Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXII. Page 1
We please our fancy with ideal websOf innovation, but our life meanwhileIs in the loom, where busy passion pliesThe shuttle to and fro, and gives our deedsThe accustomed pattern.
Gwendolen's note, coming "pat betwixt too early and too late," was putinto Klesmer's hands just when he was leaving Quetcham, and in order tomeet her appeal to his kindness he, with some inconvenience to himselfspent the night at Wanchester. There were reasons why he would not remainat Quetcham.
That magnificent mansion, fitted with regard to the greatest expense, hadin fact became too hot for him, its owners having, like some greatpoliticians, been astonished at an insurrection against the establishedorder of things, which we plain people after the event can perceive tohave been prepared under their very noses.
There were as usual many guests in the house, and among them one in whomMiss Arrowpoint foresaw a new pretender to her hand: a political man ofgood family who confidently expected a peerage, and felt on public groundsthat he required a larger fortune to support the title properly. Heiressesvary, and persons interested in one of them beforehand are prepared tofind that she is too yellow or too red, tall and toppling or short andsquare, violent and capricious or moony and insipid; but in every case itis taken for granted that she will consider herself an appendage to herfortune, and marry where others think her fortunes ought to go. Nature,however, not only accommodates herself ill to our favorite practices bymaking "only children" daughters, but also now and then endows themisplaced daughter with a clear head and a strong will. The Arrowpointshad already felt some anxiety owing to these endowments of theirCatherine. She would not accept the view of her social duty which requiredher to marry a needy nobleman or a commoner on the ladder toward nobility;and they were not without uneasiness concerning her persistence indeclining suitable offers. As to the possibility of her being in love withKlesmer they were not at all uneasy--a very common sort of blindness. Forin general mortals have a great power of being astonished at the presenceof an effect toward which they have done everything, and at the absence ofan effect toward which they had done nothing but desire it. Parents areastonished at the ignorance of their sons, though they have used the mosttime-honored and expensive means of securing it; husbands and wives aremutually astonished at the loss of affection which they have taken nopains to keep; and all of us in our turn are apt to be astonished that ourneighbors do not admire us. In this way it happens that the truth seemshighly improbable. The truth is something different from the habitual lazycombinations begotten by our wishes. The Arrowpoints' hour of astonishmentwas come.
When there is a passion between an heiress and a proud independent-spirited man, it is difficult for them to come to an understanding; butthe difficulties are likely to be overcome unless the proud man secureshimself by a constant _alibi_. Brief meetings after studied absence arepotent in disclosure: but more potent still is frequent companionship,with full sympathy in taste and admirable qualities on both sides;especially where the one is in the position of teacher and the other isdelightedly conscious of receptive ability which also gives the teacherdelight. The situation is famous in history, and has no less charm nowthan it had in the days of Abelard.
But this kind of comparison had not occurred to the Arrowpoints when theyfirst engaged Klesmer to come down to Quetcham. To have a first-ratemusician in your house is a privilege of wealth; Catherine's musicaltalent demanded every advantage; and she particularly desired to use herquieter time in the country for more thorough study. Klesmer was not yet aLiszt, understood to be adored by ladies of all European countries withthe exception of Lapland: and even with that understanding it did notfollow that he would make proposals to an heiress. No musician of honorwould do so. Still less was it conceivable that Catherine would give himthe slightest pretext for such daring. The large check that Mr. Arrowpointwas to draw in Klesmer's name seemed to make him as safe an inmate as afootman. Where marriage is inconceivable, a girl's sentiments are safe.
Klesmer was eminently a man of honor, but marriages rarely begin withformal proposals, and moreover, Catherine's limit of the conceivable didnot exactly correspond with her mother's.
