Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXI.
It is a common sentence that Knowledge is power; but who hath dulyConsidered or set forth the power of Ignorance? Knowledge slowlybuilds up what Ignorance in an hour pulls down. Knowledge, throughpatient and frugal centuries, enlarges discovery and makes record ofit; Ignorance, wanting its day's dinner, lights a fire with therecord, and gives a flavor to its one roast with the burned souls ofmany generations. Knowledge, instructing the sense, refining andmultiplying needs, transforms itself into skill and makes life variouswith a new six days' work; comes Ignorance drunk on the seventh, witha firkin of oil and a match and an easy "Let there not be," and themany-colored creation is shriveled up in blackness. Of a truth,Knowledge is power, but it is a power reined by scruple, having aconscience of what must be and what may be; whereas Ignorance is ablind giant who, let him but wax unbound, would make it a sport toseize the pillars that hold up the long-wrought fabric of human good,and turn all the places of joy dark as a buried Babylon. And lookingat life parcel-wise, in the growth of a single lot, who having apracticed vision may not see that ignorance of the true bond betweenevents, and false conceit of means whereby sequences may be compelled--like that falsity of eyesight which overlooks the gradations ofdistance, seeing that which is afar off as if it were within a step ora grasp--precipitates the mistaken soul on destruction?
It was half-past ten in the morning when Gwendolen Harleth, after hergloomy journey from Leubronn, arrived at the station from which she mustdrive to Offendene. No carriage or friend was awaiting her, for in thetelegram she had sent from Dover she had mentioned a later train, and inher impatience of lingering at a London station she had set off withoutpicturing what it would be to arrive unannounced at half an hour's drivefrom home--at one of those stations which have been fixed on not as nearanywhere, but as equidistant from everywhere. Deposited as a _femme sole_with her large trunks, and having to wait while a vehicle was being gotfrom the large-sized lantern called the Railway Inn, Gwendolen felt thatthe dirty paint in the waiting-room, the dusty decanter of flat water, andthe texts in large letters calling on her to repent and be converted, werepart of the dreary prospect opened by her family troubles; and she hurriedaway to the outer door looking toward the lane and fields. But here thevery gleams of sunshine seemed melancholy, for the autumnal leaves andgrass were shivering, and the wind was turning up the feathers of a cockand two croaking hens which had doubtless parted with their grown-upoffspring and did not know what to do with themselves. The railwayofficial also seemed without resources, and his innocent demeanor inobserving Gwendolen and her trunks was rendered intolerable by the cast inhis eye; especially since, being a new man, he did not know her, and mustconclude that she was not very high in the world. The vehicle--a dirty oldbarouche--was within sight, and was being slowly prepared by an elderlylaborer. Contemptible details these, to make part of a history; yet theturn of most lives is hardly to be accounted for without them. They arecontinually entering with cumulative force into a mood until it gets themass and momentum of a theory or a motive. Even philosophy is not quitefree from such determining influences; and to be dropped solitary at anugly, irrelevant-looking spot, with a sense of no income on the mind,might well prompt a man to discouraging speculation on the origin ofthings and the reason of a world where a subtle thinker found himself sobadly off. How much more might such trifles tell on a young lady equippedfor society with a fastidious taste, an Indian shawl over her arm, sometwenty cubic feet of trunks by her side, and a mortal dislike to the newconsciousness of poverty which was stimulating her imagination ofdisagreeables? At any rate they told heavily on poor Gwendolen, and helpedto quell her resistant spirit. What was the good of living in the midst ofhardships, ugliness, and humiliation? This was the beginning of being athome again, and it was a sample of what she had to expect.
Here was the theme on which her discontent rung its sad changes during herslow drive in the uneasy barouche, with one great trunk squeezing the meekdriver, and the other fastened with a rope on the seat in front of her.Her ruling vision all the way from Leubronn had been that the family wouldgo abroad again; for of course there must be some little income left--hermamma did not mean that they would have literally nothing. To go to a dullplace abroad and live poorly, was the dismal future that threatened her:she had seen plenty of poor English people abroad and imagined herselfplunged in the despised dullness of their ill-plenished lives, with Alice,Bertha, Fanny and Isabel all growing up in tediousness around her, whileshe advanced toward thirty and her mamma got more and more melancholy. Butshe did not mean to submit, and let misfortune do what it would with her:she had not yet quite believed in the misfortune; but weariness anddisgust with this wretched arrival had begun to affect her like anuncomfortable waking, worse than the uneasy dreams which had gone before.The self-delight with which she had kissed her image in the glass hadfaded before the sense of futility in being anything whatever--charming,clever, resolute--what was the good of it all? Events might turn outanyhow, and men were hateful. Yes, men were hateful. But in these lasthours, a certain change had come over their meaning. It is one thing tohate stolen goods, and another thing to hate them the more because theirbeing stolen hinders us from making use of them. Gwendolen had begun to beangry with Grandcourt for being what had hindered her from marrying him,angry with him as the cause of her present dreary lot.
