by George Eliot
Chapter XVI
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ARTHUR DONNITHORNE, you remember, is under an engagement with himself togo and see Mr. Irwine this Friday morning, and he is awake and dressingso early that he determines to go before breakfast, instead of after.The rector, he knows, breakfasts alone at half-past nine, the ladies ofthe family having a different breakfast-hour; Arthur will have an earlyride over the hill and breakfast with him. One can say everything bestover a meal.
The progress of civilization has made a breakfast or a dinner aneasy and cheerful substitute for more troublesome and disagreeableceremonies. We take a less gloomy view of our errors now our fatherconfessor listens to us over his egg and coffee. We are more distinctlyconscious that rude penances are out of the question for gentlemen inan enlightened age, and that mortal sin is not incompatible with anappetite for muffins. An assault on our pockets, which in more barbaroustimes would have been made in the brusque form of a pistol-shot, isquite a well-bred and smiling procedure now it has become a request fora loan thrown in as an easy parenthesis between the second and thirdglasses of claret.
Still, there was this advantage in the old rigid forms, that theycommitted you to the fulfilment of a resolution by some outward deed:when you have put your mouth to one end of a hole in a stone wall andare aware that there is an expectant ear at the other end, you are morelikely to say what you came out with the intention of saying than if youwere seated with your legs in an easy attitude under the mahogany witha companion who will have no reason to be surprised if you have nothingparticular to say.
However, Arthur Donnithorne, as he winds among the pleasant lanes onhorseback in the morning sunshine, has a sincere determination to openhis heart to the rector, and the swirling sound of the scythe as hepasses by the meadow is all the pleasanter to him because of this honestpurpose. He is glad to see the promise of settled weather now, forgetting in the hay, about which the farmers have been fearful; and thereis something so healthful in the sharing of a joy that is general andnot merely personal, that this thought about the hay-harvest reacts onhis state of mind and makes his resolution seem an easier matter. A manabout town might perhaps consider that these influences were not to befelt out of a child's story-book; but when you are among the fieldsand hedgerows, it is impossible to maintain a consistent superiority tosimple natural pleasures.
Arthur had passed the village of Hayslope and was approaching theBroxton side of the hill, when, at a turning in the road, he saw afigure about a hundred yards before him which it was impossible tomistake for any one else than Adam Bede, even if there had been no grey,tailless shepherd-dog at his heels. He was striding along at his usualrapid pace, and Arthur pushed on his horse to overtake him, for heretained too much of his boyish feeling for Adam to miss an opportunityof chatting with him. I will not say that his love for that good fellowdid not owe some of its force to the love of patronage: our friendArthur liked to do everything that was handsome, and to have hishandsome deeds recognized.
Adam looked round as he heard the quickening clatter of the horse'sheels, and waited for the horseman, lifting his paper cap from his headwith a bright smile of recognition. Next to his own brother Seth, Adamwould have done more for Arthur Donnithorne than for any other young manin the world. There was hardly anything he would not rather have lostthan the two-feet ruler which he always carried in his pocket; it wasArthur's present, bought with his pocket-money when he was a fair-hairedlad of eleven, and when he had profited so well by Adam's lessons incarpentering and turning as to embarrass every female in the house withgifts of superfluous thread-reels and round boxes. Adam had quite apride in the little squire in those early days, and the feeling hadonly become slightly modified as the fair-haired lad had grown intothe whiskered young man. Adam, I confess, was very susceptible to theinfluence of rank, and quite ready to give an extra amount of respect toevery one who had more advantages than himself, not being a philosopheror a proletaire with democratic ideas, but simply a stout-limbed clevercarpenter with a large fund of reverence in his nature, which inclinedhim to admit all established claims unless he saw very clear grounds forquestioning them. He had no theories about setting the world to rights,but he saw there was a great deal of damage done by building withill-seasoned timber--by ignorant men in fine clothes making plans forouthouses and workshops and the like without knowing the bearings ofthings--by slovenly joiners' work, and by hasty contracts that couldnever be fulfilled without ruining somebody; and he resolved, for hispart, to set his face against such doings. On these points he wouldhave maintained his opinion against the largest landed proprietor inLoamshire or Stonyshire either; but he felt that beyond these it wouldbe better for him to defer to people who were more knowing than himself.He saw as plainly as possible how ill the woods on the estate weremanaged, and the shameful state of the farm-buildings; and if old SquireDonnithorne had asked him the effect of this mismanagement, he wouldhave spoken his opinion without flinching, but the impulse to arespectful demeanour towards a "gentleman" would have been strong withinhim all the while. The word "gentleman" had a spell for Adam, and, as heoften said, he "couldn't abide a fellow who thought he made himself fineby being coxy to's betters." I must remind you again that Adam had theblood of the peasant in his veins, and that since he was in his primehalf a century ago, you must expect some of his characteristics to beobsolete.
