Let the high Muse1 chant loves Olympian: We are but mortals, and must sing of man.
An eminent2 philosopher among my friends, who can dignify3 even your ugly furniture by lifting it into the serene4 light of science, has shown me this pregnant little fact. Your pier-glass or extensive surface of polished steel made to be rubbed by a housemaid, will be minutely and multitudinously scratched in all directions; but place now against it a lighted candle as a centre of illumination, and lo! the scratches will seem to arrange themselves in a fine series of concentric circles round that little sun. It is demonstrable that the scratches are going everywhere impartially5 and it is only your candle which produces the flattering illusion of a concentric arrangement, its light falling with an exclusive optical selection. These things are a parable6. The scratches are events, and the candle is the egoism of any person now absent-- of Miss Vincy, for example. Rosamond had a Providence7 of her own who had kindly8 made her more charming than other girls, and who seemed to have arranged Fred's illness and Mr. Wrench9's mistake in order to bring her and Lydgate within effective proximity10. It would have been to contravene11 these arrangements if Rosamond had consented to go away to Stone Court or elsewhere, as her parents wished her to do, especially since Mr. Lydgate thought the precaution needless. Therefore, while Miss Morgan and the children were sent away to a farmhouse12 the morning after Fred's illness had declared itself, Rosamond refused to leave papa and mamma.
Poor mamma indeed was an object to touch any creature born of woman; and Mr. Vincy, who doted on his wife, was more alarmed on her account than on Fred's. But for his insistence13 she would have taken no rest: her brightness was all bedimmed; unconscious of her costume which had always been so fresh and gay, she was like a sick bird with languid eye and plumage ruffled14, her senses dulled to the sights and sounds that used most to interest her. Fred's delirium15, in which he seemed to be wandering out of her reach, tore her heart. After her first outburst against-Mr. Wrench she went about very quietly: her one low cry was to Lydgate. She would follow him out of the room and put her hand on his arm moaning out, "Save my boy." Once she pleaded, "He has always been good to me, Mr. Lydgate: he never had a hard word for his mother,"-- as if poor Fred's suffering were an accusation16 against him. All the deepest fibres of the mother's memory were stirred, and the young man whose voice took a gentler tone when he spoke17 to her, was one with the babe whom she had loved, with a love new to her, before he was born.
"I have good hope, Mrs. Vincy," Lydgate would say. "Come down with me and let us talk about the food." In that way he led her to the parlor18 where Rosamond was, and made a change for her, surprising her into taking some tea or broth19 which had been prepared for her. There was a constant understanding between him and Rosamond on these matters. He almost always saw her before going to the sickroom, and she appealed to him as to what she could do for mamma. Her presence of mind and adroitness21 in carrying out his hints were admirable, and it is not wonderful that the idea of seeing Rosamond began to mingle22 itself with his interest in the case. Especially when the critical stage was passed, and he began to feel confident of Fred's recovery. In the more doubtful time, he had advised calling in Dr. Sprague (who, if he could, would rather have remained neutral on Wrench's account); but after two consultations23, the conduct of the case was left to Lydgate, and there was every reason to make him assiduous. Morning and evening he was at Mr. Vincy's, and gradually the visits became cheerful as Fred became simply feeble, and lay not only in need of the utmost petting but conscious of it, so that Mrs. Vincy felt as if, after all, the illness had made a festival for her tenderness.
Both father and mother held it an added reason for good spirits, when old Mr. Featherstone sent messages by Lydgate, saying that Fred-must make haste and get well, as he, Peter Featherstone, could not do without him, and missed his visits sadly. The old man himself was getting bedridden. Mrs. Vincy told these messages to Fred when he could listen, and he turned towards her his delicate, pinched face, from which all the thick blond hair had been cut away, and in which the eyes seemed to have got larger, yearning24 for some word about Mary--wondering what she felt about his illness. No word passed his lips; but "to hear with eyes belongs to love's rare wit," and the mother in the fulness of her heart not only divined Fred's longing25, but felt ready for any sacrifice in order to satisfy him.
"If I can only see my boy strong again," she said, in her loving folly26; "and who knows?--perhaps master of Stone Court! and he can marry anybody he likes then."
"Not if they won't have me, mother," said Fred. The illness had made him childish, and tears came as he spoke.
"Oh, take a bit of jelly, my dear," said Mrs. Vincy, secretly incredulous of any such refusal.
