Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXIV.
"I question things but do not findOne that will answer to my mind:And all the world appears unkind."--WORDSWORTH.
Gwendolen was glad that she had got through her interview with Klesmerbefore meeting her uncle and aunt. She had made up her mind now that therewere only disagreeables before her, and she felt able to maintain a doggedcalm in the face of any humiliation that might be proposed.
The meeting did not happen until the Monday, when Gwendolen went to therectory with her mamma. They had called at Sawyer's Cottage by the way,and had seen every cranny of the narrow rooms in a mid-day light,unsoftened by blinds and curtains; for the furnishing to be done bygleanings from the rectory had not yet begun.
"How _shall_ you endure it, mamma?" said Gwendolen, as they walked away.She had not opened her lips while they were looking round at the barewalls and floors, and the little garden with the cabbage-stalks, and theyew arbor all dust and cobwebs within. "You and the four girls all in thatcloset of a room, with the green and yellow paper pressing on your eyes?And without me?"
lapsing into the habitof indulgent tenderness, she began to think what.
"It will be some comfort that you have not to bear it too, dear."
"If it were not that I must get some money, I would rather be there thango to be a governess."
"Don't set yourself against it beforehand, Gwendolen. If you go to thepalace you will have every luxury about you. And you know how much youhave always cared for that. You will not find it so hard as going up anddown those steep narrow stairs, and hearing the crockery rattle throughthe house, and the dear girls talking."
"It is like a bad dream," said Gwendolen, impetuously. "I cannot believethat my uncle will let you go to such a place. He ought to have taken someother steps."
"Don't be unreasonable, dear child. What could he have done?"
"That was for him to find out. It seems to me a very extraordinary worldif people in our position must sink in this way all at once," saidGwendolen, the other worlds with which she was conversant beingconstructed with a sense of fitness that arranged her own futureagreeably.
It was her temper that framed her sentences under this entirely newpressure of evils: she could have spoken more suitably on the vicissitudesin other people's lives, though it was never her aspiration to expressherself virtuously so much as cleverly--a point to be remembered inextenuation of her words, which were usually worse than she was.
And, notwithstanding the keen sense of her own bruises, she was capable ofsome compunction when her uncle and aunt received her with a moreaffectionate kindness than they had ever shown before. She could not butbe struck by the dignified cheerfulness with which they talked of thenecessary economies in their way of living, and in the education of theboys. Mr. Gascoigne's worth of character, a little obscured by worldlyopportunities--as the poetic beauty of women is obscured by the demands offashionable dressing--showed itself to great advantage under this suddenreduction of fortune. Prompt and methodical, he had set himself not onlyto put down his carriage, but to reconsider his worn suits of clothes, toleave off meat for breakfast, to do without periodicals, to get Edwy fromschool and arrange hours of study for all the boys under himself, and toorder the whole establishment on the sparest footing possible. For allhealthy people economy has its pleasures; and the rector's spirit hadspread through the household. Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna, who always madepapa their model, really did not miss anything they cared about forthemselves, and in all sincerity felt that the saddest part of the familylosses was the change for Mrs. Davilow and her children.
Anna for the first time could merge her resentment on behalf of Rex in hersympathy with Gwendolen; and Mrs. Gascoigne was disposed to hope thattrouble would have a salutary effect on her niece, without thinking it herduty to add any bitters by way of increasing the salutariness. They hadboth been busy devising how to get blinds and curtains for the cottage outof the household stores; but with delicate feeling they left these mattersin the back-ground, and talked at first of Gwendolen's journey, and thecomfort it was to her mamma to have her at home again.
"I felt that there was no time to be lost, Gwendolen; for a position in agood family where you will have some consideration is not to be had at amoment's notice. And however long we waited we could hardly find one whereyou would be better off than at Bishop Mompert's. I am known to both himand Mrs. Mompert, and that of course is an advantage to you. Ourcorrespondence has gone on favorably; but I cannot be surprised that Mrs.Mompert wishes to see you before making an absolute engagement. She thinksof arranging for you to meet her at Wanchester when she is on her way totown. I dare say you will feel the interview rather trying for you, mydear; but you will have a little time to prepare your mind."
