Middlemarch

CHAPTER LXVI.

”'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus, Another thing to fall.” --Measure for Measure.

Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the service hispractice did him in counteracting his personal cares. He had no longerfree energy enough for spontaneous research and speculative thinking,but by the bedside of patients, the direct external calls on hisjudgment and sympathies brought the added impulse needed to draw himout of himself. It was not simply that beneficent harness of routinewhich enables silly men to live respectably and unhappy men to livecalmly--it was a perpetual claim on the immediate fresh application ofthought, and on the consideration of another's need and trial. Many ofus looking back through life would say that the kindest man we haveever known has been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose finetact, directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in ourneed with a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. Someof that twice-blessed mercy was always with Lydgate in his work at theHospital or in private houses, serving better than any opiate to quietand sustain him under his anxieties and his sense of mental degeneracy.

Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to the opiate was true, however. Underthe first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties, and the firstperception that his marriage, if it were not to be a yoked loneliness,must be a state of effort to go on loving without too much care aboutbeing loved, he had once or twice tried a dose of opium. But he had nohereditary constitutional craving after such transient escapes from thehauntings of misery. He was strong, could drink a great deal of wine,but did not care about it; and when the men round him were drinkingspirits, he took sugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even forthe earliest stages of excitement from drink. It was the same withgambling. He had looked on at a great deal of gambling in Paris,watching it as if it had been a disease. He was no more tempted bysuch winning than he was by drink. He had said to himself that theonly winning he cared for must be attained by a conscious process ofhigh, difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result. Thepower he longed for could not be represented by agitated fingersclutching a heap of coin, or by the half-barbarous, half-idiotictriumph in the eyes of a man who sweeps within his arms the ventures oftwenty chapfallen companions.

But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now began to turn upongambling--not with appetite for its excitement, but with a sort ofwistful inward gaze after that easy way of getting money, which impliedno asking and brought no responsibility. If he had been in London orParis at that time, it is probable that such thoughts, seconded byopportunity, would have taken him into a gambling-house, no longer towatch the gamblers, but to watch with them in kindred eagerness.Repugnance would have been surmounted by the immense need to win, ifchance would be kind enough to let him. An incident which happened notvery long after that airy notion of getting aid from his uncle had beenexcluded, was a strong sign of the effect that might have followed anyextant opportunity of gambling.

The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the constant resort of acertain set, most of whom, like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge, wereregarded as men of pleasure. It was here that poor Fred Vincy had madepart of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting, and beenobliged to borrow of that gay companion. It was generally known inMiddlemarch that a good deal of money was lost and won in this way; andthe consequent repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipationnaturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there.Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of freemasonry,wished that there were something a little more tremendous to keep tothemselves concerning it; but they were not a closed community, andmany decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned into thebilliard-room to see what was going on. Lydgate, who had the muscularaptitude for billiards, and was fond of the game, had once or twice inthe early days after his arrival in Middlemarch taken his turn with thecue at the Green Dragon; but afterwards he had no leisure for the game,and no inclination for the socialities there. One evening, however, hehad occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge at that resort. The horsedealer hadengaged to get him a customer for his remaining good horse, for whichLydgate had determined to substitute a cheap hack, hoping by thisreduction of style to get perhaps twenty pounds; and he cared now forevery small sum, as a help towards feeding the patience of histradesmen. To run up to the billiard-room, as he was passing, wouldsave time.

Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, but would be sure to arrive by-and-by,said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a game for thesake of passing the time. That evening he had the peculiar light inthe eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been once noticed in him byMr. Farebrother. The exceptional fact of his presence was much noticedin the room, where there was a good deal of Middlemarch company; andseveral lookers-on, as well as some of the players, were betting withanimation. Lydgate was playing well, and felt confident; the bets weredropping round him, and with a swift glancing thought of the probablegain which might double the sum he was saving from his horse, he beganto bet on his own play, and won again and again. Mr. Bambridge hadcome in, but Lydgate did not notice him. He was not only excited withhis play, but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day toBrassing, where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, andwhere, by one powerful snatch at the devil's bait, he might carry itoff without the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings.

He was still winning when two new visitors entered. One of them was ayoung Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and the other wasFred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at this old haunt ofhis. Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player, brought a coolfresh hand to the cue. But Fred Vincy, startled at seeing Lydgate, andastonished to see him betting with an excited air, stood aside, andkept out of the circle round the table.

Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late. He hadbeen working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupations underMr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly mastered thedefects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps, a little theless severe that it was often carried on in the evening at Mr. Garth'sunder the eyes of Mary. But the last fortnight Mary had been stayingat Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there, during Mr. Farebrother'sresidence in Middlemarch, where he was carrying out some parochialplans; and Fred, not seeing anything more agreeable to do, had turnedinto the Green Dragon, partly to play at billiards, partly to taste theold flavor of discourse about horses, sport, and things in general,considered from a point of view which was not strenuously correct. Hehad not been out hunting once this season, had had no horse of his ownto ride, and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in hisgig, or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him. It was alittle too bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in thetraces with more severity than if he had been a clergyman. ”I willtell you what, Mistress Mary--it will be rather harder work to learnsurveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons,”he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through for hersake; ”and as to Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me. Theyhad sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand.” And now,Mary being out of the way for a little while, Fred, like any otherstrong dog who cannot slip his collar, had pulled up the staple of hischain and made a small escape, not of course meaning to go fast or far.There could be no reason why he should not play at billiards, but hewas determined not to bet. As to money just now, Fred had in his mindthe heroic project of saving almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr.Garth offered him, and returning it, which he could easily do by givingup all futile money-spending, since he had a superfluous stock ofclothes, and no expense in his board. In that way he could, in oneyear, go a good way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which he haddeprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily at a time when she needed that sum morethan she did now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that on thisevening, which was the fifth of his recent visits to the billiard-room,Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his mind, the ten pounds which hemeant to reserve for himself from his half-year's salary (having beforehim the pleasure of carrying thirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likelyto be come home again)--he had those ten pounds in his mind as a fundfrom which he might risk something, if there were a chance of a goodbet. Why? Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn't hecatch a few? He would never go far along that road again; but a manlikes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally, what he coulddo in the way of mischief if he chose, and that if he abstains frommaking himself ill, or beggaring himself, or talking with the utmostlooseness which the narrow limits of human capacity will allow, it isnot because he is a spooney. Fred did not enter into formal reasons,which are a very artificial, inexact way of representing the tinglingreturns of old habit, and the caprices of young blood: but there waslurking in him a prophetic sense that evening, that when he began toplay he should also begin to bet--that he should enjoy somepunch-drinking, and in general prepare himself for feeling ”ratherseedy” in the morning. It is in such indefinable movements that actionoften begins.

But the last thing likely to have entered Fred's expectation was thathe should see his brother-in-law Lydgate--of whom he had never quitedropped the old opinion that he was a prig, and tremendously consciousof his superiority--looking excited and betting, just as he himselfmight have done. Fred felt a shock greater than he could quite accountfor by the vague knowledge that Lydgate was in debt, and that hisfather had refused to help him; and his own inclination to enter intothe play was suddenly checked. It was a strange reversal of attitudes:Fred's blond face and blue eyes, usually bright and careless, ready togive attention to anything that held out a promise of amusement,looking involuntarily grave and almost embarrassed as if by the sightof something unfitting; while Lydgate, who had habitually an air ofself-possessed strength, and a certain meditativeness that seemed tolie behind his most observant attention, was acting, watching, speakingwith that excited narrow consciousness which reminds one of an animalwith fierce eyes and retractile claws.

Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won sixteen pounds; butyoung Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. He madefirst-rate strokes himself, and began to bet against Lydgate's strokes,the strain of whose nerves was thus changed from simple confidence inhis own movements to defying another person's doubt in them. Thedefiance was more exciting than the confidence, but it was less sure.He continued to bet on his own play, but began often to fail. Still hewent on, for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitouscrevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger there.Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and found himself in thenew situation of puzzling his brains to think of some device by which,without being offensive, he could withdraw Lydgate's attention, andperhaps suggest to him a reason for quitting the room. He saw thatothers were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself, and itoccurred to him that merely to touch his elbow and call him aside for amoment might rouse him from his absorption. He could think of nothingcleverer than the daring improbability of saying that he wanted to seeRosy, and wished to know if she were at home this evening; and he wasgoing desperately to carry out this weak device, when a waiter came upto him with a message, saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, andbegged to speak with him.

Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending word that hewould be down immediately, he went with a new impulse up to Lydgate,said, ”Can I speak to you a moment?” and drew him aside.

”Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he wants to speakto me. He is below. I thought you might like to know he was there, ifyou had anything to say to him.”

Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking, because he couldnot say, ”You are losing confoundedly, and are making everybody stareat you; you had better come away.” But inspiration could hardly haveserved him better. Lydgate had not before seen that Fred was present,and his sudden appearance with an announcement of Mr. Farebrother hadthe effect of a sharp concussion.

”No, no,” said Lydgate; ”I have nothing particular to say to him.But--the game is up--I must be going--I came in just to see Bambridge.”

”Bambridge is over there, but he is making a row--I don't think he'sready for business. Come down with me to Farebrother. I expect he isgoing to blow me up, and you will shield me,” said Fred, with someadroitness.

Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he felt it, byrefusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went down. They merely shookhands, however, and spoke of the frost; and when all three had turnedinto the street, the Vicar seemed quite willing to say good-by toLydgate. His present purpose was clearly to talk with Fred alone, andhe said, kindly, ”I disturbed you, young gentleman, because I have somepressing business with you. Walk with me to St. Botolph's, will you?”

It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr. Farebrotherproposed that they should make a circuit to the old church by theLondon road. The next thing he said was--

”I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?”

”So did I,” said Fred. ”But he said that he went to see Bambridge.”

”He was not playing, then?”

Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now to say, ”Yes,he was. But I suppose it was an accidental thing. I have never seenhim there before.”

”You have been going often yourself, then, lately?”

”Oh, about five or six times.”

”I think you had some good reason for giving up the habit of goingthere?”

”Yes. You know all about it,” said Fred, not liking to be catechisedin this way. ”I made a clean breast to you.”

”I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the matter now. Itis understood between us, is it not?--that we are on a footing of openfriendship: I have listened to you, and you will be willing to listento me. I may take my turn in talking a little about myself?”

”I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr. Farebrother,” said Fred,in a state of uncomfortable surmise.

”I will not affect to deny that you are under some obligation to me.But I am going to confess to you, Fred, that I have been tempted toreverse all that by keeping silence with you just now. When somebodysaid to me, 'Young Vincy has taken to being at the billiard-table everynight again--he won't bear the curb long;' I was tempted to do theopposite of what I am doing--to hold my tongue and wait while you wentdown the ladder again, betting first and then--”

”I have not made any bets,” said Fred, hastily.

”Glad to hear it. But I say, my prompting was to look on and see youtake the wrong turning, wear out Garth's patience, and lose the bestopportunity of your life--the opportunity which you made some ratherdifficult effort to secure. You can guess the feeling which raisedthat temptation in me--I am sure you know it. I am sure you know thatthe satisfaction of your affections stands in the way of mine.”

There was a pause. Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for a recognition ofthe fact; and the emotion perceptible in the tones of his fine voicegave solemnity to his words. But no feeling could quell Fred's alarm.

”I could not be expected to give her up,” he said, after a moment'shesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of generosity.

”Clearly not, when her affection met yours. But relations of thissort, even when they are of long standing, are always liable to change.I can easily conceive that you might act in a way to loosen the tie shefeels towards you--it must be remembered that she is only conditionallybound to you--and that in that case, another man, who may flatterhimself that he has a hold on her regard, might succeed in winning thatfirm place in her love as well as respect which you had let slip. Ican easily conceive such a result,” repeated Mr. Farebrother,emphatically. ”There is a companionship of ready sympathy, which mightget the advantage even over the longest associations.” It seemed toFred that if Mr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons instead of hisvery capable tongue, his mode of attack could hardly be more cruel. Hehad a horrible conviction that behind all this hypothetic statementthere was a knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling.

”Of course I know it might easily be all up with me,” he said, in atroubled voice. ”If she is beginning to compare--” He broke off, notliking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of a littlebitterness, ”But I thought you were friendly to me.”

”So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a strong dispositionto be otherwise. I have said to myself, 'If there is a likelihood ofthat youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere? Aren'tyou worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen years over and abovehis, in which you have gone rather hungry, give you more right tosatisfaction than he has? If there's a chance of his going to thedogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take thebenefit.'”

There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortablechill. What was coming next? He dreaded to hear that something hadbeen said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to a threat ratherthan a warning. When the Vicar began again there was a change in histone like the encouraging transition to a major key.

”But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to my oldintention. I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_ in it better,Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me. And now, do youunderstand me? I want you to make the happiness of her life and yourown, and if there is any chance that a word of warning from me may turnaside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it.”

There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last words. Hepaused--they were standing on a patch of green where the road divergedtowards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if to imply that theconversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly. Some one highlysusceptible to the contemplation of a fine act has said, that itproduces a sort of regenerating shudder through the frame, and makesone feel ready to begin a new life. A good degree of that effect wasjust then present in Fred Vincy.

”I will try to be worthy,” he said, breaking off before he could say”of you as well as of her.” And meanwhile Mr. Farebrother had gatheredthe impulse to say something more.

”You must not imagine that I believe there is at present any decline inher preference of you, Fred. Set your heart at rest, that if you keepright, other things will keep right.”

”I shall never forget what you have done,” Fred answered. ”I can't sayanything that seems worth saying--only I will try that your goodnessshall not be thrown away.”

”That's enough. Good-by, and God bless you.”

In that way they parted. But both of them walked about a long whilebefore they went out of the starlight. Much of Fred's rumination mightbe summed up in the words, ”It certainly would have been a fine thingfor her to marry Farebrother--but if she loves me best and I am a goodhusband?”

Perhaps Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrug andone little speech. ”To think of the part one little woman can play inthe life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a very good imitationof heroism, and to win her may be a discipline!”