Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  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 tremble--then the mass With myriad waves concurrent shall respond In low soft unison.

  Lydgate that evening spoke to Miss Vincy of Mrs. Casaubon, and laidsome emphasis on the strong feeling she appeared to have for thatformal studious man thirty years older than herself.

  "Of course she is devoted to her husband," said Rosamond, implying anotion of necessary sequence which the scientific man regarded as theprettiest possible for a woman; but she was thinking at the same timethat it was not so very melancholy to be mistress of Lowick Manor witha husband likely to die soon. "Do you think her very handsome?"

  "She certainly is handsome, but I have not thought about it," saidLydgate.

  "I suppose it would be unprofessional," said Rosamond, dimpling. "Buthow your practice is spreading! You were called in before to theChettams, I think; and now, the Casaubons."

  "Yes," said Lydgate, in a tone of compulsory admission. "But I don'treally like attending such people so well as the poor. The cases aremore monotonous, and one has to go through more fuss and listen moredeferentially to nonsense."

  "Not more than in Middlemarch," said Rosamond. "And at least you gothrough wide corridors and have the scent of rose-leaves everywhere."

  "That is true, Mademoiselle de Montmorenci," said Lydgate, just bendinghis head to the table and lifting with his fourth finger her delicatehandkerchief which lay at the mouth of her reticule, as if to enjoy itsscent, while he looked at her with a smile.

  But this agreeable holiday freedom with which Lydgate hovered about theflower of Middlemarch, could not continue indefinitely. It was notmore possible to find social isolation in that town than elsewhere, andtwo people persistently flirting could by no means escape from "thevarious entanglements, weights, blows, clashings, motions, by whichthings severally go on." Whatever Miss Vincy did must be remarked, andshe was perhaps the more conspicuous to admirers and critics becausejust now Mrs. Vincy, after some struggle, had gone with Fred to stay alittle while at Stone Court, there being no other way of at oncegratifying old Featherstone and keeping watch against Mary Garth, whoappeared a less tolerable daughter-in-law in proportion as Fred'sillness disappeared.

  Aunt Bulstrode, for example, came a little oftener into Lowick Gate tosee Rosamond, now she was alone. For Mrs. Bulstrode had a truesisterly feeling for her brother; always thinking that he might havemarried better, but wishing well to the children. Now Mrs. Bulstrodehad a long-standing intimacy with Mrs. Plymdale. They had nearly thesame preferences in silks, patterns for underclothing, china-ware, andclergymen; they confided their little troubles of health and householdmanagement to each other, and various little points of superiority onMrs. Bulstrode's side, namely, more decided seriousness, moreadmiration for mind, and a house outside the town, sometimes served togive color to their conversation without dividing them--well-meaningwomen both, knowing very little of their own motives.

  Mrs. Bulstrode, paying a morning visit to Mrs. Plymdale, happened tosay that she could not stay longer, because she was going to see poorRosamond.

  "Why do you say 'poor Rosamond'?" said Mrs. Plymdale, a round-eyedsharp 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 meanxious for the children."

  "Well, Harriet, if I am to speak my mind," said Mrs. Plymdale, withemphasis, "I must say, anybody would suppose you and Mr. Bulstrodewould be delighted with what has happened, for you have done everythingto put Mr. Lydgate forward."

  "Selina, what do you mean?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, in genuine surprise.

  "Not but what I am truly thankful for Ned's sake," said Mrs. Plymdale."He could certainly better afford to keep such a wife than some peoplecan; but I should wish him to look elsewhere. Still a mother hasanxieties, 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 ofstrangers coming into a town."

  "I don't know, Selina," said Mrs. Bulstrode, with a little emphasis inher turn. "Mr. Bulstrode was a stranger here at one time. Abraham andMoses were strangers in the land, and we are told to entertainstrangers. And especially," she added, after a slight pause, "whenthey are unexceptionable."

  "I was not speaking in a religious sense, Harriet. I spoke as amother."

  "Selina, I am sure you have never heard me say anything against a nieceof mine marrying your son."

