米德尔马契 英文版 Middlemarch
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LIII. Page 1
It is but a shallow haste which concludeth insincerity fromwhat outsiders call inconsistency--putting a dead mechanismof "ifs" and "therefores" for the living myriad of hiddensuckers whereby the belief and the conduct are wrought intomutual sustainment.
Mr. Bulstrode, when he was hoping to acquire a new interest in Lowick,had naturally had an especial wish that the new clergyman should be onewhom he thoroughly approved; and he believed it to be a chastisementand admonition directed to his own shortcomings and those of the nationat large, that just about the time when he came in possession of thedeeds which made him the proprietor of Stone Court, Mr. Farebrother"read himself" into the quaint little church and preached his firstsermon to the congregation of farmers, laborers, and village artisans.It was not that Mr. Bulstrode intended to frequent Lowick Churchor to reside at Stone Court for a good while to come: he hadbought the excellent farm and fine homestead simply as a retreatwhich he might gradually enlarge as to the land and beautify asto the dwelling, until it should be conducive to the divine glorythat he should enter on it as a residence, partially withdrawingfrom his present exertions in the administration of business,and throwing more conspicuously on the side of Gospel truth the weightof local landed proprietorship, which Providence might increase byunforeseen occasions of purchase. A strong leading in this directionseemed to have been given in the surprising facility of gettingStone Court, when every one had expected that Mr. Rigg Featherstonewould have clung to it as the Garden of Eden. That was what poorold Peter himself had expected; having often, in imagination,looked up through the sods above him, and, unobstructed by.perspective, seen his frog-faced legatee enjoying the fineold place to the perpetual surprise and disappointment of other survivors.
But how little we know what would make paradise for our neighbors!We judge from our own desires, and our neighbors themselvesare not always open enough even to throw out a hint of theirs.The cool and judicious Joshua Rigg had not allowed his parentto perceive that Stone Court was anything less than the chief goodin his estimation, and he had certainly wished to call it his own.But as Warren Hastings looked at gold and thought of buying Daylesford,so Joshua Rigg looked at Stone Court and thought of buying gold.He had a very distinct and intense vision of his chief good,the vigorous greed which he had inherited having taken a special formby dint of circumstance: and his chief good was to be a moneychanger.From his earliest employment as an errand-boy in a seaport,he had looked through the windows of the moneychangers as otherboys look through the windows of the pastry-cooks; the fascinationhad wrought itself gradually into a deep special passion; he meant,when he had property, to do many things, one of them being to marrya genteel young person; but these were all accidents and joys thatimagination could dispense with. The one joy after which his soulthirsted was to have a money-changer's shop on a much-frequented quay,to have locks all round him of which he held the keys, and to looksublimely cool as he handled the breeding coins of all nations,while helpless Cupidity looked at him enviously from the other sideof an iron lattice. The strength of that passion had been a powerenabling him to master all the knowledge necessary to gratify it.And when others were thinking that he had settled at Stone Court for life,Joshua himself was thinking that the moment now was not far off when heshould settle on the North Quay with the best appointments in safesand locks.
Enough. We are concerned with looking at Joshua Rigg's sale of hisland from Mr. Bulstrode's point of view, and he interpreted itas a cheering dispensation conveying perhaps a sanction to a purposewhich he had for some time entertained without external encouragement;he interpreted it thus, but not too confidently, offering up histhanksgiving in guarded phraseology. His doubts did not arise from thepossible relations of the event to Joshua Rigg's destiny, which belongedto the unmapped regions not taken under the providential government,except perhaps in an imperfect colonial way; but they arose fromreflecting that this dispensation too might be a chastisementfor himself, as Mr. Farebrother's induction to the living clearly was.
This was not what Mr. Bulstrode said to any man for the sake ofdeceiving him: it was what he said to himself--it was as genuinelyhis mode of explaining events as any theory of yours may be,if you happen to disagree with him. For the egoism which entersinto our theories does not affect their sincerity; rather, the moreour egoism is satisfied, the more robust is our belief.