Towards the young squire this instinctive reverence of Adam's wasassisted by boyish memories and personal regard so you may imagine thathe thought far more of Arthur's good qualities, and attached far morevalue to very slight actions of his, than if they had been the qualitiesand actions of a common workman like himself. He felt sure it would bea fine day for everybody about Hayslope when the young squire came intothe estate--such a generous open-hearted disposition as he had, and an"uncommon" notion about improvements and repairs, considering he wasonly just coming of age. Thus there was both respect and affection inthe smile with which he raised his paper cap as Arthur Donnithorne rodeup.
"Well, Adam, how are you?" said Arthur, holding out his hand. He nevershook hands with any of the farmers, and Adam felt the honour keenly. "Icould swear to your back a long way off. It's just the same back, onlybroader, as when you used to carry me on it. Do you remember?"
"Aye, sir, I remember. It 'ud be a poor look-out if folks didn'tremember what they did and said when they were lads. We should think nomore about old friends than we do about new uns, then."
"You're going to Broxton, I suppose?" said Arthur, putting his horseon at a slow pace while Adam walked by his side. "Are you going to therectory?"
"No, sir, I'm going to see about Bradwell's barn. They're afraid of theroof pushing the walls out, and I'm going to see what can be done withit before we send the stuff and the workmen."
"Why, Burge trusts almost everything to you now, Adam, doesn't he? Ishould think he will make you his partner soon. He will, if he's wise."
"Nay, sir, I don't see as he'd be much the better off for that. Aforeman, if he's got a conscience and delights in his work, will do hisbusiness as well as if he was a partner. I wouldn't give a penny fora man as 'ud drive a nail in slack because he didn't get extra pay forit."
"I know that, Adam; I know you work for him as well as if you wereworking for yourself. But you would have more power than you have now,and could turn the business to better account perhaps. The old man mustgive up his business sometime, and he has no son I suppose he'll want ason-in-law who can take to it. But he has rather grasping fingers of hisown, I fancy. I daresay he wants a man who can put some money into thebusiness. If I were not as poor as a rat, I would gladly invest somemoney in that way, for the sake of having you settled on the estate. I'msure I should profit by it in the end. And perhaps I shall be better offin a year or two. I shall have a larger allowance now I'm of age; andwhen I've paid off a debt or two, I shall be able to look about me."
"You're very good to say so, sir, and I'm not unthankful. But"--Adamcontinued, in a decided tone--"I shouldn't like
to make any offersto Mr. Burge, or t' have any made for me. I see no clear road to apartnership. If he should ever want to dispose of the business, that 'udbe a different matter. I should be glad of some money at a fair interestthen, for I feel sure I could pay it off in time."
"Very well, Adam," said Arthur, remembering what Mr. Irwine had saidabout a probable hitch in the love-making between Adam and Mary Burge,"we'll say no more about it at present. When is your father to beburied?"
"On Sunday, sir; Mr. Irwine's coming earlier on purpose. I shall be gladwhen it's over, for I think my mother 'ull perhaps get easier then. Itcuts one sadly to see the grief of old people; they've no way o' workingit off, and the new spring brings no new shoots out on the witheredtree."
"Ah, you've had a good deal of trouble and vexation in your life, Adam.I don't think you've ever been hare-brained and light-hearted, likeother youngsters. You've always had some care on your mind."
