by George Eliot
CHAPTER LX.
Good phrases are surely, and ever were, very commendable. --Justice Shallow.
A few days afterwards--it was already the end of August--there was anoccasion which caused some excitement in Middlemarch: the public, if itchose, was to have the advantage of buying, under the distinguishedauspices of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, the furniture, books, and pictureswhich anybody might see by the handbills to be the best in every kind,belonging to Edwin Larcher, Esq. This was not one of the salesindicating the depression of trade; on the contrary, it was due to Mr.Larcher's great success in the carrying business, which warranted hispurchase of a mansion near Riverston already furnished in high style byan illustrious Spa physician--furnished indeed with such largeframefuls of expensive flesh-painting in the dining-room, that Mrs.Larcher was nervous until reassured by finding the subjects to beScriptural. Hence the fine opportunity to purchasers which was wellpointed out in the handbills of Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, whoseacquaintance with the history of art enabled him to state that the hallfurniture, to be sold without reserve, comprised a piece of carving bya contemporary of Gibbons.
At Middlemarch in those times a large sale was regarded as a kind offestival. There was a table spread with the best cold eatables, as ata superior funeral; and facilities were offered for thatgenerous-drinking of cheerful glasses which might lead to generous andcheerful bidding for undesirable articles. Mr. Larcher's sale was themore attractive in the fine weather because the house stood just at theend of the town, with a garden and stables attached, in that pleasantissue from Middlemarch called the London Road, which was also the roadto the New Hospital and to Mr. Bulstrode's retired residence, known asthe Shrubs. In short, the auction was as good as a fair, and drew allclasses with leisure at command: to some, who risked making bids inorder simply to raise prices, it was almost equal to betting at theraces. The second day, when the best furniture was to be sold,"everybody" was there; even Mr. Thesiger, the rector of St. Peter's,had looked in for a short time, wishing to buy the carved table, andhad rubbed elbows with Mr. Bambridge and Mr. Horrock. There was awreath of Middlemarch ladies accommodated with seats round the largetable in the dining-room, where Mr. Borthrop Trumbull was mounted withdesk and hammer; but the rows chiefly of masculine faces behind wereoften varied by incomings and outgoings both from the door and thelarge bow-window opening on to the lawn.
"Everybody" that day did not include Mr. Bulstrode, whose health couldnot well endure crowds and draughts. But Mrs. Bulstrode hadparticularly wished to have a certain picture--a "Supper at Emmaus,"attributed in the catalogue to Guido; and at the last moment before theday of the sale Mr. Bulstrode had called at the office of the"Pioneer," of which he was now one of the proprietors, to beg of Mr.Ladislaw as a great favor that he would obligingly use his remarkableknowledge of pictures on behalf of Mrs. Bulstrode, and judge of thevalue of this particular painting--"if," added the scrupulously politebanker, "attendance at the sale would not interfere with thearrangements for your departure, which I know is imminent."
This proviso might have sounded rather satirically in Will's ear if hehad been in a mood to care about such satire. It referred to anunderstanding entered into many weeks before with the proprietors ofthe paper, that he should be at liberty any day he pleased to hand overthe management to the subeditor whom he had been training; since hewished finally to quit Middlemarch. But indefinite visions of ambitionare weak against the ease of doing what is habitual or beguilinglyagreeable; and we all know the difficulty of carrying out a resolvewhen we secretly long that it may turn out to be unnecessary. In suchstates of mind the most incredulous person has a private leaningtowards miracle: impossible to conceive how our wish could befulfilled, still--very wonderful things have happened! Will did notconfess this weakness to himself, but he lingered. What was the use ofgoing to London at that time of the year? The Rugby men who wouldremember him were not there; and so far as political writing wasconcerned, he would rather for a few weeks go on with the "Pioneer."At the present moment, however, when Mr. Bulstrode was speaking to him,he had both a strengthened resolve to go and an equally strong resolvenot to go till he had once more seen Dorothea. Hence he replied thathe had reasons for deferring his departure a little, and would be happyto go to the sale.
