米德尔马契 英文版 Middlemarch
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LII.
"His heartThe lowliest duties on itself did lay."--WORDSWORTH.
On that June evening when Mr. Farebrother knew that he was to havethe Lowick living, there was joy in the old fashioned parlor,and even the portraits of the great lawyers seemed to look onwith satisfaction. His mother left her tea and toast untouched,but sat with her usual pretty primness, only showing her emotion bythat flush in the cheeks and brightness in the eyes which give an oldwoman a touching momentary identity with her far-off youthful self,and saying decisively--
"When a man gets a good berth, mother, half the deserving mustcome after," said the son, brimful of pleasure, and not tryingto conceal it. The gladness in his face was of that active kindwhich seems to have energy enough not only to flash outwardly,but to light up busy vision within: one seemed to see thoughts,as well as delight, in his glances.
"Now, aunt," he went on, rubbing his hands and looking at Miss Noble,who was making tender little beaver-like noises, "There shallbe sugar-candy always on the table for you to steal and giveto the children, and you shall have a great many new stockingsto make presents of, and you shall darn your own more than ever!"
Miss Noble nodded at her nephew with a subdued half-frightened laugh,conscious of having already dropped an additional lump of sugarinto her basket on the strength of the new preferment.
"As for you, Winny"--the Vicar went on--"I shall make no difficultyabout your marrying any Lowick bachelor--Mr. Solomon Featherstone,for example, as soon as I find you are in love with him."
Miss Winifred, who had been looking at her brother all the whileand crying heartily, which was her way of rejoicing, smiled throughher tears and said, "You must set me the example, Cam: _you_must marry now."
"With all my heart. But who is in love with me? I am a seedyold fellow," said the Vicar, rising, pushing his chair awayand looking down at himself. "What do you say, mother?"
"You are a handsome man, Camden: though not so fine a figureof a man as your father," said the old lady.
"I wish you would marry Miss Garth, brother," said Miss Winifred."She would make us so lively at Lowick."
"Very fine! You talk as if young women were tied up to be chosen,like poultry at market; as if I had only to ask and everybody wouldhave me," said the Vicar, not caring to specify.
"We don't want everybody," said Miss Winifred. "But _you_ wouldlike Miss Garth, mother, shouldn't you?"
"My son's choice shall be mine," said Mrs. Farebrother,with majestic discretion, "and a wife would be most welcome,Camden. You will want your whist at home when we go to Lowick,and Henrietta Noble never was a whist-player." (Mrs. Farebrotheralways called her tiny old sister by that magnificent name.)
"I shall do without whist now, mother."
"Why so, Camden? In my time whist was thought an undeniableamusement for a good churchman," said Mrs. Farebrother, innocent ofthe meaning that whist had for her son, and speaking rather sharply,as at some dangerous countenancing of new doctrine.
"I shall be too busy for whist; I shall have two parishes,"said the Vicar, preferring not to discuss the virtues of that game.
He had already said to Dorothea, "I don't feel bound to giveup St. Botolph's. It is protest enough against the pluralismthey want to reform if I give somebody else most of the money.The stronger thing is not to give up power, but to use it well."
"I have thought of that," said Dorothea. "So far as self is concerned,I think it would be easier to give up power and money than to keep them.It seems very unfitting that I should have this patronage, yet Ifelt that I ought not to let it be used by some one else insteadof me."
"It is I who am bound to act so that you will not regret your power,"said Mr. Farebrother.
His was one of the natures in which conscience gets the more activewhen the yoke of life ceases to gall them. He made no displayof humility on the subject, but in his heart he felt rather ashamedthat his conduct had shown laches which others who did not getbenefices were free from.
level as that?"Garth,and asked me to plead for him. The condition.
"I used often to wish I had been something else than a clergyman,"he said to Lydgate, "but perhaps it will be better to try andmake as good a clergyman out of myself as I can. That is thewell-beneficed point of view, you perceive, from which difficultiesare much simplified," he ended, smiling.
The Vicar did feel then as if his share of duties would be easy.But Duty has a trick of behaving unexpectedly--something like a heavyfriend whom we have amiably asked to visit us, and who breaks his legwithin our gates.