"Why, yes, sir; but that's nothing to make a fuss about. If we're menand have men's feelings, I reckon we must have men's troubles. We can'tbe like the birds, as fly from their nest as soon as they've got theirwings, and never know their kin when they see 'em, and get a fresh lotevery year. I've had enough to be thankful for: I've allays had healthand strength and brains to give me a delight in my work; and I count ita great thing as I've had Bartle Massey's night-school to go to. He'shelped me to knowledge I could never ha' got by myself."
"What a rare fellow you are, Adam!" said Arthur, after a pause, in whichhe had looked musingly at the big fellow walking by his side. "I couldhit out better than most men at Oxford, and yet I believe you wouldknock me into next week if I were to have a battle with you."
"God forbid I should ever do that, sir," said Adam, looking round atArthur and smiling. "I used to fight for fun, but I've never done thatsince I was the cause o' poor Gil Tranter being laid up for a fortnight.I'll never fight any man again, only when he behaves like a scoundrel.If you get hold of a chap that's got no shame nor conscience to stophim, you must try what you can do by bunging his eyes up."
Arthur did not laugh, for he was preoccupied with some thought thatmade him say presently, "I should think now, Adam, you never have anystruggles within yourself. I fancy you would master a wish that you hadmade up your mind it was not quite right to indulge, as easily as youwould knock down a drunken fellow who was quarrelsome with you. I mean,you are never shilly-shally, first making up your mind that you won't doa thing, and then doing it after all?"
"Well," said Adam, slowly, after a moment's hesitation, "no. I don'tremember ever being see-saw in that way, when I'd made my mind up, asyou say, that a thing was wrong. It takes the taste out o' my mouth forthings, when I know I should have a heavy conscience after 'em. I'veseen pretty clear, ever since I could cast up a sum, as you can neverdo what's wrong without breeding sin and trouble more than you can eversee. It's like a bit o' bad workmanship--you never see th' end o' themischief it'll do. And it's a poor look-out to come into the world tomake your fellow-creatures worse off instead o' better. But there's adifference between the things folks call wrong. I'm not for making asin of every little fool's trick, or bit o' nonsense anybody may be letinto, like some o' them dissenters. And a man may have two minds whetherit isn't worthwhile to get a bruise or two for the sake of a bit o' fun.But it isn't my way to be see-saw about anything: I think my fault liesth' other way. When I've said a thing, if it's only to myself, it's hardfor me to go back."
"Yes, that's just what I expected of you," said Arthur. "You've got aniron will, as well as an iron arm. But however strong a man's resolutionmay be, it costs him something to carry it out, now and then. We maydetermine not to gather any cherries and keep our hands sturdily in ourpockets, but we can't prevent our mouths from watering."
"That's true, sir, but there's nothing like settling with ourselves asthere's a deal we must do without i' this life. It's no use looking onlife as if it was Treddles'on Fair, where folks only go to see shows andget fairings. If we do, we shall find it different. But where's the useo' me talking to you, sir? You know better than I do."
"I'm not so sure of that, Adam. You've had four or five years ofexperience more than I've had, and I think your life has been a betterschool to you than college has been to me."
"Why, sir, you seem to think o' college something like what BartleMassey does. He says college mostly makes people like bladders--justgood for nothing but t' hold the stuff as is poured into 'em. But he'sgot a tongue like a sharp blade, Bartle has--it never touches anythingbut it cuts. Here's the turning, sir. I must bid you good-morning, asyou're going to the rectory."
"Good-bye, Adam, good-bye."
