"I understand he has got a very brilliant young fellow to edit it, whocan write the highest style of leading article, quite equal to anything inthe London papers. And he means to take very high ground on Reform."
"Let Brooke reform his rent-roll. He's a cursed old screw, and thebuildings all over his estate are going to rack. I suppose this young fellowis some loose fish from London."
"His name is Ladislaw. He is said to be of foreign extraction."
"I know the sort," said Mr. Hawley; "some emissary. He'll begin withflourishing about the Rights of Man and end with murdering a wench.That's the style."
"You must concede that there are abuses, Hawley," said Mr.Hackbutt, foreseeing some political disagreement with his family lawyer."I myself should never favor immoderate views—in fact I take my standwith Huskisson—but I cannot blind myself to the consideration that thenon-representation of large towns—"
"Large towns be damned!" said Mr. Hawley, impatient of exposition."I know a little too much about Middlemarch elections. Let 'em quashevery pocket borough to-morrow, and bring in every mushroom town inthe kingdom—they'll only increase the expense of getting into Parliament.I go upon facts."
Mr. Hawley's disgust at the notion of the "Pioneer" being edited byan emissary, and of Brooke becoming actively political—as if a tortoise ofdesultory pursuits should protrude its small head ambitiously andbecome rampant—was hardly equal to the annoyance felt by somemembers of Mr. Brooke's own family. The result had oozed forthgradually, like the discovery that your neighbor has set up an unpleasantkind of manufacture which will be permanently under your nostrilswithout legal remedy. The "Pioneer" had been secretly bought even beforeWill Ladislaw's arrival, the expected opportunity having offered itself inthe readiness of the proprietor to part with a valuable property whichdid not pay; and in the interval since Mr. Brooke had written hisinvitation, those germinal ideas of making his mind tell upon the worldat large which had been present in him from his younger years, but hadhitherto lain in some obstruction, had been sprouting under cover.
The development was much furthered by a delight in his guest whichproved greater even than he had anticipated. For it seemed that Will wasnot only at home in all those artistic and literary subjects which Mr.Brooke had gone into at one time, but that he was strikingly ready atseizing the points of the political situation, and dealing with them in thatlarge spirit which, aided by adequate memory, lends itself to quotationand general effectiveness of treatment.
"He seems to me a kind of Shelley, you know," Mr. Brooke took anopportunity of saying, for the gratification of Mr. Casaubon. "I don'tmean as to anything objectionable—laxities or atheism, or anything ofthat kind, you know—Ladislaw's sentiments in every way I am sure aregood—indeed, we were talking a great deal together last night. But hehas the same sort of enthusiasm for liberty, freedom, emancipation—afine thing under guidance—under guidance, you know. I think I shall beable to put him on the right tack; and I am the more pleased because heis a relation of yours, Casaubon."
If the right tack implied anything more precise than the rest of Mr.Brooke's speech, Mr. Casaubon silently hoped that it referred to someoccupation at a great distance from Lowick. He had disliked Will whilehe helped him, but he had begun to dislike him still more now that Willhad declined his help. That is the way with us when we have any uneasyjealousy in our disposition: if our talents are chiefly of the burrowingkind, our honey-sipping cousin (whom we have grave reasons forobjecting to) is likely to have a secret contempt for us, and any one whoadmires him passes an oblique criticism on ourselves. Having thescruples of rectitude in our souls, we are above the meanness of injuringhim—rather we meet all his claims on us by active benefits; and thedrawing of cheques for him, being a superiority which he must recognize,gives our bitterness a milder infusion. Now Mr. Casaubon had beendeprived of that superiority (as anything more than a remembrance) in asudden, capricious manner. His antipathy to Will did not spring from thecommon jealousy of a winter-worn husband: it was something deeper,bred by his lifelong claims and discontents; but Dorothea, now that shewas present—Dorothea, as a young wife who herself had shown anoffensive capability of criticism, necessarily gave concentration to theuneasiness which had before been vague.
