米德尔马契 英文版 Middlemarch
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LXVI.
"'Tis one thing to be tempted, Escalus,Another thing to fall."--Measure for Measure.
Lydgate certainly had good reason to reflect on the servicehis practice did him in counteracting his personal cares.He had no longer free energy enough for spontaneous research andspeculative thinking, but by the bedside of patients, the directexternal calls on his judgment and sympathies brought the addedimpulse needed to draw him out of himself. It was not simplythat beneficent harness of routine which enables silly men to liverespectably and unhappy men to live calmly--it was a perpetualclaim on the immediate fresh application of thought, and on theconsideration of another's need and trial. Many of us looking backthrough life would say that the kindest man we have ever knownhas been a medical man, or perhaps that surgeon whose fine tact,directed by deeply informed perception, has come to us in our needwith a more sublime beneficence than that of miracle-workers. Someof that twice-blessed mercy was always with Lydgate in his work at theHospital or in private houses, serving better than any opiate to quietand sustain him under his anxieties and his sense of mental degeneracy.
Mr. Farebrother's suspicion as to the opiate was true, however.Under the first galling pressure of foreseen difficulties,and the first perception that his marriage, if it were not to bea yoked loneliness, must be a state of effort to go on lovingwithout too much care about being loved, he had once or twicetried a dose of opium. But he had no hereditary constitutionalcraving after such transient escapes from the hauntings of misery.He was strong, could drink a great deal of wine, but did not careabout it; and when the men round him were drinking spirits, he tooksugar and water, having a contemptuous pity even for the earlieststages of excitement from drink. It was the same with gambling.He had looked on at a great deal of gambling in Paris, watching itas if it had been a disease. He was no more tempted by such winningthan he was by drink. He had said to himself that the only winninghe cared for must be attained by a conscious process of high,difficult combination tending towards a beneficent result.The power he longed for could not be represented by agitated fingersclutching a heap of coin, or by the half-barbarous, half-idiotictriumph in the eyes of a man who sweeps within his arms the venturesof twenty chapfallen companions.
But just as he had tried opium, so his thought now began to turnupon gambling--not with appetite for its excitement, but with asort of wistful inward gaze after that easy way of getting money,which implied no asking and brought no responsibility. If he had beenin London or Paris at that time, it is probable that such thoughts,seconded by opportunity, would have taken him into a gambling-house,no longer to watch the gamblers, but to watch with them inkindred eagerness. Repugnance would have been surmounted by theimmense need to win, if chance would be kind enough to let him.An incident which happened not very long after that airy notionof getting aid from his uncle had been excluded, was a strong signof the effect that might have followed any extant opportunity of gambling.
The billiard-room at the Green Dragon was the constant resort ofa certain set, most of whom, like our acquaintance Mr. Bambridge,were regarded as men of pleasure. It was here that poor Fred Vincyhad made part of his memorable debt, having lost money in betting,and been obliged to borrow of that gay companion. It was generally knownin Middlemarch that a good deal of money was lost and won in this way;and the consequent repute of the Green Dragon as a place of dissipationnaturally heightened in some quarters the temptation to go there.Probably its regular visitants, like the initiates of freemasonry,wished that there were something a little more tremendous to keepto themselves concerning it; but they were not a closed community,and many decent seniors as well as juniors occasionally turned intothe billiard-room to see what was going on. Lydgate, who had themuscular aptitude for billiards, and was fond of the game, had onceor twice in the early days after his arrival in Middlemarch takenhis turn with the cue at the Green Dragon; but afterwards he had noleisure for the game, and no inclination for the socialities there.One evening, however, he had occasion to seek Mr. Bambridge atthat resort. The horsedealer had engaged to get him a customerfor his remaining good horse, for which Lydgate had determinedto substitute a cheap hack, hoping by this reduction of styleto get perhaps twenty pounds; and he cared now for every small sum,as a help towards feeding the patience of his tradesmen. To run upto the billiard-room, as he was passing, would save time.
