"A fine woman, Miss Brooke! an uncommonly fine woman, by God!"said Mr. Standish, the old lawyer, who had been so long concerned withthe landed gentry that he had become landed himself, and used that oathin a deep-mouthed manner as a sort of armorial bearings, stamping thespeech of a man who held a good position.
Mr. Bulstrode, the banker, seemed to be addressed, but thatgentleman disliked coarseness and profanity, and merely bowed. Theremark was taken up by Mr. Chichely, a middle-aged bachelor andcoursing celebrity, who had a complexion something like an Easter egg, afew hairs carefully arranged, and a carriage implying the consciousnessof a distinguished appearance.
"Yes, but not my style of woman: I like a woman who lays herselfout a little more to please us. There should be a little filigree about awoman—something of the coquette. A man likes a sort of challenge. Themore of a dead set she makes at you the better."
"There's some truth in that," said Mr. Standish, disposed to be genial."And, by God, it's usually the way with them. I suppose it answers somewise ends: Providence made them so, eh, Bulstrode?"
"I should be disposed to refer coquetry to another source," said Mr.Bulstrode. "I should rather refer it to the devil."
"Ay, to be sure, there should be a little devil in a woman," said Mr.Chichely, whose study of the fair sex seemed to have been detrimental tohis theology. "And I like them blond, with a certain gait, and a swanneck. Between ourselves, the mayor's daughter is more to my taste thanMiss Brooke or Miss Celia either. If I were a marrying man I shouldchoose Miss Vincy before either of them."
"Well, make up, make up," said Mr. Standish, jocosely; "you see themiddle-aged fellows early the day."
Mr. Chichely shook his head with much meaning: he was not goingto incur the certainty of being accepted by the woman he would choose.
The Miss Vincy who had the honor of being Mr. Chichely's ideal wasof course not present; for Mr. Brooke, always objecting to go too far,would not have chosen that his nieces should meet the daughter of aMiddlemarch manufacturer, unless it were on a public occasion. Thefeminine part of the company included none whom Lady Chettam orMrs. Cadwallader could object to; for Mrs. Renfrew, the colonel's widow,was not only unexceptionable in point of breeding, but also interestingon the ground of her complaint, which puzzled the doctors, and seemedclearly a case wherein the fulness of professional knowledge might needthe supplement of quackery. Lady Chettam, who attributed her ownremarkable health to home-made bitters united with constant medicalattendance, entered with much exercise of the imagination into Mrs.Renfrew's account of symptoms, and into the amazing futility in her caseof all, strengthening medicines.
"Where can all the strength of those medicines go, my dear?" said themild but stately dowager, turning to Mrs. Cadwallader reflectively, whenMrs. Renfrew's attention was called away.
"It strengthens the disease," said the Rector's wife, much too well-born not to be an amateur in medicine. "Everything depends on theconstitution: some people make fat, some blood, and some bile—that'smy view of the matter; and whatever they take is a sort of grist to themill."
"Then she ought to take medicines that would reduce—reduce thedisease, you know, if you are right, my dear. And I think what you say isreasonable."
"Certainly it is reasonable. You have two sorts of potatoes, fed on thesame soil. One of them grows more and more watery—"
"Ah! like this poor Mrs. Renfrew—that is what I think. Dropsy!There is no swelling yet—it is inward. I should say she ought to takedrying medicines, shouldn't you?—or a dry hot-air bath. Many thingsmight be tried, of a drying nature."
"Let her try a certain person's pamphlets," said Mrs. Cadwallader inan undertone, seeing the gentlemen enter. "He does not want drying."
"Who, my dear?" said Lady Chettam, a charming woman, not soquick as to nullify the pleasure of explanation.
"The bridegroom—Casaubon. He has certainly been drying up fastersince the engagement: the flame of passion, I suppose."
"I should think he is far from having a good constitution," said LadyChettam, with a still deeper undertone. "And then his studies—so verydry, as you say."
"Really, by the side of Sir James, he looks like a death's head skinnedover for the occasion. Mark my words: in a year from this time that girlwill hate him. She looks up to him as an oracle now, and by-and-by shewill be at the other extreme. All flightiness!"
"How very shocking! I fear she is headstrong. But tell me—you knowall about him—is there anything very bad? What is the truth?"
"The truth? he is as bad as the wrong physic—nasty to take, andsure to disagree."
