Middlemarch

CHAPTER LIII.

It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity from what outsiders call inconsistency--putting a dead mechanism of ”ifs” and ”therefores” for the living myriad of hidden suckers whereby the belief and the conduct are wrought into mutual sustainment.

Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new interest in Lowick,had naturally had an especial wish that the new clergyman should be onewhom he thoroughly approved; and he believed it to be a chastisementand admonition directed to his own shortcomings and those of the nationat large, that just about the time when he came in possession of thedeeds which made him the proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Farebrother”read himself” into the quaint little church and preached his firstsermon to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and village artisans.It was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent Lowick Church or toreside at Stone Court for a good while to come: he had bought theexcellent farm and fine homestead simply as a retreat which he mightgradually enlarge as to the land and beautify as to the dwelling, untilit should be conducive to the divine glory that he should enter on itas a residence, partially withdrawing from his present exertions in theadministration of business, and throwing more conspicuously on the sideof Gospel truth the weight of local landed proprietorship, whichProvidence might increase by unforeseen occasions of purchase. Astrong leading in this direction seemed to have been given in thesurprising facility of getting Stone Court, when every one had expectedthat Mr. Rigg Featherstone would have clung to it as the Garden ofEden. That was what poor old Peter himself had expected; having often,in imagination, looked up through the sods above him, and, unobstructedby perspective, seen his frog-faced legatee enjoying the fine oldplace to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors.

But how little we know what would make paradise for our neighbors! Wejudge from our own desires, and our neighbors themselves are not alwaysopen enough even to throw out a hint of theirs. The cool and judiciousJoshua Rigg had not allowed his parent to perceive that Stone Court wasanything less than the chief good in his estimation, and he hadcertainly wished to call it his own. But as Warren Hastings looked atgold and thought of buying Daylesford, so Joshua Rigg looked at StoneCourt and thought of buying gold. He had a very distinct and intensevision of his chief good, the vigorous greed which he had inheritedhaving taken a special form by dint of circumstance: and his chief goodwas to be a moneychanger. From his earliest employment as anerrand-boy in a seaport, he had looked through the windows of themoneychangers as other boys look through the windows of thepastry-cooks; the fascination had wrought itself gradually into a deepspecial passion; he meant, when he had property, to do many things, oneof them being to marry a genteel young person; but these were allaccidents and joys that imagination could dispense with. The one joyafter which his soul thirsted was to have a money-changer's shop on amuch-frequented quay, to have locks all round him of which he held thekeys, and to look sublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins ofall nations, while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously from theother side of an iron lattice. The strength of that passion had been apower enabling him to master all the knowledge necessary to gratify it.And when others were thinking that he had settled at Stone Court forlife, Joshua himself was thinking that the moment now was not far offwhen he should settle on the North Quay with the best appointments insafes and locks.

Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of hisland from Mr. Bulstrode's point of view, and he interpreted it as acheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purpose whichhe had for some time entertained without external encouragement; heinterpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up histhanksgiving in guarded phraseology. His doubts did not arise from thepossible relations of the event to Joshua Rigg's destiny, whichbelonged to the unmapped regions not taken under the providentialgovernment, except perhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arosefrom reflecting that this dispensation too might be a chastisement forhimself, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the living clearly was.

This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for the sake ofdeceiving him: it was what he said to himself--it was as genuinely hismode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be, if you happento disagree with him. For the egoism which enters into our theoriesdoes not affect their sincerity; rather, the more our egoism issatisfied, the more robust is our belief.

However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode,hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone, had becomethe proprietor of Stone Court, and what Peter would say ”if he wereworthy to know,” had become an inexhaustible and consolatory subject ofconversation to his disappointed relatives. The tables were now turnedon that dear brother departed, and to contemplate the frustration ofhis cunning by the superior cunning of things in general was a cud ofdelight to Solomon. Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the proofthat it did not answer to make false Featherstones and cut off thegenuine; and Sister Martha receiving the news in the Chalky Flats said,”Dear, dear! then the Almighty could have been none so pleased with thealmshouses after all.”

Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the advantagewhich her husband's health was likely to get from the purchase of StoneCourt. Few days passed without his riding thither and looking oversome part of the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings were deliciousin that quiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up were sendingforth odors to mingle with the breath of the rich old garden. Oneevening, while the sun was still above the horizon and burning ingolden lamps among the great walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode was pausingon horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth, who hadmet him by appointment to give an opinion on a question of stabledrainage, and was now advising the bailiff in the rick-yard.

Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good spiritual frame and morethan usually serene, under the influence of his innocent recreation.He was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of merit inhimself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without pain whenthe sense of demerit does not take a distinct shape in memory andrevive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Nay, it may beheld with intense satisfaction when the depth of our sinning is but ameasure for the depth of forgiveness, and a clenching proof that we arepeculiar instruments of the divine intention. The memory has as manymoods as the temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama. At thismoment Mr. Bulstrode felt as if the sunshine were all one with that offar-off evenings when he was a very young man and used to go outpreaching beyond Highbury. And he would willingly have had thatservice of exhortation in prospect now. The texts were there still,and so was his own facility in expounding them. His brief reverie wasinterrupted by the return of Caleb Garth, who also was on horseback,and was just shaking his bridle before starting, when he exclaimed--

”Bless my heart! what's this fellow in black coming along the lane?He's like one of those men one sees about after the races.”

Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the lane, but made noreply. The comer was our slight acquaintance Mr. Raffles, whoseappearance presented no other change than such as was due to a suit ofblack and a crape hat-band. He was within three yards of the horsemannow, and they could see the flash of recognition in his face as hewhirled his stick upward, looking all the while at Mr. Bulstrode, andat last exclaiming:--

”By Jove, Nick, it's you! I couldn't be mistaken, though thefive-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us both! How are you,eh? you didn't expect to see _me_ here. Come, shake us by the hand.”To say that Mr. Raffles' manner was rather excited would be only onemode of saying that it was evening. Caleb Garth could see that therewas a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode, but it endedin his putting out his hand coldly to Raffles and saying--

”I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote country place.”

”Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine,” said Raffles, adjustinghimself in a swaggering attitude. ”I came to see him here before. I'mnot so surprised at seeing you, old fellow, because I picked up aletter--what you may call a providential thing. It's uncommonlyfortunate I met you, though; for I don't care about seeing my stepson:he's not affectionate, and his poor mother's gone now. To tell thetruth, I came out of love to you, Nick: I came to get your address,for--look here!” Raffles drew a crumpled paper from his pocket.

Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have been tempted to lingeron the spot for the sake of hearing all he could about a man whoseacquaintance with Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in the banker'slife so unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarch that theymust have the nature of a secret to pique curiosity. But Caleb waspeculiar: certain human tendencies which are commonly strong werealmost absent from his mind; and one of these was curiosity aboutpersonal affairs. Especially if there was anything discreditable to befound out concerning another man, Caleb preferred not to know it; andif he had to tell anybody under him that his evil doings werediscovered, he was more embarrassed than the culprit. He now spurredhis horse, and saying, ”I wish you good evening, Mr. Bulstrode; I mustbe getting home,” set off at a trot.

”You didn't put your full address to this letter,” Raffles continued.”That was not like the first-rate man of business you used to be. 'TheShrubs,'--they may be anywhere: you live near at hand, eh?--have cutthe London concern altogether--perhaps turned country squire--have arural mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago! Theold lady must have been dead a pretty long while--gone to glory withoutthe pain of knowing how poor her daughter was, eh? But, by Jove!you're very pale and pasty, Nick. Come, if you're going home, I'llwalk by your side.”

Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an almost deathly hue.Five minutes before, the expanse of his life had been submerged in itsevening sunshine which shone backward to its remembered morning: sinseemed to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence, humiliationan exercise of the closet, the bearing of his deeds a matter of privatevision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptions of thedivine purposes. And now, as if by some hideous magic, this loud redfigure had risen before him in unmanageable solidity--an incorporatepast which had not entered into his imagination of chastisements. ButMr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and he was not a man to act or speakrashly.

”I was going home,” he said, ”but I can defer my ride a little. Andyou can, if you please, rest here.”

”Thank you,” said Raffles, making a grimace. ”I don't care now aboutseeing my stepson. I'd rather go home with you.”

”Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here no longer. Iam master here now.”

Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of surprise, beforehe said, ”Well then, I've no objection. I've had enough walking fromthe coach-road. I never was much of a walker, or rider either. What Ilike is a smart vehicle and a spirited cob. I was always a littleheavy in the saddle. What a pleasant surprise it must be to you to seeme, old fellow!” he continued, as they turned towards the house. ”Youdon't say so; but you never took your luck heartily--you were alwaysthinking of improving the occasion--you'd such a gift for improvingyour luck.”

Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and swung his leg in aswaggering manner which was rather too much for his companion'sjudicious patience.

”If I remember rightly,” Mr. Bulstrode observed, with chill anger, ”ouracquaintance many years ago had not the sort of intimacy which you arenow assuming, Mr. Raffles. Any services you desire of me will be themore readily rendered if you will avoid a tone of familiarity which didnot lie in our former intercourse, and can hardly be warranted by morethan twenty years of separation.”

”You don't like being called Nick? Why, I always called you Nick in myheart, and though lost to sight, to memory dear. By Jove! my feelingshave ripened for you like fine old cognac. I hope you've got some inthe house now. Josh filled my flask well the last time.”

Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the desire for cognacwas not stronger in Raffles than the desire to torment, and that a hintof annoyance always served him as a fresh cue. But it was at leastclear that further objection was useless, and Mr. Bulstrode, in givingorders to the housekeeper for the accommodation of the guest, had aresolute air of quietude.

There was the comfort of thinking that this housekeeper had been in theservice of Rigg also, and might accept the idea that Mr. Bulstrodeentertained Raffles merely as a friend of her former master.

When there was food and drink spread before his visitor in thewainscoted parlor, and no witness in the room, Mr. Bulstrode said--

”Your habits and mine are so different, Mr. Raffles, that we can hardlyenjoy each other's society. The wisest plan for both of us willtherefore be to part as soon as possible. Since you say that youwished to meet me, you probably considered that you had some businessto transact with me. But under the circumstances I will invite you toremain here for the night, and I will myself ride over here earlyto-morrow morning--before breakfast, in fact, when I can receive anyCommunication you have to make to me.”

”With all my heart,” said Raffles; ”this is a comfortable place--alittle dull for a continuance; but I can put up with it for a night,with this good liquor and the prospect of seeing you again in themorning. You're a much better host than my stepson was; but Josh owedme a bit of a grudge for marrying his mother; and between you and methere was never anything but kindness.”

Mr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of joviality andsneering in Raffles' manner was a good deal the effect of drink, haddetermined to wait till he was quite sober before he spent more wordsupon him. But he rode home with a terribly lucid vision of thedifficulty there would be in arranging any result that could bepermanently counted on with this man. It was inevitable that he shouldwish to get rid of John Raffles, though his reappearance could not beregarded as lying outside the divine plan. The spirit of evil mighthave sent him to threaten Mr. Bulstrode's subversion as an instrumentof good; but the threat must have been permitted, and was achastisement of a new kind. It was an hour of anguish for him verydifferent from the hours in which his struggle had been securelyprivate, and which had ended with a sense that his secret misdeeds werepardoned and his services accepted. Those misdeeds even whencommitted--had they not been half sanctified by the singleness of hisdesire to devote himself and all he possessed to the furtherance of thedivine scheme? And was he after all to become a mere stone ofstumbling and a rock of offence? For who would understand the workwithin him? Who would not, when there was the pretext of castingdisgrace upon him, confound his whole life and the truths he hadespoused, in one heap of obloquy?

In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Bulstrode's mindclad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal references to superhumanends. But even while we are talking and meditating about the earth'sorbit and the solar system, what we feel and adjust our movements to isthe stable earth and the changing day. And now within all theautomatic succession of theoretic phrases--distinct and inmost as theshiver and the ache of oncoming fever when we are discussing abstractpain, was the forecast of disgrace in the presence of his neighbors andof his own wife. For the pain, as well as the public estimate ofdisgrace, depends on the amount of previous profession. To men whoonly aim at escaping felony, nothing short of the prisoner's dock isdisgrace. But Mr. Bulstrode had aimed at being an eminent Christian.

It was not more than half-past seven in the morning when he againreached Stone Court. The fine old place never looked more like adelightful home than at that moment; the great white lilies were inflower, the nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew,were running away over the low stone wall; the very noises all aroundhad a heart of peace within them. But everything was spoiled for theowner as he walked on the gravel in front and awaited the descent ofMr. Raffles, with whom he was condemned to breakfast.

It was not long before they were seated together in the wainscotedparlor over their tea and toast, which was as much as Raffles cared totake at that early hour. The difference between his morning andevening self was not so great as his companion had imagined that itmight be; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even the strongerbecause his spirits were rather less highly pitched. Certainly hismanners seemed more disagreeable by the morning light.

”As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles,” said the banker, whocould hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toast withouteating it, ”I shall be obliged if you will mention at once the groundon which you wished to meet with me. I presume that you have a homeelsewhere and will be glad to return to it.”

”Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn't he want to see an old friend,Nick?--I must call you Nick--we always did call you young Nick when weknew you meant to marry the old widow. Some said you had a handsomefamily likeness to old Nick, but that was your mother's fault, callingyou Nicholas. Aren't you glad to see me again? I expected an inviteto stay with you at some pretty place. My own establishment is brokenup now my wife's dead. I've no particular attachment to any spot; Iwould as soon settle hereabout as anywhere.”

”May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strongwish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished, wastantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life.”

”Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as a wishto stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn't suit me tostay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick.” Here Mr. Raffleswinked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.

”Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?”

”Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can. I don'tcare about working any more. If I did anything it would be a littletravelling in the tobacco line--or something of that sort, which takesa man into agreeable company. But not without an independence to fallback upon. That's what I want: I'm not so strong as I was, Nick,though I've got more color than you. I want an independence.”

”That could be supplied to you, if you would engage to keep at adistance,” said Mr. Bulstrode, perhaps with a little too much eagernessin his undertone.

”That must be as it suits my convenience,” said Raffles coolly. ”I seeno reason why I shouldn't make a few acquaintances hereabout. I'm notashamed of myself as company for anybody. I dropped my portmanteau atthe turnpike when I got down--change of linen--genuine--honor bright--morethan fronts and wristbands; and with this suit of mourning, strapsand everything, I should do you credit among the nobs here.” Mr.Raffles had pushed away his chair and looked down at himself,particularly at his straps. His chief intention was to annoyBulstrode, but he really thought that his appearance now would producea good effect, and that he was not only handsome and witty, but clad ina mourning style which implied solid connections.

”If you intend to rely on me in any way, Mr. Raffles,” said Bulstrode,after a moment's pause, ”you will expect to meet my wishes.”

”Ah, to be sure,” said Raffles, with a mocking cordiality. ”Didn't Ialways do it? Lord, you made a pretty thing out of me, and I got butlittle. I've often thought since, I might have done better by tellingthe old woman that I'd found her daughter and her grandchild: it wouldhave suited my feelings better; I've got a soft place in my heart. Butyou've buried the old lady by this time, I suppose--it's all one to hernow. And you've got your fortune out of that profitable business whichhad such a blessing on it. You've taken to being a nob, buying land,being a country bashaw. Still in the Dissenting line, eh? Stillgodly? Or taken to the Church as more genteel?”

This time Mr. Raffles' slow wink and slight protrusion of his tonguewas worse than a nightmare, because it held the certitude that it wasnot a nightmare, but a waking misery. Mr. Bulstrode felt a shudderingnausea, and did not speak, but was considering diligently whether heshould not leave Raffles to do as he would, and simply defy him as aslanderer. The man would soon show himself disreputable enough to makepeople disbelieve him. ”But not when he tells any ugly-looking truthabout _you_,” said discerning consciousness. And again: it seemed nowrong to keep Raffles at a distance, but Mr. Bulstrode shrank from thedirect falsehood of denying true statements. It was one thing to lookback on forgiven sins, nay, to explain questionable conformity to laxcustoms, and another to enter deliberately on the necessity offalsehood.

But since Bulstrode did not speak, Raffles ran on, by way of using timeto the utmost.

”I've not had such fine luck as you, by Jove! Things went confoundedlywith me in New York; those Yankees are cool hands, and a man ofgentlemanly feelings has no chance with them. I married when I cameback--a nice woman in the tobacco trade--very fond of me--but thetrade was restricted, as we say. She had been settled there a goodmany years by a friend; but there was a son too much in the case. Joshand I never hit it off. However, I made the most of the position, andI've always taken my glass in good company. It's been all on thesquare with me; I'm as open as the day. You won't take it ill of methat I didn't look you up before. I've got a complaint that makes me alittle dilatory. I thought you were trading and praying away in Londonstill, and didn't find you there. But you see I was sent to you,Nick--perhaps for a blessing to both of us.”

Mr. Raffles ended with a jocose snuffle: no man felt his intellect moresuperior to religious cant. And if the cunning which calculates on themeanest feelings in men could be called intellect, he had his share,for under the blurting rallying tone with which he spoke to Bulstrode,there was an evident selection of statements, as if they had been somany moves at chess. Meanwhile Bulstrode had determined on his move,and he said, with gathered resolution--

”You will do well to reflect, Mr. Raffles, that it is possible for aman to overreach himself in the effort to secure undue advantage.Although I am not in any way bound to you, I am willing to supply youwith a regular annuity--in quarterly payments--so long as you fulfil apromise to remain at a distance from this neighborhood. It is in yourpower to choose. If you insist on remaining here, even for a shorttime, you will get nothing from me. I shall decline to know you.”

