Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER X.
_1st Gent._ What woman should be? Sir, consult the tasteOf marriageable men. This planet's storeIn iron, cotton, wool, or chemicals--All matter rendered to our plastic skill,Is wrought in shapes responsive to demand;The market's pulse makes index high or low,By rule sublime. Our daughters must be wives,And to the wives must be what men will choose;Men's taste is woman's test. You mark the phrase?'Tis good, I think?--the sense well-winged and poisedWith t's and s's._2nd Gent._ Nay, but turn it round;Give us the test of taste. A fine _menu_--Is it to-day what Roman epicuresInsisted that a gentleman must eatTo earn the dignity of dining well?
Brackenshaw Park, where the Archery Meeting was held, looked out from itsgentle heights far over the neighboring valley to the outlying easterndowns and the broad, slow rise of cultivated country, hanging like a vastcurtain toward the west. The castle which stood on the highest platform ofthe clustered hills, was built of rough-hewn limestone, full of lights andshadows made by the dark dust of lichens and the washings of the rain.Masses of beech and fir sheltered it on the north, and spread down hereand there along the green slopes like flocks seeking the water whichgleamed below. The archery-ground was a carefully-kept enclosure on a bitof table-land at the farthest end of the park, protected toward thesouthwest by tall elms and a thick screen of hollies, which kept thegravel walk and the bit of newly-mown turf where the targets were placedin agreeable afternoon shade. The Archery Hall with an arcade in frontshowed like a white temple against the greenery on the north side.
What could make a better background for the flower-groups of ladies,moving and bowing and turning their necks as it would become the leisurelylilies to do if they took to locomotion. The sounds too were very pleasantto hear, even when the military band from Wanchester ceased to play:musical laughs in all the registers and a harmony of happy, friendlyspeeches, now rising toward mild excitement, now sinking to an agreeablemurmur.
No open-air amusement could be much freer from those noisy, crowdingconditions which spoil most modern pleasures; no Archery Meeting could bemore select, the number of friends accompanying the members beingrestricted by an award of tickets, so as to keep the maximum within thelimits of convenience for the dinner and ball to be held in the castle.Within the enclosure no plebeian spectators were admitted except LordBrackenshaw's tenants and their families, and of these it was chiefly thefeminine members who used the privilege, bringing their little boys andgirls or younger brothers and sisters. The males among them relieved theinsipidity of the entertainment by imaginative betting, in which the stakewas "anything you like," on their favorite archers; but the young maidens,having a different principle of discrimination, were considering which ofthose sweetly-dressed ladies they would choose to be, if the choice wereallowed them. Probably the form these rural souls would most have strivenfor as a tabernacle, was some other than Gwendolen's--one with more pinkin her cheeks and hair of the most fashionable yellow; but among the malejudges in the ranks immediately surrounding her there was unusualunanimity in pronouncing her the finest girl present.
No wonder she enjoyed her existence on that July day. Pre-eminence issweet to those who love it, even under mediocre circumstances. Perhaps itwas not quite mythical that a slave has been proud to be bought first; andprobably a barn-door fowl on sale, though he may not have understoodhimself to be called the best of a bad lot, may have a self-informedconsciousness of his relative importance, and strut consoled. But forcomplete enjoyment the outward and the inward must concur. And thatconcurrence was happening to Gwendolen.
Who can deny that bows and arrows are among the prettiest weapons in theworld for feminine forms to play with? They prompt attitudes full of graceand power, where that fine concentration of energy seen in allmarkmanship, is freed from associations of bloodshed. The time-honoredBritish resources of "killing something" is no longer carried on with bowand quiver; bands defending their passes against an invading nation fightunder another sort of shade than a cloud of arrows; and poisoned darts areharmless survivals either in rhetoric or in regions comfortably remote.Archery has no ugly smell of brimstone; breaks nobody's shins, breeds noathletic monsters; its only danger is that of failing, which for generousblood is enough to mould skilful action. And among the Brackenshaw archersthe prizes were all of the nobler symbolic kind; not properly to becarried off in a parcel, degrading honor into gain; but the gold arrow andthe silver, the gold star and the silver, to be worn for a long time insign of achievement and then transferred to the next who did excellently.These signs of pre-eminence had the virtue of wreaths without theirinconveniences, which might have produced a melancholy effect in the heatof the ball-room. Altogether the Brackenshaw Archery Club was aninstitution framed with good taste, so as not to have by necessity anyridiculous incidents.
