I
?Since I can do no good because a woman,
Reach constantly at something that i s near it.
?The Maid?s Tragedy: BEAUMO NT AND
FLETCHER.
Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be
thrown into relief by poor dr ess. Her hand and wrist were
so finely formed that she cou ld wea r sleeves not less bare
of style than those in which th e Blessed Virgin appeared to
Italian painters; and her profile as well as her stature and
bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain
garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her
the impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible,?or
from one of our elder poets ,?in a paragraph of to-day?s
newspaper. She was usually spoken of as being r emarkably
clever, but with the addition t hat he r sister Celia had more
common-se nse. Nevert heless, Celia wore scarc ely more
trimmings; a nd it was on ly to clo se o bservers that her dress
differed fro m her sister? s, and had a shade of coquetry in its
arrangements; for Miss Brooke?s plain dressing was due to
mixed conditions, in most of which her sister shared. The
pride of being ladies had something to do with it: the
Brooke connections, though not exactly aristocratic, were
unquestionably ?good:? if you inquired backward for a
7 of 1492
Middlem arch
generation or two, you would not find any yard-
measuring or parcel-tying forefathers?anything lower
than an admiral or a clergym an; and there was even an
ancestor discernible as a Puritan gentleman who served
under Crom well, but afterwards conformed, and managed
to come out of all politi cal tr oubles as the proprietor of a
respectable family estate. Y oung women of such birth,
living in a quiet countr y-house, and attending a village
church hardly larger than a parlor, naturally regarded
frippery as t he ambition of a huckster?s daughter. Then
there was well-bred eco nomy, which in those days made
show in dress the first item to be deducted from, when
any margin was required for exp enses more distinctive of
rank. Such reasons would hav e been enough to account
for plain dress, quite apart from religious feeling; but in
Miss Brooke?s case, religion alone would have det ermined
it; and Celia mildly acquiesced in all her sister?s sentiments,
only infusing them with that common-sense which is able
to accept momentous doctr ines without any eccentric
agitation. Dorothea knew many passages of Pascal? s
Pensees and of Jeremy Taylor by heart; and to her the
destinies of mankind, seen by the light of Christianity ,
made the solicitudes of femi nine fashion appear an
occupation for Bedlam. She could not reconcile the
8 of 1492
Middlem arch
anxieties of a spiritual life in volving eternal consequences,
with a keen interest in gimp and artificial protr usions of
drapery. Her mind was theoretic, and yearned by its
nature after some lofty concepti on of the world which
might frankl y include the parish of Tipton and her own
rule of conduct there; she was enamoured of intensity and
greatness, and rash in embracing whatever seemed to her
to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom, to make
retractation s, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a
quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly suc h
elements in the character of a marri ageable gi rl tended to
interfere with her lot, and hinder it from being decided
according to custom, by good looks, vanity, and merely
canine affection. With al l this, she, the elder of the sisters,
was not yet twenty, and they had both been educated,
since they were about twelve yea rs old and had lost their
parents, on plans at once narrow and promiscuous, first in
an English family and afterwards in a Swiss family at
Lausanne, their bachelor uncle and g uardian trying in thi s
way to remedy the disadvantage s of their orphaned
condition.
It was hardly a year since th ey had come to li ve at
Tipton Grange with their uncle, a man nearly sixty, of
acquiescent temper, miscell aneous opinions, and uncertain
9 of 1492
Middlem arch
vote. He had travelled in hi s young er years, and was held
in this p art of the co unty to have contracted a too
rambling habit of mind. Mr. Brooke?s conclusions were as
difficult to predict as the weat her: it was only safe to say
that he would act with benevole nt intentions, and that he
would spend as little money as possible in carrying them
out. For the most glutinously inde finite minds enclose
some hard grains of habit; and a man has be en seen lax
about all hi s own interests except the retentio n of his
snuff-b ox, concerning which he was watchful, suspicious,
and greed y of clutch.
In Mr. Brooke the hereditary strain of Puritan energy
was clearly in abeyance; but in h is niece Do rothea it
glowed alike through faults and virtues, turning sometime s
into impatience of her uncle?s talk or his way of ?letting
things be? on his estate, and making her long all the more
for the time when she would be of age and have some
command of money for generous schemes. She was
regarded as an heiress; for not only had the sisters seven
hundred a-year each from their parents, but if Dorothea
married and had a son, that son would inherit Mr.
