فصل 03

CHAPTER THREE

A wedding-journey to Rome

Forty years ago, George IV was the king of England, the Duke of Wellington was Prime Minister, Mr Vincy was the Mayor of Middlemarch, and Mrs Casaubon, born Dorothea Brooke, went on her wedding-journey to Rome.

One day in December, Will Ladislaw was looking at the statues in the Vatican when his friend Naumann came up to him and said, ‘Come and see this woman!’ The two men went quickly and quietly down the corridor to another room where there was a beautiful marble statue of a Greek goddess. Standing near the statue was a lovely young woman dressed in plain grey clothes. She was not looking at the statue. Her large eyes were fixed dreamily on the sunlight coming through the window. Suddenly she noticed that she was being watched. Without looking at the two men, she turned and walked away.

‘What a contrast!’ said Naumann, when she was gone. ‘There is antique beauty, pagan and sensual. And here is living beauty, full of the consciousness of Christian centuries! If I painted a picture of it, I would make her dress as a nun.’

‘She’s married to my cousin,’ said Will. ‘I didn’t know that they were coming to Rome.’

‘Do you mean that old man? I saw him with her earlier today. Go and visit them and introduce me to them. Maybe your cousin would like me to paint the lady’s portrait.’

‘I don’t know if I shall visit them or not. And English ladies have better things to do than to model for you. If you painted her, you would only paint the outside. Language is a finer medium for representing women.’

‘Yes, for those who can’t paint!’ said Naumann.

Will was offended and did not reply.

‘I see,’ said Naumann. ‘You are in love with your great-aunt, and no one else can look at her! This is serious, my friend!’

‘Don’t joke about that lady, Naumann,’ said Will, irritated. He suddenly felt that something had changed in his relation to her.

Two hours later, Dorothea was in her apartment in the Via Sistina. I am sorry to say that she was sobbing bitterly. Mr Casaubon was in the Vatican. She did not expect him to come back for several hours. Dorothea had now been five weeks in Rome. She had seen the great ruins and the glorious churches, but she found it all rather oppressive. She preferred to go out to the country to be alone with the earth and the sky.

During these first five weeks of marriage, her idea of Mr Casaubon and her relation to him had gradually changed. Mr Casaubon himself had not changed: he was exactly the same. Before they were married, she had thought of his learning as a noble search for truth; but now it seemed a dry and depressing activity. His mind had seemed to her like a fine building, high on a hill, with panoramic views and lots of fresh air; now it seemed like a labyrinth, full of dark corridors that led nowhere.

Whenever he suggested that she should see a building or a work of art, he said, ‘Most people think it worth visiting.’

If Dorothea asked him, ‘But what do you think?’, he replied, ‘It is very famous.’

There is nothing more depressing for a passionate young mind than this kind of response, in which years of knowledge seem to have produced a complete absence of interest or sympathy.

It seemed to her that Mr Casaubon had forgotten the purpose of his own work. He spent his time writing sarcastic comments about other men’s theories of the solar deities, and in doing so he had become indifferent to the sunlight.

She might not have noticed these things so soon if he had been warm and loving towards her, but he was not. She had a warm heart. She longed for someone to love and serve. She wanted someone to hold her hands and listen to her thoughts and tell her his own thoughts in return. But Mr Casaubon was not like that. He spent his days working, and in the evenings he often seemed still to be thinking about his research. He had not found marriage to be a state of intense delight. Nevertheless, he intended to be a good husband, and hoped to make Dorothea happy.

That morning there had been an unpleasant scene between them. Dorothea had said to her husband, ‘I hope you are satisfied with our time in Rome - I mean, as far as your studies are concerned.’

‘Yes,’ replied Mr Casaubon. ‘I have made some interesting notes. They are not absolutely necessary to my study, but they are of interest. Fortunately, your company has prevented me from working too hard.’

‘I’m very glad that my presence has made any difference to you,’ said Dorothea. ‘I hope that, when we get back to Lowick, I can be more useful to you.’

‘Certainly, my dear,’ said Mr Casaubon. ‘I will need you to copy out and organise the notes I have made here.’

‘Yes, your notes,’ said Dorothea. ‘And all those volumes of notes at Lowick. Don’t you think that now may be the time to write your book? Will you decide what to include in the book and what to omit, so that the world can finally benefit from your vast knowledge? I will help you. I can be of no other use.’ Dorothea ended with a sob and her eyes full of tears.

‘My love,’ replied Mr Casaubon. He seemed calm, even though her comment had hurt and shocked him deeply. ‘I will know when the time has come to write my book. People who don’t know what it is to work hard cannot understand true scholarship.’

‘I realise that I cannot fully understand your work,’ said Dorothea coldly. ‘I simply wanted to be of use.’

Both were shocked by the situation. Each had been angry with the other. Neither of them felt able to say the gentle words that could restore tranquillity. Dorothea felt that all her efforts to participate in his life were coldly rejected. Mr Casaubon felt as if he had invited one of his critics into his home. Instead of comforting him when others criticised him, Dorothea was herself becoming critical.

When her servant Tantripp knocked on the door, Dorothea quickly dried her eyes. ‘Come in,’ she said. Tantripp entered and said that a young gentleman had come to visit. She gave Dorothea a card on which was written the name ‘Mr Will Ladislaw’.

