Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LXVII.
The godhead in us wrings our noble deedsFrom our reluctant selves.
It was an unpleasant surprise to Deronda when he returned from the Abbeyto find the undesirable father installed in the lodgings at Brompton.Mirah had felt it necessary to speak of Deronda to her father, and even tomake him as fully aware as she could of the way in which the friendshipwith Ezra had begun, and of the sympathy which had cemented it. She passedmore lightly over what Deronda had done for her, omitting altogether therescue from drowning, and speaking of the shelter she had found in Mrs.Meyrick's family so as to leave her father to suppose that it was throughthese friends Deronda had become acquainted with her. She could notpersuade herself to more completeness in her narrative: she could not letthe breath of her father's soul pass over her relation to Deronda. AndLapidoth, for reasons, was not eager in his questioning about thecircumstances of her flight and arrival in England. But he was muchinterested in the fact of his children having a beneficent friendapparently high in the world.
It was the brother who told Deronda of this new condition added to theirlife. "I am become calm in beholding him now," Ezra ended, "and I try tothink it possible that my sister's tenderness, and the daily tasting alife of peace, may win him to remain aloof from temptation. I haveenjoined her, and she has promised, to trust him with no money. I haveconvinced her that he will buy with it his own destruction."
Deronda first came on the third day from Ladipoth's arrival. The newclothes for which he had been measured were not yet ready, and wishing tomake a favorable impression, he did not choose to present himself in theold ones. He watched for Deronda's departure, and, getting a view of himfrom the window, was rather surprised at his youthfulness, which Mirah hadnot mentioned, and which he had somehow thought out of the question in apersonage who had taken up a grave friendship and hoary studies with thesepulchral Ezra. Lapidoth began to imagine that Deronda's real or chiefmotive must be that he was in love with Mirah. And so much the better; fora tie to Mirah had more promise of indulgence for her father than a tie toEzra: and Lapidoth was not without the hope of recommending himself toDeronda, and of softening any hard prepossessions. He was behaving withmuch amiability, and trying in all ways at his command to get himself intoeasy domestication with his children--entering into Mirah's music, showinghimself docile about smoking, which Mrs. Adam could not tolerate in herparlor, and walking out in the square with his German pipe, and thetobacco with which Mirah supplied him. He was too acute to offer anypresent remonstrance against the refusal of money, which Mirah told himthat she must persist in as a solemn duty promised to her brother. He wascomfortable enough to wait.
The next time Deronda came, Lapidoth, equipped in his new clothes, andsatisfied with his own appearance, was in the room with Ezra, who wasteaching himself, as a part of his severe duty, to tolerate his father'spresence whenever it was imposed. Deronda was cold and distant, the firstsight of this man, who had blighted the lives of his wife and children,creating in him a repulsion that was even a physical discomfort. ButLapidoth did not let himself be discouraged, asked leave to stay and hearthe reading of papers from the old chest, and actually made himself usefulin helping to decipher some difficult German manuscript. This led him tosuggest that it might be desirable to make a transcription of themanuscript, and he offered his services for this purpose, and also to makecopies of any papers in Roman characters. Though Ezra's young eyes heobserved were getting weak, his own were still strong. Deronda acceptedthe offer, thinking that Lapidoth showed a sign of grace in thewillingness to be employed usefully; and he saw a gratified expression inEzra's face, who, however, presently said, "Let all the writing be donehere; for I cannot trust the papers out of my sight, lest there be anaccident by burning or otherwise." Poor Ezra felt very much as if he had aconvict on leave under his charge. Unless he saw his father working, itwas not possible to believe that he would work in good faith. But by thisarrangement he fastened on himself the burden of his father's presence,which was made painful not only through his deepest, longest associations,but also through Lapidoth's restlessness of temperament, which showeditself the more as he become familiarized with his situation, and lost anyawe he had felt of his son. The fact was, he was putting a strongconstraint on himself in confining his attention for the sake of winningDeronda's favor; and like a man in an uncomfortable garment he gavehimself relief at every opportunity, going out to smoke, or moving aboutand talking, or throwing himself back in his chair and remaining silent,but incessantly carrying on a dumb language of facial movement orgesticulation: and if Mirah were in the room, he would fall into his oldhabit of talk with her, gossiping about their former doings andcompanions, or repeating quirks and stories, and plots of the plays heused to adapt, in the belief that he could at will command the vivacity ofhis earlier time. All this was a mortal infliction to Ezra; and when Mirahwas at home she tried to relieve him, by getting her father down into theparlor and keeping watch over him there. What duty is made of a singledifficult resolve? The difficulty lies in the daily unflinching support ofconsequences that mar the blessed return of morning with the prospect ofirritation to be suppressed or shame to be endured. And such consequenceswere being borne by these, as by many other heroic children of an unworthyfather--with the prospect, at least to Mirah, of their stretching onwardthrough the solid part of life.
