Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  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 men's shoes."

  Mr. Bulstrode's consultation of Harriet seemed to have had the effectdesired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next morning a letter came whichFred 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 wentup-stairs immediately and presented the letter to his uncle, who,propped up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual toenjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and frustratingmankind. He put on his spectacles to read the letter, pursing up hislips and drawing down their corners.

  "Under the circumstances I will not decline to state myconviction--tchah! what fine words the fellow puts! He's as fine as anauctioneer--that your son Frederic has not obtained any advance ofmoney on bequests promised by Mr. Featherstone--promised? who said Ihad ever promised? I promise nothing--I shall make codicils as long asI like--and that considering the nature of such a proceeding, it isunreasonable to presume that a young man of sense and character wouldattempt it--ah, but the gentleman doesn't say you are a young man ofsense and character, mark you that, sir!--As to my own concern with anyreport of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I never made anystatement to the effect that your son had borrowed money on anyproperty that might accrue to him on Mr. Featherstone's demise--blessmy heart! 'property'--accrue--demise! Lawyer Standish is nothing tohim. He couldn't speak finer if he wanted to borrow. Well," Mr.Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at Fred, while he handedback the letter to him with a contemptuous gesture, "you don't supposeI believe a thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?"

  Fred colored. "You wished to have the letter, sir. I should think itvery likely that Mr. Bulstrode's denial is as good as the authoritywhich told you what he denies."

  "Every bit. I never said I believed either one or the other. And nowwhat d' you expect?" said Mr. Featherstone, curtly, keeping on hisspectacles, but withdrawing his hands under his wraps.

  "I expect nothing, sir." Fred with difficulty restrained himself fromventing his irritation. "I came to bring you the letter. If you likeI 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. "Whatbusiness had she to go away?" He spoke in the same tone when Mary came.

  "Why couldn't you sit still here till I told you to go? I want mywaistcoat now. I told you always to put it on the bed."

  Mary's eyes looked rather red, as if she had been crying. It was clearthat Mr. Featherstone was in one of his most snappish humors thismorning, and though Fred had now the prospect of receiving themuch-needed present of money, he would have preferred being free toturn round on the old tyrant and tell him that Mary Garth was too goodto be at his beck. Though Fred had risen as she entered the room, shehad barely noticed him, and looked as if her nerves were quivering withthe expectation that something would be thrown at her. But she neverhad anything worse than words to dread. When she went to reach thewaistcoat 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, whenthe waistcoat was laid down by him. It was usual with him to seasonhis pleasure in showing favor to one person by being especiallydisagreeable to another, and Mary was always at hand to furnish thecondiment. When his own relatives came she was treated better. Slowlyhe took out a bunch of keys from the waistcoat pocket, and slowly hedrew 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 presentthe other day, else, of course, I should not have thought of thematter." But Fred was of a hopeful disposition, and a vision hadpresented itself of a sum just large enough to deliver him from acertain anxiety. When Fred got into debt, it always seemed to himhighly probable that something or other--he did not necessarilyconceive what--would come to pass enabling him to pay in due time. Andnow that the providential occurrence was apparently close at hand, itwould have been sheer absurdity to think that the supply would be shortof the need: as absurd as a faith that believed in half a miracle forwant 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 witha little sheaf of notes: Fred could see distinctly that there were butfive, as the less significant edges gaped towards him. But then, eachmight mean fifty pounds. He took them, saying--

  "I am very much obliged to you, sir," and was going to roll them upwithout seeming to think of their value. But this did not suit Mr.Featherstone, who was eying him intently.

  "Come, don't you think it worth your while to count 'em? You takemoney like a lord; I suppose you lose it like one."

  "I thought I was not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, sir. But Ishall be very happy to count them."

  Fred was not so happy, however, after he had counted them. For theyactually presented the absurdity of being less than his hopefulness haddecided that they must be. What can the fitness of things mean, if nottheir fitness to a man's expectations? Failing this, absurdity andatheism gape behind him. The collapse for Fred was severe when hefound that he held no more than five twenties, and his share in thehigher 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 andreplacing it, then taking off his spectacles deliberately, and atlength, 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 torecover his cheerful air.

