If you think it incredible that to imagine Lydgate as a man of familycould cause thrills of satisfaction which had anything to do with thesense that she was in love with him, I will ask you to use your power ofcomparison a little more effectively, and consider whether red cloth andepaulets have never had an influence of that sort. Our passions do notlive apart in locked chambers, but, dressed in their small wardrobe ofnotions, bring their provisions to a common table and mess together,feeding out of the common store according to their appetite.
Rosamond, in fact, was entirely occupied not exactly with TertiusLydgate as he was in himself, but with his relation to her; and it wasexcusable in a girl who was accustomed to hear that all young menmight, could, would be, or actually were in love with her, to believe atonce that Lydgate could be no exception. His looks and words meantmore to her than other men's, because she cared more for them: shethought of them diligently, and diligently attended to that perfection ofappearance, behavior, sentiments, and all other elegancies, which wouldfind in Lydgate a more adequate admirer than she had yet beenconscious of.
For Rosamond, though she would never do anything that wasdisagreeable to her, was industrious; and now more than ever she wasactive in sketching her landscapes and market-carts and portraits offriends, in practising her music, and in being from morning till night herown standard of a perfect lady, having always an audience in her ownconsciousness, with sometimes the not unwelcome addition of a morevariable external audience in the numerous visitors of the house. Shefound time also to read the best novels, and even the second best, andshe knew much poetry by heart. Her favorite poem was "Lalla Rookh."
"The best girl in the world! He will be a happy fellow who gets her!"was the sentiment of the elderly gentlemen who visited the Vincys; andthe rejected young men thought of trying again, as is the fashion incountry towns where the horizon is not thick with coming rivals. ButMrs. Plymdale thought that Rosamond had been educated to a ridiculouspitch, for what was the use of accomplishments which would be all laidaside as soon as she was married? While her aunt Bulstrode, who had asisterly faithfulness towards her brother's family, had two sincere wishesfor Rosamond—that she might show a more serious turn of mind, andthat she might meet with a husband whose wealth corresponded to herhabits.
CHAPTER XVII.
"The clerkly person smiled and said
Promise was a pretty maid,
But being poor she died unwed."
The Rev. Camden Farebrother, whom Lydgate went to see the nextevening, lived in an old parsonage, built of stone, venerable enough tomatch the church which it looked out upon. All the furniture too in thehouse was old, but with another grade of age—that of Mr. Farebrother'sfather and grandfather. There were painted white chairs, with gildingand wreaths on them, and some lingering red silk damask with slits in it.There were engraved portraits of Lord Chancellors and other celebratedlawyers of the last century; and there were old pier-glasses to reflectthem, as well as the little satin-wood tables and the sofas resembling aprolongation of uneasy chairs, all standing in relief against the darkwainscot This was the physiognomy of the drawing-room into whichLydgate was shown; and there were three ladies to receive him, whowere also old-fashioned, and of a faded but genuine respectability: Mrs.Farebrother, the Vicar's white-haired mother, befrilled and kerchiefedwith dainty cleanliness, up right, quick-eyed, and still under seventy;Miss Noble, her sister, a tiny old lady of meeker aspect, with frills andkerchief decidedly more worn and mended; and Miss WinifredFarebrother, the Vicar's elder sister, well-looking like himself, but nippedand subdued as single women are apt to be who spend their lives inuninterrupted subjection to their elders. Lydgate had not expected to seeso quaint a group: knowing simply that Mr. Farebrother was a bachelor,he had thought of being ushered into a snuggery where the chieffurniture would probably be books and collections of natural objects. TheVicar himself seemed to wear rather a changed aspect, as most men dowhen acquaintances made elsewhere see them for the first time in theirown homes; some indeed showing like an actor of genial partsdisadvantageously cast for the curmudgeon in a new piece. This was notthe case with Mr. Farebrother: he seemed a trifle milder and more silent,the chief talker being his mother, while he only put in a good-humoredmoderating remark here and there. The old lady was evidentlyaccustomed to tell her company what they ought to think, and to regardno subject as quite safe without her steering. She was afforded leisure forthis function by having all her little wants attended to by Miss Winifred.Meanwhile tiny Miss Noble carried on her arm a small basket, intowhich she diverted a bit of sugar, which she had first dropped in hersaucer as if by mistake; looking round furtively afterwards, and revertingto her teacup with a small innocent noise as of a tiny timid quadruped.Pray think no ill of Miss Noble. That basket held small savings from hermore portable food, destined for the children of her poor friends amongwhom she trotted on fine mornings; fostering and petting all needycreatures being so spontaneous a delight to her, that she regarded itmuch as if it had been a pleasant vice that she was addicted to. Perhapsshe was conscious of being tempted to steal from those who had muchthat she might give to those who had nothing, and carried in herconscience the guilt of that repressed desire. One must be poor to knowthe luxury of giving!
