Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  "They'll take suggestion as a cat laps milk." --SHAKESPEARE: Tempest.

  The triumphant confidence of the Mayor founded on Mr. Featherstone'sinsistent demand that Fred and his mother should not leave him, was afeeble emotion compared with all that was agitating the breasts of theold man's blood-relations, who naturally manifested more their sense ofthe family tie and were more visibly numerous now that he had becomebedridden. Naturally: for when "poor Peter" had occupied his arm-chairin the wainscoted parlor, no assiduous beetles for whom the cookprepares boiling water could have been less welcome on a hearth whichthey had reasons for preferring, than those persons whose Featherstoneblood was ill-nourished, not from penuriousness on their part, but frompoverty. Brother Solomon and Sister Jane were rich, and the familycandor and total abstinence from false politeness with which they werealways received seemed to them no argument that their brother in thesolemn act of making his will would overlook the superior claims ofwealth. Themselves at least he had never been unnatural enough tobanish from his house, and it seemed hardly eccentric that he shouldhave kept away Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and the rest, who had noshadow of such claims. They knew Peter's maxim, that money was a goodegg, and should be laid in a warm nest.

  But Brother Jonah, Sister Martha, and all the needy exiles, held adifferent point of view. Probabilities are as various as the faces tobe seen at will in fretwork or paper-hangings: every form is there,from Jupiter to Judy, if you only look with creative inclination. Tothe poorer and least favored it seemed likely that since Peter had donenothing for them in his life, he would remember them at the last.Jonah argued that men liked to make a surprise of their wills, whileMartha said that nobody need be surprised if he left the best part ofhis money to those who least expected it. Also it was not to bethought but that an own brother "lying there" with dropsy in his legsmust come to feel that blood was thicker than water, and if he didn'talter his will, he might have money by him. At any rate someblood-relations should be on the premises and on the watch againstthose who were hardly relations at all. Such things had been known asforged wills and disputed wills, which seemed to have the golden-hazyadvantage of somehow enabling non-legatees to live out of them. Again,those who were no blood-relations might be caught making away withthings--and poor Peter "lying there" helpless! Somebody should be onthe watch. But in this conclusion they were at one with Solomon andJane; also, some nephews, nieces, and cousins, arguing with stillgreater subtilty as to what might be done by a man able to "will away"his property and give himself large treats of oddity, felt in ahandsome sort of way that there was a family interest to be attendedto, and thought of Stone Court as a place which it would be nothing butright for them to visit. Sister Martha, otherwise Mrs. Cranch, livingwith some wheeziness in the Chalky Flats, could not undertake thejourney; but her son, as being poor Peter's own nephew, could representher advantageously, and watch lest his uncle Jonah should make anunfair use of the improbable things which seemed likely to happen. Infact there was a general sense running in the Featherstone blood thateverybody must watch everybody else, and that it would be well foreverybody else to reflect that the Almighty was watching him.

  Thus Stone Court continually saw one or other blood-relation alightingor departing, and Mary Garth had the unpleasant task of carrying theirmessages to Mr. Featherstone, who would see none of them, and sent herdown with the still more unpleasant task of telling them so. Asmanager of the household she felt bound to ask them in good provincialfashion to stay and eat; but she chose to consult Mrs. Vincy on thepoint of extra down-stairs consumption now that Mr. Featherstone waslaid up.

  "Oh, my dear, you must do things handsomely where there's last illnessand a property. God knows, I don't grudge them every ham in thehouse--only, save the best for the funeral. Have some stuffed vealalways, and a fine cheese in cut. You must expect to keep open housein these last illnesses," said liberal Mrs. Vincy, once more ofcheerful note and bright plumage.