Arthur gave his horse to the groom at the rectory gate, and walked alongthe gravel towards the door which opened on the garden. He knew that therector always breakfasted in his study, and the study lay on the lefthand of this door, opposite the dining-room. It was a small low room,belonging to the old part of the house--dark with the sombre covers ofthe books that lined the walls; yet it looked very cheery this morningas Arthur reached the open window. For the morning sun fell aslant onthe great glass globe with gold fish in it, which stood on a scagliolapillar in front of the ready-spread bachelor breakfast-table, and by theside of this breakfast-table was a group which would have made any roomenticing. In the crimson damask easy-chair sat Mr. Irwine, with thatradiant freshness which he always had when he came from his morningtoilet; his finely formed plump white hand was playing along Juno'sbrown curly back; and close to Juno's tail, which was wagging with calmmatronly pleasure, the two brown pups were rolling over each other in anecstatic duet of worrying noises. On a cushion a little removed satPug, with the air of a maiden lady, who looked on these familiaritiesas animal weaknesses, which she made as little show as possible ofobserving. On the table, at Mr. Irwine's elbow, lay the first volume ofthe Foulis AEschylus, which Arthur knew well by sight; and the silvercoffee-pot, which Carroll was bringing in, sent forth a fragrant steamwhich completed the delights of a bachelor breakfast.
"Hallo, Arthur, that's a good fellow! You're just in time," said Mr.Irwine, as Arthur paused and stepped in over the low window-sill."Carroll, we shall want more coffee and eggs, and haven't you got somecold fowl for us to eat with that ham? Why, this is like old days,Arthur; you haven't been to breakfast with me these five years."
"It was a tempting morning for a ride before breakfast," said Arthur;"and I used to like breakfasting with you so when I was reading withyou. My grandfather is always a few degrees colder at breakfast than atany other hour in the day. I think his morning bath doesn't agree withhim."
Arthur was anxious not to imply that he came with any special purpose.He had no sooner found himself in Mr. Irwine's presence than theconfidence which he had thought quite easy before, suddenly appearedthe most difficult thing in the world to him, and at the very moment ofshaking hands he saw his purpose in quite a new light. How could he makeIrwine understand his position unless he told him those little scenesin the wood; and how could he tell them without looking like a fool?And then his weakness in coming back from Gawaine's, and doing the veryopposite of what he intended! Irwine would think him a shilly-shallyfellow ever after. However, it must come out in an unpremeditated way;the conversation might lead up to it.
"I like breakfast-time better than any other moment in the day," saidMr. Irwine. "No dust has settled on one's mind then, and it presents aclear mirror to the rays of things. I always have a favourite book byme at breakfast, and I enjoy the bits I pick up then so much, thatregularly every morning it seems to me as if I should certainly becomestudious again. But presently Dent brings up a poor fellow who haskilled a hare, and when I've got through my 'justicing,' as Carrollcalls it, I'm inclined for a ride round the glebe, and on my way backI meet with the master of the workhouse, who has got a long story of amutinous pauper to tell me; and so the day goes on, and I'm always thesame lazy fellow before evening sets in. Besides, one wants thestimulus of sympathy, and I have never had that since poor D'O
yley leftTreddleston. If you had stuck to your books well, you rascal, I shouldhave had a pleasanter prospect before me. But scholarship doesn't run inyour family blood."
"No indeed. It's well if I can remember a little inapplicable Latin toadorn my maiden speech in Parliament six or seven years hence. 'Crasingens iterabimus aequor,' and a few shreds of that sort, will perhapsstick to me, and I shall arrange my opinions so as to introduce them.But I don't think a knowledge of the classics is a pressing want toa country gentleman; as far as I can see, he'd much better have aknowledge of manures. I've been reading your friend Arthur Young's bookslately, and there's nothing I should like better than to carry out someof his ideas in putting the farmers on a better management of theirland; and, as he says, making what was a wild country, all of the samedark hue, bright and variegated with corn and cattle. My grandfatherwill never let me have any power while he lives, but there's nothingI should like better than to undertake the Stonyshire side of theestate--it's in a dismal condition--and set improvements on foot, andgallop about from one place to another and overlook them. I should liketo know all the labourers, and see them touching their hats to me with alook of goodwill."
