Will re-entered the drawing-room, took up his hat, and lookingirritated as he advanced towards Mrs. Lydgate, who had seated herself ather work-table, said—
"It is always fatal to have music or poetry interrupted. May I comeanother day and just finish about the rendering of 'Lungi dal caro bene'?"
"I shall be happy to be taught," said Rosamond. "But I am sure youadmit that the interruption was a very beautiful one. I quite envy youracquaintance with Mrs. Casaubon. Is she very clever? She looks as if shewere."
"Really, I never thought about it," said Will, sulkily.
"That is just the answer Tertius gave me, when I first asked him ifshe were handsome. What is it that you gentlemen are thinking of whenyou are with Mrs. Casaubon?"
"Herself," said Will, not indisposed to provoke the charming Mrs.Lydgate. "When one sees a perfect woman, one never thinks of herattributes—one is conscious of her presence."
"I shall be jealous when Tertius goes to Lowick," said Rosamond,dimpling, and speaking with aery lightness. "He will come back andthink nothing of me."
"That does not seem to have been the effect on Lydgate hitherto.Mrs. Casaubon is too unlike other women for them to be compared withher."
"You are a devout worshipper, I perceive. You often see her, Isuppose."
"No," said Will, almost pettishly. "Worship is usually a matter oftheory rather than of practice. But I am practising it to excess just at thismoment—I must really tear myself away.
"Pray come again some evening: Mr. Lydgate will like to hear themusic, and I cannot enjoy it so well without him."
When her husband was at home again, Rosamond said, standing infront of him and holding his coat-collar with both her hands, "Mr.Ladislaw was here singing with me when Mrs. Casaubon came in. Heseemed vexed. Do you think he disliked her seeing him at our house?Surely your position is more than equal to his—whatever may be hisrelation to the Casaubons."
"No, no; it must be something else if he were really vexed, Ladislawis a sort of gypsy; he thinks nothing of leather and prunella."
"Music apart, he is not always very agreeable. Do you like him?"
"Yes: I think he is a good fellow: rather miscellaneous and bric-a-brac, but likable."
"Do you know, I think he adores Mrs. Casaubon."
"Poor devil!" said Lydgate, smiling and pinching his wife's ears.
Rosamond felt herself beginning to know a great deal of the world,especially in discovering what when she was in her unmarried girlhoodhad been inconceivable to her except as a dim tragedy in by-gonecostumes—that women, even after marriage, might make conquests andenslave men. At that time young ladies in the country, even wheneducated at Mrs. Lemon's, read little French literature later than Racine,and public prints had not cast their present magnificent illumination overthe scandals of life. Still, vanity, with a woman's whole mind and day towork in, can construct abundantly on slight hints, especially on such ahint as the possibility of indefinite conquests. How delightful to makecaptives from the throne of marriage with a husband as crown-prince byyour side—himself in fact a subject—while the captives look up foreverhopeless, losing their rest probably, and if their appetite too, so muchthe better! But Rosamond's romance turned at present chiefly on hercrown-prince, and it was enough to enjoy his assured subjection. Whenhe said, "Poor devil!" she asked, with playful curiosity—
"Why so?"
"Why, what can a man do when he takes to adoring one of youmermaids? He only neglects his work and runs up bills."
"I am sure you do not neglect your work. You are always at theHospital, or seeing poor patients, or thinking about some doctor'squarrel; and then at home you always want to pore over your microscopeand phials. Confess you like those things better than me."
"Haven't you ambition enough to wish that your husband should besomething better than a Middlemarch doctor?" said Lydgate, letting hishands fall on to his wife's shoulders, and looking at her with affectionategravity. "I shall make you learn my favorite bit from an old poet—
'Why should our pride make such a stir to be
And be forgot? What good is like to this,
To do worthy the writing, and to write
Worthy the reading and the worlds delight?'
What I want, Rosy, is to do worthy the writing,—and to write outmyself what I have done. A man must work, to do that, my pet."
