Page 84 of Middlemarch

CHAPTER LXXXIV.

”Though it be songe of old and yonge, That I sholde be to blame, Theyrs be the charge, that spoke so large In hurtynge of my name.” --The Not-Browne Mayde.

It was just after the Lords had thrown out the Reform Bill: thatexplains how Mr. Cadwallader came to be walking on the slope of thelawn near the great conservatory at Freshitt Hall, holding the ”Times”in his hands behind him, while he talked with a trout-fisher'sdispassionateness about the prospects of the country to Sir JamesChettam. Mrs. Cadwallader, the Dowager Lady Chettam, and Celia weresometimes seated on garden-chairs, sometimes walking to meet littleArthur, who was being drawn in his chariot, and, as became theinfantine Bouddha, was sheltered by his sacred umbrella with handsomesilken fringe.

The ladies also talked politics, though more fitfully. Mrs.Cadwallader was strong on the intended creation of peers: she had itfor certain from her cousin that Truberry had gone over to the otherside entirely at the instigation of his wife, who had scented peeragesin the air from the very first introduction of the Reform question, andwould sign her soul away to take precedence of her younger sister, whohad married a baronet. Lady Chettam thought that such conduct was veryreprehensible, and remembered that Mrs. Truberry's mother was a MissWalsingham of Melspring. Celia confessed it was nicer to be ”Lady”than ”Mrs.,” and that Dodo never minded about precedence if she couldhave her own way. Mrs. Cadwallader held that it was a poorsatisfaction to take precedence when everybody about you knew that youhad not a drop of good blood in your veins; and Celia again, stoppingto look at Arthur, said, ”It would be very nice, though, if he were aViscount--and his lordship's little tooth coming through! He mighthave been, if James had been an Earl.”

”My dear Celia,” said the Dowager, ”James's title is worth far morethan any new earldom. I never wished his father to be anything elsethan Sir James.”

”Oh, I only meant about Arthur's little tooth,” said Celia,comfortably. ”But see, here is my uncle coming.”

She tripped off to meet her uncle, while Sir James and Mr. Cadwalladercame forward to make one group with the ladies. Celia had slipped herarm through her uncle's, and he patted her hand with a rathermelancholy ”Well, my dear!” As they approached, it was evident thatMr. Brooke was looking dejected, but this was fully accounted for bythe state of politics; and as he was shaking hands all round withoutmore greeting than a ”Well, you're all here, you know,” the Rectorsaid, laughingly--

”Don't take the throwing out of the Bill so much to heart, Brooke;you've got all the riff-raff of the country on your side.”

”The Bill, eh? ah!” said Mr. Brooke, with a mild distractedness ofmanner. ”Thrown out, you know, eh? The Lords are going too far,though. They'll have to pull up. Sad news, you know. I mean, here athome--sad news. But you must not blame me, Chettam.”

”What is the matter?” said Sir James. ”Not another gamekeeper shot, Ihope? It's what I should expect, when a fellow like Trapping Bass islet off so easily.”

”Gamekeeper? No. Let us go in; I can tell you all in the house, youknow,” said Mr. Brooke, nodding at the Cadwalladers, to show that heincluded them in his confidence. ”As to poachers like Trapping Bass,you know, Chettam,” he continued, as they were entering, ”when you area magistrate, you'll not find it so easy to commit. Severity is allvery well, but it's a great deal easier when you've got somebody to doit for you. You have a soft place in your heart yourself, youknow--you're not a Draco, a Jeffreys, that sort of thing.”

Mr. Brooke was evidently in a state of nervous perturbation. When hehad something painful to tell, it was usually his way to introduce itamong a number of disjointed particulars, as if it were a medicine thatwould get a milder flavor by mixing. He continued his chat with SirJames about the poachers until they were all seated, and Mrs.Cadwallader, impatient of this drivelling, said--

”I'm dying to know the sad news. The gamekeeper is not shot: that issettled. What is it, then?”

”Well, it's a very trying thing, you know,” said Mr. Brooke. ”I'm gladyou and the Rector are here; it's a family matter--but you will helpus all to bear it, Cadwallader. I've got to break it to you, my dear.”Here Mr. Brooke looked at Celia--”You've no notion what it is, youknow. And, Chettam, it will annoy you uncommonly--but, you see, youhave not been able to hinder it, any more than I have. There'ssomething singular in things: they come round, you know.”

”It must be about Dodo,” said Celia, who had been used to think of hersister as the dangerous part of the family machinery. She had seatedherself on a low stool against her husband's knee.

”For God's sake let us hear what it is!” said Sir James.

