10 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, we meet the force of local gossip that is Mrs Cadwallader.
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 Six As Mr.
Cassabon's carriage was passing out of the gateway,
It arrested the entrance of a Pony Faton driven by a lady with a servant seated behind.
It was doubtful whether the recognition had been mutual,
But Mr.
Cassabon was looking absently before him.
But the lady was quick-eyed and threw a nod and a how do you do in the nick of time.
In spite of her shabby bonnet and a very old Indian shawl,
It was plain the lodgekeeper regarded her as an important personage from the low curtsy which was dropped on the entrance of the small Faton.
Well,
Mrs.
Fitchit,
How are your fowls laying now?
Said the high-coloured dark lady with the clearest chiselled utterance.
Pretty well for laying,
Ma'am,
But I'd take them to eating their eggs.
I've no peace of mind with them at all.
No,
They're cannibals.
Better sell them cheap at once.
What will you get them a couple?
One can't eat fowls of a bad character at a high price.
Well,
Madam,
Half a crown.
I couldn't let them go for not under that.
Half a crown!
These times!
Come now,
For the rector's chicken broth on a Sunday.
He's consumed all ours that I can spare.
You are half paid with a sermon,
Mrs.
Fitchit,
Remember that.
Take a pair of tumbler pigeons for them,
Little beauties.
You must come and see them.
You have no tumblers among your pigeons.
Well,
Madam,
Master Fitchit shall go and see him after work.
He's very hot on you sorts.
To oblige you.
Oblige me!
It will be the best bargain he's ever made.
A pair of church pigeons for a couple of wicked Spanish fowls that eat their own eggs.
Don't you and Fitchit boast too much,
That's all.
The Faton was driven onwards with the last words,
Leaving Mrs.
Fitchit laughing and shaking her head slowly,
With an interjectional,
Surely,
Surely,
From which it might be inferred she would have found the countryside somewhat duller if the rector's lady had been less free-spoken and less of a skinjolent.
Indeed,
Both the farmers and labourers in the parishes of Freshet and Tipton would have felt a sad lack of conversation,
But for the stories about what Miss Cadwaller said and did.
A lady of immeasurable high birth,
Descended as it were from unknown earls,
Dimmers the crowd of heroic shades,
Who pleaded poverty,
Pared down prices and cut jokes in the most companionable manner,
Though with a turn of tongue that let you know who she was.
Such a lady gave enablingness to both rank and religion,
And mitigated the bitterness of uncommuted tithe.
A much more exemplary character with an infusion of sour dignity would not have furthered their comprehension of the 39 articles,
And would have been less socially uniting.
Mr.
Brooke,
Seeing Miss Cadwaller's merits from a different point of view,
Winced a little when her name was announced in the library where he was sitting alone.
I see you've had our low-wicked Cicero here,
She said,
Seating herself comfortably,
Throwing back her wraps and showing a thin but well-built figure.
I suspect you in here brewing some bad politics,
Though she would not be seeing so much of the lively man.
I shall inform against you,
Remembering your most suspicious characters since you took Peel's side about the Catholic bill,
I shall tell everybody you're going to put up for middlemarch on the weak side when old Pinkerton resigns,
And that Cassabon's going to help you in an underhand manner,
Going to bribe the voters with pamphlets and throw open the public houses to distribute them.
Come now,
Confess.
Nothing of the sort,
Said Mr.
Brooke,
Smiling and rubbing his eyeglasses,
But really blushing a little at the impeachment.
Cassabon and I don't talk politics much,
He doesn't care much about the philanthropic side of things,
Punishments and that kind of thing,
He only cares about church questions.
That is not my line of action,
You know.
Rather too much,
My friend,
I have heard of your doings.
Who was it that sold this bit of land to the papists at middlemarch?
I believe you bought it on purpose.
You're a perfect guy foe.
See if you're not burnt in effigy this 5th of November coming.
Humphrey would not come to quarrel with you about it,
So I am come.
Very good.
I was prepared to be persecuted for not persecuting,
Not persecuting,
You know.
There you go.
That is a piece of claptrap you've got ready for the hustings.
Now do not let them lure you to the hustings,
My dear Mr.
Brooke.
A man always makes a fool of himself,
Speechifying.
There's no excuse but being on the right side so that you can ask a blessing on your humming and hawing.
You will lose yourself,
I forewarn you.
You will make a Saturday pie of all parties' opinions and be pelted by everybody.
That is just what I expect,
You know,
Said Mr.
Brooke,
Not wishing to betray how little he enjoyed this prophetic sketch.
What I expect is an independent man.
As to the wicks,
A man who goes with the thinkers is not likely to be hooked up on by any party.
He may go with them to a certain point,
Up to a certain point,
You know,
But that is what you ladies never understand.
Where your certain point is?
No,
I should like to be told how a man can have any certain point when he belongs to no party,
Needing a roving life and never letting his friends know his address.
