The effect of any one's anger on Rosamond had always been to makeher shrink in cold dislike, and to become all the more calmly correct, inthe conviction that she was not the person to misbehave whatever othersmight do. She replied—
"I think I had a perfect right to speak on a subject which concernsme at least as much as you."
"Clearly—you had a right to speak, but only to me. You had no rightto contradict my orders secretly, and treat me as if I were a fool," saidLydgate, in the same tone as before. Then with some added scorn, "Is itpossible to make you understand what the consequences will be? Is it ofany use for me to tell you again why we must try to part with thehouse?"
"It is not necessary for you to tell me again," said Rosamond, in avoice that fell and trickled like cold water-drops. "I remembered whatyou said. You spoke just as violently as you do now. But that does notalter my opinion that you ought to try every other means rather thantake a step which is so painful to me. And as to advertising the house, Ithink it would be perfectly degrading to you."
"And suppose I disregard your opinion as you disregard mine?"
"You can do so, of course. But I think you ought to have told mebefore we were married that you would place me in the worst position,rather than give up your own will."
Lydgate did not speak, but tossed his head on one side, and twitchedthe corners of his mouth in despair. Rosamond, seeing that he was notlooking at her, rose and set his cup of coffee before him; but he took nonotice of it, and went on with an inward drama and argument,occasionally moving in his seat, resting one arm on the table, andrubbing his hand against his hair. There was a conflux of emotions andthoughts in him that would not let him either give thorough way to hisanger or persevere with simple rigidity of resolve. Rosamond tookadvantage of his silence.
"When we were married everyone felt that your position was veryhigh. I could not have imagined then that you would want to sell ourfurniture, and take a house in Bride Street, where the rooms are likecages. If we are to live in that way let us at least leave Middlemarch." "These would be very strong considerations," said Lydgate, halfironically—still there was a withered paleness about his lips as he lookedat his coffee, and did not drink—"these would be very strongconsiderations if I did not happen to be in debt."
"Many persons must have been in debt in the same way, but if theyare respectable, people trust them. I am sure I have heard papa say thatthe Torbits were in debt, and they went on very well. It cannot be goodto act rashly," said Rosamond, with serene wisdom.
Lydgate sat paralyzed by opposing impulses: since no reasoning hecould apply to Rosamond seemed likely to conquer her assent, he wantedto smash and grind some object on which he could at least produce animpression, or else to tell her brutally that he was master, and she mustobey. But he not only dreaded the effect of such extremities on theirmutual life—he had a growing dread of Rosamond's quiet elusiveobstinacy, which would not allow any assertion of power to be final; andagain, she had touched him in a spot of keenest feeling by implying thatshe had been deluded with a false vision of happiness in marrying him.As to saying that he was master, it was not the fact. The very resolutionto which he had wrought himself by dint of logic and honorable pridewas beginning to relax under her torpedo contact. He swallowed half hiscup of coffee, and then rose to go.
"I may at least request that you will not go to Trumbull at present—until it has been seen that there are no other means," said Rosamond.Although she was not subject to much fear, she felt it safer not to betraythat she had written to Sir Godwin. "Promise me that you will not go tohim for a few weeks, or without telling me."
Lydgate gave a short laugh. "I think it is I who should exact apromise that you will do nothing without telling me," he said, turning hiseyes sharply upon her, and then moving to the door.
