9 Middlemarch - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Middlemarch by George Eliot explores the lives of its inhabitants as they navigate societal expectations, personal aspirations, and the changing world around them. The story centres on Dorothea Brooke, a young, idealistic woman who marries an older scholar.

In this episode, Mr Casaubon makes his move.

Transcript

Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,

Your go-to podcast that offers you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.

It is time to relax and fully let go.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Close your eyes and feel yourself sink into the support beneath you and let all the worries of the day drift away.

This is your time and your space.

Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out with a long sigh.

There is nothing you need to be doing now,

And nowhere you need to go.

Happy listening.

Chapter 5 Continued Late in the evening,

Dorothea followed her uncle into the library to give him the letter that he might send it in the morning.

He was surprised,

But his surprise only issued in a few moments' silence,

During which he pushed about various objects on his writing table,

And finally stood with his back to the fire,

His glasses on his nose,

Looking at the address.

Have you thought enough about this,

My dear?

He said at last.

There is no need to think long,

Uncle.

I know of nothing to make me vacillate.

If I change my mind,

It must be because of something important and entirely new to me.

Ah,

Then you've accepted him.

Then Chetum has no chance.

Has Chetum offended you?

Offended you,

You know.

What is it you don't like in Chetum?

There's nothing that I like in him,

Said Dorothea rather impetuously.

Mr.

Brooke threw his head and shoulders backward as if someone had thrown a light missile at him.

Dorothea immediately felt some self-rebuke.

I mean in the light of a husband.

He's very kind,

I think,

Really very good about the cottages,

A well-meaning man.

But you must have a scholar and that sort of thing.

Well,

It lies a little in our family.

I had it myself,

That love of knowledge and going into everything.

A little too much.

It took me too far.

That sort of thing doesn't often run in the female line.

It runs underground,

Like the rivers in Greece,

You know.

It comes out in the sons.

Clever sons,

Clever mothers.

I went a good deal into that at one time.

However,

My dear,

I have always said people should do as they like in these things up to a certain point.

I couldn't,

As your guardian,

Have consented to a bad match.

But Cassopon stands well.

His position is good.

I'm afraid Chetum will be hurt,

Though,

And Miss Cadwallader will blame me.

That evening,

Of course,

Celia knew nothing of what had happened.

She attributed Dorothea's abstracted manner and the evidence of further crying since they had got home to the temper she'd been in about Sir James Chetum and the buildings,

And was careful not to give further offence,

Having once said what she wanted to say.

She had no disposition to recur to disagreeable subjects.

It had been Celia's nature when a child never to quarrel with anyone,

Only to observe with wonder that they quarrelled with her and looked like turkey cocks,

Whereupon she was ready to play at cat's cradle with them whenever they recovered themselves.

As to Dorothea,

It had always been her way to find something wrong in her sister's words,

Though Celia inwardly protested she always said just how things were and nothing else.

She never did and never could put words together out of her own head.

But the best of Dodo was that she did not keep angry for long altogether.

Now though they'd hardly spoken to each other all the evening,

Yet when Celia put by her work,

Intending to go to bed,

A proceeding in which she was always much the earlier,

Dorothea,

Who was seated on a low stool,

Unable to occupy herself except in meditation,

Said with a musical intonation,

Which in moments of deep but quiet feeling made her speech like a fine bit of recitative,

Celia dear,

Come kiss me,

Holding her arms open as she spoke.

Celia knelt down to get the right level and gave her a little butterfly kiss,

While Dorothea encircled her with gentle arms and pressed her lips gravely on each cheek.

Don't sit up,

Dodo,

You're so pale tonight.

Go to bed soon,

Said Celia in a comfortable way,

Without any touch of pathos.

No dear,

I'm really very happy,

Said Dorothea fervently.

So much the better,

Thought Celia,

But how strangely Dodo goes from one extreme to the other.

The next day at luncheon,

The butler,

Handing something to Mr Brook,

Said,

Jonas has come back,

Sir,

And has brought this letter.

