by George Eliot
CHAPTER VI.
My lady's 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. Casaubon's carriage was passing out of the gateway, it arrestedthe entrance of a pony phaeton driven by a lady with a servant seatedbehind. It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual, forMr. Casaubon was looking absently before him; but the lady wasquick-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 plainthat the lodge-keeper regarded her as an important personage, from thelow curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small phaeton.
"Well, Mrs. Fitchett, how are your fowls laying now?" said thehigh-colored, dark-eyed lady, with the clearest chiselled utterance.
"Pretty well for laying, madam, but they've ta'en to eating their eggs:I've no peace o' mind with 'em at all."
"Oh, the cannibals! Better sell them cheap at once. What will yousell them a couple? One can't eat fowls of a bad character at a highprice."
"Well, madam, half-a-crown: I couldn't let 'em go, not under."
"Half-a-crown, these times! Come now--for the Rector's chicken-brothon a Sunday. He has consumed all ours that I can spare. You are halfpaid with the sermon, Mrs. Fitchett, remember that. Take a pair oftumbler-pigeons for them--little 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. He'svery hot on new sorts; to oblige you."
"Oblige me! It will be the best bargain he ever made. A pair ofchurch pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their owneggs! Don't 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"Sure_ly_, sure_ly_!"--from which it might be inferred that she wouldhave found the country-side somewhat duller if the Rector's lady hadbeen less free-spoken and less of a skinflint. Indeed, both thefarmers and laborers in the parishes of Freshitt and Tipton would havefelt 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--whopleaded poverty, pared down prices, and cut jokes in the mostcompanionable manner, though with a turn of tongue that let you knowwho she was. Such a lady gave a neighborliness to both rank andreligion, and mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe. A muchmore exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would nothave furthered their comprehension of the Thirty-nine Articles, andwould have been less socially uniting.
Mr. Brooke, seeing Mrs. Cadwallader's merits from a different point ofview, winced a little when her name was announced in the library, wherehe was sitting alone.
"I see you have had our Lowick Cicero here," she said, seating herselfcomfortably, throwing back her wraps, and showing a thin but well-builtfigure. "I suspect you and he are brewing some bad polities, else youwould not be seeing so much of the lively man. I shall inform againstyou: remember you are both suspicious characters since you took Peel'sside about the Catholic Bill. I shall tell everybody that you aregoing to put up for Middlemarch on the Whig side when old Pinkertonresigns, and that Casaubon is going to help you in an underhand manner:going to bribe the voters with pamphlets, and throw open thepublic-houses to distribute them. Come, confess!"
"Nothing of the sort," said Mr. Brooke, smiling and rubbing hiseye-glasses, but really blushing a little at the impeachment."Casaubon and I don't talk politics much. He doesn't care much aboutthe 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 wasit that sold his bit of land to the Papists at Middlemarch? I believeyou bought it on purpose. You are a perfect Guy Faux. See if you arenot burnt in effigy this 5th of November coming. Humphrey would notcome to quarrel with you about it, so I am come."
"Very good. I was prepared to be persecuted for not persecuting--notpersecuting, you know."
"There you go! That is a piece of clap-trap you have got ready for thehustings. Now, _do not_ let them lure you to the hustings, my dear Mr.Brooke. A man always makes a fool of himself, speechifying: there's noexcuse but being on the right side, so that you can ask a blessing onyour humming and hawing. You will lose yourself, I forewarn you. Youwill make a Saturday pie of all parties' opinions, and be pelted byeverybody."
"That is what I expect, you know," said Mr. Brooke, not wishing tobetray how little he enjoyed this prophetic sketch--"what I expect asan independent man. As to the Whigs, a man who goes with the thinkersis not likely to be hooked on by any party. He may go with them up toa certain point--up to a certain point, you know. But that is what youladies never understand."
