself seemed to
wind about her neck and cling down her blue-gray pelisse
with a tenderness gathered from her own, a sentient
commingled innocence which kept its loveliness against
the crystalline purity of the outdoor snow. As she laid the
cameo- cases on the table in the bow-window, she
unconsciously kept her hands on them, immediately
absorbed in looking out on the still, white enclosure
which made her visible world.
Mr. Casaubon, who had risen early complaining of
palpitation, was in the library giving audience to his curate
Mr. Tucker. By-and-by Celia would come in her quality
of bridesmaid as well as sister, and through the next weeks
there would be wedding visits received and given; all in
continuance of that transitional life understood to
correspond with the excitement of bridal felicity, and
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keeping up the sense of busy ineffectiveness, as of a dream
which the dreamer begins to suspect. The duties of her
married life, contemplated as so great beforehand, seemed
to be shrinking with the furniture and the white vapor-
walled landscape. The clear heights where she expected to
walk in full communion had become difficult to see even
in her imagination; the delicious repose of the soul on a
complete superior had been shaken into uneasy effort and
alarmed with dim presentiment. When would the days
begin of that active wifely devotion which was to
strengthen her husbands life and exalt her own? Never
perhaps, as she had preconceived them; but somehow
still somehow. In this solemnly pledged union of her life,
duty would present itself in some new form of inspiration
and give a new meaning to wifely love.
Meanwhile there was the snow and the low arch of
dun vapor there was the stifling oppression of that
gentlewomans world, where everything was done for her
and none asked for her aid where the sense of
connection with a manifold pregnant existence had to be
kept up painfully as an inward vision, instead of coming
from without in claims that would have shaped her
energies. What shall I do? Whatever you please, my
dear: that had been her brief history since she had left off
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learning morning lessons and practising silly rhythms on
the hated piano. Marriage, which was to bring guidance
into worthy and imperative occupation, had not yet freed
her from the gentlewomans oppressive liberty: it had not
even filled her leisure with the ruminant joy of unchecked
tenderness. Her blooming full-pulsed youth stood there in
a moral imprisonment which made itself one with the
chill, colorless, narrowed landscape, with the shrunken
furniture, the never-read books, and the ghostly stag in a
pale fantastic world that seemed to be vanishing from the
daylight.
In the first minutes when Dorothea looked out she felt
nothing but the dreary oppression; then came a keen
remembrance, and turning away from the window she
walked round the room. The ideas and hopes which were
living in her mind when she first saw this room nearly
three months before were present now only as memories:
she judged them as we judge transient and departed things.
All existence seemed to beat with a lower pulse than her
own, and her religious faith was a solitary cry, the struggle
out of a nightmare in which every object was withering
and shrinking away from her. Each remembered thing in
the room was disenchanted, was deadened as an unlit
transparency, till her wandering gaze came to the group of
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miniatures, and there at last she saw something which had
gathered new breath and meaning: it was the miniature of
Mr. Casaubons aunt Julia, who had made the unfortunate
marriage of Will Ladislaws grandmother. Dorothea
could fancy that it was alive nowthe delicate womans
face which yet had a headstrong look, a peculiarity
difficult to interpret. Was it only her friends who thought
her marriage unfortunate? or did she herself find it out to
be a mistake, and taste the salt bitterness of her tears in the
merciful silence of the night? What breadths of experience
Dorothea seemed to have passed over since she first
looked at this miniature! She felt a new companionship
with it, as if it had an ear for her and could see how she
was looking at it. Here was a woman who had known
some difficulty about marriage. Nay, the colors deepened,
the lips and chin seemed to get larger, the hair and eyes
seemed to be sending out light, the face was masculine and
beamed on her with that full gaze which tells her on
whom it falls that she is too interesting for the slightest
movement of her eyelid to pass unnoticed and
uninterpreted. The vivid presentation came like a pleasant
glow to Dorothea: she felt herself smiling, and turning
from the miniature sat down and looked up as if she were
again talking to a figure in front of her. But the smile
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disappeared as she went on meditating, and at last she said
aloud
Oh, it was cruel to speak so! How sadhow dreadful!
She rose quickly and went out of the room, hurrying
along the corridor, with the irresistible impulse to go and
see her husband and inquire if she could do anything for
him. Perhaps Mr. Tucker was gone and Mr. Casaubon
was alone in the library. She felt as if all her mornings
gloom would vanish if she could see her husband glad
because of her presence.
But when she reached the head of the dark oak there
was Celia coming up, and below there was Mr. Brooke,
exchanging welcomes and congratulations with Mr.
Casaubon.
Dodo! said Celia, in her quiet staccato; then kissed her
sister, whose arms encircled her, and said no more. I think
they both cried a little in a furtive manner, while
Dorothea ran down-stairs to greet her uncle.
I need not ask how you are, my dear, said Mr.
Brooke, after kissing her forehead. Rome has agreed with
you, I seehappiness, frescos, the antiquethat sort of
thing. Well, its very pleasant to have you back again, and
you understand all about art now, eh? But Casaubon is a
little pale, I tell hima little pale, you know. Studying
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hard in his holidays is carrying it rather too far. I overdid it
at one timeMr. Brooke still held Dorotheas hand, but
had turned his face to Mr. Casaubonabout topography,
ruins, templesI thought I had a clew, but I saw it would
carry me too far, and nothing might come of it. You may
go any length in that sort of thing, and nothing may come
of it, you know.
Dorotheas eyes also were turned up to her husbands
face with some anxiety at the idea that those who saw him
afresh after absence might be aware of signs which she had
not noticed.
Nothing to alarm you, my dear, said Mr. Brooke,
observing her expression. A little English beef and mutton
will soon make a difference. It was all very well to look
pale, sitting for the portrait of Aquinas, you knowwe
got your letter just in time. But Aquinas, nowhe was a
little too subtle, wasnt he? Does anybody read Aquinas?
He is not indeed an author adapted to superficial
minds, said Mr. Casaubon, meeting these timely questions
with dignified patience.
You would like coffee in your own room, uncle? said
Dorothea, coming to the rescue.
Yes; and you must go to Celia: she has great news to
tell you, you know. I leave it all to her.
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The blue-green boudoir looked much more cheerful
when Celia was seated there in a pelisse exactly like her
sisters, surveying the cameos with a placid satisfaction,
while the conversation passed on to other topics.
Do you think it nice to go to Rome on a wedding
journey? said Celia, with her ready delicate blush which
Dorothea was used to on the smallest occasions.
It would not suit allnot you, dear, for example, said
Dorothea, quietly. No one would ever know what she
thought of a wedding journey to Rome.
Mrs. Cadwallader says it is nonsense, people going a
long journey when they are married. She says they get
tired to death of each other, and cant quarrel comfortably,
as they would at home. And Lady Chettam says she went
to Bath. Celias color changed again and againseemed
To come and go with tidings from the heart, As it a
running messenger had been.
It must mean more than Celias blushing usually did.
Celia! has something happened? said Dorothea, in a
tone full of sisterly feeling. Have you really any great
news to tell me?
It was because you went away, Dodo. Then there was
nobody but me for Sir James to talk to, said Celia, with a
certain roguishness in her eyes.
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I understand. It is as I used to hope and believe, said
Dorothea, taking her sisters face between her hands, and
looking at her half anxiously. Celias marriage seemed
more serious than it used to do.
It was only three days ago, said Celia. And Lady
Chettam is very kind.
And you are very happy?
Yes. We are not going to be married yet. Because
every thing is to be got ready. And I dont want to be
married so very soon, because I think it is nice to be
engaged. And we shall be married all our lives after.
I do believe you could not marry better, Kitty. Sir
James is a good, honorable man, said Dorothea, warmly.
He has gone on with the cottages, Dodo. He will tell
you about them when he comes. Shall you be glad to see
him?
Of course I shall. How can you ask me?
Only I was afraid you would be getting so learned,
said Celia, regarding Mr. Casaubons learning as a kind of
damp which might in due time saturate a neighboring
body.
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Middlemarch
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Chapter XXIX
I found that no genius in another could please me. My
unfortunate paradoxes had entirely dried up that source of
comfort.GOLDSMITH.
One morning, some weeks after her arrival at Lowick,
Dorothea but why always Dorothea? Was her point of
view the only possible one with regard to this marriage?
protest against all our interest, all our effort at
understanding being given to the young skins that look
blooming in spite of trouble; for these too will get faded,
and will know the older and more eating griefs which we
are helping to neglect. In spite of the blinking eyes and
white moles objectionable to Celia, and the want of
muscular curve which was morally painful to Sir James,
Mr. Casaubon had an intense consciousness within him,
and was spiritually a-hungered like the rest of us. He had
done nothing exceptional in marryingnothing but what
society sanctions, and considers an occasion for wreaths
and bouquets. It had occurred to him that he must not any
longer defer his intention of matrimony, and he had
reflected that in taking a wife, a man of good position
should expect and carefully choose a blooming young
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ladythe younger the better, because more educable and
submissiveof a rank equal to his own, of religious
principles, virtuous disposition, and good understanding.
On such a young lady he would make handsome
settlements, and he would neglect no arrangement for her
happiness: in return, he should receive family pleasures and
leave behind him that copy of himself which seemed so
urgently required of a man to the sonneteers of the
sixteenth century. Times had altered since then, and no
sonneteer had insisted on Mr. Casaubons leaving a copy
of himself; moreover, he had not yet succeeded in issuing
copies of his mythological key; but he had always intended
to acquit himself by marriage, and the sense that he was
fast leaving the years behind him, that the world was
getting dimmer and that he felt lonely, was a reason to
him for losing no more time in overtaking domestic
delights before they too were left behind by the years.
And when he had seen Dorothea he believed that he
had found even more than he demanded: she might really
be such a helpmate to him as would enable him to
dispense with a hired secretary, an aid which Mr.
Casaubon had never yet employed and had a suspicious
dread of. (Mr. Casaubon was nervously conscious that he
was expected to manifest a powerful mind.) Providence, in
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its kindness, had supplied him with the wife he needed. A
wife, a modest young lady, with the purely appreciative,
unambitious abilities of her sex, is sure to think her
husbands mind powerful. Whether Providence had taken
equal care of Miss Brooke in presenting her with Mr.
Casaubon was an idea which could hardly occur to him.
Society never made the preposterous demand that a man
should think as much about his own qualifications for
making a charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for
making himself happy. As if a man could choose not only
his wife hut his wifes husband! Or as if he were bound to
provide charms for his posterity in his own person!
When Dorothea accepted him with effusion, that was only
natural; and Mr. Casaubon believed that his happiness was
going to begin.
He had not had much foretaste of happiness in his
previous life. To know intense joy without a strong bodily
frame, one must have an enthusiastic soul. Mr. Casaubon
had never had a strong bodily frame, and his soul was
sensitive without being enthusiastic: it was too languid to
thrill out of self-consciousness into passionate delight; it
went on fluttering in the swampy ground where it was
hatched, thinking of its wings and never flying. His
experience was of that pitiable kind which shrinks from
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pity, and fears most of all that it should be known: it was
that proud narrow sensitiveness which has not mass
enough to spare for transformation into sympathy, and
quivers thread-like in small currents of self-preoccupation
or at best of an egoistic scrupulosity. And Mr. Casaubon
had many scruples: he was capable of a severe self-
restraint; he was resolute in being a man of honor
according to the code; he would be unimpeachable by any
recognized opinion. In conduct these ends had been
attained; but the difficulty of making his Key to all
Mythologies unimpeachable weighed like lead upon his
mind; and the pamphletsor Parerga as he called
themby which he tested his public and deposited small
monumental records of his march, were far from having
been seen in all their significance. He suspected the
Archdeacon of not having read them; he was in painful
doubt as to what was really thought of them by the
leading minds of Brasenose, and bitterly convinced that his
old acquaintance Carp had been the writer of that
depreciatory recension which was kept locked in a small
drawer of Mr. Casaubons desk, and also in a dark closet of
his verbal memory. These were heavy impressions to
struggle against, and brought that melancholy
embitterment which is the consequence of all excessive
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claim: even his religious faith wavered with his wavering
trust in his own authorship, and the consolations of the
Christian hope in immortality seemed to lean on the
immortality of the still unwritten Key to all Mythologies.
For my part I am very sorry for him. It is an uneasy lot at
best, to be what we call highly taught and yet not to
enjoy: to be present at this great spectacle of life and never
to be liberated from a small hungry shivering self never
to be fully possessed by the glory we behold, never to
have our consciousness rapturously transformed into the
vividness of a thought, the ardor of a passion, the energy
of an action, but always to be scholarly and uninspired,
ambitious and timid, scrupulous and dim-sighted.
Becoming a dean or even a bishop would make little
difference, I fear, to Mr. Casaubons uneasiness. Doubtless
some ancient Greek has observed that behind the big mask
and the speaking-trumpet, there must always be our poor
little eyes peeping as usual and our timorous lips more or
less under anxious control.
To this mental estate mapped out a quarter of a century
before, to sensibilities thus fenced in, Mr. Casaubon had
thought of annexing happiness with a lovely young bride;
but even before marriage, as we have seen, he found
himself under a new depression in the consciousness that
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the new bliss was not blissful to him. Inclination yearned
back to its old, easier custom. And the deeper he went in
domesticity the more did the sense of acquitting himself
and acting with propriety predominate over any other
satisfaction. Marriage, like religion and erudition, nay, like
authorship itself, was fated to become an outward
requirement, and Edward Casaubon was bent on fulfilling
unimpeachably all requirements. Even drawing Dorothea
into use in his study, according to his own intention
before marriage, was an effort which he was always
tempted to defer, and but for her pleading insistence it
might never have begun. But she had succeeded in
making it a matter of course that she should take her place
at an early hour in the library and have work either of
reading aloud or copying assigned her. The work had
been easier to define because Mr. Casaubon had adopted
an immediate intention: there was to be a new Parergon, a
small monograph on some lately traced indications
concerning the Egyptian mysteries whereby certain
assertions of Warburtons could be corrected. References
were extensive even here, but not altogether shoreless; and
sentences were actually to be written in the shape wherein
they would be scanned by Brasenose and a less formidable
posterity. These minor monumental productions were
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always exciting to Mr. Casaubon; digestion was made
difficult by the interference of citations, or by the rivalry
of dialectical phrases ringing against each other in his
brain. And from the first there was to be a Latin dedication
about which everything was uncertain except that it was
not to be addressed to Carp: it was a poisonous regret to
Mr. Casaubon that he had once addressed a dedication to
Carp in which he had numbered that member of the
animal kingdom among the viros nullo aevo perituros, a
mistake which would infallibly lay the dedicator open to
ridicule in the next age, and might even be chuckled over
by Pike and Tench in the present.
Thus Mr. Casaubon was in one of his busiest epochs,
and as I began to say a little while ago, Dorothea joined
him early in the library where he had breakfasted alone.
Celia at this time was on a second visit to Lowick,
probably the last before her marriage, and was in the
drawing-room expecting Sir James.
Dorothea had learned to read the signs of her husbands
mood, and she saw that the morning had become more
foggy there during the last hour. She was going silently to
her desk when he said, in that distant tone which implied
that he was discharging a disagreeable duty
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Dorothea, here is a letter for you, which was enclosed
in one addressed to me.
It was a letter of two pages, and she immediately
looked at the signature.
Mr. Ladislaw! What can he have to say to me? she
exclaimed, in a tone of pleased surprise. But, she added,
looking at Mr. Casaubon, I can imagine what he has
written to you about.
You can, if you please, read the letter, said Mr.
Casaubon, severely pointing to it with his pen, and not
looking at her. But I may as well say beforehand, that I
must decline the proposal it contains to pay a visit here. I
trust I may be excused for desiring an interval of complete
freedom from such distractions as have been hitherto
inevitable, and especially from guests whose desultory
vivacity makes their presence a fatigue.
There had been no clashing of temper between
Dorothea and her husband since that little explosion in
Rome, which had left such strong traces in her mind that
it had been easier ever since to quell emotion than to
incur the consequence of venting it. But this ill-tempered
anticipation that she could desire visits which might be
disagreeable to her husband, this gratuitous defence of
himself against selfish complaint on her part, was too sharp
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a sting to be meditated on until after it had been resented.
Dorothea had thought that she could have been patient
with John Milton, but she had never imagined him
behaving in this way; and for a moment Mr. Casaubon
seemed to be stupidly undiscerning and odiously unjust.
Pity, that new-born babe which was by-and-by to rule
many a storm within her, did not stride the blast on this
occasion. With her first words, uttered in a tone that
shook him, she startled Mr. Casaubon into looking at her,
and meeting the flash of her eyes.
Why do you attribute to me a wish for anything that
would annoy you? You speak to me as if I were
something you had to contend against. Wait at least till I
appear to consult my own pleasure apart from yours.
Dorothea, you are hasty, answered Mr. Casaubon,
nervously.
Decidedly, this woman was too young to be on the
formidable level of wifehoodunless she had been pale
and feature less and taken everything for granted.
I think it was you who were first hasty in your false
suppositions about my feeling, said Dorothea, in the same
tone. The fire was not dissipated yet, and she thought it
was ignoble in her husband not to apologize to her.
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We will, if you please, say no more on this subject,
Dorothea. I have neither leisure nor energy for this kind
of debate.
Here Mr. Casaubon dipped his pen and made as if he
would return to his writing, though his hand trembled so
much that the words seemed to be written in an unknown
character. There are answers which, in turning away
wrath, only send it to the other end of the room, and to
have a discussion coolly waived when you feel that justice
is all on your own side is even more exasperating in
marriage than in philosophy.
Dorothea left Ladislaws two letters unread on her
husbands writing-table and went to her own place, the
scorn and indignation within her rejecting the reading of
these letters, just as we hurl away any trash towards which
we seem to have been suspected of mean cupidity. She did
not in the least divine the subtle sources of her husbands
bad temper about these letters: she only knew that they
had caused him to offend her. She began to work at once,
and her hand did not tremble; on the contrary, in writing
out the quotations which had been given to her the day
before, she felt that she was forming her letters beautifully,
and it seemed to her that she saw the construction of the
Latin she was copying, and which she was beginning to
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understand, more clearly than usual. In her indignation
there was a sense of superiority, but it went out for the
present in firmness of stroke, and did not compress itself
into an inward articulate voice pronouncing the once
affable archangel a poor creature.
There had been this apparent quiet for half an hour,
and Dorothea had not looked away from her own table,
when she heard the loud bang of a book on the floor, and
turning quickly saw Mr. Casaubon on the library steps
clinging forward as if he were in some bodily distress. She
started up and bounded towards him in an instant: he was
evidently in great straits for breath. Jumping on a stool she
got close to his elbow and said with her whole soul melted
into tender alarm
Can you lean on me, dear?
He was still for two or three minutes, which seemed
endless to her, unable to speak or move, gasping for
breath. When at last he descended the three steps and fell
backward in the large chair which Dorothea had drawn
close to the foot of the ladder, he no longer gasped but
seemed helpless and about to faint. Dorothea rang the bell
violently, and presently Mr. Casaubon was helped to the
couch: he did not faint, and was gradually reviving, when
Sir James Chettam came in, having been met in the hall
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with the news that Mr. Casaubon had had a fit in the
library.
Good God! this is just what might have been
expected, was his immediate thought. If his prophetic
soul had been urged to particularize, it seemed to him that
fits would have been the definite expression alighted
upon. He asked his informant, the butler, whether the
doctor had been sent for. The butler never knew his
master want the doctor before; but would it not be right
to send for a physician?
When Sir James entered the library, however, Mr.
Casaubon could make some signs of his usual politeness,
and Dorothea, who in the reaction from her first terror
had been kneeling and sobbing by his side now rose and
herself proposed that some one should ride off for a
medical man.
I recommend you to send for Lydgate, said Sir James.
My mother has called him in, and she has found him
uncommonly clever. She has had a poor opinion of the
physicians since my fathers death.
Dorothea appealed to her husband, and he made a
silent sign of approval. So Mr. Lydgate was sent for and he
came wonderfully soon, for the messenger, who was Sir
James Chettams man and knew Mr. Lydgate, met him
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Middlemarch
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leading his horse along the Lowick road and giving his
arm to Miss Vincy.
Celia, in the drawing-room, had known nothing of the
trouble till Sir James told her of it. After Dorotheas
account, he no longer considered the illness a fit, but still
something of that nature.
Poor dear Dodohow dreadful! said Celia, feeling as
much grieved as her own perfect happiness would allow.
Her little hands were clasped, and enclosed by Sir Jamess
as a bud is enfolded by a liberal calyx. It is very shocking
that Mr. Casaubon should be ill; but I never did like him.
And I think he is not half fond enough of Dorothea; and
he ought to be, for I am sure no one else would have had
him do you think they would?
I always thought it a horrible sacrifice of your sister,
said Sir James.
Yes. But poor Dodo never did do what other people
do, and I think she never will.
She is a noble creature, said the loyal-hearted Sir
James. He had just had a fresh impression of this kind, as
he had seen Dorothea stretching her tender arm under her
husbands neck and looking at him with unspeakable
sorrow. He did not know how much penitence there was
in the sorrow.
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Yes, said Celia, thinking it was very well for Sir James
to say so, but HE would not have been comfortable with
Dodo. Shall I go to her? Could I help her, do you think?
I think it would be well for you just to go and see her
before Lydgate comes, said Sir James, magnanimously.
Only dont stay long.
While Celia was gone he walked up and down
remembering what he had originally felt about Dorotheas
engagement, and feeling a revival of his disgust at Mr.
Brookes indifference. If Cadwallader if every one else
had regarded the affair as he, Sir James, had done, the
marriage might have been hindered. It was wicked to let a
young girl blindly decide her fate in that way, without any
effort to save her. Sir James had long ceased to have any
regrets on his own account: his heart was satisfied with his
engagement to Celia. But he had a chivalrous nature (was
not the disinterested service of woman among the ideal
glories of old chivalry?): his disregarded love had not
turned to bitterness; its death had made sweet odors
floating memories that clung with a consecrating effect to
Dorothea. He could remain her brotherly friend,
interpreting her actions with generous trustfulness.
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Chapter XXX
"Qui veut delasser hors de propos, lasse.
PASCAL.
Mr. Casaubon had no second attack of equal severity
with the first, and in a few days began to recover his usual
condition. But Lydgate seemed to think the case worth a
great deal of attention. He not only used his stethoscope
(which had not become a matter of course in practice at
that time), but sat quietly by his patient and watched him.
To Mr. Casaubons questions about himself, he replied
that the source of the illness was the common error of
intellectual mena too eager and monotonous
application: the remedy was, to be satisfied with moderate
work, and to seek variety of relaxation. Mr. Brooke, who
sat by on one occasion, suggested that Mr. Casaubon
should go fishing, as Cadwallader did, and have a turning-
room, make toys, table-legs, and that kind of thing.
In short, you recommend me to anticipate the arrival
of my second childhood, said poor Mr. Casaubon, with
some bitterness. These things, he added, looking at
Lydgate, would be to me such relaxation as tow-picking
is to prisoners in a house of correction.
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I confess, said Lydgate, smiling, amusement is rather
an unsatisfactory prescription. It is something like telling
people to keep up their spirits. Perhaps I had better say,
that you must submit to be mildly bored rather than to go
on working.
Yes, yes, said Mr. Brooke. Get Dorothea to play
back. gammon with you in the evenings. And shuttlecock,
nowI dont know a finer game than shuttlecock for the
daytime. I remember it all the fashion. To be sure, your
eyes might not stand that, Casaubon. But you must
unbend, you know. Why, you might take to some light
study: conchology, now: it always think that must be a
light study. Or get Dorothea to read you light things,
SmollettRoderick Random, Humphrey Clinker: they
are a little broad, but she may read anything now shes
married, you know. I remember they made me laugh
uncommonlytheres a droll bit about a postilions
breeches. We have no such humor now. I have gone
through all these things, but they might be rather new to
you.
As new as eating thistles, would have been an answer
to represent Mr. Casaubons feelings. But he only bowed
resignedly, with due respect to his wifes uncle, and
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observed that doubtless the works he mentioned had
served as a resource to a certain order of minds.
You see, said the able magistrate to Lydgate, when
they were outside the door, Casaubon has been a little
narrow: it leaves him rather at a loss when you forbid him
his particular work, which I believe is something very
deep indeedin the line of research, you know. I would
never give way to that; I was always versatile. But a
clergyman is tied a little tight. If they would make him a
bishop, now!he did a very good pamphlet for Peel. He
would have more movement then, more show; he might
get a little flesh. But I recommend you to talk to Mrs.
Casaubon. She is clever enough for anything, is my niece.
Tell her, her husband wants liveliness, diversion: put her
on amusing tactics.
Without Mr. Brookes advice, Lydgate had determined
on speaking to Dorothea. She had not been present while
her uncle was throwing out his pleasant suggestions as to
the mode in which life at Lowick might be enlivened, but
she was usually by her husbands side, and the unaffected
signs of intense anxiety in her face and voice about
whatever touched his mind or health, made a drama
which Lydgate was inclined to watch. He said to himself
that he was only doing right in telling her the truth about
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her husbands probable future, but he certainly thought
also that it would be interesting to talk confidentially with
her. A medical man likes to make psychological
observations, and sometimes in the pursuit of such studies
is too easily tempted into momentous prophecy which life
and death easily set at nought. Lydgate had often been
satirical on this gratuitous prediction, and he meant now
to be guarded.
He asked for Mrs. Casaubon, but being told that she
was out walking, he was going away, when Dorothea and
Celia appeared, both glowing from their struggle with the
March wind. When Lydgate begged to speak with her
alone, Dorothea opened the library door which happened
to be the nearest, thinking of nothing at the moment but
what he might have to say about Mr. Casaubon. It was the
first time she had entered this room since her husband had
been taken ill, and the servant had chosen not to open the
shutters. But there was light enough to read by from the
narrow upper panes of the windows.
You will not mind this sombre light, said Dorothea,
standing in the middle of the room. Since you forbade
books, the library has been out of the question. But Mr.
Casaubon will soon be here again, I hope. Is he not
making progress?
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Yes, much more rapid progress than I at first expected.
Indeed, he is already nearly in his usual state of health.
You do not fear that the illness will return? said
Dorothea, whose quick ear had detected some significance
in Lydgates tone.
Such cases are peculiarly difficult to pronounce upon,
said Lydgate. The only point on which I can be confident
is that it will be desirable to be very watchful on Mr.
Casaubons account, lest he should in any way strain his
nervous power.
I beseech you to speak quite plainly, said Dorothea, in
an imploring tone. I cannot bear to think that there might
be something which I did not know, and which, if I had
known it, would have made me act differently. The
words came out like a cry: it was evident that they were
the voice of some mental experience which lay not very
far off.
Sit down, she added, placing herself on the nearest
chair, and throwing off her bonnet and gloves, with an
instinctive discarding of formality where a great question
of destiny was concerned.
What you say now justifies my own view, said
Lydgate. I think it is ones function as a medical man to
hinder regrets of that sort as far as possible. But I beg you
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to observe that Mr. Casaubons case is precisely of the
kind in which the issue is most difficult to pronounce
upon. He may possibly live for fifteen years or more,
without much worse health than he has had hitherto.
Dorothea had turned very pale, and when Lydgate
paused she said in a low voice, You mean if we are very
careful.
Yescareful against mental agitation of all kinds, and
against excessive application.
He would be miserable, if he had to give up his work,
said Dorothea, with a quick prevision of that
wretchedness.
I am aware of that. The only course is to try by all
means, direct and indirect, to moderate and vary his
occupations. With a happy concurrence of circumstances,
there is, as I said, no immediate danger from that affection
of the heart, which I believe to have been the cause of his
late attack. On the other hand, it is possible that the
disease may develop itself more rapidly: it is one of those
eases in which death is sometimes sudden. Nothing should
be neglected which might be affected by such an issue.
There was silence for a few moments, while Dorothea
sat as if she had been turned to marble, though the life
within her was so intense that her mind had never before
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swept in brief time over an equal range of scenes and
motives.
Help me, pray, she said, at last, in the same low voice
as before. Tell me what I can do.
What do you think of foreign travel? You have been
lately in Rome, I think.
The memories which made this resource utterly
hopeless were a new current that shook Dorothea out of
her pallid immobility.
Oh, that would not dothat would be worse than
anything, she said with a more childlike despondency,
while the tears rolled down. Nothing will be of any use
that he does not enjoy.
I wish that I could have spared you this pain, said
Lydgate, deeply touched, yet wondering about her
marriage. Women just like Dorothea had not entered into
his traditions.
It was right of you to tell me. I thank you for telling
me the truth.
I wish you to understand that I shall not say anything
to enlighten Mr. Casaubon himself. I think it desirable for
him to know nothing more than that he must not
overwork him self, and must observe certain rules.
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Anxiety of any kind would be precisely the most
unfavorable condition for him.
Lydgate rose, and Dorothea mechanically rose at the
same time? unclasping her cloak and throwing it off as if it
stifled her. He was bowing and quitting her, when an
impulse which if she had been alone would have turned
into a prayer, made her say with a sob in her voice
Oh, you are a wise man, are you not? You know all
about life and death. Advise me. Think what I can do. He
has been laboring all his life and looking forward. He
minds about nothing else. And I mind about nothing
else
For years after Lydgate remembered the impression
produced in him by this involuntary appealthis cry from
soul to soul, without other consciousness than their
moving with kindred natures in the same embroiled
medium, the same troublous fitfully illuminated life. But
what could he say now except that he should see Mr.
Casaubon again to-morrow?
When he was gone, Dorotheas tears gushed forth, and
relieved her stifling oppression. Then she dried her eyes,
reminded that her distress must not be betrayed to her
husband; and looked round the room thinking that she
must order the servant to attend to it as usual, since Mr.
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Casaubon might now at any moment wish to enter. On
his writing-table there were letters which had lain
untouched since the morning when he was taken ill, and
among them, as Dorothea. well remembered, there were
young Ladislaws letters, the one addressed to her still
unopened. The associations of these letters had been made
the more painful by that sudden attack of illness which she
felt that the agitation caused by her anger might have
helped to bring on: it would be time enough to read them
when they were again thrust upon her, and she had had
no inclination to fetch them from the library. But now it
occurred to her that they should be put out of her
husbands sight: whatever might have been the sources of
his annoyance about them, he must, if possible, not be
annoyed again; and she ran her eyes first over the letter
addressed to him to assure herself whether or not it would
be necessary to write in order to hinder the offensive visit.
Will wrote from Rome, and began by saying that his
obligations to Mr. Casaubon were too deep for all thanks
not to seem impertinent. It was plain that if he were not
grateful, he must be the poorest-spirited rascal who had
ever found a generous friend. To expand in wordy thanks
would be like saying, I am honest. But Will had come to
perceive that his defectsdefects which Mr. Casaubon
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had himself often pointed toneeded for their correction
that more strenuous position which his relatives
generosity had hitherto prevented from being inevitable.
He trusted that he should make the best return, if return
were possible, by showing the effectiveness of the
education for which he was indebted, and by ceasing in
future to need any diversion towards himself of funds on
which others might have a better claim. He was coming to
England, to try his fortune, as many other young men
were obliged to do whose only capital was in their brains.
His friend Naumann had desired him to take charge of the
Disputethe picture painted for Mr. Casaubon, with
whose permission, and Mrs. Casaubons, Will would
convey it to Lowick in person. A letter addressed to the
Poste Restante in Paris within the fortnight would hinder
him, if necessary, from arriving at an inconvenient
moment. He enclosed a letter to Mrs. Casaubon in which
he continued a discussion about art, begun with her in
Rome.
Opening her own letter Dorothea saw that it was a
lively continuation of his remonstrance with her fanatical
sympathy and her want of sturdy neutral delight in things
as they werean outpouring of his young vivacity which
it was impossible to read just now. She had immediately to
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Middlemarch
520 of 1492
consider what was to be done about the other letter: there
was still time perhaps to prevent Will from coming to
Lowick. Dorothea ended by giving the letter to her uncle,
who was still in the house, and begging him to let Will
know that Mr. Casaubon had been ill, and that his health
would not allow the reception of any visitors.
No one more ready than Mr. Brooke to write a letter:
his only difficulty was to write a short one, and his ideas in
this case expanded over the three large pages and the
inward foldings. He had simply said to Dorothea
To be sure, I will write, my dear. Hes a very clever
young fellow this young LadislawI dare say will be a
rising young man. Its a good lettermarks his sense of
things, you know. However, I will tell him about
Casaubon.
But the end of Mr. Brookes pen was a thinking organ,
evolving sentences, especially of a benevolent kind, before
the rest of his mind could well overtake them. It expressed
regrets and proposed remedies, which, when Mr. Brooke
read them, seemed felicitously worded surprisingly the
right thing, and determined a sequel which he had never
before thought of. In this case, his pen found it such a pity
young Ladislaw should not have come into the
neighborhood. just at that time, in order that Mr. Brooke
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might make his acquaintance more fully, and that they
might go over the long-neglected Italian drawings
togetherit also felt such an interest in a young man who
was starting in life with a stock of ideasthat by the end
of the second page it had persuaded Mr. Brooke to invite
young Ladislaw, since he could not be received at Lowick,
to come to Tipton Grange. Why not? They could find a
great many things to do together, and this was a period of
peculiar growththe political horizon was expanding,
andin short, Mr. Brookes pen went off into a little
speech which it had lately reported for that imperfectly
edited organ the Middlemarch Pioneer. While Mr.
Brooke was sealing this letter, he felt elated with an influx
of dim projects:a young man capable of putting ideas
into form, the Pioneer purchased to clear the pathway for
a new candidate, documents utilizedwho knew what
might come of it all? Since Celia was going to marry
immediately, it would be very pleasant to have a young
fellow at table with him, at least for a time.
But he went away without telling Dorothea what he
had put into the letter, for she was engaged with her
husband, andin fact, these things were of no importance
to her.
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Chapter XXXI
How will you know the pitch of that great bell
Too large for you to stir? Let but a flute
Play neath the fine-mixed metal listen close
Till the right note flows forth, a silvery rill.
Then shall the huge bell tremblethen the mass
With myriad waves concurrent shall respond
In low soft unison.
Lydgate that evening spoke to Miss Vincy of Mrs.
Casaubon, and laid some emphasis on the strong feeling
she appeared to have for that formal studious man thirty
years older than herself.
Of course she is devoted to her husband, said
Rosamond, implying a notion of necessary sequence
which the scientific man regarded as the prettiest possible
for a woman; but she was thinking at the same time that it
was not so very melancholy to be mistress of Lowick
Manor with a husband likely to die soon. Do you think
her very handsome?
She certainly is handsome, but I have not thought
about it, said Lydgate.
I suppose it would be unprofessional, said Rosamond,
dimpling. But how your practice is spreading! You were
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called in before to the Chettams, I think; and now, the
Casaubons.
Yes, said Lydgate, in a tone of compulsory admission.
But I dont really like attending such people so well as the
poor. The cases are more monotonous, and one has to go
through more fuss and listen more deferentially to
nonsense.
Not more than in Middlemarch, said Rosamond.
And at least you go through wide corridors and have the
scent of rose-leaves everywhere.
That is true, Mademoiselle de Montmorenci, said
Lydgate, just bending his head to the table and lifting with
his fourth finger her delicate handkerchief which lay at the
mouth of her reticule, as if to enjoy its scent, while he
looked at her with a smile.
But this agreeable holiday freedom with which Lydgate
hovered about the flower of Middlemarch, could not
continue indefinitely. It was not more possible to find
social isolation in that town than elsewhere, and two
people persistently flirting could by no means escape from
the various entanglements, weights, blows, clashings,
motions, by which things severally go on. Whatever Miss
Vincy did must be remarked, and she was perhaps the
more conspicuous to admirers and critics because just now
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Mrs. Vincy, after some struggle, had gone with Fred to
stay a little while at Stone Court, there being no other
way of at once gratifying old Featherstone and keeping
watch against Mary Garth, who appeared a less tolerable
daughter-in-law in proportion as Freds illness disappeared.
Aunt Bulstrode, for example, came a little oftener into
Lowick Gate to see Rosamond, now she was alone. For
Mrs. Bulstrode had a true sisterly feeling for her brother;
always thinking that he might have married better, but
wishing well to the children. Now Mrs. Bulstrode had a
long-standing intimacy with Mrs. Plymdale. They had
nearly the same preferences in silks, patterns for
underclothing, china-ware, and clergymen; they confided
their little troubles of health and household management
to each other, and various little points of superiority on
Mrs. Bulstrodes side, namely, more decided seriousness,
more admiration for mind, and a house outside the town,
sometimes served to give color to their conversation
without dividing themwell-meaning women both,
knowing very little of their own motives.
Mrs. Bulstrode, paying a morning visit to Mrs.
Plymdale, happened to say that she could not stay longer,
because she was going to see poor Rosamond.
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Why do you say poor Rosamond? said Mrs.
Plymdale, a round-eyed sharp little woman, like a tamed
falcon.
She is so pretty, and has been brought up in such
thoughtlessness. The mother, you know, had always that
levity about her, which makes me anxious for the
children.
Well, Harriet, if I am to speak my mind, said Mrs.
Plymdale, with emphasis, I must say, anybody would
suppose you and Mr. Bulstrode would be delighted with
what has happened, for you have done everything to put
Mr. Lydgate forward.
Selina, what do you mean? said Mrs. Bulstrode, in
genuine surprise.
Not but what I am truly thankful for Neds sake, said
Mrs. Plymdale. He could certainly better afford to keep
such a wife than some people can; but I should wish him
to look elsewhere. Still a mother has anxieties, and some
young men would take to a bad life in consequence.
Besides, if I was obliged to speak, I should say I was not
fond of strangers coming into a town.
I dont know, Selina, said Mrs. Bulstrode, with a little
emphasis in her turn. Mr. Bulstrode was a stranger here at
one time. Abraham and Moses were strangers in the land,
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and we are told to entertain strangers. And especially, she
added, after a slight pause, when they are
unexceptionable.
I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke
as a mother.
Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say
anything against a niece of mine marrying your son.
Oh, it is pride in Miss VincyI am sure it is nothing
else, said Mrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all
her confidence to Harriet on this subject. No young
man in Middlemarch was good enough for her: I have
heard her mother say as much. That is not a Christian
spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found a
man AS proud as herself.
You dont mean that there is anything between
Rosamond and Mr. Lydgate? said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather
mortified at finding out her own ignorance
Is it possible you dont know, Harriet?
Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I
really never hear any. You see so many people that I dont
see. Your circle is rather different from ours.
Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrodes great
favorite and yours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at
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one time, you meant him for Kate, when she is a little
older.
I dont believe there can be anything serious at
present, said Mrs. Bulstrode. My brother would certainly
have told me.
Well, people have different ways, but I understand that
nobody can see Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate together
without taking them to be engaged. However, it is not my
business. Shall I put up the pattern of mittens?
After this Mrs. Bulstrode drove to her niece with a
mind newly weighted. She was herself handsomely
dressed, but she noticed with a little more regret than
usual that Rosamond, who was just come in and met her
in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped. Mrs.
Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother,
and had none of her husbands low-toned pallor. She had
a good honest glance and used no circumlocution.
You are alone, I see, my dear, she said, as they entered
the drawing-room together, looking round gravely.
Rosamond felt sure that her aunt had something particular
to say, and they sat down near each other. Nevertheless,
the quilling inside Rosamonds bonnet was so charming
that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thing
for Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrodes eyes, which were rather
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fine, rolled round that ample quilled circuit, while she
spoke.
I have just heard something about you that has
surprised me very much, Rosamond.
What is that, aunt? Rosamonds eyes also were
roaming over her aunts large embroidered collar.
I can hardly believe itthat you should be engaged
without my knowing itwithout your fathers telling
me. Here Mrs. Bulstrodes eyes finally rested on
Rosamonds, who blushed deeply, and said
I am not engaged, aunt.
How is it that every one says so, thenthat it is the
towns talk?
The towns talk is of very little consequence, I think,
said Rosamond, inwardly gratified.
Oh, my dear, be more thoughtful; dont despise your
neighbors so. Remember you are turned twenty-two
now, and you will have no fortune: your father, I am sure,
will not be able to spare you anything. Mr. Lydgate is very
intellectual and clever; I know there is an attraction in
that. I like talking to such men myself; and your uncle
finds him very useful. But the profession is a poor one
here. To be sure, this life is not everything; but it is
seldom a medical man has true religious viewsthere is
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too much pride of intellect. And you are not fit to marry a
poor man.
Mr. Lydgate is not a poor man, aunt. He has very high
connections.
He told me himself he was poor.
That is because he is used to people who have a high
style
My dear Rosamond, YOU must not think of living in
high style.
Rosamond looked down and played with her reticule.
She was not a fiery young lady and had no sharp answers,
but she meant to live as she pleased.
Then it is really true? said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking
very earnestly at her niece. You are thinking of Mr.
Lydgatethere is some understanding between you,
though your father doesnt know. Be open, my dear
Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?
Poor Rosamonds feelings were very unpleasant. She
had been quite easy as to Lydgates feeling and intention,
but now when her aunt put this question she did not like
being unable to say Yes. Her pride was hurt, but her
habitual control of manner helped her.
Pray excuse me, aunt. I would rather not speak on the
subject.
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You would not give your heart to a man without a
decided prospect, I trust, my dear. And think of the two
excellent offers I know of that you have refused!and one
still within your reach, if you will not throw it away. I
knew a very great beauty who married badly at last, by
doing so. Mr. Ned Plymdale is a nice young man some
might think good-looking; and an only son; and a large
business of that kind is better than a profession. Not that
marrying is everything I would have you seek first the
kingdom of God. But a girl should keep her heart within
her own power.
I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were.
I have already refused him. If I loved, I should love at
once and without change, said Rosamond, with a great
sense of being a romantic heroine, and playing the part
prettily.
I see how it is, my dear, said Mrs. Bulstrode, in a
melancholy voice, rising to go. You have allowed your
affections to be engaged without return.
No, indeed, aunt, said Rosamond, with emphasis.
Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a
serious attachment to you?
Middlemarch
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Rosamonds cheeks by this time were persistently
burning, and she felt much mortification. She chose to be
silent, and her aunt went away all the more convinced.
Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was
disposed to do what his wife bade him, and she now,
without telling her reasons, desired him on the next
opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr. Lydgate
whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The
result was a decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being
cross-questioned, showed that Lydgate had spoken as no
man would who had any attachment that could issue in
matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had a serious
duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tete-
a-tete with Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries
about Fred Vincys health, and expressions of her sincere
anxiety for her brothers large family, to general remarks
on the dangers which lay before young people with regard
to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild and
disappointing, making little return for the money spent on
them, and a girl was exposed to many circumstances
which might interfere with her prospects.
Especially when she has great attractions, and her
parents see much company, said Mrs. Bulstrode
Gentlemen pay her attention, and engross her all to
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Middlemarch
532 of 1492
themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and that
drives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr.
Lydgate, to interfere with the prospects of any girl. Here
Mrs. Bulstrode fixed her eyes on him, with an
unmistakable purpose of warning, if not of rebuke.
Clearly, said Lydgate, looking at herperhaps even
staring a little in return. On the other hand, a man must
be a great coxcomb to go about with a notion that he
must not pay attention to a young lady lest she should fall
in love with him, or lest others should think she must.
Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your
advantages are. You know that our young men here
cannot cope with you. Where you frequent a house it may
militate very much against a girls making a desirable
settlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers
even if they are made.
Lydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the
Middlemarch Orlandos than he was annoyed by the
perception of Mrs. Bulstrodes meaning. She felt that she
had spoken as impressively as it was necessary to do, and
that in using the superior word militate she had thrown a
noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were still
evident enough.
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Lydgate was fuming a little, pushed his hair back with
one hand, felt curiously in his waistcoat-pocket with the
other, and then stooped to beckon the tiny black spaniel,
which had the insight to decline his hollow caresses. It
would not have been decent to go away, because he had
been dining with other guests, and had just taken tea. But
Mrs. Bulstrode, having no doubt that she had been
understood, turned the conversation.
Solomons Proverbs, I think, have omitted to say, that
as the sore palate findeth grit, so an uneasy consciousness
heareth innuendoes. The next day Mr. Farebrother,
parting from Lydgate in the street, supposed that they
should meet at Vincys in the evening. Lydgate answered
curtly, nohe had work to dohe must give up going
out in the evening.
What! you are going to get lashed to the mast, eh, and
are stopping your ears? said the Vicar. Well, if you dont
mean to be won by the sirens, you are right to take
precautions in time.
A few days before, Lydgate would have taken no notice
of these words as anything more than the Vicars usual
way of putting things. They seemed now to convey an
innuendo which confirmed the impression that he had
been making a fool of himself and behaving so as to be
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misunderstood: not, he believed, by Rosamond herself;
she, he felt sure, took everything as lightly as he intended
it. She had an exquisite tact and insight in relation to all
points of manners; but the people she lived among were
blunderers and busybodies. However, the mistake should
go no farther. He resolvedand kept his resolutionthat
he would not go to Mr. Vincys except on business.
Rosamond became very unhappy. The uneasiness first
stirred by her aunts questions grew and grew till at the
end of ten days that she had not seen Lydgate, it grew into
terror at the blank that might possibly comeinto
foreboding of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaply
wipes out the hopes of mortals. The world would have a
new dreariness for her, as a wilderness that a magicians
spells had turned for a little while into a garden. She felt
that she was beginning to know the pang of disappointed
love, and that no other man could be the occasion of such
delightful aerial building as she had been enjoying for the
last six months. Poor Rosamond lost her appetite and felt
as forlorn as Ariadne as a charming stage Ariadne left
behind with all her boxes full of costumes and no hope of
a coach.
There are many wonderful mixtures in the world
which are all alike called love, and claim the privileges of a
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sublime rage which is an apology for everything (in
literature and the drama). Happily Rosamond did not
think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fair
hair as beautifully as usual, and kept herself proudly calm.
Her most cheerful supposition was that her aunt Bulstrode
had interfered in some way to hinder Lydgates visits:
everything was better than a spontaneous indifference in
him. Any one who imagines ten days too short a time
not for falling into leanness, lightness, or other measurable
effects of passion, but for the whole spiritual circuit of
alarmed conjecture and disappointment, is ignorant of
what can go on in the elegant leisure of a young ladys
mind.
On the eleventh day, however, Lydgate when leaving
Stone Court was requested by Mrs. Vincy to let her
husband know that there was a marked change in Mr.
Featherstones health, and that she wished him to come to
Stone Court on that day. Now Lydgate might have called
at the warehouse, or might have written a message on a
leaf of his pocket-book and left it at the door. Yet these
simple devices apparently did not occur to him, from
which we may conclude that he had no strong objection
to calling at the house at an hour when Mr. Vincy was not
at home, and leaving the message with Miss Vincy. A man
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may, from various motives, decline to give his company,
but perhaps not even a sage would be gratified that
nobody missed him. It would be a graceful, easy way of
piecing on the new habits to the old, to have a few playful
words with Rosamond about his resistance to dissipation,
and his firm resolve to take long fasts even from sweet
sounds. It must be confessed, also, that momentary
speculations as to all the possible grounds for Mrs.
Bulstrodes hints had managed to get woven like slight
clinging hairs into the more substantial web of his
thoughts.
Miss Vincy was alone, and blushed so deeply when
Lydgate came in that he felt a corresponding
embarrassment, and instead of any playfulness, he began at
once to speak of his reason for calling, and to beg her,
almost formally, to deliver the message to her father.
Rosamond, who at the first moment felt as if her
happiness were returning, was keenly hurt by Lydgates
manner; her blush had departed, and she assented coldly,
without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-
work which she had in her hands enabling her to avoid
looking at Lydgate higher than his chin. In all failures, the
beginning is certainly the half of the whole. After sitting
two long moments while he moved his whip and could
Middlemarch
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say nothing, Lydgate rose to go, and Rosamond, made
nervous by her struggle between mortification and the
wish not to betray it, dropped her chain as if startled, and
rose too, mechanically. Lydgate instantaneously stooped to
pick up the chain. When he rose he was very near to a
lovely little face set on a fair long neck which he had been
used to see turning about under the most perfect
management of self-contented grace. But as he raised his
eyes now he saw a certain helpless quivering which
touched him quite newly, and made him look at
Rosamond with a questioning flash. At this moment she
was as natural as she had ever been when she was five
years old: she felt that her tears had risen, and it was no use
to try to do anything else than let them stay like water on
a blue flower or let them fall over her cheeks, even as they
would.
That moment of naturalness was the crystallizing
feather-touch: it shook flirtation into love. Remember
that the ambitious man who was looking at those Forget-
me-nots under the water was very warm-hearted and rash.
He did not know where the chain went; an idea had
thrilled through the recesses within him which had a
miraculous effect in raising the power of passionate love
lying buried there in no sealed sepulchre, but under the
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lightest, easily pierced mould. His words were quite abrupt
and awkward; but the tone made them sound like an
ardent, appealing avowal.
What is the matter? you are distressed. Tell me, pray.
Rosamond had never been spoken to in such tones
before. I am not sure that she knew what the words were:
but she looked at Lydgate and the tears fell over her
cheeks. There could have been no more complete answer
than that silence, and Lydgate, forgetting everything else,
completely mastered by the outrush of tenderness at the
sudden belief that this sweet young creature depended on
him for her joy, actually put his arms round her, folding
her gently and protectingly he was used to being gentle
with the weak and sufferingand kissed each of the two
large tears. This was a strange way of arriving at an
understanding, but it was a short way. Rosamond was not
angry, but she moved backward a little in timid happiness,
and Lydgate could now sit near her and speak less
incompletely. Rosamond had to make her little
confession, and he poured out words of gratitude and
tenderness with impulsive lavishment. In half an hour he
left the house an engaged man, whose soul was not his
own, but the womans to whom he had bound himself.
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He came again in the evening to speak with Mr. Vincy,
who, just returned from Stone Court, was feeling sure that
it would not be long before he heard of Mr.
Featherstones demise. The felicitous word demise,
which had seasonably occurred to him, had raised his
spirits even above their usual evening pitch. The right
word is always a power, and communicates its definiteness
to our action. Considered as a demise, old Featherstones
death assumed a merely legal aspect, so that Mr. Vincy
could tap his snuff-box over it and be jovial, without even
an intermittent affectation of solemnity; and Mr. Vincy
hated both solemnity and affectation. Who was ever awe
struck about a testator, or sang a hymn on the title to real
property? Mr. Vincy was inclined to take a jovial view of
all things that evening: he even observed to Lydgate that
Fred had got the family constitution after all, and would
soon be as fine a fellow as ever again; and when his
approbation of Rosamonds engagement was asked for, he
gave it with astonishing facility, passing at once to general
remarks on the desirableness of matrimony for young men
and maidens, and apparently deducing from the whole the
appropriateness of a little more punch.
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Chapter XXXII
Theyll take suggestion as a cat laps milk.
SHAKESPEARE: Tempest.
The triumphant confidence of the Mayor founded on
Mr. Featherstones insistent demand that Fred and his
mother should not leave him, was a feeble emotion
compared with all that was agitating the breasts of the old
mans blood-relations, who naturally manifested more
their sense of the family tie and were more visibly
numerous now that he had become bedridden. Naturally:
for when poor Peter had occupied his arm-chair in the
wainscoted parlor, no assiduous beetles for whom the
cook prepares boiling water could have been less welcome
on a hearth which they had reasons for preferring, than
those persons whose Featherstone blood was ill-nourished,
not from penuriousness on their part, but from poverty.
Brother Solomon and Sister Jane were rich, and the family
candor and total abstinence from false politeness with
which they were always received seemed to them no
argument that their brother in the solemn act of making
his will would overlook the superior claims of wealth.
Themselves at least he had never been unnatural enough
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to banish from his house, and it seemed hardly eccentric
that he should hare kept away Brother Jonah, Sister
Martha, and the rest, who had no shadow of such claims.
They knew Peters maxim, that money was a good egg,
and should be laid in a warm nest.
But Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and all the needy
exiles, held a different point of view. Probabilities are as
various as the faces to be seen at will in fretwork or paper-
hangings: every form is there, from Jupiter to Judy, if you
only look with creative inclination. To the poorer and
least favored it seemed likely that since Peter had done
nothing for them in his life, he would remember them at
the last. Jonah argued that men liked to make a surprise of
their wills, while Martha said that nobody need be
surprised if he left the best part of his money to those who
least expected it. Also it was not to be thought but that an
own brother lying there with dropsy in his legs must
come to feel that blood was thicker than water, and if he
didnt alter his will, he might have money by him. At any
rate some blood-relations should be on the premises and
on the watch against those who were hardly relations at
all. Such things had been known as forged wills and
disputed wills, which seemed to have the golden-hazy
advantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live out
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of them. Again, those who were no blood-relations might
be caught making away with thingsand poor Peter
lying there helpless! Somebody should be on the watch.
But in this conclusion they were at one with Solomon and
Jane; also, some nephews, nieces, and cousins, arguing
with still greater subtilty as to what might be done by a
man able to will away his property and give himself large
treats of oddity, felt in a handsome sort of way that there
was a family interest to be attended to, and thought of
Stone Court as a place which it would be nothing but
right for them to visit. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs.
Cranch, living with some wheeziness in the Chalky Flats,
could not undertake the journey; but her son, as being
poor Peters own nephew, could represent her
advantageously, and watch lest his uncle Jonah should
make an unfair use of the improbable things which seemed
likely to happen. In fact there was a general sense running
in the Featherstone blood that everybody must watch
everybody else, and that it would be well for everybody
else to reflect that the Almighty was watching him.
Thus Stone Court continually saw one or other blood-
relation alighting or departing, and Mary Garth had the
unpleasant task of carrying their messages to Mr.
Featherstone, who would see none of them, and sent her
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down with the still more unpleasant task of telling them
so. As manager of the household she felt bound to ask
them in good provincial fashion to stay and eat; but she
chose to consult Mrs. Vincy on the point of extra down-
stairs consumption now that Mr. Featherstone was laid up.
Oh, my dear, you must do things handsomely where
theres last illness and a property. God knows, I dont
grudge them every ham in the houseonly, save the best
for the funeral. Have some stuffed veal always, and a fine
cheese in cut. You must expect to keep open house in
these last illnesses, said liberal Mrs. Vincy, once more of
cheerful note and bright plumage.
But some of the visitors alighted and did not depart
after the handsome treating to veal and ham. Brother
Jonah, for example (there are such unpleasant people in
most families; perhaps even in the highest aristocracy there
are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt and
bloated at greater expense)Brother Jonah, I say, having
come down in the world, was mainly supported by a
calling which he was modest enough not to boast of,
though it was much better than swindling either on
exchange or turf, but which did not require his presence at
Brassing so long as he had a good corner to sit in and a
supply of food. He chose the kitchen-corner, partly
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Middlemarch
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because he liked it best, and partly because he did not
want to sit with Solomon, concerning whom he had a
strong brotherly opinion. Seated in a famous arm-chair
and in his best suit, constantly within sight of good cheer,
he had a comfortable consciousness of being on the
premises, mingled with fleeting suggestions of Sunday and
the bar at the Green Man; and he informed Mary Garth
that he should not go out of reach of his brother Peter
while that poor fellow was above ground. The
troublesome ones in a family are usually either the wits or
the idiots. Jonah was the wit among the Featherstones, and
joked with the maid- servants when they came about the
hearth, but seemed to consider Miss Garth a suspicious
character, and followed her with cold eyes.
Mary would have borne this one pair of eyes with
comparative ease, but unfortunately there was young
Cranch, who, having come all the way from the Chalky
Flats to represent his mother and watch his uncle Jonah,
also felt it his duty to stay and to sit chiefly in the kitchen
to give his uncle company. Young Cranch was not exactly
the balancing point between the wit and the idiot,
verging slightly towards the latter type, and squinting so as
to leave everything in doubt about his sentiments except
that they were not of a forcible character. When Mary
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Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Jonah Featherstone
began to follow her with his cold detective eyes, young
Cranch turning his head in the same direction seemed to
insist on it that she should remark how he was squinting,
as if he did it with design, like the gypsies when Borrow
read the New Testament to them. This was rather too
much for poor Mary; sometimes it made her bilious,
sometimes it upset her gravity. One day that she had an
opportunity she could not resist describing the kitchen
scene to Fred, who would not be hindered from
immediately going to see it, affecting simply to pass
through. But no sooner did he face the four eyes than he
had to rush through the nearest door which happened to
lead to the dairy, and there under the high roof and
among the pans he gave way to laughter which made a
hollow resonance perfectly audible in the kitchen. He fled
by another doorway, but Mr. Jonah, who had not before
seen Freds white complexion, long legs, and pinched
delicacy of face, prepared many sarcasms in which these
points of appearance were wittily combined with the
lowest moral attributes.
Why, Tom, YOU dont wear such gentlemanly
trousers you havent got half such fine long legs, said
Jonah to his nephew, winking at the same time, to imply
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that there was something more in these statements than
their undeniableness. Tom looked at his legs, but left it
uncertain whether he preferred his moral advantages to a
more vicious length of limb and reprehensible gentility of
trouser.
In the large wainscoted parlor too there were
constantly pairs of eyes on the watch, and own relatives
eager to be sitters-up. Many came, lunched, and
departed, but Brother Solomon and the lady who had
been Jane Featherstone for twenty-five years before she
was Mrs. Waule found it good to be there every day for
hoars, without other calculable occupation than that of
observing the cunning Mary Garth (who was so deep that
she could be found out in nothing) and giving occasional
dry wrinkly indications of crying as if capable of torrents
in a wetter seasonat the thought that they were not
allowed to go into Mr. Featherstones room. For the old
mans dislike of his own family seemed to get stronger as
he got less able to amuse himself by saying biting things to
them. Too languid to sting, he had the more venom
refluent in his blood.
Not fully believing the message sent through Mary
Garth, they had presented themselves together within the
door of the bedroom, both in blackMrs. Waule having
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a white handkerchief partially unfolded in her handand
both with faces in a sort of half-mourning purple; while
Mrs. Vincy with her pink cheeks and pink ribbons flying
was actually administering a cordial to their own brother,
and the light-complexioned Fred, his short hair curling as
might be expected in a gamblers, was lolling at his ease in
a large chair.
Old Featherstone no sooner caught sight of these
funereal figures appearing in spite of his orders than rage
came to strengthen him more successfully than the cordial.
He was propped up on a bed-rest, and always had his
gold-headed stick lying by him. He seized it now and
swept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he
could, apparently to ban these ugly spectres, crying in a
hoarse sort of screech
Back, back, Mrs. Waule! Back, Solomon!
Oh, Brother. Peter, Mrs. Waule beganbut Solomon
put his hand before her repressingly. He was a large-
cheeked man, nearly seventy, with small furtive eyes, and
was not only of much blander temper but thought himself
much deeper than his brother Peter; indeed not likely to
be deceived in any of his fellow-men, inasmuch as they
could not well be more greedy and deceitful than he
suspected them of being. Even the invisible powers, he
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thought, were likely to be soothed by a bland parenthesis
here and therecoming from a man of property, who
might have been as impious as others.
Brother Peter, he said, in a wheedling yet gravely
official tone, Its nothing but right I should speak to you
about the Three Crofts and the Manganese. The Almighty
knows what Ive got on my mind
Then he knows more than I want to know, said
Peter, laying down his stick with a show of truce which
had a threat in it too, for he reversed the stick so as to
make the gold handle a club in case of closer fighting, and
looked hard at Solomons bald head.
Theres things you might repent of, Brother, for want
of speaking to me, said Solomon, not advancing,
however. I could sit up with you to-night, and Jane with
me, willingly, and you might take your own time to
speak, or let me speak.
Yes, I shall take my own timeyou neednt offer me
yours, said Peter.
But you cant take your own time to die in, Brother,
began Mrs. Waule, with her usual woolly tone. And
when you lie speechless you may be tired of having
strangers about you, and you may think of me and my
childrenbut here her voice broke under the touching
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thought which she was attributing to her speechless
brother; the mention of ourselves being naturally affecting.
No, I shant, said old Featherstone, contradictiously. I
shant think of any of you. Ive made my will, I tell you,
Ive made my will. Here he turned his head towards Mrs.
Vincy, and swallowed some more of his cordial.
Some people would be ashamed to fill up a place
belonging by rights to others, said Mrs. Waule, turning
her narrow eyes in the same direction.
Oh, sister, said Solomon, with ironical softness, you
and me are not fine, and handsome, and clever enough:
we must be humble and let smart people push themselves
before us.
Freds spirit could not bear this: rising and looking at
Mr. Featherstone, he said, Shall my mother and I leave
the room, sir, that you may be alone with your friends?
Sit down, I tell you, said old Featherstone, snappishly.
Stop where you are. Good-by, Solomon, he added,
trying to wield his stick again, but failing now that he had
reversed the handle. Good-by, Mrs. Waule. Dont you
come again.
I shall be down-stairs, Brother, whether or no, said
Solomon. I shall do my duty, and it remains to be seen
what the Almighty will allow.
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Yes, in property going out of families, said Mrs.
Waule, in continuation,and where theres steady young
men to carry on. But I pity them who are not such, and I
pity their mothers. Good-by, Brother Peter.
Remember, Im the eldest after you, Brother, and
prospered from the first, just as you did, and have got land
already by the name of Featherstone, said Solomon,
relying much on that reflection, as one which might be
suggested in the watches of the night. But I bid you
good-by for the present.
Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr.
Featherstone pull his wig on each side and shut his eyes
with his mouth-widening grimace, as if he were
determined to be deaf and blind.
None the less they came to Stone Court daily and sat
below at the post of duty, sometimes carrying on a slow
dialogue in an undertone in which the observation and
response were so far apart, that any one hearing them
might have imagined himself listening to speaking
automata, in some doubt whether the ingenious
mechanism would really work, or wind itself up for a long
time in order to stick and be silent. Solomon and Jane
would have been sorry to be quick: what that led to might
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be seen on the other side of the wall in the person of
Brother Jonah.
But their watch in the wainscoted parlor was
sometimes varied by the presence of other guests from far
or near. Now that Peter Featherstone was up-stairs, his
property could be discussed with all that local
enlightenment to be found on the spot: some rural and
Middlemarch neighbors expressed much agreement with
the family and sympathy with their interest against the
Vincys, and feminine visitors were even moved to tears, in
conversation with Mrs. Waule, when they recalled the fact
that they themselves had been disappointed in times past
by codicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful
elderly gentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had
been spared for something better. Such conversation
paused suddenly, like an organ when the bellows are let
drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; and all eyes were
turned on her as a possible legatee, or one who might get
access to iron chests.
But the younger men who were relatives or
connections of the family, were disposed to admire her in
this problematic light, as a girl who showed much
conduct, and who among all the chances that were flying
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might turn out to be at least a moderate prize. Hence she
had her share of compliments and polite attentions.
Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a
distinguished bachelor and auctioneer of those parts, much
concerned in the sale of land and cattle: a public character,
indeed, whose name was seen on widely distributed
placards, and who might reasonably be sorry for those who
did not know of him. He was second cousin to Peter
Featherstone, and had been treated by him with more
amenity than any other relative, being useful in matters of
business; and in that programme of his funeral which the
old man had himself dictated, he had been named as a
Bearer. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop
Trumbull nothing more than a sincere sense of his own
merit, which, he was aware, in case of rivalry might tell
against competitors; so that if Peter Featherstone, who so
far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, had behaved like as
good a soul as ever breathed, should have done anything
handsome by him, all he could say was, that he had never
fished and fawned, but had advised him to the best of his
experience, which now extended over twenty years from
the time of his apprenticeship at fifteen, and was likely to
yield a knowledge of no surreptitious kind. His admiration
was far from being confined to himself, but was
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accustomed professionally as well as privately to delight in
estimating things at a high rate. He was an amateur of
superior phrases, and never used poor language without
immediately correcting himself which was fortunate, as
he was rather loud, and given to predominate, standing or
walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat with
the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion,
trimming himself rapidly with his fore-finger, and marking
each new series in these movements by a busy play with
his large seals. There was occasionally a little fierceness in
his demeanor, but it was directed chiefly against false
opinion, of which there is so much to correct in the world
that a man of some reading and experience necessarily has
his patience tried. He felt that the Featherstone family
generally was of limited understanding, but being a man of
the world and a public character, took everything as a
matter of course, and even went to converse with Mr.
Jonah and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubting that
he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questions
concerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody had observed that
Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, being an auctioneer, was bound
to know the nature of everything, he would have smiled
and trimmed himself silently with the sense that he came
pretty near that. On the whole, in an auctioneering way,
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he was an honorable man, not ashamed of his business,
and feeling that the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert, if
introduced to him, would not fail to recognize his
importance.
I dont mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of
that ale, Miss Garth, if you will allow me, he said, coming
into the parlor at half-past eleven, after having had the
exceptional privilege of seeing old Featherstone, and
standing with his back to the fire between Mrs. Waule and
Solomon.
Its not necessary for you to go out;let me ring the
bell.
Thank you, said Mary, I have an errand.
Well, Mr. Trumbull, youre highly favored, said Mrs.
Waule.
What! seeing the old man? said the auctioneer, playing
with his seals dispassionately. Ah, you see he has relied on
me considerably. Here he pressed his lips together, and
frowned meditatively.
Might anybody ask what their brother has been
saying? said Solomon, in a soft tone of humility, in which
he had a sense of luxurious cunning, he being a rich man
and not in need of it.
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Oh yes, anybody may ask, said Mr. Trumbull, with
loud and good-humored though cutting sarcasm.
Anybody may interrogate. Any one may give their
remarks an interrogative turn, he continued, his
sonorousness rising with his style. This is constantly done
by good speakers, even when they anticipate no answer. It
is what we call a figure of speechspeech at a high figure,
as one may say. The eloquent auctioneer smiled at his
own ingenuity.
I shouldnt be sorry to hear hed remembered you, Mr.
Trumbull, said Solomon. I never was against the
deserving. Its the undeserving Im against.
Ah, there it is, you see, there it is, said Mr. Trumbull,
significantly. It cant be denied that undeserving people
have been legatees, and even residuary legatees. It is so,
with testamentary dispositions. Again he pursed up his lips
and frowned a little.
Do you mean to say for certain, Mr. Trumbull, that
my brother has left his land away from our family? said
Mrs. Waule, on whom, as an unhopeful woman, those
long words had a depressing effect.
A man might as well turn his land into charity land at
once as leave it to some people, observed Solomon, his
sisters question having drawn no answer.
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Middlemarch
556 of 1492
What, Blue-Coat land? said Mrs. Waule, again. Oh,
Mr. Trumbull, you never can mean to say that. It would
be flying in the face of the Almighty thats prospered him.
While Mrs. Waule was speaking, Mr. Borthrop
Trumbull walked away from the fireplace towards the
window, patrolling with his fore-finger round the inside
of his stock, then along his whiskers and the curves of his
hair. He now walked to Miss Garths work-table, opened
a book which lay there and read the title aloud with
pompous emphasis as if he were offering it for sale:
Anne of Geierstein (pronounced Jeersteen) or the
Maiden of the Mist, by the author of Waverley. Then
turning the page, he began sonorouslyThe course of
four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since the series of
events which are related in the following chapters took
place on the Continent. He pronounced the last truly
admirable word with the accent on the last syllable, not as
unaware of vulgar usage, but feeling that this novel
delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which his reading
had given to the whole.
And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the
moments for answering Mrs. Waules question had gone
by safely, while she and Solomon, watching Mr.
Trumbulls movements, were thinking that high learning
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interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop
Trumbull really knew nothing about old Featherstones
will; but he could hardly have been brought to declare any
ignorance unless he had been arrested for misprision of
treason.
I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale,
he said, reassuringly. As a man with public business, I take
a snack when I can. I will back this ham, he added, after
swallowing some morsels with alarming haste, against any
ham in the three kingdoms. In my opinion it is better than
the hams at Freshitt Hall and I think I am a tolerable
judge.
Some dont like so much sugar in their hams, said
Mrs. Waule. But my poor brother would always have
sugar.
If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so;
but, God bless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy
in that quality, I know. There is some gratification to a
gentleman here Mr. Trumbulls voice conveyed an
emotional remonstrance in having this kind of ham set
on his table.
He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale
and drew his chair a little forward, profiting by the
occasion to look at the inner side of his legs, which he
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stroked approvingly Mr. Trumbull having all those less
frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the
predominant races of the north.
You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth,
he observed, when Mary re-entered. It is by the author of
Waverley: that is Sir Walter Scott. I have bought one of
his works myself a very nice thing, a very superior
publication, entitled Ivanhoe. You will not get any
writer to beat him in a hurry, I think he will not, in my
opinion, be speedily surpassed. I have just been reading a
portion at the commencement of Anne of Jeersteen. It
commences well. (Things never began with Mr. Borthrop
Trumbull: they al ways commenced, both in private life
and on his handbills.) You are a reader, I see. Do you
subscribe to our Middlemarch library?
No, said Mary. Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book.
I am a great bookman myself, returned Mr. Trumbull.
I have no less than two hundred volumes in calf, and I
flatter myself they are well selected. Also pictures by
Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, and others. I
shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention,
Miss Garth.
I am much obliged, said Mary, hastening away again,
but I have little time for reading.
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I should say my brother has done something for HER
in his will, said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone,
when she had shut the door behind her, pointing with his
head towards the absent Mary.
His first wife was a poor match for him, though, said
Mrs. Waule. She brought him nothing: and this young
woman is only her niece, and very proud. And my
brother has always paid her wage.
A sensible girl though, in my opinion, said Mr.
Trumbull, finishing his ale and starting up with an
emphatic adjustment of his waistcoat. I have observed her
when she has been mixing medicine in drops. She minds
what she is doing, sir. That is a great point in a woman,
and a great point for our friend up-stairs, poor dear old
soul. A man whose life is of any value should think of his
wife as a nurse: that is what I should do, if I married; and I
believe I have lived single long enough not to make a
mistake in that line. Some men must marry to elevate
themselves a little, but when I am in need of that, I hope
some one will tell me soI hope some individual will
apprise me of the fact. I wish you good morning, Mrs.
Waule. Good morning, Mr. Solomon. I trust we shall
meet under less melancholy auspices.
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When Mr. Trumbull had departed with a fine bow,
Solomon, leaning forward, observed to his sister, You
may depend, Jane, my brother has left that girl a lumping
sum.
Anybody would think so, from the way Mr. Trumbull
talks, said Jane. Then, after a pause, He talks as if my
daughters wasnt to be trusted to give drops.
Auctioneers talk wild, said Solomon. Not but what
Trumbull has made money.
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Chapter XXXIII
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation.
2 Henry VI.
That night after twelve oclock Mary Garth relieved the
watch in Mr. Featherstones room, and sat there alone
through the small hours. She often chose this task, in
which she found some pleasure, notwithstanding the old
mans testiness whenever he demanded her attentions.
There were intervals in which she could sit perfectly still,
enjoying the outer stillness and the subdued light. The red
fire with its gently audible movement seemed like a
solemn existence calmly independent of the petty passions,
the imbecile desires, the straining after worthless
uncertainties, which were daily moving her contempt.
Mary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse
herself well sitting in twilight with her hands in her lap;
for, having early had strong reason to believe that things
were not likely to be arranged for her peculiar satisfaction,
she wasted no time in astonishment and annoyance at that
fact. And she had already come to take life very much as a
comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous
resolution not to act the mean or treacherous part. Mary
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might have become cynical if she had not had parents
whom she honored, and a well of affectionate gratitude
within her, which was all the fuller because she had
learned to make no unreasonable claims.
She sat to-night revolving, as she was wont, the scenes
of the day, her lips often curling with amusement at the
oddities to which her fancy added fresh drollery: people
were so ridiculous with their illusions, carrying their fools
caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque while
everybody elses were transparent, making themselves
exceptions to everything, as if when all the world looked
yellow under a lamp they alone were rosy. Yet there were
some illusions under Marys eyes which were not quite
comic to her. She was secretly convinced, though she had
no other grounds than her close observation of old
Featherstones nature, that in spite of his fondness for
having the Vincys about him, they were as likely to be
disappointed as any of the relations whom he kept at a
distance. She had a good deal of disdain for Mrs. Vincys
evident alarm lest she and Fred should be alone together,
but it did not hinder her from thinking anxiously of the
way in which Fred would be affected, if it should turn out
that his uncle had left him as poor as ever. She could make
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a butt of Fred when he was present, but she did not enjoy
his follies when he was absent.
Yet she liked her thoughts: a vigorous young mind not
overbalanced by passion, finds a good in making
acquaintance with life, and watches its own powers with
interest. Mary had plenty of merriment within.
Her thought was not veined by any solemnity or pathos
about the old man on the bed: such sentiments are easier
to affect than to feel about an aged creature whose life is
not visibly anything but a remnant of vices. She had
always seen the most disagreeable side of Mr.
Featherstone. he was not proud of her, and she was only
useful to him. To be anxious about a soul that is always
snapping at you must be left to the saints of the earth; and
Mary was not one of them. She had never returned him a
harsh word, and had waited on him faithfully: that was her
utmost. Old Featherstone himself was not in the least
anxious about his soul, and had declined to see Mr.
Tucker on the subject.
To-night he had not snapped, and for the first hour or
two he lay remarkably still, until at last Mary heard him
rattling his bunch of keys against the tin box which he
always kept in the bed beside him. About three oclock he
said, with remarkable distinctness, Missy, come here!
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Mary obeyed, and found that he had already drawn the
tin box from under the clothes, though he usually asked to
have this done for him; and he had selected the key. He
now unlocked the box, and, drawing from it another key,
looked straight at her with eyes that seemed to have
recovered all their sharpness and said, How many of em
are in the house?
You mean of your own relations, sir, said Mary, well
used to the old mans way of speech. He nodded slightly
and she went on.
Mr. Jonah Featherstone and young Cranch are sleeping
here.
Oh ay, they stick, do they? and the restthey come
every day, Ill warrantSolomon and Jane, and all the
young uns? They come peeping, and counting and casting
up?
Not all of them every day. Mr. Solomon and Mrs.
Waule are here every day, and the others come often.
The old man listened with a grimace while she spoke,
and then said, relaxing his face, The more fools they. You
hearken, missy. Its three oclock in the morning, and Ive
got all my faculties as well as ever I had in my life. I know
all my property, and where the moneys put out, and
everything. And Ive made everything ready to change my
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mind, and do as I like at the last. Do you hear, missy? Ive
got my faculties.
Well, sir? said Mary, quietly.
He now lowered his tone with an air of deeper
cunning. Ive made two wills, and Im going to burn one.
Now you do as I tell you. This is the key of my iron
chest, in the closet there. You push well at the side of the
brass plate at the top, till it goes like a bolt: then you can
put the key in the front lock and turn it. See and do that;
and take out the topmost paperLast Will and
Testament big printed.
No, sir, said Mary, in a firm voice, I cannot do that.
Not do it? I tell you, you must, said the old man, his
voice beginning to shake under the shock of this
resistance.
I cannot touch your iron chest or your will. I must
refuse to do anything that might lay me open to
suspicion.
I tell you, Im in my right mind. Shant I do as I like at
the last? I made two wills on purpose. Take the key, I say.
No, sir, I will not, said Mary, more resolutely still.
Her repulsion was getting stronger.
I tell you, theres no time to lose.
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I cannot help that, sir. I will not let the close of your
life soil the beginning of mine. I will not touch your iron
chest or your will. She moved to a little distance from the
bedside.
The old man paused with a blank stare for a little while,
holding the one key erect on the ring; then with an
agitated jerk he began to work with his bony left hand at
emptying the tin box before him.
Missy, he began to say, hurriedly, look here! take the
money the notes and goldlook heretake ityou
shall have it all do as I tell you.
He made an effort to stretch out the key towards her as
far as possible, and Mary again retreated.
I will not touch your key or your money, sir. Pray
dont ask me to do it again. If you do, I must go and call
your brother.
He let his hand fall, and for the first time in her life
Mary saw old Peter Featherstone begin to cry childishly.
She said, in as gentle a tone as she could command, Pray
put up your money, sir; and then went away to her seat
by the fire, hoping this would help to convince him that it
was useless to say more. Presently he rallied and said
eagerly
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Look here, then. Call the young chap. Call Fred
Vincy.
Marys heart began to beat more quickly. Various ideas
rushed through her mind as to what the burning of a
second will might imply. She had to make a difficult
decision in a hurry.
I will call him, if you will let me call Mr. Jonah and
others with him.
Nobody else, I say. The young chap. I shall do as I
like.
Wait till broad daylight, sir, when every one is stirring.
Or let me call Simmons now, to go and fetch the lawyer?
He can be here in less than two hours.
Lawyer? What do I want with the lawyer? Nobody
shall knowI say, nobody shall know. I shall do as I like.
Let me call some one else, sir, said Mary, persuasively.
She did not like her positionalone with the old man,
who seemed to show a strange flaring of nervous energy
which enabled him to speak again and again without
falling into his usual cough; yet she desired not to push
unnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. Let
me, pray, call some one else.
You let me alone, I say. Look here, missy. Take the
money. Youll never have the chance again. Its pretty
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Middlemarch
568 of 1492
nigh two hundred theres more in the box, and nobody
knows how much there was. Take it and do as I tell you.
Mary, standing by the fire, saw its red light falling on
the old man, propped up on his pillows and bed-rest, with
his bony hand holding out the key, and the money lying
on the quilt before him. She never forgot that vision of a
man wanting to do as he liked at the last. But the way in
which he had put the offer of the money urged her to
speak with harder resolution than ever.
It is of no use, sir. I will not do it. Put up your money.
I will not touch your money. I will do anything else I can
to comfort you; but I will not touch your keys or your
money.
Anything else anything else! said old Featherstone,
with hoarse rage, which, as if in a nightmare, tried to be
loud, and yet was only just audible. I want nothing else.
You come hereyou come here.
Mary approached him cautiously, knowing him too
well. She saw him dropping his keys and trying to grasp
his stick, while he looked at her like an aged hyena, the
muscles of his face getting distorted with the effort of his
hand. She paused at a safe distance.
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Let me give you some cordial, she said, quietly, and
try to compose yourself. You will perhaps go to sleep.
And to-morrow by daylight you can do as you like.
He lifted the stick, in spite of her being beyond his
reach, and threw it with a hard effort which was but
impotence. It fell, slipping over the foot of the bed. Mary
let it lie, and retreated to her chair by the fire. By-and-by
she would go to him with the cordial. Fatigue would
make him passive. It was getting towards the chillest
moment of the morning, the fire had got low, and she
could see through the chink between the moreen
window-curtains the light whitened by the blind. Having
put some wood on the fire and thrown a shawl over her,
she sat down, hoping that Mr. Featherstone might now fall
asleep. If she went near him the irritation might be kept
up. He had said nothing after throwing the stick, but she
had seen him taking his keys again and laying his right
hand on the money. He did not put it up, however, and
she thought that he was dropping off to sleep.
But Mary herself began to be more agitated by the
remembrance of what she had gone through, than she had
been by the reality questioning those acts of hers which
had come imperatively and excluded all question in the
critical moment.
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Presently the dry wood sent out a flame which
illuminated every crevice, and Mary saw that the old man
was lying quietly with his head turned a little on one side.
She went towards him with inaudible steps, and thought
that his face looked strangely motionless; but the next
moment the movement of the flame communicating itself
to all objects made her uncertain. The violent beating of
her heart rendered her perceptions so doubtful that even
when she touched him and listened for his breathing, she
could not trust her conclusions. She went to the window
and gently propped aside the curtain and blind, so that the
still light of the sky fell on the bed.
The next moment she ran to the bell and rang it
energetically. In a very little while there was no longer any
doubt that Peter Featherstone was dead, with his right
hand clasping the keys, and his left hand lying on the heap
of notes and gold.
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BOOK IV.
THREE LOVE PROBLEMS.
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Chapter XXXIV
1st Gent. Such men as this are feathers, chips, and straws.
Carry no weight, no force.
2d Gent. But levity
Is causal too, and makes the sum of weight.
For power finds its place in lack of power;
Advance is cession, and the driven ship
May run aground because the helmsmans thought
Lacked force to balance opposites.
It was on a morning of May that Peter Featherstone
was buried. In the prosaic neighborhood of Middlemarch,
May was not always warm and sunny, and on this
particular morning a chill wind was blowing the blossoms
from the surrounding gardens on to the green mounds of
Lowick churchyard. Swiftly moving clouds only now and
then allowed a gleam to light up any object, whether ugly
or beautiful, that happened to stand within its golden
shower. In the churchyard the objects were remarkably
various, for there was a little country crowd waiting to see
the funeral. The news had spread that it was to be a big
burying; the old gentleman had left written directions
about everything and meant to have a funeral beyond his
betters. This was true; for old Featherstone had not been a
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Harpagon whose passions had all been devoured by the
ever-lean and ever-hungry passion of saving, and who
would drive a bargain with his undertaker beforehand. He
loved money, but he also loved to spend it in gratifying his
peculiar tastes, and perhaps he loved it best of all as a
means of making others feel his power more or less
uncomfortably. If any one will here contend that there
must have been traits of goodness in old Featherstone, I
will not presume to deny this; but I must observe that
goodness is of a modest nature, easily discouraged, and
when much privacy, elbowed in early life by unabashed
vices, is apt to retire into extreme privacy, so that it is
more easily believed in by those who construct a selfish
old gentleman theoretically, than by those who form the
narrower judgments based on his personal acquaintance. In
any case, he had been bent on having a handsome funeral,
and on having persons bid to it who would rather have
stayed at home. He had even desired that female relatives
should follow him to the grave, and poor sister Martha
had taken a difficult journey for this purpose from the
Chalky Flats. She and Jane would have been altogether
cheered (in a tearful manner) by this sign that a brother
who disliked seeing them while he was living had been
prospectively fond of their presence when he should have
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become a testator, if the sign had not been made equivocal
by being extended to Mrs. Vincy, whose expense in
handsome crape seemed to imply the most presumptuous
hopes, aggravated by a bloom of complexion which told
pretty plainly that she was not a blood-relation, but of that
generally objectionable class called wifes kin.
We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for
images are the brood of desire; and poor old Featherstone,
who laughed much at the way in which others cajoled
themselves, did not escape the fellowship of illusion. In
writing the programme for his burial he certainly did not
make clear to himself that his pleasure in the little drama
of which it formed a part was confined to anticipation. In
chuckling over the vexations he could inflict by the rigid
clutch of his dead hand, he inevitably mingled his
consciousness with that livid stagnant presence, and so far
as he was preoccupied with a future life, it was with one
of gratification inside his coffin. Thus old Featherstone was
imaginative, after his fashion.
However, the three mourning-coaches were filled
according to the written orders of the deceased. There
were pall-bearers on horseback, with the richest scarfs and
hatbands, and even the under-bearers had trappings of woe
which were of a good well-priced quality. The black
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procession, when dismounted, looked the larger for the
smallness of the churchyard; the heavy human faces and
the black draperies shivering in the wind seemed to tell of
a world strangely incongruous with the lightly dropping
blossoms and the gleams of sunshine on the daisies. The
clergyman who met the procession was Mr.
Cadwalladeralso according to the request of Peter
Featherstone, prompted as usual by peculiar reasons.
Having a contempt for curates, whom he always called
understrappers, he was resolved to be buried by a
beneficed clergyman. Mr. Casaubon was out of the
question, not merely because he declined duty of this sort,
but because Featherstone had an especial dislike to him as
the rector of his own parish, who had a lien on the land in
the shape of tithe, also as the deliverer of morning
sermons, which the old man, being in his pew and not at
all sleepy, had been obliged to sit through with an inward
snarl. He had an objection to a parson stuck up above his
head preaching to him. But his relations with Mr.
Cadwallader had been of a different kind: the trout-stream
which ran through Mr. Casaubons land took its course
through Featherstones also, so that Mr. Cadwallader was a
parson who had had to ask a favor instead of preaching.
Moreover, he was one of the high gentry living four miles
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away from Lowick, and was thus exalted to an equal sky
with the sheriff of the county and other dignities vaguely
regarded as necessary to the system of things. There would
be a satisfaction in being buried by Mr. Cadwallader,
whose very name offered a fine opportunity for
pronouncing wrongly if you liked.
This distinction conferred on the Rector of Tipton and
Freshitt was the reason why Mrs. Cadwallader made one
of the group that watched old Featherstones funeral from
an upper window of the manor. She was not fond of
visiting that house, but she liked, as she said, to see
collections of strange animals such as there would be at
this funeral; and she had persuaded Sir James and the
young Lady Chettam to drive the Rector and herself to
Lowick in order that the visit might be altogether pleasant.
I will go anywhere with you, Mrs. Cadwallader, Celia
had said; but I dont like funerals.
Oh, my dear, when you have a clergyman in your
family you must accommodate your tastes: I did that very
early. When I married Humphrey I made up my mind to
like sermons, and I set out by liking the end very much.
That soon spread to the middle and the beginning,
because I couldnt have the end without them.
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No, to be sure not, said the Dowager Lady Chettam,
with stately emphasis.
The upper window from which the funeral could be
well seen was in the room occupied by Mr. Casaubon
when he had been forbidden to work; but he had resumed
nearly his habitual style of life now in spite of warnings
and prescriptions, and after politely welcoming Mrs.
Cadwallader had slipped again into the library to chew a
cud of erudite mistake about Cush and Mizraim.
But for her visitors Dorothea too might have been shut
up in the library, and would not have witnessed this scene
of old Featherstones funeral, which, aloof as it seemed to
be from the tenor of her life, always afterwards came back
to her at the touch of certain sensitive points in memory,
just as the vision of St. Peters at Rome was inwoven with
moods of despondency. Scenes which make vital changes
in our neighbors lot are but the background of our own,
yet, like a particular aspect of the fields and trees, they
become associated for us with the epochs of our own
history, and make a part of that unity which lies in the
selection of our keenest consciousness.
The dream-like association of something alien and ill-
understood with the deepest secrets of her experience
seemed to mirror that sense of loneliness which was due to
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the very ardor of Dorotheas nature. The country gentry
of old time lived in a rarefied social air: dotted apart on
their stations up the mountain they looked down with
imperfect discrimination on the belts of thicker life below.
And Dorothea was not at ease in the perspective and
chilliness of that height.
I shall not look any more, said Celia, after the train
had entered the church, placing herself a little behind her
husbands elbow so that she could slyly touch his coat with
her cheek. I dare say Dodo likes it: she is fond of
melancholy things and ugly people.
I am fond of knowing something about the people I
live among, said Dorothea, who had been watching
everything with the interest of a monk on his holiday
tour. It seems to me we know nothing of our neighbors,
unless they are cottagers. One is constantly wondering
what sort of lives other people lead, and how they take
things. I am quite obliged to Mrs. Cadwallader for coming
and calling me out of the library.
Quite right to feel obliged to me, said Mrs.
Cadwallader. Your rich Lowick farmers are as curious as
any buffaloes or bisons, and I dare say you dont half see
them at church. They are quite different from your uncles
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tenants or Sir Jamessmonsters farmers without
landlordsone cant tell how to class them.
Most of these followers are not Lowick people, said
Sir James; I suppose they are legatees from a distance, or
from Middlemarch. Lovegood tells me the old fellow has
left a good deal of money as well as land.
Think of that now! when so many younger sons cant
dine at their own expense, said Mrs. Cadwallader. Ah,
turning round at the sound of the opening door, here is
Mr. Brooke. I felt that we were incomplete before, and
here is the explanation. You are come to see this odd
funeral, of course?
No, I came to look after Casaubonto see how he
goes on, you know. And to bring a little newsa little
news, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, nodding at Dorothea as
she came towards him. I looked into the library, and I
saw Casaubon over his books. I told him it wouldnt do: I
said, This will never do, you know: think of your wife,
Casaubon. And he promised me to come up. I didnt tell
him my news: I said, he must come up.
Ah, now they are coming out of church, Mrs.
Cadwallader exclaimed. Dear me, what a wonderfully
mixed set! Mr. Lydgate as doctor, I suppose. But that is
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Middlemarch
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really a good looking woman, and the fair young man
must be her son. Who are they, Sir James, do you know?
I see Vincy, the Mayor of Middlemarch; they are
probably his wife and son, said Sir James, looking
interrogatively at Mr. Brooke, who nodded and said
Yes, a very decent familya very good fellow is
Vincy; a credit to the manufacturing interest. You have
seen him at my house, you know.
Ah, yes: one of your secret committee, said Mrs.
Cadwallader, provokingly.
A coursing fellow, though, said Sir James, with a fox-
hunters disgust.
And one of those who suck the life out of the
wretched handloom weavers in Tipton and Freshitt. That
is how his family look so fair and sleek, said Mrs.
Cadwallader. Those dark, purple-faced people are an
excellent foil. Dear me, they are like a set of jugs! Do look
at Humphrey: one might fancy him an ugly archangel
towering above them in his white surplice.
Its a solemn thing, though, a funeral, said Mr.
Brooke, if you take it in that light, you know.
But I am not taking it in that light. I cant wear my
solemnity too often, else it will go to rags. It was time the
old man died, and none of these people are sorry.
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581 of 1492
How piteous! said Dorothea. This funeral seems to
me the most dismal thing I ever saw. It is a blot on the
morning I cannot bear to think that any one should die
and leave no love behind.
She was going to say more, but she saw her husband
enter and seat himself a little in the background. The
difference his presence made to her was not always a
happy one: she felt that he often inwardly objected to her
speech.
Positively, exclaimed Mrs. Cadwallader, there is a
new face come out from behind that broad man queerer
than any of them: a little round head with bulging eyesa
sort of frog-facedo look. He must be of another blood, I
think.
Let me see! said Celia, with awakened curiosity,
standing behind Mrs. Cadwallader and leaning forward
over her head. Oh, what an odd face! Then with a quick
change to another sort of surprised expression, she added,
Why, Dodo, you never told me that Mr. Ladislaw was
come again!
Dorothea felt a shock of alarm: every one noticed her
sudden paleness as she looked up immediately at her uncle,
while Mr. Casaubon looked at her.
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582 of 1492
He came with me, you know; he is my guestputs up
with me at the Grange, said Mr. Brooke, in his easiest
tone, nodding at Dorothea, as if the announcement were
just what she might have expected. And we have brought
the picture at the top of the carriage. I knew you would
be pleased with the surprise, Casaubon. There you are to
the very lifeas Aquinas, you know. Quite the right sort
of thing. And you will hear young Ladislaw talk about it.
He talks uncommonly wellpoints out this, that, and the
other knows art and everything of that kind
companionable, you knowis up with you in any track
what Ive been wanting a long while.
Mr. Casaubon bowed with cold politeness, mastering
his irritation, but only so far as to be silent. He
remembered Wills letter quite as well as Dorothea did; he
had noticed that it was not among the letters which had
been reserved for him on his recovery, and secretly
concluding that Dorothea had sent word to Will not to
come to Lowick, he had shrunk with proud sensitiveness
from ever recurring to the subject. He now inferred that
she had asked her uncle to invite Will to the Grange; and
she felt it impossible at that moment to enter into any
explanation.
Middlemarch
583 of 1492
Mrs. Cadwalladers eyes, diverted from the churchyard,
saw a good deal of dumb show which was not so
intelligible to her as she could have desired, and could not
repress the question, Who is Mr. Ladislaw?
A young relative of Mr. Casaubons, said Sir James,
promptly. His good-nature often made him quick and
clear-seeing in personal matters, and he had divined from
Dorotheas glance at her husband that there was some
alarm in her mind.
A very nice young fellowCasaubon has done
everything for him, explained Mr. Brooke. He repays
your expense in him, Casaubon, he went on, nodding
encouragingly. I hope he will stay with me a long while
and we shall make something of my documents. I have
plenty of ideas and facts, you know, and I can see he is just
the man to put them into shaperemembers what the
right quotations are, omne tulit punctum, and that sort of
thinggives subjects a kind of turn. I invited him some
time ago when you were ill, Casaubon; Dorothea said you
couldnt have anybody in the house, you know, and she
asked me to write.
Poor Dorothea felt that every word of her uncles was
about as pleasant as a grain of sand in the eye to Mr.
Casaubon. It would be altogether unfitting now to explain
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that she had not wished her uncle to invite Will Ladislaw.
She could not in the least make clear to herself the reasons
for her husbands dislike to his presence a dislike
painfully impressed on her by the scene in the library; but
she felt the unbecomingness of saying anything that might
convey a notion of it to others. Mr. Casaubon, indeed,
had not thoroughly represented those mixed reasons to
himself; irritated feeling with him, as with all of us,
seeking rather for justification than for self-knowledge.
But he wished to repress outward signs, and only
Dorothea could discern the changes in her husbands face
before he observed with more of dignified bending and
sing-song than usual
You are exceedingly hospitable, my dear sir; and I owe
you acknowledgments for exercising your hospitality
towards a relative of mine.
The funeral was ended now, and the churchyard was
being cleared.
Now you can see him, Mrs. Cadwallader, said Celia.
He is just like a miniature of Mr. Casaubons aunt that
hangs in Dorotheas boudoir quite nice-looking.
A very pretty sprig, said Mrs. Cadwallader, dryly.
What is your nephew to be, Mr. Casaubon?
Pardon me, he is not my nephew. He is my cousin.
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Well, you know, interposed Mr. Brooke, he is trying
his wings. He is just the sort of young fellow to rise. I
should be glad to give him an opportunity. He would
make a good secretary, now, like Hobbes, Milton, Swift
that sort of man.
I understand, said Mrs. Cadwallader. One who can
write speeches.
Ill fetch him in now, eh, Casaubon? said Mr. Brooke.
He wouldnt come in till I had announced him, you
know. And well go down and look at the picture. There
you are to the life: a deep subtle sort of thinker with his
fore-finger on the page, while Saint Bonaventure or
somebody else, rather fat and florid, is looking up at the
Trinity. Everything is symbolical, you know the higher
style of art: I like that up to a certain point, but not too
farits rather straining to keep up with, you know. But
you are at home in that, Casaubon. And your painters
flesh is goodsolidity, transparency, everything of that
sort. I went into that a great deal at one time. However,
Ill go and fetch Ladislaw.
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Chapter XXXV
"Non, je ne comprends pas de plus charmant plaisir
Que de voir dheritiers une troupe affligee
Le maintien interdit, et la mine allongee,
Lire un long testament ou pales, etonnes
On leur laisse un bonsoir avec un pied de nez.
Pour voir au naturel leur tristesse profonde
Je reviendrais, je crois, expres de lautre monde.
REGNARD: Le Legataire Universel.
When the animals entered the Ark in pairs, one may
imagine that allied species made much private remark on
each other, and were tempted to think that so many forms
feeding on the same store of fodder were eminently
superfluous, as tending to diminish the rations. (I fear the
part played by the vultures on that occasion would be too
painful for art to represent, those birds being
disadvantageously naked about the gullet, and apparently
without rites and ceremonies.)
The same sort of temptation befell the Christian
Carnivora who formed Peter Featherstones funeral
procession; most of them having their minds bent on a
limited store which each would have liked to get the most
of. The long-recognized blood-relations and connections
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by marriage made already a goodly number, which,
multiplied by possibilities, presented a fine range for
jealous conjecture and pathetic hopefulness. Jealousy of the
Vincys had created a fellowship in hostility among all
persons of the Featherstone blood, so that in the absence
of any decided indication that one of themselves was to
have more than the rest, the dread lest that long-legged
Fred Vincy should have the land was necessarily dominant,
though it left abundant feeling and leisure for vaguer
jealousies, such as were entertained towards Mary Garth.
Solomon found time to reflect that Jonah was
undeserving, and Jonah to abuse Solomon as greedy; Jane,
the elder sister, held that Marthas children ought not to
expect so much as the young Waules; and Martha, more
lax on the subject of primogeniture, was sorry to think
that Jane was so having. These nearest of kin were
naturally impressed with the unreasonableness of
expectations in cousins and second cousins, and used their
arithmetic in reckoning the large sums that small legacies
might mount to, if there were too many of them. Two
cousins were present to hear the will, and a second cousin
besides Mr. Trumbull. This second cousin was a
Middlemarch mercer of polite manners and superfluous
aspirates. The two cousins were elderly men from
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Brassing, one of them conscious of claims on the score of
inconvenient expense sustained by him in presents of
oysters and other eatables to his rich cousin Peter; the
other entirely saturnine, leaning his hands and chin on a
stick, and conscious of claims based on no narrow
performance but on merit generally: both blameless
citizens of Brassing, who wished that Jonah Featherstone
did not live there. The wit of a family is usually best
received among strangers.
Why, Trumbull himself is pretty sure of five
hundredTHAT you may depend,I shouldnt wonder
if my brother promised him, said Solomon, musing aloud
with his sisters, the evening before the funeral.
Dear, dear! said poor sister Martha, whose imagination
of hundreds had been habitually narrowed to the amount
of her unpaid rent.
But in the morning all the ordinary currents of
conjecture were disturbed by the presence of a strange
mourner who had plashed among them as if from the
moon. This was the stranger described by Mrs.
Cadwallader as frog-faced: a man perhaps about two or
three and thirty, whose prominent eyes, thin-lipped,
downward-curved mouth, and hair sleekly brushed away
from a forehead that sank suddenly above the ridge of the
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eyebrows, certainly gave his face a batrachian
unchangeableness of expression. Here, clearly, was a new
legatee; else why was he bidden as a mourner? Here were
new possibilities, raising a new uncertainty, which almost
checked remark in the mourning-coaches. We are all
humiliated by the sudden discovery of a fact which has
existed very comfortably and perhaps been staring at us in
private while we have been making up our world entirely
without it. No one had seen this questionable stranger
before except Mary Garth, and she knew nothing more of
him than that he had twice been to Stone Court when
Mr. Featherstone was down-stairs, and had sat alone with
him for several hours. She had found an opportunity of
mentioning this to her father, and perhaps Calebs were
the only eyes, except the lawyers, which examined the
stranger with more of inquiry than of disgust or suspicion.
Caleb Garth, having little expectation and less cupidity,
was interested in the verification of his own guesses, and
the calmness with which he half smilingly rubbed his chin
and shot intelligent glances much as if he were valuing a
tree, made a fine contrast with the alarm or scorn visible in
other faces when the unknown mourner, whose name was
understood to be Rigg, entered the wainscoted parlor and
took his seat near the door to make part of the audience
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when the will should be read. Just then Mr. Solomon and
Mr. Jonah were gone up-stairs with the lawyer to search
for the will; and Mrs. Waule, seeing two vacant seats
between herself and Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, had the
spirit to move next to that great authority, who was
handling his watch-seals and trimming his outlines with a
determination not to show anything so compromising to a
man of ability as wonder or surprise.
I suppose you know everything about what my poor
brothers done, Mr. Trumbull, said Mrs. Waule, in the
lowest of her woolly tones, while she turned her crape-
shadowed bonnet towards Mr. Trumbulls ear.
My good lady, whatever was told me was told in
confidence, said the auctioneer, putting his hand up to
screen that secret.
Them whove made sure of their good-luck may be
disappointed yet, Mrs. Waule continued, finding some
relief in this communication.
Hopes are often delusive, said Mr. Trumbull, still in
confidence.
Ah! said Mrs. Waule, looking across at the Vincys,
and then moving back to the side of her sister Martha.
Its wonderful how close poor Peter was, she said, in
the same undertones. We none of us know what he
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might have had on his mind. I only hope and trust he
wasnt a worse liver than we think of, Martha.
Poor Mrs. Cranch was bulky, and, breathing
asthmatically, had the additional motive for making her
remarks unexceptionable and giving them a general
bearing, that even her whispers were loud and liable to
sudden bursts like those of a deranged barrel-organ.
I never WAS covetious, Jane, she replied; but I have
six children and have buried three, and I didnt marry into
money. The eldest, that sits there, is but nineteenso I
leave you to guess. And stock always short, and land most
awkward. But if ever Ive begged and prayed; its been to
God above; though where theres one brother a bachelor
and the other childless after twice marrying anybody
might think!
Meanwhile, Mr. Vincy had glanced at the passive face
of Mr. Rigg, and had taken out his snuff-box and tapped
it, but had put it again unopened as an indulgence which,
however clarifying to the judgment, was unsuited to the
occasion. I shouldnt wonder if Featherstone had better
feelings than any of us gave him credit for, he observed,
in the ear of his wife. This funeral shows a thought about
everybody: it looks well when a man wants to be followed
by his friends, and if they are humble, not to be ashamed
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Middlemarch
592 of 1492
of them. I should be all the better pleased if hed left lots
of small legacies. They may be uncommonly useful to
fellows in a small way.
Everything is as handsome as could be, crape and silk
and everything, said Mrs. Vincy, contentedly.
But I am sorry to say that Fred was under some
difficulty in repressing a laugh, which would have been
more unsuitable than his fathers snuff-box. Fred had
overheard Mr. Jonah suggesting something about a love-
child, and with this thought in his mind, the strangers
face, which happened to be opposite him, affected him
too ludicrously. Mary Garth, discerning his distress in the
twitchings of his mouth, and his recourse to a cough,
came cleverly to his rescue by asking him to change seats
with her, so that he got into a shadowy corner. Fred was
feeling as good-naturedly as possible towards everybody,
including Rigg; and having some relenting towards all
these people who were less lucky than he was aware of
being himself, he would not for the world have behaved
amiss; still, it was particularly easy to laugh.
But the entrance of the lawyer and the two brothers
drew every ones attention. The lawyer was Mr. Standish,
and he had come to Stone Court this morning believing
that he knew thoroughly well who would be pleased and
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who disappointed before the day was over. The will he
expected to read was the last of three which he had drawn
up for Mr. Featherstone. Mr. Standish was not a man who
varied his manners: he behaved with the same deep-
voiced, off-hand civility to everybody, as if he saw no
difference in them, and talked chiefly of the hay-crop,
which would be very fine, by God! of the last bulletins
concerning the King, and of the Duke of Clarence, who
was a sailor every inch of him, and just the man to rule
over an island like Britain.
Old Featherstone had often reflected as he sat looking
at the fire that Standish would be surprised some day: it is
true that if he had done as he liked at the last, and burnt
the will drawn up by another lawyer, he would not have
secured that minor end; still he had had his pleasure in
ruminating on it. And certainly Mr. Standish was
surprised, but not at all sorry; on the contrary, he rather
enjoyed the zest of a little curiosity in his own mind,
which the discovery of a second will added to the
prospective amazement on the part of the Featherstone
family.
As to the sentiments of Solomon and Jonah, they were
held in utter suspense: it seemed to them that the old will
would have a certain validity, and that there might be such
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an interlacement of poor Peters former and latter
intentions as to create endless lawing before anybody
came by their ownan inconvenience which would have
at least the advantage of going all round. Hence the
brothers showed a thoroughly neutral gravity as they re-
entered with Mr. Standish; but Solomon took out his
white handkerchief again with a sense that in any case
there would be affecting passages, and crying at funerals,
however dry, was customarily served up in lawn.
Perhaps the person who felt the most throbbing
excitement at this moment was Mary Garth, in the
consciousness that it was she who had virtually determined
the production of this second will, which might have
momentous effects on the lot of some persons present. No
soul except herself knew what had passed on that final
night.
The will I hold in my hand, said Mr. Standish, who,
seated at the table in the middle of the room, took his
time about everything, including the coughs with which
he showed a disposition to clear his voice, was drawn up
by myself and executed by our deceased friend on the 9th
of August, 1825. But I find that there is a subsequent
instrument hitherto unknown to me, bearing date the
20th of July, 1826, hardly a year later than the previous
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one. And there is farther, I seeMr. Standish was
cautiously travelling over the document with his
spectaclesa codicil to this latter will, bearing date March
1, 1828.
Dear, dear! said sister Martha, not meaning to be
audible, but driven to some articulation under this pressure
of dates.
I shall begin by reading the earlier will, continued Mr.
Standish, since such, as appears by his not having
destroyed the document, was the intention of deceased.
The preamble was felt to be rather long, and several
besides Solomon shook their heads pathetically, looking
on the ground: all eyes avoided meeting other eyes, and
were chiefly fixed either on the spots in the table-cloth or
on Mr. Standishs bald head; excepting Mary Garths.
When all the rest were trying to look nowhere in
particular, it was safe for her to look at them. And at the
sound of the first give and bequeath she could see all
complexions changing subtly, as if some faint vibration
were passing through them, save that of Mr. Rigg. He sat
in unaltered calm, and, in fact, the company, preoccupied
with more important problems, and with the complication
of listening to bequests which might or might not be
revoked, had ceased to think of him. Fred blushed, and
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Mr. Vincy found it impossible to do without his snuff-box
in his hand, though he kept it closed.
The small bequests came first, and even the recollection
that there was another will and that poor Peter might have
thought better of it, could not quell the rising disgust and
indignation. One likes to be done well by in every tense,
past, present, and future. And here was Peter capable five
years ago of leaving only two hundred apiece to his own
brothers and sisters, and only a hundred apiece to his own
nephews and nieces: the Garths were not mentioned, but
Mrs. Vincy and Rosamond were each to have a hundred.
Mr. Trumbull was to have the gold-headed cane and fifty
pounds; the other second cousins and the cousins present
were each to have the like handsome sum, which, as the
saturnine cousin observed, was a sort of legacy that left a
man nowhere; and there was much more of such offensive
dribbling in favor of persons not present problematical,
and, it was to be feared, low connections. Altogether,
reckoning hastily, here were about three thousand
disposed of. Where then had Peter meant the rest of the
money to go and where the land? and what was
revoked and what not revoked and was the revocation
for better or for worse? All emotion must be conditional,
and might turn out to be the wrong thing. The men were
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strong enough to bear up and keep quiet under this
confused suspense; some letting their lower lip fall, others
pursing it up, according to the habit of their muscles. But
Jane and Martha sank under the rush of questions, and
began to cry; poor Mrs. Cranch being half moved with
the consolation of getting any hundreds at all without
working for them, and half aware that her share was
scanty; whereas Mrs. Waules mind was entirely flooded
with the sense of being an own sister and getting little,
while somebody else was to have much. The general
expectation now was that the much would fall to Fred
Vincy, but the Vincys themselves were surprised when ten
thousand pounds in specified investments were declared to
be bequeathed to him:was the land coming too? Fred
bit his lips: it was difficult to help smiling, and Mrs. Vincy
felt herself the happiest of womenpossible revocation
shrinking out of sight in this dazzling vision.
There was still a residue of personal property as well as
the land, but the whole was left to one person, and that
person was O possibilities! O expectations founded on
the favor of close old gentlemen! O endless vocatives that
would still leave expression slipping helpless from the
measurement of mortal folly! that residuary legatee was
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Joshua Rigg, who was also sole executor, and who was to
take thenceforth the name of Featherstone.
There was a rustling which seemed like a shudder
running round the room. Every one stared afresh at Mr.
Rigg, who apparently experienced no surprise.
A most singular testamentary disposition! exclaimed
Mr. Trumbull, preferring for once that he should be
considered ignorant in the past. But there is a second
willthere is a further document. We have not yet heard
the final wishes of the deceased.
Mary Garth was feeling that what they had yet to hear
were not the final wishes. The second will revoked
everything except the legacies to the low persons before
mentioned (some alterations in these being the occasion of
the codicil), and the bequest of all the land lying in
Lowick parish with all the stock and household furniture,
to Joshua Rigg. The residue of the property was to be
devoted to the erection and endowment of almshouses for
old men, to be called Featherstones Alms-Houses, and to
be built on a piece of land near Middlemarch already
bought for the purpose by the testator, he wishingso the
document declaredto please God Almighty. Nobody
present had a farthing; but Mr. Trumbull had the gold-
headed cane. It took some time for the company to
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recover the power of expression. Mary dared not look at
Fred.
Mr. Vincy was the first to speakafter using his snuff-
box energeticallyand he spoke with loud indignation.
The most unaccountable will I ever heard! I should say he
was not in his right mind when he made it. I should say
this last will was void, added Mr. Vincy, feeling that this
expression put the thing in the true light. Eh Standish?
Our deceased friend always knew what he was about, I
think, said Mr. Standish. Everything is quite regular.
Here is a letter from Clemmens of Brassing tied with the
will. He drew it up. A very respectable solicitor.
I never noticed any alienation of mindany aberration
of intellect in the late Mr. Featherstone, said Borthrop
Trumbull, but I call this will eccentric. I was always
willingly of service to the old soul; and he intimated pretty
plainly a sense of obligation which would show itself in his
will. The gold-headed cane is farcical considered as an
acknowledgment to me; but happily I am above
mercenary considerations.
Theres nothing very surprising in the matter that I can
see, said Caleb Garth. Anybody might have had more
reason for wondering if the will had been what you might
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expect from an open-minded straightforward man. For my
part, I wish there was no such thing as a will.
Thats a strange sentiment to come from a Christian
man, by God! said the lawyer. I should like to know how
you will back that up, Garth!
Oh, said Caleb, leaning forward, adjusting his finger-
tips with nicety and looking meditatively on the ground.
It always seemed to him that words were the hardest part
of business.
But here Mr. Jonah Featherstone made himself heard.
Well, he always was a fine hypocrite, was my brother
Peter. But this will cuts out everything. If Id known, a
wagon and six horses shouldnt have drawn me from
Brassing. Ill put a white hat and drab coat on to-morrow.
Dear, dear, wept Mrs. Cranch, and weve been at the
expense of travelling, and that poor lad sitting idle here so
long! Its the first time I ever heard my brother Peter was
so wishful to please God Almighty; but if I was to be
struck helpless I must say its hardI can think no other.
Itll do him no good where hes gone, thats my
belief, said Solomon, with a bitterness which was
remarkably genuine, though his tone could not help being
sly. Peter was a bad liver, and almshouses wont cover it,
when hes had the impudence to show it at the last.
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And all the while had got his own lawful family
brothers and sisters and nephews and niecesand has sat
in church with em whenever he thought well to come,
said Mrs. Waule. And might have left his property so
respectable, to them thats never been used to
extravagance or unsteadiness in no manner of wayand
not so poor but what they could have saved every penny
and made more of it. And methe trouble Ive been at,
times and times, to come here and be sisterlyand him
with things on his mind all the while that might make
anybodys flesh creep. But if the Almightys allowed it, he
means to punish him for it. Brother Solomon, I shall be
going, if youll drive me.
Ive no desire to put my foot on the premises again,
said Solomon. Ive got land of my own and property of
my own to will away.
Its a poor tale how luck goes in the world, said
Jonah. It never answers to have a bit of spirit in you.
Youd better be a dog in the manger. But those above
ground might learn a lesson. One fools will is enough in a
family.
Theres more ways than one of being a fool, said
Solomon. I shant leave my money to be poured down
the sink, and I shant leave it to foundlings from Africay. I
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like Feather, stones that were brewed such, and not turned
Featherstones with sticking the name on em.
Solomon addressed these remarks in a loud aside to
Mrs. Waule as he rose to accompany her. Brother Jonah
felt himself capable of much more stinging wit than this,
but he reflected that there was no use in offending the
new proprietor of Stone Court, until you were certain
that he was quite without intentions of hospitality towards
witty men whose name he was about to bear.
Mr. Joshua Rigg, in fact, appeared to trouble himself
little about any innuendoes, but showed a notable change
of manner, walking coolly up to Mr. Standish and putting
business questions with much coolness. He had a high
chirping voice and a vile accent. Fred, whom he no longer
moved to laughter, thought him the lowest monster he
had ever seen. But Fred was feeling rather sick. The
Middlemarch mercer waited for an opportunity of
engaging Mr. Rigg in conversation: there was no knowing
how many pairs of legs the new proprietor might require
hose for, and profits were more to be relied on than
legacies. Also, the mercer, as a second cousin, was
dispassionate enough to feel curiosity.
Mr. Vincy, after his one outburst, had remained
proudly silent, though too much preoccupied with
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unpleasant feelings to think of moving, till he observed
that his wife had gone to Freds side and was crying
silently while she held her darlings hand. He rose
immediately, and turning his back on the company while
he said to her in an undertone,Dont give way, Lucy;
dont make a fool of yourself, my dear, before these
people, he added in his usual loud voiceGo and order
the phaeton, Fred; I have no time to waste.
Mary Garth had before this been getting ready to go
home with her father. She met Fred in the hall, and now
for the first time had the courage to look at him He had
that withered sort of paleness which will sometimes come
on young faces, and his hand was very cold when she
shook it. Mary too was agitated; she was conscious that
fatally, without will of her own, she had perhaps made a
great difference to Freds lot.
Good-by, she said, with affectionate sadness. Be
brave, Fred. I do believe you are better without the
money. What was the good of it to Mr. Featherstone?
Thats all very fine, said Fred, pettishly. What is a
fellow to do? I must go into the Church now. (He knew
that this would vex Mary: very well; then she must tell
him what else he could do.) And I thought I should be
able to pay your father at once and make everything right.
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Middlemarch
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And you have not even a hundred pounds left you. What
shall you do now, Mary?
Take another situation, of course, as soon as I can get
one. My father has enough to do to keep the rest, without
me. Good-by.
In a very short time Stone Court was cleared of well-
brewed Featherstones and other long-accustomed visitors.
Another stranger had been brought to settle in the
neighborhood of Middlemarch, but in the case of Mr.
Rigg Featherstone there was more discontent with
immediate visible consequences than speculation as to the
effect which his presence might have in the future. No
soul was prophetic enough to have any foreboding as to
what might appear on the trial of Joshua Rigg.
And here I am naturally led to reflect on the means of
elevating a low subject. Historical parallels are remarkably
efficient in this way. The chief objection to them is, that
the diligent narrator may lack space, or (what is often the
same thing) may not be able to think of them with any
degree of particularity, though he may have a
philosophical confidence that if known they would be
illustrative. It seems an easier and shorter way to dignity,
to observe that since there never was a true story which
could not be told in parables, where you might put a
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monkey for a margrave, and vice versa whatever has
been or is to be narrated by me about low people, may be
ennobled by being considered a parable; so that if any bad
habits and ugly consequences are brought into view, the
reader may have the relief of regarding them as not more
than figuratively ungenteel, and may feel himself virtually
in company with persons of some style. Thus while I tell
the truth about loobies, my readers imagination need not
be entirely excluded from an occupation with lords; and
the petty sums which any bankrupt of high standing
would be sorry to retire upon, may be lifted to the level of
high commercial transactions by the inexpensive addition
of proportional ciphers.
As to any provincial history in which the agents are all
of high moral rank, that must be of a date long posterior
to the first Reform Bill, and Peter Featherstone, you
perceive, was dead and buried some months before Lord
Grey came into office.
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Chapter XXXVI
Tis strange to see the humors of these men,
These great aspiring spirits, that should be wise:
For being the nature of great spirits to love
To be where they may be most eminent;
They, rating of themselves so farre above
Us in conceit, with whom they do frequent,
Imagine how we wonder and esteeme
All that they do or say; which makes them strive
To make our admiration more extreme,
Which they suppose they cannot, less they give
Notice of their extreme and highest thoughts.
DANIEL: Tragedy of Philotas.
Mr. Vincy went home from the reading of the will
with his point of view considerably changed in relation to
many subjects. He was an open-minded man, but given to
indirect modes of expressing himself: when he was
disappointed in a market for his silk braids, he swore at the
groom; when his brother-in-law Bulstrode had vexed
him, he made cutting remarks on Methodism; and it was
now apparent that he regarded Freds idleness with a
sudden increase of severity, by his throwing an
embroidered cap out of the smoking-room on to the hall-
floor.
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Well, sir, he observed, when that young gentleman
was moving off to bed, I hope youve made up your
mind now to go up next term and pass your examination.
Ive taken my resolution, so I advise you to lose no time
in taking yours.
Fred made no answer: he was too utterly depressed.
Twenty-four hours ago he had thought that instead of
needing to know what he should do, he should by this
time know that he needed to do nothing: that he should
hunt in pink, have a first-rate hunter, ride to cover on a
fine hack, and be generally respected for doing so;
moreover, that he should be able at once to pay Mr.
Garth, and that Mary could no longer have any reason for
not marrying him. And all this was to have come without
study or other inconvenience, purely by the favor of
providence in the shape of an old gentlemans caprice. But
now, at the end of the twenty-four hours, all those firm
expectations were upset. It was rather hard lines that
while he was smarting under this disappointment he
should be treated as if he could have helped it. But he
went away silently and his mother pleaded for him.
Dont be hard on the poor boy, Vincy. Hell turn out
well yet, though that wicked man has deceived him. I feel
as sure as I sit here, Fred will turn out wellelse why was
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he brought back from the brink of the grave? And I call it
a robbery: it was like giving him the land, to promise it;
and what is promising, if making everybody believe is not
promising? And you see he did leave him ten thousand
pounds, and then took it away again.
Took it away again! said Mr. Vincy, pettishly. I tell
you the lads an unlucky lad, Lucy. And youve always
spoiled him.
Well, Vincy, he was my first, and you made a fine fuss
with him when he came. You were as proud as proud,
said Mrs. Vincy, easily recovering her cheerful smile.
Who knows what babies will turn to? I was fool
enough, I dare say, said the husbandmore mildly,
however.
But who has handsomer, better children than ours?
Fred is far beyond other peoples sons: you may hear it in
his speech, that he has kept college company. And
Rosamondwhere is there a girl like her? She might
stand beside any lady in the land, and only look the better
for it. You seeMr. Lydgate has kept the highest
company and been everywhere, and he fell in love with
her at once. Not but what I could have wished Rosamond
had not engaged herself. She might have met somebody
on a visit who would have been a far better match; I mean
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at her schoolfellow Miss Willoughbys. There are relations
in that family quite as high as Mr. Lydgates.
Damn relations! said Mr. Vincy; Ive had enough of
them. I dont want a son-in-law who has got nothing but
his relations to recommend him.
Why, my dear, said Mrs. Vincy, you seemed as
pleased as could be about it. Its true, I wasnt at home;
but Rosamond told me you hadnt a word to say against
the engagement. And she has begun to buy in the best
linen and cambric for her underclothing.
Not by my will, said Mr. Vincy. I shall have enough
to do this year, with an idle scamp of a son, without
paying for wedding-clothes. The times are as tight as can
be; everybody is being ruined; and I dont believe Lydgate
has got a farthing. I shant give my consent to their
marrying. Let em wait, as their elders have done before
em.
Rosamond will take it hard, Vincy, and you know you
never could bear to cross her.
Yes, I could. The sooner the engagements off, the
better. I dont believe hell ever make an income, the way
he goes on. He makes enemies; thats all I hear of his
making.
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But he stands very high with Mr. Bulstrode, my dear.
The marriage would please HIM, I should think.
Please the deuce! said Mr. Vincy. Bulstrode wont
pay for their keep. And if Lydgate thinks Im going to give
money for them to set up housekeeping, hes mistaken,
thats all. I expect I shall have to put down my horses
soon. Youd better tell Rosy what I say.
This was a not infrequent procedure with Mr. Vincy
to be rash in jovial assent, and on becoming subsequently
conscious that he had been rash, to employ others in
making the offensive retractation. However, Mrs. Vincy,
who never willingly opposed her husband, lost no time
the next morning in letting Rosamond know what he had
said. Rosamond, examining some muslin-work, listened in
silence, and at the end gave a certain turn of her graceful
neck, of which only long experience could teach you that
it meant perfect obstinacy.
What do you say, my dear? said her mother, with
affectionate deference.
Papa does not mean anything of the kind, said
Rosamond, quite calmly. He has always said that he
wished me to marry the man I loved. And I shall marry
Mr. Lydgate. It is seven weeks now since papa gave his
consent. And I hope we shall have Mrs. Brettons house.
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Well, my dear, I shall leave you to manage your papa.
You always do manage everybody. But if we ever do go
and get damask, Sadlers is the placefar better than
Hopkinss. Mrs. Brettons is very large, though: I should
love you to have such a house; but it will take a great deal
of furniturecarpeting and everything, besides plate and
glass. And you hear, your papa says he will give no
money. Do you think Mr. Lydgate expects it?
You cannot imagine that I should ask him, mamma.
Of course he understands his own affairs.
But he may have been looking for money, my dear,
and we all thought of your having a pretty legacy as well
as Fred;and now everything is so dreadfultheres no
pleasure in thinking of anything, with that poor boy
disappointed as he is.
That has nothing to do with my marriage, mamma.
Fred must leave off being idle. I am going up-stairs to take
this work to Miss Morgan: she does the open hemming
very well. Mary Garth might do some work for me now, I
should think. Her sewing is exquisite; it is the nicest thing
I know about Mary. I should so like to have all my
cambric frilling double-hemmed. And it takes a long
time.
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Mrs. Vincys belief that Rosamond could manage her
papa was well founded. Apart from his dinners and his
coursing, Mr. Vincy, blustering as he was, had as little of
his own way as if he had been a prime minister: the force
of circumstances was easily too much for him, as it is for
most pleasure-loving florid men; and the circumstance
called Rosamond was particularly forcible by means of that
mild persistence which, as we know, enables a white soft
living substance to make its way in spite of opposing rock.
Papa was not a rock: he had no other fixity than that fixity
of alternating impulses sometimes called habit, and this was
altogether unfavorable to his taking the only decisive line
of conduct in relation to his daughters engagement
namely, to inquire thoroughly into Lydgates
circumstances, declare his own inability to furnish money,
and forbid alike either a speedy marriage or an
engagement which must be too lengthy. That seems very
simple and easy in the statement; but a disagreeable resolve
formed in the chill hours of the morning had as many
conditions against it as the early frost, and rarely persisted
under the warming influences of the day. The indirect
though emphatic expression of opinion to which Mr.
Vincy was prone suffered much restraint in this case:
Lydgate was a proud man towards whom innuendoes
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were obviously unsafe, and throwing his hat on the floor
was out of the question. Mr. Vincy was a little in awe of
him, a little vain that he wanted to marry Rosamond, a
little indisposed to raise a question of money in which his
own position was not advantageous, a little afraid of being
worsted in dialogue with a man better educated and more
highly bred than himself, and a little afraid of doing what
his daughter would not like. The part Mr. Vincy preferred
playing was that of the generous host whom nobody
criticises. In the earlier half of the day there was business
to hinder any formal communication of an adverse
resolve; in the later there was dinner, wine, whist, and
general satisfaction. And in the mean while the hours were
each leaving their little deposit and gradually forming the
final reason for inaction, namely, that action was too late.
