Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XIII. Page 1
"Philistia, be thou glad of me!"
Grandcourt having made up his mind to marry Miss Harleth, showed a powerof adapting means to ends. During the next fortnight there was hardly aday on which by some arrangement or other he did not see her, or prove byemphatic attentions that she occupied his thoughts. His cousin, Mrs.Torrington, was now doing the honors of his house, so that Mrs. Davilowand Gwendolen could be invited to a large party at Diplow in which therewere many witnesses how the host distinguished the dowerless beauty, andshowed no solicitude about the heiress. The world--I mean Mr. Gascoigneand all the families worth speaking of within visiting distance ofPennicote--felt an assurance on the subject which in the rector's mindconverted itself into a resolution to do his duty by his niece and seethat the settlements were adequate. Indeed the wonder to him and Mrs.Davilow was that the offer for which so many suitable occasions presentedthemselves had not been already made; and in this wonder Grandcourthimself was not without a share. When he had told his resolution to Lushhe had thought that the affair would be concluded more quickly, and to hisown surprise he had repeatedly promised himself in a morning that he wouldto-day give Gwendolen the opportunity of accepting him, and had found inthe evening that the necessary formality was still unaccomplished. Thisremarkable fact served to heighten his determination on another day. Hehad never admitted to himself that Gwendolen might refuse him, but--heavenhelp us all!--we are often unable to act on our certainties; our objectionto a contrary issue (were it possible) is so strong that it rises like aspectral illusion between us and our certainty; we are rationally surethat the blind worm can not bite us mortally, but it would be sointolerable to be bitten, and the creature has a biting look--we declineto handle it.
He had asked leave to have a beautiful horse of his brought for Gwendolento ride. Mrs. Davilow was to accompany her in the carriage, and they wereto go to Diplow to lunch, Grandcourt conducting them. It was a fine mid-harvest time, not too warm for a noonday ride of five miles to bedelightful; the poppies glowed on the borders of the fields, there wasenough breeze to move gently like a social spirit among the ears of uncutcorn, and to wing the shadow of a cloud across the soft gray downs; herethe sheaves were standing, there the horses were straining their musclesunder the last load from a wide space of stubble, but everywhere the greenpasture made a broader setting for the corn-fields, and the cattle tooktheir rest under wide branches. The road lay through a bit of countrywhere the dairy-farms looked much as they did in the days of ourforefathers--where peace and permanence seemed to find a home away fromthe busy change that sent the railway train flying in the distance.
But the spirit of peace and permanence did not penetrate poor Mrs.Davilow's mind so as to overcome her habit of uneasy foreboding. Gwendolenand Grandcourt cantering in front of her, and then slackening their paceto a conversational walk till the carriage came up with them again, made agratifying sight; but it served chiefly to keep up the conflict of hopesand fears about her daughter's lot. Here was an irresistible opportunityfor a lover to speak and put an end to all uncertainties, and Mrs. Davilowcould only hope with trembling that Gwendolen's decision would befavorable. Certainly if Rex's love had been repugnant to her, Mr.Grandcourt had the advantage of being in complete contrast with Rex; andthat he had produced some quite novel impression on her seemed evident inher marked abstinence from satirical observations, nay, her total silenceabout his characteristics, a silence which Mrs. Davilow did not dare tobreak. "Is he a man she would be happy with?"--was a question thatinevitably arose in the mother's mind. "Well, perhaps as happy as shewould be with any one else--or as most other women are"--was the answerwith which she tried to quiet herself; for she could not imagine Gwendolenunder the influence of any feeling which would make her satisfied in whatwe traditionally call "mean circumstances."
Grandcourt's own thought was looking in the same direction: he wanted tohave done with the uncertainty that belonged to his not having spoken. Asto any further uncertainty--well, it was something without any reasonablebasis, some quality in the air which acted as an irritant to his wishes.