Will was in a defiant mood, his consciousness being deeply stung withthe thought that the people who looked at him probably knew a facttantamount to an accusation against him as a fellow with low designswhich were to be frustrated by a disposal of property. Like mostpeople who assert their freedom with regard to conventionaldistinction, he was prepared to be sudden and quick at quarrel with anyone who might hint that he had personal reasons for that assertion--thatthere was anything in his blood, his bearing, or his character towhich he gave the mask of an opinion. When he was under an irritatingimpression of this kind he would go about for days with a defiant look,the color changing in his transparent skin as if he were on the quivive, watching for something which he had to dart upon.
This expression was peculiarly noticeable in him at the sale, and thosewho had only seen him in his moods of gentle oddity or of brightenjoyment would have been struck with a contrast. He was not sorry tohave this occasion for appearing in public before the Middlemarchtribes of Toller, Hackbutt, and the rest, who looked down on him as anadventurer, and were in a state of brutal ignorance about Dante--whosneered at his Polish blood, and were themselves of a breed very muchin need of crossing. He stood in a conspicuous place not far from theauctioneer, with a fore-finger in each side-pocket and his head thrownbackward, not caring to speak to anybody, though he had been cordiallywelcomed as a connoiss_ure_ by Mr. Trumbull, who was enjoying theutmost activity of his great faculties.
And surely among all men whose vocation requires them to exhibit theirpowers of speech, the happiest is a prosperous provincial auctioneerkeenly alive to his own jokes and sensible of his encyclopedicknowledge. Some saturnine, sour-blooded persons might object to beconstantly insisting on the merits of all articles from boot-jacks to"Berghems;" but Mr. Borthrop Trumbull had a kindly liquid in his veins;he was an admirer by nature, and would have liked to have the universeunder his hammer, feeling that it would go at a higher figure for hisrecommendation.
Meanwhile Mrs. Larcher's drawing-room furniture was enough for him.When Will Ladislaw had come in, a second fender, said to have beenforgotten in its right place, suddenly claimed the auctioneer'senthusiasm, which he distributed on the equitable principle of praisingthose things most which were most in need of praise. The fender was ofpolished steel, with much lancet-shaped open-work and a sharp edge.
"Now, ladies," said he, "I shall appeal to you. Here is a fender whichat any other sale would hardly be offered with out reserve, being, as Imay say, for quality of steel and quaintness of design, a kind ofthing"--here Mr. Trumbull dropped his voice and became slightly nasal,trimming his outlines with his left finger--"that might not fall inwith ordinary tastes. Allow me to tell you that by-and-by this styleof workmanship will be the only one in vogue--half-a-crown, you said?thank you--going at half-a-crown, this characteristic fender; and Ihave particular information that the antique style is very much soughtafter in high quarters. Three shillings--three-and-sixpence--hold itwell up, Joseph! Look, ladies, at the chastity of the design--I haveno doubt myself that it was turned out in the last century! Fourshillings, Mr. Mawmsey?--four shillings."
"It's not a thing I would put in _my_ drawing-room," said Mrs. Mawmsey,audibly, for the warning of the rash husband. "I wonder _at_ Mrs.Larcher. Every blessed child's head that fell against it would be cutin two. The edge is like a knife."
"Quite true," rejoined Mr. Trumbull, quickly, "and most uncommonlyuseful to have a fender at hand that will cut, if you have a leathershoe-tie or a bit of string that wants cutting and no knife at hand:many a man has been left hanging because there was no knife to cut himdown. Gentlemen, here's a fender that if you had the misfortune tohang your
selves would cut you down in no time--with astonishingcelerity--four-and-sixpence--five--five-and-sixpence--an appropriatething for a spare bedroom where there was a four-poster and a guest alittle out of his mind--six shillings--thank you, Mr. Clintup--goingat six shillings--going--gone!" The auctioneer's glance, which hadbeen searching round him with a preternatural susceptibility to allsigns of bidding, here dropped on the paper before him, and his voicetoo dropped into a tone of indifferent despatch as he said, "Mr.Clintup. Be handy, Joseph."
"It was worth six shillings to have a fender you could always tell thatjoke on," said Mr. Clintup, laughing low and apologetically to his nextneighbor. He was a diffident though distinguished nurseryman, andfeared that the audience might regard his bid as a foolish one.
