Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER IX.
I'll tell thee, Berthold, what men's hopes are like:A silly child that, quivering with joy,Would cast its little mimic fishing-lineBaited with loadstone for a bowl of toysIn the salt ocean.
Eight months after the arrival of the family at Offendene, that is to sayin the end of the following June, a rumor was spread in the neighborhoodwhich to many persons was matter of exciting interest. It had no referenceto the results of the American war, but it was one which touched allclasses within a certain circuit round Wanchester: the corn-factors, thebrewers, the horse-dealers, and saddlers, all held it a laudable thing,and one which was to be rejoiced in on abstract grounds, as showing thevalue of an aristocracy in a free country like England; the blacksmith inthe hamlet of Diplow felt that a good time had come round; the wives oflaboring men hoped their nimble boys of ten or twelve would be taken intoemploy by the gentlemen in livery; and the farmers about Diplow admitted,with a tincture of bitterness and reserve that a man might now againperhaps have an easier market or exchange for a rick of old hay or awagon-load of straw. If such were the hopes of low persons not in society,it may be easily inferred that their betters had better reasons forsatisfaction, probably connected with the pleasures of life rather thanits business. Marriage, however, must be considered as coming under bothheads; and just as when a visit of majesty is announced, the dream ofknighthood or a baronetcy is to be found under various municipalnightcaps, so the news in question raised a floating indeterminate visionof marriage in several well-bred imaginations.
The news was that Diplow Hall, Sir Hugo Mallinger's place, which had for acouple of years turned its white window-shutters in a painfully wall-eyedmanner on its fine elms and beeches, its lilied pool and grassy acresspecked with deer, was being prepared for a tenant, and was for the restof the summer and through the hunting season to be inhabited in a fittingstyle both as to house and stable. But not by Sir Hugo himself: by hisnephew, Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt, who was presumptive heir to thebaronetcy, his uncle's marriage having produced nothing but girls. Nor wasthis the only contingency with which fortune flattered young Grandcourt,as he was pleasantly called; for while the chance of the baronetcy camethrough his father, his mother had given a baronial streak to his blood,so that if certain intervening persons slightly painted in the middledistance died, he would become a baron and peer of this realm.
It is the uneven allotment of nature that the male bird alone has thetuft, but we have not yet followed the advice of hasty philosophers whowould have us copy nature entirely in these matters; and if Mr. MallingerGrandcourt became a baronet or a peer, his wife would share the title--which in addition to his actual fortune was certainly a reason why thatwife, being at present unchosen, should be thought of by more than oneperson with a sympathetic interest as a woman sure to be well providedfor.
Some readers of this history will doubtless regard it as incredible thatpeople should construct matrimonial prospects on the mere report that abachelor of good fortune and possibilities was coming within reach, andwill reject the statement as a mere outflow of gall: they will aver thatneither they nor their first cousins have minds so unbridled; and that infact this is not human nature, which would know that such speculationsmight turn out to be fallacious, and would therefore not entertain them.But, let it be observed, nothing is here narrated of human naturegenerally: the history in its present stage concerns only a few people ina corner of Wessex--whose reputation, however, was unimpeached, and who, Iam in the proud position of being able to state, were all on visitingterms with persons of rank.
There were the Arrowpoints, for example, in their beautiful place atQuetcham: no one could attribute sordid views in relation to theirdaughter's marriage to parents who could leave her at least half amillion; but having affectionate anxieties about their Catherine'sposition (she having resolutely refused Lord Slogan, an unexceptionableIrish peer, whose estate wanted nothing but drainage and population), theywondered, perhaps from something more than a charitable impulse, whetherMr. Grandcourt was good-looking, of sound constitution, virtuous, or atleast reformed, and if liberal-conservative, not too liberal-conservative;and without wishing anybody to die, thought his succession to the title anevent to be desired.