Meanwhile Lapidoth's presence had raised a new impalpable partitionbetween Deronda and Mirah--each of them dreading the soiling inferences ofhis mind, each of them interpreting mistakenly the increased reserve anddiffidence of the other. But it was not very long before some light cameto Deronda.
As soon as he could, after returning from his brief visit to the Abbey, hehad called at Hans Meyrick's rooms, feeling it, on more grounds than one,a due of friendship that Hans should be at once acquainted with thereasons of his late journey, and the changes of intention it had broughtabout. Hans was not there; he was said to be in the country for a fewdays; and Deronda, after leaving a note, waited a week, rather expecting anote in return. But receiving no word, and fearing some freak of feelingin the incalculably susceptible Hans, whose proposed sojourn at the Abbeyhe knew had been deferred, he at length made a second call, and wasadmitted into the painting-room, where he found his friend in a lightcoat, without a waistcoat, his long hair still wet from a bath, but with aface looking worn and wizened--anything but country-like. He had taken uphis palette and brushes, and stood before his easel when Deronda entered,but the equipment and attitude seemed to have been got up on short notice.
As they shook hands, Deronda said, "You don't look much as if you had beenin the country, old fellow. Is it Cambridge you have been to?"
"No," said Hans, curtly, throwing down his palette with the air of one whohas begun to feign by mistake; then pushing forward a chair for Deronda,he threw himself into another, and leaned backward with his hands behindhis head, while he went on, "I've been to I-don't-know-where--No man'sland--and a mortally unpleasant country it is."
"You don't mean to say you have been drinking, Hans," said Deronda, whohad seated himself opposite, in anxious survey.
"Nothing so good. I've been smoking opium. I always meant to do it sometime or other, to try how much bliss could be got by it; and having foundmyself just now rather out of other bliss, I thought it judicious to seizethe opportunity. But I pledge you my word I shall never tap a cask of thatbliss again. It disagrees with my constitution."
"What has been the matter? You were in good spirits enough when you wroteto me."
"Oh, nothing in particular. The world began to look seedy--a sort ofcabbage-garden with all the cabbages cut. A malady of genius, you may besure," said Hans, creasing his face into a smile; "and, in fact, I wastired of being virtuous without reward, especially in this hot Londonweather."
"Nothing else? No real vexation?" said Deronda.
Hans shook his head.
"I came to tell you of my own affairs, but I can't do it with a good graceif you are to hide yours."
"Haven't an affair in the world," said Hans, in a flighty way, "except aquarrel with a bric-à-brac man. Besides, as it is the first time in ourlives that you ever spoke to me about your own affairs, you are onlybeginning to pay a pretty long debt."
Deronda felt convinced that Hans was behaving artificially, but he trustedto a return of the old frankness by-and-by if he gave his own confidence.
"You laughed at the mystery of my journey to Italy, Hans," he began. "Itwas for an object that touched my happiness at the very roots. I had neverknown anything about my parents, and I really went to Genoa to meet mymother. My father has been long dead--died when I was an infant. My motherwas the daughter of an eminent Jew; my father was her cousin. Many thingshad caused me to think of this origin as almost a probability before I setout. I was so far prepared for the result that I was glad of it--glad tofind myself a Jew."
"You must not expect me to look surprised, Deronda," said Hans, who hadchanged his attitude, laying one leg across the other and examining theheel of his slipper.
"You knew it?"
"My mother told me. She went to the house the morning after you had beenthere--brother and sister both told her. You may imagine we can't rejoiceas they do. But whatever you are glad of, I shall come to be glad of inthe end--_when_ exactly the end may be I can't predict," said Hans,speaking in a low tone, which was as usual with him as it was to be out ofhumor with his lot, and yet bent on making no fuss about it.
"I quite understand that you can't share my feeling," said Deronda; "but Icould not let silence lie between us on what casts quite a new light overmy future. I have taken up some of Mordecai's ideas, and I mean to try andcarry them out, so far as one man's efforts can go. I dare say I shall byand by travel to the East and be away for some years."
Hans said nothing, but rose, seized his palette and began to work hisbrush on it, standing before his picture with his back to Deronda, whoalso felt himself at a break in his path embarrassed by Hans'sembarrassment.