  "Oh, it is pride in Miss Vincy--I am sure it is nothing else," saidMrs. Plymdale, who had never before given all her confidence to"Harriet" on this subject. "No young man in Middlemarch was goodenough for her: I have heard her mother say as much. That is not aChristian spirit, I think. But now, from all I hear, she has found aman as proud as herself."

  "You don't mean that there is anything between Rosamond and Mr.Lydgate?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, rather mortified at finding out her ownignorance.

  "Is it possible you don't know, Harriet?"

  "Oh, I go about so little; and I am not fond of gossip; I really neverhear any. You see so many people that I don't see. Your circle israther different from ours."

  "Well, but your own niece and Mr. Bulstrode's great favorite--andyours too, I am sure, Harriet! I thought, at one time, you meant himfor Kate, when she is a little older."

  "I don't 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 seeMiss 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 newlyweighted. She was herself handsomely dressed, but she noticed with alittle more regret than usual that Rosamond, who was just come in andmet her in walking-dress, was almost as expensively equipped. Mrs.Bulstrode was a feminine smaller edition of her brother, and had noneof her husband's low-toned pallor. She had a good honest glance andused no circumlocution.

  "You are alone, I see, my dear," she said, as they entered thedrawing-room together, looking round gravely. Rosamond felt sure thather aunt had something particular to say, and they sat down near eachother. Nevertheless, the quilling inside Rosamond's bonnet was socharming that it was impossible not to desire the same kind of thingfor Kate, and Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes, which were rather fine, rolledround 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?" Rosamond's eyes also were roaming over heraunt's large embroidered collar.

  "I can hardly believe it--that you should be engaged without my knowingit--without your father's telling me." Here Mrs. Bulstrode's eyesfinally rested on Rosamond's, who blushed deeply, and said--

  "I am not engaged, aunt."

  "How is it that every one says so, then--that it is the town's talk?"

  "The town's talk is of very little consequence, I think," saidRosamond, inwardly gratified.

  "Oh, my dear, be more thoughtful; don't 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 attractionin that. I like talking to such men myself; and your uncle finds himvery useful. But the profession is a poor one here. To be sure, thislife is not everything; but it is seldom a medical man has truereligious views--there is too much pride of intellect. And you are notfit 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 h
ave a high style of living."

  "My dear Rosamond, _you_ must not think of living in high style."

  Rosamond looked down and played with her reticule. She was not a fieryyoung lady and had no sharp answers, but she meant to live as shepleased.

  "Then it is really true?" said Mrs. Bulstrode, looking very earnestlyat her niece. "You are thinking of Mr. Lydgate--there is someunderstanding between you, though your father doesn't know. Be open,my dear Rosamond: Mr. Lydgate has really made you an offer?"

  Poor Rosamond's feelings were very unpleasant. She had been quite easyas to Lydgate's feeling and intention, but now when her aunt put thisquestion 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."

  "You would not give your heart to a man without a decided prospect, Itrust, my dear. And think of the two excellent offers I know of thatyou have refused!--and one still within your reach, if you will notthrow 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 thinkgood-looking; and an only son; and a large business of that kind isbetter than a profession. Not that marrying is everything. I wouldhave you seek first the kingdom of God. But a girl should keep herheart within her own power."

  "I should never give it to Mr. Ned Plymdale, if it were. I havealready refused him. If I loved, I should love at once and withoutchange," 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 withoutreturn."

  "No, indeed, aunt," said Rosamond, with emphasis.

  "Then you are quite confident that Mr. Lydgate has a serious attachmentto you?"

  Rosamond's cheeks by this time were persistently burning, and she feltmuch mortification. She chose to be silent, and her aunt went away allthe more convinced.

  Mr. Bulstrode in things worldly and indifferent was disposed to do whathis wife bade him, and she now, without telling her reasons, desiredhim on the next opportunity to find out in conversation with Mr.Lydgate whether he had any intention of marrying soon. The result wasa decided negative. Mr. Bulstrode, on being cross-questioned, showedthat Lydgate had spoken as no man would who had any attachment thatcould issue in matrimony. Mrs. Bulstrode now felt that she had aserious duty before her, and she soon managed to arrange a tete-a-tetewith Lydgate, in which she passed from inquiries about Fred Vincy'shealth, and expressions of her sincere anxiety for her brother's largefamily, to general remarks on the dangers which lay before young peoplewith regard to their settlement in life. Young men were often wild anddisappointing, making little return for the money spent on them, and agirl was exposed to many circumstances which might interfere with herprospects.