Outsiders might have been more apt to think that Klesmer's position wasdangerous for himself if Miss Arrowpoint had been an acknowledged beauty;not taking into account that the most powerful of all beauty is that whichreveals itself after sympathy and not before it. There is a charm of eyeand lip which comes with every little phrase that certifies delicateperception or fine judgment, with every unostentatious word or smile thatshows a heart awake to others; and no sweep of garment or turn of figureis more satisfying than that which enters as a restoration of confidencethat one person is present on whom no intention will be lost. What dignityof meaning, goes on gathering in frowns and laughs which are neverobserved in the wrong place; what suffused adorableness in a human framewhere there is a mind that can flash out comprehension and hands that canexecute finely! The more obvious beauty, also adorable sometimes--one maysay it without blasphemy--begins by being an apology for folly, and endslike other apologies in becoming tiresome by iteration; and that Klesmer,though very susceptible to it, should have a passionate attachment to MissArrowpoint, was no more a paradox than any other triumph of a manifoldsympathy over a monotonous attraction. We object less to be taxed with theenslaving excess of our passions than with our deficiency in widerpassion; but if the truth were known, our reputed intensity is often thedullness of not knowing what else to do with ourselves. Tannhäuser, onesuspects, was a knight of ill-furnished imagination, hardly of largerdiscourse than a heavy Guardsman; Merlin had certainly seen his best days,and was merely repeating himself, when he fell into that hopelesscaptivity; and we know that Ulysses felt so manifest an _ennui_ undersimilar circumstances that Calypso herself furthered his departure. Thereis indeed a report that he afterward left Penelope; but since she washabitually absorbed in worsted work, and it was probably from her thatTelemachus got his mean, pettifogging disposition, always anxious aboutthe property and the daily consumption of meat, no inference can be drawnfrom this already dubious scandal as to the relation between companionshipand constancy.
Klesmer was as versatile and fascinating as a young Ulysses on asufficient acquaintance--one whom nature seemed to have first madegenerously and then to have added music as a dominant power using all theabundant rest, and, as in Mendelssohn, finding expression for itself notonly in the highest finish of execution, but in that fervor of creativework and theoretic belief which pierces devoted purpose. His foibles ofarrogance and vanity did not exceed such as may be found in the bestEnglish families; and Catherine Arrowpoint had no correspondingrestlessness to clash with his: notwithstanding her native kindliness shewas perhaps too coolly firm and self-sustained. But she was one of thosesatisfactory creatures whose intercourse has the charm of discovery; whoseintegrity of faculty and expression begets a wish to know what they willsay on all subjects or how they will perform whatever they undertake; sothat they end by raising not only a continual expectation but a continualsense of fulfillment--the systole and diastole of blissful companionship.In such cases the outward presentment easily becomes what the image is tothe worshipper. It was not long before the two became aware that each wasinteresting to the other; but the "how far" remained a matter of doubt.Klesmer did not conceive that Miss Arrowpoint was likely to think of himas a possible lover, and she was not accustomed to think of herself aslikely to stir more than a friendly regard, or to fear the expression ofmore from any man who was not enamored of her fortune. Each was content tosuffer some unshared sense of denial for the sake of loving the other'ssociety a little too well; and under these conditions no need had beenfelt to restrict Klesmer's visits for the last year either in country orin town. He knew very well that if Miss Arrowpoint had been poor he wouldhave made ardent love to her instead of sending a storm through the piano,or folding his arms and pouring out a hyperbolical tirade about somethingas impersonal as the north pole; and she was not less aware that if it hadbeen possible for Klesmer to wish for her hand she would have foundovermastering reasons for giving it to him. Here was the safety of fullcups, which are as secure from overflow as the half-empty, alwayssupposing no disturbance. Naturally, silent feeling had not remained atthe same point any more than the stealthly dial-hand, and in the presentvisit to Quetcham, Klesmer had begun to think that he would not comeagain; while Catherine was more sensitive to his frequent _brusquerie_,which she rather resented as a needless effort to assert his footing ofsuperior in every sense except the conventional.
