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Updated: May 8, 2025
Even the more definite scandal concerning Bulstrode's earlier life was, for some minds, melted into the mass of mystery, as so much lively metal to be poured out in dialogue, and to take such fantastic shapes as heaven pleased. This was the tone of thought chiefly sanctioned by Mrs.
Bulstrode's standard had been his serviceableness to God's cause: "I am sinful and nought a vessel to be consecrated by use but use me!" had been the mould into which he had constrained his immense need of being something important and predominating. And now had come a moment in which that mould seemed in danger of being broken and utterly cast away.
Bulstrode's friends, before Lydgate knew distinctly why people were looking strangely at him, and before Bulstrode himself suspected the betrayal of his secrets.
Foreseeing, to men of Bulstrode's anxious temperament, is often worse than seeing; and his imagination continually heightened the anguish of an imminent disgrace. Yes, imminent; for if his defiance of Raffles did not keep the man away and though he prayed for this result he hardly hoped for it the disgrace was certain.
Metaphors and precedents were not wanting; peculiar spiritual experiences were not wanting which at last made the retention of his position seem a service demanded of him: the vista of a fortune had already opened itself, and Bulstrode's shrinking remained private. Mr.
Bulstrode's course up to that time had, he thought, been sanctioned by remarkable providences, appearing to point the way for him to be the agent in making the best use of a large property and withdrawing it from perversion. Death and other striking dispositions, such as feminine trustfulness, had come; and Bulstrode would have adopted Cromwell's words "Do you call these bare events?
And now there's a mean, petty feud set up against the thing in the town, by certain persons who want to make it a failure." "What can be their reasons?" said Dorothea, with naive surprise. "Chiefly Mr. Bulstrode's unpopularity, to begin with. Half the town would almost take trouble for the sake of thwarting him.
Rosamond's eyes also were roaming over her aunt's large embroidered collar. "I can hardly believe it that you should be engaged without my knowing it without your father's telling me." Here Mrs. Bulstrode's eyes finally rested on Rosamond's, who blushed deeply, and said "I am not engaged, aunt." "How is it that every one says so, then that it is the town's talk?"
But a full-fed fountain will be generous with its waters even in the rain, when they are worse than useless; and a fine fount of admonition is apt to be equally irrepressible. It was not in Mr. Bulstrode's nature to comply directly in consequence of uncomfortable suggestions.
"What d'you think yourself?" I asked her. "I feel like going with him," she says, "and making the most of every mile." And then she began to cry. "What's the harm!" she says. "I have heard him from a dozen platforms ridiculing class distinctions. Besides," she says, "my people have been farmers for generations. What was Miss Bulstrode's father but a grocer? He ran a hundred shops instead of one.
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