"Of course, I wish you to make discoveries: no one could more wishyou to attain a high position in some better place than Middlemarch.You cannot say that I have ever tried to hinder you from working. Butwe cannot live like hermits. You are not discontented with me, Tertius?"
"No, dear, no. I am too entirely contented."
"But what did Mrs. Casaubon want to say to you?"
"Merely to ask about her husband's health. But I think she is going tobe splendid to our New Hospital: I think she will give us two hundred a-year."
CHAPTER XLIV.
I would not creep along the coast but steer
Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.
When Dorothea, walking round the laurel-planted plots of the NewHospital with Lydgate, had learned from him that there were no signs ofchange in Mr. Casaubon's bodily condition beyond the mental sign ofanxiety to know the truth about his illness, she was silent for a fewmoments, wondering whether she had said or done anything to rousethis new anxiety. Lydgate, not willing to let slip an opportunity offurthering a favorite purpose, ventured to say—
"I don't know whether your or Mr.—Casaubon's attention has beendrawn to the needs of our New Hospital. Circumstances have made itseem rather egotistic in me to urge the subject; but that is not my fault:it is because there is a fight being made against it by the other medicalmen. I think you are generally interested in such things, for I rememberthat when I first had the pleasure of seeing you at Tipton Grange beforeyour marriage, you were asking me some questions about the way inwhich the health of the poor was affected by their miserable housing."
"Yes, indeed," said Dorothea, brightening. "I shall be quite grateful toyou if you will tell me how I can help to make things a little better.Everything of that sort has slipped away from me since I have beenmarried. I mean," she said, after a moment's hesitation, "that the peoplein our village are tolerably comfortable, and my mind has been too muchtaken up for me to inquire further. But here—in such a place asMiddlemarch—there must be a great deal to be done."
"There is everything to be done," said Lydgate, with abrupt energy."And this Hospital is a capital piece of work, due entirely to Mr.Bulstrode's exertions, and in a great degree to his money. But one mancan't do everything in a scheme of this sort. Of course he looked forwardto help. And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the thing inthe town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure."
"What can be their reasons?" said Dorothea, with naive surprise. "Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with. Half the townwould almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him. In this stupidworld most people never consider that a thing is good to be done unlessit is done by their own set. I had no connection with Bulstrode before Icame here. I look at him quite impartially, and I see that he has somenotions—that he has set things on foot—which I can turn to good publicpurpose. If a fair number of the better educated men went to work withthe belief that their observations might contribute to the reform ofmedical doctrine and practice, we should soon see a change for thebetter. That's my point of view. I hold that by refusing to work with Mr.Bulstrode I should be turning my back on an opportunity of making myprofession more generally serviceable."
"I quite agree with you," said Dorothea, at once fascinated by thesituation sketched in Lydgate's words. "But what is there against Mr.Bulstrode? I know that my uncle is friendly with him."
"People don't like his religious tone," said Lydgate, breaking off there.
"That is all the stronger reason for despising such an opposition,"said Dorothea, looking at the affairs of Middlemarch by the light of thegreat persecutions.
"To put the matter quite fairly, they have other objections to him:—he is masterful and rather unsociable, and he is concerned with trade,which has complaints of its own that I know nothing about. But whathas that to do with the question whether it would not be a fine thing toestablish here a more valuable hospital than any they have in thecounty? The immediate motive to the opposition, however, is the factthat Bulstrode has put the medical direction into my hands. Of course Iam glad of that. It gives me an opportunity of doing some good work,—and I am aware that I have to justify his choice of me. But theconsequence is, that the whole profession in Middlemarch have setthemselves tooth and nail against the Hospital, and not only refuse tocooperate themselves, but try to blacken the whole affair and hindersubscriptions."
"How very petty!" exclaimed Dorothea, indignantly.
"I suppose one must expect to fight one's way: there is hardlyanything to be done without it. And the ignorance of people about hereis stupendous. I don't lay claim to anything else than having used someopportunities which have not come within everybody's reach; but there isno stifling the offence of being young, and a new-comer, and happeningto know something more than the old inhabitants. Still, if I believe that Ican set going a better method of treatment—if I believe that I can pursuecertain observations and inquiries which may be a lasting benefit tomedical practice, I should be a base truckler if I allowed anyconsideration of personal comfort to hinder me. And the course is all theclearer from there being no salary in question to put my persistence in anequivocal light."