”Well, you know, Chettam, I couldn't help Casaubon's will: it was asort of will to make things worse.”

”Exactly,” said Sir James, hastily. ”But _what_ is worse?”

”Dorothea is going to be married again, you know,” said Mr. Brooke,nodding towards Celia, who immediately looked up at her husband with afrightened glance, and put her hand on his knee. Sir James was almostwhite with anger, but he did not speak.

”Merciful heaven!” said Mrs. Cadwallader. ”Not to _young_ Ladislaw?”

Mr. Brooke nodded, saying, ”Yes; to Ladislaw,” and then fell into aprudential silence.

”You see, Humphrey!” said Mrs. Cadwallader, waving her arm towards herhusband. ”Another time you will admit that I have some foresight; orrather you will contradict me and be just as blind as ever. _You_supposed that the young gentleman was gone out of the country.”

”So he might be, and yet come back,” said the Rector, quietly

”When did you learn this?” said Sir James, not liking to hear any oneelse speak, though finding it difficult to speak himself.

”Yesterday,” said Mr. Brooke, meekly. ”I went to Lowick. Dorotheasent for me, you know. It had come about quite suddenly--neither ofthem had any idea two days ago--not any idea, you know. There'ssomething singular in things. But Dorothea is quite determined--it isno use opposing. I put it strongly to her. I did my duty, Chettam.But she can act as she likes, you know.”

”It would have been better if I had called him out and shot him a yearago,” said Sir James, not from bloody-mindedness, but because he neededsomething strong to say.

”Really, James, that would have been very disagreeable,” said Celia.

”Be reasonable, Chettam. Look at the affair more quietly,” said Mr.Cadwallader, sorry to see his good-natured friend so overmastered byanger.

”That is not so very easy for a man of any dignity--with any sense ofright--when the affair happens to be in his own family,” said SirJames, still in his white indignation. ”It is perfectly scandalous.If Ladislaw had had a spark of honor he would have gone out of thecountry at once, and never shown his face in it again. However, I amnot surprised. The day after Casaubon's funeral I said what ought tobe done. But I was not listened to.”

”You wanted what was impossible, you know, Chettam,” said Mr. Brooke.”You wanted him shipped off. I told you Ladislaw was not to be done aswe liked with: he had his ideas. He was a remarkable fellow--I alwayssaid he was a remarkable fellow.”

”Yes,” said Sir James, unable to repress a retort, ”it is rather a pityyou formed that high opinion of him. We are indebted to that for hisbeing lodged in this neighborhood. We are indebted to that for seeinga woman like Dorothea degrading herself by marrying him.” Sir Jamesmade little stoppages between his clauses, the words not coming easily.”A man so marked out by her husband's will, that delicacy ought to haveforbidden her from seeing him again--who takes her out of her properrank--into poverty--has the meanness to accept such a sacrifice--hasalways had an objectionable position--a bad origin--and, I _believe_,is a man of little principle and light character. That is my opinion.”Sir James ended emphatically, turning aside and crossing his leg.

”I pointed everything out to her,” said Mr. Brooke, apologetically--”Imean the poverty, and abandoning her position. I said, 'My dear, youdon't know what it is to live on seven hundred a-year, and have nocarriage, and that kind of thing, and go amongst people who don't knowwho you are.' I put it strongly to her. But I advise you to talk toDorothea herself. The fact is, she has a dislike to Casaubon'sproperty. You will hear what she says, you know.”

”No--excuse me--I shall not,” said Sir James, with more coolness. ”Icannot bear to see her again; it is too painful. It hurts me too muchthat a woman like Dorothea should have done what is wrong.”

”Be just, Chettam,” said the easy, large-lipped Rector, who objected toall this unnecessary discomfort. ”Mrs. Casaubon may be actingimprudently: she is giving up a fortune for the sake of a man, and wemen have so poor an opinion of each other that we can hardly call awoman wise who does that. But I think you should not condemn it as awrong action, in the strict sense of the word.”

”Yes, I do,” answered Sir James. ”I think that Dorothea commits awrong action in marrying Ladislaw.”

”My dear fellow, we are rather apt to consider an act wrong because itis unpleasant to us,” said the Rector, quietly. Like many men who takelife easily, he had the knack of saying a home truth occasionally tothose who felt themselves virtuously out of temper. Sir James took outhis handkerchief and began to bite the corner.

”It is very dreadful of Dodo, though,” said Celia, wishing to justifyher husband. ”She said she _never would_ marry again--not anybody atall.”

”I heard her say the same thing myself,” said Lady Chettam,majestically, as if this were royal evidence.