The accepted lover spent most of his evenings in Lowick
Gate, and a love-making not at all dependent on money-
advances from fathers-in-law, or prospective income from
a profession, went on flourishingly under Mr. Vincys own
eyes. Young love-makingthat gossamer web! Even the
points it clings tothe things whence its subtle
interlacings are swung are scarcely perceptible:
momentary touches of fingertips, meetings of rays from
blue and dark orbs, unfinished phrases, lightest changes of
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cheek and lip, faintest tremors. The web itself is made of
spontaneous beliefs and indefinable joys, yearnings of one
life towards another, visions of completeness, indefinite
trust. And Lydgate fell to spinning that web from his
inward self with wonderful rapidity, in spite of experience
supposed to be finished off with the drama of Laurein
spite too of medicine and biology; for the inspection of
macerated muscle or of eyes presented in a dish (like Santa
Lucias), and other incidents of scientific inquiry, are
observed to be less incompatible with poetic love than a
native dulness or a lively addiction to the lowest prose. As
for Rosamond, she was in the water-lilys expanding
wonderment at its own fuller life, and she too was
spinning industriously at the mutual web. All this went on
in the corner of the drawing-room where the piano stood,
and subtle as it was, the light made it a sort of rainbow
visible to many observers besides Mr. Farebrother. The
certainty that Miss Vincy and Mr. Lydgate were engaged
became general in Middlemarch without the aid of formal
announcement.
Aunt Bulstrode was again stirred to anxiety; but this
time she addressed herself to her brother, going to the
warehouse expressly to avoid Mrs. Vincys volatility. His
replies were not satisfactory.
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Walter, you never mean to tell me that you have
allowed all this to go on without inquiry into Mr.
Lydgates prospects? said Mrs. Bulstrode, opening her eyes
with wider gravity at her brother, who was in his peevish
warehouse humor. Think of this girl brought up in
luxuryin too worldly a way, I am sorry to say what
will she do on a small income?
Oh, confound it, Harriet I what can I do when men
come into the town without any asking of mine? Did you
shut your house up against Lydgate? Bulstrode has pushed
him forward more than anybody. I never made any fuss
about the young fellow. You should go and talk to your
husband about it, not me.
Well, really, Walter, how can Mr. Bulstrode be to
blame? I am sure he did not wish for the engagement.
Oh, if Bulstrode had not taken him by the hand, I
should never have invited him.
But you called him in to attend on Fred, and I am sure
that was a mercy, said Mrs. Bulstrode, losing her clew in
the intricacies of the subject.
I dont know about mercy, said Mr. Vincy, testily. I
know I am worried more than I like with my family. I was
a good brother to you, Harriet, before you married
Bulstrode, and I must say he doesnt always show that
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friendly spirit towards your family that might have been
expected of him. Mr. Vincy was very little like a Jesuit,
but no accomplished Jesuit could have turned a question
more adroitly. Harriet had to defend her husband instead
of blaming her brother, and the conversation ended at a
point as far from the beginning as some recent sparring
between the brothers-in-law at a vestry meeting.
Mrs. Bulstrode did not repeat her brothers complaints
to her husband, but in the evening she spoke to him of
Lydgate and Rosamond. He did not share her warm
interest, however; and only spoke with resignation of the
risks attendant on the beginning of medical practice and
the desirability of prudence.
I am sure we are bound to pray for that thoughtless
girl brought up as she has been, said Mrs. Bulstrode,
wishing to rouse her husbands feelings.
Truly, my dear, said Mr. Bulstrode, assentingly.
Those who are not of this world can do little else to arrest
the errors of the obstinately worldly. That is what we must
accustom ourselves to recognize with regard to your
brothers family. I could have wished that Mr. Lydgate had
not entered into such a union; but my relations with him
are limited to that use of his gifts for Gods purposes which
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is taught us by the divine government under each
dispensation.
Mrs. Bulstrode said no more, attributing some
dissatisfaction which she felt to her own want of
spirituality. She believed that her husband was one of
those men whose memoirs should be written when they
died.
As to Lydgate himself, having been accepted, he was
prepared to accept all the consequences which he believed
himself to foresee with perfect clearness. Of course he
must be married in a year perhaps even in half a year.
This was not what he had intended; but other schemes
would not be hindered: they would simply adjust
themselves anew. Marriage, of course, must be prepared
for in the usual way. A house must be taken instead of the
rooms he at present occupied; and Lydgate, having heard
Rosamond speak with admiration of old Mrs. Brettons
house (situated in Lowick Gate), took notice when it fell
vacant after the old ladys death, and immediately entered
into treaty for it.
He did this in an episodic way, very much as he gave
orders to his tailor for every requisite of perfect dress,
without any notion of being extravagant. On the contrary,
he would have despised any ostentation of expense; his
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profession had familiarized him with all grades of poverty,
and he cared much for those who suffered hardships. He
would have behaved perfectly at a table where the sauce
was served in a jug with the handle off, and he would
have remembered nothing about a grand dinner except
that a man was there who talked well. But it had never
occurred to him that he should live in any other than what
he would have called an ordinary way, with green glasses
for hock, and excellent waiting at table. In warming
himself at French social theories he had brought away no
smell of scorching. We may handle even extreme opinions
with impunity while our furniture, our dinner-giving, and
preference for armorial bearings in our own ease, link us
indissolubly with the established order. And Lydgates
tendency was not towards extreme opinions: he would
have liked no barefooted doctrines, being particular about
his boots: he was no radical in relation to anything but
medical reform and the prosecution of discovery. In the
rest of practical life he walked by hereditary habit; half
from that personal pride and unreflecting egoism which I
have already called commonness, and half from that
naivete which belonged to preoccupation with favorite
ideas.
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Any inward debate Lydgate had as to the consequences
of this engagement which had stolen upon him, turned on
the paucity of time rather than of money. Certainly, being
in love and being expected continually by some one who
always turned out to be prettier than memory could
represent her to be, did interfere with the diligent use of
spare hours which might serve some plodding fellow of a
German to make the great, imminent discovery. This was
really an argument for not deferring the marriage too long,
as he implied to Mr. Farebrother, one day that the Vicar
came to his room with some pond-products which he
wanted to examine under a better microscope than his
own, and, finding Lydgates tableful of apparatus and
specimens in confusion, said sarcastically
Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order
and harmony, and now he brings back chaos.
Yes, at some stages, said Lydgate, lifting his brows and
smiling, while he began to arrange his microscope. But a
better order will begin after.
Soon? said the Vicar.
I hope so, really. This unsettled state of affairs uses up
the time, and when one has notions in science, every
moment is an opportunity. I feel sure that marriage must
be the best thing for a man who wants to work steadily.
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He has everything at home thenno teasing with
personal speculationshe can get calmness and freedom.
You are an enviable dog, said the Vicar, to have such
a prospect Rosamond, calmness and freedom, all to
your share. Here am I with nothing but my pipe and
pond-animalcules. Now, are you ready?
Lydgate did not mention to the Vicar another reason
he had for wishing to shorten the period of courtship. It
was rather irritating to him, even with the wine of love in
his veins, to be obliged to mingle so often with the family
party at the Vincys, and to enter so much into
Middlemarch gossip, protracted good cheer, whist-
playing, and general futility. He had to be deferential
when Mr. Vincy decided questions with trenchant
ignorance, especially as to those liquors which were the
best inward pickle, preserving you from the effects of bad
air. Mrs. Vincys openness and simplicity were quite
unstreaked with suspicion as to the subtle offence she
might give to the taste of her intended son-in-law; and
altogether Lydgate had to confess to himself that he was
descending a little in relation to Rosamonds family. But
that exquisite creature herself suffered in the same sort of
way: it was at least one delightful thought that in
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marrying her, he could give her a much-needed
transplantation.
Dear! he said to her one evening, in his gentlest tone,
as he sat down by her and looked closely at her face
But I must first say that he had found her alone in the
drawing-room, where the great old-fashioned window,
almost as large as the side of the room, was opened to the
summer scents of the garden at the back of the house. Her
father and mother were gone to a party, and the rest were
all out with the butterflies.
Dear! your eyelids are red.
Are they? said Rosamond. I wonder why. It was not
in her nature to pour forth wishes or grievances. They
only came forth gracefully on solicitation.
As if you could hide it from me!? said Lydgate, laying
his hand tenderly on both of hers. Dont I see a tiny drop
on one of the lashes? Things trouble you, and you dont
tell me. That is unloving.
Why should I tell you what you cannot alter? They are
every-day things:perhaps they have been a little worse
lately.
Family annoyances. Dont fear speaking. I guess them.
Papa has been more irritable lately. Fred makes him
angry, and this morning there was a fresh quarrel because
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Fred threatens to throw his whole education away, and do
something quite beneath him. And besides
Rosamond hesitated, and her cheeks were gathering a
slight flush. Lydgate had never seen her in trouble since
the morning of their engagement, and he had never felt so
passionately towards her as at this moment. He kissed the
hesitating lips gently, as if to encourage them.
I feel that papa is not quite pleased about our
engagement, Rosamond continued, almost in a whisper;
and he said last night that he should certainly speak to you
and say it must be given up.
Will you give it up? said Lydgate, with quick
energyalmost angrily.
I never give up anything that I choose to do, said
Rosamond, recovering her calmness at the touching of
this chord.
God bless you! said Lydgate, kissing her again. This
constancy of purpose in the right place was adorable. He
went on:
It is too late now for your father to say that our
engagement must be given up. You are of age, and I claim
you as mine. If anything is done to make you unhappy,
that is a reason for hastening our marriage.
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623 of 1492
An unmistakable delight shone forth from the blue eyes
that met his, and the radiance seemed to light up all his
future with mild sunshine. Ideal happiness (of the kind
known in the Arabian Nights, in which you are invited to
step from the labor and discord of the street into a paradise
where everything is given to you and nothing claimed)
seemed to be an affair of a few weeks waiting, more or
less.
Why should we defer it? he said, with ardent
insistence. I have taken the house now: everything else
can soon be got ready can it not? You will not mind
about new clothes. Those can be bought afterwards.
What original notions you clever men have! said
Rosamond, dimpling with more thorough laughter than
usual at this humorous incongruity. This is the first time I
ever heard of wedding-clothes being bought after
marriage.
But you dont mean to say you would insist on my
waiting months for the sake of clothes? said Lydgate, half
thinking that Rosamond was tormenting him prettily, and
half fearing that she really shrank from speedy marriage.
Remember, we are looking forward to a better sort of
happiness even than thisbeing continually together,
independent of others, and ordering our lives as we will.
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Come, dear, tell me how soon you can be altogether
mine.
There was a serious pleading in Lydgates tone, as if he
felt that she would be injuring him by any fantastic delays.
Rosamond became serious too, and slightly meditative; in
fact, she was going through many intricacies of lace-
edging and hosiery and petticoat-tucking, in order to give
an answer that would at least be approximative.
Six weeks would be amplesay so, Rosamond,
insisted Lydgate, releasing her hands to put his arm gently
round her.
One little hand immediately went to pat her hair, while
she gave her neck a meditative turn, and then said
seriously
There would be the house-linen and the furniture to
be prepared. Still, mamma could see to those while we
were away.
Yes, to be sure. We must be away a week or so.
Oh, more than that! said Rosamond, earnestly. She
was thinking of her evening dresses for the visit to Sir
Godwin Lydgates, which she had long been secretly
hoping for as a delightful employment of at least one
quarter of the honeymoon, even if she deferred her
introduction to the uncle who was a doctor of divinity
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(also a pleasing though sober kind of rank, when sustained
by blood). She looked at her lover with some wondering
remonstrance as she spoke, and he readily understood that
she might wish to lengthen the sweet time of double
solitude.
Whatever you wish, my darling, when the day is fixed.
But let us take a decided course, and put an end to any
discomfort you may be suffering. Six weeks!I am sure
they would be ample.
I could certainly hasten the work, said Rosamond.
Will you, then, mention it to papa?I think it would be
better to write to him. She blushed and looked at him as
the garden flowers look at us when we walk forth happily
among them in the transcendent evening light: is there not
a soul beyond utterance, half nymph, half child, in those
delicate petals which glow and breathe about the centres
of deep color?
He touched her ear and a little bit of neck under it
with his lips, and they sat quite still for many minutes
which flowed by them like a small gurgling brook with
the kisses of the sun upon it. Rosamond thought that no
one could be more in love than she was; and Lydgate
thought that after all his wild mistakes and absurd
credulity, he had found perfect womanhoodfelt as If
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already breathed upon by exquisite wedded affection such
as would be bestowed by an accomplished creature who
venerated his high musings and momentous labors and
would never interfere with them; who would create order
in the home and accounts with still magic, yet keep her
fingers ready to touch the lute and transform life into
romance at any moment; who was instructed to the true
womanly limit and not a hairs- breadth beyonddocile,
therefore, and ready to carry out behests which came from
that limit. It was plainer now than ever that his notion of
remaining much longer a bachelor had been a mistake:
marriage would not be an obstruction but a furtherance.
And happening the next day to accompany a patient to
Brassing, he saw a dinner-service there which struck him
as so exactly the right thing that he bought it at once. It
saved time to do these things just when you thought of
them, and Lydgate hated ugly crockery. The dinner-
service in question was expensive, but that might be in the
nature of dinner-services. Furnishing was necessarily
expensive; but then it had to be done only once.
It must be lovely, said Mrs. Vincy, when Lydgate
mentioned his purchase with some descriptive touches.
Just what Rosy ought to have. I trust in heaven it wont
be broken!
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627 of 1492
One must hire servants who will not break things, said
Lydgate. (Certainly, this was reasoning with an imperfect
vision of sequences. But at that period there was no sort of
reasoning which was not more or less sanctioned by men
of science.)
Of course it was unnecessary to defer the mention of
anything to mamma, who did not readily take views that
were not cheerful, and being a happy wife herself, had
hardly any feeling but pride in her daughters marriage.
But Rosamond had good reasons for suggesting to Lydgate
that papa should be appealed to in writing. She prepared
for the arrival of the letter by walking with her papa to the
warehouse the next morning, and telling him on the way
that Mr. Lydgate wished to be married soon.
Nonsense, my dear! said Mr. Vincy. What has he got
to marry on? Youd much better give up the engagement.
Ive told you so pretty plainly before this. What have you
had such an education for, if you are to go and marry a
poor man? Its a cruel thing for a father to see.
Mr. Lydgate is not poor, papa. He bought Mr.
Peacocks practice, which, they say, is worth eight or nine
hundred a-year.
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Middlemarch
628 of 1492
Stuff and nonsense! Whats buying a practice? He
might as well buy next years swallows. Itll all slip through
his fingers.
On the contrary, papa, he will increase the practice.
See how he has been called in by the Chettams and
Casaubons.
I hope he knows I shant give anythingwith this
disappointment about Fred, and Parliament going to be
dissolved, and machine-breaking everywhere, and an
election coming on
Dear papa! what can that have to do with my
marriage?
A pretty deal to do with it! We may all be ruined for
what I know the countrys in that state! Some say its
the end of the world, and be hanged if I dont think it
looks like it! Anyhow, its not a time for me to be drawing
money out of my business, and I should wish Lydgate to
know that.
I am sure he expects nothing, papa. And he has such
very high connections: he is sure to rise in one way or
another. He is engaged in making scientific discoveries.
Mr. Vincy was silent.
I cannot give up my only prospect of happiness, papa
Mr. Lydgate is a gentleman. I could never love any one
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who was not a perfect gentleman. You would not like me
to go into a consumption, as Arabella Hawley did. And
you know that I never change my mind.
Again papa was silent.
Promise me, papa, that you will consent to what we
wish. We shall never give each other up; and you know
that you have always objected to long courtships and late
marriages.
There was a little more urgency of this kind, till Mr.
Vincy said, Well, well, child, he must write to me first
before I car answer him, and Rosamond was certain
that she had gained her point.
Mr. Vincys answer consisted chiefly in a demand that
Lydgate should insure his lifea demand immediately
conceded. This was a delightfully reassuring idea supposing
that Lydgate died, but in the mean time not a self-
supporting idea. However, it seemed to make everything
comfortable about Rosamonds marriage; and the
necessary purchases went on with much spirit. Not
without prudential considerations, however. A bride (who
is going to visit at a baronets) must have a few first-rate
pocket-handkerchiefs; but beyond the absolutely necessary
half-dozen, Rosamond contented herself without the very
highest style of embroidery and Valenciennes. Lydgate
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also, finding that his sum of eight hundred pounds had
been considerably reduced since he had come to
Middlemarch, restrained his inclination for some plate of
an old pattern which was shown to him when he went
into Kibbles establishment at Brassing to buy forks and
spoons. He was too proud to act as if he presupposed that
Mr. Vincy would advance money to provide furniture-;
and though, since it would not be necessary to pay for
everything at once, some bills would be left standing over,
he did not waste time in conjecturing how much his
father-in-law would give in the form of dowry, to make
payment easy. He was not going to do anything
extravagant, but the requisite things must be bought, and
it would be bad economy to buy them of a poor quality.
All these matters were by the bye. Lydgate foresaw that
science and his profession were the objects he should alone
pursue enthusiastically; but he could not imagine himself
pursuing them in such a home as Wrench hadthe doors
all open, the oil-cloth worn, the children in soiled
pinafores, and lunch lingering in the form of bones, black-
handled knives, and willow-pattern. But Wrench had a
wretched lymphatic wife who made a mummy of herself
indoors in a large shawl; and he must have altogether
begun with an ill-chosen domestic apparatus.
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631 of 1492
Rosamond, however, was on her side much occupied
with conjectures, though her quick imitative perception
warned her against betraying them too crudely.
I shall like so much to know your family, she said one
day, when the wedding journey was being discussed. We
might perhaps take a direction that would allow us to see
them as we returned. Which of your uncles do you like
best?
Oh,my uncle Godwin, I think. He is a good-
natured old fellow.
You were constantly at his house at Quallingham,
when you were a boy, were you not? I should so like to
see the old spot and everything you were used to. Does he
know you are going to be married?
No, said Lydgate, carelessly, turning in his chair and
rubbing his hair up.
Do send him word of it, you naughty undutiful
nephew. He will perhaps ask you to take me to
Quallingham; and then you could show me about the
grounds, and I could imagine you there when you were a
boy. Remember, you see me in my home, just as it has
been since I was a child. It is not fair that I should be so
ignorant of yours. But perhaps you would be a little
ashamed of me. I forgot that.
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Lydgate smiled at her tenderly, and really accepted the
suggestion that the proud pleasure of showing so charming
a bride was worth some trouble. And now he came to
think of it, he would like to see the old spots with
Rosamond.
I will write to him, then. But my cousins are bores.
It seemed magnificent to Rosamond to be able to speak
so slightingly of a baronets family, and she felt much
contentment in the prospect of being able to estimate
them contemptuously on her own account.
But mamma was near spoiling all, a day or two later, by
saying
I hope your uncle Sir Godwin will not look down on
Rosy, Mr. Lydgate. I should think he would do something
handsome. A thousand or two can be nothing to a
baronet.
Mamma! said Rosamond, blushing deeply; and
Lydgate pitied her so much that he remained silent and
went to the other end of the room to examine a print
curiously, as if he had been absent-minded. Mamma had a
little filial lecture afterwards, and was docile as usual. But
Rosamond reflected that if any of those high-bred cousins
who were bores, should be induced to visit Middlemarch,
they would see many things in her own family which
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might shock them. Hence it seemed desirable that Lydgate
should by-and-by get some first-rate position elsewhere
than in Middlemarch; and this could hardly be difficult in
the case of a man who had a titled uncle and could make
discoveries. Lydgate, you perceive, had talked fervidly to
Rosamond of his hopes as to the highest uses of his life,
and had found it delightful to be listened to by a creature
who would bring him the sweet furtherance of satisfying
affectionbeautyreposesuch help as our thoughts get
from the summer sky and the flower-fringed meadows.
Lydgate relied much on the psychological difference
between what for the sake of variety I will call goose and
gander: especially on the innate submissiveness of the
goose as beautifully corresponding to the strength of the
gander.
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Chapter XXXVII
Thrice happy she that is so well assured
Unto herself and settled so in heart
That neither will for better be allured
Ne fears to worse with any chance to start,
But like a steddy ship doth strongly part
The raging waves and keeps her course aright;
Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart,
Ne aught for fairer weathers false delight.
Such self-assurance need not fear the spight
Of grudging foes; ne favour seek of friends;
But in the stay of her own stedfast might
Neither to one herself nor other bends.
Most happy she that most assured doth rest,
But he most happy who such one loves best.
SPENSER.
The doubt hinted by Mr. Vincy whether it were only
the general election or the end of the world that was
coming on, now that George the Fourth was dead,
Parliament dissolved, Wellington and Peel generally
depreciated and the new King apologetic, was a feeble
type of the uncertainties in provincial opinion at that time.
With the glow-worm lights of country places, how could
men see which were their own thoughts in the confusion
of a Tory Ministry passing Liberal measures, of Tory
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nobles and electors being anxious to return Liberals rather
than friends of the recreant Ministers, and of outcries for
remedies which seemed to have a mysteriously remote
bearing on private interest, and were made suspicious by
the advocacy of disagreeable neighbors? Buyers of the
Middlemarch newspapers found themselves in an
anomalous position: during the agitation on the Catholic
Question many had given up the Pioneerwhich had a
motto from Charles James Fox and was in the van of
progress because it had taken Peels side about the
Papists, and had thus blotted its Liberalism with a
toleration of Jesuitry and Baal; but they were illsatisfied
with the Trumpet, whichsince its blasts against Rome,
and in the general flaccidity of the public mind (nobody
knowing who would support whom)had become feeble
in its blowing.
It was a time, according to a noticeable article in the
Pioneer, when the crying needs of the country might
well counteract a reluctance to public action on the part of
men whose minds had from long experience acquired
breadth as well as concentration, decision of judgment as
well as tolerance, dispassionateness as well as energy in
fact, all those qualities which in the melancholy experience
of mankind have been the least disposed to share lodgings.
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Mr. Hackbutt, whose fluent speech was at that time
floating more widely than usual, and leaving much
uncertainty as to its ultimate channel, was heard to say in
Mr. Hawleys office that the article in question emanated
from Brooke of Tipton, and that Brooke had secretly
bought the Pioneer some months ago.
That means mischief, eh? said Mr. Hawley. Hes got
the freak of being a popular man now, after dangling
about like a stray tortoise. So much the worse for him.
Ive had my eye on him for some time. He shall be prettily
pumped upon. Hes a damned bad landlord. What business
has an old county man to come currying favor with a low
set of dark-blue freemen? As to his paper, I only hope he
may do the writing himself. It would be worth our paying
for.
I understand he has got a very brilliant young fellow to
edit it, who can write the highest style of leading article,
quite equal to anything in the London papers. And he
means to take very high ground on Reform.
Let Brooke reform his rent-roll. Hes a cursed old
screw, and the buildings all over his estate are going to
rack. I sup pose this young fellow is some loose fish from
London.
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637 of 1492
His name is Ladislaw. He is said to be of foreign
extraction.
I know the sort, said Mr. Hawley; some emissary.
Hell begin with flourishing about the Rights of Man and
end with murdering a wench. Thats the style.
You must concede that there are abuses, Hawley, said
Mr. Hackbutt, foreseeing some political disagreement with
his family lawyer. I myself should never favor immoderate
viewsin fact I take my stand with Huskissonbut I
cannot blind myself to the consideration that the non-
representation of large towns
Large towns be damned! said Mr. Hawley, impatient
of exposition. I know a little too much about
Middlemarch elections. Let em quash every pocket
borough to-morrow, and bring in every mushroom town
in the kingdomtheyll only increase the expense of
getting into Parliament. I go upon facts.
Mr. Hawleys disgust at the notion of the Pioneer
being edited by an emissary, and of Brooke becoming
actively political as if a tortoise of desultory pursuits
should protrude its small head ambitiously and become
rampantwas hardly equal to the annoyance felt by some
members of Mr. Brookes own family. The result had
oozed forth gradually, like the discovery that your
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neighbor has set up an unpleasant kind of manufacture
which will be permanently under your nostrils without
legal remedy. The Pioneer had been secretly bought
even before Will Ladislaws arrival, the expected
opportunity having offered itself in the readiness of the
proprietor to part with a valuable property which did not
pay; and in the interval since Mr. Brooke had written his
invitation, those germinal ideas of making his mind tell
upon the world at large which had been present in him
from his younger years, but had hitherto lain in some
obstruction, had been sprouting under cover.
The development was much furthered by a delight in
his guest which proved greater even than he had
anticipated. For it seemed that Will was not only at home
in all those artistic and literary subjects which Mr. Brooke
had gone into at one time, but that he was strikingly ready
at seizing the points of the political situation, and dealing
with them in that large spirit which, aided by adequate
memory, lends itself to quotation and general effectiveness
of treatment.
He seems to me a kind of Shelley, you know, Mr.
Brooke took an opportunity of saying, for the gratification
of Mr. Casaubon. I dont mean as to anything
objectionablelaxities or atheism, or anything of that
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kind, you knowLadislaws sentiments in every way I am
sure are goodindeed, we were talking a great deal
together last night. But he has the same sort of enthusiasm
for liberty, freedom, emancipationa fine thing under
guidance under guidance, you know. I think I shall be
able to put him on the right tack; and I am the more
pleased because he is a relation of yours, Casaubon.
If the right tack implied anything more precise than the
rest of Mr. Brookes speech, Mr. Casaubon silently hoped
that it referred to some occupation at a great distance from
Lowick. He had disliked Will while he helped him, but he
had begun to dislike him still more now that Will had
declined his help. That is the way with us when we have
any uneasy jealousy in our disposition: if our talents are
chiefly of the burrowing kind, our honey-sipping cousin
(whom we have grave reasons for objecting to) is likely to
have a secret contempt for us, and any one who admires
him passes an oblique criticism on ourselves. Having the
scruples of rectitude in our souls, we are above the
meanness of injuring him rather we meet all his claims
on us by active benefits; and the drawing of cheeks for
him, being a superiority which he must recognize, gives
our bitterness a milder infusion. Now Mr. Casaubon had
been deprived of that superiority (as anything more than a
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Middlemarch
640 of 1492
remembrance) in a sudden, capricious manner. His
antipathy to Will did not spring from the common
jealousy of a winter-worn husband: it was something
deeper, bred by his lifelong claims and discontents; but
Dorothea, now that she was presentDorothea, as a
young wife who herself had shown an offensive capability
of criticism, necessarily gave concentration to the
uneasiness which had before been vague.
Will Ladislaw on his side felt that his dislike was
flourishing at the expense of his gratitude, and spent much
inward discourse in justifying the dislike. Casaubon hated
himhe knew that very well; on his first entrance he
could discern a bitterness in the mouth and a venom in the
glance which would almost justify declaring war in spite of
past benefits. He was much obliged to Casaubon in the
past, but really the act of marrying this wife was a set-off
against the obligation It was a question whether gratitude
which refers to what is done for ones self ought not to
give way to indignation at what is done against another.
And Casaubon had done a wrong to Dorothea in
marrying her. A man was bound to know himself better
than that, and if he chose to grow gray crunching bones in
a cavern, he had no business to be luring a girl into his
companionship. It is the most horrible of virgin-
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sacrifices, said Will; and he painted to himself what were
Dorotheas inward sorrows as if he had been writing a
choric wail. But he would never lose sight of her: he
would watch over herif he gave up everything else in
life he would watch over her, and she should know that
she had one slave in the world, Will hadto use Sir
Thomas Brownes phrase a passionate prodigality of
statement both to himself and others. The simple truth was
that nothing then invited him so strongly as the presence
of Dorothea.
Invitations of the formal kind had been wanting,
however, for Will had never been asked to go to Lowick.
Mr. Brooke, indeed, confident of doing everything
agreeable which Casaubon, poor fellow, was too much
absorbed to think of, had arranged to bring Ladislaw to
Lowick several times (not neglecting meanwhile to
introduce him elsewhere on every opportunity as a young
relative of Casaubons). And though Will had not seen
Dorothea alone, their interviews had been enough to
restore her former sense of young companionship with
one who was cleverer than herself, yet seemed ready to be
swayed by her. Poor Dorothea before her marriage had
never found much room in other minds for what she
cared most to say; and she had not, as we know, enjoyed
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her husbands superior instruction so much as she had
expected. If she spoke with any keenness of interest to Mr.
Casaubon, he heard her with an air of patience as if she
had given a quotation from the Delectus familiar to him
from his tender years, and sometimes mentioned curtly
what ancient sects or personages had held similar ideas, as
if there were too much of that sort in stock already; at
other times he would inform her that she was mistaken,
and reassert what her remark had questioned.
But Will Ladislaw always seemed to see more in what
she said than she herself saw. Dorothea had little vanity,
but she had the ardent womans need to rule beneficently
by making the joy of another soul. Hence the mere
chance of seeing Will occasionally was like a lunette
opened in the wall of her prison, giving her a glimpse of
the sunny air; and this pleasure began to nullify her
original alarm at what her husband might think about the
introduction of Will as her uncles guest. On this subject
Mr. Casaubon had remained dumb.
But Will wanted to talk with Dorothea alone, and was
impatient of slow circumstance. However slight the
terrestrial intercourse between Dante and Beatrice or
Petrarch and Laura, time changes the proportion of things,
and in later days it is preferable to have fewer sonnets and
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more conversation. Necessity excused stratagem, but
stratagem was limited by the dread of offending Dorothea.
He found out at last that he wanted to take a particular
sketch at Lowick; and one morning when Mr. Brooke had
to drive along the Lowick road on his way to the county
town, Will asked to be set down with his sketch-book and
camp-stool at Lowick, and without announcing himself at
the Manor settled himself to sketch in a position where he
must see Dorothea if she came out to walk and he knew
that she usually walked an hour in the morning.
But the stratagem was defeated by the weather. Clouds
gathered with treacherous quickness, the rain came down,
and Will was obliged to take shelter in the house. He
intended, on the strength of relationship, to go into the
drawing-room and wait there without being announced;
and seeing his old acquaintance the butler in the hall, he
said, Dont mention that I am here, Pratt; I will wait till
luncheon; I know Mr. Casaubon does not like to be
disturbed when he is in the library.
Master is out, sir; theres only Mrs. Casaubon in the
library. Id better tell her youre here, sir, said Pratt, a red-
cheeked man given to lively converse with Tantripp, and
often agreeing with her that it must be dull for Madam.
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Oh, very well; this confounded rain has hindered me
from sketching, said Will, feeling so happy that he
affected indifference with delightful ease.
In another minute he was in the library, and Dorothea
was meeting him with her sweet unconstrained smile.
Mr. Casaubon has gone to the Archdeacons, she said,
at once. I dont know whether he will be at home again
long before dinner. He was uncertain how long he should
be. Did you want to say anything particular to him?
No; I came to sketch, but the rain drove me in. Else I
would not have disturbed you yet. I supposed that Mr.
Casaubon was here, and I know he dislikes interruption at
this hour.
I am indebted to the rain, then. I am so glad to see
you. Dorothea uttered these common words with the
simple sincerity of an unhappy child, visited at school.
I really came for the chance of seeing you alone, said
Will, mysteriously forced to be just as simple as she was.
He could not stay to ask himself, why not? I wanted to
talk about things, as we did in Rome. It always makes a
difference when other people are present.
Yes, said Dorothea, in her clear full tone of assent. Sit
down. She seated herself on a dark ottoman with the
brown books behind her, looking in her plain dress of
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some thin woollen-white material, without a single
ornament on her besides her wedding-ring, as if she were
under a vow to be different from all other women; and
Will sat down opposite her at two yards distance, the light
falling on his bright curls and delicate but rather petulant
profile, with its defiant curves of lip and chin. Each looked
at the other as if they had been two flowers which had
opened then and there. Dorothea for the moment forgot
her husbands mysterious irritation against Will: it seemed
fresh water at her thirsty lips to speak without fear to the
one person whom she had found receptive; for in looking
backward through sadness she exaggerated a past solace.
I have often thought that I should like to talk to you
again, she said, immediately. It seems strange to me how
many things I said to you.
I remember them all, said Will, with the unspeakable
content in his soul of feeling that he was in the presence of
a creature worthy to be perfectly loved. I think his own
feelings at that moment were perfect, for we mortals have
our divine moments, when love is satisfied in the
completeness the beloved object.
I have tried to learn a great deal since we were in
Rome, said Dorothea. I can read Latin a little, and I am
beginning to understand just a little Greek. I can help Mr.
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Casaubon better now. I can find out references for him
and save his eyes in many ways. But it is very difficult to
be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way
to great thoughts, and can never enjoy them because they
are too tired.
If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely
to overtake them before he is decrepit, said Will, with
irrepressible quickness. But through certain sensibilities
Dorothea was as quick as he, and seeing her face change,
he added, immediately, But it is quite true that the best
minds have been sometimes overstrained in working out
their ideas.
You correct me, said Dorothea. I expressed myself ill.
I should have said that those who have great thoughts get
too much worn in working them out. I used to feel about
that, even when I was a little girl; and it always seemed to
me that the use I should like to make of my life would be
to help some one who did great works, so that his burthen
might be lighter.
Dorothea was led on to this bit of autobiography
without any sense of making a revelation. But she had
never before said anything to Will which threw so strong a
light on her marriage. He did not shrug his shoulders; and
for want of that muscular outlet he thought the more
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irritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other
emptinesses ecclesiastically enshrined. Also he had to take
care that his speech should not betray that thought.
But you may easily carry the help too far, he said, and
get over-wrought yourself. Are you not too much shut
up? You already look paler. It would be better for Mr.
Casaubon to have a secretary; he could easily get a man
who would do half his work for him. It would save him
more effectually, and you need only help him in lighter
ways.
How can you think of that? said Dorothea, in a tone
of earnest remonstrance. I should have no happiness if I
did not help him in his work. What could I do? There is
no good to be done in Lowick. The only thing I desire is
to help him more. And he objects to a secretary: please
not to mention that again.
Certainly not, now I know your feeling. But I have
heard both Mr. Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the
same wish.
Yes? said Dorothea, but they dont understandthey
want me to be a great deal on horseback, and have the
garden altered and new conservatories, to fill up my days. I
thought you could understand that ones mind has other
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wants, she added, rather impatiently besides, Mr.
Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary.
My mistake is excusable, said Will. In old days I used
to hear Mr. Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to
having a secretary. Indeed he held out the prospect of that
office to me. But I turned out to benot good enough
for it.
Dorothea was trying to extract out of this an excuse for
her husbands evident repulsion, as she said, with a playful
smile, You were not a steady worker enough.
No, said Will, shaking his head backward somewhat
after the manner of a-spirited horse. And then, the old
irritable demon prompting him to give another good
pinch at the moth-wings of poor Mr. Casaubons glory, he
went on, And I have seen since that Mr. Casaubon does
not like any one to overlook his work. and know
thoroughly what he is doing. He is too doubtfultoo
uncertain of himself. I may not be good for much, but he
dislikes me because I disagree with him.
Will was not without his intentions to be always
generous, but our tongues are little triggers which have
usually been pulled before general intentions can be
brought to bear. And it was too intolerable that
Casaubons dislike of him should not be fairly accounted
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for to Dorothea. Yet when he had spoken he was rather
uneasy as to the effect on her.
But Dorothea was strangely quietnot immediately
indignant, as she had been on a like occasion in Rome.
And the cause lay deep. She was no longer struggling
against the perception of facts, but adjusting herself to their
clearest perception; and now when she looked steadily at
her husbands failure, still more at his possible
consciousness of failure, she seemed to be looking along
the one tract where duty became tenderness. Wills want
of reticence might have been met with more severity, if he
had not already been recommended to her mercy by her
husbands dislike, which must seem hard to her till she saw
better reason for it.
She did not answer at once, but after looking down
ruminatingly she said, with some earnestness, Mr.
Casaubon must have overcome his dislike of you so far as
his actions were concerned: and that is admirable.
Yes; he has shown a sense of justice in family matters.
It was an abominable thing that my grandmother should
have been disinherited because she made what they called
a mesalliance, though there was nothing to be said against
her husband except that he was a Polish refugee who gave
lessons for his bread.
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I wish I knew all about her! said Dorothea. I wonder
how she bore the change from wealth to poverty: I
wonder whether she was happy with her husband! Do you
know much about them?
No; only that my grandfather was a patriota bright
fellow could speak many languagesmusicalgot his
bread by teaching all sorts of things. They both died rather
early. And I never knew much of my father, beyond what
my mother told me; but he inherited the musical talents. I
remember his slow walk and his long thin hands; and one
day remains with me when he was lying ill, and I was very
hungry, and had only a little bit of bread.
Ah, what a different life from mine! said Dorothea,
with keen interest, clasping her hands on her lap. I have
always had too much of everything. But tell me how it
was Mr. Casaubon could not have known about you
then.
No; but my father had made himself known to Mr.
Casaubon, and that was my last hungry day. My father
died soon after, and my mother and I were well taken care
of. Mr. Casaubon always expressly recognized it as his
duty to take care of us because of the harsh injustice which
had been shown to his mothers sister. But now I am
telling you what is not new to you.
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In his inmost soul Will was conscious of wishing to tell
Dorothea what was rather new even in his own
construction of things namely, that Mr. Casaubon had
never done more than pay a debt towards him. Will was
much too good a fellow to be easy under the sense of
being ungrateful. And when gratitude has become a matter
of reasoning there are many ways of escaping from its
bonds.
No, answered Dorothea; Mr. Casaubon has always
avoided dwelling on his own honorable actions. She did
not feel that her husbands conduct was depreciated; but
this notion of what justice had required in his relations
with Will Ladislaw took strong hold on her mind. After a
moments pause, she added, He had never told me that he
supported your mother. Is she still living?
No; she died by an accidenta fallfour years ago. It
is curious that my mother, too, ran away from her family,
but not for the sake of her husband. She never would tell
me anything about her family, except that she forsook
them to get her own livingwent on the stage, in fact.
She was a dark-eyed creature, with crisp ringlets, and
never seemed to be getting old. You see I come of
rebellious blood on both sides, Will ended, smiling
brightly at Dorothea, while she was still looking with
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Middlemarch
652 of 1492
serious intentness before her, like a child seeing a drama
for the first time.
But her face, too, broke into a smile as she said, That is
your apology, I suppose, for having yourself been rather
rebellious; I mean, to Mr. Casaubons wishes. You must
remember that you have not done what he thought best
for you. And if he dislikes you you were speaking of
dislike a little while agobut I should rather say, if he has
shown any painful feelings towards you, you must
consider how sensitive he has become from the wearing
effect of study. Perhaps, she continued, getting into a
pleading tone, my uncle has not told you how serious Mr.
Casaubons illness was. It would be very petty of us who
are well and can bear things, to think much of small
offences from those who carry a weight of trial.
You teach me better, said Will. I will never grumble
on that subject again. There was a gentleness in his tone
which came from the unutterable contentment of
perceivingwhat Dorothea was hardly conscious ofthat
she was travelling into the remoteness of pure pity and
loyalty towards her husband. Will was ready to adore her
pity and loyalty, if she would associate himself with her in
manifesting them. I have really sometimes been a perverse
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fellow, he went on, but I will never again, if I can help
it, do or say what you would disapprove.
That is very good of you, said Dorothea, with another
open smile. I shall have a little kingdom then, where I
shall give laws. But you will soon go away, out of my rule,
I imagine. You will soon be tired of staying at the
Grange.
That is a point I wanted to mention to youone of
the reasons why I wished to speak to you alone. Mr.
Brooke proposes that I should stay in this neighborhood.
He has bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers, and
he wishes me to conduct that, and also to help him in
other ways.
Would not that be a sacrifice of higher prospects for
you? said Dorothea.
Perhaps; but I have always been blamed for thinking of
prospects, and not settling to anything. And here is
something offered to me. If you would not like me to
accept it, I will give it up. Otherwise I would rather stay
in this part of the country than go away. I belong to
nobody anywhere else.
I should like you to stay very much, said Dorothea, at
once, as simply and readily as she had spoken at Rome.
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There was not the shadow of a reason in her mind at the
moment why she should not say so.
Then I WILL stay, said Ladislaw, shaking his head
backward, rising and going towards the window, as if to
see whether the rain had ceased.
But the next moment, Dorothea, according to a habit
which was getting continually stronger, began to reflect
that her husband felt differently from herself, and she
colored deeply under the double embarrassment of having
expressed what might be in opposition to her husbands
feeling, and of having to suggest this opposition to Will. If
is face was not turned towards her, and this made it easier
to say
But my opinion is of little consequence on such a
subject. I think you should be guided by Mr. Casaubon. I
spoke without thinking of anything else than my own
feeling, which has nothing to do with the real question.
But it now occurs to me perhaps Mr. Casaubon might
see that the proposal was not wise. Can you not wait now
and mention it to him?
I cant wait to-day, said Will, inwardly seared by the
possibility that Mr. Casaubon would enter. The rain is
quite over now. I told Mr. Brooke not to call for me: I
would rather walk the five miles. I shall strike across
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Halsell Common, and see the gleams on the wet grass. I
like that.
He approached her to shake hands quite hurriedly,
longing but not daring to say, Dont mention the subject
to Mr. Casaubon. No, he dared not, could not say it. To
ask her to be less simple and direct would be like
breathing on the crystal that you want to see the light
through. And there was always the other great dread of
himself becoming dimmed and forever ray-shorn in her
eyes.
I wish you could have stayed, said Dorothea, with a
touch of mournfulness, as she rose and put out her hand.
She also had her thought which she did not like to
express:Will certainly ought to lose no time in
consulting Mr. Casaubons wishes, but for her to urge this
might seem an undue dictation.
So they only said Good-by, and Will quitted the
house, striking across the fields so as not to run any risk of
encountering Mr. Casaubons carriage, which, however,
did not appear at the gate until four oclock. That was an
unpropitious hour for coming home: it was too early to
gain the moral support under ennui of dressing his person
for dinner, and too late to undress his mind of the days
frivolous ceremony and affairs, so as to be prepared for a
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good plunge into the serious business of study. On such
occasions he usually threw into an easy-chair in the
library, and allowed Dorothea to read the London papers
to him, closing his eyes the while. To-day, however, he
declined that relief, observing that he had already had too
many public details urged upon him; but he spoke more
cheerfully than usual, when Dorothea asked about his
fatigue, and added with that air of formal effort which
never forsook him even when he spoke without his
waistcoat and cravat
I have had the gratification of meeting my former
acquaintance, Dr. Spanning, to-day, and of being praised
by one who is himself a worthy recipient of praise. He
spoke very handsomely of my late tractate on the Egyptian
Mysteries,using, in fact, terms which it would not
become me to repeat. In uttering the last clause, Mr.
Casaubon leaned over the elbow of his chair, and swayed
his head up and down, apparently as a muscular outlet
instead of that recapitulation which would not have been
becoming.
I am very glad you have had that pleasure, said
Dorothea, delighted to see her husband less weary than
usual at this hour. Before you came I had been regretting
that you happened to be out to-day.
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Why so, my dear? said Mr. Casaubon, throwing
himself backward again.
Because Mr. Ladislaw has been here; and he has
mentioned a proposal of my uncles which I should like to
know your opinion of. Her husband she felt was really
concerned in this question. Even with her ignorance of
the world she had a vague impression that the position
offered to Will was out of keeping with his family
connections, and certainly Mr. Casaubon had a claim to be
consulted. He did not speak, but merely bowed.
Dear uncle, you know, has many projects. It appears
that he has bought one of the Middlemarch newspapers,
and he has asked Mr. Ladislaw to stay in this
neighborhood and conduct the paper for him, besides
helping him in other ways.
Dorothea looked at her husband while she spoke, but
he had at first blinked and finally closed his eyes, as if to
save them; while his lips became more tense. What is
your opinion? she added, rather timidly, after a slight
pause.
Did Mr. Ladislaw come on purpose to ask my
opinion? said Mr. Casaubon, opening his eyes narrowly
with a knife-edged look at Dorothea. She was really
uncomfortable on the point he inquired about, but she
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only became a little more serious, and her eyes did not
swerve.
No, she answered immediately, he did not say that he
came to ask your opinion. But when he mentioned the
proposal, he of course expected me to tell you of it.
Mr. Casaubon was silent.
I feared that you might feel some objection. But
certainly a young man with so much talent might be very
useful to my uncle might help him to do good in a
better way. And Mr. Ladislaw wishes to have some fixed
occupation. He has been blamed, he says, for not seeking
something of that kind, and he would like to stay in this
neighborhood because no one cares for him elsewhere.
Dorothea felt that this was a consideration to soften her
husband. However, he did not speak, and she presently
recurred to Dr. Spanning and the Archdeacons breakfast.
But there was no longer sunshine on these subjects.
The next morning, without Dorotheas knowledge,
Mr. Casaubon despatched the following letter, beginning
Dear Mr. Ladislaw (he had always before addressed him
as Will):
Mrs. Casaubon informs me that a proposal has been
made to you, and (according to an inference by no means
stretched) has on your part been in some degree
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entertained, which involves your residence in this
neighborhood in a capacity which I am justified in saying
touches my own position in such a way as renders it not
only natural and warrantable IN me when that effect is
viewed under the influence of legitimate feeling, but
incumbent on me when the same effect is considered in
the light of my responsibilities, to state at once that your
acceptance of the proposal above indicated would be
highly offensive to me. That I have some claim to the
exercise of a veto here, would not, I believe, be denied by
any reasonable person cognizant of the relations between
us: relations which, though thrown into the past by your
recent procedure, are not thereby annulled in their
character of determining antecedents. I will not here make
reflections on any persons judgment. It is enough for me
to point out to yourself that there are certain social
fitnesses and proprieties which should hinder a somewhat
near relative of mine from becoming any wise conspicuous
in this vicinity in a status not only much beneath my own,
but associated at best with the sciolism of literary or
political adventurers. At any rate, the contrary issue must
exclude you from further reception at my house.
Yours faithfully,
EDWARD CASAUBON.
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Meanwhile Dorotheas mind was innocently at work
towards the further embitterment of her husband;
dwelling, with a sympathy that grew to agitation, on what
Will had told her about his parents and grandparents. Any
private hours in her day were usually spent in her blue-
green boudoir, and she had come to be very fond of its
pallid quaintness. Nothing had been outwardly altered
there; but while the summer had gradually advanced over
the western fields beyond the avenue of elms, the bare
room had gathered within it those memories of an inward
life which fill the air as with a cloud of good or had angels,
the invisible yet active forms of our spiritual triumphs or
our spiritual falls. She had been so used to struggle for and
to find resolve in looking along the avenue towards the
arch of western light that the vision itself had gained a
communicating power. Even the pale stag seemed to have
reminding glances and to mean mutely, Yes, we know.
And the group of delicately touched miniatures had made
an audience as of beings no longer disturbed about their
own earthly lot, but still humanly interested. Especially the
mysterious Aunt Julia about whom Dorothea had never
found it easy to question her husband.
And now, since her conversation with Will, many fresh
images had gathered round that Aunt Julia who was Wills
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grandmother; the presence of that delicate miniature, so
like a living face that she knew, helping to concentrate her
feelings. What a wrong, to cut off the girl from the family
protection and inheritance only because she had chosen a
man who was poor! Dorothea, early troubling her elders
with questions about the facts around her, had wrought
herself into some independent clearness as to the historical,
political reasons why eldest sons had superior rights, and
why land should be entailed: those reasons, impressing her
with a certain awe, might be weightier than she knew, but
here was a question of ties which left them uninfringed.
Here was a daughter whose child even according to the
ordinary aping of aristocratic institutions by people who
are no more aristocratic than retired grocers, and who
have no more land to keep together than a lawn and a
paddock would have a prior claim. Was inheritance a
question of liking or of responsibility? All the energy of
Dorotheas nature went on the side of responsibilitythe
fulfilment of claims founded on our own deeds, such as
marriage and parentage.
It was true, she said to herself, that Mr. Casaubon had a
debt to the Ladislawsthat he had to pay back what the
Ladislaws had been wronged of. And now she began to
think of her husbands will, which had been made at the
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time of their marriage, leaving the bulk of his property to
her, with proviso in case of her having children. That
ought to be altered; and no time ought to be lost. This
very question which had just arisen about Will Ladislaws
occupation, was the occasion for placing things on a new,
right footing. Her husband, she felt sure, according to all
his previous conduct, would be ready to take the just
view, if she proposed itshe, in whose interest an unfair
concentration of the property had been urged. His sense of
right had surmounted and would continue to surmount
anything that might be called antipathy. She suspected that
her uncles scheme was disapproved by Mr. Casaubon, and
this made it seem all the more opportune that a fresh
understanding should be begun, so that instead of Wills
starting penniless and accepting the first function that
offered itself, he should find himself in possession of a
rightful income which should be paid by her husband
during his life, and, by an immediate alteration of the will,
should be secured at his death. The vision of all this as
what ought to be done seemed to Dorothea like a sudden
letting in of daylight, waking her from her previous
stupidity and incurious self-absorbed ignorance about her
husbands relation to others. Will Ladislaw had refused Mr.
Casaubons future aid on a ground that no longer appeared
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right to her; and Mr. Casaubon had never himself seen
fully what was the claim upon him. But he will! said
Dorothea. The great strength of his character lies here.
And what are we doing with our money? We make no
use of half of our income. My own money buys me
nothing but an uneasy conscience.
There was a peculiar fascination for Dorothea in this
division of property intended for herself, and always
regarded by her as excessive. She was blind, you see, to
many things obvious to others likely to tread in the
wrong places, as Celia had warned her; yet her blindness
to whatever did not lie in her own pure purpose carried
her safely by the side of precipices where vision would
have been perilous with fear.
The thoughts which had gathered vividness in the
solitude of her boudoir occupied her incessantly through
the day on which Mr. Casaubon had sent his letter to
Will. Everything seemed hindrance to her till she could
find an opportunity of opening her heart to her husband.
To his preoccupied mind all subjects were to be
approached gently, and she had never since his illness lost
from her consciousness the dread of agitating him. Bat
when young ardor is set brooding over the conception of
a prompt deed, the deed itself seems to start forth with
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Middlemarch
664 of 1492
independent life, mastering ideal obstacles. The day passed
in a sombre fashion, not unusual, though Mr. Casaubon
was perhaps unusually silent; but there were hours of the
night which might be counted on as opportunities of
conversation; for Dorothea, when aware of her husbands
sleeplessness, had established a habit of rising, lighting a
candle, and reading him to sleep again. And this night she
was from the beginning sleepless, excited by resolves. He
slept as usual for a few hours, but she had risen softly and
had sat in the darkness for nearly an hour before he said
Dorothea, since you are up, will you light a candle?
Do you feel ill, dear? was her first question, as she
obeyed him.
No, not at all; but I shall be obliged, since you are up,
if you will read me a few pages of Lowth.
May I talk to you a little instead? said Dorothea.
Certainly.
I have been thinking about money all daythat I have
always had too much, and especially the prospect of too
much.
These, my dear Dorothea, are providential
arrangements.
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But if one has too much in consequence of others
being wronged, it seems to me that the divine voice
which tells us to set that wrong right must be obeyed.
What, my love, is the bearing of your remark?
That you have been too liberal in arrangements for
meI mean, with regard to property; and that makes me
unhappy.
How so? I have none but comparatively distant
connections.
I have been led to think about your aunt Julia, and
how she was left in poverty only because she married a
poor man, an act which was not disgraceful, since he was
not unworthy. It was on that ground, I know, that you
educated Mr. Ladislaw and provided for his mother.
Dorothea waited a few moments for some answer that
would help her onward. None came, and her next words
seemed the more forcible to her, falling clear upon the
dark silence.
But surely we should regard his claim as a much
greater one, even to the half of that property which I
know that you have destined for me. And I think he
ought at once to be provided for on that understanding. It
is not right that he should be in the dependence of
poverty while we are rich. And if there is any objection to
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the proposal he mentioned, the giving him his true place
and his true share would set aside any motive for his
accepting it.
Mr. Ladislaw has probably been speaking to you on
this subject? said Mr. Casaubon, with a certain biting
quickness not habitual to him.
Indeed, no! said Dorothea, earnestly. How can you
imagine it, since he has so lately declined everything from
you? I fear you think too hardly of him, dear. He only
told me a little about his parents and grandparents, and
almost all in answer to my questions. You are so good, so
justyou have done everything you thought to be right.
But it seems to me clear that more than that is right; and I
must speak about it, since I am the person who would get
what is called benefit by that more not being done.
There was a perceptible pause before Mr. Casaubon
replied, not quickly as before, but with a still more biting
emphasis.
Dorothea, my love, this is not the first occasion, but it
were well that it should be the last, on which you have
assumed a judgment on subjects beyond your scope. Into
the question how far conduct, especially in the matter of
alliances, constitutes a forfeiture of family claims, I do not
now enter. Suffice it, that you are not here qualified to
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discriminate. What I now wish you to understand is, that I
accept no revision, still less dictation within that range of
affairs which I have deliberated upon as distinctly and
properly mine. It is not for you to interfere between me
and Mr. Ladislaw, and still less to encourage
communications from him to you which constitute a
criticism on my procedure.
Poor Dorothea, shrouded in the darkness, was in a
tumult of conflicting emotions. Alarm at the possible effect
on himself of her husbands strongly manifested anger,
would have checked any expression of her own
resentment, even if she had been quite free from doubt
and compunction under the consciousness that there
might be some justice in his last insinuation. Hearing him
breathe quickly after he had spoken, she sat listening,
frightened, wretchedwith a dumb inward cry for help to
bear this nightmare of a life in which every energy was
arrested by dread. But nothing else happened, except that
they both remained a long while sleepless, without
speaking again.
The next day, Mr. Casaubon received the following
answer from Will Ladislaw:
DEAR MR. CASAUBON,I have given all due
consideration to your letter of yesterday, but I am unable
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to take precisely your view of our mutual position. With
the fullest acknowledgment of your generous conduct to
me in the past, I must still maintain that an obligation of
this kind cannot fairly fetter me as you appear to expect
that it should. Granted that a benefactors wishes may
constitute a claim; there must always be a reservation as to
the quality of those wishes. They may possibly clash with
more imperative considerations. Or a benefactors veto
might impose such a negation on a mans life that the
consequent blank might be more cruel than the
benefaction was generous. I am merely using strong
illustrations. In the present case I am unable to take your
view of the bearing which my acceptance of occupation
not enriching certainly, but not dishonorable will have
on your own position which seems to me too substantial
to be affected in that shadowy manner. And though I do
not believe that any change in our relations will occur
(certainly none has yet occurred) which can nullify the
obligations imposed on me by the past, pardon me for not
seeing that those obligations should restrain me from using
the ordinary freedom of living where I choose, and
maintaining myself by any lawful occupation I may
choose. Regretting that there exists this difference
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between us as to a relation in which the conferring of
benefits has been entirely on your side
I remain, yours with persistent obligation,
WILL LADISLAW.
Poor Mr. Casaubon felt (and must not we, being
impartial, feel with him a little?) that no man had juster
cause for disgust and suspicion than he. Young Ladislaw,
he was sure, meant to defy and annoy him, meant to win
Dorotheas confidence and sow her mind with disrespect,
and perhaps aversion, towards her husband. Some motive
beneath the surface had been needed to account for Wills
sudden change of in rejecting Mr. Casaubons aid and
quitting his travels; and this defiant determination to fix
himself in the neighborhood by taking up something so
much at variance with his former choice as Mr. Brookes
Middlemarch projects, revealed clearly enough that the
undeclared motive had relation to Dorothea. Not for one
moment did Mr. Casaubon suspect Dorothea of any
doubleness: he had no suspicions of her, but he had (what
was little less uncomfortable) the positive knowledge that
her tendency to form opinions about her husbands
conduct was accompanied with a disposition to regard
Will Ladislaw favorably and be influenced by what he said.
His own proud reticence had prevented him from ever
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being undeceived in the supposition that Dorothea had
originally asked her uncle to invite Will to his house.
And now, on receiving Wills letter, Mr. Casaubon had
to consider his duty. He would never have been easy to
call his action anything else than duty; but in this case,
contending motives thrust him back into negations.
Should he apply directly to Mr. Brooke, and demand
of that troublesome gentleman to revoke his proposal? Or
should he consult Sir James Chettam, and get him to
concur in remonstrance against a step which touched the
whole family? In either case Mr. Casaubon was aware that
failure was just as probable as success. It was impossible for
him to mention Dorotheas name in the matter, and
without some alarming urgency Mr. Brooke was as likely
as not, after meeting all representations with apparent
assent, to wind up by saying, Never fear, Casaubon!
Depend upon it, young Ladislaw will do you credit.
Depend upon it, I have put my finger on the right thing.
And Mr. Casaubon shrank nervously from communicating
on the subject with Sir James Chettam, between whom
and himself there had never been any cordiality, and who
would immediately think of Dorothea without any
mention of her.
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Poor Mr. Casaubon was distrustful of everybodys
feeling towards him, especially as a husband. To let any
one suppose that he was jealous would be to admit their
(suspected) view of his disadvantages: to let them know
that he did not find marriage particularly blissful would
imply his conversion to their (probably) earlier
disapproval. It would be as bad as letting Carp, and
Brasenose generally, know how backward he was in
organizing the matter for his Key to all Mythologies. All
through his life Mr. Casaubon had been trying not to
admit even to himself the inward sores of self-doubt and
jealousy. And on the most delicate of all personal subjects,
the habit of proud suspicious reticence told doubly.
Thus Mr. Casaubon remained proudly, bitterly silent.
But he had forbidden Will to come to Lowick Manor, and
he was mentally preparing other measures of frustration.
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Chapter XXXVIII
Cest beaucoup que le jugement des hommes sur les
actions humaines; tot ou tard il devient efficace.
GUIZOT.
Sir James Chettam could not look with any satisfaction
on Mr. Brookes new courses; but it was easier to object
than to hinder. Sir James accounted for his having come in
alone one day to lunch with the Cadwalladers by saying
I cant talk to you as I want, before Celia: it might hurt
her. Indeed, it would not be right.
‘I know what you meanthe Pioneer at the
Grange! darted in Mrs. Cadwallader, almost before the last
word was off her friends tongue. It is frightfulthis
taking to buying whistles and blowing them in
everybodys hearing. Lying in bed all day and playing at
dominoes, like poor Lord Plessy, would be more private
and bearable.
I see they are beginning to attack our friend Brooke in
the Trumpet, said the Rector, lounging back and
smiling easily, as he would have done if he had been
attacked himself. There are tremendous sarcasms against a
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landlord not a hundred miles from Middlemarch, who
receives his own rents, and makes no returns.
I do wish Brooke would leave that off, said Sir James,
with his little frown of annoyance.
Is he really going to be put in nomination, though?
said Mr. Cadwallader. I saw Farebrother yesterday hes
Whiggish himself, hoists Brougham and Useful
Knowledge; thats the worst I know of him;and he says
that Brooke is getting up a pretty strong party. Bulstrode,
the banker, is his foremost man. But he thinks Brooke
would come off badly at a nomination.
Exactly, said Sir James, with earnestness. I have been
inquiring into the thing, for Ive never known anything
about Middlemarch politics beforethe county being my
business. What Brooke trusts to, is that they are going to
turn out Oliver because he is a Peelite. But Hawley tells
me that if they send up a Whig at all it is sure to be
Bagster, one of those candidates who come from heaven
knows where, but dead against Ministers, and an
experienced Parliamentary man. Hawleys rather rough: he
forgot that he was speaking to me. He said if Brooke
wanted a pelting, he could get it cheaper than by going to
the hustings.
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I warned you all of it, said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving
her hands outward. I said to Humphrey long ago, Mr.
Brooke is going to make a splash in the mud. And now he
has done it.
Well, he might have taken it into his head to marry,
said the Rector. That would have been a graver mess than
a little flirtation with politics.
He may do that afterwards, said Mrs. Cadwallader
when he has come out on the other side of the mud with
an ague.
What I care for most is his own dignity, said Sir
James. Of course I care the more because of the family.
But hes getting on in life now, and I dont like to think of
his exposing himself. They will be raking up everything
against him.
I suppose its no use trying any persuasion, said the
Rector. Theres such an odd mixture of obstinacy and
changeableness in Brooke. Have you tried him on the
subject?
Well, no, said Sir James; I feel a delicacy in appearing
to dictate. But I have been talking to this young Ladislaw
that Brooke is making a factotum of. Ladislaw seems
clever enough for anything. I thought it as well to hear
what he had to say; and he is against Brookes standing this
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time. I think hell turn him round: I think the nomination
may be staved off.
I know, said Mrs. Cadwallader, nodding. The
independent member hasnt got his speeches well enough
by heart.
But this Ladislawthere again is a vexatious business,
said Sir James. We have had him two or three times to
dine at the Hall (you have met him, by the bye) as
Brookes guest and a relation of Casaubons, thinking he
was only on a flying visit. And now I find hes in
everybodys mouth in Middlemarch as the editor of the
Pioneer. There are stories going about him as a quill-
driving alien, a foreign emissary, and what not.
Casaubon wont like that, said the Rector.
There IS some foreign blood in Ladislaw, returned Sir
James. I hope he wont go into extreme opinions and
carry Brooke on.
Oh, hes a dangerous young sprig, that Mr. Ladislaw,
said Mrs. Cadwallader, with his opera songs and his ready
tongue. A sort of Byronic heroan amorous conspirator,
it strikes me. And Thomas Aquinas is not fond of him. I
could see that, the day the picture was brought.
I dont like to begin on the subject with Casaubon,
said Sir James. He has more right to interfere than I. But
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its a disagreeable affair all round. What a character for
anybody with decent connections to show himself in!
one of those newspaper fellows! You have only to look at
Keck, who manages the Trumpet. I saw him the other
day with Hawley. His writing is sound enough, I believe,
but hes such a low fellow, that I wished he had been on
the wrong side.
What can you expect with these peddling
Middlemarch papers? said the Rector. I dont suppose
you could get a high style of man anywhere to be writing
up interests he doesnt really care about, and for pay that
hardly keeps him in at elbows.
Exactly: that makes it so annoying that Brooke should
have put a man who has a sort of connection with the
family in a position of that kind. For my part, I think
Ladislaw is rather a fool for accepting.
It is Aquinass fault, said Mrs. Cadwallader. Why
didnt he use his interest to get Ladislaw made an attache
or sent to India? That is how families get rid of
troublesome sprigs.
There is no knowing to what lengths the mischief may
go, said Sir James, anxiously. But if Casaubon says
nothing, what can I do?
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Oh my dear Sir James, said the Rector, dont let us
make too much of all this. It is likely enough to end in
mere smoke. After a month or two Brooke and this
Master Ladislaw will get tired of each other; Ladislaw will
take wing; Brooke will sell the Pioneer, and everything
will settle down again as usual.
There is one good chancethat he will not like to feel
his money oozing away, said Mrs. Cadwallader. If I knew
the items of election expenses I could scare him. Its no
use plying him with wide words like Expenditure: I
wouldnt talk of phlebotomy, I would empty a pot of
leeches upon him. What we good stingy people dont like,
is having our sixpences sucked away from us.
And he will not like having things raked up against
him, said Sir James. There is the management of his
estate. they have begun upon that already. And it really is
painful for me to see. It is a nuisance under ones very
nose. I do think one is bound to do the best for ones land
and tenants, especially in these hard times.
Perhaps the Trumpet may rouse him to make a
change, and some good may come of it all, said the
Rector. I know I should be glad. I should hear less
grumbling when my tithe is paid. I dont know what I
should do if there were not a modus in Tipton.
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I want him to have a proper man to look after
thingsI want him to take on Garth again, said Sir James.
He got rid of Garth twelve years ago, and everything has
been going wrong since. I think of getting Garth to
manage for mehe has made such a capital plan for my
buildings; and Lovegood is hardly up to the mark. But
Garth would not undertake the Tipton estate again unless
Brooke left it entirely to him.
In the right of it too, said the Rector. Garth is an
independent fellow: an original, simple-minded fellow.
One day, when he was doing some valuation for me, he
told me point-blank that clergymen seldom understood
anything about business, and did mischief when they
meddled; but he said it as quietly and respectfully as if he
had been talking to me about sailors. He would make a
different parish of Tipton, if Brooke would let him
manage. I wish, by the help of the Trumpet, you could
bring that round.
If Dorothea had kept near her uncle, there would have
been some chance, said Sir James. She might have got
some power over him in time, and she was always uneasy
about the estate. She had wonderfully good notions about
such things. But now Casaubon takes her up entirely.
Celia complains a good deal. We can hardly get her to
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dine with us, since he had that fit. Sir James ended with a
look of pitying disgust, and Mrs. Cadwallader shrugged
her shoulders as much as to say that SHE was not likely to
see anything new in that direction.
Poor Casaubon! the Rector said. That was a nasty
attack. I thought he looked shattered the other day at the
Archdeacons.
In point of fact, resumed Sir James, not choosing to
dwell on fits, Brooke doesnt mean badly by his tenants
or any one else, but he has got that way of paring and
clipping at expenses.
Come, thats a blessing, said Mrs. Cadwallader. That
helps him to find himself in a morning. He may not know
his own opinions, but he does know his own pocket.
I dont believe a man is in pocket by stinginess on his
land, said Sir James.
Oh, stinginess may be abused like other virtues: it will
not do to keep ones own pigs lean, said Mrs.
Cadwallader, who had risen to look out of the window.
But talk of an independent politician and he will appear.
What! Brooke? said her husband.
Yes. Now, you ply him with the Trumpet,
Humphrey; and I will put the leeches on him. What will
you do, Sir James?
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The fact is, I dont like to begin about it with Brooke,
in our mutual position; the whole thing is so unpleasant. I
do wish people would behave like gentlemen, said the
good baronet, feeling that this was a simple and
comprehensive programme for social well-being.
Here you all are, eh? said Mr. Brooke, shuffling round
and shaking hands. I was going up to the Hall by-and-by,
Chettam. But its pleasant to find everybody, you know.
Well, what do you think of things?going on a little fast!
It was true enough, what Lafitte saidSince yesterday, a
century has passed away: theyre in the next century,
you know, on the other side of the water. Going on faster
than we are.
Why, yes, said the Rector, taking up the newspaper.
Here is the Trumpet accusing you of lagging behind
did you see?
Eh? no, said Mr. Brooke, dropping his gloves into his
hat and hastily adjusting his eye-glass. But Mr.
Cadwallader kept the paper in his hand, saying, with a
smile in his eyes
Look here! all this is about a landlord not a hundred
miles from Middlemarch, who receives his own rents.
They say he is the most retrogressive man in the county. I
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think you must have taught them that word in the
Pioneer.
Oh, that is Keekan illiterate fellow, you know.
Retrogressive, now! Come, thats capital. He thinks it
means destructive: they want to make me out a
destructive, you know, said Mr. Brooke, with that
cheerfulness which is usually sustained by an adversarys
ignorance.
I think he knows the meaning of the word. Here is a
sharp stroke or two. If we had to describe a man who is
retrogressive in the most evil sense of the wordwe
should say, he is one who would dub himself a reformer of
our constitution, while every interest for which he is
immediately responsible is going to decay: a philanthropist
who cannot bear one rogue to be hanged, but does not
mind five honest tenants being half-starved: a man who
shrieks at corruption, and keeps his farms at rack-rent:
who roars himself red at rotten boroughs, and does not
mind if every field on his farms has a rotten gate: a man
very open-hearted to Leeds and Manchester, no doubt; he
would give any number of representatives who will pay
for their seats out of their own pockets: what he objects to
giving, is a little return on rent-days to help a tenant to
buy stock, or an outlay on repairs to keep the weather out
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at a tenants barn-door or make his house look a little less
like an Irish cottiers. But we all know the wags definition
of a philanthropist: a man whose charity increases directly
as the square of the distance. And so on. All the rest is to
show what sort of legislator a philanthropist is likely to
make, ended the Rector, throwing down the paper, and
clasping his hands at the back of his head, while he looked
at Mr. Brooke with an air of amused neutrality.
Come, thats rather good, you know, said Mr.
Brooke, taking up the paper and trying to bear the attack
as easily as his neighbor did, but coloring and smiling
rather nervously; that about roaring himself red at rotten
boroughsI never made a speech about rotten boroughs
in my life. And as to roaring myself red and that kind of
thing these men never understand what is good satire.
Satire, you know, should be true up to a certain point. I
recollect they said that in The Edinburgh somewhereit
must be true up to a certain point.
Well, that is really a hit about the gates, said Sir James,
anxious to tread carefully. Dagley complained to me the
other day that he hadnt got a decent gate on his farm.
Garth has invented a new pattern of gateI wish you
would try it. One ought to use some of ones timber in
that way.
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You go in for fancy farming, you know, Chettam,
said Mr. Brooke, appearing to glance over the columns of
the Trumpet. Thats your hobby, and you dont mind
the expense.
I thought the most expensive hobby in the world was
standing for Parliament, said Mrs. Cadwallader. They said
the last unsuccessful candidate at MiddlemarchGiles,
wasnt his name? spent ten thousand pounds and failed
because he did not bribe enough. What a bitter reflection
for a man!
Somebody was saying, said the Rector, laughingly,
that East Retford was nothing to Middlemarch, for
bribery.
Nothing of the kind, said Mr. Brooke. The Tories
bribe, you know: Hawley and his set bribe with treating,
hot codlings, and that sort of thing; and they bring the
voters drunk to the poll. But they are not going to have it
their own way in future not in future, you know.
Middlemarch is a little backward, I admit the freemen
are a little backward. But we shall educate them we
shall bring them on, you know. The best people there are
on our side.
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Hawley says you have men on your side who will do
you harm, remarked Sir James. He says Bulstrode the
banker will do you harm.
And that if you got pelted, interposed Mrs.
Cadwallader, half the rotten eggs would mean hatred of
your committee-man. Good heavens! Think what it must
be to be pelted for wrong opinions. And I seem to
remember a story of a man they pretended to chair and let
him fall into a dust-heap on purpose!
Pelting is nothing to their finding holes in ones coat,
said the Rector. I confess thats what I should be afraid of,
if we parsons had to stand at the hustings for preferment. I
should be afraid of their reckoning up all my fishing days.
Upon my word, I think the truth is the hardest missile one
can be pelted with.
The fact is, said Sir James, if a man goes into public
life he must be prepared for the consequences. He must
make himself proof against calumny.
My dear Chettam, that is all very fine, you know, said
Mr. Brooke. But how will you make yourself proof
against calumny? You should read historylook at
ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing.
They always happen to the best men, you know. But what
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is that in Horace?fiat justitia, ruat something or
other.
Exactly, said Sir James, with a little more heat than
usual. What I mean by being proof against calumny is
being able to point to the fact as a contradiction.
And it is not martyrdom to pay bills that one has run
into ones self, said Mrs. Cadwallader.
But it was Sir Jamess evident annoyance that most
stirred Mr. Brooke. Well, you know, Chettam, he said,
rising, taking up his hat and leaning on his stick, you and
I have a different system. You are all for outlay with your
farms. I dont want to make out that my system is good
under all circumstancesunder all circumstances, you
know.
There ought to be a new valuation made from time to
time, said Sir James. Returns are very well occasionally,
but I like a fair valuation. What do you say, Cadwallader?
I agree with you. If I were Brooke, I would choke the
Trumpet at once by getting Garth to make a new
valuation of the farms, and giving him carte blanche about
gates and repairs: thats my view of the political situation,
said the Rector, broadening himself by sticking his thumbs
in his armholes, and laughing towards Mr. Brooke.
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Thats a showy sort of thing to do, you know, said
Mr. Brooke. But I should like you to tell me of another
landlord who has distressed his tenants for arrears as little as
I have. I let the old tenants stay on. Im uncommonly easy,
let me tell you, uncommonly easy. I have my own ideas,
and I take my stand on them, you know. A man who does
that is always charged with eccentricity, inconsistency, and
that kind of thing. When I change my line of action, I
shall follow my own ideas.
After that, Mr. Brooke remembered that there was a
packet which he had omitted to send off from the Grange,
and he bade everybody hurriedly good-by.
I didnt want to take a liberty with Brooke, said Sir
James; I see he is nettled. But as to what he says about old
tenants, in point of fact no new tenant would take the
farms on the present terms.
I have a notion that he will be brought round in time,
said the Rector. But you were pulling one way, Elinor,
and we were pulling another. You wanted to frighten him
away from expense, and we want to frighten him into it.
Better let him try to be popular and see that his character
as a landlord stands in his way. I dont think it signifies
two straws about the Pioneer, or Ladislaw, or Brookes
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speechifying to the Middlemarchers. But it does signify
about the parishioners in Tipton being comfortable.
Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack,
said Mrs. Cadwallader. You should have proved to him
that he loses money by bad management, and then we
should all have pulled together. If you put him a-
horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It
was all very well to ride on sticks at home and call them
ideas.
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Middlemarch
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Chapter XXXIX
If, as I have, you also doe,
Vertue attired in woman see,
And dare love that, and say so too,
And forget the He and She;
And if this love, though placed so,
From prophane men you hide,
Which will no faith on this bestow,
Or, if they doe, deride:
Then you have done a braver thing
Than all the Worthies did,
And a braver thence will spring,
Which is, to keep that hid. DR. DONNE.
Sir James Chettams mind was not fruitful ill devices,
but his growing anxiety to act on Brooke, once brought
close to his constant belief in Dorotheas capacity for
influence, became formative, and issued in a little plan;
namely, to plead Celias indisposition as a reason for
fetching Dorothea by herself to the Hall, and to leave her
at the Grange with the carriage on the way, after making
her fully aware of the situation concerning the
management of the estate.
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In this way it happened that one day near four oclock,
when Mr. Brooke and Ladislaw were seated in the library,
the door opened and Mrs. Casaubon was announced.
Will, the moment before, had been low in the depths
of boredom, and, obliged to help Mr. Brooke in arranging
documents about hanging sheep-stealers, was
exemplifying the power our minds have of riding several
horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards
getting a lodging for himself in Middlemarch and cutting
short his constant residence at the Grange; while there
flitted through all these steadier images a tickling vision of
a sheep-stealing epic written with Homeric particularity.
When Mrs. Casaubon was announced he started up as
from an electric shock, and felt a tingling at his finger-
ends. Any one observing him would have seen a change in
his complexion, in the adjustment of his facial muscles, in
the vividness of his glance, which might have made them
imagine that every molecule in his body had passed the
message of a magic touch. And so it had. For effective
magic is transcendent nature; and who shall measure the
subtlety of those touches which convey the quality of soul
as well as body, and make a mans passion for one woman
differ from his passion for another as joy in the morning
light over valley and river and white mountain-top differs
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from joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels? Will,
too, was made of very impressible stuff. The bow of a
violin drawn near him cleverly, would at one stroke
change the aspect of the world for him, and his point of
view shifted as easily as his mood. Dorotheas entrance
was the freshness of morning.
Well, my dear, this is pleasant, now, said Mr. Brooke,
meeting and kissing her. You have left Casaubon with his
books, I suppose. Thats right. We must not have you
getting too learned for a woman, you know.
There is no fear of that, uncle, said Dorothea, turning
to Will and shaking hands with open cheerfulness, while
she made no other form of greeting, but went on
answering her uncle. I am very slow. When I want to be
busy with books, I am often playing truant among my
thoughts. I find it is not so easy to be learned as to plan
cottages.
She seated herself beside her uncle opposite to Will,
and was evidently preoccupied with something that made
her almost unmindful of him. He was ridiculously
disappointed, as if he had imagined that her coming had
anything to do with him.
Why, yes, my dear, it was quite your hobby to draw
plans. But it was good to break that off a little. Hobbies
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are apt to ran away with us, you know; it doesnt do to be
run away with. We must keep the reins. I have never let
myself be run away with; I always pulled up. That is what
I tell Ladislaw. He and I are alike, you know: he likes to
go into everything. We are working at capital punishment.
We shall do a great deal together, Ladislaw and I.
Yes, said Dorothea, with characteristic directness, Sir
James has been telling me that he is in hope of seeing a
great change made soon in your management of the
estatethat you are thinking of having the farms valued,
and repairs made, and the cottages improved, so that
Tipton may look quite another place. Oh, how happy!
she went on, clasping her hands, with a return to that
more childlike impetuous manner, which had been
subdued since her marriage. If I were at home still, I
should take to riding again, that I might go about with
you and see all that! And you are going to engage Mr.
Garth, who praised my cottages, Sir James says.
Chettam is a little hasty, my dear, said Mr. Brooke,
coloring slightly; a little hasty, you know. I never said I
should do anything of the kind. I never said I should
NOT do it, you know.
He only feels confident that you will do it, said
Dorothea, in a voice as clear and unhesitating as that of a
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young chorister chanting a credo, because you mean to
enter Parliament as a member who cares for the
improvement of the people, and one of the first things to
be made better is the state of the land and the laborers.
Think of Kit Downes, uncle, who lives with his wife and
seven children in a house with one sitting room and one
bedroom hardly larger than this table!and those poor
Dagleys, in their tumble-down farmhouse, where they live
in the back kitchen and leave the other rooms to the rats!
That is one reason why I did not like the pictures here,
dear unclewhich you think me stupid about. I used to
come from the village with all that dirt and coarse ugliness
like a pain within me, and the simpering pictures in the
drawing-room seemed to me like a wicked attempt to find
delight in what is false, while we dont mind how hard the
truth is for the neighbors outside our walls. I think we
have no right to come forward and urge wider changes for
good, until we have tried to alter the evils which lie under
our own hands.
Dorothea had gathered emotion as she went on, and
had forgotten everything except the relief of pouring forth
her feelings, unchecked: an experience once habitual with
her, but hardly ever present since her marriage, which had
been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear. For the
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moment, Wills admiration was accompanied with a
chilling sense of remoteness. A man is seldom ashamed of
feeling that he cannot love a woman so well when he sees
a certain greatness in her: nature having intended greatness
for men. But nature has sometimes made sad oversights in
carrying out her intention; as in the case of good Mr.
Brooke, whose masculine consciousness was at this
moment in rather a stammering condition under the
eloquence of his niece. He could not immediately find any
other mode of expressing himself than that of rising, fixing
his eye-glass, and fingering the papers before him. At last
he said
There is something in what you say, my dear,
something in what you saybut not everythingeh,
Ladislaw? You and I dont like our pictures and statues
being found fault with. Young ladies are a little ardent,
you knowa little one-sided, my dear. Fine art, poetry,
that kind of thing, elevates a nation emollit moresyou
understand a little Latin now. Buteh? what?
These interrogatives were addressed to the footman
who had come in to say that the keeper had found one of
Dagleys boys with a leveret in his hand just killed.
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Ill come, Ill come. I shall let him off easily, you
know, said Mr. Brooke aside to Dorothea, shuffling away
very cheerfully.
I hope you feel how right this change is that Ithat
Sir James wishes for, said Dorothea to Will, as soon as her
uncle was gone.
I do, now I have heard you speak about it. I shall not
forget what you have said. But can you think of
something else at this moment? I may not have another
opportunity of speaking to you about what has occurred,
said Will, rising with a movement of impatience, and
holding the back of his chair with both hands.
Pray tell me what it is, said Dorothea, anxiously, also
rising and going to the open window, where Monk was
looking in, panting and wagging his tail. She leaned her
back against the window-frame, and laid her hand on the
dogs head; for though, as we know, she was not fond of
pets that must be held in the hands or trodden on, she was
always attentive to the feelings of dogs, and very polite if
she had to decline their advances.
Will followed her only with his eyes and said, I
presume you know that Mr. Casaubon has forbidden me
to go to his house.
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No, I did not, said Dorothea, after a moments pause.
She was evidently much moved. I am very, very sorry,
she added, mournfully. She was thinking of what Will had
no knowledge ofthe conversation between her and her
husband in the darkness; and she was anew smitten with
hopelessness that she could influence Mr. Casaubons
action. But the marked expression of her sorrow
convinced Will that it was not all given to him personally,
and that Dorothea had not been visited by the idea that
Mr. Casaubons dislike and jealousy of him turned upon
herself. He felt an odd mixture of delight and vexation: of
delight that he could dwell and be cherished in her
thought as in a pure home, without suspicion and without
stintof vexation because he was of too little account
with her, was not formidable enough, was treated with an
unhesitating benevolence which did not flatter him. But
his dread of any change in Dorothea was stronger than his
discontent, and he began to speak again in a tone of mere
explanation.
Mr. Casaubons reason is, his displeasure at my taking a
position here which he considers unsuited to my rank as
his cousin. I have told him that I cannot give way on this
point. It is a little too hard on me to expect that my course
in life is to be hampered by prejudices which I think
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ridiculous. Obligation may be stretched till it is no better
than a brand of slavery stamped on us when we were too
young to know its meaning. I would not have accepted
the position if I had not meant to make it useful and
honorable. I am not bound to regard family dignity in any
other light.
Dorothea felt wretched. She thought her husband
altogether in the wrong, on more grounds than Will had
mentioned.
It is better for us not to speak on the subject, she said,
with a tremulousness not common in her voice, since you
and Mr. Casaubon disagree. You intend to remain? She
was looking out on the lawn, with melancholy meditation.
Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now, said Will, in
a tone of almost boyish complaint.
No, said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him,
hardly ever. But I shall hear of you. I shall know what
you are doing for my uncle.
I shall know hardly anything about you, said Will.
No one will tell me anything.
Oh, my life is very simple, said Dorothea, her lips
curling with an exquisite smile, which irradiated her
melancholy. I am always at Lowick.
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That is a dreadful imprisonment, said Will,
impetuously.
No, dont think that, said Dorothea. I have no
longings.
He did not speak, but she replied to some change in his
expression. I mean, for myself. Except that I should like
not to have so much more than my share without doing
anything for others. But I have a belief of my own, and it
comforts me.
What is that? said Will, rather jealous of the belief.
That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we
dont quite know what it is and cannot do what we
would, we are part of the divine power against evil
widening the skirts of light and making the struggle with
darkness narrower.
That is a beautiful mysticismit is a
Please not to call it by any name, said Dorothea,
putting out her hands entreatingly. You will say it is
Persian, or something else geographical. It is my life. I
have found it out, and cannot part with it. I have always
been finding out my religion since I was a little girl. I used
to pray so muchnow I hardly ever pray. I try not to
have desires merely for myself, because they may not be
good for others, and I have too much already. I only told
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you, that you might know quite well how my days go at
Lowick.
God bless you for telling me! said Will, ardently, and
rather wondering at himself. They were looking at each
other like two fond children who were talking
confidentially of birds.
What is YOUR religion? said Dorothea. I mean
not what you know about religion, but the belief that
helps you most?
To love what is good and beautiful when I see it, said
Will. But I am a rebel: I dont feel bound, as you do, to
submit to what I dont like.
But if you like what is good, that comes to the same
thing, said Dorothea, smiling.
Now you are subtle, said Will.
Yes; Mr. Casaubon often says I am too subtle. I dont
feel as if I were subtle, said Dorothea, playfully. But how
long my uncle is! I must go and look for him. I must really
go on to the Hall. Celia is expecting me.
Will offered to tell Mr. Brooke, who presently came
and said that he would step into the carriage and go with
Dorothea as far as Dagleys, to speak about the small
delinquent who had been caught with the Ieveret.
Dorothea renewed the subject of the estate as they drove
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along, but Mr. Brooke, not being taken unawares, got the
talk under his own control.
Chettam, now, he replied; he finds fault with me, my
dear; but I should not preserve my game if it were not for
Chettam, and he cant say that that expense is for the sake
of the tenants, you know. Its a little against my feeling:
poaching, now, if you come to look into itI have often
thought of getting up the subject. Not long ago, Flavell,
the Methodist preacher, was brought up for knocking
down a hare that came across his path when he and his
wife were walking out together. He was pretty quick, and
knocked it on the neck.
That was very brutal, I think, said Dorothea
Well, now, it seemed rather black to me, I confess, in
a Methodist preacher, you know. And Johnson said, You
may judge what a hypoCRITE he is. And upon my
word, I thought Flavell looked very little like the highest
style of man as somebody calls the ChristianYoung,
the poet Young, I think you know Young? Well, now,
Flavell in his shabby black gaiters, pleading that he thought
the Lord had sent him and his wife a good dinner, and he
had a right to knock it down, though not a mighty hunter
before the Lord, as Nimrod wasI assure you it was
rather comic: Fielding would have made something of it
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Middlemarch
700 of 1492
or Scott, nowScott might have worked it up. But really,
when I came to think of it, I couldnt help liking that the
fellow should have a bit of hare to say grace over. Its all a
matter of prejudiceprejudice with the law on its side,
you knowabout the stick and the gaiters, and so on.
However, it doesnt do to reason about things; and law is
law. But I got Johnson to be quiet, and I hushed the
matter up. I doubt whether Chettam would not have been
more severe, and yet he comes down on me as if I were
the hardest man in the county. But here we are at
Dagleys.
Mr. Brooke got down at a farmyard-gate, and
Dorothea drove on. It is wonderful how much uglier
things will look when we only suspect that we are blamed
for them. Even our own persons in the glass are apt to
change their aspect for us after we have heard some frank
remark on their less admirable points; and on the other
hand it is astonishing how pleasantly conscience takes our
encroachments on those who never complain or have
nobody to complain for them. Dagleys homestead never
before looked so dismal to Mr. Brooke as it did today,
with his mind thus sore about the fault-finding of the
Trumpet, echoed by Sir James.
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It is true that an observer, under that softening
influence of the fine arts which makes other peoples
hardships picturesque, might have been delighted with this
homestead called Freemans End: the old house had
dormer-windows in the dark red roof, two of the
chimneys were choked with ivy, the large porch was
blocked up with bundles of sticks, and half the windows
were closed with gray worm-eaten shutters about which
the jasmine-boughs grew in wild luxuriance; the
mouldering garden wall with hollyhocks peeping over it
was a perfect study of highly mingled subdued color, and
there was an aged goat (kept doubtless on interesting
superstitious grounds) lying against the open back-kitchen
door. The mossy thatch of the cow-shed, the broken gray
barn-doors, the pauper laborers in ragged breeches who
had nearly finished unloading a wagon of corn into the
barn ready for early thrashing; the scanty dairy of cows
being tethered for milking and leaving one half of the shed
in brown emptiness; the very pigs and white ducks
seeming to wander about the uneven neglected yard as if
in low spirits from feeding on a too meagre quality of
rinsings, all these objects under the quiet light of a sky
marbled with high clouds would have made a sort of
picture which we have all paused over as a charming bit,
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touching other sensibilities than those which are stirred by
the depression of the agricultural interest, with the sad lack
of farming capital, as seen constantly in the newspapers of
that time. But these troublesome associations were just
now strongly present to Mr. Brooke, and spoiled the scene
for him. Mr. Dagley himself made a figure in the
landscape, carrying a pitchfork and wearing his milking-
hata very old beaver flattened in front. His coat and
breeches were the best he had, and he would not have
been wearing them on this weekday occasion if he had not
been to market and returned later than usual, having given
himself the rare treat of dining at the public table of the
Blue Bull. How he came to fall into this extravagance
would perhaps be matter of wonderment to himself on the
morrow; but before dinner something in the state of the
country, a slight pause in the harvest before the Far Dips
were cut, the stories about the new King and the
numerous handbills on the walls, had seemed to warrant a
little recklessness. It was a maxim about Middlemarch, and
regarded as self-evident, that good meat should have good
drink, which last Dagley interpreted as plenty of table ale
well followed up by rum-and-water. These liquors have so
far truth in them that they were not false enough to make
poor Dagley seem merry: they only made his discontent
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less tongue-tied than usual. He had also taken too much in
the shape of muddy political talk, a stimulant dangerously
disturbing to his farming conservatism, which consisted in
holding that whatever is, is bad, and any change is likely to
be worse. He was flushed, and his eyes had a decidedly
quarrelsome stare as he stood still grasping his pitchfork,
while the landlord approached with his easy shuffling
walk, one hand in his trouser-pocket and the other
swinging round a thin walking-stick.
Dagley, my good fellow, began Mr. Brooke,
conscious that he was going to be very friendly about the
boy.
Oh, ay, Im a good feller, am I? Thank ye, sir, thank
ye, said Dagley, with a loud snarling irony which made
Fag the sheep-dog stir from his seat and prick his ears; but
seeing Monk enter the yard after some outside loitering,
Fag seated himself again in an attitude of observation. Im
glad to hear Im a good feller.
Mr. Brooke reflected that it was market-day, and that
his worthy tenant had probably been dining, but saw no
reason why he should not go on, since he could take the
precaution of repeating what he had to say to Mrs. Dagley.
Your little lad Jacob has been caught killing a leveret,
Dagley: I have told Johnson to lock him up in the empty
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stable an hour or two, just to frighten him, you know. But
he will be brought home by-and-by, before night: and
youll just look after him, will you, and give him a
reprimand, you know?
No, I woont: Ill be deed if Ill leather my boy to
please you or anybody else, not if you was twenty
landlords istid o one, and that a bad un.
Dagleys words were loud enough to summon his wife
to the back-kitchen doorthe only entrance ever used,
and one always open except in bad weatherand Mr.
Brooke, saying soothingly, Well, well, Ill speak to your
wifeI didnt mean beating, you know, turned to walk
to the house. But Dagley, only the more inclined to have
his say with a gentleman who walked away from him,
followed at once, with Fag slouching at his heels and
sullenly evading some small and probably charitable
advances on the part of Monk.
How do you do, Mrs. Dagley? said Mr. Brooke,
making some haste. I came to tell you about your boy: I
dont want you to give him the stick, you know. He was
careful to speak quite plainly this time.
Overworked Mrs. Dagleya thin, worn woman, from
whose life pleasure had so entirely vanished that she had
not even any Sunday clothes which could give her
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satisfaction in preparing for church had already had a
misunderstanding with her husband since he had come
home, and was in low spirits, expecting the worst. But her
husband was beforehand in answering.
No, nor he woont hev the stick, whether you want it
or no, pursued Dagley, throwing out his voice, as if he
wanted it to hit hard. Youve got no call to come an talk
about sticks o these primises, as you woont give a stick
towrt mending. Go to Middlemarch to ax for YOUR
charrickter.
Youd far better hold your tongue, Dagley, said the
wife, and not kick your own trough over. When a man as
is father of a family has been an spent money at market
and made himself the worse for liquor, hes done enough
mischief for one day. But I should like to know what my
boys done, sir.
Niver do you mind what hes done, said Dagley,
more fiercely, its my business to speak, an not yourn.
An I wull speak, too. Ill hev my saysupper or no. An
what I say is, as Ive lived upo your ground from my
father and grandfather afore me, an hev dropped our
money intot, an me an my children might lie an rot on
the ground for top-dressin as we cant find the money to
buy, if the King wasnt to put a stop.
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My good fellow, youre drunk, you know, said Mr.
Brooke, confidentially but not judiciously. Another day,
another day, he added, turning as if to go.
But Dagley immediately fronted him, and Fag at his
heels growled low, as his masters voice grew louder and
more insulting, while Monk also drew close in silent
dignified watch. The laborers on the wagon were pausing
to listen, and it seemed wiser to be quite passive than to
attempt a ridiculous flight pursued by a bawling man.
Im no more drunk nor you are, nor so much, said
Dagley. I can carry my liquor, an I know what I meean.
An I meean as the King ull put a stop to t, for them say
it as knows it, as theres to be a Rinform, and them
landlords as never done the right thing by their tenants ull
be treated i that way as theyll hev to scuttle off. An
theres them i Middlemarch knows what the Rinform
isan as knows wholl hev to scuttle. Says they, I know
who YOUR landlord is. An says I, I hope youre the
better for knowin him, I arnt. Says they, Hes a close-
fisted un. Ay ay, says I. Hes a man for the Rinform,
says they. Thats what they says. An I made out what the
Rinform were an it were to send you an your likes a-
scuttlin an wi pretty strong-smellin things too. An you
may do as you like now, for Im none afeard on you. An
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youd better let my boy aloan, an look to yoursen, afore
the Rinform has got upo your back. Thats what In got
to say, concluded Mr. Dagley, striking his fork into the
ground with a firmness which proved inconvenient as he
tried to draw it up again.
At this last action Monk began to bark loudly, and it
was a moment for Mr. Brooke to escape. He walked out
of the yard as quickly as he could, in some amazement at
the novelty of his situation. He had never been insulted on
his own land before, and had been inclined to regard
himself as a general favorite (we are all apt to do so, when
we think of our own amiability more than of what other
people are likely to want of us). When he had quarrelled
with Caleb Garth twelve years before he had thought that
the tenants would be pleased at the landlords taking
everything into his own hands.
Some who follow the narrative of his experience may
wonder at the midnight darkness of Mr. Dagley; but
nothing was easier in those times than for an hereditary
farmer of his grade to be ignorant, in spite somehow of
having a rector in the twin parish who was a gentleman to
the backbone, a curate nearer at hand who preached more
learnedly than the rector, a landlord who had gone into
everything, especially fine art and social improvement, and
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all the lights of Middlemarch only three miles off. As to
the facility with which mortals escape knowledge, try an
average acquaintance in the intellectual blaze of London,
and consider what that eligible person for a dinner-party
would have been if he had learned scant skill in summing
from the parish-clerk of Tipton, and read a chapter in the
Bible with immense difficulty, because such names as
Isaiah or Apollos remained unmanageable after twice
spelling. Poor Dagley read a few verses sometimes on a
Sunday evening, and the world was at least not darker to
him than it had been before. Some things he knew
thoroughly, namely, the slovenly habits of farming, and
the awkwardness of weather, stock and crops, at Freemans
End so called apparently by way of sarcasm, to imply
that a man was free to quit it if he chose, but that there
was no earthly beyond open to him.
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Chapter XL
Wise in his daily work was he:
To fruits of diligence,
And not to faiths or polity,
He plied his utmost sense.
These perfect in their little parts,
Whose work is all their prize
Without them how could laws, or arts,
Or towered cities rise?
In watching effects, if only of an electric battery, it is
often necessary to change our place and examine a
particular mixture or group at some distance from the
point where the movement we are interested in was set
up. The group I am moving towards is at Caleb Garths
breakfast-table in the large parlor where the maps and desk
were: father, mother, and five of the children. Mary was
just now at home waiting for a situation, while Christy,
the boy next to her, was getting cheap learning and cheap
fare in Scotland, having to his fathers disappointment
taken to books instead of that sacred calling business.
The letters had comenine costly letters, for which
the postman had been paid three and twopence, and Mr.
Garth was forgetting his tea and toast while he read his
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letters and laid them open one above the other, sometimes
swaying his head slowly, sometimes screwing up his
mouth in inward debate, but not forgetting to cut off a
large red seal unbroken, which Letty snatched up like an
eager terrier.
The talk among the rest went on unrestrainedly, for
nothing disturbed Calebs absorption except shaking the
table when he was writing.
Two letters of the nine had been for Mary. After
reading them, she had passed them to her mother, and sat
playing with her tea-spoon absently, till with a sudden
recollection she returned to her sewing, which she had
kept on her lap during breakfast.
Oh, dont sew, Mary! said Ben, pulling her arm
down. Make me a peacock with this bread-crumb. He
had been kneading a small mass for the purpose.
No, no, Mischief! said Mary, good-humoredly, while
she pricked his hand lightly with her needle. Try and
mould it yourself: you have seen me do it often enough. I
must get this sewing done. It is for Rosamond Vincy: she
is to be married next week, and she cant be married
without this handkerchief. Mary ended merrily, amused
with the last notion.
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Why cant she, Mary? said Letty, seriously interested
in this mystery, and pushing her head so close to her sister
that Mary now turned the threatening needle towards
Lettys nose.
Because this is one of a dozen, and without it there
would only be eleven, said Mary, with a grave air of
explanation, so that Letty sank back with a sense of
knowledge.
Have you made up your mind, my dear? said Mrs.
Garth, laying the letters down.
I shall go to the school at York, said Mary. I am less
unfit to teach in a school than in a family. I like to teach
classes best. And, you see, I must teach: there is nothing
else to be done.
Teaching seems to me the most delightful work in the
world, said Mrs. Garth, with a touch of rebuke in her
tone. I could understand your objection to it if you had
not knowledge enough, Mary, or if you disliked children.
I suppose we never quite understand why another
dislikes what we like, mother, said Mary, rather curtly. I
am not fond of a schoolroom: I like the outside world
better. It is a very inconvenient fault of mine.
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Middlemarch
712 of 1492
It must be very stupid to be always in a girls school,
said Alfred. Such a set of nincompoops, like Mrs. Ballards
pupils walking two and two.
And they have no games worth playing at, said Jim.
They can neither throw nor leap. I dont wonder at
Marys not liking it.
What is that Mary doesnt like, eh? said the father,
looking over his spectacles and pausing before he opened
his next letter.
Being among a lot of nincompoop girls, said Alfred.
Is it the situation you had heard of, Mary? said Caleb,
gently, looking at his daughter.
Yes, father: the school at York. I have determined to
take it. It is quite the best. Thirty-five pounds a-year, and
extra pay for teaching the smallest strummers at the piano.
Poor child! I wish she could stay at home with us,
Susan, said Caleb, looking plaintively at his wife.
Mary would not be happy without doing her duty,
said Mrs. Garth, magisterially, conscious of having done
her own.
It wouldnt make me happy to do such a nasty duty as
that, said Alfredat which Mary and her father laughed
silently, but Mrs. Garth said, gravely
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Do find a fitter word than nasty, my dear Alfred, for
everything that you think disagreeable. And suppose that
Mary could help you to go to Mr. Hanmers with the
money she gets?
That seems to me a great shame. But shes an old
brick, said Alfred, rising from his chair, and pulling
Marys head backward to kiss her.
Mary colored and laughed, but could not conceal that
the tears were coming. Caleb, looking on over his
spectacles, with the angles of his eyebrows falling, had an
expression of mingled delight and sorrow as he returned to
the opening of his letter; and even Mrs. Garth, her lips
curling with a calm contentment, allowed that
inappropriate language to pass without correction,
although Ben immediately took it up, and sang, Shes an
old brick, old brick, old brick! to a cantering measure,
which he beat out with his fist on Marys arm.
But Mrs. Garths eyes were now drawn towards her
husband, who was already deep in the letter he was
reading. His face had an expression of grave surprise,
which alarmed her a little, but he did not like to be
questioned while he was reading, and she remained
anxiously watching till she saw him suddenly shaken by a
little joyous laugh as he turned back to the beginning of
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the letter, and looking at her above his spectacles, said, in a
low tone, What do you think, Susan?
She went and stood behind him, putting her hand on
his shoulder, while they read the letter together. It was
from Sir James Chettam, offering to Mr. Garth the
management of the family estates at Freshitt and
elsewhere, and adding that Sir James had been requested
by Mr. Brooke of Tipton to ascertain whether Mr. Garth
would be disposed at the same time to resume the agency
of the Tipton property. The Baronet added in very
obliging words that he himself was particularly desirous of
seeing the Freshitt and Tipton estates under the same
management, and he hoped to be able to show that the
double agency might be held on terms agreeable to Mr.
Garth, whom he would be glad to see at the Hall at twelve
oclock on the following day.
He writes handsomely, doesnt he, Susan? said Caleb,
turning his eyes upward to his wife, who raised her hand
from his shoulder to his ear, while she rested her chin on
his head. Brooke didnt like to ask me himself, I can see,
he continued, laughing silently.
Here is an honor to your father, children, said Mrs.
Garth, looking round at the five pair of eyes, all fixed on
the parents. He is asked to take a post again by those who
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dismissed him long ago. That shows that he did his work
well, so that they feel the want of him.
Like Cincinnatushooray! said Ben, riding on his
chair, with a pleasant confidence that discipline was
relaxed.
Will they come to fetch him, mother? said Letty,
thinking of the Mayor and Corporation in their robes.
Mrs. Garth patted Lettys head and smiled, but seeing
that her husband was gathering up his letters and likely
soon to be out of reach in that sanctuary business, she
pressed his shoulder and said emphatically
Now, mind you ask fair pay, Caleb.
Oh yes, said Caleb, in a deep voice of assent, as if it
would be unreasonable to suppose anything else of him.
Itll come to between four and five hundred, the two
together. Then with a little start of remembrance he said,
Mary, write and give up that school. Stay and help your
mother. Im as pleased as Punch, now Ive thought of
that.
No manner could have been less like that of Punch
triumphant than Calebs, but his talents did not lie in
finding phrases, though he was very particular about his
letter-writing, and regarded his wife as a treasury of
correct language.
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There was almost an uproar among the children now,
and Mary held up the cambric embroidery towards her
mother entreatingly, that it might be put out of reach
while the boys dragged her into a dance. Mrs. Garth, in
placid joy, began to put the cups and plates together,
while Caleb pushing his chair from the table, as if he were
going to move to the desk, still sat holding his letters in his
hand and looking on the ground meditatively, stretching
out the fingers of his left hand, according to a mute
language of his own. At last he said
Its a thousand pities Christy didnt take to business,
Susan. I shall want help by-and-by. And Alfred must go
off to the engineering Ive made up my mind to that.
He fell into meditation and finger-rhetoric again for a little
while, and then continued: I shall make Brooke have new
agreements with the tenants, and I shall draw up a rotation
of crops. And Ill lay a wager we can get fine bricks out of
the clay at Botts corner. I must look into that: it would
cheapen the repairs. Its a fine bit of work, Susan! A man
without a family would be glad to do it for nothing.
Mind you dont, though, said his wife, lifting up her
finger.
No, no; but its a fine thing to come to a man when
hes seen into the nature of business: to have the chance of
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getting a bit of the country into good fettle, as they say,
and putting men into the right way with their farming,
and getting a bit of good contriving and solid building
donethat those who are living and those who come
after will be the better for. Id sooner have it than a
fortune. I hold it the most honorable work that is. Here
Caleb laid down his letters, thrust his fingers between the
buttons of his waistcoat, and sat upright, but presently
proceeded with some awe in his voice and moving his
head slowly asideIts a great gift of God, Susan.
That it is, Caleb, said his wife, with answering fervor.
And it will be a blessing to your children to have had a
father who did such work: a father whose good work
remains though his name may be forgotten. She could not
say any more to him then about the pay.
In the evening, when Caleb, rather tired with his days
work, was seated in silence with his pocket-book open on
his knee, while Mrs. Garth and Mary were at their sewing,
and Letty in a corner was whispering a dialogue with her
doll, Mr. Farebrother came up the orchard walk, dividing
the bright August lights and shadows with the tufted grass
and the apple-tree boughs. We know that he was fond of
his parishioners the Garths, and had thought Mary worth
mentioning to Lydgate. He used to the full the
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clergymans privilege of disregarding the Middlemarch
discrimination of ranks, and always told his mother that
Mrs. Garth was more of a lady than any matron in the
town. Still, you see, he spent his evenings at the Vincys,
where the matron, though less of a lady, presided over a
well-lit drawing-room and whist. In those days human
intercourse was not determined solely by respect. But the
Vicar did heartily respect the Garths, and a visit from him
was no surprise to that family. Nevertheless he accounted
for it even while he was shaking hands, by saying, I come
as an envoy, Mrs. Garth: I have something to say to you
and Garth on behalf of Fred Vincy. The fact is, poor
fellow, he continued, as he seated himself and looked
round with his bright glance at the three who were
listening to him, he has taken me into his confidence.
Marys heart beat rather quickly: she wondered how far
Freds confidence had gone.
We havent seen the lad for months, said Caleb. I
couldnt think what was become of him.
He has been away on a visit, said the Vicar, because
home was a little too hot for him, and Lydgate told his
mother that the poor fellow must not begin to study yet.
But yesterday he came and poured himself out to me. I am
very glad he did, because I have seen him grow up from a
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youngster of fourteen, and I am so much at home in the
house that the children are like nephews and nieces to me.
But it is a difficult case to advise upon. However, he has
asked me to come and tell you that he is going away, and
that he is so miserable about his debt to you, and his
inability to pay, that he cant bear to come himself even to
bid you good by.
Tell him it doesnt signify a farthing, said Caleb,
waving his hand. Weve had the pinch and have got over
it. And now Im going to be as rich as a Jew.
Which means, said Mrs. Garth, smiling at the Vicar,
that we are going to have enough to bring up the boys
well and to keep Mary at home.
What is the treasure-trove? said Mr. Farebrother.
Im going to be agent for two estates, Freshitt and
Tipton; and perhaps for a pretty little bit of land in Lowick
besides: its all the same family connection, and
employment spreads like water if its once set going. It
makes me very happy, Mr. Farebrother here Caleb
threw back his head a little, and spread his arms on the
elbows of his chairthat Ive got an opportunity again
with the letting of the land, and carrying out a notion or
two with improvements. Its a most uncommonly
cramping thing, as Ive often told Susan, to sit on
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horseback and look over the hedges at the wrong thing,
and not be able to put your hand to it to make it right.
What people do who go into politics I cant think: it
drives me almost mad to see mismanagement over only a
few hundred acres.
It was seldom that Caleb volunteered so long a speech,
but his happiness had the effect of mountain air: his eyes
were bright, and the words came without effort.
I congratulate you heartily, Garth, said the Vicar.
This is the best sort of news I could have had to carry to
Fred Vincy, for he dwelt a good deal on the injury he had
done you in causing you to part with moneyrobbing
you of it, he saidwhich you wanted for other purposes.
I wish Fred were not such an idle dog; he has some very
good points, and his father is a little hard upon him.
Where is he going? said Mrs. Garth, rather coldly.
He means to try again for his degree, and he is going
up to study before term. I have advised him to do that. I
dont urge him to enter the Churchon the contrary. But
if he will go and work so as to pass, that will be some
guarantee that he has energy and a will; and he is quite at
sea; he doesnt know what else to do. So far he will please
his father, and I have promised in the mean time to try
and reconcile Vincy to his sons adopting some other line
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of life. Fred says frankly he is not fit for a clergyman, and I
would do anything I could to hinder a man from the fatal
step of choosing the wrong profession. He quoted to me
what you said, Miss Garth do you remember it? (Mr.
Farebrother used to say Mary instead of Miss Garth, but
it was part of his delicacy to treat her with the more
deference because, according to Mrs. Vincys phrase, she
worked for her bread.)
Mary felt uncomfortable, but, determined to take the
matter lightly, answered at once, I have said so many
impertinent things to Fred we are such old playfellows.
You said, according to him, that he would be one of
those ridiculous clergymen who help to make the whole
clergy ridiculous. Really, that was so cutting that I felt a
little cut myself.
Caleb laughed. She gets her tongue from you, Susan,
he said, with some enjoyment.
Not its flippancy, father, said Mary, quickly, fearing
that her mother would be displeased. It is rather too bad
of Fred to repeat my flippant speeches to Mr. Farebrother.
It was certainly a hasty speech, my dear, said Mrs.
Garth, with whom speaking evil of dignities was a high
misdemeanor. We should not value our Vicar the less
because there was a ridiculous curate in the next parish.
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Theres something in what she says, though, said
Caleb, not disposed to have Marys sharpness undervalued.
A bad workman of any sort makes his fellows mistrusted.
Things hang together, he added, looking on the floor and
moving his feet uneasily with a sense that words were
scantier than thoughts.
Clearly, said the Vicar, amused. By being
contemptible we set mens minds, to the tune of
contempt. I certainly agree with Miss Garths view of the
matter, whether I am condemned by it or not. But as to
Fred Vincy, it is only fair he should be excused a little: old
Featherstones delusive behavior did help to spoil him.
There was something quite diabolical in not leaving him a
farthing after all. But Fred has the good taste not to dwell
on that. And what he cares most about is having offended
you, Mrs. Garth; he supposes you will never think well of
him again.
I have been disappointed in Fred, said Mrs. Garth,
with decision. But I shall be ready to think well of him
again when he gives me good reason to do so.
At this point Mary went out of the room, taking Letty
with her.
Oh, we must forgive young people when theyre
sorry, said Caleb, watching Mary close the door. And as
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you say, Mr. Farebrother, there was the very devil in that
old man.
Now Marys gone out, I must tell you a thingits
only known to Susan and me, and youll not tell it again.
The old scoundrel wanted Mary to burn one of the wills
the very night he died, when she was sitting up with him
by herself, and he offered her a sum of money that he had
in the box by him if she would do it. But Mary, you
understand, could do no such thingwould not be
handling his iron chest, and so on. Now, you see, the will
he wanted burnt was this last, so that if Mary had done
what he wanted, Fred Vincy would have had ten thousand
pounds. The old man did turn to him at the last. That
touches poor Mary close; she couldnt help it she was in
the right to do what she did, but she feels, as she says,
much as if she had knocked down somebodys property
and broken it against her will, when she was rightfully
defending herself. I feel with her, somehow, and if I could
make any amends to the poor lad, instead of bearing him a
grudge for the harm he did us, I should be glad to do it.
Now, what is your opinion, sir? Susan doesnt agree with
me. She saystell what you say, Susan.
Mary could not have acted otherwise, even if she had
known what would be the effect on Fred, said Mrs.
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Middlemarch
724 of 1492
Garth, pausing from her work, and looking at Mr.
Farebrother.
And she was quite ignorant of it. It seems to me, a loss
which falls on another because we have done right is not
to lie upon our conscience.
The Vicar did not answer immediately, and Caleb said,
Its the feeling. The child feels in that way, and I feel with
her. You dont mean your horse to tread on a dog when
youre backing out of the way; but it goes through you,
when its done.
I am sure Mrs. Garth would agree with you there, said
Mr. Farebrother, who for some reason seemed more
inclined to ruminate than to speak. One could hardly say
that the feeling you mention about Fred is wrongor
rather, mistakenthough no man ought to make a claim
on such feeling.
Well, well, said Caleb, its a secret. You will not tell
Fred.
Certainly not. But I shall carry the other good news
that you can afford the loss he caused you.
Mr. Farebrother left the house soon after, and seeing
Mary in the orchard with Letty, went to say good-by to
her. They made a pretty picture in the western light
which brought out the brightness of the apples on the old
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scant-leaved boughsMary in her lavender gingham and
black ribbons holding a basket, while Letty in her well-
worn nankin picked up the fallen apples. If you want to
know more particularly how Mary looked, ten to one you
will see a face like hers in the crowded street to-morrow,
if you are there on the watch: she will not be among those
daughters of Zion who are haughty, and walk with
stretched-out necks and wanton eyes, mincing as they go:
let all those pass, and fix your eyes on some small plump
brownish person of firm but quiet carriage, who looks
about her, but does not suppose that anybody is looking at
her. If she has a broad face and square brow, well-marked
eyebrows and curly dark hair, a certain expression of
amusement in her glance which her mouth keeps the
secret of, and for the rest features entirely insignificant
take that ordinary but not disagreeable person for a portrait
of Mary Garth. If you made her smile, she would show
you perfect little teeth; if you made her angry, she would
not raise her voice, but would probably say one of the
bitterest things you have ever tasted the flavor of; if you
did her a kindness, she would never forget it. Mary
admired the keen-faced handsome little Vicar in his well-
brushed threadbare clothes more than any man she had
had the opportunity of knowing. She had never heard him
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say a foolish thing, though she knew that he did unwise
ones; and perhaps foolish sayings were more objectionable
to her than any of Mr. Farebrothers unwise doings. At
least, it was remarkable that the actual imperfections of the
Vicars clerical character never seemed to call forth the
same scorn and dislike which she showed beforehand for
the predicted imperfections of the clerical character
sustained by Fred Vincy. These irregularities of judgment,
I imagine, are found even in riper minds than Mary
Garths: our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and
demerit, which none of us ever saw. Will any one guess
towards which of those widely different men Mary had
the peculiar womans tenderness?the one she was most
inclined to be severe on, or the contrary?
Have you any message for your old playfellow, Miss
Garth? said the Vicar, as he took a fragrant apple from the
basket which she held towards him, and put it in his
pocket. Something to soften down that harsh judgment? I
am going straight to see him.
No, said Mary, shaking her head, and smiling. If I
were to say that he would not be ridiculous as a
clergyman, I must say that he would be something worse
than ridiculous. But I am very glad to hear that he is going
away to work.
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On the other hand, I am very glad to hear that YOU
are not going away to work. My mother, I am sure, will
be all the happier if you will come to see her at the
vicarage: you know she is fond of having young people to
talk to, and she has a great deal to tell about old times.
You will really be doing a kindness.
I should like it very much, if I may, said Mary.
Everything seems too happy for me all at once. I thought
it would always be part of my life to long for home, and
losing that grievance makes me feel rather empty: I
suppose it served instead of sense to fill up my mind?
May I go with you, Mary? whispered Lettya most
inconvenient child, who listened to everything. But she
was made exultant by having her chin pinched and her
cheek kissed by Mr. Farebrother an incident which she
narrated to her mother and father.
As the Vicar walked to Lowick, any one watching him
closely might have seen him twice shrug his shoulders. I
think that the rare Englishmen who have this gesture are
never of the heavy type for fear of any lumbering
instance to the contrary, I will say, hardly ever; they have
usually a fine temperament and much tolerance towards
the smaller errors of men (themselves inclusive). The Vicar
was holding an inward dialogue in which he told himself
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that there was probably something more between Fred
and Mary Garth than the regard of old playfellows, and
replied with a question whether that bit of womanhood
were not a great deal too choice for that crude young
gentleman. The rejoinder to this was the first shrug. Then
he laughed at himself for being likely to have felt jealous,
as if he had been a man able to marry, which, added he, it
is as clear as any balance-sheet that I am not. Whereupon
followed the second shrug.
What could two men, so different from each other, see
in this brown patch, as Mary called herself? It was
certainly not her plainness that attracted them (and let all
plain young ladies be warned against the dangerous
encouragement given them by Society to confide in their
want of beauty). A human being in this aged nation of
ours is a very wonderful whole, the slow creation of long
interchanging influences: and charm is a result of two such
wholes, the one loving and the one loved.
When Mr. and Mrs. Garth were sitting alone, Caleb
said, Susan, guess what Im thinking of.
The rotation of crops, said Mrs. Garth, smiling at him,
above her knitting, or else the back-doors of the Tipton
cottages.
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No, said Caleb, gravely; I am thinking that I could do
a great turn for Fred Vincy. Christys gone, Alfred will be
gone soon, and it will be five years before Jim is ready to
take to business. I shall want help, and Fred might come in
and learn the nature of things and act under me, and it
might be the making of him into a useful man, if he gives
up being a parson. What do you think?
I think, there is hardly anything honest that his family
would object to more, said Mrs. Garth, decidedly.
What care I about their objecting? said Caleb, with a
sturdiness which he was apt to show when he had an
opinion. The lad is of age and must get his bread. He has
sense enough and quickness enough; he likes being on the
land, and its my belief that he could learn business well if
he gave his mind to it.
But would he? His father and mother wanted him to
be a fine gentleman, and I think he has the same sort of
feeling himself. They all think us beneath them. And if the
proposal came from you, I am sure Mrs. Vincy would say
that we wanted Fred for Mary.
Life is a poor tale, if it is to be settled by nonsense of
that sort, said Caleb, with disgust.
Yes, but there is a certain pride which is proper,
Caleb.
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I call it improper pride to let fools notions hinder you
from doing a good action. Theres no sort of work, said
Caleb, with fervor, putting out his hand and moving it up
and down to mark his emphasis, that could ever be done
well, if you minded what fools say. You must have it
inside you that your plan is right, and that plan you must
follow.
I will not oppose any plan you have set your mind on,
Caleb, said Mrs. Garth, who was a firm woman, but
knew that there were some points on which her mild
husband was yet firmer. Still, it seems to be fixed that
Fred is to go back to college: will it not be better to wait
and see what he will choose to do after that? It is not easy
to keep people against their will. And you are not yet
quite sure enough of your own position, or what you will
want.
Well, it may be better to wait a bit. But as to my
getting plenty of work for two, Im pretty sure of that.
Ive always had my hands full with scattered things, and
theres always something fresh turning up. Why, only
yesterdaybless me, I dont think I told you!it was
rather odd that two men should have been at me on
different sides to do the same bit of valuing. And who do
you think they were? said Caleb, taking a pinch of snuff
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and holding it up between his fingers, as if it were a part of
his exposition. He was fond of a pinch when it occurred
to him, but he usually forgot that this indulgence was at
his command.
His wife held down her knitting and looked attentive.
Why, that Rigg, or Rigg Featherstone, was one. But
Bulstrode was before him, so Im going to do it for
Bulstrode. Whether its mortgage or purchase theyre
going for, I cant tell yet.
Can that man be going to sell the land just left him
which he has taken the name for? said Mrs. Garth.
Deuce knows, said Caleb, who never referred the
knowledge of discreditable doings to any higher power
than the deuce. But Bulstrode has long been wanting to
get a handsome bit of land under his fingersthat I know.
And its a difficult matter to get, in this part of the
country.
Caleb scattered his snuff carefully instead of taking it,
and then added, The ins and outs of things are curious.
Here is the land theyve been all along expecting for Fred,
which it seems the old man never meant to leave him a
foot of, but left it to this side-slip of a son that he kept in
the dark, and thought of his sticking there and vexing
everybody as well as he could have vexed em himself if
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he could have kept alive. I say, it would be curious if it
got into Bulstrodes hands after all. The old man hated
him, and never would bank with him.
What reason could the miserable creature have for
hating a man whom he had nothing to do with? said Mrs.
Garth.
Pooh! wheres the use of asking for such fellows
reasons? The soul of man, said Caleb, with the deep tone
and grave shake of the head which always came when he
used this phraseThe soul of man, when it gets fairly
rotten, will bear you all sorts of poisonous toad-stools, and
no eye can see whence came the seed thereof.
It was one of Calebs quaintnesses, that in his difficulty
of finding speech for his thought, he caught, as it were,
snatches of diction which he associated with various points
of view or states of mind; and whenever he had a feeling
of awe, he was haunted by a sense of Biblical phraseology,
though he could hardly have given a strict quotation.
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Chapter XLI
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
Twelfth Night
The transactions referred to by Caleb Garth as having
gone forward between Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Joshua
Rigg Featherstone concerning the land attached to Stone
Court, had occasioned the interchange of a letter or two
between these personages.
Who shall tell what may be the effect of writing? If it
happens to have been cut in stone, though it lie face
down-most for ages on a forsaken beach, or rest quietly
under the drums and tramplings of many conquests, it
may end by letting us into the secret of usurpations and
other scandals gossiped about long empires ago: this
world being apparently a huge whispering-gallery. Such
conditions are often minutely represented in our petty
lifetimes. As the stone which has been kicked by
generations of clowns may come by curious little links of
effect under the eyes of a scholar, through whose labors it
may at last fix the date of invasions and unlock religions,
so a bit of ink and paper which has long been an innocent
wrapping or stop-gap may at last be laid open under the
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one pair of eyes which have knowledge enough to turn it
into the opening of a catastrophe. To Uriel watching the
progress of planetary history from the sun, the one result
would be just as much of a coincidence as the other.
Having made this rather lofty comparison I am less
uneasy in calling attention to the existence of low people
by whose interference, however little we may like it, the
course of the world is very much determined. It would be
well, certainly, if we could help to reduce their number,
and something might perhaps be done by not lightly
giving occasion to their existence. Socially speaking,
Joshua Rigg would have been generally pronounced a
superfluity. But those who like Peter Featherstone never
had a copy of themselves demanded, are the very last to
wait for such a request either in prose or verse. The copy
in this case bore more of outside resemblance to the
mother, in whose sex frog-features, accompanied with
fresh-colored cheeks and a well-rounded figure, are
compatible with much charm for a certain order of
admirers. The result is sometimes a frog-faced male,
desirable, surely, to no order of intelligent beings.
Especially when he is suddenly brought into evidence to
frustrate other peoples expectations the very lowest
aspect in which a social superfluity can present himself.
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But Mr. Rigg Featherstones low characteristics were
all of the sober, water-drinking kind. From the earliest to
the latest hour of the day he was always as sleek, neat, and
cool as the frog he resembled, and old Peter had secretly
chuckled over an offshoot almost more calculating, and far
more imperturbable, than himself. I will add that his
finger-nails were scrupulously attended to, and that he
meant to marry a well-educated young lady (as yet
unspecified) whose person was good, and whose
connections, in a solid middle-class way, were undeniable.
Thus his nails and modesty were comparable to those of
most gentlemen; though his ambition had been educated
only by the opportunities of a clerk and accountant in the
smaller commercial houses of a seaport. He thought the
rural Featherstones very simple absurd people, and they in
their turn regarded his bringing up in a seaport town as
an exaggeration of the monstrosity that their brother
Peter, and still more Peters property, should have had
such belongings.
The garden and gravel approach, as seen from the two
windows of the wainscoted parlor at Stone Court, were
never in better trim than now, when Mr. Rigg
Featherstone stood, with his hands behind him, looking
out on these grounds as their master. But it seemed
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Middlemarch
736 of 1492
doubtful whether he looked out for the sake of
contemplation or of turning his back to a person who
stood in the middle of the room, with his legs considerably
apart and his hands in his trouser-pockets: a person in all
respects a contrast to the sleek and cool Rigg. He was a
man obviously on the way towards sixty, very florid and
hairy, with much gray in his bushy whiskers and thick
curly hair, a stoutish body which showed to disadvantage
the somewhat worn joinings of his clothes, and the air of a
swaggerer, who would aim at being noticeable even at a
show of fireworks, regarding his own remarks on any
other persons performance as likely to be more interesting
than the performance itself.
His name was John Raffles, and he sometimes wrote
jocosely W.A.G. after his signature, observing when he
did so, that he was once taught by Leonard Lamb of
Finsbury who wrote B.A. after his name, and that he,
Raffles, originated the witticism of calling that celebrated
principal Ba-Lamb. Such were the appearance and mental
flavor of Mr. Raffles, both of which seemed to have a stale
odor of travellers rooms in the commercial hotels of that
period.
Come, now, Josh, he was saying, in a full rumbling
tone, look at it in this light: here is your poor mother
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going into the vale of years, and you could afford
something handsome now to make her comfortable.
Not while you live. Nothing would make her
comfortable while you live, returned Rigg, in his cool
high voice. What I give her, youll take.
You bear me a grudge, Josh, that I know. But come,
nowas between man and manwithout humbuga
little capital might enable me to make a first-rate thing of
the shop. The tobacco trade is growing. I should cut my
own nose off in not doing the best I could at it. I should
stick to it like a flea to a fleece for my own sake. I should
always be on the spot. And nothing would make your
poor mother so happy. Ive pretty well done with my wild
oats turned fifty-five. I want to settle down in my
chimney-corner. And if I once buckled to the tobacco
trade, I could bring an amount of brains and experience to
bear on it that would not be found elsewhere in a hurry. I
dont want to be bothering you one time after another,
but to get things once for all into the right channel.
Consider that, Joshas between man and manand with
your poor mother to be made easy for her life. I was
always fond of the old woman, by Jove!
Have you done? said Mr. Rigg, quietly, without
looking away from the window.
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Yes, Ive done, said Raffles, taking hold of his hat
which stood before him on the table, and giving it a sort
of oratorical push.
