"My dear Chettam, that is all very fine, you know," said Mr. Brooke."But how will you make yourself proof against calumny? You should readhistory—look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind ofthing. They always happen to the best men, you know. But what is thatin Horace?—'fiat justitia, ruat … something or other."
"Exactly," said Sir James, with a little more heat than usual. "What Imean by being proof against calumny is being able to point to the fact asa contradiction."
"And it is not martyrdom to pay bills that one has run into one'sself," said Mrs. Cadwallader.
But it was Sir James's evident annoyance that most stirred Mr.Brooke. "Well, you know, Chettam," he said, rising, taking up his hat andleaning on his stick, "you and I have a different system. You are all foroutlay with your farms. I don't want to make out that my system is goodunder all circumstances—under all circumstances, you know."
"There ought to be a new valuation made from time to time," said SirJames. "Returns are very well occasionally, but I like a fair valuation.What do you say, Cadwallader?"
"I agree with you. If I were Brooke, I would choke the 'Trumpet' atonce by getting Garth to make a new valuation of the farms, and givinghim carte blanche about gates and repairs: that's my view of the politicalsituation," said the Rector, broadening himself by sticking his thumbs inhis armholes, and laughing towards Mr. Brooke.
"That's a showy sort of thing to do, you know," said Mr. Brooke. "ButI should like you to tell me of another landlord who has distressed histenants for arrears as little as I have. I let the old tenants stay on. I'muncommonly easy, let me tell you, uncommonly easy. I have my ownideas, and I take my stand on them, you know. A man who does that isalways charged with eccentricity, inconsistency, and that kind of thing.When I change my line of action, I shall follow my own ideas."
After that, Mr. Brooke remembered that there was a packet which hehad omitted to send off from the Grange, and he bade everybodyhurriedly good-by.
"I didn't want to take a liberty with Brooke," said Sir James; "I see heis nettled. But as to what he says about old tenants, in point of fact nonew tenant would take the farms on the present terms."
"I have a notion that he will be brought round in time," said theRector. "But you were pulling one way, Elinor, and we were pullinganother. You wanted to frighten him away from expense, and we want tofrighten him into it. Better let him try to be popular and see that hischaracter as a landlord stands in his way. I don't think it signifies twostraws about the 'Pioneer,' or Ladislaw, or Brooke's speechifying to theMiddlemarchers. But it does signify about the parishioners in Tiptonbeing comfortable."
"Excuse me, it is you two who are on the wrong tack," said Mrs.Cadwallader. "You should have proved to him that he loses money bybad management, and then we should all have pulled together. If you puthim a-horseback on politics, I warn you of the consequences. It was allvery well to ride on sticks at home and call them ideas."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
"If, as I have, you also doe,
Vertue attired in woman see,
And dare love that, and say so too,
And forget the He and She;
And if this love, though placed so,
From prophane men you hide,
Which will no faith on this bestow,
Or, if they doe, deride:
Then you have done a braver thing
Than all the Worthies did,
And a braver thence will spring,
Which is, to keep that hid."
—DR. DONNE.
Sir James Chettam's mind was not fruitful in devices, but his growinganxiety to "act on Brooke," once brought close to his constant belief inDorothea's capacity for influence, became formative, and issued in alittle plan; namely, to plead Celia's indisposition as a reason for fetchingDorothea by herself to the Hall, and to leave her at the Grange with thecarriage on the way, after making her fully aware of the situationconcerning the management of the estate.
In this way it happened that one day near four o'clock, when Mr.Brooke and Ladislaw were seated in the library, the door opened andMrs. Casaubon was announced.