She never left Fred's side when her husband was not in the house, and thus Rosamond was in the unusual position of being much alone. Lydgate, naturally, never thought of staying long with her, yet it seemed that the brief impersonal27 conversations they had together were creating that peculiar28 intimacy29 which consists in shyness. They were obliged to look at each other in speaking, and somehow the looking could not be carried through as the matter of course which it really was. Lydgate began to feel this sort of consciousness unpleasant and one day looked down, or anywhere, like an ill-worked puppet. But this turned out badly: the next day, Rosamond looked down, and the consequence was that when their eyes met again, both were more conscious than before. There was no help for this in science, and as Lydgate did not want to flirt30, there seemed to be no help for it in folly. It was therefore a relief when neighbors no longer considered the house in quarantine, and when the chances of seeing Rosamond alone were very much reduced.
But that intimacy of mutual31 embarrassment32, in which each feels that the other is feeling something, having once existed, its effect is not to be done away with. Talk about the weather and other well-bred topics is apt to seem a hollow device, and behavior can hardly become easy unless it frankly33 recognizes a mutual fascination--which of course need not mean anything deep or serious. This was the way in which Rosamond and Lydgate slid gracefully34 into ease, and made their intercourse35 lively again. Visitors came and went as usual, there was once more music in the drawing-room, and all the extra hospitality of Mr. Vincy's mayoralty returned. Lydgate, whenever he could, took his seat by Rosamond's side, and lingered to hear her music, calling himself her captive--meaning, all the while, not to be her captive. The preposterousness36 of the notion that he could at once set up a satisfactory establishment as a married man was a sufficient guarantee against danger. This play at being a little in love was agreeable, and did not interfere37 with graver pursuits. Flirtation38, after all, was not necessarily a singeing39 process. Rosamond, for her part, had never enjoyed the days so much in her life before: she was sure of being admired by some one worth captivating, and she did not distinguish flirtation from love, either in herself or in another. She seemed to be sailing with a fair wind just whither she would go, and her thoughts were much occupied with a handsome house in Lowick Gate which she hoped would by-and-by be vacant. She was quite determined40, when she was married, to rid herself adroitly41 of all the visitors who were not agreeable to her at her father's; and she imagined the drawing-room in her favorite house with various styles of furniture.
Certainly her thoughts were much occupied with Lydgate himself; he seemed to her almost perfect: if he had known his notes so that his enchantment42 under her music had been less like an emotional elephant's, and if he had been able to discriminate43 better the refinements44 of her taste in dress, she could hardly have mentioned a deficiency in him. How different he was from young Plymdale or Mr. Caius Larcher! Those young men had not a notion of French, and could speak on no subject with striking knowledge, except perhaps the dyeing and carrying trades, which of course they were ashamed to mention; they were Middlemarch gentry45, elated with their silver-headed whips and satin stocks, but embarrassed in their manners, and timidly jocose46: even Fred was above them, having at least the accent and manner of a university man. Whereas Lydgate was always listened to, bore himself with the careless politeness of conscious superiority, and seemed to have the right clothes on by a certain natural affinity47, without ever having to think about them. Rosamond was proud when he entered the room, and when he approached her with a distinguishing smile, she had a delicious sense that she was the object of enviable homage48. If Lydgate had been aware of all the pride he excited in that delicate bosom49, he might have been just as well pleased as any other man, even the most densely50 ignorant of humoral pathology or fibrous tissue: he held it one of the prettiest attitudes of the feminine mind to adore a man's pre-eminence without too precise a knowledge of what it consisted in. But Rosamond was not one of those helpless girls who betray themselves unawares, and whose behavior is awkwardly driven by their impulses, instead of being steered51 by wary52 grace and propriety53. Do you imagine that her rapid forecast and rumination54 concerning house-furniture and society were ever discernible in her conversation, even with her mamma? On the contrary, she would have expressed the prettiest surprise and disapprobation if she had heard that another young lady had been detected in that immodest prematureness--indeed, would probably have disbelieved in its possibility. For Rosamond never showed any unbecoming knowledge, and was always that combination of correct sentiments, music, dancing, drawing, elegant note-writing, private album for extracted verse, and perfect blond loveliness, which made the irresistible55 woman for the doomed56 man of that date. Think no unfair evil of her, pray: she had no wicked plots, nothing sordid57 or mercenary; in fact, she never thought of money except as something necessary which other people would always provide. She was not in the habit of devising falsehoods, and if her statements were no direct clew to fact, why, they were not intended in that light-- they were among her elegant accomplishments58, intended to please. Nature had inspired many arts in finishing Mrs. Lemon's favorite pupil, who by general consent (Fred's excepted) was a rare compound of beauty, cleverness, and amiability59.