And to-day all incalculable elements were in its favor. There was mildwarmth, and no wind to disturb either hair or drapery or the course of thearrow; all skillful preparation had fair play, and when there was ageneral march to extract the arrows, the promenade of joyous youngcreatures in light speech and laughter, the graceful movement in commontoward a common object, was a show worth looking at. Here Gwendolen seemeda Calypso among her nymphs. It was in her attitudes and movements thatevery one was obliged to admit her surpassing charm.
"That girl is like a high-mettled racer," said Lord Brackenshaw to youngClintock, one of the invited spectators.
"First chop! tremendously pretty too," said the elegant Grecian, who hadbeen paying her assiduous attention; "I never saw her look better."
Perhaps she had never looked so well. Her face was beaming with youngpleasure in which there was no malign rays of discontent; for beingsatisfied with her own chances, she felt kindly toward everybody and wassatisfied with the universe. Not to have the highest distinction in rank,not to be marked out as an heiress, like Miss Arrowpoint, gave an addedtriumph in eclipsing those advantages. For personal recommendation shewould not have cared to change the family group accompanying her for anyother: her mamma's appearance would have suited an amiable duchess; heruncle and aunt Gascoigne with Anna made equally gratifying figures intheir way; and Gwendolen was too full of joyous belief in herself to feelin the least jealous though Miss Arrowpoint was one of the bestarcheresses.
Even the reappearance of the formidable Herr Klesmer, which caused somesurprise in the rest of the company, seemed only to fall in withGwendolen's inclination to be amused. Short of Apollo himself, what greatmusical _maestro_ could make a good figure at an archery meeting? Therewas a very satirical light in Gwendolen's eyes as she looked toward theArrowpoint party on their first entrance, when the contrast betweenKlesmer and the average group of English country people seemed at itsutmost intensity in the close neighborhood of his hosts--or patrons, asMrs. Arrowpoint would have liked to hear them called, that she might denythe possibility of any longer patronizing genius, its royalty beinguniversally acknowledged. The contrast might have amused a graverpersonage than Gwendolen. We English are a miscellaneous people, and anychance fifty of us will present many varieties of animal architecture orfacial ornament; but it must be admitted that our prevailing expression isnot that of a lively, impassioned race, preoccupied with the ideal andcarrying the real as a mere make-weight. The strong point of the Englishgentleman pure is the easy style of his figure and clothing; he objects tomarked ins and outs in his costume, and he also objects to lookinginspired.
Fancy an assemblage where the men had all that ordinary stamp of the well-bred Englishman, watching the entrance of Herr Klesmer--his mane of hairfloating backward in massive inconsistency with the chimney-pot hat, whichhad the look of having been put on for a joke above his pronounced butwell-modeled features and powerful clear-shaven mouth and chin; his tall,thin figure clad in a way which, not being strictly English, was all theworse for its apparent emphasis of intention. Draped in a loose garmentwith a Florentine _berretta_ on his head, he would have been fit to standby the side of Leonardo de Vinci; but how when he presented himself introusers which were not what English feeling demanded about the knees?--and when the fire that showed itself in his glances and the movements ofhis head, as he looked round him with curiosity, was turned into comedy bya hat which ruled that mankind should have well-cropped hair and a staiddemeanor, such, for example, as Mr. Arrowsmith's, whose nullity of faceand perfect tailoring might pass everywhere without ridicule? One feelswhy it is often better for greatness to be dead, and to have got rid ofthe outward man.
Many present knew Klesmer, or knew of him; but they had only seen him oncandle-light occasions when he appeared simply as a musician, and he hadnot yet that supreme, world-wide celebrity which makes an artist great tothe most ordinary people by their knowledge of his great expensiveness. Itwas literally a new light for them to see him in--presented unexpectedlyon this July afternoon in an exclusive society: some were inclined tolaugh, others felt a little disgust at the want of judgment shown by theArrowpoints in this use of an introductory card.
"What extreme guys those artistic fellows usually are?" said youngClintock to Gwendolen. "Do look at the figure he cuts, bowing with hishand on his heart to Lady Brackenshaw--and Mrs. Arrowpoint's feather justreaching his shoulder."
