Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER II.
This man contrives a secret 'twixt us two,That he may quell me with his meeting eyesLike one who quells a lioness at bay.
This was the letter Gwendolen found on her table:--
DEAREST CHILD.--I have been expecting to hear from you for a week. Inyour last you said the Langens thought of leaving Leubronn and goingto Baden. How could you be so thoughtless as to leave me inuncertainty about your address? I am in the greatest anxiety lest thisshould not reach you. In any case, you were to come home at the end ofSeptember, and I must now entreat you to return as quickly aspossible, for if you spent all your money it would be out of my powerto send you any more, and you must not borrow of the Langens, for Icould not repay them. This is the sad truth, my child--I wish I couldprepare you for it better--but a dreadful calamity has befallen usall. You know nothing about business and will not understand it; butGrapnell & Co. have failed for a million, and we are totally ruined--your aunt Gascoigne as well as I, only that your uncle has hisbenefice, so that by putting down their carriage and getting interestfor the boys, the family can go on. All the property our poor fathersaved for us goes to pay the liabilities. There is nothing I can callmy own. It is better you should know this at once, though it rends myheart to have to tell it you. Of course we cannot help thinking what apity it was that you went away just when you did. But I shall neverreproach you, my dear child; I would save you from all trouble if Icould. On your way home you will have time to prepare yourself for thechange you will find. We shall perhaps leave Offendene at once, for wehope that Mr. Haynes, who wanted it before, may be ready to take itoff my hands. Of course we cannot go to the rectory--there is not acorner there to spare. We must get some hut or other to shelter us,and we must live on your uncle Gascoigne's charity, until I see whatelse can be done. I shall not be able to pay the debts to thetradesmen besides the servants' wages. Summon up your fortitude, mydear child; we must resign ourselves to God's will. But it is hard toresign one's self to Mr. Lassman's wicked recklessness, which they saywas the cause of the failure. Your poor sisters can only cry with meand give me no help. If you were once here, there might be a break inthe cloud--I always feel it impossible that you can have been meantfor poverty. If the Langens wish to remain abroad, perhaps you can putyourself under some one else's care for the journey. But come as soonas you can to your afflicted and loving mamma,
FANNY DAVILOW.
The first effect of this letter on Gwendolen was half-stupefying. Theimplicit confidence that her destiny must be one of luxurious ease, whereany trouble that occurred would be well clad and provided for, had beenstronger in her own mind than in her mamma's, being fed there by heryouthful blood and that sense of superior claims which made a large partof her consciousness. It was almost as difficult for her to believesuddenly that her position had become one of poverty and of humiliatingdependence, as it would have been to get into the strong current of herblooming life the chill sense that her death would really come. She stoodmotionless for a few minutes, then tossed off her hat and automaticallylooked in the glass. The coils of her smooth light-brown hair were stillin order perfect enough for a ball-room; and as on other nights, Gwendolenmight have looked lingeringly at herself for pleasure (surely an allowableindulgence); but now she took no conscious note of her reflected beauty,and simply stared right before her as if she had been jarred by a hatefulsound and was waiting for any sign of its cause. By-and-by she threwherself in the corner of the red velvet sofa, took up the letter again andread it twice deliberately, letting it at last fall on the ground, whileshe rested her clasped hands on her lap and sat perfectly still, sheddingno tears. Her impulse was to survey and resist the situation rather thanto wail over it. There was no inward exclamation of "Poor mamma!" Hermamma had never seemed to get much enjoyment out of life, and if Gwendolenhad been at this moment disposed to feel pity she would have bestowed iton herself--for was she not naturally and rightfully the chief object ofher mamma's anxiety too? But it was anger, it was resistance thatpossessed her; it was bitter vexation that she had lost her gains atroulette, whereas if her luck had continued through this one day she wouldhave had a handsome sum to carry home, or she might have gone