Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XVIII.
Life is a various mother: now she donsHer plumes and brilliants, climbs the marble stairsWith head aloft, nor ever turns her eyesOn lackeys who attend her; now she dwellsGrim-clad, up darksome allyes, breathes hot gin,And screams in pauper riot.
But to theseShe came a frugal matron, neat and deft,With cheerful morning thoughts and quick deviceTo find the much in little.
Mrs. Meyrick's house was not noisy: the front parlor looked on the river,and the back on gardens, so that though she was reading aloud to herdaughters, the window could be left open to freshen the air of the smalldouble room where a lamp and two candles were burning. The candles were ona table apart for Kate, who was drawing illustrations for a publisher; thelamp was not only for the reader but for Amy and Mab, who wereembroidering satin cushions for "the great world."
Outside, the house looked very narrow and shabby, the bright light throughthe holland blind showing the heavy old-fashioned window-frame; but it ispleasant to know that many such grim-walled slices of space in our foggyLondon have been and still are the homes of a culture the more spotlesslyfree from vulgarity, because poverty has rendered everything like displayan impersonal question, and all the grand shows of the world simply aspectacle which rouses petty rivalry or vain effort after possession.
The Meyricks' was a home of that kind: and they all clung to thisparticular house in a row because its interior was filled with objectsalways in the same places, which, for the mother held memories of hermarriage time, and for the young ones seemed as necessary and uncriticiseda part of their world as the stars of the Great Bear seen from the backwindows. Mrs. Meyrick had borne much stint of other matters that she mightbe able to keep some engravings specially cherished by her husband; andthe narrow spaces of wall held a world history in scenes and heads whichthe children had early learned by heart. The chairs and tables were alsoold friends preferred to new. But in these two little parlors with nofurniture that a broker would have cared to cheapen except the prints andpiano, there was space and apparatus for a wide-glancing, nicely-selectlife, opened to the highest things in music, painting and poetry. I am notsure that in the times of greatest scarcity, before Kate could get paid-work, these ladies had always had a servant to light their fires and sweeptheir rooms; yet they were fastidious in some points, and could notbelieve that the manners of ladies in the fashionable world were so fullof coarse selfishness, petty quarreling, and slang as they are representedto be in what are called literary photographs. The Meyricks had theirlittle oddities, streaks of eccentricity from the mother's blood as wellas the father's, their minds being like mediæval houses with unexpectedrecesses and openings from this into that, flights of steps and suddenoutlooks.
But mother and daughters were all united by a triple bond--family love;admiration for the finest work, the best action; and habitual industry.Hans' desire to spend some of his money in making their lives moreluxurious had been resisted by all of them, and both they and he had beenthus saved from regrets at the threatened triumphs of his yearning for artover the attractions of secured income--a triumph that would by-and-byoblige him to give up his fellowship. They could all afford to laugh athis Gavarni-caricatures and to hold him blameless in following a naturalbent which their unselfishness and independence had left without obstacle.It was enough for them to go on in their old way, only having a grandtreat of opera-going (to the gallery) when Hans came home on a visit.
Seeing the group they made this evening, one could hardly wish them tochange their way of life. They were all alike small, and so in dueproportion to their miniature rooms. Mrs. Meyrick was reading aloud from aFrench book; she was a lively little woman, half French, half Scotch, witha pretty articulateness of speech that seemed to make daylight in herhearer's understanding. Though she was not yet fifty, her rippling hair,covered by a quakerish net cap, was chiefly gray, but her eyebrows werebrown as the bright eyes below them; her black dress, almost like apriest's cassock with its rows of buttons, suited a neat figure hardlyfive feet high. The daughters were to match the mother, except that Mabhad Hans' light hair and complexion, with a bossy, irregular brow, andother quaintnesses that reminded one of him. Everything about them wascompact, from the firm coils of their hair, fastened back _à la Chinoise_,to their gray skirts in Puritan nonconformity with the fashion, which atthat time would have demanded that four feminine circumferences shouldfill all the free space in the front parlor. All four, if they had beenwax-work, might have been packed easily in a fashionable lady's travelingtrunk. Their faces seemed full of speech, as if their minds had beenshelled, after the manner of horse-chestnuts, and become brightly visible.The only large thing of its kind in the room was Hafiz, the Persian cat,comfortably poised on the brown leather back of a chair, and opening hislarge eyes now and then to see that the lower animals were not in anymischief.
The book Mrs. Meyrick had before her was Erckmann-Chatrian's _Historied'un Conscrit_. She had just finished reading it aloud, and Mab, who hadlet her work fall on the ground while she stretched her head forward andfixed her eyes on the reader, exclaimed--
"I think that is the finest story in the world."
"Of course, Mab!" said Amy, "it is the last you have heard. Everythingthat pleases you is the best in its turn."
"It is hardly to be called a story," said Kate. "It is a bit of historybrought near us with a strong telescope. We can see the soldiers' faces:no, it is more than that--we can hear everything--we can almost hear theirhearts beat."
"I don't care what you call it," said Mab, flirting away her thimble."Call it a chapter in Revelations. It makes me want to do something good,something grand. It makes me so sorry for everybody. It makes me likeSchiller--I want to take the world in my arms and kiss it. I must kiss youinstead, little mother?" She threw her arms round her mother's neck.
"Whenever you are in that mood, Mab, down goes your work," said Amy. "Itwould be doing something good to finish your cushion without soiling it."
"Oh--oh--oh!" groaned Mab, as she stooped to pick up her work and thimble."I wish I had three wounded conscripts to take care of."