Mr Brook read the letter and then,

Nodding towards Dorothea,

Said,

Casabon,

My dear,

He will be here to dinner.

He didn't wait to write more.

Didn't wait,

You know.

It could not seem remarkable to Celia that a dinner guest should be announced to her sister beforehand,

But her eyes following the same direction as her uncle's,

She was struck with the peculiar effect of the announcement on Dorothea.

It seemed like the reflection of a white sunlit wing had passed across her features,

Ending in one of her rare blushes.

For the first time it entered into Celia's mind there might be something more between Mr Casabon and her sister than his delighted bookish talk and her delighted listening.

Hitherto she had classed the admiration for this ugly and learned acquaintance with the admiration for Monsieur Lorette at Lausanne also ugly and learned.

Dorothea had never been tired of listening to old Monsieur Lorette when Celia's feet were as cold as possible and when it had really become dreadful to see the skin of his bald head moving about.

Why then should her enthusiasm not extend to Mr Casabon simply in the same way?

And it seemed probable that all learned men had a sort of schoolmaster's view of young people.

But now Celia was really startled at the suspicion which had darted into her mind.

She was seldom taken by surprise in this way,

Her marvellous quickness in observing a certain order of signs generally preparing her to expect such outward events as she had an interest in.

Now that she imagined Mr Casabon to be already an accepted lover she had only begun to feel disgust at the possibility that anything in Dorothea's mind could tend towards such an issue.

Here was something really to vex her about Dodo.

It was all very well not to accept Sir James Chetham but the idea of marrying Mr Casabon Celia felt a sort of shame mingled with a sense of the ludicrous.

But perhaps Dodo,

If she were really bordering on such an extravagance might be turned away from it.

Experience had often shown her impressibility might be calculated on.

The day was damp and they were not going to walk out so they both went up to their sitting room and there Celia observed Dorothea,

Instead of settling down with her usual diligent interest of some occupation simply leaned her elbow on an open book and looked out of the window at the great cedar silvered with the damp.

She herself had taken up the making of a toy for the curate's children and was not going to enter on any subject too precipitately.

Dorothea was in fact thinking it was desirable for Celia to know of the momentous change in Mr Casabon's position since he'd last been in the house.

It did not seem fair to leave her sister in ignorance of what would necessarily affect her attitude towards him but it was impossible not to shrink from telling her.

Dorothea accused herself of some meanness in this timidity.

It was always odious to her to have any small fears or contrivances about her actions but at this moment she was seeking the highest aid possible that she might not dread the corrosiveness of Celia's pretty carnally minded prose.

Her reverie was broken and the difficulty of decision banished by Celia's small and rather guttural voice speaking in its usual tone of a remark aside or a by the by.

Is anyone else coming to dine besides Miss Casabon?

Not that I know of.

I hope there is someone else and I shall not hear him eat his soup so.

What is there remarkable about his soup eating?

Really Dodo,

Can't you hear how he scrapes his spoon and he always blinks before he speaks.

I don't know whether Locke blinked but I'm sure I'm sorry for those who sat opposite him if he did.

Celia,

Said Dorothea with emphatic gravity,

Pray don't make any more observations of that kind.

Why not?

They're quite true.

Many things are true which only the commonest minds observe.

Then I think the commonest minds must be rather useful.

I think it's a pity Mr Casabon's mother had not a commoner mind.

She might have taught him better.

Celia was now inwardly frightened and ready to run away now she had hurled this light javelin.

Dorothea's feelings had gathered to an avalanche and there could be no further preparation.

It is right to tell you,

Celia,

I'm engaged to marry Mr Casabon.

Perhaps Celia had never turned so pale before.

The paper man she was making would have had his leg injured but for her habitual care of whatever she held in her hands.

She laid the fragile figure down at once and sat perfectly still for a few moments.

When she spoke there was a tear gathering.

