Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXIII. Page 1
impossible. "I onlysuppose that I might have a little talent--enough to improve."be angry with thepretensions.
Among the heirs of Art, as is the division of the promised land, eachhas to win his portion by hard fighting: the bestowal is after themanner of prophecy, and is a title without possession. To carry themap of an ungotten estate in your pocket is a poor sort of copyhold.And in fancy to cast his shoe over Eden is little warrant that a manshall ever set the sole of his foot on an acre of his own there.
The most obstinate beliefs that mortals entertain about themselves aresuch as they have no evidence for beyond a constant, spontaneouspulsing of their self-satisfaction--as it were a hidden seed ofmadness, a confidence that they can move the world without precisenotion of standing-place or lever.
"Pray go to church, mamma," said Gwendolen the next morning. "I preferseeing Herr Klesmer alone." (He had written in reply to her note that hewould be with her at eleven.)
"That is hardly correct, I think," said Mrs. Davilow, anxiously.
"Our affairs are too serious for us to think of such nonsensical rules,"said Gwendolen, contemptuously. "They are insulting as well asridiculous."
"You would not mind Isabel sitting with you? She would be reading in acorner."
"No; she could not: she would bite her nails and stare. It would be tooirritating. Trust my judgment, mamma, I must be alone, Take them all tochurch."
Gwendolen had her way, of course; only that Miss Merry and two of thegirls stayed at home, to give the house a look of habitation by sitting atthe dining-room windows.
It was a delicious Sunday morning. The melancholy waning sunshine ofautumn rested on the half-strown grass and came mildly through the windowsin slanting bands of brightness over the old furniture, and the glasspanel that reflected the furniture; over the tapestried chairs with theirfaded flower-wreaths, the dark enigmatic pictures, the superannuated organat which Gwendolen had pleased herself with acting Saint Cecelia on herfirst joyous arrival, the crowd of pallid, dusty knicknacks seen throughthe open doors of the antechamber where she had achieved the wearing ofher Greek dress as Hermione. This last memory was just now very busy inher; for had not Klesmer then been struck with admiration of her pose andexpression? Whatever he had said, whatever she imagined him to havethought, was at this moment pointed with keenest interest for her: perhapsshe had never before in her life felt so inwardly dependent, soconsciously in need of another person's opinion. There was a newfluttering of spirit within her, a new element of deliberation in herself-estimate which had hitherto been a blissful gift of intuition. Stillit was the recurrent burden of her inward soliloquy that Klesmer had seenbut little of her, and any unfavorable conclusion of his must have toonarrow a foundation. She really felt clever enough for anything.
folded his arms as if toconcentrate himself.-control. She compelled herself to say, in a hard tone--slight.
To fill up the time she collected her volumes and pieces of music, andlaying them on the top of the piano, set herself to classify them. Thencatching the reflection of her movements in the glass panel, she wasdiverted to the contemplation of the image there and walked toward it.Dressed in black, without a single ornament, and with the warm whitenessof her skin set off between her light-brown coronet of hair and hersquare-cut bodice, she might have tempted an artist to try again the Romantrick of a statue in black, white, and tawny marble. Seeing her imageslowly advancing, she thought "I _am_ beautiful"--not exultingly, but withgrave decision. Being beautiful was after all the condition on which shemost needed external testimony. If any one objected to the turn of hernose or the form of her neck and chin, she had not the sense that shecould presently show her power of attainment in these branches of feminineperfection.
There was not much time to fill up in this way before the sound of wheels,the loud ring, and the opening doors assured her that she was not by anyaccident to be disappointed. This slightly increased her inward flutter.In spite of her self-confidence, she dreaded Klesmer as part of thatunmanageable world which was independent of her wishes--somethingvitriolic that would not cease to burn because you smiled or frowned atit. Poor thing! she was at a higher crisis of her woman's fate than in herlast experience with Grandcourt. The questioning then, was whether sheshould take a particular man as a husband. The inmost fold of herquestioning now was whether she need take a husband at all--whether shecould not achieve substantially for herself and know gratified ambitionwithout bondage.
impenetrable by beauty.Klesmer was convinced .
