Poor Mr. Casaubon! This suffering was the harder to bear because it
seemed like a betrayal: the young creature who had worshipped him with
perfect trust had quickly turned into the critical wife; and early
instances of criticism and resentment had made an impression which no
tenderness and submission afterwards could remove. To his suspicious
interpretation Dorothea's silence now was a suppressed rebellion; a
remark from her which he had not in any way anticipated was an
assertion of conscious superiority; her gentle answers had an
irritating cautiousness in them; and when she acquiesced it was a
self-approved effort of forbearance. The tenacity with which he strove
to hide this inward drama made it the more vivid for him; as we hear
with the more keenness what we wish others not to hear.
Instead of wondering at this result of misery in Mr. Casaubon, I think
it quite ordinary. Will not a tiny speck very close to our vision blot
out the glory of the world, and leave only a margin by which we see the
blot? I know no speck so troublesome as self. And who, if Mr.
Casaubon had chosen to expound his discontents--his suspicions that he
was not any longer adored without criticism--could have denied that
they were founded on good reasons? On the contrary, there was a strong
reason to be added, which he had not himself taken explicitly into
account--namely, that he was not unmixedly adorable. He suspected
this, however, as he suspected other things, without confessing it, and
like the rest of us, felt how soothing it would have been to have a
companion who would never find it out.
This sore susceptibility in relation to Dorothea was thoroughly
prepared before Will Ladislaw had returned to Lowick, and what had
occurred since then had brought Mr. Casaubon's power of suspicious
construction into exasperated activity. To all the facts which he
knew, he added imaginary facts both present and future which became
more real to him than those because they called up a stronger dislike,
a more predominating bitterness. Suspicion and jealousy of Will
Ladislaw's intentions, suspicion and jealousy of Dorothea's
impressions, were constantly at their weaving work. It would be quite
unjust to him to suppose that he could have entered into any coarse
misinterpretation of Dorothea: his own habits of mind and conduct,
quite as much as the open elevation of her nature, saved him from any
such mistake. What he was jealous of was her opinion, the sway that
might be given to her ardent mind in its judgments, and the future
possibilities to which these might lead her. As to Will, though until
his last defiant letter he had nothing definite which he would choose
formally to allege against him, he felt himself warranted in believing
that he was capable of any design which could fascinate a rebellious
temper and an undisciplined impulsiveness. He was quite sure that
Dorothea was the cause of Will's return from Rome, and his
determination to settle in the neighborhood; and he was penetrating
enough to imagine that Dorothea had innocently encouraged this course.
It was as clear as possible that she was ready to be attached to Will
and to be pliant to his suggestions: they had never had a tete-a-tete
without her bringing away from it some new troublesome impression, and
the last interview that Mr. Casaubon was aware of (Dorothea, on
returning from Freshitt Hall, had for the first time been silent about
having seen Will) had led to a scene which roused an angrier feeling
against them both than he had ever known before. Dorothea's outpouring
of her notions about money, in the darkness of the night, had done
nothing but bring a mixture of more odious foreboding into her
husband's mind.