Meanwhile Joseph had brought a trayful of small articles. "Now,ladies," said Mr. Trumbull, taking up one of the articles, "this traycontains a very recherchy lot--a collection of trifles for thedrawing-room table--and trifles make the sum _of_ human things--nothingmore important than trifles--(yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes, by-and-by)--butpass the tray round, Joseph--these bijoux must be examined, ladies.This I have in my hand is an ingenious contrivance--a sort ofpractical rebus, I may call it: here, you see, it looks like an elegantheart-shaped box, portable--for the pocket; there, again, it becomeslike a splendid double flower--an ornament for the table; and now"--Mr.Trumbull allowed the flower to fall alarmingly into strings ofheart-shaped leaves--"a book of riddles! No less than five hundredprinted in a beautiful red. Gentlemen, if I had less of a conscience,I should not wish you to bid high for this lot--I have a longing forit myself. What can promote innocent mirth, and I may say virtue, morethan a good riddle?--it hinders profane language, and attaches a man tothe society of refined females. This ingenious article itself, withoutthe elegant domino-box, card-basket, &c., ought alone to give a highprice to the lot. Carried in the pocket it might make an individualwelcome in any society. Four shillings, sir?--four shillings for thisremarkable collection of riddles with the et caeteras. Here is asample: 'How must you spell honey to make it catch lady-birds?Answer--money.' You hear?--lady-birds--honey money. This is anamusement to sharpen the intellect; it has a sting--it has what we callsatire, and wit without indecency. Four-and-sixpence--five shillings."
The bidding ran on with warming rivalry. Mr. Bowyer was a bidder, andthis was too exasperating. Bowyer couldn't afford it, and only wantedto hinder every other man from making a figure. The current carriedeven Mr. Horrock with it, but this committal of himself to an opinionfell from him with so little sacrifice of his neutral expression, thatthe bid might not have been detected as his but for the friendly oathsof Mr. Bambridge, who wanted to know what Horrock would do with blastedstuff only fit for haberdashers given over to that state of perditionwhich the horse-dealer so cordially recognized in the majority ofearthly existences. The lot was finally knocked down at a guinea toMr. Spilkins, a young Slender of the neighborhood, who was recklesswith his pocket-money and felt his want of memory for riddles.
"Come, Trumbull, this is too bad--you've been putting some old maid'srubbish into the sale," murmured Mr. Toller, getting close to theauctioneer. "I want to see how the prints go, and I must be off soon."
"_Im_mediately, Mr. Toller. It was only an act of benevolence whichyour noble heart would approve. Joseph! quick with the prints--Lot235. Now, gentlemen, you who are connoiss_ures_, you are going to havea treat. Here is an engraving of the Duke of Wellington surrounded byhis staff on the Field of Waterloo; and notwithstanding recent eventswhich have, as it were, enveloped our great Hero in a cloud, I will bebold to say--for a man in my line must not be blown about by politicalwinds--that a finer subject--of the modern order, belonging to our owntime and epoch--the understanding of man could hardly conceive: angelsmight, perhaps, but not men, sirs, not men."
"Who painted it?" said Mr. Powderell, much impressed.
"It is a proof before the letter, Mr. Powderell--the painter is notknown," answered Trumbull, with a certain gaspingness in his lastwords, after which he pursed up his lips and stared round him.
"I'll bid a pound!" said Mr. Powderell, in a tone of resolved emotion,as of a man ready to put himself in the breach. Whether from awe orpity, nobody raised the price on him.
Next came two Dutch prints which Mr. Toller had been eager for, andafter he had secured them he went away. Other prints, and afterwardssome paintings, were sold to leading Middlemarchers who had come with aspecial desire for them, and there was a more active movement of theaudience in and out; some, who had bought what they wanted, going away,others coming in either quite newly or from a temporary visit to therefreshments which were spread under the marquee on the lawn. It wasthis marquee that Mr. Bambridge was bent on buying, and he appeared tolike looking inside it frequently, as a foretaste of its possession.On the last occasion of his return from it he was observed to bringwith him a new companion, a stranger to Mr. Trumbull and every oneelse, whose appearance, however, led to the supposition that he mightbe a relative of the horse-dealer's--also "given to indulgence." Hislarge whiskers, imposing swagger, and swing of the leg, made him astriking figure; but his suit of black, rather shabby at the edges,caused the prejudicial inference that he was not able to afford himselfas much indulgence as he liked.