  "So you ought to be. You want to cut a figure in the world, and Ireckon Peter Featherstone is the only one you've got to trust to." Herethe old man's eyes gleamed with a curiously mingled satisfaction in theconsciousness that this smart young fellow relied upon him, and thatthe smart young fellow was rather a fool for doing so.

  "Yes, indeed: I was not born to very splendid chances. Few men havebeen more cramped than I have been," said Fred, with some sense ofsurprise at his own virtue, considering how hardly he was dealt with."It really seems a little too bad to have to ride a broken-windedhunter, 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 enoughfor that, I reckon--and you'll have twenty pound over to get yourselfout of any little scrape," said Mr. Featherstone, chuckling slightly.

  "You are very good, sir," said Fred, with a fine sense of contrastbetween the words and his feeling.

  "Ay, rather a better uncle than your fine uncle Bulstrode. You won'tget much out of his spekilations, I think. He's got a pretty strongstring round your father's 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 outwithout his telling. _He'll_ never have much to leave you: he'llmost-like die with
out a will--he's the sort of man to do it--let 'emmake him mayor of Middlemarch as much as they like. But you won't getmuch by his dying without a will, though you _are_ the eldest son."

  Fred thought that Mr. Featherstone had never been so disagreeablebefore. True, he had never before given him quite so much money atonce.

  "Shall I destroy this letter of Mr. Bulstrode's, sir?" said Fred,rising with the letter as if he would put it in the fire.

  "Ay, ay, I don't want it. It's worth no money to me."

  Fred carried the letter to the fire, and thrust the poker through itwith much zest. He longed to get out of the room, but he was a littleashamed before his inner self, as well as before his uncle, to run awayimmediately after pocketing the money. Presently, the farm-bailiffcame up to give his master a report, and Fred, to his unspeakablerelief, was dismissed with the injunction to come again soon.

  He had longed not only to be set free from his uncle, but also to findMary Garth. She was now in her usual place by the fire, with sewing inher hands and a book open on the little table by her side. Her eyelidshad lost some of their redness now, and she had her usual air ofself-command.

  "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 treatinghim with more indifference than usual: she did not know howaffectionately 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 myleave."

  "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 thingsin a girl's life, that there must always be some supposition of fallingin love coming between her and any man who is kind to her, and to whomshe is grateful. I should have thought that I, at least, might havebeen safe from all that. I have no ground for the nonsensical vanityof fancying everybody who comes near me is in love with me."

  Mary did not mean to betray any feeling, but in spite of herself sheended in a tremulous tone of vexation.

  "Confound John Waule! I did not mean to make you angry. I didn't knowyou had any reason for being grateful to me. I forgot what a greatservice you think it if any one snuffs a candle for you." Fred also hadhis pride, and was not going to show that he knew what had called forththis outburst of Mary's.

  "Oh, I am not angry, except with the ways of the world. I do like tobe spoken to as if I had common-sense. I really often feel as if Icould understand a little more than I ever hear even from younggentlemen who have been to college." Mary had recovered, and she spokewith a suppressed rippling under-current of laughter pleasant to hear.

  "I don't 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 youshould stay here to be bullied in that way."

  "Oh, I have an easy life--by comparison. I have tried being a teacher,and I am not fit for that: my mind is too fond of wandering on its ownway. I think any hardship is better than pretending to do what one ispaid for, and never really doing it. Everything here I can do as wellas any one else could; perhaps better than some--Rosy, for example.Though she is just the sort of beautiful creature that is imprisonedwith 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 socritical."

  "Do you mean anything particular--just now?"

  "No, I mean something general--always."

  "Oh, that I am idle and extravagant. Well, I am not fit to be a poorman. 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 hasnot pleased God to call you," said Mary, laughing.

  "Well, I couldn't do my duty as a clergyman, any more than you could doyours 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 ofwork. It seems to me very miserable not to resolve on some course andact accordingly."

  "So I could, if--" Fred broke off, and stood up, leaning against themantel-piece.

  "If you were sure you should not have a fortune?"

