Chapter II
"Dime; no ves aquel caballero que hacia nosotros viene
sobre un caballo rucio rodado que trae puesto en la cabeza
un yelmo de oro?" "Lo que veo y columbro," respondio
Sancho, "no es sino un hombre sobre un as no pardo como el
mio, que trae sobre la cabeza una cosa que relumbra." "Pues
ese es el yelmo de Mambrino," dijo Don Quijote. — CERVANTES.
"Seest thou not yon cavalier who cometh toward us on a
dapple-gray steed, and weareth a golden helmet?" "What I
see," answered Sancho, "is nothing but a man on a gray ass
like my own, who carries something shiny on his head."
"Just so," answered Don Quixote: "and that resplendent
object is the helmet of Mambrino."
"Sir Humphry Davy?" said Mr. Brooke, over the soup, in
his easy smiling way, taking up Sir James Chettam's remark
that he was studying Davy's Agricultural Chemistry. "Well,
now, Sir Humphry Davy; I dined with him years ago at
Cartwright's, and Wordsworth was there too — the poet
Wordsworth, you know. Now there was something singular. I
was at Cambridge when Wordsworth was there, and I never met
him — and I dined with him twenty years afterwards at
Cartwright's. There's an oddity in things, now. But Davy
was there: he was a poet too. Or, as I may say,
Wordsworth was poet one, and Davy was poet two. That was
true in every sense, you know."
Dorothea felt a little more uneasy than usual. In the
beginning of dinner, the party being small and the room
still, these motes from the mass of a magistrate's mind fell
too noticeably. She wondered how a man like Mr. Casaubon
would support such triviality. His manners, she thought,
were very dignified; the set of his iron-gray hair and his
deep eye-sockets made him resemble the portrait of Locke.
He had the spare form and the pale complexion which became a
student; as different as possible from the blooming
Englishman of the red-whiskered type represented by Sir
James Chettam.
"I am reading the Agricultural Chemistry," said this
excellent baronet, "because I am going to take one of the
farms into my own hands, and see if something cannot be done
in setting a good pattern of farming among my tenants. Do
you approve of that, Miss Brooke?"
"A great mistake, Chettam," interposed Mr. Brooke,
"going into electrifying your land and that kind of thing, and
making a parlor of your cow-house. It won't do. I went
into science a great deal myself at one time; but I saw it
would not do. It leads to everything; you can let nothing
alone. No, no — see that your tenants don't sell their
straw, and that kind of thing; and give them draining-tiles,
you know. But your fancy farming will not do — the most
expensive sort of whistle you can buy: you may as well keep
a pack of hounds."
"Surely," said Dorothea, "it is better to spend money in
finding out how men can make the most of the land which
supports them all, than in keeping dogs and horses only to
gallop over it. It is not a sin to make yourself poor in
performing experiments for the good of all."
She spoke with more energy than is expected of so young
a lady, but Sir James had appealed to her. He was
accustomed to do so, and she had often thought that she
could urge him to many good actions when he was her brother-in-law.
Mr. Casaubon turned his eyes very markedly on Dorothea
while she was speaking, and seemed to observe her newly.
"Young ladies don't understand political economy, you
know," said Mr. Brooke, smiling towards Mr. Casaubon. "I
remember when we were all reading Adam Smith. There is
a book, now. I took in all the new ideas at one time — human
perfectibility, now. But some say, history moves in
circles; and that may be very well argued; I have argued it
myself. The fact is, human reason may carry you a little
too far — over the hedge, in fact. It carried me a good way
at one time; but I saw it would not do. I pulled up; I
pulled up in time. But not too hard. I have always been in
favor of a little theory: we must have Thought; else we
shall be landed back in the dark ages. But talking of
books, there is Southey's `Peninsular War.' I am reading
that of a morning. You know Southey?"
"No" said Mr. Casaubon, not keeping pace with Mr.
Brooke's impetuous reason, and thinking of the book only.
"I have little leisure for such literature just now. I have
been using up my eyesight on old characters lately; the fact
is, I want a reader for my evenings; but I am fastidious in
voices, and I cannot endure listening to an imperfect
reader. It is a misfortune, in some senses: I feed too
much on the inward sources; I live too much with the dead.
My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient, wandering
about the world and trying mentally to construct it as it
used to be, in spite of ruin and confusing changes. But I
find it necessary to use the utmost caution about my
eyesight."
This was the first time that Mr. Casaubon had spoken at
any length. He delivered himself with precision, as if he
had been called upon to make a public statement; and the
balanced sing-song neatness of his speech, occasionally
corresponded to by a movement of his head, was the more
conspicuous from its contrast with good Mr. Brooke's scrappy
slovenliness. Dorothea said to herself that Mr. Casaubon
was the most interesting man she had ever seen, not
excepting even Monsieur Liret, the Vaudois clergyman who had
given conferences on the history of the Waldenses. To
reconstruct a past world, doubtless with a view to the
highest purposes of truth — what a work to be in any way
present at, to assist in, though only
as a lamp-holder!