Brooke?s estate, presumably worth about three thousand a-
year?a rent al which seemed we alth to provincial families,
still discussing Mr. Peel?s late conduct on the Catholic
10 of 1492
Middlem arch
question, innocent of futu re gold-fields, and of that
gorgeous plutocracy w hich has so nobly exalted the
necessities of genteel life.
And how should Dor othea no t marry??a girl so
handso me and with such prospects? Nothing could hinder
it but her love of extremes, and her insistence on
regulating life according to no tions which migh t cau se a
wary man to hesita te bef ore he made her an offer, or even
might lead her at last to refus e all offers. A young lady of
some birth and fortune, w ho knelt suddenly down on a
brick floor by the side of a sick labor er and prayed fervidly
as if she thought herself living in the time of the
Apostles?who had strange whi ms of fasting like a Papist,
and of si tting up at nig ht to read old theologi cal books!
Such a wife might awak en you some fine morning with a
new scheme for the application of her inco me which
would interfere with political economy and the keeping of
saddle-horses: a man w ould na tural ly think twi ce before
he risked himself in such fellowship. Women were
expected to have weak opinions ; bu t the great saf eguard of
society and of domestic life was, that opinions were not
acted on. Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that
if any lunatics were at l arge, one might know and avoid
them.
11 of 1492
Middlem arch
The rural opinion about the new young ladies, even
among the cottagers, was genera lly in favor of Celia, as
being so amiable and innocent-l ooking, while Miss
Brooke?s large eyes seemed, like her religion, too unusual
and striking. Poor Dorothea! compared with her, the
innocent-l ooking Celia was knowing and worldly-wise; so
much subtle r is a huma n mind th an the outsi de tissues
which make a sort of blazonry or clock-face for it.
Yet those who ap proached Dorothea, though
prejudiced against her b y this alarmi ng hearsay, found that
she had a charm unaccountably reconcilable with it. Most
men thought her bewitching when she was on horseback.
She loved t he fresh air and the various aspects of the
country, and when her eyes and cheeks glowed with
mingled pleasure she looked very little like a devotee.
Riding was an indulge nce whic h she allowed herself in
spite of con scientiou s qualms; she f elt that she enjoyed it
in a pagan sensuous w ay, and always looked forward to
renouncing it.
She was open, ardent , and not in the least self-
admiring; indeed, it was pretty to see how her imagination
adorned her sister Celia wit h attractions altogether
superior to her own, and if any gentleman ap peared to
come to the Grange from some oth er motive than that of
12 of 1492
Middlem arch
seeing Mr. Brooke, she conclude d that he must be in love
with Celia: Sir James Chettam, for example, whom she
constantly considered from Celia ?s point of view, inwardly
debating whether it would be good for Celia to accept
him. That he should be regard ed as a suitor to herself
would have seemed to her a ridiculous irrelevance.
Dorothea, with all her eagerness to k now the truths of life,
retained very childlike ideas about marriage. Sh e felt sure
that she would have accepted the judicious Hooker, if she
had been born in time to save him from tha t wretched
mistake he made in matrimony ; or John Milton when his
blindness had come on; or any of the other great men
whose odd habits it would hav e be en glorious piety to
endure; but an amiabl e handsome baronet, who said
?Exactly? to her rema rks even when she expressed
uncertainty, ?how coul d he affect her as a lover? The
really deli ghtful marriage must be that where your
husband was a sort of father, and could teach you even
Hebrew, if you wished it.
These peculiarities of Dorothea?s character caused Mr.
Brooke to be all the more blamed in neighboring families
for not securing some middle-aged lady as guide and
compani on to his nieces. But he hi mself dreaded so much
the sort of superior wo man likely to be available for such a
13 of 1492
Middlem arch
position, that he allow ed hi mself to be dissuaded by
Dorothea?s objections, and was in this case brave enough
to defy the world?that is to say, Mrs. Cadwallader the
Rector?s wife, and the small group of gentry with whom
he visited in the northeast corner of Loamshire. So Miss
Brooke presided in her uncle ?s household, and did not at
all dislike her new authority, with the homage that
belonged to it.
Sir James C hettam was going to di ne at the Grange to-
day with another gentleman whom the girls had never
seen, and about whom Doroth ea felt some v enerating
expectation. This was the Reverend Edward Casaubon,
noted in the county as a man of profound learning,
understood for many years to be eng aged on a gr eat work
concerning religious history; als o as a m an of wealt h
enough to give lustre to his piety, and having views of his
own which were to be more clearl y ascertained on the
publication of his book. His very name carried an
impressiveness hardly to be measured without a precis e
chronology of scholarshi p.
