CHAPTER XI.
But deeds and language such as men do use, And persons such as comedy would choose, When she would show an image of the times, And sport with human follies, not with crimes. --BEN JONSON.
Lydgate, in fact, was already conscious of being fascinated by a womanstrikingly different from Miss Brooke: he did not in the least supposethat he had lost his balance and fallen in love, but he had said ofthat particular woman, She is grace itself; she is perfectly lovelyand accomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she ought toproduce the effect of exquisite music. Plain women he regarded as hedid the other severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy andinvestigated by science. But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have the truemelodic charm; and when a man has seen the woman whom he would havechosen if he had intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelorwill usually depend on her resolution rather than on his. Lydgatebelieved that he should not marry for several years: not marry until hehad trodden out a good clear path for himself away from the broad roadwhich was quite ready made. He had seen Miss Vincy above his horizonalmost as long as it had taken Mr. Casaubon to become engaged andmarried: but this learned gentleman was possessed of a fortune; he hadassembled his voluminous notes, and had made that sort of reputationwhich precedes performance,--often the larger part of a man's fame. Hetook a wife, as we have seen, to adorn the remaining quadrant of hiscourse, and be a little moon that would cause hardly a calculableperturbation. But Lydgate was young, poor, ambitious. He had hishalf-century before him instead of behind him, and he had come toMiddlemarch bent on doing many things that were not directly fitted tomake his fortune or even secure him a good income. To a man under suchcircumstances, taking a wife is something more than a question ofadornment, however highly he may rate this; and Lydgate was disposed togive it the first place among wifely functions. To his taste, guidedby a single conversation, here was the point on which Miss Brooke wouldbe found wanting, notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. She did notlook at things from the proper feminine angle. The society of suchwomen was about as relaxing as going from your work to teach the secondform, instead of reclining in a paradise with sweet laughs forbird-notes, and blue eyes for a heaven.
Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important to Lydgatethan the turn of Miss Brooke's mind, or to Miss Brooke than thequalities of the woman who had attracted this young surgeon. But anyone watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slowpreparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like acalculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which welook at our unintroduced neighbor. Destiny stands by sarcastic withour dramatis personae folded in her hand.
Old provincial society had its share of this subtle movement: had notonly its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandieswho ended by living up an entry with a drab and six children for theirestablishment, but also those less marked vicissitudes which areconstantly shifting the boundaries of social intercourse, and begettingnew consciousness of interdependence. Some slipped a little downward,some got higher footing: people denied aspirates, gained wealth, andfastidious gentlemen stood for boroughs; some were caught in politicalcurrents, some in ecclesiastical, and perhaps found themselvessurprisingly grouped in consequence; while a few personages or familiesthat stood with rocky firmness amid all this fluctuation, were slowlypresenting new aspects in spite of solidity, and altering with thedouble change of self and beholder. Municipal town and rural parishgradually made fresh threads of connection--gradually, as the oldstocking gave way to the savings-bank, and the worship of the solarguinea became extinct; while squires and baronets, and even lords whohad once lived blamelessly afar from the civic mind, gathered thefaultiness of closer acquaintanceship. Settlers, too, came fromdistant counties, some with an alarming novelty of skill, others withan offensive advantage in cunning. In fact, much the same sort ofmovement and mixture went on in old England as we find in olderHerodotus, who also, in telling what had been, thought it well to takea woman's lot for his starting-point; though Io, as a maiden apparentlybeguiled by attractive merchandise, was the reverse of Miss Brooke, andin this respect perhaps bore more resemblance to Rosamond Vincy, whohad excellent taste in costume, with that nymph-like figure and pureblindness which give the largest range to choice in the flow and colorof drapery. But these things made only part of her charm. She wasadmitted to be the flower of Mrs. Lemon's school, the chief school inthe county, where the teaching included all that was demanded in theaccomplished female--even to extras, such as the getting in and out ofa carriage. Mrs. Lemon herself had always held up Miss Vincy as anexample: no pupil, she said, exceeded that young lady for mentalacquisition and propriety of speech, while her musical execution wasquite exceptional. We cannot help the way in which people speak of us,and probably if Mrs. Lemon had undertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen,these heroines would not have seemed poetical. The first vision ofRosamond would have been enough with most judges to dispel anyprejudice excited by Mrs. Lemon's praise.