Will, the moment before, had been low in the depths of boredom,and, obliged to help Mr. Brooke in arranging "documents" about hangingsheep-stealers, was exemplifying the power our minds have of ridingseveral horses at once by inwardly arranging measures towards getting alodging for himself in Middlemarch and cutting short his constantresidence at the Grange; while there flitted through all these steadierimages a tickling vision of a sheep-stealing epic written with Homericparticularity. When Mrs. Casaubon was announced he started up as froman electric shock, and felt a tingling at his finger-ends. Any oneobserving him would have seen a change in his complexion, in theadjustment of his facial muscles, in the vividness of his glance, whichmight have made them imagine that every molecule in his body hadpassed the message of a magic touch. And so it had. For effective magicis transcendent nature; and who shall measure the subtlety of thosetouches which convey the quality of soul as well as body, and make aman's passion for one woman differ from his passion for another as joyin the morning light over valley and river and white mountain-top differsfrom joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels? Will, too, was madeof very impressible stuff. The bow of a violin drawn near him cleverly,would at one stroke change the aspect of the world for him, and hispoint of view shifted—as easily as his mood. Dorothea's entrance was thefreshness of morning.
"Well, my dear, this is pleasant, now," said Mr. Brooke, meeting andkissing her. "You have left Casaubon with his books, I suppose. That'sright. We must not have you getting too learned for a woman, youknow."
"There is no fear of that, uncle," said Dorothea, turning to Will andshaking hands with open cheerfulness, while she made no other form ofgreeting, but went on answering her uncle. "I am very slow. When I wantto be busy with books, I am often playing truant among my thoughts. Ifind it is not so easy to be learned as to plan cottages."
She seated herself beside her uncle opposite to Will, and wasevidently preoccupied with something that made her almost unmindful ofhim. He was ridiculously disappointed, as if he had imagined that hercoming had anything to do with him.
"Why, yes, my dear, it was quite your hobby to draw plans. But itwas good to break that off a little. Hobbies are apt to ran away with us,you know; it doesn't do to be run away with. We must keep the reins. Ihave never let myself be run away with; I always pulled up. That is whatI tell Ladislaw. He and I are alike, you know: he likes to go intoeverything. We are working at capital punishment. We shall do a greatdeal together, Ladislaw and I."
"Yes," said Dorothea, with characteristic directness, "Sir James hasbeen telling me that he is in hope of seeing a great change made soon inyour management of the estate—that you are thinking of having thefarms valued, and repairs made, and the cottages improved, so thatTipton may look quite another place. Oh, how happy!"—she went on,clasping her hands, with a return to that more childlike impetuousmanner, which had been subdued since her marriage. "If I were at homestill, I should take to riding again, that I might go about with you andsee all that! And you are going to engage Mr. Garth, who praised mycottages, Sir James says."
"Chettam is a little hasty, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, coloringslightly; "a little hasty, you know. I never said I should do anything ofthe kind. I never said I should not do it, you know."
"He only feels confident that you will do it," said Dorothea, in a voiceas clear and unhesitating as that of a young chorister chanting a credo,"because you mean to enter Parliament as a member who cares for theimprovement of the people, and one of the first things to be made betteris the state of the land and the laborers. Think of Kit Downes, uncle,who lives with his wife and seven children in a house with one sittingroom and one bedroom hardly larger than this table!—and those poorDagleys, in their tumble-down farmhouse, where they live in the backkitchen and leave the other rooms to the rats! That is one reason why Idid not like the pictures here, dear uncle—which you think me stupidabout. I used to come from the village with all that dirt and coarseugliness like a pain within me, and the simpering pictures in thedrawing-room seemed to me like a wicked attempt to find delight inwhat is false, while we don't mind how hard the truth is for theneighbors outside our walls. I think we have no right to come forwardand urge wider changes for good, until we have tried to alter the evilswhich lie under our own hands."
Dorothea had gathered emotion as she went on, and had forgotteneverything except the relief of pouring forth her feelings, unchecked: anexperience once habitual with her, but hardly ever present since hermarriage, which had been a perpetual struggle of energy with fear. Forthe moment, Will's admiration was accompanied with a chilling sense ofremoteness. A man is seldom ashamed of feeling that he cannot love awoman so well when he sees a certain greatness in her: nature havingintended greatness for men. But nature has sometimes made sadoversights in carrying out her intention; as in the case of good Mr.Brooke, whose masculine consciousness was at this moment in rather astammering condition under the eloquence of his niece. He could notimmediately find any other mode of expressing himself than that ofrising, fixing his eye-glass, and fingering the papers before him. At lasthe said—
"There is something in what you say, my dear, something in whatyou say—but not everything—eh, Ladislaw? You and I don't like ourpictures and statues being found fault with. Young ladies are a littleardent, you know—a little one-sided, my dear. Fine art, poetry, that kindof thing, elevates a nation—emollit mores—you understand a little Latinnow. But—eh? what?"