Then just listen to me. The more you say anything,
the less I shall believe it. The more you want me to do a
thing, the more reason I shall have for never doing it. Do
you think I mean to forget your kicking me when I was a
lad, and eating all the best victual away from me and my
mother? Do you think I forget your always coming home
to sell and pocket everything, and going off again leaving
us in the lurch? I should be glad to see you whipped at the
cart-tail. My mother was a fool to you: shed no right to
give me a father-in-law, and shes been punished for it.
She shall have her weekly allowance paid and no more:
and that shall be stopped if you dare to come on to these
premises again, or to come into this country after me
again. The next time you show yourself inside the gates
here, you shall be driven off with the dogs and the
wagoners whip.
As Rigg pronounced the last words he turned round
and looked at Raffles with his prominent frozen eyes. The
contrast was as striking as it could have been eighteen
years before, when Rigg was a most unengaging kickable
boy, and Raffles was the rather thick-set Adonis of bar-
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rooms and back-parlors. But the advantage now was on
the side of Rigg, and auditors of this conversation might
probably have expected that Raffles would retire with the
air of a defeated dog. Not at all. He made a grimace which
was habitual with him whenever he was out in a game;
then subsided into a laugh, and drew a brandy-flask from
his pocket.
Come, Josh, he said, in a cajoling tone, give us a
spoonful of brandy, and a sovereign to pay the way back,
and Ill go. Honor bright! Ill go like a bullet, BY Jove!
Mind, said Rigg, drawing out a bunch of keys, if I
ever see you again, I shant speak to you. I dont own you
any more than if I saw a crow; and if you want to own me
youll get nothing by it but a character for being what you
area spiteful, brassy, bullying rogue.
Thats a pity, now, Josh, said Raffles, affecting to
scratch his head and wrinkle his brows upward as if he
were nonplussed. Im very fond of you; BY Jove, I am!
Theres nothing I like better than plaguing youyoure so
like your mother, and I must do without it. But the
brandy and the sovereigns a bargain.
He jerked forward the flask and Rigg went to a fine old
oaken bureau with his keys. But Raffles had reminded
himself by his movement with the flask that it had become
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dangerously loose from its leather covering, and catching
sight of a folded paper which had fallen within the fender,
he took it up and shoved it under the leather so as to make
the glass firm.
By that time Rigg came forward with a brandy-bottle,
filled the flask, and handed Raffles a sovereign, neither
looking at him nor speaking to him. After locking up the
bureau again, he walked to the window and gazed out as
impassibly as he had done at the beginning of the
interview, while Raffles took a small allowance from the
flask, screwed it up, and deposited it in his side-pocket,
with provoking slowness, making a grimace at his
stepsons back.
Farewell, Joshand if forever! said Raffles, turning
back his head as he opened the door.
Rigg saw him leave the grounds and enter the lane.
The gray day had turned to a light drizzling rain, which
freshened the hedgerows and the grassy borders of the by-
roads, and hastened the laborers who were loading the last
shocks of corn. Raffles, walking with the uneasy gait of a
town loiterer obliged to do a bit of country journeying on
foot, looked as incongruous amid this moist rural quiet
and industry as if he had been a baboon escaped from a
menagerie. But there were none to stare at him except the
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long-weaned calves, and none to show dislike of his
appearance except the little water-rats which rustled away
at his approach.
He was fortunate enough when he got on to the
highroad to be overtaken by the stage-coach, which
carried him to Brassing; and there he took the new-made
railway, observing to his fellow-passengers that he
considered it pretty well seasoned now it had done for
Huskisson. Mr. Raffles on most occasions kept up the
sense of having been educated at an academy, and being
able, if he chose, to pass well everywhere; indeed, there
was not one of his fellow-men whom he did not feel
himself in a position to ridicule and torment, confident of
the entertainment which he thus gave to all the rest of the
company.
He played this part now with as much spirit as if his
journey had been entirely successful, resorting at frequent
intervals to his flask. The paper with which he had
wedged it was a letter signed Nicholas Bulstrode, but
Raffles was not likely to disturb it from its present useful
position.
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Chapter XLII
How much, methinks, I could despise this man
Were I not bound in charity against it!
SHAKESPEARE: Henry VIII.
One of the professional calls made by Lydgate soon
after his return from his wedding-journey was to Lowick
Manor, in consequence of a letter which had requested
him to fix a time for his visit.
Mr. Casaubon had never put any question concerning
the nature of his illness to Lydgate, nor had he even to
Dorothea betrayed any anxiety as to how far it might be
likely to cut short his labors or his life. On this point, as on
all others, he shrank from pity; and if the suspicion of
being pitied for anything in his lot surmised or known in
spite of himself was embittering, the idea of calling forth a
show of compassion by frankly admitting an alarm or a
sorrow was necessarily intolerable to him. Every proud
mind knows something of this experience, and perhaps it
is only to be overcome by a sense of fellowship deep
enough to make all efforts at isolation seem mean and
petty instead of exalting.
But Mr. Casaubon was now brooding over something
through which the question of his health and life haunted
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his silence with a more harassing importunity even than
through the autumnal unripeness of his authorship. It is
true that this last might be called his central ambition; but
there are some kinds of authorship in which by far the
largest result is the uneasy susceptibility accumulated in the
consciousness of the author one knows of the river by a
few streaks amid a long-gathered deposit of uncomfortable
mud. That was the way with Mr. Casaubons hard
intellectual labors. Their most characteristic result was not
the Key to all Mythologies, but a morbid consciousness
that others did not give him the place which he had not
demonstrably meriteda perpetual suspicious conjecture
that the views entertained of him were not to his
advantage a melancholy absence of passion in his efforts
at achievement, and a passionate resistance to the
confession that he had achieved nothing.
Thus his intellectual ambition which seemed to others
to have absorbed and dried him, was really no security
against wounds, least of all against those which came from
Dorothea. And he had begun now to frame possibilities
for the future which were somehow more embittering to
him than anything his mind had dwelt on before.
Against certain facts he was helpless: against Will
Ladislaws existence his defiant stay in the neighborhood
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of Lowick, and his flippant state of mind with regard to
the possessors of authentic, well-stamped erudition: against
Dorotheas nature, always taking on some new shape of
ardent activity, and even in submission and silence
covering fervid reasons which it was an irritation to think
of: against certain notions and likings which had taken
possession of her mind in relation to subjects that he could
not possibly discuss with her. There was no denying that
Dorothea was as virtuous and lovely a young lady as he
could have obtained for a wife; but a young lady turned
out to be something more troublesome than he had
conceived. She nursed him, she read to him, she
anticipated his wants, and was solicitous about his feelings;
but there had entered into the husbands mind the
certainty that she judged him, and that her wifely
devotedness was like a penitential expiation of unbelieving
thoughtswas accompanied with a power of comparison
by which himself and his doings were seen too luminously
as a part of things in general. His discontent passed vapor-
like through all her gentle loving manifestations, and clung
to that inappreciative world which she had only brought
nearer to him.
Poor Mr. Casaubon! This suffering was the harder to
bear because it seemed like a betrayal: the young creature
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who had worshipped him with perfect trust had quickly
turned into the critical wife; and early instances of
criticism and resentment had made an impression which
no tenderness and submission afterwards could remove.
To his suspicious interpretation Dorotheas silence now
was a suppressed rebellion; a remark from her which he
had not in any way anticipated was an assertion of
conscious superiority; her gentle answers had an irritating
cautiousness in them; and when she acquiesced it was a
self-approved effort of forbearance. The tenacity with
which he strove to hide this inward drama made it the
more vivid for him; as we hear with the more keenness
what we wish others not to hear.
Instead of wondering at this result of misery in Mr.
Casaubon, I think it quite ordinary. Will not a tiny speck
very close to our vision blot out the glory of the world,
and leave only a margin by which we see the blot? I know
no speck so troublesome as self. And who, if Mr.
Casaubon had chosen to expound his discontents his
suspicions that he was not any longer adored without
criticism could have denied that they were founded on
good reasons? On the contrary, there was a strong reason
to be added, which he had not himself taken explicitly
into accountnamely, that he was not unmixedly
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adorable. He suspected this, however, as he suspected
other things, without confessing it, and like the rest of us,
felt how soothing it would have been to have a co pan ion
who would never find it out.
This sore susceptibility in relation to Dorothea was
thoroughly prepared before Will Ladislaw had returned to
Lowick, and what had occurred since then had brought
Mr. Casaubons power of suspicious construction into
exasperated activity. To all the facts which he knew, he
added imaginary facts both present and future which
become more real to him than those because they called
up a stronger dislike, a more predominating bitterness.
Suspicion and jealousy of Will Ladislaws intentions,
suspicion and jealousy of Dorotheas impressions, were
constantly at their weaving work. It would be quite unjust
to him to suppose that he could have entered into any
coarse misinterpretation of Dorothea: his own habits of
mind and conduct, quite as much as the open elevation of
her nature, saved him from any such mistake. What he
was jealous of was her opinion, the sway that might be
given to her ardent mind in its judgments, and the future
possibilities to which these might lead her. As to Will,
though until his last defiant letter he had nothing definite
which he would choose formally to allege against him, he
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felt himself warranted in believing that he was capable of
any design which could fascinate a rebellious temper and
an undisciplined impulsiveness. He was quite sure that
Dorothea was the cause of Wills return from Rome, and
his determination to settle in the neighborhood; and he
was penetrating enough to imagine that Dorothea had
innocently encouraged this course. It was as clear as
possible that she was ready to be attached to Will and to
be pliant to his suggestions: they had never had a tete-a-
tete without her bringing away from it some new
troublesome impression, and the last interview that Mr.
Casaubon was aware of (Dorothea, on returning from
Freshitt Hall, had for the first time been silent about
having seen Will) had led to a scene which roused an
angrier feeling against them both than he had ever known
before. Dorotheas outpouring of her notions about
money, in the darkness of the night, had done nothing but
bring a mixture of more odious foreboding into her
husbands mind.
And there was the shock lately given to his health
always sadly present with him. He was certainly much
revived; he had recovered all his usual power of work: the
illness might have been mere fatigue, and there might still
be twenty years of achievement before him, which would
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justify the thirty years of preparation. That prospect was
made the sweeter by a flavor of vengeance against the
hasty sneers of Carp & Company; for even when Mr.
Casaubon was carrying his taper among the tombs of the
past, those modern figures came athwart the dim light, and
interrupted his diligent exploration. To convince Carp of
his mistake, so that he would have to eat his own words
with a good deal of indigestion, would be an agreeable
accident of triumphant authorship, which the prospect of
living to future ages on earth and to all eternity in heaven
could not exclude from contemplation. Since, thus, the
prevision of his own unending bliss could not nullify the
bitter savors of irritated jealousy and vindictiveness, it is
the less surprising that the probability of a transient earthly
bliss for other persons, when he himself should have
entered into glory, had not a potently sweetening effect. If
the truth should be that some undermining disease was at
work within him, there might be large opportunity for
some people to be the happier when he was gone; and if
one of those people should be Will Ladislaw, Mr.
Casaubon objected so strongly that it seemed as if the
annoyance would make part of his disembodied existence.
This is a very bare and therefore a very incomplete way
of putting the case. The human soul moves in many
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channels, and Mr. Casaubon, we know, had a sense of
rectitude and an honorable pride in satisfying the
requirements of honor, which compelled him to find
other reasons for his conduct than those of jealousy and
vindictiveness. The way in which Mr. Casaubon put the
case was this:In marrying Dorothea Brooke I had to
care for her well-being in case of my death. But well-
being is not to be secured by ample, independent
possession of property; on the contrary, occasions might
arise in which such possession might expose her to the
more danger. She is ready prey to any man who knows
how to play adroitly either on her affectionate ardor or her
Quixotic enthusiasm; and a man stands by with that very
intention in his minda man with no other principle than
transient caprice, and who has a personal animosity
towards me I am sure of itan animosity which is fed
by the consciousness of his ingratitude, and which he has
constantly vented in ridicule of which I am as well assured
as if I had heard it. Even if I live I shall not be without
uneasiness as to what he may attempt through indirect
influence. This man has gained Dorotheas ear: he has
fascinated her attention; he has evidently tried to impress
her mind with the notion that he has claims beyond
anything I have done for him. If I dieand he is waiting
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here on the watch for that he will persuade her to marry
him. That would be calamity for her and success for him.
SHE would not think it calamity: he would make her
believe anything; she has a tendency to immoderate
attachment which she inwardly reproaches me for not
responding to, and already her mind is occupied with his
fortunes. He thinks of an easy conquest and of entering
into my nest. That I will hinder! Such a marriage would
be fatal to Dorothea. Has he ever persisted in anything
except from contradiction? In knowledge he has always
tried to be showy at small cost. In religion he could be, as
long as it suited him, the facile echo of Dorotheas
vagaries. When was sciolism ever dissociated from laxity? I
utterly distrust his morals, and it is my duty to hinder to
the utmost the fulfilment of his designs.
The arrangements made by Mr. Casaubon on his
marriage left strong measures open to him, but in
ruminating on them his mind inevitably dwelt so much on
the probabilities of his own life that the longing to get the
nearest possible calculation had at last overcome his proud
reticence, and had determined him to ask Lydgates
opinion as to the nature of his illness.
He had mentioned to Dorothea that Lydgate was
coming by appointment at half-past three, and in answer
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to her anxious question, whether he had felt ill, replied,
No, I merely wish to have his opinion concerning some
habitual symptoms. You need not see him, my dear. I shall
give orders that he may be sent to me in the Yew-tree
Walk, where I shall be taking my usual exercise.
When Lydgate entered the Yew-tree Walk he saw Mr.
Casaubon slowly receding with his hands behind him
according to his habit, and his head bent forward. It was a
lovely afternoon; the leaves from the lofty limes were
falling silently across the sombre evergreens, while the
lights and shadows slept side by side: there was no sound
but the cawing of the rooks, which to the accustomed ear
is a lullaby, or that last solemn lullaby, a dirge. Lydgate,
conscious of an energetic frame in its prime, felt some
compassion when the figure which he was likely soon to
overtake turned round, and in advancing towards him
showed more markedly than ever the signs of premature
agethe students bent shoulders, the emaciated limbs,
and the melancholy lines of the mouth. Poor fellow, he
thought, some men with his years are like lions; one can
tell nothing of their age except that they are full grown.
Mr. Lydgate, said Mr. Casaubon, with his invariably
po lite air, I am exceedingly obliged to you for your
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punctuality. We will, if you please, carry on our
conversation in walking to and fro.
I hope your wish to see me is not due to the return of
unpleasant symptoms, said Lydgate, filling up a pause.
Not immediatelyno. In order to account for that
wish I must mention what it were otherwise needless to
refer tothat my life, on all collateral accounts
insignificant, derives a possible importance from the
incompleteness of labors which have extended through all
its best years. In short, I have long had on hand a work
which I would fain leave behind me in such a state, at
least, that it might be committed to the press byothers.
Were I assured that this is the utmost I can reasonably
expect, that assurance would be a useful circumscription of
my attempts, and a guide in both the positive and negative
determination of my course.
Here Mr. Casaubon paused, removed one hand from
his back and thrust it between the buttons of his single-
breasted coat. To a mind largely instructed in the human
destiny hardly anything could be more interesting than the
inward conflict implied in his formal measured address,
delivered with the usual sing-song and motion of the
head. Nay, are there many situations more sublimely tragic
than the struggle of the soul with the demand to renounce
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a work which has been all the significance of its lifea
significance which is to vanish as the waters which come
and go where no man has need of them? But there was
nothing to strike others as sublime about Mr. Casaubon,
and Lydgate, who had some contempt at hand for futile
scholarship, felt a little amusement mingling with his pity.
He was at present too ill acquainted with disaster to enter
into the pathos of a lot where everything is below the
level of tragedy except the passionate egoism of the
sufferer.
You refer to the possible hindrances from want of
health? he said, wishing to help forward Mr. Casaubons
purpose, which seemed to be clogged by some hesitation.
I do. You have not implied to me that the symptoms
which I am bound to testifyyou watched with
scrupulous care, were those of a fatal disease. But were it
so, Mr. Lydgate, I should desire to know the truth
without reservation, and I appeal to you for an exact
statement of your conclusions: I request it as a friendly
service. If you can tell me that my life is not threatened by
anything else than ordinary casualties, I shall rejoice, on
grounds which I have already indicated. If not, knowledge
of the truth is even more important to me.
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Then I can no longer hesitate as to my course, said
Lydgate; but the first thing I must impress on you is that
my conclusions are doubly uncertainuncertain not only
because of my fallibility, but because diseases of the heart
are eminently difficult to found predictions on. In any
ease, one can hardly increase appreciably the tremendous
uncertainty of life.
Mr. Casaubon winced perceptibly, but bowed.
I believe that you are suffering from what is called fatty
degeneration of the heart, a disease which was first divined
and explored by Laennec, the man who gave us the
stethoscope, not so very many years ago. A good deal of
experiencea more lengthened observationis wanting
on the subject. But after what you have said, it is my duty
to tell you that death from this disease is often sudden. At
the same time, no such result can be predicted. Your
condition may be consistent with a tolerably comfortable
life for another fifteen years, or even more. I could add no
information to this beyond anatomical or medical details,
which would leave expectation at precisely the same
point. Lydgates instinct was fine enough to tell him that
plain speech, quite free from ostentatious caution, would
be felt by Mr. Casaubon as a tribute of respect.
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I thank you, Mr. Lydgate, said Mr. Casaubon, after a
moments pause. One thing more I have still to ask: did
you communicate what you have now told me to Mrs.
Casaubon?
PartlyI mean, as to the possible issues. Lydgate was
going to explain why he had told Dorothea, but Mr.
Casaubon, with an unmistakable desire to end the
conversation, waved his hand slightly, and said again, I
thank you, proceeding to remark on the rare beauty of
the day.
Lydgate, certain that his patient wished to be alone,
soon left him; and the black figure with hands behind and
head bent forward continued to pace the walk where the
dark yew-trees gave him a mute companionship in
melancholy, and the little shadows of bird or leaf that
fleeted across the isles of sunlight, stole along in silence as
in the presence of a sorrow. Here was a man who now for
the first time found himself looking into the eyes of
death who was passing through one of those rare
moments of experience when we feel the truth of a
commonplace, which is as different from what we call
knowing it, as the vision of waters upon the earth is
different from the delirious vision of the water which
cannot be had to cool the burning tongue. When the
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commonplace We must all die transforms itself suddenly
into the acute consciousness I must die and soon, then
death grapples us, and his fingers are cruel; afterwards, he
may come to fold us in his arms as our mother did, and
our last moment of dim earthly discerning may be like the
first. To Mr. Casaubon now, it was as if he suddenly
found himself on the dark river-brink and heard the plash
of the oncoming oar, not discerning the forms, but
expecting the summons. In such an hour the mind does
not change its lifelong bias, but carries it onward in
imagination to the other side of death, gazing backward
perhaps with the divine calm of beneficence, perhaps with
the petty anxieties of self-assertion. What was Mr.
Casaubons bias his acts will give us a clew to. He held
himself to be, with some private scholarly reservations, a
believing Christian, as to estimates of the present and
hopes of the future. But what we strive to gratify, though
we may call it a distant hope, is an immediate desire: the
future estate for which men drudge up city alleys exists
already in their imagination and love. And Mr. Casaubons
immediate desire was not for divine communion and light
divested of earthly conditions; his passionate longings,
poor man, clung low and mist-like in very shady places.
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Dorothea had been aware when Lydgate had ridden
away, and she had stepped into the garden, with the
impulse to go at once to her husband. But she hesitated,
fearing to offend him by obtruding herself; for her ardor,
continually repulsed, served, with her intense memory, to
heighten her dread, as thwarted energy subsides into a
shudder; and she wandered slowly round the nearer
clumps of trees until she saw him advancing. Then she
went towards him, and might have represented a heaven-
sent angel coming with a promise that the short hours
remaining should yet be filled with that faithful love
which clings the closer to a comprehended grief. His
glance in reply to hers was so chill that she felt her timidity
increased; yet she turned and passed her hand through his
arm.
Mr. Casaubon kept his hands behind him and allowed
her pliant arm to cling with difficulty against his rigid arm.
There was something horrible to Dorothea in the
sensation which this unresponsive hardness inflicted on
her. That is a strong word, but not too strong: it is in these
acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever
wasted, until men and women look round with haggard
faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say,
the earth bears no harvest of sweetnesscalling their
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denial knowledge. You may ask why, in the name of
manliness, Mr. Casaubon should have behaved in that
way. Consider that his was a mind which shrank from
pity: have you ever watched in such a mind the effect of a
suspicion that what is pressing it as a grief may be really a
source of contentment, either actual or future, to the
being who already offends by pitying? Besides, he knew
little of Dorotheas sensations, and had not reflected that
on such an occasion as the present they were comparable
in strength to his own sensibilities about Carps criticisms.
Dorothea did not withdraw her arm, but she could not
venture to speak. Mr. Casaubon did not say, I wish to be
alone, but he directed his steps in silence towards the
house, and as they entered by the glass door on this eastern
side, Dorothea withdrew her arm and lingered on the
matting, that she might leave her husband quite free. He
entered the library and shut himself in, alone with his
sorrow.
She went up to her boudoir. The open bow-window
let in the serene glory of the afternoon lying in the
avenue, where the lime-trees east long shadows. But
Dorothea knew nothing of the scene. She threw herself on
a chair, not heeding that she was in the dazzling sun-rays:
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if there were discomfort in that, how could she tell that it
was not part of her inward misery?
She was in the reaction of a rebellious anger stronger
than any she had felt since her marriage. Instead of tears
there came words:
What have I donewhat am Ithat he should treat
me so? He never knows what is in my mindhe never
cares. What is the use of anything I do? He wishes he had
never married me.
She began to hear herself, and was checked into
stillness. Like one who has lost his way and is weary, she
sat and saw as in one glance all the paths of her young
hope which she should never find again. And just as
clearly in the miserable light she saw her own and her
husbands solitudehow they walked apart so that she was
obliged to survey him. If he had drawn her towards him,
she would never have surveyed himnever have said, Is
he worth living for? but would have felt him simply a part
of her own life. Now she said bitterly, It is his fault, not
mine. In the jar of her whole being, Pity was overthrown.
Was it her fault that she had believed in him had
believed in his worthiness?And what, exactly, was he?
She was able enough to estimate himshe who waited on
his glances with trembling, and shut her best soul in
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prison, paying it only hidden visits, that she might be petty
enough to please him. In such a crisis as this, some women
begin to hate.
The sun was low when Dorothea was thinking that she
would not go down again, but would send a message to
her husband saying that she was not well and preferred
remaining up-stairs. She had never deliberately allowed
her resentment to govern her in this way before, but she
believed now that she could not see him again without
telling him the truth about her feeling, and she must wait
till she could do it without interruption. He might wonder
and be hurt at her message. It was good that he should
wonder and be hurt. Her anger said, as anger is apt to say,
that God was with her that all heaven, though it were
crowded with spirits watching them, must be on her side.
She had determined to ring her bell, when there came a
rap at the door.
Mr. Casaubon had sent to say that he would have his
dinner in the library. He wished to be quite alone this
evening, being much occupied.
I shall not dine, then, Tantripp.
Oh, madam, let me bring you a little something?
No; I am not well. Get everything ready in my
dressing room, but pray do not disturb me again.
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Dorothea sat almost motionless in her meditative
struggle, while the evening slowly deepened into night.
But the struggle changed continually, as that of a man who
begins with a movement towards striking and ends with
conquering his desire to strike. The energy that would
animate a crime is not more than is wanted to inspire a
resolved, submission, when the noble habit of the soul
reasserts itself. That thought with which Dorothea had
gone out to meet her husbandher conviction that he
had been asking about the possible arrest of all his work,
and that the answer must have wrung his heart, could not
be long without rising beside the image of him, like a
shadowy monitor looking at her anger with sad
remonstrance. It cost her a litany of pictured sorrows and
of silent cries that she might be the mercy for those
sorrows but the resolved submission did come; and
when the house was still, and she knew that it was near
the time when Mr. Casaubon habitually went to rest, she
opened her door gently and stood outside in the darkness
waiting for his coming up-stairs with a light in his hand. If
he did not come soon she thought that she would go
down and even risk incurring another pang. She would
never again expect anything else. But she did hear the
library door open, and slowly the light advanced up the
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staircase without noise from the footsteps on the carpet.
When her husband stood opposite to her, she saw that his
face was more haggard. He started slightly on seeing her,
and she looked up at him beseechingly, without speaking.
Dorothea! he said, with a gentle surprise in his tone.
Were you waiting for me?
Yes, I did not like to disturb you.
Come, my dear, come. You are young, and need not
to extend your life by watching.
When the kind quiet melancholy of that speech fell on
Dorotheas ears, she felt something like the thankfulness
that might well up in us if we had narrowly escaped
hurting a lamed creature. She put her hand into her
husbands, and they went along the broad corridor
together.
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BOOK V.

THE DEAD HAND.
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Chapter XLIII
This figure hath high price:
t was wrought with love
Ages ago in finest ivory;
Nought modish in it, pure and noble lines
Of generous womanhood that fits all time
That too is costly ware; majolica
Of deft design, to please a lordly eye:
The smile, you see, is perfectwonderful
As mere Faience! a table ornament
To suit the richest mounting.
Dorothea seldom left home without her husband, but
she did occasionally drive into Middlemarch alone, on
little errands of shopping or charity such as occur to every
lady of any wealth when she lives within three miles of a
town. Two days after that scene in the Yew-tree Walk,
she determined to use such an opportunity in order if
possible to see Lydgate, and learn from him whether her
husband had really felt any depressing change of symptoms
which he was concealing from her, and whether he had
insisted on knowing the utmost about himself. She felt
almost guilty in asking for knowledge about him from
another, but the dread of being without itthe dread of
that ignorance which would make her unjust or hard
overcame every scruple. That there had been some crisis
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in her husbands mind she was certain: he had the very
next day begun a new method of arranging his notes, and
had associated her quite newly in carrying out his plan.
Poor Dorothea needed to lay up stores of patience.
It was about four oclock when she drove to Lydgates
house in Lowick Gate, wishing, in her immediate doubt
of finding him at home, that she had written beforehand.
And he was not at home.
Is Mrs. Lydgate at home? said Dorothea, who had
never, that she knew of, seen Rosamond, but now
remembered the fact of the marriage. Yes, Mrs. Lydgate
was at home.
I will go in and speak to her, if she will allow me. Will
you ask her if she can see mesee Mrs. Casaubon, for a
few minutes?
When the servant had gone to deliver that message,
Dorothea could hear sounds of music through an open
windowa few notes from a mans voice and then a
piano bursting into roulades. But the roulades broke off
suddenly, and then the servant came back saying that Mrs.
Lydgate would be happy to see Mrs. Casaubon.
When the drawing-room door opened and Dorothea
entered, there was a sort of contrast not infrequent in
country life when the habits of the different ranks were
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less blent than now. Let those who know, tell us exactly
what stuff it was that Dorothea wore in those days of mild
autumnthat thin white woollen stuff soft to the touch
and soft to the eye. It always seemed to have been lately
washed, and to smell of the sweet hedgeswas always in
the shape of a pelisse with sleeves hanging all out of the
fashion. Yet if she had entered before a still audience as
Imogene or Catos daughter, the dress might have seemed
right enough: the grace and dignity were in her limbs and
neck; and about her simply parted hair and candid eyes the
large round poke which was then in the fate of women,
seemed no more odd as a head-dress than the gold
trencher we call a halo. By the present audience of two
persons, no dramatic heroine could have been expected
with more interest than Mrs. Casaubon. To Rosamond
she was one of those county divinities not mixing with
Middlemarch mortality, whose slightest marks of manner
or appearance were worthy of her study; moreover,
Rosamond was not without satisfaction that Mrs.
Casaubon should have an opportunity of studying HER.
What is the use of being exquisite if you are not seen by
the best judges? and since Rosamond had received the
highest compliments at Sir Godwin Lydgates, she felt
quite confident of the impression she must make on
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people of good birth. Dorothea put out her hand with her
usual simple kindness, and looked admiringly at Lydgates
lovely brideaware that there was a gentleman standing at
a distance, but seeing him merely as a coated figure at a
wide angle. The gentleman was too much occupied with
the presence of the one woman to reflect on the contrast
between the twoa contrast that would certainly have
been striking to a calm observer. They were both tall, and
their eyes were on a level; but imagine Rosamonds
infantine blondness and wondrous crown of hair-plaits,
with her pale-blue dress of a fit and fashion so perfect that
no dressmaker could look at it without emotion, a large
embroidered collar which it was to be hoped all beholders
would know the price of, her small hands duly set off with
rings, and that controlled self-consciousness of manner
which is the expensive substitute for simplicity.
Thank you very much for allowing me to interrupt
you, said Dorothea, immediately. I am anxious to see
Mr. Lydgate, if possible, before I go home, and I hoped
that you might possibly tell me where I could find him, or
even allow me to wait for him, if you expect him soon.
He is at the New Hospital, said Rosamond; I am not
sure how soon he will come home. But I can send for
him,
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Will you let me go and fetch him? said Will Ladislaw,
coming forward. He had already taken up his hat before
Dorothea entered. She colored with surprise, but put out
her hand with a smile of unmistakable pleasure, saying
I did not know it was you: I had no thought of seeing
you here.
May I go to the Hospital and tell Mr. Lydgate that you
wish to see him? said Will.
It would be quicker to send the carriage for him, said
Dorothea, if you will be kind enough to give the message
to the coachman.
Will was moving to the door when Dorothea, whose
mind had flashed in an instant over many connected
memories, turned quickly and said, I will go myself, thank
you. I wish to lose no time before getting home again. I
will drive to the Hospital and see Mr. Lydgate there. Pray
excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate. I am very much obliged to you.
Her mind was evidently arrested by some sudden
thought, and she left the room hardly conscious of what
was immediately around her hardly conscious that Will
opened the door for her and offered her his arm to lead
her to the carriage. She took the arm but said nothing.
Will was feeling rather vexed and miserable, and found
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nothing to say on his side. He handed her into the carriage
in silence, they said good-by, and Dorothea drove away.
In the five minutes drive to the Hospital she had time
for some reflections that were quite new to her. Her
decision to go, and her preoccupation in leaving the
room, had come from the sudden sense that there would
be a sort of deception in her voluntarily allowing any
further intercourse between herself and Will which she
was unable to mention to her husband, and already her
errand in seeking Lydgate was a matter of concealment.
That was all that had been explicitly in her mind; but she
had been urged also by a vague discomfort. Now that she
was alone in her drive, she heard the notes of the mans
voice and the accompanying piano, which she had not
noted much at the time, returning on her inward sense;
and she found herself thinking with some wonder that
Will Ladislaw was passing his time with Mrs. Lydgate in
her husbands absence. And then she could not help
remembering that he had passed some time with her under
like circumstances, so why should there be any unfitness in
the fact? But Will was Mr. Casaubons relative, and one
towards whom she was bound to show kindness. Still
there had been signs which perhaps she ought to have
understood as implying that Mr. Casaubon did not like his
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cousins visits during his own absence. Perhaps I have
been mistaken in many things, said poor Dorothea to
herself, while the tears came rolling and she had to dry
them quickly. She felt confusedly unhappy, and the image
of Will which had been so clear to her before was
mysteriously spoiled. But the carriage stopped at the gate
of the Hospital. She was soon walking round the grass
plots with Lydgate, and her feelings recovered the strong
bent which had made her seek for this interview.
Will Ladislaw, meanwhile, was mortified, and knew the
reason of it clearly enough. His chances of meeting
Dorothea were rare; and here for the first time there had
come a chance which had set him at a disadvantage. It was
not only, as it had been hitherto, that she was not
supremely occupied with him, but that she had seen him
under circumstances in which he might appear not to be
supremely occupied with her. He felt thrust to a new
distance from her, amongst the circles of Middlemarchers
who made no part of her life. But that was not his fault: of
course, since he had taken his lodgings in the town, he
had been making as many acquaintances as he could, his
position requiring that he should know everybody and
everything. Lydgate was really better worth knowing than
any one else in the neighborhood, and he happened to
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have a wife who was musical and altogether worth calling
upon. Here was the whole history of the situation in
which Diana had descended too unexpectedly on her
worshipper. It was mortifying. Will was conscious that he
should not have been at Middlemarch but for Dorothea;
and yet his position there was threatening to divide him
from her with those barriers of habitual sentiment which
are more fatal to the persistence of mutual interest than all
the distance between Rome and Britain. Prejudices about
rank and status were easy enough to defy in the form of a
tyrannical letter from Mr. Casaubon; but prejudices, like
odorous bodies, have a double existence both solid and
subtle solid as the pyramids, subtle as the twentieth echo
of an echo, or as the memory of hyacinths which once
scented the darkness. And Will was of a temperament to
feel keenly the presence of subtleties: a man of clumsier
perceptions would not have felt, as he did, that for the first
time some sense of unfitness in perfect freedom with him
had sprung up in Dorotheas mind, and that their silence,
as he conducted her to the carriage, had had a chill in it.
Perhaps Casaubon, in his hatred and jealousy, had been
insisting to Dorothea that Will had slid below her socially.
Confound Casaubon!
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Will re-entered the drawing-room, took up his hat,
and looking irritated as he advanced towards Mrs. Lydgate,
who had seated herself at her work-table, said
It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted.
May I come another day and just finish about the
rendering of Lungi dal caro bene?
I shall be happy to be taught, said Rosamond. But I
am sure you admit that the interruption was a very
beautiful one. I quite envy your acquaintance with Mrs.
Casaubon. Is she very clever? She looks as if she were.
Really, I never thought about it, said Will, sulkily.
That is just the answer Tertius gave me, when I first
asked him if she were handsome. What is it that you
gentlemen are thinking of when you are with Mrs.
Casaubon?
Herself, said Will, not indisposed to provoke the
charming Mrs. Lydgate. When one sees a perfect woman,
one never thinks of her attributesone is conscious of her
presence.
I shall be jealous when Tertius goes to Lowick, said
Rosamond, dimpling, and speaking with aery lightness.
He will come back and think nothing of me.
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That does not seem to have been the effect on Lydgate
hitherto. Mrs. Casaubon is too unlike other women for
them to be compared with her.
You are a devout worshipper, I perceive. You often
see her, I suppose.
No, said Will, almost pettishly. Worship is usually a
matter of theory rather than of practice. But I am
practising it to excess just at this momentI must really
tear myself away.
Pray come again some evening: Mr. Lydgate will like
to hear the music, and I cannot enjoy it so well without
him.
When her husband was at home again, Rosamond said,
standing in front of him and holding his coat-collar with
both her hands, Mr. Ladislaw was here singing with me
when Mrs. Casaubon came in. He seemed vexed. Do you
think he disliked her seeing him at our house? Surely your
position is more than equal to hiswhatever may be his
relation to the Casaubons.
No, no; it must be something else if he were really
vexed, Ladislaw is a sort of gypsy; he thinks nothing of
leather and prunella.
Music apart, he is not always very agreeable. Do you
like him?
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Yes: I think he is a good fellow: rather miscellaneous
and bric-a-brac, but likable.
Do you know, I think he adores Mrs. Casaubon.
Poor devil! said Lydgate, smiling and pinching his
wifes ears.
Rosamond felt herself beginning to know a great deal
of the world, especially in discovering what when she was
in her unmarried girlhood had been inconceivable to her
except as a dim tragedy in by-gone costumes that
women, even after marriage, might make conquests and
enslave men. At that time young ladies in the country,
even when educated at Mrs. Lemons, read little French
literature later than Racine, and public prints had not cast
their present magnificent illumination over the scandals of
life. Still, vanity, with a womans whole mind and day to
work in, can construct abundantly on slight hints,
especially on such a hint as the possibility of indefinite
conquests. How delightful to make captives from the
throne of marriage with a husband as crown-prince by
your sidehimself in fact a subject while the captives
look up forever hopeless, losing their rest probably, and if
their appetite too, so much the better! But Rosamonds
romance turned at present chiefly on her crown-prince,
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and it was enough to enjoy his assured subjection. When
he said, Poor devil I she asked, with playful curiosity
Why so?
Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring
one of you mermaids? He only neglects his work and runs
up bills.
I am sure you do not neglect your work. You are
always at the Hospital, or seeing poor patients, or thinking
about some doctors quarrel; and then at home you always
want to pore over your microscope and phials. Confess
you like those things better than me.
Havent you ambition enough to wish that your
husband should be something better than a Middlemarch
doctor? said Lydgate, letting his hands fall on to his wifes
shoulders, and looking at her with affectionate gravity. I
shall make you learn my favorite bit from an old poet
Why should our pride make such a stir to be
And be forgot? What good is like to this,
To do worthy the writing, and to write
Worthy the reading and the worlds delight?
What I want, Rosy, is to do worthy the writing,and
to write out myself what I have done. A man must work,
to do that, my pet.
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Of course, I wish you to make discoveries: no one
could more wish you to attain a high position in some
better place than Middlemarch. You cannot say that I have
ever tried to hinder you from working. But we cannot
live like hermits. You are not discontented with me,
Tertius?
No, dear, no. I am too entirely contented.
But what did Mrs. Casaubon want to say to you?
Merely to ask about her husbands health. But I think
she is going to be splendid to our New Hospital: I think
she will give us two hundred a-year.
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Chapter XLIV
I would not creep along the coast but steer
Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.
When Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted
plots of the New Hospital with Lydgate, had learned from
him that there were no signs of change in Mr. Casaubons
bodily condition beyond the mental sign of anxiety to
know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a few
moments, wondering whether she had said or done
anything to rouse this new anxiety. Lydgate, not willing to
let slip an opportunity of furthering a favorite purpose,
ventured to say
I dont know whether your or Mr.Casaubons
attention has been drawn to the needs of our New
Hospital. Circumstances have made it seem rather egotistic
in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault: it is
because there is a fight being made against it by the other
medical men. I think you are generally interested in such
things, for I remember that when I first had the pleasure of
seeing you at Tipton Grange before your marriage, you
were asking me some questions about the way in which
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the health of the poor was affected by their miserable
housing.
Yes, indeed, said Dorothea, brightening. I shall be
quite grateful to you if you will tell me how I can help to
make things a little better. Everything of that sort has
slipped away from me since I have been married. I mean,
she said, after a moments hesitation, that the people in
our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has
been too much taken up for me to inquire further. But
herein such a place as Middlemarchthere must be a
great deal to be done.
There is everything to be done, said Lydgate, with
abrupt energy. And this Hospital is a capital piece of
work, due entirely to Mr. Bulstrodes exertions, and in a
great degree to his money. But one man cant do
everything in a scheme of this sort. Of course he looked
forward to help. And now theres a mean, petty feud set
up against the thing in the town, by certain persons who
want to make it a failure.
What can be their reasons? said Dorothea, with naive
surprise.
Chiefly Mr. Bulstrodes unpopularity, to begin with.
Half the town would almost take trouble for the sake of
thwarting him. In this stupid world most people never
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consider that a thing is good to be done unless it is done
by their own set. I had no connection with Bulstrode
before I came here. I look at him quite impartially, and I
see that he has some notionsthat he has set things on
foot which I can turn to good public purpose. If a fair
number of the better educated men went to work with
the belief that their observations might contribute to the
reform of medical doctrine and practice, we should soon
see a change for the better. Thats my point of view. I
hold that by refusing to work with Mr. Bulstrode I should
be turning my back on an opportunity of making my
profession more generally serviceable.
I quite agree with you, said Dorothea, at once
fascinated by the situation sketched in Lydgates words.
But what is there against Mr. Bulstrode? I know that my
uncle is friendly with him.
People dont like his religious tone, said Lydgate,
breaking off there.
That is all the stronger reason for despising such an
opposition, said Dorothea, looking at the affairs of
Middlemarch by the light of the great persecutions.
To put the matter quite fairly, they have other
objections to him: he is masterful and rather unsociable,
and he is concerned with trade, which has complaints of
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its own that I know nothing about. But what has that to
do with the question whether it would not be a fine thing
to establish here a more valuable hospital than any they
have in the county? The immediate motive to the
opposition, however, is the fact that Bulstrode has put the
medical direction into my hands. Of course I am glad of
that. It gives me an opportunity of doing some good
work,and I am aware that I have to justify his choice of
me. But the consequence is, that the whole profession in
Middlemarch have set themselves tooth and nail against
the Hospital, and not only refuse to cooperate themselves,
but try to blacken the whole affair and hinder
subscriptions.
How very petty! exclaimed Dorothea, indignantly.
I suppose one must expect to fight ones way: there is
hardly anything to be done without it. And the ignorance
of people about here is stupendous. I dont lay claim to
anything else than having used some opportunities which
have not come within everybodys reach; but there is no
stifling the offence of being young, and a new-comer, and
happening to know something more than the old
inhabitants. Still, if I believe that I can set going a better
method of treatment if I believe that I can pursue
certain observations and inquiries which may be a lasting
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benefit to medical practice, I should be a base truckler if I
allowed any consideration of personal comfort to hinder
me. And the course is all the clearer from there being no
salary in question to put my persistence in an equivocal
light.
I am glad you have told me this, Mr. Lydgate, said
Dorothea, cordially. I feel sure I can help a little. I have
some money, and dont know what to do with itthat is
often an uncomfortable thought to me. I am sure I can
spare two hundred a-year for a grand purpose like this.
How happy you must be, to know things that you feel
sure will do great good! I wish I could awake with that
knowledge every morning. There seems to be so much
trouble taken that one can hardly see the good of!
There was a melancholy cadence in Dorotheas voice as
she spoke these last words. But she presently added, more
cheerfully, Pray come to Lowick and tell us more of this.
I will mention the subject to Mr. Casaubon. I must hasten
home now.
She did mention it that evening, and said that she
should like to subscribe two hundred a-yearshe had
seven hundred a-year as the equivalent of her own
fortune, settled on her at her marriage. Mr. Casaubon
made no objection beyond a passing remark that the sum
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might be disproportionate in relation to other good
objects, but when Dorothea in her ignorance resisted that
suggestion, he acquiesced. He did not care himself about
spending money, and was not reluctant to give it. If he
ever felt keenly any question of money it was through the
medium of another passion than the love of material
property.
Dorothea told him that she had seen Lydgate, and
recited the gist of her conversation with him about the
Hospital. Mr. Casaubon did not question her further, but
he felt sure that she had wished to know what had passed
between Lydgate and himself She knows that I know,
said the ever-restless voice within; but that increase of tacit
knowledge only thrust further off any confidence between
them. He distrusted her affection; and what loneliness is
more lonely than distrust?
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Chapter XLV
It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their
forefathers, and declaim against the wickedness of times
present. Which notwithstanding they cannot handsomely
do, without the borrowed help and satire of times past;
condemning the vices of their own times, by the
expressions of vices in times which they commend, which
cannot but argue the community of vice in both. Horace,
therefore, Juvenal, and Persius, were no prophets,
although their lines did seem to indigitate and point at our
times.SIR THOMAS BROWNE: Pseudodoxia
Epidemica.
That opposition to the New Fever Hospital which
Lydgate had sketched to Dorothea was, like other
oppositions, to be viewed in many different lights. He
regarded it as a mixture of jealousy and dunderheaded
prejudice. Mr. Bulstrode saw in it not only medical
jealousy but a determination to thwart himself, prompted
mainly by a hatred of that vital religion of which he had
striven to be an effectual lay representativea hatred
which certainly found pretexts apart from religion such as
were only too easy to find in the entanglements of human
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action. These might be called the ministerial views. But
oppositions have the illimitable range of objections at
command, which need never stop short at the boundary of
knowledge, but can draw forever on the vasts of
ignorance. What the opposition in Middlemarch said
about the New Hospital and its administration had
certainly a great deal of echo in it, for heaven has taken
care that everybody shall not be an originator; but there
were differences which represented every social shade
between the polished moderation of Dr. Minchin and the
trenchant assertion of Mrs. Dollop, the landlady of the
Tankard in Slaughter Lane.
Mrs. Dollop became more and more convinced by her
own asseveration, that Dr. Lydgate meant to let the people
die in the Hospital, if not to poison them, for the sake of
cutting them up without saying by your leave or with
your leave; for it was a known fac that he had wanted to
cut up Mrs. Goby, as respectable a woman as any in Parley
Street, who had money in trust before her marriage a
poor tale for a doctor, who if he was good for anything
should know what was the matter with you before you
died, and not want to pry into your inside after you were
gone. If that was not reason, Mrs. Dollop wished to know
what was; but there was a prevalent feeling in her
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audience that her opinion was a bulwark, and that if it
were overthrown there would be no limits to the cutting-
up of bodies, as had been well seen in Burke and Hare
with their pitch-plaisters such a hanging business as that
was not wanted in Middlemarch!
And let it not be supposed that opinion at the Tankard
in Slaughter Lane was unimportant to the medical
profession: that old authentic public-housethe original
Tankard, known by the name of Dollops was the resort
of a great Benefit Club, which had some months before
put to the vote whether its long-standing medical man,
Doctor Gambit, should not be cashiered in favor of this
Doctor Lydgate, who was capable of performing the most
astonishing cures, and rescuing people altogether given up
by other practitioners. But the balance had been turned
against Lydgate by two members, who for some private
reasons held that this power of resuscitating persons as
good as dead was an equivocal recommendation, and
might interfere with providential favors. In the course of
the year, however, there had been a change in the public
sentiment, of which the unanimity at Dollops was an
index
A good deal more than a year ago, before anything was
known of Lydgates skill, the judgments on it had naturally
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been divided, depending on a sense of likelihood, situated
perhaps in the pit of the stomach or in the pineal gland,
and differing in its verdicts, but not the less valuable as a
guide in the total deficit of evidence. Patients who had
chronic diseases or whose lives had long been worn
threadbare, like old Featherstones, had been at once
inclined to try him; also, many who did not like paying
their doctors bills, thought agreeably of opening an
account with a new doctor and sending for him without
stint if the childrens temper wanted a dose, occasions
when the old practitioners were often crusty; and all
persons thus inclined to employ Lydgate held it likely that
he was clever. Some considered that he might do more
than others where there was liver;at least there would
be no harm in getting a few bottles of stuff from him,
since if these proved useless it would still be possible to
return to the Purifying Pills, which kept you alive if they
did not remove the yellowness. But these were people of
minor importance. Good Middlemarch families were of
course not going to change their doctor without reason
shown; and everybody who had employed Mr. Peacock
did not feel obliged to accept a new man merely in the
character of his successor, objecting that he was not likely
to be equal to Peacock.
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But Lydgate had not been long in the town before
there were particulars enough reported of him to breed
much more specific expectations and to intensify
differences into partisanship; some of the particulars being
of that impressive order of which the significance is
entirely hidden, like a statistical amount without a standard
of comparison, but with a note of exclamation at the end.
The cubic feet of oxygen yearly swallowed by a full-
grown man what a shudder they might have created in
some Middlemarch circles! Oxygen! nobody knows what
that may beis it any wonder the cholera has got to
Dantzic? And yet there are people who say quarantine is
no good!
One of the facts quickly rumored was that Lydgate did
not dispense drugs. This was offensive both to the
physicians whose exclusive distinction seemed infringed
on, and to the surgeon-apothecaries with whom he ranged
himself; and only a little while before, they might have
counted on having the law on their side against a man
who without calling himself a London-made M.D. dared
to ask for pay except as a charge on drugs. But Lydgate
had not been experienced enough to foresee that his new
course would be even more offensive to the laity; and to
Mr. Mawmsey, an important grocer in the Top Market,
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who, though not one of his patients, questioned him in an
affable manner on the subject, he was injudicious enough
to give a hasty popular explanation of his reasons, pointing
out to Mr. Mawmsey that it must lower the character of
practitioners, and be a constant injury to the public, if
their only mode of getting paid for their work was by
their making out long bills for draughts, boluses, and
mixtures.
It is in that way that hard-working medical men may
come to be almost as mischievous as quacks, said Lydgate,
rather thoughtlessly. To get their own bread they must
overdose the kings lieges; and thats a bad sort of treason,
Mr. Mawmseyundermines the constitution in a fatal
way.
Mr. Mawmsey was not only an overseer (it was about a
question of outdoor pay that he was having an interview
with Lydgate), he was also asthmatic and had an increasing
family: thus, from a medical point of view, as well as from
his own, he was an important man; indeed, an exceptional
grocer, whose hair was arranged in a flame-like pyramid,
and whose retail deference was of the cordial, encouraging
kindjocosely complimentary, and with a certain
considerate abstinence from letting out the full force of his
mind. It was Mr. Mawmseys friendly jocoseness in
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questioning him which had set the tone of Lydgates reply.
But let the wise be warned against too great readiness at
explanation: it multiplies the sources of mistake,
lengthening the sum for reckoners sure to go wrong.
Lydgate smiled as he ended his speech, putting his foot
into the stirrup, and Mr. Mawmsey laughed more than he
would have done if he had known who the kings lieges
were, giving his Good morning, sir, good-morning, sir,
with the air of one who saw everything clearly enough.
But in truth his views were perturbed. For years he had
been paying bills with strictly made items, so that for every
half-crown and eighteen-pence he was certain something
measurable had been delivered. He had done this with
satisfaction, including it among his responsibilities as a
husband and father, and regarding a longer bill than usual
as a dignity worth mentioning. Moreover, in addition to
the massive benefit of the drugs to self and family, he had
enjoyed the pleasure of forming an acute judgment as to
their immediate effects, so as to give an intelligent
statement for the guidance of Mr. Gambit a practitioner
just a little lower in status than Wrench or Toller, and
especially esteemed as an accoucheur, of whose ability Mr.
Mawmsey had the poorest opinion on all other points, but
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in doctoring, he was wont to say in an undertone, he
placed Gambit above any of them.
Here were deeper reasons than the superficial talk of a
new man, which appeared still flimsier in the drawing-
room over the shop, when they were recited to Mrs.
Mawmsey, a woman accustomed to be made much of as a
fertile mother,generally under attendance more or less
frequent from Mr. Gambit, and occasionally having attacks
which required Dr. Minchin.
Does this Mr. Lydgate mean to say there is no use in
taking medicine? said Mrs. Mawmsey, who was slightly
given to drawling. I should like him to tell me how I
could bear up at Fair time, if I didnt take strengthening
medicine for a month beforehand. Think of what I have
to provide for calling customers, my dear!here Mrs.
Mawmsey turned to an intimate female friend who sat
bya large veal pie a stuffed filleta round of beef
ham, tongue, et cetera, et cetera! But what keeps me up
best is the pink mixture, not the brown. I wonder, Mr.
Mawmsey, with your experience, you could have patience
to listen. I should have told him at once that I knew a
little better than that.
No, no, no, said Mr. Mawmsey; I was not going to
tell him my opinion. Hear everything and judge for
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yourself is my motto. But he didnt know who he was
talking to. I was not to be turned on HIS finger. People
often pretend to tell me things, when they might as well
say, Mawmsey, youre a fool. But I smile at it: I humor
everybodys weak place. If physic had done harm to self
and family, I should have found it out by this time.
The next day Mr. Gambit was told that Lydgate went
about saying physic was of no use.
Indeed! said he, lifting his eyebrows with cautious
surprise. (He was a stout husky man with a large ring on
his fourth finger.) How will he cure his patients, then?
That is what I say, returned Mrs. Mawmsey, who
habitually gave weight to her speech by loading her
pronouns. Does HE suppose that people will pay him
only to come and sit with them and go away again?
Mrs. Mawmsey had had a great deal of sitting from Mr.
Gambit, including very full accounts of his own habits of
body and other affairs; but of course he knew there was no
innuendo in her remark, since his spare time and personal
narrative had never been charged for. So he replied,
humorously
Well, Lydgate is a good-looking young fellow, you
know.
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Not one that I would employ, said Mrs. Mawmsey.
OTHERS may do as they please.
Hence Mr. Gambit could go away from the chief
grocers without fear of rivalry, but not without a sense
that Lydgate was one of those hypocrites who try to
discredit others by advertising their own honesty, and that
it might be worth some peoples while to show him up.
Mr. Gambit, however, had a satisfactory practice, much
pervaded by the smells of retail trading which suggested
the reduction of cash payments to a balance. And he did
not think it worth his while to show Lydgate up until he
knew how. He had not indeed great resources of
education, and had had to work his own way against a
good deal of professional contempt; but he made none the
worse accoucheur for calling the breathing apparatus
longs.
Other medical men felt themselves more capable. Mr.
Toller shared the highest practice in the town and
belonged to an old Middlemarch family: there were
Tollers in the law and everything else above the line of
retail trade. Unlike our irascible friend Wrench, he had
the easiest way in the world of taking things which might
be supposed to annoy him, being a well-bred, quietly
facetious man, who kept a good house, was very fond of a
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little sporting when he could get it, very friendly with Mr.
Hawley, and hostile to Mr. Bulstrode. It may seem odd
that with such pleasant habits he should hare been given to
the heroic treatment, bleeding and blistering and starving
his patients, with a dispassionate disregard to his personal
example; but the incongruity favored the opinion of his
ability among his patients, who commonly observed that
Mr. Toller had lazy manners, but his treatment was as
active as you could desire: no man, said they, carried more
seriousness into his profession: he was a little slow in
coming, but when he came, he DID something. He was a
great favorite in his own circle, and whatever he implied
to any ones disadvantage told doubly from his careless
ironical tone.
He naturally got tired of smiling and saying, Ah! when
he was told that Mr. Peacocks successor did not mean to
dispense medicines; and Mr. Hackbutt one day
mentioning it over the wine at a dinner-party, Mr. Toller
said, laughingly, Dibbitts will get rid of his stale drugs,
then. Im fond of little DibbittsIm glad hes in luck.
I see your meaning, Toller, said Mr. Hackbutt, and I
am entirely of your opinion. I shall take an opportunity of
expressing myself to that effect. A medical man should be
responsible for the quality of the drugs consumed by his
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patients. That is the rationale of the system of charging
which has hitherto obtained; and nothing is more
offensive than this ostentation of reform, where there is no
real amelioration.
Ostentation, Hackbutt? said Mr. Toller, ironically. I
dont see that. A man cant very well be ostentatious of
what nobody believes in. Theres no reform in the matter:
the question is, whether the profit on the drugs is paid to
the medical man by the druggist or by the patient, and
whether there shall be extra pay under the name of
attendance.
Ah, to be sure; one of your damned new versions of
old humbug, said Mr. Hawley, passing the decanter to
Mr. Wrench.
Mr. Wrench, generally abstemious, often drank wine
rather freely at a party, getting the more irritable in
consequence.
As to humbug, Hawley, he said, thats a word easy to
fling about. But what I contend against is the way medical
men are fouling their own nest, and setting up a cry about
the country as if a general practitioner who dispenses drugs
couldnt be a gentleman. I throw back the imputation
with scorn. I say, the most ungentlemanly trick a man can
be guilty of is to come among the members of his
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profession with innovations which are a libel on their
time-honored procedure. That is my opinion, and I am
ready to maintain it against any one who contradicts me.
Mr. Wrenchs voice had become exceedingly sharp.
I cant oblige you there, Wrench, said Mr. Hawley,
thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets.
My dear fellow, said Mr. Toller, striking in pacifically!
and looking at Mr. Wrench, the physicians have their toes
trodden on more than we have. If you come to dignity it
is a question for Minchin and Sprague.
Does medical jurisprudence provide nothing against
these infringements? said Mr. Hackbutt, with a
disinterested desire to offer his lights. How does the law
stand, eh, Hawley?
Nothing to be done there, said Mr. Hawley. I looked
into it for Sprague. Youd only break your nose against a
damned judges decision.
Pooh! no need of law, said Mr. Toller. So far as
practice is concerned the attempt is an absurdity. No
patient will like it certainly not Peacocks, who have
been used to depletion. Pass the wine.
Mr. Tollers prediction was partly verified. If Mr. and
Mrs. Mawmsey, who had no idea of employing Lydgate,
were made uneasy by his supposed declaration against
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drugs, it was inevitable that those who called him in
should watch a little anxiously to see whether he did use
all the means he might use in the case. Even good Mr.
Powderell, who in his constant charity of interpretation
was inclined to esteem Lydgate the more for what seemed
a conscientious pursuit of a better plan, had his mind
disturbed with doubts during his wifes attack of erysipelas,
and could not abstain from mentioning to Lydgate that
Mr. Peacock on a similar occasion had administered a
series of boluses which were not otherwise definable than
by their remarkable effect in bringing Mrs. Powderell
round before Michaelmas from an illness which had begun
in a remarkably hot August. At last, indeed, in the conflict
between his desire not to hurt Lydgate and his anxiety that
no means should be lacking, he induced his wife
privately to take Widgeons Purifying Bills, an esteemed
Middlemarch medicine, which arrested every disease at the
fountain by setting to work at once upon the blood. This
co-operative measure was not to be mentioned to
Lydgate, and Mr. Powderell himself had no certain
reliance on it, only hoping that it might be attended with
a blessing.
But in this doubtful stage of Lydgates introduction he
was helped by what we mortals rashly call good fortune. I
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suppose no doctor ever came newly to a place without
making cures that surprised somebody cures which may
be called fortunes testimonials, and deserve as much credit
as the ten or printed kind. Various patients got well while
Lydgate was attending them, some even of dangerous
illnesses; and it was remarked that the new doctor with his
new ways had at least the merit of bringing people back
from the brink of death. The trash talked on such
occasions was the more vexatious to Lydgate, because it
gave precisely the sort of prestige which an incompetent
and unscrupulous man would desire, and was sure to be
imputed to him by the simmering dislike of the other
medical men as an encouragement on his own part of
ignorant puffing. But even his proud outspokenness was
checked by the discernment that it was as useless to fight
against the interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog;
and good fortune insisted on using those interpretations.
Mrs. Larcher having just become charitably concerned
about alarming symptoms in her charwoman, when Dr.
Minchin called, asked him to see her then and there, and
to give her a certificate for the Infirmary; whereupon after
examination he wrote a statement of the case as one of
tumor, and recommended the bearer Nancy Nash as an
out-patient. Nancy, calling at home on her way to the
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Infirmary, allowed the stay maker and his wife, in whose
attic she lodged, to read Dr. Minchins paper, and by this
means became a subject of compassionate conversation in
the neighboring shops of Churchyard Lane as being
afflicted with a tumor at first declared to be as large and
hard as a ducks egg, but later in the day to be about the
size of your fist. Most hearers agreed that it would have
to be cut out, but one had known of oil and another of
squitchineal as adequate to soften and reduce any lump in
the body when taken enough of into the inside the oil
by gradually soopling, the squitchineal by eating away.
Meanwhile when Nancy presented herself at the
Infirmary, it happened to be one of Lydgates days there.
After questioning and examining her, Lydgate said to the
house-surgeon in an undertone, Its not tumor: its
cramp. He ordered her a blister and some steel mixture,
and told her to go home and rest, giving her at the same
time a note to Mrs. Larcher, who, she said, was her best
employer, to testify that she was in need of good food.
But by-and-by Nancy, in her attic, became
portentously worse, the supposed tumor having indeed
given way to the blister, but only wandered to another
region with angrier pain. The staymakers wife went to
fetch Lydgate, and he continued for a fortnight to attend
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Nancy in her own home, until under his treatment she got
quite well and went to work again. But the case continued
to be described as one of tumor in Churchyard Lane and
other streetsnay, by Mrs. Larcher also; for when
Lydgates remarkable cure was mentioned to Dr. Minchin,
he naturally did not like to say, The case was not one of
tumor, and I was mistaken in describing it as such, but
answered, Indeed! ah! I saw it was a surgical case, not of a
fatal kind. He had been inwardly annoyed, however,
when he had asked at the Infirmary about the woman he
had recommended two days before, to hear from the
house-surgeon, a youngster who was not sorry to vex
Minchin with impunity, exactly what had occurred: he
privately pronounced that it was indecent in a general
practitioner to contradict a physicians diagnosis in that
open manner, and afterwards agreed with Wrench that
Lydgate was disagreeably inattentive to etiquette. Lydgate
did not make the affair a ground for valuing himself or
(very particularly) despising Minchin, such rectification of
misjudgments often happening among men of equal
qualifications. But report took up this amazing case of
tumor, not clearly distinguished from cancer, and
considered the more awful for being of the wandering
sort; till much prejudice against Lydgates method as to
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drugs was overcome by the proof of his marvellous skill in
the speedy restoration of Nancy Nash after she had been
rolling and rolling in agonies from the presence of a tumor
both hard and obstinate, but nevertheless compelled to
yield.
How could Lydgate help himself? It is offensive to tell a
lady when she is expressing her amazement at your skill,
that she is altogether mistaken and rather foolish in her
amazement. And to have entered into the nature of
diseases would only have added to his breaches of medical
propriety. Thus he had to wince under a promise of
success given by that ignorant praise which misses every
valid quality.
In the case of a more conspicuous patient, Mr.
Borthrop Trumbull, Lydgate was conscious of having
shown himself something better than an every-day doctor,
though here too it was an equivocal advantage that he
won. The eloquent auctioneer was seized with
pneumonia, and having been a patient of Mr. Peacocks,
sent for Lydgate, whom he had expressed his intention to
patronize. Mr Trumbull was a robust man, a good subject
for trying the expectant theory upon watching the
course of an interesting disease when left as much as
possible to itself, so that the stages might be noted for
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future guidance; and from the air with which he described
his sensations Lydgate surmised that he would like to be
taken into his medical mans confidence, and be
represented as a partner in his own cure. The auctioneer
heard, without much surprise, that his was a constitution
which (always with due watching) might be left to itself,
so as to offer a beautiful example of a disease with all its
phases seen in clear delineation, and that he probably had
the rare strength of mind voluntarily to become the test of
a rational procedure, and thus make the disorder of his
pulmonary functions a general benefit to society.
Mr. Trumbull acquiesced at once, and entered strongly
into the view that an illness of his was no ordinary
occasion for medical science.
Never fear, sir; you are not speaking to one who is
altogether ignorant of the vis medicatrix, said he, with his
usual superiority of expression, made rather pathetic by
difficulty of breathing. And he went without shrinking
through his abstinence from drugs, much sustained by
application of the thermometer which implied the
importance of his temperature, by the sense that he
furnished objects for the microscope, and by learning
many new words which seemed suited to the dignity of
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his secretions. For Lydgate was acute enough to indulge
him with a little technical talk.
It may be imagined that Mr. Trumbull rose from his
couch with a disposition to speak of an illness in which he
had manifested the strength of his mind as well as
constitution; and he was not backward in awarding credit
to the medical man who had discerned the quality of
patient he had to deal with. The auctioneer was not an
ungenerous man, and liked to give others their due,
feeling that he could afford it. He had caught the words
expectant method, and rang chimes on this and other
learned phrases to accompany the assurance that Lydgate
knew a thing or two more than the rest of the doctors
was far better versed in the secrets of his profession than
the majority of his compeers.
This had happened before the affair of Fred Vincys
illness had given to Mr. Wrenchs enmity towards Lydgate
more definite personal ground. The new-comer already
threatened to be a nuisance in the shape of rivalry, and was
certainly a nuisance in the shape of practical criticism or
reflections on his hard-driven elders, who had had
something else to do than to busy themselves with untried
notions. His practice had spread in one or two quarters,
and from the first the report of his high family had led to
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his being pretty generally invited, so that the other medical
men had to meet him at dinner in the best houses; and
having to meet a man whom you dislike is not observed
always to end in a mutual attachment. There was hardly
ever so much unanimity among them as in the opinion
that Lydgate was an arrogant young fellow, and yet ready
for the sake of ultimately predominating to show a
crawling subservience to Bulstrode. That Mr. Farebrother,
whose name was a chief flag of the anti-Bulstrode party,
always defended Lydgate and made a friend of him, was
referred to Farebrothers unaccountable way of fighting on
both sides.
Here was plenty of preparation for the outburst of
professional disgust at the announcement of the laws Mr.
Bulstrode was laying down for the direction of the New
Hospital, which were the more exasperating because there
was no present possibility of interfering with his will and
pleasure, everybody except Lord Medlicote having refused
help towards the building, on the ground that they
preferred giving to the Old Infirmary. Mr. Bulstrode met
all the expenses, and had ceased to be sorry that he was
purchasing the right to carry out his notions of
improvement without hindrance from prejudiced
coadjutors; but he had had to spend large sums, and the
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building had lingered. Caleb Garth had undertaken it, had
failed during its progress, and before the interior fittings
were begun had retired from the management of the
business; and when referring to the Hospital he often said
that however Bulstrode might ring if you tried him, he
liked good solid carpentry and masonry, and had a notion
both of drains and chimneys. In fact, the Hospital had
become an object of intense interest to Bulstrode, and he
would willingly have continued to spare a large yearly sum
that he might rule it dictatorially without any Board; but
he had another favorite object which also required money
for its accomplishment: he wished to bay some land in the
neighborhood of Middlemarch, and therefore he wished
to get considerable contributions towards maintaining the
Hospital. Meanwhile he framed his plan of management.
The Hospital was to be reserved for fever in all its forms;
Lydgate was to be chief medical superintendent, that he
might have free authority to pursue all comparative
investigations which his studies, particularly in Paris, had
shown him the importance of, the other medical visitors
having a consultative influence, but no power to
contravene Lydgates ultimate decisions; and the general
management was to be lodged exclusively in the hands of
five directors associated with Mr. Bulstrode, who were to
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have votes in the ratio of their contributions, the Board
itself filling up any vacancy in its numbers, and no mob of
small contributors being admitted to a share of
government.
There was an immediate refusal on the part of every
medical man in the town to become a visitor at the Fever
Hospital.
Very well, said Lydgate to Mr. Bulstrode, we have a
capital house-surgeon and dispenser, a clear-headed, neat-
handed fellow; well get Webbe from Crabsley, as good a
country practitioner as any of them, to come over twice a-
week, and in case of any exceptional operation, Protheroe
will come from Brassing. I must work the harder, thats all,
and I have given up my post at the Infirmary. The plan
will flourish in spite of them, and then theyll be glad to
come in. Things cant last as they are: there must be all
sorts of reform soon, and then young fellows may be glad
to come and study here. Lydgate was in high spirits.
I shall not flinch, you may depend upon it, Mr.
Lydgate, said Mr. Bulstrode. While I see you carrying
out high intentions with vigor, you shall have my
unfailing support. And I have humble confidence that the
blessing which has hitherto attended my efforts against the
spirit of evil in this town will not be withdrawn. Suitable
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directors to assist me I have no doubt of securing. Mr.
Brooke of Tipton has already given me his concurrence,
and a pledge to contribute yearly: he has not specified the
sum probably not a great one. But he will be a useful
member of the board.
A useful member was perhaps to be defined as one who
would originate nothing, and always vote with Mr.
Bulstrode.
The medical aversion to Lydgate was hardly disguised
now. Neither Dr. Sprague nor Dr. Minchin said that he
disliked Lydgates knowledge, or his disposition to
improve treatment: what they disliked was his arrogance,
which nobody felt to be altogether deniable. They implied
that he was insolent, pretentious, and given to that reckless
innovation for the sake of noise and show which was the
essence of the charlatan.
The word charlatan once thrown on the air could not
be let drop. In those days the world was agitated about the
wondrous doings of Mr. St. John Long, noblemen and
gentlemen attesting his extraction of a fluid like mercury
from the temples of a patient.
Mr. Toller remarked one day, smilingly, to Mrs. Taft,
that Bulstrode had found a man to suit him in Lydgate; a
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charlatan in religion is sure to like other sorts of
charlatans.
Yes, indeed, I can imagine, said Mrs. Taft, keeping
the number of thirty stitches carefully in her mind all the
while; there are so many of that sort. I remember Mr.
Cheshire, with his irons, trying to make people straight
when the Almighty had made them crooked.
No, no, said Mr. Toller, Cheshire was all rightall
fair and above board. But theres St. John Longthats the
kind of fellow we call a charlatan, advertising cures in
ways nobody knows anything about: a fellow who wants
to make a noise by pretending to go deeper than other
people. The other day he was pretending to tap a mans
brain and get quicksilver out of it.
Good gracious! what dreadful trifling with peoples
constitutions! said Mrs. Taft.
After this, it came to be held in various quarters that
Lydgate played even with respectable constitutions for his
own purposes, and how much more likely that in his
flighty experimenting he should make sixes and sevens of
hospital patients. Especially it was to be expected, as the
landlady of the Tankard had said, that he would recklessly
cut up their dead bodies. For Lydgate having attended
Mrs. Goby, who died apparently of a heart-disease not
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Middlemarch
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very clearly expressed in the symptoms, too daringly asked
leave of her relatives to open the body, and thus gave an
offence quickly spreading beyond Parley Street, where that
lady had long resided on an income such as made this
association of her body with the victims of Burke and
Hare a flagrant insult to her memory.
Affairs were in this stage when Lydgate opened the
subject of the Hospital to Dorothea. We see that be was
bearing enmity and silly misconception with much spirit,
aware that they were partly created by his good share of
success.
They will not drive me away, he said, talking
confidentially in Mr. Farebrothers study. I have got a
good opportunity here, for the ends I care most about; and
I am pretty sure to get income enough for our wants. By-
and-by I shall go on as quietly as possible: I have no
seductions now away from home and work. And I am
more and more convinced that it will be possible to
demonstrate the homogeneous origin of all the tissues.
Raspail and others are on the same track, and I have been
losing time.
I have no power of prophecy there, said Mr.
Farebrother, who had been puffing at his pipe thoughtfully
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while Lydgate talked; but as to the hostility in the town,
youll weather it if you are prudent.
How am I to be prudent? said Lydgate, I just do what
comes before me to do. I cant help peoples ignorance
and spite, any more than Vesalius could. It isnt possible to
square ones conduct to silly conclusions which nobody
can foresee.
Quite true; I didnt mean that. I meant only two
things. One is, keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as
you can: of course, you can go on doing good work of
your own by his help; but dont get tied. Perhaps it seems
like personal feeling in me to say so and theres a good
deal of that, I ownbut personal feeling is not always in
the wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which
make it simply an opinion.
Bulstrode is nothing to me, said Lydgate, carelessly,
except on public grounds. As to getting very closely
united to him, I am not fond enough of him for that. But
what was the other thing you meant? said Lydgate, who
was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible, and feeling
in no great need of advice.
Why, this. Take careexperto credetake care not
to get hampered about money matters. I know, by a word
you let fall one day, that you dont like my playing at cards
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so much for money. You are right enough there. But try
and keep clear of wanting small sums that you havent got.
I am perhaps talking rather superfluously; but a man likes
to assume superiority over himself, by holding up his bad
example and sermonizing on it.
Lydgate took Mr. Farebrothers hints very cordially,
though he would hardly have borne them from another
man. He could not help remembering that he had lately
made some debts, but these had seemed inevitable, and he
had no intention now to do more than keep house in a
simple way. The furniture for which he owed would not
want renewing; nor even the stock of wine for a long
while.
Many thoughts cheered him at that timeand justly. A
man conscious of enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained
under petty hostilities by the memory of great workers
who had to fight their way not without wounds, and who
hover in his mind as patron saints, invisibly helping. At
home, that same evening when he had been chatting with
Mr. Farebrother, he had his long legs stretched on the
sofa, his head thrown back, and his hands clasped behind it
according to his favorite ruminating attitude, while
Rosamond sat at the piano, and played one tune after
another, of which her husband only knew (like the
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emotional elephant he was!) that they fell in with his
mood as if they had been melodious sea-breezes.
There was something very fine in Lydgates look just
then, and any one might have been encouraged to bet on
his achievement. In his dark eyes and on his mouth and
brow there was that placidity which comes from the
fulness of contemplative thoughtthe mind not searching,
but beholding, and the glance seeming to be filled with
what is behind it.
Presently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself
on a chair close to the sofa and opposite her husbands
face.
Is that enough music for you, my lord? she said,
folding her hands before her and putting on a little air of
meekness.
Yes, dear, if you are tired, said Lydgate, gently,
turning his eyes and resting them on her, but not
otherwise moving. Rosamonds presence at that moment
was perhaps no more than a spoonful brought to the lake,
and her womans instinct in this matter was not dull.
What is absorbing you? she said, leaning forward and
bringing her face nearer to his.
He moved his hands and placed them gently behind
her shoulders.
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I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old
as I am three hundred years ago, and had already begun a
new era in anatomy.
I cant guess, said Rosamond, shaking her head. We
used to play at guessing historical characters at Mrs.
Lemons, but not anatomists.
Ill tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way
he could get to know anatomy as he did, was by going to
snatch bodies at night, from graveyards and places of
execution.
Oh! said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her
pretty face, I am very glad you are not Vesalius. I should
have thought he might find some less horrible way than
that.
No, he couldnt, said Lydgate, going on too earnestly
to take much notice of her answer. He could only get a
complete skeleton by snatching the whitened bones of a
criminal from the gallows, and burying them, and fetching
them away by bits secretly, in the dead of night.
I hope he is not one of your great heroes, said
Rosamond, half playfully, half anxiously, else I shall have
you getting up in the night to go to St. Peters
churchyard. You know how angry you told me the people
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were about Mrs. Goby. You have enemies enough
already.
So had Vesalius, Rosy. No wonder the medical fogies
in Middlemarch are jealous, when some of the greatest
doctors living were fierce upon Vesalius because they had
believed in Galen, and he showed that Galen was wrong.
They called him a liar and a poisonous monster. But the
facts of the human frame were on his side; and so he got
the better of them.
And what happened to him afterwards? said
Rosamond, with some interest.
Oh, he had a good deal of fighting to the last. And
they did exasperate him enough at one time to make him
burn a good deal of his work. Then he got shipwrecked
just as he was coming from Jerusalem to take a great chair
at Padua. He died rather miserably.
There was a moments pause before Rosamond said,
Do you know, Tertius, I often wish you had not been a
medical man.
Nay, Rosy, dont say that, said Lydgate, drawing her
closer to him. That is like saying you wish you had
married another man.
Not at all; you are clever enough for anything: you
might easily have been something else. And your cousins
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at Quallingham all think that you have sunk below them
in your choice of a profession.
The cousins at Quallingham may go to the devil! said
Lydgate, with scorn. It was like their impudence if they
said anything of the sort to you.
Still, said Rosamond, I do NOT think it is a nice
profession, dear. We know that she had much quiet
perseverance in her opinion.
It is the grandest profession in the world, Rosamond,
said Lydgate, gravely. And to say that you love me
without loving the medical man in me, is the same sort of
thing as to say that you like eating a peach but dont like
its flavor. Dont say that again, dear, it pains me.
Very well, Doctor Grave-face, said Rosy, dimpling, I
will declare in future that I dote on skeletons, and body-
snatchers, and bits of things in phials, and quarrels with
everybody, that end in your dying miserably.
No, no, not so bad as that, said Lydgate, giving up
remonstrance and petting her resignedly.
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Chapter XLVI
Pues no podemos haber aquello que queremos, queramos
aquello que podremos.
Since we cannot get what we like, let us like what we can
get.
Spanish Proverb.
While Lydgate, safely married and with the Hospital
under his command, felt himself struggling for Medical
Reform against Middlemarch, Middlemarch was
becoming more and more conscious of the national
struggle for another kind of Reform.
By the time that Lord John Russells measure was being
debated in the House of Commons, there was a new
political animation in Middlemarch, and a new definition
of parties which might show a decided change of balance
if a new election came. And there were some who already
predicted this event, declaring that a Reform Bill would
never be carried by the actual Parliament. This was what
Will Ladislaw dwelt on to Mr. Brooke as a reason for
congratulation that he had not yet tried his strength at the
hustings.
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Things will grow and ripen as if it were a comet year,
said Will. The public temper will soon get to a cometary
heat, now the question of Reform has set in. There is
likely to be another election before long, and by that time
Middlemarch will have got more ideas into its head. What
we have to work at now is the Pioneer and political
meetings.
Quite right, Ladislaw; we shall make a new thing of
opinion here, said Mr. Brooke. Only I want to keep
myself independent about Reform, you know; I dont
want to go too far. I want to take up. Wilberforces and
Romillys line, you know, and work at Negro
Emancipation, Criminal Lawthat kind of thing. But of
course I should support Grey.
If you go in for the principle of Reform, you must be
prepared to take what the situation offers, said Will. If
everybody pulled for his own bit against everybody else,
the whole question would go to tatters.
Yes, yes, I agree with youI quite take that point of
view. I should put it in that light. I should support Grey,
you know. But I dont want to change the balance of the
constitution, and I dont think Grey would.
But that is what the country wants,-said Will. Else
there would be no meaning in political unions or any
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other movement that knows what its about. It wants to
have a House of Commons which is not weighted with
nominees of the landed class, but with representatives of
the other interests. And as to contending for a reform
short of that, it is like asking for a bit of an avalanche
which has already begun to thunder.
That is fine, Ladislaw: that is the way to put it. Write
that down, now. We must begin to get documents about
the feeling of the country, as well as the machine-breaking
and general distress.
As to documents, said Will, a two-inch card will hold
plenty. A few rows of figures are enough to deduce misery
from, and a few more will show the rate at which the
political determination of the people is growing.
Good: draw that out a little more at length, Ladislaw.
That is an idea, now: write it out in the Pioneer. Put the
figures and deduce the misery, you know; and put the
other figures and deduce and so on. You have a way of
putting things. Burke, now:when I think of Burke, I
cant help wishing somebody had a pocket-borough to
give you, Ladislaw. Youd never get elected, you know.
And we shall always want talent in the House: reform as
we will, we shall always want talent. That avalanche and
the thunder, now, was really a little like Burke. I want that
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sort of thingnot ideas, you know, but a way of putting
them.
Pocket-boroughs would be a fine thing, said Ladislaw,
if they were always in the right pocket, and there were
always a Burke at hand.
Will was not displeased with that complimentary
comparison, even from Mr. Brooke; for it is a little too
trying to human flesh to be conscious of expressing ones
self better than others and never to have it noticed, and in
the general dearth of admiration for the right thing, even a
chance bray of applause falling exactly in time is rather
fortifying. Will felt that his literary refinements were
usually beyond the limits of Middlemarch perception;
nevertheless, he was beginning thoroughly to like the
work of which when he began he had said to himself
rather languidly, Why not?and he studied the political
situation with as ardent an interest as he had ever given to
poetic metres or mediaevalism. It is undeniable that but
for the desire to be where Dorothea was, and perhaps the
want of knowing what else to do, Will would not at this
time have been meditating on the needs of the English
people or criticising English statesmanship: he would
probably have been rambling in Italy sketching plans for
several dramas, trying prose and finding it too jejune,
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819 of 1492
trying verse and finding it too artificial, beginning to copy
bits from old pictures, leaving off because they were no
good, and observing that, after all, self-culture was the
principal point; while in politics he would have been
sympathizing warmly with liberty and progress in general.
Our sense of duty must often wait for some work which
shall take the place of dilettanteism and make us feel that
the quality of our action is not a matter of indifference.
Ladislaw had now accepted his bit of work, though it
was not that indeterminate loftiest thing which he had
once dreamed of as alone worthy of continuous effort. His
nature warmed easily in the presence of subjects which
were visibly mixed with life and action, and the easily
stirred rebellion in him helped the glow of public spirit. In
spite of Mr. Casaubon and the banishment from Lowick,
he was rather happy; getting a great deal of fresh
knowledge in a vivid way and for practical purposes, and
making the Pioneer celebrated as far as Brassing (never
mind the smallness of the area; the writing was not worse
than much that reaches the four corners of the earth).
Mr. Brooke was occasionally irritating; but Wills
impatience was relieved by the division of his time
between visits to the Grange and retreats to his
Middlemarch lodgings, which gave variety to his life.
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Middlemarch
820 of 1492
Shift the pegs a little, he said to himself, and Mr.
Brooke might be in the Cabinet, while I was Under-
Secretary. That is the common order of things: the little
waves make the large ones and are of the same pattern. I
am better here than in the sort of life Mr. Casaubon would
have trained me for, where the doing would be all laid
down by a precedent too rigid for me to react upon. I
dont care for prestige or high pay.
As Lydgate had said of him, he was a sort of gypsy,
rather enjoying the sense of belonging to no class; he had a
feeling of romance in his position, and a pleasant
consciousness of creating a little surprise wherever he
went. That sort of enjoyment had been disturbed when he
had felt some new distance between himself and Dorothea
in their accidental meeting at Lydgates, and his irritation
had gone out towards Mr. Casaubon, who had declared
beforehand that Will would lose caste. I never had any
caste, he would have said, if that prophecy had been
uttered to him, and the quick blood would have come and
gone like breath in his transparent skin. But it is one thing
to like defiance, and another thing to like its
consequences.
Meanwhile, the town opinion about the new editor of
the Pioneer was tending to confirm Mr. Casaubons
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view. Wills relationship in that distinguished quarter did
not, like Lydgates high connections, serve as an
advantageous introduction: if it was rumored that young
Ladislaw was Mr. Casaubons nephew or cousin, it was
also rumored that Mr. Casaubon would have nothing to
do with him.
Brooke has taken him up, said Mr. Hawley, because
that is what no man in his senses could have expected.
Casaubon has devilish good reasons, you may be sure, for
turning the cold shoulder on a young fellow whose
bringing-up he paid for. Just like Brooke one of those
fellows who would praise a cat to sell a horse.
And some oddities of Wills, more or less poetical,
appeared to support Mr. Keck, the editor of the
Trumpet, in asserting that Ladislaw, if the truth were
known, was not only a Polish emissary but crack-brained,
which accounted for the preternatural quickness and
glibness of his speech when he got on to a platformas he
did whenever he had an opportunity, speaking with a
facility which cast reflections on solid Englishmen
generally. It was disgusting to Keck to see a strip of a
fellow, with light curls round his head, get up and
speechify by the hour against institutions which had
existed when he was in his cradle. And in a leading article
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822 of 1492
of the Trumpet, Keck characterized Ladislaws speech at
a Reform meeting as the violence of an energumena
miserable effort to shroud in the brilliancy of fireworks the
daring of irresponsible statements and the poverty of a
knowledge which was of the cheapest and most recent
description.
That was a rattling article yesterday, Keck, said Dr.
Sprague, with sarcastic intentions. But what is an
energumen?
Oh, a term that came up in the French Revolution,
said Keck.
This dangerous aspect of Ladislaw was strangely
contrasted with other habits which became matter of
remark. He had a fondness, half artistic, half affectionate,
for little childrenthe smaller they were on tolerably
active legs, and the funnier their clothing, the better Will
liked to surprise and please them. We know that in Rome
he was given to ramble about among the poor people, and
the taste did not quit him in Middlemarch.
He had somehow picked up a troop of droll children,
little hatless boys with their galligaskins much worn and
scant shirting to hang out, little girls who tossed their hair
out of their eyes to look at him, and guardian brothers at
the mature age of seven. This troop he had led out on
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823 of 1492
gypsy excursions to Halsell Wood at nutting-time, and
since the cold weather had set in he had taken them on a
clear day to gather sticks for a bonfire in the hollow of a
hillside, where he drew out a small feast of gingerbread for
them, and improvised a Punch-and-Judy drama with some
private home-made puppets. Here was one oddity.
Another was, that in houses where he got friendly, he was
given to stretch himself at full length on the rug while he
talked, and was apt to be discovered in this attitude by
occasional callers for whom such an irregularity was likely
to confirm the notions of his dangerously mixed blood and
general laxity.
But Wills articles and speeches naturally recommended
him in families which the new strictness of party division
had marked off on the side of Reform. He was invited to
Mr. Bulstrodes; but here he could not lie down on the
rug, and Mrs. Bulstrode felt that his mode of talking about
Catholic countries, as if there were any truce with
Antichrist, illustrated the usual tendency to unsoundness in
intellectual men.
At Mr. Farebrothers, however, whom the irony of
events had brought on the same side with Bulstrode in the
national movement, Will became a favorite with the
ladies; especially with little Miss Noble, whom it was one
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824 of 1492
of his oddities to escort when he met her in the street with
her little basket, giving her his arm in the eyes of the
town, and insisting on going with her to pay some call
where she distributed her small filchings from her own
share of sweet things.
But the house where he visited oftenest and lay most
on the rug was Lydgates. The two men were not at all
alike, but they agreed none the worse. Lydgate was abrupt
but not irritable, taking little notice of megrims in healthy
people; and Ladislaw did not usually throw away his
susceptibilities on those who took no notice of them.
With Rosamond, on the other hand, he pouted and was
waywardnay, often uncomplimentary, much to her
inward surprise; nevertheless he was gradually becoming
necessary to her entertainment by his companionship in
her music, his varied talk, and his freedom from the grave
preoccupation which, with all her husbands tenderness
and indulgence, often made his manners unsatisfactory to
her, and confirmed her dislike of the medical profession.
Lydgate, inclined to be sarcastic on the superstitious
faith of the people in the efficacy of the bill, while
nobody cared about the low state of pathology, sometimes
assailed Will with troublesome questions. One evening in
March, Rosamond in her cherry-colored dress with
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swansdown trimming about the throat sat at the tea-table;
Lydgate, lately come in tired from his outdoor work, was
seated sideways on an easy-chair by the fire with one leg
over the elbow, his brow looking a little troubled as his
eyes rambled over the columns of the Pioneer, while
Rosamond, having noticed that he was perturbed, avoided
looking at him, and inwardly thanked heaven that she
herself had not a moody disposition. Will Ladislaw was
stretched on the rug contemplating the curtain-pole
abstractedly, and humming very low the notes of When
first I saw thy face; while the house spaniel, also stretched
out with small choice of room, looked from between his
paws at the usurper of the rug with silent but strong
objection.
Rosamond bringing Lydgate his cup of tea, he threw
down the paper, and said to Will, who had started up and
gone to the table
Its no use your puffing Brooke as a reforming
landlord, Ladislaw: they only pick the more holes in his
coat in the Trumpet.
No matter; those who read the Pioneer dont read
the Trumpet, said Will, swallowing his tea and walking
about. Do you suppose the public reads with a view to its
own conversion? We should have a witches brewing with
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826 of 1492
a vengeance thenMingle, mingle, mingle, mingle, You
that mingle mayand nobody would know which side
he was going to take.
Farebrother says, he doesnt believe Brooke would get
elected if the opportunity came: the very men who profess
to be for him would bring another member out of the bag
at the right moment.
Theres no harm in trying. Its good to have resident
members.
Why? said Lydgate, who was much given to use that
inconvenient word in a curt tone.
They represent the local stupidity better, said Will,
laughing, and shaking his curls; and they are kept on their
best behavior in the neighborhood. Brooke is not a bad
fellow, but he has done some good things on his estate
that he never would have done but for this Parliamentary
bite.
Hes not fitted to be a public man, said Lydgate, with
contemptuous decision. He would disappoint everybody
who counted on him: I can see that at the Hospital. Only,
there Bulstrode holds the reins and drives him.
That depends on how you fix your standard of public
men, said Will. Hes good enough for the occasion:
when the people have made up their mind as they are
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827 of 1492
making it up now, they dont want a man they only
want a vote.
That is the way with you political writers, Ladislaw
crying up a measure as if it were a universal cure, and
crying up men who are a part of the very disease that
wants curing.
Why not? Men may help to cure themselves off the
face of the land without knowing it, said Will, who could
find reasons impromptu, when he had not thought of a
question beforehand.
That is no excuse for encouraging the superstitious
exaggeration of hopes about this particular measure,
helping the cry to swallow it whole and to send up voting
popinjays who are good for nothing but to carry it. You
go against rottenness, and there is nothing more
thoroughly rotten than making people believe that society
can be cured by a political hocus-pocus.
Thats very fine, my dear fellow. But your cure must
begin somewhere, and put it that a thousand things which
debase a population can never be reformed without this
particular reform to begin with. Look what Stanley said
the other daythat the House had been tinkering long
enough at small questions of bribery, inquiring whether
this or that voter has had a guinea when everybody knows
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828 of 1492
that the seats have been sold wholesale. Wait for wisdom
and conscience in public agentsfiddlestick! The only
conscience we can trust to is the massive sense of wrong in
a class, and the best wisdom that will work is the wisdom
of balancing claims. Thats my text which side is
injured? I support the man who supports their claims; not
the virtuous upholder of the wrong.
That general talk about a particular case is mere
question begging, Ladislaw. When I say, I go in for the
dose that cures, it doesnt follow that I go in for opium in
a given case of gout.
I am not begging the question we are uponwhether
we are to try for nothing till we find immaculate men to
work with. Should you go on that plan? If there were one
man who would carry you a medical reform and another
who would oppose it, should you inquire which had the
better motives or even the better brains?
Oh, of course, said Lydgate, seeing himself
checkmated by a move which he had often used himself,
if one did not work with such men as are at hand, things
must come to a dead-lock. Suppose the worst opinion in
the town about Bulstrode were a true one, that would not
make it less true that he has the sense and the resolution to
do what I think ought to be done in the matters I know
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and care most about; but that is the only ground on which
I go with him, Lydgate added rather proudly, bearing in
mind Mr. Farebrothers remarks. He is nothing to me
otherwise; I would not cry him up on any personal
groundI would keep clear of that.
Do you mean that I cry up Brooke on any personal
ground? said Will Ladislaw, nettled, and turning sharp
round. For the first time he felt offended with Lydgate;
not the less so, perhaps, because he would have declined
any close inquiry into the growth of his relation to Mr.
Brooke.
Not at all, said Lydgate, I was simply explaining my
own action. I meant that a man may work for a special
end with others whose motives and general course are
equivocal, if he is quite sure of his personal independence,
and that he is not working for his private interesteither
place or money.
Then, why dont you extend your liberality to others?
said Will, still nettled. My personal independence is as
important to me as yours is to you. You have no more
reason to imagine that I have personal expectations from
Brooke, than I have to imagine that you have personal
expectations from Bulstrode. Motives are points of honor,
I suppose nobody can prove them. But as to money and
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place in the world. Will ended, tossing back his head, I
think it is pretty clear that I am not determined by
considerations of that sort.
You quite mistake me, Ladislaw, said Lydgate,
surprised. He had been preoccupied with his own
vindication, and had been blind to what Ladislaw might
infer on his own account. I beg your pardon for
unintentionally annoying you. In fact, I should rather
attribute to you a romantic disregard of your own worldly
interests. On the political question, I referred simply to
intellectual bias.
How very unpleasant you both are this evening! said
Rosamond. I cannot conceive why money should have
been referred to. Polities and Medicine are sufficiently
disagreeable to quarrel upon. You can both of you go on
quarrelling with all the world and with each other on
those two topics.
Rosamond looked mildly neutral as she said this, rising
to ring the bell, and then crossing to her work-table.
Poor Rosy! said Lydgate, putting out his hand to her
as she was passing him. Disputation is not amusing to
cherubs. Have some music. Ask Ladislaw to sing with
you.
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831 of 1492
When Will was gone Rosamond said to her husband,
What put you out of temper this evening, Tertius?
Me? It was Ladislaw who was out of temper. He is like
a bit of tinder.
But I mean, before that. Something had vexed you
before you came in, you looked cross. And that made you
begin to dispute with Mr. Ladislaw. You hurt me very
much when you look so, Tertius.
Do I? Then I am a brute, said Lydgate, caressing her
penitently.
What vexed you?
Oh, outdoor thingsbusiness. It was really a letter
insisting on the payment of a bill for furniture. But
Rosamond was expecting to have a baby, and Lydgate
wished to save her from any perturbation.
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Middlemarch
832 of 1492
Chapter XLVII
Was never true love loved in vain,
For truest love is highest gain.
No art can make it: it must spring
Where elements are fostering.
So in heavens spot and hour
Springs the little native flower,
Downward root and upward eye,
Shapen by the earth and sky.
It happened to be on a Saturday evening that Will
Ladislaw had that little discussion with Lydgate. Its effect
when he went to his own rooms was to make him sit up
half the night, thinking over again, under a new irritation,
all that he had before thought of his having settled in
Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Mr. Brooke.
Hesitations before he had taken the step had since turned
into susceptibility to every hint that he would have been
wiser not to take it; and hence came his heat towards
Lydgatea heat which still kept him restless. Was he not
making a fool of himself? and at a time when he was
more than ever conscious of being something better than a
fool? And for what end?
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Well, for no definite end. True, he had dreamy visions
of possibilities: there is no human being who having both
passions and thoughts does not think in consequence of his
passionsdoes not find images rising in his mind which
soothe the passion with hope or sting it with dread. But
this, which happens to us all, happens to some with a wide
difference; and Will was not one of those whose wit
keeps the roadway: he had his bypaths where there were
little joys of his own choosing, such as gentlemen
cantering on the highroad might have thought rather
idiotic. The way in which he made a sort of happiness for
himself out of his feeling for Dorothea was an example of
this. It may seem strange, but it is the fact, that the
ordinary vulgar vision of which Mr. Casaubon suspected
himnamely, that Dorothea might become a widow, and
that the interest he had established in her mind might turn
into acceptance of him as a husband had no tempting,
arresting power over him; he did not live in the scenery of
such an event, and follow it out, as we all do with that
imagined otherwise which is our practical heaven. It was
not only that he was unwilling to entertain thoughts
which could be accused of baseness, and was already
uneasy in the sense that he had to justify himself from the
charge of ingratitude the latent consciousness of many
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other barriers between himself and Dorothea besides the
existence of her husband, had helped to turn away his
imagination from speculating on what might befall Mr.
Casaubon. And there were yet other reasons. Will, we
know, could not bear the thought of any flaw appearing in
his crystal: he was at once exasperated and delighted by the
calm freedom with which Dorothea looked at him and
spoke to him, and there was something so exquisite in
thinking of her just as she was, that he could not long for a
change which must somehow change her. Do we not
shun the street version of a fine melody?or shrink from
the news that the raritysome bit of chiselling or
engraving perhaps which we have dwelt on even with
exultation in the trouble it has cost us to snatch glimpses
of it, is really not an uncommon thing, and may be
obtained as an every-day possession? Our good depends
on the quality and breadth of our emotion; and to Will, a
creature who cared little for what are called the solid
things of life and greatly for its subtler influences, to have
within him such a feeling as he had towards Dorothea, was
like the inheritance of a fortune. What others might have
called the futility of his passion, made an additional delight
for his imagination: he was conscious of a generous
movement, and of verifying in his own experience that
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higher love-poetry which had charmed his fancy.
Dorothea, he said to himself, was forever enthroned in his
soul: no other woman could sit higher than her footstool;
and if he could have written out in immortal syllables the
effect she wrought within him, he might have boasted
after the example of old Drayton, that,
Queens hereafter might be glad to live
Upon the alms of her superfluous praise.
But this result was questionable. And what else could
he do for Dorothea? What was his devotion worth to her?
It was impossible to tell. He would not go out of her
reach. He saw no creature among her friends to whom he
could believe that she spoke with the same simple
confidence as to him. She had once said that she would
like him to stay; and stay he would, whatever fire-
breathing dragons might hiss around her.
This had always been the conclusion of Wills
hesitations. But he was not without contradictoriness and
rebellion even towards his own resolve. He had often got
irritated, as he was on this particular night, by some
outside demonstration that his public exertions with Mr.
Brooke as a chief could not seem as heroic as he would
like them to be, and this was always associated with the
other ground of irritationthat notwithstanding his
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sacrifice of dignity for Dorotheas sake, he could hardly
ever see her. Whereupon, not being able to contradict
these unpleasant facts, he contradicted his own strongest
bias and said, I am a fool.
Nevertheless, since the inward debate necessarily
turned on Dorothea, he ended, as he had done before,
only by getting a livelier sense of what her presence would
be to him; and suddenly reflecting that the morrow would
be Sunday, he determined to go to Lowick Church and
see her. He slept upon that idea, but when he was dressing
in the rational morning light, Objection said
That will be a virtual defiance of Mr. Casaubons
prohibition to visit Lowick, and Dorothea will be
displeased.
Nonsense! argued Inclination, it would be too
monstrous for him to hinder me from going out to a
pretty country church on a spring morning. And Dorothea
will be glad.
It will be clear to Mr. Casaubon that you have come
either to annoy him or to see Dorothea.
It is not true that I go to annoy him, and why should I
not go to see Dorothea? Is he to have everything to
himself and be always comfortable? Let him smart a little,
as other people are obliged to do. I have always liked the
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quaintness of the church and congregation; besides, I
know the Tuckers: I shall go into their pew.
Having silenced Objection by force of unreason, Will
walked to Lowick as if he had been on the way to
Paradise, crossing Halsell Common and skirting the wood,
where the sunlight fell broadly under the budding boughs,
bringing out the beauties of moss and lichen, and fresh
green growths piercing the brown. Everything seemed to
know that it was Sunday, and to approve of his going to
Lowick Church. Will easily felt happy when nothing
crossed his humor, and by this time the thought of vexing
Mr. Casaubon had become rather amusing to him, making
his face break into its merry smile, pleasant to see as the
breaking of sunshine on the waterthough the occasion
was not exemplary. But most of us are apt to settle within
ourselves that the man who blocks our way is odious, and
not to mind causing him a little of the disgust which his
personality excites in ourselves. Will went along with a
small book under his arm and a hand in each side-pocket,
never reading, but chanting a little, as he made scenes of
what would happen in church and coming out. He was
experimenting in tunes to suit some words of his own,
sometimes trying a ready-made melody, sometimes
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improvising. The words were not exactly a hymn, but
they certainly fitted his Sunday experience:
O me, O me, what frugal cheer
My love doth feed upon!
A touch, a ray, that is not here,
A shadow that is gone:
A dream of breath that might be near,
An inly-echoed tone,
The thought that one may think me dear,
The place where one was known,
The tremor of a banished fear,
An ill that was not done
O me, O me, what frugal cheer
My love doth feed upon!
Sometimes, when he took off his hat, shaking his head
backward, and showing his delicate throat as he sang, he
looked like an incarnation of the spring whose spirit filled
the aira bright creature, abundant in uncertain promises.
The bells were still ringing when he got to Lowick,
and he went into the curates pew before any one else
arrived there. But he was still left alone in it when the
congregation had assembled. The curates pew was
opposite the rectors at the entrance of the small chancel,
and Will had time to fear that Dorothea might not come
while he looked round at the group of rural faces which
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made the congregation from year to year within the
white-washed walls and dark old pews, hardly with more
change than we see in the boughs of a tree which breaks
here and there with age, but yet has young shoots. Mr.
Riggs frog-face was something alien and unaccountable,
but notwithstanding this shock to the order of things,
there were still the Waules and the rural stock of the
Powderells in their pews side by side; brother Samuels
cheek had the same purple round as ever, and the three
generations of decent cottagers came as of old with a sense
of duty to their betters generally the smaller children
regarding Mr. Casaubon, who wore the black gown and
mounted to the highest box, as probably the chief of all
betters, and the one most awful if offended. Even in 1831
Lowick was at peace, not more agitated by Reform than
by the solemn tenor of the Sunday sermon. The
congregation had been used to seeing Will at church in
former days, and no one took much note of him except
the choir, who expected him to make a figure in the
singing.
Dorothea did at last appear on this quaint background,
walking up the short aisle in her white beaver bonnet and
gray cloakthe same she had worn in the Vatican. Her
face being, from her entrance, towards the chancel, even
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her shortsighted eyes soon discerned Will, but there was
no outward show of her feeling except a slight paleness
and a grave bow as she passed him. To his own surprise
Will felt suddenly uncomfortable, and dared not look at
her after they had bowed to each other. Two minutes
later, when Mr. Casaubon came out of the vestry, and,
entering the pew, seated himself in face of Dorothea, Will
felt his paralysis more complete. He could look nowhere
except at the choir in the little gallery over the vestry-
door: Dorothea was perhaps pained, and he had made a
wretched blunder. It was no longer amusing to vex Mr.
Casaubon, who had the advantage probably of watching
him and seeing that he dared not turn his head. Why had
he not imagined this beforehand? but he could not
expect that he should sit in that square pew alone,
unrelieved by any Tuckers, who had apparently departed
from Lowick altogether, for a new clergyman was in the
desk. Still he called himself stupid now for not foreseeing
that it would be impossible for him to look towards
Dorotheanay, that she might feel his coming an
impertinence. There was no delivering himself from his
cage, however; and Will found his places and looked at his
book as if he had been a school-mistress, feeling that the
morning service had never been so immeasurably long
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before, that he was utterly ridiculous, out of temper, and
miserable. This was what a man got by worshipping the
sight of a woman! The clerk observed with surprise that
Mr. Ladislaw did not join in the tune of Hanover, and
reflected that he might have a cold.
Mr. Casaubon did not preach that morning, and there
was no change in Wills situation until the blessing had
been pronounced and every one rose. It was the fashion at
Lowick for the betters to go out first. With a sudden
determination to break the spell that was upon him, Will
looked straight at Mr. Casaubon. But that gentlemans
eyes were on the button of the pew-door, which he
opened, allowing Dorothea to pass, and following her
immediately without raising his eyelids. Wills glance had
caught Dorotheas as she turned out of the pew, and again
she bowed, but this time with a look of agitation, as if she
were repressing tears. Will walked out after them, but they
went on towards the little gate leading out of the
churchyard into the shrubbery, never looking round.
It was impossible for him to follow them, and he could
only walk back sadly at mid-day along the same road
which he had trodden hopefully in the morning. The
lights were all changed for him both without and within.
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Chapter XLVIII
Surely the golden hours are turning gray
And dance no more, and vainly strive to run:
I see their white locks streaming in the wind
Each face is haggard as it looks at me,
Slow turning in the constant clasping round
Storm-driven.
Dorotheas distress when she was leaving the church
came chiefly from the perception that Mr. Casaubon was
determined not to speak to his cousin, and that Wills
presence at church had served to mark more strongly the
alienation between them. Wills coming seemed to her
quite excusable, nay, she thought it an amiable movement
in him towards a reconciliation which she herself had been
constantly wishing for. He had probably imagined, as she
had, that if Mr. Casaubon and he could meet easily, they
would shake hands and friendly intercourse might return.
But now Dorothea felt quite robbed of that hope. Will
was banished further than ever, for Mr. Casaubon must
have been newly embittered by this thrusting upon him of
a presence which he refused to recognize.
He had not been very well that morning, suffering
from some difficulty in breathing, and had not preached in
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consequence; she was not surprised, therefore, that he was
nearly silent at luncheon, still less that he made no allusion
to Will Ladislaw. For her own part she felt that she could
never again introduce that subject. They usually spent
apart the hours between luncheon and dinner on a
Sunday; Mr. Casaubon in the library dozing chiefly, and
Dorothea in her boudoir, where she was wont to occupy
herself with some of her favorite books. There was a little
heap of them on the table in the bow-windowof
various sorts, from Herodotus, which she was learning to
read with Mr. Casaubon, to her old companion Pascal,
and Kebles Christian Year. But to-day opened one after
another, and could read none of them. Everything seemed
dreary: the portents before the birth of Cyrus Jewish
antiquitiesoh dear!devout epigramsthe sacred
chime of favorite hymnsall alike were as flat as tunes
beaten on wood: even the spring flowers and the grass had
a dull shiver in them under the afternoon clouds that hid
the sun fitfully; even the sustaining thoughts which had
become habits seemed to have in them the weariness of
long future days in which she would still live with them
for her sole companions. It was another or rather a fuller
sort of companionship that poor Dorothea was hungering
for, and the hunger had grown from the perpetual effort
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demanded by her married life. She was always trying to be
what her husband wished, and never able to repose on his
delight in what she was. The thing that she liked, that she
spontaneously cared to have, seemed to be always
excluded from her life; for if it was only granted and not
shared by her husband it might as well have been denied.
About Will Ladislaw there had been a difference between
them from the first, and it had ended, since Mr. Casaubon
had so severely repulsed Dorotheas strong feeling about
his claims on the family property, by her being convinced
that she was in the right and her husband in the wrong,
but that she was helpless. This afternoon the helplessness
was more wretchedly benumbing than ever: she longed
for objects who could be dear to her, and to whom she
could be dear. She longed for work which would be
directly beneficent like the sunshine and the rain, and now
it appeared that she was to live more and more in a virtual
tomb, where there was the apparatus of a ghastly labor
producing what would never see the light. Today she had
stood at the door of the tomb and seen Will Ladislaw
receding into the distant world of warm activity and
fellowship turning his face towards her as he went.
Books were of no use. Thinking was of no use. It was
Sunday, and she could not have the carriage to go to
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Celia, who had lately had a baby. There was no refuge
now from spiritual emptiness and discontent, and
Dorothea had to bear her bad mood, as she would have
borne a headache.
After dinner, at the hour when she usually began to
read aloud, Mr. Casaubon proposed that they should go
into the library, where, he said, he had ordered a fire and
lights. He seemed to have revived, and to be thinking
intently.
In the library Dorothea observed that he had newly
arranged a row of his note-books on a table, and now he
took up and put into her hand a well-known volume,
which was a table of contents to all the others.
You will oblige me, my dear, he said, seating himself,
if instead of other reading this evening, you will go
through this aloud, pencil in hand, and at each point
where I say mark, will make a cross with your pencil.
This is the first step in a sifting process which I have long
had in view, and as we go on I shall be able to indicate to
you certain principles of selection whereby you will, I
trust, have an intelligent participation in my purpose.
This proposal was only one more sign added to many
since his memorable interview with Lydgate, that Mr.
Casaubons original reluctance to let Dorothea work with
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him had given place to the contrary disposition, namely,
to demand much interest and labor from her.
After she had read and marked for two hours, he said,
We will take the volume up-stairsand the pencil, if you
please and in case of reading in the night, we can pursue
this task. It is not wearisome to you, I trust, Dorothea?
I prefer always reading what you like best to hear, said
Dorothea, who told the simple truth; for what she dreaded
was to exert herself in reading or anything else which left
him as joyless as ever.
It was a proof of the force with which certain
characteristics in Dorothea impressed those around her,
that her husband, with all his jealousy and suspicion, had
gathered implicit trust in the integrity of her promises, and
her power of devoting herself to her idea of the right and
best. Of late he had begun to feel that these qualities were
a peculiar possession for himself, and he wanted to engross
them.
The reading in the night did come. Dorothea in her
young weariness had slept soon and fast: she was awakened
by a sense of light, which seemed to her at first like a
sudden vision of sunset after she had climbed a steep hill:
she opened her eyes and saw her husband wrapped in his
warm gown seating himself in the arm-chair near the fire-
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place where the embers were still glowing. He had lit two
candles, expecting that Dorothea would awake, but not
liking to rouse her by more direct means.
Are you ill, Edward? she said, rising immediately.
I felt some uneasiness in a reclining posture. I will sit
here for a time. She threw wood on the fire, wrapped
herself up, and said, You would like me to read to you?
You would oblige me greatly by doing so, Dorothea,
said Mr. Casaubon, with a shade more meekness than
usual in his polite manner. I am wakeful: my mind is
remarkably lucid.
I fear that the excitement may be too great for you,
said Dorothea, remembering Lydgates cautions.
No, I am not conscious of undue excitement. Thought
is easy. Dorothea dared not insist, and she read for an
hour or more on the same plan as she had done in the
evening, but getting over the pages with more quickness.
Mr. Casaubons mind was more alert, and he seemed to
anticipate what was coming after a very slight verbal
indication, saying, That will domark thator Pass on
to the next headI omit the second excursus on Crete.
Dorothea was amazed to think of the bird-like speed with
which his mind was surveying the ground where it had
been creeping for years. At last he said
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Close the book now, my dear. We will resume our
work to-morrow. I have deferred it too long, and would
gladly see it completed. But you observe that the principle
on which my selection is made, is to give adequate, and
not disproportionate illustration to each of the theses
enumerated in my introduction, as at present sketched.
You have perceived that distinctly, Dorothea?
Yes, said Dorothea, rather tremulously. She felt sick at
heart.
And now I think that I can take some repose, said Mr.
Casaubon. He laid down again and begged her to put out
the lights. When she had lain down too, and there was a
darkness only broken by a dull glow on the hearth, he
said
Before I sleep, I have a request to make, Dorothea.
What is it? said Dorothea, with dread in her mind.
It is that you will let me know, deliberately, whether,
in case of my death, you will carry out my wishes:
whether you will avoid doing what I should deprecate,
and apply yourself to do what I should desire.
Dorothea was not taken by surprise: many incidents
had been leading her to the conjecture of some intention
on her husbands part which might make a new yoke for
her. She did not answer immediately.
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You refuse? said Mr. Casaubon, with more edge in his
tone.
No, I do not yet refuse, said Dorothea, in a clear
voice, the need of freedom asserting itself within her; but
it is too solemn I think it is not rightto make a
promise when I am ignorant what it will bind me to.
Whatever affection prompted I would do without
promising.
But you would use your own judgment: I ask you to
obey mine; you refuse.
No, dear, no! said Dorothea, beseechingly, crushed by
opposing fears. But may I wait and reflect a little while? I
desire with my whole soul to do what will comfort you;
but I cannot give any pledge suddenly still less a pledge
to do I know not what.
You cannot then confide in the nature of my wishes?
Grant me till to-morrow, said Dorothea,
beseechingly.
Till to-morrow then, said Mr. Casaubon.
Soon she could hear that he was sleeping, but there was
no more sleep for her. While she constrained herself to lie
still lest she should disturb him, her mind was carrying on
a conflict in which imagination ranged its forces first on
one side and then on the other. She had no presentiment
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that the power which her husband wished to establish
over her future action had relation to anything else than
his work. But it was clear enough to her that he would
expect her to devote herself to sifting those mixed heaps of
material, which were to be the doubtful illustration of
principles still more doubtful. The poor child had become
altogether unbelieving as to the trustworthiness of that
Key which had made the ambition and the labor of her
husbands life. It was not wonderful that, in spite of her
small instruction, her judgment in this matter was truer
than his: for she looked with unbiassed comparison and
healthy sense at probabilities on which he had risked all his
egoism. And now she pictured to herself the days, and
months, and years which she must spend in sorting what
might be called shattered mummies, and fragments of a
tradition which was itself a mosaic wrought from crushed
ruinssorting them as food for a theory which was
already withered in the birth like an elfin child. Doubtless
a vigorous error vigorously pursued has kept the embryos
of truth a-breathing: the quest of gold being at the same
time a questioning of substances, the body of chemistry is
prepared for its soul, and Lavoisier is born. But Mr.
Casaubons theory of the elements which made the seed of
all tradition was not likely to bruise itself unawares against
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discoveries: it floated among flexible conjectures no more
solid than those etymologies which seemed strong because
of likeness in sound until it was shown that likeness in
sound made them impossible: it was a method of
interpretation which was not tested by the necessity of
forming anything which had sharper collisions than an
elaborate notion of Gog and Magog: it was as free from
interruption as a plan for threading the stars together. And
Dorothea had so often had to check her weariness and
impatience over this questionable riddle-guessing, as it
revealed itself to her instead of the fellowship in high
knowledge which was to make life worthier! She could
understand well enough now why her husband had come
to cling to her, as possibly the only hope left that his labors
would ever take a shape in which they could be given to
the world. At first it had seemed that he wished to keep
even her aloof from any close knowledge of what he was
doing; but gradually the terrible stringency of human
needthe prospect of a too speedy death
And here Dorotheas pity turned from her own future
to her husbands pastnay, to his present hard struggle
with a lot which had grown out of that past: the lonely
labor, the ambition breathing hardly under the pressure of
self-distrust; the goal receding, and the heavier limbs; and
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now at last the sword visibly trembling above him! And
had she not wished to marry him that she might help him
in his lifes labor?But she had thought the work was to
be something greater, which she could serve in devoutly
for its own sake. Was it right, even to soothe his grief
would it be possible, even if she promisedto work as in
a treadmill fruitlessly?
And yet, could she deny him? Could she say, I refuse
to content this pining hunger? It would be refusing to do
for him dead, what she was almost sure to do for him
living. If he lived as Lydgate had said he might, for fifteen
years or more, her life would certainly be spent in helping
him and obeying him.
Still, there was a deep difference between that devotion
to the living and that indefinite promise of devotion to the
dead. While he lived, he could claim nothing that she
would not still be free to remonstrate against, and even to
refuse. But the thought passed through her mind more
than once, though she could not believe in itmight he
not mean to demand something more from her than she
had been able to imagine, since he wanted her pledge to
carry out his wishes without telling her exactly what they
were? No; his heart was bound up in his work only: that
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was the end for which his failing life was to be eked out
by hers.
And now, if she were to say, No! if you die, I will put
no finger to your workit seemed as if she would be
crushing that bruised heart.
For four hours Dorothea lay in this conflict, till she felt
ill and bewildered, unable to resolve, praying mutely.
Helpless as a child which has sobbed and sought too long,
she fell into a late morning sleep, and when she waked
Mr. Casaubon was already up. Tantripp told her that he
had read prayers, breakfasted, and was in the library.
I never saw you look so pale, madam, said Tantripp, a
solid-figured woman who had been with the sisters at
Lausanne.
Was I ever high-colored, Tantripp? said Dorothea,
smiling faintly.
Well, not to say high-colored, but with a bloom like a
Chiny rose. But always smelling those leather books, what
can be expected? Do rest a little this morning, madam. Let
me say you are ill and not able to go into that close
library.
Oh no, no! let me make haste, said Dorothea. Mr.
Casaubon wants me particularly.
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When she went down she felt sure that she should
promise to fulfil his wishes; but that would be later in the
daynot yet.
As Dorothea entered the library, Mr. Casaubon turned
round from the table where he had been placing some
books, and said
I was waiting for your appearance, my dear. I had
hoped to set to work at once this morning, but I find
myself under some indisposition, probably from too much
excitement yesterday. I am going now to take a turn in
the shrubbery, since the air is milder.
I am glad to hear that, said Dorothea. Your mind, I
feared, was too active last night.
I would fain have it set at rest on the point I last spoke
of, Dorothea. You can now, I hope, give me an answer.
May I come out to you in the garden presently? said
Dorothea, winning a little breathing space in that way.
I shall be in the Yew-tree Walk for the next half-
hour, said Mr. Casaubon, and then he left her.
Dorothea, feeling very weary, rang and asked Tantripp
to bring her some wraps. She had been sitting still for a
few minutes, but not in any renewal of the former
conflict: she simply felt that she was going to say Yes to
her own doom: she was too weak, too full of dread at the
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thought of inflicting a keen-edged blow on her husband,
to do anything but submit completely. She sat still and let
Tantripp put on her bonnet and shawl, a passivity which
was unusual with her, for she liked to wait on herself.
God bless you, madam! said Tantripp, with an
irrepressible movement of love towards the beautiful,
gentle creature for whom she felt unable to do anything
more, now that she had finished tying the bonnet.
This was too much for Dorotheas highly-strung
feeling, and she burst into tears, sobbing against Tantripps
arm. But soon she checked herself, dried her eyes, and
went out at the glass door into the shrubbery.
I wish every book in that library was built into a
caticom for your master, said Tantripp to Pratt, the butler,
finding him in the breakfast-room. She had been at
Rome, and visited the antiquities, as we know; and she
always declined to call Mr. Casaubon anything but your
master, when speaking to the other servants.
Pratt laughed. He liked his master very well, but he
liked Tantripp better.
When Dorothea was out on the gravel walks, she
lingered among the nearer clumps of trees, hesitating, as
she had done once before, though from a different cause.
Then she had feared lest her effort at fellowship should be
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unwelcome; now she dreaded going to the spot where she
foresaw that she must bind herself to a fellowship from
which she shrank. Neither law nor the worlds opinion
compelled her to thisonly her husbands nature and her
own compassion, only the ideal and not the real yoke of
marriage. She saw clearly enough the whole situation, yet
she was fettered: she could not smite the stricken soul that
entreated hers. If that were weakness, Dorothea was weak.
But the half-hour was passing, and she must not delay
longer. When she entered the Yew-tree Walk she could
not see her husband; but the walk had bends, and she
went, expecting to catch sight of his figure wrapped in a
blue cloak, which, with a warm velvet cap, was his outer
garment on chill days for the garden. It occurred to her
that he might be resting in the summer-house, towards
which the path diverged a little. Turning the angle, she
could see him seated on the bench, close to a stone table.
His arms were resting on the table, and his brow was
bowed down on them, the blue cloak being dragged
forward and screening his face on each side.
He exhausted himself last night, Dorothea said to
herself, thinking at first that he was asleep, and that the
summer-house was too damp a place to rest in. But then
she remembered that of late she had seen him take that
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attitude when she was reading to him, as if he found it
easier than any other; and that he would sometimes speak,
as well as listen, with his face down in that way. She went
into the summerhouse and said, I am come, Edward; I am
ready.
He took no notice, and she thought that he must be
fast asleep. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and
repeated, I am ready! Still he was motionless; and with a
sudden confused fear, she leaned down to him, took off
his velvet cap, and leaned her cheek close to his head,
crying in a distressed tone
Wake, dear, wake! Listen to me. I am come to
answer. But Dorothea never gave her answer.
Later in the day, Lydgate was seated by her bedside,
and she was talking deliriously, thinking aloud, and
recalling what had gone through her mind the night
before. She knew him, and called him by his name, but
appeared to think it right that she should explain
everything to him; and again, and again, begged him to
explain everything to her husband.
Tell him I shall go to him soon: I am ready to promise.
Only, thinking about it was so dreadfulit has made me
ill. Not very ill. I shall soon be better. Go and tell him.
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But the silence in her husbands ear was never more to
be broken.
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Chapter XLIX
A task too strong for wizard spells
This squire had brought about;
T is easy dropping stones in wells,
But who shall get them out?
I wish to God we could hinder Dorothea from
knowing this, said Sir James Chettam, with a little frown
on his brow, and an expression of intense disgust about his
mouth.
He was standing on the hearth-rug in the library at
Lowick Grange, and speaking to Mr. Brooke. It was the
day after Mr. Casaubon had been buried, and Dorothea
was not yet able to leave her room.
That would be difficult, you know, Chettam, as she is
an executrix, and she likes to go into these things
property, land, that kind of thing. She has her notions,
you know, said Mr. Brooke, sticking his eye-glasses on
nervously, and exploring the edges of a folded paper
which he held in his hand; and she would like to act
depend upon it, as an executrix Dorothea would want to
act. And she was twenty-one last December, you know. I
can hinder nothing.
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Sir James looked at the carpet for a minute in silence,
and then lifting his eyes suddenly fixed them on Mr.
Brooke, saying, I will tell you what we can do. Until
Dorothea is well, all business must be kept from her, and
as soon as she is able to be moved she must come to us.
Being with Celia and the baby will be the best thing in the
world for her, and will pass away the time. And
meanwhile you must get rid of Ladislaw: you must send
him out of the country. Here Sir Jamess look of disgust
returned in all its intensity.
Mr. Brooke put his hands behind him, walked to the
window and straightened his back with a little shake
before he replied.
That is easily said, Chettam, easily said, you know.
My dear sir, persisted Sir James, restraining his
indignation within respectful forms, it was you who
brought him here, and you who keep him hereI mean
by the occupation you give him.
Yes, but I cant dismiss him in an instant without
assigning reasons, my dear Chettam. Ladislaw has been
invaluable, most satisfactory. I consider that I have done
this part of the country a service by bringing himby
bringing him, you know. Mr. Brooke ended with a nod,
turning round to give it.
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Its a pity this part of the country didnt do without
him, thats all I have to say about it. At any rate, as
Dorotheas brother-in-law, I feel warranted in objecting
strongly to his being kept here by any action on the part
of her friends. You admit, I hope, that I have a right to
speak about what concerns the dignity of my wifes sister?
Sir James was getting warm.
Of course, my dear Chettam, of course. But you and I
have different ideasdifferent
Not about this action of Casaubons, I should hope,
interrupted Sir James. I say that he has most unfairly
compromised Dorothea. I say that there never was a
meaner, more ungentlemanly action than thisa codicil
of this sort to a will which he made at the time of his
marriage with the knowledge and reliance of her family
a positive insult to Dorothea!
Well, you know, Casaubon was a little twisted about
Ladislaw. Ladislaw has told me the reasondislike of the
bent he took, you know Ladislaw didnt think much of
Casaubons notions, Thoth and Dagon that sort of
thing: and I fancy that Casaubon didnt like the
independent position Ladislaw had taken up. I saw the
letters between them, you know. Poor Casaubon was a
little buried in books he didnt know the world.
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Its all very well for Ladislaw to put that color on it,
said Sir James. But I believe Casaubon was only jealous of
him on Dorotheas account, and the world will suppose
that she gave him some reason; and that is what makes it
so abominable coupling her name with this young
fellows.
My dear Chettam, it wont lead to anything, you
know, said Mr. Brooke, seating himself and sticking on
his eye- glass again. Its all of a piece with Casaubons
oddity. This paper, now, Synoptical Tabulation and so
on, for the use of Mrs. Casaubon, it was locked up in the
desk with the will. I suppose he meant Dorothea to
publish his researches, eh? and shell do it, you know; she
has gone into his studies uncommonly.
My dear sir, said Sir James, impatiently, that is neither
here nor there. The question is, whether you dont see
with me the propriety of sending young Ladislaw away?
Well, no, not the urgency of the thing. By-and-by,
perhaps, it may come round. As to gossip, you know,
sending him away wont hinder gossip. People say what
they like to say, not what they have chapter and verse for,
said Mr Brooke, becoming acute about the truths that lay
on the side of his own wishes. I might get rid of Ladislaw
up to a certain pointtake away the Pioneer from him,
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and that sort of thing; but I couldnt send him out of the
country if he didnt choose to godidnt choose, you
know.
Mr. Brooke, persisting as quietly as if he were only
discussing the nature of last years weather, and nodding at
the end with his usual amenity, was an exasperating form
of obstinacy.
Good God! said Sir James, with as much passion as he
ever showed, let us get him a post; let us spend money on
him. If he could go in the suite of some Colonial
Governor! Grampus might take him and I could write
to Fulke about it.
But Ladislaw wont be shipped off like a head of cattle,
my dear fellow; Ladislaw has his ideas. Its my opinion that
if he were to part from me to-morrow, youd only hear
the more of him in the country. With his talent for
speaking and drawing up documents, there are few men
who could come up to him as an agitatoran agitator,
you know.
Agitator! said Sir James, with bitter emphasis, feeling
that the syllables of this word properly repeated were a
sufficient exposure of its hatefulness.
But be reasonable, Chettam. Dorothea, now. As you
say, she had better go to Celia as soon as possible. She can
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stay under your roof, and in the mean time things may
come round quietly. Dont let us be firing off our guns in
a hurry, you know. Standish will keep our counsel, and
the news will be old before its known. Twenty things
may happen to carry off Ladislaw without my doing
anything, you know.
Then I am to conclude that you decline to do
anything?
