by George Eliot
CHAPTER LII.
"His heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay." --WORDSWORTH.
On that June evening when Mr. Farebrother knew that he was to have theLowick living, there was joy in the old fashioned parlor, and even theportraits of the great lawyers seemed to look on with satisfaction.His mother left her tea and toast untouched, but sat with her usualpretty primness, only showing her emotion by that flush in the cheeksand brightness in the eyes which give an old woman a touching momentaryidentity with her far-off youthful self, and saying decisively--
"The greatest comfort, Camden, is that you have deserved it."
"When a man gets a good berth, mother, half the deserving must comeafter," said the son, brimful of pleasure, and not trying to concealit. The gladness in his face was of that active kind which seems tohave energy enough not only to flash outwardly, but to light up busyvision within: one seemed to see thoughts, as well as delight, in hisglances.
"Now, aunt," he went on, rubbing his hands and looking at Miss Noble,who was making tender little beaver-like noises, "There shall besugar-candy always on the table for you to steal and give to thechildren, and you shall have a great many new stockings to makepresents of, and you shall darn your own more than ever!"
Miss Noble nodded at her nephew with a subdued half-frightened laugh,conscious of having already dropped an additional lump of sugar intoher basket on the strength of the new preferment.
"As for you, Winny"--the Vicar went on--"I shall make no difficultyabout your marrying any Lowick bachelor--Mr. Solomon Featherstone, forexample, as soon as I find you are in love with him."
Miss Winifred, who had been looking at her brother all the while andcrying heartily, which was her way of rejoicing, smiled through hertears and said, "You must set me the example, Cam: _you_ must marrynow."
"With all my heart. But who is in love with me? I am a seedy oldfellow," said the Vicar, rising, pushing his chair away and lookingdown at himself. "What do you say, mother?"
"You are a handsome man, Camden: though not so fine a figure of a manas your father," said the old lady.
"I wish you would marry Miss Garth, brother," said Miss Winifred. "Shewould make us so lively at Lowick."
"Very fine! You talk as if young women were tied up to be chosen, likepoultry at market; as if I had only to ask and everybody would haveme," said the Vicar, not caring to specify.
"We don't want everybody," said Miss Winifred. "But _you_ would likeMiss Garth, mother, shouldn't you?"
"My son's choice shall be mine," said Mrs. Farebrother, with majesticdiscretion, "and a wife would be most welcome, Camden. You will wantyour whist at home when we go to Lowick, and Henrietta Noble never wasa whist-player." (Mrs. Farebrother always called her tiny old sister bythat magnificent name.)
"I shall do without whist now, mother."
"Why so, Camden? In my time whist was thought an undeniable amusementfor a good churchman," said Mrs. Farebrother, innocent of the meaningthat whist had for her son, and speaking rather sharply, as at somedangerous countenancing of new doctrine.
"I shall be too busy for whist; I shall have two parishes," said theVicar, preferring not to discuss the virtues of that game.
He had already said to Dorothea, "I don't feel bound to give up St.Botolph's. It is protest enough against the pluralism they want toreform if I give somebody else most of the money. The stronger thingis not to give up power, but to use it well."
"I have thought of that," said Dorothea. "So far as self is concerned,I think it would be easier to give up power and money than to keepthem. It seems very unfitting that I should have this patronage, yet Ifelt that I ought not to let it be used by some one else instead of me."
"It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret your power,"said Mr. Farebrother.
His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the more activewhen the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He made no display ofhumility on the subject, but in his heart he felt rather ashamed thathis conduct had shown laches which others who did not get beneficeswere free from.
"I used often to wish I had been something else than a clergyman," hesaid to Lydgate, "but perhaps it will be better to try and make as gooda clergyman out of myself as I can. That is the well-beneficed pointof view, you perceive, from which difficulties are much simplified," heended, smiling.
The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would be easy. ButDuty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly--something like a heavyfriend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his legwithin our gates.
Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study under thedisguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from Omnibus College with hisbachelor's degree.
"I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred, whose fairopen face was propitiating, "but you are the only friend I can consult.I told you everything once before, and you were so good that I can'thelp coming to you again."
"Sit down, Fred, I'm ready to hear and do anything I can," said theVicar, who was busy packing some small objects for removal, and went onwith his work.
