Middlemarch

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER LXV.

  "One of us two must bowen douteless, And, sith a man is more reasonable Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable. --CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.

  The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphs evenover the present quickening in the general pace of things: what wonderthen that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write a letterwhich was of consequence to others rather than to himself? Nearlythree weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting an answerto her winning appeal, was every day disappointed. Lydgate, in totalignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, andfeeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors wasimminent. He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose ofgoing to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear to hera concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the lastmoment; but he was really expecting to set off soon. A slice of therailway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in fourdays.

  But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressed tohim, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin. She was full ofhope. Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; butLydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid,and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing atall, seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant. Shewas too much excited by these thoughts to do anything but lightstitching in a warm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of thismomentous letter lying on the table before her. About twelve she heardher husband's step in the passage, and tripping to open the door, shesaid in her lightest tones, "Tertius, come in here--here is a letterfor you."

  "Ah?" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her roundwithin his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay. "Myuncle Godwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, andwatched him as he opened the letter. She had expected him to besurprised.

  While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw hisface, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrilsand lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and saidviolently--

  "It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always beacting secretly--acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions."

  He checked his speech and turned his back on her--then wheeled roundand walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, grasping hardthe objects deep down in his pockets. He was afraid of sayingsomething irremediably cruel.

  Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The letter ran in thisway:--

  "DEAR TERTIUS,--Don't set your wife to write to me when you haveanything to ask. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which Ishould not have credited you with. I never choose to write to a womanon matters of business. As to my supplying you with a thousand pounds,or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort. My own familydrains me to the last penny. With two younger sons and threedaughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare. You seem to have gotthrough your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess whereyou are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better. But I havenothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you there. Idid the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your own wayin taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army or theChurch. Your money would have held out for that, and there would havebeen a surer ladder before you. Your uncle Charles has had a grudgeagainst you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have alwayswished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own legsentirely now.

  Your affectionate uncle, GODWIN LYDGATE."

  When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still, withher hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keendisappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under herhusband's wrath. Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again,and said, with biting severity--

  "Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you may do by secretmeddling? Have you sense enough to recognize now your incompetence tojudge and act for me--to interfere with your ignorance in affairs whichit belongs to me to decide on?"

  The words were hard; but this was not the first time that Lydgate hadbeen frustrated by her. She did not look at him, and made no reply.

  "I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham. It would have cost mepain enough to do it, yet it might have been of some use. But it hasbeen of no use for me to think of anything. You have always beencounteracting me secretly. You delude me with a false assent, and thenI am at the mercy of your devices. If you mean to resist every wish Iexpress, say so and defy me. I shall at least know what I am doingthen."

  It is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love'sbond has turned to this power of galling. In spite of Rosamond'sself-control a tear fell silently and rolled over her lips. She stillsaid nothing; but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: shewas in such entire disgust with her husband that she wished she hadnever seen him. Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her and utter want offeeling ranged him with Dover and all other creditors--disagreeablepeople who only thought of themselves, and did not mind how annoyingthey were to her. Even her father was unkind, and might have done morefor them. In fact there was but one person in Rosamond's world whomshe did not regard as blameworthy, and that was the graceful creaturewith blond plaits and with little hands crossed before her, who hadnever expressed herself unbecomingly, and had always acted for thebest--the best naturally being what she best liked.

  Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that half-maddeningsense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when theirpassion is met by an innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized airseems to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the justestindignation with a doubt of its justice. He needed to recover the fullsense that he was in the right by moderating his words.

  "Can you not see, Rosamond," he began again, trying to be simply graveand not bitter, "that nothing can be so fatal as a want of openness andconfidence between us? It has happened again and again that I haveexpressed a decided wish, and you have seemed to assent, yet after thatyou have secretly disobeyed my wish. In that way I can never know whatI have to trust to. There would be some hope for us if you would admitthis. Am I such an unreasonable, furious brute? Why should you not beopen with me?" Still silence.

  "Will you only say that you have been mistaken, and that I may dependon your not acting secretly in future?" said Lydgate, urgently, butwith something of request in his tone which Rosamond was quick toperceive. She spoke with coolness.

  "I cannot possibly make admissions or promises in answer to such wordsas you have used towards me. I have not been accustomed to language ofthat kind. You have spoken of my 'secret meddling,' and my'interfering ignorance,' and my 'false assent.' I have never expressedmyself in that way to you, and I think that you ought to apologize.You spoke of its being impossible to live with me. Certainly you havenot made my life pleasant to me of late. I think it was to be expectedthat I should try to avert some of the hardships which our marriage hasbrought on me." Another tear fell as Rosamond ceased speaking, and shepressed it away as quietly as the first.

  Lydgate flung himself into a chair, feeling checkmated. What place wasthere in her mind for a remonstrance to lodge in? He laid down hishat, flung an arm over the back of his chair, and looked down for somemoments without speaking. Rosamond had the double purchase over him ofinsensibility to the point of justice in his reproach, and ofsensibility to the undeniable hardships now present in her marriedlife. Although her duplicity in the affair of the house had exceededwhat he knew, and had really hindered the Plymdales from knowing of it,she had no consciousness that her action could rightly be called false.We are not obliged to identify our own acts according to a strictclassification, any more than the materials of our grocery and clothes.Rosamond felt th
at she was aggrieved, and that this was what Lydgatehad to recognize.

  As for him, the need of accommodating himself to her nature, which wasinflexible in proportion to its negations, held him as with pincers.He had begun to have an alarmed foresight of her irrevocable loss oflove for him, and the consequent dreariness of their life. The readyfulness of his emotions made this dread alternate quickly with thefirst violent movements of his anger. It would assuredly have been avain boast in him to say that he was her master.

  "You have not made my life pleasant to me of late"--"the hardshipswhich our marriage has brought on me"--these words were stinging hisimagination as a pain makes an exaggerated dream. If he were not onlyto sink from his highest resolve, but to sink into the hideousfettering of domestic hate?

  "Rosamond," he said, turning his eyes on her with a melancholy look,"you should allow for a man's words when he is disappointed andprovoked. You and I cannot have opposite interests. I cannot part myhappiness from yours. If I am angry with you, it is that you seem notto see how any concealment divides us. How could I wish to makeanything hard to you either by my words or conduct? When I hurt you, Ihurt part of my own life. I should never be angry with you if youwould be quite open with me."

  "I have only wished to prevent you from hurrying us into wretchednesswithout any necessity," said Rosamond, the tears coming again from asoftened feeling now that her husband had softened. "It is so veryhard to be disgraced here among all the people we know, and to live insuch a miserable way. I wish I had died with the baby."

  She spoke and wept with that gentleness which makes such words andtears omnipotent over a loving-hearted man. Lydgate drew his chairnear to hers and pressed her delicate head against his cheek with hispowerful tender hand. He only caressed her; he did not say anything;for what was there to say? He could not promise to shield her from thedreaded wretchedness, for he could see no sure means of doing so. Whenhe left her to go out again, he told himself that it was ten timesharder for her than for him: he had a life away from home, and constantappeals to his activity on behalf of others. He wished to excuseeverything in her if he could--but it was inevitable that in thatexcusing mood he should think of her as if she were an animal ofanother and feebler species. Nevertheless she had mastered him.