"Do you know _why_ she wants to see me, uncle?" said Gwendolen, whose mindhad quickly gone over various reasons that an imaginary Mrs. Mompert withthree daughters might be supposed to entertain, reasons all of adisagreeable kind to the person presenting herself for inspection.
The rector smiled. "Don't be alarmed, my dear. She would like to have amore precise idea of you than my report can give. And a mother isnaturally scrupulous about a companion for her daughters. I have told heryou are very young. But she herself exercises a close supervision over herdaughters' education, and that makes her less anxious as to age. She is awoman of taste and also of strict principle, and objects to having aFrench person in the house. I feel sure that she will think your mannersand accomplishments as good as she is likely to find; and over thereligious and moral tone of the education she, and indeed the bishophimself, will preside."
Gwendolen dared not answer, but the repression of her decided dislike tothe whole prospect sent an unusually deep flush over her face and neck,subsiding as quickly as it came. Anna, full of tender fears, put herlittle hand into her cousin's, and Mr. Gascoigne was too kind a man not toconceive something of the trial which this sudden change must be for agirl like Gwendolen. Bent on giving a cheerful view of things, he went on,in an easy tone of remark, not as if answering supposed objections--
"I think so highly of the position, that I should have been tempted to tryand get it for Anna, if she had been at all likely to meet Mrs. Mompert'swants. It is really a home, with a continuance of education in the highestsense: 'governess' is a misnomer. The bishop's views are of a moredecidedly Low Church color than my own--he is a close friend of LordGrampian's; but, though privately strict, he is not by any means narrow inpublic matters. Indeed, he has created as little dislike in his diocese asany bishop on the bench. He has always remained friendly to me, thoughbefore his promotion, when he was an incumbent of this diocese, we had alittle controversy about the Bible Society."
The rector's words were too pregnant with satisfactory meaning to himselffor him to imagine the effect they produced in the mind of his niece."Continuance of education"--"bishop's views"--"privately strict"--"BibleSociety,"--it was as if he had introduced a few snakes at large for theinstruction of ladies who regarded them as all alike furnished withpoison-bags, and, biting or stinging, according to convenience. ToGwendolen, already shrinking from the prospect open to her, such phrasescame like the growing heat of a burning glass--not at all as the links ofpersuasive reflection which they formed for the good uncle. She began,desperately, to seek an alternative.
"There was another situation, I think, mamma spoke of?" she said, withdetermined self-mastery.
'"Yes," said the rector, in rather a depreciatory tone; "but that is in aschool. I should not have the same satisfaction in your taking that. Itwould be much harder work, you are aware, and not so good in any otherrespect. Besides, you have not an equal chance of getting it."
"Oh dear no," said Mrs. Gascoigne, "it would be much less appropriate, Youmight not have a bedroom to yourself." And Gwendolen's memories of schoolsuggested other particulars which forced her to admit to herself that thisalternative would be no relief. She turned to her uncle again and said,apparently in acceptance of his ideas--
"When is Mrs. Mompert likely to send for me?"
"That is rather uncertain, but she has promised not to entertain any otherproposal till she has seen you. She has entered with much feeling intoyour position. It will be within the next fortnight, probably. But I mustbe off now. I am going to let part of my glebe uncommonly well."
The rector ended very cheerfully, leaving the room with the satisfactoryconviction that Gwendolen was going to adapt herself to circumstances likea girl of good sense. Having spoken appropriately, he naturally supposedthat the effects would be appropriate; being accustomed, as a householdand parish authority, to be asked to "speak to" refractory persons, withthe understanding that the measure was morally coercive.
"What a stay Henry is to us all?" said Mrs. Gascoigne, when her husbandhad left the room.
"He is indeed," said Mrs. Davilow, cordially. "I think cheerfulness is afortune in itself. I wish I had it."
"And Rex is just like him," said Mrs. Gascoigne. "I must tell you thecomfort we have had in a letter from him. I must read you a little bit,"she added, taking the letter from her pocket, while Anna looked ratherfrightened--she did not know why, except that it had been a rule with hernot to mention Rex before Gwendolen.