"I wanted to tell you--" Fred hesitated an instant and then went onplungingly, "I might go into the Church now; and really, look where Imay, I can't see anything else to do. I don't like it, but I know it'suncommonly hard on my father to say so, after he has spent a good dealof money in educating me for it." Fred paused again an instant, andthen repeated, "and I can't see anything else to do."
"I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little way withhim. He said it was too late. But you have got over one bridge now:what are your other difficulties?"
"Merely that I don't like it. I don't like divinity, and preaching,and feeling obliged to look serious. I like riding across country, anddoing as other men do. I don't mean that I want to be a bad fellow inany way; but I've no taste for the sort of thing people expect of aclergyman. And yet what else am I to do? My father can't spare me anycapital, else I might go into farming. And he has no room for me inhis trade. And of course I can't begin to study for law or physic now,when my father wants me to earn something. It's all very well to sayI'm wrong to go into the Church; but those who say so might as welltell me to go into the backwoods."
Fred's voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance, and Mr.Farebrother might have been inclined to smile if his mind had not beentoo busy in imagining more than Fred told him.
"Have you any difficulties about doctrines--about the Articles?" hesaid, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred's sake.
"No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with anyarguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than I amgo in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculous in meto urge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge," said Fred, quitesimply.
"I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fairparish priest without being much of a divine?"
"Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and do myduty, though I mayn't like it. Do you think any body ought to blameme?"
"For going into the Church under the circumstances? That depends onyour conscience, Fred--how far you have counted the cost, and seen whatyour position will require of you. I can only tell you about myself,that I have always been too lax, and have been uneasy in consequence."
"But there is another hindrance," said Fred, coloring. "I did not tellyou before, though perhaps I may have said things that made you guessit. There is somebody I am very fond of: I have loved her ever sincewe were children."
"Miss Garth, I suppose?" said the Vicar, examining some labels veryclosely.
"Yes. I shouldn't mind anything if she would have me. And I know Icould be a good fellow then."
"And you think she returns the feeling?"
"She never will say so; and a good while ago she made me promise not tospeak to her about it again. And she has set her mind
especiallyagainst my being a clergyman; I know that. But I can't give her up. Ido think she cares about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and she saidthat Mary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss Farebrother."
"Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish to go there?"
"No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed to bother you inthis way; but Mary might listen to what you said, if you mentioned thesubject to her--I mean about my going into the Church."
"That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have topresuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the subject as youwish me to do, will be asking her to tell me whether she returns it."
"That is what I want her to tell you," said Fred, bluntly. "I don'tknow what to do, unless I can get at her feeling."
"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going into theChurch?"
"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrong in oneway as another."
"That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but they don'toutlive the consequences of their recklessness."
"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary. If I hadto give her up, it would be like beginning to live on wooden legs."
"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?"
"No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more than any one, andshe would not put you off with fun as she does me. Of course I couldnot have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her, butyou. There is no one else who could be such a friend to both of us."Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly, "And sheought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass. She ought tobelieve that I would exert myself for her sake."
There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down his work,and putting out his hand to Fred said--
"Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish."
That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nag whichhe had just set up. "Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought, "theyoung growths are pushing me aside."
He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling the petalson a sheet. The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadows acrossthe grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol. Shedid not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass, and hadjust stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier, which wouldpersist in walking on the sheet and smelling at the rose-leaves as Marysprinkled them. She took his fore-paws in one hand, and lifted up theforefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkled his brows and lookedembarrassed. "Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you," Mary was saying in agrave contralto. "This is not becoming in a sensible dog; anybodywould think you were a silly young gentleman."
"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar,within two yards of her.
Mary started up and blushed. "It always answers to reason with Fly,"she said, laughingly.
"But not with young gentlemen?"
"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellent men."
"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very moment tointerest you in a young gentleman."
"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluck the rosesagain, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.
"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point, but ratheraffection and sincerity. However, wisdom lies more in those twoqualities than people are apt to imagine. I hope you know by thosemarks what young gentleman I mean."
"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious,and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy."
"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church. Ihope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty in promisingto do so."