on playingand won enough to support them all. Even now was it not possible? She hadonly four napoleons left in her purse, but she possessed some ornamentswhich she could sell: a practice so common in stylish society at Germanbaths that there was no need to be ashamed of it; and even if she had notreceived her mamma's letter, she would probably have decided to get moneyfor an Etruscan necklace which she happened not to have been wearing sinceher arrival; nay, she might have done so with an agreeable sense that shewas living with some intensity and escaping humdrum. With ten louis at herdisposal and a return of her former luck, which seemed probable, whatcould she do better than go on playing for a few days? If her friends athome disapproved of the way in which she got the money, as they certainlywould, still the money would be there. Gwendolen's imagination dwelt onthis course and created agreeable consequences, but not with unbrokenconfidence and rising certainty as it would have done if she had beentouched with the gambler's mania. She had gone to the roulette-table notbecause of passion, but in search of it: her mind was still sanely capableof picturing balanced probabilities, and while the chance of winningallured her, the chance of losing thrust itself on her with alternatestrength and made a vision from which her pride sank sensitively. For shewas resolved not to tell the Langens that any misfortune had befallen herfamily, or to make herself in any way indebted to their compassion; and ifshe were to part with her jewelry to any observable extent, they wouldinterfere by inquiries and remonstrances. The course that held the leastrisk of intolerable annoyance was to raise money on her necklace early inthe morning, tell the Langens that her mother desired her immediate returnwithout giving a reason, and take the train for Brussels that evening. Shehad no maid with her, and the Langens might make difficulties about herreturning home, but her will was peremptory.
Instead of going to bed she made as brilliant a light as she could andbegan to pack, working diligently, though all the while visited by thescenes that might take place on the coming day--now by the tiresomeexplanations and farewells, and the whirling journey toward a changedhome, now by the alternative of staying just another day and standingagain at the roulette-table. But always in this latter scene there was thepresence of that Deronda, watching her with exasperating irony, and--thetwo keen experiences were inevitably revived together--beholding her againforsaken by luck. This importunate image certainly helped to sway herresolve on the side of immediate departure, and to urge her packing to thepoint which would make a change of mind inconvenient. It had struck twelvewhen she came into her room, and by the time she was assuring herself thatshe had left out only what was necessary, the faint dawn was stealingthrough the white blinds and dulling her candles. What was the use ofgoing to bed? Her cold bath was refreshment enough, and she saw that aslight trace of fatigue about the eyes only made her look the moreinteresting. Before six o'clock she was completely equipped in her graytraveling dress even to her felt hat, for she meant to walk out as soon asshe could count on seeing other ladies on their way to the springs. Andhappening to be seated sideways before the long strip of mirror betweenher two windows she turned to look at herself, leaning her elbow on theback of the chair in an attitude that might have been chosen for herportrait. It is possible to have a strong self-love without any self-satisfaction, rather with a self-discontent which is the more intensebecause one's own little core of egoistic sensibility is a supreme care;but Gwendolen knew nothing of such inward strife. She had a _naïve_delight in her fortunate self, which any but the harshest saintliness willhave some indulgence for in a girl who had every day seen a pleasantreflection of that self in her friends' flattery as well as in thelooking-glass. And even in this beginning of troubles, while for lack ofanything else to do she sat gazing at her image in the growing light, herface gathered a complacency gradual as the cheerfulness of the morning.Her beautiful lips curled into a more and more decided smile, till at lastshe took off her hat, leaned forward and kissed the cold glass which hadlooked so warm. How could she believe in sorrow? If it attacked her, shefelt the force to crush it, to defy it, or run away from it, as she haddone already. Anything seemed more possible than that she could go onbearing miseries, great or small.