The proud mother ran her eyes over the letter, seeking for sentences toread aloud. But apparently she had found it sown with what might seem tobe closer allusions than she desired to the recent past, for she lookedup, folding the letter, and saying--
"However, he tells us that our trouble has made a man of him; he sees areason for any amount of work: he means to get a fellowship, to takepupils, to set one of his brothers going, to be everything that is mostremarkable. The letter is full of fun--just like him. He says, 'Tellmother she has put out an advertisement for a jolly good hard-working son,in time to hinder me from taking ship; and I offer myself for the place.'The letter came on Friday. I never saw my husband so much moved byanything since Rex was born. It seemed a gain to balance our loss."
This letter, in fact, was what had helped both Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna toshow Gwendolen an unmixed kindliness; and she herself felt very amiablyabout it, smiling at Anna, and pinching her chin, as much as to say,"Nothing is wrong with you now, is it?" She had no gratuitously ill-natured feeling, or egoistic pleasure in making men miserable. She onlyhad an intense objection to their making her miserable.
But when the talk turned on furniture for the cottage Gwendolen was notroused to show even a languid interest. She thought that she had done asmuch as could be expected of her this morning, and indeed felt at anheroic pitch in keeping to herself the struggle that was going on withinher. The recoil of her mind from the only definite prospect allowed her,was stronger than even she had imagined beforehand. The idea of presentingherself before Mrs. Mompert in the first instance, to be approved ordisapproved, came as pressure on an already painful bruise; even as agoverness, it appeared she was to be tested and was liable to rejection.After she had done herself the violence to accept the bishop and his wife,they were still to consider whether they would accept her; it was at herperil that she was to look, speak, or be silent. And even when she hadentered on her dismal task of self-constraint in the society of threegirls whom she was bound incessantly to edify, the same process ofinspection was to go on: there was always to be Mrs. Mompert'ssupervision; always something or other would be expected of her to whichshe had not the slightest inclination; and perhaps the bishop wouldexamine her on serious topics. Gwendolen, lately used to the socialsuccesses of a handsome girl, whose lively venturesomeness of talk has theeffect of wit, and who six weeks before would have pitied the dullness ofthe bishop rather than have been embarrassed by him, saw the life beforeher as an entrance into a penitentiary. Wild thoughts of running away tobe an actress, in spite of Klesmer, came to her with the lure of freedom;but his words still hung heavily on her soul; they had alarmed her prideand even her maidenly dignity: dimly she conceived herself getting amongstvulgar people who would treat her with rude familiarity--odious men, whosegrins and smirks would not be seen through the strong grating of politesociety. Gwendolen's daring was not in the least that of the adventuress;the demand to be held a lady was in her very marrow; and when she haddreamed that she might be the heroine of the gaming-table, it was with theunderstanding that no one should treat her with the less consideration, orpresume to look at her with irony as Deronda had done. To be protected andpetted, and to have her susceptibilities consulted in every detail, hadgone along with her food and clothing as matters of course in her life:even without any such warning as Klesmer's she could not have thought itan attractive freedom to be thrown in solitary dependence on the doubtfulcivility of strangers. The endurance of the episcopal penitentiary wasless repulsive than that; though here too she would certainly never bepetted or have her susceptibilities consulted. Her rebellion against thishard necessity which had come just to her of all people in the world--toher whom all circumstances had concurred in preparing for something quitedifferent--was exaggerated instead of diminished as one hour followedanother, with the imagination of what she might have expected in her lotand what it was actually to be. The family troubles, she thought, wereeasier for every one than for her--even for poor dear mamma, because shehad always used herself to not enjoying. As to hoping that if she went tothe Momperts' and was patient a little while, things might get better--itwould be stupid to entertain hopes for herself after all that hadhappened: her talents, it appeared, would never be recognized as anythingremarkable, and there was not a single direction in which probabilityseemed to flatter her wishes. Some beautiful girls who, like her, had readromances where even plain governesses are centres of attraction and aresought in marriage, might have