Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER III. Page 1
"Let no flower of the spring pass by us; let us crown ourselves withrosebuds before they be withered."--BOOK OF WISDOM.
Pity that Offendene was not the home of Miss Harleth's childhood, orendeared to her by family memories! A human life, I think, should be wellrooted in some spot of a native land, where it may get the love of tenderkinship for the face of earth, for the labors men go forth to, for thesounds and accents that haunt it, for whatever will give that early home afamiliar unmistakable difference amid the future widening of knowledge: aspot where the definiteness of early memories may be inwrought withaffection, and--kindly acquaintance with all neighbors, even to the dogsand donkeys, may spread not by sentimental effort and reflection, but as asweet habit of the blood. At five years old, mortals are not prepared tobe citizens of the world, to be stimulated by abstract nouns, to soarabove preference into impartiality; and that prejudice in favor of milkwith which we blindly begin, is a type of the way body and soul must getnourished at least for a time. The best introduction to astronomy is tothink of the nightly heavens as a little lot of stars belonging to one'sown homestead.
But this blessed persistence in which affection can take root had beenwanting in Gwendolen's life. It was only a year before her recall fromLeubronn that Offendene had been chosen as her mamma's home, simply forits nearness to Pennicote Rectory, and that Mrs. Davilow, Gwendolen, andher four half-sisters (the governess and the maid following in anothervehicle) had been driven along the avenue for the first time, on a lateOctober afternoon when the rooks were crawing loudly above them, and theyellow elm-leaves were whirling.
The house was but just large enough to be called a mansion, and wasmoderately rented, having no manor attached to it, and being ratherdifficult to let with its sombre furniture and faded upholstery. Butinside and outside it was what no beholder could suppose to be inhabitedby retired trades-people: a certainty which was worth many conveniences totenants who not only had the taste that shrinks from new finery, but alsowere in that border-territory of rank where annexation is a burning topic:and to take up her abode in a house which had once sufficed for dowagercountesses gave a perceptible tinge to Mrs. Davilow's satisfaction inhaving an establishment of her own. This, rather mysteriously toGwendolen, appeared suddenly possible on the death of her step-father,Captain Davilow, who had for the last nine years joined his family only ina brief and fitful manner, enough to reconcile them to his long absences;but she cared much more for the fact than for the explanation. All herprospects had become more agreeable in consequence. She had disliked theirformer way of life, roving from one foreign watering-place or Parisianapartment to another, always feeling new antipathies to new suites ofhired furniture, and meeting new people under conditions which made herappear of little importance; and the variation of having passed two yearsat a showy school, where, on all occasions of display, she had been putforemost, had only deepened her sense that so exceptional a person asherself could hardly remain in ordinary circumstances or in a socialposition less than advantageous. Any fear of this latter evil was banishednow that her mamma was to have an establishment; for on the point of birthGwendolen was quite easy. She had no notion how her maternal grandfathergot the fortune inherited by his two daughters; but he had been a WestIndian--which seemed to exclude further question; and she knew that herfather's family was so high as to take no notice of her mamma, whonevertheless preserved with much pride the miniature of a Lady Molly inthat connection. She would probably have known much more about her fatherbut for a little incident which happened when she was twelve years old.Mrs. Davilow had brought out, as she did only at wide intervals, variousmemorials of her first husband, and while showing his miniature toGwendolen recalled with a fervor which seemed to count on a peculiarfilial sympathy, the fact that dear papa had died when his little daughterwas in long clothes. Gwendolen, immediately thinking of the unlovablestep-father whom she had been acquainted with the greater part of her lifewhile her frocks were short, said--
"Why did you marry again, mamma? It would have been nicer if you had not."
Mrs. Davilow colored deeply, a slight convulsive movement passed over herface, and straightway shutting up the memorials she said, with a violencequite unusual in her--
"You have no feeling, child!"
Gwendolen, who was fond of her mamma, felt hurt and ashamed, and had neversince dared to ask a question about her father.