Oh Dodo,

I hope you will be happy.

Her sisterly tenderness could not but surmount other feelings at this moment and her fears were the fears of affection.

Dorothea was still hurt and agitated.

It is quite decided then.

An uncle knows,

Said Celia in an awed undertone.

I have accepted Mr Casabon's offer.

My uncle brought me the letter that contained it.

He knew about it beforehand.

I beg your pardon if I said anything to hurt you,

Dodo.

Celia gave out a slight sob.

She never could have thought she could feel as she did.

Never mind,

Kitty,

Do not grieve.

We should never admire the same people.

I often offend in something of the same way.

I'm apt to speak too strongly of those who don't please me.

But in spite of this magnanimity,

Dorothea was still smarting.

Perhaps as much from Celia's subdued astonishment as from her small criticisms.

Of course all the world around Tipton would be out of sympathy with this marriage.

Dorothea knew of no one who thought as she did about life and its best objects.

Nevertheless,

Before the evening was at an end,

She was very happy.

In an hour's tête-à-tête with Mr Casabon,

She talked to him with more freedom than she'd ever felt before.

Even pouring out her joy at the thought of devoting herself to him and of learning how she might best share and further his great ends.

Mr Casabon was touched with an unknown delight at this childish unrestrained ardour.

He was not surprised that he should be the object of it,

However.

My dear young lady,

Miss Brooke,

Dorothea.

He pressed her hand between his hands.

This is a happiness greater than I'd ever imagined to be in reserve for me.

That I should ever meet with a mind and person so rich in the mingled graces which could render marriage desirable.

Was far indeed from my conception.

You have all,

Nay,

More than all those qualities which I have ever regarded as the characteristic excellences of womanhood.

The great charm of your success is its capability of an ardent self-sacrificing affection.

And hearing we see its fitness to round and complete the existence of our own.

Hitherto I have known few pleasures save of the severer kind.

My satisfactions being those of the solitary student.

I have been little disposed to gather flowers than would wither in my hand.

But now I shall pluck them with eagerness to place them in your bosom.

No speech could have been more thoroughly honest in its intention.

The frigid rhetoric at the end was as sincere as the bark of a dog or the cawing of an amorous rook.

Would it not be rash to conclude there was no passion behind those sonnets to Delia which strike us as the thin music of a mandolin?

Dorothea's face supplied all that Mr.

Cassabon's words seemed to leave unsaid.

What believer sees a disturbing omission or infelicity?

The text,

Whether of prophet or of poet,

Expands for whatever we can put into it and even his bad grammar is sublime.

I am very ignorant.

You will quite wonder at my ignorance,

Said Dorothea.

I have so many thoughts that may be quite mistaken.

And now I shall be able to tell them all to you and ask you about them.

But,

She added with rapid imagination of Mr.

Cassabon's probable feeling,

I will not trouble you too much,

Only when you are inclined to listen to me.

You must often be weary with the pursuit of subjects in your own track.

I shall gain enough if you will take me with you there.

How should I be able now to persevere in any path without your companionship,

Said Mr.

Cassabon,

Kissing her candid brow,

And feeling that heaven and vouchsafed him a blessing in every way suited to his peculiar wants?

He was being unconsciously walked upon by the charms of a nature which was entirely without hidden calculations.

It was this which made Dorothea so childlike,

And according to some judges so stupid,

With all her reputed cleverness.

As,

For example,

In the present case of throwing herself,

Metaphorically speaking,

At his feet and kissing his unfashionable shoe-ties,

As it were,

She were not in the least teaching Mr.

Cassabon to ask if he were good enough for her,

But merely asking herself anxiously,

How could she be good enough for Mr.

Cassabon?

Before he left the next day,

It was decided.

The marriage should take place within six weeks.

Why not?

His house was ready.

It was not a parsonage,

But a considerable mansion with much land attached to it.

The parsonage was inhabited by the curate,

Who did all the duty except preaching the morning sermon.