”Oh, there is usually a silent exception in such cases,” said Mrs.Cadwallader. ”The only wonder to me is, that any of you are surprised.You did nothing to hinder it. If you would have had Lord Triton downhere to woo her with his philanthropy, he might have carried her offbefore the year was over. There was no safety in anything else. Mr.Casaubon had prepared all this as beautifully as possible. He madehimself disagreeable--or it pleased God to make him so--and then hedared her to contradict him. It's the way to make any trumperytempting, to ticket it at a high price in that way.”

”I don't know what you mean by wrong, Cadwallader,” said Sir James,still feeling a little stung, and turning round in his chair towardsthe Rector. ”He's not a man we can take into the family. At least, Imust speak for myself,” he continued, carefully keeping his eyes offMr. Brooke. ”I suppose others will find his society too pleasant tocare about the propriety of the thing.”

”Well, you know, Chettam,” said Mr. Brooke, good-humoredly, nursing hisleg, ”I can't turn my back on Dorothea. I must be a father to her upto a certain point. I said, 'My dear, I won't refuse to give youaway.' I had spoken strongly before. But I can cut off the entail,you know. It will cost money and be troublesome; but I can do it, youknow.”

Mr. Brooke nodded at Sir James, and felt that he was both showing hisown force of resolution and propitiating what was just in the Baronet'svexation. He had hit on a more ingenious mode of parrying than he wasaware of. He had touched a motive of which Sir James was ashamed. Themass of his feeling about Dorothea's marriage to Ladislaw was duepartly to excusable prejudice, or even justifiable opinion, partly to ajealous repugnance hardly less in Ladislaw's case than in Casaubon's.He was convinced that the marriage was a fatal one for Dorothea. Butamid that mass ran a vein of which he was too good and honorable a manto like the avowal even to himself: it was undeniable that the union ofthe two estates--Tipton and Freshitt--lying charmingly within aring-fence, was a prospect that flattered him for his son and heir.Hence when Mr. Brooke noddingly appealed to that motive, Sir James felta sudden embarrassment; there was a stoppage in his throat; he evenblushed. He had found more words than usual in the first jet of hisanger, but Mr. Brooke's propitiation was more clogging to his tonguethan Mr. Cadwallader's caustic hint.

But Celia was glad to have room for speech after her uncle's suggestionof the marriage ceremony, and she said, though with as little eagernessof manner as if the question had turned on an invitation to dinner, ”Doyou mean that Dodo is going to be married directly, uncle?”

”In three weeks, you know,” said Mr. Brooke, helplessly. ”I can donothing to hinder it, Cadwallader,” he added, turning for a littlecountenance toward the Rector, who said--

”--I--should not make any fuss about it. If she likes to be poor, thatis her affair. Nobody would have said anything if she had married theyoung fellow because he was rich. Plenty of beneficed clergy arepoorer than they will be. Here is Elinor,” continued the provokinghusband; ”she vexed her friends by me: I had hardly a thousanda-year--I was a lout--nobody could see anything in me--my shoes werenot the right cut--all the men wondered how a woman could like me.Upon my word, I must take Ladislaw's part until I hear more harm ofhim.”

”Humphrey, that is all sophistry, and you know it,” said his wife.”Everything is all one--that is the beginning and end with you. As ifyou had not been a Cadwallader! Does any one suppose that I would havetaken such a monster as you by any other name?”

”And a clergyman too,” observed Lady Chettam with approbation. ”Elinorcannot be said to have descended below her rank. It is difficult tosay what Mr. Ladislaw is, eh, James?”

Sir James gave a small grunt, which was less respectful than his usualmode of answering his mother. Celia looked up at him like a thoughtfulkitten.

”It must be admitted that his blood is a frightful mixture!” said Mrs.Cadwallader. ”The Casaubon cuttle-fish fluid to begin with, and then arebellious Polish fiddler or dancing-master, was it?--and then an oldclo--”

”Nonsense, Elinor,” said the Rector, rising. ”It is time for us to go.”

”After all, he is a pretty sprig,” said Mrs. Cadwallader, rising too,and wishing to make amends. ”He is like the fine old Crichleyportraits before the idiots came in.”

”I'll go with you,” said Mr. Brooke, starting up with alacrity. ”Youmust all come and dine with me to-morrow, you know--eh, Celia, my dear?”

”You will, James--won't you?” said Celia, taking her husband's hand.

”Oh, of course, if you like,” said Sir James, pulling down hiswaistcoat, but unable yet to adjust his face good-humoredly. ”That isto say, if it is not to meet anybody else.':

”No, no, no,” said Mr. Brooke, understanding the condition. ”Dorotheawould not come, you know, unless you had been to see her.”