"You remember that we are going to dine at papa's," said Rosamond,wishing that he should turn and make a more thorough concession toher. But he only said "Oh yes," impatiently, and went away. She held itto be very odious in him that he did not think the painful propositions hehad had to make to her were enough, without showing so unpleasant atemper. And when she put the moderate request that he would defergoing to Trumbull again, it was cruel in him not to assure her of what hemeant to do. She was convinced of her having acted in every way for thebest; and each grating or angry speech of Lydgate's served only as anaddition to the register of offences in her mind. Poor Rosamond formonths had begun to associate her husband with feelings ofdisappointment, and the terribly inflexible relation of marriage had lostits charm of encouraging delightful dreams. It had freed her from thedisagreeables of her father's house, but it had not given her everythingthat she had wished and hoped. The Lydgate with whom she had been inlove had been a group of airy conditions for her, most of which haddisappeared, while their place had been taken by every-day details whichmust be lived through slowly from hour to hour, not floated through witha rapid selection of favorable aspects. The habits of Lydgate's profession,his home preoccupation with scientific subjects, which seemed to heralmost like a morbid vampire's taste, his peculiar views of things whichhad never entered into the dialogue of courtship—all these continuallyalienating influences, even without the fact of his having placed himselfat a disadvantage in the town, and without that first shock of revelationabout Dover's debt, would have made his presence dull to her. There wasanother presence which ever since the early days of her marriage, untilfour months ago, had been an agreeable excitement, but that was gone:Rosamond would not confess to herself how much the consequent blankhad to do with her utter ennui; and it seemed to her (perhaps she wasright) that an invitation to Quallingham, and an opening for Lydgate tosettle elsewhere than in Middlemarch—in London, or somewhere likelyto be free from unpleasantness—would satisfy her quite well, and makeher indifferent to the absence of Will Ladislaw, towards whom she feltsome resentment for his exaltation of Mrs. Casaubon.
That was the state of things with Lydgate and Rosamond on the NewYear's Day when they dined at her father's, she looking mildly neutraltowards him in remembrance of his ill-tempered behavior at breakfast,and he carrying a much deeper effect from the inward conflict in whichthat morning scene was only one of many epochs. His flushed effortwhile talking to Mr. Farebrother—his effort after the cynical pretencethat all ways of getting money are essentially the same, and that chancehas an empire which reduces choice to a fool's illusion—was but thesymptom of a wavering resolve, a benumbed response to the old stimuliof enthusiasm.
What was he to do? He saw even more keenly than Rosamond didthe dreariness of taking her into the small house in Bride Street, whereshe would have scanty furniture around her and discontent within: a lifeof privation and life with Rosamond were two images which had becomemore and more irreconcilable ever since the threat of privation haddisclosed itself. But even if his resolves had forced the two images intocombination, the useful preliminaries to that hard change were notvisibly within reach. And though he had not given the promise which hiswife had asked for, he did not go again to Trumbull. He even began tothink of taking a rapid journey to the North and seeing Sir Godwin. Hehad once believed that nothing would urge him into making anapplication for money to his uncle, but he had not then known the fullpressure of alternatives yet more disagreeable. He could not depend onthe effect of a letter; it was only in an interview, however disagreeablethis might be to himself, that he could give a thorough explanation andcould test the effectiveness of kinship. No sooner had Lydgate begun torepresent this step to himself as the easiest than there was a reaction ofanger that he—he who had long ago determined to live aloof from suchabject calculations, such self-interested anxiety about the inclinationsand the pockets of men with whom he had been proud to have no aimsin common—should have fallen not simply to their level, but to the levelof soliciting them.
CHAPTER LXV.
"One of us two must bowen douteless,
And, sith a man is more reasonable
Than woman is, ye [men] moste be suffrable.
—CHAUCER: Canterbury Tales.
The bias of human nature to be slow in correspondence triumphseven over the present quickening in the general pace of things: whatwonder then that in 1832 old Sir Godwin Lydgate was slow to write aletter which was of consequence to others rather than to himself? Nearlythree weeks of the new year were gone, and Rosamond, awaiting ananswer to her winning appeal, was every day disappointed. Lydgate, intotal ignorance of her expectations, was seeing the bills come in, andfeeling that Dover's use of his advantage over other creditors wasimminent. He had never mentioned to Rosamond his brooding purpose ofgoing to Quallingham: he did not want to admit what would appear toher a concession to her wishes after indignant refusal, until the lastmoment; but he was really expecting to set off soon. A slice of therailway would enable him to manage the whole journey and back in fourdays.