Lydgate could not be long in Middlemarch without having that agreeablevision, or even without making the acquaintance of the Vincy family;for though Mr. Peacock, whose practice he had paid something to enteron, had not been their doctor (Mrs. Vincy not liking the loweringsystem adopted by him), he had many patients among their connectionsand acquaintances. For who of any consequence in Middlemarch was notconnected or at least acquainted with the Vincys? They were oldmanufacturers, and had kept a good house for three generations, inwhich there had naturally been much intermarrying with neighbors moreor less decidedly genteel. Mr. Vincy's sister had made a wealthy matchin accepting Mr. Bulstrode, who, however, as a man not born in thetown, and altogether of dimly known origin, was considered to have donewell in uniting himself with a real Middlemarch family; on the otherhand, Mr. Vincy had descended a little, having taken an innkeeper'sdaughter. But on this side too there was a cheering sense of money;for Mrs. Vincy's sister had been second wife to rich old Mr.Featherstone, and had died childless years ago, so that her nephews andnieces might be supposed to touch the affections of the widower. Andit happened that Mr. Bulstrode and Mr. Featherstone, two of Peacock'smost important patients, had, from different causes, given anespecially good reception to his successor, who had raised somepartisanship as well as discussion. Mr. Wrench, medical attendant tothe Vincy family, very early had grounds for thinking lightly ofLydgate's professional discretion, and there was no report about himwhich was not retailed at the Vincys', where visitors were frequent.Mr. Vincy was more inclined to general good-fellowship than to takingsides, but there was no need for him to be hasty in making any new manacquaintance. Rosamond silently wished that her father would inviteMr. Lydgate. She was tired of the faces and figures she had alwaysbeen used to--the various irregular profiles and gaits and turns ofphrase distinguishing those Middlemarch young men whom she had known asboys. She had been at school with girls of higher position, whosebrothers, she felt sure, it would have been possible for her to be moreinterested in, than in these inevitable Middlemarch companions. Butshe would not have chosen to mention her wish to her father; and he,for his part, was in no hurry on the subject. An alderman about to bemayor must by-and-by enlarge his dinner-parties, but at present therewere plenty of guests at his well-spread table.
That table often remained covered with the relics of the familybreakfast long after Mr. Vincy had gone with his second son to thewarehouse, and when Miss Morgan was already far on in morning lessonswith the younger girls in the schoolroom. It awaited the familylaggard, who found any sort of inconvenience (to others) lessdisagreeable than getting up when he was called. This was the case onemorning of the October in which we have lately seen Mr. Casaubonvisiting the Grange; and though the room was a little overheated withthe fire, which had sent the spaniel panting to a remote corner,Rosamond, for some reason, continued to sit at her embroidery longerthan usual, now and then giving herself a little shake, and laying herwork on her knee to contemplate it with an air of hesitating weariness.Her mamma, who had returned from an excursion to the kitchen, sat onthe other side of the small work-table with an air of more entireplacidity, until, the clock again giving notice that it was going tostrike, she looked up from the lace-mending which was occupying herplump fingers and rang the bell.
Knock at Mr. Fred's door again, Pritchard, and tell him it has struckhalf-past ten.
This was said without any change in the radiant good-humor of Mrs.Vincy's face, in which forty-five years had delved neither angles norparallels; and pushing back her pink capstrings, she let her work reston her lap, while she looked admiringly at her daughter.
Mamma, said Rosamond, when Fred comes down I wish you would not lethim have red herrings. I cannot bear the smell of them all over thehouse at this hour of the morning.
Oh, my dear, you are so hard on your brothers! It is the only fault Ihave to find with you. You are the sweetest temper in the world, butyou are so tetchy with your brothers.
Not tetchy, mamma: you never hear me speak in an unladylike way.
Well, but you want to deny them things.
Brothers are so unpleasant.
Oh, my dear, you must allow for young men. Be thankful if they havegood hearts. A woman must learn to put up with little things. Youwill be married some day.
Not to any one who is like Fred.