Mrs. Farebrother welcomed the guest with a lively formality andprecision. She presently informed him that they were not often in wantof medical aid in that house. She had brought up her children to wearflannel and not to over-eat themselves, which last habit she consideredthe chief reason why people needed doctors. Lydgate pleaded for thosewhose fathers and mothers had over-eaten themselves, but Mrs.Farebrother held that view of things dangerous: Nature was more justthan that; it would be easy for any felon to say that his ancestors oughtto have been hanged instead of him. If those he had bad fathers andmothers were bad themselves, they were hanged for that. There was noneed to go back on what you couldn't see.
"My mother is like old George the Third," said the Vicar, "she objectsto metaphysics."
"I object to what is wrong, Camden. I say, keep hold of a few plaintruths, and make everything square with them. When I was young, Mr.Lydgate, there never was any question about right and wrong. We knewour catechism, and that was enough; we learned our creed and our duty.Every respectable Church person had the same opinions. But now, if youspeak out of the Prayer-book itself, you are liable to be contradicted."
"That makes rather a pleasant time of it for those who like tomaintain their own point," said Lydgate.
"But my mother always gives way," said the Vicar, slyly.
"No, no, Camden, you must not lead Mr. Lydgate into a mistakeabout me. I shall never show that disrespect to my parents, to give upwhat they taught me. Any one may see what comes of turning. If youchange once, why not twenty times?"
"A man might see good arguments for changing once, and not seethem for changing again," said Lydgate, amused with the decisive oldlady.
"Excuse me there. If you go upon arguments, they are never wanting,when a man has no constancy of mind. My father never changed, and hepreached plain moral sermons without arguments, and was a goodman—few better. When you get me a good man made out of arguments, Iwill get you a good dinner with reading you the cookery-book. That's myopinion, and I think anybody's stomach will bear me out."
"About the dinner certainly, mother," said Mr. Farebrother.
"It is the same thing, the dinner or the man. I am nearly seventy, Mr.Lydgate, and I go upon experience. I am not likely to follow new lights,though there are plenty of them here as elsewhere. I say, they came inwith the mixed stuffs that will neither wash nor wear. It was not so inmy youth: a Churchman was a Churchman, and a clergyman, you mightbe pretty sure, was a gentleman, if nothing else. But now he may be nobetter than a Dissenter, and want to push aside my son on pretence ofdoctrine. But whoever may wish to push him aside, I am proud to say,Mr. Lydgate, that he will compare with any preacher in this kingdom,not to speak of this town, which is but a low standard to go by; at least,to my thinking, for I was born and bred at Exeter."
"A mother is never partial," said Mr. Farebrother, smiling. "What doyou think Tyke's mother says about him?"
"Ah, poor creature! what indeed?" said Mrs. Farebrother, hersharpness blunted for the moment by her confidence in maternaljudgments. "She says the truth to herself, depend upon it."
"And what is the truth?" said Lydgate. "I am curious to know."
"Oh, nothing bad at all," said Mr. Farebrother. "He is a zealousfellow: not very learned, and not very wise, I think—because I don'tagree with him."
"Why, Camden!" said Miss Winifred, "Griffin and his wife told meonly to-day, that Mr. Tyke said they should have no more coals if theycame to hear you preach."
Mrs. Farebrother laid down her knitting, which she had resumedafter her small allowance of tea and toast, and looked at her son as if tosay "You hear that?" Miss Noble said, "Oh poor things! poor things!" inreference, probably, to the double loss of preaching and coal. But theVicar answered quietly—
"That is because they are not my parishioners. And I don't think mysermons are worth a load of coals to them."