Will Ladislaw on his side felt that his dislike was flourishing at theexpense of his gratitude, and spent much inward discourse in justifyingthe dislike. Casaubon hated him—he knew that very well; on his firstentrance he could discern a bitterness in the mouth and a venom in theglance which would almost justify declaring war in spite of past benefits.He was much obliged to Casaubon in the past, but really the act ofmarrying this wife was a set-off against the obligation. It was a questionwhether gratitude which refers to what is done for one's self ought not togive way to indignation at what is done against another. And Casaubonhad done a wrong to Dorothea in marrying her. A man was bound toknow himself better than that, and if he chose to grow gray crunchingbones in a cavern, he had no business to be luring a girl into hiscompanionship. "It is the most horrible of virgin-sacrifices," said Will;and he painted to himself what were Dorothea's inward sorrows as if hehad been writing a choric wail. But he would never lose sight of her: hewould watch over her—if he gave up everything else in life he wouldwatch over her, and she should know that she had one slave in theworld, Will had—to use Sir Thomas Browne's phrase—a "passionateprodigality" of statement both to himself and others. The simple truthwas that nothing then invited him so strongly as the presence ofDorothea.
Invitations of the formal kind had been wanting, however, for Willhad never been asked to go to Lowick. Mr. Brooke, indeed, confident ofdoing everything agreeable which Casaubon, poor fellow, was too muchabsorbed to think of, had arranged to bring Ladislaw to Lowick severaltimes (not neglecting meanwhile to introduce him elsewhere on everyopportunity as "a young relative of Casaubon's"). And though Will hadnot seen Dorothea alone, their interviews had been enough to restore herformer sense of young companionship with one who was cleverer thanherself, yet seemed ready to be swayed by her. Poor Dorothea before hermarriage had never found much room in other minds for what she caredmost to say; and she had not, as we know, enjoyed her husband'ssuperior instruction so much as she had expected. If she spoke with anykeenness of interest to Mr. Casaubon, he heard her with an air ofpatience as if she had given a quotation from the Delectus familiar tohim from his tender years, and sometimes mentioned curtly what ancientsects or personages had held similar ideas, as if there were too much ofthat sort in stock already; at other times he would inform her that shewas mistaken, and reassert what her remark had questioned.
But Will Ladislaw always seemed to see more in what she said thanshe herself saw. Dorothea had little vanity, but she had the ardentwoman's need to rule beneficently by making the joy of another soul.Hence the mere chance of seeing Will occasionally was like a lunetteopened in the wall of her prison, giving her a glimpse of the sunny air;and this pleasure began to nullify her original alarm at what her husbandmight think about the introduction of Will as her uncle's guest. On thissubject Mr. Casaubon had remained dumb.
But Will wanted to talk with Dorothea alone, and was impatient ofslow circumstance. However slight the terrestrial intercourse betweenDante and Beatrice or Petrarch and Laura, time changes the proportionof things, and in later days it is preferable to have fewer sonnets andmore conversation. Necessity excused stratagem, but stratagem waslimited by the dread of offending Dorothea. He found out at last that hewanted to take a particular sketch at Lowick; and one morning when Mr.Brooke had to drive along the Lowick road on his way to the countytown, Will asked to be set down with his sketch-book and camp-stool atLowick, and without announcing himself at the Manor settled himself tosketch in a position where he must see Dorothea if she came out towalk—and he knew that she usually walked an hour in the morning.
But the stratagem was defeated by the weather. Clouds gatheredwith treacherous quickness, the rain came down, and Will was obliged totake shelter in the house. He intended, on the strength of relationship, togo into the drawing-room and wait there without being announced; andseeing his old acquaintance the butler in the hall, he said, "Don't mentionthat I am here, Pratt; I will wait till luncheon; I know Mr. Casaubon doesnot like to be disturbed when he is in the library."
"Master is out, sir; there's only Mrs. Casaubon in the library. I'dbetter tell her you're here, sir," said Pratt, a red-cheeked man given tolively converse with Tantripp, and often agreeing with her that it mustbe dull for Madam.
"Oh, very well; this confounded rain has hindered me fromsketching," said Will, feeling so happy that he affected indifference withdelightful ease.
In another minute he was in the library, and Dorothea was meetinghim with her sweet unconstrained smile.