Don't decry your own brother, my dear. Few young men have lessagainst them, although he couldn't take his degree--I'm sure I can'tunderstand why, for he seems to me most clever. And you know yourselfhe was thought equal to the best society at college. So particular asyou are, my dear, I wonder you are not glad to have such a gentlemanlyyoung man for a brother. You are always finding fault with Bob becausehe is not Fred.
Oh no, mamma, only because he is Bob.
Well, my dear, you will not find any Middlemarch young man who has notsomething against him.
But--here Rosamond's face broke into a smile which suddenly revealedtwo dimples. She herself thought unfavorably of these dimples andsmiled little in general society. But I shall not marry anyMiddlemarch young man.
So it seems, my love, for you have as good as refused the pick ofthem; and if there's better to be had, I'm sure there's no girl betterdeserves it.
Excuse me, mamma--I wish you would not say, 'the pick of them.'
Why, what else are they?
I mean, mamma, it is rather a vulgar expression.
Very likely, my dear; I never was a good speaker. What should I say?
The best of them.
Why, that seems just as plain and common. If I had had time to think,I should have said, 'the most superior young men.' But with youreducation you must know.
What must Rosy know, mother? said Mr. Fred, who had slid inunobserved through the half-open door while the ladies were bendingover their work, and now going up to the fire stood with his backtowards it, warming the soles of his slippers.
Whether it's right to say 'superior young men,' said Mrs. Vincy,ringing the bell.
Oh, there are so many superior teas and sugars now. Superior isgetting to be shopkeepers' slang.
Are you beginning to dislike slang, then? said Rosamond, with mildgravity.
Only the wrong sort. All choice of words is slang. It marks a class.
There is correct English: that is not slang.
I beg your pardon: correct English is the slang of prigs who writehistory and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang ofpoets.
You will say anything, Fred, to gain your point.
Well, tell me whether it is slang or poetry to call an ox aleg-plaiter.
Of course you can call it poetry if you like.
Aha, Miss Rosy, you don't know Homer from slang. I shall invent a newgame; I shall write bits of slang and poetry on slips, and give them toyou to separate.
Dear me, how amusing it is to hear young people talk! said Mrs.Vincy, with cheerful admiration.
Have you got nothing else for my breakfast, Pritchard? said Fred, tothe servant who brought in coffee and buttered toast; while he walkedround the table surveying the ham, potted beef, and other coldremnants, with an air of silent rejection, and polite forbearance fromsigns of disgust.
Should you like eggs, sir?
Eggs, no! Bring me a grilled bone.
Really, Fred, said Rosamond, when the servant had left the room, ifyou must have hot things for breakfast, I wish you would come downearlier. You can get up at six o'clock to go out hunting; I cannotunderstand why you find it so difficult to get up on other mornings.
That is your want of understanding, Rosy. I can get up to go huntingbecause I like it.
What would you think of me if I came down two hours after every oneelse and ordered grilled bone?
I should think you were an uncommonly fast young lady, said Fred,eating his toast with the utmost composure.
I cannot see why brothers are to make themselves disagreeable, anymore than sisters.
I don't make myself disagreeable; it is you who find me so.Disagreeable is a word that describes your feelings and not my actions.
I think it describes the smell of grilled bone.
Not at all. It describes a sensation in your little nose associatedwith certain finicking notions which are the classics of Mrs. Lemon'sschool. Look at my mother; you don't see her objecting to everythingexcept what she does herself. She is my notion of a pleasant woman.
Bless you both, my dears, and don't quarrel, said Mrs. Vincy, withmotherly cordiality. Come, Fred, tell us all about the new doctor.How is your uncle pleased with him?
Pretty well, I think. He asks Lydgate all sorts of questions and thenscrews up his face while he hears the answers, as if they were pinchinghis toes. That's his way. Ah, here comes my grilled bone.
But how came you to stay out so late, my dear? You only said you weregoing to your uncle's.
Oh, I dined at Plymdale's. We had whist. Lydgate was there too.
And what do you think of him? He is very gentlemanly, I suppose.They say he is of excellent family--his relations quite county people.
Yes, said Fred. There was a Lydgate at John's who spent no end ofmoney. I find this man is a second cousin of his. But rich men mayhave very poor devils for second cousins.