"You would spill their beef-tea while you were talking," said Amy.
"Poor Mab! don't be hard on her," said the mother. "Give me the embroiderynow, child. You go on with your enthusiasm, and I will go on with the pinkand white poppy."
"Well, ma, I think you are more caustic than Amy," said Kate, while shedrew her head back to look at her drawing.
"Oh--oh--oh!" cried Mab again, rising and stretching her arms. "I wishsomething wonderful would happen. I feel like the deluge. The waters ofthe great deep are broken up, and the windows of heaven are opened. I mustsit down and play the scales."
Mab was opening the piano while the others were laughing at this climax,when a cab stopped before the house, and there forthwith came a quick rapof the knocker.
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Meyrick, starting up, "it is after ten, and Phoebe isgone to bed." She hastened out, leaving the parlor door open.
"Mr. Deronda!" The girls could hear this exclamation from their mamma. Mabclasped her hands, saying in a loud whisper, "There now! something _is_going to happen." Kate and Amy gave up their work in amazement. ButDeronda's tone in reply was so low that they could not hear his words, andMrs. Meyrick immediately closed the parlor door.
"I know I am trusting to your goodness in a most extraordinary way,"Deronda went on, after giving his brief narrative; "but you can imaginehow helpless I feel with a young creature like this on my hands. I couldnot go with her among strangers, and in her nervous state I should dreadtaking her into a house full of servants. I have trusted to your mercy. Ihope you will not think my act unwarrantable."
"On the contrary. You have honored me by trusting me. I see yourdifficulty. Pray bring her in. I will go and prepare the girls."
her in. I will go and prepare the.
While Deronda went back to the cab, Mrs. Meyrick turned into the parloragain and said: "Here is somebody to take care of instead of your woundedconscripts, Mab: a poor girl who was going to drown herself in despair.Mr. Deronda found her only just in time to save her. He brought her alongin his boat, and did not know what else it would be safe to do with her,so he has trusted us and brought her here. It seems she is a Jewess, butquite refined, he says--knowing Italian and music."
The three girls, wondering and expectant, came forward and stood near eachother in mute confidence that they were all feeling alike under thisappeal to their compassion. Mab looked rather awe-stricken, as if thisanswer to her wish were something preternatural.
Meanwhile Deronda going to the door of the cab where the pale face was nowgazing out with roused observation, said, "I have brought you to some ofthe kindest people in the world: there are daughters like you. It is ahappy home. Will you let me take you to them?"
She stepped out obediently, putting her hand in his and forgetting herhat; and when Deronda led her into the full light of the parlor where thefour little women stood awaiting her, she made a picture that would havestirred much duller sensibilities than theirs. At first she was a littledazed by the sudden light, and before she had concentrated her glance hehad put her hand into the mother's. He was inwardly rejoicing that theMeyricks were so small: the dark-curled head was the highest among them.The poor wanderer could not be afraid of these gentle faces so near hers:and now she was looking at each of them in turn while the mother said,"You must be weary, poor child."
"We will take care of you--we will comfort you--we will love you," criedMab, no longer able to restrain herself, and taking the small right handcaressingly between both her own. This gentle welcoming warmth waspenetrating the bewildered one: she hung back just enough to see betterthe four faces in front of her, whose good will was being reflected inhers, not in any smile, but in that undefinable change which tells us thatanxiety is passing in contentment. For an instant she looked up atDeronda, as if she were referring all this mercy to him, and then againturning to Mrs. Meyrick, said with more collectedness in her sweet tonesthan he had heard before--
"I am a stranger. I am a Jewess. You might have thought I was wicked."
"No, we are sure you are good," burst out Mab.
"We think no evil of you, poor child. You shall be safe with us," saidMrs. Meyrick. "Come now and sit down. You must have some food, and thenyou must go to rest."
The stranger looked up again at Deronda, who said--
"You will have no more fears with these friends? You will rest to-night?"
"Oh, I should not fear. I should rest. I think these are the ministeringangels."
Mrs. Meyrick wanted to lead her to seat, but again hanging back gently,the poor weary thing spoke as if with a scruple at being received withouta further account of herself.
"My name is Mirah Lapidoth. I am come a long way, all the way from Pragueby myself. I made my escape. I ran away from dreadful things. I came tofind my mother and brother in London. I had been taken from my mother whenI was little, but I thought I could find her again. I had trouble--thehouses were all gone--I could not find her. It has been a long while, andI had not much money. That is why I am in distress."
"Our mother will be good to you," cried Mab. "See what a nice littlemother she is!"
"Do sit down now," said Kate, moving a chair forward, while Amy ran to getsome tea.
Mirah resisted no longer, but seated herself with perfect grace, crossingher little feet, laying her hands one over the other on her lap, andlooking at her friends with placid reverence; whereupon Hafiz, who hadbeen watching the scene restlessly came forward with tail erect and rubbedhimself against her ankles. Deronda felt it time to go.
"Will you allow me to come again and inquire--perhaps at five to-morrow?"he said to Mrs. Meyrick.
"Yes, pray; we shall have had time to make acquaintance then."
"Good-bye," said Deronda, looking down at Mirah, and putting out his hand.She rose as she took it, and the moment brought back to them both stronglythe other moment when she had first taken that outstretched hand. Shelifted her eyes to his and said with reverential fervor, "The God of ourfathers bless you and deliver you from all evil as you have delivered me.I did not believe there was any man so good. None before have thought meworthy of the best. You found me poor and miserable, yet you have given methe best."
Deronda could not speak, but with silent adieux to the Meyricks, hurriedaway.