"Where your certain point is? No. I should like to be told how a mancan have any certain point when he belongs to no party--leading aroving life, and never letting his friends know his address. 'Nobodyknows where Brooke will be--there's no counting on Brooke'--that iswhat 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 don't pretend to argue with a lady on politics," said Mr. Brooke,with an air of smiling indifference, but feeling rather unpleasantlyconscious that this attack of Mrs. Cadwallader's had opened thedefensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him. "Yoursex are not thinkers, you know--varium et mutabile semper--that kind ofthing. You don't know Virgil. I knew"--Mr. Brooke reflected in timethat he had not had the personal acquaintance of the Augustan poet--"Iwas going to say, poor Stoddart, you know. That was what _he_ said.You ladies are always against an independent attitude--a man's caringfor nothing but truth, and that sort of thing. And there is no part ofthe county where opinion is narrower than it is here--I don't mean tothrow stones, you know, but somebody is wanted to take the independentline; and if I don't take it, who will?"
"Who? Why, any upstart who has got neither blood nor position. Peopleof standing should consume their independent nonsense at home, not hawkit about. And you! who are going to marry your niece, as good as yourdaughter, 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 aWhig sign-board."
Mr. Brooke again winced inwardly, for Dorothea's engagement had nosooner been decided, than he had thought of Mrs. Cadwallader'sprospective taunts. It might have been easy for ignorant observers tosay, "Quarrel with Mrs. Cadwallader;" but where is a country gentlemanto go who quarrels with his oldest neighbors? Who could taste the fineflavor in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually, like winewithout a seal? Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to acertain point.
"I hope Chettam and I shall always be good friends; but I am sorry tosay 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. "Itis hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it."
"My niece has chosen another suitor--has chosen him, you know. I havehad nothing to do with it. I should have preferred Chettam; and Ishould have said Chettam was the man any girl would have chosen. Butthere is no accounting for these things. Your sex is capricious, youknow."
"Why, whom do you mean to say that you are going to let her marry?"Mrs. Cadwallader's mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities ofchoice for Dorothea.
But here Celia entered, blooming from a walk in the garden, and thegreeting with her delivered Mr. Brooke from the necessity of answeringimmediately. He got up hastily, and saying, "By the way, I must speakto Wright about the horses," shuffled quickl
y out of the room.
"My dear child, what is this?--this about your sister's engagement?"said Mrs. Cadwallader.
"She is engaged to marry Mr. Casaubon," said Celia, resorting, asusual, to the simplest statement of fact, and enjoying this opportunityof speaking to the Rector's 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 don't think it can be nice to marry a man witha great soul."
"Well, my dear, take warning. You know the look of one now; when thenext comes and wants to marry you, don't you accept him."
"I'm sure I never should."
"No; one such in a family is enough. So your sister never cared aboutSir James Chettam? What would you have said to _him_ for abrother-in-law?"
"I should have liked that very much. I am sure he would have been agood husband. Only," Celia added, with a slight blush (she sometimesseemed to blush as she breathed), "I don't think he would have suitedDorothea."
"Not high-flown enough?"
"Dodo is very strict. She thinks so much about everything, and is soparticular 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 don't be angry with Dodo; she does not see things. She thoughtso 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 ifin haste, "I must go straight to Sir James and break this to him. Hewill have brought his mother back by this time, and I must call. Youruncle will never tell him. We are all disappointed, my dear. Youngpeople should think of their families in marrying. I set a badexample--married a poor clergyman, and made myself a pitiable objectamong the De Bracys--obliged to get my coals by stratagem, and pray toheaven for my salad oil. However, Casaubon has money enough; I must dohim that justice. As to his blood, I suppose the family quarteringsare 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. Iwant to send my young cook to learn of her. Poor people with fourchildren, like us, you know, can't afford to keep a good cook. I haveno doubt Mrs. Carter will oblige me. Sir James's cook is a perfectdragon."
In less than an hour, Mrs. Cadwallader had circumvented Mrs. Carter anddriven to Freshitt Hall, which was not far from her own parsonage, herhusband being resident in Freshitt and keeping a curate in Tipton.
Sir James Chettam had returned from the short journey which had kepthim absent for a couple of days, and had changed his dress, intendingto ride over to Tipton Grange. His horse was standing at the door whenMrs. Cadwallader drove up, and he immediately appeared there himself,whip in hand. Lady Chettam had not yet returned, but Mrs.Cadwallader's errand could not be despatched in the presence of grooms,so she asked to be taken into the conservatory close by, to look at thenew 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 loveas you pretended to be."
It was of no use protesting, against Mrs. Cadwallader's way of puttingthings. But Sir James's countenance changed a little. He felt a vaguealarm.
