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MIDDLEMARCH-Part78_GEORGE ELIOT(1819-1880)_English Literature(文学)-第2页

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any more than Vesalius could. It isn't possible to square one's

conduct to silly conclusions which nobody can foresee."



"Quite true; I didn't mean that. I meant only two things. One is,

keep yourself as separable from Bulstrode as you can: of course,



you can go on doing good work of your own by his help; but don't

get tied. Perhaps it seems like personal feeling in me to say so--



and there's a good deal of that, I own--but personal feeling is not

always in the wrong if you boil it down to the impressions which make



it simply an opinion."

"Bulstrode is nothing to me," said Lydgate, carelessly, "except on



public grounds. As to getting very closely united to him, I am not

fond enough of him for that. But what was the other thing you meant?"



said Lydgate, who was nursing his leg as comfortably as possible,

and feeling in no great need of advice.



"Why, this. Take care--experto crede--take care not to get

hampered about money matters. I know, by a word you let fall one day,



that you don't like my playing at cards so much for money. You are

right enough there. But try and keep clear of wanting small sums



that you haven't got. I am perhaps talking rather superfluously;

but a man likes to assume superiority over himself, by holding up



his bad example and sermonizing on it."

Lydgate took Mr. Farebrother's hints very cordially, though he



would hardly have borne them from another man. He could not help

remembering that he had lately made some debts, but these had



seemed inevitable, and he had no intention now to do more than

keep house in a simple way. The furniture for which he owed



would not want renewing; nor even the stock of wine for a long while.

Many thoughts cheered him at that time--and justly. A man



conscious of enthusiasm for worthy aims is sustained under petty

hostilities by the memory of great workers who had to fight their



way not without wounds, and who hover in his mind as patron saints,

invisibly helping. At home, that same evening when he had been



chatting with Mr. Farebrother, he had his long legs stretched

on the sofa, his head thrown back, and his hands clasped behind



it according to his favorite ruminating attitude, while Rosamond

sat at the piano, and played one tune after another, of which her



husband only knew (like the emotionalelephant he was!) that they

fell in with his mood as if they had been melodious sea-breezes.



There was something very fine in Lydgate's look just then,

and any one might have been encouraged to bet on his achievement.



In his dark eyes and on his mouth and brow there was that placidity

which comes from the fulness of contemplative thought--the mind



not searching, but beholding, and the glance seeming to be filled

with what is behind it.



Presently Rosamond left the piano and seated herself on a chair

close to the sofa and opposite her husband's face.



"Is that enough music for you, my lord?" she said, folding her hands

before her and putting on a little air of meekness.



"Yes, dear, if you are tired," said Lydgate, gently, turning his

eyes and resting them on her, but not otherwise moving.



Rosamond's presence at that moment was perhaps no more than a spoonful

brought to the lake, and her woman's instinct in this matter was not dull.



"What is absorbing you?" she said, leaning forward and bringing

her face nearer to his.



He moved his hands and placed them gently behind her shoulders.

"I am thinking of a great fellow, who was about as old as I am



three hundred years ago, and had already begun a new era in anatomy."

"I can't guess," said Rosamond, shaking her head. "We used to play



at guessing historical characters at Mrs. Lemon's, but not anatomists."

"I'll tell you. His name was Vesalius. And the only way he could get



to know anatomy as he did, was by going to snatch bodies at night,

from graveyards and places of execution."



"Oh!" said Rosamond, with a look of disgust on her pretty face,

"I am very glad you are not Vesalius. I should have thought he



might find some less horrible way than that."

"No, he couldn't," said Lydgate, going on too earnestly to take



much notice of her answer. "He could only get a complete skeleton




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