Klesmer made his most deferential bow in the wide doorway of theantechamber--showing also the deference of the finest gray kerseymeretrousers and perfect gloves (the 'masters of those who know' are happilyaltogether human). Gwendolen met him with unusual gravity, and holding outher hand said, "It is most kind of you to come, Herr Klesmer. I hope youhave not thought me presumptuous."
"I took your wish as a command that did me honor," said Klesmer, withanswering gravity. He was really putting by his own affairs in order togive his utmost attention to what Gwendolen might have to say; but histemperament was still in a state of excitation from the events ofyesterday, likely enough to give his expressions a more than usuallybiting edge.
Gwendolen for once was under too great a strain of feeling to rememberformalities. She continued standing near the piano, and Klesmer took hisstand near the other end of it with his back to the light and histerribly omniscient eyes upon her. No affectation was of use, and shebegan without delay.
"I wish to consult you, Herr Klesmer. We have lost all our fortune; wehave nothing. I must get my own bread, and I desire to provide for mymamma, so as to save her from any hardship. The only way I can think of--and I should like it better than anything--is to be an actress--to go onthe stage. But, of course, I should like to take a high position, and Ithought--if you thought I could"--here Gwendolen became a little morenervous--"it would be better for me to be a singer--to study singingalso."
Klesmer put down his hat upon the piano, and folded his arms as if toconcentrate himself.
"I know," Gwendolen resumed, turning from pale to pink and back again--"Iknow that my method of singing is very defective; but I have been illtaught. I could be better taught; I could study. And you will understandmy wish:--to sing and act too, like Grisi, is a much higher position.Naturally, I should wish to take as high rank as I can. And I can rely onyour judgment. I am sure you will tell me the truth."
Gwendolen somehow had the conviction that now she made this serious appealthe truth would be favorable.
Still Klesmer did not speak. He drew off his gloves quickly, tossed theminto his hat, rested his hands on his hips, and walked to the other end ofthe room. He was filled with compassion for this girl: he wanted to put aguard on his speech. When he turned again, he looked at her with a mildfrown of inquiry, and said with gentle though quick utterance, "You havenever seen anything, I think, of artists and their lives?--I mean ofmusicians, actors, artists of that kind?"
"Oh, no," said Gwendolen, not perturbed by a reference to this obviousfact in the history of a young lady hitherto well provided for.
"You are--pardon me," said Klesmer, again pausing near the piano--"incoming to a conclusion on such a matter as this, everything must be takeninto consideration--you are perhaps twenty?"
"I am twenty-one," said Gwendolen, a slight fear rising in her. "Do youthink I am too old?"
Klesmer pouted his under lip and shook his long fingers upward in a mannertotally enigmatic.
"Many persons begin later than others," said Gwendolen, betrayed by herhabitual consciousness of having valuable information to bestow.
Klesmer took no notice, but said with more studied gentleness than ever,"You have probably not thought of an artistic career until now: you didnot entertain the notion, the longing--what shall I say?--you did not wishyourself an actress, or anything of that sort, till the present trouble?"
"Not exactly: but I was fond of acting. I have acted; you saw me, if youremember--you saw me here in charades, and as Hermione," said Gwendolen,really fearing that Klesmer had forgotten.
"Yes, yes," he answered quickly, "I remember--I remember perfectly," andagain walked to the other end of the room, It was difficult for him torefrain from this kind of movement when he was in any argument eitheraudible or silent.
Gwendolen felt that she was being weighed. The delay was unpleasant. Butshe did not yet conceive that the scale could dip on the wrong side, andit seemed to her only graceful to say, "I shall be very much obliged toyou for taking the trouble to give me your advice, whatever it maybe."
"Miss Harleth," said Klesmer, turning toward her and speaking with aslight increase of accent, "I will veil nothing from you in this matter. Ishould reckon myself guilty if I put a false visage on things--made themtoo black or too white. The gods have a curse for him who willingly tellsanother the wrong road. And if I misled one who is so young, so beautiful--who, I trust, will find her happiness along the right road, I shouldregard myself as a--_Bösewicht_." In the last word Klesmer's voice haddropped to a loud whisper.
