Chapter LXIII
These little things are great to little man. — GOLDSMITH.
"Have you seen much of your scientific phoenix, Lydgate,
lately?" said Mr. Toller at one of his Christmas dinner-parties, speaking to Mr. Farebrother on his right hand.
"Not much, I am sorry to say," answered the Vicar,
accustomed to parry Mr. Toller's banter about his belief in
the new medical light. " I am out of the way and he is too
busy."
"Is he? I am glad to hear it," said Dr. Minchin, with
mingled suavity and surprise.
"He gives a great deal of time to the New Hospital,"
said Mr. Farebrother, who had his reasons for continuing the
subject: " I hear of that from my neighbor, Mrs. Casaubon,
who goes there often. She says Lydgate is indefatigable,
and is making a fine thing of Bulstrode's institution. He
is preparing a hew ward in ease of the cholera coming to
us."
"And preparing theories of treatment to try on the
patients, I suppose," said Mr. Toller.
"Come, Toller, be candid," said Mr. Farebrother. "You
are too clever not to see the good of a bold fresh mind in
medicine, as well as in everything else; and as to cholera,
I fancy, none of you are very sure what you ought to do. If
a man goes a little too far along a new road, it is usually
him self that he harms more than any one else."
"I am sure you and Wrench ought to be obliged to him,"
said Dr. Minchin, looking towards Toller, " for he has sent
you the cream of Peacock's patients."
"Lydgate has been living at a great rate for a young
beginner," said Mr. Harry Toller, the brewer. "I suppose his
relations in the North back him up."
"I hope so," said Mr. Chichely, " else he ought not to
have married that nice girl we were all so fond of. Hang
it, one has a grudge against a man who carries off the
prettiest girl in the town."
"Ay, by God! and the best too," said Mr. Standish.
"My friend Vincy didn't half like the marriage, I know
that," said Mr. Chichely. " He wouldn't do much. How
the relations on the other side may have come down I can't
say." There was an emphatic kind of reticence in Mr.
Chichely's manner of speaking.
"Oh, I shouldn't think Lydgate ever looked to practice
for a living," said Mr. Toller, with a slight touch of
sarcasm j and there the subject was dropped.
This was not the first time that Mr. Farebrother had
heard hints of Lydgate's expenses being obviously too great
to be met by his practice, but he thought it not unlikely
that there were resources or expectations which excused the
large outlay at the time of Lydgate's marriage, and which
might hinder any bad consequences from the disappointment in
his practice. One evening, when he took the pains to go to
Middlemarch on purpose to have a chat with Lydgate as of
old, he noticed in him an air of excited effort quite unlike
his usual easy way of keeping silence or breaking it with
abrupt energy whenever he had anything to say. Lydgate
talked persistently when they were in his work-room, putting
arguments for and against the probability of certain
biological views; but he had none of those definite things
to say or to show which give the waymarks of a patient
uninterrupted pursuit, such as he used himself to insist on,
saying that "there must be a systole and diastole in all
inquiry," and that " a man's mind must be continually
expanding and shrinking between the whole human horizon and
the horizon of an object-glass." That evening he seemed to
be talking widely for the sake of resisting any personal
bearing; and before long they went into the drawing room,
where Lydgate, having asked Rosamond to give them
music, sank back in his chair in silence, but with a
strange light in his eyes. "He may have been taking an
opiate," was a thought that crossed Mr. Farebrother's mind —
"tic-douloureux perhaps — or medical worries."
It did not occur to him that Lydgate's marriage was not
delightful: he believed, as the rest did, that Rosamond was
an amiable, docile creature, though he had always thought
her rather uninteresting — a-little too much the pattern-card
of the finishing-school; and his mother could not forgive
Rosamond because she never seemed to see that Henrietta
Noble was in the room. " However, Lydgate fell in love with
her," said the Vicar to himself, " and she must be to his
taste."
Mr. Farebrother was aware that Lydgate was a proud man,
but having very little corresponding fibre in himself, and
perhaps too little care about personal dignity, except the
dignity of not being mean or foolish, he could hardly allow
enough for the way in which Lydgate shrank, as from a burn,
from the utterance of any word about his private affairs.
And soon after that conversation at Mr. Toller's, the Vicar
learned something which made him watch the more eagerly for
an opportunity of indirectly letting Lydgate know that if he
wanted to open himself about any difficulty there was a
friendly ear ready.
The opportunity came at Mr. Vincy's, where, on New
Year's Day, there was a party, to which Mr. Farebrother was
irresistibly invited, on the plea that he must not forsake
his old friends on the first new year of his being a greater
man, and Rector as well as Vicar. And this party was
thoroughly friendly: all the ladies of the Farebrother
family were present; the Vincy children all dined at the
table, and Fred had persuaded his mother that if she did not
invite Mary Garth, the Farebrothers would regard it as a
slight to themselves, Mary being their particular friend.
