CHAPTER IX.

1stGent.Anancientlandinancientoracles Iscalled“law-thirsty”:allthestrugglethere Wasafterorderandaperfectrule. Pray,whereliesuchlandsnow?... 2dGent.Why,wheretheylayofold—inhumansouls. Mr.Casaubon’sbehavioraboutsettlementswashighlysatisfactorytoMr.Brooke,andthepreliminariesofmarriagerolledsmoothlyalong,shorteningtheweeksofcourtship.Thebetrothedbridemustseeherfuturehome,anddictateanychangesthatshewouldliketohavemadethere.Awomandictatesbeforemarriageinorderthatshemayhaveanappetiteforsubmissionafterwards.Andcertainly,themistakesthatwemaleandfemalemortalsmakewhenwehaveourownwaymightfairlyraisesomewonderthatwearesofondofit. OnagraybutdryNovembermorningDorotheadrovetoLowickincompanywithheruncleandCelia.Mr.Casaubon’shomewasthemanor-house.Closeby,visiblefromsomepartsofthegarden,wasthelittlechurch,withtheoldparsonageopposite.Inthebeginningofhiscareer,Mr.Casaubonhadonlyheldtheliving,butthedeathofhisbrotherhadputhiminpossessionofthemanoralso.Ithadasmallpark,withafineoldoakhereandthere,andanavenueoflimestowardsthesouthwestfront,withasunkfencebetweenparkandpleasure-ground,sothatfromthedrawing-roomwindowstheglancesweptuninterruptedlyalongaslopeofgreenswardtillthelimesendedinalevelofcornandpastures,whichoftenseemedtomeltintoalakeunderthesettingsun.Thiswasthehappysideofthehouse,forthesouthandeastlookedrathermelancholyevenunderthebrightestmorning.Thegroundshereweremoreconfined,theflower-bedsshowednoverycarefultendance,andlargeclumpsoftrees,chieflyofsombreyews,hadrisenhigh,nottenyardsfromthewindows.Thebuilding,ofgreenishstone,wasintheoldEnglishstyle,notugly,butsmall-windowedandmelancholy-looking:thesortofhousethatmusthavechildren,manyflowers,openwindows,andlittlevistasofbrightthings,tomakeitseemajoyoushome.Inthislatterendofautumn,withasparseremnantofyellowleavesfallingslowlyathwartthedarkevergreensinastillnesswithoutsunshine,thehousetoohadanairofautumnaldecline,andMr.Casaubon,whenhepresentedhimself,hadnobloomthatcouldbethrownintoreliefbythatbackground. “Ohdear!”Celiasaidtoherself,“IamsureFreshittHallwouldhavebeenpleasanterthanthis.”Shethoughtofthewhitefreestone,thepillaredportico,andtheterracefullofflowers,SirJamessmilingabovethemlikeaprinceissuingfromhisenchantmentinarose-bush,withahandkerchiefswiftlymetamorphosedfromthemostdelicatelyodorouspetals—SirJames,whotalkedsoagreeably,alwaysaboutthingswhichhadcommon-senseinthem,andnotaboutlearning!CeliahadthoselightyoungfemininetasteswhichgraveandweatherworngentlemensometimespreferinawifebuthappilyMr.Casaubon’sbiashadbeendifferent,forhewouldhavehadnochancewithCelia. Dorothea,onthecontrary,foundthehouseandgroundsallthatshecouldwish:thedarkbook-shelvesinthelonglibrary,thecarpetsandcurtainswithcolorssubduedbytime,thecuriousoldmapsandbird’s-eyeviewsonthewallsofthecorridor,withhereandthereanoldvasebelow,hadnooppressionforher,andseemedmorecheerfulthanthecastsandpicturesattheGrange,whichherunclehadlongagobroughthomefromhistravels—theybeingprobablyamongtheideashehadtakeninatonetime.TopoorDorotheathesesevereclassicalnuditiesandsmirkingRenaissance-Correggiositieswerepainfullyinexplicable,staringintothemidstofherPuritanicconceptions:shehadneverbeentaughthowshecouldbringthemintoanysortofrelevancewithherlife.ButtheownersofLowickapparentlyhadnotbeentravellers,andMr.Casaubon’sstudiesofthepastwerenotcarriedonbymeansofsuchaids. Dorotheawalkedaboutthehousewithdelightfulemotion.Everythingseemedhallowedtoher:thiswastobethehomeofherwifehood,andshelookedupwitheyesfullofconfidencetoMr.Casaubonwhenhedrewherattentionspeciallytosomeactualarrangementandaskedherifshewouldlikeanalteration.Allappealstohertasteshemetgratefully,butsawnothingtoalter.Hiseffortsatexactcourtesyandformaltendernesshadnodefectforher.Shefilledupallblankswithunmanifested