However, whether for sanction or for chastisement, Mr. Bulstrode,hardly fifteen months after the death of Peter Featherstone,had become the proprietor of Stone Court, and what Peter wouldsay "if he were worthy to know," had become an inexhaustible andconsolatory subject of conversation to his disappointed relatives.The tables were now turned on that dear brother departed,and to contemplate the frustration of his cunning by the superiorcunning of things in general was a cud of delight to Solomon.Mrs. Waule had a melancholy triumph in the proof that it didnot answer to make false Featherstones and cut off the genuine;and Sister Martha receiving the news in the Chalky Flats said,"Dear, dear! then the Almighty could have been none so pleasedwith the almshouses after all."
Affectionate Mrs. Bulstrode was particularly glad of the advantagewhich her husband's health was likely to get from the purchase ofStone Court. Few days passed without his riding thither and lookingover some part of the farm with the bailiff, and the evenings weredelicious in that quiet spot, when the new hay-ricks lately set up weresending forth odors to mingle with the breath of the rich old garden.One evening, while the sun was still above the horizon and burningin golden lamps among the great walnut boughs, Mr. Bulstrode waspausing on horseback outside the front gate waiting for Caleb Garth,who had met him by appointment to give an opinion on a questionof stable drainage, and was now advising the bailiff in the rick-yard.
Mr. Bulstrode was conscious of being in a good spiritual frame and morethan usually serene, under the influence of his innocent recreation.He was doctrinally convinced that there was a total absence of meritin himself; but that doctrinal conviction may be held without painwhen the sense of demerit does not take a distinct shape in memoryand revive the tingling of shame or the pang of remorse. Nay, it maybe held with intense satisfaction when the depth of our sinningis but a measure for the depth of forgiveness, and a clenchingproof that we are peculiar instruments of the divine intention.The memory has as many moods as the temper, and shifts its scenerylike a diorama. At this moment Mr. Bulstrode felt as if thesunshine were all one with that of far-off evenings when he wasa very young man and used to go out preaching beyond Highbury.And he would willingly have had that service of exhortationin prospect now. The texts were there still, and so was his ownfacility in expounding them. His brief reverie was interruptedby the return of Caleb Garth, who also was on horseback,and was just shaking his bridle before starting, when he exclaimed--
"Bless my heart! what's this fellow in black coming along the lane?He's like one of those men one sees about after the races."
Mr. Bulstrode turned his horse and looked along the lane, but madeno reply. The comer was our slight acquaintance Mr. Raffles,whose appearance presented no other change than such as was dueto a suit of black and a crape hat-band. He was within three yardsof the horseman now, and they could see the flash of recognitionin his face as he whirled his stick upward, looking all the whileat Mr. Bulstrode, and at last exclaiming:--
"By Jove, Nick, it's you! I couldn't be mistaken, though thefive-and-twenty years have played old Boguy with us both! How are you,eh? you didn't expect to see _me_ here. Come, shake us by the hand."To say that Mr. Raffles' manner was rather excited would be onlyone mode of saying that it was evening. Caleb Garth could seethat there was a moment of struggle and hesitation in Mr. Bulstrode,but it ended in his putting out his hand coldly to Raffles and saying--
"I did not indeed expect to see you in this remote country place."
"Well, it belongs to a stepson of mine," said Raffles, adjusting himselfin a swaggering attitude. "I came to see him here before. I'm notso surprised at seeing you, old fellow, because I picked up a letter--what you may call a providential thing. It's uncommonly fortunateI met you, though; for I don't care about seeing my stepson:he's not affectionate, and his poor mother's gone now. To tellthe truth, I came out of love to you, Nick: I came to get youraddress, for--look here!" Raffles drew a crumpled paper from his pocket.
Almost any other man than Caleb Garth might have been tempted tolinger on the spot for the sake of hearing all he could about a manwhose acquaintance with Bulstrode seemed to imply passages in thebanker's life so unlike anything that was known of him in Middlemarchthat they must have the nature of a secret to pique curiosity.But Caleb was peculiar: certain human tendencies which are commonlystrong were almost absent from his mind; and one of these wascuriosity about personal affairs. Especially if there was anythingdiscreditable to be found out concerning another man, Caleb preferrednot to know it; and if he had to tell anybody under him that his evildoings were discovered, he was more embarrassed than the culprit.He now spurred his horse, and saying, "I wish you good evening,Mr. Bulstrode; I must be getting home," set off at a trot.