"I am glad you have told me this, Mr. Lydgate," said Dorothea,cordially. "I feel sure I can help a little. I have some money, and don'tknow what to do with it—that is often an uncomfortable thought to me.I am sure I can spare two hundred a-year for a grand purpose like this.How happy you must be, to know things that you feel sure will do greatgood! I wish I could awake with that knowledge every morning. Thereseems to be so much trouble taken that one can hardly see the good of!"
There was a melancholy cadence in Dorothea's voice as she spokethese last words. But she presently added, more cheerfully, "Pray cometo Lowick and tell us more of this. I will mention the subject to Mr.Casaubon. I must hasten home now."
She did mention it that evening, and said that she should like tosubscribe two hundred a-year—she had seven hundred a-year as theequivalent of her own fortune, settled on her at her marriage. Mr.Casaubon made no objection beyond a passing remark that the summight be disproportionate in relation to other good objects, but whenDorothea in her ignorance resisted that suggestion, he acquiesced. Hedid not care himself about spending money, and was not reluctant togive it. If he ever felt keenly any question of money it was through themedium of another passion than the love of material property.
Dorothea told him that she had seen Lydgate, and recited the gist ofher conversation with him about the Hospital. Mr. Casaubon did notquestion her further, but he felt sure that she had wished to know whathad passed between Lydgate and himself "She knows that I know," saidthe ever-restless voice within; but that increase of tacit knowledge onlythrust further off any confidence between them. He distrusted heraffection; and what loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
CHAPTER XLV.
It is the humor of many heads to extol the days of their forefathers,
and declaim against the wickedness of times present. Which
notwithstanding they cannot handsomely do, without the borrowed
help and satire of times past; condemning the vices of their own times,
by the expressions of vices in times which they commend, which
cannot but argue the community of vice in both. Horace, therefore,
Juvenal, and Persius, were no prophets, although their lines did seem
to indigitate and point at our times.—SIR THOMAS BROWNE:
Pseudodoxia Epidemica.
That opposition to the New Fever Hospital which Lydgate hadsketched to Dorothea was, like other oppositions, to be viewed in manydifferent lights. He regarded it as a mixture of jealousy anddunderheaded prejudice. Mr. Bulstrode saw in it not only medicaljealousy but a determination to thwart himself, prompted mainly by ahatred of that vital religion of which he had striven to be an effectual layrepresentative—a hatred which certainly found pretexts apart fromreligion such as were only too easy to find in the entanglements ofhuman action. These might be called the ministerial views. Butoppositions have the illimitable range of objections at command, whichneed never stop short at the boundary of knowledge, but can drawforever on the vasts of ignorance. What the opposition in Middlemarchsaid about the New Hospital and its administration had certainly a greatdeal of echo in it, for heaven has taken care that everybody shall not bean originator; but there were differences which represented every socialshade between the polished moderation of Dr. Minchin and thetrenchant assertion of Mrs. Dollop, the landlady of the Tankard inSlaughter Lane.
Mrs. Dollop became more and more convinced by her ownasseveration, that Dr. Lydgate meant to let the people die in theHospital, if not to poison them, for the sake of cutting them up withoutsaying by your leave or with your leave; for it was a known "fac" that hehad wanted to cut up Mrs. Goby, as respectable a woman as any inParley Street, who had money in trust before her marriage—a poor talefor a doctor, who if he was good for anything should know what was thematter with you before you died, and not want to pry into your insideafter you were gone. If that was not reason, Mrs. Dollop wished to knowwhat was; but there was a prevalent feeling in her audience that heropinion was a bulwark, and that if it were overthrown there would be nolimits to the cutting-up of bodies, as had been well seen in Burke andHare with their pitch-plaisters—such a hanging business as that was notwanted in Middlemarch!