Naturally, people did not tell each other all they felt and thought aboutyoung Grandcourt's advent: on no subject is this openness found prudentlypracticable--not even on the generation of acids, or the destination ofthe fixed stars: for either your contemporary with a mind turned towardthe same subjects may find your ideas ingenious and forestall you inapplying them, or he may have other views on acids and fixed stars, andthink ill of you in consequence. Mr. Gascoigne did not ask Mr. Arrowpointif he had any trustworthy source of information about Grandcourtconsidered as a husband for a charming girl; nor did Mrs. Arrowpointobserve to Mrs. Davilow that if the possible peer sought a wife in theneighborhood of Diplow, the only reasonable expectation was that he wouldoffer his hand to Catherine, who, however, would not accept him unless hewere in all respects fitted to secure her happiness. Indeed, even to hiswife the rector was silent as to the contemplation of any matrimonialresult, from the probability that Mr. Grandcourt would see Gwendolen atthe next Archery Meeting; though Mrs. Gascoigne's mind was very likelystill more active in the same direction. She had said interjectionally toher sister, "It would be a mercy, Fanny, if that girl were well married!"to which Mrs. Davilow discerning some criticism of her darling in thefervor of that wish, had not chosen to make any audible reply, though shehad said inwardly, "You will not get her to marry for your pleasure"; themild mother becoming rather saucy when she identified herself with herdaughter.
To her husband Mrs. Gascoigne said, "I hear Mr. Grandcourt has got twoplaces of his own, but he comes to Diplow for the hunting. It is to behoped he will set a good example in the neighborhood. Have you heard whatsort of a young man he is, Henry?"
Mr. Gascoigne had not heard; at least, if his male acquaintances hadgossiped in his hearing, he was not disposed to repeat their gossip, or togive it any emphasis in his own mind. He held it futile, even if it hadbeen becoming, to show any curiosity as to the past of a young man whosebirth, wealth, and consequent leisure made many habits venial which underother circumstances would have been inexcusable. Whatever Grandcourt haddone, he had not ruined himself; and it is well-known that in gambling,for example, whether of the business or holiday sort, a man who has thestrength of mind to leave off when he has only ruined others, is areformed character. This is an illustration merely: Mr. Gascoigne had notheard that Grandcourt had been a gambler; and we can hardly pronounce himsingular in feeling that a landed proprieter with a mixture of noble bloodin his veins was not to be an object of suspicious inquiry like a reformedcharacter who offers himself as your butler or footman. Reformation, wherea man can afford to do without it, can hardly be other than genuine.Moreover, it was not certain on any other showing hitherto, that Mr.Grandcourt had needed reformation more than other young men in the ripeyouth of five-and-thirty; and, at any rate, the significance of what hehad been must be determined by what he actually was.
Care has been taken not only that the trees should not sweep the starsdown, but also that every man who admires a fair girl!
Mrs. Davilow, too, although she would not respond to her sister's pregnantremark, could not be inwardly indifferent to an advent that might promisea brilliant lot for Gwendolen. A little speculation on "what may be" comesnaturally, without encouragement--comes inevitably in the form of images,when unknown persons are mentioned; and Mr. Grandcourt's name raised inMrs. Davilow's mind first of all the picture of a handsome, accomplished,excellent young man whom she would be satisfied with as a husband for herdaughter; but then came the further speculation--would Gwendolen besatisfied with him? There was no knowing what would meet that girl's tasteor touch her affections--it might be something else than excellence; andthus the image of the perfect suitor gave way before a fluctuatingcombination of qualities that might be imagined to win Gwendolen's heart.In the difficulty of arriving at the particular combination which wouldinsure that result, the mother even said to herself, "It would not signifyabout her being in love, if she would only accept the right person." Forwhatever marriage had been for herself, how could she the less desire itfor her daughter? The difference her own misfortunes made was, that shenever dared to dwell much to Gwendolen on the desirableness of marriage,dreading an answer something like that of the future Madame Roland, whenher gentle mother urging the acceptance of a suitor, said, "Tu serasheureuse, ma chère." "Oui, maman, comme toi."
had not the presence of mind to answer immediately, andGwendolen turned round quickly toward her, saying, wickedly!
In relation to the problematic Mr. Grandcourt least of all would Mrs.Davilow have willingly let fall a hint of the aerial castle-building whichshe had the good taste to be ashamed of; for such a hint was likely enoughto give an adverse poise to Gwendolen's own thought, and make her detestthe desirable husband beforehand. Since that scene after poor Rex'sfarewell visit, the mother had felt a new sense of peril in touching themystery of her child's feeling, and in rashly determining what was herwelfare: only she could think of welfare in no other shape than marriage.