"Mr. Casaubon has gone to the Archdeacon's," she said, at once. "Idon't know whether he will be at home again long before dinner. He wasuncertain how long he should be. Did you want to say anythingparticular to him?"
"No; I came to sketch, but the rain drove me in. Else I would nothave disturbed you yet. I supposed that Mr. Casaubon was here, and Iknow he dislikes interruption at this hour."
"I am indebted to the rain, then. I am so glad to see you." Dorotheauttered these common words with the simple sincerity of an unhappychild, visited at school.
"I really came for the chance of seeing you alone," said Will,mysteriously forced to be just as simple as she was. He could not stay toask himself, why not? "I wanted to talk about things, as we did in Rome.It always makes a difference when other people are present."
"Yes," said Dorothea, in her clear full tone of assent. "Sit down." Sheseated herself on a dark ottoman with the brown books behind her,looking in her plain dress of some thin woollen-white material, without asingle ornament on her besides her wedding-ring, as if she were under avow to be different from all other women; and Will sat down oppositeher at two yards' distance, the light falling on his bright curls anddelicate but rather petulant profile, with its defiant curves of lip andchin. Each looked at the other as if they had been two flowers which hadopened then and there. Dorothea for the moment forgot her husband'smysterious irritation against Will: it seemed fresh water at her thirstylips to speak without fear to the one person whom she had foundreceptive; for in looking backward through sadness she exaggerated apast solace.
"I have often thought that I should like to talk to you again," shesaid, immediately. "It seems strange to me how many things I said toyou."
"I remember them all," said Will, with the unspeakable content in hissoul of feeling that he was in the presence of a creature worthy to beperfectly loved. I think his own feelings at that moment were perfect, forwe mortals have our divine moments, when love is satisfied in thecompleteness of the beloved object.
"I have tried to learn a great deal since we were in Rome," saidDorothea. "I can read Latin a little, and I am beginning to understandjust a little Greek. I can help Mr. Casaubon better now. I can find outreferences for him and save his eyes in many ways. But it is very difficultto be learned; it seems as if people were worn out on the way to greatthoughts, and can never enjoy them because they are too tired."
"If a man has a capacity for great thoughts, he is likely to overtakethem before he is decrepit," said Will, with irrepressible quickness. Butthrough certain sensibilities Dorothea was as quick as he, and seeing herface change, he added, immediately, "But it is quite true that the bestminds have been sometimes overstrained in working out their ideas."
"You correct me," said Dorothea. "I expressed myself ill. I shouldhave said that those who have great thoughts get too much worn inworking them out. I used to feel about that, even when I was a little girl;and it always seemed to me that the use I should like to make of my lifewould be to help some one who did great works, so that his burthenmight be lighter."
Dorothea was led on to this bit of autobiography without any senseof making a revelation. But she had never before said anything to Willwhich threw so strong a light on her marriage. He did not shrug hisshoulders; and for want of that muscular outlet he thought the moreirritably of beautiful lips kissing holy skulls and other emptinessesecclesiastically enshrined. Also he had to take care that his speechshould not betray that thought.
"But you may easily carry the help too far," he said, "and get over-wrought yourself. Are you not too much shut up? You already look paler.It would be better for Mr. Casaubon to have a secretary; he could easilyget a man who would do half his work for him. It would save him moreeffectually, and you need only help him in lighter ways."
"How can you think of that?" said Dorothea, in a tone of earnestremonstrance. "I should have no happiness if I did not help him in hiswork. What could I do? There is no good to be done in Lowick. The onlything I desire is to help him more. And he objects to a secretary: pleasenot to mention that again."
"Certainly not, now I know your feeling. But I have heard both Mr.Brooke and Sir James Chettam express the same wish."
"Yes?" said Dorothea, "but they don't understand—they want me tobe a great deal on horseback, and have the garden altered and newconservatories, to fill up my days. I thought you could understand thatone's mind has other wants," she added, rather impatiently—"besides,Mr. Casaubon cannot bear to hear of a secretary."
"My mistake is excusable," said Will. "In old days I used to hear Mr.Casaubon speak as if he looked forward to having a secretary. Indeed heheld out the prospect of that office to me. But I turned out to be—notgood enough for it."