Gwendolen felt a sinking of heart under this unexpected solemnity, andkept a sort of fascinated gaze on Klesmer's face, as he went on.
"You are a beautiful young lady--you have been brought up in ease--youhave done what you would--you have not said to yourself, 'I must know thisexactly,' 'I must understand this exactly,' 'I must do this exactly,'"--inuttering these three terrible _musts_, Klesmer lifted up three longfingers in succession. "In sum, you have not been called upon to beanything but a charming young lady, whom it is an impoliteness to findfault with."
He paused an instant; then resting his fingers on his hips again, andthrusting out his powerful chin, he said--
"Well, then, with that preparation, you wish to try the life of an artist;you wish to try a life of arduous, unceasing work, and--uncertain praise.Your praise would have to be earned, like your bread; and both would comeslowly, scantily--what do I say?--they may hardly come at all."
This tone of discouragement, which Klesmer had hoped might suffice withoutanything more unpleasant, roused some resistance in Gwendolen. With aslight turn of her head away from him, and an air of pique, she said--
"I thought that you, being an artist, would consider the life one of themost honorable and delightful. And if I can do nothing better?--I supposeI can put up with the same risks as other people do."
"Do nothing better?" said Klesmer, a little fired. "No, my dear MissHarleth, you could do nothing better--neither man nor woman could doanything better--if you could do what was best or good of its kind. I amnot decrying the life of the true artist. I am exalting it. I say, it isout of the reach of any but choice organizations--natures framed to loveperfection and to labor for it; ready, like all true lovers, to endure, towait, to say, I am not yet worthy, but she--Art, my mistress--is worthy,and I will live to merit her. An honorable life? Yes. But the honor comesfrom the inward vocation and the hard-won achievement: there is no honorin donning the life as a livery."
Some excitement of yesterday had revived in Klesmer and hurried him intospeech a little aloof from his immediate friendly purpose. He had wishedas delicately as possible to rouse in Gwendolen a sense of her unfitnessfor a perilous, difficult course; but it was his wont to be angry with thepretensions of incompetence, and he was in danger of getting chafed.Conscious of this, he paused suddenly. But Gwendolen's chief impressionwas that he had not yet denied her the power of doing what would be goodof its kind. Klesmer's fervor seemed to be a sort of glamor such as he wasprone to throw over things in general; and what she desired to assure himof was that she was not afraid of some preliminary hardships. The beliefthat to present herself in public on the stage must produce an effect suchas she had been used to feel certain of in private life; was like a bit ofher flesh--it was not to be peeled off readily, but must come with bloodand pain. She said, in a tone of some insistance--
"I am quite prepared to bear hardships at first. Of course no one canbecome celebrated all at once. And it is not necessary that every oneshould be first-rate--either actresses or singers. If you would be so kindas to tell me what steps I should take, I shall have the courage to takethem. I don't mind going up hill. It will be easier than the dead level ofbeing a governess. I will take any steps you recommend."
Klesmer was convinced now that he must speak plainly.
"I will tell you the steps, not that I recommend, but that will be forcedupon you. It is all one, so far, what your goal will be--excellence,celebrity, second, third rateness--it is all one. You must go to townunder the protection of your mother. You must put yourself under training--musical, dramatic, theatrical:--whatever you desire to do you have tolearn"--here Gwendolen looked as if she were going to speak, but Klesmerlifted up his hand and said, decisively, "I know. You have exercised yourtalents--you recite--you sing--from the drawing-room _standpunkt_. My dearFräulein, you must unlearn all that. You have not yet conceived whatexcellence is: you must unlearn your mistaken admirations. You must knowwhat you have to strive for, and then you must subdue your mind and bodyto unbroken discipline. Your mind, I say. For you must not be thinking ofcelebrity: put that candle out of your eyes, and look only at excellence.You would of course earn nothing--you could get no engagement for a longwhile. You would need money for yourself and your family. But that," hereKlesmer frowned and shook his fingers as if to dismiss a triviality, "thatcould perhaps be found."