Presently Hans said, again speaking low, and without turning, "Excuse thequestion, but does Mrs. Grandcourt know of all this?"
"No; and I must beg of you, Hans," said Deronda, rather angrily, "to ceasejoking on that subject. Any notions you have are wide of the truth--arethe very reverse of the truth."
"I am no more inclined to joke than I shall be at my own funeral," saidHans. "But I am not at all sure that you are aware what are my notions onthat subject."
"Perhaps not," said Deronda. "But let me say, once for all, that inrelation to Mrs. Grandcourt, I never have had, and never shall have theposition of a lover. If you have ever seriously put that interpretation onanything you have observed, you are supremely mistaken."
her father's soul pass over her relation to Deronda. AndLapidoth, for reasons,
There was silence a little while, and to each the silence was like anirritating air, exaggerating discomfort.
"Perhaps I have been mistaken in another interpretation, also," said Hans,presently.
"What is that?"
"That you had no wish to hold the position of a lover toward anotherwoman, who is neither wife nor widow."
"I can't pretend not to understand you, Meyrick. It is painful that ourwishes should clash. I hope you will tell me if you have any ground forsupposing that you would succeed."
"That seems rather a superfluous inquiry on your part, Deronda," saidHans, with some irritation.
"Why superfluous?"
"Because you are perfectly convinced on the subject--and probably have hadthe very best evidence to convince you."
"I will be more frank with you than you are with me," said Deronda, stillheated by Hans' show of temper, and yet sorry for him. "I have never hadthe slightest evidence that I should succeed myself. In fact, I have verylittle hope."
Hans looked round hastily at his friend, but immediately turned to hispicture again.
"And in our present situation," said Deronda, hurt by the idea that Hanssuspected him of insincerity, and giving an offended emphasis to hiswords, "I don't see how I can deliberately make known my feeling to her.If she could not return it, I should have embittered her best comfort; forneither she nor I can be parted from her brother, and we should have tomeet continually. If I were to cause her that sort of pain by an unwillingbetrayal of my feeling, I should be no better than a mischievous animal."
"I don't know that I have ever betrayed _my_ feeling to her," said Hans,as if he were vindicating himself.
"You mean that we are on a level, then; you have no reason to envy me."
"Oh, not the slightest," said Hans, with bitter irony. "You have measuredmy conceit and know what it out-tops ail your advantages."
"I am a nuisance to you, Meyrick. I am sorry, but I can't help it," saidDeronda, rising. "After what passed between us before, I wished to havethis explanation; and I don't see that any pretensions of mine have made areal difference to you. They are not likely to make any pleasantdifference to myself under present circumstances. Now the father is there--did you know that the father is there?"
superfluous?"superfluous?"shook his.
"Yes. If he were not a Jew I would permit myself to damn him--with faintpraise, I mean," said Hans, but with no smile.
"She and I meet under greater constraint than ever. Things might go on inthis way for two years without my getting any insight into her feelingtoward me. That is the whole state of affairs, Hans. Neither you nor Ihave injured the other, that I can see. We must put up with this sort ofrivalry in a hope that is likely enough to come to nothing. Our friendshipcan bear that strain, surely."
"No, it can't," said Hans, impetuously, throwing down his tools, thrustinghis hands into his coat-pockets, and turning round to face Deronda, whodrew back a little and looked at him with amazement. Hans went on in thesame tone--
"Our friendship--my friendship--can't bear the strain of behaving to youlike an ungrateful dastard and grudging you your happiness. For you _are_the happiest dog in the world. If Mirah loves anybody better than herbrother, _you are the man_."
Hans turned on his heel and threw himself into his chair, looking up atDeronda with an expression the reverse of tender. Something like a shockpassed through Deronda, and, after an instant, he said--
"It is a good-natured fiction of yours, Hans."
"I am not in a good-natured mood. I assure you I found the factdisagreeable when it was thrust on me--all the more, or perhaps all theless, because I believed then that your heart was pledged to the duchess.But now, confound you! you turn out to be in love in the right place--aJew--and everything eligible."
"Tell me what convinced you--there's a good fellow," said Deronda,distrusting a delight that he was unused to.
"Don't ask. Little mother was witness. The upshot is, that Mirah isjealous of the duchess, and the sooner you relieve your mind the better.There! I've cleared off a score or two, and may be allowed to swear at youfor getting what you deserve--which is just the very best luck I know of."
"God bless you, Hans!" said Deronda, putting out his hand, which the othertook and wrung in silence.