Madame von Langen never went out before breakfast, so that Gwendolen couldsafely end her early walk by taking her way homeward through the ObereStrasse in which was the needed shop, sure to be open after seven. At thathour any observers whom she minded would be either on their walks in theregion of the springs, or would be still in their bedrooms; but certainlythere was one grand hotel, the _Czarina_ from which eyes might follow herup to Mr. Wiener's door. This was a chance to be risked: might she not begoing in to buy something which had struck her fancy? This implicitfalsehood passed through her mind as she remembered that the _Czarina_ wasDeronda's hotel; but she was then already far up the Obere Strasse, andshe walked on with her usual floating movement, every line in her figureand drapery falling in gentle curves attractive to all eyes except thosewhich discerned in them too close a resemblance to the serpent, andobjected to the revival of serpent-worship. She looked neither to theright hand nor to the left, and transacted her business in the shop with acoolness which gave little Mr. Weiner nothing to remark except her proudgrace of manner, and the superior size and quality of the three centralturquoises in the necklace she offered him. They had belonged to a chainonce her father's: but she had never known her father; and the necklacewas in all respects the ornament she could most conveniently part with.Who supposes that it is an impossible contradiction to be superstitiousand rationalizing at the same time? Roulette encourages a romanticsuperstition as to the chances of the game, and the most prosaicrationalism as to human sentiments which stand in the way of raisingneedful money. Gwendolen's dominant regret was that after all she had onlynine louis to add to the four in her purse: these Jew dealers were sounscrupulous in taking advantage of Christians unfortunate at play! Butshe was the Langens' guest in their hired apartment, and had nothing topay there: thirteen louis would do more than take her home; even if shedetermined on risking three, the remaining ten would more than suffice,since she meant to travel right on, day and night. As she turned homeward,nay, entered and seated herself in the _salon_ to await her friends andbreakfast, she still wavered as to her immediate departure, or rather shehad concluded to tell the Langens simply that she had had a letter fromher mamma desiring her return, and to leave it still undecided when sheshould start. It was already the usual breakfast-time, and hearing someone enter as she was leaning back rather tired and hungry with her eyesshut, she rose expecting to see one or other of the Langens--the wordswhich might determine her lingering at least another day, ready-formed topass her lips. But it was the servant bringing in a small packet for MissHarleth, which had at that moment been left at the door. Gwendolen took itin her hand and immediately hurried into her own room. She looked palerand more agitated than when she had first read her mamma's letter.Something--she never quite knew what--revealed to her before she openedthe packet that it contained the necklace she had just parted with.Underneath the paper it was wrapped in a cambric handkerchief, and withinthis was a scrap of torn-off note-paper, on which was written with apencil, in clear but rapid handwriting--"_A stranger who has found MissHarleth's necklace returns it to her with the hope that she will not againrisk the loss of it._"
Gwendolen reddened with the vexation of wounded pride. A large corner ofthe handkerchief seemed to have been recklessly torn off to get rid of amark; but she at once believed in the first image of "the stranger" thatpresented itself to her mind. It was Deronda; he must have seen her gointo the shop; he must have gone in immediately after and repurchased thenecklace. He had taken an unpardonable liberty, and had dared to place herin a thoroughly hateful position. What could she do?--Not, assuredly, acton her conviction that it was he who had sent her the necklace andstraightway send it back to him: that would be to face the possibilitythat she had been mistaken; nay, even if the "stranger" were he and noother, it would be something too gross for her to let him know that shehad divined this, and to meet him again with that recognition in theirminds. He knew very well that he was entangling her in helplesshumiliation: it was another way of smiling at her ironically, and takingthe air of a supercilious mentor. Gwendolen felt the bitter tears ofmortification rising and rolling down her cheeks. No one had ever beforedared to treat her with irony and contempt. One thing was clear: she mustcarry out her resolution to quit this place at once; it was impossible forher to reappear in the public _salon_, still less stand at the gaming-table with the risk of seeing Deronda. Now came an importunate knock atthe door: breakfast was ready. Gwendolen with a passionate movement thrustnecklace, cambric, scrap of paper, and all into her _nécessaire_, pressedher handkerchief against her face, and after pausing a minute or two tosummon back her proud self-control, went to join her friends. Such signsof tears and fatigue as were left seemed accordant enough with the accountshe at once gave of her having sat up to do her packing, instead ofwaiting for help from her friend's maid. There was much protestation, asshe had expected, against her traveling alone, but she persisted inrefusing any arrangements for companionship. She would be put into theladies' compartment and go right on. She could rest exceedingly well inthe train, and was afraid of nothing.
In this way it happened that Gwendolen never reappeared at the roulette-table, but that Thursday evening left Leubronn for Brussels, and onSaturday morning arrived at Offendene, the home to which she and herfamily were soon to say a last good-bye.