‘Thank you,’ said Dorothea. ‘I’ll come downstairs immediately.’

Will stood up as Dorothea entered the drawing-room. He could see that she had been crying. She came towards him, smiling in an open friendly way, and shook his hand. He was several years older than she, but at that moment he looked younger, for he blushed suddenly.

‘I didn’t know that you and Mr Casaubon were in Rome until this morning, when I saw you in the Vatican Museum,’ he said. ‘I hope you are both enjoying your time here.’

‘Thank you. Mr Casaubon is not here at the moment - he is very busy - but he will be glad to hear that you called.’

‘If you will allow me, I will call again tomorrow when Mr Casaubon is here,’ said Will.

‘He goes to read in the Vatican Library every day. He’s usually away from breakfast to dinner. But I’m sure he’ll invite you to have dinner with us.’

Will had never liked Mr Casaubon. Now he felt angry with him. That dry old pedant had got this adorable young woman to marry him, and now he was passing his honeymoon away from her. The thought filled Will with a sort of comic disgust: he didn’t know whether to laugh or insult Mr Casaubon at the top of his voice.

Will smiled at Dorothea, and she smiled back. Will Ladislaw’s smile was delightful. His face seemed full of light. ‘Something amuses you?’ asked Dorothea.

‘Yes,’ said Will, quickly finding an excuse for his smile. ‘I’m thinking of the first time we met, when you criticised my poor sketch.’

‘Criticised?’ said Dorothea in surprise. ‘I can’t criticise art. I am too ignorant about it.’

‘You said that you couldn’t see the relation of my sketch to nature.’

‘That was really my ignorance,’ said Dorothea. ‘I rarely see any beauty in pictures, even those that are considered very fine.’

Will realised that she was entirely sincere. ‘I enjoy the paintings here very much,’ he said. ‘But I probably learned how to enjoy them gradually. And I paint a little myself. That helps me to appreciate them.’

‘Do you intend to become a painter?’ asked Dorothea. ‘Mr Casaubon will be glad to hear that you have chosen a profession.’

‘Oh no,’ said Will. ‘I’ve decided not to become a painter. I have some friends here who are German painters. They are brilliant fellows, but they look at life entirely from the point of view of painting. I don’t want to do that.’

‘Yes, I understand,’ said Dorothea. ‘So many things seem more necessary than paintings. But if you have artistic talent, perhaps you should take that as your guide.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have enough talent,’ said Will. Her simple honesty made him feel that he could say anything to her. ‘And it is useless for me to try to become a great painter through hard work. If things don’t come easily to me, I never get them.’

‘I have heard Mr Casaubon say that he wishes you were more patient,’ said Dorothea, gently. She was rather shocked at his way of taking all life as a holiday.

‘Yes, I know Mr Casaubon’s opinion. He and I differ.’

The contempt in his reply offended Dorothea. ‘You’re certainly different,’ she said, proudly. ‘I never thought of comparing you. Mr Casaubon’s diligence is rare.’

Will saw that she was offended, but he did not like to hear her defending her husband. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘That is why it’s such a pity that it’s wasted. If Mr Casaubon could read German, he would save himself a lot of trouble.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Dorothea, surprised and anxious.

‘I mean,’ said Will, casually, ‘that the Germans have already done a lot of the work he is trying to do.’

Will did not realise what pain his words caused her. The idea that all her husband’s hard work might be useless filled her heart with pity and anxiety for him.

When he saw the effect of his words, Will felt rather ashamed. ‘I think it’s a great pity. I especially regret it because Mr Casaubon has been so generous to me.’

Dorothea looked up at him with tears in her eyes. ‘I was at school at Lausanne, and there were German teachers there, but I didn’t study German. How I wish I had! If I could read German now, I could be of use to him.’

Will began to see why Dorothea had married Mr Casaubon. She had imagined some romantic role for herself in this marriage. If Mr Casaubon had been a dragon that had carried her away, Will would have rescued her and declared his love for her. But the situation was more complicated than that.

At that moment, Mr Casaubon came through the door. He was unpleasantly surprised to see Will there with Dorothea, especially since both of them seemed agitated. However, he was, as always, calm and polite. As he stood beside his young cousin, Mr Casaubon looked even more faded than usual. Will gave an impression of sunny brightness. When he turned his head quickly, his hair seemed to radiate light. Mr Casaubon, on the contrary, stood rayless.

Dorothea did not notice the contrast, though she did see that her husband looked sad. She felt pity and tenderness for him. For the first time, she saw him as he actually was, not as her girlish dreams had made him.

Mr Casaubon invited Will to dinner the following day. Will accepted the invitation and, seeing that his cousin was tired, left immediately.

Dorothea sat beside Mr Casaubon and said, ‘Forgive me for speaking as I did this morning. I was wrong. I fear that I hurt you.’

‘I’m glad you feel that, my dear,’ said Mr Casaubon.

‘But do you forgive me?’ asked Dorothea with a sob.

‘Yes, my dear. Don’t distress yourself.’ He wanted to tell her that she should not have received young Ladislaw in his absence, but he did not want to criticise her at the moment of her penitence.