  But some of the visitors alighted and did not depart after the handsometreating to veal and ham. Brother Jonah, for example (there are suchunpleasant people in most families; perhaps even in the highestaristocracy there are Brobdingnag specimens, gigantically in debt andbloated at greater expense)--Brother Jonah, I say, having come down inthe world, was mainly supported by a calling which he was modest enoughnot to boast of, though it was much better than swindling either onexchange or turf, but which did not require his presence at Brassing solong as he had a good corner to sit in and a supply of food. He chosethe kitchen-corner, partly because he liked it best, and partly becausehe did not want to sit with Solomon, concerning whom he had a strongbrotherly opinion. Seated in a famous arm-chair and in his best suit,constantly within sight of good cheer, he had a comfortableconsciousness of being on the premises, mingled with fleetingsuggestions of Sunday and the bar at the Green Man; and he informedMary Garth that he should not go out of reach of his brother Peterwhile that poor fellow was above ground. The troublesome ones in afamily are usually either the wits or the idiots. Jonah was the witamong the Featherstones, and joked with the maid-servants when theycame about the hearth, but seemed to consider Miss Garth a suspiciouscharacter, and followed her with cold eyes.

  Mary would have borne this one pair of eyes with comparative ease, butunfortunately there was young Cranch, who, having come all the way fromthe Chalky Flats to represent his mother and watch his uncle Jonah,also felt it his duty to stay and to sit chiefly in the kitchen to givehis uncle company. Young Cranch was not exactly the balancing pointbetween the wit and the idiot,--verging slightly towards the lattertype, and squinting so as to leave everything in doubt about hissentiments except that they were not of a forcible character. WhenMary Garth entered the kitchen and Mr. Jonah Featherstone began tofollow her with his cold detective eyes, young Cranch turning his headin the same direction seemed to insist on it that she should remark howhe was squinting, as if he did it with design, like the gypsies whenBorrow read the New Testament to them. This was rather too much forpoor Mary; sometimes it made her bilious, sometimes it upset hergravity. One day that she had an opportunity she could not resistdescribing the kitchen scene to Fred, who would not be hindered fromimmediately going to see it, affecting simply to pass through. But nosooner did he face the four eyes than he had to rush through thenearest door which happened to lead to the dairy, and there under thehigh roof and among the pans he gave way to laughter which made ahollow resonance perfectly audible in the kitchen. He fled by anotherdoorway, but Mr. Jonah, who had not before seen Fred's whitecomplexion, long legs, and pinched delicacy of face, prepared manysarcasms in which these points of appearance were wittily combined withthe lowest moral attributes.

  "Why, Tom, _you_ don't wear such gentlemanly trousers--you haven't gothalf such fine long legs," said Jonah to his nephew, winking at thesame time, to imply that there was something more in these statementsthan their undeniableness. Tom looked at his legs, but left ituncertain whether he preferred his moral advantages to a more viciouslength of limb and reprehensible gentility of trouser.

  In the large wainscoted parlor too there were constantly pairs of eyeson the watch, and own relatives eager to be "sitters-up." Many came,lunched, and departed, but Brother Solomon and the lady who had beenJane Featherstone for twenty-five years before she was Mrs. Waule foundit good to be there every day for hours, without other calculableoccupation than that of observing the cunning Mary Garth (who was sodeep that she could be found out in nothing) and giving occasional drywrinkly indications of crying--as if capable of torrents in a wetterseason--at the thought that they were not allowed to go into Mr.Featherstone's room. For the old man's dislike of his own familyseemed to get stronger as he got less able to amuse himself by sayingbiting things to them. Too languid to sting, he had the more venomrefluent in his blood.

  Not fully believing the message sent through Mary Garth, they hadpresented themselves together withi
n the door of the bedroom, both inblack--Mrs. Waule having a white handkerchief partially unfolded in herhand--and both with faces in a sort of half-mourning purple; while Mrs.Vincy with her pink cheeks and pink ribbons flying was actuallyadministering a cordial to their own brother, and thelight-complexioned Fred, his short hair curling as might be expected ina gambler's, was lolling at his ease in a large chair.

  Old Featherstone no sooner caught sight of these funereal figuresappearing in spite of his orders than rage came to strengthen him moresuccessfully than the cordial. He was propped up on a bed-rest, andalways had his gold-headed stick lying by him. He seized it now andswept it backwards and forwards in as large an area as he could,apparently to ban these ugly spectres, crying in a hoarse sort ofscreech--

  "Back, back, Mrs. Waule! Back, Solomon!"