Early in the day Dorothe a had returned from the infant
school whi ch she had set going in the village, and was
taking her usual place in the pretty sitting-ro om which
divided the bedrooms of the sister s, bent on finishing a
14 of 1492
Middlem arch
plan for some buildings (a kind of work which she
delighted in), when Celia, who had been watching her
with a hesita ting desire to propose something, sai d?
?Dorothea, dear, if you d on?t mind?if you are not
very busy?suppose we looked at mamma?s jewels to-day ,
and divided them? It is exactly six month s to -day since
uncle gave them to you, and you have not looked at them
yet.?
Celia?s face had the shad ow of a pouting expression in
it, the full presence of the pout being kept back by an
habitual awe of Dorothea and principle; two associated
facts which might sh ow a mysterious electrici ty if you
touched them incautiously. To her relief, Dorothea?s eyes
were full of laughter as she looked up.
?What a wonderful little almanac you are, Celia! Is it six
calendar or six lunar months??
?It is the last day of September now, and it was the first
of April when uncle gave them to you. You know, he said
that he had forgotten them till then. I believe you have
never thought of them since you locked them up in the
cabinet here. ?
?Well, dear, we should nev er wear them, you know.?
Dorothea sp oke in a full cordial tone, half caressing, half
15 of 1492
Middlem arch
explanatory. She had her pencil in her hand, and was
making tiny side-plans on a margin.
Celia colored, and looke d very grave. ?I think, dear, we
are wanting in respect to mamma?s memory, to put them
by and take no notice of them. And,? she added, after
hesitating a little, with a rising sob of mor tification,
?necklaces are quite us ual now; and Madame Poincon,
who was stricter in some things even than you are, used to
wear ornaments. And Christians generally?surely there
are women in heaven now who wore jewels.? Celia was
conscious of some mental st rength when she really applied
herself to argument.
?You would like to wear them?? exclaimed Dorothea,
an air of astonished discovery animating her whole person
with a dramatic acti on which she had caught from that
very Madame Poincon who wore the ornaments. ?Of
course, then, let us have them out. Why did yo u not tell
me before? But the keys, the keys!? She pressed her hand s
against the sides of her head and seemed to despair of her
memory.
?They are here,? said Celia, with whom this explanation
had been lo ng meditated and prearranged.
?Pray open the large dra wer of the cabinet and get out
the jewel-bo x.?
16 of 1492
Middlem arch
The casket was soon op en before them, and the various
jewels spread out, making a br ight parterre on the table. It
was no grea t collection, but a few o f the ornaments were
really of remarkable beauty, the finest that was obvious at
first being a necklace of purple amethysts set in exquisite
gold work, and a pearl cross with five brilliants in it.
Dorothea i mmediately took up the necklace a nd fastened
it round her sister?s neck, where it fitted almost as closely
as a bracelet; but the circle su ited the Henrietta-Maria style
of Celia?s head and neck, and she could see that it did, in
the pier-glass opposite.
?There, Cel ia! you can we ar that with your Indian
muslin. Bu t this cro ss you must wear with your dark
dresses.?
Celia was trying not to smile with pleasure. ?O Dodo,
you must keep the cross yourself.?
?No, no, dear, no,? said Dorothea, putting up her hand
with careless deprecation.
?Yes, indeed you must; it would suit you?in your
black dress, now,? said Celia, insistingly. ?You MIGHT
wear that.?
?Not for the world, not for the world. A cross is the last
thing I would wear as a trinket.? Dorothea shuddered
slightly.
17 of 1492
Middlem arch
?Then you will think it wicked in me to wear it,? said
Celia, uneasily.
?No, dear, no,? said Dorothea, str oking her sister?s
cheek. ?Souls have complexions too: what will suit one
will not suit another.?
?But you might like to keep it for mamma?s sake.?
?No, I have other thi ngs of mamma?s? her sandal -
wood box which I am so fond of?plenty of things. In
fact, they ar e all yours, de ar. We need discuss them n o
longer. There?take away your p roperty.?
Celia felt a little hurt. There was a strong assump tion of
superiority in this Purita nic toleratio n, hardly less trying to
the blond flesh of an unenthusiastic sister than a Puritanic
persecution.
?But how can I wear ornamen ts if you, who are the
elder sister, will never wear them??