Lydgate found it more and more agreeable to be with her, and there was no constraint60 now, there was a delightful61 interchange of influence in their eyes, and what they said had that superfluity of meaning for them, which is observable with some sense of flatness by a third person; still they had no interviews or asides from which a third person need have been excluded. In fact, they flirted62; and Lydgate was secure in the belief that they did nothing else. If a man could not love and be wise, surely he could flirt and be wise at the same time? Really, the men in Middlemarch, except Mr. Farebrother, were great bores, and Lydgate did not care about commercial politics or cards: what was he to do for relaxation63? He was often invited to the Bulstrodes'; but the girls there were hardly out of the schoolroom; and Mrs. Bulstrode's _naive_ way of conciliating piety64 and worldliness, the nothingness of this life and the desirability of cut glass, the consciousness at once of filthy65 rags and the best damask, was not a sufficient relief from the weight of her husband's invariable seriousness. The Vincys' house, with all its faults, was the pleasanter by contrast; besides, it nourished Rosamond--sweet to look at as a half-opened blush-rose, and adorned66 with accomplishments for the refined amusement of man.
But he made some enemies, other than medical, by his success with Miss Vincy. One evening he came into the drawing-room rather late, when several other visitors were there. The card-table had drawn67 off the elders, and Mr. Ned Plymdale (one of the good matches in Middlemarch, though not one of its leading minds) was in tete-a-tete with Rosamond. He had brought the last "Keepsake," the gorgeous watered-silk publication which marked modern progress at that time; and he considered himself very fortunate that he could be the first to look over it with her, dwelling68 on the ladies and gentlemen with shiny copper-plate cheeks and copper-plate smiles, and pointing to comic verses as capital and sentimental69 stories as interesting. Rosamond was gracious, and Mr. Ned was satisfied that he had the very best thing in art and literature as a medium for "paying addresses"--the very thing to please a nice girl. He had also reasons, deep rather than ostensible70, for being satisfied with his own appearance. To superficial observers his chin had too vanishing an aspect, looking as if it were being gradually reabsorbed. And it did indeed cause him some difficulty about the fit of his satin stocks, for which chins were at that time useful.
"I think the Honorable Mrs. S. is something like you," said Mr. Ned. He kept the book open at the bewitching portrait, and looked at it rather languishingly71.
"Her back is very large; she seems to have sat for that," said Rosamond, not meaning any satire72, but thinking how red young Plymdale's hands were, and wondering why Lydgate did not come. She went on with her tatting all the while.
"I did not say she was as beautiful as you are," said Mr. Ned, venturing to look from the portrait to its rival.
"I suspect you of being an adroit20 flatterer," said Rosamond, feeling sure that she should have to reject this young gentleman a second time.
But now Lydgate came in; the book was closed before he reached Rosamond's corner, and as he took his seat with easy confidence on the other side of her, young Plymdale's jaw73 fell like a barometer74 towards the cheerless side of change. Rosamond enjoyed not only Lydgate's presence but its effect: she liked to excite jealousy75.
"What a late comer you are!" she said, as they shook hands. "Mamma had given you up a little while ago. How do you find Fred?"
"As usual; going on well, but slowly. I want him to go away-- to Stone Court, for example. But your mamma seems to have some objection."
"Poor fellow!" said Rosamond, prettily76. "You will see Fred so changed," she added, turning to the other suitor; "we have looked to Mr. Lydgate as our guardian77 angel during this illness."
Mr. Ned smiled nervously78, while Lydgate, drawing the "Keepsake" towards him and opening it, gave a short scornful laugh and tossed up his chill, as if in wonderment at human folly.
"What are you laughing at so profanely79?" said Rosamond, with bland80 neutrality.
"I wonder which would turn out to be the silliest--the engravings or the writing here," said Lydgate, in his most convinced tone, while he turned over the pages quickly, seeming to see all through the book in no time, and showing his large white hands to much advantage, as Rosamond thought. "Do look at this bridegroom coming out of church: did you ever see such a `sugared invention'--as the Elizabethans used to say? Did any haberdasher ever look so smirking82? Yet I will answer for it the story makes him one of the first gentlemen in the land."