Nobody knows where Brooke will be.
There's no counting on Brooke.
That is what people say of you,
To be quite frank.
Now do turn respectable,
Mr.
Brooke.
How will you like going to sessions with everybody looking shy on you and you with a bad conscience and an empty pocket?
I don't pretend to argue with a lady on politics.
Mr.
Brooke had an air of smiling indifference,
But he felt rather unpleasantly conscious that this attack of Mrs.
Cadwallader's had opened a defensive campaign to which certain rash steps had exposed him.
You ladies are always against an independent attitude.
A man's caring for nothing but truth and that sort of thing,
You know.
There's no part of the country where opinion is narrower than it is here.
I don't mean to throw stones,
You know,
But somebody has wanted to take the independent line and if I don't take it,
Who will?
Who?
Why,
Any upstart who's got neither blood nor position.
People of standing should consume their independent nonsense at home,
Not hawk it about.
And you,
Who are going to marry your niece,
As good as your daughter,
To one of our best men.
Sir James would be cruelly annoyed.
It would be too hard on him if you turn round now and make yourself a weak signboard.
Mr.
Brooke again winced inwardly for Dorothy's engagement had no sooner been decided than he had thought of Miss Cadwallader's prospective taunts.
It might have been easy for ignorant observers to say quarrel with Mrs.
Cadwallader,
But where is a country gentleman to go who quarrels with his oldest neighbours?
Who could taste the fine flavour in the name of Brooke if it were delivered casually like wine without a seal?
Certainly a man can only be cosmopolitan up to a certain point.
I hope Chettham and I shall always be good friends,
But I'm sorry to say there's no prospect of his marrying my niece,
Said Mr.
Brooke,
Much relieved to see through the window that Celia was coming in.
Why not?
Said Mrs.
Cadwallader with a sharp note of surprise.
It's hardly a fortnight since you and I were talking about it.
My niece has chosen another suitor.
Has chosen him,
You know.
I've had nothing to do with it.
I should have preferred Chettham and I should have said Chettham was the man any girl would have chosen,
But there's no accounting for these things.
Your sex is capricious,
You know.
Why?
Whom do you mean to say you're going to let her marry?
Mrs.
Cadwallader's mind was rapidly surveying the possibilities of choice for Dorothea.
But here Celia entered,
Blooming from a walk in the garden,
And the greeting with her delivered Mr.
Brooke from the necessity of answering immediately.
He got up hastily and saying,
By the way,
I must speak to right about the horses,
Shuffled quickly out of the room.
My dear child,
What is this?
This is about your sister's engagement,
Said Mrs.
Cadwallader.
She's engaged to marry Mr.
Casabon,
Said Celia,
Resorting as usual to the simplest statement of fact and enjoying this opportunity of speaking to the rector's wife alone.
This is frightful.
How long has it been going on?
I only knew of it yesterday.
They'd been married in six weeks.
Well,
My dear,
I wish you joy of your brother-in-law.
I'm so sorry for Dorothea.
Sorry?
It is her doing,
I suppose.
Yes,
She says Mr.
Casabon has a great soul.
With all my heart.
Oh,
Mrs.
Cadwallader,
I don't think it can be nice to marry a man with a great soul.
Well,
My dear,
Take warning.
You know the look of one now.
When the next comes and wants to marry you,
Don't you accept him?
I'm sure I never should.
No,
One such in a family is enough.
So your sister never cared about Sir James Chetham?
What would you have said to him from a brother-in-law?
I should have liked that very much.
I'm sure he would have been a good husband.
Only,
Celia added with a slight blush,
I don't think he would have suited Dorothea.
Not high-flown enough?
Dodo is very strict.
She thinks so much about everything and is so particular about what one says.
Sir James never seemed to please her.
She must have encouraged him,
I'm sure.
That is not very creditable.
Please don't be angry with Dodo.
She does not see things.
She thought so much about the cottages and she was rude to Sir James sometimes.
But he's so kind,
He never noticed it.
Well,
Said Miss Catwallader,
Putting on her shawl and rising as if encased,
I must go straight to Sir James and break it to him.
He will have brought his mother back by this time and I must call.
Your uncle will tell him,
I'm sure.
We're all disappointed,
My dear.
Young people should think of their families in marrying.
I said a bad example.
Married a poor clergyman and made myself a pitiable object among the Debreces.
Obliged to get my coals by stratagem and pray to heaven for my salad oil.
However,
Casabon has money enough.
I must do him that justice.
As to his blood,
I suppose the family quarterings.
Our three cuttlefish sable and a commentator rampant.
By the by,
Before I go,
My dear,
I must speak to your Mrs.
Carter about pastry.
I want to send my young cook to learn of her.
Poor people with four children like us,
You know,
Can't afford to keep a good cook.
I have no doubt Mrs.
Carter will oblige me.
Sir James's cook is a perfect dragon.