Mr. Bambridge was not yet come, bat would be sure to arrive by-and-by,said his friend Mr. Horrock; and Lydgate stayed, playing a gamefor the sake of passing the time. That evening he had the peculiarlight in the eyes and the unusual vivacity which had been oncenoticed in him by Mr. Farebrother. The exceptional fact of hispresence was much noticed in the room, where there was a good dealof Middlemarch company; and several lookers-on, as well as some ofthe players, were betting with animation. Lydgate was playing well,and felt confident; the bets were dropping round him, and with a swiftglancing thought of the probable gain which might double the sumhe was saving from his horse, he began to bet on his own play,and won again and again. Mr. Bambridge had come in, but Lydgatedid not notice him. He was not only excited with his play,but visions were gleaming on him of going the next day to Brassing,where there was gambling on a grander scale to be had, and where,by one powerful snatch at the devil's bait, he might carry it offwithout the hook, and buy his rescue from his daily solicitings.
He was still winning when two new visitors entered. One of themwas a young Hawley, just come from his law studies in town, and theother was Fred Vincy, who had spent several evenings of late at thisold haunt of his. Young Hawley, an accomplished billiard-player,brought a cool fresh hand to the cue. But Fred Vincy, startled atseeing Lydgate, and astonished to see him betting with an excited air,stood aside, and kept out of the circle round the table.
Fred had been rewarding resolution by a little laxity of late.He had been working heartily for six months at all outdoor occupationsunder Mr. Garth, and by dint of severe practice had nearly masteredthe defects of his handwriting, this practice being, perhaps,a little the less severe that it was often carried on in the eveningat Mr. Garth's under the eyes of Mary. But the last fortnightMary had been staying at Lowick Parsonage with the ladies there,during Mr. Farebrother's residence in Middlemarch, where he wascarrying out some parochial plans; and Fred, not seeing anythingmore agreeable to do, had turned into the Green Dragon, partly toplay at billiards, partly to taste the old flavor of discourseabout horses, sport, and things in general, considered from a pointof view which was not strenuously correct. He had not been outhunting once this season, had had no horse of his own to ride,and had gone from place to place chiefly with Mr. Garth in his gig,or on the sober cob which Mr. Garth could lend him. It was a littletoo bad, Fred began to think, that he should be kept in the traceswith more severity than if he had been a clergyman. "I will tellyou what, Mistress Mary--it will be rather harder work to learnsurveying and drawing plans than it would have been to write sermons,"he had said, wishing her to appreciate what he went through forher sake; "and as to Hercules and Theseus, they were nothing to me.They had sport, and never learned to write a bookkeeping hand."And now, Mary being out of the way for a little while, Fred,like any other strong dog who cannot slip his collar, had pulledup the staple of his chain and made a small escape, not of coursemeaning to go fast or far. There could be no reason why heshould not play at billiards, but he was determined not to bet.As to money just now, Fred had in his mind the heroic project ofsaving almost all of the eighty pounds that Mr. Garth offered him,and returning it, which he could easily do by giving up all futilemoney-spending, since he had a superfluous stock of clothes,and no expense in his board. In that way he could, in one year,go a good way towards repaying the ninety pounds of which he haddeprived Mrs. Garth, unhappily at a time when she needed that summore than she did now. Nevertheless, it must be acknowledgedthat on this evening, which was the fifth of his recent visitsto the billiard-room, Fred had, not in his pocket, but in his mind,the ten pounds which he meant to reserve for himself from hishalf-year's salary (having before him the pleasure of carryingthirty to Mrs. Garth when Mary was likely to be come home again)--he had those ten pounds in his mind as a fund from which hemight risk something, if there were a chance of a good bet.Why? Well, when sovereigns were flying about, why shouldn'the catch a few? He would never go far along that road again;but a man likes to assure himself, and men of pleasure generally,what he could do in the way of mischief if he chose, and thatif he abstains from making himself ill, or beggaring himself,or talking with the utmost looseness which the narrow limitsof human capacity will allow, it is not because he is a spooney.Fred did not enter into formal reasons, which are a very artificial,inexact way of representing the tingling returns of old habit,and the caprices of young blood: but there was lurking in hima prophetic sense that evening, that when he began to play he shouldalso begin to bet--that he should enjoy some punch-drinking, and ingeneral prepare himself for feeling "rather seedy" in the morning.It is in such indefinable movements that action often begins.