"You are so severe, I am frightened at you," said Rosamond, keeping her amusement duly moderate. Poor young Plymdale had lingered with admiration83 over this very engraving81, and his spirit was stirred.
"There are a great many celebrated84 people writing in the `Keepsake,' at all events," he said, in a tone at once piqued85 and timid. "This is the first time I have heard it called silly."
"I think I shall turn round on you and accuse you of being a Goth," said Rosamond, looking at Lydgate with a smile. "I suspect you know nothing about Lady Blessington and L. E. L." Rosamond herself was not without relish86 for these writers, but she did not readily commit herself by admiration, and was alive to the slightest hint that anything was not, according to Lydgate, in the very highest taste.
"But Sir Walter Scott--I suppose Mr. Lydgate knows him," said young Plymdale, a little cheered by this advantage.
"Oh, I read no literature now," said Lydgate, shutting the book, and pushing it away. "I read so much when I was a lad, that I suppose it will last me all my life. I used to know Scott's poems by heart."
"I should like to know when you left off," said Rosamond, "because then I might be sure that I knew something which you did not know."
"Mr. Lydgate would say that was not worth knowing," said Mr. Ned, purposely caustic87.
"On the contrary," said Lydgate, showing no smart; but smiling with exasperating88 confidence at Rosamond. "It would be worth knowing by the fact that Miss Vincy could tell it me."
Young Plymdale soon went to look at the whist-playing, thinking that Lydgate was one of the most conceited89, unpleasant fellows it had ever been his ill-fortune to meet.
"How rash you are!" said Rosamond, inwardly delighted. "Do you see that you have given offence?"
"What! is it Mr. Plymdale's book? I am sorry. I didn't think about it."
"I shall begin to admit what you said of yourself when you first came here--that you are a bear, and want teaching by the birds."
"Well, there is a bird who can teach me what she will. Don't I listen to her willingly?"
To Rosamond it seemed as if she and Lydgate were as good as engaged. That they were some time to be engaged had long been an idea in her mind; and ideas, we know, tend to a more solid kind of existence, the necessary materials being at hand. It is true, Lydgate had the counter-idea of remaining unengaged; but this was a mere90 negative, a shadow east by other resolves which themselves were capable of shrinking. Circumstance was almost sure to be on the side of Rosamond's idea, which had a shaping activity and looked through watchful91 blue eyes, whereas Lydgate's lay blind and unconcerned as a jelly-fish which gets melted without knowing it.
That evening when he went home, he looked at his phials to see how a process of maceration92 was going on, with undisturbed interest; and he wrote out his daily notes with as much precision as usual. The reveries from which it was difficult for him to detach himself were ideal constructions of something else than Rosamond's virtues93, and the primitive94 tissue was still his fair unknown. Moreover, he was beginning to feel some zest95 for the growing though half-suppressed feud96 between him and the other medical men, which was likely to become more manifest, now that Bulstrode's method of managing the new hospital was about to be declared; and there were various inspiriting signs that his non-acceptance by some of Peacock's patients might be counterbalanced by the impression he had produced in other quarters. Only a few days later, when he had happened to overtake Rosamond on the Lowick road and had got down from his horse to walk by her side until he had quite protected her from a passing drove, he had been stopped by a servant on horseback with a message calling him in to a house of some importance where Peacock had never attended; and it was the second instance of this kind. The servant was Sir James Chettam's, and the house was Lowick Manor97.
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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parable
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| n.寓言，比喻 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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contravene
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| v.违反，违背，反驳，反对 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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adroitness
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mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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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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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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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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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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preposterousness
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| n.preposterous（颠倒的，首末倒置的）的变形 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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singeing
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的现在分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿]；烧毛 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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enchantment
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| n.迷惑，妖术，魅力 | |
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discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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rumination
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| n.反刍，沉思 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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flirted
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| v.调情，打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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ostensible
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| adj.(指理由)表面的，假装的 | |
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languishingly
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| 渐渐变弱地，脉脉含情地 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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barometer
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| n.气压表，睛雨表，反应指标 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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profanely
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| adv.渎神地，凡俗地 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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exasperating
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| adj. 激怒的 动词exasperate的现在分词形式 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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maceration
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| n.泡软，因绝食而衰弱 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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