But the slow drive was nearly at an end, and the lumbering vehicle comingup the avenue was within sight of the windows. A figure appearing underthe portico brought a rush of new and less selfish feeling in Gwendolen,and when springing from the carriage she saw the dear beautiful face withfresh lines of sadness in it, she threw her arms round her mother's neck,and for the moment felt all sorrows only in relation to her mother'sfeeling about them.
Behind, of course, were the sad faces of the four superfluous girls, each,poor thing--like those other many thousand sisters of us all--having herpeculiar world which was of no importance to any one else, but all of themfeeling Gwendolen's presence to be somehow a relenting of misfortune:where Gwendolen was, something interesting would happen; even her hurriedsubmission to their kisses, and "Now go away, girls," carried the sort ofcomfort which all weakness finds in decision and authoritativeness. GoodMiss Merry, whose air of meek depression, hitherto held unaccountable in agoverness affectionately attached to the family, was now at the generallevel of circumstances, did not expect any greeting, but busied herselfwith the trunks and the coachman's pay; while Mrs. Davilow and Gwendolenhastened up-stairs and shut themselves in the black and yellow bedroom.
"Never mind, mamma dear," said Gwendolen, tenderly pressing herhandkerchief against the tears that were rolling down Mrs. Davilow'scheeks. "Never mind. I don't mind. I will do something. I will besomething. Things will come right. It seemed worse because I was away.Come now! you must be glad because I am here."
Gwendolen felt every word of that speech. A rush of compassionatetenderness stirred all her capability of generous resolution; and theself-confident projects which had vaguely glanced before her during herjourney sprang instantaneously into new definiteness. Suddenly she seemedto perceive how she could be "something." It was one of her best moments,and the fond mother, forgetting everything below that tide mark, looked ather with a sort of adoration. She said--
"Bless you, my good, good darling! I can be happy, if you can!"
But later in the day there was an ebb; the old slippery rocks, the oldweedy places reappeared. Naturally, there was a shrinking of courage asmisfortune ceased to be a mere announcement, and began to disclose itselfas a grievous tyrannical inmate. At first--that ugly drive at an end--itwas still Offendene that Gwendolen had come home to, and all surroundingsof immediate consequence to her were still there to secure her personalease; the roomy stillness of the large solid house while she rested; allthe luxuries of her toilet cared for without trouble to her; and a littletray with her favorite food brought to her in private. For she had said,"Keep them all away from us to-day, mamma. Let you and me be alonetogether."
When Gwendolen came down into the drawing-room, fresh as a newly-dippedswan, and sat leaning against the cushions of the settee beside her mamma,their misfortune had not yet turned its face and breath upon her. She feltprepared to hear everything, and began in a tone of deliberate intention--
"What have you thought of doing, exactly, mamma?"
"Oh, my dear, the next thing to be done is to move away from this house.Mr. Haynes most fortunately is as glad to have it now as he would havebeen when we took it. Lord Brackenshaw's agent is to arrange everythingwith him to the best advantage for us: Bazley, you know; not at all anill-natured man."
"I cannot help thinking that Lord Brackenshaw would let you stay hererent-free, mamma," said Gwendolen, whose talents had not been applied tobusiness so much as to discernment of the admiration excited by hercharms.
"My dear child, Lord Brackenshaw is in Scotland, and knows nothing aboutus. Neither your uncle nor I would choose to apply to him. Besides, whatcould we do in this house without servants, and without money to warm it?The sooner we are out the better. We have nothing to carry but ourclothes, you know?"
"I suppose you mean to go abroad, then?" said Gwendolen. After all, thisis what she had familiarized her mind with.
"Oh, no, dear, no. How could we travel? You never did learn anything aboutincome and expenses," said Mrs. Davilow, trying to smile, and putting herhand on Gwendolen's as she added, mournfully, "that makes it so muchharder for you, my pet."
"But where are we to go?" said Gwendolen, with a trace of sharpness in hertone. She felt a new current of fear passing through her.
"It is all decided. A little furniture is to be got in from the rectory--all that can be spared." Mrs. Davilow hesitated. She dreaded the realityfor herself less than the shock she must give to Gwendolen, who looked ather with tense expectancy, but was silent.
"It is Sawyer's Cottage we are to go to."