"Who is it you've picked up, Bam?" said Mr. Horrock, aside.
"Ask him yourself," returned Mr. Bambridge. "He said he'd just turnedin from the road."
Mr. Horrock eyed the stranger, who was leaning back against his stickwith one hand, using his toothpick with the other, and looking abouthim with a certain restlessness apparently under the silence imposed onhim by circumstances.
At length the "Supper at Emmaus" was brought forward, to Will's immenserelief, for he was getting so tired of the proceedings that he haddrawn back a little and leaned his shoulder against the wall justbehind the auctioneer. He now came forward again, and his eye caughtthe conspicuous stranger, who, rather to his surprise, was staring athim markedly. But Will was immediately appealed to by Mr. Trumbull.
"Yes, Mr. Ladislaw, yes; this interests you as a connoiss_ure_, Ithink. It is some pleasure," the auctioneer went on with a risingfervor, "to have a picture like this to show to a company of ladies andgentlemen--a picture worth any sum to an individual whose means were ona level with his judgment. It is a painting of the Italian school--bythe celebrated Guydo, the greatest painter in the world, the chief ofthe Old Masters, as they are called--I take it, because they were upto a thing or two beyond most of us--in possession of secrets now lostto the bulk of mankind. Let me tell you, gentlemen, I have seen agreat many pictures by the Old Masters, and they are not all up to thismark--some of them are darker than you might like and not familysubjects. But here is a Guydo--the frame alone is worth pounds--whichany lady might be proud to hang up--a suitable thing for what we call arefectory in a charitable institution, if any gentleman of theCorporation wished to show his munifi_cence_. Turn it a little, sir?yes. Joseph, turn it a little towards Mr. Ladislaw--Mr. Ladislaw,having been abroad, understands the merit of these things, you observe."
All eyes were for a moment turned towards Will, who said, coolly, "Fivepounds." The auctioneer burst out in deep remonstrance.
"Ah! Mr. Ladislaw! the frame alone is worth that. Ladies andgentlemen, for the credit of the town! Suppose it should be discoveredhereafter that a gem of art has been amongst us in this town, andnobody in Middlemarch awake to it. Five guineas--five seven-six--fiveten. Still, ladies, still! It is a gem, and 'Full many a gem,' as thepoet says, has been allowed to go at a nominal price because the publicknew no better, because it was offered in circles where there was--Iwas going to say a low feeling, but no!--Six pounds--six guineas--aGuydo of the first order going at six guineas--it is an insult toreligion, ladies; it touches us all as Christians, gentlemen, that asubject like this should go at such a low figure--six poundsten--seven--"
The bidding was brisk, and Will continued to share in it, rememberingthat Mrs.
Bulstrode had a strong wish for the picture, and thinkingthat he might stretch the price to twelve pounds. But it was knockeddown to him at ten guineas, whereupon he pushed his way towards thebow-window and went out. He chose to go under the marquee to get aglass of water, being hot and thirsty: it was empty of other visitors,and he asked the woman in attendance to fetch him some fresh water; butbefore she was well gone he was annoyed to see entering the floridstranger who had stared at him. It struck Will at this moment that theman might be one of those political parasitic insects of the bloatedkind who had once or twice claimed acquaintance with him as havingheard him speak on the Reform question, and who might think of gettinga shilling by news. In this light his person, already rather heatingto behold on a summer's day, appeared the more disagreeable; and Will,half-seated on the elbow of a garden-chair, turned his eyes carefullyaway from the comer. But this signified little to our acquaintance Mr.Raffles, who never hesitated to thrust himself on unwillingobservation, if it suited his purpose to do so. He moved a step or twotill he was in front of Will, and said with full-mouthed haste, "Excuseme, Mr. Ladislaw--was your mother's name Sarah Dunkirk?"