"There could not be anything worse than that," said Lady Chettam,with so vivid a conception of the physic that she seemed to have learnedsomething exact about Mr. Casaubon's disadvantages. "However, Jameswill hear nothing against Miss Brooke. He says she is the mirror ofwomen still."
"That is a generous make-believe of his. Depend upon it, he likeslittle Celia better, and she appreciates him. I hope you like my littleCelia?"
"Certainly; she is fonder of geraniums, and seems more docile,though not so fine a figure. But we were talking of physic. Tell me aboutthis new young surgeon, Mr. Lydgate. I am told he is wonderfully clever:he certainly looks it—a fine brow indeed."
"He is a gentleman. I heard him talking to Humphrey. He talks well."
"Yes. Mr. Brooke says he is one of the Lydgates of Northumberland,really well connected. One does not expect it in a practitioner of thatkind. For my own part, I like a medical man more on a footing with theservants; they are often all the cleverer. I assure you I found poor Hicks'sjudgment unfailing; I never knew him wrong. He was coarse and butcher-like, but he knew my constitution. It was a loss to me his going off sosuddenly. Dear me, what a very animated conversation Miss Brookeseems to be having with this Mr. Lydgate!"
"She is talking cottages and hospitals with him," said Mrs.Cadwallader, whose ears and power of interpretation were quick. "Ibelieve he is a sort of philanthropist, so Brooke is sure to take him up."
"James," said Lady Chettam when her son came near, "bring Mr.Lydgate and introduce him to me. I want to test him."
The affable dowager declared herself delighted with this opportunityof making Mr. Lydgate's acquaintance, having heard of his success intreating fever on a new plan.
Mr. Lydgate had the medical accomplishment of looking perfectlygrave whatever nonsense was talked to him, and his dark steady eyesgave him impressiveness as a listener. He was as little as possible likethe lamented Hicks, especially in a certain careless refinement about histoilet and utterance. Yet Lady Chettam gathered much confidence inhim. He confirmed her view of her own constitution as being peculiar, byadmitting that all constitutions might be called peculiar, and he did notdeny that hers might be more peculiar than others. He did not approveof a too lowering system, including reckless cupping, nor, on the otherhand, of incessant port wine and bark. He said "I think so" with an air ofso much deference accompanying the insight of agreement, that sheformed the most cordial opinion of his talents.
"I am quite pleased with your protege," she said to Mr. Brooke beforegoing away.
"My protege?—dear me!—who is that?" said Mr. Brooke.
"This young Lydgate, the new doctor.-He seems to me to understandhis profession admirably."
"Oh, Lydgate! he is not my protege, you know; only I knew an uncleof his who sent me a letter about him. However, I think he is likely to befirst-rate—has studied in Paris, knew Broussais; has ideas, you know—wants to raise the profession."
"Lydgate has lots of ideas, quite new, about ventilation and diet, thatsort of thing," resumed Mr. Brooke, after he had handed out LadyChettam, and had returned to be civil to a group of Middlemarchers.
"Hang it, do you think that is quite sound?—upsetting The oldtreatment, which has made Englishmen what they re?" said Mr.Standish.
"Medical knowledge is at a low ebb among us," said Mr. Bulstrode,who spoke in a subdued tone, and had rather a sickly air. "I, for my part,hail the advent of Mr. Lydgate. I hope to find good reason for confidingthe new hospital to his management."
"That is all very fine," replied Mr. Standish, who was not fond of Mr.Bulstrode; "if you like him to try experiments on your hospital patients,and kill a few people for charity I have no objection. But I am not goingto hand money out of my purse to have experiments tried on me. I liketreatment that has been tested a little."
"Well, you know, Standish, every dose you take is an experiment-anexperiment, you know," said Mr. Brooke, nodding towards the lawyer.
"Oh, if you talk in that sense!" said Mr. Standish, with as muchdisgust at such non-legal quibbling as a man can well betray towards avaluable client.
"I should be glad of any treatment that would cure me withoutreducing me to a skeleton, like poor Grainger," said Mr. Vincy, themayor, a florid man, who would have served for a study of flesh instriking contrast with the Franciscan tints of Mr. Bulstrode. "It's anuncommonly dangerous thing to be left without any padding against theshafts of disease, as somebody said,—and I think it a very goodexpression myself."
Mr. Lydgate, of course, was out of hearing. He had quitted the partyearly, and would have thought it altogether tedious but for the novelty ofcertain introductions, especially the introduction to Miss Brooke, whoseyouthful bloom, with her approaching marriage to that faded scholar,and her interest in matters socially useful, gave her the piquancy of anunusual combination.