  "Especially when she has great attractions, and her parents see muchcompany," said Mrs. Bulstrode "Gentlemen pay her attention, and engrossher all to themselves, for the mere pleasure of the moment, and thatdrives off others. I think it is a heavy responsibility, Mr. Lydgate,to interfere with the prospects of any girl." Here Mrs. Bulstrode fixedher eyes on him, with an unmistakable purpose of warning, if not ofrebuke.

  "Clearly," said Lydgate, looking at her--perhaps even staring a littlein return. "On the other hand, a man must be a great coxcomb to goabout with a notion that he must not pay attention to a young lady lestshe should fall in love with him, or lest others should think she must."

  "Oh, Mr. Lydgate, you know well what your advantages are. You knowthat our young men here cannot cope with you. Where you frequent ahouse it may militate very much against a girl's making a desirablesettlement in life, and prevent her from accepting offers even if theyare made."

  Lydgate was less flattered by his advantage over the MiddlemarchOrlandos than he was annoyed by the perception of Mrs. Bulstrode'smeaning. She felt that she had spoken as impressively as it wasnecessary to do, and that in using the superior word "militate" she hadthrown a noble drapery over a mass of particulars which were stillevident enough.

  Lydgate was fuming a little, pushed his hair back with one hand, feltcuriously in his waistcoat-pocket with the other, and then stooped tobeckon the tiny black spaniel, which had the insight to decline hishollow caresses. It would not have been decent to go away, because hehad been dining with other guests, and had just taken tea. But Mrs.Bulstrode, having no doubt that she had been understood, turned theconversation.

  Solomon's Proverbs, I think, have omitted to say, that as the sorepalate 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 Vincy's in the evening. Lydgateanswered curtly, no--he had work to do--he must give up going out inthe evening.

  "What! you are going to get lashed to the mast, eh, and are stoppingyour ears?" said the Vicar. "Well, if you don't mean to be won by thesirens, you are right to take precautions in time."

  A few days before, Lydgate would have taken no notice of these words asanything more than the Vicar's usual way of putting things. Theyseemed now to convey an innuendo which confirmed the impression that hehad been making a fool of himself and behaving so as to bemisunderstood: not, he believed, by Rosamond herself; she, he feltsure, took everything as lightly as he intended it. She had anexquisite tact and insight in relation to all points of manners; butthe people she lived among were blunderers and busybodies. However,the mistake should go no farther. He resolved--and kept hisresolution--that he would not go to Mr. Vincy's except on business.

  Rosamond became very unhappy. The uneasiness first stirred by heraunt's questions grew and grew till at the end of ten days that she hadnot seen Lydgate, it grew into terror at the blank that might possiblycome--into foreboding of that ready, fatal sponge which so cheaplywipes out the hopes of mortals. The world would have a new drearinessfor her, as a wilderness that a magician's spells had turned for alittle while into a garden. She felt that she was beginning to knowthe pang of disappointed love, and that no other man could be theoccasion of such delightful aerial building as she had been enjoyingfor the last six months. Poor Rosamond lost her appetite and felt asforlorn as Ariadne--as a charming stage Ariadne left behind with allher boxes full of costumes and no hope of a coach.

  There are many wonderful mixtures in the world which are all alikecalled love, and claim the privileges of a sublime rage which is anapology for everything (in literature and the drama). Happily Rosamonddid not think of committing any desperate act: she plaited her fairhair as beautifully as usual, and kept herself proudly calm. Her mostcheerful supposition was that her aunt Bulstrode had interfered in someway to hinder Lydgate's visits: everything was better than aspontaneous indifference in him. Any one who imagines ten days tooshort a time--not for falling into leanness, lightness, or othermeasurable effects of passion, but--for the whole spiritual circuit ofalarmed conjecture and disappointment, is ignorant of what can go on inthe elegant leisure of a young lady's mind.