Hardly a week later, Duty presented itself in his study underthe disguise of Fred Vincy, now returned from Omnibus Collegewith his bachelor's degree.
"I am ashamed to trouble you, Mr. Farebrother," said Fred,whose fair open face was propitiating, "but you are the onlyfriend I can consult. I told you everything once before,and you were so good that I can't help coming to you again."
"Sit down, Fred, I'm ready to hear and do anything I can,"said the Vicar, who was busy packing some small objects for removal,and went on with his work.
"I wanted to tell you--" Fred hesitated an instant and then wenton plungingly, "I might go into the Church now; and really,look where I may, I can't see anything else to do. I don'tlike it, but I know it's uncommonly hard on my father to say so,after he has spent a good deal of money in educating me for it."Fred paused again an instant, and then repeated, "and I can't seeanything else to do."
"I did talk to your father about it, Fred, but I made little waywith him. He said it was too late. But you have got over onebridge now: what are your other difficulties?"
"Merely that I don't like it. I don't like divinity, and preaching,and feeling obliged to look serious. I like riding across country,and doing as other men do. I don't mean that I want to be a badfellow in any way; but I've no taste for the sort of thingpeople expect of a clergyman. And yet what else am I to do?My father can't spare me any capital, else I might go into farming.And he has no room for me in his trade. And of course I can'tbegin to study for law or physic now, when my father wants meto earn something. It's all very well to say I'm wrong to go intothe Church; but those who say so might as well tell me to go intothe backwoods."
Fred's voice had taken a tone of grumbling remonstrance,and Mr. Farebrother might have been inclined to smileif his mind had not been too busy in imagining more than Fred told him.
"Have you any difficulties about doctrines--about the Articles?"he said, trying hard to think of the question simply for Fred's sake.
"No; I suppose the Articles are right. I am not prepared with anyarguments to disprove them, and much better, cleverer fellows than Iam go in for them entirely. I think it would be rather ridiculousin me to urge scruples of that sort, as if I were a judge,"said Fred, quite simply.
"I suppose, then, it has occurred to you that you might be a fairparish priest without being much of a divine?"
"Of course, if I am obliged to be a clergyman, I shall try and domy duty, though I mayn't like it. Do you think any body oughtto blame me?"
"For going into the Church under the circumstances? That dependson your conscience, Fred--how far you have counted the cost,and seen what your position will require of you. I can only tellyou about myself, that I have always been too lax, and have beenuneasy in consequence."
"But there is another hindrance," said Fred, coloring. "I didnot tell you before, though perhaps I may have said thingsthat made you guess it. There is somebody I am very fond of:I have loved her ever since we were children."
"Miss Garth, I suppose?" said the Vicar, examining some labelsvery closely.
"Yes. I shouldn't mind anything if she would have me. And I knowI could be a good fellow then."
"And you think she returns the feeling?"
"She never will say so; and a good while ago she made me promise notto speak to her about it again. And she has set her mind especiallyagainst my being a clergyman; I know that. But I can't give her up.I do think she cares about me. I saw Mrs. Garth last night, and shesaid that Mary was staying at Lowick Rectory with Miss Farebrother."
"Yes, she is very kindly helping my sister. Do you wish to go there?"
"No, I want to ask a great favor of you. I am ashamed to botheryou in this way; but Mary might listen to what you said, if youmentioned the subject to her--I mean about my going into the Church."
"That is rather a delicate task, my dear Fred. I shall have topresuppose your attachment to her; and to enter on the subject as youwish me to do, will be asking her to tell me whether she returns it."
"That is what I want her to tell you," said Fred, bluntly. "I don'tknow what to do, unless I can get at her feeling."
"You mean that you would be guided by that as to your going intothe Church?"
"If Mary said she would never have me I might as well go wrongin one way as another."
"That is nonsense, Fred. Men outlive their love, but they don'toutlive the consequences of their recklessness."
"Not my sort of love: I have never been without loving Mary.If I had to give her up, it would be like beginning to live onwooden legs."
"Will she not be hurt at my intrusion?"
"No, I feel sure she will not. She respects you more than any one,and she would not put you off with fun as she does me. Of course Icould not have told any one else, or asked any one else to speak to her,but you. There is no one else who could be such a friend to bothof us." Fred paused a moment, and then said, rather complainingly,"And she ought to acknowledge that I have worked in order to pass.She ought to believe that I would exert myself for her sake."