”Ha, ha!” said Raffles, with an affected explosion, ”that reminds me ofa droll dog of a thief who declined to know the constable.”

”Your allusions are lost on me sir,” said Bulstrode, with white heat;”the law has no hold on me either through your agency or any other.”

”You can't understand a joke, my good fellow. I only meant that Ishould never decline to know you. But let us be serious. Yourquarterly payment won't quite suit me. I like my freedom.”

Here Raffles rose and stalked once or twice up and down the room,swinging his leg, and assuming an air of masterly meditation. At lasthe stopped opposite Bulstrode, and said, ”I'll tell you what! Give usa couple of hundreds--come, that's modest--and I'll go away--honorbright!--pick up my portmanteau and go away. But I shall not give upmy Liberty for a dirty annuity. I shall come and go where I like.Perhaps it may suit me to stay away, and correspond with a friend;perhaps not. Have you the money with you?”

”No, I have one hundred,” said Bulstrode, feeling the immediateriddance too great a relief to be rejected on the ground of futureuncertainties. ”I will forward you the other if you will mention anaddress.”

”No, I'll wait here till you bring it,” said Raffles. ”I'll take astroll and have a snack, and you'll be back by that time.”

Mr. Bulstrode's sickly body, shattered by the agitations he had gonethrough since the last evening, made him feel abjectly in the power ofthis loud invulnerable man. At that moment he snatched at a temporaryrepose to be won on any terms. He was rising to do what Rafflessuggested, when the latter said, lifting up his finger as if with asudden recollection--

”I did have another look after Sarah again, though I didn't tell you;I'd a tender conscience about that pretty young woman. I didn't findher, but I found out her husband's name, and I made a note of it. Buthang it, I lost my pocketbook. However, if I heard it, I should knowit again. I've got my faculties as if I was in my prime, but nameswear out, by Jove! Sometimes I'm no better than a confounded tax-paperbefore the names are filled in. However, if I hear of her and herfamily, you shall know, Nick. You'd like to do something for her, nowshe's your step-daughter.”

”Doubtless,” said Mr. Bulstrode, with the usual steady look of hislight-gray eyes; ”though that might reduce my power of assisting you.”

As he walked out of the room, Raffles winked slowly at his back, andthen turned towards the window to watch the banker riding away--virtuallyat his command. His lips first curled with a smile and then openedwith a short triumphant laugh.

”But what the deuce was the name?” he presently said, half aloud,scratching his head, and wrinkling his brows horizontally. He had notreally cared or thought about this point of forgetfulness until itoccurred to him in his invention of annoyances for Bulstrode.

”It began with L; it was almost all l's I fancy,” he went on, with asense that he was getting hold of the slippery name. But the hold wastoo slight, and he soon got tired of this mental chase; for few menwere more impatient of private occupation or more in need of makingthemselves continually heard than Mr. Raffles. He preferred using histime in pleasant conversation with the bailiff and the housekeeper,from whom he gathered as much as he wanted to know about Mr.Bulstrode's position in Middlemarch.

After all, however, there was a dull space of time which neededrelieving with bread and cheese and ale, and when he was seated alonewith these resources in the wainscoted parlor, he suddenly slapped hisknee, and exclaimed, ”Ladislaw!” That action of memory which he hadtried to set going, and had abandoned in despair, had suddenlycompleted itself without conscious effort--a common experience,agreeable as a completed sneeze, even if the name remembered is of novalue. Raffles immediately took out his pocket-book, and wrote downthe name, not because he expected to use it, but merely for the sake ofnot being at a loss if he ever did happen to want it. He was not goingto tell Bulstrode: there was no actual good in telling, and to a mindlike that of Mr. Raffles there is always probable good in a secret.

He was satisfied with his present success, and by three o'clock thatday he had taken up his portmanteau at the turnpike and mounted thecoach, relieving Mr. Bulstrode's eyes of an ugly black spot on thelandscape at Stone Court, but not relieving him of the dread that theblack spot might reappear and become inseparable even from the visionof his hearth.



BOOK VI.



THE WIDOW AND THE WIFE.