But the last thing likely to have entered Fred's expectationwas that he should see his brother-in-law Lydgate--of whom hehad never quite dropped the old opinion that he was a prig,and tremendously conscious of his superiority--looking excitedand betting, just as he himself might have done. Fred felt a shockgreater than he could quite account for by the vague knowledge thatLydgate was in debt, and that his father had refused to help him;and his own inclination to enter into the play was suddenly checked.It was a strange reversal of attitudes: Fred's blond face and blue eyes,usually bright and careless, ready to give attention to anythingthat held out a promise of amusement, looking involuntarily graveand almost embarrassed as if by the sight of something unfitting;while Lydgate, who had habitually an air of self-possessed strength,and a certain meditativeness that seemed to lie behind his mostobservant attention, was acting, watching, speaking with that excitednarrow consciousness which reminds one of an animal with fierceeyes and retractile claws.
Lydgate, by betting on his own strokes, had won sixteen pounds;but young Hawley's arrival had changed the poise of things. He madefirst-rate strokes himself, and began to bet against Lydgate's strokes,the strain of whose nerves was thus changed from simple confidencein his own movements to defying another person's doubt in them.The defiance was more exciting than the confidence, but it was less sure.He continued to bet on his own play, but began often to fail. Still hewent on, for his mind was as utterly narrowed into that precipitouscrevice of play as if he had been the most ignorant lounger there.Fred observed that Lydgate was losing fast, and found himself in thenew situation of puzzling his brains to think of some device by which,without being offensive, he could withdraw Lydgate's attention,and perhaps suggest to him a reason for quitting the room. He sawthat others were observing Lydgate's strange unlikeness to himself,and it occurred to him that merely to touch his elbow and callhim aside for a moment might rouse him from his absorption.He could think of nothing cleverer than the daring improbabilityof saying that he wanted to see Rosy, and wished to know if shewere at home this evening; and he was going desperately to carryout this weak device, when a waiter came up to him with a message,saying that Mr. Farebrother was below, and begged to speak with him.
Fred was surprised, not quite comfortably, but sending wordthat he would be down immediately, he went with a new impulse upto Lydgate, said, "Can I speak to you a moment?" and drew him aside.
"Farebrother has just sent up a message to say that he wants to speakto me. He is below. I thought you might like to know he was there,if you had anything to say to him."
Fred had simply snatched up this pretext for speaking, because hecould not say, "You are losing confoundedly, and are making everybodystare at you; you had better come away." But inspiration couldhardly have served him better. Lydgate had not before seen thatFred was present, and his sudden appearance with an announcementof Mr. Farebrother had the effect of a sharp concussion.
"No, no," said Lydgate; "I have nothing particular to say to him.But--the game is up--I must be going--I came in just to see Bambridge."
"Bambridge is over there, but he is making a row--I don't thinkhe's ready for business. Come down with me to Farebrother.I expect he is going to blow me up, and you will shield me,"said Fred, with some adroitness.
Lydgate felt shame, but could not bear to act as if he felt it,by refusing to see Mr. Farebrother; and he went down. They merelyshook hands, however, and spoke of the frost; and when allthree had turned into the street, the Vicar seemed quite willingto say good-by to Lydgate. His present purpose was clearlyto talk with Fred alone, and he said, kindly, "I disturbed you,young gentleman, because I have some pressing business with you.Walk with me to St. Botolph's, will you?"
It was a fine night, the sky thick with stars, and Mr. Farebrotherproposed that they should make a circuit to the old churchby the London road. The next thing he said was--
"I thought Lydgate never went to the Green Dragon?"
"So did I," said Fred. "But he said that he went to see Bambridge."
"He was not playing, then?"
Fred had not meant to tell this, but he was obliged now to say,"Yes, he was. But I suppose it was an accidental thing. I havenever seen him there before."
"You have been going often yourself, then, lately?"
"Oh, about five or six times."
"I think you had some good reason for giving up the habit of going there?"
"Yes. You know all about it," said Fred, not liking to be catechisedin this way. "I made a clean breast to you."
"I suppose that gives me a warrant to speak about the matter now.It is understood between us, is it not?--that we are on a footingof open friendship: I have listened to you, and you will bewilling to listen to me. I may take my turn in talking a littleabout myself?"
"I am under the deepest obligation to you, Mr. Farebrother,"said Fred, in a state of uncomfortable surmise.