The discussion of the dress that Gwendolen was to wear at the ArcheryMeeting was a relevant topic, however; and when it had been decided thatas a touch of color on her white cashmere, nothing, for her complexion,was comparable to pale green--a feather which she was trying in her hatbefore the looking-glass having settled the question--Mrs. Davilow felther ears tingle when Gwendolen, suddenly throwing herself into theattitude of drawing her bow, said with a look of comic enjoyment--
"How I pity all the other girls at the Archery Meeting--all thinking ofMr. Grandcourt! And they have not a shadow of a chance."
Mrs. Davilow had not the presence of mind to answer immediately, andGwendolen turned round quickly toward her, saying, wickedly--
"Now you know they have not, mamma. You and my uncle and aunt--you allintend him to fall in love with me."
Mrs. Davilow, pigued into a little stratagem, said, "Oh, my, dear, that isnot so certain. Miss Arrowpoint has charms which you have not."
"I know, but they demand thought. My arrow will pierce him before he hastime for thought. He will declare himself my slave--I shall send him roundthe world to bring me back the wedding ring of a happy woman--in themeantime all the men who are between him and the title will die ofdifferent diseases--he will come back Lord Grandcourt--but without thering--and fall at my feet. I shall laugh at him--he will rise inresentment--I shall laugh more--he will call for his steed and ride toQuetcham, where he will find Miss Arrowpoint just married to a needymusician, Mrs. Arrowpoint tearing her cap off, and Mr. Arrowpoint standingby. Exit Lord Grandcourt, who returns to Diplow, and, like M. Jabot,_change de linge_."
Was ever any young witch like this? You thought of hiding things from her--sat upon your secret and looked innocent, and all the while she knewby the corner of your eye that it was exactly five pounds ten you weresitting on! As well turn the key to keep out the damp! It was probablethat by dint of divination she already knew more than any one else did ofMr. Grandcourt. That idea in Mrs. Davilow's mind prompted the sort ofquestion which often comes without any other apparent reason than thefaculty of speech and the not knowing what to do with it.
"Why, what kind of a man do you imagine him to be, Gwendolen?"
"Let me see!" said the witch, putting her forefinger to her lips, with alittle frown, and then stretching out the finger with decision. "Short--just above my shoulder--crying to make himself tall by turning up hismustache and keeping his beard long--a glass in his right eye to give himan air of distinction--a strong opinion about his waistcoat, but uncertainand trimming about the weather, on which he will try to draw me out. Hewill stare at me all the while, and the glass in his eye will cause him tomake horrible faces, especially when he smiles in a flattering way. Ishall cast down my eyes in consequence, and he will perceive that I am notindifferent to his attentions. I shall dream that night that I am lookingat the extraordinary face of a magnified insect--and the next morning hewill make an offer of his hand; the sequel as before."
quite a different likelihoodin their minds.taste to be ashamed.
"That is a portrait of some one you have seen already, Gwen. Mr.Grandcourt may be a delightful young man for what you know."
"Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, with a high note of careless admission, takingoff her best hat and turning it round on her hand contemplatively. "Iwonder what sort of behavior a delightful young man would have? I know hewould have hunters and racers, and a London house and two country-houses--one with battlements and another with a veranda. And I feel sure that witha little murdering he might get a title."
you allintend him to fall in love with me."other girls at the Archery.
The irony of this speech was of the doubtful sort that has some genuinebelief mixed up with it. Poor Mrs. Davilow felt uncomfortable under it.Her own meanings being usually literal and in intention innocent; and shesaid with a distressed brow:
"Don't talk in that way, child, for heaven's sake! you do read such books--they give you such ideas of everything. I declare when your aunt and Iwere your age we knew nothing about wickedness. I think it was better so."
"Why did you not bring me up in that way, mamma?" said Gwendolen. Butimmediately perceiving in the crushed look and rising sob that she hadgiven a deep wound, she tossed down her hat and knelt at her mother's feetcrying--
"Mamma, mamma! I was only speaking in fun. I meant nothing."