"She is a good creature—that fine girl—but a little too earnest," hethought. "It is troublesome to talk to such women. They are alwayswanting reasons, yet they are too ignorant to understand the merits ofany question, and usually fall hack on their moral sense to settle thingsafter their own taste."
Evidently Miss Brooke was not Mr. Lydgate's style of woman anymore than Mr. Chichely's. Considered, indeed, in relation to the latter,whose mied was matured, she was altogether a mistake, and calculatedto shock his trust in final causes, including the adaptation of fine youngwomen to purplefaced bachelors. But Lydgate was less ripe, and mightpossibly have experience before him which would modify his opinion asto the most excellent things in woman.
Miss Brooke, however, was not again seen by either of thesegentlemen under her maiden name. Not long after that dinner-party shehad become Mrs. Casaubon, and was on her way to Rome.
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 awoman strikingly different from Miss Brooke: he did not in the leastsuppose that he had lost his balance and fallen in love, but he had saidof that particular woman, "She is grace itself; she is perfectly lovely andaccomplished. That is what a woman ought to be: she ought to producethe effect of exquisite music." Plain women he regarded as he did theother severe facts of life, to be faced with philosophy and investigated byscience. But Rosamond Vincy seemed to have the true melodic charm;and when a man has seen the woman whom he would have chosen if hehad intended to marry speedily, his remaining a bachelor will usuallydepend on her resolution rather than on his. Lydgate believed that heshould not marry for several years: not marry until he had trodden out agood clear path for himself away from the broad road which was quiteready made. He had seen Miss Vincy above his horizon almost as long asit had taken Mr. Casaubon to become engaged and married: but thislearned gentleman was possessed of a fortune; he had assembled hisvoluminous notes, and had made that sort of reputation which precedesperformance,—often the larger part of a man's fame. He took a wife, aswe have seen, to adorn the remaining quadrant of his course, and be alittle moon that would cause hardly a calculable perturbation. ButLydgate was young, poor, ambitious. He had his half-century before himinstead of behind him, and he had come to Middlemarch bent on doingmany things that were not directly fitted to make his fortune or evensecure him a good income. To a man under such circumstances, taking awife is something more than a question of adornment, however highly hemay rate this; and Lydgate was disposed to give it the first place amongwifely functions. To his taste, guided by a single conversation, here wasthe point on which Miss Brooke would be found wanting,notwithstanding her undeniable beauty. She did not look at things fromthe proper feminine angle. The society of such women was about asrelaxing as going from your work to teach the second form, instead ofreclining in a paradise with sweet laughs for bird-notes, and blue eyes fora heaven.
Certainly nothing at present could seem much less important toLydgate than 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 with ourdramatis personae folded in her hand.
Old provincial society had its share of this subtle movement: had notonly its striking downfalls, its brilliant young professional dandies whoended 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 the doublechange of self and beholder. Municipal town and rural parish graduallymade fresh threads of connection—gradually, as the old stocking gaveway to the savings-bank, and the worship of the solar guinea becameextinct; while squires and baronets, and even lords who had once livedblamelessly afar from the civic mind, gathered the faultiness of closeracquaintanceship. Settlers, too, came from distant counties, some withan alarming novelty of skill, others with an offensive advantage incunning. In fact, much the same sort of movement and mixture went onin old England as we find in older Herodotus, who also, in telling whathad been, thought it well to take a woman's lot for his starting-point;though Io, as a maiden apparently beguiled by attractive merchandise,was the reverse of Miss Brooke, and in this respect perhaps bore moreresemblance to Rosamond Vincy, who had excellent taste in costume,with that nymph-like figure and pure blindness which give the largestrange to choice in the flow and color of drapery. But these things madeonly part of her charm. She was admitted to be the flower of Mrs.Lemon's school, the chief school in the county, where the teachingincluded all that was demanded in the accomplished female—even toextras, such as the getting in and out of a carriage. Mrs. Lemon herselfhad always held up Miss Vincy as an example: no pupil, she said,exceeded that young lady for mental acquisition and propriety of speech,while her musical execution was quite exceptional. We cannot help theway in which people speak of us, and probably if Mrs. Lemon hadundertaken to describe Juliet or Imogen, these heroines would not haveseemed poetical. The first vision of Rosamond would have been enoughwith most judges to dispel any prejudice excited by Mrs. Lemon's praise.