  "Oh, Brother. Peter," Mrs. Waule began--but Solomon put his handbefore her repressingly. He was a large-cheeked man, nearly seventy,with small furtive eyes, and was not only of much blander temper butthought himself much deeper than his brother Peter; indeed not likelyto be deceived in any of his fellow-men, inasmuch as they could notwell be more greedy and deceitful than he suspected them of being.Even the invisible powers, he thought, were likely to be soothed by abland parenthesis here and there--coming from a man of property, whomight have been as impious as others.

  "Brother Peter," he said, in a wheedling yet gravely official tone,"It's nothing but right I should speak to you about the Three Croftsand the Manganese. The Almighty knows what I've got on my mind--"

  "Then he knows more than I want to know," said Peter, laying down hisstick with a show of truce which had a threat in it too, for hereversed the stick so as to make the gold handle a club in case ofcloser fighting, and looked hard at Solomon's bald head.

  "There's things you might repent of, Brother, for want of speaking tome," said Solomon, not advancing, however. "I could sit up with youto-night, and Jane with me, willingly, and you might take your own timeto speak, or let me speak."

  "Yes, I shall take my own time--you needn't offer me yours," said Peter.

  "But you can't take your own time to die in, Brother," began Mrs.Waule, with her usual woolly tone. "And when you lie speechless youmay be tired of having strangers about you, and you may think of me andmy children"--but here her voice broke under the touching thought whichshe was attributing to her speechless brother; the mention of ourselvesbeing naturally affecting.

  "No, I shan't," said old Featherstone, contradictiously. "I shan'tthink of any of you. I've made my will, I tell you, I've made mywill." Here he turned his head towards Mrs. Vincy, and swallowed somemore of his cordial.

  "Some people would be ashamed to fill up a place belonging by rights toothers," said Mrs. Waule, turning her narrow eyes in the same direction.

  "Oh, sister," said Solomon, with ironical softness, "you and me are notfine, and handsome, and clever enough: we must be humble and let smartpeople push themselves before us."

  Fred's spirit could not bear this: rising and looking at Mr.Featherstone, he said, "Shall my mother and I leave the room, sir, thatyou may be alone with your friends?"

  "Sit down, I tell you," said old Featherstone, snappishly. "Stop whereyou are. Good-by, Solomon," he added, trying to wield his stick again,but failing now that he had reversed the handle. "Good-by, Mrs. Waule.Don't you come again."

  "I shall be down-stairs, Brother, whether or no," said Solomon. "Ishall do my duty, and it remains to be seen what the Almighty willallow."

  "Yes, in property going out of families," said Mrs. Waule, incontinuation,--"and where there's steady young men to carry on. But Ipity them who are not such, and I pity their mothers. Good-by, BrotherPeter."

  "Remember, I'm the eldest after you, Brother, and prospered from thefirst, just as you did, and have got land already by the name ofFeatherstone," said Solomon, relying much on that reflection, as onewhich might be suggested in the watches of the night. "But I bid yougood-by for the present."

  Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr. Featherstone pull hiswig on each side and shut his eyes with his mouth-widening grimace, asif he were determined to be deaf and blind.

  None the less they came to Stone Court daily and sat below at the postof duty, sometimes carrying on a slow dialogue in an undertone in whichthe observation and response were so far apart, that any one hearingthem might have imagined himself listening to speaking automata, insome doubt whether the ingenious mechanism would really work, or winditself up for a long time in order to stick and be silent. Solomon andJane would have been sorry to be quick: what that led to might be seenon the other side of the wall in the person of Brother Jonah.

  But their watch in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied by thepresence of other guests from far or near. Now that Peter Featherstonewas up-stairs, his property could be discussed with all that localenlightenment to be found on the spot: some rural and Middlemarchneighbors expressed much agreement with the family and sympathy withtheir interest against the Vincys, and feminine visitors were evenmoved to tears, in conversation with Mrs. Waule, when they recalled thefact that they themselves had been disappointed in times past bycodicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful elderlygentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had been spared forsomething better. Such conversation paused suddenly, like an organwhen the bellows are let drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; andall eyes were turned on her as a possible legatee, or one who might getaccess to iron chests.