  "I did not say that. You want to quarrel with me. It is too bad ofyou to be guided by what other people say about me."

  "How can I want to quarrel with you? I should be quarrelling with allmy new books," said Mary, lifting the volume on the table. "Howevernaughty you may be to other people, you are good to me."

  "Because I like you better than any one else. But I know you despiseme."

  "Yes, I do--a little," said Mary, nodding, with a smile.

  "You would admire a stupendous fellow, who would have wise opinionsabout everything."

  "Yes, I should." Mary was sewing swiftly, and seemed provokinglymistress of the situation. When a conversation has taken a wrong turnfor 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 alwaysknown--ever since she can remember; as a man often is. It is alwayssome new fellow who strikes a girl."

  "Let me see," said Mary, the corners of her mouth curling archly; "Imust go back on my experience. There is Juliet--she seems an exampleof what you say. But then Ophelia had probably known Hamlet a longwhile; and Brenda Troil--she had known Mordaunt Merton ever since theywere children; but then he seems to have been an estimable young man;and Minna was still more deeply in love with Cleveland, who was astranger. Waverley was new to Flora MacIvor; but then she did not fallin love with him. And there are Olivia and Sophia Primrose, andCorinne--they 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 wasvery dear to him, though the eyes were nothing more than clear windowswhere observation sat laughingly. He was certainly an affectionatefellow, and as he had grown from boy to man, he had grown in love withhis old playmate, notwithstanding that share in the higher education ofthe 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 bea better fellow--could do anything--I mean, if he were sure of beingloved in return."

  "Not of the least use in the world for him to say he _could_ be better.Might, could, would--they are contemptible auxiliaries."

  "I don't see how a man is to be good for much unless he has some onewoman to love him dearly."

  "I think the goodness should come before he expects that."

  "You know better, Mary. Women don't 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 youlove me--if you will not promise to marry me--I mean, when I am able tomarry."

  "If I did love you, I would not marry you: I would certainly notpromise ever to marry you."

  "I think that is quite wicked, Mary. If you love me, you ought topromise to marry me."

  "On the contrary, I think it would be wicked in me to marry you even ifI did love you."

  "You mean, just as I am, without any means of maintaining a wife. Ofcourse: I am but three-and-twenty."

  "In that last point you will alter. But I am not so sure of any otheralteration. 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 yourexamination. I have heard Mr. Farebrother say it is disgracefullyeasy."

  "That is all very fine. Anything is easy to
him. Not that clevernesshas anything to do with it. I am ten times cleverer than many men whopass."

  "Dear me!" said Mary, unable to repress her sarcasm; "that accounts forthe curates like Mr. Crowse. Divide your cleverness by ten, and thequotient--dear me!--is able to take a degree. But that only shows youare 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 question--what I want you to do. You have aconscience of your own, I suppose. There! there is Mr. Lydgate. Imust go and tell my uncle."

  "Mary," said Fred, seizing her hand as she rose; "if you will not giveme some encouragement, I shall get worse instead of better."

  "I will not give you any encouragement," said Mary, reddening. "Yourfriends would dislike it, and so would mine. My father would think ita disgrace to me if I accepted a man who got into debt, and would notwork!"

  Fred was stung, and released her hand. She walked to the door, butthere she turned and said: "Fred, you have always been so good, sogenerous to me. I am not ungrateful. But never speak to me in thatway again."

  "Very well," said Fred, sulkily, taking up his hat and whip. Hiscomplexion showed patches of pale pink and dead white. Like many aplucked idle young gentleman, he was thoroughly in love, and with aplain girl, who had no money! But having Mr. Featherstone's land inthe background, and a persuasion that, let Mary say what she would, shereally did care for him, Fred was not utterly in despair.

  When he got home, he gave four of the twenties to his mother, askingher to keep them for him. "I don't 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 andher youngest girl (a child of six), whom others thought her twonaughtiest children. The mother's eyes are not always deceived intheir partiality: she at least 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 himparticularly anxious to take some security against his own liability tospend the hundred pounds. For the creditor to whom he owed a hundredand sixty held a firmer security in the shape of a bill signed byMary's father.