Meanwhile enters the expectant peer, Mr. Bult, an esteemed party man who,rather neutral in private life, had strong opinions concerning thedistricts of the Niger, was much at home also in Brazils, spoke withdecision of affairs in the South Seas, was studious of his Parliamentaryand itinerant speeches, and had the general solidity and suffusivepinkness of a healthy Briton on the central table-land of life. Catherine,aware of a tacit understanding that he was an undeniable husband for anheiress, had nothing to say against him but that he was thoroughlytiresome to her. Mr. Bult was amiably confident, and had no idea that hisinsensibility to counterpoint could ever be reckoned against him. Klesmerhe hardly regarded in the light of a serious human being who ought to havea vote; and he did not mind Miss Arrowpoint's addiction to music any morethan her probable expenses in antique lace. He was consequently a littleamazed at an after-dinner outburst of Klesmer's on the lack of idealism inEnglish politics, which left all mutuality between distant races to bedetermined simply by the need of a market; the crusades, to his mind, hadat least this excuse, that they had a banner of sentiment round whichgenerous feelings could rally: of course, the scoundrels rallied too, butwhat then? they rally in equal force round your advertisement van of "Buycheap, sell dear." On this theme Klesmer's eloquence, gesticulatory andother, went on for a little while like stray fireworks accidentallyignited, and then sank into immovable silence. Mr. Bult was not surprisedthat Klesmer's opinions should be flighty, but was astonished at hiscommand of English idiom and his ability to put a point in a way thatwould have told at a constituents' dinner--to be accounted for probably byhis being a Pole, or a Czech, or something of that fermenting sort, in astate of political refugeeism which had obliged him to make a professionof his music; and that evening in the drawing-room he for the first timewent up to Klesmer at the piano, Miss Arrowpoint being near, and said--
"I had no idea before that you were a political man."
Klesmer's only answer was to fold his arms, put out his nether lip, andstare at Mr. Bult.
"You must have been used to public speaking. You speak uncommonly well,though I don't agree with you. From what you said about sentiment, I fancyyou are a Panslavist."
"No; my name is Elijah. I am the Wandering Jew," said Klesmer, flashing asmile at Miss Arrowpoint, and suddenly making a mysterious, wind-like rushbackward and forward on the piano. Mr. Bult felt this buffoonery ratheroffensive and Polish, but--Miss Arrowpoint being there--did not like tomove away.
"Herr Klesmer has cosmopolitan ideas," said Miss Arrowpoint, trying tomake the best of the situation. "He looks forward to a fusion of races."
"Ah, sir, you are under some mistake there," said Klesmer, firing up. "Noman has too much talent to be a musician. Most men have too little. Acreative artist is no more a mere musician than a great statesman is amere politician. We are not ingenious puppets, sir, who live in a box andlook out on the world only when it is gaping for amusement. We help torule the nations and make the age as much as any other public men. Wecount ourselves on level benches with legislators. And a man who speakseffectively through music is compelled to something more difficult thanparliamentary eloquence."
With the last word Klesmer wheeled from the piano and walked away.
Miss Arrowpoint colored, and Mr. Bult observed, with his usual phlegmaticstolidity, "Your pianist does not think small beer of himself."
"Herr Klesmer is something more than a pianist," said Miss Arrowpoint,apologetically. "He is a great musician in the fullest sense of the word.He will rank with Schubert and Mendelssohn."
"Ah, you ladies understand these things," said Mr. Bult, none the lessconvinced that these things were frivolous because Klesmer had shownhimself a coxcomb.
speaking. You speak uncommonly well,though I don't agree with you. From what you said about sentiment, .
Catherine, always sorry when Klesmer gave himself airs, found anopportunity the next day in the music-room to say, "Why were you so heatedlast night with Mr. Bult? He meant no harm."
"You wish me to be complaisant to him?" said Klesmer, rather fiercely.
"I think it is hardly worth your while to be other than civil."
"You find no difficulty in tolerating him, then?--you have a respect for apolitical platitudinarian as insensible as an ox to everything he can'tturn into political capital. You think his monumental obtuseness suited tothe dignity of the English gentleman."
"I did not say that."
"You mean that I acted without dignity, and you are offended with me."
"Now you are slightly nearer the truth," said Catherine, smiling.
"Then I had better put my burial-clothes in my portmanteau and set off atonce."
"I don't see that. If I have to bear your criticism of my operetta, youshould not mind my criticism of your impatience."
"But I do mind it. You would have wished me to take his ignorantimpertinence about a 'mere musician' without letting him know his place. Iam to hear my gods blasphemed as well as myself insulted. But I begpardon. It is impossible you should see the matter as I do. Even you can'tunderstand the wrath of the artist: he is of another caste for you."
"That is true," said Catherine, with some betrayal of feeling. "He is of acaste to which I look up--a caste above mine."