  But the younger men who were relatives or connections of the family,were disposed to admire her in this problematic light, as a girl whoshowed much conduct, and who among all the chances that were flyingmight turn out to be at least a moderate prize. Hence she had hershare of compliments and polite attentions.

  Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a distinguished bachelor andauctioneer of those parts, much concerned in the sale of land andcattle: a public character, indeed, whose name was seen on widelydistributed placards, and who might reasonably be sorry for those whodid not know of him. He was second cousin to Peter Featherstone, andhad been treated by him with more amenity than any other relative,being useful in matters of business; and in that programme of hisfuneral which the old man had himself dictated, he had been named as aBearer. There was no odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull--nothingmore than a sincere sense of his own merit, which, he was aware, incase of rivalry might tell against competitors; so that if PeterFeatherstone, who so far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, hadbehaved like as good a soul as ever breathed, should have done anythinghandsome by him, all he could say was, that he had never fished andfawned, but had advised him to the best of his experience, which nowextended over twenty years from the time of his apprenticeship atfifteen, and was likely to yield a knowledge of no surreptitious kind.His admiration was far from being confined to himself, but wasaccustomed professionally as well as privately to delight in estimatingthings at a high rate. He was an amateur of superior phrases, andnever used poor language without immediately correcting himself--whichwas fortunate, as he was rather loud, and given to predominate,standing or walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat withthe air of a man who is very much of his own opinion, trimming himselfrapidly with his fore-finger, and marking each new series in thesemovements by a busy play with his large seals. There was occasionallya little fierceness in his demeanor, but it was directed chieflyagainst false opinion, of which there is so much to correct in theworld that a man of some reading and experience necessarily has hispatience tried. He felt that the Featherstone family generally was oflimited understanding, but being a man of the world and a publiccharacter, took everything as a matter of course, and even went toconverse with Mr. Jonah and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubtingthat he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questionsconcerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody had observed that Mr. BorthropTrumbull, being an auctioneer, was bound to know the nature ofeverything, he would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with t
hesense that he came pretty near that. On the whole, in an auctioneeringway, he was an honorable man, not ashamed of his business, and feelingthat "the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert," if introduced to him, wouldnot fail to recognize his importance.

  "I don't mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale,Miss Garth, if you will allow me," he said, coming into the parlor athalf-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeingold Featherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs.Waule and Solomon.

  "It's not necessary for you to go out;--let me ring the bell."

  "Thank you," said Mary, "I have an errand."

  "Well, Mr. Trumbull, you're highly favored," said Mrs. Waule.

  "What! seeing the old man?" said the auctioneer, playing with his sealsdispassionately. "Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably." Herehe pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively.

  "Might anybody ask what their brother has been saying?" said Solomon,in a soft tone of humility, in which he had a sense of luxuriouscunning, he being a rich man and not in need of it.

  "Oh yes, anybody may ask," said Mr. Trumbull, with loud andgood-humored though cutting sarcasm. "Anybody may interrogate. Anyone may give their remarks an interrogative turn," he continued, hissonorousness rising with his style. "This is constantly done by goodspeakers, even when they anticipate no answer. It is what we call afigure of speech--speech at a high figure, as one may say." Theeloquent auctioneer smiled at his own ingenuity.

  "I shouldn't be sorry to hear he'd remembered you, Mr. Trumbull," saidSolomon. "I never was against the deserving. It's the undeserving I'magainst."

  "Ah, there it is, you see, there it is," said Mr. Trumbull,significantly. "It can't be denied that undeserving people have beenlegatees, and even residuary legatees. It is so, with testamentarydispositions." Again he pursed up his lips and frowned a little.

  "Do you mean to say for certain, Mr. Trumbull, that my brother has lefthis land away from our family?" said Mrs. Waule, on whom, as anunhopeful woman, those long words had a depressing effect.