"Bravo, Arthur! A man who has no feeling for the classics couldn'tmake a better apology for coming into the world than by increasingthe quantity of food to maintain scholars--and rectors who appreciatescholars. And whenever you enter on your career of model landlord mayI be there to see. You'll want a portly rector to complete the picture,and take his tithe of all the respect and honour you get by your hardwork. Only don't set your heart too strongly on the goodwill you are toget in consequence. I'm not sure that men are the fondest of those whotry to be useful to them. You know Gawaine has got the curses of thewhole neighbourhood upon him about that enclosure. You must makeit quite clear to your mind which you are most bent upon, oldboy--popularity or usefulness--else you may happen to miss both."
"Oh! Gawaine is harsh in his manners; he doesn't make himself personallyagreeable to his tenants. I don't believe there's anything you can'tprevail on people to do with kindness. For my part, I couldn't live ina neighbourhood where I was not respected and beloved. And it's verypleasant to go among the tenants here--they seem all so well inclinedto me I suppose it seems only the other day to them since I was a littlelad, riding on a pony about as big as a sheep. And if fair allowanceswere made to them, and their buildings attended to, one could persuadethem to farm on a better plan, stupid as they are."
"Then mind you fall in love in the right place, and don't get a wife whowill drain your purse and make you niggardly in spite of yourself. Mymother and I have a little discussion about you sometimes: she says, 'I'llnever risk a single prophecy on Arthur until I see the woman he fallsin love with.' She thinks your lady-love will rule you as the moon rulesthe tides. But I feel bound to stand up for you, as my pupil you know,and I maintain that you're not of that watery quality. So mind you don'tdisgrace my judgment."
Arthur winced under this speech, for keen old Mrs. Irwine's opinionabout him had the disagreeable effect of a sinister omen. This, to besure, was only another reason for persevering in his intention, andgetting an additional security against himself. Nevertheless, at thispoint in the conversation, he was conscious of increased disinclinationto tell his story about Hetty. He was of an impressible nature, andlived a great deal in other people's opinions and feelings concerninghimself; and the mere fact that he was in the presence of an intimatefriend, who had not the slightest notion that he had had any suchserious internal struggle as he came to confide, rather shook his ownbelief in the seriousness of the struggle. It was not, after all, athing to make a fuss about; and what could Irwine do for him that hecould not do for himself? He would go to Eagledale in spite of Meg'slameness--go on Rattler, and let Pym follow as well as he could on theold hack. That was his thought as he sugared his coffee; but thenext minute, as he was lifting the cup to his lips, he remembered howthoroughly he had made up his mind last night to tell Irwine. No! Hewould not be vacillating again--he WOULD do what he had meant to do,this time. So it would be well not to let the personal tone of theconversation altogether drop. If they went to quite indifferent topics,his difficulty would be heightened. It had required no noticeable pausefor this rush and rebound of feeling, before he answered, "But I thinkit is hardly an argument against a man's general strength of characterthat he should be apt to be mastered by love. A fine constitutiondoesn't insure one against smallpox or any other of those inevitablediseases. A man may be very firm in other matters and yet be under asort of witchery from a woman."
"Yes; but there's this difference between love and smallpox, orbewitchment either--that if you detect the disease at an early stage andtry change of air, there is every chance of complete escape without anyfurther development of symptoms. And there are certain alternative doseswhich a man may administer to himself by keeping unpleasant consequencesbefore his mind: this gives you a sort of smoked glass through whichyou may look at the resplendent fair one and discern her true outline;though I'm afraid, by the by, the smoked glass is apt to be missing justat the moment it is most wanted. I daresay, now, even a man fortifiedwith a knowledge of the classics might be lured into an imprudentmarriage, in spite of the warning given him by the chorus in thePrometheus."
The smile that flitted across Arthur's face was a faint one, and insteadof following Mr. Irwine's playful lead, he said, quite seriously--"Yes,that's the worst of it. It's a desperately vexatious thing, that afterall one's reflections and quiet determinations, we should be ruled bymoods that one can't calculate on beforehand. I don't think a man oughtto be blamed so much if he is betrayed into doing things in that way, inspite of his resolutions."
"Ah, but the moods lie in his nature, my boy, just as much as hisreflections did, and more. A man can never do anything at variance withhis own nature. He carries within him the germ of his most exceptionalaction and if we wise people make eminent fools of ourselves on anyparticular occasion, we must endure the legitimate conclusion that wecarry a few grains of folly to our ounce of wisdom."