solaced themselves a little by transportingsuch pictures into their own future; but even if Gwendolen's experiencehad led her to dwell on love-making and marriage as her elysium, her heartwas too much oppressed by what was near to her, in both the past and thefuture, for her to project her anticipations very far off. She had aworld-nausea upon her, and saw no reason all through her life why sheshould wish to live. No religious view of trouble helped her: her troubleshad in her opinion all been caused by other people's disagreeable orwicked conduct; and there was really nothing pleasant to be counted on inthe world: that was her feeling; everything else she had heard said abouttrouble was mere phrase-making not attractive enough for her to havecaught it up and repeated it. As to the sweetness of labor and fulfilledclaims; the interest of inward and outward activity; the impersonaldelights of life as a perpetual discovery; the dues of courage, fortitude,industry, which it is mere baseness not to pay toward the common burden;the supreme worth of the teacher's vocation;--these, even if they had beeneloquently preached to her, could have been no more than faintlyapprehended doctrines: the fact which wrought upon her was her invariableobservation that for a lady to become a governess--to "take a situation"--was to descend in life and to be treated at best with a compassionatepatronage. And poor Gwendolen had never dissociated happiness frompersonal pre-eminence and _éclat_. That where these threatened to forsakeher, she should take life to be hardly worth the having, cannot make herso unlike the rest of us, men or women, that we should cast her out of ourcompassion; our moments of temptation to a mean opinion of things ingeneral being usually dependent on some susceptibility about ourselves andsome dullness to subjects which every one else would consider moreimportant. Surely a young creature is pitiable who has the labyrinth oflife before her and no clue--to whom distrust in herself and her goodfortune has come as a sudden shock, like a rent across the path that shewas treading carelessly.
In spite of her healthy frame, her irreconcilable repugnance affected hereven physically; she felt a sort of numbness and could set about nothing;the least urgency, even that she should take her meals, was an irritationto her; the speech of others on any subject seemed unreasonable, becauseit did not include her feeling and was an ignorant claim on her. It wasnot in her nature to busy herself with the fancies of suicide to whichdisappointed young people are prone: what occupied and exasperated her wasthe sense that there was nothing for her but to live in a way she hated.She avoided going to the rectory again: it was too intolerable to have tolook and talk as if she were compliant; and she could not exert herself toshow interest about the furniture of that horrible cottage. Miss Merry wasstaying on purpose to help, and such people as Jocosa liked that sort ofthing. Her mother had to make excuses for her not appearing, even whenAnna came to see her. For that calm which Gwendolen had promised herselfto maintain had changed into sick motivelessness: she thought, "I supposeI shall begin to pretend by-and-by, but why should I do it now?"
Her mother watched her with silent distress; and, lapsing into the habitof indulgent tenderness, she began to think what she imagined thatGwendolen was thinking, and to wish that everything should give way to thepossibility of making her darling less miserable.
One day when she was in the black and yellow bedroom and her mother waslingering there under the pretext of considering and arranging Gwendolen'sarticles of dress, she suddenly roused herself to fetch the casket whichcontained the ornaments.
"Mamma," she began, glancing over the upper layer, "I had forgotten thesethings. Why didn't you remind me of them? Do see about getting them sold.You will not mind about parting with them. You gave them all to me longago."
She lifted the upper tray and looked below.
"If we can do without them, darling, I would rather keep them for you,"said Mrs. Davilow, seating herself beside Gwendolen with a feeling ofrelief that she was beginning to talk about something. The usual relationbetween them had become reversed. It was now the mother who tried to cheerthe daughter. "Why, how came you to put that pocket handkerchief in here?"
It was the handkerchief with the corner torn off which Gwendolen hadthrust in with the turquoise necklace.
"It happened to be with the necklace--I was in a hurry." said Gwendolen,taking the handkerchief away and putting it in her pocket. "Don't sell thenecklace, mamma," she added, a new feeling having come over her about thatrescue of it which had formerly been so offensive.
"No, dear, no; it was made out of your dear father's chain. And I shouldprefer not selling the other things. None of them are of any great value.All my best ornaments were taken from me long ago."