?Nay, Celia, that is too much to ask , that I should wear
trinkets to keep you in count enance . If I were to put on
such a neck lace as that, I should feel as if I had been
pirouetting. The world would go r ound with me, and I
should not know how to walk.?
Celia had unclasped the necklace and drawn it off. ?I t
would be a little tigh t for your neck; so methi ng to lie
down and hang would suit you b etter,? she said, with
18 of 1492
Middlem arch
some sa tisf action. The complete unf itness o f the necklace
from all points of view for Dorothea, made Celia happier
in taking it. She was opening some ring-boxes, which
disclosed a fine emerald with dia mo nds, and ju st then the
sun passing beyond a cl oud se nt a bright gleam over the
table.
?How very beautiful these gems are!? said Dor othea,
under a new current of feeling, as sudden as the gleam. ?It
is strange how deeply c olors seem to penetrate one, like
scent I suppose that is the reason why gems are used as
spiritual emb lems in the Reve lation of St. John. They look
like fragments of heaven. I think that emerald is more
beautiful than any of them.?
?And there is a bracelet to match it,? said Celia. ?We did
not noti ce this at first.?
?They are lo vely,? said Dorothea, slipping the ring and
bracelet on her finely turned finger and wrist, and holding
them towar ds the window on a level with her eyes. All
the while her thought was trying to justify her delight i n
the colors by merging them in her mystic religious joy.
?You WOULD like those, Dorothea,? said Celia, rather
falteringly, beginning to think with wonder that her sister
showed some weakness, and also that emeralds would suit
her own complexion even better than purple amethysts.
19 of 1492
Middlem arch
?You must keep that ring and bracelet?if nothing else.
But see, these agates are very pretty a nd quiet.?
?Yes! I will keep these?this ring and bracelet,? said
Dorothea. Then, letting her hand fall on the table , she said
in another tone??Yet what miserable men find such
things, and work at them, and sell them!? She paused
again, and Celia thought th at her sister was going to
renounce the ornaments, as i n consistency she ought to
do.
?Yes, dear, I will keep these,? said Dorothea, decidedly.
?But take all the rest away, and the casket.?
She took up her pencil wit hou t re moving the jewels,
and still looking at them. She thought of often having
them by her, to feed her ey e at these little fountains of
pure color.
?Shall you wear them in company?? said Celia, who was
watching he r with real curiosity as to what she would do.
Dorothea glanced quickly at her sister. Across all her
imaginative adornment of th ose whom she loved, there
darted now and then a keen discernment, which was not
without a scorching quality. If Miss Brooke ever attained
perfect meekness, it would not be for lack of inward fire.
?Perhaps,? she said, rather haughtily. ?I cannot tell to
what level I may sink.?
20 of 1492
Middlem arch
Celia blushed, and was unhappy : she saw that she had
offended her sister, and dared not say even anything pretty
about the gift of the ornaments which she put back into
the box and carried away. Dorothea too was unhappy, as
she went on with her plan-drawing, questioning the purity
of her own feeling and speech in the scene w hich had
ended with that little explosion.
Celia?s consciousness tol d her that she had not been at
all in the wrong: it was quite natur al and justifiable that
she should have asked that qu estion, and she repeated to
herself that Dorothea was inconsiste nt: either she should
have taken her full share of the jewels, or, after what she
had said, she should have renounced them altogether.
?I am sure?at least, I tru st,? thought Celia, ?that the
wearing of a necklace will not interfere with my prayers.
And I do not see that I shoul d be bound by Dorothea?s
opinions now we are going in to soci ety, though of course
she herself ought to be bound by them. But D orothea is
not always consistent.?
Thus Celia, mutely bending over her tapestry, u ntil she
heard her sister calling her.
?Here, Kitty, come and look at my plan; I shall think I
am a great architect, if I have not got incompatible stairs
and fireplaces.?
21 of 1492
Middlem arch
As Celia bent over the paper, Dorothea put her cheek
against her sister?s arm caressingly. Celia understood the
action. Dor othea saw that she had been in the wrong, and
Celia pardoned her. Since th ey could remember, there had
been a mixture of criticism and a we in the attitude of
Celia?s mind towards her elder sister. The younger had
always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature
without its private opinions?
22 of 1492
Middlem arch
Diese Website benutzt Google Analytics um seinen Nutzen zu messen. Durch die Nutzung dieser Webseite erklären Sie sich damit einverstanden, dass Cookies gesetzt werden.
Mehr erfahren