At first, Gwendolen remained silent, paling with anger--justifiable anger,in her opinion. Then she said with haughtiness--
"That is impossible. Something else than that ought to have been thoughtof. My uncle ought not to allow that. I will not submit to it."
"My sweet child, what else could have been thought of? Your uncle, I amsure, is as kind as he can be: but he is suffering himself; he has hisfamily to bring up. And do you quite understand? You must remember--wehave nothing. We shall have absolutely nothing except what he and mysister give us. They have been as wise and active a possible, and we musttry to earn something. I and the girls are going to work a table-clothborder for the Ladies' Charity at Winchester, and a communion cloth thatthe parishioners are to present to Pennicote Church."
Mrs. Davilow went into these details timidly: but how else was she tobring the fact of their position home to this poor child who, alas! mustsubmit at present, whatever might be in the background for her? and sheherself had a superstition that there must be something better in thebackground.
"But surely somewhere else than Sawyer's Cottage might have been found,"Gwendolen persisted--taken hold of (as if in a nightmare) by the image ofthis house where an exciseman had lived.
"No, indeed, dear. You know houses are scarce, and we may be thankful toget anything so private. It is not so very bad. There are two littleparlors and four bedrooms. You shall sit alone whenever you like."
The ebb of sympathetic care for her mamma had gone so low just now, thatGwendolen took no notice of these deprecatory words.
"I cannot conceive that all your property is gone at once, mamma. How canyou be sure in so short a time? It is not a week since you wrote to me."
"The first news came much earlier, dear. But I would not spoil yourpleasure till it was quite necessary.
"Oh, how vexatious!" said Gwendolen, coloring with fresh anger. "If I hadknown, I could have brought home the money I had won: and for want ofknowing, I stayed and lost it. I had nearly two hundred pounds, and itwould have done for us to live on a little while, till I could carry outsome plan." She paused an instant and then added more impetuously,"Everything has gone against me. People have come near me only to blightme."
Among the "people" she was including Deronda. If he had not interfered inher life she would have gone to the gaming-table again with a fewnapoleons, and might have won back her losses.
"We must resign ourselves to the will of Providence, my child," said poorMrs. Davilow, startled by this revelation of the gambling, but not daringto say more. She felt sure that "people" meant Grandcourt, about whom herlips were sealed. And Gwendolen answered immediately--
"But I don't resign myself. I shall do what I can against it. What is thegood of calling the people's wickedness Providence? You said in yourletter it was Mr. Lassman's fault we had lost our money. Has he run awaywith it all?"
"No, dear, you don't understand. There were great speculations: he meantto gain. It was all about mines and things of that sort. He risked toomuch."
"I don't call that Providence: it was his improvidence with our money, andhe ought to be punished. Can't we go to law and recover our fortune? Myuncle ought to take measures, and not sit down by such wrongs. We ought togo to law."
"My dear child, law can never bring back money lost in that way. Youruncle says it is milk spilled upon the ground. Besides, one must have afortune to get any law: there is no law for people who are ruined. And ourmoney has only gone along with other's people's. We are not the onlysufferers: others have to resign themselves besides us."
"But I don't resign myself to live at Sawyer's Cottage and see you workingfor sixpences and shillings because of that. I shall not do it. I shall dowhat is more befitting our rank and education."
"I am sure your uncle and all of us will approve of that, dear, and admireyou the more for it," said Mrs. Davilow, glad of an unexpected opening forspeaking on a difficult subject. "I didn't mean that you should resignyourself to worse when anything better offered itself. Both your uncle andaunt have felt that your abilities and education were a fortune for you,and they have already heard of something within your reach."
"What is that, mamma?" some of Gwendolen's anger gave way to interest, andshe was not without romantic conjectures.
"There are two situations that offer themselves. One is in a bishop'sfamily, where there are three daughters, and the other is in quite a highclass of school; and in both, your French, and music, and dancing--andthen your manners and habits as a lady, are exactly what is wanted. Eachis a hundred a year--and--just for the present,"--Mrs. Davilow had becomefrightened and hesitating,--"to save you from the petty, common way ofliving that we must go to--you would perhaps accept one of the two."
"What! be like Miss Graves at Madame Meunier's? No."
"I think, myself, that Dr. Monpert's would be more suitable. There couldbe no hardship in a bishop's family."
"Excuse me, mamma. There are hardships everywhere for a governess. And Idon't see that it would be pleasanter to be looked down on in a bishop'sfamily than in any other. Besides, you know very well I hate teaching.Fancy me shut up with three awkward girls something like Alice! I wouldrather emigrate than be a governess."