Gwendolen enjoyed the riding, but her pleasure did not break forth ingirlish unpremeditated chat and laughter as it did on that morning withRex. She spoke a little, and even laughed, but with a lightness as of afar-off echo: for her too there was some peculiar quality in the air--not,she was sure, any subjugation of her will by Mr. Grandcourt, and thesplendid prospects he meant to offer her; for Gwendolen desired every one,that dignified gentleman himself included, to understand that she wasgoing to do just as she liked, and that they had better not calculate onher pleasing them. If she chose to take this husband, she would have himknow that she was not going to renounce her freedom, or according to herfavorite formula, "not going to do as other women did."
Grandcourt's speeches this morning were, as usual, all of that brief sortwhich never fails to make a conversational figure when the speaker is heldimportant in his circle. Stopping so soon, they give signs of a suppressedand formidable ability so say more, and have also the meritorious qualityof allowing lengthiness to others.
"How do you like Criterion's paces?" he said, after they had entered thepark and were slacking from a canter to a walk.
"He is delightful to ride. I should like to have a leap with him, if itwould not frighten mamma. There was a good wide channel we passed fiveminutes ago. I should like to have a gallop back and take it."
"Pray do. We can take it together."
"No, thanks. Mamma is so timid--if she saw me it might make her ill."
"Let me go and explain. Criterion would take it without fail."
"No--indeed--you are very kind--but it would alarm her too much. I daretake any leap when she is not by; but I do it and don't tell her aboutit."
"We can let the carriage pass and then set off."
"No, no, pray don't think of it any more: I spoke quite randomly," saidGwendolen; she began to feel a new objection to carrying out her ownproposition.
"But Mrs. Davilow knows I shall take care of you."
"Yes, but she would think of you as having to take care of my brokenneck."
There was a considerable pause before Grandcourt said, looking toward her,"I should like to have the right always to take care of you."
She checked her horse as she spoke, and turned in her saddle, lookingtoward the advancing carriage. Her eyes swept across Grandcourt as shemade this movement, but there was no language in them to correct thecarelessness of her reply. At that very moment she was aware that she wasrisking something--not her neck, but the possibility of finally checkingGrandcourt's advances, and she did not feel contented with thepossibility.
"Damn her!" thought Grandcourt, as he to checked his horse. He was not awordy thinker, and this explosive phrase stood for mixed impressions whicheloquent interpreters might have expanded into some sentences full of anirritated sense that he was being mystified, and a determination that thisgirl should not make a fool of him. Did she want him to throw himself ather feet and declare that he was dying for her? It was not by that gatethat she could enter on the privileges he could give her. Or did sheexpect him to write his proposals? Equally a delusion. He would not makehis offer in any way that could place him definitely in the position ofbeing rejected. But as to her accepting him, she had done it already inaccepting his marked attentions: and anything which happened to break themoff would be understood to her disadvantage. She was merely coquetting,then?
However, the carriage came up, and no further _tete-à-tete_ could welloccur before their arrival at the house, where there was abundant company,to whom Gwendolen, clad in riding-dress, with her hat laid aside, cladalso in the repute of being chosen by Mr. Grandcourt, was naturally acentre of observation; and since the objectionable Mr. Lush was not thereto look at her, this stimulus of admiring attention heightened herspirits, and dispersed, for the time, the uneasy consciousness of dividedimpulses which threatened her with repentance of her own acts. WhetherGrandcourt had been offended or not there was no judging: his manners wereunchanged, but Gwendolen's acuteness had not gone deeper than to discernthat his manners were no clue for her, and because these were unchangedshe was not the less afraid of him.
She had not been at Diplow before except to dine; and since certain pointsof view from the windows and the garden were worth showing, Lady FloraHollis proposed after luncheon, when some of the guests had dispersed, andthe sun was sloping toward four o'clock, that the remaining party shouldmake a little exploration. Here came frequent opportunities whenGrandcourt might have retained Gwendolen apart, and have spoken to herunheard. But no! He indeed spoke to no one else, but what he said wasnothing more eager or intimate than it had been in their first interview.He looked at her not less than usual; and some of her defiant spirithaving come back, she looked full at him in return, not caring--ratherpreferring--that his eyes had no expression in them.