"Mr. Lydgate," said Mrs. Farebrother, who could not let this pass,"you don't know my son: he always undervalues himself. I tell him he isundervaluing the God who made him, and made him a most excellentpreacher."
"That must be a hint for me to take Mr. Lydgate away to my study,mother," said the Vicar, laughing. "I promised to show you mycollection," he added, turning to Lydgate; "shall we go?"
All three ladies remonstrated. Mr. Lydgate ought not to be hurriedaway without being allowed to accept another cup of tea: Miss Winifredhad abundance of good tea in the pot. Why was Camden in such haste totake a visitor to his den? There was nothing but pickled vermin, anddrawers full of blue-bottles and moths, with no carpet on the floor. Mr.Lydgate must excuse it. A game at cribbage would be far better. In short,it was plain that a vicar might be adored by his womankind as the kingof men and preachers, and yet be held by them to stand in much need oftheir direction. Lydgate, with the usual shallowness of a young bachelor,wondered that Mr. Farebrother had not taught them better.
"My mother is not used to my having visitors who can take anyinterest in my hobbies," said the Vicar, as he opened the door of hisstudy, which was indeed as bare of luxuries for the body as the ladieshad implied, unless a short porcelain pipe and a tobacco-box were to beexcepted.
"Men of your profession don't generally smoke," he said. Lydgatesmiled and shook his head. "Nor of mine either, properly, I suppose. Youwill hear that pipe alleged against me by Bulstrode and Company. Theydon't know how pleased the devil would be if I gave it up."
"I understand. You are of an excitable temper and want a sedative. Iam heavier, and should get idle with it. I should rush into idleness, andstagnate there with all my might."
"And you mean to give it all to your work. I am some ten or twelveyears older than you, and have come to a compromise. I feed a weaknessor two lest they should get clamorous. See," continued the Vicar, openingseveral small drawers, "I fancy I have made an exhaustive study of theentomology of this district. I am going on both with the fauna and flora;but I have at least done my insects well. We are singularly rich inorthoptera: I don't know whether—Ah! you have got hold of that glassjar—you are looking into that instead of my drawers. You don't reallycare about these things?"
"Not by the side of this lovely anencephalous monster. I have neverhad time to give myself much to natural history. I was early bitten withan interest in structure, and it is what lies most directly in myprofession. I have no hobby besides. I have the sea to swim in there."
"Ah! you are a happy fellow," said Mr. Farebrother, turning on hisheel and beginning to fill his pipe. "You don't know what it is to wantspiritual tobacco—bad emendations of old texts, or small items about avariety of Aphis Brassicae, with the well-known signature of Philomicron,for the 'Twaddler's Magazine;' or a learned treatise on the entomology ofthe Pentateuch, including all the insects not mentioned, but probablymet with by the Israelites in their passage through the desert; with amonograph on the Ant, as treated by Solomon, showing the harmony ofthe Book of Proverbs with the results of modern research. You don'tmind my fumigating you?"
Lydgate was more surprised at the openness of this talk than at itsimplied meaning—that the Vicar felt himself not altogether in the rightvocation. The neat fitting-up of drawers and shelves, and the bookcasefilled with expensive illustrated books on Natural History, made himthink again of the winnings at cards and their destination. But he wasbeginning to wish that the very best construction of everything that Mr.Farebrother did should be the true one. The Vicar's frankness seemed notof the repulsive sort that comes from an uneasy consciousness seeking toforestall the judgment of others, but simply the relief of a desire to dowith as little pretence as possible. Apparently he was not without a sensethat his freedom of speech might seem premature, for he presently said— "I have not yet told you that I have the advantage of you, Mr.Lydgate, and know you better than you know me. You rememberTrawley who shared your apartment at Paris for some time? I was acorrespondent of his, and he told me a good deal about you. I was notquite sure when you first came that you were the same man. I was veryglad when I found that you were. Only I don't forget that you have nothad the like prologue about me."
Lydgate divined some delicacy of feeling here, but did not halfunderstand it. "By the way," he said, "what has become of Trawley? Ihave quite lost sight of him. He was hot on the French social systems,and talked of going to the Backwoods to found a sort of Pythagoreancommunity. Is he gone?"