"I do believe Brooke is going to expose himself after all. I accusedhim of meaning to stand for Middlemarch on the Liberal side, and helooked 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 don't meanto say that you would like him to turn public man in that way--making asort 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 there--always afew grains of common-sense in an ounce of miserliness. Miserliness isa capital quality to run in families; it's the safe side for madness todip on. And there must be a little crack in the Brooke family, else weshould not see what we are to see."
"What? Brooke standing for Middlemarch?"
"Worse than that. I really feel a little responsible. I always toldyou Miss Brooke would be such a fine match. I knew there was a greatdeal of nonsense in her--a flighty sort of Methodistical stuff. Butthese things wear out of girls. However, I am taken by surprise foronce."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Cadwallader?" said Sir James. His fear lestMiss Brooke should have run away to join the Moravian Brethren, or somepreposterous sect unknown to good society, was a little allayed by theknowledge that Mrs. Cadwallader always made the worst of things. "Whathas happened to Miss Brooke? Pray speak out."
"Very well. She is engaged to be married." Mrs. Cadwallader paused afew moments, observing the deeply hurt expression in her friend's face,which he was trying to conceal by a nervous smile, while he whipped hisboot; but she soon added, "Engaged to Casaubon."
Sir James let his whip fall and stooped to pick it up. Perhaps hisface had never before gathered so much concentrated disgust as when heturned 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 pointof view has to be allowed for, as that of a blooming and disappointedrival.)
"She says, he is a great soul.--A great bladder for dried peas torattle in!" said Mrs. Cadwallader.
"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 offtill she is of age. She would think better of it then. What is aguardian 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 toabuse Casaubon. He will even speak well of the bishop, though I tellhim it is unnatural in a beneficed clergyman; what can one do with ahusband who attends so little to the decencies? I hide it as well as Ican by abusing everybody myself. Come, come, cheer up! you are wellrid of Miss Brooke, a girl who would have been requiring you to see thestars by daylight. Between ourselves, little Celia is worth two ofher, and likely after all to be the better match. For this marriage toCasaubon is as good as going to a nunnery."
"Oh, on my own account--it is for Miss Brooke's sake I think herfriends should try to use their influence."
"Well, Humphrey doesn't know yet. But when I tell him, you may dependon it he will say, 'Why not? Casaubon is a good fellow--andyoung--young enough.' These charitable people never know vinegar fromwine till they have swallowed it and got the colic. However, if I werea man I should prefer Celia, especially when Dorothea was gone. Thetruth is, you have been courting one and have won the other. I can seethat she admires you almost as much as a man expects to be admired. Ifit 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 onhis horse. He was not going to renounce his ride because of hisfriend's unpleasant news--only to ride the faster in some otherdirection than that of Tipton Grange.
Now, why on earth should Mrs. Cadwallader have been at all busy aboutMiss Brooke's marriage; and why, when one match that she liked to thinkshe had a hand in was frustrated, should she have straightway contrivedthe preliminaries of another? Was there any ingenious plot, anyhide-and-seek course of action, which might be detected by a carefultelescopic watch? Not at all: a telescope might have swept theparishes of Tipton and Fr
eshitt, the whole area visited by Mrs.Cadwallader in her phaeton, without witnessing any interview that couldexcite suspicion, or any scene from which she did not return with thesame unperturbed keenness of eye and the same high natural color. Infact, if that convenient vehicle had existed in the days of the SevenSages, one of them would doubtless have remarked, that you can knowlittle of women by following them about in their pony-phaetons. Evenwith a microscope directed on a water-drop we find ourselves makinginterpretations which turn out to be rather coarse; for whereas under aweak lens you may seem to see a creature exhibiting an active voracityinto which other smaller creatures actively play as if they were somany animated tax-pennies, a stronger lens reveals to you certaintiniest hairlets which make vortices for these victims while theswallower waits passively at his receipt of custom. In this way,metaphorically speaking, a strong lens applied to Mrs. Cadwallader'smatch-making will show a play of minute causes producing what may becalled thought and speech vortices to bring her the sort of food sheneeded. Her life was rurally simple, quite free from secrets eitherfoul, dangerous, or otherwise important, and not consciously affectedby the great affairs of the world. All the more did the affairs of thegreat world interest her, when communicated in the letters of high-bornrelations: the way in which fascinating younger sons had gone to thedogs by marrying their mistresses; the fine old-blooded idiocy of youngLord Tapir, and the furious gouty humors of old Lord Megatherium; theexact crossing of genealogies which had brought a coronet into a newbranch and widened the relations of scandal,--these were topics ofwhich she retained details with the utmost accuracy, and reproducedthem in an excellent pickle of epigrams, which she herself enjoyed themore because she believed as unquestionably in birth and no-birth asshe did in game and vermin. She would never have disowned any one onthe ground of poverty: a De Bracy reduced to take his dinner in a basinwould have seemed to her an example of pathos worth exaggerating, and Ifear his aristocratic vices would not have horrified her. But herfeeling towards the vulgar rich was a sort of religious hatred: theyhad probably made all their money out of high retail prices, and Mrs.Cadwallader detested high prices for everything that was not paid inkind at the Rectory: such people were no part of God's design in makingthe world; and their accent was an affliction to the ears. A townwhere 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 theuniverse. Let any lady who is inclined to be hard on Mrs. Cadwalladerinquire into the comprehensiveness of her own beautiful views, and bequite sure that they afford accommodation for all the lives which havethe honor to coexist with hers.