But at last it seemed as if he entertained some contrivance. After theyhad nearly made the tour of the grounds, the whole party stopped by thepool to be amused with Fetch's accomplishment of bringing a water lily tothe bank like Cowper's spaniel Beau, and having been disappointed in hisfirst attempt insisted on his trying again.
"This is a bore. Shall we go up there?"
"Oh, certainly--since we are exploring," said Gwendolen. She was ratherpleased, and yet afraid.
The path was too narrow for him to offer his arm, and they walked up insilence. When they were on the bit of platform at the summit, Grandcourtsaid--
"There is nothing to be seen here: the thing was not worth climbing."
How was it that Gwendolen did not laugh? She was perfectly silent, holdingup the folds of her robe like a statue, and giving a harder grasp to thehandle of her whip, which she had snatched up automatically with her hatwhen they had first set off.
"What sort of a place do you prefer?" said Grandcourt.
"Different places are agreeable in their way. On the whole, I think, Iprefer places that are open and cheerful. I am not fond of anythingsombre."
"Your place of Offendene is too sombre."
"It is, rather."
"You will not remain there long, I hope."
"Oh, yes, I think so. Mamma likes to be near her sister."
Silence for a short space.
"It is not to be supposed that _you_ will always live there, though Mrs.Davilow may."
"I don't know. We women can't go in search of adventures--to find out theNorth-West Passage or the source of the Nile, or to hunt tigers in theEast. We must stay where we grow, or where the gardeners like totransplant us. We are brought up like the flowers, to look as pretty as wecan, and be dull without complaining. That is my notion about the plants;they are often bored, and that is the reason why some of them have gotpoisonous. What do you think?" Gwendolen had run on rather nervously,lightly whipping the rhododendron bush in front of her.
take care of my brokenneck."lotus-eater's stupor had begun!
"I quite agree. Most things are bores," said Grandcourt, his mind havingbeen pushed into an easy current, away from its intended track. But, aftera moment's pause, he continued in his broken, refined drawl--
"But a woman can be married."
"Some women can."
"You, certainly, unless you are obstinately cruel."
"I am not sure that I am not both cruel and obstinate." Here Gwendolensuddenly turned her head and looked full at Grandcourt, whose eyes she hadfelt to be upon her throughout their conversation. She was wondering whatthe effect of looking at him would be on herself rather than on him.
He stood perfectly still, half a yard or more away from her; and itflashed through her mind what a sort of lotus-eater's stupor had begun inhim and was taking possession of her. Then he said--
"Are you as uncertain about yourself as you make others about you?"
"I am quite uncertain about myself; I don't know how uncertain others maybe."
"And you wish them to understand that you don't care?" said Grandcourt,with a touch of new hardness in his tone.
"I did not say that," Gwendolen replied, hesitatingly, and turning hereyes away whipped the rhododendron bush again. She wished she were onhorseback that she might set off on a canter. It was impossible to set offrunning down the knoll.
"You do care, then," said Grandcourt, not more quickly, but with asoftened drawl.
"Ha! my whip!" said Gwendolen, in a little scream of distress. She had letit go--what could be more natural in a slight agitation?--and--but thisseemed less natural in a gold-handled whip which had been left altogetherto itself--it had gone with some force over the immediate shrubs, and hadlodged itself in the branches of an azalea half-way down the knoll. Shecould run down now, laughing prettily, and Grandcourt was obliged tofollow; but she was beforehand with him in rescuing the whip, andcontinued on her way to the level ground, when she paused and looked atGrandcourt with an exasperating brightness in her glance and a heightenedcolor, as if she had carried a triumph, and these indications were stillnoticeable to Mrs. Davilow when Gwendolen and Grandcourt joined the restof the party.
"It is all coquetting," thought Grandcourt; "the next time I beckon shewill come down."
It seemed to him likely that this final beckoning might happen the verynext day, when there was to be a picnic archery meeting in Cardell Chase,according to the plan projected on the evening of the ball.