These interrogatives were addressed to the footman who had come into say that the keeper had found one of Dagley's boys with a leveret inhis hand just killed.
"I'll come, I'll come. I shall let him off easily, you know," said Mr.Brooke aside to Dorothea, shuffling away very cheerfully.
"I hope you feel how right this change is that I—that Sir Jameswishes for," said Dorothea to Will, as soon as her uncle was gone.
"I do, now I have heard you speak about it. I shall not forget whatyou have said. But can you think of something else at this moment? Imay not have another opportunity of speaking to you about what hasoccurred," said Will, rising with a movement of impatience, and holdingthe back of his chair with both hands.
"Pray tell me what it is," said Dorothea, anxiously, also rising andgoing to the open window, where Monk was looking in, panting andwagging his tail. She leaned her back against the window-frame, and laidher hand on the dog's head; for though, as we know, she was not fond ofpets that must be held in the hands or trodden on, she was alwaysattentive to the feelings of dogs, and very polite if she had to declinetheir advances.
Will followed her only with his eyes and said, "I presume you knowthat Mr. Casaubon has forbidden me to go to his house."
"No, I did not," said Dorothea, after a moment's pause. She wasevidently much moved. "I am very, very sorry," she added, mournfully.She was thinking of what Will had no knowledge of—the conversationbetween her and her husband in the darkness; and she was anew smittenwith hopelessness that she could influence Mr. Casaubon's action. Butthe marked expression of her sorrow convinced Will that it was not allgiven to him personally, and that Dorothea had not been visited by theidea that Mr. Casaubon's dislike and jealousy of him turned upon herself.He felt an odd mixture of delight and vexation: of delight that he coulddwell and be cherished in her thought as in a pure home, withoutsuspicion and without stint—of vexation because he was of too littleaccount with her, was not formidable enough, was treated with anunhesitating benevolence which did not flatter him. But his dread of anychange in Dorothea was stronger than his discontent, and he began tospeak again in a tone of mere explanation.
"Mr. Casaubon's reason is, his displeasure at my taking a positionhere which he considers unsuited to my rank as his cousin. I have toldhim that I cannot give way on this point. It is a little too hard on me toexpect that my course in life is to be hampered by prejudices which Ithink ridiculous. Obligation may be stretched till it is no better than abrand of slavery stamped on us when we were too young to know itsmeaning. I would not have accepted the position if I had not meant tomake it useful and honorable. I am not bound to regard family dignity inany other light."
Dorothea felt wretched. She thought her husband altogether in thewrong, on more grounds than Will had mentioned.
"It is better for us not to speak on the subject," she said, with atremulousness not common in her voice, "since you and Mr. Casaubondisagree. You intend to remain?" She was looking out on the lawn, withmelancholy meditation.
"Yes; but I shall hardly ever see you now," said Will, in a tone ofalmost boyish complaint.
"No," said Dorothea, turning her eyes full upon him, "hardly ever.But I shall hear of you. I shall know what you are doing for my uncle."
"I shall know hardly anything about you," said Will. "No one will tellme anything."
"Oh, my life is very simple," said Dorothea, her lips curling with anexquisite smile, which irradiated her melancholy. "I am always atLowick."
"That is a dreadful imprisonment," said Will, impetuously.
"No, don't think that," said Dorothea. "I have no longings."
He did not speak, but she replied to some change in his expression."I mean, for myself. Except that I should like not to have so much morethan my share without doing anything for others. But I have a belief ofmy own, and it comforts me."
"What is that?" said Will, rather jealous of the belief.
"That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don't quiteknow what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of the divinepower against evil—widening the skirts of light and making the strugglewith darkness narrower."