"You are one of the profane," said Gwendolen. "You are blind to themajesty of genius. Herr Klesmer smites me with awe; I feel crushed in hispresence; my courage all oozes from me."
"Ah, you understand all about his music."
"No, indeed," said Gwendolen, with a light laugh; "it is he whounderstands all about mine and thinks it pitiable." Klesmer's verdict onher singing had been an easier joke to her since he had been struck by her_plastik_.
"It is not addressed to the ears of the future, I suppose. I'm glad ofthat: it suits mine."
"Oh, you are very kind. But how remarkably well Miss Arrowpoint looks to-day! She would make quite a fine picture in that gold-colored dress."
"Too splendid, don't you think?"
"Well, perhaps a little too symbolical--too much like the figure of Wealthin an allegory."
This speech of Gwendolen's had rather a malicious sound, but it was notreally more than a bubble of fun. She did not wish Miss Arrowpoint or anyone else to be out of the way, believing in her own good fortune even morethan in her skill. The belief in both naturally grew stronger as theshooting went on, for she promised to achieve one of the best scores--asuccess which astonished every one in a new member; and to Gwendolen'stemperament one success determined another. She trod on air, and allthings pleasant seemed possible. The hour was enough for her, and she wasnot obliged to think what she should do next to keep her life at the duepitch.
"How does the scoring stand, I wonder?" said Lady Brackenshaw, a graciouspersonage who, adorned with two little girls and a boy of stout make, satas lady paramount. Her lord had come up to her in one of the intervals ofshooting. "It seems to me that Miss Harleth is likely to win the goldarrow."
"Gad, I think she will, if she carries it on! she is running Juliet Fennhard. It is wonderful for one in her first year. Catherine is not up toher usual mark," continued his lordship, turning to the heiress's motherwho sat near. "But she got the gold arrow last time. And there's a luckeven in these games of skill. That's better. It gives the hinder ones achance."
"Catherine will be very glad for others to win," said Mrs. Arrowpoint,"she is so magnanimous. It was entirely her considerateness that made usbring Herr Klesmer instead of Canon Stopley, who had expressed a wish tocome. For her own pleasure, I am sure she would rather have brought theCanon; but she is always thinking of others. I told her it was not quite_en règle_ to bring one so far out of our own set; but she said, 'Geniusitself is not _en règle_; it comes into the world to make new rules.' Andone must admit that."
"Ay, to be sure," said Lord Brackenshaw, in a tone of careless dismissal,adding quickly, "For my part, I am not magnanimous; I should like to win.But, confound it! I never have the chance now. I'm getting old and idle.The young ones beat me. As old Nestor says--the gods don't give useverything at one time: I was a young fellow once, and now I am getting anold and wise one. Old, at any rate; which is a gift that comes toeverybody if they live long enough, so it raises no jealousy." The Earlsmiled comfortably at his wife.
"Oh, my lord, people who have been neighbors twenty years must not talk toeach other about age," said Mrs. Arrowpoint. "Years, as the Tuscans say,are made for the letting of houses. But where is our new neighbor? Ithought Mr. Grandcourt was to be here to-day."
"Ah, by the way, so he was. The time's getting on too," said his lordship,looking at his watch. "But he only got to Diplow the other day. He came tous on Tuesday and said he had been a little bothered. He may have beenpulled in another direction. Why, Gascoigne!"--the rector was just thencrossing at a little distance with Gwendolen on his arm, and turned incompliance with the call--"this is a little too bad; you not only beat usyourself, but you bring up your niece to beat all the archeresses."
"It _is_ rather scandalous in her to get the better of elder members,"said Mr. Gascoigne, with much inward satisfaction curling his short upperlip. "But it is not my doing, my lord. I only meant her to make atolerable figure, without surpassing any one."
"Ay, ay, that may be a fatal business for some people," said LordBrackenshaw, good-humoredly; then taking out his watch and looking at Mrs.Arrowpoint again--"The time's getting on, as you say. But Grandcourt isalways late. I notice in town he's always late, and he's no bowman--understands nothing about it. But I told him he must come; he would seethe flower of the neighborhood here. He asked about you--had seenArrowpoint's card. I think you had not made his acquaintance in town. Hehas been a good deal abroad. People don't know him much."