Even in Gwendolen's mind that result was one of two likelihoods thatpresented themselves alternately, one of two decisions toward which shewas being precipitated, as if they were two sides of a boundary-line, andshe did not know on which she should fall. This subjection to a possibleself, a self not to be absolutely predicted about, caused her someastonishment and terror; her favorite key of life--doing as she liked--seemed to fail her, and she could not foresee what at a given moment shemight like to do. The prospect of marrying Grandcourt really seemed moreattractive to her than she had believed beforehand that any marriage couldbe: the dignities, the luxuries, the power of doing a great deal of whatshe liked to do, which had now come close to her, and within her choice tosecure or to lose, took hold of her nature as if it had been the strongodor of what she had only imagined and longed for before. And Grandcourthimself? He seemed as little of a flaw in his fortunes as a lover andhusband could possibly be. Gwendolen wished to mount the chariot and drivethe plunging horses herself, with a spouse by her side who would fold hisarms and give her his countenance without looking ridiculous. Certainly,with all her perspicacity, and all the reading which seemed to her mammadangerously instructive, her judgment was consciously a little at faultbefore Grandcourt. He was adorably quiet and free from absurdities--hewould be a husband to suit with the best appearance a woman could make.But what else was he? He had been everywhere, and seen everything. _That_was desirable, and especially gratifying as a preamble to his supremepreference for Gwendolen Harleth. He did not appear to enjoy anythingmuch. That was not necessary: and the less he had of particular tastes, ordesires, the more freedom his wife was likely to have in following hers.Gwendolen conceived that after marriage she would most probably be able tomanage him thoroughly.
How was it that he caused her unusual constraint now?--that she was lessdaring and playful in her talk with him than with any other admirer shehad known? That absence of demonstrativeness which she was glad of, actedas a charm in more senses than one, and was slightly benumbing. Grandcourtafter all was formidable--a handsome lizard of a hitherto unknown species,riot of the lively, darting kind. But Gwendolen knew hardly anything aboutlizards, and ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities. Thissplendid specimen was probably gentle, suitable as a boudoir pet: what maynot a lizard be, if you know nothing to the contrary? Her acquaintancewith Grandcourt was such that no accomplishment suddenly revealed in himwould have surprised her. And he was so little suggestive of drama, thatit hardly occurred to her to think with any detail how his life of thirty-six years had been passed: in general, she imagined him always cold anddignified, not likely ever to have committed himself. He had hunted thetiger--had he ever been in love or made love? The one experience and theother seemed alike remote in Gwendolen's fancy from the Mr. Grandcourt whohad come to Diplow in order apparently to make a chief epoch in herdestiny--perhaps by introducing her to that state of marriage which shehad resolved to make a state of greater freedom than her girlhood. And onthe whole she wished to marry him; he suited her purpose; her prevailing,deliberate intention was, to accept him.
But was she going to fulfill her deliberate intention? She began to beafraid of herself, and to find out a certain difficulty in doing as sheliked. Already her assertion of independence in evading his advances hadbeen carried farther than was necessary, and she was thinking with someanxiety what she might do on the next occasion.
Seated according to her habit with her back to the horses on their drivehomeward, she was completely under the observation of her mamma, who tookthe excitement and changefulness in the expression of her eyes, herunwonted absence of mind and total silence, as unmistakable signs thatsomething unprecedented had occurred between her and Grandcourt. Mrs.Davilow's uneasiness determined her to risk some speech on the subject:the Gascoignes were to dine at Offendene, and in what had occurred thismorning there might be some reason for consulting the rector; not that sheexpected him anymore than herself to influence Gwendolen, but that heranxious mind wanted to be disburdened.
"Something has happened, dear?" she began, in a tender tone of question.
Gwendolen looked round, and seeming to be roused to the consciousness ofher physical self, took off her gloves and then her hat, that the softbreeze might blow on her head. They were in a retired bit of the road,where the long afternoon shadows from the bordering trees fell across itand no observers were within sight. Her eyes continued to meet hermother's, but she did not speak.