Mrs. Davilow colored. She usually avoided any reference to such factsabout Gwendolen's step-father as that he had carried off his wife'sjewelry and disposed of it. After a moment's pause she went on--
"And these things have not been reckoned on for any expenses. Carry themwith you."
"That would be quite useless, mamma," said Gwendolen, coldly. "Governessesdon't wear ornaments. You had better get me a gray frieze livery and astraw poke, such as my aunt's charity children wear."
"No, dear, no; don't take that view of it. I feel sure the Momperts willlike you the better for being graceful and elegant."
"I am not at all sure what the Momperts will like me to be. It is enoughthat I am expected to be what they like," said Gwendolen bitterly.
"If there is anything you would object to less--anything that could bedone--instead of your going to the bishop's, do say so, Gwendolen. Tell mewhat is in your heart. I will try for anything you wish," said the mother,beseechingly. "Don't keep things away from me. Let us bear them together."
"Oh, mamma, there is nothing to tell. I can't do anything better. I mustthink myself fortunate if they will have me. I shall get some money foryou. That is the only thing I have to think of. I shall not spend anymoney this year: you will have all the eighty pounds. I don't know how farthat will go in housekeeping; but you need not stitch your poor fingers tothe bone, and stare away all the sight that the tears have left in yourdear eyes."
Gwendolen did not give any caresses with her words as she had been used todo. She did not even look at her mother, but was looking at the turquoisenecklace as she turned it over her fingers.
"Bless you for your tenderness, my good darling!" said Mrs. Davilow, withtears in her eyes. "Don't despair because there are clouds now. You are soyoung. There may be great happiness in store for you yet."
"I don't see any reason for expecting it, mamma," said Gwendolen, in ahard tone; and Mrs. Davilow was silent, thinking as she had often thoughtbefore--"What did happen between her and Mr. Grandcourt?"
"I _will_ keep this necklace, mamma," said Gwendolen, laying it apart andthen closing the casket. "But do get the other things sold, even if theywill not bring much. Ask my uncle what to do with them. I shall certainlynot use them again. I am going to take the veil. I wonder if all the poorwretches who have ever taken it felt as I do."
"Don't exaggerate evils, dear."
"How can any one know that I exaggerate, when I am speaking of my ownfeeling? I did not say what any one else felt."
She took out the torn handkerchief from her pocket again, and wrapped itdeliberately round the necklace. Mrs. Davilow observed the action withsome surprise, but the tone of her last words discouraged her from askingany question.
The "feeling" Gwendolen spoke of with an air of tragedy was not to beexplained by the mere fact that she was going to be a governess: she waspossessed by a spirit of general disappointment. It was not simply thatshe had a distaste for what she was called on to do: the distaste spreaditself over the world outside her penitentiary, since she saw nothing verypleasant in it that seemed attainable by her even if she were free.Naturally her grievances did not seem to her smaller than some of her malecontemporaries held theirs to be when they felt a profession too narrowfor their powers, and had an _à priori_ conviction that it was not worthwhile to put forth their latent abilities. Because her education had beenless expensive than theirs, it did not follow that she should have wideremotions or a keener intellectual vision. Her griefs were feminine; but toher as a woman they were not the less hard to bear, and she felt an equalright to the Promethean tone.
But the movement of mind which led her to keep the necklace, to fold it upin the handkerchief, and rise to put it in her _nécessaire_, where she hadfirst placed it when it had been returned to her, was more peculiar, andwhat would be called less reasonable. It came from that streak ofsuperstition in her which attached itself both to her confidence and herterror--a superstition which lingers in an intense personality even inspite of theory and science; any dread or hope for self being strongerthan all reasons for or against it. Why she should suddenly determine notto part with the necklace was not much clearer to her than why she shouldsometimes have been frightened to find herself in the fields alone: shehad a confused state of emotion about Deronda--was it wounded pride andresentment, or a certain awe and exceptional trust? It was something vagueand yet mastering, which impelled her to this action about the necklace.There, is a great deal of unmapped country within us which would have tobe taken into account in an explanation of our gusts and storms.