"You didn't put your full address to this letter," Raffles continued."That was not like the first-rate man of business you used to be.`The Shrubs,'--they may be anywhere: you live near at hand, eh?--have cut the London concern altogether--perhaps turned country squire--have a rural mansion to invite me to. Lord, how many years it is ago!The old lady must have been dead a pretty long while--gone to glorywithout the pain of knowing how poor her daughter was, eh? But, by Jove!you're very pale and pasty, Nick. Come, if you're going home,I'll walk by your side."
Mr. Bulstrode's usual paleness had in fact taken an almost deathly hue.Five minutes before, the expanse of his life had been submerged in itsevening sunshine which shone backward to its remembered morning:sin seemed to be a question of doctrine and inward penitence,humiliation an exercise of the closet, the bearing of his deeds a matterof private vision adjusted solely by spiritual relations and conceptionsof the divine purposes. And now, as if by some hideous magic,this loud red figure had risen before him in unmanageable solidity--an incorporate past which had not entered into his imaginationof chastisements. But Mr. Bulstrode's thought was busy, and hewas not a man to act or speak rashly.
"I was going home," he said, "but I can defer my ride a little.And you can, if you please, rest here."
"Thank you," said Raffles, making a grimace. "I don't care nowabout seeing my stepson. I'd rather go home with you."
"Your stepson, if Mr. Rigg Featherstone was he, is here no longer.I am master here now."
Raffles opened wide eyes, and gave a long whistle of surprise,before he said, "Well then, I've no objection. I've had enough walkingfrom the coach-road. I never was much of a walker, or rider either.What I like is a smart vehicle and a spirited cob. I was alwaysa little heavy in the saddle. What a pleasant surprise it must beto you to see me, old fellow!" he continued, as they turned towardsthe house. "You don't say so; but you never took your luck heartily--you were always thinking of improving the occasion--you'd such a giftfor improving your luck."
Mr. Raffles seemed greatly to enjoy his own wit, and Swung his legin a swaggering manner which was rather too much for his companion'sjudicious patience.
"If I remember rightly," Mr. Bulstrode observed, with chill anger,"our acquaintance many years ago had not the sort of intimacywhich you are now assuming, Mr. Raffles. Any services you desireof me will be the more readily rendered if you will avoid a toneof familiarity which did not lie in our former intercourse, and canhardly be warranted by more than twenty years of separation."
"You don't like being called Nick? Why, I always called youNick in my heart, and though lost to sight, to memory dear.By Jove! my feelings have ripened for you like fine old cognac.I hope you've got some in the house now. Josh filled my flask wellthe last time."
Mr. Bulstrode had not yet fully learned that even the desirefor cognac was not stronger in Raffles than the desire to torment,and that a hint of annoyance always served him as a fresh cue.But it was at least clear that further objection was useless,and Mr. Bulstrode, in giving orders to the housekeeper for theaccommodation of the guest, had a resolute air of quietude.
There was the comfort of thinking that this housekeeper had been inthe service of Rigg also, and might accept the idea that Mr. Bulstrodeentertained Raffles merely as a friend of her former master.
"Your habits and mine are so different, Mr. Raffles, that we canhardly enjoy each other's society. The wisest plan for both of uswill therefore be to part as soon as possible. Since you saythat you wished to meet me, you probably considered that you hadsome business to transact with me. But under the circumstances Iwill invite you to remain here for the night, and I will myselfride over here early to-morrow morning--before breakfast, in fact,when I can receive any Communication you have to make to me."
"With all my heart," said Raffles; "this is a comfortable place--a little dull for a continuance; but I can put up with it fora night, with this good liquor and the prospect of seeing you againin the morning. You're a much better host than my stepson was;but Josh owed me a bit of a grudge for marrying his mother;and between you and me there was never anything but kindness."