"I will not affect to deny that you are under some obligation to me.But I am going to confess to you, Fred, that I have been temptedto reverse all that by keeping silence with you just now.When somebody said to me, `Young Vincy has taken to being at thebilliard-table every night again--he won't bear the curb long;'I was tempted to do the opposite of what I am doing--to hold my tongueand wait while you went down the ladder again, betting first and then--"
"I have not made any bets," said Fred, hastily.
"Glad to hear it. But I say, my prompting was to look on and seeyou take the wrong turning, wear out Garth's patience, and losethe best opportunity of your life--the opportunity which you madesome rather difficult effort to secure. You can guess the feelingwhich raised that temptation in me--I am sure you know it.I am sure you know that the satisfaction of your affections standsin the way of mine."
There was a pause. Mr. Farebrother seemed to wait for a recognitionof the fact; and the emotion perceptible in the tones of his finevoice gave solemnity to his words. But no feeling could quellFred's alarm.
"I could not be expected to give her up," he said, after amoment's hesitation: it was not a case for any pretence of generosity.
"Clearly not, when her affection met yours. But relations of this sort,even when they are of long standing, are always liable to change.I can easily conceive that you might act in a way to loosen the tieshe feels towards you--it must be remembered that she is onlyconditionally bound to you--and that in that case, another man,who may flatter himself that he has a hold on her regard,might succeed in winning that firm place in her love as wellas respect which you had let slip. I can easily conceive sucha result," repeated Mr. Farebrother, emphatically. "There isa companionship of ready sympathy, which might get the advantageeven over the longest associations." It seemed to Fred that ifMr. Farebrother had had a beak and talons instead of his verycapable tongue, his mode of attack could hardly be more cruel.He had a horrible conviction that behind all this hypotheticstatement there was a knowledge of some actual change in Mary's feeling.
"Of course I know it might easily be all up with me," he said,in a troubled voice. "If she is beginning to compare--" He broke off,not liking to betray all he felt, and then said, by the help of alittle bitterness, "But I thought you were friendly to me."
"So I am; that is why we are here. But I have had a strong dispositionto be otherwise. I have said to myself, `If there is a likelihoodof that youngster doing himself harm, why should you interfere?Aren't you worth as much as he is, and don't your sixteen yearsover and above his, in which you have gone rather hungry, give youmore right to satisfaction than he has? If there's a chance of hisgoing to the dogs, let him--perhaps you could nohow hinder it--and do you take the benefit.'"
There was a pause, in which Fred was seized by a most uncomfortablechill. What was coming next? He dreaded to hear that somethinghad been said to Mary--he felt as if he were listening to athreat rather than a warning. When the Vicar began again therewas a change in his tone like the encouraging transition to a major key.
"But I had once meant better than that, and I am come back to myold intention. I thought that I could hardly _secure myself_in it better, Fred, than by telling you just what had gone on in me.And now, do you understand me? I want you to make the happiness of herlife and your own, and if there is any chance that a word of warningfrom me may turn aside any risk to the contrary--well, I have uttered it."
There was a drop in the Vicar's voice when he spoke the last wordsHe paused--they were standing on a patch of green where the roaddiverged towards St. Botolph's, and he put out his hand, as if toimply that the conversation was closed. Fred was moved quite newly.Some one highly susceptible to the contemplation of a fineact has said, that it produces a sort of regenerating shudderthrough the frame, and makes one feel ready to begin a new life.A good degree of that effect was just then present in Fred Vincy.
"I will try to be worthy," he said, breaking off before he couldsay "of you as well as of her." And meanwhile Mr. Farebrotherhad gathered the impulse to say something more.
"You must not imagine that I believe there is at present anydecline in her preference of you, Fred. Set your heart at rest,that if you keep right, other things will keep right."
"I shall never forget what you have done," Fred answered."I can't say anything that seems worth saying--only I will trythat your goodness shall not be thrown away."
"That's enough. Good-by, and God bless you."
In that way they parted. But both of them walked about a longwhile before they went out of the starlight. Much of Fred'srumination might be summed up in the words, "It certainly wouldhave been a fine thing for her to marry Farebrother--but if sheloves me best and I am a good husband?"
Perhaps Mr. Farebrother's might be concentrated into a single shrugand one little speech. "To think of the part one little woman canplay in the life of a man, so that to renounce her may be a verygood imitation of heroism, and to win her may be a discipline!"