Decline, Chettam?noI didnt say decline. But I
really dont see what I could do. Ladislaw is a gentleman.
I am glad to hear It! said Sir James, his irritation
making him forget himself a little. I am sure Casaubon
was not.
Well, it would have been worse if he had made the
codicil to hinder her from marrying again at all, you
know.
I dont know that, said Sir James. It would have been
less indelicate.
One of poor Casaubons freaks! That attack upset his
brain a little. It all goes for nothing. She doesnt WANT
to marry Ladislaw.
But this codicil is framed so as to make everybody
believe that she did. I dont believe anything of the sort
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about Dorothea, said Sir James then frowningly, but I
suspect Ladislaw. I tell you frankly, I suspect Ladislaw.
I couldnt take any immediate action on that ground,
Chettam. In fact, if it were possible to pack him offsend
him to Norfolk Island that sort of thingit would look
all the worse for Dorothea to those who knew about it. It
would seem as if we distrusted her distrusted her, you
know.
That Mr. Brooke had hit on an undeniable argument,
did not tend to soothe Sir James. He put out his hand to
reach his hat, implying that he did not mean to contend
further, and said, still with some heat
Well, I can only say that I think Dorothea was
sacrificed once, because her friends were too careless. I
shall do what I can, as her brother, to protect her now.
You cant do better than get her to Freshitt as soon as
possible, Chettam. I approve that plan altogether, said Mr.
Brooke, well pleased that he had won the argument. It
would have been highly inconvenient to him to part with
Ladislaw at that time, when a dissolution might happen
any day, and electors were to be convinced of the course
by which the interests of the country would be best
served. Mr. Brooke sincerely believed that this end could
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be secured by his own return to Parliament: he offered the
forces of his mind honestly to the nation.
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Chapter L
This Loller here wol precilen us somewhat.
Nay by my fathers soule! that schal he nat,
Sayde the Schipman, here schal he not preche,
We schal no gospel glosen here ne teche.
We leven all in the gret God, quod he.
He wolden sowen some diffcultee.
Canterbury Tales.
Dorothea had been safe at Freshitt Hall nearly a week
before she had asked any dangerous questions. Every
morning now she sat with Celia in the prettiest of up-stairs
sitting-rooms, opening into a small conservatory Celia
all in white and lavender like a bunch of mixed violets,
watching the remarkable acts of the baby, which were so
dubious to her inexperienced mind that all conversation
was interrupted by appeals for their interpretation made to
the oracular nurse. Dorothea sat by in her widows dress,
with an expression which rather provoked Celia, as being
much too sad; for not only was baby quite well, but really
when a husband had been so dull and troublesome while
he lived, and besides that hadwell, well! Sir James, of
course, had told Celia everything, with a strong
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Middlemarch
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representation how important it was that Dorothea should
not know it sooner than was inevitable.
But Mr. Brooke had been right in predicting that
Dorothea would not long remain passive where action had
been assigned to her; she knew the purport of her
husbands will made at the time of their marriage, and her
mind, as soon as she was clearly conscious of her position,
was silently occupied with what she ought to do as the
owner of Lowick Manor with the patronage of the living
attached to it.
One morning when her uncle paid his usual visit,
though with an unusual alacrity in his manner which he
accounted for by saying that it was now pretty certain
Parliament would be dissolved forthwith, Dorothea said
Uncle, it is right now that I should consider who is to
have the living at Lowick. After Mr. Tucker had been
provided for, I never heard my husband say that he had
any clergyman in his mind as a successor to himself. I
think I ought to have the keys now and go to Lowick to
examine all my husbands papers. There may be something
that would throw light on his wishes.
No hurry, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, quietly. By-
and-by, you know, you can go, if you like. But I cast my
eyes over things in the desks and drawersthere was
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nothingnothing but deep subjects, you knowbesides
the will. Everything can be done by-and-by. As to the
living, I have had an application for interest already I
should say rather good. Mr. Tyke has been strongly
recommended to meI had something to do with getting
him an appointment before. An apostolic man, I believe
the sort of thing that would suit you, my dear.
I should like to have fuller knowledge about him,
uncle, and judge for myself, if Mr. Casaubon has not left
any expression of his wishes. He has perhaps made some
addition to his willthere may be some instructions for
me, said Dorothea, who had all the while had this
conjecture in her mind with relation to her husbands
work.
Nothing about the rectory, my dearnothing, said
Mr. Brooke, rising to go away, and putting out his hand
to his nieces: nor about his researches, you know.
Nothing in the will.
Dorotheas lip quivered.
Come, you must not think of these things yet, my
dear. By-and-by, you know.
I am quite well now, uncle; I wish to exert myself.
Well, well, we shall see. But I must run away nowI
have no end of work nowits a crisisa political crisis,
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you know. And here is Celia and her little manyou are
an aunt, you know, now, and I am a sort of grandfather,
said Mr. Brooke, with placid hurry, anxious to get away
and tell Chettam that it would not be his (Mr. Brookes)
fault if Dorothea insisted on looking into everything.
Dorothea sank back in her chair when her uncle had
left the room, and cast her eyes down meditatively on her
crossed hands.
Look, Dodo! look at him! Did you ever see anything
like that? said Celia, in her comfortable staccato.
What, Kitty? said Dorothea, lifting her eyes rather
absently.
What? why, his upper lip; see how he is drawing it
down, as if he meant to make a face. Isnt it wonderful!
He may have his little thoughts. I wish nurse were here.
Do look at him.
A large tear which had been for some time gathering,
rolled down Dorotheas cheek as she looked up and tried
to smile.
Dont be sad, Dodo; kiss baby. What are you brooding
over so? I am sure you did everything, and a great deal too
much. You should be happy now.
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I wonder if Sir James would drive me to Lowick. I
want to look over everythingto see if there were any
words written for me.
You are not to go till Mr. Lydgate says you may go.
And he has not said so yet (here you are, nurse; take baby
and walk up and down the gallery). Besides, you have got
a wrong notion in your head as usual, DodoI can see
that: it vexes me.
Where am I wrong, Kitty? said Dorothea, quite
meekly. She was almost ready now to think Celia wiser
than herself, and was really wondering with some fear
what her wrong notion was. Celia felt her advantage, and
was determined to use it. None of them knew Dodo as
well as she did, or knew how to manage her. Since Celias
baby was born, she had had a new sense of her mental
solidity and calm wisdom. It seemed clear that where there
was a baby, things were right enough, and that error, in
general, was a mere lack of that central poising force.
I can see what you are thinking of as well as can be,
Dodo, said Celia. You are wanting to find out if there is
anything uncomfortable for you to do now, only because
Mr. Casaubon wished it. As if you had not been
uncomfortable enough before. And he doesnt deserve it,
and you will find that out. He has behaved very badly.
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James is as angry with him as can be. And I had better tell
you, to prepare you.
Celia, said Dorothea, entreatingly, you distress me.
Tell me at once what you mean. It glanced through her
mind that Mr. Casaubon had left the property away from
herwhich would not be so very distressing.
Why, he has made a codicil to his will, to say the
property was all to go away from you if you marriedI
mean
That is of no consequence, said Dorothea, breaking in
impetuously.
But if you married Mr. Ladislaw, not anybody else,
Celia went on with persevering quietude. Of course that
is of no consequence in one wayyou never WOULD
marry Mr. Ladislaw; but that only makes it worse of Mr.
Casaubon.
The blood rushed to Dorotheas face and neck
painfully. But Celia was administering what she thought a
sobering dose of fact. It was taking up notions that had
done Dodos health so much harm. So she went on in her
neutral tone, as if she had been remarking on babys robes.
James says so. He says it is abominable, and not like a
gentleman. And there never was a better judge than James.
It is as if Mr. Casaubon wanted to make people believe
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that you would wish to marry Mr. Ladislawwhich is
ridiculous. Only James says it was to hinder Mr. Ladislaw
from wanting to marry you for your money just as if he
ever would think of making you an offer. Mrs.
Cadwallader said you might as well marry an Italian with
white mice! But I must just go and look at baby, Celia
added, without the least change of tone, throwing a light
shawl over her, and tripping away.
Dorothea by this time had turned cold again, and now
threw herself back helplessly in her chair. She might have
compared her experience at that moment to the vague,
alarmed consciousness that her life was taking on a new
form that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in which
memory would not adjust itself to the stirring of new
organs. Everything was changing its aspect: her husbands
conduct, her own duteous feeling towards him, every
struggle between them and yet more, her whole
relation to Will Ladislaw. Her world was in a state of
convulsive change; the only thing she could say distinctly
to herself was, that she must wait and think anew. One
change terrified her as if it had been a sin; it was a violent
shock of repulsion from her departed husband, who had
had hidden thoughts, perhaps perverting everything she
said and did. Then again she was conscious of another
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change which also made her tremulous; it was a sudden
strange yearning of heart towards Will Ladislaw. It had
never before entered her mind that he could, under any
circumstances, be her lover: conceive the effect of the
sudden revelation that another had thought of him in that
light that perhaps he himself had been conscious of such
a possibility, and this with the hurrying, crowding
vision of unfitting conditions, and questions not soon to
be solved.
It seemed a long whileshe did not know how long
before she heard Celia saying, That will do, nurse; he will
be quiet on my lap now. You can go to lunch, and let
Garratt stay in the next room. What I think, Dodo,
Celia went on, observing nothing more than that
Dorothea was leaning back in her chair, and likely to be
passive, is that Mr. Casaubon was spiteful. I never did like
him, and James never did. I think the corners of his mouth
were dreadfully spiteful. And now he has behaved in this
way, I am sure religion does not require you to make
yourself uncomfortable about him. If he has been taken
away, that is a mercy, and you ought to be grateful. We
should not grieve, should we, baby? said Celia
confidentially to that unconscious centre and poise of the
world, who had the most remarkable fists all complete
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even to the nails, and hair enough, really, when you took
his cap off, to makeyou didnt know what: in short,
he was Bouddha in a Western form.
At this crisis Lydgate was announced, and one of the
first things he said was, I fear you are not so well as you
were, Mrs. Casaubon; have you been agitated? allow me
to feel your pulse. Dorotheas hand was of a marble
coldness.
She wants to go to Lowick, to look over papers, said
Celia. She ought not, ought she?
Lydgate did not speak for a few moments. Then he
said, looking at Dorothea. I hardly know. In my opinion
Mrs. Casaubon should do what would give her the most
repose of mind. That repose will not always come from
being forbidden to act.
Thank you; said Dorothea, exerting herself, I am sure
that is wise. There are so many things which I ought to
attend to. Why should I sit here idle? Then, with an
effort to recall subjects not connected with her agitation,
she added, abruptly, You know every one in
Middlemarch, I think, Mr. Lydgate. I shall ask you to tell
me a great deal. I have serious things to do now. I have a
living to give away. You know Mr. Tyke and all the
But Dorotheas effort was too much for her; she broke off
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and burst into sobs. Lydgate made her drink a dose of sal
volatile.
Let Mrs. Casaubon do as she likes, he said to Sir
James, whom he asked to see before quitting the house.
She wants perfect freedom, I think, more than any other
prescription.
His attendance on Dorothea while her brain was
excited, had enabled him to form some true conclusions
concerning the trials of her life. He felt sure that she had
been suffering from the strain and conflict of self-
repression; and that she was likely now to feel herself only
in another sort of pinfold than that from which she had
been released.
Lydgates advice was all the easier for Sir James to
follow when he found that Celia had already told
Dorothea the unpleasant fact about the will. There was no
help for it nowno reason for any further delay in the
execution of necessary business. And the next day Sir
James complied at once with her request that he would
drive her to Lowick.
I have no wish to stay there at present, said Dorothea;
I could hardly bear it. I am much happier at Freshitt with
Celia. I shall be able to think better about what should be
done at Lowick by looking at it from a distance. And I
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should like to be at the Grange a little while with my
uncle, and go about in all the old walks and among the
people in the village.
Not yet, I think. Your uncle is having political
company, and you are better out of the way of such
doings, said Sir James, who at that moment thought of
the Grange chiefly as a haunt of young Ladislaws. But no
word passed between him and Dorothea about the
objectionable part of the will; indeed, both of them felt
that the mention of it between them would be impossible.
Sir James was shy, even with men, about disagreeable
subjects; and the one thing that Dorothea would have
chosen to say, if she had spoken on the matter at all, was
forbidden to her at present because it seemed to be a
further exposure of her husbands injustice. Yet she did
wish that Sir James could know what had passed between
her and her husband about Will Ladislaws moral claim on
the property: it would then, she thought, be apparent to
him as it was to her, that her husbands strange indelicate
proviso had been chiefly urged by his bitter resistance to
that idea of claim, and not merely by personal feelings
more difficult to talk about. Also, it must be admitted,
Dorothea wished that this could be known for Wills sake,
since her friends seemed to think of him as simply an
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object of Mr. Casaubons charity. Why should he be
compared with an Italian carrying white mice? That word
quoted from Mrs. Cadwallader seemed like a mocking
travesty wrought in the dark by an impish finger.
At Lowick Dorothea searched desk and drawer
searched all her husbands places of deposit for private
writing, but found no paper addressed especially to her,
except that Synoptical Tabulation, which was probably
only the beginning of many intended directions for her
guidance. In carrying out this bequest of labor to
Dorothea, as in all else, Mr. Casaubon had been slow and
hesitating, oppressed in the plan of transmitting his work,
as he had been in executing it, by the sense of moving
heavily in a dim and clogging medium: distrust of
Dorotheas competence to arrange what he had prepared
was subdued only by distrust of any other redactor. But he
had come at last to create a trust for himself out of
Dorotheas nature: she could do what she resolved to do:
and he willingly imagined her toiling under the fetters of a
promise to erect a tomb with his name upon it. (Not that
Mr. Casaubon called the future volumes a tomb; he called
them the Key to all Mythologies.) But the months gained
on him and left his plans belated: he had only had time to
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ask for that promise by which he sought to keep his cold
grasp on Dorotheas life.
The grasp had slipped away. Bound by a pledge given
from the depths of her pity, she would have been capable
of undertaking a toil which her judgment whispered was
vain for all uses except that consecration of faithfulness
which is a supreme use. But now her judgment, instead of
being controlled by duteous devotion, was made active by
the imbittering discovery that in her past union there had
lurked the hidden alienation of secrecy and suspicion. The
living, suffering man was no longer before her to awaken
her pity: there remained only the retrospect of painful
subjection to a husband whose thoughts had been lower
than she had believed, whose exorbitant claims for himself
had even blinded his scrupulous care for his own
character, and made him defeat his own pride by shocking
men of ordinary honor. As for the property which was the
sign of that broken tie, she would have been glad to be
free from it and have nothing more than her original
fortune which had been settled on her, if there had not
been duties attached to ownership, which she ought not to
flinch from. About this property many troublous questions
insisted on rising: had she not been right in thinking that
the half of it ought to go to Will Ladislaw? but was it
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not impossible now for her to do that act of justice? Mr.
Casaubon had taken a cruelly effective means of hindering
her: even with indignation against him in her heart, any
act that seemed a triumphant eluding of his purpose
revolted her.
After collecting papers of business which she wished to
examine, she locked up again the desks and drawersall
empty of personal words for herempty of any sign that
in her husbands lonely brooding his heart had gone out to
her in excuse or explanation; and she went back to
Freshitt with the sense that around his last hard demand
and his last injurious assertion of his power, the silence was
unbroken.
Dorothea tried now to turn her thoughts towards
immediate duties, and one of these was of a kind which
others were determined to remind her of. Lydgates ear
had caught eagerly her mention of the living, and as soon
as he could, he reopened the subject, seeing here a
possibility of making amends for the casting-vote he had
once given with an ill-satisfied conscience. Instead of
telling you anything about Mr. Tyke, he said, I should
like to speak of another man Mr. Farebrother, the Vicar
of St. Botolphs. His living is a poor one, and gives him a
stinted provision for himself and his family. His mother,
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aunt, and sister all live with him, and depend upon him. I
believe he has never married because of them. I never
heard such good preaching as hissuch plain, easy
eloquence. He would have done to preach at St. Pauls
Cross after old Latimer. His talk is just as good about all
subjects: original, simple, clear. I think him a remarkable
fellow: he ought to have done more than he has done.
Why has he not done more? said Dorothea, interested
now in all who had slipped below their own intention.
Thats a hard question, said Lydgate. I find myself
that its uncommonly difficult to make the right thing
work: there are so many strings pulling at once.
Farebrother often hints that he has got into the wrong
profession; he wants a wider range than that of a poor
clergyman, and I suppose he has no interest to help him
on. He is very fond of Natural History and various
scientific matters, and he is hampered in reconciling these
tastes with his position. He has no money to sparehardly
enough to use; and that has led him into card-playing
Middlemarch is a great place for whist. He does play for
money, and he wins a good deal. Of course that takes him
into company a little beneath him, and makes him slack
about some things; and yet, with all that, looking at him as
a whole, I think he is one of the most blameless men I
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ever knew. He has neither venom nor doubleness in him,
and those often go with a more correct outside.
I wonder whether he suffers in his conscience because
of that habit, said Dorothea; I wonder whether he wishes
he could leave it off.
I have no doubt he would leave it off, if he were
transplanted into plenty: he would be glad of the time for
other things.
My uncle says that Mr. Tyke is spoken of as an
apostolic man, said Dorothea, meditatively. She was
wishing it were possible to restore the times of primitive
zeal, and yet thinking of Mr. Farebrother with a strong
desire to rescue him from his chance-gotten money.
I dont pretend to say that Farebrother is apostolic,
said Lydgate. His position is not quite like that of the
Apostles: he is only a parson among parishioners whose
lives he has to try and make better. Practically I find that
what is called being apostolic now, is an impatience of
everything in which the parson doesnt cut the principal
figure. I see something of that in Mr. Tyke at the
Hospital: a good deal of his doctrine is a sort of pinching
hard to make people uncomfortablyaware of him.
Besides, an apostolic man at Lowick!he ought to think,
as St. Francis did, that it is needful to preach to the birds.
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True, said Dorothea. It is hard to imagine what sort
of notions our farmers and laborers get from their
teaching. I have been looking into a volume of sermons
by Mr. Tyke: such sermons would be of no use at
LowickI mean, about imputed righteousness and the
prophecies in the Apocalypse. I have always been thinking
of the different ways in which Christianity is taught, and
whenever I find one way that makes it a wider blessing
than any other, I cling to that as the truestI mean that
which takes in the most good of all kinds, and brings in
the most people as sharers in it. It is surely better to
pardon too much, than to condemn too much. But I
should like to see Mr. Farebrother and hear him preach.
Do, said Lydgate; I trust to the effect of that. He is
very much beloved, but he has his enemies too: there are
always people who cant forgive an able man for differing
from them. And that money-winning business is really a
blot. You dont, of course, see many Middlemarch people:
but Mr. Ladislaw, who is constantly seeing Mr. Brooke, is
a great friend of Mr. Farebrothers old ladies, and would
be glad to sing the Vicars praises. One of the old ladies
Miss Noble, the auntis a wonderfully quaint picture of
self-forgetful goodness, and Ladislaw gallants her about
sometimes. I met them one day in a back street: you know
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Ladislaws looka sort of Daphnis in coat and waistcoat;
and this little old maid reaching up to his armthey
looked like a couple dropped out of a romantic comedy.
But the best evidence about Farebrother is to see him and
hear him.
Happily Dorothea was in her private sitting-room
when this conversation occurred, and there was no one
present to make Lydgates innocent introduction of
Ladislaw painful to her. As was usual with him in matters
of personal gossip, Lydgate had quite forgotten
Rosamonds remark that she thought Will adored Mrs.
Casaubon. At that moment he was only caring for what
would recommend the Farebrother family; and he had
purposely given emphasis to the worst that could be said
about the Vicar, in order to forestall objections. In the
weeks. since Mr. Casaubons death he had hardly seen
Ladislaw, and he had heard no rumor to warn him that
Mr. Brookes confidential secretary was a dangerous
subject with Mrs. Casaubon. When he was gone, his
picture of Ladislaw lingered in her mind and disputed the
ground with that question of the Lowick living. What was
Will Ladislaw thinking about her? Would he hear of that
fact which made her cheeks burn as they never used to
do? And how would he feel when he heard it?But she
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could see as well as possible how he smiled down at the
little old maid. An Italian with white mice!on the
contrary, he was a creature who entered into every ones
feelings, and could take the pressure of their thought
instead of urging his own with iron resistance.
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Chapter LI
Party is Nature too, and you shall see
By force of Logic how they both agree:
The Many in the One, the One in Many;
All is not Some, nor Some the same as Any:
Genus holds species, both are great or small;
One genus highest, one not high at all;
Each species has its differentia too,
This is not That, and He was never You,
Though this and that are AYES, and you and he
Are like as one to one, or three to three.
No gossip about Mr. Casaubons will had yet reached
Ladislaw: the air seemed to be filled with the dissolution of
Parliament and the coming election, as the old wakes and
fairs were filled with the rival clatter of itinerant shows;
and more private noises were taken little notice of. The
famous dry election was at hand, in which the depths of
public feeling might be measured by the low flood-mark
of drink. Will Ladislaw was one of the busiest at this time;
and though Dorotheas widowhood was continually in his
thought, he was so far from wishing to be spoken to on
the subject, that when Lydgate sought him out to tell him
what had passed about the Lowick living, he answered
rather waspishly
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Why should you bring me into the matter? I never see
Mrs. Casaubon, and am not likely to see her, since she is at
Freshitt. I never go there. It is Tory ground, where I and
the Pioneer are no more welcome than a poacher and his
gun.
The fact was that Will had been made the more
susceptible by observing that Mr. Brooke, instead of
wishing him, as before, to come to the Grange oftener
than was quite agreeable to himself, seemed now to
contrive that he should go there as little as possible. This
was a shuffling concession of Mr. Brookes to Sir James
Chettams indignant remonstrance; and Will, awake to the
slightest hint in this direction, concluded that he was to be
kept away from the Grange on Dorotheas account. Her
friends, then, regarded him with some suspicion? Their
fears were quite superfluous: they were very much
mistaken if they imagined that he would put himself
forward as a needy adventurer trying to win the favor of a
rich woman.
Until now Will had never fully seen the chasm
between himself and Dorotheauntil now that he was
come to the brink of it, and saw her on the other side. He
began, not without some inward rage, to think of going
away from the neighborhood: it would be impossible for
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him to show any further interest in Dorothea without
subjecting himself to disagreeable imputationsperhaps
even in her mind, which others might try to poison.
We are forever divided, said Will. I might as well be
at Rome; she would be no farther from me. But what we
call our despair is often only the painful eagerness of unfed
hope. There were plenty of reasons why he should not
gopublic reasons why he should not quit his post at this
crisis, leaving Mr. Brooke in the lurch when he needed
coaching for the election, and when there was so much
canvassing, direct and indirect, to be carried on. Will
could not like to leave his own chessmen in the heat of a
game; and any candidate on the right side, even if his brain
and marrow had been as soft as was consistent with a
gentlemanly bearing, might help to turn a majority. To
coach Mr. Brooke and keep him steadily to the idea that
he must pledge himself to vote for the actual Reform Bill,
instead of insisting on his independence and power of
pulling up in time, was not an easy task. Mr. Farebrothers
prophecy of a fourth candidate in the bag had not yet
been fulfilled, neither the Parliamentary Candidate Society
nor any other power on the watch to secure a reforming
majority seeing a worthy nodus for interference while
there was a second reforming candidate like Mr. Brooke,
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who might be returned at his own expense; and the fight
lay entirely between Pinkerton the old Tory member,
Bagster the new Whig member returned at the last
election, and Brooke the future independent member,
who was to fetter himself for this occasion only. Mr.
Hawley and his party would bend all their forces to the
return of Pinkerton, and Mr. Brookes success must
depend either on plumpers which would leave Bagster in
the rear, or on the new minting of Tory votes into
reforming votes. The latter means, of course, would be
preferable.
This prospect of converting votes was a dangerous
distraction to Mr. Brooke: his impression that waverers
were likely to be allured by wavering statements, and also
the liability of his mind to stick afresh at opposing
arguments as they turned up in his memory, gave Will
Ladislaw much trouble.
You know there are tactics in these things, said Mr.
Brooke; meeting people half-waytempering your
ideassaying, Well now, theres something in that, and
so on. I agree with you that this is a peculiar occasion
the country with a will of its own political unionsthat
sort of thingbut we sometimes cut with rather too sharp
a knife, Ladislaw. These ten-pound householders, now:
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why ten? Draw the line somewhereyes: but why just at
ten? Thats a difficult question, now, if you go into it.
Of course it is, said Will, impatiently. But if you are
to wait till we get a logical Bill, you must put yourself
forward as a revolutionist, and then Middlemarch would
not elect you, I fancy. As for trimming, this is not a time
for trimming.
Mr. Brooke always ended by agreeing with Ladislaw,
who still appeared to him a sort of Burke with a leaven of
Shelley; but after an interval the wisdom of his own
methods reasserted itself, and he was again drawn into
using them with much hopefulness. At this stage of affairs
he was in excellent spirits, which even supported him
under large advances of money; for his powers of
convincing and persuading had not yet been, tested by
anything more difficult than a chairmans speech
introducing other orators, or a dialogue with a
Middlemarch voter, from which he came away with a
sense that he was a tactician by nature, and that it was a
pity he had not gone earlier into this kind of thing. He
was a little conscious of defeat, however, with Mr.
Mawmsey, a chief representative in Middlemarch of that
great social power, the retail trader, and naturally one of
the most doubtful voters in the boroughwilling for his
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own part to supply an equal quality of teas and sugars to
reformer and anti-reformer, as well as to agree impartially
with both, and feeling like the burgesses of old that this
necessity of electing members was a great burthen to a
town; for even if there were no danger in holding out
hopes to all parties beforehand, there would be the painful
necessity at last of disappointing respectable people whose
names were on his books. He was accustomed to receive
large orders from Mr. Brooke of Tipton; but then, there
were many of Pinkertons committee whose opinions had
a great weight of grocery on their side. Mr. Mawmsey
thinking that Mr. Brooke, as not too clever in his
intellects, was the more likely to forgive a grocer who
gave a hostile vote under pressure, had become
confidential in his back parlor.
As to Reform, sir, put it in a family light, he said,
rattling the small silver in his pocket, and smiling affably.
Will it support Mrs. Mawmsey, and enable her to bring
up six children when I am no more? I put the question
FICTIOUSLY, knowing what must be the answer. Very
well, sir. I ask you what, as a husband and a father, I am to
do when gentlemen come to me and say, Do as you like,
Mawmsey; but if you vote against us, I shall get my
groceries elsewhere: when I sugar my liquor I like to feel
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that I am benefiting the country by maintaining tradesmen
of the right color. Those very words have been spoken to
me, sir, in the very chair where you are now sitting. I
dont mean by your honorable self, Mr. Brooke.
No, no, nothats narrow, you know. Until my
butler complains to me of your goods, Mr. Mawmsey,
said Mr. Brooke, soothingly, until I hear that you send
bad sugars, spicesthat sort of thing I shall never order
him to go elsewhere.
Sir, I am your humble servant, and greatly obliged,
said Mr. Mawmsey, feeling that politics were clearing up a
little. There would be some pleasure in voting for a
gentleman who speaks in that honorable manner.
Well, you know, Mr. Mawmsey, you would find it
the right thing to put yourself on our side. This Reform
will touch everybody by-and-by a thoroughly popular
measurea sort of A, B, C, you know, that must come
first before the rest can follow. I quite agree with you that
youve got to look at the thing in a family light: but public
spirit, now. Were all one family, you know its all one
cupboard. Such a thing as a vote, now: why, it may help
to make mens fortunes at the Capetheres no knowing
what may be the effect of a vote, Mr. Brooke ended, with
a sense of being a little out at sea, though finding it still
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enjoyable. But Mr. Mawmsey answered in a tone of
decisive check.
I beg your pardon, sir, but I cant afford that. When I
give a vote I must know what I am doing; I must look to
what will be the effects on my till and ledger, speaking
respectfully. Prices, Ill admit, are what nobody can know
the merits of; and the sudden falls after youve bought in
currants, which are a goods that will not keep Ive
never; myself seen into the ins and outs there; which is a
rebuke to human pride. But as to one family, theres
debtor and creditor, I hope; theyre not going to reform
that away; else I should vote for things staying as they are.
Few men have less need to cry for change than I have,
personally speakingthat is, for self and family. I am not
one of those who have nothing to lose: I mean as to
respectability both in parish and private business, and
noways in respect of your honorable self and custom,
which you was good enough to say you would not
withdraw from me, vote or no vote, while the article sent
in was satisfactory.
After this conversation Mr. Mawmsey went up and
boasted to his wife that he had been rather too many for
Brooke of Tipton, and that he didnt mind so much now
about going to the poll.
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Mr. Brooke on this occasion abstained from boasting of
his tactics to Ladislaw, who for his part was glad enough to
persuade himself that he had no concern with any
canvassing except the purely argumentative sort, and that
he worked no meaner engine than knowledge. Mr.
Brooke, necessarily, had his agents, who understood the
nature of the Middlemarch voter and the means of
enlisting his ignorance on the side of the Billwhich
were remarkably similar to the means of enlisting it on the
side against the Bill. Will stopped his ears. Occasionally
Parliament, like the rest of our lives, even to our eating
and apparel, could hardly go on if our imaginations were
too active about processes. There were plenty of dirty-
handed men in the world to do dirty business; and Will
protested to himself that his share in bringing Mr. Brooke
through would be quite innocent.
But whether he should succeed in that mode of
contributing to the majority on the right side was very
doubtful to him. He had written out various speeches and
memoranda for speeches, but he had begun to perceive
that Mr. Brookes mind, if it had the burthen of
remembering any train of thought, would let it drop, run
away in search of it, and not easily come back again. To
collect documents is one mode of serving your country,
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and to remember the contents of a document is another.
No! the only way in which Mr. Brooke could be coerced
into thinking of the right arguments at the right time was
to be well plied with them till they took up all the room
in his brain. But here there was the difficulty of finding
room, so many things having been taken in beforehand.
Mr. Brooke himself observed that his ideas stood rather in
his way when he was speaking.
However, Ladislaws coaching was forthwith to be put
to the test, for before the day of nomination Mr. Brooke
was to explain himself to the worthy electors of
Middlemarch from the balcony of the White Hart, which
looked out advantageously at an angle of the market-place,
commanding a large area in front and two converging
streets. It was a fine May morning, and everything seemed
hopeful: there was some prospect of an understanding
between Bagsters committee and Brookes, to which Mr.
Bulstrode, Mr. Standish as a Liberal lawyer, and such
manufacturers as Mr. Plymdale and Mr. Vincy, gave a
solidity which almost counterbalanced Mr. Hawley and his
associates who sat for Pinkerton at the Green Dragon. Mr.
Brooke, conscious of having weakened the blasts of the
Trumpet against him, by his reforms as a landlord in the
last half year, and hearing himself cheered a little as he
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drove into the town, felt his heart tolerably light under his
buff-colored waistcoat. But with regard to critical
occasions, it often happens that all moments seem
comfortably remote until the last.
This looks well, eh? said Mr. Brooke as the crowd
gathered. I shall have a good audience, at any rate. I like
this, now this kind of public made up of ones own
neighbors, you know.
The weavers and tanners of Middlemarch, unlike Mr.
Mawmsey, had never thought of Mr. Brooke as a
neighbor, and were not more attached to him than if he
had been sent in a box from London. But they listened
without much disturbance to the speakers who introduced
the candidate, one of thema political personage from
Brassing, who came to tell Middlemarch its dutyspoke
so fully, that it was alarming to think what the candidate
could find to say after him. Meanwhile the crowd became
denser, and as the political personage neared the end of his
speech, Mr. Brooke felt a remarkable change in his
sensations while he still handled his eye-glass, trifled with
documents before him, and exchanged remarks with his
committee, as a man to whom the moment of summons
was indifferent.
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Ill take another glass of sherry, Ladislaw, he said, with
an easy air, to Will, who was close behind him, and
presently handed him the supposed fortifier. It was ill-
chosen; for Mr. Brooke was an abstemious man, and to
drink a second glass of sherry quickly at no great interval
from the first was a surprise to his system which tended to
scatter his energies instead of collecting them Pray pity
him: so many English gentlemen make themselves
miserable by speechifying on entirely private grounds!
whereas Mr. Brooke wished to serve his country by
standing for Parliamentwhich, indeed, may also be done
on private grounds, but being once undertaken does
absolutely demand some speechifying.
It was not about the beginning of his speech that Mr.
Brooke was at all anxious; this, he felt sure, would be all
right; he should have it quite pat, cut out as neatly as a set
of couplets from Pope. Embarking would be easy, but the
vision of open sea that might come after was alarming.
And questions, now, hinted the demon just waking up in
his stomach, somebody may put questions about the
schedules.Ladislaw, he continued, aloud, just hand me
the memorandum of the schedules.
When Mr. Brooke presented himself on the balcony,
the cheers were quite loud enough to counterbalance the
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yells, groans, brayings, and other expressions of adverse
theory, which were so moderate that Mr. Standish
(decidedly an old bird) observed in the ear next to him,
This looks dangerous, by God! Hawley has got some
deeper plan than this. Still, the cheers were exhilarating,
and no candidate could look more amiable than Mr.
Brooke, with the memorandum in his breast-pocket, his
left hand on the rail of the balcony, and his right trifling
with his eye-glass. The striking points in his appearance
were his buff waistcoat, short-clipped blond hair, and
neutral physiognomy. He began with some confidence.
GentlemenElectors of Middlemarch!
This was so much the right thing that a little pause after
it seemed natural.
Im uncommonly glad to be hereI was never so
proud and happy in my lifenever so happy, you know.
This was a bold figure of speech, but not exactly the
right thing; for, unhappily, the pat opening had slipped
awayeven couplets from Pope may be but fallings from
us, vanishings, when fear clutches us, and a glass of sherry
is hurrying like smoke among our ideas. Ladislaw, who
stood at the window behind the speaker, thought, its all
up now. The only chance is that, since the best thing
wont always do, floundering may answer for once. Mr.
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Brooke, meanwhile, having lost other clews, fell back on
himself and his qualificationsalways an appropriate
graceful subject for a candidate.
I am a close neighbor of yours, my good friends
youve known me on the bench a good whileIve
always gone a good deal into public questions
machinery, now, and machine-breakingyoure many of
you concerned with machinery, and Ive been going into
that lately. It wont do, you know, breaking machines:
everything must go on trade, manufactures, commerce,
interchange of staplesthat kind of thingsince Adam
Smith, that must go on. We must look all over the
globe:Observation with extensive view, must look
everywhere, from China to Peru, as somebody says
Johnson, I think, The Rambler, you know. That is what
I have done up to a certain pointnot as far as Peru; but
Ive not always stayed at homeI saw it wouldnt do. Ive
been in the Levant, where some of your Middlemarch
goods go and then, again, in the Baltic. The Baltic,
now.
Plying among his recollections in this way, Mr. Brooke
might have got along, easily to himself, and would have
come back from the remotest seas without trouble; but a
diabolical procedure had been set up by the enemy. At
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one and the same moment there had risen above the
shoulders of the crowd, nearly opposite Mr. Brooke, and
within ten yards of him, the effigy of himself: buff-colored
waistcoat, eye-glass, and neutral physiognomy, painted on
rag; and there had arisen, apparently in the air, like the
note of the cuckoo, a parrot-like, Punch-voiced echo of
his words. Everybody looked up at the open windows in
the houses at the opposite angles of the converging streets;
but they were either blank, or filled by laughing listeners.
The most innocent echo has an impish mockery in it
when it follows a gravely persistent speaker, and this echo
was not at all innocent; if it did not follow with the
precision of a natural echo, it had a wicked choice of the
words it overtook. By the time it said, The Baltic, now,
the laugh which had been running through the audience
became a general shout, and but for the sobering effects of
party and that great public cause which the entanglement
of things had identified with Brooke of Tipton, the laugh
might have caught his committee. Mr. Bulstrode asked,
reprehensively, what the new police was doing; but a
voice could not well be collared, and an attack on the
effigy of the candidate would have been too equivocal,
since Hawley probably meant it to be pelted.
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Mr. Brooke himself was not in a position to be quickly
conscious of anything except a general slipping away of
ideas within himself: he had even a little singing in the
ears, and he was the only person who had not yet taken
distinct account of the echo or discerned the image of
himself. Few things hold the perceptions more thoroughly
captive than anxiety about what we have got to say. Mr.
Brooke heard the laughter; but he had expected some
Tory efforts at disturbance, and he was at this moment
additionally excited by the tickling, stinging sense that his
lost exordium was coming back to fetch him from the
Baltic.
That reminds me, he went on, thrusting a hand into
his side-pocket, with an easy air, if I wanted a precedent,
you knowbut we never want a precedent for the right
thingbut there is Chatham, now; I cant say I should
have supported Chatham, or Pitt, the younger Pitt he
was not a man of ideas, and we want ideas, you know.
Blast your ideas! we want the Bill, said a loud rough
voice from the crowd below.
Immediately the invisible Punch, who had hitherto
followed Mr. Brooke, repeated, Blast your ideas! we want
the Bill. The laugh was louder than ever, and for the first
time Mr. Brooke being himself silent, heard distinctly the
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mocking echo. But it seemed to ridicule his interrupter,
and in that light was encouraging; so he replied with
amenity
There is something in what you say, my good friend,
and what do we meet for but to speak our minds
freedom of opinion, freedom of the press, libertythat
kind of thing? The Bill, nowyou shall have the Bill
here Mr. Brooke paused a moment to fix on his eye-glass
and take the paper from his breast-pocket, with a sense of
being practical and coming to particulars. The invisible
Punch followed:
You shall have the Bill, Mr. Brooke, per
electioneering contest, and a seat outside Parliament as
delivered, five thousand pounds, seven shillings, and
fourpence.
Mr. Brooke, amid the roars of laughter, turned red, let
his eye-glass fall, and looking about him confusedly, saw
the image of himself, which had come nearer. The next
moment he saw it dolorously bespattered with eggs. His
spirit rose a little, and his voice too.
Buffoonery, tricks, ridicule the test of truthall that is
very wellhere an unpleasant egg broke on Mr. Brookes
shoulder, as the echo said, All that is very well; then
came a hail of eggs, chiefly aimed at the image, but
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occasionally hitting the original, as if by chance. There was
a stream of new men pushing among the crowd; whistles,
yells, bellowings, and fifes made all the greater hubbub
because there was shouting and struggling to put them
down. No voice would have had wing enough to rise
above the uproar, and Mr. Brooke, disagreeably anointed,
stood his ground no longer. The frustration would have
been less exasperating if it had been less gamesome and
boyish: a serious assault of which the newspaper reporter
can aver that it endangered the learned gentlemans ribs,
or can respectfully bear witness to the soles of that
gentlemans boots having been visible above the railing,
has perhaps more consolations attached to it.
Mr. Brooke re-entered the committee-room, saying, as
carelessly as he could, This is a little too bad, you know. I
should have got the ear of the people by-and-bybut
they didnt give me time. I should have gone into the Bill
by-and-by, you know, he added, glancing at Ladislaw.
However, things will come all right at the nomination.
But it was not resolved unanimously that things would
come right; on the contrary, the committee looked rather
grim, and the political personage from Brassing was
writing busily, as if he were brewing new devices.
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It was Bowyer who did it, said Mr. Standish,
evasively. I know it as well as if he had been advertised.
Hes uncommonly good at ventriloquism, and he did it
uncommonly well, by God! Hawley has been having him
to dinner lately: theres a fund of talent in Bowyer.
Well, you know, you never mentioned him to me,
Standish, else I would have invited him to dine, said poor
Mr. Brooke, who had gone through a great deal of
inviting for the good of his country.
Theres not a more paltry fellow in Middlemarch than
Bowyer, said Ladislaw, indignantly, but it seems as if the
paltry fellows were always to turn the scale.
Will was thoroughly out of temper with himself as well
as with his principal, and he went to shut himself in his
rooms with a half-formed resolve to throw up the
Pioneer and Mr. Brooke together. Why should he stay?
If the impassable gulf between himself and Dorothea were
ever to be filled up, it must rather be by his going away
and getting into a thoroughly different position than by
staying here and slipping into deserved contempt as an
understrapper of Brookes. Then came the young dream
of wonders that he might do in five years, for example:
political writing, political speaking, would get a higher
value now public life was going to be wider and more
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national, and they might give him such distinction that he
would not seem to be asking Dorothea to step down to
him. Five years: if he could only be sure that she cared
for him more than for others; if he could only make her
aware that he stood aloof until he could tell his love
without lowering himselfthen he could go away easily,
and begin a career which at five-and-twenty seemed
probable enough in the inward order of things, where
talent brings fame, and fame everything else which is
delightful. He could speak and he could write; he could
master any subject if he chose, and he meant always to
take the side of reason and justice, on which he would
carry all his ardor. Why should he not one day be lifted
above the shoulders of the crowd, and feel that he had
won that eminence well? Without doubt he would leave
Middlemarch, go to town, and make himself fit for
celebrity by eating his dinners.
But not immediately: not until some kind of sign had
passed between him and Dorothea. He could not be
satisfied until she knew why, even if he were the man she
would choose to marry, he would not marry her. Hence
he must keep his post and bear with Mr. Brooke a little
longer.
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But he soon had reason to suspect that Mr. Brooke had
anticipated him in the wish to break up their connection.
Deputations without and voices within had concurred in
inducing that philanthropist to take a stronger measure
than usual for the good of mankind; namely, to withdraw
in favor of another candidate, to whom he left the
advantages of his canvassing machinery. He himself called
this a strong measure, but observed that his health was less
capable of sustaining excitement than he had imagined.
I have felt uneasy about the chestit wont do to
carry that too far, he said to Ladislaw in explaining the
affair. I must pull up. Poor Casaubon was a warning, you
know. Ive made some heavy advances, but Ive dug a
channel. Its rather coarse workthis electioneering, eh,
Ladislaw? dare say you are tired of it. However, we have
dug a channel with the Pioneerput things in a track,
and so on. A more ordinary man than you might carry it
on nowmore ordinary, you know.
Do you wish me to give it up? said Will, the quick
color coming in his face, as he rose from the writing-table,
and took a turn of three steps with his hands in his
pockets. I am ready to do so whenever you wish it.
As to wishing, my dear Ladislaw, I have the highest
opinion of your powers, you know. But about the
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Pioneer, I have been consulting a little with some of the
men on our side, and they are inclined to take it into their
handsindemnify me to a certain extentcarry it on, in
fact. And under the circumstances, you might like to give
up might find a better field. These people might not
take that high view of you which I have always taken, as
an alter ego, a right hand though I always looked
forward to your doing something else. I think of having a
run into France. But Ill write you any letters, you
knowto Althorpe and people of that kind. Ive met
Althorpe.
I am exceedingly obliged to you, said Ladislaw,
proudly. Since you are going to part with the Pioneer, I
need not trouble you about the steps I shall take. I may
choose to continue here for the present.
After Mr. Brooke had left him Will said to himself,
The rest of the family have been urging him to get rid of
me, and he doesnt care now about my going. I shall stay
as long as I like. I shall go of my own movements and not
because they are afraid of me.
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Chapter LII
His heart
The lowliest duties on itself did lay.
WORDSWORTH.
On that June evening when Mr. Farebrother knew that
he was to have the Lowick living, there was joy in the old
fashioned parlor, and even the portraits of the great
lawyers seemed to look on with satisfaction. His mother
left her tea and toast untouched, but sat with her usual
pretty primness, only showing her emotion by that flush in
the cheeks and brightness in the eyes which give an old
woman a touching momentary identity with her far-off
youthful self, and saying decisively
The greatest comfort, Camden, is that you have
deserved it.
When a man gets a good berth, mother, half the
deserving must come after, said the son, brimful of
pleasure, and not trying to conceal it. The gladness in his
face was of that active kind which seems to have energy
enough not only to flash outwardly, but to light up busy
vision within: one seemed to see thoughts, as well as
delight, in his glances.
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Now, aunt, he went on, rubbing his hands and
looking at Miss Noble, who was making tender little
beaver-like noises, There shall be sugar-candy always on
the table for you to steal and give to the children, and you
shall have a great many new stockings to make presents of,
and you shall darn your own more than ever!
Miss Noble nodded at her nephew with a subdued
half-frightened laugh, conscious of having already dropped
an additional lump of sugar into her basket on the strength
of the new preferment.
As for you, Winnythe Vicar went onI shall make
no difficulty about your marrying any Lowick bachelor
Mr. Solomon Featherstone, for example, as soon as I find
you are in love with him.
Miss Winifred, who had been looking at her brother all
the while and crying heartily, which was her way of
rejoicing, smiled through her tears and said, You must set
me the example, Cam: YOU must marry now.
With all my heart. But who is in love with me? I am a
seedy old fellow, said the Vicar, rising, pushing his chair
away and looking down at himself. What do you say,
mother?
You are a handsome man, Camden: though not so fine
a figure of a man as your father, said the old lady.
Middlemarch
910 of 1492
I wish you would marry Miss Garth, brother, said
Miss Winifred. She would make us so lively at Lowick.
Very fine! You talk as if young women were tied up to
be chosen, like poultry at market; as if I had only to ask
and everybody would have me, said the Vicar, not caring
to specify.
We dont want everybody, said Miss Winifred. But
YOU would like Miss Garth, mother, shouldnt you?
My sons choice shall be mine, said Mrs. Farebrother,
with majestic discretion, and a wife would be most
welcome, Camden. You will want your whist at home
when we go to Lowick, and Henrietta Noble never was a
whist-player. (Mrs. Farebrother always called her tiny old
sister by that magnificent name.)
I shall do without whist now, mother.
Why so, Camden? In my time whist was thought an
undeniable amusement for a good churchman, said Mrs.
Farebrother, innocent of the meaning that whist had for
her son, and speaking rather sharply, as at some dangerous
countenancing of new doctrine.
I shall be too busy for whist; I shall have two parishes,
said the Vicar, preferring not to discuss the virtues of that
game.
Middlemarch
911 of 1492
He had already said to Dorothea, I dont feel bound to
give up St. Botolphs. It is protest enough against the
pluralism they want to reform if I give somebody else
most of the money. The stronger thing is not to give up
power, but to use it well.
I have thought of that, said Dorothea. So far as self is
concerned, I think it would be easier to give up power
and money than to keep them. It seems very unfitting that
I should have this patronage, yet I felt that I ought not to
let it be used by some one else instead of me.
It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret
your power, said Mr. Farebrother.
His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the
more active when the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He
made no display of humility on the subject, but in his
heart he felt rather ashamed that his conduct had shown
laches which others who did not get benefices were free
from.
I used often to wish I had been something else than a
clergyman, he said to Lydgate, but perhaps it will be
better to try and make as good a clergyman out of myself
as I can. That is the well-beneficed point of view, you
perceive, from which difficulties are much simplified, he
ended, smiling.
Middlemarch
912 of 1492
The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would
be easy. But Duty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly
something like a heavy friend whom we have amiably
asked to visit us, and who breaks his leg within our gates.
Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study
under the disguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from
Omnibus College with his bachelors degree.
I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother, said
Fred, whose fair open face was propitiating, but you are
the only friend I can consult. I told you everything once
before, and you were so good that I cant help coming to
you again.
Sit down, Fred, Im ready to hear and do anything I
can, said the Vicar, who was busy packing some small
objects for removal, and went on with his work.
I wanted to tell you Fred hesitated an instant and
then went on plungingly, I might go into the Church
now; and really, look where I may, I cant see anything
else to do. I dont like it, but I know its uncommonly
hard on my father to say so, after he has spent a good deal
of money in educating me for it. Fred paused again an
instant, and then repeated, and I cant see anything else to
do.
Middlemarch
913 of 1492
I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little
way with him. He said it was too late. But you have got
over one bridge now: what are your other difficulties?
Merely that I dont like it. I dont like divinity, and
preaching, and feeling obliged to look serious. I like riding
across country, and doing as other men do. I dont mean
that I want to be a bad fellow in any way; but Ive no taste
for the sort of thing people expect of a clergyman. And yet
what else am I to do? My father cant spare me any capital,
else I might go into farming. And he has no room for me
in his trade. And of course I cant begin to study for law or
physic now, when my father wants me to earn something.
Its all very well to say Im wrong to go into the Church;
but those who say so might as well tell me to go into the
backwoods.
Freds voice had taken a tone of grumbling
remonstrance, and Mr. Farebrother might have been
inclined to smile if his mind had not been too busy in
imagining more than Fred told him.
Have you any difficulties about doctrinesabout the
Articles? he said, trying hard to think of the question
simply for Freds sake.
No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared
with any arguments to disprove them, and much better,
Middlemarch
914 of 1492
cleverer fellows than I am go in for them entirely. I think
it would be rather ridiculous in me to urge scruples of that
sort, as if I were a judge, said Fred, quite simply.
I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might
be a fair parish priest without being much of a divine?
Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try
and do my duty, though I maynt like it. Do you think
any body ought to blame me?
For going into the Church under the circumstances?
That depends on your conscience, Fredhow far you
have counted the cost, and seen what your position will
require of you. I can only tell you about myself, that I
have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in
consequence.
But there is another hindrance, said Fred, coloring. I
did not tell you before, though perhaps I may have said
things that made you guess it. There is somebody I am
very fond of: I have loved her ever since we were
children.
Miss Garth, I suppose? said the Vicar, examining some
labels very closely.
Yes. I shouldnt mind anything if she would have me.
And I know I could be a good fellow then.
And you think she returns the feeling?
Middlemarch
915 of 1492
She never will say so; and a good while ago she made
me promise not to speak to her about it again. And she has
set her mind especially against my being a clergyman; I
know that. But I cant give her up. I do think she cares
about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and she said that
Mary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss
Farebrother.
Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish
to go there?
No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed
to bother you in this way; but Mary might listen to what
you said, if you mentioned the subject to herI mean
about my going into the Church.
That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have
to presuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the
subject as you wish me to do, will be asking her to tell me
whether she returns it.
That is what I want her to tell you, said Fred, bluntly.
I dont know what to do, unless I can get at her feeling.
You mean that you would be guided by that as to your
going into the Church?
If Mary said she would never have me I might as well
go wrong in one way as another.
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Middlemarch
916 of 1492
That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but
they dont outlive the consequences of their recklessness.
Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving
Mary. If I had to give her up, it would be like beginning
to live on wooden legs.
Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?
No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more
than any one, and she would not put you off with fun as
she does me. Of course I could not have told any one else,
or asked any one else to speak to her, but you. There is no
one else who could be such a friend to both of us. Fred
paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly,
And she ought to acknowledge that I have worked in
order to pass. She ought to believe that I would exert
myself for her sake.
There was a moments silence before Mr. Farebrother
laid down his work, and putting out his hand to Fred
said
Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish.
That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick
parsonage on the nag which he had just set up. Decidedly
I am an old stalk, he thought, the young growths are
pushing me aside.
Middlemarch
917 of 1492
He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and
sprinkling the petals on a sheet. The sun was low, and tall
trees sent their shadows across the grassy walks where
Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol. She did not
observe Mr. Farebrothers approach along the grass, and
had just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan
terrier, which would persist in walking on the sheet and
smelling at the rose-leaves as Mary sprinkled them. She
took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up the
forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows
and looked embarrassed. Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you,
Mary was saying in a grave contralto. This is not
becoming in a sensible dog; anybody would think you
were a silly young gentleman.
You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth,
said the Vicar, within two yards of her.
Mary started up and blushed. It always answers to
reason with Fly, she said, laughingly.
But not with young gentlemen?
Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn
into excellent men.
I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very
moment to interest you in a young gentleman.
Middlemarch
918 of 1492
Not a silly one, I hope, said Mary, beginning to pluck
the roses again, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.
No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point,
but rather affection and sincerity. However, wisdom lies
more in those two qualities than people are apt to
imagine. I hope you know by those marks what young
gentleman I mean.
Yes, I think I do, said Mary, bravely, her face getting
more serious, and her hands cold; it must be Fred Vincy.
He has asked me to consult you about his going into
the Church. I hope you will not think that I consented to
take a liberty in promising to do so.
On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother, said Mary, giving
up the roses, and folding her arms, but unable to look up,
whenever you have anything to say to me I feel honored.
But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a
point on which your father took me into confidence; by
the way, it was that very evening on which I once before
fulfilled a mission from Fred, just after he had gone to
college. Mr. Garth told me what happened on the night of
Featherstones deathhow you refused to burn the will;
and he said that you had some heart-prickings on that
subject, because you had been the innocent means of
hindering Fred from getting his ten thousand pounds. I
Middlemarch
919 of 1492
have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that
may relieve you on that score may show you that no
sin-offering is demanded from you there..
Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary.
He meant to give Fred his full advantage, but it would be
well, he thought, to clear her mind of any superstitions,
such as women sometimes follow when they do a man the
wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Marys
cheeks had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
I mean, that your action made no real difference to
Freds lot. I find that the first will would not have been
legally good after the burning of the last; it would not
have stood if it had been disputed, and you may be sure it
would have been disputed. So, on that score, you may feel
your mind free.
Thank you, Mr. Farebrother, said Mary, earnestly. I
am grateful to you for remembering my feelings.
Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his
degree. He has worked his way so far, and now the
question is, what is he to do? That question is so difficult
that he is inclined to follow his fathers wishes and enter
the Church, though you know better than I do that he
was quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him
on the subject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection
Middlemarch
920 of 1492
to his being a clergyman, as things go. He says that he
could turn his mind to doing his best in that vocation, on
one condition. If that condition were fulfilled I would do
my utmost in helping Fred on. After a timenot, of
course, at first he might be with me as my curate, and
he would have so much to do that his stipend would be
nearly what I used to get as vicar. But I repeat that there is
a condition without which all this good cannot come to
pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss Garth, and
asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely in
your feeling.
Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a
moment, Let us walk a little; and when they were
walking he added, To speak quite plainly, Fred will not
take any course which would lessen the chance that you
would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he
will try his best at anything you approve.
I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr.
Farebrother: but I certainly never will be his wife if he
becomes a clergyman. What you say is most generous and
kind; I dont mean for a moment to correct your
judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way
of looking at things, said Mary, with a returning sparkle
Middlemarch
921 of 1492
of playfulness in her answer which only made its modesty
more charming.
He wishes me to report exactly what you think, said
Mr. Farebrother.
I could not love a man who is ridiculous, said Mary,
not choosing to go deeper. Fred has sense and knowledge
enough to make him respectable, if he likes, in some good
worldly business, but I can never imagine him preaching
and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, and praying by
the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a
caricature. His being a clergyman would be only for
gentilitys sake, and I think there is nothing more
contemptible than such imbecile gentility. I used to think
that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and neat
umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have
such men to represent Christianityas if it were an
institution for getting up idiots genteellyas if Mary
checked herself. She had been carried along as if she had
been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.
Young women are severe: they dont feel the stress of
action as men do, though perhaps I ought to make you an
exception there. But you dont put Fred Vincy on so low
a level as that?
Middlemarch
922 of 1492
No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he
would not show it as a clergyman. He would be a piece of
professional affectation.
Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he
could have no hope?
Mary shook her head.
But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread
in some other waywill you give him the support of
hope? May he count on winning you?
I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I
have already said to him, Mary answered, with a slight
resentment in her manner. I mean that he ought not to
put such questions until he has done something worthy,
instead of saying that he could do it.
Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and
then, as they turned and paused under the shadow of a
maple at the end of a grassy walk, said, I understand that
you resist any attempt to fetter you, but either your feeling
for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaining another
attachment, or it does not: either he may count on your
remaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or
he may in any case be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary
you know I used to catechise you under that namebut
when the state of a womans affections touches the
Middlemarch
923 of 1492
happiness of another lifeof more lives than oneI think
it would be the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct
and open.
Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr.
Farebrothers manner but at his tone, which had a grave
restrained emotion in it. When the strange idea flashed
across her that his words had reference to himself, she was
incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She had never
thought that any man could love her except Fred, who
had espoused her with the umbrella ring, when she wore
socks and little strapped shoes; still less that she could be of
any importance to Mr. Farebrother, the cleverest man in
her narrow circle. She had only time to feel that all this
was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing was clear and
determinedher answer.
Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell
you that I have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him
up for any one else. I should never be quite happy if I
thought he was unhappy for the loss of me. It has taken
such deep root in me my gratitude to him for always
loving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself,
from the time when we were very little. I cannot imagine
any new feeling coming to make that weaker. I should
like better than anything to see him worthy of every ones
Middlemarch
924 of 1492
respect. But please tell him I will not promise to marry
him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and
mother. He is free to choose some one else.
Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly, said
Mr. Farebrother, putting out his hand to Mary, and I shall
ride back to Middlemarch forthwith. With this prospect
before him, we shall get Fred into the right niche
somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God
bless you!
Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea, said
Mary. Her eyes filled with tears, for something
indefinable, something like the resolute suppression of a
pain in Mr. Farebrothers manner, made her feel suddenly
miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her fathers
hands trembling in a moment of trouble.
No, my dear, no. I must get back.
In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again,
having gone magnanimously through a duty much harder
than the renunciation of whist, or even than the writing of
penitential meditations.
Middlemarch
925 of 1492
Chapter LIII
It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity
from what outsiders call inconsistencyputting a dead
mechanism of ifs and therefores for the living myriad of
hidden suckers whereby the belief and the conduct are
wrought into mutual sustainment.
Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new
interest in Lowick, had naturally had an especial wish that
the new clergyman should be one whom he thoroughly
approved; and he believed it to be a chastisement and
admonition directed to his own shortcomings and those of
the nation at large, that just about the time when he came
in possession of the deeds which made him the proprietor
of Stone Court, Mr. Farebrother read himself into the
quaint little church and preached his first sermon to the
congregation of farmers, laborers, and village artisans. It
was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent Lowick
Church or to reside at Stone Court for a good while to
come: he had bought the excellent farm and fine
homestead simply as a retreat which he might gradually
enlarge as to the land and beautify as to the dwelling, until
it should be conducive to the divine glory that he should
Middlemarch
926 of 1492
enter on it as a residence, partially withdrawing from his
present exertions in the administration of business, and
throwing more conspicuously on the side of Gospel truth
the weight of local landed proprietorship, which
Providence might increase by unforeseen occasions of
purchase. A strong leading in this direction seemed to
have been given in the surprising facility of getting Stone
Court, when every one had expected that Mr. Rigg
Featherstone would have clung to it as the Garden of
Eden. That was what poor old Peter himself had expected;
having often, in imagination, looked up through the sods
above him, and, unobstructed by. perspective, seen his
frog-faced legatee enjoying the fine old place to the
perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors.
But how little we know what would make paradise for
our neighbors! We judge from our own desires, and our
neighbors themselves are not always open enough even to
throw out a hint of theirs. The cool and judicious Joshua
Rigg had not allowed his parent to perceive that Stone
Court was anything less than the chief good in his
estimation, and he had certainly wished to call it his own.
But as Warren Hastings looked at gold and thought of
buying Daylesford, so Joshua Rigg looked at Stone Court
and thought of buying gold. He had a very distinct and
Middlemarch
927 of 1492
intense vision of his chief good, the vigorous greed which
he had inherited having taken a special form by dint of
circumstance: and his chief good was to be a
moneychanger. From his earliest employment as an
errand-boy in a seaport, he had looked through the
windows of the moneychangers as other boys look
through the windows of the pastry-cooks; the fascination
had wrought itself gradually into a deep special passion; he
meant, when he had property, to do many things, one of
them being to marry a genteel young person; but these
were all accidents and joys that imagination could dispense
with. The one joy after which his soul thirsted was to have
a money-changers shop on a much-frequented quay, to
have locks all round him of which he held the keys, and to
look sublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins of all
nations, while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously
from the other side of an iron lattice. The strength of that
passion had been a power enabling him to master all the
knowledge necessary to gratify it. And when others were
thinking that he had settled at Stone Court for life, Joshua
himself was thinking that the moment now was not far off
when he should settle on the North Quay with the best
appointments in safes and locks.
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Middlemarch
928 of 1492
Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua
Riggs sale of his land from Mr. Bulstrodes point of view,
and he interpreted it as a cheering dispensation conveying
perhaps a sanction to a purpose which he had for some
time entertained without external encouragement; he
interpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up his
thanksgiving in guarded phraseology. His doubts did not
arise from the possible relations of the event to Joshua
Riggs destiny, which belonged to the unmapped regions
not taken under the providential government, except
perhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arose from
reflecting that this dispensation too might be a
chastisement for himself, as Mr. Farebrothers induction to
the living clearly was.
This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for
the sake of deceiving him: it was what he said to himself
it was as genuinely his mode of explaining events as any
theory of yours may be, if you happen to disagree with
him. For the egoism which enters into our theories does
not affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism is
satisfied, the more robust is our belief.
However, whether for sanction or for chastisement,
Mr. Bulstrode, hardly fifteen months after the death of
Peter Featherstone, had become the proprietor of Stone
Middlemarch
929 of 1492
Court, and what Peter would say if he were worthy to
know, had become an inexhaustible and consolatory
subject of conversation to his disappointed relatives. The
tables were now turned on that dear brother departed, and
to contemplate the frustration of his cunning by the
superior cunning of things in general was a cud of delight
to Solomon. Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the
proof that it did not answer to make false Featherstones
and cut off the genuine; and Sister Martha receiving the
news in the Chalky Flats said, Dear, dear! then the
Almighty could have been none so pleased with the
almshouses after all.
Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the
advantage which her husbands health was likely to get
from the purchase of Stone Court. Few days passed
without his riding thither and looking over some part of
the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings were delicious
in that quiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up
were sending forth odors to mingle with the breath of the
rich old garden. One evening, while the sun was still
above the horizon and burning in golden lamps among the
great walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode was pausing on
horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth,
who had met him by appointment to give an opinion on a
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930 of 1492
question of stable drainage, and was now advising the
bailiff in the rick-yard.
Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good
spiritual frame and more than usually serene, under the
influence of his innocent recreation. He was doctrinally
convinced that there was a total absence of merit in
himself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without
pain when the sense of demerit does not take a distinct
shape in memory and revive the tingling of shame or the
pang of remorse. Nay, it may be held with intense
satisfaction when the depth of our sinning is but a measure
for the depth of forgiveness, and a clenching proof that we
are peculiar instruments of the divine intention. The
memory has as many moods as the temper, and shifts its
scenery like a diorama. At this moment Mr. Bulstrode felt
as if the sunshine were all one with that of far-off evenings
when he was a very young man and used to go out
preaching beyond Highbury. And he would willingly have
had that service of exhortation in prospect now. The texts
were there still, and so was his own facility in expounding
them. His brief reverie was interrupted by the return of
Caleb Garth, who also was on horseback, and was just
shaking his bridle before starting, when he exclaimed
Middlemarch
931 of 1492
Bless my heart! whats this fellow in black coming
along the lane? Hes like one of those men one sees about
after the races.
Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the
lane, but made no reply. The comer was our slight
acquaintance Mr. Raffles, whose appearance presented no
other change than such as was due to a suit of black and a
crape hat-band. He was within three yards of the
horseman now, and they could see the flash of recognition
in his face as he whirled his stick upward, looking all the
while at Mr. Bulstrode, and at last exclaiming:
By Jove, Nick, its you! I couldnt be mistaken, though
the five-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us
both! How are you, eh? you didnt expect to see ME here.
Come, shake us by the hand. To say that Mr. Raffles
manner was rather excited would be only one mode of
saying that it was evening. Caleb Garth could see that
there was a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr.
Bulstrode, but it ended in his putting out his hand coldly
to Raffles and saying
I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote
country place.
Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine, said Raffles,
adjusting himself in a swaggering attitude. I came to see
Middlemarch
932 of 1492
him here before. Im not so surprised at seeing you, old
fellow, because I picked up a letter what you may call a
providential thing. Its uncommonly fortunate I met you,
though; for I dont care about seeing my stepson: hes not
affectionate, and his poor mothers gone now. To tell the
truth, I came out of love to you, Nick: I came to get your
address, forlook here! Raffles drew a crumpled paper
from his pocket.
Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have
been tempted to linger on the spot for the sake of hearing
all he could about a man whose acquaintance with
Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in the bankers life so
unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarch
that they must have the nature of a secret to pique
curiosity. But Caleb was peculiar: certain human
tendencies which are commonly strong were almost absent
from his mind; and one of these was curiosity about
personal affairs. Especially if there was anything
discreditable to be found out concerning another man,
Caleb preferred not to know it; and if he had to tell
anybody under him that his evil doings were discovered,
he was more embarrassed than the culprit. He now
spurred his horse, and saying, I wish you good evening,
Mr. Bulstrode; I must be getting home, set off at a trot.
Middlemarch
933 of 1492
You didnt put your full address to this letter, Raffles
continued. That was not like the first-rate man of business
you used to be. The Shrubs,they may be anywhere:
you live near at hand, eh? have cut the London concern
altogetherperhaps turned country squire have a rural
mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago!
The old lady must have been dead a pretty long while
gone to glory without the pain of knowing how poor her
daughter was, eh? But, by Jove! youre very pale and
pasty, Nick. Come, if youre going home, Ill walk by
your side.
Mr. Bulstrodes usual paleness had in fact taken an
almost deathly hue. Five minutes before, the expanse of
his life had been submerged in its evening sunshine which
shone backward to its remembered morning: sin seemed
to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence,
humiliation an exercise of the closet, the bearing of his
deeds a matter of private vision adjusted solely by spiritual
relations and conceptions of the divine purposes. And
now, as if by some hideous magic, this loud red figure had
risen before him in unmanageable solidity an
incorporate past which had not entered into his
imagination of chastisements. But Mr. Bulstrodes thought
was busy, and he was not a man to act or speak rashly.
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I was going home, he said, but I can defer my ride a
little. And you can, if you please, rest here.
Thank you, said Raffles, making a grimace. I dont
care now about seeing my stepson. Id rather go home
with you.
Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here
no longer. I am master here now.
Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of
surprise, before he said, Well then, Ive no objection. Ive
had enough walking from the coach-road. I never was
much of a walker, or rider either. What I like is a smart
vehicle and a spirited cob. I was always a little heavy in the
saddle. What a pleasant surprise it must be to you to see
me, old fellow! he continued, as they turned towards the
house. You dont say so; but you never took your luck
heartily you were always thinking of improving the
occasionyoud such a gift for improving your luck.
Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and
Swung his leg in a swaggering manner which was rather
too much for his companions judicious patience.
If I remember rightly, Mr. Bulstrode observed, with
chill anger, our acquaintance many years ago had not the
sort of intimacy which you are now assuming, Mr.
Raffles. Any services you desire of me will be the more
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readily rendered if you will avoid a tone of familiarity
which did not lie in our former intercourse, and can
hardly be warranted by more than twenty years of
separation.
You dont like being called Nick? Why, I always called
you Nick in my heart, and though lost to sight, to
memory dear. By Jove! my feelings have ripened for you
like fine old cognac. I hope youve got some in the house
now. Josh filled my flask well the last time.
Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the
desire for cognac was not stronger in Raffles than the
desire to torment, and that a hint of annoyance always
served him as a fresh cue. But it was at least clear that
further objection was useless, and Mr. Bulstrode, in giving
orders to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the
guest, had a resolute air of quietude.
There was the comfort of thinking that this
housekeeper had been in the service of Rigg also, and
might accept the idea that Mr. Bulstrode entertained
Raffles merely as a friend of her former master.
When there was food and drink spread before his
visitor in the wainscoted parlor, and no witness in the
room, Mr. Bulstrode said
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Your habits and mine are so different, Mr. Raffles, that
we can hardly enjoy each others society. The wisest plan
for both of us will therefore be to part as soon as possible.
Since you say that you wished to meet me, you probably
considered that you had some business to transact with
me. But under the circumstances I will invite you to
remain here for the night, and I will myself ride over here
early to-morrow morningbefore breakfast, in fact, when
I can receive any Communication you have to make to
me.
With all my heart, said Raffles; this is a comfortable
place a little dull for a continuance; but I can put up
with it for a night, with this good liquor and the prospect
of seeing you again in the morning. Youre a much better
host than my stepson was; but Josh owed me a bit of a
grudge for marrying his mother; and between you and me
there was never anything but kindness.
Mr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of
joviality and sneering in Raffles manner was a good deal
the effect of drink, had determined to wait till he was
quite sober before he spent more words upon him. But he
rode home with a terribly lucid vision of the difficulty
there would be in arranging any result that could be
permanently counted on with this man. It was inevitable
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that he should wish to get rid of John Raffles, though his
reappearance could not be regarded as lying outside the
divine plan. The spirit of evil might have sent him to
threaten Mr. Bulstrodes subversion as an instrument of
good; but the threat must have been permitted, and was a
chastisement of a new kind. It was an hour of anguish for
him very different from the hours in which his struggle
had been securely private, and which had ended with a
sense that his secret misdeeds were pardoned and his
services accepted. Those misdeeds even when
committedhad they not been half sanctified by the
singleness of his desire to devote himself and all he
possessed to the furtherance of the divine scheme? And
was he after all to become a mere stone of stumbling and a
rock of offence? For who would understand the work
within him? Who would not, when there was the pretext
of casting disgrace upon him, confound his whole life and
the truths he had espoused, in one heap of obloquy?
In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr.
Bulstrodes mind clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal
references to superhuman ends. But even while we are
talking and meditating about the earths orbit and the solar
system, what we feel and adjust our movements to is the
stable earth and the changing day. And now within all the
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automatic succession of theoretic phrases distinct and
inmost as the shiver and the ache of oncoming fever when
we are discussing abstract pain, was the forecast of disgrace
in the presence of his neighbors and of his own wife. For
the pain, as well as the public estimate of disgrace, depends
on the amount of previous profession. To men who only
aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoners
dock is disgrace. But Mr. Bulstrode had aimed at being an
eminent Christian.
It was not more than half-past seven in the morning
when he again reached Stone Court. The fine old place
never looked more like a delightful home than at that
moment; the great white lilies were in flower, the
nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew, were
running away over the low stone wall; the very noises all
around had a heart of peace within them. But everything
was spoiled for the owner as he walked on the gravel in
front and awaited the descent of Mr. Raffles, with whom
he was condemned to breakfast.
It was not long before they were seated together in the
wainscoted parlor over their tea and toast, which was as
much as Raffles cared to take at that early hour. The
difference between his morning and evening self was not
so great as his companion had imagined that it might be;
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the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the stronger
because his spirits were rather less highly pitched.
Certainly his manners seemed more disagreeable by the
morning light.
As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles, said the
banker, who could hardly do more than sip his tea and
break his toast without eating it, I shall be obliged if you
will mention at once the ground on which you wished to
meet with me. I presume that you have a home elsewhere
and will be glad to return to it.
Why, if a man has got any heart, doesnt he want to
see an old friend, Nick?I must call you Nickwe
always did call you young Nick when we knew you
meant to marry the old widow. Some said you had a
handsome family likeness to old Nick, but that was your
mothers fault, calling you Nicholas. Arent you glad to see
me again? I expected an invite to stay with you at some
pretty place. My own establishment is broken up now my
wifes dead. Ive no particular attachment to any spot; I
would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere.
May I ask why you returned from America? I
considered that the strong wish you expressed to go there,
when an adequate sum was furnished, was tantamount to
an engagement that you would remain there for life.
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Middlemarch
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Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same
thing as a wish to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years;
it didnt suit me to stay any longer. And Im not going
again, Nick. Here Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he
looked at Mr. Bulstrode.
Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is
your calling now?
Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I
can. I dont care about working any more. If I did
anything it would be a little travelling in the tobacco
lineor something of that sort, which takes a man into
agreeable company. But not without an independence to
fall back upon. Thats what I want: Im not so strong as I
was, Nick, though Ive got more color than you. I want
an independence.
That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to
keep at a distance, said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little
too much eagerness in his undertone.
That must be as it suits my convenience, said Raffles
coolly. I see no reason why I shouldnt make a few
acquaintances hereabout. Im not ashamed of myself as
company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau at the
turnpike when I got downchange of linengenuine
honor bright more than fronts and wristbands; and with
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this suit of mourning, straps and everything, I should do
you credit among the nobs here. Mr. Raffles had pushed
away hit chair and looked down at himself, particularly at
his straps His chief intention was to annoy Bulstrode, but
he really thought that his appearance now would produce
a good effect, and that he was not only handsome and
witty, but clad in a mourning style which implied solid
connections.
If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles,
said Bulstrode, after a moments pause, you will expect to
meet my wishes.
Ah, to be sure, said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality.
Didnt I always do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out
of me, and I got but little. Ive often thought since, I
might have done better by telling the old woman that Id
found her daughter and her grandchild: it would have
suited my feelings better; Ive got a soft place in my heart.
But youve buried the old lady by this time, I suppose
its all one to her now. And youve got your fortune out
of that profitable business which had such a blessing on it.
Youve taken to being a nob, buying land, being a country
bashaw. Still in the Dissenting line, eh? Still godly? Or
taken to the Church as more genteel?
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This time Mr. Raffles slow wink and slight protrusion
of his tongue was worse than a nightmare, because it held
the certitude that it was not a nightmare, but a waking
misery. Mr. Bulstrode felt a shuddering nausea, and did
not speak, but was considering diligently whether he
should not leave Raffles to do as he would, and simply
defy him as a slanderer. The man would soon show
himself disreputable enough to make people disbelieve
him. But not when he tells any ugly-looking truth about
YOU, said discerning consciousness. And again: it seemed
no wrong to keep Raffles at a distance, but Mr. Bulstrode
shrank from the direct falsehood of denying true
statements. It was one thing to look back on forgiven sins,
nay, to explain questionable conformity to lax customs,
and another to enter deliberately on the necessity of
falsehood.
But since Bulstrode did not speak, Raffles ran on, by
way of using time to the utmost.
Ive not had such fine luck as you, by Jove! Things
went confoundedly with me in New York; those Yankees
are cool hands, and a man of gentlemanly feelings has no
chance with them. I married when I came backa nice
woman in the tobacco tradevery fond of me but the
trade was restricted, as we say. She had been settled there a
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good many years by a friend; but there was a son too
much in the case. Josh and I never hit it off. However, I
made the most of the position, and Ive always taken my
glass in good company. Its been all on the square with
me; Im as open as the day. You wont take it ill of me
that I didnt look you up before. Ive got a complaint that
makes me a little dilatory. I thought you were trading and
praying away in London still, and didnt find you there.
But you see I was sent to you, Nickperhaps for a
blessing to both of us.
Mr. Raffles ended with a jocose snuffle: no man felt his
intellect more superior to religious cant. And if the
cunning which calculates on the meanest feelings in men
could be, called intellect, he had his share, for under the
blurting rallying tone with which he spoke to Bulstrode,
there was an evident selection of statements, as if they had
been so many moves at chess. Meanwhile Bulstrode had
determined on his move, and he said, with gathered
resolution
You will do well to reflect, Mr. Raffles, that it is
possible for a man to overreach himself in the effort to
secure undue advantage. Although I am not in any way
bound to you, I am willing to supply you with a regular
annuityin quarterly paymentsso long as you fulfil a
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promise to remain at a distance from this neighborhood. It
is in your power to choose. If you insist on remaining
here, even for a short time, you will get nothing from me.
I shall decline to know you.
Ha, ha! said Raffles, with an affected explosion, that
reminds me of a droll dog of a thief who declined to know
the constable.
Your allusions are lost on me sir, said Bulstrode, with
white heat; the law has no hold on me either through
your agency or any other.
You cant understand a joke, my good fellow. I only
meant that I should never decline to know you. But let us
be serious. Your quarterly payment wont quite suit me. I
like my freedom.
Here Raffles rose and stalked once or twice up and
down the room, swinging his leg, and assuming an air of
masterly meditation. At last he stopped opposite Bulstrode,
and said, Ill tell you what! Give us a couple of
hundredscome, thats modest and Ill go away
honor bright!pick up my portmanteau and go away. But
I shall not give up my Liberty for a dirty annuity. I shall
come and go where I like. Perhaps it may suit me to stay
away, and correspond with a friend; perhaps not. Have
you the money with you?
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No, I have one hundred, said Bulstrode, feeling the
immediate riddance too great a relief to be rejected on the
ground of future uncertainties. I will forward you the
other if you will mention an address.
No, Ill wait here till you bring it, said Raffles. Ill
take a stroll and have a snack, and youll be back by that
time.
Mr. Bulstrodes sickly body, shattered by the agitations
he had gone through since the last evening, made him feel
abjectly in the power of this loud invulnerable man. At
that moment he snatched at a temporary repose to be won
on any terms. He was rising to do what Raffles suggested,
when the latter said, lifting up his finger as if with a
sudden recollection
I did have another look after Sarah again, though I
didnt tell you; Id a tender conscience about that pretty
young woman. I didnt find her, but I found out her
husbands name, and I made a note of it. But hang it, I lost
my pocketbook. However, if I heard it, I should know it
again. Ive got my faculties as if I was in my prime, but
names wear out, by Jove! Sometimes Im no better than a
confounded tax-paper before the names are filled in.
However, if I hear of her and her family, you shall know,
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Nick. Youd like to do something for her, now shes your
step-daughter.
Doubtless, said Mr. Bulstrode, with the usual steady
look of his light-gray eyes; though that might reduce my
power of assisting you.
As he walked out of the room, Raffles winked slowly
at his back, and then turned towards the window to watch
the banker riding away virtually at his command. His
lips first curled with a smile and then opened with a short
triumphant laugh.
But what the deuce was the name? he presently said,
half aloud, scratching his head, and wrinkling his brows
horizontally. He had not really cared or thought about this
point of forgetfulness until it occurred to him in his
invention of annoyances for Bulstrode.
It began with L; it was almost all ls I fancy, he went
on, with a sense that he was getting hold of the slippery
name. But the hold was too slight, and he soon got tired
of this mental chase; for few men were more impatient of
private occupation or more in need of making themselves
continually heard than Mr. Raffles. He preferred using his
time in pleasant conversation with the bailiff and the
housekeeper, from whom he gathered as much as he
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wanted to know about Mr. Bulstrodes position in
Middlemarch.
After all, however, there was a dull space of time which
needed relieving with bread and cheese and ale, and when
he was seated alone with these resources in the wainscoted
parlor, he suddenly slapped his knee, and exclaimed,
Ladislaw! That action of memory which he had tried to
set going, and had abandoned in despair, had suddenly
completed itself without conscious efforta common
experience, agreeable as a completed sneeze, even if the
name remembered is of no value. Raffles immediately
took out his pocket-book, and wrote down the name, not
because he expected to use it, but merely for the sake of
not being at a loss if he ever did happen to want it. He
was not going to tell Bulstrode: there was no actual good
in telling, and to a mind like that of Mr. Raffles there is
always probable good in a secret.
He was satisfied with his present success, and by three
oclock that day he had taken up his portmanteau at the
turnpike and mounted the coach, relieving Mr.
Bulstrodes eyes of an ugly black spot on the landscape at
Stone Court, but not relieving him of the dread that the
black spot might reappear and become inseparable even
from the vision of his hearth.
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BOOK VI.
THE WIDOW AND THE
WIFE.
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Chapter LIV
Negli occhi porta la mia donna Amore;
Per che si fa gentil eio chella mira:
Ovella passa, ogni uom ver lei si gira,
E cui saluta fa tremar lo core.
Sicche, bassando il viso, tutto smore,
E dogni suo difetto allor sospira:
Fuggon dinanzi a lei Superbia ed Ira:
Aiutatemi, donne, a farle onore.
Ogni dolcezza, ogni pensiero umile
Nasee nel core a chi parlar la sente;
Ond e beato chi prima la vide.
Quel chella par quand un poco sorride,
Non si pub dicer, ne tener a mente,
Si e nuovo miracolo gentile.
DANTE: la Vita Nuova.
By that delightful morning when the hay-ricks at Stone
Court were scenting the air quite impartially, as if Mr.
Raffles had been a guest worthy of finest incense,
Dorothea had again taken up her abode at Lowick Manor.
After three months Freshitt had become rather oppressive:
to sit like a model for Saint Catherine looking rapturously
at Celias baby would not do for many hours in the day,
and to remain in that momentous babes presence with
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persistent disregard was a course that could not have been
tolerated in a childless sister. Dorothea would have been
capable of carrying baby joyfully for a mile if there had
been need, and of loving it the more tenderly for that
labor; but to an aunt who does not recognize her infant
nephew as Bouddha, and has nothing to do for him but to
admire, his behavior is apt to appear monotonous, and the
interest of watching him exhaustible. This possibility was
quite hidden from Celia, who felt that Dorotheas childless
widowhood fell in quite prettily with the birth of little
Arthur (baby was named after Mr. Brooke).
Dodo is just the creature not to mind about having
anything of her own children or anything! said Celia to
her husband. And if she had had a baby, it never could
have been such a dear as Arthur. Could it, James?
Not if it had been like Casaubon, said Sir James,
conscious of some indirectness in his answer, and of
holding a strictly private opinion as to the perfections of
his first-born.
No! just imagine! Really it was a mercy, said Celia;
and I think it is very nice for Dodo to be a widow. She
can be just as fond of our baby as if it were her own, and
she can have as many notions of her own as she likes.
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It is a pity she was not a queen, said the devout Sir
James.
But what should we have been then? We must have
been something else, said Celia, objecting to so laborious
a flight of imagination. I like her better as she is.
Hence, when she found that Dorothea was making
arrangements for her final departure to Lowick, Celia
raised her eyebrows with disappointment, and in her quiet
unemphatic way shot a needle-arrow of sarcasm.
What will you do at Lowick, Dodo? You say yourself
there is nothing to be done there: everybody is so clean
and well off, it makes you quite melancholy. And here
you have been so happy going all about Tipton with Mr.
Garth into the worst backyards. And now uncle is abroad,
you and Mr. Garth can have it all your own way; and I am
sure James does everything you tell him.
I shall often come here, and I shall see how baby grows
all the better, said Dorothea.
But you will never see him washed, said Celia; and
that is quite the best part of the day. She was almost
pouting: it did seem to her very hard in Dodo to go away
from the baby when she might stay.
Dear Kitty, I will come and stay all night on purpose,
said Dorothea; but I want to be alone now, and in my
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Middlemarch
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own home. I wish to know the Farebrothers better, and to
talk to Mr. Farebrother about what there is to be done in
Middlemarch.
Dorotheas native strength of will was no longer all
converted into resolute submission. She had a great
yearning to be at Lowick, and was simply determined to
go, not feeling bound to tell all her reasons. But every one
around her disapproved. Sir James was much pained, and
offered that they should all migrate to Cheltenham for a
few months with the sacred ark, otherwise called a cradle:
at that period a man could hardly know what to propose if
Cheltenham were rejected.
The Dowager Lady Chettam, just returned from a visit
to her daughter in town, wished, at least, that Mrs. Vigo
should be written to, and invited to accept the office of
companion to Mrs. Casaubon: it was not credible that
Dorothea as a young widow would think of living alone
in the house at Lowick. Mrs. Vigo had been reader and
secretary to royal personages, and in point of knowledge
and sentiments even Dorothea could have nothing to
object to her.
Mrs. Cadwallader said, privately, You will certainly go
mad in that house alone, my dear. You will see visions.
We have all got to exert ourselves a little to keep sane, and
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call things by the same names as other people call them by.
To be sure, for younger sons and women who have no
money, it is a sort of provision to go mad: they are taken
care of then. But you must not run into that. I dare say
you are a little bored here with our good dowager; but
think what a bore you might become yourself to your
fellow-creatures if you were always playing tragedy queen
and taking things sublimely. Sitting alone in that library at
Lowick you may fancy yourself ruling the weather; you
must get a few people round you who wouldnt believe
you if you told them. That is a good lowering medicine.
I never called everything by the same name that all the
people about me did, said Dorothea, stoutly.
But I suppose you have found out your mistake, my
dear, said Mrs. Cadwallader, and that is a proof of sanity.
Dorothea was aware of the sting, but it did not hurt
her. No, she said, I still think that the greater part of the
world is mistaken about many things. Surely one may be
sane and yet think so, since the greater part of the world
has often had to come round from its opinion.
Mrs. Cadwallader said no more on that point to
Dorothea, but to her husband she remarked, It will be
well for her to marry again as soon as it is proper, if one
could get her among the right people. Of course the
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Chettams would not wish it. But I see clearly a husband is
the best thing to keep her in order. If we were not so poor
I would invite Lord Triton. He will be marquis some day,
and there is no denying that she would make a good
marchioness: she looks handsomer than ever in her
mourning.
My dear Elinor, do let the poor woman alone. Such
contrivances are of no use, said the easy Rector.
No use? How are matches made, except by bringing
men and women together? And it is a shame that her
uncle should have run away and shut up the Grange just
now. There ought to be plenty of eligible matches invited
to Freshitt and the Grange. Lord Triton is precisely the
man: full of plans for making the people happy in a soft-
headed sort of way. That would just suit Mrs. Casaubon.
Let Mrs. Casaubon choose for herself, Elinor.
That is the nonsense you wise men talk! How can she
choose if she has no variety to choose from? A womans
choice usually means taking the only man she can get.
Mark my words, Humphrey. If her friends dont exert
themselves, there will be a worse business than the
Casaubon business yet.
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For heavens sake dont touch on that topic, Elinor! It
is a very sore point with Sir James He would be deeply
offended if you entered on it to him unnecessarily.
I have never entered on it, said Mrs Cadwallader,
opening her hands. Celia told me all about the will at the
beginning, without any asking of mine.
Yes, yes; but they want the thing hushed up, and I
understand that the young fellow is going out of the
neighborhood.
Mrs. Cadwallader said nothing, but gave her husband
three significant nods, with a very sarcastic expression in
her dark eyes.
Dorothea quietly persisted in spite of remonstrance and
persuasion. So by the end of June the shutters were all
opened at Lowick Manor, and the morning gazed calmly
into the library, shining on the rows of note-books as it
shines on the weary waste planted with huge stones, the
mute memorial of a forgotten faith; and the evening laden
with roses entered silently into the blue-green boudoir
where Dorothea chose oftenest to sit. At first she walked
into every room, questioning the eighteen months of her
married life, and carrying on her thoughts as if they were a
speech to be heard by her husband. Then, she lingered in
the library and could not be at rest till she had carefully
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ranged all the note-books as she imagined that he would
wish to see them, in orderly sequence. The pity which had
been the restraining compelling motive in her life with
him still clung about his image, even while she
remonstrated with him in indignant thought and told him
that he was unjust. One little act of hers may perhaps be
smiled at as superstitious. The Synoptical Tabulation for
the use of Mrs. Casaubon, she carefully enclosed and
sealed, writing within the envelope, I could not use it. Do
you not see now that I could not submit my soul to yours,
by working hopelessly at what I have no belief in
Dorothea? Then she deposited the paper in her own desk.
That silent colloquy was perhaps only the more earnest
because underneath and through it all there was always the
deep longing which had really determined her to come to
Lowick. The longing was to see Will Ladislaw. She did
not know any good that could come of their meeting: she
was helpless; her hands had been tied from making up to
him for any unfairness in his lot. But her soul thirsted to
see him. How could it be otherwise? If a princess in the
days of enchantment had seen a four-footed creature from
among those which live in herds come to her once and
again with a human gaze which rested upon her with
choice and beseeching, what would she think of in her
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journeying, what would she look for when the herds
passed her? Surely for the gaze which had found her, and
which she would know again. Life would be no better
than candle-light tinsel and daylight rubbish if our spirits
were not touched by what has been, to issues of longing
and constancy. It was true that Dorothea wanted to know
the Farebrothers better, and especially to talk to the new
rector, but also true that remembering what Lydgate had
told her about Will Ladislaw and little Miss Noble, she
counted on Wills coming to Lowick to see the
Farebrother family. The very first Sunday, BEFORE she
entered the church, she saw him as she had seen him the
last time she was there, alone in the clergymans pew; but
WHEN she entered his figure was gone.
In the week-days when she went to see the ladies at the
Rectory, she listened in vain for some word that they
might let fall about Will; but it seemed to her that Mrs.
Farebrother talked of every one else in the neighborhood
and out of it.
Probably some of Mr. Farebrothers Middlemarch
hearers may follow him to Lowick sometimes. Do you not
think so? said Dorothea, rather despising herself for
having a secret motive in asking the question.
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If they are wise they will, Mrs. Casaubon, said the old
lady. I see that you set a right value on my sons
preaching. His grandfather on my side was an excellent
clergyman, but his father was in the law: most
exemplary and honest nevertheless, which is a reason for
our never being rich. They say Fortune is a woman and
capricious. But sometimes she is a good woman and gives
to those who merit, which has been the case with you,
Mrs. Casaubon, who have given a living to my son.
Mrs. Farebrother recurred to her knitting with a
dignified satisfaction in her neat little effort at oratory, but
this was not what Dorothea wanted to hear. Poor thing!
she did not even know whether Will Ladislaw was still at
Middlemarch, and there was no one whom she dared to
ask, unless it were Lydgate. But just now she could not see
Lydgate without sending for him or going to seek him.
Perhaps Will Ladislaw, having heard of that strange ban
against him left by Mr. Casaubon, had felt it better that he
and she should not meet again, and perhaps she was wrong
to wish for a meeting that others might find many good
reasons against. Still I do wish it came at the end of those
wise reflections as naturally as a sob after holding the
breath. And the meeting did happen, but in a formal way
quite unexpected by her.
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One morning, about eleven, Dorothea was seated in
her boudoir with a map of the land attached to the manor
and other papers before her, which were to help her in
making an exact statement for herself of her income and
affairs. She had not yet applied herself to her work, but
was seated with her hands folded on her lap, looking out
along the avenue of limes to the distant fields. Every leaf
was at rest in the sunshine, the familiar scene was
changeless, and seemed to represent the prospect of her
life, full of motiveless easemotiveless, if her own energy
could not seek out reasons for ardent action. The widows
cap of those times made an oval frame for the face, and
had a crown standing up; the dress was an experiment in
the utmost laying on of crape; but this heavy solemnity of
clothing made her face look all the younger, with its
recovered bloom, and the sweet, inquiring candor of her
eyes.
Her reverie was broken by Tantripp, who came to say
that Mr. Ladislaw was below, and begged permission to
see Madam if it were not too early.
I will see him, said Dorothea, rising immediately. Let
him be shown into the drawing-room.
The drawing-room was the most neutral room in the
house to her the one least associated with the trials of
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her married life: the damask matched the wood-work,
which was all white and gold; there were two tall mirrors
and tables with nothing on them in brief, it was a room
where you had no reason for sitting in one place rather
than in another. It was below the boudoir, and had also a
bow-window looking out on the avenue. But when Pratt
showed Will Ladislaw into it the window was open; and a
winged visitor, buzzing in and out now and then without
minding the furniture, made the room look less formal
and uninhabited.
Glad to see you here again, sir, said Pratt, lingering to
adjust a blind.
I am only come to say good-by, Pratt, said Will, who
wished even the butler to know that he was too proud to
hang about Mrs. Casaubon now she was a rich widow.
Very sorry to hear it, sir, said Pratt, retiring. Of
course, as a servant who was to be told nothing, he knew
the fact of which Ladislaw was still ignorant, and had
drawn his inferences; indeed, had not differed from his
betrothed Tantripp when she said, Your master was as
jealous as a fiendand no reason. Madam would look
higher than Mr. Ladislaw, else I dont know her. Mrs.
Cadwalladers maid says theres a lord coming who is to
marry her when the mournings over.
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961 of 1492
There were not many moments for Will to walk about
with his hat in his hand before Dorothea entered. The
meeting was very different from that first meeting in
Rome when Will had been embarrassed and Dorothea
calm. This time he felt miserable but determined, while
she was in a state of agitation which could not be hidden.
Just outside the door she had felt that this longed-for
meeting was after all too difficult, and when she saw Will
advancing towards her, the deep blush which was rare in
her came with painful suddenness. Neither of them knew
how it was, but neither of them spoke. She gave her hand
for a moment, and then they went to sit down near the
window, she on one settee and he on another opposite.
Will was peculiarly uneasy: it seemed to him not like
Dorothea that the mere fact of her being a widow should
cause such a change in her manner of receiving him; and
he knew of no other condition which could have affected
their previous relation to each other except that, as his
imagination at once told him, her friends might have been
poisoning her mind with their suspicions of him.
I hope I have not presumed too much in calling, said
Will; I could not bear to leave the neighborhood and
begin a new life without seeing you to say good-by.
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962 of 1492
Presumed? Surely not. I should have thought it unkind
if you had not wished to see me, said Dorothea, her habit
of speaking with perfect genuineness asserting itself
through all her uncertainty and agitation. Are you going
away immediately?
Very soon, I think. I intend to go to town and eat my
dinners as a barrister, since, they say, that is the preparation
for all public business. There will be a great deal of
political work to be done by-and-by, and I mean to try
and do some of it. Other men have managed to win an
honorable position for themselves without family or
money.
And that will make it all the more honorable, said
Dorothea, ardently. Besides, you have so many talents. I
have heard from my uncle how well you speak in public,
so that every one is sorry when you leave off, and how
clearly you can explain things. And you care that justice
should be done to every one. I am so glad. When we were
in Rome, I thought you only cared for poetry and art, and
the things that adorn life for us who are well off. But now
I know you think about the rest of the world.
While she was speaking Dorothea had lost her personal
embarrassment, and had become like her former self. She
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looked at Will with a direct glance, full of delighted
confidence.
You approve of my going away for years, then, and
never coming here again till I have made myself of some
mark in the world? said Will, trying hard to reconcile the
utmost pride with the utmost effort to get an expression of
strong feeling from Dorothea.
She was not aware how long it was before she
answered. She had turned her head and was looking out of
the window on the rose-bushes, which seemed to have in
them the summers of all the years when Will would be
away. This was not judicious behavior. But Dorothea
never thought of studying her manners: she thought only
of bowing to a sad necessity which divided her from Will.
Those first words of his about his intentions had seemed to
make everything clear to her: he knew, she supposed, all
about Mr. Casaubons final conduct in relation to him,
and it had come to him with the same sort of shock as to
herself. He had never felt more than friendship for her
had never had anything in his mind to justify what she felt
to be her husbands outrage on the feelings of both: and
that friendship he still felt. Something which may be called
an inward silent sob had gone on in Dorothea before she
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Middlemarch
964 of 1492
said with a pure voice, just trembling in the last words as if
only from its liquid flexibility
Yes, it must be right for you to do as you say. I shall
be very happy when I hear that you have made your value
felt. But you must have patience. It will perhaps be a long
while.
Will never quite knew how it was that he saved himself
from falling down at her feet, when the long while came
forth with its gentle tremor. He used to say that the
horrible hue and surface of her crape dress was most likely
the sufficient controlling force. He sat still, however, and
only said
I shall never hear from you. And you will forget all
about me.
No, said Dorothea, I shall never forget you. I have
never forgotten any one whom I once knew. My life has
never been crowded, and seems not likely to be so. And I
have a great deal of space for memory at Lowick, havent
I? She smiled.
Good God! Will burst out passionately, rising, with
his hat still in his hand, and walking away to a marble
table, where he suddenly turned and leaned his back
against it. The blood had mounted to his face and neck,
and he looked almost angry. It had seemed to him as if
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they were like two creatures slowly turning to marble in
each others presence, while their hearts were conscious
and their eyes were yearning. But there was no help for it.
It should never be true of him that in this meeting to
which he had come with bitter resolution he had ended
by a confession which might be interpreted into asking for
her fortune. Moreover, it was actually true that he was
fearful of the effect which such confessions might have on
Dorothea herself.
She looked at him from that distance in some trouble,
imagining that there might hate been an offence in her
words. But all the while there was a current of thought in
her about his probable want of money, and the
impossibility of her helping him. If her uncle had been at
home, something might have been done through him! It
was this preoccupation with the hardship of Wills wanting
money, while she had what ought to have been his share,
which led her to say, seeing that he remained silent and
looked away from her
I wonder whether you would like to have that
miniature which hangs up-stairsI mean that beautiful
miniature OF your grandmother. I think it is not right for
me to keep it, if you would wish to have it. It is
wonderfully like you.
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966 of 1492
You are very good, said Will, irritably. No; I dont
mind about it. It is not very consoling to have ones own
likeness. It would be more consoling if others wanted to
have it.
I thought you would like to cherish her memoryI
thought Dorothea broke off an instant, her imagination
suddenly warning her away from Aunt Julias history
you would surely like to have the miniature as a family
memorial.
Why should I have that, when I have nothing else! A
man with only a portmanteau for his stowage must keep
his memorials in his head.
Will spoke at random: he was merely venting his
petulance; it was a little too exasperating to have his
grandmothers portrait offered him at that moment. But to
Dorotheas feeling his words had a peculiar sting. She rose
and said with a touch of indignation as well as hauteur
You are much the happier of us two, Mr. Ladislaw, to
have nothing.
Will was startled. Whatever the words might be, the
tone seemed like a dismissal; and quitting his leaning
posture, he walked a little way towards her. Their eyes
met, but with a strange questioning gravity. Something
was keeping their minds aloof, and each was left to
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conjecture what was in the other. Will had really never
thought of himself as having a claim of inheritance on the
property which was held by Dorothea, and would have
required a narrative to make him understand her present
feeling.
I never felt it a misfortune to have nothing till now,
he said. But poverty may be as bad as leprosy, if it divides
us from what we most care for.
The words cut Dorothea to the heart, and made her
relent. She answered in a tone of sad fellowship.
Sorrow comes in so many ways. Two years ago I had
no notion of that I mean of the unexpected way in
which trouble comes, and ties our hands, and makes us
silent when we long to speak. I used to despise women a
little for not shaping their lives more, and doing better
things. I was very fond of doing as I liked, but I have
almost given it up, she ended, smiling playfully.
I have not given up doing as I like, but I can very
seldom do it, said Will. He was standing two yards from
her with his mind full of contradictory desires and
resolvesdesiring some unmistakable proof that she loved
him, and yet dreading the position into which such a
proof might bring him. The thing one most longs for may
be surrounded with conditions that would be intolerable.
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At this moment Pratt entered and said, Sir James
Chettam is in the library, madam.
Ask Sir James to come in here, said Dorothea,
immediately. It was as if the same electric shock had passed
through her and Will. Each of them felt proudly resistant,
and neither looked at the other, while they awaited Sir
Jamess entrance.
After shaking hands with Dorothea, he bowed as
slightly as possible to Ladislaw, who repaid the slightness
exactly, and then going towards Dorothea, said
I must say good-by, Mrs. Casaubon; and probably for a
long while.
Dorothea put out her hand and said her good-by
cordially. The sense that Sir James was depreciating Will,
and behaving rudely to him, roused her resolution and
dignity-there was no touch of confusion in her manner.
And when Will had left the room, she looked with such
calm self-possession at Sir James, saying, How is Celia?
that he was obliged to behave as if nothing had annoyed
him. And what would be the use of behaving otherwise?
Indeed, Sir James shrank with so much dislike from the
association even in thought of Dorothea with Ladislaw as
her possible lover, that he would himself have wished to
avoid an outward show of displeasure which would have
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recognized the disagreeable possibility. If any one had
asked him why he shrank in that way, I am not sure that
he would at first have said anything fuller or more precise
than THAT Ladislaw! though on reflection he might
have urged that Mr. Casaubons codicil, barring
Dorotheas marriage with Will, except under a penalty,
was enough to cast unfitness over any relation at all
between them. His aversion was all the stronger because
he felt himself unable to interfere.
But Sir James was a power in a way unguessed by
himself. Entering at that moment, he was an incorporation
of the strongest reasons through which Wills pride
became a repellent force, keeping him asunder from
Dorothea
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Chapter LV
Hath she her faults? I would you had them too.
They are the fruity must of soundest wine;
Or say, they are regenerating fire
Such as hath turned the dense black element
Into a crystal pathway for the sun.
If youth is the season of hope, it is often so only in the
sense that our elders are hopeful about us; for no age is so
apt as youth to think its emotions, partings, and resolves
are the last of their kind. Each crisis seems final, simply
because it is new. We are told that the oldest inhabitants in
Peru do not cease to be agitated by the earthquakes, but
they probably see beyond each shock, and reflect that
there are plenty more to come.
To Dorothea, still in that time of youth when the eyes
with their long full lashes look out after their rain of tears
unsoiled and unwearied as a freshly opened passion-flower,
that mornings parting with Will Ladislaw seemed to be
the close of their personal relations. He was going away
into the distance of unknown years, and if ever he came
back he would be another man. The actual state of his
mind his proud resolve to give the lie beforehand to any
suspicion that he would play the needy adventurer seeking
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971 of 1492
a rich woman lay quite out of her imagination, and she
had interpreted all his behavior easily enough by her
supposition that Mr. Casaubons codicil seemed to him, as
it did to her, a gross and cruel interdict on any active
friendship between them. Their young delight in speaking
to each other, and saying what no one else would care to
hear, was forever ended, and become a treasure of the
past. For this very reason she dwelt on it without inward
check. That unique happiness too was dead, and in its
shadowed silent chamber she might vent the passionate
grief which she herself wondered at. For the first time she
took down the miniature from the wall and kept it before
her, liking to blend the woman who had been too hardly
judged with the grandson whom her own heart and
judgment defended. Can any one who has rejoiced in
womans tenderness think it a reproach to her that she
took the little oval picture in her palm and made a bed for
it there, and leaned her cheek upon it, as if that would
soothe the creatures who had suffered unjust
condemnation? She did not know then that it was Love
who had come to her briefly, as in a dream before
awaking, with the hues of morning on his wings that it
was Love to whom she was sobbing her farewell as his
image was banished by the blameless rigor of irresistible
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972 of 1492
day. She only felt that there was something irrevocably
amiss and lost in her lot, and her thoughts about the future
were the more readily shapen into resolve. Ardent souls,
ready to construct their coming lives, are apt to commit
themselves to the fulfilment of their own visions.
One day that she went to Freshitt to fulfil her promise
of staying all night and seeing baby washed, Mrs.
Cadwallader came to dine, the Rector being gone on a
fishing excursion. It was a warm evening, and even in the
delightful drawing-room, where the fine old turf sloped
from the open window towards a lilied pool and well-
planted mounds, the heat was enough to make Celia in
her white muslin and light curls reflect with pity on what
Dodo must feel in her black dress and close cap. But this
was not until some episodes with baby were over, and had
left her mind at leisure. She had seated herself and taken
up a fan for some time before she said, in her quiet
guttural
Dear Dodo, do throw off that cap. I am sure your
dress must make you feel ill.
I am so used to the capit has become a sort of shell,
said Dorothea, smiling. I feel rather bare and exposed
when it is off.
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973 of 1492
I must see you without it; it makes us all warm, said
Celia, throwing down her fan, and going to Dorothea. It
was a pretty picture to see this little lady in white muslin
unfastening the widows cap from her more majestic sister,
and tossing it on to a chair. Just as the coils and braids of
dark-brown hair had been set free, Sir James entered the
room. He looked at the released head, and said, Ah! in a
tone of satisfaction.
It was I who did it, James, said Celia. Dodo need not
make such a slavery of her mourning; she need not wear
that cap any more among her friends.
My dear Celia, said Lady Chettam, a widow must
wear her mourning at least a year.
Not if she marries again before the end of it, said Mrs.
Cadwallader, who had some pleasure in startling her good
friend the Dowager. Sir James was annoyed, and leaned
forward to play with Celias Maltese dog.
That is very rare, I hope, said Lady Chettam, in a tone
intended to guard against such events. No friend of ours
ever committed herself in that way except Mrs. Beevor,
and it was very painful to Lord Grinsell when she did so.
Her first husband was objectionable, which made it the
greater wonder. And severely she was punished for it.
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They said Captain Beevor dragged her about by the hair,
and held up loaded pistols at her.
Oh, if she took the wrong man! said Mrs.
Cadwallader, who was in a decidedly wicked mood.
Marriage is always bad then, first or second. Priority is a
poor recommendation in a husband if he has got no other.
I would rather have a good second husband than an
indifferent first.
My dear, your clever tongue runs away with you, said
Lady Chettam. I am sure you would be the last woman to
marry again prematurely, if our dear Rector were taken
away.
Oh, I make no vows; it might be a necessary
economy. It is lawful to marry again, I suppose; else we
might as well be Hindoos instead of Christians. Of course
if a woman accepts the wrong man, she must take the
consequences, and one who does it twice over deserves
her fate. But if she can marry blood, beauty, and
bravery the sooner the better.
I think the subject of our conversation is very ill-
chosen, said Sir James, with a look of disgust. Suppose
we change it.
Not on my account, Sir James, said Dorothea,
determined not to lose the opportunity of freeing herself
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from certain oblique references to excellent matches. If
you are speaking on my behalf, I can assure you that no
question can be more indifferent and impersonal to me
than second marriage. It is no more to me than if you
talked of women going fox-hunting: whether it is
admirable in them or not, I shall not follow them. Pray let
Mrs. Cadwallader amuse herself on that subject as much as
on any other.
My dear Mrs. Casaubon, said Lady Chettam, in her
stateliest way, you do not, I hope, think there was any
allusion to you in my mentioning Mrs. Beevor. It was
only an instance that occurred to me. She was step-
daughter to Lord Grinsell: he married Mrs. Teveroy for
his second wife. There could be no possible allusion to
you.
Oh no, said Celia. Nobody chose the subject; it all
came out of Dodos cap. Mrs. Cadwallader only said what
was quite true. A woman could not be married in a
widows cap, James.
Hush, my dear! said Mrs. Cadwallader. I will not
offend again. I will not even refer to Dido or Zenobia.
Only what are we to talk about? I, for my part, object to
the discussion of Human Nature, because that is the nature
of rectors wives.
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Middlemarch
976 of 1492
Later in the evening, after Mrs. Cadwallader was gone,
Celia said privately to Dorothea, Really, Dodo, taking
your cap off made you like yourself again in more ways
than one. You spoke up just as you used to do, when
anything was said to displease you. But I could hardly
make out whether it was James that you thought wrong,
or Mrs. Cadwallader.
Neither, said Dorothea. James spoke out of delicacy
to me, but he was mistaken in supposing that I minded
what Mrs. Cadwallader said. I should only mind if there
were a law obliging me to take any piece of blood and
beauty that she or anybody else recommended.
But you know, Dodo, if you ever did marry, it would
be all the better to have blood and beauty, said Celia,
reflecting that Mr. Casaubon had not been richly endowed
with those gifts, and that it would be well to caution
Dorothea in time.
Dont be anxious, Kitty; I have quite other thoughts
about my life. I shall never marry again, said Dorothea,
touching her sisters chin, and looking at her with
indulgent affection. Celia was nursing her baby, and
Dorothea had come to say good-night to her.
Reallyquite? said Celia. Not anybody at allif he
were very wonderful indeed?
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977 of 1492
Dorothea shook her head slowly. Not anybody at all. I
have delightful plans. I should like to take a great deal of
land, and drain it, and make a little colony, where
everybody should work, and all the work should be done
well. I should know every one of the people and be their
friend. I am going to have great consultations with Mr.
Garth: he can tell me almost everything I want to know.
Then you WILL be happy, if you have a plan, Dodo?
said Celia. Perhaps little Arthur will like plans when he
grows up, and then he can help you.
Sir James was informed that same night that Dorothea
was really quite set against marrying anybody at all, and
was going to take to all sorts of plans, just like what she
used to have. Sir James made no remark. To his secret
feeling there was something repulsive in a womans second
marriage, and no match would prevent him from feeling it
a sort of desecration for Dorothea. He was aware that the
world would regard such a sentiment as preposterous,
especially in relation to a woman of one-and-twenty; the
practice of the world being to treat of a young widows
second marriage as certain and probably near, and to smile
with meaning if the widow acts accordingly. But if
Dorothea did choose to espouse her solitude, he felt that
the resolution would well become her.
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Chapter LVI
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not anothers will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his only skill!
. . . . . . .
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall;
Lord of himself though not of lands;
And having nothing yet hath all.
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
Dorotheas confidence in Caleb Garths knowledge,
which had begun on her hearing that he approved of her
cottages, had grown fast during her stay at Freshitt, Sir
James having induced her to take rides over the two
estates in company with himself and Caleb, who quite
returned her admiration, and told his wife that Mrs.
Casaubon had a head for business most uncommon in a
woman. It must be remembered that by business Caleb
never meant money transactions, but the skilful application
of labor.
Most uncommon! repeated Caleb. She said a thing I
often used to think myself when I was a lad:Mr. Garth,
I should like to feel, if I lived to be old, that I had
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improved a great piece of land and built a great many
good cottages, because the work is of a healthy kind while
it is being done, and after it is done, men are the better for
it. Those were the very words: she sees into things in that
way.
But womanly, I hope, said Mrs. Garth, half suspecting
that Mrs. Casaubon might not hold the true principle of
subordination.
Oh, you cant think! said Caleb, shaking his head.
You would like to hear her speak, Susan. She speaks in
such plain words, and a voice like music. Bless me! it
reminds me of bits in the Messiahand straightway
there appeared a multitude of the heavenly host, praising
God and saying; it has a tone with it that satisfies your
ear.
Caleb was very fond of music, and when he could
afford it went to hear an oratorio that came within his
reach, returning from it with a profound reverence for this
mighty structure of tones, which made him sit
meditatively, looking on the floor and throwing much
unutterable language into his outstretched hands.
With this good understanding between them, it was
natural that Dorothea asked Mr. Garth to undertake any
business connected with the three farms and the numerous
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tenements attached to Lowick Manor; indeed, his
expectation of getting work for two was being fast
fulfilled. As he said, Business breeds. And one form of
business which was beginning to breed just then was the
construction of railways. A projected line was to run
through Lowick parish where the cattle had hitherto
grazed in a peace unbroken by astonishment; and thus it
happened that the infant struggles of the railway system
entered into the affairs of Caleb Garth, and determined the
course of this history with regard to two persons who
were dear to him. The submarine railway may have its
difficulties; but the bed of the sea is not divided among
various landed proprietors with claims for damages not
only measurable but sentimental. In the hundred to which
Middlemarch belonged railways were as exciting a topic as
the Reform Bill or the imminent horrors of Cholera, and
those who held the most decided views on the subject
were women and landholders. Women both old and
young regarded travelling by steam as presumptuous and
dangerous, and argued against it by saying that nothing
should induce them to get into a railway carriage; while
proprietors, differing from each other in their arguments as
much as Mr. Solomon Featherstone differed from Lord
Medlicote, were yet unanimous in the opinion that in
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selling land, whether to the Enemy of mankind or to a
company obliged to purchase, these pernicious agencies
must be made to pay a very high price to landowners for
permission to injure mankind.
But the slower wits, such as Mr. Solomon and Mrs.
Waule, who both occupied land of their own, took a long
time to arrive at this conclusion, their minds halting at the
vivid conception of what it would be to cut the Big
Pasture in two, and turn it into three-cornered bits, which
would be nohow; while accommodation-bridges and
high payments were remote and incredible.
The cows will all cast their calves, brother, said Mrs.
Waule, in a tone of deep melancholy, if the railway
comes across the Near Close; and I shouldnt wonder at
the mare too, if she was in foal. Its a poor tale if a
widows property is to be spaded away, and the law say
nothing to it. Whats to hinder em from cutting right and
left if they begin? Its well known, I cant fight.
The best way would be to say nothing, and set
somebody on to send em away with a flea in their ear,
when they came spying and measuring, said Solomon.
Folks did that about Brassing, by what I can understand.
Its all a pretence, if the truth was known, about their
being forced to take one way. Let em go cutting in
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another parish. And I dont believe in any pay to make
amends for bringing a lot of ruffians to trample your crops.
Wheres a companys pocket?
Brother Peter, God forgive him, got money out of a
company, said Mrs. Waule. But that was for the
manganese. That wasnt for railways to blow you to pieces
right and left.
Well, theres this to be said, Jane, Mr. Solomon
concluded, lowering his voice in a cautious mannerthe
more spokes we put in their wheel, the more theyll pay
us to let em go on, if they must come whether or not.
This reasoning of Mr. Solomons was perhaps less
thorough than he imagined, his cunning bearing about the
same relation to the course of railways as the cunning of a
diplomatist bears to the general chill or catarrh of the solar
system. But he set about acting on his views in a
thoroughly diplomatic manner, by stimulating suspicion.
His side of Lowick was the most remote from the village,
and the houses of the laboring people were either lone
cottages or were collected in a hamlet called Frick, where
a water-mill and some stone-pits made a little centre of
slow, heavy-shouldered industry.
In the absence of any precise idea as to what railways
were, public opinion in Frick was against them; for the
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human mind in that grassy corner had not the proverbial
tendency to admire the unknown, holding rather that it
was likely to be against the poor man, and that suspicion
was the only wise attitude with regard to it. Even the
rumor of Reform had not yet excited any millennial
expectations in Frick, there being no definite promise in
it, as of gratuitous grains to fatten Hiram Fords pig, or of a
publican at the Weights and Scales who would brew beer
for nothing, or of an offer on the part of the three
neighboring farmers to raise wages during winter. And
without distinct good of this kind in its promises, Reform
seemed on a footing with the bragging of pedlers, which
was a hint for distrust to every knowing person. The men
of Frick were not ill-fed, and were less given to fanaticism
than to a strong muscular suspicion; less inclined to believe
that they were peculiarly cared for by heaven, than to
regard heaven itself as rather disposed to take them in a
disposition observable in the weather.
Thus the mind of Frick was exactly of the sort for Mr.
Solomon Featherstone to work upon, he having more
plenteous ideas of the same order, with a suspicion of
heaven and earth which was better fed and more entirely
at leisure. Solomon was overseer of the roads at that time,
and on his slow-paced cob often took his rounds by Frick
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to look at the workmen getting the stones there, pausing
with a mysterious deliberation, which might have misled
you into supposing that he had some other reason for
staying than the mere want of impulse to move. After
looking for a long while at any work that was going on,
he would raise his eyes a little and look at the horizon;
finally he would shake his bridle, touch his horse with the
whip, and get it to move slowly onward. The hour-hand
of a clock was quick by comparison with Mr. Solomon,
who had an agreeable sense that he could afford to be
slow. He was in the habit of pausing for a cautious,
vaguely designing chat with every hedger or ditcher on his
way, and was especially willing to listen even to news
which he had heard before, feeling himself at an advantage
over all narrators in partially disbelieving them. One day,
however, he got into a dialogue with Hiram Ford, a
wagoner, in which he himself contributed information.
He wished to know whether Hiram had seen fellows with
staves and instruments spying about: they called themselves
railroad people, but there was no telling what they were
or what they meant to do. The least they pretended was
that they were going to cut Lowick Parish into sixes and
sevens.
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Why, therell be no stirrin from one pla-ace to
another, said Hiram, thinking of his wagon and horses.
Not a bit, said Mr. Solomon. And cutting up fine
land such as this parish! Let em go into Tipton, say I. But
theres no knowing what there is at the bottom of it.
Traffic is what they put forard; but its to do harm to the
land and the poor man in the long-run.
Why, theyre Lunnon chaps, I reckon, said Hiram,
who had a dim notion of London as a centre of hostility to
the country.
Ay, to be sure. And in some parts against Brassing, by
what Ive heard say, the folks fell on em when they were
spying, and broke their peep-holes as they carry, and
drove em away, so as they knew better than come again.
It war good foon, Id be bound, said Hiram, whose
fun was much restricted by circumstances.
Well, I wouldnt meddle with em myself, said
Solomon. But some say this countrys seen its best days,
and the sign is, as its being overrun with these fellows
trampling right and left, and wanting to cut it up into
railways; and all for the big traffic to swallow up the little,
so as there shant be a team left on the land, nor a whip to
crack.
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Ill crack MY whip about their earn, afore they bring
it to that, though, said Hiram, while Mr. Solomon,
shaking his bridle, moved onward.
Nettle-seed needs no digging. The ruin of this
countryside by railroads was discussed, not only at the
Weights and Scales, but in the hay-field, where the
muster of working hands gave opportunities for talk such
as were rarely had through the rural year.
One morning, not long after that interview between
Mr. Farebrother and Mary Garth, in which she confessed
to him her feeling for Fred Vincy, it happened that her
father had some business which took him to Yoddrells
farm in the direction of Frick: it was to measure and value
an outlying piece of land belonging to Lowick Manor,
which Caleb expected to dispose of advantageously for
Dorothea (it must be confessed that his bias was towards
getting the best possible terms from railroad companies).
He put up his gig at Yoddrells, and in walking with his
assistant and measuring-chain to the scene of his work, he
encountered the party of the companys agents, who were
adjusting their spirit-level. After a little chat he left them,
observing that by-and-by they would reach him again
where he was going to measure. It was one of those gray
mornings after light rains, which become delicious about
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twelve oclock, when the clouds part a little, and the scent
of the earth is sweet along the lanes and by the hedgerows.
The scent would have been sweeter to Fred Vincy,
who was coming along the lanes on horseback, if his mind
had not been worried by unsuccessful efforts to imagine
what he was to do, with his father on one side expecting
him straightway to enter the Church, with Mary on the
other threatening to forsake him if he did enter it, and
with the working-day world showing no eager need
whatever of a young gentleman without capital and
generally unskilled. It was the harder to Freds disposition
because his father, satisfied that he was no longer
rebellious, was in good humor with him, and had sent him
on this pleasant ride to see after some greyhounds. Even
when he had fixed on what he should do, there would be
the task of telling his father. But it must be admitted that
the fixing, which had to come first, was the more difficult
task:what secular avocation on earth was there for a
young man (whose friends could not get him an
appointment) which was at once gentlemanly, lucrative,
and to be followed without special knowledge? Riding
along the lanes by Frick in this mood, and slackening his
pace while he reflected whether he should venture to go
round by Lowick Parsonage to call on Mary, he could see
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Middlemarch
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over the hedges from one field to another. Suddenly a
noise roused his attention, and on the far side of a field on
his left hand he could see six or seven men in smock-
frocks with hay-forks in their hands making an offensive
approach towards the four railway agents who were facing
them, while Caleb Garth and his assistant were hastening
across the field to join the threatened group. Fred, delayed
a few moments by having to find the gate, could not
gallop up to the spot before the party in smock-frocks,
whose work of turning the hay had not been too pressing
after swallowing their mid-day beer, were driving the men
in coats before them with their hay-forks; while Caleb
Garths assistant, a lad of seventeen, who had snatched up
the spirit-level at Calebs order, had been knocked down
and seemed to be lying helpless. The coated men had the
advantage as runners, and Fred covered their retreat by
getting in front of the smock-frocks and charging them
suddenly enough to throw their chase into confusion.
What do you confounded fools mean? shouted Fred,
pursuing the divided group in a zigzag, and cutting right
and left with his whip. Ill swear to every one of you
before the magistrate. Youve knocked the lad down and
killed him, for what I know. Youll every one of you be
hanged at the next assizes, if you dont mind, said Fred,
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who afterwards laughed heartily as he remembered his
own phrases.
The laborers had been driven through the gate-way
into their hay-field, and Fred had checked his horse, when
Hiram Ford, observing himself at a safe challenging
distance, turned back and shouted a defiance which he did
not know to be Homeric.
Yore a coward, yo are. Yo git off your horse, young
measter, and Ill have a round wi ye, I wull. Yo darednt
come on wiout your hoss an whip. Id soon knock the
breath out on ye, I would.
Wait a minute, and Ill come back presently, and have
a round with you all in turn, if you like, said Fred, who
felt confidence in his power of boxing with his dearly
beloved brethren. But just now he wanted to hasten back
to Caleb and the prostrate youth.
The lads ankle was strained, and he was in much pain
from it, but he was no further hurt, and Fred placed him
on the horse that he might ride to Yoddrells and be taken
care of there.
Let them put the horse in the stable, and tell the
surveyors they can come back for their traps, said Fred.
The ground is clear now.
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No, no, said Caleb, heres a breakage. Theyll have to
give up for to-day, and it will be as well. Here, take the
things before you on the horse, Tom. Theyll see you
coming, and theyll turn back.
Im glad I happened to be here at the right moment,
Mr. Garth, said Fred, as Tom rode away. No knowing
what might have happened if the cavalry had not come up
in time.
Ay, ay, it was lucky, said Caleb, speaking rather
absently, and looking towards the spot where he had been
at work at the moment of interruption. Butdeuce take
itthis is what comes of men being foolsIm hindered
of my days work. I cant get along without somebody to
help me with the measuring-chain. However! He was
beginning to move towards the spot with a look of
vexation, as if he had forgotten Freds presence, but
suddenly he turned round and said quickly, What have
you got to do to-day, young fellow?
Nothing, Mr. Garth. Ill help you with pleasurecan
I? said Fred, with a sense that he should be courting Mary
when he was helping her father.
Well, you mustnt mind stooping and getting hot.
I dont mind anything. Only I want to go first and
have a round with that hulky fellow who turned to
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challenge me. It would be a good lesson for him. I shall
not be five minutes.
Nonsense! said Caleb, with his most peremptory
intonation. I shall go and speak to the men myself. Its all
ignorance. Somebody has been telling them lies. The poor
fools dont know any better.
I shall go with you, then, said Fred.
No, no; stay where you are. I dont want your young
blood. I can take care of myself.
Caleb was a powerful man and knew little of any fear
except the fear of hurting others and the fear of having to
speechify. But he felt it his duty at this moment to try and
give a little harangue. There was a striking mixture in
himwhich came from his having always been a hard-
working man himselfof rigorous notions about
workmen and practical indulgence towards them. To do a
good days work and to do it well, he held to be part of
their welfare, as it was the chief part of his own happiness;
but he had a strong sense of fellowship with them. When
he advanced towards the laborers they had not gone to
work again, but were standing in that form of rural
grouping which consists in each turning a shoulder
towards the other, at a distance of two or three yards.
They looked rather sulkily at Caleb, who walked quickly
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with one hand in his pocket and the other thrust between
the buttons of his waistcoat, and had his every-day mild air
when he paused among them.
Why, my lads, hows this? he began, taking as usual to
brief phrases, which seemed pregnant to himself, because
he had many thoughts lying under them, like the
abundant roots of a plant that just manages to peep above
the water. How came you to make such a mistake as this?
Somebody has been telling you lies. You thought those
men up there wanted to do mischief.
Aw! was the answer, dropped at intervals by each
according to his degree of unreadiness.
Nonsense! No such thing! Theyre looking out to see
which way the railroad is to take. Now, my lads, you cant
hinder the railroad: it will be made whether you like it or
not. And if you go fighting against it, youll get yourselves
into trouble. The law gives those men leave to come here
on the land. The owner has nothing to say against it, and
if you meddle with them youll have to do with the
constable and Justice Blakesley, and with the handcuffs and
Middlemarch jail. And you might be in for it now, if
anybody informed against you.