This elevating thought lifted her above her annoyance at
being twitted with her ignorance of political economy, that
never-explained science which was thrust as an extinguisher
over all her lights.
"But you are fond of riding, Miss Brooke," Sir James
presently took an opportunity of saying. "I should have
thought you would enter a little into the pleasures of
hunting. I wish you would let me send over a chestnut horse
for you to try. It has been trained for a lady. I saw you
on Saturday cantering over the hill on a nag not worthy of
you. My groom shall bring Corydon for you every day, if you
will only mention the time."
"Thank you, you are very good. I mean to give up
riding. I shall not ride any more," said Dorothea, urged to
this brusque resolution by a little annoyance that Sir James
would be soliciting her attention when she wanted to give it
all to Mr. Casaubon.
"No, that is too hard," said Sir James, in a tone of
reproach that showed strong interest. "Your sister is given
to self-mortification, is she not?" he continued, turning to
Celia, who sat at his right hand.
"I think she is," said Celia, feeling afraid lest she
should say something that would not please her sister, and
blushing as prettily as possible above her necklace. "She
likes giving up."
"If that were true, Celia, my giving-up would be self-indulgence, not self-mortification. But there may be good
reasons for choosing not to do what is very agreeable," said
Dorothea.
Mr. Brooke was speaking at the same time, but it was
evident that Mr. Casaubon was observing Dorothea, and she
was aware of it.
"Exactly," said Sir James. "You give up from some high,
generous motive."
"No, indeed, not exactly. I did not say that of
myself," answered Dorothea, reddening. Unlike Celia, she
rarely blushed, and only from high delight or anger. At
this moment she felt angry with the perverse Sir James. Why
did
he not pay attention to Celia, and leave her to
listen to Mr. Casaubon? — if that learned man would only
talk, instead of allowing himself to be talked to by Mr.
Brooke, who was just then informing him that the Reformation
either meant something or it did not, that he himself was a
Protestant to the core, but that Catholicism was a fact; and
as to refusing an acre of your ground for a Romanist chapel,
all men needed the bridle of religion, which, properly
speaking, was the dread of a Hereafter.
"I made a great study of theology at one time," said Mr.
Brooke, as if to explain the insight just manifested. "I
know something of all schools. I knew Wilberforce in his
best days. Do you know Wilberforce? "
Mr. Casaubon said, "No."
"Well, Wilberforce was perhaps not enough of a thinker;
but if I went into Parliament, as I have been asked to do, I
should sit on the independent bench, as Wilberforce did, and
work at philanthropy."
Mr. Casaubon bowed, and observed that it was a wide
field.
"Yes," said Mr. Brooke, with an easy smile, "but I have
documents. I began a long while ago to collect documents.
They want arranging, but when a question has struck me, I
have written to somebody and got an answer. I have documents
at my back. But now, how do you arrange your
documents?"
"In pigeon-holes partly," said Mr. Casaubon, with rather
a startled air of effort.
"Ah, pigeon-holes will not do. I have tried pigeon-holes, but everything gets mixed in pigeon-holes: I never
know whether a paper is in A or Z."
"I wish you would let me sort your papers for you,
uncle," said Dorothea. "I would letter them all, and then
make a list of subjects under each letter."
Mr. Casaubon gravely smiled approval, and said to Mr.
Brooke, "You have an excellent secretary at hand, you
perceive."
"No, no," said Mr. Brooke, shaking his head; "I cannot
let young ladies meddle with my documents. Young ladies
are too flighty."
Dorothea felt hurt. Mr. Casaubon would think that her
uncle had some special reason for delivering this opinion,
whereas the remark lay in his mind as lightly as the broken
wing of an insect among all the other fragments there, and a
chance current had sent it alighting on her.
When the two girls were in the drawing-room alone, Celia
said —
"How very ugly Mr. Casaubon is!"
"Celia! He is one of the most distinguished-looking men
I ever saw. He is remarkably like the portrait of Locke.
He has the same deep eye-sockets."
"Had Locke those two white moles with hairs on them?"
"Oh, I dare say! when people of a certain sort looked at
him," said Dorothea, walking away a little.
"Mr. Casaubon is so sallow."
"All the better. I suppose you admire a man with the
complexion of a cochon de lait."
"Dodo!" exclaimed Celia, looking after her in surprise.
"I never heard you make such a comparison before."
"Why should I make it before the occasion came? It is a
good comparison: the match is perfect."
Miss Brooke was clearly forgetting herself, and Celia
thought so.
"I wonder you show temper, Dorothea."
"It is so painful in you, Celia, that you will look at
human beings as if they were merely animals with a toilet,
and never see the great soul in a man's face."
"Has Mr. Casaubon a great soul?" Celia was not without a
touch of naive malice.