  "A man might as well turn his land into charity land at once as leaveit to some people," observed Solomon, his sister's question havingdrawn no answer.

  "What, Blue-Coat land?" said Mrs. Waule, again. "Oh, Mr. Trumbull, younever can mean to say that. It would be flying in the face of theAlmighty that's prospered him."

  While Mrs. Waule was speaking, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walked away fromthe fireplace towards the window, patrolling with his fore-finger roundthe inside of his stock, then along his whiskers and the curves of hishair. He now walked to Miss Garth's work-table, opened a book whichlay there and read the title aloud with pompous emphasis as if he wereoffering it for sale:

  "'Anne of Geierstein' (pronounced Jeersteen) or the 'Maiden of theMist, by the author of Waverley.'" Then turning the page, he begansonorously--"The course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed sincethe series of events which are related in the following chapters tookplace on the Continent." He pronounced the last truly admirable wordwith the accent on the last syllable, not as unaware of vulgar usage,but feeling that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty whichhis reading had given to the whole.

  And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the moments foranswering Mrs. Waule's question had gone by safely, while she andSolomon, watching Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that highlearning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop Trumbullreally knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but he could hardlyhave been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been arrestedfor misprision of treason.

  "I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale," he said,reassuringly. "As a man with public business, I take a snack when Ican. I will back this ham," he added, after swallowing some morselswith alarming haste, "against any ham in the three kingdoms. In myopinion it is better than the hams at Freshitt Hall--and I think I ama tolerable judge."

  "Some don't like so much sugar in their hams," said Mrs. Waule. "Butmy poor brother would always have sugar."

  "If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, Godbless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, Iknow. There is some gratification to a gentleman"--here Mr.Trumbull's voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance--"in having thiskind of ham set on his table."

  He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew hischair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the innerside of his legs, which he stroked approvingly--Mr. Trumbull havingall those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish thepredominant races of the north.

  "You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth," he observed,when Mary re-entered. "It is by the author of 'Waverley': that is SirWalter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself--a very nicething, a very superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe.' You will notget any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think--he will not, in myopinion, be speedily surpassed. I have just been reading a portion atthe commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen.' It commences well." (Thingsnever began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both inprivate life and on his handbills.) "You are a reader, I see. Do yousubscribe to our Middlemarch library?"

  "No," said Mary. "Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book."

  "I am a great bookman myself," returned Mr. Trumbull. "I have no lessthan two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are wellselected. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck,and others. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention,Miss Garth."

  "I am much obliged," said Mary, hastening away again, "but I havelittle time for reading."

  "I should say my brother has done something for _her_ in his will,"said Mr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the doorbehind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary.

  "His first wife was a poor match for him, though," said Mrs. Waule."She brought him nothing: and this young woman is only her niece,--andvery proud. And my brother has always paid her wage."

  "A sensible girl though, in my opinion," said Mr. Trumbull, finishinghis ale and starting up with an emphatic adjustment of his waistcoat."I have observed her when she has been mixing medicine in drops. Sheminds what she is doing, sir. That is a great point in a woman, and agreat point for our friend up-stairs, poor dear old soul. A man whoselife is of any value should think of his wife as a nurse: that is whatI should do, if I married; and I believe I have lived single longenough not to make a mistake in that line. Some men must marry toelevate themselves a little, but when I am in need of that, I hope someone will tell me so--I hope some individual will apprise me of thefact. I wish you good morning, Mrs. Waule. Good morning, Mr. Solomon.I trust we shall meet under less melancholy auspices."

  When Mr. Trumbull had departed with a fine bow, Solomon, leaningforward, observed to his sister, "You may depend, Jane, my brother hasleft that girl a lumping sum."

  "Anybody would think so, from the way Mr. Trumbull talks," said Jane.Then, after a pause, "He talks as if my daughters wasn't to be trustedto give drops."

  "Auctioneers talk wild," said Solomon. "Not but what Trumbull has mademoney."