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Caleb paused here, and perhaps the greatest orator
could not have chosen either his pause or his images better
for the occasion.
But come, you didnt mean any harm. Somebody told
you the railroad was a bad thing. That was a lie. It may do
a bit of harm here and there, to this and to that; and so
does the sun in heaven. But the railways a good thing.
Aw! good for the big folks to make money out on,
said old Timothy Cooper, who had stayed behind turning
his hay while the others had been gone on their spree;
In seen lots o things turn up sin I war a young unthe
war an the peace, and the canells, an the oald King
George, an the Regen, an the new King George, an the
new un as has got a new ne-amean its been all aloike
to the poor mon. Whats the canells been t him? Theyn
brought him neyther me-at nor be-acon, nor wage to lay
by, if he didnt save it wi clemmin his own inside. Times
ha got wusser for him sin I war a young un. An so itll
be wi the railroads. Theyll ony leave the poor mon
furder behind. But them are fools as meddle, and so I told
the chaps here. This is the big folkss world, this is. But
yore for the big folks, Muster Garth, yo are.
Timothy was a wiry old laborer, of a type lingering in
those times who had his savings in a stocking-foot, lived
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in a lone cottage, and was not to be wrought on by any
oratory, having as little of the feudal spirit, and believing as
little, as if he had not been totally unacquainted with the
Age of Reason and the Rights of Man. Caleb was in a
difficulty known to any person attempting in dark times
and unassisted by miracle to reason with rustics who are in
possession of an undeniable truth which they know
through a hard process of feeling, and can let it fall like a
giants club on your neatly carved argument for a social
benefit which they do not feel. Caleb had no cant at
command, even if he could have chosen to use it; and he
had been accustomed to meet all such difficulties in no
other way than by doing his business faithfully. He
answered
If you dont think well of me, Tim, never mind; thats
neither here nor there now. Things may be bad for the
poor manbad they are; but I want the lads here not to
do what will make things worse for themselves. The cattle
may have a heavy load, but it wont help em to throw it
over into the roadside pit, when its partly their own
fodder.
We war ony for a bit o foon, said Hiram, who was
beginning to see consequences. That war all we war
arter.
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Well, promise me not to meddle again, and Ill see that
nobody informs against you.
In neer meddled, an In no call to promise, said
Timothy.
No, but the rest. Come, Im as hard at work as any of
you to-day, and I cant spare much time. Say youll be
quiet without the constable.
Aw, we wooant meddlethey may do as they loike
for oos were the forms in which Caleb got his pledges;
and then he hastened back to Fred, who had followed
him, and watched him in the gateway.
They went to work, and Fred helped vigorously. His
spirits had risen, and he heartily enjoyed a good slip in the
moist earth under the hedgerow, which soiled his perfect
summer trousers. Was it his successful onset which had
elated him, or the satisfaction of helping Marys father?
Something more. The accidents of the morning had
helped his frustrated imagination to shape an employment
for himself which had several attractions. I am not sure
that certain fibres in Mr. Garths mind had not resumed
their old vibration towards the very end which now
revealed itself to Fred. For the effective accident is but the
touch of fire where there is oil and tow; and it al ways
appeared to Fred that the railway brought the needed
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touch. But they went on in silence except when their
business demanded speech. At last, when they had finished
and were walking away, Mr. Garth said
A young fellow neednt be a B. A. to do this sort of
work, eh, Fred?
I wish I had taken to it before I had thought of being a
B. A., said Fred. He paused a moment, and then added,
more hesitatingly, Do you think I am too old to learn
your business, Mr. Garth?
My business is of many sorts, my boy, said Mr. Garth,
smiling. A good deal of what I know can only come from
experience: you cant learn it off as you learn things out of
a book. But you are young enough to lay a foundation
yet. Caleb pronounced the last sentence emphatically, but
paused in some uncertainty. He had been under the
impression lately that Fred had made up his mind to enter
the Church.
You do think I could do some good at it, if I were to
try? said Fred, more eagerly.
That depends, said Caleb, turning his head on one
side and lowering his voice, with the air of a man who felt
himself to be saying something deeply religious. You
must be sure of two things: you must love your work, and
not be always looking over the edge of it, wanting your
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play to begin. And the other is, you must not be ashamed
of your work, and think it would be more honorable to
you to be doing something else. You must have a pride in
your own work and in learning to do it well, and not be
always saying, Theres this and theres thatif I had this or
that to do, I might make something of it. No matter what
a man isI wouldnt give twopence for him here
Calebs mouth looked bitter, and he snapped his fingers
whether he was the prime minister or the rick-thatcher, if
he didnt do well what he undertook to do.
I can never feel that I should do that in being a
clergyman, said Fred, meaning to take a step in argument.
Then let it alone, my boy, said Caleb, abruptly, else
youll never be easy. Or, if you ARE easy, youll be a
poor stick.
That is very nearly what Mary thinks about it, said
Fred, coloring. I think you must know what I feel for
Mary, Mr. Garth: I hope it does not displease you that I
have always loved her better than any one else, and that I
shall never love any one as I love her.
The expression of Calebs face was visibly softening
while Fred spoke. But he swung his head with a solemn
slowness, and said
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That makes things more serious, Fred, if you want to
take Marys happiness into your keeping.
I know that, Mr. Garth, said Fred, eagerly, and I
would do anything for HER. She says she will never have
me if I go into the Church; and I shall be the most
miserable devil in the world if I lose all hope of Mary.
Really, if I could get some other profession, business
anything that I am at all fit for, I would work hard, I
would deserve your good opinion. I should like to have to
do with outdoor things. I know a good deal about land
and cattle already. I used to believe, you knowthough
you will think me rather foolish for itthat I should have
land of my own. I am sure knowledge of that sort would
come easily to me, especially if I could be under you in
any way.
Softly, my boy, said Caleb, having the image of
Susan before his eyes. What have you said to your father
about all this?
Nothing, yet; but I must tell him. I am only waiting to
know what I can do instead of entering the Church. I am
very sorry to disappoint him, but a man ought to be
allowed to judge for himself when he is four-and-twenty.
How could I know when I was fifteen, what it would be
right for me to do now? My education was a mistake.
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But hearken to this, Fred, said Caleb. Are you sure
Mary is fond of you, or would ever have you?
I asked Mr. Farebrother to talk to her, because she had
forbidden me I didnt know what else to do, said Fred,
apologetically. And he says that I have every reason to
hope, if I can put myself in an honorable positionI
mean, out of the Church I dare say you think it
unwarrantable in me, Mr. Garth, to be troubling you and
obtruding my own wishes about Mary, before I have done
anything at all for myself. Of course I have not the least
claimindeed, I have already a debt to you which will
never be discharged, even when I have been, able to pay it
in the shape of money.
Yes, my boy, you have a claim, said Caleb, with
much feeling in his voice. The young ones have always a
claim on the old to help them forward. I was young
myself once and had to do without much help; but help
would have been welcome to me, if it had been only for
the fellow-feelings sake. But I must consider. Come to
me to-morrow at the office, at nine oclock. At the office,
mind.
Mr. Garth would take no important step without
consulting Susan, but it must be confessed that before he
reached home he had taken his resolution. With regard to
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a large number of matters about which other men are
decided or obstinate, he was the most easily manageable
man in the world. He never knew what meat he would
choose, and if Susan had said that they ought to live in a
four-roomed cottage, in order to save, he would have said,
Let us go, without inquiring into details. But where
Calebs feeling and judgment strongly pronounced, he was
a ruler; and in spite of his mildness and timidity in
reproving, every one about him knew that on the
exceptional occasions when he chose, he was absolute. He
never, indeed, chose to be absolute except on some one
elses behalf. On ninety-nine points Mrs. Garth decided,
but on the hundredth she was often aware that she would
have to perform the singularly difficult task of carrying out
her own principle, and to make herself subordinate.
It is come round as I thought, Susan, said Caleb,
when they were seated alone in the evening. He had
already narrated the adventure which had brought about
Freds sharing in his work, but had kept back the further
result. The children ARE fond of each other I mean,
Fred and Mary.
Mrs. Garth laid her work on her knee, and fixed her
penetrating eyes anxiously on her husband.
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After wed done our work, Fred poured it all out to
me. He cant bear to be a clergyman, and Mary says she
wont have him if he is one; and the lad would like to be
under me and give his mind to business. And Ive
determined to take him and make a man of him.
Caleb! said Mrs. Garth, in a deep contralto, expressive
of resigned astonishment.
Its a fine thing to do, said Mr. Garth, settling himself
firmly against the back of his chair, and grasping the
elbows. I shall have trouble with him, but I think I shall
carry it through. The lad loves Mary, and a true love for a
good woman is a great thing, Susan. It shapes many a
rough fellow.
Has Mary spoken to you on the subject? said Mrs
Garth, secretly a little hurt that she had to be informed on
it herself.
Not a word. I asked her about Fred once; I gave her a
bit of a warning. But she assured me she would never
marry an idle self-indulgent man nothing since. But it
seems Fred set on Mr. Farebrother to talk to her, because
she had forbidden him to speak himself, and Mr.
Farebrother has found out that she is fond of Fred, but says
he must not be a clergyman. Freds heart is fixed on Mary,
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that I can see: it gives me a good opinion of the ladand
we always liked him, Susan.
It is a pity for Mary, I think, said Mrs. Garth.
Whya pity?
Because, Caleb, she might have had a man who is
worth twenty Fred Vincys.
Ah? said Caleb, with surprise.
I firmly believe that Mr. Farebrother is attached to her,
and meant to make her an offer; but of course, now that
Fred has used him as an envoy, there is an end to that
better prospect. There was a severe precision in Mrs.
Garths utterance. She was vexed and disappointed, but
she was bent on abstaining from useless words.
Caleb was silent a few moments under a conflict of
feelings. He looked at the floor and moved his head and
hands in accompaniment to some inward argumentation.
At last he said
That would have made me very proud and happy,
Susan, and I should have been glad for your sake. Ive
always felt that your belongings have never been on a level
with you. But you took me, though I was a plain man.
I took the best and cleverest man I had ever known,
said Mrs. Garth, convinced that SHE would never have
loved any one who came short of that mark.
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Well, perhaps others thought you might have done
better. But it would have been worse for me. And that is
what touches me close about Fred. The lad is good at
bottom, and clever enough to do, if hes put in the right
way; and he loves and honors my daughter beyond
anything, and she has given him a sort of promise
according to what he turns out. I say, that young mans
soul is in my hand; and Ill do the best I can for him, so
help me God! Its my duty, Susan.
Mrs. Garth was not given to tears, but there was a large
one rolling down her face before her husband had
finished. It came from the pressure of various feelings, in
which there was much affection and some vexation. She
wiped it away quickly, saying
Few men besides you would think it a duty to add to
their anxieties in that way, Caleb.
That signifies nothingwhat other men would think.
Ive got a clear feeling inside me, and that I shall follow;
and I hope your heart will go with me, Susan, in making
everything as light as can be to Mary, poor child.
Caleb, leaning back in his chair, looked with anxious
appeal towards his wife. She rose and kissed him, saying,
God bless you, Caleb! Our children have a good father.
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But she went out and had a hearty cry to make up for
the suppression of her words. She felt sure that her
husbands conduct would be misunderstood, and about
Fred she was rational and unhopeful. Which would turn
out to have the more foresight in ither rationality or
Calebs ardent generosity?
When Fred went to the office the next morning, there
was a test to be gone through which he was not prepared
for.
Now Fred, said Caleb, you will have some desk-
work. I have always done a good deal of writing myself,
but I cant do without help, and as I want you to
understand the accounts and get the values into your head,
I mean to do without another clerk. So you must buckle
to. How are you at writing and arithmetic?
Fred felt an awkward movement of the heart; he had
not thought of desk-work; but he was in a resolute mood,
and not going to shrink. Im not afraid of arithmetic, Mr.
Garth: it always came easily to me. I think you know my
writing.
Let us see, said Caleb, taking up a pen, examining it
carefully and handing it, well dipped, to Fred with a sheet
of ruled paper. Copy me a line or two of that valuation,
with the figures at the end.
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At that time the opinion existed that it was beneath a
gentleman to write legibly, or with a hand in the least
suitable to a clerk. Fred wrote the lines demanded in a
hand as gentlemanly as that of any viscount or bishop of
the day: the vowels were all alike and the consonants only
distinguishable as turning up or down, the strokes had a
blotted solidity and the letters disdained to keep the line
in short, it was a manuscript of that venerable kind easy to
interpret when you know beforehand what the writer
means.
As Caleb looked on, his visage showed a growing
depression, but when Fred handed him the paper he gave
something like a snarl, and rapped the paper passionately
with the back of his hand. Bad work like this dispelled all
Calebs mildness.
The deuce! he exclaimed, snarlingly. To think that
this is a country where a mans education may cost
hundreds and hundreds, and it turns you out this! Then in
a more pathetic tone, pushing up his spectacles and
looking at the unfortunate scribe, The Lord have mercy
on us, Fred, I cant put up with this!
What can I do, Mr. Garth? said Fred, whose spirits
had sunk very low, not only at the estimate of his
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handwriting, but at the vision of himself as liable to be
ranked with office clerks.
Do? Why, you must learn to form your letters and
keep the line. Whats the use of writing at all if nobody
can understand it? asked Caleb, energetically, quite
preoccupied with the bad quality of the work. Is there so
little business in the world that you must be sending
puzzles over the country? But thats the way people are
brought up. I should lose no end of time with the letters
some people send me, if Susan did not make them out for
me. Its disgusting. Here Caleb tossed the paper from
him.
Any stranger peeping into the office at that moment
might have wondered what was the drama between the
indignant man of business, and the fine-looking young
fellow whose blond complexion was getting rather patchy
as he bit his lip with mortification. Fred was struggling
with many thoughts. Mr. Garth had been so kind and
encouraging at the beginning of their interview, that
gratitude and hopefulness had been at a high pitch, and the
downfall was proportionate. He had not thought of desk-
workin fact, like the majority of young gentlemen, he
wanted an occupation which should be free from
disagreeables. I cannot tell what might have been the
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consequences if he had not distinctly promised himself that
he would go to Lowick to see Mary and tell her that he
was engaged to work under her father. He did not like to
disappoint himself there.
I am very sorry, were all the words that he could
muster. But Mr. Garth was already relenting.
We must make the best of it, Fred, he began, with a
return to his usual quiet tone. Every man can learn to
write. I taught myself. Go at it with a will, and sit up at
night if the day-time isnt enough. Well be patient, my
boy. Callum shall go on with the books for a bit, while
you are learning. But now I must be off, said Caleb,
rising. You must let your father know our agreement.
Youll save me Callums salary, you know, when you can
write; and I can afford to give you eighty pounds for the
first year, and more after.
When Fred made the necessary disclosure to his
parents, the relative effect on the two was a surprise which
entered very deeply into his memory. He went straight
from Mr. Garths office to the warehouse, rightly feeling
that the most respectful way in which he could behave to
his father was to make the painful communication as
gravely and formally as possible. Moreover, the decision
would be more certainly understood to be final, if the
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interview took place in his fathers gravest hours, which
were always those spent in his private room at the
warehouse.
Fred entered on the subject directly, and declared
briefly what he had done and was resolved to do,
expressing at the end his regret that he should be the cause
of disappointment to his father, and taking the blame on
his own deficiencies. The regret was genuine, and inspired
Fred with strong, simple words.
Mr. Vincy listened in profound surprise without
uttering even an exclamation, a silence which in his
impatient temperament was a sign of unusual emotion. He
had not been in good spirits about trade that morning, and
the slight bitterness in his lips grew intense as he listened.
When Fred had ended, there was a pause of nearly a
minute, during which Mr. Vincy replaced a book in his
desk and turned the key emphatically. Then he looked at
his son steadily, and said
So youve made up your mind at last, sir?
Yes, father.
Very well; stick to it. Ive no more to say. Youve
thrown away your education, and gone down a step in
life, when I had given you the means of rising, thats all.
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1009 of 1492
I am very sorry that we differ, father. I think I can be
quite as much of a gentleman at the work I have
undertaken, as if I had been a curate. But I am grateful to
you for wishing to do the best for me.
Very well; I have no more to say. I wash my hands of
you. I only hope, when you have a son of your own he
will make a better return for the pains you spend on him.
This was very cutting to Fred. His father was using that
unfair advantage possessed by us all when we are in a
pathetic situation and see our own past as if it were simply
part of the pathos. In reality, Mr. Vincys wishes about his
son had had a great deal of pride, inconsiderateness, and
egoistic folly in them. But still the disappointed father held
a strong lever; and Fred felt as if he were being banished
with a malediction.
I hope you will not object to my remaining at home,
sir? he said, after rising to go; I shall have a sufficient
salary to pay for my board, as of course I should wish to
do.
Board be hanged! said Mr. Vincy, recovering himself
in his disgust at the notion that Freds keep would be
missed at his table. Of course your mother will want you
to stay. But I shall keep no horse for you, you understand;
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1010 of 1492
and you will pay your own tailor. You will do with a suit
or two less, I fancy, when you have to pay for em.
Fred lingered; there was still something to be said. At
last it came.
I hope you will shake hands with me, father, and
forgive me the vexation I have caused you.
Mr. Vincy from his chair threw a quick glance upward
at his son, who had advanced near to him, and then gave
his hand, saying hurriedly, Yes, yes, let us say no more.
Fred went through much more narrative and
explanation with his mother, but she was inconsolable,
having before her eyes what perhaps her husband had
never thought of, the certainty that Fred would marry
Mary Garth, that her life would henceforth be spoiled by a
perpetual infusion of Garths and their ways, and that her
darling boy, with his beautiful face and stylish air beyond
anybody elses son in Middlemarch, would be sure to get
like that family in plainness of appearance and carelessness
about his clothes. To her it seemed that there was a Garth
conspiracy to get possession of the desirable Fred, but she
dared not enlarge on this opinion, because a slight hint of
it had made him fly out at her as he had never done
before. Her temper was too sweet for her to show any
anger, but she felt that her happiness had received a bruise,
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and for several days merely to look at Fred made her cry a
little as if he were the subject of some baleful prophecy.
Perhaps she was the slower to recover her usual
cheerfulness because Fred had warned her that she must
not reopen the sore question with his father, who had
accepted his decision and forgiven him. If her husband had
been vehement against Fred, she would have been urged
into defence of her darling. It was the end of the fourth
day when Mr. Vincy said to her
Come, Lucy, my dear, dont be so down-hearted. You
always have spoiled the boy, and you must go on spoiling
him.
Nothing ever did cut me so before, Vincy, said the
wife, her fair throat and chin beginning to tremble again,
only his illness.
Pooh, pooh, never mind! We must expect to have
trouble with our children. Dont make it worse by letting
me see you out of spirits.
Well, I wont, said Mrs. Vincy, roused by this appeal
and adjusting herself with a little shake as of a bird which
lays down its ruffled plumage.
It wont do to begin making a fuss about one, said
Mr. Vincy, wishing to combine a little grumbling with
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Middlemarch
1012 of 1492
domestic cheerfulness. Theres Rosamond as well as
Fred.
Yes, poor thing. Im sure I felt for her being
disappointed of her baby; but she got over it nicely.
Baby, pooh! I can see Lydgate is making a mess of his
practice, and getting into debt too, by what I hear. I shall
have Rosamond coming to me with a pretty tale one of
these days. But theyll get no money from me, I know.
Let HIS family help him. I never did like that marriage.
But its no use talking. Ring the bell for lemons, and dont
look dull any more, Lucy. Ill drive you and Louisa to
Riverston to-morrow.
Middlemarch
1013 of 1492
Chapter LVII
They numbered scarce eight summers when a name
Rose on their souls and stirred such motions there
As thrill the buds and shape their hidden frame
At penetration of the quickening air:
His name who told of loyal Evan Dhu,
Of quaint Bradwardine, and Vich Ian Vor,
Making the little world their childhood knew
Large with a land of mountain lake and scaur,
And larger yet with wonder love belief
Toward Walter Scott who living far away
Sent them this wealth of joy and noble grief.
The book and they must part, but day by day,
In lines that thwart like portly spiders ran
They wrote the tale, from Tully Veolan.
The evening that Fred Vincy walked to Lowick
parsonage (he had begun to see that this was a world in
which even a spirited young man must sometimes walk for
want of a horse to carry him) he set out at five oclock and
called on Mrs. Garth by the way, wishing to assure himself
that she accepted their new relations willingly.
He found the family group, dogs and cats included,
under the great apple-tree in the orchard. It was a festival
with Mrs. Garth, for her eldest son, Christy, her peculiar
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1014 of 1492
joy and pride, had come home for a short holiday
Christy, who held it the most desirable thing in the world
to be a tutor, to study all literatures and be a regenerate
Porson, and who was an incorporate criticism on poor
Fred, a sort of object-lesson given to him by the
educational mother. Christy himself, a square-browed,
broad-shouldered masculine edition of his mother not
much higher than Freds shoulderwhich made it the
harder that he should be held superiorwas always as
simple as possible, and thought no more of Freds
disinclination to scholarship than of a giraffes, wishing that
he himself were more of the same height. He was lying on
the ground now by his mothers chair, with his straw hat
laid flat over his eyes, while Jim on the other side was
reading aloud from that beloved writer who has made a
chief part in the happiness of many young lives. The
volume was Ivanhoe, and Jim was in the great archery
scene at the tournament, but suffered much interruption
from Ben, who had fetched his own old bow and arrows,
and was making himself dreadfully disagreeable, Letty
thought, by begging all present to observe his random
shots, which no one wished to do except Brownie, the
active-minded but probably shallow mongrel, while the
grizzled Newfoundland lying in the sun looked on with
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1015 of 1492
the dull-eyed neutrality of extreme old age. Letty herself,
showing as to her mouth and pinafore some slight signs
that she had been assisting at the gathering of the cherries
which stood in a coral-heap on the tea-table, was now
seated on the grass, listening open-eyed to the reading.
But the centre of interest was changed for all by the
arrival of Fred Vincy. When, seating himself on a garden-
stool, he said that he was on his way to Lowick Parsonage,
Ben, who had thrown down his bow, and snatched up a
reluctant half-grown kitten instead, strode across Freds
outstretched leg, and said Take me!
Oh, and me too, said Letty.
You cant keep up with Fred and me, said Ben.
Yes, I can. Mother, please say that I am to go, urged
Letty, whose life was much checkered by resistance to her
depreciation as a girl.
I shall stay with Christy, observed Jim; as much as to
say that he had the advantage of those simpletons;
whereupon Letty put her hand up to her head and looked
with jealous indecision from the one to the other.
Let us all go and see Mary, said Christy, opening his
arms.
No, my dear child, we must not go in a swarm to the
parsonage. And that old Glasgow suit of yours would
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1016 of 1492
never do. Besides, your father will come home. We must
let Fred go alone. He can tell Mary that you are here, and
she will come back to-morrow.
Christy glanced at his own threadbare knees, and then
at Freds beautiful white trousers. Certainly Freds tailoring
suggested the advantages of an English university, and he
had a graceful way even of looking warm and of pushing
his hair back with his handkerchief.
Children, run away, said Mrs. Garth; it is too warm
to hang about your friends. Take your brother and show
him the rabbits.
The eldest understood, and led off the children
immediately. Fred felt that Mrs. Garth wished to give him
an opportunity of saying anything he had to say, but he
could only begin by observing
How glad you must be to have Christy here!
Yes; he has come sooner than I expected. He got
down from the coach at nine oclock, just after his father
went out. I am longing for Caleb to come and hear what
wonderful progress Christy is making. He has paid his
expenses for the last year by giving lessons, carrying on
hard study at the same time. He hopes soon to get a
private tutorship and go abroad.
Middlemarch
1017 of 1492
He is a great fellow, said Fred, to whom these
cheerful truths had a medicinal taste, and no trouble to
anybody. After a slight pause, he added, But I fear you
will think that I am going to be a great deal of trouble to
Mr. Garth.
Caleb likes taking trouble: he is one of those men who
always do more than any one would have thought of
asking them to do, answered Mrs. Garth. She was
knitting, and could either look at Fred or not, as she
chosealways an advantage when one is bent on loading
speech with salutary meaning; and though Mrs. Garth
intended to be duly reserved, she did wish to say
something that Fred might be the better for.
I know you think me very undeserving, Mrs. Garth,
and with good reason, said Fred, his spirit rising a little at
the perception of something like a disposition to lecture
him. I happen to have behaved just the worst to the
people I cant help wishing for the most from. But while
two men like Mr. Garth and Mr. Farebrother have not
given me up, I dont see why I should give myself up.
Fred thought it might be well to suggest these masculine
examples to Mrs. Garth.
Assuredly, said she, with gathering emphasis. A
young man for whom two such elders had devoted
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1018 of 1492
themselves would indeed be culpable if he threw himself
away and made their sacrifices vain.
Fred wondered a little at this strong language, but only
said, I hope it will not be so with me, Mrs. Garth, since I
have some encouragement to believe that I may win
Mary. Mr. Garth has told you about that? You were not
surprised, I dare say? Fred ended, innocently referring
only to his own love as probably evident enough.
Not surprised that Mary has given you
encouragement? returned Mrs. Garth, who thought it
would be well for Fred to be more alive to the fact that
Marys friends could not possibly have wished this
beforehand, whatever the Vincys might suppose. Yes, I
confess I was surprised.
She never did give me anynot the least in the world,
when I talked to her myself, said Fred, eager to vindicate
Mary. But when I asked Mr. Farebrother to speak for me,
she allowed him to tell me there was a hope.
The power of admonition which had begun to stir in
Mrs. Garth had not yet discharged itself. It was a little too
provoking even for HER self-control that this blooming
youngster should flourish on the disappointments of sadder
and wiser peoplemaking a meal of a nightingale and
never knowing itand that all the while his family should
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1019 of 1492
suppose that hers was in eager need of this sprig; and her
vexation had fermented the more actively because of its
total repression towards her husband. Exemplary wives
will sometimes find scapegoats in this way. She now said
with energetic decision, You made a great mistake, Fred,
in asking Mr. Farebrother to speak for you.
Did I? said Fred, reddening instantaneously. He was
alarmed, but at a loss to know what Mrs. Garth meant,
and added, in an apologetic tone, Mr. Farebrother has
always been such a friend of ours; and Mary, I knew,
would listen to him gravely; and he took it on himself
quite readily.
Yes, young people are usually blind to everything but
their own wishes, and seldom imagine how much those
wishes cost others, said Mrs. Garth She did not mean to
go beyond this salutary general doctrine, and threw her
indignation into a needless unwinding of her worsted,
knitting her brow at it with a grand air.
I cannot conceive how it could be any pain to Mr.
Farebrother, said Fred, who nevertheless felt that
surprising conceptions were beginning to form themselves.
Precisely; you cannot conceive, said Mrs. Garth,
cutting her words as neatly as possible.
Middlemarch
1020 of 1492
For a moment Fred looked at the horizon with a
dismayed anxiety, and then turning with a quick
movement said almost sharply
Do you mean to say, Mrs. Garth, that Mr. Farebrother
is in love with Mary?
And if it were so, Fred, I think you are the last person
who ought to be surprised, returned Mrs. Garth, laying
her knitting down beside her and folding her arms. It was
an unwonted sign of emotion in her that she should put
her work out of her hands. In fact her feelings were
divided between the satisfaction of giving Fred his
discipline and the sense of having gone a little too far. Fred
took his hat and stick and rose quickly.
Then you think I am standing in his way, and in
Marys too? he said, in a tone which seemed to demand
an answer.
Mrs. Garth could not speak immediately. She had
brought herself into the unpleasant position of being called
on to say what she really felt, yet what she knew there
were strong reasons for concealing. And to her the
consciousness of having exceeded in words was peculiarly
mortifying. Besides, Fred had given out unexpected
electricity, and he now added, Mr. Garth seemed pleased
Middlemarch
1021 of 1492
that Mary should be attached to me. He could not have
known anything of this.
Mrs. Garth felt a severe twinge at this mention of her
husband, the fear that Caleb might think her in the wrong
not being easily endurable. She answered, wanting to
check unintended consequences
I spoke from inference only. I am not aware that Mary
knows anything of the matter.
But she hesitated to beg that he would keep entire
silence on a subject which she had herself unnecessarily
mentioned, not being used to stoop in that way; and while
she was hesitating there was already a rush of unintended
consequences under the apple-tree where the tea-things
stood. Ben, bouncing across the grass with Brownie at his
heels, and seeing the kitten dragging the knitting by a
lengthening line of wool, shouted and clapped his hands;
Brownie barked, the kitten, desperate, jumped on the tea-
table and upset the milk, then jumped down again and
swept half the cherries with it; and Ben, snatching up the
half-knitted sock-top, fitted it over the kittens head as a
new source of madness, while Letty arriving cried out to
her mother against this crueltyit was a history as full of
sensation as This is the house that Jack built. Mrs. Garth
was obliged to interfere, the other young ones came up
Middlemarch
1022 of 1492
and the tete-a-tete with Fred was ended. He got away as
soon as he could, and Mrs. Garth could only imply some
retractation of her severity by saying God bless you when
she shook hands with him.
She was unpleasantly conscious that she had been on
the verge of speaking as one of the foolish women
speakethtelling first and entreating silence after. But she
had not entreated silence, and to prevent Calebs blame
she determined to blame herself and confess all to him that
very night. It was curious what an awful tribunal the mild
Calebs was to her, whenever he set it up. But she meant
to point out to him that the revelation might do Fred
Vincy a great deal of good.
No doubt it was having a strong effect on him as he
walked to Lowick. Freds light hopeful nature had perhaps
never had so much of a bruise as from this suggestion that
if he had been out of the way Mary might have made a
thoroughly good match. Also he was piqued that he had
been what he called such a stupid lout as to ask that
intervention from Mr. Farebrother. But it was not in a
lovers nature it was not in Freds, that the new anxiety
raised about Marys feeling should not surmount every
other. Notwithstanding his trust in Mr. Farebrothers
generosity, notwithstanding what Mary had said to him,
Middlemarch
1023 of 1492
Fred could not help feeling that he had a rival: it was a
new consciousness, and he objected to it extremely, not
being in the least ready to give up Mary for her good,
being ready rather to fight for her with any man
whatsoever. But the fighting with Mr. Farebrother must
be of a metaphorical kind, which was much more difficult
to Fred than the muscular. Certainly this experience was a
discipline for Fred hardly less sharp than his
disappointment about his uncles will. The iron had not
entered into his soul, but he had begun to imagine what
the sharp edge would be. It did not once occur to Fred
that Mrs. Garth might be mistaken about Mr. Farebrother,
but he suspected that she might be wrong about Mary.
Mary had been staying at the parsonage lately, and her
mother might know very little of what had been passing in
her mind.
He did not feel easier when he found her looking
cheerful with the three ladies in the drawing-room. They
were in animated discussion on some subject which was
dropped when he entered, and Mary was copying the
labels from a heap of shallow cabinet drawers, in a minute
handwriting which she was skilled in. Mr. Farebrother was
somewhere in the village, and the three ladies knew
nothing of Freds peculiar relation to Mary: it was
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Middlemarch
1024 of 1492
impossible for either of them to propose that they should
walk round the garden, and Fred predicted to himself that
he should have to go away without saying a word to her
in private. He told her first of Christys arrival and then of
his own engagement with her father; and he was
comforted by seeing that this latter news touched her
keenly. She said hurriedly, I am so glad, and then bent
over her writing to hinder any one from noticing her face.
But here was a subject which Mrs. Farebrother could not
let pass.
You dont mean, my dear Miss Garth, that you are
glad to hear of a young man giving up the Church for
which he was educated: you only mean that things being
so, you are glad that he should be under an excellent man
like your father.
No, really, Mrs. Farebrother, I am glad of both, I fear,
said Mary, cleverly getting rid of one rebellious tear. I
have a dreadfully secular mind. I never liked any
clergyman except the Vicar of Wakefield and Mr.
Farebrother.
Now why, my dear? said Mrs. Farebrother, pausing
on her large wooden knitting-needles and looking at
Mary. You have always a good reason for your opinions,
but this astonishes me. Of course I put out of the question
Middlemarch
1025 of 1492
those who preach new doctrine. But why should you
dislike clergymen?
Oh dear, said Mary, her face breaking into merriment
as she seemed to consider a moment, I dont like their
neckcloths.
Why, you dont like Camdens, then, said Miss
Winifred, in some anxiety.
Yes, I do, said Mary. I dont like the other
clergymens neckcloths, because it is they who wear
them.
How very puzzling! said Miss Noble, feeling that her
own intellect was probably deficient.
My dear, you are joking. You would have better
reasons than these for slighting so respectable a class of
men, said Mrs. Farebrother, majestically.
Miss Garth has such severe notions of what people
should be that it is difficult to satisfy her, said Fred.
Well, I am glad at least that she makes an exception in
favor of my son, said the old lady.
Mary was wondering at Freds piqued tone, when Mr.
Farebrother came in and had to hear the news about the
engagement under Mr. Garth. At the end he said with
quiet satisfaction, THAT is right; and then bent to look
at Marys labels and praise her handwriting. Fred felt
Middlemarch
1026 of 1492
horribly jealouswas glad, of course, that Mr. Farebrother
was so estimable, but wished that he had been ugly and fat
as men at forty sometimes are. It was clear what the end
would be, since Mary openly placed Farebrother above
everybody, and these women were all evidently
encouraging the affair. He, was feeling sure that he should
have no chance of speaking to Mary, when Mr.
Farebrother said
Fred, help me to carry these drawers back into my
study you have never seen my fine new study. Pray
come too, Miss Garth. I want you to see a stupendous
spider I found this morning.
Mary at once saw the Vicars intention. He had never
since the memorable evening deviated from his old
pastoral kindness towards her, and her momentary wonder
and doubt had quite gone to sleep. Mary was accustomed
to think rather rigorously of what was probable, and if a
belief flattered her vanity she felt warned to dismiss it as
ridiculous, having early had much exercise in such
dismissals. It was as she had foreseen: when Fred had been
asked to admire the fittings of the study, and she had been
asked to admire the spider, Mr. Farebrother said
Wait here a minute or two. I am going to look out an
engraving which Fred is tall enough to hang for me. I shall
Middlemarch
1027 of 1492
be back in a few minutes. And then he went out.
Nevertheless, the first word Fred said to Mary was
It is of no use, whatever I do, Mary. You are sure to
marry Farebrother at last. There was some rage in his
tone.
What do you mean, Fred? Mary exclaimed
indignantly, blushing deeply, and surprised out of all her
readiness in reply.
It is impossible that you should not see it all clearly
enough you who see everything.
I only see that you are behaving very ill, Fred, in
speaking so of Mr. Farebrother after he has pleaded your
cause in every way. How can you have taken up such an
idea?
Fred was rather deep, in spite of his irritation. If Mary
had really been unsuspicious, there was no good in telling
her what Mrs. Garth-had said.
It follows as a matter of course, he replied. When you
are continually seeing a man who beats me in everything,
and whom you set up above everybody, I can have no fair
chance.
You are very ungrateful, Fred, said Mary. I wish I
had never told Mr. Farebrother that I cared for you in the
least.
Middlemarch
1028 of 1492
No, I am not ungrateful; I should be the happiest
fellow in the world if it were not for this. I told your
father everything, and he was very kind; he treated me as
if I were his son. I could go at the work with a will,
writing and everything, if it were not for this.
For this? for what? said Mary, imagining now that
something specific must have been said or done.
This dreadful certainty that I shall be bowled out by
Farebrother. Mary was appeased by her inclination to
laugh.
Fred, she said, peeping round to catch his eyes, which
were sulkily turned away from her, you are too
delightfully ridiculous. If you were not such a charming
simpleton, what a temptation this would be to play the
wicked coquette, and let you suppose that somebody
besides you has made love to me.
Do you really like me best, Mary? said Fred, turning
eyes full of affection on her, and trying to take her hand.
I dont like you at all at this moment, said Mary,
retreating, and putting her hands behind her. I only said
that no mortal ever made love to me besides you. And
that is no argument that a very wise man ever will, she
ended, merrily.
Middlemarch
1029 of 1492
I wish you would tell me that you could not possibly
ever think of him, said Fred.
Never dare to mention this any more to me, Fred,
said Mary, getting serious again. I dont know whether it
is more stupid or ungenerous in you not to see that Mr:
Farebrother has left us together on purpose that we might
speak freely. I am disappointed that you should be so blind
to his delicate feeling.
There was no time to say any more before Mr.
Farebrother came back with the engraving; and Fred had
to return to the drawing-room still with a jealous dread in
his heart, but yet with comforting arguments from Marys
words and manner. The result of the conversation was on
the whole more painful to Mary: inevitably her attention
had taken a new attitude, and she saw the possibility of
new interpretations. She was in a position in which she
seemed to herself to be slighting Mr. Farebrother, and this,
in relation to a man who is much honored, is always
dangerous to the firmness of a grateful woman. To have a
reason for going home the next day was a relief, for Mary
earnestly desired to be always clear that she loved Fred
best. When a tender affection has been storing itself in us
through many of our years, the idea that we could accept
any exchange for it seems to be a cheapening of our lives.
Middlemarch
1030 of 1492
And we can set a watch over our affections and our
constancy as we can over other treasures.
Fred has lost all his other expectations; he must keep
this, Mary said to herself, with a smile curling her lips. It
was impossible to help fleeting visions of another kind
new dignities and an acknowledged value of which she
had often felt the absence. But these things with Fred
outside them, Fred forsaken and looking sad for the want
of her, could never tempt her deliberate thought.
Middlemarch
1031 of 1492
Chapter LVIII
For there can live no hatred in thine eye,
Therefore in that I cannot know thy change:
In manys looks the false hearts history
Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange:
But Heaven in thy creation did decree
That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell:
Whateer thy thoughts or thy hearts workings be
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.
At the time when Mr. Vincy uttered that presentiment
about Rosamond, she herself had never had the idea that
she should be driven to make the sort of appeal which he
foresaw. She had not yet had any anxiety about ways and
means, although her domestic life had been expensive as
well as eventful. Her baby had been born prematurely, and
all the embroidered robes and caps had to be laid by in
darkness. This misfortune was attributed entirely to her
having persisted in going out on horseback one day when
her husband had desired her not to do so; but it must not
be supposed that she had shown temper on the occasion,
or rudely told him that she would do as she liked.
What led her particularly to desire horse-exercise was a
visit from Captain Lydgate, the baronets third son, who, I
Middlemarch
1032 of 1492
am sorry to say, was detested by our Tertius of that name
as a vapid fop parting his hair from brow to nape in a
despicable fashion (not followed by Tertius himself), and
showing an ignorant security that he knew the proper
thing to say on every topic. Lydgate inwardly cursed his
own folly that he had drawn down this visit by consenting
to go to his uncles on the wedding-tour, and he made
himself rather disagreeable to Rosamond by saying so in
private. For to Rosamond this visit was a source of
unprecedented but gracefully concealed exultation. She
was so intensely conscious of having a cousin who was a
baronets son staying in the house, that she imagined the
knowledge of what was implied by his presence to be
diffused through all other minds; and when she introduced
Captain Lydgate to her guests, she had a placid sense that
his rank penetrated them as if it had been an odor. The
satisfaction was enough for the time to melt away some
disappointment in the conditions of marriage with a
medical man even of good birth: it seemed now that her
marriage was visibly as well as ideally floating her above
the Middlemarch level, and the future looked bright with
letters and visits to and from Quallingham, and vague
advancement in consequence for Tertius. Especially as,
probably at the Captains suggestion, his married sister,
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1033 of 1492
Mrs. Mengan, had come with her maid, and stayed two
nights on her way from town. Hence it was clearly worth
while for Rosamond to take pains with her music and the
careful selection of her lace.
As to Captain Lydgate himself, his low brow, his
aquiline nose bent on one side, and his rather heavy
utterance, might have been disadvantageous in any young
gentleman who had not a military bearing and mustache
to give him what is doted on by some flower-like blond
heads as style. He had, moreover, that sort of high-
breeding which consists in being free from the petty
solicitudes of middle-class gentility, and he was a great
critic of feminine charms. Rosamond delighted in his
admiration now even more than she had done at
Quallingham, and he found it easy to spend several hours
of the day in flirting with her. The visit altogether was one
of the pleasantest larks he had ever had, not the less so
perhaps because he suspected that his queer cousin Tertius
wished him away: though Lydgate, who would rather
(hyperbolically speaking) have died than have failed in
polite hospitality, suppressed his dislike, and only
pretended generally not to hear what the gallant officer
said, consigning the task of answering him to Rosamond.
For he was not at all a jealous husband, and preferred
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1034 of 1492
leaving a feather-headed young gentleman alone with his
wife to bearing him company.
I wish you would talk more to the Captain at dinner,
Tertius, said Rosamond, one evening when the important
guest was gone to Loamford to see some brother officers
stationed there. You really look so absent sometimes
you seem to be seeing through his head into something
behind it, instead of looking at him.
My dear Rosy, you dont expect me to talk much to
such a conceited ass as that, I hope, said Lydgate,
brusquely. If he got his head broken, I might look at it
with interest, not before.
I cannot conceive why you should speak of your
cousin so contemptuously, said Rosamond, her fingers
moving at her work while she spoke with a mild gravity
which had a touch of disdain in it.
Ask Ladislaw if he doesnt think your Captain the
greatest bore he ever met with. Ladislaw has almost
forsaken the house since he came.
Rosamond thought she knew perfectly well why Mr.
Ladislaw disliked the Captain: he was jealous, and she
liked his being jealous.
It is impossible to say what will suit eccentric persons,
she answered, but in my opinion Captain Lydgate is a
Middlemarch
1035 of 1492
thorough gentleman, and I think you ought not, out of
respect to Sir Godwin, to treat him with neglect.
No, dear; but we have had dinners for him. And he
comes in and goes out as he likes. He doesnt want me.
Still, when he is in the room, you might show him
more attention. He may not be a phoenix of cleverness in
your sense; his profession is different; but it would be all
the better for you to talk a little on his subjects. I think his
conversation is quite agreeable. And he is anything but an
unprincipled man.
The fact is, you would wish me to be a little more like
him, Rosy, said Lydgate, in a sort of resigned murmur,
with a smile which was not exactly tender, and certainly
not merry. Rosamond was silent and did not smile again;
but the lovely curves of her face looked good-tempered
enough without smiling.
Those words of Lydgates were like a sad milestone
marking how far he had travelled from his old dreamland,
in which Rosamond Vincy appeared to be that perfect
piece of womanhood who would reverence her husbands
mind after the fashion of an accomplished mermaid, using
her comb and looking-glass and singing her song for the
relaxation of his adored wisdom alone. He had begun to
distinguish between that imagined adoration and the
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Middlemarch
1036 of 1492
attraction towards a mans talent because it gives him
prestige, and is like an order in his button-hole or an
Honorable before his name.
It might have been supposed that Rosamond had
travelled too, since she had found the pointless
conversation of Mr. Ned Plymdale perfectly wearisome;
but to most mortals there is a stupidity which is
unendurable and a stupidity which is altogether
acceptable else, indeed, what would become of social
bonds? Captain Lydgates stupidity was delicately scented,
carried itself with style, talked with a good accent, and
was closely related to Sir Godwin. Rosamond found it
quite agreeable and caught many of its phrases.
Therefore since Rosamond, as we know, was fond of
horseback, there were plenty of reasons why she should be
tempted to resume her riding when Captain Lydgate, who
had ordered his man with two horses to follow him and
put up at the Green Dragon, begged her to go out on the
gray which he warranted to be gentle and trained to carry
a ladyindeed, he had bought it for his sister, and was
taking it to Quallingham. Rosamond went out the first
time without telling her husband, and came back before
his return; but the ride had been so thorough a success,
and she declared herself so much the better in
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1037 of 1492
consequence, that he was informed of it with full reliance
on his consent that she should go riding again.
On the contrary Lydgate was more than hurthe was
utterly confounded that she had risked herself on a strange
horse without referring the matter to his wish. After the
first almost thundering exclamations of astonishment,
which sufficiently warned Rosamond of what was coming,
he was silent for some moments.
However, you have come back safely, he said, at last,
in a decisive tone. You will not go again, Rosy; that is
understood. If it were the quietest, most familiar horse in
the world, there would always be the chance of accident.
And you know very well that I wished you to give up
riding the roan on that account.
But there is the chance of accident indoors, Tertius.
My darling, dont talk nonsense, said Lydgate, in an
imploring tone; surely I am the person to judge for you. I
think it is enough that I say you are not to go again.
Rosamond was arranging her hair before dinner, and
the reflection of her head in the glass showed no change in
its loveliness except a little turning aside of the long neck.
Lydgate had been moving about with his hands in his
pockets, and now paused near her, as if he awaited some
assurance.
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1038 of 1492
I wish you would fasten up my plaits, dear, said
Rosamond, letting her arms fall with a little sigh, so as to
make a husband ashamed of standing there like a brute.
Lydgate had often fastened the plaits before, being among
the deftest of men with his large finely formed fingers. He
swept up the soft festoons of plaits and fastened in the tall
comb (to such uses do men come!); and what could he do
then but kiss the exquisite nape which was shown in all its
delicate curves? But when we do what we have done
before, it is often with a difference. Lydgate was still angry,
and had not forgotten his point.
I shall tell the Captain that he ought to have known
better than offer you his horse, he said, as he moved
away.
I beg you will not do anything of the kind, Tertius,
said Rosamond, looking at him with something more
marked than usual in her speech. It will be treating me as
if I were a child. Promise that you will leave the subject to
me.
There did seem to be some truth in her objection.
Lydgate said, Very well, with a surly obedience, and thus
the discussion ended with his promising Rosamond, and
not with her promising him.
Middlemarch
1039 of 1492
In fact, she had been determined not to promise.
Rosamond had that victorious obstinacy which never
wastes its energy in impetuous resistance. What she liked
to do was to her the right thing, and all her cleverness was
directed to getting the means of doing it. She meant to go
out riding again on the gray, and she did go on the next
opportunity of her husbands absence, not intending that
he should know until it was late enough not to signify to
her. The temptation was certainly great: she was very fond
of the exercise, and the gratification of riding on a fine
horse, with Captain Lydgate, Sir Godwins son, on
another fine horse by her side, and of being met in this
position by any one but her husband, was something as
good as her dreams before marriage: moreover she was
riveting the connection with the family at Quallingham,
which must be a wise thing to do.
But the gentle gray, unprepared for the crash of a tree
that was being felled on the edge of Halsell wood, took
fright, and caused a worse fright to Rosamond, leading
finally to the loss of her baby. Lydgate could not show his
anger towards her, but he was rather bearish to the
Captain, whose visit naturally soon came to an end.
In all future conversations on the subject, Rosamond
was mildly certain that the ride had made no difference,
Middlemarch
1040 of 1492
and that if she had stayed at home the same symptoms
would have come on and would have ended in the same
way, because she had felt something like them before.
Lydgate could only say, Poor, poor darling!but he
secretly wondered over the terrible tenacity of this mild
creature. There was gathering within him an amazed sense
of his powerlessness over Rosamond. His superior
knowledge and mental force, instead of being, as he had
imagined, a shrine to consult on all occasions, was simply
set aside on every practical question. He had regarded
Rosamonds cleverness as precisely of the receptive kind
which became a woman. He was now beginning to find
out what that cleverness waswhat was the shape into
which it had run as into a close network aloof and
independent. No one quicker than Rosamond to see
causes and effects which lay within the track of her own
tastes and interests: she had seen clearly Lydgates
preeminence in Middlemarch society, and could go on
imaginatively tracing still more agreeable social effects
when his talent should have advanced him; but for her, his
professional and scientific ambition had no other relation
to these desirable effects than if they had been the
fortunate discovery of an ill-smelling oil. And that oil
apart, with which she had nothing to do, of course she
Middlemarch
1041 of 1492
believed in her own opinion more than she did in his.
Lydgate was astounded to find in numberless trifling
matters, as well as in this last serious case of the riding, that
affection did not make her compliant. He had no doubt
that the affection was there, and had no presentiment that
he had done anything to repel it. For his own part he said
to himself that he loved her as tenderly as ever, and could
make up his mind-to her negations; butwell! Lydgate
was much worried, and conscious of new elements in his
life as noxious to him as an inlet of mud to a creature that
has been used to breathe and bathe and dart after its
illuminated prey in the clearest of waters.
Rosamond was soon looking lovelier than ever at her
worktable, enjoying drives in her fathers phaeton and
thinking it likely that she might be invited to
Quallingham. She knew that she was a much more
exquisite ornament to the drawing-room there than any
daughter of the family, and in reflecting that the
gentlemen were aware of that, did not perhaps sufficiently
consider whether the ladies would be eager to see
themselves surpassed.
Lydgate, relieved from anxiety about her, relapsed into
what she inwardly called his moodinessa name which to
her covered his thoughtful preoccupation with other
Middlemarch
1042 of 1492
subjects than herself, as well as that uneasy look of the
brow and distaste for all ordinary things as if they were
mixed with bitter herbs, which really made a sort of
weather-glass to his vexation and foreboding. These latter
states of mind had one cause amongst others, which he
had generously but mistakenly avoided mentioning to
Rosamond, lest it should affect her health and spirits.
Between him and her indeed there was that total missing
of each others mental track, which is too evidently
possible even between persons who are continually
thinking of each other. To Lydgate it seemed that he had
been spending month after month in sacrificing more than
half of his best intent and best power to his tenderness for
Rosamond; bearing her little claims and interruptions
without impatience, and, above all, bearing without
betrayal of bitterness to look through less and less of
interfering illusion at the blank unreflecting surface her
mind presented to his ardor for the more impersonal ends
of his profession and his scientific study, an ardor which he
had fancied that the ideal wife must somehow worship as
sublime, though not in the least knowing why. But his
endurance was mingled with a self-discontent which, if we
know how to be candid, we shall confess to make more
than half our bitterness under grievances, wife or husband
Middlemarch
1043 of 1492
included. It always remains true that if we had been
greater, circumstance would have been less strong against
us. Lydgate was aware that his concessions to Rosamond
were often little more than the lapse of slackening
resolution, the creeping paralysis apt to seize an enthusiasm
which is out of adjustment to a constant portion of our
lives. And on Lydgates enthusiasm there was constantly
pressing not a simple weight of sorrow, but the biting
presence of a petty degrading care, such as casts the blight
of irony over all higher effort.
This was the care which he had hitherto abstained from
mentioning to Rosamond; and he believed, with some
wonder, that it had never entered her mind, though
certainly no difficulty could be less mysterious. It was an
inference with a conspicuous handle to it, and had been
easily drawn by indifferent observers, that Lydgate was in
debt; and he could not succeed in keeping out of his mind
for long together that he was every day getting deeper into
that swamp, which tempts men towards it with such a
pretty covering of flowers and verdure. It is wonderful
how soon a man gets up to his chin therein a condition
in which, spite of himself, he is forced to think chiefly of
release, though he had a scheme of the universe in his
soul.
Middlemarch
1044 of 1492
Eighteen months ago Lydgate was poor, but had never
known the eager want of small sums, and felt rather a
burning contempt for any one who descended a step in
order to gain them. He was now experiencing something
worse than a simple deficit: he was assailed by the vulgar
hateful trials of a man who has bought and used a great
many things which might have been done without, and
which he is unable to pay for, though the demand for
payment has become pressing.
How this came about may be easily seen without much
arithmetic or knowledge of prices. When a man in setting
up a house and preparing for marriage finds that his
furniture and other initial expenses come to between four
and five hundred pounds more than he has capital to pay
for; when at the end of a year it appears that his household
expenses, horses and et caeteras, amount to nearly a
thousand, while the proceeds of the practice reckoned
from the old books to be worth eight hundred per annum
have sunk like a summer pond and make hardly five
hundred, chiefly in unpaid entries, the plain inference is
that, whether he minds it or not, he is in debt. Those
were less expensive times than our own, and provincial life
was comparatively modest; but the ease with which a
medical man who had lately bought a practice, who
Middlemarch
1045 of 1492
thought that he was obliged to keep two horses, whose
table was supplied without stint, and who paid an
insurance on his life and a high rent for house and garden,
might find his expenses doubling his receipts, can be
conceived by any one who does not think these details
beneath his consideration. Rosamond, accustomed from
her to an extravagant household, thought that good
housekeeping consisted simply in ordering the best of
everythingnothing else answered; and Lydgate
supposed that if things were done at all, they must be
done properly he did not see how they were to live
otherwise. If each head of household expenditure had
been mentioned to him beforehand, he would have
probably observed that it could hardly come to much,
and if any one had suggested a saving on a particular
article for example, the substitution of cheap fish for
dear it would have appeared to him simply a penny-
wise, mean notion. Rosamond, even without such an
occasion as Captain Lydgates visit, was fond of giving
invitations, and Lydgate, though he often thought the
guests tiresome, did not interfere. This sociability seemed a
necessary part of professional prudence, and the
entertainment must be suitable. It is true Lydgate was
constantly visiting the homes of the poor and adjusting his
Middlemarch
1046 of 1492
prescriptions of diet to their small means; but, dear me! has
it not by this time ceased to be remarkableis it not
rather that we expect in men, that they should have
numerous strands of experience lying side by side and
never compare them with each other? Expenditurelike
ugliness and errorsbecomes a totally new thing when we
attach our own personality to it, and measure it by that
wide difference which is manifest (in our own sensations)
between ourselves and others. Lydgate believed himself to
be careless about his dress, and he despised a man who
calculated the effects of his costume; it seemed to him only
a matter of course that he had abundance of fresh
garments such things were naturally ordered in sheaves.
It must be remembered that he had never hitherto felt the
check of importunate debt, and he walked by habit, not
by self-criticism. But the check had come.
Its novelty made it the more irritating. He was amazed,
disgusted that conditions so foreign to all his purposes, so
hatefully disconnected with the objects he cared to occupy
himself with, should have lain in ambush and clutched
him when he was unaware. And there was not only the
actual debt; there was the certainty that in his present
position he must go on deepening it. Two furnishing
tradesmen at Brassing, whose bills had been incurred
Middlemarch
1047 of 1492
before his marriage, and whom uncalculated current
expenses had ever since prevented him from paying, had
repeatedly sent him unpleasant letters which had forced
themselves on his attention. This could hardly have been
more galling to any disposition than to Lydgates, with his
intense pridehis dislike of asking a favor or being under
an obligation to any one. He had scorned even to form
conjectures about Mr. Vincys intentions on money
matters, and nothing but extremity could have induced
him to apply to his father-in-law, even if he had not been
made aware in various indirect ways since his marriage
that Mr. Vincys own affairs were not flourishing, and that
the expectation of help from him would be resented.
Some men easily trust in the readiness of friends; it had
never in the former part of his life occurred to Lydgate
that he should need to do so: he had never thought what
borrowing would be to him; but now that the idea had
entered his mind, he felt that he would rather incur any
other hardship. In the mean time he had no money or
prospects of money; and his practice was not getting more
lucrative.
No wonder that Lydgate had been unable to suppress
all signs of inward trouble during the last few months, and
now that Rosamond was regaining brilliant health, he
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Middlemarch
1048 of 1492
meditated taking her entirely into confidence on his
difficulties. New conversance with tradesmens bills had
forced his reasoning into a new channel of comparison: he
had begun to consider from a new point of view what was
necessary and unnecessary in goods ordered, and to see
that there must be some change of habits. How could such
a change be made without Rosamonds concurrence? The
immediate occasion of opening the disagreeable fact to her
was forced upon him.
Having no money, and having privately sought advice
as to what security could possibly be given by a man in his
position, Lydgate had offered the one good security in his
power to the less peremptory creditor, who was a
silversmith and jeweller, and who consented to take on
himself the upholsterers credit also, accepting interest for a
given term. The security necessary was a bill of sale on the
furniture of his house, which might make a creditor easy
for a reasonable time about a debt amounting to less than
four hundred pounds; and the silversmith, Mr. Dover, was
willing to reduce it by taking back a portion of the plate
and any other article which was as good as new. Any
other article was a phrase delicately implying jewellery,
and more particularly some purple amethysts costing thirty
pounds, which Lydgate had bought as a bridal present.
Middlemarch
1049 of 1492
Opinions may be divided as to his wisdom in making
this present: some may think that it was a graceful
attention to be expected from a man like Lydgate, and that
the fault of any troublesome consequences lay in the
pinched narrowness of provincial life at that time, which
offered no conveniences for professional people whose
fortune was not proportioned to their tastes; also, in
Lydgates ridiculous fastidiousness about asking his friends
for money.
However, it had seemed a question of no moment to
him on that fine morning when he went to give a final
order for plate: in the presence of other jewels enormously
expensive, and as an addition to orders of which the
amount had not been exactly calculated, thirty pounds for
ornaments so exquisitely suited to Rosamonds neck and
arms could hardly appear excessive when there was no
ready cash for it to exceed. But at this crisis Lydgates
imagination could not help dwelling on the possibility of
letting the amethysts take their place again among Mr.
Dovers stock, though he shrank from the idea of
proposing this to Rosamond. Having been roused to
discern consequences which he had never been in the
habit of tracing, he was preparing to act on this
discernment with some of the rigor (by no means all) that
Middlemarch
1050 of 1492
he would have applied in pursuing experiment. He was
nerving himself to this rigor as he rode from Brassing, and
meditated on the representations he must make to
Rosamond.
It was evening when he got home. He was intensely
miserable, this strong man of nine-and-twenty and of
many gifts. He was not saying angrily within himself that
he had made a profound mistake; but the mistake was at
work in him like a recognized chronic disease, mingling its
uneasy importunities with every prospect, and enfeebling
every thought. As he went along the passage to the
drawing-room, he heard the piano and singing. Of course,
Ladislaw was there. It was some weeks since Will had
parted from Dorothea, yet he was still at the old post in
Middlemarch. Lydgate had no objection in general to
Ladislaws coming, but just now he was annoyed that he
could not find his hearth free. When he opened the door
the two singers went on towards the key-note, raising
their eyes and looking at him indeed, but not regarding his
entrance as an interruption. To a man galled with his
harness as poor Lydgate was, it is not soothing to see two
people warbling at him, as he comes in with the sense that
the painful day has still pains in store. His face, already
Middlemarch
1051 of 1492
paler than usual, took on a scowl as he walked across the
room and flung himself into a chair.
The singers feeling themselves excused by the fact that
they had only three bars to sing, now turned round.
How are you, Lydgate? said Will, coming forward to
shake hands.
Lydgate took his hand, but did not think it necessary to
speak.
Have you dined, Tertius? I expected you much
earlier, said Rosamond, who had already seen that her
husband was in a horrible humor. She seated herself in
her usual place as she spoke.
I have dined. I should like some tea, please, said
Lydgate, curtly, still scowling and looking markedly at his
legs stretched out before him.
Will was too quick to need more. I shall be off, he
said, reaching his hat.
Tea is coming, said Rosamond; pray dont go.
Yes, Lydgate is bored, said Will, who had more
comprehension of Lydgate than Rosamond had, and was
not offended by his manner, easily imagining outdoor
causes of annoyance.
Middlemarch
1052 of 1492
There is the more need for you to stay, said
Rosamond, playfully, and in her lightest accent; he will
not speak to me all the evening.
Yes, Rosamond, I shall, said Lydgate, in his strong
baritone. I have some serious business to speak to you
about.
No introduction of the business could have been less
like that which Lydgate had intended; but her indifferent
manner had been too provoking.
There! you see, said Will. Im going to the meeting
about the Mechanics Institute. Good-by; and he went
quickly out of the room.
Rosamond did not look at her husband, but presently
rose and took her place before the tea-tray. She was
thinking that she had never seen him so disagreeable.
Lydgate turned his dark eyes on her and watched her as
she delicately handled the tea-service with her taper
fingers, and looked at the objects immediately before her
with no curve in her face disturbed, and yet with an
ineffable protest in her air against all people with
unpleasant manners. For the moment he lost the sense of
his wound in a sudden speculation about this new form of
feminine impassibility revealing itself in the sylph-like
frame which he had once interpreted as the sign of a ready
Middlemarch
1053 of 1492
intelligent sensitiveness. His mind glancing back to Laure
while he looked at Rosamond, he said inwardly, Would
SHE kill me because I wearied her? and then, It is the
way with all women. But this power of generalizing
which gives men so much the superiority in mistake over
the dumb animals, was immediately thwarted by Lydgates
memory of wondering impressions from the behavior of
another woman from Dorotheas looks and tones of
emotion about her husband when Lydgate began to attend
himfrom her passionate cry to be taught what would
best comfort that man for whose sake it seemed as if she
must quell every impulse in her except the yearnings of
faithfulness and compassion. These revived impressions
succeeded each other quickly and dreamily in Lydgates
mind while the tea was being brewed. He had shut his
eyes in the last instant of reverie while he heard Dorothea
saying, Advise methink what I can dohe has been all
his life laboring and looking forward. He minds about
nothing elseand I mind about nothing else.
That voice of deep-souled womanhood had remained
within him as the enkindling conceptions of dead and
sceptred genius had remained within him (is there not a
genius for feeling nobly which also reigns over human
spirits and their conclusions?); the tones were a music from
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1054 of 1492
which he was falling awayhe had really fallen into a
momentary doze, when Rosamond said in her silvery
neutral way, Here is your tea, Tertius, setting it on the
small table by his side, and then moved back to her place
without looking at him. Lydgate was too hasty in
attributing insensibility to her; after her own fashion, she
was sensitive enough, and took lasting impressions. Her
impression now was one of offence and repulsion. But
then, Rosamond had no scowls and had never raised her
voice: she was quite sure that no one could justly find fault
with her.
Perhaps Lydgate and she had never felt so far off each
other before; but there were strong reasons for not
deferring his revelation, even if he had not already begun
it by that abrupt announcement; indeed some of the angry
desire to rouse her into more sensibility on his account
which had prompted him to speak prematurely, still
mingled with his pain in the prospect of her pain. But he
waited till the tray was gone, the candles were lit, and the
evening quiet might be counted on: the interval had left
time for repelled tenderness to return into the old course.
He spoke kindly.
Middlemarch
1055 of 1492
Dear Rosy, lay down your work and come to sit by
me, he said, gently, pushing away the table, and stretching
out his arm to draw a chair near his own.
Rosamond obeyed. As she came towards him in her
drapery of transparent faintly tinted muslin, her slim yet
round figure never looked more graceful; as she sat down
by him and laid one hand on the elbow of his chair, at last
looking at him and meeting his eyes, her delicate neck and
cheek and purely cut lips never had more of that
untarnished beauty which touches as in spring-time and
infancy and all sweet freshness. It touched Lydgate now,
and mingled the early moments of his love for her with all
the other memories which were stirred in this crisis of
deep trouble. He laid his ample hand softly on hers,
saying
Dear! with the lingering utterance which affection
gives to the word. Rosamond too was still under the
power of that same past, and her husband was still in part
the Lydgate whose approval had stirred delight. She put
his hair lightly away from his forehead, then laid her other
hand on his, and was conscious of forgiving him.
I am obliged to tell you what will hurt you, Rosy. But
there are things which husband and wife must think of
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1056 of 1492
together. I dare say it has occurred to you already that I
am short of money.
Lydgate paused; but Rosamond turned her neck and
looked at a vase on the mantel-piece.
I was not able to pay for all the things we had to get
before we were married, and there have been expenses
since which I have been obliged to meet. The
consequence is, there is a large debt at Brassingthree
hundred and eighty poundswhich has been pressing on
me a good while, and in fact we are getting deeper every
day, for people dont pay me the faster because others
want the money. I took pains to keep it from you while
you were not well; but now we must think together about
it, and you must help me.
What canIdo, Tertius? said Rosamond, turning
her eyes on him again. That little speech of four words,
like so many others in all languages, is capable by varied
vocal inflections of expressing all states of mind from
helpless dimness to exhaustive argumentative perception,
from the completest self-devoting fellowship to the most
neutral aloofness. Rosamonds thin utterance threw into
the words What canIdo! as much neutrality as they
could hold. They fell like a mortal chill on Lydgates
roused tenderness. He did not storm in indignation he
Middlemarch
1057 of 1492
felt too sad a sinking of the heart. And when he spoke
again it was more in the tone of a man who forces himself
to fulfil a task.
It is necessary for you to know, because I have to give
security for a time, and a man must come to make an
inventory of the furniture.
Rosamond colored deeply. Have you not asked papa
for money? she said, as soon as she could speak.
No.
Then I must ask him! she said, releasing her hands
from Lydgates, and rising to stand at two yards distance
from him.
No, Rosy, said Lydgate, decisively. It is too late to do
that. The inventory will be begun to-morrow. Remember
it is a mere security: it will make no difference: it is a
temporary affair. I insist upon it that your father shall not
know, unless I choose to tell him, added Lydgate, with a
more peremptory emphasis.
This certainly was unkind, but Rosamond had thrown
him back on evil expectation as to what she would do in
the way of quiet steady disobedience. The unkindness
seemed unpardonable to her: she was not given to
weeping and disliked it, but now her chin and lips began
to tremble and the tears welled up. Perhaps it was not
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1058 of 1492
possible for Lydgate, under the double stress of outward
material difficulty and of his own proud resistance to
humiliating consequences, to imagine fully what this
sudden trial was to a young creature who had known
nothing but indulgence, and whose dreams had all been of
new indulgence, more exactly to her taste. But he did
wish to spare her as much as he could, and her tears cut
him to the heart. He could not speak again immediately;
but Rosamond did not go on sobbing: she tried to
conquer her agitation and wiped away her tears,
continuing to look before her at the mantel-piece.
Try not to grieve, darling, said Lydgate, turning his
eyes up towards her. That she had chosen to move away
from him in this moment of her trouble made everything
harder to say, but he must absolutely go on. We must
brace ourselves to do what is necessary. It is I who have
been in fault: I ought to have seen that I could not afford-
to live in this way. But many things have told against me
in my practice, and it really just now has ebbed to a low
point. I may recover it, but in the mean time we must pull
upwe must change our way of living. We shall weather
it. When I have given this security I shall have time to
look about me; and you are so clever that if you turn your
mind to managing you will school me into carefulness. I
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1059 of 1492
have been a thoughtless rascal about squaring pricesbut
come, dear, sit down and forgive me.
Lydgate was bowing his neck under the yoke like a
creature who had talons, but who had Reason too, which
often reduces us to meekness. When he had spoken the
last words in an imploring tone, Rosamond returned to
the chair by his side. His self-blame gave her some hope
that he would attend to her opinion, and she said
Why can you not put off having the inventory made?
You can send the men away to-morrow when they
come.
I shall not send them away, said Lydgate, the
peremptoriness rising again. Was it of any use to explain?
If we left Middlemarch? there would of course be a
sale, and that would do as well.
But we are not going to leave Middlemarch.
I am sure, Tertius, it would be much better to do so.
Why can we not go to London? Or near Durham, where
your family is known?
We can go nowhere without money, Rosamond.
Your friends would not wish you to be without
money. And surely these odious tradesmen might be made
to understand that, and to wait, if you would make proper
representations to them.
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Middlemarch
1060 of 1492
This is idle Rosamond, said Lydgate, angrily. You
must learn to take my judgment on questions you dont
understand. I have made necessary arrangements, and they
must be carried out. As to friends, I have no expectations
whatever from them, and shall not ask them for anything.
Rosamond sat perfectly still. The thought in her mind
was that if she had known how Lydgate would behave,
she would never have married him.
We have no time to waste now on unnecessary words,
dear, said Lydgate, trying to be gentle again. There are
some details that I want to consider with you. Dover says
he will take a good deal of the plate back again, and any of
the jewellery we like. He really behaves very well.
Are we to go without spoons and forks then? said
Rosamond, whose very lips seemed to get thinner with
the thinness of her utterance. She was determined to make
no further resistance or suggestions.
Oh no, dear! said Lydgate. But look here, he
continued, drawing a paper from his pocket and opening
it; here is Dovers account. See, I have marked a number
of articles, which if we returned them would reduce the
amount by thirty pounds. and more. I have not marked
any of the jewellery. Lydgate had really felt this point of
the jewellery very bitter to himself; but he had overcome
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1061 of 1492
the feeling by severe argument. He could not propose to
Rosamond that she should return any particular present of
his, but he had told himself that he was bound to put
Dovers offer before her, and her inward prompting might
make the affair easy.
It is useless for me to look, Tertius, said Rosamond,
calmly; you will return what you please. She would not
turn her eyes on the paper, and Lydgate, flushing up to the
roots of his hair, drew it back and let it fall on his knee.
Meanwhile Rosamond quietly went out of the room,
leaving Lydgate helpless and wondering. Was she not
coming back? It seemed that she had no more identified
herself with him than if they had been creatures of
different species and opposing interests. He tossed his head
and thrust his hands deep into his pockets with a sort of
vengeance. There was still science there were still good
objects to work for. He must give a tug still all the
stronger because other satisfactions were going.
But the door opened and Rosamond re-entered. She
carried the leather box containing the amethysts, and a
tiny ornamental basket which contained other boxes, and
laying them on the chair where she had been sitting, she
said, with perfect propriety in her air
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1062 of 1492
This is all the jewellery you ever gave me. You can
return what you like of it, and of the plate also. You will
not, of course, expect me to stay at home to-morrow. I
shall go to papas.
To many women the look Lydgate cast at her would
have been more terrible than one of anger: it had in it a
despairing acceptance of the distance she was placing
between them.
And when shall you come back again? he said, with a
bitter edge on his accent.
Oh, in the evening. Of course I shall not mention the
subject to mamma. Rosamond was convinced that no
woman could behave more irreproachably than she was
behaving; and she went to sit down at her work-table.
Lydgate sat meditating a minute or two, and the result was
that he said, with some of the old emotion in his tone
Now we have been united, Rosy, you should not
leave me to myself in the first trouble that has come.
Certainly not, said Rosamond; I shall do everything it
becomes me to do.
It is not right that the thing should be left to servants,
or that I should have to speak to them about it. And I shall
be obliged to go outI dont know how early. I
understand your shrinking from the humiliation of these
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1063 of 1492
money affairs. But, my dear Rosamond, as a question of
pride, which I feel just as much as you can, it is surely
better to manage the thing ourselves, and let the servants
see as little of it as possible; and since you are my wife,
there is no hindering your share in my disgracesif there
were disgraces.
Rosamond did not answer immediately, but at last she
said, Very well, I will stay at home.
I shall not touch these jewels, Rosy. Take them away
again. But I will write out a list of plate that we may
return, and that can be packed up and sent at once.
The servants will know THAT, said Rosamond, with
the slightest touch of sarcasm.
Well, we must meet some disagreeables as necessities.
Where is the ink, I wonder? said Lydgate, rising, and
throwing the account on the larger table where he meant
to write.
Rosamond went to reach the inkstand, and after setting
it on the table was going to turn away, when Lydgate,
who was standing close by, put his arm round her and
drew her towards him, saying
Come, darling, let us make the best of things. It will
only be for a time, I hope, that we shall have to be stingy
and particular. Kiss me.
Middlemarch
1064 of 1492
His native warm-heartedness took a great deal of
quenching, and it is a part of manliness for a husband to
feel keenly the fact that an inexperienced girl has got into
trouble by marrying him. She received his kiss and
returned it faintly, and in this way an appearance of accord
was recovered for the time. But Lydgate could not help
looking forward with dread to the inevitable future
discussions about expenditure and the necessity for a
complete change in their way of living.
Middlemarch
1065 of 1492
Chapter LIX
They said of old the Soul had human shape,
But smaller, subtler than the fleshly self,
So wandered forth for airing when it pleased.
And see! beside her cherub-face there floats
A pale-lipped form aerial whispering
Its promptings in that little shell her ear.
News is often dispersed as thoughtlessly and effectively
as that pollen which the bees carry off (having no idea
how powdery they are) when they are buzzing in search
of their particular nectar. This fine comparison has
reference to Fred Vincy, who on that evening at Lowick
Parsonage heard a lively discussion among the ladies on
the news which their old servant had got from Tantripp
concerning Mr. Casaubons strange mention of Mr.
Ladislaw in a codicil to his will made not long before his
death. Miss Winifred was astounded to find that her
brother had known the fact before, and observed that
Camden was the most wonderful man for knowing things
and not telling them; whereupon Mary Garth said that the
codicil had perhaps got mixed up with the habits of
spiders, which Miss Winifred never would listen to. Mrs.
Farebrother considered that the news had something to do
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1066 of 1492
with their having only once seen Mr. Ladislaw at Lowick,
and Miss Noble made many small compassionate mewings.
Fred knew little and cared less about Ladislaw and the
Casaubons, and his mind never recurred to that discussion
till one day calling on Rosamond at his mothers request
to deliver a message as he passed, he happened to see
Ladislaw going away. Fred and Rosamond had little to say
to each other now that marriage had removed her from
collision with the unpleasantness of brothers, and
especially now that he had taken what she held the stupid
and even reprehensible step of giving up the Church to
take to such a business as Mr. Garths. Hence Fred talked
by preference of what he considered indifferent news, and
a propos of that young Ladislaw mentioned what he had
heard at Lowick Parsonage.
Now Lydgate, like Mr. Farebrother, knew a great deal
more than he told, and when he had once been set
thinking about the relation between Will and Dorothea
his conjectures had gone beyond the fact. He imagined
that there was a passionate attachment on both sides, and
this struck him as much too serious to gossip about. He
remembered Wills irritability when he had mentioned
Mrs. Casaubon, and was the more circumspect. On the
whole his surmises, in addition to what he knew of the
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1067 of 1492
fact, increased his friendliness and tolerance towards
Ladislaw, and made him understand the vacillation which
kept him at Middlemarch after he had said that he should
go away. It was significant of the separateness be tween
Lydgates mind and Rosamonds that he had no impulse to
speak to her on the subject; indeed, he did not quite trust
her reticence towards Will. And he was right there;
though he had no vision of the way in which her mind
would act in urging her to speak.
When she repeated Freds news to Lydgate, he said,
Take care you dont drop the faintest hint to Ladislaw,
Rosy. He is likely to fly out as if you insulted him. Of
course it is a painful affair.
Rosamond turned her neck and patted her hair,
looking the image of placid indifference. But the next
time Will came when Lydgate was away, she spoke archly
about his not going to London as he had threatened.
I know all about it. I have a confidential little bird,
said she, showing very pretty airs of her head over the bit
of work held high between her active fingers. There is a
powerful magnet in this neighborhood.
To be sure there is. Nobody knows that better than
you, said Will, with light gallantry, but inwardly prepared
to be angry.
Middlemarch
1068 of 1492
It is really the most charming romance: Mr. Casaubon
jealous, and foreseeing that there was no one else whom
Mrs. Casaubon would so much like to marry, and no one
who would so much like to marry her as a certain
gentleman; and then laying a plan to spoil all by making
her forfeit her property if she did marry that gentleman
and thenand thenand thenoh, I have no doubt the
end will be thoroughly romantic.
Great God! what do you mean? said Will, flushing
over face and ears, his features seeming to change as if he
had had a violent shake. Dont joke; tell me what you
mean.
You dont really know? said Rosamond, no longer
playful, and desiring nothing better than to tell in order
that she might evoke effects.
No! he returned, impatiently.
Dont know that Mr. Casaubon has left it in his will
that if Mrs. Casaubon marries you she is to forfeit all her
property?
How do you know that it is true? said Will, eagerly.
My brother Fred heard it from the Farebrothers. Will
started up from his chair and reached his hat.
I dare say she likes you better than the property, said
Rosamond, looking at him from a distance.
Middlemarch
1069 of 1492
Pray dont say any more about it, said Will, in a
hoarse undertone extremely unlike his usual light voice. It
is a foul insult to her and to me. Then he sat down
absently, looking before him, but seeing nothing.
Now you are angry with ME, said Rosamond. It is
too bad to bear ME malice. You ought to be obliged to
me for telling you.
So I am, said Will, abruptly, speaking with that kind
of double soul which belongs to dreamers who answer
questions.
I expect to hear of the marriage, said Rosamond, play.
fully.
Never! You will never hear of the marriage!
With those words uttered impetuously, Will rose, put
out his hand to Rosamond, still with the air of a
somnambulist, and went away.
When he was gone, Rosamond left her chair and
walked to the other end of the room, leaning when she
got there against a chiffonniere, and looking out of the
window wearily. She was oppressed by ennui, and by that
dissatisfaction which in womens minds is continually
turning into a trivial jealousy, referring to no real claims,
springing from no deeper passion than the vague
exactingness of egoism, and yet capable of impelling action
Middlemarch
1070 of 1492
as well as speech. There really is nothing to care for
much, said poor Rosamond inwardly, thinking of the
family at Quallingham, who did not write to her; and that
perhaps Tertius when he came home would tease her
about expenses. She had already secretly disobeyed him by
asking her father to help them, and he had ended
decisively by saying, I am more likely to want help
myself.
Middlemarch
1071 of 1492
Chapter LX
Good phrases are surely, and ever were, very
commendable.
Justice Shallow.
A few days afterwardsit was already the end of
Augustthere was an occasion which caused some
excitement in Middlemarch: the public, if it chose, was to
have the advantage of buying, under the distinguished
auspices of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, the furniture, books,
and pictures which anybody might see by the handbills to
be the best in every kind, belonging to Edwin Larcher,
Esq. This was not one of the sales indicating the
depression of trade; on the contrary, it was due to Mr.
Larchers great success in the carrying business, which
warranted his purchase of a mansion near Riverston
already furnished in high style by an illustrious Spa
physicianfurnished indeed with such large framefuls of
expensive flesh-painting in the dining-room, that Mrs.
Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects
to be Scriptural. Hence the fine opportunity to purchasers
which was well pointed out in the handbills of Mr.
Borthrop Trumbull, whose acquaintance with the history
of art enabled him to state that the hall furniture, to be
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Middlemarch
1072 of 1492
sold without reserve, comprised a piece of carving by a
contemporary of Gibbons.
At Middlemarch in those times a large sale was
regarded as a kind of festival. There was a table spread
with the best cold eatables, as at a superior funeral; and
facilities were offered for that generous-drinking of
cheerful glasses which might lead to generous and cheerful
bidding for undesirable articles. Mr. Larchers sale was the
more attractive in the fine weather because the house
stood just at the end of the town, with a garden and stables
attached, in that pleasant issue from Middlemarch called
the London Road, which was also the road to the New
Hospital and to Mr. Bulstrodes retired residence, known
as the Shrubs. In short, the auction was as good as a fair,
and drew all classes with leisure at command: to some,
who risked making bids in order simply to raise prices, it
was almost equal to betting at the races. The second day,
when the best furniture was to be sold, everybody was
there; even Mr. Thesiger, the rector of St. Peters, had
looked in for a short time, wishing to buy the carved
table, and had rubbed elbows with Mr. Bambridge and
Mr. Horrock. There was a wreath of Middlemarch ladies
accommodated with seats round the large table in the
dining-room, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was
Middlemarch
1073 of 1492
mounted with desk and hammer; but the rows chiefly of
masculine faces behind were often varied by incomings
and outgoings both from the door and the large bow-
window opening on to the lawn.
Everybody that day did not include Mr. Bulstrode,
whose health could not well endure crowds and draughts.
But Mrs. Bulstrode had particularly wished to have a
certain picturea Supper at Emmaus, attributed in the
catalogue to Guido; and at the last moment before the day
of the sale Mr. Bulstrode had called at the office of the
Pioneer, of which he was now one of the proprietors, to
beg of Mr. Ladislaw as a great favor that he would
obligingly use his remarkable knowledge of pictures on
behalf of Mrs. Bulstrode, and judge of the value of this
particular paintingif, added the scrupulously polite
banker, attendance at the sale would not interfere with the
arrangements for your departure, which I know is
imminent.
This proviso might have sounded rather satirically in
Wills ear if he had been in a mood to care about such
satire. It referred to an understanding entered into many
weeks before with the proprietors of the paper, that he
should be at liberty any day he pleased to hand over the
management to the subeditor whom he had been training;
Middlemarch
1074 of 1492
since he wished finally to quit Middlemarch. But
indefinite visions of ambition are weak against the ease of
doing what is habitual or beguilingly agreeable; and we all
know the difficulty of carrying out a resolve when we
secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In
such states of mind the most incredulous person has a
private leaning towards miracle: impossible to conceive
how our wish could be fulfilled, still very wonderful
things have happened! Will did not confess this weakness
to himself, but he lingered. What was the use of going to
London at that time of the year? The Rugby men who
would remember him were not there; and so far as
political writing was concerned, he would rather for a few
weeks go on with the Pioneer. At the present moment,
however, when Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him, he
had both a strengthened resolve to go and an equally
strong resolve not to go till he had once more seen
Dorothea. Hence he replied that he had reasons for
deferring his departure a little, and would be happy to go
to the sale.
Will was in a defiant mood, his consciousness being
deeply stung with the thought that the people who looked
at him probably knew a fact tantamount to an accusation
against him as a fellow with low designs which were to be
Middlemarch
1075 of 1492
frustrated by a disposal of property. Like most people who
assert their freedom with regard to conventional
distinction, he was prepared to be sudden and quick at
quarrel with any one who might hint that he had personal
reasons for that assertion that there was anything in his
blood, his bearing, or his character to which he gave the
mask of an opinion. When he was under an irritating
impression of this kind he would go about for days with a
defiant look, the color changing in his transparent skin as if
he were on the qui vive, watching for something which
he had to dart upon.
This expression was peculiarly noticeable in him at the
sale, and those who had only seen him in his moods of
gentle oddity or of bright enjoyment would have been
struck with a contrast. He was not sorry to have this
occasion for appearing in public before the Middlemarch
tribes of Toller, Hackbutt, and the rest, who looked down
on him as an adventurer, and were in a state of brutal
ignorance about Dantewho sneered at his Polish blood,
and were themselves of a breed very much in need of
crossing. He stood in a conspicuous place not far from the
auctioneer, with a fore-finger in each side-pocket and his
head thrown backward, not caring to speak to anybody,
though he had been cordially welcomed as a
Middlemarch
1076 of 1492
connoissURE by Mr. Trumbull, who was enjoying the
utmost activity of his great faculties.
And surely among all men whose vocation requires
them to exhibit their powers of speech, the happiest is a
prosperous provincial auctioneer keenly alive to his own
jokes and sensible of his encyclopedic knowledge. Some
saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to be
constantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-
jacks to Berghems; but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a
kindly liquid in his veins; he was an admirer by nature,
and would have liked to have the universe under his
hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for his
recommendation.
Meanwhile Mrs. Larchers drawing-room furniture was
enough for him. When Will Ladislaw had come in, a
second fender, said to have been forgotten in its right
place, suddenly claimed the auctioneers enthusiasm,
which he distributed on the equitable principle of praising
those things most which were most in need of praise. The
fender was of polished steel, with much lancet-shaped
open-work and a sharp edge
Now, ladies, said he, I shall appeal to you. Here is a
fender which at any other sale would hardly be offered
with out reserve, being, as I may say, for quality of steel
Middlemarch
1077 of 1492
and quaintness of design, a kind of thinghere Mr.
Trumbull dropped his voice and became slightly nasal,
trimming his outlines with his left finger that might not
fall in with ordinary tastes. Allow me to tell you that by-
and-by this style of workmanship will be the only one in
voguehalf-a-crown, you said? thank yougoing at half-
a-crown, this characteristic fender; and I have particular
information that the antique style is very much sought
after in high quarters. Three shillingsthree-and-
sixpencehold it well up, Joseph! Look, ladies, at the
chastity of the design I have no doubt myself that it was
turned out in the last century! Four shillings, Mr.
Mawmsey?four shillings.
Its not a thing I would put in MY drawing-room,
said Mrs. Mawmsey, audibly, for the warning of the rash
husband. I wonder AT Mrs. Larcher. Every blessed childs
head that fell against it would be cut in two. The edge is
like a knife.
Quite true, rejoined Mr. Trumbull, quickly, and
most uncommonly useful to have a fender at hand that
will cut, if you have a leather shoe-tie or a bit of string
that wants cutting and no knife at hand: many a man has
been left hanging because there was no knife to cut him
down. Gentlemen, heres a fender that if you had the
Middlemarch
1078 of 1492
misfortune to hang yourselves would cut you down in no
timewith astonishing celerityfour-and-sixpence
fivefive-and-sixpencean appropriate thing for a spare
bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest a little
out of his mindsix shillingsthank you, Mr. Clintup
going at six shillingsgoinggone! The auctioneers
glance, which had been searching round him with a
preternatural susceptibility to all signs of bidding, here
dropped on the paper before him, and his voice too
dropped into a tone of indifferent despatch as he said, Mr.
Clintup. Be handy, Joseph.
It was worth six shillings to have a fender you could
always tell that joke on, said Mr. Clintup, laughing low
and apologetically to his next neighbor. He was a diffident
though distinguished nurseryman, and feared that the
audience might regard his bid as a foolish one.
Meanwhile Joseph had brought a trayful of small
articles. Now, ladies, said Mr. Trumbull, taking up one
of the articles, this tray contains a very recherchy lota
collection of trifles for the drawing-room tableand trifles
make the sum OF human thingsnothing more
important than trifles(yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes, by-and-
by)but pass the tray round, Josephthese bijoux must
be examined, ladies. This I have in my hand is an
Middlemarch
1079 of 1492
ingenious contrivance a sort of practical rebus, I may
call it: here, you see, it looks like an elegant heart-shaped
box, portablefor the pocket; there, again, it becomes
like a splendid double floweran ornament for the table;
and nowMr. Trumbull allowed the flower to fall
alarmingly into strings of heart-shaped leavesa book of
riddles! No less than five hundred printed in a beautiful
red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience, I should not
wish you to bid high for this lot I have a longing for it
myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say
virtue, more than a good riddle?it hinders profane
language, and attaches a man to the society of refined
females. This ingenious article itself, without the elegant
domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a high
price to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an
individual welcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?
four shillings for this remarkable collection of riddles with
the et caeteras. Here is a sample: How must you spell
honey to make it catch lady-birds? Answer money.
You hear?lady-birdshoney money. This is an
amusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a stingit has
what we call satire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-
sixpencefive shillings.
Middlemarch
1080 of 1492
The bidding ran on with warming rivalry. Mr. Bowyer
was a bidder, and this was too exasperating. Bowyer
couldnt afford it, and only wanted to hinder every other
man from making a figure. The current carried even Mr.
Horrock with it, but this committal of himself to an
opinion fell from him with so little sacrifice of his neutral
expression, that the bid might not have been detected as
his but for the friendly oaths of Mr. Bambridge, who
wanted to know what Horrock would do with blasted
stuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of
perdition which the horse-dealer so cordially recognized
in the majority of earthly existences. The lot was finally
knocked down at a guinea to Mr. Spilkins, a young
Slender of the neighborhood, who was reckless with his
pocket-money and felt his want of memory for riddles.
Come, Trumbull, this is too badyouve been putting
some old maids rubbish into the sale, murmured Mr.
Toller, getting close to the auctioneer. I want to see how
the prints go, and I must be off soon.
IMmediately, Mr. Toller. It was only an act of
benevolence which your noble heart would approve.
Joseph! quick with the prints Lot 235. Now, gentlemen,
you who are connoissURES, you are going to have a
treat. Here is an engraving of the Duke of Wellington
Middlemarch
1081 of 1492
surrounded by his staff on the Field of Waterloo; and
notwithstanding recent events which have, as it were,
enveloped our great Hero in a cloud, I will be bold to
say for a man in my line must not be blown about by
political winds that a finer subjectof the modern
order, belonging to our own time and epochthe
understanding of man could hardly conceive: angels
might, perhaps, but not men, sirs, not men.
Who painted it? said Mr. Powderell, much impressed.
It is a proof before the letter, Mr. Powderellthe
painter is not known, answered Trumbull, with a certain
gaspingness in his last words, after which he pursed up his
lips and stared round him.
Ill bid a pound! said Mr. Powderell, in a tone of
resolved emotion, as of a man ready to put himself in the
breach. Whether from awe or pity, nobody raised the
price on him.
Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Toller had
been eager for, and after he had secured them he went
away. Other prints, and afterwards some paintings, were
sold to leading Middlemarchers who had come with a
special desire for them, and there was a more active
movement of the audience in and out; some, who had
bought what they wanted, going away, others coming in
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1082 of 1492
either quite newly or from a temporary visit to the
refreshments which were spread under the marquee on the
lawn. It was this marquee that Mr. Bambridge was bent on
buying, and he appeared to like looking inside it
frequently, as a foretaste of its possession. On the last
occasion of his return from it he was observed to bring
with him a new companion, a stranger to Mr. Trumbull
and every one else, whose appearance, however, led to the
supposition that he might be a relative of the horse-
dealers also given to indulgence. His large whiskers,
imposing swagger, and swing of the leg, made him a
striking figure; but his suit of black, rather shabby at the
edges, caused the prejudicial inference that he was not able
to afford himself as much indulgence as he liked.
Who is it youve picked up, Bam? said Mr. Horrock,
aside.
Ask him yourself, returned Mr. Bambridge. He said
hed just turned in from the road.
Mr. Horrock eyed the stranger, who was leaning back
against his stick with one hand, using his toothpick with
the other, and looking about him with a certain
restlessness apparently under the silence imposed on him
by circumstances.
Middlemarch
1083 of 1492
At length the Supper at Emmaus was brought
forward, to Wills immense relief, for he was getting so
tired of the proceedings that he had drawn back a little and
leaned his shoulder against the wall just behind the
auctioneer. He now came forward again, and his eye
caught the conspicuous stranger, who, rather to his
surprise, was staring at him markedly. But Will was
immediately appealed to by Mr. Trumbull.
Yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a
connoissURE, I think. It is some pleasure, the auctioneer
went on with a rising fervor, to have a picture like this to
show to a company of ladies and gentlemena picture
worth any sum to an individual whose means were on a
level with his judgment. It is a painting of the Italian
schoolby the celebrated Guydo, the greatest painter in
the world, the chief of the Old Masters, as they are
called I take it, because they were up to a thing or two
beyond most of us in possession of secrets now lost to
the bulk of mankind. Let me tell you, gentlemen, I have
seen a great many pictures by the Old Masters, and they
are not all up to this marksome of them are darker than
you might like and not family subjects. But here is a
Guydothe frame alone is worth poundswhich any
lady might be proud to hang upa suitable thing for what
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Middlemarch
1084 of 1492
we call a refectory in a charitable institution, if any
gentleman of the Corporation wished to show his
munifiCENCE. Turn it a little, sir? yes. Joseph, turn it a
little towards Mr. LadislawMr. Ladislaw, having been
abroad, understands the merit of these things, you
observe.
All eyes were for a moment turned towards Will, who
said, coolly, Five pounds. The auctioneer burst out in
deep remonstrance.
Ah! Mr. Ladislaw! the frame alone is worth that. Ladies
and gentlemen, for the credit of the town! Suppose it
should be discovered hereafter that a gem of art has been
amongst us in this town, and nobody in Middlemarch
awake to it. Five guineasfive seven-six five ten. Still,
ladies, still! It is a gem, and Full many a gem, as the poet
says, has been allowed to go at a nominal pride because
the public knew no better, because it was offered in circles
where there wasI was going to say a low feeling, but
no!Six pounds six guineasa Guydo of the first order
going at six guineas it is an insult to religion, ladies; it
touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, that a subject like
this should go at such a low figure six pounds ten
seven
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1085 of 1492
The bidding was brisk, and Will continued to share in
it, remembering that Mrs. Bulstrode had a strong wish for
the picture, and thinking that he might stretch the price to
twelve pounds. But it was knocked down to him at ten
guineas, whereupon he pushed his way towards the bow-
window and went out. He chose to go under the marquee
to get a glass of water, being hot and thirsty: it was empty
of other visitors, and he asked the woman in attendance to
fetch him some fresh water; but before she was well gone
he was annoyed to see entering the florid stranger who
had stared at him. It struck Will at this moment that the
man might be one of those political parasitic insects of the
bloated kind who had once or twice claimed acquaintance
with him as having heard him speak on the Reform
question, and who might think of getting a shilling by
news. In this light his person, already rather heating to
behold on a summers day, appeared the more
disagreeable; and Will, half-seated on the elbow of a
garden-chair, turned his eyes carefully away from the
comer. But this signified little to our acquaintance Mr.
Raffles, who never hesitated to thrust himself on unwilling
observation, if it suited his purpose to do so. He moved. a
step or two till he was in front of Will, and said with full-
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1086 of 1492
mouthed haste, Excuse me, Mr. Ladislaw was your
mothers name Sarah Dunkirk?
Will, starting to his feet, moved backward a step,
frowning, and saying with some fierceness, Yes, sir, it
was. And what is that to you?
It was in Wills nature that the first spark it threw out
was a direct answer of the question and a challenge of the
consequences. To have said, What is that to you? in the
first instance, would have seemed like shufflingas if he
minded who knew anything about his origin!
Raffles on his side had not the same eagerness for a
collision which was implied in Ladislaws threatening air.
The slim young fellow with his girls complexion looked
like a tiger-cat ready to spring on him. Under such
circumstances Mr. Raffless pleasure in annoying his
company was kept in abeyance.
No offence, my good sir, no offence! I only remember
your mother knew her when she was a girl. But it is
your father that you feature, sir. I had the pleasure of
seeing your father too. Parents alive, Mr. Ladislaw?
No! thundered Will, in the same attitude as before.
Should be glad to do you a service, Mr. Ladislawby
Jove, I should! Hope to meet again.
Middlemarch
1087 of 1492
Hereupon Raffles, who had lifted his hat with the last
words, turned himself round with a swing of his leg and
walked away. Will looked after him a moment, and could
see that he did not re-enter the auction-room, but
appeared to be walking towards the road. For an instant he
thought that he had been foolish not to let the man go on
talking;but no! on the whole he preferred doing
without knowledge from that source.
Later in the evening, however, Raffles overtook him in
the street, and appearing either to have forgotten the
roughness of his former reception or to intend avenging it
by a forgiving familiarity, greeted him jovially and walked
by his side, remarking at first on the pleasantness of the
town and neighbor hood. Will suspected that the man had
been drinking and was considering how to shake him off
when Raffles said
Ive been abroad myself, Mr. LadislawIve seen the
world used to parley-vous a little. It was at Boulogne I
saw your father a most uncommon likeness you are of
him, by Jove! mouthnoseeyes hair turned off your
brow just like hisa little in the foreign style. John Bull
doesnt do much of that. But your father was very ill when
I saw him. Lord, lord! hands you might see through. You
were a small youngster then. Did he get well?
Middlemarch
1088 of 1492
No, said Will, curtly.
Ah! Well! Ive often wondered what became of your
mother. She ran away from her friends when she was a
young lass a proud-spirited lass, and pretty, by Jove! I
knew the reason why she ran away, said Raffles, winking
slowly as he looked sideways at Will.
You know nothing dishonorable of her, sir, said Will,
turning on him rather savagely. But Mr. Raffles just now
was not sensitive to shades of manner.
Not a bit! said he, tossing his head decisively She was
a little too honorable to like her friendsthat was it!
Here Raffles again winked slowly. Lord bless you, I knew
all about em a little in what you may call the
respectable thieving line the high style of receiving-
housenone of your holes and corners first-rate. Slap-
up shop, high profits and no mistake. But Lord! Sarah
would have known nothing about ita dashing young
lady she was fine boarding-schoolfit for a lords
wifeonly Archie Duncan threw it at her out of spite,
because she would have nothing to do with him. And so
she ran away from the whole concern. I travelled for em,
sir, in a gentlemanly wayat a high salary. They didnt
mind her running away at firstgodly folks, sir, very
godlyand she was for the stage. The son was alive then,
Middlemarch
1089 of 1492
and the daughter was at a discount. Hallo! here we are at
the Blue Bull. What do you say, Mr. Ladislaw?shall we
turn in and have a glass?
No, I must say good evening, said Will, dashing up a
passage which led into Lowick Gate, and almost running
to get out of Raffless reach.
He walked a long while on the Lowick road away from
the town, glad of the starlit darkness when it came. He felt
as if he had had dirt cast on him amidst shouts of scorn.
There was this to confirm the fellows statementthat his
mother never would tell him the reason why she had run
away from her family.
Well! what was he, Will Ladislaw, the worse, supposing
the truth about that family to be the ugliest? His mother
had braved hardship in order to separate herself from it.
But if Dorotheas friends had known this storyif the
Chettams had known it they would have had a fine
color to give their suspicions a welcome ground for
thinking him unfit to come near her. However, let them
suspect what they pleased, they would find themselves in
the wrong. They would find out that the blood in his
veins was as free from the taint of meanness as theirs.
Middlemarch
1090 of 1492
Chapter LXI
Inconsistencies, answered Imlac, cannot both be
right, but imputed to man they may both be true.
Rasselas.
The same night, when Mr. Bulstrode returned from a
journey to Brassing on business, his good wife met him in
the entrance-hall and drew him into his private sitting-
room.
Nicholas, she said, fixing her honest eyes upon him
anxiously, there has been such a disagreeable man here
asking for youit has made me quite uncomfortable.
What kind of man, my dear, said Mr. Bulstrode,
dreadfully certain of the answer.
A red-faced man with large whiskers, and most
impudent in his manner. He declared he was an old friend
of yours, and said you would be sorry not to see him. He
wanted to wait for you here, but I told him he could see
you at the Bank to-morrow morning. Most impudent he
was!stared at me, and said his friend Nick had luck in
wives. I dont believe he would have gone away, if
Blucher had not happened to break his chain and come
running round on the gravel for I was in the garden; so
Middlemarch
1091 of 1492
I said, Youd better go awaythe dog is very fierce, and I
cant hold him. Do you really know anything of such a
man?
I believe I know who he is, my dear, said Mr.
Bulstrode, in his usual subdued voice, an unfortunate
dissolute wretch, whom I helped too much in days gone
by. However, I presume you will not be troubled by him
again. He will probably come to the Bank to beg,
doubtless.
No more was said on the subject until the next day,
when Mr. Bulstrode had returned from the town and was
dressing for dinner. His wife, not sure that he was come
home, looked into his dressing-room and saw him with
his coat and cravat off, leaning one arm on a chest of
drawers and staring absently at the ground. He started
nervously and looked up as she entered.
You look very ill, Nicholas. Is there anything the
matter?
I have a good deal of pain in my head, said Mr.
Bulstrode, who was so frequently ailing that his wife was
always ready to believe in this cause of depression.
Sit down and let me sponge it with vinegar.
Physically Mr. Bulstrode did not want the vinegar, but
morally the affectionate attention soothed him. Though
Middlemarch
1092 of 1492
always polite, it was his habit to receive such services with
marital coolness, as his wifes duty. But to-day, while she
was bending over him, he said, You are very good,
Harriet, in a tone which had something new in it to her
ear; she did not know exactly what the novelty was, but
her womans solicitude shaped itself into a darting thought
that he might be going to have an illness.
Has anything worried you? she said. Did that man
come to you at the Bank?
Yes; it was as I had supposed. He is a man who at one
time might have done better. But he has sunk into a
drunken debauched creature.
Is he quite gone away? said Mrs. Bulstrode, anxiously
but for certain reasons she refrained from adding, It was
very disagreeable to hear him calling himself a friend of
yours. At that moment she would not have liked to say
anything which implied her habitual consciousness that
her husbands earlier connections were not quite on a level
with her own. Not that she knew much about them. That
her husband had at first been employed in a bank, that he
had afterwards entered into what he called city business
and gained a fortune before he was three-and-thirty, that
he had married a widow who was much older than
himselfa Dissenter, and in other ways probably of that
Middlemarch
1093 of 1492
disadvantageous quality usually perceptible in a first wife if
inquired into with the dispassionate judgment of a
secondwas almost as much as she had cared to learn
beyond the glimpses which Mr. Bulstrodes narrative
occasionally gave of his early bent towards religion, his
inclination to be a preacher, and his association with
missionary and philanthropic efforts. She believed in him
as an excellent man whose piety carried a peculiar
eminence in belonging to a layman, whose influence had
turned her own mind toward seriousness, and whose share
of perishable good had been the means of raising her own
position. But she also liked to think that it was well in
every sense for Mr. Bulstrode to have won the hand of
Harriet Vincy; whose family was undeniable in a
Middlemarch lighta better light surely than any thrown
in London thoroughfares or dissenting chapel-yards. The
unreformed provincial mind distrusted London; and while
true religion was everywhere saving, honest Mrs.
Bulstrode was convinced that to be saved in the Church
was more respectable. She so much wished to ignore
towards others that her husband had ever been a London
Dissenter, that she liked to keep it out of sight even in
talking to him. He was quite aware of this; indeed in some
respects he was rather afraid of this ingenuous wife, whose
Middlemarch
1094 of 1492
imitative piety and native worldliness were equally sincere,
who had nothing to be ashamed of, and whom he had
married out of a thorough inclination still subsisting. But
his fears were such as belong to a man who cares to
maintain his recognized supremacy: the loss of high
consideration from his wife, as from every one else who
did not clearly hate him out of enmity to the truth, would
be as the beginning of death to him. When she said
Is he quite gone away?
Oh, I trust so, he answered, with an effort to throw as
much sober unconcern into his tone as possible!
But in truth Mr. Bulstrode was very far from a state of
quiet trust. In the interview at the Bank, Raffles had made
it evident that his eagerness to torment was almost as
strong in him as any other greed. He had frankly said that
he had turned out of the way to come to Middlemarch,
just to look about him and see whether the neighborhood
would suit him to live in. He had certainly had a few debts
to pay more than he expected, but the two hundred
pounds were not gone yet: a cool five-and-twenty would
suffice him to go away with for the present. What he had
wanted chiefly was to see his friend Nick and family, and
know all about the prosperity of a man to whom he was
so much attached. By-and-by he might come back for a
Middlemarch
1095 of 1492
longer stay. This time Raffles declined to be seen off the
premises, as he expressed itdeclined to quit
Middlemarch under Bulstrodes eyes. He meant to go by
coach the next dayif he chose.
Bulstrode felt himself helpless. Neither threats nor
coaxing could avail: he could not count on any persistent
fear nor on any promise. On the contrary, he felt a cold
certainty at his heart that Rafflesunless providence sent
death to hinder him would come back to Middlemarch
before long. And that certainty was a terror.
It was not that he was in danger of legal punishment or
of beggary: he was in danger only of seeing disclosed to
the judgment of his neighbors and the mournful
perception of his wife certain facts of his past life which
would render him an object of scorn and an opprobrium
of the religion with which he had diligently associated
himself. The terror of being judged sharpens the memory:
it sends an inevitable glare over that long-unvisited past
which has been habitually recalled only in general phrases.
Even without memory, the life is bound into one by a
zone of dependence in growth and decay; but intense
memory forces a man to own his blameworthy past. With
memory set smarting like a reopened wound, a mans past
is not simply a dead history, an outworn preparation of the
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Middlemarch
1096 of 1492
present: it is not a repented error shaken loose from the
life: it is a still quivering part of himself, bringing shudders
and bitter flavors and the tinglings of a merited shame.
Into this second life Bulstrodes past had now risen,
only the pleasures of it seeming to have lost their quality.
Night and day, without interruption save of brief sleep
which only wove retrospect and fear into a fantastic
present, he felt the scenes of his earlier life coming
between him and everything else, as obstinately as when
we look through the window from a lighted room, the
objects we turn our backs on are still before us, instead of
the grass and the trees The successive events inward and
outward were there in one view: though each might be
dwelt on in turn, the rest still kept their hold in the
consciousness.
Once more he saw himself the young bankers clerk,
with an agreeable person, as clever in figures as he was
fluent in speech and fond of theological definition: an
eminent though young member of a Calvinistic dissenting
church at Highbury, having had striking experience in
conviction of sin and sense of pardon. Again he heard
himself called for as Brother Bulstrode in prayer meetings,
speaking on religious platforms, preaching in private
houses. Again he felt himself thinking of the ministry as
Middlemarch
1097 of 1492
possibly his vocation, and inclined towards missionary
labor. That was the happiest time of his life: that was the
spot he would have chosen now to awake in and find the
rest a dream. The people among whom Brother Bulstrode
was distinguished were very few, but they were very near
to him, and stirred his satisfaction the more; his power
stretched through a narrow space, but he felt its effect the
more intensely. He believed without effort in the peculiar
work of grace within him, and in the signs that God
intended him for special instrumentality.
Then came the moment of transition; it was with the
sense of promotion he had when he, an orphan educated
at a commercial charity-school, was invited to a fine villa
belonging to Mr. Dunkirk, the richest man in the
congregation. Soon he became an intimate there, honored
for his piety by the wife, marked out for his ability by the
husband, whose wealth was due to a flourishing city and
west-end trade. That was the setting-in of a new current
for his ambition, directing his prospects of instrumentality
towards the uniting of distinguished religious gifts with
successful business.
By-and-by came a decided external leading: a
confidential subordinate partner died, and nobody seemed
to the principal so well fitted to fill the severely felt
Middlemarch
1098 of 1492
vacancy as his young friend Bulstrode, if he would become
confidential accountant. The offer was accepted. The
business was a pawnbrokers, of the most magnificent sort
both in extent and profits; and on a short acquaintance
with it Bulstrode became aware that one source of
magnificent profit was the easy reception of any goods
offered, without strict inquiry as to where they came from.
But there was a branch house at the west end, and no
pettiness or dinginess to give suggestions of shame.
He remembered his first moments of shrinking. They
were private, and were filled with arguments; some of
these taking the form of prayer. The business was
established and had old roots; is it not one thing to set up a
new gin-palace and another to accept an investment in an
old one? The profits made out of lost souls where can
the line be drawn at which they begin in human
transactions? Was it not even Gods way of saving His
chosen? Thou knowest, the young Bulstrode had said
then, as the older Bulstrode was saying now Thou
knowest how loose my soul sits from these thingshow I
view them all as implements for tilling Thy garden rescued
here and there from the wilderness.
Metaphors and precedents were not wanting; peculiar
spiritual experiences were not wanting which at last made
Middlemarch
1099 of 1492
the retention of his position seem a service demanded of
him: the vista of a fortune had already opened itself, and
Bulstrodes shrinking remained private. Mr. Dunkirk had
never expected that there would be any shrinking at all: he
had never conceived that trade had anything to do with
the scheme of salvation. And it was true that Bulstrode
found himself carrying on two distinct lives; his religious
activity could not be incompatible with his business as
soon as he had argued himself into not feeling it
incompatible.
Mentally surrounded with that past again, Bulstrode
had the same pleasindeed, the years had been
perpetually spinning them into intricate thickness, like
masses of spider-web, padding the moral sensibility; nay, as
age made egoism more eager but less enjoying, his soul
had become more saturated with the belief that he did
everything for Gods sake, being indifferent to it for his
own. And yetif he could be back in that far-off spot
with his youthful povertywhy, then he would choose to
be a missionary.
But the train of causes in which he had locked himself
went on. There was trouble in the fine villa at Highbury.
Years before, the only daughter had run away, defied her
parents, and gone on the stage; and now the only boy
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1100 of 1492
died, and after a short time Mr. Dunkirk died also. The
wife, a simple pious woman, left with all the wealth in and
out of the magnificent trade, of which she never knew the
precise nature, had come to believe in Bulstrode, and
innocently adore him as women often adore their priest or
man-made minister. It was natural that after a time
marriage should have been thought of between them. But
Mrs. Dunkirk had qualms and yearnings about her
daughter, who had long been regarded as lost both to God
and her parents. It was known that the daughter had
married, but she was utterly gone out of sight. The
mother, having lost her boy, imagined a grandson, and
wished in a double sense to reclaim her daughter. If she
were found, there would be a channel for property
perhaps a wide onein the provision for several
grandchildren. Efforts to find her must be made before
Mrs. Dunkirk would marry again. Bulstrode concurred;
but after advertisement as well as other modes of inquiry
had been tried, the mother believed that her daughter was
not to be found, and consented to marry without
reservation of property.
The daughter had been found; but only one man
besides Bulstrode knew it, and he was paid for keeping
silence and carrying himself away.
Middlemarch
1101 of 1492
That was the bare fact which Bulstrode was now forced
to see in the rigid outline with which acts present
themselves onlookers. But for himself at that distant time,
and even now in burning memory, the fact was broken
into little sequences, each justified as it came by reasonings
which seemed to prove it righteous. Bulstrodes course up
to that time had, he thought, been sanctioned by
remarkable providences, appearing to point the way for
him to be the agent in making the best use of a large
property and withdrawing it from perversion. Death and
other striking dispositions, such as feminine trustfulness,
had come; and Bulstrode would have adopted Cromwells
words Do you call these bare events? The Lord pity
you! The events were comparatively small, but the
essential condition was there namely, that they were in
favor of his own ends. It was easy for him to settle what
was due from him to others by inquiring what were Gods
intentions with regard to himself. Could it be for Gods
service that this fortune should in any considerable
proportion go to a young woman and her husband who
were given up to the lightest pursuits, and might scatter it
abroad in triviality people who seemed to lie outside the
path of remarkable providences? Bulstrode had never said
to himself beforehand, The daughter shall not be
Middlemarch
1102 of 1492
foundnevertheless when the moment came he kept her
existence hidden; and when other moments followed, he
soothed the mother with consolation in the probability
that the unhappy young woman might be no more.
There were hours in which Bulstrode felt that his
action was unrighteous; but how could he go back? He
had mental exercises, called himself nought laid hold on
redemption, and went on in his course of instrumentality.
And after five years Death again came to widen his path,
by taking away his wife. He did gradually withdraw his
capital, but he did not make the sacrifices requisite to put
an end to the business, which was carried on for thirteen
years afterwards before it finally collapsed. Meanwhile
Nicholas Bulstrode had used his hundred thousand
discreetly, and was become provincially, solidly
importanta banker, a Churchman, a public benefactor;
also a sleeping partner in trading concerns, in which his
ability was directed to economy in the raw material, as in
the case of the dyes which rotted Mr. Vincys silk. And
now, when this respectability had lasted undisturbed for
nearly thirty years when all that preceded it had long
lain benumbed in the consciousness that past had risen
and immersed his thought as if with the terrible irruption
of a new sense overburthening the feeble being.
Middlemarch
1103 of 1492
Meanwhile, in his conversation with Raffles, he had
learned something momentous, something which entered
actively into the struggle of his longings and terrors.
There, he thought, lay an opening towards spiritual,
perhaps towards material rescue.
The spiritual kind of rescue was a genuine need with
him. There may be coarse hypocrites, who consciously
affect beliefs and emotions for the sake of gulling the
world, but Bulstrode was not one of them. He was simply
a man whose desires had been stronger than his theoretic
beliefs, and who had gradually explained the gratification
of his desires into satisfactory agreement with those beliefs.
If this be hypocrisy, it is a process which shows itself
occasionally in us all, to whatever confession we belong,
and whether we believe in the future perfection of our
race or in the nearest date fixed for the end of the world;
whether we regard the earth as a putrefying nidus for a
saved remnant, including ourselves, or have a passionate
belief in the solidarity of mankind.
The service he could do to the cause of religion had
been through life the ground he alleged to himself for his
choice of action: it had been the motive which he had
poured out in his prayers. Who would use money and
position better than he meant to use them? Who could
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1104 of 1492
surpass him in self-abhorrence and exaltation of Gods
cause? And to Mr. Bulstrode Gods cause was something
distinct from his own rectitude of conduct: it enforced a
discrimination of Gods enemies, who were to be used
merely as instruments, and whom it would be as well if
possible to keep out of money and consequent influence.
Also, profitable investments in trades where the power of
the prince of this world showed its most active devices,
became sanctified by a right application of the profits in
the hands of Gods servant.
This implicit reasoning is essentially no more peculiar
to evangelical belief than the use of wide phrases for
narrow motives is peculiar to Englishmen. There is no
general doctrine which is not capable of eating out our
morality if unchecked by the deep-seated habit of direct
fellow-feeling with individual fellow-men.
But a man who believes in something else than his own
greed, has necessarily a conscience or standard to which he
more or less adapts himself. Bulstrodes standard had been
his serviceableness to Gods cause: I am sinful and
noughta vessel to be consecrated by usebut use
me!had been the mould into which he had constrained
his immense need of being something important and
predominating. And now had come a moment in which
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1105 of 1492
that mould seemed in danger of being broken and utterly
cast away.
What if the acts he had reconciled himself to because
they made him a stronger instrument of the divine glory,
were to become the pretext of the scoffer, and a darkening
of that glory? If this were to be the ruling of Providence,
he was cast out from the temple as one who had brought
unclean offerings.
He had long poured out utterances of repentance. But
today a repentance had come which was of a bitterer
flavor, and a threatening Providence urged him to a kind
of propitiation which was not simply a doctrinal
transaction. The divine tribunal had changed its aspect for
him; self-prostration was no longer enough, and he must
bring restitution in his hand. It was really before his God
that Bulstrode was about to attempt such restitution as
seemed possible: a great dread had seized his susceptible
frame, and the scorching approach of shame wrought in
him a new spiritual need. Night and day, while the
resurgent threatening past was making a conscience within
him, he was thinking by what means he could recover
peace and trust by what sacrifice he could stay the rod.
His belief in these moments of dread was, that if he
spontaneously did something right, God would save him
Middlemarch
1106 of 1492
from the consequences of wrong-doing. For religion can
only change when the emotions which fill it are changed;
and the religion of personal fear remains nearly at the level
of the savage.
He had seen Raffles actually going away on the
Brassing coach, and this was a temporary relief; it removed
the pressure of an immediate dread, but did not put an end
to the spiritual conflict and the need to win protection. At
last he came to a difficult resolve, and wrote a letter to
Will Ladislaw, begging him to be at the Shrubs that
evening for a private interview at nine oclock. Will had
felt no particular surprise at the request, and connected it
with some new notions about the Pioneer; but when he
was shown into Mr. Bulstrodes private room, he was
struck with the painfully worn look on the bankers face,
and was going to say, Are you ill? when, checking
himself in that abruptness, he only inquired after Mrs.
Bulstrode, and her satisfaction with the picture bought for
her.
Thank you, she is quite satisfied; she has gone out with
her daughters this evening. I begged you to come, Mr.
Ladislaw, because I have a communication of a very
privateindeed, I will say, of a sacredly confidential
nature, which I desire to make to you. Nothing, I dare
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1107 of 1492
say, has been farther from your thoughts than that there
had been important ties in the past which could connect
your history with mine.
Will felt something like an electric shock. He was
already in a state of keen sensitiveness and hardly allayed
agitation on the subject of ties in the past, and his
presentiments were not agreeable. It seemed like the
fluctuations of a dreamas if the action begun by that
loud bloated stranger were being carried on by this pale-
eyed sickly looking piece of respectability, whose subdued
tone and glib formality of speech were at this moment
almost as repulsive to him as their remembered contrast.
He answered, with a marked change of color
No, indeed, nothing.
You see before you, Mr. Ladislaw, a man who is
deeply stricken. But for the urgency of conscience and the
knowledge that I am before the bar of One who seeth not
as man seeth, I should be under no compulsion to make
the disclosure which has been my object in asking you to
come here to-night. So far as human laws go, you have no
claim on me whatever.
Will was even more uncomfortable than wondering.
Mr. Bulstrode had paused, leaning his head on his hand,
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Middlemarch
1108 of 1492
and looking at the floor. But he now fixed his examining
glance on Will and said
I am told that your mothers name was Sarah Dunkirk,
and that she ran away from her friends to go on the stage.
Also, that your father was at one time much emaciated by
illness. May I ask if you can confirm these statements?
Yes, they are all true, said Will, struck with the order
in which an inquiry had come, that might have been
expected to be preliminary to the bankers previous hints.
But Mr. Bulstrode had to-night followed the order of his
emotions; he entertained no doubt that the opportunity
for restitution had come, and he had an overpowering
impulse towards the penitential expression by which he
was deprecating chastisement.
Do you know any particulars of your mothers family?
he continued.
No; she never liked to speak of them. She was a very
generous, honorable woman, said Will, almost angrily.
I do not wish to allege anything against her. Did she
never mention her mother to you at all?
I have heard her say that she thought her mother did
not know the reason of her running away. She said poor
mother in a pitying tone.
Middlemarch
1109 of 1492
That mother became my wife, said Bulstrode, and
then paused a moment before he added, you have a claim
on me, Mr. Ladislaw: as I said before, not a legal claim,
but one which my conscience recognizes. I was enriched
by that marriagea result which would probably not have
taken placecertainly not to the same extentif your
grandmother could have discovered her daughter. That
daughter, I gather, is no longer living!
No, said Will, feeling suspicion and repugnance rising
so strongly within him, that without quite knowing what
he did, he took his hat from the floor and stood up. The
impulse within him was to reject the disclosed connection.
Pray be seated, Mr. Ladislaw, said Bulstrode,
anxiously. Doubtless you are startled by the suddenness of
this discovery. But I entreat your patience with one who is
already bowed down by inward trial.
Will reseated himself, feeling some pity which was half
contempt for this voluntary self-abasement of an elderly
man.
It is my wish, Mr. Ladislaw, to make amends for the
deprivation which befell your mother. I know that you are
without fortune, and I wish to supply you adequately from
a store which would have probably already been yours had
Middlemarch
1110 of 1492
your grandmother been certain of your mothers existence
and been able to find her.
Mr. Bulstrode paused. He felt that he was performing a
striking piece of scrupulosity in the judgment of his
auditor, and a penitential act in the eyes of God. He had
no clew to the state of Will Ladislaws mind, smarting as it
was from the clear hints of Raffles, and with its natural
quickness in construction stimulated by the expectation of
discoveries which he would have been glad to conjure
back into darkness. Will made no answer for several
moments, till Mr. Bulstrode, who at the end of his speech
had cast his eyes on the floor, now raised them with an
examining glance, which Will met fully, saying
I suppose you did know of my mothers existence, and
knew where she might have been found.
Bulstrode shrankthere was a visible quivering in his
face and hands. He was totally unprepared to have his
advances met in this way, or to find himself urged into
more revelation than he had beforehand set down as
needful. But at that moment he dared not tell a lie, and he
felt suddenly uncertain of his ground which he had
trodden with some confidence before.
I will not deny that you conjecture rightly, he
answered, with a faltering in his tone. And I wish to make
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1111 of 1492
atonement to you as the one still remaining who has
suffered a loss through me. You enter, I trust, into my
purpose, Mr. Ladislaw, which has a reference to higher
than merely human claims, and as I have already said, is
entirely independent of any legal compulsion. I am ready
to narrow my own resources and the prospects of my
family by binding myself to allow you five hundred
pounds yearly during my life, and to leave you a
proportional capital at my deathnay, to do still more, if
more should be definitely necessary to any laudable project
on your part. Mr. Bulstrode had gone on to particulars in
the expectation that these would work strongly on
Ladislaw, and merge other feelings in grateful acceptance.
But Will was looking as stubborn as possible, with his
lip pouting and his fingers in his side-pockets. He was not
in the least touched, and said firmly,
Before I make any reply to your proposition, Mr.
Bulstrode, I must beg you to answer a question or two.
Were you connected with the business by which that
fortune you speak of was originally made?
Mr. Bulstrodes thought was, Raffles has told him.
How could he refuse to answer when he had volunteered
what drew forth the question? He answered, Yes.
Middlemarch
1112 of 1492
And was that businessor was it nota thoroughly
dishonorable one nay, one that, if its nature had been
made public, might have ranked those concerned in it
with thieves and convicts?
Wills tone had a cutting bitterness: he was moved to
put his question as nakedly as he could.
Bulstrode reddened with irrepressible anger. He had
been prepared for a scene of self-abasement, but his
intense pride and his habit of supremacy overpowered
penitence, and even dread, when this young man, whom
he had meant to benefit, turned on him with the air of a
judge.
The business was established before I became
connected with it, sir; nor is it for you to institute an
inquiry of that kind, he answered, not raising his voice,
but speaking with quick defiantness.
Yes, it is, said Will, starting up again with his hat in
his hand. It is eminently mine to ask such questions,
when I have to decide whether I will have transactions
with you and accept your money. My unblemished honor
is important to me. It is important to me to have no stain
on my birth and connections. And now I find there is a
stain which I cant help. My mother felt it, and tried to
keep as clear of it as she could, and so will I. You shall
Middlemarch
1113 of 1492
keep your ill-gotten money. If I had any fortune of my
own, I would willingly pay it to any one who could
disprove what you have told me. What I have to thank
you for is that you kept the money till now, when I can
refuse it. It ought to lie with a mans self that he is a
gentleman. Good-night, sir.
Bulstrode was going to speak, but Will, with
determined quickness, was out of the room in an instant,
and in another the hall-door had closed behind him. He
was too strongly possessed with passionate rebellion against
this inherited blot which had been thrust on his
knowledge to reflect at present whether he had not been
too hard on Bulstrodetoo arrogantly merciless towards a
man of sixty, who was making efforts at retrieval when
time had rendered them vain.
No third person listening could have thoroughly
understood the impetuosity of Wills repulse or the
bitterness of his words. No one but himself then knew
how everything connected with the sentiment of his own
dignity had an immediate bearing for him on his relation
to Dorothea and to Mr. Casaubons treatment of him.
And in the rush of impulses by which he flung back that
offer of Bulstrodes there was mingled the sense that it
Middlemarch
1114 of 1492
would have been impossible for him ever to tell Dorothea
that he had accepted it.
As for Bulstrodewhen Will was gone he suffered a
violent reaction, and wept like a woman. It was the first
time he had encountered an open expression of scorn
from any man higher than Raffles; and with that scorn
hurrying like venom through his system, there was no
sensibility left to consolations. Rut the relief of weeping
had to be checked. His wife and daughters soon came
home from hearing the address of an Oriental missionary,
and were full of regret that papa had not heard, in the first
instance, the interesting things which they tried to repeat
to him.
Perhaps, through all other hidden thoughts, the one
that breathed most comfort was, that Will Ladislaw at least
was not likely to publish what had taken place that
evening.
Middlemarch
1115 of 1492
Chapter LXII
He was a squyer of lowe degre,
That loved the kings daughter of Hungrie.
Old Romance.
Will Ladislaws mind was now wholly bent on seeing
Dorothea again, and forthwith quitting Middlemarch. The
morning after his agitating scene with Bulstrode he wrote
a brief letter to her, saying that various causes had detained
him in the neighborhood longer than he had expected,
and asking her permission to call again at Lowick at some
hour which she would mention on the earliest possible
day, he being anxious to depart, but unwilling to do so
until she had granted him an interview. He left the letter
at the office, ordering the messenger to carry it to Lowick
Manor, and wait for an answer.