Will, starting to his feet, moved backward a step, frowning, and sayingwith some fierceness, "Yes, sir, it was. And what is that to you?"
It was in Will's nature that the first spark it threw out was a directanswer of the question and a challenge of the consequences. To havesaid, "What is that to you?" in the first instance, would have seemedlike shuffling--as if he minded who knew anything about his origin!
Raffles on his side had not the same eagerness for a collision whichwas implied in Ladislaw's threatening air. The slim young fellow withhis girl's complexion looked like a tiger-cat ready to spring on him.Under such circumstances Mr. Raffles's pleasure in annoying his companywas kept in abeyance.
"No offence, my good sir, no offence! I only remember your mother--knewher when she was a girl. But it is your father that you feature,sir. I had the pleasure of seeing your father too. Parents alive, Mr.Ladislaw?"
"No!" thundered Will, in the same attitude as before.
"Should be glad to do you a service, Mr. Ladislaw--by Jove, I should!Hope to meet again."
Hereupon Raffles, who had lifted his hat with the last words, turnedhimself round with a swing of his leg and walked away. Will lookedafter him a moment, and could see that he did not re-enter theauction-room, but appeared to be walking towards the road. For aninstant he thought that he had been foolish not to let the man go ontalking;--but no! on the whole he preferred doing without knowledgefrom that source.
Later in the evening, however, Raffles overtook him in the street, andappearing either to have forgotten the roughness of his formerreception or to intend avenging it by a forgiving familiarity, greetedhim jovially and walked by his side, remarking at first on thepleasantness of the town and neighborhood. Will suspected that the manhad been drinking and was considering how to shake him off when Rafflessaid--
"I've been abroad myself, Mr. Ladislaw--I've seen the world--used toparley-vous a little. It was at Boulogne I saw your father--a mostuncommon likeness you are of him, by Jove! mouth--nose--eyes--hairturned off your brow just like his--a little in the foreign style.John Bull doesn't do much of that. But your father was very ill when Isaw him. Lord, lord! hands you might see through. You were a smallyoungster then. Did he get well?"
"No," said Will, curtly.
"Ah! Well! I've often wondered what became of your mother. She ranaway from her friends when she was a young lass--a proud-spiritedlass, and pretty, by Jove! I knew the reason why she ran away," saidRaffles, winking slowly as he looked sideways at Will.
"You know nothing dishonorable of her, sir," said Will, turning on himrather savagely. But Mr. Raffles just now was not sensitive to shadesof manner.
"Not a bit!" said he, tossing his head decisively "She was a little toohonorable to like her friends--that was it!" Here Raffles again winkedslowly. "Lord bless you, I knew all about 'em--a little in what youmay call the respectable thieving line--the high style ofreceiving-house--none of your holes and corners--first-rate. Slap-upshop, high profits and no mistake. But Lord! Sarah would have knownnothing about it--a dashing young lady she was--fineboarding-school--fit for a lord's wife--only Archie Duncan threw it ather out of spite, because she would have nothing to do with him. Andso she ran away from the whole concern. I travelled for 'em, sir, in agentlemanly way--at a high salary. They didn't mind her running awayat first--godly folks, sir, very godly--and she was for the stage. Theson was alive then, and the daughter was at a discount. Hallo! here weare at the Blue Bull. What do you say, Mr. Ladislaw?--shall we turn inand have a glass?"
"No, I must say good evening," said Will, dashing up a passage whichled into Lowick Gate, and almost running to get out of Raffles's reach.
He walked a long while on the Lowick road away from the town, glad ofthe starlit darkness when it came. He felt as if he had had dirt caston him amidst shouts of scorn. There was this to confirm the fellow'sstatement--that his mother never would tell him the reason why she hadrun away from her family.
Well! what was he, Will Ladislaw, the worse, supposing the truth aboutthat family to be the ugliest? His mother had braved hardship in orderto separate herself from it. But if Dorothea's friends had known thisstory--if the Chettams had known it--they would have had a fine colorto give their suspicions a welcome ground for thinking him unfit tocome near her. However, let them suspect what they pleased, they wouldfind themselves in the wrong. They would find out that the blood inhis veins was as free from the taint of meanness as theirs.