Mary came, and Fred was in high spirits, though his
enjoyment was of a checkered kind — triumph that his mother
should see Mary's importance with the chief personages in
the party being much streaked with jealousy when Mr.
Farebrother sat down by her. Fred used to be much more easy
about his own accomplishments in
the days when he had
not begun to-dread being " bowled out by Farebrother," and
this terror was still before him. Mrs. Vincy, in her
fullest matronly bloom, looked at Mary's little figure,
rough wavy hair, and visage quite without lilies and roses,
and wondered; trying unsuccessfully to fancy herself caring
about Mary's appearance in wedding clothes, or feeling
complacency in grandchildren who would " feature " the
Garths. However, the party was a merry one, and Mary was
particularly bright; being glad, for Fred's sake, that his
friends were getting kinder to her, and being also quite
willing that they should see how much she was valued by
others whom they must admit to be judges.
Mr. Farebrother noticed that Lydgate seemed bored, and
that Mr. Vincy spoke as little as possible to his son-in-law. Rosamond was perfectly graceful and calm, and only a
subtle observation such as the Vicar had not been roused to
bestow on her would have perceived the total absence of that
interest in her husband's presence which a loving wife is
sure to betray, even if etiquette keeps her aloof from him.
When Lydgate was taking part in the conversation, she never
looked towards him any more than if she had been a
sculptured Psyche modelled to look another way: and when,
after being called out for an hour or two, he re-entered the
room, she seemed unconscious of the fact, which eighteen
months before would have had the effect of a numeral before
ciphers. In reality, however, she was intensely aware of
Lydgate's voice and movements; and her pretty good-tempered
air of unconsciousness was a studied negation by which she
satisfied her inward opposition to him without compromise of
propriety. When the ladies were in the drawing-room after
Lydgate had been called away from the dessert, Mrs.
Farebrother, when Rosamond happened to be near her, said — "
You have to give up a great deal of your husband's society,
Mrs. Lydgate."
"Yes, the life of a medical man is very arduous:
especially when he is so devoted to his profession as Mr.
Lydgate is," said Rosamond, who was standing, and moved
easily away at the end of this correct little speech.
"It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no
company,"
said Mrs. Vincy, who was seated at the old
lady's side. "I am sure I thought so when Rosamond was ill,
and I was staying with her. You know, Mrs. Farebrother,
ours is a cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition
myself, and Mr. Vincy always likes something to be going on.
That is what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from
a husband out at odd hours, and never knowing when he will
come home, and of a close, proud disposition, _I_ think" —
indiscreet Mrs. Vincy did lower her tone slightly with this
parenthesis. "But Rosamond always had an angel of a temper;
her brothers used very often not to please her, but she was
never the girl to show temper; from a baby she was always as
good as good, and with a complexion beyond anything. But my
children are all good-tempered, thank God."
This was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs.
Vincy as she threw back her broad cap-strings, and smiled
towards her three little girls, aged from seven to eleven.
But in that smiling glance she was obliged to include Mary
Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to make
her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the
delicious tale of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by
heart, because Letty was never tired of communicating it to
her ignorant elders from a favorite red volume. Louisa,
Mrs. Vincy's darling, now ran to her with wide-eyed serious
excitement, crying, " Oh mamma, mamma, the little man
stamped so hard on the floor he couldn't get his leg out
again!"
"Bless you, my cherub!" said mamma; " you shall tell me
all about it to-morrow. Go and listen!" and then, as her
eyes followed Louisa back towards the attractive corner, she
thought that if Fred wished her to invite Mary again she
would make no objection, the children being so pleased with
her.
But presently the corner became still more animated, for
Mr. Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind Louisa,
took her on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that
he must hear Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it over
again. He insisted too, and Mary, without fuss, began again
in her neat fashion, with precisely the same words as
before. Fred,
who had also seated himself near, would
have felt unmixed triumph in Mary's effectiveness if Mr.
Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident
admiration, while he dramatized an intense interest in the
tale to please the children.
"You will never care any more about my one-eyed giant,
Loo," said Fred at the end.
"Yes, I shall. Tell about him now," said Louisa.
"Oh, I dare say; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr.
Farebrother."
"Yes," added Mary; " ask Mr. Farebrother to tell you
about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a
giant named Tom, and he thought they didn't mind because he
couldn't hear them cry, or see them use their pocket-handkerchiefs."
"Please," said Louisa, looking up at the Vicar.
"No, no, I am a grave old parson. If I try to draw a
story out of my bag a sermon comes instead. Shall I preach
you a sermon?" said he, putting on his short-sighted
glasses, and pursing up his lips.
"Yes," said Louisa, falteringly.
