Thus it happened, that after Sir James had ridden rather fast for halfan hour in a direction away from Tipton Grange, he slackened his pace,and at last turned into a road which would lead him back by a shortercut. Various feelings wrought in him the determination after all to go tothe Grange to-day as if nothing new had happened. He could not helprejoicing that he had never made the offer and been rejected; merefriendly politeness required that he should call to see Dorothea about thecottages, and now happily Mrs. Cadwallader had prepared him to offerhis congratulations, if necessary, without showing too muchawkwardness. He really did not like it: giving up Dorothea was verypainful to him; but there was something in the resolve to make this visitforthwith and conquer all show of feeling, which was a sort of file-bitingand counter-irritant. And without his distinctly recognizing the impulse,there certainly was present in him the sense that Celia would be there,and that he should pay her more attention than he had done before.
We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointmentbetween breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a littlepale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pridehelps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide ourown hurts—not to hurt others.
CHAPTER VII.
"Piacer e popone
Vuol la sua stagione."
—Italian Proverb.
Mr. Casaubon, as might be expected, spent a great deal of his time atthe Grange in these weeks, and the hindrance which courtshipoccasioned to the progress of his great work—the Key to allMythologies—naturally made him look forward the more eagerly to thehappy termination of courtship. But he had deliberately incurred thehindrance, having made up his mind that it was now time for him toadorn his life with the graces of female companionship, to irradiate thegloom which fatigue was apt to hang over the intervals of studious laborwith the play of female fancy, and to secure in this, his culminating age,the solace of female tendance for his declining years. Hence hedetermined to abandon himself to the stream of feeling, and perhaps wassurprised to find what an exceedingly shallow rill it was. As in droughtyregions baptism by immersion could only be performed symbolically, Mr.Casaubon found that sprinkling was the utmost approach to a plungewhich his stream would afford him; and he concluded that the poets hadmuch exaggerated the force of masculine passion. Nevertheless, heobserved with pleasure that Miss Brooke showed an ardent submissiveaffection which promised to fulfil his most agreeable previsions ofmarriage. It had once or twice crossed his mind that possibly there wassome deficiency in Dorothea to account for the moderation of hisabandonment; but he was unable to discern the deficiency, or to figureto himself a woman who would have pleased him better; so that therewas clearly no reason to fall back upon but the exaggerations of humantradition.
"Could I not be preparing myself now to be more useful?" saidDorothea to him, one morning, early in the time of courtship; "could Inot learn to read Latin and Greek aloud to you, as Milton's daughters didto their father, without understanding what they read?"
"I fear that would be wearisome to you," said Mr. Casaubon, smiling;"and, indeed, if I remember rightly, the young women you havementioned regarded that exercise in unknown tongues as a ground forrebellion against the poet."
"Yes; but in the first place they were very naughty girls, else theywould have been proud to minister to such a father; and in the secondplace they might have studied privately and taught themselves tounderstand what they read, and then it would have been interesting. Ihope you don't expect me to be naughty and stupid?"
"I expect you to be all that an exquisite young lady can be in everypossible relation of life. Certainly it might be a great advantage if youwere able to copy the Greek character, and to that end it were well tobegin with a little reading."
Dorothea seized this as a precious permission. She would not haveasked Mr. Casaubon at once to teach her the languages, dreading of allthings to be tiresome instead of helpful; but it was not entirely out ofdevotion to her future husband that she wished to know Latin andCreek. Those provinces of masculine knowledge seemed to her astanding-ground from which all truth could be seen more truly. As itwas, she constantly doubted her own conclusions, because she felt herown ignorance: how could she be confident that one-roomed cottageswere not for the glory of God, when men who knew the classicsappeared to conciliate indifference to the cottages with zeal for the glory?Perhaps even Hebrew might be necessary—at least the alphabet and afew roots—in order to arrive at the core of things, and judge soundly onthe social duties of the Christian. And she had not reached that point ofrenunciation at which she would have been satisfied with having a wisehusband: she wished, poor child, to be wise herself. Miss Brooke wascertainly very naive with all her alleged cleverness. Celia, whose mindhad never been thought too powerful, saw the emptiness of otherpeople's pretensions much more readily. To have in general but littlefeeling, seems to be the only security against feeling too much on anyparticular occasion.