But one morning after Lydgate had gone out, a letter came addressedto him, which Rosamond saw clearly to be from Sir Godwin. She was fullof hope. Perhaps there might be a particular note to her enclosed; butLydgate was naturally addressed on the question of money or other aid,and the fact that he was written to, nay, the very delay in writing at all,seemed to certify that the answer was thoroughly compliant. She was toomuch excited by these thoughts to do anything but light stitching in awarm corner of the dining-room, with the outside of this momentousletter lying on the table before her. About twelve she heard her husband'sstep in the passage, and tripping to open the door, she said in herlightest tones, "Tertius, come in here—here is a letter for you."
"Ah?" he said, not taking off his hat, but just turning her roundwithin his arm to walk towards the spot where the letter lay. "My uncleGodwin!" he exclaimed, while Rosamond reseated herself, and watchedhim as he opened the letter. She had expected him to be surprised.
While Lydgate's eyes glanced rapidly over the brief letter, she saw hisface, usually of a pale brown, taking on a dry whiteness; with nostrilsand lips quivering he tossed down the letter before her, and saidviolently—
"It will be impossible to endure life with you, if you will always beacting secretly—acting in opposition to me and hiding your actions."
He checked his speech and turned his back on her—then wheeledround and walked about, sat down, and got up again restlessly, graspinghard the objects deep down in his pockets. He was afraid of sayingsomething irremediably cruel.
Rosamond too had changed color as she read. The letter ran in thisway:—
"DEAR TERTIUS,—Don't set your wife to write to me when you
have anything to ask. It is a roundabout wheedling sort of thing which
I should not have credited you with. I never choose to write to a
woman on matters of business. As to my supplying you with a
thousand pounds, or only half that sum, I can do nothing of the sort.
My own family drains me to the last penny. With two younger sons
and three daughters, I am not likely to have cash to spare. You seem to
have got through your own money pretty quickly, and to have made a mess where you are; the sooner you go somewhere else the better. But
I have nothing to do with men of your profession, and can't help you
there. I did the best I could for you as guardian, and let you have your
own way in taking to medicine. You might have gone into the army or
the Church. Your money would have held out for that, and there
would have been a surer ladder before you. Your uncle Charles has had
a grudge against you for not going into his profession, but not I. I have
always wished you well, but you must consider yourself on your own
legs entirely now.
Your affectionate uncle,
GODWIN LYDGATE."
When Rosamond had finished reading the letter she sat quite still,with her hands folded before her, restraining any show of her keendisappointment, and intrenching herself in quiet passivity under herhusband's wrath. Lydgate paused in his movements, looked at her again,and said, with biting severity—
"Will this be enough to convince you of the harm you may do bysecret meddling? Have you sense enough to recognize now yourincompetence to judge and act for me—to interfere with your ignorancein affairs which it belongs to me to decide on?"
The words were hard; but this was not the first time that Lydgatehad been frustrated by her. She did not look at him, and made no reply.
"I had nearly resolved on going to Quallingham. It would have costme pain enough to do it, yet it might have been of some use. But it hasbeen of no use for me to think of anything. You have always beencounteracting me secretly. You delude me with a false assent, and then Iam at the mercy of your devices. If you mean to resist every wish Iexpress, say so and defy me. I shall at least know what I am doing then."
It is a terrible moment in young lives when the closeness of love'sbond has turned to this power of galling. In spite of Rosamond's self-control a tear fell silently and rolled over her lips. She still said nothing;but under that quietude was hidden an intense effect: she was in suchentire disgust with her husband that she wished she had never seen him.Sir Godwin's rudeness towards her and utter want of feeling ranged himwith Dover and all other creditors—disagreeable people who onlythought of themselves, and did not mind how annoying they were to her.Even her father was unkind, and might have done more for them. In factthere was but one person in Rosamond's world whom she did not regardas blameworthy, and that was the graceful creature with blond plaits andwith little hands crossed before her, who had never expressed herselfunbecomingly, and had always acted for the best—the best naturallybeing what she best liked.
Lydgate pausing and looking at her began to feel that half-maddeningsense of helplessness which comes over passionate people when theirpassion is met by an innocent-looking silence whose meek victimized airseems to put them in the wrong, and at last infects even the justestindignation with a doubt of its justice. He needed to recover the fullsense that he was in the right by moderating his words.