Ladislaw felt the awkwardness of asking for more last
words. His former farewell had been made in the hearing
of Sir James Chettam, and had been announced as final
even to the butler. It is certainly trying to a mans dignity
to reappear when he is not expected to do so: a first
farewell has pathos in it, but to come back for a second
lends an opening to comedy, and it was possible even that
there might be bitter sneers afloat about Wills motives for
Middlemarch
1116 of 1492
lingering. Still it was on the whole more satisfactory to his
feeling to take the directest means of seeing Dorothea,
than to use any device which might give an air of chance
to a meeting of which he wished her to understand that it
was what he earnestly sought. When he had parted from
her before, he had been in ignorance of facts which gave a
new aspect to the relation between them, and made a
more absolute severance than he had then believed in. He
knew nothing of Dorotheas private fortune, and being
little used to reflect on such matters, took it for granted
that according to Mr. Casaubons arrangement marriage to
him, Will Ladislaw, would mean that she consented to be
penniless. That was not what he could wish for even in his
secret heart, or even if she had been ready to meet such
hard contrast for his sake. And then, too, there was the
fresh smart of that disclosure about his mothers family,
which if known would be an added reason why
Dorotheas friends should look down upon him as utterly
below her. The secret hope that after some years he might
come back with the sense that he had at least a personal
value equal to her wealth, seemed now the dreamy
continuation of a dream. This change would surely justify
him in asking Dorothea to receive him once more.
Middlemarch
1117 of 1492
But Dorothea on that morning was not at home to
receive Wills note. In consequence of a letter from her
uncle announcing his intention to be at home in a week,
she had driven first to Freshitt to carry the news, meaning
to go on to the Grange to deliver some orders with which
her uncle had intrusted herthinking, as he said, a little
mental occupation of this sort good for a widow.
If Will Ladislaw could have overheard some of the talk
at Freshitt that morning, he would have felt all his
suppositions confirmed as to the readiness of certain
people to sneer at his lingering in the neighborhood. Sir
James, indeed, though much relieved concerning
Dorothea, had been on the watch to learn Ladislaws
movements, and had an instructed informant in Mr.
Standish, who was necessarily in his confidence on this
matter. That Ladislaw had stayed in Middlemarch nearly
two months after he had declared that he was going
immediately, was a fact to embitter Sir Jamess suspicions,
or at least to justify his aversion to a young fellow whom
he represented to himself as slight, volatile, and likely
enough to show such recklessness as naturally went along
with a position unriveted by family ties or a strict
profession. But he had just heard something from Standish
Middlemarch
1118 of 1492
which, while it justified these surmises about Will, offered
a means of nullifying all danger with regard to Dorothea.
Unwonted circumstances may make us all rather unlike
ourselves: there are conditions under which the most
majestic person is obliged to sneeze, and our emotions are
liable to be acted on in the same incongruous manner.
Good Sir James was this morning so far unlike himself that
he was irritably anxious to say something to Dorothea on a
subject which he usually avoided as if it had been a matter
of shame to them both. He could not use Celia as a
medium, because he did not choose that she should know
the kind of gossip he had in his mind; and before
Dorothea happened to arrive he had been trying to
imagine how, with his shyness and unready tongue, he
could ever manage to introduce his communication. Her
unexpected presence brought him to utter hopelessness in
his own power of saying anything unpleasant; but
desperation suggested a resource; he sent the groom on an
unsaddled horse across the park with a pencilled note to
Mrs. Cadwallader, who already knew the gossip, and
would think it no compromise of herself to repeat it as
often as required.
Dorothea was detained on the good pretext that Mr.
Garth, whom she wanted to see, was expected at the hall
Middlemarch
1119 of 1492
within the hour, and she was still talking to Caleb on the
gravel when Sir James, on the watch for the rectors wife,
saw her coming and met her with the needful hints.
Enough! I understand,said Mrs. Cadwallader. You
shall be innocent. I am such a blackamoor that I cannot
smirch myself.
I dont mean that its of any consequence, said Sir
James, disliking that Mrs. Cadwallader should understand
too much. Only it is desirable that Dorothea should know
there are reasons why she should not receive him again;
and I really cant say so to her. It will come lightly from
you.
It came very lightly indeed. When Dorothea quitted
Caleb and turned to meet them, it appeared that Mrs.
Cadwallader had stepped across the park by the merest
chance in the world, just to chat with Celia in a matronly
way about the baby. And so Mr. Brooke was coming
back? Delightful!coming back, it was to be hoped, quite
cured of Parliamentary fever and pioneering. Apropos of
the Pioneersomebody had prophesied that it would
soon be like a dying dolphin, and turn all colors for want
of knowing how to help itself, because Mr. Brookes
protege, the brilliant young Ladislaw, was gone or going.
Had Sir James heard that?
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Middlemarch
1120 of 1492
The three were walking along the gravel slowly, and
Sir James, turning aside to whip a shrub, said he had heard
something of that sort.
All false! said Mrs. Cadwallader. He is not gone, or
going, apparently; the Pioneer keeps its color, and Mr.
Orlando Ladislaw is making a sad dark-blue scandal by
warbling continually with your Mr. Lydgates wife, who
they tell me is as pretty as pretty can be. It seems nobody
ever goes into the house without finding this young
gentleman lying on the rug or warbling at the piano. But
the people in manufacturing towns are always
disreputable.
You began by saying that one report was false, Mrs.
Cadwallader, and I believe this is false too, said Dorothea,
with indignant energy; at least, I feel sure it is a
misrepresentation. I will not hear any evil spoken of Mr.
Ladislaw; he has already suffered too much injustice.
Dorothea when thoroughly moved cared little what
any one thought of her feelings; and even if she had been
able to reflect, she would have held it petty to keep silence
at injurious words about Will from fear of being herself
misunderstood. Her face was flushed and her lip trembled.
Sir James, glancing at her, repented of his stratagem;
but Mrs. Cadwallader, equal to all occasions, spread the
Middlemarch
1121 of 1492
palms of her hands outward and saidHeaven grant it,
my dear!I mean that all bad tales about anybody may be
false. But it is a pity that young Lydgate should have
married one of these Middlemarch girls. Considering hes
a son of somebody, he might have got a woman with
good blood in her veins, and not too young, who would
have put up with his profession. Theres Clara Harfager,
for instance, whose friends dont know what to do with
her; and she has a portion. Then we might have had her
among us. However!its no use being wise for other
people. Where is Celia? Pray let us go in.
I am going on immediately to Tipton, said Dorothea,
rather haughtily. Good-by.
Sir James could say nothing as he accompanied her to
the carriage. He was altogether discontented with the
result of a contrivance which had cost him some secret
humiliation beforehand.
Dorothea drove along between the berried hedgerows
and the shorn corn-fields, not seeing or hearing anything
around. The tears came and rolled down her cheeks, but
she did not know it. The world, it seemed, was turning
ugly and hateful, and there was no place for her
trustfulness. It is not trueit is not true! was the voice
within her that she listened to; but all the while a
Middlemarch
1122 of 1492
remembrance to which there had always clung a vague
uneasiness would thrust itself on her attentionthe
remembrance of that day when she had found Will
Ladislaw with Mrs. Lydgate, and had heard his voice
accompanied by the piano.
He said he would never do anything that I
disapprovedI wish I could have told him that I
disapproved of that, said poor Dorothea, inwardly, feeling
a strange alternation between anger with Will and the
passionate defence of him. They all try to blacken him
before me; but I will care for no pain, if he is not to
blame. I always believed he was good.These were her
last thoughts before she felt that the carriage was passing
under the archway of the lodge-gate at the Grange, when
she hurriedly pressed her handkerchief to her face and
began to think of her errands. The coachman begged leave
to take out the horses for half an hour as there was
something wrong with a shoe; and Dorothea, having the
sense that she was going to rest, took off her gloves and
bonnet, while she was leaning against a statue in the
entrance-hall, and talking to the housekeeper. At last she
said
Middlemarch
1123 of 1492
I must stay here a little, Mrs. Kell. I will go into the
library and write you some memoranda from my uncles
letter, if you will open the shutters for me.
The shutters are open, madam, said Mrs. Kell,
following Dorothea, who had walked along as she spoke.
Mr. Ladislaw is there, looking for something.
(Will had come to fetch a portfolio of his own sketches
which he had missed in the act of packing his movables,
and did not choose to leave behind.)
Dorotheas heart seemed to turn over as if it had had a
blow, but she was not perceptibly checked: in truth, the
sense that Will was there was for the moment all-satisfying
to her, like the sight of something precious that one has
lost. When she reached the door she said to Mrs. Kell
Go in first, and tell him that I am here.
Will had found his portfolio, and had laid it on the
table at the far end of the room, to turn over the sketches
and please himself by looking at the memorable piece of
art which had a relation to nature too mysterious for
Dorothea. He was smiling at it still, and shaking the
sketches into order with the thought that he might find a
letter from her awaiting him at Middlemarch, when Mrs.
Kell close to his elbow said
Mrs. Casaubon is coming in, sir.
Middlemarch
1124 of 1492
Will turned round quickly, and the next moment
Dorothea was entering. As Mrs. Kell closed the door
behind her they met: each was looking at the other, and
consciousness was overflowed by something that
suppressed utterance. It was not confusion that kept them
silent, for they both felt that parting was near, and there is
no shamefacedness in a sad parting.
She moved automatically towards her uncles chair
against the writing-table, and Will, after drawing it out a
little for her, went a few paces off and stood opposite to
her.
Pray sit down, said Dorothea, crossing her hands on
her lap; I am very glad you were here. Will thought that
her face looked just as it did when she first shook hands
with him in Rome; for her widows cap, fixed in her
bonnet, had gone off with it, and he could see that she had
lately been shedding tears. But the mixture of anger in her
agitation had vanished at the sight of him; she had been
used, when they were face to face, always to feel
confidence and the happy freedom which comes with
mutual understanding, and how could other peoples
words hinder that effect on a sudden? Let the music which
can take possession of our frame and fill the air with joy
Middlemarch
1125 of 1492
for us, sound once morewhat does it signify that we
heard it found fault with in its absence?
I have sent a letter to Lowick Manor to-day, asking
leave to see you, said Will, seating himself opposite to
her. I am going away immediately, and I could not go
without speaking to you again.
I thought we had parted when you came to Lowick
many weeks ago you thought you were going then,
said Dorothea, her voice trembling a little.
Yes; but I was in ignorance then of things which I
know now things which have altered my feelings about
the future. When I saw you before, I was dreaming that I
might come back some day. I dont think I ever shall
now. Will paused here.
You wished me to know the reasons? said Dorothea,
timidly.
Yes, said Will, impetuously, shaking his head
backward, and looking away from her with irritation in his
face. Of course I must wish it. I have been grossly insulted
in your eyes and in the eyes of others. There has been a
mean implication against my character. I wish you to
know that under no circumstances would I have lowered
myself by under no circumstances would I have given
men the chance of saying that I sought money under the
Middlemarch
1126 of 1492
pretext of seekingsomething else. There was no need of
other safeguard against methe safeguard of wealth was
enough.
Will rose from his chair with the last word and went
he hardly knew where; but it was to the projecting
window nearest him, which had been open as now about
the same season a year ago, when he and Dorothea had
stood within it and talked together. Her whole heart was
going out at this moment in sympathy with Wills
indignation: she only wanted to convince him that she had
never done him injustice, and he seemed to have turned
away from her as if she too had been part of the unfriendly
world.
It would be very unkind of you to suppose that I ever
attributed any meanness to you, she began. Then in her
ardent way, wanting to plead with him, she moved from
her chair and went in front of him to her old place in the
window, saying, Do you suppose that I ever disbelieved
in you?
When Will saw her there, he gave a start and moved
backward out of the window, without meeting her glance.
Dorothea was hurt by this movement following up the
previous anger of his tone. She was ready to say that it was
as hard on her as on him, and that she was helpless; but
Middlemarch
1127 of 1492
those strange particulars of their relation which neither of
them could explicitly mention kept her always in dread of
saying too much. At this moment she had no belief that
Will would in any case have wanted to marry her, and she
feared using words which might imply such a belief. She
only said earnestly, recurring to his last word
I am sure no safeguard was ever needed against you.
Will did not answer. In the stormy fluctuation of his
feelings these words of hers seemed to him cruelly neutral,
and he looked pale and miserable after his angry outburst.
He went to the table and fastened up his portfolio, while
Dorothea looked at him from the distance. They were
wasting these last moments together in wretched silence.
What could he say, since what had got obstinately
uppermost in his mind was the passionate love for her
which he forbade himself to utter? What could she say,
since she might offer him no help since she was forced
to keep the money that ought to have been his? since
to-day he seemed not to respond as he used to do to her
thorough trust and liking?
But Will at last turned away from his portfolio and
approached the window again.
Middlemarch
1128 of 1492
I must go, he said, with that peculiar look of the eyes
which sometimes accompanies bitter feeling, as if they had
been tired and burned with gazing too close at a light.
What shall you do in life? said Dorothea, timidly.
Have your intentions remained just the same as when we
said good-by before?
Yes, said Will, in a tone that seemed to waive the
subject as uninteresting. I shall work away at the first
thing that offers. I suppose one gets a habit of doing
without happiness or hope.
Oh, what sad words! said Dorothea, with a dangerous
tendency to sob. Then trying to smile, she added, We
used to agree that we were alike in speaking too strongly.
I have not spoken too strongly now, said Will, leaning
back against the angle of the wall. There are certain things
which a man can only go through once in his life; and he
must know some time or other that the best is over with
him. This experience has happened to me while I am very
youngthat is all. What I care more for than I can ever
care for anything else is absolutely forbidden to me I
dont mean merely by being out of my reach, but
forbidden me, even if it were within my reach, by my
own pride and honor by everything I respect myself for.
Middlemarch
1129 of 1492
Of course I shall go on living as a man might do who had
seen heaven in a trance.
Will paused, imagining that it would be impossible for
Dorothea to misunderstand this; indeed he felt that he was
contradicting himself and offending against his self-
approval in speaking to her so plainly; but stillit could
not be fairly called wooing a woman to tell her that he
would never woo her. It must be admitted to be a ghostly
kind of wooing.
But Dorotheas mind was rapidly going over the past
with quite another vision than his. The thought that she
herself might be what Will most cared for did throb
through her an instant, but then came doubt: the memory
of the little they had lived through together turned pale
and shrank before the memory which suggested how
much fuller might have been the intercourse between Will
and some one else with whom he had had constant
companionship. Everything he had said might refer to that
other relation, and whatever had passed between him and
herself was thoroughly explained by what she had always
regarded as their simple friendship and the cruel
obstruction thrust upon it by her husbands injurious act.
Dorothea stood silent, with her eyes cast down dreamily,
while images crowded upon her which left the sickening
Middlemarch
1130 of 1492
certainty that Will was referring to Mrs. Lydgate. But why
sickening? He wanted her to know that here too his
conduct should be above suspicion.
Will was not surprised at her silence. His mind also was
tumultuously busy while he watched her, and he was
feeling rather wildly that something must happen to
hinder their partingsome miracle, clearly nothing in
their own deliberate speech. Yet, after all, had she any
love for him?he could not pretend to himself that he
would rather believe her to be without that pain. He
could not deny that a secret longing for the assurance that
she loved him was at the root of all his words.
Neither of them knew how long they stood in that
way. Dorothea was raising her eyes, and was about to
speak, when the door opened and her footman came to
say
The horses are ready, madam, whenever you like to
start.
Presently, said Dorothea. Then turning to Will, she
said, I have some memoranda to write for the
housekeeper.
I must go, said Will, when the door had closed
againadvancing towards her. The day after to-morrow I
shall leave Middlemarch.
Middlemarch
1131 of 1492
You have acted in every way rightly, said Dorothea,
in a low tone, feeling a pressure at her heart which made it
difficult to speak.
She put out her hand, and Will took it for an instant
with. out speaking, for her words had seemed to him
cruelly cold and unlike herself. Their eyes met, but there
was discontent in his, and in hers there was only sadness.
He turned away and took his portfolio under his arm.
I have never done you injustice. Please remember me,
said Dorothea, repressing a rising sob.
Why should you say that? said Will, with irritation.
As if I were not in danger of forgetting everything else.
He had really a movement of anger against her at that
moment, and it impelled him to go away without pause. It
was all one flash to Dorothea his last wordshis distant
bow to her as he reached the door the sense that he was
no longer there. She sank into the chair, and for a few
moments sat like a statue, while images and emotions were
hurrying upon her. Joy came first, in spite of the
threatening train behind itjoy in the impression that it
was really herself whom Will loved and was renouncing,
that there was really no other love less permissible, more
blameworthy, which honor was hurrying him away from.
They were parted all the same, butDorothea drew a
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Middlemarch
1132 of 1492
deep breath and felt her strength returnshe could think
of him unrestrainedly. At that moment the parting was
easy to bear: the first sense of loving and being loved
excluded sorrow. It was as if some hard icy pressure had
melted, and her consciousness had room to expand: her
past was come back to her with larger interpretation. The
joy was not the lessperhaps it was the more complete
just then because of the irrevocable parting; for there
was no reproach, no contemptuous wonder to imagine in
any eye or from any lips. He had acted so as to defy
reproach, and make wonder respectful.
Any one watching her might have seen that there was a
fortifying thought within her. Just as when inventive
power is working with glad ease some small claim on the
attention is fully met as if it were only a cranny opened to
the sunlight, it was easy now for Dorothea to write her
memoranda. She spoke her last words to the housekeeper
in cheerful tones, and when she seated herself in the
carriage her eyes were bright and her cheeks blooming
under the dismal bonnet. She threw back the heavy
weepers, and looked before her, wondering which road
Will had taken. It was in her nature to be proud that he
was blameless, and through all her feelings there ran this
veinI was right to defend him.
Middlemarch
1133 of 1492
The coachman was used to drive his grays at a good
pane, Mr. Casaubon being unenjoying and impatient in
everything away from his desk, and wanting to get to the
end of all journeys; and Dorothea was now bowled along
quickly. Driving was pleasant, for rain in the night had laid
the dust, and the blue sky looked far off, away from the
region of the great clouds that sailed in masses. The earth
looked like a happy place under the vast heavens, and
Dorothea was wishing that she might overtake Will and
see him once more.
After a turn of the road, there he was with the portfolio
under his arm; but the next moment she was passing him
while he raised his hat, and she felt a pang at being seated
there in a sort of exaltation, leaving him behind. She could
not look back at him. It was as if a crowd of indifferent
objects had thrust them asunder, and forced them along
different paths, taking them farther and farther away from
each other, and making it useless to look back. She could
no more make any sign that would seem to say, Need we
part? than she could stop the carriage to wait for him.
Nay, what a world of reasons crowded upon her against
any movement of her thought towards a future that might
reverse the decision of this day!
Middlemarch
1134 of 1492
I only wish I had known beforeI wish he knew
then we could be quite happy in thinking of each other,
though we are forever parted. And if I could but have
given him the money, and made things easier for him!
were the longings that came back the most persistently.
And yet, so heavily did the world weigh on her in spite of
her independent energy, that with this idea of Will as in
need of such help and at a disadvantage with the world,
there came always the vision of that unfittingness of any
closer relation between them which lay in the opinion of
every one connected with her. She felt to the full all the
imperativeness of the motives which urged Wills conduct.
How could he dream of her defying the barrier that her
husband had placed between them?how could she ever
say to herself that she would defy it?
Wills certainty as the carriage grew smaller in the
distance, had much more bitterness in it. Very slight
matters were enough to gall him in his sensitive mood,
and the sight of Dorothea driving past him while he felt
himself plodding along as a poor devil seeking a position
in a world which in his present temper offered him little
that he coveted, made his conduct seem a mere matter of
necessity, and took away the sustainment of resolve. After
all, he had no assurance that she loved him: could any man
Middlemarch
1135 of 1492
pretend that he was simply glad in such a case to have the
suffering all on his own side?
That evening Will spent with the Lydgates; the next
evening he was gone.
Middlemarch
1136 of 1492
BOOK VII.
TWO TEMPTATIONS.
Middlemarch
1137 of 1492
Chapter LXIII
These little things are great to little man.
GOLDSMITH.
Have you seen much of your scientific phoenix,
Lydgate, lately? said Mr. Toller at one of his Christmas
dinner-parties, speaking to Mr. Farebrother on his right
hand.
Not much, I am sorry to say, answered the Vicar,
accustomed to parry Mr. Tollers banter about his belief in
the new medical light. I am out of the way and he is too
busy.
Is he? I am glad to hear it, said Dr. Minchin, with
mingled suavity and surprise.
He gives a great deal of time to the New Hospital,
said Mr. Farebrother, who had his reasons for continuing
the subject: I hear of that from my neighbor, Mrs.
Casaubon, who goes there often. She says Lydgate is
indefatigable, and is making a fine thing of Bulstrodes
institution. He is preparing a new ward in case of the
cholera coming to us.
And preparing theories of treatment to try on the
patients, I suppose, said Mr. Toller.
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1138 of 1492
Come, Toller, be candid, said Mr. Farebrother. You
are too clever not to see the good of a bold fresh mind in
medicine, as well as in everything else; and as to cholera, I
fancy, none of you are very sure what you ought to do. If
a man goes a little too far along a new road, it is usually
himself that he harms more than any one else.
I am sure you and Wrench ought to be obliged to
him, said Dr. Minchin, looking towards Toller, for he
has sent you the cream of Peacocks patients.
Lydgate has been living at a great rate for a young
beginner, said Mr. Harry Toller, the brewer. I suppose
his relations in the North back him up.
I hope so, said Mr. Chichely, else he ought not to
have married that nice girl we were all so fond of. Hang it,
one has a grudge against a man who carries off the prettiest
girl in the town.
Ay, by God! and the best too, said Mr. Standish.
My friend Vincy didnt half like the marriage, I know
that, said Mr. Chichely. HE wouldnt do much. How
the relations on the other side may have come down I
cant say. There was an emphatic kind of reticence in Mr.
Chichelys manner of speaking.
Middlemarch
1139 of 1492
Oh, I shouldnt think Lydgate ever looked to practice
for a living, said Mr. Toller, with a slight touch of
sarcasm, and there the subject was dropped.
This was not the first time that Mr. Farebrother had
heard hints of Lydgates expenses being obviously too
great to be met by his practice, but he thought it not
unlikely that there were resources or expectations which
excused the large outlay at the time of Lydgates marriage,
and which might hinder any bad consequences from the
disappointment in his practice. One evening, when he
took the pains to go to Middlemarch on purpose to have a
chat with Lydgate as of old, he noticed in him an air of
excited effort quite unlike his usual easy way of keeping
silence or breaking it with abrupt energy whenever he had
anything to say. Lydgate talked persistently when they
were in his work-room, putting arguments for and against
the probability of certain biological views; but he had
none of those definite things to say or to show which give
the waymarks of a patient uninterrupted pursuit, such as
he used himself to insist on, saying that there must be a
systole and diastole in all inquiry, and that a mans mind
must be continually expanding and shrinking between the
whole human horizon and the horizon of an object-glass.
That evening he seemed to be talking widely for the sake
Middlemarch
1140 of 1492
of resisting any personal bearing; and before long they
went into the drawing room, where Lydgate, having asked
Rosamond to give them music, sank back in his chair in
silence, but with a strange light in his eyes. He may have
been taking an opiate, was a thought that crossed Mr.
Farebrothers mindtic-douloureux perhapsor medical
worries.
It did not occur to him that Lydgates marriage was not
delightful: he believed, as the rest did, that Rosamond was
an amiable, docile creature, though he had always thought
her rather uninteresting a little too much the pattern-
card of the finishing-school; and his mother could not
forgive Rosamond because she never seemed to see that
Henrietta Noble was in the room. However, Lydgate fell
in love with her, said the Vicar to himself, and she must
be to his taste.
Mr. Farebrother was aware that Lydgate was a proud
man, but having very little corresponding fibre in himself,
and perhaps too little care about personal dignity, except
the dignity of not being mean or foolish, he could hardly
allow enough for the way in which Lydgate shrank, as
from a burn, from the utterance of any word about his
private affairs. And soon after that conversation at Mr.
Tollers, the Vicar learned something which made him
Middlemarch
1141 of 1492
watch the more eagerly for an opportunity of indirectly
letting Lydgate know that if he wanted to open himself
about any difficulty there was a friendly ear ready.
The opportunity came at Mr. Vincys, where, on New
Years Day, there was a party, to which Mr. Farebrother
was irresistibly invited, on the plea that he must not
forsake his old friends on the first new year of his being a
greater man, and Rector as well as Vicar. And this party
was thoroughly friendly: all the ladies of the Farebrother
family were present; the Vincy children all dined at the
table, and Fred had persuaded his mother that if she did
not invite Mary Garth, the Farebrothers would regard it as
a slight to themselves, Mary being their particular friend.
Mary came, and Fred was in high spirits, though his
enjoyment was of a checkered kind triumph that his
mother should see Marys importance with the chief
personages in the party being much streaked with jealousy
when Mr. Farebrother sat down by her. Fred used to be
much more easy about his own accomplishments in the
days when he had not begun to dread being bowled out
by Farebrother, and this terror was still before him. Mrs.
Vincy, in her fullest matronly bloom, looked at Marys
little figure, rough wavy hair, and visage quite without
lilies and roses, and wondered; trying unsuccessfully to
Middlemarch
1142 of 1492
fancy herself caring about Marys appearance in wedding
clothes, or feeling complacency in grandchildren who
would feature the Garths. However, the party was a
merry one, and Mary was particularly bright; being glad,
for Freds sake, that his friends were getting kinder to her,
and being also quite willing that they should see how
much she was valued by others whom they must admit to
be judges.
Mr. Farebrother noticed that Lydgate seemed bored,
and that Mr. Vincy spoke as little as possible to his son-in-
law. Rosamond was perfectly graceful and calm, and only
a subtle observation such as the Vicar had not been roused
to bestow on her would have perceived the total absence
of that interest in her husbands presence which a loving
wife is sure to betray, even if etiquette keeps her aloof
from him. When Lydgate was taking part in the
conversation, she never looked towards him any more
than if she had been a sculptured Psyche modelled to look
another way: and when, after being called out for an hour
or two, he re-entered the room, she seemed unconscious
of the fact, which eighteen months before would have had
the effect of a numeral before ciphers. In reality, however,
she was intensely aware of Lydgates voice and
movements; and her pretty good-tempered air of
Middlemarch
1143 of 1492
unconsciousness was a studied negation by which she
satisfied her inward opposition to him without
compromise of propriety. When the ladies were in the
drawing-room after Lydgate had been called away from
the dessert, Mrs. Farebrother, when Rosamond happened
to be near her, saidYou have to give up a great deal of
your husbands society, Mrs. Lydgate.
Yes, the life of a medical man is very arduous:
especially when he is so devoted to his profession as Mr.
Lydgate is, said Rosamond, who was standing, and moved
easily away at the end of this correct little speech.
It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no company,
said Mrs. Vincy, who was seated at the old ladys side. I
am sure I thought so when Rosamond was ill, and I was
staying with her. You know, Mrs. Farebrother, ours is a
cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition myself, and
Mr. Vincy always likes something to be going on. That is
what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from a
husband out at odd hours, and never knowing when he
will come home, and of a close, proud disposition, I
thinkindiscreet Mrs. Vincy did lower her tone slightly
with this parenthesis. But Rosamond always had an angel
of a temper; her brothers used very often not to please her,
but she was never the girl to show temper; from a baby
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Middlemarch
1144 of 1492
she was always as good as good, and with a complexion
beyond anything. But my children are all good-tempered,
thank God.
This was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs.
Vincy as she threw back her broad cap-strings, and smiled
towards her three little girls, aged from seven to eleven.
But in that smiling glance she was obliged to include Mary
Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to make
her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the delicious
tale of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by heart,
because Letty was never tired of communicating it to her
ignorant elders from a favorite red volume. Louisa, Mrs.
Vincys darling, now ran to her with wide-eyed serious
excitement, crying, Oh mamma, mamma, the little man
stamped so hard on the floor he couldnt get his leg out
again!
Bless you, my cherub! said mamma; you shall tell me
all about it to-morrow. Go and listen! and then, as her
eyes followed Louisa back towards the attractive corner,
she thought that if Fred wished her to invite Mary again
she would make no objection, the children being so
pleased with her.
But presently the corner became still more animated,
for Mr. Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind
Middlemarch
1145 of 1492
Louisa, took her on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted
that he must hear Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it
over again. He insisted too, and Mary, without fuss, began
again in her neat fashion, with precisely the same words as
before. Fred, who had also seated himself near, would
have felt unmixed triumph in Marys effectiveness if Mr.
Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident
admiration, while he dramatized an intense interest in the
tale to please the children.
You will never care any more about my one-eyed
giant, Loo, said Fred at the end.
Yes, I shall. Tell about him now, said Louisa.
Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr.
Farebrother.
Yes, added Mary; ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you
about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down
by a giant named Tom, and he thought they didnt mind
because he couldnt hear them cry, or see them use their
pocket-handkerchiefs.
Please, said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar.
No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a
story out of my bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach
you a sermon? said he, putting on his short-sighted
glasses, and pursing up his lips.
Middlemarch
1146 of 1492
Yes, said Louisa, falteringly.
Let me see, then. Against cakes: how cakes are bad
things, especially if they are sweet and have plums in
them.
Louisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down
from the Vicars knee to go to Fred.
Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Years Day,
said Mr. Farebrother, rising and walkingaway. He had
discovered of late that Fred had become jealous of him,
and also that he himself was not losing his preference for
Mary above all other women.
A delightful young person is Miss Garth, said Mrs.
Farebrother, who had been watching her sons
movements.
Yes, said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old lady
turned to her expectantly. It is a pity she is not better-
looking.
I cannot say that, said Mrs. Farebrother, decisively. I
like her countenance. We must not always ask for beauty,
when a good God has seen fit to make an excellent young
woman without it. I put good manners first, and Miss
Garth will know how to conduct herself in any station.
The old lady was a little sharp in her tone, having a
prospective reference to Marys becoming her daughter-
Middlemarch
1147 of 1492
in-law; for there was this inconvenience in Marys
position with regard to Fred, that it was not suitable to be
made public, and hence the three ladies at Lowick
Parsonage were still hoping that Camden would choose
Miss Garth.
New visitors entered, and the drawing-room was given
up to music and games, while whist-tables were prepared
in the quiet room on the other side of the hall. Mr.
Farebrother played a rubber to satisfy his mother, who
regarded her occasional whist as a protest against scandal
and novelty of opinion, in which light even a revoke had
its dignity. But at the end he got Mr. Chichely to take his
place, and left the room. As he crossed the hall, Lydgate
had just come in and was taking off his great-coat.
You are the man I was going to look for, said the
Vicar; and instead of entering the drawing-room, they
walked along the hall and stood against the fireplace,
where the frosty air helped to make a glowing bank. You
see, I can leave the whist-table easily enough, he went on,
smiling at Lydgate, now I dont play for money. I owe
that to you, Mrs. Casaubon says.
How? said Lydgate, coldly.
Ah, you didnt mean me to know it; I call that
ungenerous reticence. You should let a man have the
Middlemarch
1148 of 1492
pleasure of feeling that you have done him a good turn. I
dont enter into some peoples dislike of being under an
obligation: upon my word, I prefer being under an
obligation to everybody for behaving well to me.
I cant tell what you mean, said Lydgate, unless it is
that I once spoke of you to Mrs. Casaubon. But I did not
think that she would break her promise not to mention
that I had done so, said Lydgate, leaning his back against
the corner of the mantel-piece, and showing no radiance
in his face.
It was Brooke who let it out, only the other day. He
paid me the compliment of saying that he was very glad I
had the living though you had come across his tactics, and
had praised me up as a lien and a Tillotson, and that sort of
thing, till Mrs. Casaubon would hear of no one else.
Oh, Brooke is such a leaky-minded fool, said Lydgate,
contemptuously.
Well, I was glad of the leakiness then. I dont see why
you shouldnt like me to know that you wished to do me
a service, my dear fellow. And you certainly have done me
one. Its rather a strong check to ones self-complacency to
find how much of ones right doing depends on not being
in want of money. A man will not be tempted to say the
Lords Prayer backward to please the devil, if he doesnt
Middlemarch
1149 of 1492
want the devils services. I have no need to hang on the
smiles of chance now.
I dont see that theres any money-getting without
chance, said Lydgate; if a man gets it in a profession, its
pretty sure to come by chance.
Mr. Farebrother thought he could account for this
speech, in striking contrast with Lydgates former way of
talking, as the perversity which will often spring from the
moodiness of a man ill at ease in his affairs. He answered
in a tone of good-humored admission
Ah, theres enormous patience wanted with the way of
the world. But it is the easier for a man to wait patiently
when he has friends who love him, and ask for nothing
better than to help him through, so far as it lies in their
power.
Oh yes, said Lydgate, in a careless tone, changing his
attitude and looking at his watch. People make much
more of their difficulties than they need to do.
He knew as distinctly as possible that this was an offer
of help to himself from Mr. Farebrother, and he could not
bear it. So strangely determined are we mortals, that, after
having been long gratified with the sense that he had
privately done the Vicar a service, the suggestion that the
Vicar discerned his need of a service in return made him
Middlemarch
1150 of 1492
shrink into unconquerable reticence. Besides, behind all
making of such offers what else must come?that he
should mention his case, imply that he wanted specific
things. At that moment, suicide seemed easier.
Mr. Farebrother was too keen a man not to know the
meaning of that reply, and there was a certain massiveness
in Lydgates manner and tone, corresponding with his
physique, which if he repelled your advances in the first
instance seemed to put persuasive devices out of question.
What time are you? said the Vicar, devouring his
wounded feeling.
After eleven, said Lydgate. And they went into the
drawing-room.
Middlemarch
1151 of 1492
Chapter LXIV
1st Gent. Where lies the power, there let the blame lie
too.
2d Gent. Nay, power is relative; you cannot fright
The coming pest with border fortresses,
Or catch your carp with subtle argument.
All force is twain in one: cause is not cause
Unless effect be there; and actions self
Must needs contain a passive. So command
Exists but with obedience.
Even if Lydgate had been inclined to be quite open
about his affairs, he knew that it would have hardly been
in Mr. Farebrothers power to give him the help he
immediately wanted. With the years bills coming in from
his tradesmen, with Dovers threatening hold on his
furniture, and with nothing to depend on but slow
dribbling payments from patients who must not be
offendedfor the handsome fees he had had from Freshitt
Hall and Lowick Manor had been easily absorbed
nothing less than a thousand pounds would have freed him
from actual embarrassment, and left a residue which,
according to the favorite phrase of hopefulness in such
circumstances, would have given him time to look about
him.
Middlemarch
1152 of 1492
Naturally, the merry Christmas bringing the happy
New Year, when fellow-citizens expect to be paid for the
trouble and goods they have smilingly bestowed on their
neighbors, had so tightened the pressure of sordid cares on
Lydgates mind that it was hardly possible for him to think
unbrokenly of any other subject, even the most habitual
and soliciting. He was not an ill-tempered man; his
intellectual activity, the ardent kindness of his heart, as
well as his strong frame, would always, under tolerably
easy conditions, have kept him above the petty
uncontrolled susceptibilities which make bad temper. But
he was now a prey to that worst irritation which arises not
simply from annoyances, but from the second
consciousness underlying those annoyances, of wasted
energy and a degrading preoccupation, which was the
reverse of all his former purposes. THIS is what I am
thinking of; and THAT is what I might have been
thinking of, was the bitter incessant murmur within him,
making every difficulty a double goad to impatience.
Some gentlemen have made an amazing figure in
literature by general discontent with the universe as a trap
of dulness into which their great souls have fallen by
mistake; but the sense of a stupendous self and an
insignificant world may have its consolations. Lydgates
Middlemarch
1153 of 1492
discontent was much harder to bear: it was the sense that
there was a grand existence in thought and effective action
lying around him, while his self was being narrowed into
the miserable isolation of egoistic fears, and vulgar
anxieties for events that might allay such fears. His troubles
will perhaps appear miserably sordid, and beneath the
attention of lofty persons who can know nothing of debt
except on a magnificent scale. Doubtless they were sordid;
and for the majority, who are not lofty, there is no escape
from sordidness but by being free from money-craving,
with all its base hopes and temptations, its watching for
death, its hinted requests. its horse-dealers desire to make
bad work pass for good, its seeking for function which
ought to be anothers, its compulsion often to long for
Luck in the shape of a wide calamity.
It was because Lydgate writhed under the idea of
getting his neck beneath this vile yoke that he had fallen
into a bitter moody state which was continually widening
Rosamonds alienation from him. After the first disclosure
about the bill of sale, he had made many efforts to draw
her into sympathy with him about possible measures for
narrowing their expenses, and with the threatening
approach of Christmas his propositions grew more and
more definite. We two can do with only one servant, and
Middlemarch
1154 of 1492
live on very little, he said, and I shall manage with one
horse. For Lydgate, as we have seen, had begun to reason,
with a more distinct vision, about the expenses of living,
and any share of pride he had given to appearances of that
sort was meagre compared with the pride which made
him revolt from exposure as a debtor, or from asking men
to help him with their money.
Of course you can dismiss the other two servants, if
you like, said Rosamond; but I should have thought it
would be very injurious to your position for us to live in a
poor way. You must expect your practice to be lowered.
My dear Rosamond, it is not a question of choice. We
have begun too expensively. Peacock, you know, lived in
a much smaller house than this. It is my fault: I ought to
have known better, and I deserve a thrashingif there
were anybody who had a right to give it mefor bringing
you into the necessity of living in a poorer way than you
have been used to. But we married because we loved each
other, I suppose. And that may help us to pull along till
things get better. Come, dear, put down that work and
come to me.
He was really in chill gloom about her at that moment,
but he dreaded a future without affection, and was
determined to resist the oncoming of division between
Middlemarch
1155 of 1492
them. Rosamond obeyed him, and he took her on his
knee, but in her secret soul she was utterly aloof from him.
The poor thing saw only that the world was not ordered
to her liking, and Lydgate was part of that world. But he
held her waist with one hand and laid the other gently on
both of hers; for this rather abrupt man had much
tenderness in his manners towards women, seeming to
have always present in his imagination the weakness of
their frames and the delicate poise of their health both in
body and mind. And he began again to speak persuasively.
I find, now I look into things a little, Rosy, that it is
wonderful what an amount of money slips away in our
housekeeping. I suppose the servants are careless, and we
have had a great many people coming. But there must be
many in our rank who manage with much less: they must
do with commoner things, I suppose, and look after the
scraps. It seems, money goes but a little way in these
matters, for Wrench has everything as plain as possible,
and he has a very large practice.
Oh, if you think of living as the Wrenches do! said
Rosamond, with a little turn of her neck. But I have
heard you express your disgust at that way of living.
Yes, they have bad taste in everythingthey make
economy look ugly. We neednt do that. I only meant
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Middlemarch
1156 of 1492
that they avoid expenses, although Wrench has a capital
practice.
Why should not you have a good practice, Tertius?
Mr. Peacock had. You should be more careful not to
offend people, and you should send out medicines as the
others do. I am sure you began well, and you got several
good houses. It cannot answer to be eccentric; you should
think what will be generally liked, said Rosamond, in a
decided little tone of admonition.
Lydgates anger rose: he was prepared to be indulgent
towards feminine weakness, but not towards feminine
dictation. The shallowness of a waternixies soul may have
a charm until she becomes didactic. But he controlled
himself, and only said, with a touch of despotic firmness
What I am to do in my practice, Rosy, it is for me to
judge. That is not the question between us. It is enough
for you to know that our income is likely to be a very
narrow one hardly four hundred, perhaps less, for a long
time to come, and we must try to re-arrange our lives in
accordance with that fact.
Rosamond was silent for a moment or two, looking
before her, and then said, My uncle Bulstrode ought to
allow you a salary for the time you give to the Hospital: it
is not right that you should work for nothing.
Middlemarch
1157 of 1492
It was understood from the beginning that my services
would be gratuitous. That, again, need not enter into our
discussion. I have pointed out what is the only
probability, said Lydgate, impatiently. Then checking
himself, he went on more quietly
I think I see one resource which would free us from a
good deal of the present difficulty. I hear that young Ned
Plymdale is going to be married to Miss Sophy Toller.
They are rich, and it is not often that a good house is
vacant in Middlemarch. I feel sure that they would be glad
to take this house from us with most of our furniture, and
they would be willing to pay handsomely for the lease. I
can employ Trumbull to speak to Plymdale about it.
Rosamond left her husbands knee and walked slowly
to the other end of the room; when she turned round and
walked towards him it was evident that the tears had
come, and that she was biting her under-lip and clasping
her hands to keep herself from crying. Lydgate was
wretchedshaken with anger and yet feeling that it would
be unmanly to vent the anger just now.
I am very sorry, Rosamond; I know this is painful.
I thought, at least, when I had borne to send the plate
back and have that man taking an inventory of the
furnitureI should have thought THAT would suffice.
Middlemarch
1158 of 1492
I explained it to you at the time, dear. That was only a
security and behind that Security there is a debt. And that
debt must be paid within the next few months, else we
shall have our furniture sold. If young Plymdale will take
our house and most of our furniture, we shall be able to
pay that debt, and some others too, and we shall be quit of
a place too expensive for us. We might take a smaller
house: Trumbull, I know, has a very decent one to let at
thirty pounds a-year, and this is ninety. Lydgate uttered
this speech in the curt hammering way with which we
usually try to nail down a vague mind to imperative facts.
Tears rolled silently down Rosamonds cheeks; she just
pressed her handkerchief against them, and stood looking
al; the large vase on the mantel-piece. It was a moment of
more intense bitterness than she had ever felt before. At
last she said, without hurry and with careful emphasis
I never could have believed that you would like to act
in that way.
Like it? burst out Lydgate, rising from his chair,
thrusting his hands in his pockets and stalking away from
the hearth; its not a question of liking. Of course, I dont
like it; its the only thing I can do. He wheeled round
there, and turned towards her.
Middlemarch
1159 of 1492
I should have thought there were many other means
than that, said Rosamond. Let us have a sale and leave
Middlemarch altogether.
To do what? What is the use of my leaving my work
in Middlemarch to go where I have none? We should be
just as penniless elsewhere as we are here, said Lydgate
still more angrily.
If we are to be in that position it will be entirely your
own doing, Tertius, said Rosamond, turning round to
speak with the fullest conviction. You will not behave as
you ought to do to your own family. You offended
Captain Lydgate. Sir Godwin was very kind to me when
we were at Quallingham, and I am sure if you showed
proper regard to him and told him your affairs, he would
do anything for you. But rather than that, you like giving
up our house and furniture to Mr. Ned Plymdale.
There was something like fierceness in Lydgates eyes,
as he answered with new violence, Well, then, if you will
have it so, I do like it. I admit that I like it better than
making a fool of myself by going to beg where its of no
use. Understand then, that it is what I LIKE TO DO.
There was a tone in the last sentence which was
equivalent to the clutch of his strong hand on Rosamonds
delicate arm. But for all that, his will was not a whit
Middlemarch
1160 of 1492
stronger than hers. She immediately walked out of the
room in silence, but with an intense determination to
hinder what Lydgate liked to do.
He went out of the house, but as his blood cooled he
felt that the chief result of the discussion was a deposit of
dread within him at the idea of opening with his wife in
future subjects which might again urge him to violent
speech. It was as if a fracture in delicate crystal had begun,
and he was afraid of any movement that might mate it
fatal. His marriage would be a mere piece of bitter irony if
they could not go on loving each other. He had long ago
made up his mind to what he thought was her negative
characterher want of sensibility, which showed itself in
disregard both of his specific wishes and of his general
aims. The first great disappointment had been borne: the
tender devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife
must be renounced, and life must be taken up on a lower
stage of expectation, as it is by men who have lost their
limbs. But the real wife had not only her claims, she had
still a hold on his heart, and it was his intense desire that
the hold should remain strong. In marriage, the certainty,
She will never love me much, is easier to bear than the
fear, I shall love her no more. Hence, after that outburst,
his inward effort was entirely to excuse her, and to blame
Middlemarch
1161 of 1492
the hard circumstances which were partly his fault. He
tried that evening, by petting her, to heal the wound he
had made in the morning, and it was not in Rosamonds
nature to be repellent or sulky; indeed, she welcomed the
signs that her husband loved her and was under control.
But this was something quite distinct from loving HIM.
Lydgate would not have chosen soon to recur to the plan
of parting with the house; he was resolved to carry it out,
and say as little more about it as possible. But Rosamond
herself touched on it at breakfast by saying, mildly
Have you spoken to Trumbull yet?
No, said Lydgate, but I shall call on him as I go by
this morning. No time must be lost. He took Rosamonds
question as a sign that she withdrew her inward
opposition, and kissed her head caressingly when he got
up to go away.
As soon as it was late enough to make a call, Rosamond
went to Mrs. Plymdale, Mr. Neds mother, and entered
with pretty congratulations into the of the coming
marriage. Mrs. Plymdales maternal view was, that
Rosamond might possibly now have retrospective
glimpses of her own folly; and feeling the advantages to be
at present all on the side of her son, was too kind a
woman not to behave graciously.
Middlemarch
1162 of 1492
Yes, Ned is most happy, I must say. And Sophy Toller
is all I could desire in a daughter-in-law. Of course her
father is able to do something handsome for herthat is
only what would be expected with a brewery like his.
And the connection is everything we should desire. But
that is not what I look at. She is such a very nice girlno
airs, no pretensions, though on a level with the first. I
dont mean with the titled aristocracy. I see very little
good in people aiming out of their own sphere. I mean
that Sophy is equal to the best in the town, and she is
contented with that.
I have always thought her very agreeable, said
Rosamond.
I look upon it as a reward for Ned, who never held his
head too high, that he should have got into the very best
connection, continued Mrs. Plymdale, her native
sharpness softened by a fervid sense that she was taking a
correct view. And such particular people as the Tollers
are, they might have objected because some of our friends
are not theirs. It is well known that your aunt Bulstrode
and I have been intimate from our youth, and Mr.
Plymdale has been always on Mr. Bulstrodes side. And I
myself prefer serious opinions. But the Tollers have
welcomed Ned all the same.
Middlemarch
1163 of 1492
I am sure he is a very deserving, well-principled young
man, said Rosamond, with a neat air of patronage in
return for Mrs. Plymdales wholesome corrections.
Oh, he has not the style of a captain in the army, or
that sort of carriage as if everybody was beneath him, or
that showy kind of talking, and singing, and intellectual
talent. But I am thankful he has not. It is a poor
preparation both for here and Hereafter.
Oh dear, yes; appearances have very little to do with
happiness, said Rosamond. I think there is every prospect
of their being a happy couple. What house will they take?
Oh, as for that, they must put up with what they can
get. They have been looking at the house in St. Peters
Place, next to Mr. Hackbutts; it belongs to him, and he is
putting it nicely in repair. I suppose they are not likely to
hear of a better. Indeed, I think Ned will decide the
matter to-day.
I should think it is a nice house; I like St. Peters
Place.
Well, it is near the Church, and a genteel situation.
But the windows are narrow, and it is all ups and downs.
You dont happen to know of any other that would be at
liberty? said Mrs. Plymdale, fixing her round black eyes
Middlemarch
1164 of 1492
on Rosamond with the animation of a sudden thought in
them.
Oh no; I hear so little of those things.
Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer
in setting out to pay her visit; she had simply meant to
gather any information which would help her to avert the
parting with her own house under circumstances
thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her
reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the
untruth there was in her saying that appearances had very
little to do with happiness. Her object, she was convinced,
was thoroughly justifiable: it was Lydgate whose intention
was inexcusable; and there was a plan in her mind which,
when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very
false a step it would have been for him to have descended
from his position.
She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbulls office,
meaning to call there. It was the first time in her life that
Rosamond had thought of doing anything in the form of
business, but she felt equal to the occasion. That she
should be obliged to do what she intensely disliked, was an
idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active invention.
Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to
disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act
Middlemarch
1165 of 1492
according to her judgment, and she said to herself that her
judgment was rightindeed, if it had not been, she
would not have wished to act on it.
Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and
received Rosamond with his finest manners, not only
because he had much sensibility to her charms, but
because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by his
certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this
uncommonly pretty womanthis young lady with the
highest personal attractionswas likely to feel the pinch of
trouble to find herself involved in circumstances beyond
her control. He begged her to do him the honor to take a
seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting
himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly
benevolent. Rosamonds first question was, whether her
husband had called on Mr. Trumbull that morning, to
speak about disposing of their house.
Yes, maam, yes, he did; he did so, said the good
auctioneer, trying to throw something soothing into his
iteration. I was about to fulfil his order, if possible, this
afternoon. He wished me not to procrastinate.
I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr.
Trumbull; and I beg of you not to mention what has been
said on the subject. Will you oblige me?
Middlemarch
1166 of 1492
Certainly I will, Mrs. Lydgate, certainly. Confidence is
sacred with me on business or any other topic. I am then
to consider the commission withdrawn? said Mr.
Trumbull, adjusting the long ends of his blue cravat with
both hands, and looking at Rosamond deferentially.
Yes, if you please. I find that Mr. Ned Plymdale has
taken a house the one in St. Peters Place next to Mr.
Hackbutts. Mr. Lydgate would be annoyed that his orders
should be fulfilled uselessly. And besides that, there are
other circumstances which render the proposal
unnecessary.
Very good, Mrs. Lydgate, very good. I am at your
commands, whenever you require any service of me, said
Mr. Trumbull, who felt pleasure in conjecturing that some
new resources had been opened. Rely on me, I beg. The
affair shall go no further.
That evening Lydgate was a little comforted by
observing that Rosamond was more lively than she had
usually been of late, and even seemed interested in doing
what would please him without being asked. He thought,
If she will be happy and I can rub through, what does it
all signify? It is only a narrow swamp that we have to pass
in a long journey. If I can get my mind clear again, I shall
do.
Middlemarch
1167 of 1492
He was so much cheered that he began to search for an
account of experiments which he had long ago meant to
look up, and had neglected out of that creeping self-
despair which comes in the train of petty anxieties. He felt
again some of the old delightful absorption in a far-
reaching inquiry, while Rosamond played the quiet music
which was as helpful to his meditation as the plash of an
oar on the evening lake. It was rather late; he had pushed
away all the books, and was looking at the fire with his
hands clasped behind his head in forgetfulness of
everything except the construction of a new controlling
experiment, when Rosamond, who had left the piano and
was leaning back in her chair watching him, said
Mr. Ned Plymdale has taken a house already.
Lydgate, startled and jarred, looked up in silence for a
moment, like a man who has been disturbed in his sleep.
Then flushing with an unpleasant consciousness, he
asked
How do you know?
I called at Mrs. Plymdales this morning, and she told
me that he had taken the house in St. Peters Place, next
to Mr. Hackbutts.
Lydgate was silent. He drew his hands from behind his
head and pressed them against the hair which was hanging,
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Middlemarch
1168 of 1492
as it was apt to do, in a mass on his forehead, while he
rested his elbows on his knees. He was feeling bitter
disappointment, as if he had opened a door out of a
suffocating place and had found it walled up; but he also
felt sure that Rosamond was pleased with the cause of his
disappointment. He preferred not looking at her and not
speaking, until he had got over the first spasm of vexation.
After all, he said in his bitterness, what can a woman care
about so much as house and furniture? a husband without
them is an absurdity. When he looked up and pushed his
hair aside, his dark eyes had a miserable blank non-
expectance of sympathy in them, but he only said,
coolly
Perhaps some one else may turn up. I told Trumbull to
be on the look-out if he failed with Plymdale.
Rosamond made no remark. She trusted to the chance
that nothing more would pass between her husband and
the auctioneer until some issue should have justified her
interference; at any rate, she had hindered the event which
she immediately dreaded. After a pause, she said
How much money is it that those disagreeable people
want?
What disagreeable people?
Middlemarch
1169 of 1492
Those who took the listand the others. I mean, how
much money would satisfy them so that you need not be
troubled any more?
Lydgate surveyed her for a moment, as if he were
looking for symptoms, and then said, Oh, if I could have
got six hundred from Plymdale for furniture and as
premium, I might have managed. I could have paid off
Dover, and given enough on account to the others to
make them wait patiently, if we contracted our expenses.
But I mean how much should you want if we stayed
in this house?
More than I am likely to get anywhere, said Lydgate,
with rather a grating sarcasm in his tone. It angered him to
perceive that Rosamonds mind was wandering over
impracticable wishes instead of facing possible efforts.
Why should you not mention the sum? said
Rosamond, with a mild indication that she did not like his
manners.
Well, said Lydgate in a guessing tone, it would take at
least a thousand to set me at ease. But, he added,
incisively, I have to consider what I shall do without it,
not with it.
Rosamond said no more.
Middlemarch
1170 of 1492
But the next day she carried out her plan of writing to
Sir Godwin Lydgate. Since the Captains visit, she had
received a letter from him, and also one from Mrs.
Mengan, his married sister, condoling with her on the loss
of her baby, and expressing vaguely the hope that they
should see her again at Quallingham. Lydgate had told her
that this politeness meant nothing; but she was secretly
convinced that any backwardness in Lydgates family
towards him was due to his cold and contemptuous
behavior, and she had answered the letters in her most
charming manner, feeling some confidence that a specific
invitation would follow. But there had been total silence.
The Captain evidently was not a great penman, and
Rosamond reflected that the sisters might have been
abroad. However, the season was come for thinking of
friends at home, and at any rate Sir Godwin, who had
chucked her under the chin, and pronounced her to be
like the celebrated beauty, Mrs. Croly, who had made a
conquest of him in 1790, would be touched by any appeal
from her, and would find it pleasant for her sake to behave
as he ought to do towards his nephew. Rosamond was
naively convinced of what an old gentleman ought to do
to prevent her from suffering annoyance. And she wrote
what she considered the most judicious letter possible
Middlemarch
1171 of 1492
one which would strike Sir Godwin as a proof of her
excellent sense pointing out how desirable it was that
Tertius should quit such a place as Middlemarch for one
more fitted to his talents, how the unpleasant character of
the inhabitants had hindered his professional success, and
how in consequence he was in money difficulties, from
which it would require a thousand pounds thoroughly to
extricate him. She did not say that Tertius was unaware of
her intention to write; for she had the idea that his
supposed sanction of her letter would be in accordance
with what she did say of his great regard for his uncle
Godwin as the relative who had always been his best
friend. Such was the force of Poor Rosamonds tactics
now she applied them to affairs.
This had happened before the party on New Years
Day, and no answer had yet come from Sir Godwin. But
on the morning of that day Lydgate had to learn that
Rosamond had revoked his order to Borthrop Trumbull.
Feeling it necessary that she should be gradually
accustomed to the idea of their quitting the house in
Lowick Gate, he overcame his reluctance to speak to her
again on the subject, and when they were breakfasting
said
Middlemarch
1172 of 1492
I shall try to see Trumbull this morning, and tell him
to. advertise the house in the Pioneer and the Trumpet.
If the thing were advertised, some one might be inclined
to take it who would not otherwise have thought of a
change. In these country places many people go on in
their old houses when their families are too large for them,
for want of knowing where they can find another. And
Trumbull seems to have got no bite at all.
Rosamond knew that the inevitable moment was
come. I ordered Trumbull not to inquire further, she
said, with a careful calmness which was evidently
defensive.
Lydgate stared at her in mute amazement. Only half an
hour before he had been fastening up her plaits for her,
and talking the little language of affection, which
Rosamond, though not returning it, accepted as if she had
been a serene and lovely image, now and then
miraculously dimpling towards her votary. With such
fibres still astir in him, the shock he received could not at
once be distinctly anger; it was confused pain. He laid
down the knife and fork with which he was carving, and
throwing himself back in his chair, said at last, with a cool
irony in his tone
May I ask when and why you did so?
Middlemarch
1173 of 1492
When I knew that the Plymdales had taken a house, I
called to tell him not to mention ours to them; and at the
same time I told him not to let the affair go on any
further. I knew that it would be very injurious to you if it
were known that you wished to part with your house and
furniture, and I had a very strong objection to it. I think
that was reason enough.
It was of no consequence then that I had told you
imperative reasons of another kind; of no consequence
that I had come to a different conclusion, and given an
order accordingly? said Lydgate, bitingly, the thunder and
lightning gathering about his brow and eyes.
The effect of any ones anger on Rosamond had always
been to make her shrink in cold dislike, and to become all
the more calmly correct, in the conviction that she was
not the person to misbehave whatever others might do.
She replied
I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject
which concerns me at least as much as you.
Clearlyyou had a right to speak, but only to me.
You had no right to contradict my orders secretly, and
treat me as if I were a fool, said Lydgate, in the same tone
as before. Then with some added scorn, Is it possible to
make you understand what the consequences will be? Is it
Middlemarch
1174 of 1492
of any use for me to tell you again why we must try to
part with the house?
It is not necessary for you to tell me again, said
Rosamond, in a voice that fell and trickled like cold
water-drops. I remembered what you said. You spoke just
as violently as you do now. But that does not alter my
opinion that you ought to try every other means rather
than take a step which is so painful to me. And as to
advertising the house, I think it would be perfectly
degrading to you.
And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard
mine?
You can do so, of course. But I think you ought to
have told me before we were married that you would
place me in the worst position, rather than give up your
own will.
Lydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side,
and twitched the corners of his mouth in despair.
Rosamond, seeing that he was not looking at her, rose and
set his cup of coffee before him; but he took no notice of
it, and went on with an inward drama and argument,
occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the
table, and rubbing his hand against his hair. There was a
conflux of emotions and thoughts in him that would not
Middlemarch
1175 of 1492
let him either give thorough way to his anger or persevere
with simple rigidity of resolve. Rosamond took advantage
of his silence.
When we were married everyone felt that your
position was very high. I could not have imagined then
that you would want to sell our furniture, and take a
house in Bride Street, where the rooms are like cages. If
we are to live in that way let us at least leave
Middlemarch.
These would be very strong considerations, said
Lydgate, half ironicallystill there was a withered paleness
about his lips as he looked at his coffee, and did not
drinkthese would be very strong considerations if I did
not happen to be in debt.
Many persons must have been in debt in the same
way, but if they are respectable, people trust them. I am
sure I have heard papa say that the Torbits were in debt,
and they went on very well It cannot be good to act
rashly, said Rosamond, with serene wisdom.
Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no
reasoning he could apply to Rosamond seemed likely to
conquer her assent, he wanted to smash and grind some
object on which he could at least produce an impression,
or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she must
Middlemarch
1176 of 1492
obey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such
extremities on their mutual lifehe had a growing dread
of Rosamonds quiet elusive obstinacy, which would not
allow any assertion of power to be final; and again, she had
touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying that
she had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in
marrying him. As to saying that he was master, it was not
the fact. The very resolution to which he had wrought
himself by dint of logic and honorable pride was
beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He
swallowed half his cup of coffee, and then rose to go.
I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull
at present until it has been seen that there are no other
means, said Rosamond. Although she was not subject to
much fear, she felt it safer not to betray that she had
written to Sir Godwin. Promise me that you will not go
to him for a few weeks, or without telling me.
Lydgate gave a short laugh. I think it is I who should
exact a promise that you will do nothing without telling
me, he said, turning his eyes sharply upon her, and then
moving to the door.
You remember that we are going to dine at papas,
said Rosamond, wishing that he should turn and make a
more thorough concession to her. But he only said Oh
Middlemarch
1177 of 1492
yes, impatiently, and went away. She held it to be very
odious in him that he did not think the painful
propositions he had had to make to her were enough,
without showing so unpleasant a temper. And when she
put the moderate request that he would defer going to
Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of
what he meant to do. She was convinced of her having
acted in every way for the best; and each grating or angry
speech of Lydgates served only as an addition to the
register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond for
months had begun to associate her husband with feelings
of disappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of
marriage had lost its charm of encouraging delightful
dreams. It had freed her from the disagreeables of her
fathers house, but it had not given her everything that she
had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she had
been in love had been a group of airy conditions for her,
most of which had disappeared, while their place had been
taken by every-day details which must be lived through
slowly from hour to hour, not floated through with a
rapid selection of favorable aspects. The habits of Lydgates
profession, his home preoccupation with scientific
subjects, which seemed to her almost like a morbid
vampires taste, his peculiar views of things which had
Middlemarch
1178 of 1492
never entered into the dialogue of courtship all these
continually alienating influences, even without the fact of
his having placed himself at a disadvantage in the town,
and without that first shock of revelation about Dovers
debt, would have made his presence dull to her. There
was another presence which ever since the early days of
her marriage, until four months ago, had been an
agreeable excitement, but that was gone: Rosamond
would not confess to herself how much the consequent
blank had to do with her utter ennui; and it seemed to her
(perhaps she was right) that an invitation to Quallingham,
and an opening for Lydgate to settle elsewhere than in
Middlemarchin London, or somewhere likely to be free
from unpleasantnesswould satisfy her quite well, and
make her indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw,
towards whom she felt some resentment for his exaltation
of Mrs. Casaubon.
That was the state of things with Lydgate and
Rosamond on the New Years Day when they dined at
her fathers, she looking mildly neutral towards him in
remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast, and
he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict
in which that morning scene was only one of many
epochs. His flushed effort while talking to Mr.
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1179 of 1492
Farebrotherhis effort after the cynical pretence that all
ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that
chance has an empire which reduces choice to a fools
illusionwas but the symptom of a wavering resolve, a
benumbed response to the old stimuli of enthusiasm.
What was he to do? He saw even more keenly than
Rosamond did the dreariness of taking her into the small
house in Bride Street, where she would have scanty
furniture around her and discontent within: a life of
privation and life with Rosamond were two images which
had become more and more irreconcilable ever since the
threat of privation had disclosed itself. But even if his
resolves had forced the two images into combination, the
useful preliminaries to that hard change were not visibly
within reach. And though he had not given the promise
which his wife had asked for, he did not go again to
Trumbull. He even began to think of taking a rapid
journey to the North and seeing Sir Godwin. He had
once believed that nothing would urge him into making
an application for money to his uncle, but he had not then
known the full pressure of alternatives yet more
disagreeable. He could not depend on the effect of a letter;
it was only in an interview, however disagreeable this
might be to himself, that he could give a thorough
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Middlemarch
1180 of 1492
explanation and could test the effectiveness of kinship. No
sooner had Lydgate begun to represent this step to himself
as the easiest than there was a reaction of anger that he
he who had long ago determined to live aloof from such
abject calculations, such self-interested anxiety about the
inclinations and the pockets of men with whom he had
been proud to have no aims in commonshould have
fallen not simply to their level, but to the level of soliciting
them.
Middlemarch
1181 of 1492
Chapter LXV
One of us two must bowen douteless,
And, sith a man is more reasonable
Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable.
CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.
The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence
triumphs even over the present quickening in the general
pace of things: what wonder then that in 1832 old Sir
Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letter which was of
consequence to others rather than to himself? Nearly three
weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond,
awaiting an answer to her winning appeal, was every day
disappointed. Lydgate, in total ignorance of her
expectations, was seeing the bills come in, and feeling that
Dovers use of his advantage over other creditors was
imminent. He had never mentioned to Rosamond his
brooding purpose of going to Quallingham: he did not
want to admit what would appear to her a concession to
her wishes after indignant refusal, until the last moment;
but he was really expecting to set off soon. A slice of the
railway would enable him to manage the whole journey
and back in four days.
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1182 of 1492
But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter
came addressed to him, which Rosamond saw clearly to
be from Sir Godwin. She was full of hope. Perhaps there
might be a particular note to her enclosed; but Lydgate
was naturally addressed on the question of money or other
aid, and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay
in writing at all, seemed to certify that the answer was
thoroughly compliant. She was too much excited by these
thoughts to do anything but light stitching in a warm
corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this
momentous letter lying on the table before her. About
twelve she heard her husbands step in the passage, and
tripping to open the door, she said in her lightest tones,
Tertius, come in here here is a letter for you.
Ah? he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her
round within his arm to walk towards the spot where the
letter lay. My uncle Godwin! he exclaimed, while
Rosamond reseated herself, and watched him as he opened
the letter. She had expected him to be surprised.
While Lydgates eyes glanced rapidly over the brief
letter, she saw his face, usually of a pale brown, taking on
a dry whiteness; with nostrils and lips quivering he tossed
down the letter before her, and said violently
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1183 of 1492
It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you
will always be acting secretlyacting in opposition to me
and hiding your actions.
He checked his speech and turned his back on her
then wheeled round and walked about, sat down, and got
up again restlessly, grasping hard the objects deep down in
his pockets. He was afraid of saying something
irremediably cruel.
Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The
letter ran in this way:
DEAR TERTIUS,Dont set your wife to write to
me when you have anything to ask. It is a roundabout
wheedling sort of thing which I should not have credited
you with. I never choose to write to a woman on matters
of business. As to my supplying you with a thousand
pounds, or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the
sort. My own family drains me to the last penny. With
two younger sons and three daughters, I am not likely to
have cash to spare. You seem to have got through your
own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess
where you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the
better. But I have nothing to do with men of your
profession, and cant help you there. I did the best I could
for you as guardian, and let you have your own way in
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1184 of 1492
taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army
or the Church. Your money would have held out for that,
and there would have been a surer ladder before you.
Your uncle Charles has had a grudge against you for not
going into his profession, but not I. I have always wished
you well, but you must consider yourself on your own
legs entirely now.
Your affectionate uncle,
GODWIN LYDGATE.
When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat
quite still, with her hands folded before her, restraining
any show of her keen disappointment, and intrenching
herself in quiet passivity under her husbands wrath
Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again, and
said, with biting severity
Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you
may do by secret meddling? Have you sense enough to
recognize now your incompetence to judge and act for
meto interfere with your ignorance in affairs which it
belongs to me to decide on?
The words were hard; but this was not the first time
that Lydgate had been frustrated by her. She did not look
at him, and made no reply.
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1185 of 1492
I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham. It
would have cost me pain enough to do it, yet it might
have been of some use. But it has been of no use for me to
think of anything. You have always been counteracting
me secretly. You delude me with a false assent, and then I
am at the mercy of your devices. If you mean to resist
every wish I express, say so and defy me. I shall at least
know what I am doing then.
It is a terrible moment in young lives when the
closeness of loves bond has turned to this power of
galling. In spite of Rosamonds self-control a tear fell
silently and rolled over her lips. She still said nothing; but
under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she was
in such entire disgust with her husband that she wished
she had never seen him. Sir Godwins rudeness towards
her and utter want of feeling ranged him with Dover and
all other creditors disagreeable people who only thought
of themselves, and did not mind how annoying they were
to her. Even her father was unkind, and might have done
more for them. In fact there was but one person in
Rosamonds world whom she did not regard as
blameworthy, and that was the graceful creature with
blond plaits and with little hands crossed before her, who
had never expressed herself unbecomingly, and had always
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acted for the bestthe best naturally being what she best
liked.
Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that
half-maddening sense of helplessness which comes over
passionate people when their passion is met by an
innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized air seems
to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the
justest indignation with a doubt of its justice. He needed
to recover the full sense that he was in the right by
moderating his words.
Can you not see, Rosamond, he began again, trying
to be simply grave and not bitter, that nothing can be so
fatal as a want of openness and confidence between us? It
has happened again and again that I have expressed a
decided wish, and you have seemed to assent, yet after that
you have secretly disobeyed my wish. In that way I can
never know what I have to trust to. There would be some
hope for us if you would admit this. Am I such an
unreasonable, furious brute? Why should you not be open
with me? Still silence.
Will you only say that you have been mistaken, and
that I may depend on your not acting secretly in future?
said Lydgate, urgently, but with something of request in
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1187 of 1492
his tone which Rosamond was quick to perceive. She
spoke with coolness.
I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in
answer to such words as you have used towards me. I have
not been accustomed to language of that kind. You have
spoken of my secret meddling, and my interfering
ignorance, and my false assent. I have never expressed
myself in that way to you, and I think that you ought to
apologize. You spoke of its being impossible to live with
me. Certainly you have not made my life pleasant to me
of late. I think it was to be expected that I should try to
avert some of the hardships which our marriage has
brought on me. Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased
speaking, and she pressed it away as quietly as the first.
Lydgate flung himself into a chair, feeling checkmated.
What place was there in her mind for a remonstrance to
lodge in? He laid down his hat, flung an arm over the
back of his chair, and looked down for some moments
without speaking. Rosamond had the double purchase
over him of insensibility to the point of justice in his
reproach, and of sensibility to the undeniable hardships
now present in her married life. Although her duplicity in
the affair of the house had exceeded what he knew, and
had really hindered the Plymdales from knowing of it, she
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had no consciousness that her action could rightly be
called false. We are not obliged to identify our own acts
according to a strict classification, any more than the
materials of our grocery and clothes. Rosamond felt that
she was aggrieved, and that this was what Lydgate had to
recognize.
As for him, the need of accommodating himself to her
nature, which was inflexible in proportion to its negations,
held him as with pincers. He had begun to have an
alarmed foresight of her irrevocable loss of love for him,
and the consequent dreariness of their life. The ready
fulness of his emotions made this dread alternate quickly
with the first violent movements of his anger. It would
assuredly have been a vain boast in him to say that he was
her master.
You have not made my life pleasant to me of late
the hardships which our marriage has brought on me
these words were stinging his imagination as a pain makes
an exaggerated dream. If he were not only to sink from his
highest resolve, but to sink into the hideous fettering of
domestic hate?
Rosamond, he said, turning his eyes on her with a
melancholy look, you should allow for a mans words
when he is disappointed and provoked. You and I cannot
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have opposite interests. I cannot part my happiness from
yours. If I am angry with you, it is that you seem not to
see how any concealment divides us. How could I wish to
make anything hard to you either by my words or
conduct? When I hurt you, I hurt part of my own life. I
should never be angry with you if you would be quite
open with me.
I have only wished to prevent you from hurrying us
into wretchedness without any necessity, said Rosamond,
the tears coming again from a softened feeling now that
her husband had softened. It is so very hard to be
disgraced here among all the people we know, and to live
in such a miserable way. I wish I had died with the baby.
She spoke and wept with that gentleness which makes
such words and tears omnipotent over a loving-hearted
man. Lydgate drew his chair near to hers and pressed her
delicate head against his cheek with his powerful tender
hand. He only caressed her; he did not say anything; for
what was there to say? He could not promise to shield her
from the dreaded wretchedness, for he could see no sure
means of doing so. When he left her to go out again, he
told himself that it was ten times harder for her than for
him: he had a life away from home, and constant appeals
to his activity on behalf of others. He wished to excuse
Middlemarch
1190 of 1492
everything in her if he could but it was inevitable that
in that excusing mood he should think of her as if she
were an animal of another and feebler species.
Nevertheless she had mastered him.
Middlemarch
1191 of 1492
Chapter LXVI
Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,
Another thing to fall.
Measure for Measure.
Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the
service his practice did him in counteracting his personal
cares. He had no longer free energy enough for
spontaneous research and speculative thinking, but by the
bedside of patients, the direct external calls on his
judgment and sympathies brought the added impulse
needed to draw him out of himself. It was not simply that
beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to
live respectably and unhappy men to live calmlyit was a
perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application of
thought, and on the consideration of anothers need and
trial. Many of us looking back through life would say that
the kindest man we have ever known has been a medical
man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine tact, directed by
deeply informed perception, has come to us in our need
with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-
workers. Some of that twice-blessed mercy was always
with Lydgate in his work at the Hospital or in private
houses, serving better than any opiate to quiet and sustain
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Middlemarch
1192 of 1492
him under his anxieties and his sense of mental
degeneracy.
Mr. Farebrothers suspicion as to the opiate was true,
however. Under the first galling pressure of foreseen
difficulties, and the first perception that his marriage, if it
were not to be a yoked loneliness, must be a state of effort
to go on loving without too much care about being loved,
he had once or twice tried a dose of opium. But he had no
hereditary constitutional craving after such transient
escapes from the hauntings of misery. He was strong,
could drink a great deal of wine, but did not care about it;
and when the men round him were drinking spirits, he
took sugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even
for the earliest stages of excitement from drink. It was the
same with gambling. He had looked on at a great deal of
gambling in Paris, watching it as if it had been a disease.
He was no more tempted by such winning than he was by
drink. He had said to himself that the only winning he
cared for must be attained by a conscious process of high,
difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result.
The power he longed for could not be represented by
agitated fingers clutching a heap of coin, or by the half-
barbarous, half-idiotic triumph in the eyes of a man who
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1193 of 1492
sweeps within his arms the ventures of twenty chapfallen
companions.
But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now
began to turn upon gamblingnot with appetite for its
excitement, but with a sort of wistful inward gaze after
that easy way of getting money, which implied no asking
and brought no responsibility. If he had been in London
or Paris at that time, it is probable that such thoughts,
seconded by opportunity, would have taken him into a
gambling-house, no longer to watch the gamblers, but to
watch with them in kindred eagerness. Repugnance
would have been surmounted by the immense need to
win, if chance would be kind enough to let him. An
incident which happened not very long after that airy
notion of getting aid from his uncle had been excluded,
was a strong sign of the effect that might have followed
any extant opportunity of gambling.
The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the
constant resort of a certain set, most of whom, like our
acquaintance Mr. Bambridge, were regarded as men of
pleasure. It was here that poor Fred Vincy had made part
of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting, and
been obliged to borrow of that gay companion. It was
generally known in Middlemarch that a good deal of
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1194 of 1492
money was lost and won in this way; and the consequent
repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipation
naturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go
there. Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of
freemasonry, wished that there were something a little
more tremendous to keep to themselves concerning it; but
they were not a closed community, and many decent
seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into the
billiard-room to see what was going on. Lydgate, who had
the muscular aptitude for billiards, and was fond of the
game, had once or twice in the early days after his arrival
in Middlemarch taken his turn with the cue at the Green
Dragon; but afterwards he had no leisure for the game,
and no inclination for the socialities there. One evening,
however, he had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge at that
resort. The horsedealer had engaged to get him a customer
for his remaining good horse, for which Lydgate had
determined to substitute a cheap hack, hoping by this
reduction of style to get perhaps twenty pounds; and he
cared now for every small sum, as a help towards feeding
the patience of his tradesmen. To run up to the billiard-
room, as he was passing, would save time.
Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, bat would be sure to
arrive by-and-by, said his friend Mr. Horrock; and
Middlemarch
1195 of 1492
Lydgate stayed, playing a game for the sake of passing the
time. That evening he had the peculiar light in the eyes
and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in
him by Mr. Farebrother. The exceptional fact of his
presence was much noticed in the room, where there was
a good deal of Middlemarch company; and several
lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting
with animation. Lydgate was playing well, and felt
confident; the bets were dropping round him, and with a
swift glancing thought of the probable gain which might
double the sum he was saving from his horse, he began to
bet on his own play, and won again and again. Mr.
Bambridge had come in, but Lydgate did not notice him.
He was not only excited with his play, but visions were
gleaming on him of going the next day to Brassing, where
there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and
where, by one powerful snatch at the devils bait, he
might carry it off without the hook, and buy his rescue
from his daily solicitings.
He was still winning when two new visitors entered.
One of them was a young Hawley, just come from his law
studies in town, and the other was Fred Vincy, who had
spent several evenings of late at this old haunt of his.
Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a
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1196 of 1492
cool fresh hand to the cue. But Fred Vincy, startled at
seeing Lydgate, and astonished to see him betting with an
excited air, stood aside, and kept out of the circle round
the table.
Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of
late. He had been working heartily for six months at all
outdoor occupations under Mr. Garth, and by dint of
severe practice had nearly mastered the defects of his
handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little the less
severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr.
Garths under the eyes of Mary. But the last fortnight
Mary had been staying at Lowick Parsonage with the
ladies there, during Mr. Farebrothers residence in
Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochial
plans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do,
had turned into the Green Dragon, partly to play at
billiards, partly to taste the old flavor of discourse about
horses, sport, and things in general, considered from a
point of view which was not strenuously correct. He had
not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse
of his own to ride, and had gone from place to place
chiefly with Mr. Garth in his gig, or on the sober cob
which Mr. Garth could lend him. It was a little too bad,
Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the traces
Middlemarch
1197 of 1492
with more severity than if he had been a clergyman. I will
tell you what, Mistress Maryit will be rather harder
work to learn surveying and drawing plans than it would
have been to write sermons, he had said, wishing her to
appreciate what he went through for her sake; and as to
Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me. They
had sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping
hand. And now, Mary being out of the way for a little
while, Fred, like any other strong dog who cannot slip his
collar, had pulled up the staple of his chain and made a
small escape, not of course meaning to go fast or far.
There could be no reason why he should not play at
billiards, but he was determined not to bet. As to money
just now, Fred had in his mind the heroic project of saving
almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr. Garth offered
him, and returning it, which he could easily do by giving
up all futile money-spending, since he had a superfluous
stock of clothes, and no expense in his board. In that way
he could, in one year, go a good way towards repaying the
ninety pounds of which he had deprived Mrs. Garth,
unhappily at a time when she needed that sum more than
she did now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that
on this evening, which was the fifth of his recent visits to
the billiard-room, Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his
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1198 of 1492
mind, the ten pounds which he meant to reserve for
himself from his half-years salary (having before him the
pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was
likely to be come home again) he had those ten pounds
in his mind as a fund from which he might risk something,
if there were a chance of a good bet. Why? Well, when
sovereigns were flying about, why shouldnt he catch a
few? He would never go far along that road again; but a
man likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally,
what he could do in the way of mischief if he chose, and
that if he abstains from making himself ill, or beggaring
himself, or talking with the utmost looseness which the
narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it is not
because he is a spooney. Fred did not enter into formal
reasons, which are a very artificial, inexact way of
representing the tingling returns of old habit, and the
caprices of young blood: but there was lurking in him a
prophetic sense that evening, that when he began to play
he should also begin to betthat he should enjoy some
punch-drinking, and in general prepare himself for feeling
rather seedy in the morning. It is in such indefinable
movements that action often begins.
But the last thing likely to have entered Freds
expectation was that he should see his brother-in-law
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1199 of 1492
Lydgateof whom he had never quite dropped the old
opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously conscious of
his superioritylooking excited and betting, just as he
himself might have done. Fred felt a shock greater than he
could quite account for by the vague knowledge that
Lydgate was in debt, and that his father had refused to help
him; and his own inclination to enter into the play was
suddenly checked. It was a strange reversal of attitudes:
Freds blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless,
ready to give attention to anything that held out a promise
of amusement, looking involuntarily grave and almost
embarrassed as if by the sight of something unfitting; while
Lydgate, who had habitually an air of self-possessed
strength, and a certain meditativeness that seemed to lie
behind his most observant attention, was acting, watching,
speaking with that excited narrow consciousness which
reminds one of an animal with fierce eyes and retractile
claws.
Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won
sixteen pounds; but young Hawleys arrival had changed
the poise of things. He made first-rate strokes himself, and
began to bet against Lydgates strokes, the strain of whose
nerves was thus changed from simple confidence in his
own movements to defying another persons doubt in
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them. The defiance was more exciting than the
confidence, but it was less sure. He continued to bet on
his own play, but began often to fail. Still he went on, for
his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitous
crevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger
there. Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and
found himself in the new situation of puzzling his brains to
think of some device by which, without being offensive,
he could withdraw Lydgates attention, and perhaps
suggest to him a reason for quitting the room. He saw that
others were observing Lydgates strange unlikeness to
himself, and it occurred to him that merely to touch his
elbow and call him aside for a moment might rouse him
from his absorption. He could think of nothing cleverer
than the daring improbability of saying that he wanted to
see Rosy, and wished to know if she were at home this
evening; and he was going desperately to carry out this
weak device, when a waiter came up to him with a
message, saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, and
begged to speak with him.
Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending
word that he would be down immediately, he went with a
new impulse up to Lydgate, said, Can I speak to you a
moment? and drew him aside.
Middlemarch
1201 of 1492
Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he
wants to speak to me. He is below. I thought you might
like to know he was there, if you had anything to say to
him.
Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking,
because he could not say, You are losing confoundedly,
and are making everybody stare at you; you had better
come away. But inspiration could hardly have served him
better. Lydgate had not before seen that Fred was present,
and his sudden appearance with an announcement of Mr.
Farebrother had the effect of a sharp concussion.
No, no, said Lydgate; I have nothing particular to say
to him. Butthe game is upI must be goingI came in
just to see Bambridge.
Bambridge is over there, but he is making a rowI
dont think hes ready for business. Come down with me
to Farebrother. I expect he is going to blow me up, and
you will shield me, said Fred, with some adroitness.
Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he
felt it, by refusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went
down. They merely shook hands, however, and spoke of
the frost; and when all three had turned into the street, the
Vicar seemed quite willing to say good-by to Lydgate. His
present purpose was clearly to talk with Fred alone, and he
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1202 of 1492
said, kindly, I disturbed you, young gentleman, because I
have some pressing business with you. Walk with me to
St. Botolphs, will you?
It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr.
Farebrother proposed that they should make a circuit to
the old church by the London road. The next thing he
said was
I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?
So did I, said Fred. But he said that he went to see
Bambridge.
He was not playing, then?
Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now
to say, Yes, he was. But I suppose it was an accidental
thing. I have never seen him there before.
You have been going often yourself, then, lately?
Oh, about five or six times.
I think you had some good reason for giving up the
habit of going there?
Yes. You know all about it, said Fred, not liking to be
catechised in this way. I made a clean breast to you.
I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the
matter now. It is understood between us, is it not?that
we are on a footing of open friendship: I have listened to
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1203 of 1492
you, and you will be willing to listen to me. I may take
my turn in talking a little about myself?
I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr.
Farebrother, said Fred, in a state of uncomfortable
surmise.
I will not affect to deny that you are under some
obligation to me. But I am going to confess to you, Fred,
that I have been tempted to reverse all that by keeping
silence with you just now. When somebody said to me,
Young Vincy has taken to being at the billiard-table every
night againhe wont bear the curb long; I was tempted
to do the opposite of what I am doingto hold my
tongue and wait while you went down the ladder again,
betting first and then
I have not made any bets, said Fred, hastily.
Glad to hear it. But I say, my prompting was to look
on and see you take the wrong turning, wear out Garths
patience, and lose the best opportunity of your lifethe
opportunity which you made some rather difficult effort
to secure. You can guess the feeling which raised that
temptation in meI am sure you know it. I am sure you
know that the satisfaction of your affections stands in the
way of mine.
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Middlemarch
1204 of 1492
There was a pause. Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for
a recognition of the fact; and the emotion perceptible in
the tones of his fine voice gave solemnity to his words.
But no feeling could quell Freds alarm.
I could not be expected to give her up, he said, after a
moments hesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of
generosity.
Clearly not, when her affection met yours. But
relations of this sort, even when they are of long standing,
are always liable to change. I can easily conceive that you
might act in a way to loosen the tie she feels towards
youit must be remembered that she is only conditionally
bound to youand that in that ease, another man, who
may flatter himself that he has a hold on her regard, might
succeed in winning that firm place in her love as well as
respect which you had let slip. I can easily conceive such a
result, repeated Mr. Farebrother, emphatically. There is a
companionship of ready sympathy, which might get the
advantage even over the longest associations. It seemed to
Fred that if Mr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons
instead of his very capable tongue, his mode of attack
could hardly be more cruel. He had a horrible conviction
that behind all this hypothetic statement there was a
knowledge of some actual change in Marys feeling.
Middlemarch
1205 of 1492
Of course I know it might easily be all up with me, he
said, in a troubled voice. If she is beginning to compare
He broke off, not liking to betray all he felt, and then
said, by the help of a little bitterness, But I thought you
were friendly to me.
So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a
strong disposition to be otherwise. I have said to myself, If
there is a likelihood of that youngster doing himself harm,
why should you interfere? Arent you worth as much as he
is, and dont your sixteen years over and above his, in
which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right
to satisfaction than he has? If theres a chance of his going
to the dogs, let himperhaps you could nohow hinder
it and do you take the benefit.
There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most
uncomfortable chill. What was coming next? He dreaded
to hear that something had been said to Maryhe felt as if
he were listening to a threat rather than a warning. When
the Vicar began again there was a change in his tone like
the encouraging transition to a major key.
But I had once meant better than that, and I am come
back to my old intention. I thought that I could hardly
SECURE MYSELF in it better, Fred, than by telling you
just what had gone on in me. And now, do you
Middlemarch
1206 of 1492
understand me? want you to make the happiness of her life
and your own, and if there is any chance that a word of
warning from me may turn aside any risk to the
contrarywell, I have uttered it.
There was a drop in the Vicars voice when he spoke
the last words He pausedthey were standing on a patch
of green where the road diverged towards St. Botolphs,
and he put out his hand, as if to imply that the
conversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly.
Some one highly susceptible to the contemplation of a fine
act has said, that it produces a sort of regenerating shudder
through the frame, and makes one feel ready to begin a
new life. A good degree of that effect was just then present
in Fred Vincy.
I will try to be worthy, he said, breaking off before he
could say of you as well as of her. And meanwhile Mr.
Farebrother had gathered the impulse to say something
more.
You must not imagine that I believe there is at present
any decline in her preference of you, Fred. Set your heart
at rest, that if you keep right, other things will keep right.
I shall never forget what you have done, Fred
answered. I cant say anything that seems worth saying
Middlemarch
1207 of 1492
only I will try that your goodness shall not be thrown
away.
Thats enough. Good-by, and God bless you.
In that way they parted. But both of them walked
about a long while before they went out of the starlight.
Much of Freds rumination might be summed up in the
words, It certainly would have been a fine thing for her
to marry Farebrotherbut if she loves me best and I am a
good husband?
Perhaps Mr. Farebrothers might be concentrated into a
single shrug and one little speech. To think of the part
one little woman can play in the life of a man, so that to
renounce her may be a very good imitation of heroism,
and to win her may be a discipline!
Middlemarch
1208 of 1492
Chapter LXVII
Now is there civil war within the soul:
Resolve is thrust from off the sacred throne
By clamorous Needs, and Pride the grand-vizier
Makes humble compact, plays the supple part
Of envoy and deft-tongued apologist
For hungry rebels.
Happily Lydgate had ended by losing in the billiard-
room, and brought away no encouragement to make a
raid on luck. On the contrary, he felt unmixed disgust
with himself the next day when he had to pay four or five
pounds over and above his gains, and he carried about
with him a most unpleasant vision of the figure he had
made, not only rubbing elbows with the men at the Green
Dragon but behaving just as they did. A philosopher fallen
to betting is hardly distinguishable from a Philistine under
the same circumstances: the difference will chiefly be
found in his subsequent reflections, and Lydgate chewed a
very disagreeable cud in that way. His reason told him
how the affair might have been magnified into ruin by a
slight change of sceneryif it had been a gambling-house
that he had turned into, where chance could be clutched
with both hands instead of being picked up with thumb
Middlemarch
1209 of 1492
and fore-finger. Nevertheless, though reason strangled the
desire to gamble, there remained the feeling that, with an
assurance of luck to the needful amount, he would have
liked to gamble, rather than take the alternative which was
beginning to urge itself as inevitable.
That alternative was to apply to Mr. Bulstrode. Lydgate
had so many times boasted both to himself and others that
he was totally independent of Bulstrode, to whose plans he
had lent himself solely because they enabled him to carry
out his own ideas of professional work and public
benefithe had so constantly in their personal intercourse
had his pride sustained by the sense that he was making a
good social use of this predominating banker, whose
opinions he thought contemptible and whose motives
often seemed to him an absurd mixture of contradictory
impressions that he had been creating for himself strong
ideal obstacles to the proffering of any considerable request
to him on his own account.
Still, early in March his affairs were at that pass in
which men begin to say that their oaths were delivered in
ignorance, and to perceive that the act which they had
called impossible to them is becoming manifestly possible.
With Dovers ugly security soon to be put in force, with
the proceeds of his practice immediately absorbed in
Middlemarch
1210 of 1492
paying back debts, and with the chance, if the worst were
known, of daily supplies being refused on credit, above all
with the vision of Rosamonds hopeless discontent
continually haunting him, Lydgate had begun to see that
he should inevitably bend himself to ask help from
somebody or other. At first he had considered whether he
should write to Mr. Vincy; but on questioning Rosamond
he found that, as he had suspected, she had already applied
twice to her father, the last time being since the
disappointment from Sir Godwin; and papa had said that
Lydgate must look out for himself. Papa said he had
come, with one bad year after another, to trade more and
more on borrowed capital, and had had to give up many
indulgences; he could not spare a single hundred from the
charges of his family. He said, let Lydgate ask Bulstrode:
they have always been hand and glove.
Indeed, Lydgate himself had come to the conclusion
that if he must end by asking for a free loan, his relations
with Bulstrode, more at least than with any other man,
might take the shape of a claim which was not purely
personal. Bulstrode had indirectly helped to cause the
failure of his practice, and had also been highly gratified by
getting a medical partner in his plans: but who among
us ever reduced himself to the sort of dependence in
Middlemarch
1211 of 1492
which Lydgate now stood, without trying to believe that
he had claims which diminished the humiliation of asking?
It was true that of late there had seemed to be a new
languor of interest in Bulstrode about the Hospital; but his
health had got worse, and showed signs of a deep-seated
nervous affection. In other respects he did not appear to
be changed: he had always been highly polite, but Lydgate
had observed in him from the first a marked coldness
about his marriage and other private circumstances, a
coldness which he had hitherto preferred to any warmth
of familiarity between them. He deferred the intention
from day to day, his habit of acting on his conclusions
being made infirm by his repugnance to every possible
conclusion and its consequent act. He saw Mr. Bulstrode
often, but he did not try to use any occasion for his private
purpose. At one moment he thought, I will write a letter:
I prefer that to any circuitous talk; at another he thought,
No; if I were talking to him, I could make a retreat
before any signs of disinclination.
Still the days passed and no letter was written, no
special interview sought. In his shrinking from the
humiliation of a dependent attitude towards Bulstrode, he
began to familiarize his imagination with another step
even more unlike his remembered self. He began
Middlemarch
1212 of 1492
spontaneously to consider whether it would be possible to
carry out that puerile notion of Rosamonds which had
often made him angry, namely, that they should quit
Middlemarch without seeing anything beyond that
preface. The question cameWould any man buy the
practice of me even now, for as little as it is worth? Then
the sale might happen as a necessary preparation for going
away.
But against his taking this step, which he still felt to be
a contemptible relinquishment of present work, a guilty
turning aside from what was a real and might be a
widening channel for worthy activity, to start again
without any justified destination, there was this obstacle,
that the purchaser, if procurable at all, might not be
quickly forthcoming. And afterwards? Rosamond in a
poor lodging, though in the largest city or most distant
town, would not find the life that could save her from
gloom, and save him from the reproach of having plunged
her into it. For when a man is at the foot of the hill in his
fortunes, he may stay a long while there in spite of
professional accomplishment. In the British climate there is
no incompatibility between scientific insight and furnished
lodgings: the incompatibility is chiefly between scientific
ambition and a wife who objects to that kind of residence.
Middlemarch
1213 of 1492
But in the midst of his hesitation, opportunity came to
decide him. A note from Mr. Bulstrode requested Lydgate
to call on him at the Bank. A hypochondriacal tendency
had shown itself in the bankers constitution of late; and a
lack of sleep, which was really only a slight exaggeration of
an habitual dyspeptic symptom, had been dwelt on by him
as a sign of threatening insanity. He wanted to consult
Lydgate without delay on that particular morning,
although he had nothing to tell beyond what he had told
before. He listened eagerly to what Lydgate had to say in
dissipation of his fears, though this too was only repetition;
and this moment in which Bulstrode was receiving a
medical opinion with a sense of comfort, seemed to make
the communication of a personal need to him easier than
it had been in Lydgates contemplation beforehand. He
had been insisting that it would be well for Mr. Bulstrode
to relax his attention to business.
One sees how any mental strain, however slight, may
affect a delicate frame, said Lydgate at that stage of the
consultation when the remarks tend to pass from the
personal to the general, by the deep stamp which anxiety
will make for a time even on the young and vigorous. I
am naturally very strong; yet I have been thoroughly
shaken lately by an accumulation of trouble.
Middlemarch
1214 of 1492
I presume that a constitution in the susceptible state in
which mine at present is, would be especially liable to fall
a victim to cholera, if it visited our district. And since its
appearance near London, we may well besiege the Mercy-
seat for our protection, said Mr. Bulstrode, not intending
to evade Lydgates allusion, but really preoccupied with
alarms about himself.
You have at all events taken your share in using good
practical precautions for the town, and that is the best
mode of asking for protection, said Lydgate, with a strong
distaste for the broken metaphor and bad logic of the
bankers religion, somewhat increased by the apparent
deafness of his sympathy. But his mind had taken up its
long-prepared movement towards getting help, and was
not yet arrested. He added, The town has done well in
the way of cleansing, and finding appliances; and I think
that if the cholera should come, even our enemies will
admit that the arrangements in the Hospital are a public
good.
Truly, said Mr. Bulstrode, with some coldness. With
regard to what you say, Mr. Lydgate, about the relaxation
of my mental labor, I have for some time been
entertaining a purpose to that effect a purpose of a very
decided character. I contemplate at least a temporary
Middlemarch
1215 of 1492
withdrawal from the management of much business,
whether benevolent or commercial. Also I think of
changing my residence for a time: probably I shall close or
let The Shrubs, and take some place near the coast
under advice of course as to salubrity. That would be a
measure which you would recommend?
Oh yes, said Lydgate, falling backward in his chair,
with ill-repressed impatience under the bankers pale
earnest eyes and intense preoccupation with himself.
I have for some time felt that I should open this
subject with you in relation to our Hospital, continued
Bulstrode. Under the circumstances I have indicated, of
course I must cease to have any personal share in the
management, and it is contrary to my views of
responsibility to continue a large application of means to
an institution which I cannot watch over and to some
extent regulate. I shall therefore, in case of my ultimate
decision to leave Middlemarch, consider that I withdraw
other support to the New Hospital than that which will
subsist in the fact that I chiefly supplied the expenses of
building it, and have contributed further large sums to its
successful working.
Lydgates thought, when Bulstrode paused according to
his wont, was, He has perhaps been losing a good deal of
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Middlemarch
1216 of 1492
money. This was the most plausible explanation of a
speech which had caused rather a startling change in his
expectations. He said in reply
The loss to the Hospital can hardly be made up, I fear.
Hardly, returned Bulstrode, in the same deliberate,
silvery tone; except by some changes of plan. The only
person who may be certainly counted on as willing to
increase her contributions is Mrs. Casaubon. I have had an
interview with her on the subject, and I have pointed out
to her, as I am about to do to you, that it will be desirable
to win a more general support to the New Hospital by a
change of system. Another pause, but Lydgate did not
speak.
The change I mean is an amalgamation with the
Infirmary, so that the New Hospital shall be regarded as a
special addition to the elder institution, having the same
directing board. It will be necessary, also, that the medical
management of the two shall be combined. In this way
any difficulty as to the adequate maintenance of our new
establishment will be removed; the benevolent interests of
the town will cease to be divided.
Mr. Bulstrode had lowered his eyes from Lydgates face
to the buttons of his coat as he again paused.
Middlemarch
1217 of 1492
No doubt that is a good device as to ways and means,
said Lydgate, with an edge of irony in his tone. But I
cant be expected to rejoice in it at once, since one of the
first results will be that the other medical men will upset
or interrupt my methods, if it were only because they are
mine.
I myself, as you know, Mr. Lydgate, highly valued the
opportunity of new and independent procedure which
you have diligently employed: the original plan, I confess,
was one which I had much at heart, under submission to
the Divine Will. But since providential indications
demand a renunciation from me, I renounce.
Bulstrode showed a rather exasperating ability in this
conversation. The broken metaphor and bad logic of
motive which had stirred his hearers contempt were quite
consistent with a mode of putting the facts which made it
difficult for Lydgate to vent his own indignation and
disappointment. After some rapid reflection, he only
asked
What did Mrs. Casaubon say?
That was the further statement which I wished to
make to you, said Bulstrode, who had thoroughly
prepared his ministerial explanation. She is, you are
aware, a woman of most munificent disposition, and
Middlemarch
1218 of 1492
happily in possessionnot I presume of great wealth, but
of funds which she can well spare. She has informed me
that though she has destined the chief part of those funds
to another purpose, she is willing to consider whether she
cannot fully take my place in relation to the Hospital. But
she wishes for ample time to mature her thoughts on the
subject, and I have told her that there is no need for
hastethat, in fact, my own plans are not yet absolute.
Lydgate was ready to say, If Mrs. Casaubon would take
your place, there would be gain, instead of loss. But there
was still a weight on his mind which arrested this cheerful
candor. He replied, I suppose, then, that I may enter into
the subject with Mrs. Casaubon.
Precisely; that is what she expressly desires. Her
decision, she says, will much depend on what you can tell
her. But not at present: she is, I believe, just setting out on
a journey. I have her letter here, said Mr. Bulstrode,
drawing it out, and reading from it. I am immediately
otherwise engaged, she says. I am going into Yorkshire
with Sir James and Lady Chettam; and the conclusions I
come to about some land which I am to see there may
affect my power of contributing to the Hospital. Thus,
Mr. Lydgate, there is no haste necessary in this matter; but
Middlemarch
1219 of 1492
I wished to apprise you beforehand of what may possibly
occur.
Mr. Bulstrode returned the letter to his side-pocket,
and changed his attitude as if his business were closed.
Lydgate, whose renewed hope about the Hospital only
made him more conscious of the facts which poisoned his
hope, felt that his effort after help, if made at all, must be
made now and vigorously.
I am much obliged to you for giving me full notice,
he said, with a firm intention in his tone, yet with an
interruptedness in his delivery which showed that he
spoke unwillingly. The highest object to me is my
profession, and I had identified the Hospital with the best
use I can at present make of my profession. But the best
use is not always the same with monetary success.
Everything which has made the Hospital unpopular has
helped with other causes I think they are all connected
with my professional zealto make me unpopular as a
practitioner. I get chiefly patients who cant pay me. I
should like them best, if I had nobody to pay on my own
side. Lydgate waited a little, but Bulstrode only bowed,
looking at him fixedly, and he went on with the same
interrupted enunciation as if he were biting an
objectional leek.
Middlemarch
1220 of 1492
I have slipped into money difficulties which I can see
no way out of, unless some one who trusts me and my
future will advance me a sum without other security. I had
very little fortune left when I came here. I have no
prospects of money from my own family. My expenses, in
consequence of my marriage, have been very much
greater than I had expected. The result at this moment is
that it would take a thousand pounds to clear me. I mean,
to free me from the risk of having all my goods sold in
security of my largest debt as well as to pay my other
debtsand leave anything to keep us a little beforehand
with our small income. I find that it is out of the question
that my wifes father should make such an advance. That is
why I mention my position toto the only other man
who may be held to have some personal connection with
my prosperity or ruin.
Lydgate hated to hear himself. But he had spoken now,
and had spoken with unmistakable directness. Mr.
Bulstrode replied without haste, but also without
hesitation.
I am grieved, though, I confess, not surprised by this
information, Mr. Lydgate. For my own part, I regretted
your alliance with my brother-in-laws family, which has
always been of prodigal habits, and which has already been
Middlemarch
1221 of 1492
much indebted to me for sustainment in its present
position. My advice to you, Mr. Lydgate, would be, that
instead of involving yourself in further obligations, and
continuing a doubtful struggle, you should simply become
a bankrupt.
That would not improve my prospect, said Lydgate,
rising and speaking bitterly, even if it were a more
agreeable thing in itself.
It is always a trial, said Mr. Bulstrode; but trial, my
dear sir, is our portion here, and is a needed corrective. I
recommend you to weigh the advice I have given.
Thank you, said Lydgate, not quite knowing what he
said. I have occupied you too long. Good-day.
Middlemarch
1222 of 1492
Chapter LXVIII
What suit of grace hath Virtue to put on
If Vice shall wear as good, and do as well?
If Wrong, if Craft, if Indiscretion
Act as fair parts with ends as laudable?
Which all this mighty volume of events
The world, the universal map of deeds,
Strongly controls, and proves from all descents,
That the directest course still best succeeds.
For should not grave and learnd Experience
That looks with the eyes of all the world beside,
And with all ages holds intelligence,
Go safer than Deceit without a guide!
DANIEL: Musophilus.
That change of plan and shifting of interest which
Bulstrode stated or betrayed in his conversation with
Lydgate, had been determined in him by some severe
experience which he had gone through since the epoch of
Mr. Larchers sale, when Raffles had recognized Will
Ladislaw, and when the banker had in vain attempted an
act of restitution which might move Divine Providence to
arrest painful consequences.
His certainty that Raffles, unless he were dead, would
return to Middlemarch before long, had been justified. On
Middlemarch
1223 of 1492
Christmas Eve he had reappeared at The Shrubs. Bulstrode
was at home to receive him, and hinder his
communication with the rest of the family, but he could
not altogether hinder the circumstances of the visit from
compromising himself and alarming his wife. Raffles
proved more unmanageable than he had shown himself to
be in his former appearances, his chronic state of mental
restlessness, the growing effect of habitual intemperance,
quickly shaking off every impression from what was said
to him. He insisted on staying in the house, and Bulstrode,
weighing two sets of evils, felt that this was at least not a
worse alternative than his going into the town. He kept
him in his own room for the evening and saw him to bed,
Raffles all the while amusing himself with the annoyance
he was causing this decent and highly prosperous fellow-
sinner, an amusement which he facetiously expressed as
sympathy with his friends pleasure in entertaining a man
who had been serviceable to him, and who had not had all
his earnings. There was a cunning calculation under this
noisy jokinga cool resolve to extract something the
handsomer from Bulstrode as payment for release from this
new application of torture. But his cunning had a little
overcast its mark.
Middlemarch
1224 of 1492
Bulstrode was indeed more tortured than the coarse
fibre of Raffles could enable him to imagine. He had told
his wife that he was simply taking care of this wretched
creature, the victim of vice, who might otherwise injure
himself; he implied, without the direct form of falsehood,
that there was a family tie which bound him to this care,
and that there were signs of mental alienation in Raffles
which urged caution. He would himself drive the
unfortunate being away the next morning. In these hints
he felt that he was supplying Mrs. Bulstrode with
precautionary information for his daughters and servants,
and accounting for his allowing no one but himself to
enter the room even with food and drink. But he sat in an
agony of fear lest Raffles should be overheard in his loud
and plain references to past facts lest Mrs. Bulstrode
should be even tempted to listen at the door. How could
he hinder her, how betray his terror by opening the door
to detect her? She was a woman of honest direct habits,
and little likely to take so low a course in order to arrive at
painful knowledge; but fear was stronger than the
calculation of probabilities.
In this way Raffles had pushed the torture too far, and
produced an effect which had not been in his plan. By
showing himself hopelessly unmanageable he had made
Middlemarch
1225 of 1492
Bulstrode feel that a strong defiance was the only resource
left. After taking Raffles to bed that night the banker
ordered his closed carriage to be ready at half-past seven
the next morning. At six oclock he had already been long
dressed, and had spent some of his wretchedness in prayer,
pleading his motives for averting the worst evil if in
anything he had used falsity and spoken what was not true
before God. For Bulstrode shrank from a direct lie with an
intensity disproportionate to the number of his more
indirect misdeeds. But many of these misdeeds were like
the subtle muscular movements which are not taken
account of in the consciousness, though they bring about
the end that we fix our mind on and desire. And it is only
what we are vividly conscious of that we can vividly
imagine to be seen by Omniscience.
Bulstrode carried his candle to the bedside of Raffles,
who was apparently in a painful dream. He stood silent,
hoping that the presence of the light would serve to
waken the sleeper gradually and gently, for he feared some
noise as the consequence of a too sudden awakening. He
had watched for a couple of minutes or more the
shudderings and pantings which seemed likely to end in
waking, when Raffles, with a long half-stifled moan,
started up and stared round him in terror, trembling and
Middlemarch
1226 of 1492
gasping. But he made no further noise, and Bulstrode,
setting down the candle, awaited his recovery.
It was a quarter of an hour later before Bulstrode, with
a cold peremptoriness of manner which he had not before
shown, said, I came to call you thus early, Mr. Raffles,
because I have ordered the carriage to be ready at half-past
seven, and intend myself to conduct you as far as Ilsely,
where you can either take the railway or await a coach.
Raffles was about to speak, but Bulstrode anticipated him
imperiously with the words, Be silent, sir, and hear what I
have to say. I shall supply you with money now, and I will
furnish you with a reasonable sum from time to time, on
your application to me by letter; but if you choose to
present yourself here again, if you return to Middlemarch,
if you use your tongue in a manner injurious to me, you
will have to live on such fruits as your malice can bring
you, without help from me. Nobody will pay you well for
blasting my name: I know the worst you can do against
me, and I shall brave it if you dare to thrust yourself upon
me again. Get up, sir, and do as I order you, without
noise, or I will send for a policeman to take you off my
premises, and you may carry your stories into every
pothouse in the town, but you shall have no sixpence
from me to pay your expenses there.
Middlemarch
1227 of 1492
Bulstrode had rarely in his life spoken with such
nervous energy: he had been deliberating on this speech
and its probable effects through a large part of the night;
and though he did not trust to its ultimately saving him
from any return of Raffles, he had concluded that it was
the best throw he could make. It succeeded in enforcing
submission from the jaded man this morning: his
empoisoned system at this moment quailed before
Bulstrodes cold, resolute bearing, and he was taken off
quietly in the carriage before the family breakfast time.
The servants imagined him to be a poor relation, and were
not surprised that a strict man like their master, who held
his head high in the world, should be ashamed of such a
cousin and want to get rid of him. The bankers drive of
ten miles with his hated companion was a dreary
beginning of the Christmas day; but at the end of the
drive, Raffles had recovered his spirits, and parted in a
contentment for which there was the good reason that the
banker had given him a hundred pounds. Various motives
urged Bulstrode to this open-handedness, but he did not
himself inquire closely into all of them. As he had stood
watching Raffles in his uneasy sleep, it had certainly
entered his mind that the man had been much shattered
since the first gift of two hundred pounds.
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Middlemarch
1228 of 1492
He had taken care to repeat the incisive statement of
his resolve not to be played on any more; and had tried to
penetrate Raffles with the fact that he had shown the risks
of bribing him to be quite equal to the risks of defying
him. But when, freed from his repulsive presence,
Bulstrode returned to his quiet home, he brought with
him no confidence that he had secured more than a
respite. It was as if he had had a loathsome dream, and
could not shake off its images with their hateful kindred of
sensationsas if on all the pleasant surroundings of his life
a dangerous reptile had left his slimy traces.
Who can know how much of his most inward life is
made up of the thoughts he believes other men to have
about him, until that fabric of opinion is threatened with
ruin?
Bulstrode was only the more conscious that there was a
deposit of uneasy presentiment in his wifes mind, because
she carefully avoided any allusion to it. He had been used
every day to taste the flavor of supremacy and the tribute
of complete deference: and the certainty that he was
watched or measured with a hidden suspicion of his
having some discreditable secret, made his voice totter
when he was speaking to edification. Foreseeing, to men
of Bulstrodes anxious temperament, is often worse than
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1229 of 1492
seeing; and his imagination continually heightened the
anguish of an imminent disgrace. Yes, imminent; for if his
defiance of Raffles did not keep the man awayand
though he prayed for this result he hardly hoped for it
the disgrace was certain. In vain he said to himself that, if
permitted, it would be a divine visitation, a chastisement, a
preparation; he recoiled from the imagined burning; and
he judged that it must be more for the Divine glory that
he should escape dishonor. That recoil had at last urged
him to make preparations for quitting Middlemarch. If evil
truth must be reported of him, he would then be at a less
scorching distance from the contempt of his old neighbors;
and in a new scene, where his life would not have
gathered the same wide sensibility, the tormentor, if he
pursued him, would be less formidable. To leave the place
finally would, he knew, be extremely painful to his wife,
and on other grounds he would have preferred to stay
where he had struck root. Hence he made his preparations
at first in a conditional way, wishing to leave on all sides
an opening for his return after brief absence, if any
favorable intervention of Providence should dissipate his
fears. He was preparing to transfer his management of the
Bank, and to give up any active control of other
commercial affairs in the neighborhood, on the ground of
Middlemarch
1230 of 1492
his failing health, but without excluding his future
resumption of such work. The measure would cause him
some added expense and some diminution of income
beyond what he had already undergone from the general
depression of trade; and the Hospital presented itself as a
principal object of outlay on which he could fairly
economize.
This was the experience which had determined his
conversation with Lydgate. But at this time his
arrangements had most of them gone no farther than a
stage at which he could recall them if they proved to be
unnecessary. He continually deferred the final steps; in the
midst of his fears, like many a man who is in danger of
shipwreck or of being dashed from his carriage by
runaway horses, he had a clinging impression that
something would happen to hinder the worst, and that to
spoil his life by a late transplantation might be over-
hastyespecially since it was difficult to account
satisfactorily to his wife for the project of their indefinite
exile from the only place where she would like to live.
Among the affairs Bulstrode had to care for, was the
management of the farm at Stone Court in case of his
absence; and on this as well as on all other matters
connected with any houses and land he possessed in or
Middlemarch
1231 of 1492
about Middlemarch, he had consulted Caleb Garth. Like
every one else who had business of that sort, he wanted to
get the agent who was more anxious for his employers
interests than his own. With regard to Stone Court, since
Bulstrode wished to retain his hold on the stock, and to
have an arrangement by which he himself could, if he
chose, resume his favorite recreation of superintendence,
Caleb had advised him not to trust to a mere bailiff, but to
let the land, stock, and implements yearly, and take a
proportionate share of the proceeds.
May I trust to you to find me a tenant on these terms,
Mr. Garth? said Bulstrode. And will you mention to me
the yearly sum which would repay you for managing these
affairs which we have discussed together?
Ill think about it, said Caleb, in his blunt way. Ill see
how I can make it out.
If it had not been that he had to consider Fred Vincys
future, Mr. Garth would not probably have been glad of
any addition to his work, of which his wife was always
fearing an excess for him as he grew older. But on quitting
Bulstrode after that conversation, a very alluring idea
occurred to him about this said letting of Stone Court.
What if Bulstrode would agree to his placing Fred Vincy
there on the understanding that he, Caleb Garth, should
Middlemarch
1232 of 1492
be responsible for the management? It would be an
excellent schooling for Fred; he might make a modest
income there, and still have time left to get knowledge by
helping in other business. He mentioned his notion to
Mrs. Garth with such evident delight that she could not
bear to chill his pleasure by expressing her constant fear of
his undertaking too much.
The lad would be as happy as two, he said, throwing
himself back in his chair, and looking radiant, if I could
tell him it was all settled. Think; Susan! His mind had
been running on that place for years before old
Featherstone died. And it would be as pretty a turn of
things as could be that he should hold the place in a good
industrious way after allby his taking to business. For its
likely enough Bulstrode might let him go on, and
gradually buy the stock. He hasnt made up his mind, I
can see, whether or not he shall settle somewhere else as a
lasting thing. I never was better pleased with a notion in
my life. And then the children might be married by-and-
by, Susan.
You will not give any hint of the plan to Fred, until
you are sure that Bulstrode would agree to the plan? said
Mrs. Garth, in a tone of gentle caution. And as to
marriage, Caleb, we old people need not help to hasten it.
Middlemarch
1233 of 1492
Oh, I dont know, said Caleb, swinging his head
aside. Marriage is a taming thing. Fred would want less of
my bit and bridle. However, I shall say nothing till I know
the ground Im treading on. I shall speak to Bulstrode
again.
He took his earliest opportunity of doing so. Bulstrode
had anything but a warm interest in his nephew Fred
Vincy, but he had a strong wish to secure Mr. Garths
services on many scattered points of business at which he
was sure to be a considerable loser, if they were under less
conscientious management. On that ground he made no
objection to Mr. Garths proposal; and there was also
another reason why he was not sorry to give a consent
which was to benefit one of the Vincy family. It was that
Mrs. Bulstrode, having heard of Lydgates debts, had been
anxious to know whether her husband could not do
something for poor Rosamond, and had been much
troubled on learning from him that Lydgates affairs were
not easily remediable, and that the wisest plan was to let
them take their course. Mrs. Bulstrode had then said for
the first time, I think you are always a little hard towards
my family, Nicholas. And I am sure I have no reason to
deny any of my relatives. Too worldly they may be, but
no one ever had to say that they were not respectable.
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My dear Harriet, said Mr. Bulstrode, wincing under
his wifes eyes, which were filling with tears, I have
supplied your brother with a great deal of capital. I cannot
be expected to take care of his married children.
That seemed to be true, and Mrs. Bulstrodes
remonstrance subsided into pity for poor Rosamond,
whose extravagant education she had always foreseen the
fruits of.
But remembering that dialogue, Mr. Bulstrode felt that
when he had to talk to his wife fully about his plan of
quitting Middlemarch, he should be glad to tell her that he
had made an arrangement which might be for the good of
her nephew Fred. At present he had merely mentioned to
her that he thought of shutting up The Shrubs for a few
months, and taking a house on the Southern Coast.
Hence Mr. Garth got the assurance he desired, namely,
that in case of Bulstrodes departure from Middlemarch for
an indefinite time, Fred Vincy should be allowed to have
the tenancy of Stone Court on the terms proposed.
Caleb was so elated with his hope of this neat turn
being given to things, that if his self-control had not been
braced by a little affectionate wifely scolding, he would
have betrayed everything to Mary, wanting to give the
child comfort. However, he restrained himself, and kept
Middlemarch
1235 of 1492
in strict privacy from Fred certain visits which he was
making to Stone Court, in order to look more thoroughly
into the state of the land and stock, and take a preliminary
estimate. He was certainly more eager in these visits than
the probable speed of events required him to be; but he
was stimulated by a fatherly delight in occupying his mind
with this bit of probable happiness which he held in store
like a hidden birthday gift for Fred and Mary.
But suppose the whole scheme should turn out to be a
castle in the air? said Mrs. Garth.
Well, well, replied Caleb; the castle will tumble
about nobodys head.
Middlemarch
1236 of 1492
Chapter LXIX
If thou hast heard a word, let it die with thee.
Ecclesiasticus.
Mr. Bulstrode was still seated in his managers room at
the Bank, about three oclock of the same day on which
he had received Lydgate there, when the clerk entered to
say that his horse was waiting, and also that Mr. Garth was
outside and begged to speak with him.
By all means, said Bulstrode; and Caleb entered. Pray
sit down, Mr. Garth, continued the banker, in his suavest
tone.
I am glad that you arrived just in time to find me here.
I know you count your minutes.
Oh, said Caleb, gently, with a slow swing of his head
on one side, as he seated himself and laid his hat on the
floor.
He looked at the ground, leaning forward and letting
his long fingers droop between his legs, while each finger
moved in succession, as if it were sharing some thought
which filled his large quiet brow.
Mr. Bulstrode, like every one else who knew Caleb,
was used to his slowness in beginning to speak on any
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1237 of 1492
topic which he felt to be important, and rather expected
that he was about to recur to the buying of some houses in
Blindmans Court, for the sake of pulling them down, as a
sacrifice of property which would be well repaid by the
influx of air and light on that spot. It was by propositions
of this kind that Caleb was sometimes troublesome to his
employers; but he had usually found Bulstrode ready to
meet him in projects of improvement, and they had got
on well together. When he spoke again, however, it was
to say, in rather a subdued voice
I have just come away from Stone Court, Mr.
Bulstrode.
You found nothing wrong there, I hope, said the
banker; I was there myself yesterday. Abel has done well
with the lambs this year.
Why, yes, said Caleb, looking up gravely, there is
something wrong a stranger, who is very ill, I think. He
wants a doctor, and I came to tell you of that. His name is
Raffles.
He saw the shock of his words passing through
Bulstrodes frame. On this subject the banker had thought
that his fears were too constantly on the watch to be taken
by surprise; but he had been mistaken.
Middlemarch
1238 of 1492
Poor wretch! he said in a compassionate tone, though
his lips trembled a little. Do you know how he came
there?
I took him myself, said Caleb, quietlytook him up
in my gig. He had got down from the coach, and was
walking a little beyond the turning from the toll-house,
and I overtook him. He remembered seeing me with you
once before, at Stone Court, and he asked me to take him
on. I saw he was ill: it seemed to me the right thing to do,
to carry him under shelter. And now I think you should
lose no time in getting advice for him. Caleb took up his
hat from the floor as he ended, and rose slowly from his
seat.
Certainly, said Bulstrode, whose mind was very active
at this moment. Perhaps you will yourself oblige me, Mr.
Garth, by calling at Mr. Lydgates as you passor stay! he
may at this hour probably be at the Hospital. I will first
send my man on the horse there with a note this instant,
and then I will myself ride to Stone Court.
Bulstrode quickly wrote a note, and went out himself
to give the commission to his man. When he returned,
Caleb was standing as before with one hand on the back of
the chair, holding his hat with the other. In Bulstrodes
mind the dominant thought was, Perhaps Raffles only
Middlemarch
1239 of 1492
spoke to Garth of his illness. Garth may wonder, as he
must have done before, at this disreputable fellows
claiming intimacy with me; but he will know nothing.
And he is friendly to me I can be of use to him.
He longed for some confirmation of this hopeful
conjecture, but to have asked any question as to what
Raffles had said or done would have been to betray fear.
I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mr. Garth, he said,
in his usual tone of politeness. My servant will be back in
a few minutes, and I shall then go myself to see what can
be done for this unfortunate man. Perhaps you had some
other business with me? If so, pray be seated.
Thank you, said Caleb, making a slight gesture with
his right hand to waive the invitation. I wish to say, Mr.
Bulstrode, that I must request you to put your business
into some other hands than mine. I am obliged to you for
your handsome way of meeting me about the letting of
Stone Court, and all other business. But I must give it up.
A sharp certainty entered like a stab into Bulstrodes soul.
This is sudden, Mr. Garth, was all he could say at first.
It is, said Caleb; but it is quite fixed. I must give it
up.
He spoke with a firmness which was very gentle, and
yet he could see that Bulstrode seemed to cower under
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Middlemarch
1240 of 1492
that gentleness, his face looking dried and his eyes
swerving away from the glance which rested on him.
Caleb felt a deep pity for him, but he could have used no
pretexts to account for his resolve, even if they would
have been of any use.
You have been led to this, I apprehend, by some
slanders concerning me uttered by that unhappy creature,
said Bulstrode, anxious now to know the utmost.
That is true. I cant deny that I act upon what I heard
from him.
You are a conscientious man, Mr. Gartha man, I
trust, who feels himself accountable to God. You would
not wish to injure me by being too ready to believe a
slander, said Bulstrode, casting about for pleas that might
be adapted to his hearers mind. That is a poor reason for
giving up a connection which I think I may say will be
mutually beneficial.
I would injure no man if I could help it, said Caleb;
even if I thought God winked at it. I hope I should have
a feeling for my fellow-creature. But, sirI am obliged to
believe that this Raffles has told me the truth. And I cant
be happy in working with you, or profiting by you. It
hurts my mind. I must beg you to seek another agent.
Middlemarch
1241 of 1492
Very well, Mr. Garth. But I must at least claim to
know the worst that he has told you. I must know what is
the foul speech that I am liable to be the victim of, said
Bulstrode, a certain amount of anger beginning to mingle
with his humiliation before this quiet man who renounced
his benefits.
Thats needless, said Caleb, waving his hand, bowing
his head slightly, and not swerving from the tone which
had in it the merciful intention to spare this pitiable man.
What he has said to me will never pass from my lips,
unless something now unknown forces it from me. If you
led a harmful life for gain, and kept others out of their
rights by deceit, to get the more for yourself, I dare say
you repent you would like to go back, and cant: that
must be a bitter thing Caleb paused a moment and
shook his headit is not for me to make your life harder
to you.
But you doyou do make it harder to me, said
Bulstrode constrained into a genuine, pleading cry. You
make it harder to me by turning your back on me.
That Im forced to do, said Caleb, still more gently,
lifting up his hand. I am sorry. I dont judge you and say,
he is wicked, and I am righteous. God forbid. I dont
know everything. A man may do wrong, and his will may
Middlemarch
1242 of 1492
rise clear out of it, though he cant get his life clear. Thats
a bad punishment. If it is so with you, well, Im very
sorry for you. But I have that feeling inside me, that I
cant go on working with you. Thats all, Mr. Bulstrode.
Everything else is buried, so far as my will goes. And I
wish you good-day.
One moment, Mr. Garth! said Bulstrode, hurriedly. I
may trust then to your solemn assurance that you will not
repeat either to man or woman whateven if it have any
degree of truth in it is yet a malicious representation?
Calebs wrath was stirred, and he said, indignantly
Why should I have said it if I didnt mean it? I am in
no fear of you. Such tales as that will never tempt my
tongue.
Excuse meI am agitatedI am the victim of this
abandoned man.
Stop a bit! you have got to consider whether you
didnt help to make him worse, when you profited by his
vices.
You are wronging me by too readily believing him,
said Bulstrode, oppressed, as by a nightmare, with the
inability to deny flatly what Raffles might have said; and
yet feeling it an escape that Caleb had not so stated it to
him as to ask for that flat denial.
Middlemarch
1243 of 1492
No, said Caleb, lifting his hand deprecatingly; I am
ready to believe better, when better is proved. I rob you
of no good chance. As to speaking, I hold it a crime to
expose a mans sin unless Im clear it must be done to save
the innocent. That is my way of thinking, Mr. Bulstrode,
and what I say, Ive no need to swear. I wish you good-
day.
Some hours later, when he was at home, Caleb said to
his wife, incidentally, that he had had some little
differences with Bulstrode, and that in consequence, he
had given up all notion of taking Stone Court, and indeed
had resigned doing further business for him.
He was disposed to interfere too much, was he? said
Mrs. Garth, imagining that her husband had been touched
on his sensitive point, and not been allowed to do what he
thought right as to materials and modes of work.
Oh, said Caleb, bowing his head and waving his hand
gravely. And Mrs. Garth knew that this was a sign of his
not intending to speak further on the subject.
As for Bulstrode, he had almost immediately mounted
his horse and set off for Stone Court, being anxious to
arrive there before Lydgate.