Gwendolen turned pink and pale during this speech. Her pride had felt aterrible knife-edge, and the last sentence only made the smart keener. Shewas conscious of appearing moved, and tried to escape from her weakness bysuddenly walking to a seat and pointing out a chair to Klesmer. He did nottake it, but turned a little in order to face her and leaned against thepiano. At that moment she wished that she had not sent for him: this firstexperience of being taken on some other ground than that of her socialrank and her beauty was becoming bitter to her. Klesmer, preoccupied witha serious purpose, went on without change of tone.
At these relentless words Klesmer put out his lip and looked through hisspectacles with the air of a monster impenetrable by beauty.
Gwendolen's eyes began to burn, but the dread of showing weakness urgedher to added self-control. She compelled herself to say, in a hard tone--
"You think I want talent, or am too old to begin."
Klesmer made a sort of hum, and then descended on an emphatic "Yes! Thedesire and the training should have begun seven years ago--or a good dealearlier. A mountebank's child who helps her father to earn shillings whenshe is six years old--a child that inherits a singing throat from a longline of choristers and learns to sing as it learns to talk, has a likelierbeginning. Any great achievement in acting or in music grows with thegrowth. Whenever an artist has been able to say, 'I came, I saw, Iconquered,' it has been at the end of patient practice. Genius at first islittle more than a great capacity for receiving discipline. Singing andacting, like the fine dexterity of the juggler with his cups and balls,require a shaping of the organs toward a finer and finer certainty ofeffect. Your muscles--your whole frame--must go like a watch, true, trueto a hair. That is the work of spring-time, before habits have beendetermined."
"I did not pretend to genius," said Gwendolen, still feeling that shemight somehow do what Klesmer wanted to represent as impossible. "I onlysuppose that I might have a little talent--enough to improve."
equal to arguing with him abouther going on the stage, and she answered in a resistant tone--continued standing?
"I don't deny that," said Klesmer. "If you had been put in the right tracksome years ago and had worked well you might now have made a publicsinger, though I don't think your voice would have counted for much inpublic. For the stage your personal charms and intelligence might thenhave told without the present drawback of inexperience--lack ofdiscipline--lack of instruction."
Certainly Klesmer seemed cruel, but his feeling was the reverse of cruel.Our speech, even when we are most single-minded, can never take its lineabsolutely from one impulse; but Klesmer's was, as far as possible,directed by compassion for poor Gwendolen's ignorant eagerness to enter ona course of which he saw all the miserable details with a definitenesswhich he could not if he would have conveyed to her mind.
Gwendolen, however, was not convinced. Her self-opinion rallied, and sincethe counselor whom she had called in gave a decision of such severeperemptoriness, she was tempted to think that his judgment was not onlyfallible but biased. It occurred to her that a simpler and wiser step forher to have taken would have been to send a letter through the post to themanager of a London theatre, asking him to make an appointment. She wouldmake no further reference to her singing; Klesmer, she saw, had sethimself against her singing. But she felt equal to arguing with him abouther going on the stage, and she answered in a resistant tone--
"I understood, of course, that no one can be a finished actress at once.It may be impossible to tell beforehand whether I should succeed; but thatseems to me a reason why I should try. I should have thought that I mighthave taken an engagement at a theatre meanwhile, so as to earn money andstudy at the same time."
"Can't be done, my dear Miss Harleth--I speak plainly--it can't be done. Imust clear your mind of these notions which have no more resemblance toreality than a pantomime. Ladies and gentlemen think that when they havemade their toilet and drawn on their gloves they are as presentable on thestage as in a drawing-room. No manager thinks that. With all your graceand charm, if you were to present yourself as an aspirant to the stage, amanager would either require you to pay as an amateur for being allowed toperform or he would tell you to go and be taught--trained to bear yourselfon the stage, as a horse, however beautiful, must be trained for thecircus; to say nothing of that study which would enable you to personate acharacter consistently, and animate it with the natural language of face,gesture, and tone. For you to get an engagement fit for you straight awayis out of the question."
"I really cannot understand that," said Gwendolen, rather haughtily--then,checking herself, she added in another tone--"I shall be obliged to you ifyou will explain how it is that such poor actresses get engaged. I havebeen to the theatre several times, and I am sure there were actresses whoseemed to me to act not at all well and who were quite plain."