"Le sentiment de la fausseté des plaisirs présents, et l'ignorance de la vanité des plaisirs absents causent l'inconstance."--PASCAL.
Rosamond had a gleam of returning cheerfulness when the house was freed from the threatening figure, and when all the disagreeable creditors1 were paid. But she was not joyous2: her married life had fulfilled none of her hopes, and had been quite spoiled for her imagination. In this brief interval3 of calm, Lydgate, remembering that he had often been stormy in his hours of perturbation, and mindful of the pain Rosamond had had to bear, was carefully gentle towards her; but he, too, had lost some of his old spirit, and he still felt it necessary to refer to an economical change in their way of living as a matter of course, trying to reconcile her to it gradually, and repressing his anger when she answered by wishing that he would go to live in London. When she did not make this answer, she listened languidly, and wondered what she had that was worth living for. The hard and contemptuous words which had fallen from her husband in his anger had deeply offended that vanity which he had at first called into active enjoyment5; and what she regarded as his perverse6 way of looking at things, kept up a secret repulsion, which made her receive all his tenderness as a poor substitute for the happiness he had failed to give her. They were at a disadvantage with their neighbors, and there was no longer any outlook towards Quallingham--there was no outlook anywhere except in an occasional letter from Will Ladislaw. She had felt stung and disappointed by Will's resolution to quit Middlemarch, for in spite of what she knew and guessed about his admiration7 for Dorothea, she secretly cherished the belief that he had, or would necessarily come to have, much more admiration for herself; Rosamond being one of those women who live much in the idea that each man they meet would have preferred them if the preference had not been hopeless. Mrs. Casaubon was all very well; but Will's interest in her dated before he knew Mrs. Lydgate. Rosamond took his way of talking to herself, which was a mixture of playful fault-finding and hyperbolical gallantry, as the disguise of a deeper feeling; and in his presence she felt that agreeable titillation9 of vanity and sense of romantic drama which Lydgate's presence had no longer the magic to create. She even fancied--what will not men and women fancy in these matters?-- that Will exaggerated his admiration for Mrs. Casaubon in order to pique10 herself. In this way poor Rosamond's brain had been busy before Will's departure. He would have made, she thought, a much more suitable husband for her than she had found in Lydgate. No notion could have been falser than this, for Rosamond's discontent in her marriage was due to the conditions of marriage itself, to its demand for self-suppression and tolerance11, and not to the nature of her husband; but the easy conception of an unreal Better had a sentimental12 charm which diverted her ennui13. She constructed a little romance which was to vary the flatness of her life: Will Ladislaw was always to be a bachelor and live near her, always to be at her command, and have an understood though never fully4 expressed passion for her, which would be sending out lambent flames every now and then in interesting scenes. His departure had been a proportionate disappointment, and had sadly increased her weariness of Middlemarch; but at first she had the alternative dream of pleasures in store from her intercourse14 with the family at Quallingham. Since then the troubles of her married life had deepened, and the absence of other relief encouraged her regretful rumination15 over that thin romance which she had once fed on. Men and women make sad mistakes about their own symptoms, taking their vague uneasy longings16, sometimes for genius, sometimes for religion, and oftener still for a mighty17 love. Will Ladislaw had written chatty letters, half to her and half to Lydgate, and she had replied: their separation, she felt, was not likely to be final, and the change she now most longed for was that Lydgate should go to live in London; everything would be agreeable in London; and she had set to work with quiet determination to win this result, when there came a sudden, delightful18 promise which inspirited her.
It came shortly before the memorable19 meeting at the town-hall, and was nothing less than a letter from Will Ladislaw to Lydgate, which turned indeed chiefly on his new interest in plans of colonization20, but mentioned incidentally, that he might find it necessary to pay a visit to Middlemarch within the next few weeks--a very pleasant necessity, he said, almost as good as holidays to a schoolboy. He hoped there was his old place on the rug, and a great deal of music in store for him. But he was quite uncertain as to the time. While Lydgate was reading the letter to Rosamond, her face looked like a reviving flower--it grew prettier and more blooming. There was nothing unendurable now: the debts were paid, Mr. Ladislaw was coming, and Lydgate would be persuaded to leave Middlemarch and settle in London, which was "so different from a provincial21 town."