Klesmer, who had been seated at a table looking over scores, started upand walked to a little distance, from which he said--
"That is finely felt--I am grateful. But I had better go, all the same. Ihave made up my mind to go, for good and all. You can get on exceedinglywell without me: your operetta is on wheels--it will go of itself. Andyour Mr. Bull's company fits me 'wie die Faust ins Auge.' I am neglectingmy engagements. I must go off to St. Petersburg."
There was no answer.
"You agree with me that I had better go?" said Klesmer, with someirritation.
"Certainly; if that is what your business and feeling prompt. I have onlyto wonder that you have consented to give us so much of your time in thelast year. There must be treble the interest to you anywhere else. I havenever thought of you consenting to come here as anything else than asacrifice."
"Why should I make the sacrifice?" said Klesmer, going to seat himself atthe piano, and touching the keys so as to give with the delicacy of anecho in the far distance a melody which he had set to Heine's "Ich hab'dich geliebet und liebe dich noch."
"That is the mystery," said Catherine, not wanting to affect anything, butfrom mere agitation. From the same cause she was tearing a piece of paperinto minute morsels, as if at a task of utmost multiplication imposed by acruel fairy.
"You can conceive no motive?" said Klesmer, folding his arms.
"None that seems in the least probable."
"Then I shall tell you. It is because you are to me the chief woman in theworld--the throned lady whose colors I carry between my heart and myarmor."
Catherine's hands trembled so much that she could no longer tear thepaper: still less could her lips utter a word. Klesmer went on--
"This would be the last impertinence in me, if I meant to found anythingupon it. That is out of the question. I meant no such thing. But you oncesaid it was your doom to suspect every man who courted you of being anadventurer, and what made you angriest was men's imputing to you the follyof believing that they courted you for your own sake. Did you not say so?"
"Very likely," was the answer, in a low murmur.
"It was a bitter word. Well, at least one man who has seen women as plentyas flowers in May has lingered about you for your own sake. And since heis one whom you can never marry, you will believe him. There is anargument in favor of some other man. But don't give yourself for a meal toa minotaur like Bult. I shall go now and pack. I shall make my excuses toMrs. Arrowpoint." Klesmer rose as he ended, and walked quickly toward thedoor.
"You must take this heap of manuscript," then said Catherine, suddenlymaking a desperate effort. She had risen to fetch the heap from anothertable. Klesmer came back, and they had the length of the folio sheetsbetween them.
"Why should I not marry the man who loves me, if I love him?" saidCatherine. To her the effort was something like the leap of a woman fromthe deck into the lifeboat.
"It would be too hard--impossible--you could not carry it through. I amnot worth what you would have to encounter. I will not accept thesacrifice. It would be thought a _mésalliance_ for you and I should beliable to the worst accusations."
"Is it the accusations you are afraid of? I am afraid of nothing but thatwe should miss the passing of our lives together."
The decisive word had been spoken: there was no doubt concerning the endwilled by each: there only remained the way of arriving at it, andCatherine determined to take the straightest possible. She went to herfather and mother in the library, and told them that she had promised tomarry Klesmer.
Mrs. Arrowpoint's state of mind was pitiable. Imagine Jean Jacques, afterhis essay on the corrupting influence of the arts, waking up amongchildren of nature who had no idea of grilling the raw bone they offeredhim for breakfast with the primitive flint knife; or Saint Just, afterfervidly denouncing all recognition of pre-eminence, receiving a vote ofthanks for the unbroken mediocrity of his speech, which warranted thedullest patriots in delivering themselves at equal length. Something ofthe same sort befell the authoress of "Tasso," when what she had safelydemanded of the dead Leonora was enacted by her own Catherine. It is hardfor us to live up to our own eloquence, and keep pace with our wingedwords, while we are treading the solid earth and are liable to heavydining. Besides, it has long been understood that the proprieties ofliterature are not those of practical life. Mrs. Arrowpoint naturallywished for the best of everything. She not only liked to feel herself at ahigher level of literary sentiment than the ladies with whom sheassociated; she wished not to be behind them in any point of socialconsideration. While Klesmer was seen in the light of a patronizedmusician, his peculiarities were picturesque and acceptable: but to seehim by a sudden flash in the light of her son-in-law gave her a burningsense of what the world would say. And the poor lady had been used torepresent her Catherine as a model of excellence.