"No; we are strangers," said Mrs. Arrowpoint. "But that is not what mighthave been expected. For his uncle Sir Hugo Mallinger and I are greatfriends when we meet."
"I don't know; uncles and nephews are not so likely to be seen together asuncles and nieces," said his lordship, smiling toward the rector. "Butjust come with me one instant, Gascoigne, will you? I want to speak a wordabout the clout-shooting."
Gwendolen chose to go too and be deposited in the same group with hermamma and aunt until she had to shoot again. That Mr. Grandcourt mightafter all not appear on the archery-ground, had begun to enter intoGwendolen's thought as a possible deduction from the completeness of herpleasure. Under all her saucy satire, provoked chiefly by her divinationthat her friends thought of him as a desirable match for her, she feltsomething very far from indifference as to the impression she would makeon him. True, he was not to have the slightest power over her (forGwendolen had not considered that the desire to conquer is itself a sortof subjection); she had made up her mind that he was to be one of thosecomplimentary and assiduously admiring men of whom even her narrowexperience had shown her several with various-colored beards and variousstyles of bearing; and the sense that her friends would want her to thinkhim delightful, gave her a resistant inclination to presuppose himridiculous. But that was no reason why she could spare his presence: andeven a passing prevision of trouble in case she despised and refused him,raised not the shadow of a wish that he should save her that trouble byshowing no disposition to make her an offer. Mr. Grandcourt taking hardlyany notice of her, and becoming shortly engaged to Miss Arrowpoint, wasnot a picture which flattered her imagination.
Hence Gwendolen had been all ear to Lord Brackenshaw's mode of accountingfor Grandcourt's non-appearance; and when he did arrive, no consciousness--not even Mrs. Arrowpoint's or Mr. Gascoigne's--was more awake to thefact than hers, although she steadily avoided looking toward any pointwhere he was likely to be. There should be no slightest shifting of anglesto betray that it was of any consequence to her whether the much-talked-ofMr. Mallinger Grandcourt presented himself or not. She became againabsorbed in the shooting, and so resolutely abstained from looking roundobservantly that, even supposing him to have taken a conspicuous placeamong the spectators, it might be clear she was not aware of him. And allthe while the certainty that he was there made a distinct thread in herconsciousness. Perhaps her shooting was the better for it: at any rate, itgained in precision, and she at last raised a delightful storm of clappingand applause by three hits running in the gold--a feat which among theBrackenshaw arches had not the vulgar reward of a shilling poll-tax, butthat of a special gold star to be worn on the breast. That moment was notonly a happy one to herself--it was just what her mamma and her unclewould have chosen for her. There was a general falling into ranks to giveher space that she might advance conspicuously to receive the gold starfrom the hands of Lady Brackenshaw; and the perfect movement of her fineform was certainly a pleasant thing to behold in the clear afternoon lightwhen the shadows were long and still. She was the central object of thatpretty picture, and every one present must gaze at her. That was enough:she herself was determined to see nobody in particular, or to turn hereyes any way except toward Lady Brackenshaw, but her thoughts undeniablyturned in other ways. It entered a little into her pleasure that HerrKlesmer must be observing her at a moment when music was out of thequestion, and his superiority very far in the back-ground; for vanity isas ill at ease under indifference as tenderness is under a love which itcannot return; and the unconquered Klesmer threw a trace of his malignpower even across her pleasant consciousness that Mr. Grandcourt wasseeing her to the utmost advantage, and was probably giving her anadmiration unmixed with criticism. She did not expect to admire _him_, butthat was not necessary to her peace of mind.
Gwendolen met Lady Brackenshaw's gracious smile without blushing (whichonly came to her when she was taken by surprise), but with a charminggladness of expression, and then bent with easy grace to have the starfixed near her shoulder. That little ceremony had been over long enoughfor her to have exchanged playful speeches and received congratulations asshe moved among the groups who were now interesting themselves in theresults of the scoring; but it happened that she stood outside examiningthe point of an arrow with rather an absent air when Lord Brackenshaw cameup to her and said:
"Miss Harleth, here is a gentleman who is not willing to wait any longerfor an introduction. He has been getting Mrs. Davilow to send me with him.Will you allow me to introduce Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt?"