Mr. Bulstrode, hoping that the peculiar mixture of jovialityand sneering in Raffles' manner was a good deal the effectof drink, had determined to wait till he was quite sober beforehe spent more words upon him. But he rode home with a terriblylucid vision of the difficulty there would be in arrangingany result that could be permanently counted on with this man.It was inevitable that he should wish to get rid of John Raffles,though his reappearance could not be regarded as lying outsidethe divine plan. The spirit of evil might have sent him to threatenMr. Bulstrode's subversion as an instrument of good; but the threatmust have been permitted, and was a chastisement of a new kind.It was an hour of anguish for him very different from the hoursin which his struggle had been securely private, and which hadended with a sense that his secret misdeeds were pardoned and hisservices accepted. Those misdeeds even when committed--had theynot been half sanctified by the singleness of his desire to devotehimself and all he possessed to the furtherance of the divine scheme?And was he after all to become a mere stone of stumbling and arock of offence? For who would understand the work within him?Who would not, when there was the pretext of casting disgraceupon him, confound his whole life and the truths he had espoused,in one heap of obloquy?
In his closest meditations the life-long habit of Mr. Bulstrode'smind clad his most egoistic terrors in doctrinal referencesto superhuman ends. But even while we are talking and meditatingabout the earth's orbit and the solar system, what we feel andadjust our movements to is the stable earth and the changing day.And now within all the automatic succession of theoretic phrases--distinct and inmost as the shiver and the ache of oncoming feverwhen we are discussing abstract pain, was the forecast of disgracein the presence of his neighbors and of his own wife. For the pain,as well as the public estimate of disgrace, depends on the amountof previous profession. To men who only aim at escaping felony,nothing short of the prisoner's dock is disgrace. But Mr. Bulstrodehad aimed at being an eminent Christian.
It was not more than half-past seven in the morning when he againreached Stone Court. The fine old place never looked more like adelightful home than at that moment; the great white lilies werein flower, the nasturtiums, their pretty leaves all silvered with dew,were running away over the low stone wall; the very noises allaround had a heart of peace within them. But everything was spoiledfor the owner as he walked on the gravel in front and awaitedthe descent of Mr. Raffles, with whom he was condemned to breakfast.
insincerity fromwhat outsiders call inconsistency--putting .
It was not long before they were seated together in the wainscotedparlor over their tea and toast, which was as much as Raffles caredto take at that early hour. The difference between his morningand evening self was not so great as his companion had imaginedthat it might be; the delight in tormenting was perhaps even thestronger because his spirits were rather less highly pitched.Certainly his manners seemed more disagreeable by the morning light.
"As I have little time to spare, Mr. Raffles," said the banker,who could hardly do more than sip his tea and break his toastwithout eating it, "I shall be obliged if you will mention at oncethe ground on which you wished to meet with me. I presume that youhave a home elsewhere and will be glad to return to it."
"Why, if a man has got any heart, doesn't he want to see anold friend, Nick?--I must call you Nick--we always did call youyoung Nick when we knew you meant to marry the old widow. Some saidyou had a handsome family likeness to old Nick, but that was yourmother's fault, calling you Nicholas. Aren't you glad to see me again?I expected an invite to stay with you at some pretty place. My ownestablishment is broken up now my wife's dead. I've no particularattachment to any spot; I would as soon settle hereabout as anywhere."
"May I ask why you returned from America? I considered that the strongwish you expressed to go there, when an adequate sum was furnished,was tantamount to an engagement that you would remain there for life."
"Never knew that a wish to go to a place was the same thing as awish to stay. But I did stay a matter of ten years; it didn'tsuit me to stay any longer. And I'm not going again, Nick."Here Mr. Raffles winked slowly as he looked at Mr. Bulstrode.
"Do you wish to be settled in any business? What is your calling now?"
"Thank you, my calling is to enjoy myself as much as I can.I don't care about working any more. If I did anything it would bea little travelling in the tobacco line--or something of that sort,which takes a man into agreeable company. But not withoutan independence to fall back upon. That's what I want: I'm notso strong as I was, Nick, though I've got more color than you.I want an independence."