"Let me see, then. Against cakes: how cakes are bad
things, especially if they are sweet and have plums in
them."
Louisa took the affair rather seriously, and got down
from the Vicar's knee to go to Fred.
"Ah, I see it will not do to preach on New Year's Day,"
said Mr. Farebrother, rising and walking — away. He had
discovered of late that Fred had become jealous of him, and
also that he himself was not losing his preference for Mary
above all other women.
"A delightful young person is Miss Garth," said Mrs.
Farebrother, who had been watching her son's movements.
"Yes," said Mrs. Vincy, obliged to reply, as the old
lady turned to her expectantly. "It is a pity she is not
better-looking."
"I cannot say that," said Mrs. Farebrother, decisively.
" I like her countenance. We must not always ask for
beauty, when a good God has seen fit to make an excellent
young woman without it. I put good manners first, and Miss
Garth will know how to conduct herself in any station."
The old lady was a little sharp in her tone, having a
prospective reference to Mary's becoming her daughter-in-law; for there was this inconvenience in Mary's position
with regard to Fred, that it was not suitable to be made
public, and hence the three ladies at Lowick Parsonage were
still hoping that Camden would choose Miss Garth.
New visitors entered, and the drawing-room was given up
to music and games, while whist-tables were prepared in the
quiet room on the other side of the hall. Mr. Farebrother
played a rubber to satisfy his mother, who regarded her
occasional whist as a protest against scandal and novelty of
opinion, in which light even a revoke had its dignity. But
at the end he got Mr. Chichely to take his place, and left
the room. As he crossed the hall, Lydgate had just come in
and was taking off his great-coat.
': You are the man I was going to look for," said the
Vicar; and instead of entering the drawing-room, they walked
along the hall and stood against the fireplace, where the
frosty air helped to make a glowing bank. " Yon see, I can
leave the whist-table easily enough," he went on, smiling at
Lydgate, " now I don't play for money. I owe that to you,
Mrs. Casaubon says."
"How?" said Lydgate, coldly.
"Ah, you didn't mean me to know it; I call that
ungenerous reticence. You should let a man have the pleasure of
feeling that you have done him a good turn. I don't enter
'into some people's dislike of being under an obligation:
upon my word, I prefer being under an obligation to
everybody for behaving well to me."
"I can't tell what you mean," said Lydgate, "unless it
is that I once spoke of you to Mrs. Casaubon. But I did not
think that she would break her promise not to mention that I
had done so," said Lydgate, leaning his back against the
corner of the mantel-piece, and showing no radiance in his
face.
"It was Brooke who let it out, only the other day. He
paid me the compliment of saying that he was very glad I had
the living though you had come across his tactics, and had
praised me up as a lien and a Tillotson, and that sort
of thing, till Mrs. Casaubon would hear of no one else."
"Oh, Brooke is such a leaky-minded fool," said Lydgate,
contemptuously.
"Well, I was glad of the leakiness then. I don't see
why you shouldn't like me to know that you wished to do me a
service, my dear fellow. And you certainly have done me
one. It's rather a strong check to one's self-complacency
to find how much of one's right doing depends on not being
in want of money. A man will not be tempted to say the
Lord's Prayer backward to please the devil, if he doesn't
want the devil's services. I have no need to hang on the
smiles of chance now."
"I don't see that there's any money-getting without
chance," said Lydgate; " if a man gets it in a profession,
it's pretty sure to come by chance."
Mr. Farebrother thought he could account for this
speech, in striking contrast with Lydgate's former way of
talking, as the perversity which will often spring from the
moodiness of a man ill at ease in his affairs. He answered
in a tone of good-humored admission —
"Ah, there's enormous patience wanted with the way of
the world. But it is the easier for a man to wait patiently
when he has friends who love him, and ask for nothing better
than to help him through, so far as it lies in their power."
"Oh yes," said Lydgate, in a careless tone, changing his
attitude and looking at his watch. " People make much more
of their difficulties than they need to do."
He knew as distinctly as possible that this was an offer
of help to himself from Mr. Farebrother, and he could not
bear it. So strangely determined are we mortals, that,
after having been long gratified with the sense that he had
privately done the Vicar a service, the suggestion that the
Vicar discerned his need of a service in return made him
shrink into unconquerable reticence. Besides, behind all
making of such offers what else must come? — that he should "
mention his case," imply that he wanted specific things. At
that moment, suicide seemed easier.
Mr. Farebrother was too keen a man not to know the
meaning of that reply, and there was a certain massiveness in
Lydgate's manner and tone, corresponding with his physique,
which if he repelled your advances in the first instance
seemed to put persuasive devices out of question.
"What time are you?" said the Vicar, devouring his
wounded feeling.
"After eleven," said Lydgate. And they went into the
drawing-room.