However, Mr. Casaubon consented to listen and teach for an hourtogether, like a schoolmaster of little boys, or rather like a lover, towhom a mistress's elementary ignorance and difficulties have a touchingfitness. Few scholars would have disliked teaching the alphabet undersuch circumstances. But Dorothea herself was a little shocked anddiscouraged at her own stupidity, and the answers she got to some timidquestions about the value of the Greek accents gave her a painfulsuspicion that here indeed there might be secrets not capable ofexplanation to a woman's reason.
Mr. Brooke had no doubt on that point, and expressed himself withhis usual strength upon it one day that he came into the library while thereading was going forward.
"Well, but now, Casaubon, such deep studies, classics, mathematics,that kind of thing, are too taxing for a woman—too taxing, you know."
"Dorothea is learning to read the characters simply," said Mr.Casaubon, evading the question. "She had the very considerate thoughtof saving my eyes."
"Ah, well, without understanding, you know—that may not be sobad. But there is a lightness about the feminine mind—a touch and go—music, the fine arts, that kind of thing—they should study those up to acertain point, women should; but in a light way, you know. A womanshould be able to sit down and play you or sing you a good old Englishtune. That is what I like; though I have heard most things—been at theopera in Vienna: Gluck, Mozart, everything of that sort. But I'm aconservative in music—it's not like ideas, you know. I stick to the goodold tunes."
"Mr. Casaubon is not fond of the piano, and I am very glad he isnot," said Dorothea, whose slight regard for domestic music and femininefine art must be forgiven her, considering the small tinkling andsmearing in which they chiefly consisted at that dark period. She smiledand looked up at her betrothed with grateful eyes. If he had always beenasking her to play the "Last Rose of Summer," she would have requiredmuch resignation. "He says there is only an old harpsichord at Lowick,and it is covered with books."
"Ah, there you are behind Celia, my dear. Celia, now, plays veryprettily, and is always ready to play. However, since Casaubon does notlike it, you are all right. But it's a pity you should not have littlerecreations of that sort, Casaubon: the bow always strung—that kind ofthing, you know—will not do."
"I never could look on it in the light of a recreation to have my earsteased with measured noises," said Mr. Casaubon. "A tune much iteratedhas the ridiculous effect of making the words in my mind perform a sortof minuet to keep time—an effect hardly tolerable, I imagine, afterboyhood. As to the grander forms of music, worthy to accompany solemncelebrations, and even to serve as an educating influence according tothe ancient conception, I say nothing, for with these we are notimmediately concerned."
"No; but music of that sort I should enjoy," said Dorothea. "When wewere coming home from Lausanne my uncle took us to hear the greatorgan at Freiberg, and it made me sob."
"That kind of thing is not healthy, my dear," said Mr. Brooke."Casaubon, she will be in your hands now: you must teach my niece totake things more quietly, eh, Dorothea?"
He ended with a smile, not wishing to hurt his niece, but reallythinking that it was perhaps better for her to be early married to so sobera fellow as Casaubon, since she would not hear of Chettam.
"It is wonderful, though," he said to himself as he shuffled out of theroom—"it is wonderful that she should have liked him. However, thematch is good. I should have been travelling out of my brief to havehindered it, let Mrs. Cadwallader say what she will. He is pretty certainto be a bishop, is Casaubon. That was a very seasonable pamphlet of hison the Catholic Question:—a deanery at least. They owe him a deanery."
And here I must vindicate a claim to philosophical reflectiveness, byremarking that Mr. Brooke on this occasion little thought of the Radicalspeech which, at a later period, he was led to make on the incomes ofthe bishops. What elegant historian would neglect a striking opportunityfor pointing out that his heroes did not foresee the history of the world,or even their own actions?—For example, that Henry of Navarre, when aProtestant baby, little thought of being a Catholic monarch; or thatAlfred the Great, when he measured his laborious nights with burningcandles, had no idea of future gentlemen measuring their idle days withwatches. Here is a mine of truth, which, however vigorously it may beworked, is likely to outlast our coal.