"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses, andfolding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you have anything tosay to me I feel honored."
"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point onwhich your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was that veryevening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred, justafter he had gone to college. Mr. Garth told me what happened on thenight of Featherstone's death--how you refused to burn the will; and hesaid that you had some heart-prickings on that subject, because you hadbeen the innocent means of hindering Fred from getting his ten thousandpounds. I have kept that in mind, and I have heard something that mayrelieve you on that score--may show you that no sin-offering isdemanded from you there."
Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meant to giveFred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought, to clear hermind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes follow when they doa man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement. Mary's cheekshad begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot. Ifind that the first will would not have been legally good after theburning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed,and you may be sure it would have been disputed. So, on that score,you may feel your mind free."
"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am grateful toyou for remembering my feelings."
"Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree. He hasworked his way so far, and now the question is, what is he to do? Thatquestion is so difficult that he is inclined to follow his father'swishes and enter the Church, though you know better than I do that hewas quite set against that formerly. I have questioned him on thesubject, and I confess I see no insuperable objection to his being aclergyman, as things go. He says that he could turn his mind to doinghis best in that vocation, on one condition. If that condition werefulfilled I would do my utmost in helping Fred on. After a time--not,of course, at first--he might be with me as my curate, and he wouldhave so much to do that his stipend would be nearly what I used to getas vicar. But I repeat that there is a condition without which allthis good cannot come to pass. He has opened his heart to me, MissGarth, and asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely inyour feeling."
Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, "Let us walk alittle;" and when they were walking he added, "To speak quite plainly,Fred will not take any course which would lessen the chance that youwould consent to be his wife; but with that prospect, he will try hisbest at anything you approve."
"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother:but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman. Whatyou say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a moment to correctyour judgment. It is only that I have my girlish, mocking way oflooking at things," said Mary, with a returning sparkle of playfulnessin her answer which only made its modesty more charming.
"He wishes me to report exactly what you think," said Mr. Farebrother.
"I could not love a man who is ridiculous," said Mary, not choosing togo deeper. "Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make himrespectable, if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I cannever imagine him preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings,and praying by the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at acaricature. His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake,and I think there is nothing more contemptible than such imbecilegentility. I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face andneat umbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such mento represent Christianity--as if it were an institution for getting upidiots genteelly--as if--" Mary checked herself. She had been carriedalong as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.
"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of action as mendo, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there. But youdon't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?"
"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not show itas a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation."
"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could have nohope?"
Mary shook her head.
"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his bread in someother way--will you give him the support of hope? May he count onwinning you?"
"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have already saidto him," Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner. "Imean that he ought not to put such questions until he has donesomething worthy, instead of saying that he could do it."
Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as theyturned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassywalk, said, "I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you,but either your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaininganother attachment, or it does not: either he may count on yourremaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or he may in anycase be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary--you know I used to catechiseyou under that name--but when the state of a woman's affections touchesthe happiness of another life--of more lives than one--I think it wouldbe the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open."
Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother's mannerbut at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it. When thestrange idea flashed across her that his words had reference tohimself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it. She hadnever thought that any man could love her except Fred, who had espousedher with the umbrella ring, when she wore socks and little strappedshoes; still less that she could be of any importance to Mr.Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle. She had only timeto feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory; but one thing wasclear and determined--her answer.
"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell you that Ihave too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for any one else. Ishould never be quite happy if I thought he was unhappy for the loss ofme. It has taken such deep root in me--my gratitude to him for alwaysloving me best, and minding so much if I hurt myself, from the timewhen we were very little. I cannot imagine any new feeling coming tomake that weaker. I should like better than anything to see him worthyof every one's respect. But please tell him I will not promise tomarry him till then: I should shame and grieve my father and mother.He is free to choose some one else."
"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly," said Mr. Farebrother,putting out his hand to Mary, "and I shall ride back to Middlemarchforthwith. With this prospect before him, we shall get Fred into theright niche somehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. Godbless you!"
"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea," said Mary. Her eyesfilled with tears, for something indefinable, something like theresolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner, made herfeel suddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she saw her father'shands trembling in a moment of trouble.
"No, my dear, no. I must get back."
In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gonemagnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciation ofwhist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations.