With such a mind, active as phosphorus, biting everything that camenear into the form that suited it, how could Mrs. Cadwallader feel thatthe 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 confidencethat she thought him a poor creature. From the first arrival of theyoung ladies in Tipton she had prearranged Dorothea's marriage with SirJames, and if it had taken place would have been quite sure that it washer doing: that it should not take place after she had preconceived it,caused her an irritation which every thinker will sympathize with. Shewas the diplomatist of Tipton and Freshitt, and for anything to happenin spite of her was an offensive irregularity. As to freaks like thisof Miss Brooke's, Mrs. Cadwallader had no patience with them, and nowsaw that her opinion of this girl had been infected with some of herhusband's weak charitableness: those Methodistical whims, that air ofbeing more religious than the rector and curate together, came from adeeper and more constitutional disease than she had been willing tobelieve.
"However," said Mrs. Cadwallader, first to herself and afterwards toher husband, "I throw her over: there was a chance, if she had marriedSir James, of her becoming a sane, sensible woman. He would never havecontradicted her, and when a woman is not contradicted, she has nomotive for obstinacy in her absurdities. But now I wish her joy of herhair shirt."
It followed that Mrs. Cadwallader must decide on another match for SirJames, and having made up her mind that it was to be the younger MissBrooke, there could not have been a more skilful move towards thesuccess of her plan than her hint to the baronet that he had made animpression on Celia's heart. For he was not one of those gentlemen wholanguish after the unattainable Sappho's apple that laughs from thetopmost bough--the 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 thathe was not an object of preference to the woman whom he had preferred.Already the knowledge that Dorothea had chosen Mr. Casaubon had bruisedhis attachment and relaxed its hold. Although Sir James was asportsman, he had some other feelings towards women than towards grouseand foxes, and did not regard his future wife in the light of prey,valuable chiefly for the excitements of the chase. Neither was he sowell acquainted with the habits of primitive races as to feel that anideal combat for her, tomahawk in hand, so to speak, was necessary tothe historical continuity of the marriage-tie. On the contrary, havingthe amiable vanity which knits us to those who are fond of us, anddisinclines us to those who are indifferent, and also a good gratefulnature, the mere idea that a woman had a kindness towards him spunlittle threads of tenderness from out his heart towards hers.
Thus it happened, that after Sir James had ridden rather fast for halfan 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 shortercut. Various feelings wrought in him the determination after all to goto the Grange to-day as if nothing new had happened. He could not helprejoicing that he had never made the offer and been rejected; merefriendly politeness required that he should call to see Dorothea aboutthe cottages, and now happily Mrs. Cadwallader had prepared him tooffer his congratulations, if necessary, without showing too muchawkwardness. He really did not like it: giving up Dorothea was verypainful to him; but there was something in the resolve to make thisvisit forthwith and conquer all show of feeling, which was a sort offile-biting and counter-irritant. And without his distinctlyrecognizing the impulse, there certainly was present in him the sensethat Celia would be there, and that he should pay her more attentionthan he had done before.
We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment betweenbreakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little paleabout the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pridehelps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hideour own hurts--not to hurt others.