It always makes a difference, though, to be of good family, saidRosamond, with a tone of decision which showed that she had thought onthis subject. Rosamond felt that she might have been happier if shehad not been the daughter of a Middlemarch manufacturer. She dislikedanything which reminded her that her mother's father had been aninnkeeper. Certainly any one remembering the fact might think thatMrs. Vincy had the air of a very handsome good-humored landlady,accustomed to the most capricious orders of gentlemen.
I thought it was odd his name was Tertius, said the bright-facedmatron, but of course it's a name in the family. But now, tell usexactly what sort of man he is.
Oh, tallish, dark, clever--talks well--rather a prig, I think.
I never can make out what you mean by a prig, said Rosamond.
A fellow who wants to show that he has opinions.
Why, my dear, doctors must have opinions, said Mrs. Vincy. What arethey there for else?
Yes, mother, the opinions they are paid for. But a prig is a fellowwho is always making you a present of his opinions.
I suppose Mary Garth admires Mr. Lydgate, said Rosamond, not withouta touch of innuendo.
Really, I can't say. said Fred, rather glumly, as he left the table,and taking up a novel which he had brought down with him, threw himselfinto an arm-chair. If you are jealous of her, go oftener to StoneCourt yourself and eclipse her.
I wish you would not be so vulgar, Fred. If you have finished, prayring the bell.
It is true, though--what your brother says, Rosamond, Mrs. Vincybegan, when the servant had cleared the table. It is a thousandpities you haven't patience to go and see your uncle more, so proud ofyou as he is, and wanted you to live with him. There's no knowing whathe might have done for you as well as for Fred. God knows, I'm fond ofhaving you at home with me, but I can part with my children for theirgood. And now it stands to reason that your uncle Featherstone will dosomething for Mary Garth.
Mary Garth can bear being at Stone Court, because she likes thatbetter than being a governess, said Rosamond, folding up her work. Iwould rather not have anything left to me if I must earn it by enduringmuch of my uncle's cough and his ugly relations.
He can't be long for this world, my dear; I wouldn't hasten his end,but what with asthma and that inward complaint, let us hope there issomething better for him in another. And I have no ill-will toward'sMary Garth, but there's justice to be thought of. And Mr.Featherstone's first wife brought him no money, as my sister did. Hernieces and nephews can't have so much claim as my sister's. And I mustsay I think Mary Garth a dreadful plain girl--more fit for a governess.
Every one would not agree with you there, mother, said Fred, whoseemed to be able to read and listen too.
Well, my dear, said Mrs. Vincy, wheeling skilfully, if she _had_some fortune left her,--a man marries his wife's relations, and theGarths are so poor, and live in such a small way. But I shall leaveyou to your studies, my dear; for I must go and do some shopping.
Fred's studies are not very deep, said Rosamond, rising with hermamma, he is only reading a novel.
Well, well, by-and-by he'll go to his Latin and things, said Mrs.Vincy, soothingly, stroking her son's head. There's a fire in thesmoking-room on purpose. It's your father's wish, you know--Fred, mydear--and I always tell him you will be good, and go to college againto take your degree.
Fred drew his mother's hand down to his lips, but said nothing.
I suppose you are not going out riding to-day? said Rosamond,lingering a little after her mamma was gone.
No; why?
Papa says I may have the chestnut to ride now.
You can go with me to-morrow, if you like. Only I am going to StoneCourt, remember.
I want to ride so much, it is indifferent to me where we go. Rosamondreally wished to go to Stone Court, of all other places.
Oh, I say, Rosy, said Fred, as she was passing out of the room, ifyou are going to the piano, let me come and play some airs with you.
Pray do not ask me this morning.
Why not this morning?
Really, Fred, I wish you would leave off playing the flute. A manlooks very silly playing the flute. And you play so out of tune.
When next any one makes love to you, Miss Rosamond, I will tell himhow obliging you are.
Why should you expect me to oblige you by hearing you play the flute,any more than I should expect you to oblige me by not playing it?
And why should you expect me to take you out riding?
This question led to an adjustment, for Rosamond had set her mind onthat particular ride.
So Fred was gratified with nearly an hour's practice of Ar hyd y nos,Ye banks and braes, and other favorite airs from his Instructor onthe Flute; a wheezy performance, into which he threw much ambition andan irrepressible hopefulness.