That was a bright bit of morning. But soon the sky became black over poor Rosamond. The presence of a new gloom in her husband, about which he was entirely22 reserved towards her--for he dreaded24 to expose his lacerated feeling to her neutrality and misconception-- soon received a painfully strange explanation, alien to all her previous notions of what could affect her happiness. In the new gayety of her spirits, thinking that Lydgate had merely a worse fit of moodiness25 than usual, causing him to leave her remarks unanswered, and evidently to keep out of her way as much as possible, she chose, a few days after the meeting, and without speaking to him on the subject, to send out notes of invitation for a small evening party, feeling convinced that this was a judicious26 step, since people seemed to have been keeping aloof27 from them, and wanted restoring to the old habit of intercourse. When the invitations had been accepted, she would tell Lydgate, and give him a wise admonition as to how a medical man should behave to his neighbors; for Rosamond had the gravest little airs possible about other people's duties. But all the invitations were declined, and the last answer came into Lydgate's hands.
"This is Chichely's scratch. What is he writing to you about?" said Lydgate, wonderingly, as he handed the note to her. She was obliged to let him see it, and, looking at her severely28, he said--
"Why on earth have you been sending out invitations without telling me, Rosamond? I beg, I insist that you will not invite any one to this house. I suppose you have been inviting29 others, and they have refused too." She said nothing.
"Do you hear me?" thundered Lydgate.
"Yes, certainly I hear you," said Rosamond, turning her head aside with the movement of a graceful30 long-necked bird.
Lydgate tossed his head without any grace and walked out of the room, feeling himself dangerous. Rosamond's thought was, that he was getting more and more unbearable--not that there was any new special reason for this peremptoriness31. His indisposition to tell her anything in which he was sure beforehand that she would not be interested was growing into an unreflecting habit, and she was in ignorance of everything connected with the thousand pounds except that the loan had come from her uncle Bulstrode. Lydgate's odious32 humors and their neighbors' apparent avoidance of them had an unaccountable date for her in their relief from money difficulties. If the invitations had been accepted she would have gone to invite her mamma and the rest, whom she had seen nothing of for several days; and she now put on her bonnet33 to go and inquire what had become of them all, suddenly feeling as if there were a conspiracy34 to leave her in isolation35 with a husband disposed to offend everybody. It was after the dinner hour, and she found her father and mother seated together alone in the drawing-room. They greeted her with sad looks, saying "Well, my dear!" and no more. She had never seen her father look so downcast; and seating herself near him she said--
"Is there anything the matter, papa?"
He did not answer, but Mrs. Vincy said, "Oh, my dear, have you heard nothing? It won't be long before it reaches you."
"Is it anything about Tertius?" said Rosamond, turning pale. The idea of trouble immediately connected itself with what had been unaccountable to her in him.
"Oh, my dear, yes. To think of your marrying into this trouble. Debt was bad enough, but this will be worse."
"Stay, stay, Lucy," said Mr. Vincy. "Have you heard nothing about your uncle Bulstrode, Rosamond?"
"No, papa," said the poor thing, feeling as if trouble were not anything she had before experienced, but some invisible power with an iron grasp that made her soul faint within her.
Her father told her everything, saying at the end, "It's better for you to know, my dear. I think Lydgate must leave the town. Things have gone against him. I dare say he couldn't help it. I don't accuse him of any harm," said Mr. Vincy. He had always before been disposed to find the utmost fault with Lydgate.
The shock to Rosamond was terrible. It seemed to her that no lot could be so cruelly hard as hers to have married a man who had become the centre of infamous36 suspicions. In many cases it is inevitable37 that the shame is felt to be the worst part of crime; and it would have required a great deal of disentangling reflection, such as had never entered into Rosamond's life, for her in these moments to feel that her trouble was less than if her husband had been certainly known to have done something criminal. All the shame seemed to be there. And she had innocently married this man with the belief that he and his family were a glory to her! She showed her usual reticence38 to her parents, and only said, that if Lydgate had done as she wished he would have left Middlemarch long ago.
"She bears it beyond anything," said her mother when she was gone.
"Ah, thank God!" said Mr. Vincy, who was much broken down.
But Rosamond went home with a sense of justified39 repugnance40 towards her husband. What had he really done--how had he really acted? She did not know. Why had he not told her everything? He did not speak to her on the subject, and of course she could not speak to him. It came into her mind once that she would ask her father to let her go home again; but dwelling41 on that prospect42 made it seem utter dreariness43 to her: a married woman gone back to live with her parents-- life seemed to have no meaning for her in such a position: she could not contemplate44 herself in it.
The next two days Lydgate observed a change in her, and believed that she had heard the bad news. Would she speak to him about it, or would she go on forever in the silence which seemed to imply that she believed him guilty? We must remember that he was in a morbid45 state of mind, in which almost all contact was pain. Certainly Rosamond in this case had equal reason to complain of reserve and want of confidence on his part; but in the bitterness of his soul he excused himself;-- was he not justified in shrinking from the task of telling her, since now she knew the truth she had no impulse to speak to him? But a deeper-lying consciousness that he was in fault made him restless, and the silence between them became intolerable to him; it was as if they were both adrift on one piece of wreck46 and looked away from each other.