His mind was crowded with images and conjectures,
which were a language to his hopes and fears, just as we
Middlemarch
1244 of 1492
hear tones from the vibrations which shake our whole
system. The deep humiliation with which he had winced
under Caleb Garths knowledge of his past and rejection of
his patronage, alternated with and almost gave way to the
sense of safety in the fact that Garth, and no other, had
been the man to whom Raffles had spoken. It seemed to
him a sort of earnest that Providence intended his rescue
from worse consequences; the way being thus left open for
the hope of secrecy. That Raffles should be afflicted with
illness, that he should have been led to Stone Court rather
than elsewhereBulstrodes heart fluttered at the vision of
probabilities which these events conjured up. If it should
turn out that he was freed from all danger of disgrace if
he could breathe in perfect libertyhis life should be
more consecrated than it had ever been before. He
mentally lifted up this vow as if it would urge the result he
longed for he tried to believe in the potency of that
prayerful resolution its potency to determine death. He
knew that he ought to say, Thy will be done; and he said
it often. But the intense desire remained that the will of
God might be the death of that hated man.
Yet when he arrived at Stone Court he could not see
the change in Raffles without a shock. But for his pallor
and feebleness, Bulstrode would have called the change in
Middlemarch
1245 of 1492
him entirely mental. Instead of his loud tormenting mood,
he showed an intense, vague terror, and seemed to
deprecate Bulstrodes anger, because the money was all
gonehe had been robbedit had half of it been taken
from him. He had only come here because he was ill and
somebody was hunting him somebody was after him he
had told nobody anything, he had kept his mouth shut.
Bulstrode, not knowing the significance of these
symptoms, interpreted this new nervous susceptibility into
a means of alarming Raffles into true confessions, and
taxed him with falsehood in saying that he had not told
anything, since he had just told the man who took him up
in his gig and brought him to Stone Court. Raffles denied
this with solemn adjurations; the fact being that the links
of consciousness were interrupted in him, and that his
minute terror-stricken narrative to Caleb Garth had been
delivered under a set of visionary impulses which had
dropped back into darkness.
Bulstrodes heart sank again at this sign that he could
get no grasp over the wretched mans mind, and that no
word of Raffles could be trusted as to the fact which he
most wanted to know, namely, whether or not he had
really kept silence to every one in the neighborhood
except Caleb Garth. The housekeeper had told him
Middlemarch
1246 of 1492
without the least constraint of manner that since Mr.
Garth left, Raffles had asked her for beer, and after that
had not spoken, seeming very ill. On that side it might be
concluded that there had been no betrayal. Mrs. Abel
thought, like the servants at The Shrubs, that the strange
man belonged to the unpleasant kin who are among the
troubles of the rich; she had at first referred the kinship to
Mr. Rigg, and where there was property left, the buzzing
presence of such large blue-bottles seemed natural enough.
How he could be kin to Bulstrode as well was not so
clear, but Mrs. Abel agreed with her husband that there
was no knowing, a proposition which had a great deal of
mental food for her, so that she shook her head over it
without further speculation.
In less than an hour Lydgate arrived. Bulstrode met him
outside the wainscoted parlor, where Raffles was, and
said
I have called you in, Mr. Lydgate, to an unfortunate
man who was once in my employment, many years ago.
Afterwards he went to America, and returned I fear to an
idle dissolute life. Being destitute, he has a claim on me.
He was slightly connected with Rigg, the former owner
of this place, and in consequence found his way here. I
Middlemarch
1247 of 1492
believe he is seriously ill: apparently his mind is affected. I
feel bound to do the utmost for him.
Lydgate, who had the remembrance of his last
conversation with Bulstrode strongly upon him, was not
disposed to say an unnecessary word to him, and bowed
slightly in answer to this account; but just before entering
the room he turned automatically and said, What is his
name?to know names being as much a part of the
medical mans accomplishment as of the practical
politicians.
Raffles, John Raffles, said Bulstrode, who hoped that
whatever became of Raffles, Lydgate would never know
any more of him.
When he had thoroughly examined and considered the
patient, Lydgate ordered that he should go to bed, and be
kept there in as complete quiet as possible, and then went
with Bulstrode into another room.
It is a serious case, I apprehend, said the banker,
before Lydgate began to speak.
Noand yes, said Lydgate, half dubiously. It is
difficult to decide as to the possible effect of long-standing
complications; but the man had a robust constitution to
begin with. I should not expect this attack to be fatal,
Middlemarch
1248 of 1492
though of course the system is in a ticklish state. He
should be well watched and attended to.
I will remain here myself, said Bulstrode. Mrs. Abel
and her husband are inexperienced. I can easily remain
here for the night, if you will oblige me by taking a note
for Mrs. Bulstrode.
I should think that is hardly necessary, said Lydgate.
He seems tame and terrified enough. He might become
more unmanageable. But there is a man hereis there
not?
I have more than once stayed here a few nights for the
sake of seclusion, said Bulstrode, indifferently; I am quite
disposed to do so now. Mrs. Abel and her husband can
relieve or aid me, if necessary.
Very well. Then I need give my directions only to
you, said Lydgate, not feeling surprised at a little
peculiarity in Bulstrode.
You think, then, that the case is hopeful? said
Bulstrode, when Lydgate had ended giving his orders.
Unless there turn out to be further complications, such
as I have not at present detectedyes, said Lydgate. He
may pass on to a worse stage; but I should not wonder if
ho got better in a few days, by adhering to the treatment I
have prescribed. There must be firmness. Remember, if he
Middlemarch
1249 of 1492
calls for liquors of any sort, not to give them to him. In
my opinion, men in his condition are oftener killed by
treatment than by the disease. Still, new symptoms may
arise. I shall come again to-morrow morning.
After waiting for the note to be carried to Mrs.
Bulstrode, Lydgate rode away, forming no conjectures, in
the first instance, about the history of Raffles, but
rehearsing the whole argument, which had lately been
much stirred by the publication of Dr. Wares abundant
experience in America, as to the right way of treating cases
of alcoholic poisoning such as this. Lydgate, when abroad,
had already been interested in this question: he was
strongly convinced against the prevalent practice of
allowing alcohol and persistently administering large doses
of opium; and he had repeatedly acted on this conviction
with a favorable result.
The man is in a diseased state, he thought, but theres
a good deal of wear in him still. I suppose he is an object
of charity to Bulstrode. It is curious what patches of
hardness and tenderness lie side by side in mens
dispositions. Bulstrode seems the most unsympathetic
fellow I ever saw about some people, and yet he has taken
no end of trouble, and spent a great deal of money, on
benevolent objects. I suppose he has some test by which
Middlemarch
1250 of 1492
he finds out whom Heaven cares forhe has made up his
mind that it doesnt care for me.
This streak of bitterness came from a plenteous source,
and kept widening in the current of his thought as he
neared Lowick Gate. He had not been there since his first
interview with Bulstrode in the morning, having been
found at the Hospital by the bankers messenger; and for
the first time he was returning to his home without the
vision of any expedient in the background which left him
a hope of raising money enough to deliver him from the
coming destitution of everything which made his married
life tolerable everything which saved him and
Rosamond from that bare isolation in which they would
be forced to recognize how little of a comfort they could
be to each other. It was more bearable to do without
tenderness for himself than to see that his own tenderness
could make no amends for the lack of other things to her.
The sufferings of his own pride from humiliations past and
to come were keen enough, yet they were hardly
distinguishable to himself from that more acute pain which
dominated themthe pain of foreseeing that Rosamond
would come to regard him chiefly as the cause of
disappointment and unhappiness to her. He had never
liked the makeshifts of poverty, and they had never before
Middlemarch
1251 of 1492
entered into his prospects for himself; but he was
beginning now to imagine how two creatures who loved
each other, and had a stock of thoughts in common, might
laugh over their shabby furniture, and their calculations
how far they could afford butter and eggs. But the glimpse
of that poetry seemed as far off from him as the
carelessness of the golden age; in poor Rosamonds mind
there was not room enough for luxuries to look small in.
He got down from his horse in a very sad mood, and went
into the house, not expecting to be cheered except by his
dinner, and reflecting that before the evening closed it
would be wise to tell Rosamond of his application to
Bulstrode and its failure. It would be well not to lose time
in preparing her for the worst.
But his dinner waited long for him before he was able
to eat it. For on entering he found that Dovers agent had
already put a man in the house, and when he asked where
Mrs. Lydgate was, he was told that she was in her
bedroom. He went up and found her stretched on the bed
pale and silent, without an answer even in her face to any
word or look of his. He sat down by the bed and leaning
over her said with almost a cry of prayer
Forgive me for this misery, my poor Rosamond! Let
us only love one another.
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Middlemarch
1252 of 1492
She looked at him silently, still with the blank despair
on her face; but then the tears began to fill her blue eyes,
and her lip trembled. The strong man had had too much
to bear that day. He let his head fall beside hers and
sobbed.
He did not hinder her from going to her father early in
the morning it seemed now that he ought not to hinder
her from doing as she pleased. In half an hour she came
back, and said that papa and mamma wished her to go and
stay with them while things were in this miserable state.
Papa said he could do nothing about the debtif he paid
this, there would be half-a-dozen more. She had better
come back home again till Lydgate had got a comfortable
home for her. Do you object, Tertius?
Do as you like, said Lydgate. But things are not
coming to a crisis immediately. There is no hurry.
I should not go till to-morrow, said Rosamond; I
shall want to pack my clothes.
Oh, I would wait a little longer than to-morrow
there is no knowing what may happen, said Lydgate, with
bitter irony. I may get my neck broken, and that may
make things easier to you.
It was Lydgates misfortune and Rosamonds too, that
his tenderness towards her, which was both an emotional
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prompting and a well-considered resolve, was inevitably
interrupted by these outbursts of indignation either
ironical or remonstrant. She thought them totally
unwarranted, and the repulsion which this exceptional
severity excited in her was in danger of making the more
persistent tenderness unacceptable.
I see you do not wish me to go, she said, with chill
mildness; why can you not say so, without that kind of
violence? I shall stay until you request me to do
otherwise.
Lydgate said no more, but went out on his rounds. He
felt bruised and shattered, and there was a dark line under
his eyes which Rosamond had not seen before. She could
not bear to look at him. Tertius had a way of taking things
which made them a great deal worse for her.
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1254 of 1492
Chapter LXX
Our deeds still travel with us from afar,
And what we have been makes us what we are.
Bulstrodes first object after Lydgate had left Stone
Court was to examine Raffless pockets, which he
imagined were sure to carry signs in the shape of hotel-
bills of the places he had stopped in, if he had not told the
truth in saying that he had come straight from Liverpool
because he was ill and had no money. There were various
bills crammed into his pocketbook, but none of a later
date than Christmas at any other place, except one, which
bore date that morning. This was crumpled up with a
hand-bill about a horse-fair in one of his tail-pockets, and
represented the cost of three days stay at an inn at Bilkley,
where the fair was held a town at least forty miles from
Middlemarch. The bill was heavy, and since Raffles had
no luggage with him, it seemed probable that he had left
his portmanteau behind in payment, in order to save
money for his travelling fare; for his purse was empty, and
he had only a couple of sixpences and some loose pence in
his pockets.
Middlemarch
1255 of 1492
Bulstrode gathered a sense of safety from these
indications that Raffles had really kept at a distance from
Middlemarch since his memorable visit at Christmas. At a
distance and among people who were strangers to
Bulstrode, what satisfaction could there be to Raffless
tormenting, self-magnifying vein in telling old scandalous
stories about a Middlemarch banker? And what harm if he
did talk? The chief point now was to keep watch over him
as long as there was any danger of that intelligible raving,
that unaccountable impulse to tell, which seemed to have
acted towards Caleb Garth; and Bulstrode felt much
anxiety lest some such impulse should come over him at
the sight of Lydgate. He sat up alone with him through
the night, only ordering the housekeeper to lie down in
her clothes, so as to be ready when he called her, alleging
his own indisposition to sleep, and his anxiety to carry out
the doctors orders. He did carry them out faithfully,
although Raffles was incessantly asking for brandy, and
declaring that he was sinking away that the earth was
sinking away from under him. He was restless and
sleepless, but still quailing and manageable. On the offer of
the food ordered by Lydgate, which he refused, and the
denial of other things which he demanded, he seemed to
concentrate all his terror on Bulstrode, imploringly
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1256 of 1492
deprecating his anger, his revenge on him by starvation,
and declaring with strong oaths that he had never told any
mortal a word against him. Even this Bulstrode felt that he
would not have liked Lydgate to hear; but a more
alarming sign of fitful alternation in his delirium was, that
in-the morning twilight Raffles suddenly seemed to
imagine a doctor present, addressing him and declaring
that Bulstrode wanted to starve him to death out of
revenge for telling, when he never had told.
Bulstrodes native imperiousness and strength of
determination served him well. This delicate-looking man,
himself nervously perturbed, found the needed stimulus in
his strenuous circumstances, and through that difficult
night and morning, while he had the air of an animated
corpse returned to movement without warmth, holding
the mastery by its chill impassibility his mind was intensely
at work thinking of what he had to guard against and what
would win him security. Whatever prayers he might lift
up, whatever statements he might inwardly make of this
mans wretched spiritual condition, and the duty he
himself was under to submit to the punishment divinely
appointed for him rather than to wish for evil to
anotherthrough all this effort to condense words into a
solid mental state, there pierced and spread with irresistible
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1257 of 1492
vividness the images of the events he desired. And in the
train of those images came their apology. He could not
but see the death of Raffles, and see in it his own
deliverance. What was the removal of this wretched
creature? He was impenitent but were not public
criminals impenitent?yet the law decided on their fate.
Should Providence in this case award death, there was no
sin in contemplating death as the desirable issue if he
kept his hands from hastening itif he scrupulously did
what was prescribed. Even here there might be a mistake:
human prescriptions were fallible things: Lydgate had said
that treatment had hastened death,why not his own
method of treatment? But of course intention was
everything in the question of right and wrong.
And Bulstrode set himself to keep his intention separate
from his desire. He inwardly declared that he intended to
obey orders. Why should he have got into any argument
about the validity of these orders? It was only the common
trick of desirewhich avails itself of any irrelevant
scepticism, finding larger room for itself in all uncertainty
about effects, in every obscurity that looks like the absence
of law. Still, he did obey the orders.
His anxieties continually glanced towards Lydgate, and
his remembrance of what had taken place between them
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1258 of 1492
the morning before was accompanied with sensibilities
which had not been roused at all during the actual scene.
He had then cared but little about Lydgates painful
impressions with regard to the suggested change in the
Hospital, or about the disposition towards himself which
what he held to be his justifiable refusal of a rather
exorbitant request might call forth. He recurred to the
scene now with a perception that he had probably made
Lydgate his enemy, and with an awakened desire to
propitiate him, or rather to create in him a strong sense of
personal obligation. He regretted that he had not at once
made even an unreasonable money-sacrifice. For in case of
unpleasant suspicions, or even knowledge gathered from
the raving of Raffles, Bulstrode would have felt that he
had a defence in Lydgates mind by having conferred a
momentous benefit on him. Bat the regret had perhaps
come too late.
Strange, piteous conflict in the soul of this unhappy
man, who had longed for years to be better than he was
who had taken his selfish passions into discipline and clad
them in severe robes, so that he had walked with them as
a devout choir, till now that a terror had risen among
them, and they could chant no longer, but threw out their
common cries for safety.
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1259 of 1492
It was nearly the middle of the day before Lydgate
arrived: he had meant to come earlier, but had been
detained, he said; and his shattered looks were noticed by
Balstrode. But he immediately threw himself into the
consideration of the patient, and inquired strictly into all
that had occurred. Raffles was worse, would take hardly
any food, was persistently wakeful and restlessly raving;
but still not violent. Contrary to Bulstrodes alarmed
expectation, he took little notice of Lydgates presence,
and continued to talk or murmur incoherently.
What do you think of him? said Bulstrode, in private.
The symptoms are worse.
You are less hopeful?
No; I still think he may come round. Are you going to
stay here yourself? said Lydgate, looking at Bulstrode with
an abrupt question, which made him uneasy, though in
reality it was not due to any suspicious conjecture.
Yes, I think so, said Bulstrode, governing himself and
speaking with deliberation. Mrs. Bulstrode is advised of
the reasons which detain me. Mrs. Abel and her husband
are not experienced enough to be left quite alone, and this
kind of responsibility is scarcely included in their service of
me. You have some fresh instructions, I presume.
Middlemarch
1260 of 1492
The chief new instruction that Lydgate had to give was
on the administration of extremely moderate doses of
opium, in case of the sleeplessness continuing after several
hours. He had taken the precaution of bringing opium in
his pocket, and he gave minute directions to Bulstrode as
to the doses, and the point at which they should cease. He
insisted on the risk of not ceasing; and repeated his order
that no alcohol should be given.
From what I see of the case, he ended, narcotism is
the only thing I should be much afraid of. He may wear
through even without much food. Theres a good deal of
strength in him.
You look ill yourself, Mr. Lydgatea most unusual, I
may say unprecedented thing in my knowledge of you,
said Bulstrode, showing a solicitude as unlike his
indifference the day before, as his present recklessness
about his own fatigue was unlike his habitual self-
cherishing anxiety. I fear you are harassed.
Yes, I am, said Lydgate, brusquely, holding his hat,
and ready to go.
Something new, I fear, said Bulstrode, inquiringly.
Pray be seated.
No, thank you, said Lydgate, with some hauteur. I
mentioned to you yesterday what was the state of my
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1261 of 1492
affairs. There is nothing to add, except that the execution
has since then been actually put into my house. One can
tell a good deal of trouble in a short sentence. I will say
good morning.
Stay, Mr. Lydgate, stay, said Bulstrode; I have been
reconsidering this subject. I was yesterday taken by
surprise, and saw it superficially. Mrs. Bulstrode is anxious
for her niece, and I myself should grieve at a calamitous
change in your position. Claims on me are numerous, but
on reconsideration, I esteem it right that I should incur a
small sacrifice rather than leave you unaided. You said, I
think, that a thousand pounds would suffice entirely to
free you from your burthens, and enable you to recover a
firm stand?
Yes, said Lydgate, a great leap of joy within him
surmounting every other feeling; that would pay all my
debts, and leave me a little on hand. I could set about
economizing in our way of living. And by-and-by my
practice might look up.
If you will wait a moment, Mr. Lydgate, I will draw a
cheek to that amount. I am aware that help, to be effectual
in these cases, should be thorough.
While Bulstrode wrote, Lydgate turned to the window
thinking of his home thinking of his life with its good
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1262 of 1492
start saved from frustration, its good purposes still
unbroken.
You can give me a note of hand for this, Mr. Lydgate,
said the banker, advancing towards him with the check.
And by-and-by, I hope, you may be in circumstances
gradually to repay me. Meanwhile, I have pleasure in
thinking that you will be released from further difficulty.
I am deeply obliged to you, said Lydgate. You have
restored to me the prospect of working with some
happiness and some chance of good.
It appeared to him a very natural movement in
Bulstrode that he should have reconsidered his refusal: it
corresponded with the more munificent side of his
character. But as he put his hack into a canter, that he
might get the sooner home, and tell the good news to
Rosamond, and get cash at the bank to pay over to
Dovers agent, there crossed his mind, with an unpleasant
impression, as from a dark-winged flight of evil augury
across his vision, the thought of that contrast in himself
which a few months had broughtthat he should be
overjoyed at being under a strong personal obligation
that he should be overjoyed at getting money for himself
from Bulstrode.
Middlemarch
1263 of 1492
The banker felt that he had done something to nullify
one cause of uneasiness, and yet he was scarcely the easier.
He did not measure the quantity of diseased motive which
had made him wish for Lydgates good-will, but the
quantity was none the less actively there, like an irritating
agent in his blood. A man vows, and yet will not east
away the means of breaking his vow. Is it that he distinctly
means to break it? Not at all; but the desires which tend to
break it are at work in him dimly, and make their way
into his imagination, and relax his muscles in the very
moments when he is telling himself over again the reasons
for his vow. Raffles, recovering quickly, returning to the
free use of his odious powershow could Bulstrode wish
for that? Raffles dead was the image that brought release,
and indirectly he prayed for that way of release,
beseeching that, if it were possible, the rest of his days here
below might be freed from the threat of an ignominy
which would break him utterly as an instrument of Gods
service. Lydgates opinion was not on the side of promise
that this prayer would be fulfilled; and as the day
advanced, Bulstrode felt himself getting irritated at the
persistent life in this man, whom he would fain have seen
sinking into the silence of death imperious will stirred
murderous impulses towards this brute life, over which
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Middlemarch
1264 of 1492
will, by itself, had no power. He said inwardly that he was
getting too much worn; he would not sit up with the
patient to-night, but leave him to Mrs. Abel, who, if
necessary, could call her husband.
At six oclock, Raffles, having had only fitful perturbed
snatches of sleep, from which he waked with fresh
restlessness and perpetual cries that he was sinking away,
Bulstrode began to administer the opium according to
Lydgates directions. At the end of half an hour or more
he called Mrs. Abel and told her that he found himself
unfit for further watching. He must now consign the
patient to her care; and he proceeded to repeat to her
Lydgates directions as to the quantity of each dose. Mrs.
Abel had not before known anything of Lydgates
prescriptions; she had simply prepared and brought
whatever Bulstrode ordered, and had done what he
pointed out to her. She began now to ask what else she
should do besides administering the opium.
Nothing at present, except the offer of the soup or the
soda-water: you can come to me for further directions.
Unless there is any important change, I shall not come
into the room again to-night. You will ask your husband
for help if necessary. I must go to bed early.
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1265 of 1492
Youve much need, sir, Im sure, said Mrs. Abel, and
to take something more strengthening than what youve
done.
Bulstrode went-away now without anxiety as to what
Raffles might say in his raving, which had taken on a
muttering incoherence not likely to create any dangerous
belief. At any rate he must risk this. He went down into
the wainscoted parlor first, and began to consider whether
he would not have his horse saddled and go home by the
moonlight, and give up caring for earthly consequences.
Then, he wished that he had begged Lydgate to come
again that evening. Perhaps he might deliver a different
opinion, and think that Raffles was getting into a less
hopeful state. Should he send for Lydgate? If Raffles were
really getting worse, and slowly dying, Bulstrode felt that
he could go to bed and sleep in gratitude to Providence.
But was he worse? Lydgate might come and simply say
that he was going on as he expected, and predict that he
would by-and-by fall into a good sleep, and get well.
What was the use of sending for him? Bulstrode shrank
from that result. No ideas or opinions could hinder him
from seeing the one probability to be, that Raffles
recovered would be just the same man as before, with his
strength as a tormentor renewed, obliging him to drag
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1266 of 1492
away his wife to spend her years apart from her friends and
native place, carrying an alienating suspicion against him in
her heart.
He had sat an hour and a half in this conflict by the
firelight only, when a sudden thought made him rise and
light the bed-candle, which he had brought down with
him. The thought was, that he had not told Mrs. Abel
when the doses of opium must cease.
He took hold of the candlestick, but stood motionless
for a long while. She might already have given him more
than Lydgate had prescribed. But it was excusable in him,
that he should forget part of an order, in his present
wearied condition. He walked up-stairs, candle in hand,
not knowing whether he should straightway enter his own
room and go to bed, or turn to the patients room and
rectify his omission. He paused in the passage, with his
face turned towards Raffless room, and he could hear him
moaning and murmuring. He was not asleep, then. Who
could know that Lydgates prescription would not be
better disobeyed than followed, since there was still no
sleep?
He turned into his own room. Before he had quite
undressed, Mrs. Abel rapped at the door; he opened it an
inch, so that he could hear her speak low.
Middlemarch
1267 of 1492
If you please, sir, should I have no brandy nor nothing
to give the poor creetur? He feels sinking away, and
nothing else will he swallerand but little strength in it, if
he didonly the opium. And he says more and more hes
sinking down through the earth.
To her surprise, Mr. Bulstrode did not answer. A
struggle was going on within him.
I think he must die for want o support, if he goes on
in that way. When I nursed my poor master, Mr.
Robisson, I had to give him port-wine and brandy
constant, and a big glass at a time, added Mrs. Abel, with
a touch of remonstrance in her tone.
But again Mr. Bulstrode did not answer immediately,
and she continued, Its not a time to spare when people
are at deaths door, nor would you wish it, sir, Im sure.
Else I should give him our own bottle o rum as we keep
by us. But a sitter-up so as youve been, and doing
everything as laid in your power
Here a key was thrust through the inch of doorway,
and Mr. Bulstrode said huskily, That is the key of the
wine-cooler. You will find plenty of brandy there.
Early in the morningabout sixMr. Bulstrode rose
and spent some time in prayer. Does any one suppose that
private prayer is necessarily candidnecessarily goes to the
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1268 of 1492
roots of action? Private prayer is inaudible speech, and
speech is representative: who can represent himself just as
he is, even in his own reflections? Bulstrode had not yet
unravelled in his thought the confused promptings of the
last four-and-twenty hours.
He listened in the passage, and could hear hard
stertorous breathing. Then he walked out in the garden,
and looked at the early rime on the grass and fresh spring
leaves. When he re-entered the house, he felt startled at
the sight of Mrs. Abel.
How is your patientasleep, I think? he said, with an
attempt at cheerfulness in his tone.
Hes gone very deep, sir, said Mrs. Abel. He went off
gradual between three and four oclock. Would you please
to go and look at him? I thought it no harm to leave him.
My mans gone afield, and the little girls seeing to the
kettles.
Bulstrode went up. At a glance he knew that Raffles
was not in the sleep which brings revival, but in the sleep
which streams deeper and deeper into the gulf of death.
He looked round the room and saw a bottle with some
brandy in it, and the almost empty opium phial. He put
the phial out of sight, and carried the brandy-bottle down-
stairs with him, locking it again in the wine-cooler.
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1269 of 1492
While breakfasting he considered whether he should
ride to Middlemarch at once, or wait for Lydgates arrival.
He decided to wait, and told Mrs. Abel that she might go
about her work he could watch in the bed-chamber.
As he sat there and beheld the enemy of his peace
going irrevocably into silence, he felt more at rest than he
had done for many months. His conscience was soothed
by the enfolding wing of secrecy, which seemed just then
like an angel sent down for his relief. He drew out his
pocket-book to review various memoranda there as to the
arrangements he had projected and partly carried out in
the prospect of quitting Middlemarch, and considered
how far he would let them stand or recall them, now that
his absence would be brief. Some economies which he felt
desirable might still find a suitable occasion in his
temporary withdrawal from management, and he hoped
still that Mrs. Casaubon would take a large share in the
expenses of the Hospital. In that way the moments passed,
until a change in the stertorous breathing was marked
enough to draw his attention wholly to the bed, and
forced him to think of the departing life, which had once
been subservient to his ownwhich he had once been
glad to find base enough for him to act on as he would. It
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1270 of 1492
was his gladness then which impelled him now to be glad
that the life was at an end.
And who could say that the death of Raffles had been
hastened? Who knew what would have saved him?
Lydgate arrived at half-past ten, in time to witness the
final pause of the breath. When he entered the room
Bulstrode observed a sudden expression in his face, which
was not so much surprise as a recognition that he had not
judged correctly. He stood by the bed in silence for some
time, with his eyes turned on the dying man, but with that
subdued activity of expression which showed that he was
carrying on an inward debate.
When did this change begin? said he, looking at
Bulstrode.
I did not watch by him last night, said Bulstrode. I
was over-worn, and left him under Mrs. Abels care. She
said that he sank into sleep between three and four
oclock. When I came in before eight he was nearly in this
condition.
Lydgate did not ask another question, but watched in
silence until he said, Its all over.
This morning Lydgate was in a state of recovered hope
and freedom. He had set out on his work with all his old
animation, and felt himself strong enough to bear all the
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1271 of 1492
deficiencies of his married life. And he was conscious that
Bulstrode had been a benefactor to him. But he was
uneasy about this case. He had not expected it to
terminate as it had done. Yet he hardly knew how to put a
question on the subject to Bulstrode without appearing to
insult him; and if he examined the housekeeperwhy, the
man was dead. There seemed to be no use in implying
that somebodys ignorance or imprudence had killed him.
And after all, he himself might be wrong.
He and Bulstrode rode back to Middlemarch together,
talking of many thingschiefly cholera and the chances of
the Reform Bill in the House of Lords, and the firm
resolve of the political Unions. Nothing was said about
Raffles, except that Bulstrode mentioned the necessity of
having a grave for him in Lowick churchyard, and
observed that, so far as he knew, the poor man had no
connections, except Rigg, whom he had stated to be
unfriendly towards him.
On returning home Lydgate had a visit from Mr.
Farebrother. The Vicar had not been in the town the day
before, but the news that there was an execution in
Lydgates house had got to Lowick by the evening, having
been carried by Mr. Spicer, shoemaker and parish-clerk,
who had it from his brother, the respectable bell-hanger in
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1272 of 1492
Lowick Gate. Since that evening when Lydgate had come
down from the billiard room with Fred Vincy, Mr.
Farebrothers thoughts about him had been rather gloomy.
Playing at the Green Dragon once or oftener might have
been a trifle in another man; but in Lydgate it was one of
several signs that he was getting unlike his former self. He
was beginning to do things for which he had formerly
even an excessive scorn. Whatever certain dissatisfactions
in marriage, which some silly tinklings of gossip had given
him hints of, might have to do with this change, Mr.
Farebrother felt sure that it was chiefly connected with the
debts which were being more and more distinctly
reported, and he began to fear that any notion of Lydgates
having resources or friends in the background must be
quite illusory. The rebuff he had met with in his first
attempt to win Lydgates confidence, disinclined him to a
second; but this news of the execution being actually in
the house, determined the Vicar to overcome his
reluctance.
Lydgate had just dismissed a poor patient, in whom he
was much interested, and he came forward to put out his
handwith an open cheerfulness which surprised Mr.
Farebrother. Could this too be a proud rejection of
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1273 of 1492
sympathy and help? Never mind; the sympathy and help
should be offered.
How are you, Lydgate? I came to see you because I
had heard something which made me anxious about you,
said the Vicar, in the tone of a good brother, only that
there was no reproach in it. They were both seated by this
time, and Lydgate answered immediately
I think I know what you mean. You had heard that
there was an execution in the house?
Yes; is it true?
It was true, said Lydgate, with an air of freedom, as if
he did not mind talking about the affair now. But the
danger is over; the debt is paid. I am out of my difficulties
now: I shall be freed from debts, and able, I hope, to start
afresh on a better plan.
I am very thankful to hear it, said the Vicar, falling
back in his chair, and speaking with that low-toned
quickness which often follows the removal of a load. I
like that better than all the news in the Times. I confess I
came to you with a heavy heart.
Thank you for coming, said Lydgate, cordially. I can
enjoy the kindness all the more because I am happier. I
have certainly been a good deal crushed. Im afraid I shall
find the bruises still painful by-and by, he added, smiling
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1274 of 1492
rather sadly; but just now I can only feel that the torture-
screw is off.
Mr. Farebrother was silent for a moment, and then said
earnestly, My dear fellow, let me ask you one question.
Forgive me if I take a liberty.
I dont believe you will ask anything that ought to
offend me.
Thenthis is necessary to set my heart quite at rest
you have not have you?in order to pay your debts,
incurred another debt which may harass you worse
hereafter?
No, said Lydgate, coloring slightly. There is no
reason why I should not tell yousince the fact is so
that the person to whom I am indebted is Bulstrode. He
has made me a very handsome advance a thousand
poundsand he can afford to wait for repayment.
Well, that is generous, said Mr. Farebrother,
compelling himself to approve of the man whom he
disliked. His delicate feeling shrank from dwelling even in
his thought on the fact that he had always urged Lydgate
to avoid any personal entanglement with Bulstrode. He
added immediately, And Bulstrode must naturally feel an
interest in your welfare, after you have worked with him
in a way which has probably reduced your income instead
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1275 of 1492
of adding to it. I am glad to think that he has acted
accordingly.
Lydgate felt uncomfortable under these kindly
suppositions. They made more distinct within him the
uneasy consciousness which had shown its first dim
stirrings only a few hours before, that Bulstrodes motives
for his sudden beneficence following close upon the
chillest indifference might be merely selfish. He let the
kindly suppositions pass. He could not tell the history of
the loan, but it was more vividly present with him than
ever, as well as the fact which the Vicar delicately
ignoredthat this relation of personal indebtedness to
Bulstrode was what he had once been most resolved to
avoid.
He began, instead of answering, to speak of his
projected economies, and of his having come to look at
his life from a different point of view.
I shall set up a surgery, he said. I really think I made a
mistaken effort in that respect. And if Rosamond will not
mind, I shall take an apprentice. I dont like these things,
but if one carries them out faithfully they are not really
lowering. I have had a severe galling to begin with: that
will make the small rubs seem easy.
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Middlemarch
1276 of 1492
Poor Lydgate! the if Rosamond will not mind, which
had fallen from him involuntarily as part of his thought,
was a significant mark of the yoke he bore. But Mr.
Farebrother, whose hopes entered strongly into the same
current with Lydgates, and who knew nothing about him
that could now raise a melancholy presentiment, left him
with affectionate congratulation.
Middlemarch
1277 of 1492
Chapter LXXI
Clown. Twas in the Bunch of Grapes, where, indeed,
you have a delight to sit, have you not?
Froth. I have so: because it is an open room, and good for
winter.
Clo. Why, very well then: I hope here be truths.
Measure for Measure.
Five days after the death of Raffles, Mr. Bambridge was
standing at his leisure under the large archway leading into
the yard of the Green Dragon. He was not fond of solitary
contemplation, but he had only just come out of the
house, and any human figure standing at ease under the
archway in the early afternoon was as certain to attract
companionship as a pigeon which has found something
worth peeking at. In this case there was no material object
to feed upon, but the eye of reason saw a probability of
mental sustenance in the shape of gossip. Mr. Hopkins, the
meek-mannered draper opposite, was the first to act on
this inward vision, being the more ambitious of a little
masculine talk because his customers were chiefly women.
Mr. Bambridge was rather curt to the draper, feeling that
Hopkins was of course glad to talk to HIM, but that he
was not going to waste much of his talk on Hopkins.
Middlemarch
1278 of 1492
Soon, however, there was a small cluster of more
important listeners, who were either deposited from the
passers-by, or had sauntered to the spot expressly to see if
there were anything going on at the Green Dragon; and
Mr. Bambridge was finding it worth his while to say many
impressive things about the fine studs he had been seeing
and the purchases he had made on a journey in the north
from which he had just returned. Gentlemen present were
assured that when they could show him anything to cut
out a blood mare, a bay, rising four, which was to be seen
at Doncaster if they chose to go and look at it, Mr.
Bambridge would gratify them by being shot from here to
Hereford. Also, a pair of blacks which he was going to
put into the break recalled vividly to his mind a pair
which he had sold to Faulkner in 19, for a hundred
guineas, and which Faulkner had sold for a hundred and
sixty two months laterany gent who could disprove this
statement being offered the privilege of calling Mr.
Bambridge by a very ugly name until the exercise made
his throat dry.
When the discourse was at this point of animation,
came up Mr. Frank Hawley. He was not a man to
compromise his dignity by lounging at the Green Dragon,
but happening to pass along the High Street and seeing
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1279 of 1492
Bambridge on the other side, he took some of his long
strides across to ask the horsedealer whether he had found
the first-rate gig-horse which he had engaged to look for.
Mr. Hawley was requested to wait until he had seen a gray
selected at Bilkley: if that did not meet his wishes to a hair,
Bambridge did not know a horse when he saw it, which
seemed to be the highest conceivable unlikelihood. Mr.
Hawley, standing with his back to the street, was fixing a
time for looking at the gray and seeing it tried, when a
horseman passed slowly by.
Bulstrode! said two or three voices at once in a low
tone, one of them, which was the drapers, respectfully
prefixing the Mr.; but nobody having more intention in
this interjectural naming than if they had said the
Riverston coach when that vehicle appeared in the
distance. Mr. Hawley gave a careless glance round at
Bulstrodes back, but as Bambridges eyes followed it he
made a sarcastic grimace.
By jingo! that reminds me, he began, lowering his
voice a little, I picked up something else at Bilkley besides
your gig-horse, Mr. Hawley. I picked up a fine story
about Bulstrode. Do you know how he came by his
fortune? Any gentleman wanting a bit of curious
information, I can give it him free of expense. If
Middlemarch
1280 of 1492
everybody got their deserts, Bulstrode might have had to
say his prayers at Botany Bay.
What do you mean? said Mr. Hawley, thrusting his
hands into his pockets, and pushing a little forward under
the archway. If Bulstrode should turn out to be a rascal,
Frank Hawley had a prophetic soul.
I had it from a party who was an old chum of
Bulstrodes. Ill tell you where I first picked him up, said
Bambridge, with a sudden gesture of his fore-finger. He
was at Larchers sale, but I knew nothing of him thenhe
slipped through my fingers was after Bulstrode, no
doubt. He tells me he can tap Bulstrode to any amount,
knows all his secrets. However, he blabbed to me at
Bilkley: he takes a stiff glass. Damme if I think he meant to
turn kings evidence; but hes that sort of bragging fellow,
the bragging runs over hedge and ditch with him, till hed
brag of a spavin as if it ud fetch money. A man should
know when to pull up. Mr. Bambridge made this remark
with an air of disgust, satisfied that his own bragging
showed a fine sense of the marketable.
Whats the mans name? Where can he be found? said
Mr. Hawley.
As to where he is to be found, I left him to it at the
Saracens Head; but his name is Raffles.
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1281 of 1492
Raffles! exclaimed Mr. Hopkins. I furnished his
funeral yesterday. He was buried at Lowick. Mr. Bulstrode
followed him. A very decent funeral. There was a strong
sensation among the listeners. Mr. Bambridge gave an
ejaculation in which brimstone was the mildest word,
and Mr. Hawley, knitting his brows and bending his head
forward, exclaimed, What?where did the man die?
At Stone Court, said the draper. The housekeeper
said he was a relation of the masters. He came there ill on
Friday.
Why, it was on Wednesday I took a glass with him,
interposed Bambridge.
Did any doctor attend him? said Mr. Hawley
Yes. Mr. Lydgate. Mr. Bulstrode sat up with him one
night. He died the third morning.
Go on, Bambridge, said Mr. Hawley, insistently.
What did this fellow say about Bulstrode?
The group had already become larger, the town-clerks
presence being a guarantee that something worth listening
to was going on there; and Mr. Bambridge delivered his
narrative in the hearing of seven. It was mainly what we
know, including the fact about Will Ladislaw, with some
local color and circumstance added: it was what Bulstrode
had dreaded the betrayal ofand hoped to have buried
Middlemarch
1282 of 1492
forever with the corpse of Rafflesit was that haunting
ghost of his earlier life which as he rode past the archway
of the Green Dragon he was trusting that Providence had
delivered him from. Yes, Providence. He had not
confessed to himself yet that he had done anything in the
way of contrivance to this end; he had accepted what
seemed to have been offered. It was impossible to prove
that he had done anything which hastened the departure
of that mans soul.
But this gossip about Bulstrode spread through
Middlemarch like the smell of fire. Mr. Frank Hawley
followed up his information by sending a clerk whom he
could trust to Stone Court on a pretext of inquiring about
hay, but really to gather all that could be learned about
Raffles and his illness from Mrs. Abel. In this way it came
to his knowledge that Mr. Garth had carried the man to
Stone Court in his gig; and Mr. Hawley in consequence
took an opportunity of seeing Caleb, calling at his office to
ask whether he had time to undertake an arbitration if it
were required, and then asking him incidentally about
Raffles. Caleb was betrayed into no word injurious to
Bulstrode beyond the fact which he was forced to admit,
that he had given up acting for him within the last week.
Mr Hawley drew his inferences, and feeling convinced
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1283 of 1492
that Raffles had told his story to Garth, and that Garth had
given up Bulstrodes affairs in consequence, said so a few
hours later to Mr. Toller. The statement was passed on
until it had quite lost the stamp of an inference, and was
taken as information coming straight from Garth, so that
even a diligent historian might have concluded Caleb to
be the chief publisher of Bulstrodes misdemeanors.
Mr. Hawley was not slow to perceive that there was no
handle for the law either in the revelations made by
Raffles or in the circumstances of his death. He had
himself ridden to Lowick village that he might look at the
register and talk over the whole matter with Mr.
Farebrother, who was not more surprised than the lawyer
that an ugly secret should have come to light about
Bulstrode, though he had always had justice enough in
him to hinder his antipathy from turning into conclusions.
But while they were talking another combination was
silently going forward in Mr. Farebrothers mind, which
foreshadowed what was soon to be loudly spoken of in
Middlemarch as a necessary putting of two and two
together. With the reasons which kept Bulstrode in dread
of Raffles there flashed the thought that the dread might
have something to do with his munificence towards his
medical man; and though he resisted the suggestion that it
Middlemarch
1284 of 1492
had been consciously accepted in any way as a bribe, he
had a foreboding that this complication of things might be
of malignant effect on Lydgates reputation. He perceived
that Mr. Hawley knew nothing at present of the sudden
relief from debt, and he himself was careful to glide away
from all approaches towards the subject.
Well, he said, with a deep breath, wanting to wind up
the illimitable discussion of what might have been, though
nothing could be legally proven, it is a strange story. So
our mercurial Ladislaw has a queer genealogy! A high-
spirited young lady and a musical Polish patriot made a
likely enough stock for him to spring from, but I should
never have suspected a grafting of the Jew pawnbroker.
However, theres no knowing what a mixture will turn
out beforehand. Some sorts of dirt serve to clarify.
Its just what I should have expected, said Mr.
Hawley, mounting his horse. Any cursed alien blood,
Jew, Corsican, or Gypsy.
I know hes one of your black sheep, Hawley. But he
is really a disinterested, unworldly fellow, said Mr.
Farebrother, smiling.
Ay, ay, that is your Whiggish twist, said Mr. Hawley,
who had been in the habit of saying apologetically that
Middlemarch
1285 of 1492
Farebrother was such a damned pleasant good-hearted
fellow you would mistake him for a Tory.
Mr. Hawley rode home without thinking of Lydgates
attendance on Raffles in any other light than as a piece of
evidence on the side of Bulstrode. But the news that
Lydgate had all at once become able not only to get rid of
the execution in his house but to pay all his debts in
Middlemarch was spreading fast, gathering round it
conjectures and comments which gave it new body and
impetus, and soon filling the ears of other persons besides
Mr. Hawley, who were not slow to see a significant
relation between this sudden command of money and
Bulstrodes desire to stifle the scandal of Raffles. That the
money came from Bulstrode would infallibly have been
guessed even if there had been no direct evidence of it; for
it had beforehand entered into the gossip about Lydgates
affairs, that neither his father-in-law nor his own family
would do anything for him, and direct evidence was
furnished not only by a clerk at the Bank, but by innocent
Mrs. Bulstrode herself, who mentioned the loan to Mrs.
Plymdale, who mentioned it to her daughter-in-law of the
house of Toller, who mentioned it generally. The business
was felt to be so public and important that it required
dinners to feed it, and many invitations were just then
Middlemarch
1286 of 1492
issued and accepted on the strength of this scandal
concerning Bulstrode and Lydgate; wives, widows, and
single ladies took their work and went out to tea oftener
than usual; and all public conviviality, from the Green
Dragon to Dollops, gathered a zest which could not be
won from the question whether the Lords would throw
out the Reform Bill.
For hardly anybody doubted that some scandalous
reason or other was at the bottom of Bulstrodes liberality
to Lydgate. Mr. Hawley indeed, in the first instance,
invited a select party, including the two physicians, with
Mr Toller and Mr. Wrench, expressly to hold a close
discussion as to the probabilities of Raffless illness, reciting
to them all the particulars which had been gathered from
Mrs. Abel in connection with Lydgates certificate, that
the death was due to delirium tremens; and the medical
gentlemen, who all stood undisturbedly on the old paths
in relation to this disease, declared that they could see
nothing in these particulars which could be transformed
into a positive ground of suspicion. But the moral grounds
of suspicion remained: the strong motives Bulstrode clearly
had for wishing to be rid of Raffles, and the fact that at
this critical moment he had given Lydgate the help which
he must for some time have known the need for; the
Middlemarch
1287 of 1492
disposition, moreover, to believe that Bulstrode would be
unscrupulous, and the absence of any indisposition to
believe that Lydgate might be as easily bribed as other
haughty-minded men when they have found themselves
in want of money. Even if the money had been given
merely to make him hold his tongue about the scandal of
Bulstrodes earlier life, the fact threw an odious light on
Lydgate, who had long been sneered at as making himself
subservient to the banker for the sake of working himself
into predominance, and discrediting the elder members of
his profession. Hence, in spite of the negative as to any
direct sign of guilt in relation to the death at Stone Court,
Mr. Hawleys select party broke up with the sense that the
affair had an ugly look.
But this vague conviction of indeterminable guilt,
which was enough to keep up much head-shaking and
biting innuendo even among substantial professional
seniors, had for the general mind all the superior power of
mystery over fact. Everybody liked better to conjecture
how the thing was, than simply to know it; for conjecture
soon became more confident than knowledge, and had a
more liberal allowance for the incompatible. Even the
more definite scandal concerning Bulstrodes earlier life
was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as
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Middlemarch
1288 of 1492
so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to
take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased.
This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by
Mrs. Dollop, the spirited landlady of the Tankard in
Slaughter Lane, who had often to resist the shallow
pragmatism of customers disposed to think that their
reports from the outer world were of equal force with
what had come up in her mind. How it had been
brought to her she didnt know, but it was there before
her as if it had been scored with the chalk on the
chimney-board as Bulstrode should say, his inside was
THAT BLACK as if the hairs of his head knowed the
thoughts of his heart, hed tear em up by the roots.
Thats odd, said Mr. Limp, a meditative shoemaker,
with weak eyes and a piping voice. Why, I read in the
Trumpet that was what the Duke of Wellington said
when he turned his coat and went over to the Romans.
Very like, said Mrs. Dollop. If one raskill said it, its
more reason why another should. But hypoCRITE as hes
been, and holding things with that high hand, as there was
no parson i the country good enough for him, he was
forced to take Old Harry into his counsel, and Old Harrys
been too many for him.
Middlemarch
1289 of 1492
Ay, ay, hes a complice you cant send out o the
country, said Mr. Crabbe, the glazier, who gathered
much news and groped among it dimly. But by what I
can make out, theres them says Bulstrode was for running
away, for fear o being found out, before now.
Hell be drove away, whether or no, said Mr. Dill, the
barber, who had just dropped in. I shaved Fletcher,
Hawleys clerk, this morninghes got a bad fingerand
he says theyre all of one mind to get rid of Bulstrode. Mr.
Thesiger is turned against him, and wants him out o the
parish. And theres gentlemen in this town says theyd as
soon dine with a fellow from the hulks. And a deal sooner
I would, says Fletcher; for whats more against ones
stomach than a man coming and making himself bad
company with his religion, and giving out as the Ten
Commandments are not enough for him, and all the while
hes worse than half the men at the tread-mill? Fletcher
said so himself.
Itll be a bad thing for the town though, if Bulstrodes
money goes out of it, said Mr. Limp, quaveringly.
Ah, theres better folks spend their money worse, said
a firm-voiced dyer, whose crimson hands looked out of
keeping with his good-natured face.
Middlemarch
1290 of 1492
But he wont keep his money, by what I can make
out, said the glazier. Dont they say as theres somebody
can strip it off him? By what I can understan, they could
take every penny off him, if they went to lawing.
No such thing! said the barber, who felt himself a
little above his company at Dollops, but liked it none the
worse. Fletcher says its no such thing. He says they might
prove over and over again whose child this young
Ladislaw was, and theyd do no more than if they proved I
came out of the Fenshe couldnt touch a penny.
Look you there now! said Mrs. Dollop, indignantly. I
thank the Lord he took my children to Himself, if thats all
the law can do for the motherless. Then by that, its o no
use who your father and mother is. But as to listening to
what one lawyer says without asking anotherI wonder
at a man o your cleverness, Mr. Dill. Its well known
theres always two sides, if no more; else whod go to law,
I should like to know? Its a poor tale, with all the law as
there is up and down, if its no use proving whose child
you are. Fletcher may say that if he likes, but I say, dont
Fletcher ME!
Mr. Dill affected to laugh in a complimentary way at
Mrs. Dollop, as a woman who was more than a match for
Middlemarch
1291 of 1492
the lawyers; being disposed to submit to much twitting
from a landlady who had a long score against him.
If they come to lawing, and its all true as folks say,
theres more to be looked to nor money, said the glazier.
Theres this poor creetur as is dead and gone; by what I
can make out, hed seen the day when he was a deal finer
gentleman nor Bulstrode.
Finer gentleman! Ill warrant him, said Mrs. Dollop;
and a far personabler man, by what I can hear. As I said
when Mr. Baldwin, the tax-gatherer, comes in, a-standing
where you sit, and says, Bulstrode got all his money as he
brought into this town by thieving and swindling,I
said, You dont make me no wiser, Mr. Baldwin: its set
my blood a-creeping to look at him ever sin here he
came into Slaughter Lane a-wanting to buy the house over
my head: folks dont look the color o the dough-tub and
stare at you as if they wanted to see into your backbone
for nothingk. That was what I said, and Mr. Baldwin can
bear me witness.
And in the rights of it too, said Mr. Crabbe. For by
what I can make out, this Raffles, as they call him, was a
lusty, fresh-colored man as youd wish to see, and the best
o companythough dead he lies in Lowick churchyard
sure enough; and by what I can understan, theres them
Middlemarch
1292 of 1492
knows more than they SHOULD know about how he got
there.
Ill believe you! said Mrs. Dallop, with a touch of
scorn at Mr. Crabbes apparent dimness. When a mans
been ticed to a lone house, and theres them can pay for
hospitals and nurses for half the country-side choose to be
sitters-up night and day, and nobody to come near but a
doctor as is known to stick at nothingk, and as poor as he
can hang together, and after that so flush o money as he
can pay off Mr. Byles the butcher as his bill has been
running on for the best o joints since last Michaelmas was
a twelvemonthI dont want anybody to come and tell
me as theres been more going on nor the Prayer-books
got a service for I dont want to stand winking and
blinking and thinking.
Mrs. Dollop looked round with the air of a landlady
accustomed to dominate her company. There was a
chorus of adhesion from the more courageous; but Mr.
Limp, after taking a draught, placed his fiat hands together
and pressed them hard between his knees, looking down
at them with blear-eyed contemplation, as if the scorching
power of Mrs. Dollops speech had quite dried up and
nullified his wits until they could be brought round again
by further moisture.
Middlemarch
1293 of 1492
Why shouldnt they dig the man up and have the
Crowner? said the dyer. Its been done many and manys
the time. If theres been foul play they might find it out.
Not they, Mr. Jonas! said Mrs Dollop, emphatically.I
know what doctors are. Theyre a deal too cunning to be
found out. And this Doctor Lydgate thats been for cutting
up everybody before the breath was well out o their
bodyits plain enough what use he wanted to make o
looking into respectable peoples insides. He knows drugs,
you may be sure, as you can neither smell nor see, neither
before theyre swallowed nor after. Why, Ive seen drops
myself ordered by Doctor Gambit, as is our club doctor
and a good charikter, and has brought more live children
into the world nor ever another i MiddlemarchI say
Ive seen drops myself as made no difference whether they
was in the glass or out, and yet have griped you the next
day. So Ill leave your own sense to judge. Dont tell me!
All I say is, its a mercy they didnt take this Doctor
Lydgate on to our club. Theres many a mothers child
might ha rued it.
The heads of this discussion at Dollops had been the
common theme among all classes in the town, had been
carried to Lowick Parsonage on one side and to Tipton
Grange on the other, had come fully to the ears of the
Middlemarch
1294 of 1492
Vincy family, and had been discussed with sad reference to
poor Harriet by all Mrs. Bulstrodes friends, before
Lydgate knew distinctly why people were looking
strangely at him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected
the betrayal of his secrets. He had not been accustomed to
very cordial relations with his neighbors, and hence he
could not miss the signs of cordiality; moreover, he had
been taking journeys on business of various kinds, having
now made up his mind that he need not quit
Middlemarch, and feeling able consequently to determine
on matters which he had before left in suspense.
We will make a journey to Cheltenham in the course
of a month or two, he had said to his wife. There are
great spiritual advantages to be had in that town along
with the air and the waters, and six weeks there will be
eminently refreshing to us.
He really believed in the spiritual advantages, and
meant that his life henceforth should be the more devoted
because of those later sins which he represented to himself
as hypothetic, praying hypothetically for their pardon:if
I have herein transgressed. as to the Hospital, he avoided
saying anything further to Lydgate, fearing to manifest a
too sudden change of plans immediately on the death of
Raffles. In his secret soul he believed that Lydgate
Middlemarch
1295 of 1492
suspected his orders to have been intentionally disobeyed,
and suspecting this he must also suspect a motive. But
nothing had been betrayed to him as to the history of
Raffles, and Bulstrode was anxious not to do anything
which would give emphasis to his undefined suspicions. As
to any certainty that a particular method of treatment
would either save or kill, Lydgate himself was constantly
arguing against such dogmatism; he had no right to speak,
and he had every motive for being silent. Hence Bulstrode
felt himself providentially secured. The only incident he
had strongly winced under had been an occasional
encounter with Caleb Garth, who, however, had raised his
hat with mild gravity.
Meanwhile, on the part of the principal townsmen a
strong determination was growing against him.
A meeting was to be held in the Town-Hall on a
sanitary question which had risen into pressing importance
by the occurrence of a cholera case in the town. Since the
Act of Parliament, which had been hurriedly passed,
authorizing assessments for sanitary measures, there had
been a Board for the superintendence of such measures
appointed in Middlemarch, and much cleansing and
preparation had been concurred in by Whigs and Tories.
The question now was, whether a piece of ground outside
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1296 of 1492
the town should be secured as a burial-ground by means
of assessment or by private subscription. The meeting was
to be open, and almost everybody of importance in the
town was expected to be there.
Mr. Bulstrode was a member of the Board, and just
before twelve oclock he started from the Bank with the
intention of urging the plan of private subscription. Under
the hesitation of his projects, he had for some time kept
himself in the background, and he felt that he should this
morning resume his old position as a man of action and
influence in the public affairs of the town where he
expected to end his days. Among the various persons
going in the same direction, he saw Lydgate; they joined,
talked over the object of the meeting, and entered it
together.
It seemed that everybody of mark had been earlier than
they. But there were still spaces left near the head of the
large central table, and they made their way thither. Mr.
Farebrother sat opposite, not far from Mr. Hawley; all the
medical men were there; Mr. Thesiger was in the chair,
and Mr. Brooke of Tipton was on his right hand.
Lydgate noticed a peculiar interchange of glances when
he and Bulstrode took their seats.
Middlemarch
1297 of 1492
After the business had been fully opened by the
chairman, who pointed out the advantages of purchasing
by subscription a piece of ground large enough to be
ultimately used as a general cemetery, Mr. Bulstrode,
whose rather high-pitched but subdued and fluent voice
the town was used to at meetings of this sort, rose and
asked leave to deliver his opinion. Lydgate could see again
the peculiar interchange of glances before Mr. Hawley
started up, and said in his firm resonant voice, Mr.
Chairman, I request that before any one delivers his
opinion on this point I may be permitted to speak on a
question of public feeling, which not only by myself, but
by many gentlemen present, is regarded as preliminary.
Mr. Hawleys mode of speech, even when public
decorum repressed his awful language, was formidable in
its curtness and self-possession. Mr. Thesiger sanctioned
the request, Mr. Bulstrode sat down, and Mr. Hawley
continued.
In what I have to say, Mr. Chairman, I am not
speaking simply on my own behalf: I am speaking with
the concurrence and at the express request of no fewer
than eight of my fellow-townsmen, who are immediately
around us. It is our united sentiment that Mr. Bulstrode
should be called uponand I do now call upon him to
Middlemarch
1298 of 1492
resign public positions which he holds not simply as a tax-
payer, but as a gentleman among gentlemen. There are
practices and there are acts which, owing to circumstances,
the law cannot visit, though they may be worse than many
things which are legally punishable. Honest men and
gentlemen, if they dont want the company of people who
perpetrate such acts, have got to defend themselves as they
best can, and that is what I and the friends whom I may
call my clients in this affair are determined to do. I dont
say that Mr. Bulstrode has been guilty of shameful acts, but
I call upon him either publicly to deny and confute the
scandalous statements made against him by a man now
dead, and who died in his housethe statement that he
was for many years engaged in nefarious practices, and that
he won his fortune by dishonest proceduresor else to
withdraw from positions which could only have been
allowed him as a gentleman among gentlemen.
All eyes in the room were turned on Mr. Bulstrode,
who, since the first mention of his name, had been going
through a crisis of feeling almost too violent for his
delicate frame to support. Lydgate, who himself was
undergoing a shock as from the terrible practical
interpretation of some faint augury, felt, nevertheless, that
his own movement of resentful hatred was checked by
Middlemarch
1299 of 1492
that instinct of the Healer which thinks first of bringing
rescue or relief to the sufferer, when he looked at the
shrunken misery of Bulstrodes livid face.
The quick vision that his life was after all a failure, that
he was a dishonored man, and must quail before the
glance of those towards whom he had habitually assumed
the attitude of a reproverthat God had disowned him
before men and left him unscreened to the triumphant
scorn of those who were glad to have their hatred
justifiedthe sense of utter futility in that equivocation
with his conscience in dealing with the life of his
accomplice, an equivocation which now turned
venomously upon him with the full-grown fang of a
discovered lie: all this rushed through him like the
agony of terror which fails to kill, and leaves the ears still
open to the returning wave of execration. The sudden
sense of exposure after the re-established sense of safety
camenot to the coarse organization of a criminal but
to the susceptible nerve of a man whose intensest being
lay in such mastery and predominance as the conditions of
his life had shaped for him.
But in that intense being lay the strength of reaction.
Through all his bodily infirmity there ran a tenacious
nerve of ambitious self-preserving will, which had
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Middlemarch
1300 of 1492
continually leaped out like a flame, scattering all doctrinal
fears, and which, even while he sat an object of
compassion for the merciful, was beginning to stir and
glow under his ashy paleness. Before the last words were
out of Mr. Hawleys mouth, Bulstrode felt that he should
answer, and that his answer would be a retort. He dared
not get up and say, I am not guilty, the whole story is
falseeven if he had dared this, it would have seemed to
him, under his present keen sense of betrayal, as vain as to
pull, for covering to his nakedness, a frail rag which would
rend at every little strain.
For a few moments there was total silence, while every
man in the room was looking at Bulstrode. He sat
perfectly still, leaning hard against the back of his chair; he
could not venture to rise, and when he began to speak he
pressed his hands upon the seat on each side of him. But
his voice was perfectly audible, though hoarser than usual,
and his words were distinctly pronounced, though he
paused between sentence as if short of breath. He said,
turning first toward Mr. Thesiger, and then looking at Mr.
Hawley
I protest before you, sir, as a Christian minister, against
the sanction of proceedings towards me which are dictated
by virulent hatred. Those who are hostile to me are glad
Middlemarch
1301 of 1492
to believe any libel uttered by a loose tongue against me.
And their consciences become strict against me. Say that
the evil-speaking of which I am to be made the victim
accuses me of malpractices here Bulstrodes voice rose
and took on a more biting accent, till it seemed a low
cry who shall be my accuser? Not men whose own
lives are unchristian, nay, scandalousnot men who
themselves use low instruments to carry out their ends
whose profession is a tissue of chicanery who have been
spending their income on their own sensual enjoyments,
while I have been devoting mine to advance the best
objects with regard to this life and the next.
After the word chicanery there was a growing noise,
half of murmurs and half of hisses, while four persons
started up at onceMr. Hawley, Mr. Toller, Mr.
Chichely, and Mr. Hackbutt; but Mr. Hawleys outburst
was instantaneous, and left the others behind in silence.
If you mean me, sir, I call you and every one else to
the inspection of my professional life. As to Christian or
unchristian, I repudiate your canting palavering
Christianity; and as to the way in which I spend my
income, it is not my principle to maintain thieves and
cheat offspring of their due inheritance in order to support
religion and set myself up as a saintly Killjoy. I affect no
Middlemarch
1302 of 1492
niceness of conscienceI have not found any nice
standards necessary yet to measure your actions by, sir.
And I again call upon you to enter into satisfactory
explanations concerning the scandals against you, or else to
withdraw from posts in which we at any rate decline you
as a colleague. I say, sir, we decline to co-operate with a
man whose character is not cleared from infamous lights
cast upon it, not only by reports but by recent actions.
Allow me, Mr. Hawley, said the chairman; and Mr.
Hawley, still fuming, bowed half impatiently, and sat
down with his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
Mr. Bulstrode, it is not desirable, I think, to prolong
the present discussion, said Mr. Thesiger, turning to the
pallid trembling man; I must so far concur with what has
fallen from Mr. Hawley in expression of a general feeling,
as to think it due to your Christian profession that you
should clear yourself, if possible, from unhappy aspersions.
I for my part should be willing to give you full
opportunity and hearing. But I must say that your present
attitude is painfully inconsistent with those principles
which you have sought to identify yourself with, and for
the honor of which I am bound to care. I recommend you
at present, as your clergyman, and one who hopes for your
Middlemarch
1303 of 1492
reinstatement in respect, to quit the room, and avoid
further hindrance to business.
Bulstrode, after a moments hesitation, took his hat
from the floor and slowly rose, but he grasped the corner
of the chair so totteringly that Lydgate felt sure there was
not strength enough in him to walk away without
support. What could he do? He could not see a man sink
close to him for want of help. He rose and gave his arm to
Bulstrode, and in that way led him out of the room; yet
this act, which might have been one of gentle duty and
pure compassion, was at this moment unspeakably bitter to
him. It seemed as if he were putting his sign-manual to
that association of himself with Bulstrode, of which he
now saw the full meaning as it must have presented itself
to other minds. He now felt the conviction that this man
who was leaning tremblingly on his arm, had given him
the thousand pounds as a bribe, and that somehow the
treatment of Raffles had been tampered with from an evil
motive. The inferences were closely linked enough; the
town knew of the loan, believed it to be a bribe, and
believed that he took it as a bribe.
Poor Lydgate, his mind struggling under the terrible
clutch of this revelation, was all the while morally forced
Middlemarch
1304 of 1492
to take Mr. Bulstrode to the Bank, send a man off for his
carriage, and wait to accompany him home.
Meanwhile the business of the meeting was despatched,
and fringed off into eager discussion among various groups
concerning this affair of Bulstrodeand Lydgate.
Mr. Brooke, who had before heard only imperfect
hints of it, and was very uneasy that he had gone a little
too far in countenancing Bulstrode, now got himself fully
informed, and felt some benevolent sadness in talking to
Mr. Farebrother about the ugly light in which Lydgate had
come to be regarded. Mr. Farebrother was going to walk
back to Lowick.
Step into my carriage, said Mr. Brooke. I am going
round to see Mrs. Casaubon. She was to come back from
Yorkshire last night. She will like to see me, you know.
So they drove along, Mr. Brooke chatting with good-
natured hope that there had not really been anything black
in Lydgates behavior a young fellow whom he had
seen to be quite above the common mark, when he
brought a letter from his uncle Sir Godwin. Mr.
Farebrother said little: he was deeply mournful: with a
keen perception of human weakness, he could not be
confident that under the pressure of humiliating needs
Lydgate had not fallen below himself.
Middlemarch
1305 of 1492
When the carriage drove up to the gate of the Manor,
Dorothea was out on the gravel, and came to greet them.
Well, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, we have just come
from a meeting a sanitary meeting, you know.
Was Mr. Lydgate there? said Dorothea, who looked
full of health and animation, and stood with her head bare
under the gleaming April lights. I want to see him and
have a great consultation with him about the Hospital. I
have engaged with Mr. Bulstrode to do so.
Oh, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, we have been hearing
bad news bad news, you know.
They walked through the garden towards the
churchyard gate, Mr. Farebrother wanting to go on to the
parsonage; and Dorothea heard the whole sad story.
She listened with deep interest, and begged to hear
twice over the facts and impressions concerning Lydgate.
After a short silence, pausing at the churchyard gate, and
addressing Mr. Farebrother, she said energetically
You dont believe that Mr. Lydgate is guilty of
anything base? I will not believe it. Let us find out the
truth and clear him!
Middlemarch
1306 of 1492
BOOK VIII.
SUNSET AND SUNRISE.
Middlemarch
1307 of 1492
Chapter LXXII
Full souls are double mirrors, making still
An endless vista of fair things before,
Repeating things behind.
Dorotheas impetuous generosity, which would have
leaped at once to the vindication of Lydgate from the
suspicion of having accepted money as a bribe, underwent
a melancholy check when she came to consider all the
circumstances of the case by the light of Mr. Farebrothers
experience.
It is a delicate matter to touch, he said. How can we
begin to inquire into it? It must be either publicly by
setting the magistrate and coroner to work, or privately by
questioning Lydgate. As to the first proceeding there is no
solid ground to go upon, else Hawley would have adopted
it; and as to opening the subject with Lydgate, I confess I
should shrink from it. He would probably take it as a
deadly insult. I have more than once experienced the
difficulty of speaking to him on personal matters. And
one should know the truth about his conduct beforehand,
to feel very confident of a good result.
I feel convinced that his conduct has not been guilty: I
believe that people are almost always better than their
Middlemarch
1308 of 1492
neighbors think they are, said Dorothea. Some of her
intensest experience in the last two years had set her mind
strongly in opposition to any unfavorable construction of
others; and for the first time she felt rather discontented
with Mr. Farebrother. She disliked this cautious weighing
of consequences, instead of an ardent faith in efforts of
justice and mercy, which would conquer by their
emotional force. Two days afterwards, he was dining at
the Manor with her uncle and the Chettams, and when
the dessert was standing uneaten, the servants were out of
the room, and Mr. Brooke was nodding in a nap, she
returned to the subject with renewed vivacity.
Mr. Lydgate would understand that if his friends hear a
calumny about him their first wish must be to justify him.
What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to
each other? I cannot be indifferent to the troubles of a
man who advised me in MY trouble, and attended me in
my illness.
Dorotheas tone and manner were not more energetic
than they had been when she was at the head of her
uncles table nearly three years before, and her experience
since had given her more right to express a decided
opinion. But Sir James Chettam was no longer the
diffident and acquiescent suitor: he was the anxious
Middlemarch
1309 of 1492
brother-in-law, with a devout admiration for his sister, but
with a constant alarm lest she should fall under some new
illusion almost as bad as marrying Casaubon. He smiled
much less; when he said Exactly it was more often an
introduction to a dissentient opinion than in those
submissive bachelor days; and Dorothea found to her
surprise that she had to resolve not to be afraid of himall
the more because he was really her best friend. He
disagreed with her now.
But, Dorothea, he said, remonstrantly, you cant
undertake to manage a mans life for him in that way.
Lydgate must know at least he will soon come to know
how he stands. If he can clear himself, he will. He must
act for himself.
I think his friends must wait till they find an
opportunity, added Mr. Farebrother. It is possibleI
have often felt so much weakness in myself that I can
conceive even a man of honorable disposition, such as I
have always believed Lydgate to be, succumbing to such a
temptation as that of accepting money which was offered
more or less indirectly as a bribe to insure his silence about
scandalous facts long gone by. I say, I can conceive this, if
he were under the pressure of hard circumstancesif he
had been harassed as I feel sure Lydgate has been. I would
Middlemarch
1310 of 1492
not believe anything worse of him except under stringent
proof. But there is the terrible Nemesis following on some
errors, that it is always possible for those who like it to
interpret them into a crime: there is no proof in favor of
the man outside his own consciousness and assertion.
Oh, how cruel! said Dorothea, clasping her hands.
And would you not like to be the one person who
believed in that mans innocence, if the rest of the world
belied him? Besides, there is a mans character beforehand
to speak for him.
But, my dear Mrs. Casaubon, said Mr. Farebrother,
smiling gently at her ardor, character is not cut in
marbleit is not something solid and unalterable. It is
something living and changing, and may become diseased
as our bodies do.
Then it may be rescued and healed, said Dorothea I
should not be afraid of asking Mr. Lydgate to tell me the
truth, that I might help him. Why should I be afraid?
Now that I am not to have the land, James, I might do as
Mr. Bulstrode proposed, and take his place in providing
for the Hospital; and I have to consult Mr. Lydgate, to
know thoroughly what are the prospects of doing good by
keeping up the present plans. There is the best
opportunity in the world for me to ask for his confidence;
Middlemarch
1311 of 1492
and he would be able to tell me things which might make
all the circumstances clear. Then we would all stand by
him and bring him out of his trouble. People glorify all
sorts of bravery except the bravery they might show on
behalf of their nearest neighbors. Dorotheas eyes had a
moist brightness in them, and the changed tones of her
voice roused her uncle, who began to listen.
It is true that a woman may venture on some efforts of
sympathy which would hardly succeed if we men
undertook them, said Mr. Farebrother, almost converted
by Dorotheas ardor.
Surely, a woman is bound to be cautious and listen to
those who know the world better than she does. said Sir
James, with his little frown. Whatever you do in the end,
Dorothea, you should really keep back at present, and not
volunteer any meddling with this Bulstrode business. We
dont know yet what may turn up. You must agree with
me? he ended, looking at Mr. Farebrother.
I do think it would be better to wait, said the latter.
Yes, yes, my dear, said Mr. Brooke, not quite
knowing at what point the discussion had arrived, but
coming up to it with a contribution which was generally
appropriate. It is easy to go too far, you know. You must
not let your ideas run away with you. And as to being in a
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Middlemarch
1312 of 1492
hurry to put money into schemesit wont do, you
know. Garth has drawn me in uncommonly with repairs,
draining, that sort of thing: Im uncommonly out of
pocket with one thing or another. I must pull up. As for
you, Chettam, you are spending a fortune on those oak
fences round your demesne.
Dorothea, submitting uneasily to this discouragement,
went with Celia into the library, which was her usual
drawing-room.
Now, Dodo, do listen to what James says, said Celia,
else you will be getting into a scrape. You always did, and
you always will, when you set about doing as you please.
And I think it is a mercy now after all that you have got
James to think for you. He lets you have your plans, only
he hinders you from being taken in. And that is the good
of having a brother instead of a husband. A husband
would not let you have your plans.
As if I wanted a husband! said Dorothea. I only want
not to have my feelings checked at every turn. Mrs.
Casaubon was still undisciplined enough to burst into
angry tears.
Now, really, Dodo, said Celia, with rather a deeper
guttural than usual, you ARE contradictory: first one
thing and then another. You used to submit to Mr.
Middlemarch
1313 of 1492
Casaubon quite shamefully: I think you would have given
up ever coming to see me if he had asked you.
Of course I submitted to him, because it was my duty;
it was my feeling for him, said Dorothea, looking through
the prism of her tears.
Then why cant you think it your duty to submit a
little to what James wishes? said Celia, with a sense of
stringency in her argument. Because he only wishes what
is for your own good. And, of course, men know best
about everything, except what women know better.
Dorothea laughed and forgot her tears.
Well, I mean about babies and those things, explained
Celia. I should not give up to James when I knew he was
wrong, as you used to do to Mr. Casaubon.
Middlemarch
1314 of 1492
Chapter LXXIII
Pity the laden one; this wandering woe
May visit you and me.
When Lydgate had allayed Mrs. Bulstrodes anxiety by
telling her that her husband had been seized with faintness
at the meeting, but that he trusted soon to see him better
and would call again the next day, unless she-sent for him
earlier, he went directly home, got on his horse, and rode
three miles out of the town for the sake of being out of
reach.
He felt himself becoming violent and unreasonable as if
raging under the pain of stings: he was ready to curse the
day on which he had come to Middlemarch. Everything
that bad happened to him there seemed a mere
preparation for this hateful fatality, which had come as a
blight on his honorable ambition, and must make even
people who had only vulgar standards regard his
reputation as irrevocably damaged. In such moments a
man can hardly escape being unloving. Lydgate thought of
himself as the sufferer, and of others as the agents who had
injured his lot. He had meant everything to turn out
differently; and others had thrust themselves into his life
Middlemarch
1315 of 1492
and thwarted his purposes. His marriage seemed an
unmitigated calamity; and he was afraid of going to
Rosamond before he had vented himself in this solitary
rage, lest the mere sight of her should exasperate him and
make him behave unwarrantably. There are episodes in
most mens lives in which their highest qualities can only
cast a deterring shadow over the objects that fill their
inward vision: Lydgates tenderheartedness was present just
then only as a dread lest he should offend against it, not as
an emotion that swayed him to tenderness. For he was
very miserable. Only those who know the supremacy of
the intellectual life the life which has a seed of
ennobling thought and purpose within it can
understand the grief of one who falls from that serene
activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with
worldly annoyances.
How was he to live on without vindicating himself
among people who suspected him of baseness? How could
he go silently away from Middlemarch as if he were
retreating before a just condemnation? And yet how was
he to set about vindicating himself?
For that scene at the meeting, which he had just
witnessed, although it had told him no particulars, had
been enough to make his own situation thoroughly clear
Middlemarch
1316 of 1492
to him. Bulstrode had been in dread of scandalous
disclosures on the part of Raffles. Lydgate could now
construct all the probabilities of the case. He was afraid of
some betrayal in my hearing: all he wanted was to bind me
to him by a strong obligation: that was why he passed on a
sudden from hardness to liberality. And he may have
tampered with the patienthe may have disobeyed my
orders. I fear he did. But whether he did or not, the world
believes that he somehow or other poisoned the man and
that I winked at the crime, if I didnt help in it. And yet
and yet he may not be guilty of the last offence; and it is
just possible that the change towards me may have been a
genuine relentingthe effect of second thoughts such as
he alleged. What we call the just possible is sometimes
true and the thing we find it easier to believe is grossly
false. In his last dealings with this man Bulstrode may have
kept his hands pure, in spite of my suspicion to the
contrary.
There was a benumbing cruelty in his position. Even if
he renounced every other consideration than that of
justifying himself if he met shrugs, cold glances, and
avoidance as an accusation, and made a public statement of
all the facts as he knew them, who would be convinced? It
would be playing the part of a fool to offer his own
Middlemarch
1317 of 1492
testimony on behalf of himself, and say, I did not take the
money as a bribe. The circumstances would always be
stronger than his assertion. And besides, to come forward
and tell everything about himself must include declarations
about Bulstrode which would darken the suspicions of
others against him. He must tell that he had not known of
Raffless existence when he first mentioned his pressing
need of money to Bulstrode, and that he took the money
innocently as a result of that communication, not knowing
that a new motive for the loan might have arisen on his
being called in to this man. And after all, the suspicion of
Bulstrodes motives might be unjust.
But then came the question whether he should have
acted in precisely the same way if he had not taken the
money? Certainly, if Raffles had continued alive and
susceptible of further treatment when he arrived, and he
had then imagined any disobedience to his orders on the
part of Bulstrode, he would have made a strict inquiry,
and if his conjecture had been verified he would have
thrown up the case, in spite of his recent heavy obligation.
But if he had not received any money if Bulstrode had
never revoked his cold recommendation of bankruptcy
would he, Lydgate, have abstained from all inquiry even
on finding the man dead?would the shrinking from an
Middlemarch
1318 of 1492
insult to Bulstrode would the dubiousness of all medical
treatment and the argument that his own treatment would
pass for the wrong with most members of his profession
have had just the same force or significance with him?
That was the uneasy corner of Lydgates consciousness
while he was reviewing the facts and resisting all reproach.
If he had been independent, this matter of a patients
treatment and the distinct rule that he must do or see done
that which he believed best for the life committed to him,
would have been the point on which he would have been
the sturdiest. As it was, he had rested in the consideration
that disobedience to his orders, however it might have
arisen, could not be considered a crime, that in the
dominant opinion obedience to his orders was just as
likely to be fatal, and that the affair was simply one of
etiquette. Whereas, again and again, in his time of
freedom, he had denounced the perversion of pathological
doubt into moral doubt and had said the purest
experiment in treatment may still be conscientious: my
business is to take care of life, and to do the best I can
think of for it. Science is properly more scrupulous than
dogma. Dogma gives a charter to mistake, but the very
breath of science is a contest with mistake, and must keep
the conscience alive. Alas! the scientific conscience had
Middlemarch
1319 of 1492
got into the debasing company of money obligation and
selfish respects.
Is there a medical man of them all in Middlemarch
who would question himself as I do? said poor Lydgate,
with a renewed outburst of rebellion against the
oppression of his lot. And yet they will all feel warranted
in making a wide space between me and them, as if I were
a leper! My practice and my reputation are utterly
damned I can see that. Even if I could be cleared by
valid evidence, it would make little difference to the
blessed world here. I have been set down as tainted and
should be cheapened to them all the same.
Already there had been abundant signs which had
hitherto puzzled him, that just when he had been paying
off his debts and getting cheerfully on his feet, the
townsmen were avoiding him or looking strangely. at
him, and in two instances it came to his knowledge that
patients of his had called in another practitioner. The
reasons were too plain now. The general black-balling had
begun.
No wonder that in Lydgates energetic nature the sense
of a hopeless misconstruction easily turned into a dogged
resistance. The scowl which occasionally showed itself on
his square brow was not a meaningless accident. Already
Middlemarch
1320 of 1492
when he was re-entering the town after that ride taken in
the first hours of stinging pain, he was setting his mind on
remaining in Middlemarch in spite of the worst that could
be done against him. He would not retreat before
calumny, as if he submitted to it. He would face it to the
utmost, and no act of his should show that he was afraid. It
belonged to the generosity as well as defiant force of his
nature that he resolved not to shrink from showing to the
full his sense of obligation to Bulstrode. It was true that
the association with this man had been fatal to him true
that if he had had the thousand pounds still in his hands
with all his debts unpaid he would have returned the
money to Bulstrode, and taken beggary rather than the
rescue which had been sullied with the suspicion of a
bribe (for, remember, he was one of the proudest among
the sons of men)nevertheless, he would not turn away
from this crushed fellow-mortal whose aid he had used,
and make a pitiful effort to get acquittal for himself by
howling against another. I shall do as I think right, and
explain to nobody. They will try to starve me out, but
he was going on with an obstinate resolve, but he was
getting near home, and the thought of Rosamond urged
itself again into that chief place from which it had been
Middlemarch
1321 of 1492
thrust by the agonized struggles of wounded honor and
pride.
How would Rosamond take it all? Here was another
weight of chain to drag, and poor Lydgate was in a bad
mood for bearing her dumb mastery. He had no impulse
to tell her the trouble which must soon be common to
them both. He preferred waiting for the incidental
disclosure which events must soon bring about.
Middlemarch
1322 of 1492
Chapter LXXIV
Mercifully grant that we may grow aged together.
BOOK OF TOBIT: Marriage Prayer.
In Middlemarch a wife could not long remain ignorant
that the town held a bad opinion of her husband. No
feminine intimate might carry her friendship so far as to
make a plain statement to the wife of the unpleasant fact
known or believed about her husband; but when a woman
with her thoughts much at leisure got them suddenly
employed on something grievously disadvantageous to her
neighbors, various moral impulses were called into play
which tended to stimulate utterance. Candor was one. To
be candid, in Middlemarch phraseology, meant, to use an
early opportunity of letting your friends know that you
did not take a cheerful view of their capacity, their
conduct, or their position; and a robust candor never
waited to be asked for its opinion. Then, again, there was
the love of trutha wide phrase, but meaning in this
relation, a lively objection to seeing a wife look happier
than her husbands character warranted, or manifest too
much satisfaction in her lotthe poor thing should have
some hint given her that if she knew the truth she would
Middlemarch
1323 of 1492
have less complacency in her bonnet, and in light dishes
for a supper-party. Stronger than all, there was the regard
for a friends moral improvement, sometimes called her
soul, which was likely to be benefited by remarks tending
to gloom, uttered with the accompaniment of pensive
staring at the furniture and a manner implying that the
speaker would not tell what was on her mind, from regard
to the feelings of her hearer. On the whole, one might say
that an ardent charity was at work setting the virtuous
mind to make a neighbor unhappy for her good.
There were hardly any wives in Middlemarch whose
matrimonial misfortunes would in different ways be likely
to call forth more of this moral activity than Rosamond
and her aunt Bulstrode. Mrs. Bulstrode was not an object
of dislike, and had never consciously injured any human
being. Men had always thought her a handsome
comfortable woman, and had reckoned it among the signs
of Bulstrodes hypocrisy that he had chosen a red-blooded
Vincy, instead of a ghastly and melancholy person suited
to his low esteem for earthly pleasure. When the scandal
about her husband was disclosed they remarked of her
Ah, poor woman! Shes as honest as the daySHE never
suspected anything wrong in him, you may depend on it.
Women, who were intimate with her, talked together
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Middlemarch
1324 of 1492
much of poor Harriet, imagined what her feelings must
be when she came to know everything, and conjectured
how much she had already come to know. There was no
spiteful disposition towards her; rather, there was a busy
benevolence anxious to ascertain what it would be well for
her to feel and do under the circumstances, which of
course kept the imagination occupied with her character
and history from the times when she was Harriet Vincy till
now. With the review of Mrs. Bulstrode and her position
it was inevitable to associate Rosamond, whose prospects
were under the same blight with her aunts. Rosamond
was more severely criticised and less pitied, though she
too, as one of the good old Vincy family who had always
been known in Middlemarch, was regarded as a victim to
marriage with an interloper. The Vincys had their
weaknesses, but then they lay on the surface: there was
never anything bad to be found out concerning them.
Mrs. Bulstrode was vindicated from any resemblance to
her husband. Harriets faults were her own.
She has always been showy, said Mrs. Hackbutt,
making tea for a small party, though she has got into the
way of putting her religion forward, to conform to her
husband; she has tried to hold her head up above
Middlemarch by making it known that she invites
Middlemarch
1325 of 1492
clergymen and heaven-knows-who from Riverston and
those places.
We can hardly blame her for that, said Mrs. Sprague;
because few of the best people in the town cared to
associate with Balstrode, and she must have somebody to
sit down at her table.
Mr. Thesiger has always countenanced him, said Mrs.
Hackbutt. I think he must be sorry now.
But he was never fond of him in his heartthat every
one knows, said Mrs. Tom Toller. Mr. Thesiger never
goes into extremes. He keeps to the truth in what is
evangelical. It is only clergymen like Mr. Tyke, who want
to use Dissenting hymn-books and that low kind of
religion, who ever found Bulstrode to their taste.
I understand, Mr. Tyke is in great distress about him,
said Mrs. Hackbutt. And well he may be: they say the
Bulstrodes have half kept the Tyke family.
And of coarse it is a discredit to his doctrines, said
Mrs. Sprague, who was elderly, and old-fashioned in her
opinions.
People will not make a boast of being methodistical in
Middlemarch for a good while to come.
Middlemarch
1326 of 1492
I think we must not set down peoples bad actions to
their religion, said falcon-faced Mrs. Plymdale, who had
been listening hitherto.
Oh, my dear, we are forgetting, said Mrs. Sprague.
We ought not to be talking of this before you.
I am sure I have no reason to be partial, said Mrs.
Plymdale, coloring. Its true Mr. Plymdale has always
been on good terms with Mr. Bulstrode, and Harriet
Vincy was my friend long before she married him. But I
have always kept my own opinions and told her where she
was wrong, poor thing. Still, in point of religion, I must
say, Mr. Bulstrode might have done what he has, and
worse, and yet have been a man of no religion. I dont say
that there has not been a little too much of thatI like
moderation myself. But truth is truth. The men tried at
the assizes are not all over-religious, I suppose.
Well, said Mrs. Hackbutt, wheeling adroitly, all I can
say is, that I think she ought to separate from him.
I cant say that, said Mrs. Sprague. She took him for
better or worse, you know.
But worse can never mean finding out that your
husband is fit for Newgate, said Mrs. Hackbutt. Fancy
living with such a man! I should expect to be poisoned.
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1327 of 1492
Yes, I think myself it is an encouragement to crime if
such men are to be taken care of and waited on by good
wives, said Mrs. Tom Toller.
And a good wife poor Harriet has been, said Mrs.
Plymdale. She thinks her husband the first of men. Its
true he has never denied her anything.
Well, we shall see what she will do, said Mrs.
Hackbutt. I suppose she knows nothing yet, poor
creature. I do hope and trust I shall not see her, for I
should be frightened to death lest I should say anything
about her husband. Do you think any hint has reached
her?
I should hardly think so, said Mrs. Tom Toller. We
hear that he is ill, and has never stirred out of the house
since the meeting on Thursday; but she was with her girls
at church yesterday, and they had new Tuscan bonnets.
Her own had a feather in it. I have never seen that her
religion made any difference in her dress.
She wears very neat patterns always, said Mrs.
Plymdale, a little stung. And that feather I know she got
dyed a pale lavender on purpose to be consistent. I must
say it of Harriet that she wishes to do right.
As to her knowing what has happened, it cant be kept
from her long, said Mrs. Hackbutt. The Vincys know,
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1328 of 1492
for Mr. Vincy was at the meeting. It will he a great blow
to him. There is his daughter as well as his sister.
Yes, indeed, said Mrs. Sprague. Nobody supposes
that Mr. Lydgate can go on holding up his head in
Middlemarch, things look so black about the thousand
pounds he took just at that mans death. It really makes
one shudder.
Pride must have a fall, said Mrs. Hackbutt.
I am not so sorry for Rosamond Vincy that was as I
am for her aunt, said Mrs. Plymdale. She needed a
lesson.
I suppose the Bulstrodes will go and live abroad
somewhere, said Mrs. Sprague. That is what is generally
done when there is anything disgraceful in a family.
And a most deadly blow it will be to Harriet, said
Mrs. Plymdale. If ever a woman was crushed, she will be.
I pity her from my heart. And with all her faults, few
women are better. From a girl she had the neatest ways,
and was always good-hearted, and as open as the day. You
might look into her drawers when you wouldalways the
same. And so she has brought up Kate and Ellen. You may
think how hard it will be for her to go among foreigners.
Middlemarch
1329 of 1492
The doctor says that is what he should recommend the
Lydgates to do, said Mrs. Sprague. He says Lydgate ought
to have kept among the French.
That would suit HER well enough, I dare say, said
Mrs. Plymdale; there is that kind of lightness about her.
But she got that from her mother; she never got it from
her aunt Bulstrode, who always gave her good advice, and
to my knowledge would rather have had her marry
elsewhere.
Mrs. Plymdale was in a situation which caused her
some complication of feeling. There had been not only
her intimacy with Mrs. Bulstrode, but also a profitable
business relation of the great Plymdale dyeing house with
Mr. Bulstrode, which on the one hand would have
inclined her to desire that the mildest view of his character
should be the true one, but on the other, made her the
more afraid of seeming to palliate his culpability. Again,
the late alliance of her family with the Tollers had brought
her in connection with the best circle, which gratified her
in every direction except in the inclination to those serious
views which she believed to be the best in another sense.
The sharp little womans conscience was somewhat
troubled in the adjustment of these opposing bests, and of
her griefs and satisfactions under late events, which were
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1330 of 1492
likely to humble those who needed humbling, but also to
fall heavily on her old friend whose faults she would have
preferred seeing on a background of prosperity.
Poor Mrs. Bulstrode, meanwhile, had been no further
shaken by the oncoming tread of calamity than in the
busier stirring of that secret uneasiness which had always
been present in her since the last visit of Raffles to The
Shrubs. That the hateful man had come ill to Stone Court,
and that her husband had chosen to remain there and
watch over him, she allowed to be explained by the fact
that Raffles had been employed and aided in earlier-days,
and that this made a tie of benevolence towards him in his
degraded helplessness; and she had been since then
innocently cheered by her husbands more hopeful speech
about his own health and ability to continue his attention
to business. The calm was disturbed when Lydgate had
brought him home ill from the meeting, and in spite of
comforting assurances during the next few days, she cried
in private from the conviction that her husband was not
suffering from bodily illness merely, but from something
that afflicted his mind. He would not allow her to read to
him, and scarcely to sit with him, alleging nervous
susceptibility to sounds and movements; yet she suspected
that in shutting himself up in his private room he wanted
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1331 of 1492
to be busy with his papers. Something, she felt sure, had
happened. Perhaps it was some great loss of money; and
she was kept in the dark. Not daring to question her
husband, she said to Lydgate, on the fifth day after the
meeting, when she had not left home except to go to
church
Mr. Lydgate, pray be open with me: I like to know
the truth. Has anything happened to Mr. Bulstrode?
Some little nervous shock, said Lydgate, evasively. He
felt that it was not for him to make the painful revelation.
But what brought it on? said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking
directly at him with her large dark eyes.
There is often something poisonous in the air of public
rooms, said Lydgate. Strong men can stand it, but it tells
on people in proportion to the delicacy of their systems. It
is often impossible to account for the precise moment of
an attackor rather, to say why the strength gives way at
a particular moment.
Mrs. Bulstrode was not satisfied with this answer. There
remained in her the belief that some calamity had befallen
her husband, of which she was to be kept in ignorance;
and it was in her nature strongly to object to such
concealment. She begged leave for her daughters to sit
with their father, and drove into the town to pay some
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1332 of 1492
visits, conjecturing that if anything were known to have
gone wrong in Mr. Bulstrodes affairs, she should see or
hear some sign of it.
She called on Mrs. Thesiger, who was not at home,
and then drove to Mrs. Hackbutts on the other side of the
churchyard. Mrs. Hackbutt saw her coming from an up-
stairs window, and remembering her former alarm lest she
should meet Mrs. Bulstrode, felt almost bound in
consistency to send word that she was not at home; but
against that, there was a sudden strong desire within her
for the excitement of an interview in which she was quite
determined not to make the slightest allusion to what was
in her mind.
Hence Mrs. Bulstrode was shown into the drawing-
room, and Mrs. Hackbutt went to her, with more
tightness of lip and rubbing of her hands than was usually
observable in her, these being precautions adopted against
freedom of speech. She was resolved not to ask how Mr.
Bulstrode was.
I have not been anywhere except to church for nearly
a week, said Mrs. Bulstrode, after a few introductory
remarks. But Mr. Bulstrode was taken so ill at the
meeting on Thursday that I have not liked to leave the
house.
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1333 of 1492
Mrs. Hackbutt rubbed the back of one hand with the
palm of the other held against her chest, and let her eyes
ramble over the pattern on the rug.
Was Mr. Hackbutt at the meeting? persevered Mrs.
Bulstrode.
Yes, he was, said Mrs. Hackbutt, with the same
attitude. The land is to be bought by subscription, I
believe.
Let us hope that there will be no more cases of cholera
to be buried in it, said Mrs. Bulstrode. It is an awful
visitation. But I always think Middlemarch a very healthy
spot. I suppose it is being used to it from a child; but I
never saw the town I should like to live at better, and
especially our end.
I am sure I should be glad that you always should live
at Middlemarch, Mrs. Bulstrode, said Mrs. Hackbutt, with
a slight sigh. Still, we must learn to resign ourselves,
wherever our lot may be east. Though I am sure there will
always be people in this town who will wish you well.
Mrs. Hackbutt longed to say, if you take my advice
you will part from your husband, but it seemed clear to
her that the poor woman knew nothing of the thunder
ready to bolt on her head, and she herself could do no
more than prepare her a little. Mrs. Bulstrode felt suddenly
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1334 of 1492
rather chill and trembling: there was evidently something
unusual behind this speech of Mrs. Hackbutts; but though
she had set out with the desire to be fully informed, she
found herself unable now to pursue her brave purpose,
and turning the conversation by an inquiry about the
young Hackbutts, she soon took her leave saying that she
was going to see Mrs. Plymdale. On her way thither she
tried to imagine that there might have been some
unusually warm sparring at the meeting between Mr.
Bulstrode and some of his frequent opponentsperhaps
Mr. Hackbutt might have been one of them. That would
account for everything.
But when she was in conversation with Mrs. Plymdale
that comforting explanation seemed no longer tenable.
Selina received her with a pathetic affectionateness and a
disposition to give edifying answers on the commonest
topics, which could hardly have reference to an ordinary
quarrel of which the most important consequence was a
perturbation of Mr. Bulstrodes health. Beforehand Mrs.
Bulstrode had thought that she would sooner question
Mrs. Plymdale than any one else; but she found to her
surprise that an old friend is not always the person whom
it is easiest to make a confidant of: there was the barrier of
remembered communication under other circumstances
Middlemarch
1335 of 1492
there was the dislike of being pitied and informed by one
who had been long wont to allow her the superiority. For
certain words of mysterious appropriateness that Mrs.
Plymdale let fall about her resolution never to turn her
back on her friends, convinced Mrs. Bulstrode that what
had happened must be some kind of misfortune, and
instead of being able to say with her native directness,
What is it that you have in your mind? she found herself
anxious to get away before she had heard anything more
explicit. She began to have an agitating certainty that the
misfortune was something more than the mere loss of
money, being keenly sensitive to the fact that Selina now,
just as Mrs. Hackbutt had done before, avoided noticing
what she said about her husband, as they would have
avoided noticing a personal blemish.
She said good-by with nervous haste, and told the
coachman to drive to Mr. Vincys warehouse. In that short
drive her dread gathered so much force from the sense of
darkness, that when she entered the private counting-
house where her brother sat at his desk, her knees
trembled and her usually florid face was deathly pale.
Something of the same effect was produced in him by the
sight of her: he rose from his seat to meet her, took her by
the hand, and said, with his impulsive rashness
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Middlemarch
1336 of 1492
God help you, Harriet! you know all.
That moment was perhaps worse than any which came
after. It contained that concentrated experience which in
great crises of emotion reveals the bias of a nature, and is
prophetic of the ultimate act which will end an
intermediate struggle. Without that memory of Raffles she
might still have thought only of monetary ruin, but now
along with her brothers look and words there darted into
her mind the idea of some guilt in her husbandthen,
under the working of terror came the image of her
husband exposed to disgrace and then, after an instant of
scorching shame in which she felt only the eyes of the
world, with one leap of her heart she was at his side in
mournful but unreproaching fellowship with shame and
isolation. All this went on within her in a mere flash of
time while she sank into the chair, and raised her eyes
to her brother, who stood over her. I know nothing,
Walter. What is it? she said, faintly.
He told her everything, very inartificially, in slow
fragments, making her aware that the scandal went much
beyond proof, especially as to the end of Raffles.
People will talk, he said. Even if a man has been
acquitted by a jury, theyll talk, and nod and winkand as
far as the world goes, a man might often as well be guilty
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1337 of 1492
as not. Its a breakdown blow, and it damages Lydgate as
much as Bulstrode. I dont pretend to say what is the
truth. I only wish we had never heard the name of either
Bulstrode or Lydgate. Youd better have been a Vincy all
your life, and so had Rosamond. Mrs. Bulstrode made no
reply.
But you must bear up as well as you can, Harriet.
People dont blame YOU. And Ill stand by you whatever
you make up your mind to do, said the brother, with
rough but well-meaning affectionateness.
Give me your arm to the carriage, Walter, said Mrs.
Bulstrode. I feel very weak.
And when she got home she was obliged to say to her
daughter, I am not well, my dear; I must go and lie
down. Attend to your papa. Leave me in quiet. I shall take
no dinner.
She locked herself in her room. She needed time to get
used to her maimed consciousness, her poor lopped life,
before she could walk steadily to the place allotted her. A
new searching light had fallen on her husbands character,
and she could not judge him leniently: the twenty years in
which she had believed in him and venerated him by
virtue of his concealments came back with particulars that
made them seem an odious deceit. He had married her
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1338 of 1492
with that bad past life hidden behind him, and she had no
faith left to protest his innocence of the worst that was
imputed to him. Her honest ostentatious nature made the
sharing of a merited dishonor as bitter as it could be to any
mortal.
But this imperfectly taught woman, whose phrases and
habits were an odd patchwork, had a loyal spirit within
her. The man whose prosperity she had shared through
nearly half a life, and who had unvaryingly cherished
hernow that punishment had befallen him it was not
possible to her in any sense to forsake him. There is a
forsaking which still sits at the same board and lies on the
same couch with the forsaken soul, withering it the more
by unloving proximity. She knew, when she locked her
door, that she should unlock it ready to go down to her
unhappy husband and espouse his sorrow, and say of his
guilt, I will mourn and not reproach. But she needed time
to gather up her strength; she needed to sob out her
farewell to all the gladness and pride of her life. When she
had resolved to go down, she prepared herself by some
little acts which might seem mere folly to a hard onlooker;
they were her way of expressing to all spectators visible or
invisible that she had begun a new life in which she
embraced humiliation. She took off all her ornaments and
Middlemarch
1339 of 1492
put on a plain black gown, and instead of wearing her
much-adorned cap and large bows of hair, she brushed her
hair down and put on a plain bonnet-cap, which made her
look suddenly like an early Methodist.
Bulstrode, who knew that his wife had been out and
had come in saying that she was not well, had spent the
time in an agitation equal to hers. He had looked forward
to her learning the truth from others, and had acquiesced
in that probability, as something easier to him than any
confession. But now that he imagined the moment of her
knowledge come, he awaited the result in anguish. His
daughters had been obliged to consent to leave him, and
though he had allowed some food to be brought to him,
he had not touched it. He felt himself perishing slowly in
unpitied misery. Perhaps he should never see his wifes
face with affection in it again. And if he turned to God
there seemed to be no answer but the pressure of
retribution.
It was eight oclock in the evening before the door
opened and his wife entered. He dared not look up at her.
He sat with his eyes bent down, and as she went towards
him she thought he looked smaller he seemed so
withered and shrunken. A movement of new compassion
and old tenderness went through her like a great wave,
Middlemarch
1340 of 1492
and putting one hand on his which rested on the arm of
the chair, and the other on his shoulder, she said, solemnly
but kindly
Look up, Nicholas.
He raised his eyes with a little start and looked at her
half amazed for a moment: her pale face, her changed,
mourning dress, the trembling about her mouth, all said, I
know; and her hands and eyes rested gently on him. He
burst out crying and they cried together, she sitting at his
side. They could not yet speak to each other of the shame
which she was bearing with him, or of the acts which had
brought it down on them. His confession was silent, and
her promise of faithfulness was silent. Open-minded as she
was, she nevertheless shrank from the words which would
have expressed their mutual consciousness, as she would
have shrunk from flakes of fire. She could not say, How
much is only slander and false suspicion? and he did not
say, I am innocent.
Middlemarch
1341 of 1492
Chapter LXXV
Le sentiment de la faussete des plaisirs presents, et
lignorance de la vanite des plaisirs absents, causent
linconstance.PASCAL.
Rosamond had a gleam of returning cheerfulness when
the house was freed from the threatening figure, and when
all the disagreeable creditors were paid. But she was not
joyous: her married life had fulfilled none of her hopes,
and had been quite spoiled for her imagination. In this
brief interval of calm, Lydgate, remembering that he had
often been stormy in his hours of perturbation, and
mindful of the pain Rosamond had had to bear, was
carefully gentle towards her; but he, too, had lost some of
his old spirit, and he still felt it necessary to refer to an
economical change in their way of living as a matter of
course, trying to reconcile her to it gradually, and
repressing his anger when she answered by wishing that he
would go to live in London. When she did not make this
answer, she listened languidly, and wondered what she had
that was worth living for. The hard and contemptuous
words which had fallen from her husband in his anger had
deeply offended that vanity which he had at first called
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1342 of 1492
into active enjoyment; and what she regarded as his
perverse way of looking at things, kept up a secret
repulsion, which made her receive all his tenderness as a
poor substitute for the happiness he had failed to give her.
They were at a disadvantage with their neighbors, and
there was no longer any outlook towards Quallingham
there was no outlook anywhere except in an occasional
letter from Will Ladislaw. She had felt stung and
disappointed by Wills resolution to quit Middlemarch, for
in spite of what she knew and guessed about his
admiration for Dorothea, she secretly cherished the belief
that he had, or would necessarily come to have, much
more admiration for herself; Rosamond being one of those
women who live much in the idea that each man they
meet would have preferred them if the preference had not
been hopeless. Mrs. Casaubon was all very well; but Wills
interest in her dated before he knew Mrs. Lydgate.
Rosamond took his way of talking to herself, which was a
mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry,
as the disguise of a deeper feeling; and in his presence she
felt that agreeable titillation of vanity and sense of
romantic drama which Lydgates presence had no longer
the magic to create. She even fanciedwhat will not men
and women fancy in these matters? that Will
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1343 of 1492
exaggerated his admiration for Mrs. Casaubon in order to
pique herself. In this way poor Rosamonds brain had
been busy before Wills departure. He would have made,
she thought, a much more suitable husband for her than
she had found in Lydgate. No notion could have been
falser than this, for Rosamonds discontent in her marriage
was due to the conditions of marriage itself, to its demand
for self-suppression and tolerance, and not to the nature of
her husband; but the easy conception of an unreal Better
had a sentimental charm which diverted her ennui. She
constructed a little romance which was to vary the flatness
of her life: Will Ladislaw was always to be a bachelor and
live near her, always to be at her command, and have an
understood though never fully expressed passion for her,
which would be sending out lambent flames every now
and then in interesting scenes. His departure had been a
proportionate disappointment, and had sadly increased her
weariness of Middlemarch; but at first she had the
alternative dream of pleasures in store from her intercourse
with the family at Quallingham. Since then the troubles of
her married life had deepened, and the absence of other
relief encouraged her regretful rumination over that thin
romance which she had once fed on. Men and women
make sad mistakes about their own symptoms, taking their
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1344 of 1492
vague uneasy longings, sometimes for genius, sometimes
for religion, and oftener still for a mighty love. Will
Ladislaw had written chatty letters, half to her and half to
Lydgate, and she had replied: their separation, she felt, was
not likely to be final, and the change she now most longed
for was that Lydgate should go to live in London;
everything would be agreeable in London; and she had set
to work with quiet determination to win this result, when
there came a sudden, delightful promise which inspirited
her.
It came shortly before the memorable meeting at the
town-hall, and was nothing less than a letter from Will
Ladislaw to Lydgate, which turned indeed chiefly on his
new interest in plans of colonization, but mentioned
incidentally, that he might find it necessary to pay a visit to
Middlemarch within the next few weeksa very pleasant
necessity, he said, almost as good as holidays to a
schoolboy. He hoped there was his old place on the rug,
and a great deal of music in store for him. But he was
quite uncertain as to the time. While Lydgate was reading
the letter to Rosamond, her face looked like a reviving
flowerit grew prettier and more blooming. There was
nothing unendurable now: the debts were paid, Mr.
Ladislaw was coming, and Lydgate would be persuaded to
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1345 of 1492
leave Middlemarch and settle in London, which was so
different from a provincial town.
That was a bright bit of morning. But soon the sky
became black over poor Rosamond. The presence of a
new gloom in her husband, about which he was entirely
reserved towards herfor he dreaded to expose his
lacerated feeling to her neutrality and misconception
soon received a painfully strange explanation, alien to all
her previous notions of what could affect her happiness. In
the new gayety of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had
merely a worse fit of moodiness than usual, causing him to
leave her remarks unanswered, and evidently to keep out
of her way as much as possible, she chose, a few days after
the meeting, and without speaking to him on the subject,
to send out notes of invitation for a small evening party,
feeling convinced that this was a judicious step, since
people seemed to have been keeping aloof from them, and
wanted restoring to the old habit of intercourse. When the
invitations had been accepted, she would tell Lydgate, and
give him a wise admonition as to how a medical man
should behave to his neighbors; for Rosamond had the
gravest little airs possible about other peoples duties. But
all the invitations were declined, and the last answer came
into Lydgates hands.
Middlemarch
1346 of 1492
This is Chichelys scratch. What is he writing to you
about? said Lydgate, wonderingly, as he handed the note
to her. She was obliged to let him see it, and, looking at
her severely, he said
Why on earth have you been sending out invitations
without telling me, Rosamond? I beg, I insist that you will
not invite any one to this house. I suppose you have been
inviting others, and they have refused too. She said
nothing.
Do you hear me? thundered Lydgate.
Yes, certainly I hear you, said Rosamond, turning her
head aside with the movement of a graceful long-necked
bird.
Lydgate tossed his head without any grace and walked
out of the room, feeling himself dangerous. Rosamonds
thought was, that he was getting more and more
unbearablenot that there was any new special reason for
this peremptoriness His indisposition to tell her anything
in which he was sure beforehand that she would not be
interested was growing into an unreflecting habit, and she
was in ignorance of everything connected with the
thousand pounds except that the loan had come from her
uncle Bulstrode. Lydgates odious humors and their
neighbors apparent avoidance of them had an
Middlemarch
1347 of 1492
unaccountable date for her in their relief from money
difficulties. If the invitations had been accepted she would
have gone to invite her mamma and the rest, whom she
had seen nothing of for several days; and she now put on
her bonnet to go and inquire what had become of them
all, suddenly feeling as if there were a conspiracy to leave
her in isolation with a husband disposed to offend
everybody. It was after the dinner hour, and she found her
father and mother seated together alone in the drawing-
room. They greeted her with sad looks, saying Well, my
dear! and no more. She had never seen her father look so
downcast; and seating herself near him she said
Is there anything the matter, papa?
He did not answer, but Mrs. Vincy said, Oh, my dear,
have you heard nothing? It wont be long before it reaches
you.
Is it anything about Tertius? said Rosamond, turning
pale. The idea of trouble immediately connected itself
with what had been unaccountable to her in him.
Oh, my dear, yes. To think of your marrying into this
trouble. Debt was bad enough, but this will be worse.
Stay, stay, Lucy, said Mr. Vincy. Have you heard
nothing about your uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond?
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Middlemarch
1348 of 1492
No, papa, said the poor thing, feeling as if trouble
were not anything she had before experienced, but some
invisible power with an iron grasp that made her soul faint
within her.
Her father told her everything, saying at the end, Its
better for you to know, my dear. I think Lydgate must
leave the town. Things have gone against him. I dare say
he couldnt help it. I dont accuse him of any harm, said
Mr. Vincy. He had always before been disposed to find
the utmost fault with Lydgate.
The shock to Rosamond was terrible. It seemed to her
that no lot could be so cruelly hard as hers to have married
a man who had become the centre of infamous suspicions.
In many cases it is inevitable that the shame is felt to be
the worst part of crime; and it would have required a great
deal of disentangling reflection, such as had never entered
into Rosamonds life, for her in these moments to feel that
her trouble was less than if her husband had been certainly
known to have done something criminal. All the shame
seemed to be there. And she had innocently married this
man with the belief that he and his family were a glory to
her! She showed her usual reticence to her parents, and
only said, that if Lydgate had done as she wished he would
have left Middlemarch long ago.
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1349 of 1492
She bears it beyond anything, said her mother when
she was gone.
Ah, thank God! said Mr. Vincy, who was much
broken down.
But Rosamond went home with a sense of justified
repugnance towards her husband. What had he really
donehow had he really acted? She did not know. Why
had he not told her everything? He did not speak to her
on the subject, and of course she could not speak to him.
It came into her mind once that she would ask her father
to let her go home again; but dwelling on that prospect
made it seem utter dreariness to her: a married woman
gone back to live with her parents life seemed to have
no meaning for her in such a position: she could not
contemplate herself in it.
The next two days Lydgate observed a change in her,
and believed that she had heard the bad news. Would she
speak to him about it, or would she go on forever in the
silence which seemed to imply that she believed him
guilty? We must remember that he was in a morbid state
of mind, in which almost all contact was pain. Certainly
Rosamond in this case had equal reason to complain of
reserve and want of confidence on his part; but in the
bitterness of his soul he excused himself; was he not
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1350 of 1492
justified in shrinking from the task of telling her, since
now she knew the truth she had no impulse to speak to
him? But a deeper-lying consciousness that he was in fault
made him restless, and the silence between them became
intolerable to him; it was as if they were both adrift on
one piece of wreck and looked away from each other.
He thought, I am a fool. Havent I given up expecting
anything? I have married care, not help. And that evening
he said
Rosamond, have you heard anything that distresses
you?
Yes, she answered, laying down her work, which she
had been carrying on with a languid semi-consciousness,
most unlike her usual self.
What have you heard?
Everything, I suppose. Papa told me.
That people think me disgraced?
Yes, said Rosamond, faintly, beginning to sew again
automatically.
There was silence. Lydgate thought, If she has any
trust in me any notion of what I am, she ought to speak
now and say that she does not believe I have deserved
disgrace.
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1351 of 1492
But Rosamond on her side went on moving her fingers
languidly. Whatever was to be said on the subject she
expected to come from Tertius. What did she know? And
if he were innocent of any wrong, why did he not do
something to clear himself?
This silence of hers brought a new rush of gall to that
bitter mood in which Lydgate had been saying to himself
that nobody believed in himeven Farebrother had not
come forward. He had begun to question her with the
intent that their conversation should disperse the chill fog
which had gathered between them, but he felt his
resolution checked by despairing resentment. Even this
trouble, like the rest, she seemed to regard as if it were
hers alone. He was always to her a being apart, doing what
she objected to. He started from his chair with an angry
impulse, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked up
and down the room. There was an underlying
consciousness all the while that he should have to master
this anger, and tell her everything, and convince her of the
facts. For he had almost learned the lesson that he must
bend himself to her nature, and that because she came
short in her sympathy, he must give the more. Soon he
recurred to his intention of opening himself: the occasion
must not be lost. If he could bring her to feel with some
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solemnity that here was a slander which must be met and
not run away from, and that the whole trouble had come
out of his desperate want of money, it would be a
moment for urging powerfully on her that they should be
one in the resolve to do with as little money as possible, so
that they might weather the bad time and keep themselves
independent. He would mention the definite measures
which he desired to take, and win her to a willing spirit.
He was bound to try thisand what else was there for
him to do?
He did not know how long he had been walking
uneasily backwards and forwards, but Rosamond felt that
it was long, and wished that he would sit down. She too
had begun to think this an opportunity for urging on
Tertius what he ought to do. Whatever might be the truth
about all this misery, there was one dread which asserted
itself.
Lydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair, but
in one nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards
her, and looking at her gravely before he reopened the sad
subject. He had conquered himself so far, and was about
to speak with a sense of solemnity, as on an occasion
which was not to be repeated. He had even opened his
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lips, when Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked at him
and said
Surely, Tertius
Well?
Surely now at last you have given up the idea of
staying in Middlemarch. I cannot go on living here. Let us
go to London. Papa, and every one else, says you had
better go. Whatever misery I have to put up with, it will
be easier away from here.
Lydgate felt miserably jarred. Instead of that critical
outpouring for which he had prepared himself with effort,
here was the old round to be gone through again. He
could not bear it. With a quick change of countenance he
rose and went out of the room.
Perhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his
determination to be the more because she was less, that
evening might have had a better issue. If his energy could
have borne down that check, he might still have wrought
on Rosamonds vision and will. We cannot be sure that
any natures, however inflexible or peculiar, will resist this
effect from a more massive being than their own. They
may be taken by storm and for the moment converted,
becoming part of the soul which enwraps them in the
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ardor of its movement. But poor Lydgate had a throbbing
pain within him, and his energy had fallen short of its task.
The beginning of mutual understanding and resolve
seemed as far off as ever; nay, it seemed blocked out by
the sense of unsuccessful effort. They lived on from day to
day with their thoughts still apart, Lydgate going about
what work he had in a mood of despair, and Rosamond
feeling, with some justification, that he was behaving
cruelly. It was of no use to say anything to Tertius; but
when Will Ladislaw came, she was determined to tell him
everything. In spite of her general reticence, she needed
some one who would recognize her wrongs.
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1355 of 1492
Chapter LXXVI
To mercy, pity, peace, and love
All pray in their distress,
And to these virtues of delight,
Return their thankfulness.
For Mercy has a human heart,
Pity a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
WILLIAM BLAKE: Songs of Innocence.
Some days later, Lydgate was riding to Lowick Manor,
in consequence of a summons from Dorothea. The
summons had not been unexpected, since it had followed
a letter from Mr. Bulstrode, in which he stated that he had
resumed his arrangements for quitting Middlemarch, and
must remind Lydgate of his previous communications
about the Hospital, to the purport of which he still
adhered. It had been his duty, before taking further steps,
to reopen the subject with Mrs. Casaubon, who now
wished, as before, to discuss the question with Lydgate.
Your views may possibly have undergone some change,
wrote Mr. Bulstrode; but, in that case also, it is desirable
that you should lay them before her.
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1356 of 1492
Dorothea awaited his arrival with eager interest.
Though, in deference to her masculine advisers, she had
refrained from what Sir James had called interfering in this
Bulstrode business, the hardship of Lydgates position was
continually in her mind, and when Bulstrode applied to
her again about the hospital, she felt that the opportunity
was come to her which she had been hindered from
hastening. In her luxurious home, wandering under the
boughs of her own great trees, her thought was going out
over the lot of others, and her emotions were imprisoned.
The idea of some active good within her reach, haunted
her like a passion, and anothers need having once come
to her as a distinct image, preoccupied her desire with the
yearning to give relief, and made her own ease tasteless.
She was full of confident hope about this interview with
Lydgate, never heeding what was said of his personal
reserve; never heeding that she was a very young woman.
Nothing could have seemed more irrelevant to Dorothea
than insistence on her youth and sex when she was moved
to show her human fellowship.
As she sat waiting in the library, she could do nothing
but live through again all the past scenes which had
brought Lydgate into her memories. They all owed their
significance to her marriage and its troubles but no;
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1357 of 1492
there were two occasions in which the image of Lydgate
had come painfully in connection with his wife and some
one else. The pain had been allayed for Dorothea, but it
had left in her an awakened conjecture as to what
Lydgates marriage might be to him, a susceptibility to the
slightest hint about Mrs. Lydgate. These thoughts were
like a drama to her, and made her eyes bright, and gave an
attitude of suspense to her whole frame, though she was
only looking out from the brown library on to the turf
and the bright green buds which stood in relief against the
dark evergreens.
When Lydgate came in, she was almost shocked at the
change in his face, which was strikingly perceptible to her
who had not seen him for two months. It was not the
change of emaciation, but that effect which even young
faces will very soon show from the persistent presence of
resentment and despondency. Her cordial look, when she
put out her hand to him, softened his expression, but only
with melancholy.
I have wished very much to see you for a long while,
Mr. Lydgate, said Dorothea when they were seated
opposite each other; but I put off asking you to come
until Mr. Bulstrode applied to me again about the
Hospital. I know that the advantage of keeping the
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1358 of 1492
management of it separate from that of the Infirmary
depends on you, or, at least, on the good which you are
encouraged to hope for from having it under your control.
And I am sure you will not refuse to tell me exactly what
you think.
You want to decide whether you should give a
generous support to the Hospital, said Lydgate. I cannot
conscientiously advise you to do it in dependence on any
activity of mine. I may be obliged to leave the town.
He spoke curtly, feeling the ache of despair as to his
being able to carry out any purpose that Rosamond had
set her mind against.
Not because there is no one to believe in you? said
Dorothea, pouring out her words in clearness from a full
heart. I know the unhappy mistakes about you. I knew
them from the first moment to be mistakes. You have
never done anything vile. You would not do anything
dishonorable.
It was the first assurance of belief in him that had fallen
on Lydgates ears. He drew a deep breath, and said,
Thank you. He could say no more: it was something
very new and strange in his life that these few words of
trust from a woman should be so much to him.
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1359 of 1492
I beseech you to tell me how everything was, said
Dorothea, fearlessly. I am sure that the truth would clear
you.
Lydgate started up from his chair and went towards the
window, forgetting where he was. He had so often gone
over in his mind the possibility of explaining everything
without aggravating appearances that would tell, perhaps
unfairly, against Bulstrode, and had so often decided
against ithe had so often said to himself that his
assertions would not change peoples impressions that
Dorotheas words sounded like a temptation to do
something which in his soberness he had pronounced to
be unreasonable.
Tell me, pray, said Dorothea, with simple earnestness;
then we can consult together. It is wicked to let people
think evil of any one falsely, when it can be hindered.
Lydgate turned, remembering where he was, and saw
Dorotheas face looking up at him with a sweet trustful
gravity. The presence of a noble nature, generous in its
wishes, ardent in its charity, changes the lights for us: we
begin to see things again in their larger, quieter masses,
and to believe that we too can be seen and judged in the
wholeness of our character. That influence was beginning
to act on Lydgate, who had for many days been seeing all
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Middlemarch
1360 of 1492
life as one who is dragged and struggling amid the throng.
He sat down again, and felt that he was recovering his old
self in the consciousness that he was with one who
believed in it.
I dont want, he said, to bear hard on Bulstrode, who
has lent me money of which I was in needthough I
would rather have gone without it now. He is hunted
down and miserable, and has only a poor thread of life in
him. But I should like to tell you everything. It will be a
comfort to me to speak where belief has gone beforehand,
and where I shall not seem to be offering assertions of my
own honesty. You will feel what is fair to another, as you
feel what is fair to me.
Do trust me, said Dorothea; I will not repeat
anything without your leave. But at the very least, I could
say that you have made all the circumstances clear to me,
and that I know you are not in any way guilty. Mr.
Farebrother would believe me, and my uncle, and Sir
James Chettam. Nay, there are persons in Middlemarch to
whom I could go; although they dont know much of me,
they would believe me. They would know that I could
have no other motive than truth and justice. I would take
any pains to clear you. I have very little to do. There is
nothing better that I can do in the world.
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1361 of 1492
Dorotheas voice, as she made this childlike picture of
what she would do, might have been almost taken as a
proof that she could do it effectively. The searching
tenderness of her womans tones seemed made for a
defence against ready accusers. Lydgate did not stay to
think that she was Quixotic: he gave himself up, for the
first time in his life, to the exquisite sense of leaning
entirely on a generous sympathy, without any check of
proud reserve. And he told her everything, from the time
when, under the pressure of his difficulties, he unwillingly
made his first application to Bulstrode; gradually, in the
relief of speaking, getting into a more thorough utterance
of what had gone on in his mind entering fully into the
fact that his treatment of the patient was opposed to the
dominant practice, into his doubts at the last, his ideal of
medical duty, and his uneasy consciousness that the
acceptance of the money had made some difference in his
private inclination and professional behavior, though not
in his fulfilment of any publicly recognized obligation.
It has come to my knowledge since, he added, that
Hawley sent some one to examine the housekeeper at
Stone Court, and she said that she gave the patient all the
opium in the phial I left, as well as a good deal of brandy.
But that would not have been opposed to ordinary
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1362 of 1492
prescriptions, even of first-rate men. The suspicions against
me had no hold there: they are grounded on the
knowledge that I took money, that Bulstrode had strong
motives for wishing the man to die, and that he gave me
the money as a bribe to concur in some malpractices or
other against the patientthat in any case I accepted a
bribe to hold my tongue. They are just the suspicions that
cling the most obstinately, because they lie in peoples
inclination and can never be disproved. How my orders
came to be disobeyed is a question to which I dont know
the answer. It is still possible that Bulstrode was innocent
of any criminal intentioneven possible that he had
nothing to do with the disobedience, and merely abstained
from mentioning it. But all that has nothing to do with
the public belief. It is one of those cases on which a man is
condemned on the ground of his character it is believed
that he has committed a crime in some undefined way,
because he had the motive for doing it; and Bulstrodes
character has enveloped me, because I took his money. I
am simply blighted like a damaged ear of cornthe
business is done and cant be undone.
Oh, it is hard! said Dorothea. I understand the
difficulty there is in your vindicating yourself. And that all
this should have come to you who had meant to lead a
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1363 of 1492
higher life than the common, and to find out better
waysI cannot bear to rest in this as unchangeable. I
know you meant that. I remember what you said to me
when you first spoke to me about the hospital. There is no
sorrow I have thought more about than thatto love
what is great, and try to reach it, and yet to fail.
Yes, said Lydgate, feeling that here he had found
room for the full meaning of his grief. I had some
ambition. I meant everything to be different with me. I
thought I had more strength and mastery. But the most
terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except
oneself.
Suppose, said Dorothea, meditatively,suppose we
kept on the Hospital according to the present plan, and
you stayed here though only with the friendship and
support of a few, the evil feeling towards you would
gradually die out; there would come opportunities in
which people would be forced to acknowledge that they
had been unjust to you, because they would see that your
purposes were pure. You may still win a great fame like
the Louis and Laennec I have heard you speak of, and we
shall all be proud of you, she ended, with a smile.
That might do if I had my old trust in myself, said
Lydgate, mournfully. Nothing galls me more than the
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1364 of 1492
notion of turning round and running away before this
slander, leaving it unchecked behind me. Still, I cant ask
any one to put a great deal of money into a plan which
depends on me.
It would be quite worth my while, said Dorothea,
simply. Only think. I am very uncomfortable with my
money, because they tell me I have too little for any great
scheme of the sort I like best, and yet I have too much. I
dont know what to do. I have seven hundred a-year of
my own fortune, and nineteen hundred a-year that Mr.
Casaubon left me, and between three and four thousand of
ready money in the bank. I wished to raise money and pay
it off gradually out of my income which I dont want, to
buy land with and found a village which should be a
school of industry; but Sir James and my uncle have
convinced me that the risk would be too great. So you see
that what I should most rejoice at would be to have
something good to do with my money: I should like it to
make other peoples lives better to them. It makes me very
uneasycoming all to me who dont want it.
A smile broke through the gloom of Lydgates face.
The childlike grave-eyed earnestness with which Dorothea
said all this was irresistibleblent into an adorable whale
with her ready understanding of high experience. (Of
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1365 of 1492
lower experience such as plays a great part in the world,
poor Mrs. Casaubon had a very blurred shortsighted
knowledge, little helped by her imagination.) But she took
the smile as encouragement of her plan.
I think you see now that you spoke too scrupulously,
she said, in a tone of persuasion. The hospital would be
one good; and making your life quite whole and well
again would be another.
Lydgates smile had died away. You have the goodness
as well as the money to do all that; if it could be done, he
said. But
He hesitated a little while, looking vaguely towards the
window; and she sat in silent expectation. At last he
turned towards her and said impetuously
Why should I not tell you?you know what sort of
bond marriage is. You will understand everything.
Dorothea felt her heart beginning to beat faster. Had he
that sorrow too? But she feared to say any word, and he
went on immediately.
It is impossible for me now to do anythingto take
any step without considering my wifes happiness. The
thing that I might like to do if I were alone, is become
impossible to me. I cant see her miserable. She married
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1366 of 1492
me without knowing what she was going into, and it
might have been better for her if she had not married me.
I know, I knowyou could not give her pain, if you
were not obliged to do it, said Dorothea, with keen
memory of her own life.
And she has set her mind against staying. She wishes to
go. The troubles she has had here have wearied her, said
Lydgate, breaking off again, lest he should say too much.
But when she saw the good that might come of
stayingsaid Dorothea, remonstrantly, looking at
Lydgate as if he had forgotten the reasons which had just
been considered. He did not speak immediately.
She would not see it, he said at last, curtly, feeling at
first that this statement must do without explanation.