But of Mr. Brooke I make a further remark perhaps less warrantedby precedent—namely, that if he had foreknown his speech, it might nothave made any great difference. To think with pleasure of his niece'shusband having a large ecclesiastical income was one thing—to make aLiberal speech was another thing; and it is a narrow mind which cannotlook at a subject from various points of view.
CHAPTER VIII.
"Oh, rescue her! I am her brother now,
And you her father. Every gentle maid
Should have a guardian in each gentleman."
It was wonderful to Sir James Chettam how well he continued to likegoing to the Grange after he had once encountered the difficulty ofseeing Dorothea for the first time in the light of a woman who wasengaged to another man. Of course the forked lightning seemed to passthrough him when he first approached her, and he remained consciousthroughout the interview of hiding uneasiness; but, good as he was, itmust be owned that his uneasiness was less than it would have been ifhe had thought his rival a brilliant and desirable match. He had no senseof being eclipsed by Mr. Casaubon; he was only shocked that Dorotheawas under a melancholy illusion, and his mortification lost some of itsbitterness by being mingled with compassion.
Nevertheless, while Sir James said to himself that he had completelyresigned her, since with the perversity of a Desdemona she had notaffected a proposed match that was clearly suitable and according tonature; he could not yet be quite passive under the idea of herengagement to Mr. Casaubon. On the day when he first saw themtogether in the light of his present knowledge, it seemed to him that hehad not taken the affair seriously enough. Brooke was really culpable; heought to have hindered it. Who could speak to him? Something might bedone perhaps even now, at least to defer the marriage. On his way homehe turned into the Rectory and asked for Mr. Cadwallader. Happily, theRector was at home, and his visitor was shown into the study, where allthe fishing tackle hung. But he himself was in a little room adjoining, atwork with his turning apparatus, and he called to the baronet to join himthere. The two were better friends than any other landholder andclergyman in the county—a significant fact which was in agreement withthe amiable expression of their faces.
Mr. Cadwallader was a large man, with full lips and a sweet smile;very plain and rough in his exterior, but with that solid imperturbableease and good-humor which is infectious, and like great grassy hills inthe sunshine, quiets even an irritated egoism, and makes it ratherashamed of itself. "Well, how are you?" he said, showing a hand notquite fit to be grasped. "Sorry I missed you before. Is there anythingparticular? You look vexed."
Sir James's brow had a little crease in it, a little depression of theeyebrow, which he seemed purposely to exaggerate as he answered.
"It is only this conduct of Brooke's. I really think somebody shouldspeak to him."
"What? meaning to stand?" said Mr. Cadwallader, going on with thearrangement of the reels which he had just been turning. "I hardly thinkhe means it. But where's the harm, if he likes it? Any one who objects toWhiggery should be glad when the Whigs don't put up the strongestfellow. They won't overturn the Constitution with our friend Brooke'shead for a battering ram."
"Oh, I don't mean that," said Sir James, who, after putting down hishat and throwing himself into a chair, had begun to nurse his leg andexamine the sole of his boot with much bitterness. "I mean this marriage.I mean his letting that blooming young girl marry Casaubon."
"What is the matter with Casaubon? I see no harm in him—if the girllikes him."
"She is too young to know what she likes. Her guardian ought tointerfere. He ought not to allow the thing to be done in this headlongmanner. I wonder a man like you, Cadwallader—a man with daughters,can look at the affair with indifference: and with such a heart as yours!Do think seriously about it."
"I am not joking; I am as serious as possible," said the Rector, with aprovoking little inward laugh. "You are as bad as Elinor. She has beenwanting me to go and lecture Brooke; and I have reminded her that herfriends had a very poor opinion of the match she made when she marriedme."
"But look at Casaubon," said Sir James, indignantly. "He must befifty, and I don't believe he could ever have been much more than theshadow of a man. Look at his legs!"