  On the eleventh day, however, Lydgate when leaving Stone Court wasrequested by Mrs. Vincy to let her husband know that there was a markedchange in Mr. Featherstone's health, and that she wished him to come toStone Court on that day. Now Lydgate might have called at thewarehouse, or might have written a message on a leaf of his pocket-bookand left it at the door. Yet these simple devices apparently did notoccur to him, from which we may conclude that he had no strongobjection to calling at the house at an hour when Mr. Vincy was not athome, and leaving the message with Miss Vincy. A man may, from variousmotives, decline to give his company, but perhaps not even a sage wouldbe gratified that nobody missed him. It would be a graceful, easy wayof piecing on the new habits to the old, to have a few playful wordswith Rosamond about his resistance to dissipation, and his firm resolveto take long fasts even from sweet sounds. It must be confessed, also,that momentary spec
ulations as to all the possible grounds for Mrs.Bulstrode's hints had managed to get woven like slight clinging hairsinto the more substantial web of his thoughts.

  Miss Vincy was alone, and blushed so deeply when Lydgate came in thathe 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, whoat the first moment felt as if her happiness were returning, was keenlyhurt by Lydgate's manner; her blush had departed, and she assentedcoldly, without adding an unnecessary word, some trivial chain-workwhich she had in her hands enabling her to avoid looking at Lydgatehigher than his chin. In all failures, the beginning is certainly thehalf of the whole. After sitting two long moments while he moved hiswhip and could say nothing, Lydgate rose to go, and Rosamond, madenervous by her struggle between mortification and the wish not tobetray 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 fairlong neck which he had been used to see turning about under the mostperfect management of self-contented grace. But as he raised his eyesnow he saw a certain helpless quivering which touched him quite newly,and made him look at Rosamond with a questioning flash. At this momentshe 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 doanything else than let them stay like water on a blue flower or letthem fall over her cheeks, even as they would.

  That moment of naturalness was the crystallizing feather-touch: itshook flirtation into love. Remember that the ambitious man who waslooking at those Forget-me-nots under the water was very warm-heartedand rash. He did not know where the chain went; an idea had thrilledthrough the recesses within him which had a miraculous effect inraising the power of passionate love lying buried there in no sealedsepulchre, but under the lightest, easily pierced mould. His wordswere quite abrupt and awkward; but the tone made them sound like anardent, 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 surethat she knew what the words were: but she looked at Lydgate and thetears fell over her cheeks. There could have been no more completeanswer than that silence, and Lydgate, forgetting everything else,completely mastered by the outrush of tenderness at the sudden beliefthat this sweet young creature depended on him for her joy, actuallyput his arms round her, folding her gently and protectingly--he wasused to being gentle with the weak and suffering--and kissed each ofthe two large tears. This was a strange way of arriving at anunderstanding, but it was a short way. Rosamond was not angry, but shemoved backward a little in timid happiness, and Lydgate could now sitnear her and speak less incompletely. Rosamond had to make her littleconfession, and he poured out words of gratitude and tenderness withimpulsive lavishment. In half an hour he left the house an engagedman, whose soul was not his own, but the woman's to whom he had boundhimself.

  He came again in the evening to speak with Mr. Vincy, who, justreturned from Stone Court, was feeling sure that it would not be longbefore he heard of Mr. Featherstone's demise. The felicitous word"demise," which had seasonably occurred to him, had raised his spiritseven above their usual evening pitch. The right word is always apower, and communicates its definiteness to our action. Considered asa demise, old Featherstone's death assumed a merely legal aspect, sothat Mr. Vincy could tap his snuff-box over it and be jovial, withouteven an intermittent affectation of solemnity; and Mr. Vincy hated bothsolemnity and affectation. Who was ever awe struck about a testator,or sang a hymn on the title to real property? Mr. Vincy was inclinedto take a jovial view of all things that evening: he even observed toLydgate that Fred had got the family constitution after all, and wouldsoon be as fine a fellow as ever again; and when his approbation ofRosamond's engagement was asked for, he gave it with astonishingfacility, passing at once to general remarks on the desirableness ofmatrimony for young men and maidens, and apparently deducing from thewhole the appropriateness of a little more punch.