And, indeed, I have lost all spirit about carrying on my
life here. He paused a moment and then, following the
impulse to let Dorothea see deeper into the difficulty of
his life, he said, The fact is, this trouble has come upon
her confusedly. We have not been able to speak to each
other about it. I am not sure what is in her mind about it:
she may fear that I have really done something base. It is
my fault; I ought to be more open. But I have been
suffering cruelly.
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1367 of 1492
May I go and see her? said Dorothea, eagerly. Would
she accept my sympathy? I would tell her that you have
not been blamable before any ones judgment but your
own. I would tell her that you shall be cleared in every fair
mind. I would cheer her heart. Will you ask her if I may
go to see her? I did see her once.
I am sure you may, said Lydgate, seizing the
proposition with some hope. She would feel honored
cheered, I think, by the proof that you at least have some
respect for me. I will not speak to her about your
comingthat she may not connect it with my wishes at
all. I know very well that I ought not to have left anything
to be told her by others, but
He broke off, and there was a moments silence.
Dorothea refrained from saying what was in her mind
how well she knew that there might be invisible barriers
to speech between husband and wife. This was a point on
which even sympathy might make a wound. She returned
to the more outward aspect of Lydgates position, saying
cheerfully
And if Mrs. Lydgate knew that there were friends who
would believe in you and support you, she might then be
glad that you should stay in your place and recover your
hopesand do what you meant to do. Perhaps then you
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1368 of 1492
would see that it was right to agree with what I proposed
about your continuing at the Hospital. Surely you would,
if you still have faith in it as a means of making your
knowledge useful?
Lydgate did not answer, and she saw that he was
debating with himself.
You need not decide immediately, she said, gently. A
few days hence it will be early enough for me to send my
answer to Mr. Bulstrode.
Lydgate still waited, but at last turned to speak in his
most decisive tones.
No; I prefer that there should be no interval left for
wavering. I am no longer sure enough of myselfI mean
of what it would be possible for me to do under the
changed circumstances of my life. It would be
dishonorable to let others engage themselves to anything
serious in dependence on me. I might be obliged to go
away after all; I see little chance of anything else. The
whole thing is too problematic; I cannot consent to be the
cause of your goodness being wasted. Nolet the new
Hospital be joined with the old Infirmary, and everything
go on as it might have done if I had never come. I have
kept a valuable register since I have been there; I shall send
it to a man who will make use of it, he ended bitterly. I
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1369 of 1492
can think of nothing for a long while but getting an
income.
It hurts me very much to hear you speak so
hopelessly, said Dorothea. It would be a happiness to
your friends, who believe in your future, in your power to
do great things, if you would let them save you from that.
Think how much money I have; it would be like taking a
burthen from me if you took some of it every year till you
got free from this fettering want of income. Why should
not people do these things? It is so difficult to make shares
at all even. This is one way.
God bless you, Mrs. Casaubon! said Lydgate, rising as
if with the same impulse that made his words energetic,
and resting his arm on the back of the great leather chair
he had been sitting in. It is good that you should have
such feelings. But I am not the man who ought to allow
himself to benefit by them. I have not given guarantees
enough. I must not at least sink into the degradation of
being pensioned for work that I never achieved. It is very
clear to me that I must not count on anything else than
getting away from Middlemarch as soon as I can manage
it. I should not be able for a long while, at the very best,
to get an income here, and and it is easier to make
necessary changes in a new place. I must do as other men
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1370 of 1492
do, and think what will please the world and bring in
money; look for a little opening in the London crowd,
and push myself; set up in a watering-place, or go to some
southern town where there are plenty of idle English, and
get myself puffed, that is the sort of shell I must creep
into and try to keep my soul alive in.
Now that is not brave, said Dorothea,to give up
the fight.
No, it is not brave, said Lydgate, but if a man is afraid
of creeping paralysis? Then, in another tone, Yet you
have made a great difference in my courage by believing
in me. Everything seems more bearable since I have talked
to you; and if you can clear me in a few other minds,
especially in Farebrothers, I shall be deeply grateful. The
point I wish you not to mention is the fact of
disobedience to my orders. That would soon get distorted.
After all, there is no evidence for me but peoples opinion
of me beforehand. You can only repeat my own report of
myself.
Mr. Farebrother will believeothers will believe, said
Dorothea. I can say of you what will make it stupidity to
suppose that you would be bribed to do a wickedness.
I dont know, said Lydgate, with something like a
groan in his voice. I have not taken a bribe yet. But there
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1371 of 1492
is a pale shade of bribery which is sometimes called
prosperity. You will do me another great kindness, then,
and come to see my wife?
Yes, I will. I remember how pretty she is, said
Dorothea, into whose mind every impression about
Rosamond had cut deep. I hope she will like me.
As Lydgate rode away, he thought, This young
creature has a heart large enough for the Virgin Mary. She
evidently thinks nothing of her own future, and would
pledge away half her income at once, as if she wanted
nothing for herself but a chair to sit in from which she can
look down with those clear eyes at the poor mortals who
pray to her. She seems to have what I never saw in any
woman before a fountain of friendship towards mena
man can make a friend of her. Casaubon must have raised
some heroic hallucination in her. I wonder if she could
have any other sort of passion for a man? Ladislaw?there
was certainly an unusual feeling between them. And
Casaubon must have had a notion of it. Wellher love
might help a man more than her money.
Dorothea on her side had immediately formed a plan of
relieving Lydgate from his obligation to Bulstrode, which
she felt sure was a part, though small, of the galling
pressure he had to bear. She sat down at once under the
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Middlemarch
1372 of 1492
inspiration of their interview, and wrote a brief note, in
which she pleaded that she had more claim than Mr.
Bulstrode had to the satisfaction of providing the money
which had been serviceable to Lydgatethat it would be
unkind in Lydgate not to grant her the position of being
his helper in this small matter, the favor being entirely to
her who had so little that was plainly marked out for her
to do with her superfluous money. He might call her a
creditor or by any other name if it did but imply that he
granted her request. She enclosed a check for a thousand
pounds, and determined to take the letter with her the
next day when she went to see Rosamond.
Middlemarch
1373 of 1492
Chapter LXXVII
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
With some suspicion.
Henry V.
The next day Lydgate had to go to Brassing, and told
Rosamond that he should be away until the evening. Of
late she had never gone beyond her own house and
garden, except to church, and once to see her papa, to
whom she said, If Tertius goes away, you will help us to
move, will you not, papa? I suppose we shall have very
little money. I am sure I hope some one will help us. And
Mr. Vincy had said, Yes, child, I dont mind a hundred or
two. I can see the end of that. With these exceptions she
had sat at home in languid melancholy and suspense, fixing
her mind on Will Ladislaws coming as the one point of
hope and interest, and associating this with some new
urgency on Lydgate to make immediate arrangements for
leaving Middlemarch and going to London, till she felt
assured that the coming would be a potent cause of the
going, without at all seeing how. This way of establishing
sequences is too common to be fairly regarded as a
peculiar folly in Rosamond. And it is precisely this sort of
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sequence which causes the greatest shock when it is
sundered: for to see how an effect may be produced is
often to see possible missings and checks; but to see
nothing except the desirable cause, and close upon it the
desirable effect, rids us of doubt and makes our minds
strongly intuitive. That was the process going on in poor
Rosamond, while she arranged all objects around her with
the same nicety as ever, only with more slowness or sat
down to the piano, meaning to play, and then desisting,
yet lingering on the music stool with her white fingers
suspended on the wooden front, and looking before her in
dreamy ennui. Her melancholy had become so marked
that Lydgate felt a strange timidity before it, as a perpetual
silent reproach, and the strong man, mastered by his keen
sensibilities towards this fair fragile creature whose life he
seemed somehow to have bruised, shrank from her look,
and sometimes started at her approach, fear of her and fear
for her rushing in only the more forcibly after it had been
momentarily expelled by exasperation.
But this morning Rosamond descended from her room
upstairs where she sometimes sat the whole day when
Lydgate was out equipped for a walk in the town. She
had a letter to posta letter addressed to Mr. Ladislaw and
written with charming discretion, but intended to hasten
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1375 of 1492
his arrival by a hint of trouble. The servant-maid, their
sole house-servant now, noticed her coming down-stairs
in her walking dress, and thought there never did
anybody look so pretty in a bonnet poor thing.
Meanwhile Dorotheas mind was filled with her project
of going to Rosamond, and with the many thoughts, both
of the past and the probable future, which gathered round
the idea of that visit. Until yesterday when Lydgate had
opened to her a glimpse of some trouble in his married
life, the image of Mrs. Lydgate had always been associated
for her with that of Will Ladislaw. Even in her most
uneasy momentseven when she had been agitated by
Mrs. Cadwalladers painfully graphic report of gossip
her effort, nay, her strongest impulsive prompting, had
been towards the vindication of Will from any sullying
surmises; and when, in her meeting with him afterwards,
she had at first interpreted his words as a probable allusion
to a feeling towards Mrs. Lydgate which he was
determined to cut himself off from indulging, she had had
a quick, sad, excusing vision of the charm there might be
in his constant opportunities of companionship with that
fair creature, who most likely shared his other tastes as she
evidently did his delight in music. But there had followed
his parting words the few passionate words in which he
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had implied that she herself was the object of whom his
love held him in dread, that it was his love for her only
which he was resolved not to declare but to carry away
into banishment. From the time of that parting, Dorothea,
believing in Wills love for her, believing with a proud
delight in his delicate sense of honor and his determination
that no one should impeach him justly, felt her heart quite
at rest as to the regard he might have for Mrs. Lydgate.
She was sure that the regard was blameless.
There are natures in which, if they love us, we are
conscious of having a sort of baptism and consecration:
they bind us over to rectitude and purity by their pure
belief about us; and our sins become that worst kind of
sacrilege which tears down the invisible altar of trust. If
you are not good, none is good those little words may
give a terrific meaning to responsibility, may hold a
vitriolic intensity for remorse.
Dorotheas nature was of that kind: her own passionate
faults lay along the easily counted open channels of her
ardent character; and while she was full of pity for the,
visible mistakes of others, she had not yet any material
within her experience for subtle constructions and
suspicions of hidden wrong. But that simplicity of hers,
holding up an ideal for others in her believing conception
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1377 of 1492
of them, was one of the great powers of her womanhood.
And it had from the first acted strongly on Will Ladislaw.
He felt, when he parted from her, that the brief words by
which he had tried to convey to her his feeling about
herself and the division which her fortune made between
them, would only profit by their brevity when Dorothea
had to interpret them: he felt that in her mind he had
found his highest estimate.
And he was right there. In the months since their
parting Dorothea had felt a delicious though sad repose in
their relation to each other, as one which was inwardly
whole and without blemish. She had an active force of
antagonism within her, when the antagonism turned on
the defence either of plans or persons that she believed in;
and the wrongs which she felt that Will had received from
her husband, and the external conditions which to others
were grounds for slighting him, only gave the more
tenacity to her affection and admiring judgment. And now
with the disclosures about Bulstrode had come another
fact affecting Wills social position, which roused afresh
Dorotheas inward resistance to what was said about him
in that part of her world which lay within park palings.
Young Ladislaw the grandson of a thieving Jew
pawnbroker was a phrase which had entered emphatically
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1378 of 1492
into the dialogues about the Bulstrode business, at Lowick,
Tipton, and Freshitt, and was a worse kind of placard on
poor Wills back than the Italian with white mice.
Upright Sir James Chettam was convinced that his own
satisfaction was righteous when he thought with some
complacency that here was an added league to that
mountainous distance between Ladislaw and Dorothea,
which enabled him to dismiss any anxiety in that direction
as too absurd. And perhaps there had been some pleasure
in pointing Mr. Brookes attention to this ugly bit of
Ladislaws genealogy, as a fresh candle for him to see his
own folly by. Dorothea had observed the animus with
which Wills part in the painful story had been recalled
more than once; but she had uttered no word, being
checked now, as she had not been formerly in speaking of
Will, by the consciousness of a deeper relation between
them which must always remain in consecrated secrecy.
But her silence shrouded her resistant emotion into a more
thorough glow; and this misfortune in Wills lot which, it
seemed, others were wishing to fling at his back as an
opprobrium, only gave something more of enthusiasm to
her clinging thought.
She entertained no visions of their ever coming into
nearer union, and yet she had taken no posture of
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1379 of 1492
renunciation. She had accepted her whole relation to Will
very simply as part of her marriage sorrows, and would
have thought it very sinful in her to keep up an inward
wail because she was not completely happy, being rather
disposed to dwell on the superfluities of her lot. She could
bear that the chief pleasures of her tenderness should lie in
memory, and the idea of marriage came to her solely as a
repulsive proposition from some suitor of whom she at
present knew nothing, but whose merits, as seen by her
friends, would be a source of torment to her:
somebody who will manage your property for you, my
dear, was Mr. Brookes attractive suggestion of suitable
characteristics. I should like to manage it myself, if I knew
what to do with it, said Dorothea. Noshe adhered to
her declaration that she would never be married again, and
in the long valley of her life which looked so flat and
empty of waymarks, guidance would come as she walked
along the road, and saw her fellow-passengers by the way.
This habitual state of feeling about Will Ladislaw had
been strong. in all her waking hours since she had
proposed to pay a visit to Mrs. Lydgate, making a sort of
background against which she saw Rosamonds figure
presented to her without hindrances to her interest and
compassion. There was evidently some mental separation,
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1380 of 1492
some barrier to complete confidence which had arisen
between this wife and the husband who had yet made her
happiness a law to him. That was a trouble which no third
person must directly touch. But Dorothea thought with
deep pity of the loneliness which must have come upon
Rosamond from the suspicions cast on her husband; and
there would surely be help in the manifestation of respect
for Lydgate and sympathy with her.
I shall talk to her about her husband, thought
Dorothea, as she was being driven towards the town. The
clear spring morning, the scent of the moist earth, the
fresh leaves just showing their creased-up wealth of
greenery from out their half-opened sheaths, seemed part
of the cheerfulness she was feeling from a long
conversation with Mr. Farebrother, who had joyfully
accepted the justifying explanation of Lydgates conduct. I
shall take Mrs. Lydgate good news, and perhaps she will
like to talk to me and make a friend of me.
Dorothea had another errand in Lowick Gate: it was
about a new fine-toned bell for the school-house, and as
she had to get out of her carriage very near to Lydgates,
she walked thither across the street, having told the
coachman to wait for some packages. The street door was
open, and the servant was taking the opportunity of
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1381 of 1492
looking out at the carriage which was pausing within sight
when it became apparent to her that the lady who
belonged to it was coming towards her.
Is Mrs. Lydgate at home? said Dorothea.
Im not sure, my lady; Ill see, if youll please to walk
in, said Martha, a little confused on the score of her
kitchen apron, but collected enough to be sure that mum
was not the right title for this queenly young widow with
a carriage and pair. Will you please to walk in, and Ill go
and see.
Say that I am Mrs. Casaubon, said Dorothea, as
Martha moved forward intending to show her into the
drawing-room and then to go up-stairs to see if
Rosamond had returned from her walk.
They crossed the broader part of the entrance-hall, and
turned up the passage which led to the garden. The
drawing-room door was unlatched, and Martha, pushing it
without looking into the room, waited for Mrs. Casaubon
to enter and then turned away, the door having swung
open and swung back again without noise.
Dorothea had less of outward vision than usual this
morning, being filled with images of things as they had
been and were going to be. She found herself on the other
side of the door without seeing anything remarkable, but
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1382 of 1492
immediately she heard a voice speaking in low tones
which startled her as with a sense of dreaming in daylight,
and advancing unconsciously a step or two beyond the
projecting slab of a bookcase, she saw, in the terrible
illumination of a certainty which filled up all outlines,
something which made her pause, motionless, without
self-possession enough to speak.
Seated with his back towards her on a sofa which stood
against the wall on a line with the door by which she had
entered, she saw Will Ladislaw: close by him and turned
towards him with a flushed tearfulness which gave a new
brilliancy to her face sat Rosamond, her bonnet hanging
back, while Will leaning towards her clasped both her
upraised hands in his and spoke with low-toned fervor.
Rosamond in her agitated absorption had not noticed
the silently advancing figure; but when Dorothea, after the
first immeasurable instant of this vision, moved confusedly
backward and found herself impeded by some piece of
furniture, Rosamond was suddenly aware of her presence,
and with a spasmodic movement snatched away her hands
and rose, looking at Dorothea who was necessarily
arrested. Will Ladislaw, starting up, looked round also, and
meeting Dorotheas eyes with a new lightning in them,
seemed changing to marble: But she immediately turned
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1383 of 1492
them away from him to Rosamond and said in a firm
voice
Excuse me, Mrs. Lydgate, the servant did not know
that you were here. I called to deliver an important letter
for Mr. Lydgate, which I wished to put into your own
hands.
She laid down the letter on the small table which had
checked her retreat, and then including Rosamond and
Will in one distant glance and bow, she went quickly out
of the room, meeting in the passage the surprised Martha,
who said she was sorry the mistress was not at home, and
then showed the strange lady out with an inward
reflection that grand people were probably more impatient
than others.
Dorothea walked across the street with her most elastic
step and was quickly in her carriage again.
Drive on to Freshitt Hall, she said to the coachman,
and any one looking at her might have thought that
though she was paler than usual she was never animated
by a more self-possessed energy. And that was really her
experience. It was as if she had drunk a great draught of
scorn that stimulated her beyond the susceptibility to other
feelings. She had seen something so far below her belief,
that her emotions rushed back from it and made an
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Middlemarch
1384 of 1492
excited throng without an object. She needed something
active to turn her excitement out upon. She felt power to
walk and work for a day, without meat or drink. And she
would carry out the purpose with which she had started in
the morning, of going to Freshitt and Tipton to tell Sir
James and her uncle all that she wished them to know
about Lydgate, whose married loneliness under his trial
now presented itself to her with new significance, and
made her more ardent in readiness to be his champion.
She had never felt anything like this triumphant power of
indignation in the struggle of her married life, in which
there had always been a quickly subduing pang; and she
took it as a sign of new strength.
Dodo, how very bright your eyes are! said Celia,
when Sir James was gone out of the room. And you dont
see anything you look at, Arthur or anything. You are
going to do something uncomfortable, I know. Is it all
about Mr. Lydgate, or has something else happened?
Celia had been used to watch her sister with expectation.
Yes, dear, a great many things have happened, said
Dodo, in her full tones.
I wonder what, said Celia, folding her arms cozily and
leaning forward upon them.
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1385 of 1492
Oh, all the troubles of all people on the face of the
earth, said Dorothea, lifting her arms to the back of her
head.
Dear me, Dodo, are you going to have a scheme for
them? said Celia, a little uneasy at this Hamlet-like raving.
But Sir James came in again, ready to accompany
Dorothea to the Grange, and she finished her expedition
well, not swerving in her resolution until she descended at
her own door.
Middlemarch
1386 of 1492
Chapter LXXVIII
Would it were yesterday and I i the grave,
With her sweet faith above for monument
Rosamond and Will stood motionlessthey did not
know how long he looking towards the spot where
Dorothea had stood, and she looking towards him with
doubt. It seemed an endless time to Rosamond, in whose
inmost soul there was hardly so much annoyance as
gratification from what had just happened. Shallow natures
dream of an easy sway over the emotions of others,
trusting implicitly in their own petty magic to turn the
deepest streams, and confident, by pretty gestures and
remarks, of making the thing that is not as though it were.
She knew that Will had received a severe blow, but she
had been little used to imagining other peoples states of
mind except as a material cut into shape by her own
wishes; and she believed in her own power to soothe or
subdue. Even Tertius, that most perverse of men, was
always subdued in the long-run: events had been
obstinate, but still Rosamond would have said now, as she
did before her marriage, that she never gave up what she
had set her mind on.
Middlemarch
1387 of 1492
She put out her arm and laid the tips of her fingers on
Wills coat-sleeve.
Dont touch me! he said, with an utterance like the
cut of a lash, darting from her, and changing from pink to
white and back again, as if his whole frame were tingling
with the pain of the sting. He wheeled round to the other
side of the room and stood opposite to her, with the tips
of his fingers in his pockets and his head thrown back,
looking fiercely not at Rosamond but at a point a few
inches away from her.
She was keenly offended, but the Signs she made of this
were such as only Lydgate was used to interpret. She
became suddenly quiet and seated herself, untying her
hanging bonnet and laying it down with her shawl. Her
little hands which she folded before her were very cold.
It would have been safer for Will in the first instance to
have taken up his hat and gone away; but he had felt no
impulse to do this; on the contrary, he had a horrible
inclination to stay and shatter Rosamond with his anger. It
seemed as impossible to bear the fatality she had drawn
down on him without venting his fury as it would be to a
panther to bear the javelin-wound without springing and
biting. And yethow could he tell a woman that he was
ready to curse her? He was fuming under a repressive law
Middlemarch
1388 of 1492
which he was forced to acknowledge: he was dangerously
poised, and Rosamonds voice now brought the decisive
vibration. In flute-like tones of sarcasm she said
You can easily go after Mrs. Casaubon and explain
your preference.
Go after her! he burst out, with a sharp edge in his
voice. Do you think she would turn to look at me, or
value any word I ever uttered to her again at more than a
dirty feather?Explain! How can a man explain at the
expense of a woman?
You can tell her what you please, said Rosamond
with more tremor.
Do you suppose she would like me better for
sacrificing you? She is not a woman to be flattered because
I made myself despicable to believe that I must be true
to her because I was a dastard to you.
He began to move about with the restlessness of a wild
animal that sees prey but cannot reach it. Presently he
burst out again
I had no hope beforenot muchof anything better
to come. But I had one certaintythat she believed in
me. Whatever people had said or done about me, she
believed in me.Thats gone! Shell never again think me
anything but a paltry pretence too nice to take heaven
Middlemarch
1389 of 1492
except upon flattering conditions, and yet selling myself
for any devils change by the sly. Shell think of me as an
incarnate insult to her, from the first moment we
Will stopped as if he had found himself grasping
something that must not be thrown and shattered. He
found another vent for his rage by snatching up
Rosamonds words again, as if they were reptiles to be
throttled and flung off.
Explain! Tell a man to explain how he dropped into
hell! Explain my preference! I never had a
PREFERENCE for her, any more than I have a
preference for breathing. No other woman exists by the
side of her. I would rather touch her hand if it were dead,
than I would touch any other womans living.
Rosamond, while these poisoned weapons were being
hurled at her, was almost losing the sense of her identity,
and seemed to be waking into some new terrible
existence. She had no sense of chill resolute repulsion, of
reticent self-justification such as she had known under
Lydgates most stormy displeasure: all her sensibility was
turned into a bewildering novelty of pain; she felt a new
terrified recoil under a lash never experienced before.
What another nature felt in opposition to her own was
being burnt and bitten into her consciousness. When Will
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1390 of 1492
had ceased to speak she had become an image of sickened
misery: her lips were pale, and her eyes had a tearless
dismay in them. If it had been Tertius who stood opposite
to her, that look of misery would have been a pang to
him, and he would have sunk by her side to comfort her,
with that strong-armed comfort which, she had often held
very cheap.
Let it be forgiven to Will that he had no such
movement of pity. He had felt no bond beforehand to this
woman who had spoiled the ideal treasure of his life, and
he held himself blameless. He knew that he was cruel, but
he had no relenting in him yet.
After he had done speaking, he still moved about, half
in absence of mind, and Rosamond sat perfectly still. At
length Will, seeming to bethink himself, took up his hat,
yet stood some moments irresolute. He had spoken to her
in a way that made a phrase of common politeness difficult
to utter; and yet, now that he had come to the point of
going away from her without further speech, he shrank
from it as a brutality; he felt checked and stultified in his
anger. He walked towards the mantel-piece and leaned his
arm on it, and waited in silence forhe hardly knew
what. The vindictive fire was still burning in him, and he
could utter no word of retractation; but it was nevertheless
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1391 of 1492
in his mind that having come back to this hearth where he
had enjoyed a caressing friendship he had found. calamity
seated therehe had had suddenly revealed to him a
trouble that lay outside the home as well as within it. And
what seemed a foreboding was pressing upon him as with
slow pincers:that his life might come to be enslaved by
this helpless woman who had thrown herself upon him in
the dreary sadness of her heart. But he was in gloomy
rebellion against the fact that his quick apprehensiveness
foreshadowed to him, and when his eyes fell on
Rosamonds blighted face it seemed to him that he was
the more pitiable of the two; for pain must enter into its
glorified life of memory before it can turn into
compassion.
And so they remained for many minutes, opposite each
other, far apart, in silence; Wills face still possessed by a
mute rage, and Rosamonds by a mute misery. The poor
thing had no force to fling out any passion in return; the
terrible collapse of the illusion towards which all her hope
had been strained was a stroke which had too thoroughly
shaken her: her little world was in ruins, and she felt
herself tottering in the midst as a lonely bewildered
consciousness.
Middlemarch
1392 of 1492
Will wished that she would speak and bring some
mitigating shadow across his own cruel speech, which
seemed to stand staring at them both in mockery of any
attempt at revived fellowship. But she said nothing, and at
last with a desperate effort over himself, he asked, Shall I
come in and see Lydgate this evening?
If you like, Rosamond answered, just audibly.
And then Will went out of the house, Martha never
knowing that he had been in.
After he was gone, Rosamond tried to get up from her
seat, but fell back fainting. When she came to herself
again, she felt too ill to make the exertion of rising to ring
the bell, and she remained helpless until the girl, surprised
at her long absence, thought for the first time of looking
for her in all the down-stairs rooms. Rosamond said that
she had felt suddenly sick and faint, and wanted to be
helped up-stairs. When there she threw herself on the bed
with her clothes on, and lay in apparent torpor, as she had
done once before on a memorable day of grief.
Lydgate came home earlier than he had expected,
about half-past five, and found her there. The perception
that she was ill threw every other thought into the
background. When he felt her pulse, her eyes rested on
him with more persistence than they had done for a long
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1393 of 1492
while, as if she felt some content that he was there. He
perceived the difference in a moment, and seating himself
by her put his arm gently under her, and bending over her
said, My poor Rosamond! has something agitated you?
Clinging to him she fell into hysterical sobbings and cries,
and for the next hour he did nothing but soothe and tend
her. He imagined that Dorothea had been to see her, and
that all this effect on her nervous system, which evidently
involved some new turning towards himself, was due to
the excitement of the new impressions which that visit had
raised.
Middlemarch
1394 of 1492
Chapter LXXIX
Now, I saw in my dream, that just as they had ended
their talk, they drew nigh to a very miry slough, that was
in the midst of the plain; and they, being heedless, did
both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough
was Despond.BUNYAN.
When Rosamond was quiet, and Lydgate had left her,
hoping that she might soon sleep under the effect of an
anodyne, he went into the drawing-room to fetch a book
which he had left there, meaning to spend the evening in
his work-room, and he saw on the table Dorotheas letter
addressed to him. He had not ventured to ask Rosamond
if Mrs. Casaubon had called, but the reading of this letter
assured him of the fact, for Dorothea mentioned that it
was to be carried by herself.
When Will Ladislaw came in a little later Lydgate met
him with a surprise which made it clear that he had not
been told of the earlier visit, and Will could not say, Did
not Mrs. Lydgate tell you that I came this morning?
Poor Rosamond is ill, Lydgate added immediately on
his greeting.
Not seriously, I hope, said Will.
Middlemarch
1395 of 1492
Noonly a slight nervous shockthe effect of some
agitation. She has been overwrought lately. The truth is,
Ladislaw, I am an unlucky devil. We have gone through
several rounds of purgatory since you left, and I have lately
got on to a worse ledge of it than ever. I suppose you are
only just come downyou look rather battered you
have not been long enough in the town to hear anything?
I travelled all night and got to the White Hart at eight
oclock this morning. I have been shutting myself up and
resting, said Will, feeling himself a sneak, but seeing no
alternative to this evasion.
And then he heard Lydgates account of the troubles
which Rosamond had already depicted to him in her way.
She had not mentioned the fact of Wills name being
connected with the public story this detail not
immediately affecting herand he now heard it for the
first time.
I thought it better to tell you that your name is mixed
up with the disclosures, said Lydgate, who could
understand better than most men how Ladislaw might be
stung by the revelation. You will be sure to hear it as
soon as you turn out into the town. I suppose it is true
that Raffles spoke to you.
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Middlemarch
1396 of 1492
Yes, said Will, sardonically. I shall be fortunate if
gossip does not make me the most disreputable person in
the whole affair. I should think the latest version must be,
that I plotted with Raffles to murder Bulstrode, and ran
away from Middlemarch for the purpose.
He was thinking Here is a new ring in the sound of
my name to recommend it in her hearing; however
what does it signify now?
But he said nothing of Bulstrodes offer to him. Will
was very open and careless about his personal affairs, but it
was among the more exquisite touches in natures
modelling of him that he had a delicate generosity which
warned him into reticence here. He shrank from saying
that he had rejected Bulstrodes money, in the moment
when he was learning that it was Lydgates misfortune to
have accepted it.
Lydgate too was reticent in the midst of his confidence.
He made no allusion to Rosamonds feeling under their
trouble, and of Dorothea he only said, Mrs. Casaubon has
been the one person to come forward and say that she had
no belief in any of the suspicions against me. Observing a
change in Wills face, he avoided any further mention of
her, feeling himself too ignorant of their relation to each
other not to fear that his words might have some hidden
Middlemarch
1397 of 1492
painful bearing on it. And it occurred to him that
Dorothea was the real cause of the present visit to
Middlemarch.
The two men were pitying each other, but it was only
Will who guessed the extent of his companions trouble.
When Lydgate spoke with desperate resignation of going
to settle in London, and said with a faint smile, We shall
have you again, old fellow. Will felt inexpressibly
mournful, and said nothing. Rosamond had that morning
entreated him to urge this step on Lydgate; and it seemed
to him as if he were beholding in a magic panorama a
future where he himself was sliding into that pleasureless
yielding to the small solicitations of circumstance, which is
a commoner history of perdition than any single
momentous bargain.
We are on a perilous margin when we begin to look
passively at our future selves, and see our own figures led
with dull consent into insipid misdoing and shabby
achievement. Poor Lydgate was inwardly groaning on that
margin, and Will was arriving at it. It seemed to him this
evening as if the cruelty of his outburst to Rosamond had
made an obligation for him, and he dreaded the
obligation: he dreaded Lydgates unsuspecting good-will:
Middlemarch
1398 of 1492
he dreaded his own distaste for his spoiled life, which
would leave him in motiveless levity.
Middlemarch
1399 of 1492
Chapter LXXX
Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godheads most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong;
And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh
and strong.
WORDSWORTH: Ode to Duty.
When Dorothea had seen Mr. Farebrother in the
morning, she had promised to go and dine at the
parsonage on her return from Freshitt. There was a
frequent interchange of visits between her and the
Farebrother family, which enabled her to say that she was
not at all lonely at the Manor, and to resist for the present
the severe prescription of a lady companion. When she
reached home and remembered her engagement, she was
glad of it; and finding that she had still an hour before she
could dress for dinner, she walked straight to the
schoolhouse and entered into a conversation with the
master and mistress about the new bell, giving eager
attention to their small details and repetitions, and getting
Middlemarch
1400 of 1492
up a dramatic sense that her life was very busy. She paused
on her way back to talk to old Master Bunney who was
putting in some garden-seeds, and discoursed wisely with
that rural sage about the crops that would make the most
return on a perch of ground, and the result of sixty years
experience as to soilsnamely, that if your soil was pretty
mellow it would do, but if there came wet, wet, wet to
make it all of a mummy, why then
Finding that the social spirit had beguiled her into
being rather late, she dressed hastily and went over to the
parsonage rather earlier than was necessary. That house
was never dull, Mr. Farebrother, like another White of
Selborne, having continually something new to tell of his
inarticulate guests and proteges, whom he was teaching
the boys not to torment; and he had just set up a pair of
beautiful goats to be pets of the village in general, and to
walk at large as sacred animals. The evening went by
cheerfully till after tea, Dorothea talking more than usual
and dilating with Mr. Farebrother on the possible histories
of creatures that converse compendiously with their
antennae, and for aught we know may hold reformed
parliaments; when suddenly some inarticulate little sounds
were heard which called everybodys attention.
Middlemarch
1401 of 1492
Henrietta Noble, said Mrs. Farebrother, seeing her
small sister moving about the furniture-legs distressfully,
what is the matter?
I have lost my tortoise-shell lozenge-box. I fear the
kitten has rolled it away, said the tiny old lady,
involuntarily coutinuing her beaver-like notes.
Is it a great treasure, aunt? said Mr. Farebrother,
putting up his glasses and looking at the carpet.
Mr. Ladislaw gave it me, said Miss Noble. A German
box very pretty, but if it falls it always spins away as far
as it can.
Oh, if it is Ladislaws present, said Mr. Farebrother, in
a deep tone of comprehension, getting up and hunting.
The box was found at last under a chiffonier, and Miss
Noble grasped it with delight, saying, it was under a
fender the last time.
That is an affair of the heart with my aunt, said Mr.
Farebrother, smiling at Dorothea, as he reseated himself.
If Henrietta Noble forms an attachment to any one,
Mrs. Casaubon, said his mother, emphatically,she is
like a dogshe would take their shoes for a pillow and
sleep the better.
Mr. Ladislaws shoes, I would, said Henrietta Noble.
Middlemarch
1402 of 1492
Dorothea made an attempt at smiling in return. She
was surprised and annoyed to find that her heart was
palpitating violently, and that it was quite useless to try
after a recovery of her former animation. Alarmed at
herselffearing some further betrayal of a change so
marked in its occasion, she rose and said in a low voice
with undisguised anxiety, I must go; I have overtired
myself.
Mr. Farebrother, quick in perception, rose and said, It
is true; you must have half-exhausted yourself in talking
about Lydgate. That sort of work tells upon one after the
excitement is over.
He gave her his arm back to the Manor, but Dorothea
did not attempt to speak, even when he said good-night.
The limit of resistance was reached, and she had sunk
back helpless within the clutch of inescapable anguish.
Dismissing Tantripp with a few faint words, she locked
her door, and turning away from it towards the vacant
room she pressed her hands hard on the top of her head,
and moaned out
Oh, I did love him!
Then came the hour in which the waves of suffering
shook her too thoroughly to leave any power of thought.
She could only cry in loud whispers, between her sobs,
Middlemarch
1403 of 1492
after her lost belief which she had planted and kept alive
from a very little seed since the days in Romeafter her
lost joy of clinging with silent love and faith to one who,
misprized by others, was worthy in her thought after
her lost womans pride of reigning in his memoryafter
her sweet dim perspective of hope, that along some
pathway they should meet with unchanged recognition
and take up the backward years as a yesterday.
In that hour she repeated what the merciful eyes of
solitude have looked on for ages in the spiritual struggles
of man she besought hardness and coldness and aching
weariness to bring her relief from the mysterious
incorporeal might of her anguish: she lay on the bare floor
and let the night grow cold around her; while her grand
womans frame was shaken by sobs as if she had been a
despairing child.
There were two imagestwo living forms that tore her
heart in two, as if it had been the heart of a mother who
seems to see her child divided by the sword, and presses
one bleeding half to her breast while her gaze goes forth in
agony towards the half which is carried away by the lying
woman that has never known the mothers pang.
Here, with the nearness of an answering smile, here
within the vibrating bond of mutual speech, was the
Middlemarch
1404 of 1492
bright creature whom she had trustedwho had come to
her like the spirit of morning visiting the dim vault where
she sat as the bride of a worn-out life; and now, with a full
consciousness which had never awakened before, she
stretched out her arms towards him and cried with bitter
cries that their nearness was a parting vision: she
discovered her passion to herself in the unshrinking
utterance of despair.
And there, aloof, yet persistently with her, moving
wherever she moved, was the Will Ladislaw who was a
changed belief exhausted of hope, a detected illusionno,
a living man towards whom there could not yet struggle
any wail of regretful pity, from the midst of scorn and
indignation and jealous offended pride. The fire of
Dorotheas anger was not easily spent, and it flamed out in
fitful returns of spurning reproach. Why had he come
obtruding his life into hers, hers that might have been
whole enough without him? Why had he brought his
cheap regard and his lip-born words to her who had
nothing paltry to give in exchange? He knew that he was
deluding herwished, in the very moment of farewell, to
make her believe that he gave her the whole price of her
heart, and knew that he had spent it half before. Why had
he not stayed among the crowd of whom she asked
Middlemarch
1405 of 1492
nothing but only prayed that they might be less
contemptible?
But she lost energy at last even for her loud-whispered
cries and moans: she subsided into helpless sobs, and on
the cold floor she sobbed herself to sleep.
In the chill hours of the morning twilight, when all was
dim around her, she awokenot with any amazed
wondering where she was or what had happened, but with
the clearest consciousness that she was looking into the
eyes of sorrow. She rose, and wrapped warm things
around her, and seated
herself in a great chair where she had often watched
before. She was vigorous enough to have borne that hard
night without feeling ill in body, beyond some aching and
fatigue; but she had waked to a new condition: she felt as
if her soul had been liberated from its terrible conflict; she
was no longer wrestling with her grief, but could sit down
with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her
thoughts. For now the thoughts came thickly. It was not
in Dorotheas nature, for longer than the duration of a
paroxysm, to sit in the narrow cell of her calamity, in the
besotted misery of a consciousness that only sees anothers
lot as an accident of its own.
Middlemarch
1406 of 1492
She began now to live through that yesterday morning
deliberately again, forcing herself to dwell on every detail
and its possible meaning. Was she alone in that scene? Was
it her event only? She forced herself to think of it as
bound up with another womans lifea woman towards
whom she had set out with a longing to carry some
clearness and comfort into her beclouded youth. In her
first outleap of jealous indignation and disgust, when
quitting the hateful room, she had flung away all the
mercy with which she had undertaken that visit. She had
enveloped both Will and Rosamond in her burning scorn,
and it seemed to her as if Rosamond were burned out of
her sight forever. But that base prompting which makes a
women more cruel to a rival than to a faithless lover,
could have no strength of recurrence in Dorothea when
the dominant spirit of justice within her had once
overcome the tumult and had once shown her the truer
measure of things. All the active thought with which she
had before been representing to herself the trials of
Lydgates lot, and this young marriage union which, like
her own, seemed to have its hidden as well as evident
troubles all this vivid sympathetic experience returned
to her now as a power: it asserted itself as acquired
knowledge asserts itself and will not let us see as we saw in
Middlemarch
1407 of 1492
the day of our ignorance. She said to her own
irremediable grief, that it should make her more helpful,
instead of driving her back from effort.
And what sort of crisis might not this be in three lives
whose contact with hers laid an obligation on her as if
they had been suppliants bearing the sacred branch? The
objects of her rescue were not to be sought out by her
fancy: they were chosen for her. She yearned towards the
perfect Right, that it might make a throne within her, and
rule her errant will. What should I do how should I act
now, this very day, if I could clutch my own pain, and
compel it to silence, and think of those three?
It had taken long for her to come to that question, and
there was light piercing into the room. She opened her
curtains, and looked out towards the bit of road that lay in
view, with fields beyond outside the entrance-gates. On
the road there was a man with a bundle on his back and a
woman carrying her baby; in the field she could see figures
movingperhaps the shepherd with his dog. Far off in the
bending sky was the pearly light; and she felt the largeness
of the world and the manifold wakings of men to labor
and endurance. She was a part of that involuntary,
palpitating life, and could neither look out on it from her
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Middlemarch
1408 of 1492
luxurious shelter as a mere spectator, nor hide her eyes in
selfish complaining.
What she would resolve to do that day did not yet
seem quite clear, but something that she could achieve
stirred her as with an approaching murmur which would
soon gather distinctness. She took off the clothes which
seemed to have some of the weariness of a hard watching
in them, and began to make her toilet. Presently she rang
for Tantripp, who came in her dressing-gown.
Why, madam, youve never been in bed this blessed
night, burst out Tantripp, looking first at the bed and
then at Dorotheas face, which in spite of bathing had the
pale cheeks and pink eyelids of a mater dolorosa. Youll
kill yourself, you WILL. Anybody might think now you
had a right to give yourself a little comfort.
Dont be alarmed, Tantripp, said Dorothea, smiling. I
have slept; I am not ill. I shall be glad of a cup of coffee as
soon as possible. And I want you to bring me my new
dress; and most likely I shall want my new bonnet to-day.
Theyve lain there a month and more ready for you,
madam, and most thankful I shall be to see you with a
couple o pounds worth less of crape, said Tantripp,
stooping to light the fire. Theres a reason in mourning, as
Ive always said; and three folds at the bottom of your skirt
Middlemarch
1409 of 1492
and a plain quilling in your bonnet and if ever anybody
looked like an angel, its you in a net quilling is whats
consistent for a second year. At least, thats MY thinking,
ended Tantripp, looking anxiously at the fire; and if
anybody was to marry me flattering himself I should wear
those hijeous weepers two years for him, hed be deceived
by his own vanity, thats all.
The fire will do, my good Tan, said Dorothea,
speaking as she used to do in the old Lausanne days, only
with a very low voice; get me the coffee.
She folded herself in the large chair, and leaned her
head against it in fatigued quiescence, while Tantripp went
away wondering at this strange contrariness in her young
mistressthat just the morning when she had more of a
widows face than ever, she should have asked for her
lighter mourning which she had waived before. Tantripp
would never have found the clew to this mystery.
Dorothea wished to acknowledge that she had not the less
an active life before her because she had buried a private
joy; and the tradition that fresh garments belonged to all
initiation, haunting her mind, made her grasp after even
that slight outward help towards calm resolve. For the
resolve was not easy.
Middlemarch
1410 of 1492
Nevertheless at eleven oclock she was walking towards
Middlemarch, having made up her mind that she would
make as quietly and unnoticeably as possible her second
attempt to see and save Rosamond.
Middlemarch
1411 of 1492
Chapter LXXXI
Du Erde warst auch diese Nacht bestandig,
Und athmest neu erquickt zu meinen Fussen,
Beginnest schon mit Lust mich zu umgeben,
Zum regst und ruhrst ein kraftiges Reschliessen
Zum hochsten Dasein immerfort zu streben.
Faust: 2r Theil.
When Dorothea was again at Lydgates door speaking
to Martha, he was in the room close by with the door ajar,
preparing to go out. He heard her voice, and immediately
came to her.
Do you think that Mrs. Lydgate can receive me this
morning? she said, having reflected that it would be better
to leave out all allusion to her previous visit.
I have no doubt she will, said Lydgate, suppressing his
thought about Dorotheas looks, which were as much
changed as Rosamonds, if you will be kind enough to
come in and let me tell her that you are here. She has not
been very well since you were here yesterday, but she is
better this morning, and I think it is very likely that she
will be cheered by seeing you again.
It was plain that Lydgate, as Dorothea had expected,
knew nothing about the circumstances of her yesterdays
Middlemarch
1412 of 1492
visit; nay, he appeared to imagine that she had carried it
out according to her intention. She had prepared a little
note asking Rosamond to see her, which she would have
given to the servant if he had not been in the way, but
now she was in much anxiety as to the result of his
announcement.
After leading her into the drawing-room, he paused to
take a letter from his pocket and put it into her hands,
saying, I wrote this last night, and was going to carry it to
Lowick in my ride. When one is grateful for something
too good for common thanks, writing is less unsatisfactory
than speech one does not at least HEAR how inadequate
the words are.
Dorotheas face brightened. It is I who have most to
thank for, since you have let me take that place. You
HAVE consented? she said, suddenly doubting.
Yes, the check is going to Bulstrode to-day.
He said no more, but went up-stairs to Rosamond,
who had but lately finished dressing herself, and sat
languidly wondering what she should do next, her habitual
industry in small things, even in the days of her sadness,
prompting her to begin some kind of occupation, which
she dragged through slowly or paused in from lack of
interest. She looked ill, but had recovered her usual
Middlemarch
1413 of 1492
quietude of manner, and Lydgate had feared to disturb her
by any questions. He had told her of Dorotheas letter
containing the check, and afterwards he had said, Ladislaw
is come, Rosy; he sat with me last night; I dare say he will
be here again to-day. I thought he looked rather battered
and depressed. And Rosamond had made no reply.
Now, when he came up, he said to her very gently,
Rosy, dear, Mrs. Casaubon is come to see you again; you
would like to see her, would you not? That she colored
and gave rather a startled movement did not surprise him
after the agitation produced by the interview yesterdaya
beneficent agitation, he thought, since it seemed to have
made her turn to him again.
Rosamond dared not say no. She dared not with a tone
of her voice touch the facts of yesterday. Why had Mrs.
Casaubon come again? The answer was a blank which
Rosamond could only fill up with dread, for Will
Ladislaws lacerating words had made every thought of
Dorothea a fresh smart to her. Nevertheless, in her new
humiliating uncertainty she dared do nothing but comply.
She did not say yes, but she rose and let Lydgate put a
light shawl over her shoulders, while he said, I am going
out immediately. Then something crossed her mind
which prompted her to say, Pray tell Martha not to bring
Middlemarch
1414 of 1492
any one else into the drawing-room. And Lydgate
assented, thinking that he fully understood this wish. He
led her down to the drawing-room door, and then turned
away, observing to himself that he was rather a blundering
husband to be dependent for his wifes trust in him on the
influence of another woman.
Rosamond, wrapping her soft shawl around her as she
walked towards Dorothea, was inwardly wrapping her soul
in cold reserve. Had Mrs. Casaubon come to say anything
to her about Will? If so, it was a liberty that Rosamond
resented; and she prepared herself to meet every word
with polite impassibility. Will had bruised her pride too
sorely for her to feel any compunction towards him and
Dorothea: her own injury seemed much the greater.
Dorothea was not only the preferred woman, but had
also a formidable advantage in being Lydgates benefactor;
and to poor Rosamonds pained confused vision it seemed
that this Mrs. Casaubon this woman who predominated
in all things concerning hermust have come now with
the sense of having the advantage, and with animosity
prompting her to use it. Indeed, not Rosamond only, but
any one else, knowing the outer facts of the case, and not
the simple inspiration on which Dorothea acted, might
well have wondered why she came.
Middlemarch
1415 of 1492
Looking like the lovely ghost of herself, her graceful
slimness wrapped in her soft white shawl, the rounded
infantine mouth and cheek inevitably suggesting mildness
and innocence, Rosamond paused at three yards distance
from her visitor and bowed. But Dorothea, who had taken
off her gloves, from an impulse which she could never
resist when she wanted a sense of freedom, came forward,
and with her face full of a sad yet sweet openness, put out
her hand. Rosamond could not avoid meeting her glance,
could not avoid putting her small hand into Dorotheas,
which clasped it with gentle motherliness; and
immediately a doubt of her own prepossessions began to
stir within her. Rosamonds eye was quick for faces; she
saw that Mrs. Casaubons face looked pale and changed
since yesterday, yet gentle, and like the firm softness of her
hand. But Dorothea had counted a little too much on her
own strength: the clearness and intensity of her mental
action this morning were the continuance of a nervous
exaltation which made her frame as dangerously
responsive as a bit of finest Venetian crystal; and in looking
at Rosamond, she suddenly found her heart swelling, and
was unable to speakall her effort was required to keep
back tears. She succeeded in that, and the emotion only
passed over her face like the spirit of a sob; but it added to
Middlemarch
1416 of 1492
Rosamonds impression that Mrs. Casaubons state of
mind must be something quite different from what she
had imagined.
So they sat down without a word of preface on the two
chairs that happened to be nearest, and happened also to
be close together; though Rosamonds notion when she
first bowed was that she should stay a long way off from
Mrs. Casaubon. But she ceased thinking how anything
would turn outmerely wondering what would come.
And Dorothea began to speak quite simply, gathering
firmness as she went on.
I had an errand yesterday which I did not finish; that is
why I am here again so soon. You will not think me too
troublesome when I tell you that I came to talk to you
about the injustice that has been shown towards Mr.
Lydgate. It will cheer youwill it not? to know a great
deal about him, that he may not like to speak about
himself just because it is in his own vindication and to his
own honor. You will like to know that your husband has
warm friends, who have not left off believing in his high
character? You will let me speak of this without thinking
that I take a liberty?
The cordial, pleading tones which seemed to flow with
generous heedlessness above all the facts which had filled
Middlemarch
1417 of 1492
Rosamonds mind as grounds of obstruction and hatred
between her and this woman, came as soothingly as a
warm stream over her shrinking fears. Of course Mrs.
Casaubon had the facts in her mind, but she was not going
to speak of anything connected with them. That relief was
too great for Rosamond to feel much else at the moment.
She answered prettily, in the new ease of her soul
I know you have been very good. I shall like to hear
anything you will say to me about Tertius.
The day before yesterday, said Dorothea, when I had
asked him to come to Lowick to give me his opinion on
the affairs of the Hospital, he told me everything about his
conduct and feelings in this sad event which has made
ignorant people cast suspicions on him. The reason he told
me was because I was very bold and asked him. I believed
that he had never acted dishonorably, and I begged him to
tell me the history. He confessed to me that he had never
told it before, not even to you, because he had a great
dislike to say, I was not wrong, as if that were proof,
when there are guilty people who will say so. The truth is,
he knew nothing of this man Raffles, or that there were
any bad secrets about him; and he thought that Mr.
Bulstrode offered him the money because he repented, out
of kindness, of having refused it before. All his anxiety
Middlemarch
1418 of 1492
about his patient was to treat him rightly, and he was a
little uncomfortable that the case did not end as he had
expected; but he thought then and still thinks that there
may have been no wrong in it on any ones part. And I
have told Mr. Farebrother, and Mr. Brooke, and Sir James
Chettam: they all believe in your husband. That will cheer
you, will it not? That will give you courage?
Dorotheas face had become animated, and as it
beamed on Rosamond very close to her, she felt
something like bashful timidity before a superior, in the
presence of this self-forgetful ardor. She said, with
blushing embarrassment, Thank you: you are very kind.
And he felt that he had been so wrong not to pour out
everything about this to you. But you will forgive him. It
was because he feels so much more about your happiness
than anything else he feels his life bound into one with
yours, and it hurts him more than anything, that his
misfortunes must hurt you. He could speak to me because
I am an indifferent person. And then I asked him if I
might come to see you; because I felt so much for his
trouble and yours. That is why I came yesterday, and why
I am come to-day. Trouble is so hard to bear, is it not?
How can we live and think that any one has trouble
Middlemarch
1419 of 1492
piercing trouble and we could help them, and never
try?
Dorothea, completely swayed by the feeling that she
was uttering, forgot everything but that she was speaking
from out the heart of her own trial to Rosamonds. The
emotion had wrought itself more and more into her
utterance, till the tones might have gone to ones very
marrow, like a low cry from some suffering creature in the
darkness. And she had unconsciously laid her hand again
on the little hand that she had pressed before.
Rosamond, with an overmastering pang, as if a wound
within her had been probed, burst into hysterical crying as
she had done the day before when she clung to her
husband. Poor Dorothea was feeling a great wave of her
own sorrow returning over her her thought being
drawn to the possible share that Will Ladislaw might have
in Rosamonds mental tumult. She was beginning to fear
that she should not be able to suppress herself enough to
the end of this meeting, and while her hand was still
resting on Rosamonds lap, though the hand underneath it
was withdrawn, she was struggling against her own rising
sobs. She tried to master herself with the thought that this
might be a turning-point in three lives not in her own;
no, there the irrevocable had happened, but in those
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Middlemarch
1420 of 1492
three lives which were touching hers with the solemn
neighborhood of danger and distress. The fragile creature
who was crying close to herthere might still be time to
rescue her from the misery of false incompatible bonds;
and this moment was unlike any other: she and Rosamond
could never be together again with the same thrilling
consciousness of yesterday within them both. She felt the
relation between them to be peculiar enough to give her a
peculiar influence, though she had no conception that the
way in which her own feelings were involved was fully
known to Mrs. Lydgate.
It was a newer crisis in Rosamonds experience than
even Dorothea could imagine: she was under the first
great shock that had shattered her dream-world in which
she had been easily confident of herself and critical of
others; and this strange unexpected manifestation of
feeling in a woman whom she had approached with a
shrinking aversion and dread, as one who must necessarily
have a jealous hatred towards her, made her soul totter all
the more with a sense that she had been walking in an
unknown world which had just broken in upon her.
When Rosamonds convulsed throat was subsiding into
calm, and she withdrew the handkerchief with which she
had been hiding her face, her eyes met Dorotheas as
Middlemarch
1421 of 1492
helplessly as if they had been blue flowers. What was the
use of thinking about behavior after this crying? And
Dorothea looked almost as childish, with the neglected
trace of a silent tear. Pride was broken down between
these two.
We were talking about your husband, Dorothea said,
with some timidity. I thought his looks were sadly
changed with suffering the other day. I had not seen him
for many weeks before. He said he had been feeling very
lonely in his trial; but I think he would have borne it all
better if he had been able to be quite open with you.
Tertius is so angry and impatient if I say anything, said
Rosamond, imagining that he had been complaining of
her to Dorothea. He ought not to wonder that I object to
speak to him on painful subjects.
It was himself he blamed for not speaking, said
Dorothea. What he said of you was, that he could not be
happy in doing anything which made you unhappythat
his marriage was of course a bond which must affect his
choice about everything; and for that reason he refused my
proposal that he should keep his position at the Hospital,
because that would bind him to stay in Middlemarch, and
he would not undertake to do anything which would be
painful to you. He could say that to me, because he knows
Middlemarch
1422 of 1492
that I had much trial in my marriage, from my husbands
illness, which hindered his plans and saddened him; and he
knows that I have felt how hard it is to walk always in fear
of hurting another who is tied to us.
Dorothea waited a little; she had discerned a faint
pleasure stealing over Rosamonds face. But there was no
answer, and she went on, with a gathering tremor,
Marriage is so unlike everything else. There is something
even awful in the nearness it brings. Even if we loved
some one else better thanthan those we were married
to, it would be no usepoor Dorothea, in her palpitating
anxiety, could only seize her language brokenlyI mean,
marriage drinks up all our power of giving or getting any
blessedness in that sort of love. I know it may be very
dearbut it murders our marriage and then the
marriage stays with us like a murderand everything else
is gone. And then our husbandif he loved and trusted
us, and we have not helped him, but made a curse in his
life
Her voice had sunk very low: there was a dread upon
her of presuming too far, and of speaking as if she herself
were perfection addressing error. She was too much
preoccupied with her own anxiety, to be aware that
Rosamond was trembling too; and filled with the need to
Middlemarch
1423 of 1492
express pitying fellowship rather than rebuke, she put her
hands on Rosamonds, and said with more agitated
rapidity,I know, I know that the feeling may be very
dearit has taken hold of us unawaresit is so hard, it
may seem like death to part with itand we are weakI
am weak
The waves of her own sorrow, from out of which she
was struggling to save another, rushed over Dorothea with
conquering force. She stopped in speechless agitation. not
crying, but feeling as if she were being inwardly grappled.
Her face had become of a deathlier paleness, her lips
trembled, and she pressed her hands helplessly on the
hands that lay under them.
Rosamond, taken hold of by an emotion stronger than
her own hurried along in a new movement which gave
all things some new, awful, undefined aspectcould find
no words, but involuntarily she put her lips to Dorotheas
forehead which was very near her, and then for a minute
the two women clasped each other as if they had been in a
shipwreck.
You are thinking what is not true, said Rosamond, in
an eager half-whisper, while she was still feeling
Dorotheas arms round her urged by a mysterious
Middlemarch
1424 of 1492
necessity to free herself from something that oppressed her
as if it were blood guiltiness.
They moved apart, looking at each other.
When you came in yesterdayit was not as you
thought, said Rosamond in the same tone.
There was a movement of surprised attention in
Dorothea She expected a vindication of Rosamond
herself.
He was telling me how he loved another woman, that
I might know he could never love me, said Rosamond,
getting more and more hurried as she went on. And now
I think he hates me because because you mistook him
yesterday. He says it is through me that you will think ill
of himthink that he is a false person. But it shall not be
through me. He has never had any love for me I know
he has nothe has always thought slightly of me. He said
yesterday that no other woman existed for him beside you.
The blame of what happened is entirely mine. He said he
could never explain to youbecause of me. He said you
could never think well of him again. But now I have told
you, and he cannot reproach me any more.
Rosamond had delivered her soul under impulses
which she had not known before. She had begun her
confession under the subduing influence of Dorotheas
Middlemarch
1425 of 1492
emotion; and as she went on she had gathered the sense
that she was repelling Wills reproaches, which were still
like a knife-wound within her.
The revulsion of feeling in Dorothea was too strong to
be called joy. It was a tumult in which the terrible strain of
the night and morning made a resistant pain:she could
only perceive that this would be joy when she had
recovered her power of feeling it. Her immediate
consciousness was one of immense sympathy without
cheek; she cared for Rosamond without struggle now, and
responded earnestly to her last words
No, he cannot reproach you any more.
With her usual tendency to over-estimate the good in
others, she felt a great outgoing of her heart towards
Rosamond, for the generous effort which had redeemed
her from suffering, not counting that the effort was a
reflex of her own energy. After they had been silent a
little, she said
You are not sorry that I came this morning?
No, you have been very good to me, said Rosamond.
I did not think that you would be so good. I was very
unhappy. I am not happy now. Everything is so sad.
But better days will come. Your husband will be
rightly valued. And he depends on you for comfort. He
Middlemarch
1426 of 1492
loves you best. The worst loss would be to lose thatand
you have not lost it, said Dorothea.
She tried to thrust away the too overpowering thought
of her own relief, lest she should fail to win some sign that
Rosamonds affection was yearning back towards her
husband.
Tertius did not find fault with me, then? said
Rosamond, understanding now that Lydgate might have
said anything to Mrs. Casaubon, and that she certainly was
different from other women. Perhaps there was a faint
taste of jealousy in the question. A smile began to play
over Dorotheas face as she said
No, indeed! How could you imagine it? But here the
door opened, and Lydgate entered.
I am come back in my quality of doctor, he said.
After I went away, I was haunted by two pale faces: Mrs.
Casaubon looked as much in need of care as you, Rosy.
And I thought that I had not done my duty in leaving you
together; so when I had been to Colemans I came home
again. I noticed that you were walking, Mrs. Casaubon,
and the sky has changedI think we may have rain. May
I send some one to order your carriage to come for you?
Oh, no! I am strong: I need the walk, said Dorothea,
rising with animation in her face. Mrs. Lydgate and I have
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1427 of 1492
chatted a great deal, and it is time for me to go. I have
always been accused of being immoderate and saying too
much.
She put out her hand to Rosamond, and they said an
earnest, quiet good-by without kiss or other show of
effusion: there had been between them too much serious
emotion for them to use the signs of it superficially.
As Lydgate took her to the door she said nothing of
Rosamond, but told him of Mr. Farebrother and the other
friends who had listened with belief to his story.
When he came back to Rosamond, she had already
thrown herself on the sofa, in resigned fatigue.
Well, Rosy, he said, standing over her, and touching
her hair, what do you think of Mrs. Casaubon now you
have seen so much of her?
I think she must be better than any one, said
Rosamond, and she is very beautiful. If you go to talk to
her so often, you will be more discontented with me than
ever!
Lydgate laughed at the so often. But has she made
you any less discontented with me?
I think she has, said Rosamond, looking up in his
face. How heavy your eyes are, Tertiusand do push
your hair back. He lifted up his large white hand to obey
Middlemarch
1428 of 1492
her, and felt thankful for this little mark of interest in him.
Poor Rosamonds vagrant fancy had come back terribly
scourgedmeek enough to nestle under the old despised
shelter. And the shelter was still there: Lydgate had
accepted his narrowed lot with sad resignation. He had
chosen this fragile creature, and had taken the burthen of
her life upon his arms. He must walk as he could, carrying
that burthen pitifully.
Middlemarch
1429 of 1492
Chapter LXXXII
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
SHAKESPEARE: Sonnets.
Exiles notoriously feed much on hopes, and are
unlikely to stay in banishment unless they are obliged.
When Will Ladislaw exiled himself from Middlemarch he
had placed no stronger obstacle to his return than his own
resolve, which was by no means an iron barrier, but
simply a state of mind liable to melt into a minuet with
other states of mind, and to find itself bowing, smiling,
and giving place with polite facility. As the months went
on, it had seemed more and more difficult to him to say
why he should not run down to Middlemarchmerely
for the sake of hearing something about Dorothea; and if
on such a flying visit he should chance by some strange
coincidence to meet with her, there was no reason for him
to be ashamed of having taken an innocent journey which
he had beforehand supposed that he should not take. Since
he was hopelessly divided from her, he might surely
venture into her neighborhood; and as to the suspicious
friends who kept a dragon watch over her their
Middlemarch
1430 of 1492
opinions seemed less and less important with time and
change of air.
And there had come a reason quite irrespective of
Dorothea, which seemed to make a journey to
Middlemarch a sort of philanthropic duty. Will had given
a disinterested attention to an intended settlement on a
new plan in the Far West, and the need for funds in order
to carry out a good design had set him on debating with
himself whether it would not be a laudable use to make of
his claim on Bulstrode, to urge the application of that
money which had been offered to himself as a means of
carrying out a scheme likely to be largely beneficial. The
question seemed a very dubious one to Will, and his
repugnance to again entering into any relation with the
banker might have made him dismiss it quickly, if there
had not arisen in his imagination the probability that his
judgment might be more safely determined by a visit to
Middlemarch.
That was the object which Will stated to himself as a
reason for coming down. He had meant to confide in
Lydgate, and discuss the money question with him, and he
had meant to amuse himself for the few evenings of his
stay by having a great deal of music and badinage with fair
Rosamond, without neglecting his friends at Lowick
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1431 of 1492
Parsonage:if the Parsonage was close to the Manor, that
was no fault of his. He had neglected the Farebrothers
before his departure, from a proud resistance to the
possible accusation of indirectly seeking interviews with
Dorothea; but hunger tames us, and Will had become very
hungry for the vision of a certain form and the sound of a
certain voice. Nothing, had done instead not the opera,
or the converse of zealous politicians, or the flattering
reception (in dim corners) of his new hand in leading
articles.
Thus he had come down, foreseeing with confidence
how almost everything would be in his familiar little
world; fearing, indeed, that there would be no surprises in
his visit. But he had found that humdrum world in a
terribly dynamic condition, in which even badinage and
lyrism had turned explosive; and the first day of this visit
had become the most fatal epoch of his life. The next
morning he felt so harassed with the nightmare of
consequences he dreaded so much the immediate issues
before himthat seeing while he breakfasted the arrival of
the Riverston coach, he went out hurriedly and took his
place on it, that he might be relieved, at least for a day,
from the necessity of doing or saying anything in
Middlemarch. Will Ladislaw was in one of those tangled
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Middlemarch
1432 of 1492
crises which are commoner in experience than one might
imagine, from the shallow absoluteness of mens
judgments. He had found Lydgate, for whom he had the
sincerest respect, under circumstances which claimed his
thorough and frankly declared sympathy; and the reason
why, in spite of that claim, it would have been better for
Will to have avoided all further intimacy, or even contact,
with Lydgate, was precisely of the kind to make such a
course appear impossible. To a creature of Wills
susceptible temperamentwithout any neutral region of
indifference in his nature, ready to turn everything that
befell him into the collisions of a passionate dramathe
revelation that Rosamond had made her happiness in any
way dependent on him was a difficulty which his outburst
of rage towards her had immeasurably increased for him.
He hated his own cruelty, and yet he dreaded to show the
fulness of his relenting: he must go to her again; the
friendship could not be put to a sudden end; and her
unhappiness was a power which he dreaded. And all the
while there was no more foretaste of enjoyment in the life
before him than if his limbs had been lopped off and he
was making his fresh start on crutches. In the night he had
debated whether he should not get on the coach, not for
Riverston, but for London, leaving a note to Lydgate
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1433 of 1492
which would give a makeshift reason for his retreat. But
there were strong cords pulling him back from that abrupt
departure: the blight on his happiness in thinking of
Dorothea, the crushing of that chief hope which had
remained in spite of the acknowledged necessity for
renunciation, was too fresh a misery for him to resign
himself to it and go straightway into a distance which was
also despair.
Thus he did nothing more decided than taking the
Riverston coach. He came back again by it while it was
still daylight, having made up his mind that he must go to
Lydgates that evening. The Rubicon, we know, was a
very insignificant stream to look at; its significance lay
entirely in certain invisible conditions. Will felt as if he
were forced to cross his small boundary ditch, and what he
saw beyond it was not empire, but discontented
subjection.
But it is given to us sometimes even in our every-day
life to witness the saving influence of a noble nature, the
divine efficacy of rescue that may lie in a self-subduing act
of fellowship. If Dorothea, after her nights anguish, had
not taken that walk to Rosamondwhy, she perhaps
would have been a woman who gained a higher character
for discretion, but it would certainly not have been as well
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1434 of 1492
for those three who were on one hearth in Lydgates
house at half-past seven that evening.
Rosamond had been prepared for Wills visit, and she
received him with a languid coldness which Lydgate
accounted for by her nervous exhaustion, of which he
could not suppose that it had any relation to Will. And
when she sat in silence bending over a bit of work, he
innocently apologized for her in an indirect way by
begging her to lean backward and rest. Will was miserable
in the necessity for playing the part of a friend who was
making his first appearance and greeting to Rosamond,
while his thoughts were busy about her feeling since that
scene of yesterday, which seemed still inexorably to
enclose them both, like the painful vision of a double
madness. It happened that nothing called Lydgate out of
the room; but when Rosamond poured out the tea, and
Will came near to fetch it, she placed a tiny bit of folded
paper in his saucer. He saw it and secured it quickly, but as
he went back to his inn he had no eagerness to unfold the
paper. What Rosamond had written to him would
probably deepen the painful impressions of the evening.
Still, he opened and read it by his bed-candle. There were
only these few words in her neatly flowing hand:
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1435 of 1492
I have told Mrs. Casaubon. She is not under any
mistake about you. I told her because she came to see me
and was very kind. You will have nothing to reproach me
with now. I shall not have made any difference to you.
The effect of these words was not quite all gladness. As
Will dwelt on them with excited imagination, he felt his
cheeks and ears burning at the thought of what had
occurred between Dorothea and Rosamond at the
uncertainty how far Dorothea might still feel her dignity
wounded in having an explanation of his conduct offered
to her. There might still remain in her mind a changed
association with him which made an irremediable
differencea lasting flaw. With active fancy he wrought
himself into a state of doubt little more easy than that of
the man who has escaped from wreck by night and stands
on unknown ground in the darkness. Until that wretched
yesterday except the moment of vexation long ago in
the very same room and in the very same presenceall
their vision, all their thought of each other, had been as in
a world apart, where the sunshine fell on tall white lilies,
where no evil lurked, and no other soul entered. But
nowwould Dorothea meet him in that world again?
Middlemarch
1436 of 1492
Chapter LXXXIII
And now good-morrow to our waking souls
Which watch not one another out of fear;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room, an everywhere.
DR. DONNE.
On the second morning after Dorotheas visit to
Rosamond, she had had two nights of sound sleep, and
had not only lost all traces of fatigue, but felt as if she had a
great deal of superfluous strength that is to say, more
strength than she could manage to concentrate on any
occupation. The day before, she had taken long walks
outside the grounds, and had paid two visits to the
Parsonage; but she never in her life told any one the
reason why she spent her time in that fruitless manner, and
this morning she was rather angry with herself for her
childish restlessness. To-day was to be spent quite
differently. What was there to be done in the village? Oh
dear! nothing. Everybody was well and had flannel;
nobodys pig had died; and it was Saturday morning,
when there was a general scrubbing of doors and door-
stones, and when it was useless to go into the school. But
there were various subjects that Dorothea was trying to get
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1437 of 1492
clear upon, and she resolved to throw herself energetically
into the gravest of all. She sat down in the library before
her particular little heap of books on political economy
and kindred matters, out of which she was trying to get
light as to the best way of spending money so as not to
injure ones neighbors, or what comes to the same
thingso as to do them the most good. Here was a
weighty subject which, if she could but lay hold of it,
would certainly keep her mind steady. Unhappily her
mind slipped off it for a whole hour; and at the end she
found herself reading sentences twice over with an intense
consciousness of many things, but not of any one thing
contained in the text. This was hopeless. Should she order
the carriage and drive to Tipton? No; for some reason or
other she preferred staying at Lowick. But her vagrant
mind must be reduced to order: there was an art in self-
discipline; and she walked round and round the brown
library considering by what sort of manoeuvre she could
arrest her wandering thoughts. Perhaps a mere task was the
best meanssomething to which she must go doggedly.
Was there not the geography of Asia Minor, in which her
slackness had often been rebuked by Mr. Casaubon? She
went to the cabinet of maps and unrolled one: this
morning she might make herself finally sure that
Middlemarch
1438 of 1492
Paphlagonia was not on the Levantine coast, and fix her
total darkness about the Chalybes firmly on the shores of
the Euxine. A map was a fine thing to study when you
were disposed to think of something else, being made up
of names that would turn into a chime if you went back
upon them. Dorothea set earnestly to work, bending close
to her map, and uttering the names in an audible, subdued
tone, which often got into a chime. She looked amusingly
girlish after all her deep experience nodding her head
and marking the names off on her fingers, with a little
pursing of her lip, and now and then breaking off to put
her hands on each side of her face and say, Oh dear! oh
dear!
There was no reason why this should end any more
than a merry-go-round; but it was at last interrupted by
the opening of the door and the announcement of Miss
Noble.
The little old lady, whose bonnet hardly reached
Dorotheas shoulder, was warmly welcomed, but while
her hand was being pressed she made many of her beaver-
like noises, as if she had something difficult to say.
Do sit down, said Dorothea, rolling a chair forward.
Am I wanted for anything? I shall be so glad if I can do
anything.
Middlemarch
1439 of 1492
I will not stay, said Miss Noble, putting her hand into
her small basket, and holding some article inside it
nervously; I have left a friend in the churchyard. She
lapsed into her inarticulate sounds, and unconsciously
drew forth the article which she was fingering. It was the
tortoise-shell lozenge-box, and Dorothea felt the color
mounting to her cheeks.
Mr. Ladislaw, continued the timid little woman. He
fears he has offended you, and has begged me to ask if you
will see him for a few minutes.
Dorothea did not answer on the instant: it was crossing
her mind that she could not receive him in this library,
where her husbands prohibition seemed to dwell. She
looked towards the window. Could she go out and meet
him in the grounds? The sky was heavy, and the trees had
begun to shiver as at a coming storm. Besides, she shrank
from going out to him.
Do see him, Mrs. Casaubon, said Miss Noble,
pathetically; else I must go back and say No, and that will
hurt him.
Yes, I will see him, said Dorothea. Pray tell him to
come.
What else was there to be done? There was nothing
that she longed for at that moment except to see Will: the
Middlemarch
1440 of 1492
possibility of seeing him had thrust itself insistently
between her and every other object; and yet she had a
throbbing excitement like an alarm upon her a sense
that she was doing something daringly defiant for his sake.
When the little lady had trotted away on her mission,
Dorothea stood in the middle of the library with her hands
falling clasped before her, making no attempt to compose
herself in an attitude of dignified unconsciousness. What
she was least conscious of just then was her own body: she
was thinking of what was likely to be in Wills mind, and
of the hard feelings that others had had about him. How
could any duty bind her to hardness? Resistance to unjust
dispraise had mingled with her feeling for him from the
very first, and now in the rebound of her heart after her
anguish the resistance was stronger than ever. If I love
him too much it is because he has been used so ill:there
was a voice within her saying this to some imagined
audience in the library, when the door was opened, and
she saw Will before her.
She did not move, and he came towards her with more
doubt and timidity in his face than she had ever seen
before. He was in a state of uncertainty which made him
afraid lest some look or word of his should condemn him
to a new distance from her; and Dorothea was afraid of
Middlemarch
1441 of 1492
her OWN emotion. She looked as if there were a spell
upon her, keeping her motionless and hindering her from
unclasping her hands, while some intense, grave yearning
was imprisoned within her eyes. Seeing that she did not
put out her hand as usual, Will paused a yard from her and
said with embarrassment, I am so grateful to you for
seeing me.
I wanted to see you, said Dorothea, having no other
words at command. It did not occur to her to sit down,
and Will did not give a cheerful interpretation to this
queenly way of receiving him; but he went on to say what
he had made up his mind to say.
I fear you think me foolish and perhaps wrong for
coming back so soon. I have been punished for my
impatience. You know every one knows now-a
painful story about my parentage. I knew of it before I
went away, and I always meant to tell you of it if if we
ever met again.
There was a slight movement in Dorothea, and she
unclasped her hands, but immediately folded them over
each other.
But the affair is matter of gossip now, Will continued.
I wished you to know that something connected with
itsomething which happened before I went away,
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1442 of 1492
helped to bring me down here again. At least I thought it
excused my coming. It was the idea of getting Bulstrode
to apply some money to a public purposesome money
which he had thought of giving me. Perhaps it is rather to
Bulstrodes credit that he privately offered me
compensation for an old injury: he offered to give me a
good income to make amends; but I suppose you know
the disagreeable story?
Will looked doubtfully at Dorothea, but his manner
was gathering some of the defiant courage with which he
always thought of this fact in his destiny. He added, You
know that it must be altogether painful to me.
YesyesI know, said Dorothea, hastily.
I did not choose to accept an income from such a
source. I was sure that you would not think well of me if I
did so, said Will. Why should he mind saying anything of
that sort to her now? She knew that he had avowed his
love for her. I felt that he broke off, nevertheless.
You acted as I should have expected you to act, said
Dorothea, her face brightening and her head becoming a
little more erect on its beautiful stem.
I did not believe that you would let any circumstance
of my birth create a prejudice in you against me, though it
was sure to do so in others, said Will, shaking his head
Middlemarch
1443 of 1492
backward in his old way, and looking with a grave appeal
into her eyes.
If it were a new hardship it would be a new reason for
me to cling to you, said Dorothea, fervidly. Nothing
could have changed me buther heart was swelling, and
it was difficult to go on; she made a great effort over
herself to say in a low tremulous voice, but thinking that
you were differentnot so good as I had believed you to
be.
You are sure to believe me better than I am in
everything but one, said Will, giving way to his own
feeling in the evidence of hers. I mean, in my truth to
you. When I thought you doubted of that, I didnt care
about anything that was left. I thought it was all over with
me, and there was nothing to try foronly things to
endure.
I dont doubt you any longer, said Dorothea, putting
out her hand; a vague fear for him impelling her
unutterable affection.
He took her hand and raised it to his lips with
something like a sob. But he stood with his hat and gloves
in the other hand, and might have done for the portrait of
a Royalist. Still it was difficult to loose the hand, and
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Middlemarch
1444 of 1492
Dorothea, withdrawing it in a confusion that distressed
her, looked and moved away.
See how dark the clouds have become, and how the
trees are tossed, she said, walking towards the window,
yet speaking and moving with only a dim sense of what
she was doing.
Will followed her at a little distance, and leaned against
the tall back of a leather chair, on which he ventured now
to lay his hat and gloves, and free himself from the
intolerable durance of formality to which he had been for
the first time condemned in Dorotheas presence. It must
be confessed that he felt very happy at that moment
leaning on the chair. He was not much afraid of anything
that she might feel now.
They stood silent, not looking at each other, but
looking at the evergreens which were being tossed, and
were showing the pale underside of their leaves against the
blackening sky. Will never enjoyed the prospect of a storm
so much: it delivered him from the necessity of going
away. Leaves and little branches were hurled about, and
the thunder was getting nearer. The light was more and
more sombre, but there came a flash of lightning which
made them start and look at each other, and then smile.
Dorothea began to say what she had been thinking of.
Middlemarch
1445 of 1492
That was a wrong thing for you to say, that you would
have had nothing to try for. If we had lost our own chief
good, other peoples good would remain, and that is
worth trying for. Some can be happy. I seemed to see that
more clearly than ever, when I was the most wretched. I
can hardly think how I could have borne the trouble, if
that feeling had not come to me to make strength.
You have never felt the sort of misery I felt, said Will;
the misery of knowing that you must despise me.
But I have felt worseit was worse to think ill
Dorothea had begun impetuously, but broke off.
Will colored. He had the sense that whatever she said
was uttered in the vision of a fatality that kept them apart.
He was silent a moment, and then said passionately
We may at least have the comfort of speaking to each
other without disguise. Since I must go awaysince we
must always be dividedyou may think of me as one on
the brink of the grave.
While he was speaking there came a vivid flash of
lightning which lit each of them up for the otherand the
light seemed to be the terror of a hopeless love. Dorothea
darted instantaneously from the window; Will followed
her, seizing her hand with a spasmodic movement; and so
they stood, with their hands clasped, like two children,
Middlemarch
1446 of 1492
looking out on the storm, while the thunder gave a
tremendous crack and roll above them, and the rain began
to pour down. Then they turned their faces towards each
other, with the memory of his last words in them, and
they did not loose each others hands.
There is no hope for me, said Will. Even if you loved
me as well as I love youeven if I were everything to
you I shall most likely always be very poor: on a sober
calculation, one can count on nothing but a creeping lot.
It is impossible for us ever to belong to each other. It is
perhaps base of me to have asked for a word from you. I
meant to go away into silence, but I have not been able to
do what I meant.
Dont be sorry, said Dorothea, in her clear tender
tones. I would rather share all the trouble of our parting.
Her lips trembled, and so did his. It was never known
which lips were the first to move towards the other lips;
but they kissed tremblingly, and then they moved apart.
The rain was dashing against the window-panes as if an
angry spirit were within it, and behind it was the great
swoop of the wind; it was one of those moments in which
both the busy and the idle pause with a certain awe.
Dorothea sat down on the seat nearest to her, a long
low ottoman in the middle of the room, and with her
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1447 of 1492
hands folded over each other on her lap, looked at the
drear outer world. Will stood still an instant looking at
her, then seated himself beside her, and laid his hand on
hers, which turned itself upward to be clasped. They sat in
that way without looking at each other, until the rain
abated and began to fall in stillness. Each had been full of
thoughts which neither of them could begin to utter.
But when the rain was quiet, Dorothea turned to look
at Will. With passionate exclamation, as if some torture
screw were threatening him, he started up and said, It is
impossible!
He went and leaned on the back of the chair again, and
seemed to be battling with his own anger, while she
looked towards him sadly.
It is as fatal as a murder or any other horror that
divides people, he burst out again; it is more
intolerableto have our life maimed by petty accidents.
Nodont say thatyour life need not be maimed,
said Dorothea, gently.
Yes, it must, said Will, angrily. It is cruel of you to
speak in that wayas if there were any comfort. You may
see beyond the misery of it, but I dont. It is unkindit is
throwing back my love for you as if it were a trifle, to
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1448 of 1492
speak in that way in the face of the fact. We can never be
married.
Some timewe might, said Dorothea, in a trembling
voice.
When? said Will, bitterly. What is the use of
counting on any success of mine? It is a mere toss up
whether I shall ever do more than keep myself decently,
unless I choose to sell myself as a mere pen and a
mouthpiece. I can see that clearly enough. I could not
offer myself to any woman, even if she had no luxuries to
renounce.
There was silence. Dorotheas heart was full of
something that she wanted to say, and yet the words were
too difficult. She was wholly possessed by them: at that
moment debate was mute within her. And it was very
hard that she could not say what she wanted to say. Will
was looking out of the window angrily. If he would have
looked at her and not gone away from her side, she
thought everything would have been easier. At last he
turned, still resting against the chair, and stretching his
hand automatically towards his hat, said with a sort of
exasperation, Good-by.
Oh, I cannot bear itmy heart will break, said
Dorothea, starting from her seat, the flood of her young
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1449 of 1492
passion bearing down all the obstructions which had kept
her silentthe great tears rising and falling in an instant:"I
dont mind about poverty I hate my wealth.
In an instant Will was close to her and had his arms
round her, but she drew her head back and held his away
gently that she might go on speaking, her large tear-filled
eyes looking at his very simply, while she said in a sobbing
childlike way, We could live quite well on my own
fortuneit is too muchseven hundred a-yearI want
so littleno new clothesand I will learn what
everything costs.
Middlemarch
1450 of 1492
Chapter LXXXIV
Though it be songe of old and yonge,
That I sholde be to blame,
Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large
In hurtynge of my name.
The Not-browne Mayde.
It was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform
Bill: that explains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be
walking on the slope of the lawn near the great
conservatory at Freshitt Hall, holding the Times in his
hands behind him, while he talked with a trout-fishers
dispassionateness about the prospects of the country to Sir
James Chettam. Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady
Chettam, and Celia were sometimes seated on garden-
chairs, sometimes walking to meet little Arthur, who was
being drawn in his chariot, and, as became the infantine
Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with
handsome silken fringe.
The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully.
Mrs. Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of
peers: she had it for certain from her cousin that Truberry
had gone over to the other side entirely at the instigation
of his wife, who had scented peerages in the air from the
Middlemarch
1451 of 1492
very first introduction of the Reform question, and would
sign her soul away to take precedence of her younger
sister, who had married a baronet. Lady Chettam thought
that such conduct was very reprehensible, and
remembered that Mrs. Truberrys mother was a Miss
Walsingham of Melspring. Celia confessed it was nicer to
be Lady than Mrs., and that Dodo never minded about
precedence if she could have her own way. Mrs.
Cadwallader held that it was a poor satisfaction to take
precedence when everybody about you knew that you
had not a drop of good blood in your veins; and Celia
again, stopping to look at Arthur, said, It would be very
nice, though, if he were a Viscount and his lordships
little tooth coming through! He might have been, if James
had been an Earl.
My dear Celia, said the Dowager, Jamess title is
worth far more than any new earldom. I never wished his
father to be anything else than Sir James.
Oh, I only meant about Arthurs little tooth, said
Celia, comfortably. But see, here is my uncle coming.
She tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and
Mr. Cadwallader came forward to make one group with
the ladies. Celia had slipped her arm through her uncles,
and he patted her hand with a rather melancholy Well,
Middlemarch
1452 of 1492
my dear! As they approached, it was evident that Mr.
Brooke was looking dejected, but this was fully accounted
for by the state of politics; and as he was shaking hands all
round without more greeting than a Well, youre all here,
you know, the Rector said, laughingly
Dont take the throwing out of the Bill so much to
heart, Brooke; youve got all the riff-raff of the country on
your side.
The Bill, eh? ah! said Mr. Brooke, with a mild
distractedness of manner. Thrown out, you know, eh?
The Lords are going too far, though. Theyll have to pull
up. Sad news, you know. I mean, here at homesad
news. But you must not blame me, Chettam.
What is the matter? said Sir James. Not another
gamekeeper shot, I hope? Its what I should expect, when
a fellow like Trapping Bass is let off so easily.
Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the
house, you know, said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the
Cadwalladers, to show that he included them in his
confidence. As to poachers like Trapping Bass, you know,
Chettam, he continued, as they were entering, when you
are a magistrate, youll not find it so easy to commit.
Severity is all very well, but its a great deal easier when
youve got somebody to do it for you. You have a soft
Middlemarch
1453 of 1492
place in your heart yourself, you knowyoure not a
Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing.
Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous
perturbation. When he had something painful to tell, it
was usually his way to introduce it among a number of
disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine that would
get a milder flavor by mixing He continued his chat with
Sir James about the poachers until they were all seated,
and Mrs. Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said
Im dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is
not shot: that is settled. What is it, then?
Well, its a very trying thing, you know, said Mr.
Brooke. Im glad you and the Rector are here; its a
family matter but you will help us all to bear it,
Cadwallader. Ive got to break it to you, my dear. Here
Mr. Brooke looked at Celia Youve no notion what it
is, you know. And, Chettam, it will annoy you
uncommonlybut, you see, you have not been able to
hinder it, any more than I have. Theres something
singular in things: they come round, you know.
It must be about Dodo, said Celia, who had been used
to think of her sister as the dangerous part of the family
machinery. She had seated herself on a low stool against
her husbands knee.
Middlemarch
1454 of 1492
For Gods sake let us hear what it is! said Sir James.
Well, you know, Chettam, I couldnt help Casaubons
will: it was a sort of will to make things worse.
Exactly, said Sir James, hastily. But WHAT is worse?
Dorothea is going to be married again, you know,
said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards Celia, who
immediately looked up at her husband with a frightened
glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almost
white with anger, but he did not speak.
Merciful heaven! said Mrs. Cadwallader. Not to
YOUNG Ladislaw?
Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, Yes; to Ladislaw, and
then fell into a prudential silence.
You see, Humphrey! said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving
her arm towards her husband. Another time you will
admit that I have some foresight; or rather you will
contradict me and be just as blind as ever. YOU supposed
that the young gentleman was gone out of the country.
So he might be, and yet come back, said the Rector,
quietly
When did you learn this? said Sir James, not liking to
hear any one else speak, though finding it difficult to speak
himself.
Middlemarch
1455 of 1492
Yesterday, said Mr. Brooke, meekly. I went to
Lowick. Dorothea sent for me, you know. It had come
about quite suddenly neither of them had any idea two
days agonot any idea, you know. Theres something
singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determinedit is
no use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty,
Chettam. But she can act as she likes, you know.
It would have been better if I had called him out and
shot him a year ago, said Sir James, not from bloody-
mindedness, but because he needed something strong to
say.
Really, James, that would have been very
disagreeable, said Celia.
Be reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more
quietly, said Mr. Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-
natured friend so overmastered by anger.
That is not so very easy for a man of any dignity
with any sense of rightwhen the affair happens to be in
his own family, said Sir James, still in his white
indignation. It is perfectly scandalous. If Ladislaw had had
a spark of honor he would have gone out of the country at
once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I am
not surprised. The day after Casaubons funeral I said what
ought to be done. But I was not listened to.
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Middlemarch
1456 of 1492
You wanted what was impossible, you know,
Chettam, said Mr. Brooke. You wanted him shipped off.
I told you Ladislaw was not to be done as we liked with:
he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellow I always
said he was a remarkable fellow.
Yes, said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, it is
rather a pity you formed that high opinion of him. We are
indebted to that for his being lodged in this neighborhood.
We are indebted to that for seeing a woman like Dorothea
degrading herself by marrying him. Sir James made little
stoppages between his clauses, the words not coming
easily. A man so marked out by her husbands will, that
delicacy ought to have forbidden her from seeing him
again who takes her out of her proper rankinto
povertyhas the meanness to accept such a sacrificehas
always had an objectionable position a bad originand,
I BELIEVE, is a man of little principle and light character.
That is my opinion. Sir James ended emphatically,
turning aside and crossing his leg.
I pointed everything out to her, said Mr. Brooke,
apologetically I mean the poverty, and abandoning her
position. I said, My dear, you dont know what it is to
live on seven hundred a-year, and have no carriage, and
that kind of thing, and go amongst people who dont
Middlemarch
1457 of 1492
know who you are. I put it strongly to her. But I advise
you to talk to Dorothea herself. The fact is, she has a
dislike to Casaubons property. You will hear what she
says, you know.
Noexcuse meI shall not, said Sir James, with
more coolness. I cannot bear to see her again; it is too
painful. It hurts me too much that a woman like Dorothea
should have done what is wrong.
Be just, Chettam, said the easy, large-lipped Rector,
who objected to all this unnecessary discomfort. Mrs.
Casaubon may be acting imprudently: she is giving up a
fortune for the sake of a man, and we men have so poor
an opinion of each other that we can hardly call a woman
wise who does that. But I think you should not condemn
it as a wrong action, in the strict sense of the word.
Yes, I do, answered Sir James. I think that Dorothea
commits a wrong action in marrying Ladislaw.
My dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act
wrong because it is unpleasant to us, said the Rector,
quietly. Like many men who take life easily, he had the
knack of saying a home truth occasionally to those who
felt themselves virtuously out of temper. Sir James took
out his handkerchief and began to bite the corner.
Middlemarch
1458 of 1492
It is very dreadful of Dodo, though, said Celia,
wishing to justify her husband. She said she NEVER
WOULD marry again not anybody at all.
I heard her say the same thing myself, said Lady
Chettam, majestically, as if this were royal evidence.
Oh, there is usually a silent exception in such cases,
said Mrs. Cadwallader. The only wonder to me is, that
any of you are surprised. You did nothing to hinder it. If
you would have had Lord Triton down here to woo her
with his philanthropy, he might have carried her off
before the year was over. There was no safety in anything
else. Mr. Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as
possible. He made himself disagreeableor it pleased God
to make him soand then he dared her to contradict him.
Its the way to make any trumpery tempting, to ticket it at
a high price in that way.
I dont know what you mean by wrong, Cadwallader,
said Sir James, still feeling a little stung, and turning round
in his chair towards the Rector. Hes not a man we can
take into the family. At least, I must speak for myself, he
continued, carefully keeping his eyes off Mr. Brooke. I
suppose others will find his society too pleasant to care
about the propriety of the thing.
Middlemarch
1459 of 1492
Well, you know, Chettam, said Mr. Brooke, good-
humoredly, nursing his leg, I cant turn my back on
Dorothea. I must be a father to her up to a certain point. I
said, My dear, I wont refuse to give you away. I had
spoken strongly before. But I can cut off the entail, you
know. It will cost money and be troublesome; but I can
do it, you know.
Mr. Brooke nodded at Sir James, and felt that he was
both showing his own force of resolution and propitiating
what was just in the Baronets vexation. He had hit on a
more ingenious mode of parrying than he was aware of.
He had touched a motive of which Sir James was
ashamed. The mass of his feeling about Dorotheas
marriage to Ladislaw was due partly to excusable
prejudice, or even justifiable opinion, partly to a jealous
repugnance hardly less in Ladislaws case than in
Casaubons. He was convinced that the marriage was a
fatal one for Dorothea. But amid that mass ran a vein of
which he was too good and honorable a man to like the
avowal even to himself: it was undeniable that the union
of the two estatesTipton and Freshitt lying
charmingly within a ring-fence, was a prospect that
flattered him for his son and heir. Hence when Mr.
Brooke noddingly appealed to that motive, Sir James felt a
Middlemarch
1460 of 1492
sudden embarrassment; there was a stoppage in his throat;
he even blushed. He had found more words than usual in
the first jet of his anger, but Mr. Brookes propitiation was
more clogging to his tongue than Mr. Cadwalladers
caustic hint.
But Celia was glad to have room for speech after her
uncles suggestion of the marriage ceremony, and she said,
though with as little eagerness of manner as if the question
had turned on an invitation to dinner, Do you mean that
Dodo is going to be married directly, uncle?
In three weeks, you know, said Mr. Brooke,
helplessly. I can do nothing to hinder it, Cadwallader, he
added, turning for a little countenance toward the Rector,
who said
Ishould not make any fuss about it. If she likes to
be poor, that is her affair. Nobody would have said
anything if she had married the young fellow because he
was rich. Plenty of beneficed clergy are poorer than they
will be. Here is Elinor, continued the provoking husband;
she vexed her friends by me: I had hardly a thousand a-
yearI was a loutnobody could see anything in me
my shoes were not the right cutall the men wondered
how a woman could like me. Upon my word, I must take
Ladislaws part until I hear more harm of him.
Middlemarch
1461 of 1492
Humphrey, that is all sophistry, and you know it, said
his wife. Everything is all onethat is the beginning and
end with you. As if you had not been a Cadwallader! Does
any one suppose that I would have taken such a monster
as you by any other name?
And a clergyman too, observed Lady Chettam with
approbation. Elinor cannot be said to have descended
below her rank. It is difficult to say what Mr. Ladislaw is,
eh, James?
Sir James gave a small grunt, which was less respectful
than his usual mode of answering his mother. Celia looked
up at him like a thoughtful kitten.
It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful
mixture! said Mrs. Cadwallader. The Casaubon cuttle-
fish fluid to begin with, and then a rebellious Polish fiddler
or dancing-master, was it? and then an old clo
Nonsense, Elinor, said the Rector, rising. It is time
for us to go.
After all, he is a pretty sprig, said Mrs. Cadwallader,
rising too, and wishing to make amends. He is like the
fine old Crichley portraits before the idiots came in.
Ill go with you, said Mr. Brooke, starting up with
alacrity. You must all come and dine with me to-
morrow, you knoweh, Celia, my dear?
Middlemarch
1462 of 1492
You will, Jameswont you? said Celia, taking her
husbands hand.
Oh, of course, if you like, said Sir James, pulling
down his waistcoat, but unable yet to adjust his face good-
humoredly. That is to say, if it is not to meet anybody
else.:
No, no, no, said Mr. Brooke, understanding the
condition. Dorothea would not come, you know, unless
you had been to see her.
When Sir James and Celia were alone, she said, Do
you mind about my having the carriage to go to, Lowick,
James?
What, now, directly? he answered, with some
surprise.
Yes, it is very important, said Celia.
Remember, Celia, I cannot see her, said Sir James.
Not if she gave up marrying?
What is the use of saying that?however, Im going
to the stables. Ill tell Briggs to bring the carriage round.
Celia thought it was of great use, if not to say that, at
least to take a journey to Lowick in order to influence
Dorotheas mind. All through their girlhood she had felt
that she could act on her sister by a word judiciously
placedby opening a little window for the daylight of her
Middlemarch
1463 of 1492
own understanding to enter among the strange colored
lamps by which Dodo habitually saw. And Celia the
matron naturally felt more able to advise her childless
sister. How could any one understand Dodo so well as
Celia did or love her so tenderly?
Dorothea, busy in her boudoir, felt a glow of pleasure
at the sight of her sister so soon after the revelation of her
intended marriage. She had prefigured to herself, even
with exaggeration, the disgust of her friends, and she had
even feared that Celia might be kept aloof from her.
O Kitty, I am delighted to see you! said Dorothea,
putting her hands on Celias shoulders, and beaming on
her. I almost thought you would not come to me.
I have not brought Arthur, because I was in a hurry,
said Celia, and they sat down on two small chairs opposite
each other, with their knees touching.
You know, Dodo, it is very bad, said Celia, in her
placid guttural, looking as prettily free from humors as
possible. You have disappointed us all so. And I cant
think that it ever WILL beyou never can go and live in
that way. And then there are all your plans! You never can
have thought of that. James would have taken any trouble
for you, and you might have gone on all your life doing
what you liked.
Middlemarch
1464 of 1492
On the contrary, dear, said Dorothea, I never could
do anything that I liked. I have never carried out any plan
yet.
Because you always wanted things that wouldnt do.
But other plans would have come. And how can you
marry Mr. Ladislaw, that we none of us ever thought you
COULD marry? It shocks James so dreadfully. And then it
is all so different from what you have always been. You
would have Mr. Casaubon because he had such a great
soul, and was so and dismal and learned; and now, to think
of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who has got no estate or
anything. I suppose it is because you must be making
yourself uncomfortable in some way or other.
Dorothea laughed.
Well, it is very serious, Dodo, said Celia, becoming
more impressive. How will you live? and you will go
away among queer people. And I shall never see youand
you wont mind about little Arthur and I thought you
always would
Celias rare tears had got into her eyes, and the corners
of her mouth were agitated.
Dear Celia, said Dorothea, with tender gravity, if you
dont ever see me, it will not be my fault.
Middlemarch
1465 of 1492
Yes, it will, said Celia, with the same touching
distortion of her small features. How can I come to you
or have you with me when James cant bear it?that is
because he thinks it is not right he thinks you are so
wrong, Dodo. But you always were wrong: only I cant
help loving you. And nobody can think where you will
live: where can you go?
I am going to London, said Dorothea.
How can you always live in a street? And you will be
so poor. I could give you half my things, only how can I,
when I never see you?
Bless you, Kitty, said Dorothea, with gentle warmth.
Take comfort: perhaps James will forgive me some time.
But it would be much better if you would not be
married, said Celia, drying her eyes, and returning to her
argument; then there would be nothing uncomfortable.
And you would not do what nobody thought you could
do. James always said you ought to be a queen; but this is
not at all being like a queen. You know what mistakes
you have always been making, Dodo, and this is another.
Nobody thinks Mr. Ladislaw a proper husband for you.
And you SAID YOU would never be married again.
It is quite true that I might be a wiser person, Celia,
said Dorothea, and that I might have done something
Middlemarch
1466 of 1492
better, if I had been better. But this is what I am going to
do. I have promised to marry Mr. Ladislaw; and I am
going to marry him.
The tone in which Dorothea said this was a note that
Celia had long learned to recognize. She was silent a few
moments, and then said, as if she had dismissed all contest,
Is he very fond of you, Dodo?
I hope so. I am very fond of him.
That is nice, said Celia, comfortably. Only I rather
you had such a sort of husband as James is, with a place
very near, that I could drive to.
Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative.
Presently she said, I cannot think how it all came about.
Celia thought it would be pleasant to hear the story.
I dare say not, said-Dorothea, pinching her sisters
chin. If you knew how it came about, it would not seem
wonderful to you.
Cant you tell me? said Celia, settling her arms cozily.
No, dear, you would have to feel with me, else you
would never know.
Middlemarch
1467 of 1492
Chapter LXXXV
"Then went the jury out whose names were Mr.
Blindman, Mr. No-good, Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr.
Live-loose, Mr. Heady, Mr. High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr.
Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hate-light, Mr. Implacable, who
every one gave in his private verdict against him among
themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to
bring him in guilty before the judge. And first among
themselves, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, said, I see clearly
that this man is a heretic. Then said Mr. No-good, Away
with such a fellow from the earth! Ay, said Mr. Malice, for
I hate the very look of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I
could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose; for
he would be always condemning my way. Hang him,
hang him, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said Mr. High-
mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr. Enmity. He is
a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging is too good for him, said
Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch him out of the way said Mr.
Hate-light. Then said Mr. Implacable, Might I have all the
world given me, I could not be reconciled to him;
therefore let us forthwith bring him in guilty of death.
Pilgrims Progress.
When immortal Bunyan makes his picture of the
persecuting passions bringing in their verdict of guilty,
who pities Faithful? That is a rare and blessed lot which
some greatest men have not attained, to know ourselves
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Middlemarch
1468 of 1492
guiltless before a condemning crowd to be sure that
what we are denounced for is solely the good in us. The
pitiable lot is that of the man who could not call himself a
martyr even though he were to persuade himself that the
men who stoned him were but ugly passions incarnate
who knows that he is stoned, not for professing the Right,
but for not being the man he professed to be.
This was the consciousness that Bulstrode was
withering under while he made his preparations for
departing from Middlemarch, and going to end his
stricken life in that sad refuge, the indifference of new
faces. The duteous merciful constancy of his wife had
delivered him from one dread, but it could not hinder her
presence from being still a tribunal before which he shrank
from confession and desired advocacy. His equivocations
with himself about the death of Raffles had sustained the
conception of an Omniscience whom he prayed to, yet he
had a terror upon him which would not let him expose
them to judgment by a full confession to his wife: the acts
which he had washed and diluted with inward argument
and motive, and for which it seemed comparatively easy to
win invisible pardonwhat name would she call them by?
That she should ever silently call his acts Murder was what
he could not bear. He felt shrouded by her doubt: he got
Middlemarch
1469 of 1492
strength to face her from the sense that she could not yet
feel warranted in pronouncing that worst condemnation
on him. Some time, perhapswhen he was dyinghe
would tell her all: in the deep shadow of that time, when
she held his hand in the gathering darkness, she might
listen without recoiling from his touch. Perhaps: but
concealment had been the habit of his life, and the impulse
to confession had no power against the dread of a deeper
humiliation.
He was full of timid care for his wife, not only because
he deprecated any harshness of judgment from her, but
because he felt a deep distress at the sight of her suffering.
She had sent her daughters away to board at a school on
the coast, that this crisis might be hidden from them as far
as possible. Set free by their absence from the intolerable
necessity of accounting for her grief or of beholding their
frightened wonder, she could live unconstrainedly with
the sorrow that was every day streaking her hair with
whiteness and making her eyelids languid.
Tell me anything that you would like to have me do,
Harriet, Bulstrode had said to her; I mean with regard to
arrangements of property. It is my intention not to sell the
land I possess in this neighborhood, but to leave it to you
Middlemarch
1470 of 1492
as a safe provision. If you have any wish on such subjects,
do not conceal it from me.
A few days afterwards, when she had returned from a
visit to her brothers, she began to speak to her husband
on a subject which had for some time been in her mind.
I SHOULD like to do something for my brothers
family, Nicholas; and I think we are bound to make some
amends to Rosamond and her husband. Walter says Mr.
Lydgate must leave the town, and his practice is almost
good for nothing, and they have very little left to settle
anywhere with. I would rather do without something for
ourselves, to make some amends to my poor brothers
family.
Mrs. Bulstrode did not wish to go nearer to the facts
than in the phrase make some amends; knowing that her
husband must understand her. He had a particular reason,
which she was not aware of, for wincing under her
suggestion. He hesitated before he said
It is not possible to carry out your wish in the way you
propose, my dear. Mr. Lydgate has virtually rejected any
further service from me. He has returned the thousand
pounds which I lent him. Mrs. Casaubon advanced him
the sum for that purpose. Here is his letter.
Middlemarch
1471 of 1492
The letter seemed to cut Mrs. Bulstrode severely. The
mention of Mrs. Casaubons loan seemed a reflection of
that public feeling which held it a matter of course that
every one would avoid a connection with her husband.
She was silent for some time; and the tears fell one after
the other, her chin trembling as she wiped them away.
Bulstrode, sitting opposite to her, ached at the sight of that
grief-worn face, which two months before had been
bright and blooming. It had aged to keep sad company
with his own withered features. Urged into some effort at
comforting her, he said
There is another means, Harriet, by which I might do
a service to your brothers family, if you like to act in it.
And it would, I think, be beneficial to you: it would be an
advantageous way of managing the land which I mean to
be yours.
She looked attentive.
Garth once thought of undertaking the management of
Stone Court in order to place your nephew Fred there.
The stock was to remain as it is, and they were to pay a
certain share of the profits instead of an ordinary rent.
That would be a desirable beginning for the young man,
in conjunction with his employment under Garth. Would
it be a satisfaction to you?
Middlemarch
1472 of 1492
Yes, it would, said Mrs. Bulstrode, with some return
of energy. Poor Walter is so cast down; I would try
anything in my power to do him some good before I go
away. We have always been brother and sister.
You must make the proposal to Garth yourself,
Harriet, said Mr. Bulstrode, not liking what he had to say,
but desiring the end he had in view, for other reasons
besides the consolation of his wife. You must state to him
that the land is virtually yours, and that he need have no
transactions with me. Communications can be made
through Standish. I mention this, because Garth gave up
being my agent. I can put into your hands a paper which
he himself drew up, stating conditions; and you can
propose his renewed acceptance of them. I think it is not
unlikely that he will accept when you propose the thing
for the sake of your nephew.
Middlemarch
1473 of 1492
Chapter LXXXVI
"Le coeur se sature damour comme dun sel divin qui le
conserve; de la lincorruptible adherence de ceux qui se
sont aimes des laube de la vie, et la fraicheur des vielles
amours prolonges. Il existe un embaumement damour.
Cest de Daphnis et Chloe que sont faits Philemon et
Baucis. Cette vieillesse la, ressemblance du soir avec
laurore.
VICTOR HUGO: Lhomme qui rit.
Mrs. Garth, hearing Caleb enter the passage about tea-
time, opened the parlor-door and said, There you are,
Caleb. Have you had your dinner? (Mr. Garths meals
were much subordinated to business.)
Oh yes, a good dinnercold mutton and I dont
know what. Where is Mary?
In the garden with Letty, I think.
Fred is not come yet?
No. Are you going out again without taking tea,
Caleb? said Mrs. Garth, seeing that her absent-minded
husband was putting on again the hat which he had just
taken off.
No, no; Im only going to Mary a minute.
Middlemarch
1474 of 1492
Mary was in a grassy corner of the garden, where there
was a swing loftily hung between two pear-trees. She had
a pink kerchief tied over her head, making a little poke to
shade her eyes from the level sunbeams, while she was
giving a glorious swing to Letty, who laughed and
screamed wildly.
Seeing her father, Mary left the swing and went to
meet him, pushing back the pink kerchief and smiling afar
off at him with the involuntary smile of loving pleasure.
I came to look for you, Mary, said Mr. Garth. Let us-
walk about a bit. Mary knew quite well that her father
had something particular to say: his eyebrows made their
pathetic angle, and there was a tender gravity in his voice:
these things had been signs to her when she was Lettys
age. She put her arm within his, and they turned by the
row of nut-trees.
It will be a sad while before you can be married,
Mary, said her father, not looking at her, but at the end of
the stick which he held in his other hand.
Not a sad while, fatherI mean to be merry, said
Mary, laughingly. I have been single and merry for four-
and-twenty years and more: I suppose it will not be quite
as long again as that. Then, after a little pause, she said,
Middlemarch
1475 of 1492
more gravely, bending her face before her fathers, If you
are contented with Fred?
Caleb screwed up his mouth and turned his head aside
wisely.
Now, father, you did praise him last Wednesday. You
said he had an uncommon notion of stock, and a good eye
for things.
Did I? said Caleb, rather slyly.
Yes, I put it all down, and the date, anno Domini, and
everything, said Mary. You like things to be neatly
booked. And then his behavior to you, father, is really
good; he has a deep respect for you; and it is impossible to
have a better temper than Fred has.
Ay, ay; you want to coax me into thinking him a fine
match.
No, indeed, father. I dont love him because he is a
fine match.
What for, then?
Oh, dear, because I have always loved him. I should
never like scolding any one else so well; and that is a point
to be thought of in a husband.
Your mind is quite settled, then, Mary? said Caleb,
returning to his first tone. Theres no other wish come
into it since things have been going on as they have been
Middlemarch
1476 of 1492
of late? (Caleb meant a great deal in that vague phrase;)
because, better late than never. A woman must not force
her heartshell do a man no good by that.
My feelings have not changed, father, said Mary,
calmly. I shall be constant to Fred as long as he is constant
to me. I dont think either of us could spare the other, or
like any one else better, however much we might admire
them. It would make too great a difference to uslike
seeing all the old places altered, and changing the name for
everything. We must wait for each other a long while; but
Fred knows that.
Instead of speaking immediately, Caleb stood still and
screwed his stick on the grassy walk. Then he said, with
emotion in his voice, Well, Ive got a bit of news. What
do you think of Fred going to live at Stone Court, and
managing the land there?
How can that ever be, father? said Mary,
wonderingly.
He would manage it for his aunt Bulstrode. The poor
woman has been to me begging and praying. She wants to
do the lad good, and it might be a fine thing for him.
With saving, he might gradually buy the stock, and he has
a turn for farming.
Middlemarch
1477 of 1492
Oh, Fred would be so happy! It is too good to
believe.
Ah, but mind you, said Caleb, turning his head
warningly, I must take it on MY shoulders, and be
responsible, and see after everything; and that will grieve
your mother a bit, though she maynt say so. Fred had
need be careful.
Perhaps it is too much, father, said Mary, checked in
her joy. There would be no happiness in bringing you
any fresh trouble.
Nay, nay; work is my delight, child, when it doesnt
vex your mother. And then, if you and Fred get married,
here Calebs voice shook just perceptibly, hell be steady
and saving; and youve got your mothers cleverness, and
mine too, in a womans sort of way; and youll keep him
in order. Hell be coming by-and-by, so I wanted to tell
you first, because I think youd like to tell HIM by
yourselves. After that, I could talk it well over with him,
and we could go into business and the nature of things.
Oh, you dear good father! cried Mary, putting her
hands round her fathers neck, while he bent his head
placidly, willing to be caressed. I wonder if any other girl
thinks her father the best man in the world!
Nonsense, child; youll think your husband better.
Middlemarch
1478 of 1492
Impossible, said Mary, relapsing into her usual tone;
husbands are an inferior class of men, who require
keeping in order.
When they were entering the house with Letty, who
had run to join them, Mary saw Fred at the orchard-gate,
and went to meet him.
What fine clothes you wear, you extravagant youth!
said Mary, as Fred stood still and raised his hat to her with
playful formality. You are not learning economy.
Now that is too bad, Mary, said Fred. Just look at the
edges of these coat-cuffs! It is only by dint of good
brushing that I look respectable. I am saving up three
suitsone for a wedding-suit.
How very droll you will look!like a gentleman in an
old fashion-book.
Oh no, they will keep two years.
Two years! be reasonable, Fred, said Mary, turning to
walk. Dont encourage flattering expectations.
Why not? One lives on them better than on
unflattering ones. If we cant be married in two years, the
truth will be quite bad enough when it comes.
I have heard a story of a young gentleman who once
encouraged flattering expectations, and they did him
harm.
Middlemarch
1479 of 1492
Mary, if youve got something discouraging to tell me,
I shall bolt; I shall go into the house to Mr. Garth. I am
out of spirits. My father is so cut uphome is not like
itself. I cant bear any more bad news.
Should you call it bad news to be told that you were
to live at Stone Court, and manage the farm, and be
remarkably prudent, and save money every year till all the
stock and furniture were your own, and you were a
distinguished agricultural character, as Mr. Borthrop
Trumbull saysrather stout, I fear, and with the Greek
and Latin sadly weather-worn?
You dont mean anything except nonsense, Mary?
said Fred, coloring slightly nevertheless.
That is what my father has just told me of as what may
happen, and he never talks nonsense, said Mary, looking
up at Fred now, while he grasped her hand as they
walked, till it rather hurt her; but she would not complain.
Oh, I could be a tremendously good fellow then,
Mary, and we could be married directly.
Not so fast, sir; how do you know that I would not
rather defer our marriage for some years? That would
leave you time to misbehave, and then if I liked some one
else better, I should have an excuse for jilting you.
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Middlemarch
1480 of 1492
Pray dont joke, Mary, said Fred, with strong feeling.
Tell me seriously that all this is true, and that you are
happy because of it because you love me best.
It is all true, Fred, and I am happy because of it
because I love you best, said Mary, in a tone of obedient
recitation.
They lingered on the door-step under the steep-roofed
porch, and Fred almost in a whisper said
When we were first engaged, with the umbrella-ring,
Mary, you used to
The spirit of joy began to laugh more decidedly in
Marys eyes, but the fatal Ben came running to the door
with Brownie yapping behind him, and, bouncing against
them, said
Fred and Mary! are you ever coming in?or may I eat
your cake?
FINALE.
Every limit is a beginning as well as an ending. Who
can quit young lives after being long in company with
them, and not desire to know what befell them in their
after-years? For the fragment of a life, however typical, is
not the sample of an even web: promises may not be kept,
and an ardent outset may be followed by declension; latent
Middlemarch
1481 of 1492
powers may find their long-waited opportunity; a past
error may urge a grand retrieval.
Marriage, which has been the bourne of so many
narratives, is still a great beginning, as it was to Adam and
Eve, who kept their honeymoon in Eden, but had their
first little one among the thorns and thistles of the
wilderness. It is still the beginning of the home epicthe
gradual conquest or irremediable loss of that complete
union which makes the advancing years a climax, and age
the harvest of sweet memories in common.
Some set out, like Crusaders of old, with a glorious
equipment of hope and enthusiasm and get broken by the
way, wanting patience with each other and the world.
All who have oared for Fred Vincy and Mary Garth
will like to know that these two made no such failure, but
achieved a solid mutual happiness. Fred surprised his
neighbors in various ways. He became rather distinguished
in his side of the county as a theoretic and practical farmer,
and produced a work on the Cultivation of Green Crops
and the Economy of Cattle-Feeding which won him high
congratulations at agricultural meetings. In Middlemarch
admiration was more reserved: most persons there were
inclined to believe that the merit of Freds authorship was
Middlemarch
1482 of 1492
due to his wife, since they had never expected Fred Vincy
to write on turnips and mangel-wurzel.
But when Mary wrote a little book for her boys, called
Stories of Great Men, taken from Plutarch, and had it
printed and published by Gripp & Co., Middlemarch,
every one in the town was willing to give the credit of this
work to Fred, observing that he had been to the
University, where the ancients were studied, and might
have been a clergyman if he had chosen.
In this way it was made clear that Middlemarch had
never been deceived, and that there was no need to praise
anybody for writing a book, since it was always done by
somebody else.
Moreover, Fred remained unswervingly steady. Some
years after his marriage he told Mary that his happiness was
half owing to Farebrother, who gave him a strong pull-up
at the right moment. I cannot say that he was never again
misled by his hopefulness: the yield of crops or the profits
of a cattle sale usually fell below his estimate; and he was
always prone to believe that he could make money by the
purchase of a horse which turned out badly though this,
Mary observed, was of course the fault of the horse, not of
Freds judgment. He kept his love of horsemanship, but he
rarely allowed himself a days hunting; and when he did
Middlemarch
1483 of 1492
so, it was remarkable that he submitted to be laughed at
for cowardliness at the fences, seeming to see Mary and
the boys sitting on the five-barred gate, or showing their
curly heads between hedge and ditch.
There were three boys: Mary was not discontented that
she brought forth men-children only; and when Fred
wished to have a girl like her, she said, laughingly, that
would be too great a trial to your mother. Mrs. Vincy in
her declining years, and in the diminished lustre of her
housekeeping, was much comforted by her perception
that two at least of Freds boys were real Vincys, and did
not feature the Garths. But Mary secretly rejoiced that
the youngest of the three was very much what her father
must have been when he wore a round jacket, and
showed a marvellous nicety of aim in playing at marbles,
or in throwing stones to bring down the mellow pears.
Ben and Letty Garth, who were uncle and aunt before
they were well in their teens, disputed much as to whether
nephews or nieces were more desirable; Ben contending
that it was clear girls were good for less than boys, else
they would not be always in petticoats, which showed
how little they were meant for; whereupon Letty, who
argued much from books, got angry in replying that God
made coats of skins for both Adam and Eve alikealso it
Middlemarch
1484 of 1492
occurred to her that in the East the men too wore
petticoats. But this latter argument, obscuring the majesty
of the former, was one too many, for Ben answered
contemptuously, The more spooneys they! and
immediately appealed to his mother whether boys were
not better than girls. Mrs. Garth pronounced that both
were alike naughty, but that boys were undoubtedly
stronger, could run faster, and throw with more precision
to a greater distance. With this oracular sentence Ben was
well satisfied, not minding the naughtiness; but Letty took
it ill, her feeling of superiority being stronger than her
muscles.
Fred never became richhis hopefulness had not led
him to expect that; but he gradually saved enough to
become owner of the stock and furniture at Stone Court,
and the work which Mr. Garth put into his hands carried
him in plenty through those bad times which are always
present with farmers. Mary, in her matronly days, became
as solid in figure as her mother; but, unlike her, gave the
boys little formal teaching, so that Mrs. Garth was alarmed
lest they should never be well grounded in grammar and
geography. Nevertheless, they were found quite forward
enough when they went to school; perhaps, because they
had liked nothing so well as being with their mother.
Middlemarch
1485 of 1492
When Fred was riding home on winter evenings he had a
pleasant vision beforehand of the bright hearth in the
wainscoted parlor, and was sorry for other men who could
not have Mary for their wife; especially for Mr.
Farebrother. He was ten times worthier of you than I
was, Fred could now say to her, magnanimously. To be
sure he was, Mary answered; and for that reason he could
do better without me. But youI shudder to think what
you would have been a curate in debt for horse-hire
and cambric pocket-handkerchiefs!
On inquiry it might possibly be found that Fred and
Mary still inhabit Stone Courtthat the creeping plants
still cast the foam of their blossoms over the fine stone-
wall into the field where the walnut-trees stand in stately
rowand that on sunny days the two lovers who were
first engaged with the umbrella-ring may be seen in
white-haired placidity at the open window from which
Mary Garth, in the days of old Peter Featherstone, had
often been ordered to look out for Mr. Lydgate.
Lydgates hair never became white. He died when he
was only fifty, leaving his wife and children provided for
by a heavy insurance on his life. He had gained an
excellent practice, alternating, according to the season,
between London and a Continental bathing-place; having
Middlemarch
1486 of 1492
written a treatise on Gout, a disease which has a good deal
of wealth on its side. His skill was relied on by many
paying patients, but he always regarded himself as a failure:
he had not done what he once meant to do. His
acquaintances thought him enviable to have so charming a
wife, and nothing happened to shake their opinion.
Rosamond never committed a second compromising
indiscretion. She simply continued to be mild in her
temper, inflexible in her judgment, disposed to admonish
her husband, and able to frustrate him by stratagem. As the
years went on he opposed her less and less, whence
Rosamond concluded that he had learned the value of her
opinion; on the other hand, she had a more thorough
conviction of his talents now that he gained a good
income, and instead of the threatened cage in Bride Street
provided one all flowers and gilding, fit for the bird of
paradise that she resembled. In brief, Lydgate was what is
called a successful man. But he died prematurely of
diphtheria, and Rosamond afterwards married an elderly
and wealthy physician, who took kindly to her four
children. She made a very pretty show with her daughters,
driving out in her carriage, and often spoke of her
happiness as a rewardshe did not say for what, but
probably she meant that it was a reward for her patience
Middlemarch
1487 of 1492
with Tertius, whose temper never became faultless, and to
the last occasionally let slip a bitter speech which was more
memorable than the signs he made of his repentance. He
once called her his basil plant; and when she asked for an
explanation, said that basil was a plant which had
flourished wonderfully on a murdered mans brains.
Rosamond had a placid but strong answer to such
speeches. Why then had he chosen her? It was a pity he
had not had Mrs. Ladislaw, whom he was always praising
and placing above her. And thus the conversation ended
with the advantage on Rosamonds side. But it would be
unjust not to tell, that she never uttered a word in
depreciation of Dorothea, keeping in religious
remembrance the generosity which had come to her aid in
the sharpest crisis of her life.
Dorothea herself had no dreams of being praised above
other women, feeling that there was always something
better which she might have done, if she had only been
better and known better. Still, she never repented that she
had given up position and fortune to marry Will Ladislaw,
and he would have held it the greatest shame as well as
sorrow to him if she had repented. They were bound to
each other by a love stronger than any impulses which
could have marred it. No life would have been possible to
Middlemarch
1488 of 1492
Dorothea which was not filled with emotion, and she had
now a life filled also with a beneficent activity which she
had not the doubtful pains of discovering and marking out
for herself. Will became an ardent public man, working
well in those times when reforms were begun with a
young hopefulness of immediate good which has been
much checked in our days, and getting at last returned to
Parliament by a constituency who paid his expenses.
Dorothea could have liked nothing better, since wrongs
existed, than that her husband should be in the thick of a
struggle against them, and that she should give him wifely
help. Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so
substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed
into the life of another, and be only known in a certain
circle as a wife and mother. But no one stated exactly
what else that was in her power she ought rather to have
donenot even Sir James Chettam, who went no further
than the negative prescription that she ought not to have
married Will Ladislaw.
But this opinion of his did not cause a lasting
alienation; and the way in which the family was made
whole again was characteristic of all concerned. Mr.
Brooke could not resist the pleasure of corresponding with
Will and Dorothea; and one morning when his pen had
Middlemarch
1489 of 1492
been remarkably fluent on the prospects of Municipal
Reform, it ran off into an invitation to the Grange, which,
once written, could not be done away with at less cost
than the sacrifice (hardly to be conceived) of the whole
valuable letter. During the months of this correspondence
Mr. Brooke had continually, in his talk with Sir James
Chettam, been presupposing or hinting that the intention
of cutting off the entail was still maintained; and the day
on which his pen gave the daring invitation, he went to
Freshitt expressly to intimate that he had a stronger sense
than ever of the reasons for taking that energetic step as a
precaution against any mixture of low blood in the heir of
the Brookes.
But that morning something exciting had happened at
the Hall. A letter had come to Celia which made her cry
silently as she read it; and when Sir James, unused to see
her in tears, asked anxiously what was the matter, she burst
out in a wail such as he had never heard from her before.
Dorothea has a little boy. And you will not let me go
and see her. And I am sure she wants to see me. And she
will not know what to do with the babyshe will do
wrong things with it. And they thought she would die. It
is very dreadful! Suppose it had been me and little Arthur,
Middlemarch
1490 of 1492
and Dodo had been hindered from coming to see me! I
wish you would be less unkind, James!
Good heavens, Celia! said Sir James, much wrought
upon, what do you wish? I will do anything you like. I
will take you to town to-morrow if you wish it. And
Celia did wish it.
It was after this that Mr. Brooke came, and meeting the
Baronet in the grounds, began to chat with him in
ignorance of the news, which Sir James for some reason
did not care to tell him immediately. But when the entail
was touched on in the usual way, he said, My dear sir, it
is not for me to dictate to you, but for my part I would let
that alone. I would let things remain as they are.
Mr. Brooke felt so much surprised that he did not at
once find out how much he was relieved by the sense that
he was not expected to do anything in particular.
Such being the bent of Celias heart, it was inevitable
that Sir James should consent to a reconciliation with
Dorothea and her husband. Where women love each
other, men learn to smother their mutual dislike. Sir James
never liked Ladislaw, and Will always preferred to have Sir
Jamess company mixed with another kind: they were on a
footing of reciprocal tolerance which was made quite easy
only when Dorothea and Celia were present.
Middlemarch
1491 of 1492
It became an understood thing that Mr. and Mrs.
Ladislaw should pay at least two visits during the year to
the Grange, and there came gradually a small row of
cousins at Freshitt who enjoyed playing with the two
cousins Visiting Tipton as much as if the blood of these
cousins had been less dubiously mixed.
Mr. Brooke lived to a good old age, and his estate was
inherited by Dorotheas son, who might have represented
Middlemarch, but declined, thinking that his opinions had
less chance of being stifled if he remained out of doors.
Sir James never ceased to regard Dorotheas second
marriage as a mistake; and indeed this remained the
tradition concerning it in Middlemarch, where she was
spoken of to a younger generation as a fine girl who
married a sickly clergyman, old enough to be her father,
and in little more than a year after his death gave up her
estate to marry his cousinyoung enough to have been
his son, with no property, and not well-born. Those who
had not seen anything of Dorothea usually observed that
she could not have been a nice woman, else she would
not have married either the one or the other.
Certainly those determining acts of her life were not
ideally beautiful. They were the mixed result of young and
noble impulse struggling amidst the conditions of an
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Middlemarch
1492 of 1492
imperfect social state, in which great feelings will often
take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of
illusion. For there is no creature whose inward being is so
strong that it is not greatly determined by what lies outside
it. A new Theresa will hardly have the opportunity of
reforming a conventual life, any more than a new
Antigone will spend her heroic piety in daring all for the
sake of a brothers burial: the medium in which their
ardent deeds took shape is forever gone. But we
insignificant people with our daily words and acts are
preparing the lives of many Dorotheas, some of which
may present a far sadder sacrifice than that of the Dorothea
whose story we know.
Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though
they were not widely visible. Her full nature, like that
river of which Cyrus broke the strength, spent itself in
channels which had no great name on the earth. But the
effect of her being on those around her was incalculably
diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly
dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill
with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to
the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in
unvisited tombs.