"Yes, I believe he has," said Dorothea, with the full
voice of decision. "Everything I see in him corresponds to
his pamphlet on Biblical Cosmology."
"He talks very little," said Celia
"There is no one for him to talk to."
Celia thought privately, "Dorothea quite despises Sir
James Chettam; I believe she would not accept him." Celia
felt
that this was a pity. She had never been deceived
as to the object of the baronet's interest. Sometimes,
indeed, she had reflected that Dodo would perhaps not make a
husband happy who had not her way of looking at things; and
stifled in the depths of her heart was the feeling that her
sister was too religious for family comfort. Notions and
scruples were like spilt needles, making one afraid of
treading, or sitting down, or even eating.
When Miss Brooke was at the tea-table, Sir James came to
sit down by her, not having felt her mode of answering him
at all offensive. Why should he? He thought it probable
that Miss Brooke liked him, and manners must be very marked
indeed before they cease to be interpreted by preconceptions
either confident or distrustful. She was thoroughly
charming to him, but of course he theorized a little about
his attachment. He was made of excellent human dough, and
had the rare merit of knowing that his talents, even if let
loose, would not set the smallest stream in the county on
fire: hence he liked the prospect of a wife to whom he could
say, "What shall we do?" about this or that; who could help
her husband out with reasons, and would also have the
property qualification for doing so. As to the excessive
religiousness alleged against Miss Brooke, he had a very
indefinite notion of what it consisted in, and thought that
it would die out with marriage. In short, he felt himself
to be in love in the right place, and was ready to endure a
great deal of predominance, which, after all, a man could
always put down when he liked. Sir James had no idea that
he should ever like to put down the predominance of this
handsome girl, in whose cleverness he delighted. Why not?
A man's mind — what there is of it — has always the advantage
of being masculine, — as the smallest birch-tree is of a
higher kind than the most soaring palm, — and even his
ignorance is of a sounder quality. Sir James might not have
originated this estimate; but a kind Providence furnishes
the limpest personality with a little gunk or starch in the
form of tradition.
"Let me hope that you will rescind that resolution about
the horse, Miss Brooke," said the persevering admirer. "I
assure you, riding is the most healthy of exercises."
"I am aware of it," said Dorothea, coldly. "I think it
would do Celia good — if she would take to it."
"But you are such a perfect horsewoman."
"Excuse me; I have had very little practice, and I
should be easily thrown."
"Then that is a reason for more practice. Every lady
ought to be a perfect horsewoman, that she may accompany her
husband."
"You see how widely we differ, Sir James. I have made
up my mind that I ought not to be a perfect horsewoman, and
so I should never correspond to your pattern of a lady."
Dorothea looked straight before her, and spoke with cold
brusquerie, very much with the air of a handsome boy, in
amusing contrast with the solicitous amiability of her
admirer.
"I should like to know your reasons for this cruel
resolution. It is not possible that you should think
horsemanship wrong."
"It is quite possible that I should think it wrong for
me."
"Oh, why?" said Sir James, in a tender tone of remonstrance.
Mr. Casaubon had come up to the table, teacup in hand,
and was listening.
"We must not inquire too curiously into motives," he
interposed, in his measured way. "Miss Brooke knows that
they are apt to become feeble in the utterance: the aroma is
mixed with the grosser air. We must keep the germinating
grain away from the light."
Dorothea colored with pleasure, and looked up gratefully
to the speaker. Here was a man who could understand the
higher inward life, and with whom there could be some
spiritual communion; nay, who could illuminate principle
with the widest knowledge a man whose learning almost
amounted to a proof of whatever he believed!
Dorothea's inferences may seem large; but really life
could never have gone on at any period but for this liberal
allowance of conclusions, which has facilitated marriage
under the difficulties of civilization. Has any one ever
pinched into its pilulous smallness the cobweb of pre-matrimonial acquaintanceship?
"Certainly," said good Sir James. " Miss Brooke shall
not be urged to tell reasons she would rather be silent
upon. I am sure her reasons would do her honor."
He was not in the least jealous of the interest with
which Dorothea had looked up at Mr. Casaubon: it never
occurred to him that a girl to whom he was meditating an
offer of marriage could care for a dried bookworm towards
fifty, except, indeed, in a religious sort of way, as for a
clergyman of some distinction.
However, since Miss Brooke had become engaged in a
conversation with Mr. Casaubon about the Vaudois clergy, Sir
James betook himself to Celia, and talked to her about her
sister; spoke of a house in town, and asked whether Miss
Brooke disliked London. Away from her sister, Celia talked
quite easily, and Sir James said to himself that the second
Miss Brooke was certainly very agreeable as well as pretty,
though not, as some people pretended, more clever and
sensible than the elder sister. He felt that he had chosen
the one who was in all respects the superior; and a man
naturally likes to look forward to having the best. He
would be the very Mawworm of bachelors who pretended not to
expect it.