"How could I, Gwendolen?" said poor Mrs. Davilow, unable to hear theretraction, and sobbing violently while she made the effort to speak."Your will was always too strong for me--if everything else had beendifferent."
This disjoined logic was intelligible enough to the daughter. "Dear mamma,I don't find fault with you--I love you," said Gwendolen, reallycompunctious. "How can you help what I am? Besides, I am very charming.Come, now." Here Gwendolen with her handkerchief gently rubbed away hermother's tears. "Really--I am contented with myself. I like myself betterthan I should have liked my aunt and you. How dreadfully dull you musthave been!"
Such tender cajolery served to quiet the mother, as it had often donebefore after like collisions. Not that the collisions had often beenrepeated at the same point; for in the memory of both they left anassociation of dread with the particular topics which had occasioned them:Gwendolen dreaded the unpleasant sense of compunction toward her mother,which was the nearest approach to self-condemnation and self-distrust thatshe had known; and Mrs. Davilow's timid maternal conscience dreadedwhatever had brought on the slightest hint of reproach. Hence, after thislittle scene, the two concurred in excluding Mr. Grandcourt from theirconversation.
When Mr. Gascoigne once or twice referred to him, Mrs. Davilow fearedleast Gwendolen should betray some of her alarming keen-sightedness aboutwhat was probably in her uncle's mind; but the fear was not justified.Gwendolen knew certain differences in the characters with which she wasconcerned as birds know climate and weather; and for the very reason thatshe was determined to evade her uncle's control, she was determined not toclash with him. The good understanding between them was much fostered bytheir enjoyment of archery together: Mr. Gascoigne, as one of the bestbowmen in Wessex, was gratified to find the elements of like skill in hisniece; and Gwendolen was the more careful not to lose the shelter of hisfatherly indulgence, because since the trouble with Rex both Mrs.Gascoigne and Anna had been unable to hide what she felt to be a veryunreasonable alienation from her. Toward Anna she took some pains tobehave with a regretful affectionateness; but neither of them dared tomention Rex's name, and Anna, to whom the thought of him was part of theair she breathed, was ill at ease with the lively cousin who had ruinedhis happiness. She tried dutifully to repress any sign of her changedfeeling; but who in pain can imitate the glance and hand-touch ofpleasure.
This unfair resentment had rather a hardening effect on Gwendolen, andthrew her into a more defiant temper. Her uncle too might be offended ifshe refused the next person who fell in love with her; and one day whenthat idea was in her mind she said--
"Mamma, I see now why girls are glad to be married--to escape beingexpected to please everybody but themselves."
of old hay or awagon-load of straw. If such were the hopes of low persons not in society,it may be easily inferred.
Happily, Mr. Middleton was gone without having made any avowal; andnotwithstanding the admiration for the handsome Miss Harleth, extendingperhaps over thirty square miles in a part of Wessex well studded withfamilies whose numbers included several disengaged young men, each glad toseat himself by the lively girl with whom it was so easy to get on inconversation,--notwithstanding these grounds for arguing that Gwendolenwas likely to have other suitors more explicit than the cautious curate,the fact was not so.
Care has been taken not only that the trees should not sweep the starsdown, but also that every man who admires a fair girl should not beenamored of her, and even that every man who is enamored should notnecessarily declare himself. There are various refined shapes in which theprice of corn, known to be potent cause in their relation, might, ifinquired into, show why a young lady, perfect in person, accomplishments,and costume, has not the trouble of rejecting many offers; and nature'sorder is certainly benignant in not obliging us one and all to bedesperately in love with the most admirable mortal we have ever seen.Gwendolen, we know, was far from holding that supremacy in the minds ofall observers. Besides, it was but a poor eight months since she had cometo Offendene, and some inclinations become manifest slowly, like thesunward creeping of plants.
In face of this fact that not one of the eligible young men already in theneighborhood had made Gwendolen an offer, why should Mr. Grandcourt bethought of as likely to do what they had left undone?
Perhaps because he was thought of as still more eligible; since a greatdeal of what passes for likelihood in the world is simply the reflex of awish. Mr. and Mrs. Arrowpoint, for example, having no anxiety that MissHarleth should make a brilliant marriage, had quite a different likelihoodin their minds.