There was a moment's silence before Mr. Farebrother laid down his work,and putting out his hand to Fred said--
"Very well, my boy. I will do what you wish."
That very day Mr. Farebrother went to Lowick parsonage on the nagwhich he had just set up. "Decidedly I am an old stalk," he thought,"the young growths are pushing me aside."
He found Mary in the garden gathering roses and sprinkling the petalson a sheet. The sun was low, and tall trees sent their shadows acrossthe grassy walks where Mary was moving without bonnet or parasol.She did not observe Mr. Farebrother's approach along the grass,and had just stooped down to lecture a small black-and-tan terrier,which would persist in walking on the sheet and smelling at therose-leaves as Mary sprinkled them. She took his fore-paws in one hand,and lifted up the forefinger of the other, while the dog wrinkledhis brows and looked embarrassed. "Fly, Fly, I am ashamed of you,"Mary was saying in a grave contralto. "This is not becoming in asensible dog; anybody would think you were a silly young gentleman."
"You are unmerciful to young gentlemen, Miss Garth," said the Vicar,within two yards of her.
Mary started up and blushed. "It always answers to reason with Fly,"she said, laughingly.
"But not with young gentlemen?"
"Oh, with some, I suppose; since some of them turn into excellent men."
"I am glad of that admission, because I want at this very momentto interest you in a young gentleman."
"Not a silly one, I hope," said Mary, beginning to pluckthe roses again, and feeling her heart beat uncomfortably.
"No; though perhaps wisdom is not his strong point,but rather affection and sincerity. However, wisdom liesmore in those two qualities than people are apt to imagine.I hope you know by those marks what young gentleman I mean."
"Yes, I think I do," said Mary, bravely, her face getting more serious,and her hands cold; "it must be Fred Vincy."
"He has asked me to consult you about his going into the Church.I hope you will not think that I consented to take a liberty inpromising to do so."
"On the contrary, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, giving up the roses,and folding her arms, but unable to look up, "whenever you haveanything to say to me I feel honored."
"But before I enter on that question, let me just touch a point onwhich your father took me into confidence; by the way, it was thatvery evening on which I once before fulfilled a mission from Fred,just after he had gone to college. Mr. Garth told me what happenedon the night of Featherstone's death--how you refused to burn the will;and he said that you had some heart-prickings on that subject,because you had been the innocent means of hindering Fred fromgetting his ten thousand pounds. I have kept that in mind,and I have heard something that may relieve you on that score--may show you that no sin-offering is demanded from you there."
Mr. Farebrother paused a moment and looked at Mary. He meantto give Fred his full advantage, but it would be well, he thought,to clear her mind of any superstitions, such as women sometimes followwhen they do a man the wrong of marrying him as an act of atonement.Mary's cheeks had begun to burn a little, and she was mute.
"I mean, that your action made no real difference to Fred's lot.I find that the first will would not have been legally good after theburning of the last; it would not have stood if it had been disputed,and you may be sure it would have been disputed. So, on that score,you may feel your mind free."
"Thank you, Mr. Farebrother," said Mary, earnestly. "I am gratefulto you for remembering my feelings."
"Well, now I may go on. Fred, you know, has taken his degree.He has worked his way so far, and now the question is, what ishe to do? That question is so difficult that he is inclined tofollow his father's wishes and enter the Church, though you knowbetter than I do that he was quite set against that formerly.I have questioned him on the subject, and I confess I see noinsuperable objection to his being a clergyman, as things go.He says that he could turn his mind to doing his best in that vocation,on one condition. If that condition were fulfilled I would do myutmost in helping Fred on. After a time--not, of course, at first--he might be with me as my curate, and he would have so much to dothat his stipend would be nearly what I used to get as vicar.But I repeat that there is a condition without which all this goodcannot come to pass. He has opened his heart to me, Miss Garth,and asked me to plead for him. The condition lies entirely inyour feeling."
Mary looked so much moved, that he said after a moment, "Let uswalk a little;" and when they were walking he added, "To speakquite plainly, Fred will not take any course which would lessen thechance that you would consent to be his wife; but with that prospect,he will try his best at anything you approve."