What it precisely was to emigrate, Gwendolen was not called on to explain.Mrs. Davilow was mute, seeing no outlet, and thinking with dread of thecollision that might happen when Gwendolen had to meet her uncle and aunt.There was an air of reticence in Gwendolen's haughty, resistant speecheswhich implied that she had a definite plan in reserve; and her practicalignorance continually exhibited, could not nullify the mother's belief inthe effectiveness of that forcible will and daring which had held masteryover herself.
"I have some ornaments, mamma, and I could sell them," said Gwendolen."They would make a sum: I want a little sum--just to go on with. I daresay Marshall, at Wanchester, would take them: I know he showed me somebracelets once that he said he had bought from a lady. Jocosa might go andask him. Jocosa is going to leave us, of course. But she might do thatfirst."
"She would do anything she could, poor, dear soul. I have not told youyet--she wanted me to take all her savings--her three hundred pounds. Itell her to set up a little school. It will be hard for her to go into anew family now she has been so long with us."
"Oh, recommend her for the bishop's daughter's," said Gwendolen, with asudden gleam of laughter in her face. "I am sure she will do better than Ishould."
"Do take care not to say such things to your uncle," said Mrs. Davilow."He will be hurt at your despising what he has exerted himself about. ButI dare say you have something else in your mind that he might notdisapprove, if you consulted him."
"There is some one else I want to consult first. Are the Arrowpoint's atQuetcham still, and is Herr Klesmer there? But I daresay you know nothingabout it, poor, dear mamma. Can Jeffries go on horseback with a note?"
"Oh, my dear, Jefferies is not here, and the dealer has taken the horses.But some one could go for us from Leek's farm. The Arrowpoints are atQuetcham, I know. Miss Arrowpoint left her card the other day: I could notsee her. But I don't know about Herr Klesmer. Do you want to send beforeto-morrow?"
"Yes, as soon as possible. I will write a note," said Gwendolen, rising.
"What can you be thinking of, Gwen?" said Mrs. Davilow, relieved in themidst of her wonderment by signs of alacrity and better humor.
"Don't mind what, there's a dear, good mamma," said Gwendolen, reseatingherself a moment to give atoning caresses. "I mean to do something. Nevermind what until it is all settled. And then you shall be comforted. Thedear face!--it is ten years older in these three weeks. Now, now, now!don't cry"--Gwendolen, holding her mamma's head with both hands, kissedthe trembling eyelids. "But mind you don't contradict me or put hindrancesin my way. I must decide for myself. I cannot be dictated to by my uncleor any one else. My life is my own affair. And I think"--here her tonetook an edge of scorn--"I think I can do better for you than let you livein Sawyer's Cottage."
In uttering this last sentence Gwendolen again rose, and went to a deskwhere she wrote the following note to Klesmer:--
Miss Harleth presents her compliments to Herr Klesmer, and venturesto request of him the very great favor that he will call upon her, ifpossible, to-morrow. Her reason for presuming so far on his kindnessis of a very serious nature. Unfortunate family circumstances haveobliged her to take a course in which she can only turn for advice tothe great knowledge and judgment of Herr Klesmer.
"Pray get this sent to Quetcham at once, mamma," said Gwendolen, as sheaddressed the letter. "The man must be told to wait for an answer. Let notime be lost."
For the moment, the absorbing purpose was to get the letter dispatched;but when she had been assured on this point, another anxiety arose andkept her in a state of uneasy excitement. If Klesmer happened not to be atQuetcham, what could she do next? Gwendolen's belief in her star, so tospeak, had had some bruises. Things had gone against her. A splendidmarriage which presented itself within reach had shown a hideous flaw. Thechances of roulette had not adjusted themselves to her claims; and a manof whom she knew nothing had thrust himself between her and herintentions. The conduct of those uninteresting people who managed thebusiness of the world had been culpable just in the points most injuriousto her in particular. Gwendolen Harleth, with all her beauty and consciousforce, felt the close threats of humiliation: for the first time theconditions of this world seemed to her like a hurrying roaring crowd inwhich she had got astray, no more cared for and protected than a myriad ofother girls, in spite of its being a peculiar hardship to her. If Klesmerwere not at Quetcham--that would be all of a piece with the rest: theunwelcome negative urged itself as a probability, and set her brainworking at desperate alternatives which might deliver her from Sawyer'sCottage or the ultimate necessity of "taking a situation," a phrase thatsummed up for her the disagreeables most wounding to her pride, mostirksome to her tastes; at least so far as her experience enabled her toimagine disagreeables.
Still Klesmer might be there, and Gwendolen thought of the result in thatcase with a hopefulness which even cast a satisfactory light over herpeculiar troubles, as what might well enter into the biography ofcelebrities and remarkable persons. And if she had heard her immediateacquaintances cross-examined as to whether they thought her remarkable,the first who said "No" would have surprised her.