He thought, "I am a fool. Haven't I given up expecting anything? I have married care, not help." And that evening he said--
"Rosamond, have you heard anything that distresses47 you?"
"Yes," she answered, laying down her work, which she had been carrying on with a languid semi-consciousness, most unlike her usual self.
"What have you heard?"
"Everything, I suppose. Papa told me."
"That people think me disgraced?"
"Yes," said Rosamond, faintly, beginning to sew again automatically.
There was silence. Lydgate thought, "If she has any trust in me-- any notion of what I am, she ought to speak now and say that she does not believe I have deserved disgrace."
But Rosamond on her side went on moving her fingers languidly. Whatever was to be said on the subject she expected to come from Tertius. What did she know? And if he were innocent of any wrong, why did he not do something to clear himself?
This silence of hers brought a new rush of gall8 to that bitter mood in which Lydgate had been saying to himself that nobody believed in him--even Farebrother had not come forward. He had begun to question her with the intent that their conversation should disperse48 the chill fog which had gathered between them, but he felt his resolution checked by despairing resentment49. Even this trouble, like the rest, she seemed to regard as if it were hers alone. He was always to her a being apart, doing what she objected to. He started from his chair with an angry impulse, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, walked up and down the room. There was an underlying50 consciousness all the while that he should have to master this anger, and tell her everything, and convince her of the facts. For he had almost learned the lesson that he must bend himself to her nature, and that because she came short in her sympathy, he must give the more. Soon he recurred51 to his intention of opening himself: the occasion must not be lost. If he could bring her to feel with some solemnity that here was a slander52 which must be met and not run away from, and that the whole trouble had come out of his desperate want of money, it would be a moment for urging powerfully on her that they should be one in the resolve to do with as little money as possible, so that they might weather the bad time and keep themselves independent. He would mention the definite measures which he desired to take, and win her to a willing spirit. He was bound to try this--and what else was there for him to do?
He did not know how long he had been walking uneasily backwards53 and forwards, but Rosamond felt that it was long, and wished that he would sit down. She too had begun to think this an opportunity for urging on Tertius what he ought to do. Whatever might be the truth about all this misery54, there was one dread23 which asserted itself.
Lydgate at last seated himself, not in his usual chair, but in one nearer to Rosamond, leaning aside in it towards her, and looking at her gravely before he reopened the sad subject. He had conquered himself so far, and was about to speak with a sense of solemnity, as on an occasion which was not to be repeated. He had even opened his lips, when Rosamond, letting her hands fall, looked at him and said--
"Surely, Tertius--"
"Well?"
"Surely now at last you have given up the idea of staying in Middlemarch. I cannot go on living here. Let us go to London. Papa, and every one else, says you had better go. Whatever misery I have to put up with, it will be easier away from here."
Lydgate felt miserably55 jarred. Instead of that critical outpouring for which he had prepared himself with effort, here was the old round to be gone through again. He could not bear it. With a quick change of countenance56 he rose and went out of the room.
Perhaps if he had been strong enough to persist in his determination to be the more because she was less, that evening might have had a better issue. If his energy could have borne down that check, he might still have wrought57 on Rosamond's vision and will. We cannot be sure that any natures, however inflexible58 or peculiar59, will resist this effect from a more massive being than their own. They may be taken by storm and for the moment converted, becoming part of the soul which enwraps them in the ardor60 of its movement. But poor Lydgate had a throbbing61 pain within him, and his energy had fallen short of its task.
The beginning of mutual62 understanding and resolve seemed as far off as ever; nay63, it seemed blocked out by the sense of unsuccessful effort. They lived on from day to day with their thoughts still apart, Lydgate going about what work he had in a mood of despair, and Rosamond feeling, with some justification64, that he was behaving cruelly. It was of no use to say anything to Tertius; but when Will Ladislaw came, she was determined65 to tell him everything. In spite of her general reticence, she needed some one who would recognize her wrongs.
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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titillation
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| n.搔痒，愉快；搔痒感 | |
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pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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rumination
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| n.反刍，沉思 | |
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longings
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| 渴望，盼望( longing的名词复数 ) | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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colonization
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| 殖民地的开拓，殖民，殖民地化； 移殖 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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moodiness
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| n.喜怒无常；喜怒无常，闷闷不乐；情绪 | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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peremptoriness
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| n.专横，强制，武断 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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dreariness
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| 沉寂，可怕，凄凉 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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distresses
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| n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 )；痛苦；贫困；危险 | |
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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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underlying
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| adj.在下面的，含蓄的，潜在的 | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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