"I cannot possibly say that I will ever be his wife, Mr. Farebrother:but I certainly never will be his wife if he becomes a clergyman.What you say is most generous and kind; I don't mean for a momentto correct your judgment. It is only that I have my girlish,mocking way of looking at things," said Mary, with a returningsparkle of playfulness in her answer which only made its modestymore charming.
"He wishes me to report exactly what you think," said Mr. Farebrother.
"I could not love a man who is ridiculous," said Mary, not choosing togo deeper. "Fred has sense and knowledge enough to make him respectable,if he likes, in some good worldly business, but I can never imaginehim preaching and exhorting, and pronouncing blessings, and prayingby the sick, without feeling as if I were looking at a caricature.His being a clergyman would be only for gentility's sake, and I thinkthere is nothing more contemptible than such imbecile gentility.I used to think that of Mr. Crowse, with his empty face and neatumbrella, and mincing little speeches. What right have such mento represent Christianity--as if it were an institution for getting upidiots genteelly--as if--" Mary checked herself. She had been carriedalong as if she had been speaking to Fred instead of Mr. Farebrother.
"Young women are severe: they don't feel the stress of actionas men do, though perhaps I ought to make you an exception there.But you don't put Fred Vincy on so low a level as that?"
"No, indeed, he has plenty of sense, but I think he would not showit as a clergyman. He would be a piece of professional affectation."
"Then the answer is quite decided. As a clergyman he could haveno hope?"
Mary shook her head.
"But if he braved all the difficulties of getting his breadin some other way--will you give him the support of hope?May he count on winning you?"
"I think Fred ought not to need telling again what I have alreadysaid to him," Mary answered, with a slight resentment in her manner."I mean that he ought not to put such questions until he has donesomething worthy, instead of saying that he could do it."
Mr. Farebrother was silent for a minute or more, and then, as theyturned and paused under the shadow of a maple at the end of a grassywalk, said, "I understand that you resist any attempt to fetter you,but either your feeling for Fred Vincy excludes your entertaininganother attachment, or it does not: either he may count on yourremaining single until he shall have earned your hand, or he may in anycase be disappointed. Pardon me, Mary--you know I used to catechiseyou under that name--but when the state of a woman's affectionstouches the happiness of another life--of more lives than one--I thinkit would be the nobler course for her to be perfectly direct and open."
Mary in her turn was silent, wondering not at Mr. Farebrother'smanner but at his tone, which had a grave restrained emotion in it.When the strange idea flashed across her that his words had referenceto himself, she was incredulous, and ashamed of entertaining it.She had never thought that any man could love her except Fred,who had espoused her with the umbrella ring, when she wore socksand little strapped shoes; still less that she could be of anyimportance to Mr. Farebrother, the cleverest man in her narrow circle.She had only time to feel that all this was hazy and perhaps illusory;but one thing was clear and determined--her answer.
"Since you think it my duty, Mr. Farebrother, I will tell youthat I have too strong a feeling for Fred to give him up for anyone else. I should never be quite happy if I thought he wasunhappy for the loss of me. It has taken such deep root in me--my gratitude to him for always loving me best, and minding so muchif I hurt myself, from the time when we were very little. I cannotimagine any new feeling coming to make that weaker. I should likebetter than anything to see him worthy of every one's respect.But please tell him I will not promise to marry him till then:I should shame and grieve my father and mother. He is free to choosesome one else."
"Then I have fulfilled my commission thoroughly,"said Mr. Farebrother, putting out his hand to Mary,"and I shall ride back to Middlemarch forthwith. With thisprospect before him, we shall get Fred into the right nichesomehow, and I hope I shall live to join your hands. God bless you!"
"Oh, please stay, and let me give you some tea," said Mary.Her eyes filled with tears, for something indefinable, something likethe resolute suppression of a pain in Mr. Farebrother's manner,made her feel suddenly miserable, as she had once felt when she sawher father's hands trembling in a moment of trouble.
"No, my dear, no. I must get back."
In three minutes the Vicar was on horseback again, having gonemagnanimously through a duty much harder than the renunciationof whist, or even than the writing of penitential meditations.