When Sir James and Celia were alone, she said, ”Do you mind about myhaving the carriage to go to Lowick, James?”

”What, now, directly?” he answered, with some surprise.

”Yes, it is very important,” said Celia.

”Remember, Celia, I cannot see her,” said Sir James.

”Not if she gave up marrying?”

”What is the use of saying that?--however, I'm going to the stables.I'll tell Briggs to bring the carriage round.”

Celia thought it was of great use, if not to say that, at least to takea journey to Lowick in order to influence Dorothea's mind. All throughtheir girlhood she had felt that she could act on her sister by a wordjudiciously placed--by opening a little window for the daylight of herown understanding to enter among the strange colored lamps by whichDodo habitually saw. And Celia the matron naturally felt more able toadvise her childless sister. How could any one understand Dodo so wellas Celia did or love her so tenderly?

Dorothea, busy in her boudoir, felt a glow of pleasure at the sight ofher sister so soon after the revelation of her intended marriage. Shehad prefigured to herself, even with exaggeration, the disgust of herfriends, and she had even feared that Celia might be kept aloof fromher.

”O Kitty, I am delighted to see you!” said Dorothea, putting her handson Celia's shoulders, and beaming on her. ”I almost thought you wouldnot come to me.”

”I have not brought Arthur, because I was in a hurry,” said Celia, andthey sat down on two small chairs opposite each other, with their kneestouching.

”You know, Dodo, it is very bad,” said Celia, in her placid guttural,looking as prettily free from humors as possible. ”You havedisappointed us all so. And I can't think that it ever _will_ be--younever can go and live in that way. And then there are all your plans!You never can have thought of that. James would have taken any troublefor you, and you might have gone on all your life doing what you liked.”

”On the contrary, dear,” said Dorothea, ”I never could do anything thatI liked. I have never carried out any plan yet.”

”Because you always wanted things that wouldn't do. But other planswould have come. And how can you marry Mr. Ladislaw, that we none ofus ever thought you _could_ marry? It shocks James so dreadfully. Andthen it is all so different from what you have always been. You wouldhave Mr. Casaubon because he had such a great soul, and was so anddismal and learned; and now, to think of marrying Mr. Ladislaw, who hasgot no estate or anything. I suppose it is because you must be makingyourself uncomfortable in some way or other.”

Dorothea laughed.

”Well, it is very serious, Dodo,” said Celia, becoming more impressive.”How will you live? and you will go away among queer people. And Ishall never see you--and you won't mind about little Arthur--and Ithought you always would--”

Celia's rare tears had got into her eyes, and the corners of her mouthwere agitated.

”Dear Celia,” said Dorothea, with tender gravity, ”if you don't eversee me, it will not be my fault.”

”Yes, it will,” said Celia, with the same touching distortion of hersmall features. ”How can I come to you or have you with me when Jamescan't bear it?--that is because he thinks it is not right--he thinksyou are so wrong, Dodo. But you always were wrong: only I can't helploving you. And nobody can think where you will live: where can yougo?”

”I am going to London,” said Dorothea.

”How can you always live in a street? And you will be so poor. Icould give you half my things, only how can I, when I never see you?”

”Bless you, Kitty,” said Dorothea, with gentle warmth. ”Take comfort:perhaps James will forgive me some time.”

”But it would be much better if you would not be married,” said Celia,drying her eyes, and returning to her argument; ”then there would benothing uncomfortable. And you would not do what nobody thought youcould do. James always said you ought to be a queen; but this is notat all being like a queen. You know what mistakes you have always beenmaking, Dodo, and this is another. Nobody thinks Mr. Ladislaw a properhusband for you. And you _said you_ would never be married again.”

”It is quite true that I might be a wiser person, Celia,” saidDorothea, ”and that I might have done something better, if I had beenbetter. But this is what I am going to do. I have promised to marryMr. Ladislaw; and I am going to marry him.”

The tone in which Dorothea said this was a note that Celia had longlearned to recognize. She was silent a few moments, and then said, asif she had dismissed all contest, ”Is he very fond of you, Dodo?”

”I hope so. I am very fond of him.”

”That is nice,” said Celia, comfortably. ”Only I rather you had such asort of husband as James is, with a place very near, that I could driveto.”

Dorothea smiled, and Celia looked rather meditative. Presently shesaid, ”I cannot think how it all came about.” Celia thought it would bepleasant to hear the story.

”I dare say not,” said-Dorothea, pinching her sister's chin. ”If youknew how it came about, it would not seem wonderful to you.”

”Can't you tell me?” said Celia, settling her arms cozily.

”No, dear, you would have to feel with me, else you would never know.”