"Well, but one may be betrayed into doing things by a combination ofcircumstances, which one might never have done otherwise."
"Why, yes, a man can't very well steal a bank-note unless the bank-notelies within convenient reach; but he won't make us think him an honestman because he begins to howl at the bank-note for falling in his way."
"But surely you don't think a man who struggles against a temptationinto which he falls at last as bad as the man who never struggles atall?"
"No, certainly; I pity him in proportion to his struggles, for theyforeshadow the inward suffering which is the worst form of Nemesis.Consequences are unpitying. Our deeds carry their terrible consequences,quite apart from any fluctuations that went before--consequences thatare hardly ever confined to ourselves. And it is best to fix our mindson that certainty, instead of considering what may be the elements ofexcuse for us. But I never knew you so inclined for moral discussion,Arthur? Is it some danger of your own that you are considering in thisphilosophical, general way?"
In asking this question, Mr. Irwine pushed his plate away, threw himselfback in his chair, and looked straight at Arthur. He really suspectedthat Arthur wanted to tell him something, and thought of smoothingthe way for him by this direct question. But he was mistaken. Broughtsuddenly and involuntarily to the brink of confession, Arthur shrankback and felt less disposed towards it than ever. The conversation hadtaken a more serious tone than he had intended--it would quite misleadIrwine--he would imagine there was a deep passion for Hetty, while therewas no such thing. He was conscious of colouring, and was annoyed at hisboyishness.
"Oh no, no danger," he said as indifferently as he could. "I don't knowthat I am more liable to irresolution than other people; only there arelittle incidents now and then that set one speculating on what mighthappen in the future."
Was there a motive at work under this strange reluctance of Arthur'swhich had a sort of backstairs influence, not admitted
to himself? Ourmental business is carried on much in the same way as the businessof the State: a great deal of hard work is done by agents who are notacknowledged. In a piece of machinery, too, I believe there is often asmall unnoticeable wheel which has a great deal to do with the motion ofthe large obvious ones. Possibly there was some such unrecognized agentsecretly busy in Arthur's mind at this moment--possibly it was the fearlest he might hereafter find the fact of having made a confession to therector a serious annoyance, in case he should NOT be able quite to carryout his good resolutions? I dare not assert that it was not so. Thehuman soul is a very complex thing.
The idea of Hetty had just crossed Mr. Irwine's mind as he lookedinquiringly at Arthur, but his disclaiming indifferent answer confirmedthe thought which had quickly followed--that there could be nothingserious in that direction. There was no probability that Arthur ever sawher except at church, and at her own home under the eye of Mrs. Poyser;and the hint he had given Arthur about her the other day had no moreserious meaning than to prevent him from noticing her so as to rouse thelittle chit's vanity, and in this way perturb the rustic drama of herlife. Arthur would soon join his regiment, and be far away: no, therecould be no danger in that quarter, even if Arthur's character had notbeen a strong security against it. His honest, patronizing pride inthe good-will and respect of everybody about him was a safeguard evenagainst foolish romance, still more against a lower kind of folly.If there had been anything special on Arthur's mind in the previousconversation, it was clear he was not inclined to enter into details,and Mr. Irwine was too delicate to imply even a friendly curiosity. Heperceived a change of subject would be welcome, and said, "By the way,Arthur, at your colonel's birthday fete there were some transparenciesthat made a great effect in honour of Britannia, and Pitt, and theLoamshire Militia, and, above all, the 'generous youth,' the hero ofthe day. Don't you think you should get up something of the same sort toastonish our weak minds?"
The opportunity was gone. While Arthur was hesitating, the rope towhich he might have clung had drifted away--he must trust now to his ownswimming.
In ten minutes from that time, Mr. Irwine was called for on business,and Arthur, bidding him good-bye, mounted his horse again with a senseof dissatisfaction, which he tried to quell by determining to set offfor Eagledale without an hour's delay.
Book Two
