"Qui veut delasser hors de propos, lasse."--PASCAL.
Mr. Casaubon had no second attack of equal severity with the first, and
in a few days began to recover his usual condition. But Lydgate seemed
to think the case worth a great deal of attention. He not only used
his stethoscope (which had not become a matter of course in practice at
that time), but sat quietly by his patient and watched him. To Mr.
Casaubon's questions about himself, he replied that the source of the
illness was the common error of intellectual men--a too eager and
monotonous application: the remedy was, to be satisfied with moderate
work, and to seek variety of relaxation. Mr. Brooke, who sat by on one
occasion, suggested that Mr. Casaubon should go fishing, as Cadwallader
did, and have a turning-room, make toys, table-legs, and that kind of
thing.
"In short, you recommend me to anticipate the arrival of my second
childhood," said poor Mr. Casaubon, with some bitterness. "These
things," he added, looking at Lydgate, "would be to me such relaxation
as tow-picking is to prisoners in a house of correction."
"I confess," said Lydgate, smiling, "amusement is rather an
unsatisfactory prescription. It is something like telling people to
keep up their spirits. Perhaps I had better say, that you must submit
to be mildly bored rather than to go on working."
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Brooke. "Get Dorothea to play backgammon with you
in the evenings. And shuttlecock, now--I don't know a finer game than
shuttlecock for the daytime. I remember it all the fashion. To be
sure, your eyes might not stand that, Casaubon. But you must unbend,
you know. Why, you might take to some light study: conchology, now: I
always think that must be a light study. Or get Dorothea to read you
light things, Smollett--'Roderick Random,' 'Humphrey Clinker:' they
are a little broad, but she may read anything now she's married, you
know. I remember they made me laugh uncommonly--there's a droll bit
about a postilion's breeches. We have no such humor now. I have gone
through all these things, but they might be rather new to you."
"As new as eating thistles," would have been an answer to represent Mr.
Casaubon's feelings. But he only bowed resignedly, with due respect to
his wife's uncle, and observed that doubtless the works he mentioned
had "served as a resource to a certain order of minds."
"You see," said the able magistrate to Lydgate, when they were outside
the door, "Casaubon has been a little narrow: it leaves him rather at a
loss when you forbid him his particular work, which I believe is
something very deep indeed--in the line of research, you know. I would
never give way to that; I was always versatile. But a clergyman is
tied a little tight. If they would make him a bishop, now!--he did a
very good pamphlet for Peel. He would have more movement then, more
show; he might get a little flesh. But I recommend you to talk to Mrs.
Casaubon. She is clever enough for anything, is my niece. Tell her,
her husband wants liveliness, diversion: put her on amusing tactics."