This was not the only instance in which she had brought on herself thepain of some filial compunction. It was always arranged, when possible,that she should have a small bed in her mamma's room; for Mrs. Davilow'smotherly tenderness clung chiefly to her eldest girl, who had been born inher happier time. One night under an attack of pain she found that thespecific regularly placed by her bedside had been forgotten, and beggedGwendolen to get out of bed and reach it for her. That healthy young lady,snug and warm as a rosy infant in her little couch, objected to step outinto the cold, and lying perfectly still, grumbling a refusal. Mrs.Davilow went without the medicine and never reproached her daughter; butthe next day Gwendolen was keenly conscious of what must be in her mamma'smind, and tried to make amends by caresses which cost her no effort.Having always been the pet and pride of the household, waited on bymother, sisters, governess and maids, as if she had been a princess inexile, she naturally found it difficult to think her own pleasure lessimportant than others made it, and when it was positively thwarted felt anastonished resentment apt, in her cruder days, to vent itself in one ofthose passionate acts which look like a contradiction of habitualtendencies. Though never even as a child thoughtlessly cruel, naydelighting to rescue drowning insects and watch their recovery, there wasa disagreeable silent remembrance of her having strangled her sister'scanary-bird in a final fit of exasperation at its shrill singing which hadagain and again jarringly interrupted her own. She had taken pains to buya white mouse for her sister in retribution, and though inwardly excusingherself on the ground of a peculiar sensitiveness which was a mark of hergeneral superiority, the thought of that infelonious murder had alwaysmade her wince. Gwendolen's nature was not remorseless, but she liked tomake her penances easy, and now that she was twenty and more, some of hernative force had turned into a self-control by which she guarded herselffrom penitential humiliation. There was more show of fire and will in herthan ever, but there was more calculation underneath it.
On this day of arrival at Offendene, which not even Mrs. Davilow had seenbefore--the place having been taken for her by her brother-in-law, Mr.Gascoigne--when all had got down from the carriage, and were standingunder the porch in front of the open door, so that they could have ageneral view of the place and a glimpse of the stone hall and staircasehung with sombre pictures, but enlivened by a bright wood fire, no onespoke; mamma, the four sisters and the governess all looked at Gwendolen,as if their feelings depended entirely on her decision. Of the girls, fromAlice in her sixteenth year to Isabel in her tenth, hardly anything couldbe said on a first view, but that they were girlish, and that their blackdresses were getting shabby. Miss Merry was elderly and altogether neutralin expression. Mrs. Davilow's worn beauty seemed the more pathetic for thelook of entire appeal which she cast at Gwendolen, who was glancing roundat the house, the landscape and the entrance hall with an air of rapidjudgment. Imagine a young race-horse in the paddock among untrimmed poniesand patient hacks.
"Well, dear, what do you think of the place," said Mrs. Davilow at last,in a gentle, deprecatory tone.
Now, mamma," said Gwendolen, in a strongly remonstrant tone, turning awayfrom the glass with.
"I think it is charming," said Gwendolen, quickly. "A romantic place;anything delightful may happen in it; it would be a good background foranything. No one need be ashamed of living here."
"There is certainly nothing common about it."
"Oh, it would do for fallen royalty or any sort of grand poverty. We oughtproperly to have been living in splendor, and have come down to this. Itwould have been as romantic as could be. But I thought my uncle and auntGascoigne would be here to meet us, and my cousin Anna," added Gwendolen,her tone changed to sharp surprise.
"We are early," said Mrs. Davilow, and entering the hall, she said to thehousekeeper who came forward, "You expect Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne?"
"Yes, madam; they were here yesterday to give particular orders about thefires and the dinner. But as to fires, I've had 'em in all the rooms forthe last week, and everything is well aired. I could wish some of thefurniture paid better for all the cleaning it's had, but I _think_ you'llsee the brasses have been done justice to. I _think_ when Mr. and Mrs.Gascoigne come, they'll tell you nothing has been neglected. They'll behere at five, for certain."
This satisfied Gwendolen, who was not prepared to have their arrivaltreated with indifference; and after tripping a little way up the mattedstone staircase to take a survey there, she tripped down again, andfollowed by all the girls looked into each of the rooms opening from thehall--the dining-room all dark oak and worn red satin damask, with a copyof snarling, worrying dogs from Snyders over the side-board, and a Christbreaking bread over the mantel-piece; the library with a general aspectand smell of old brown-leather; and lastly, the drawing-room, which wasentered through a small antechamber crowded with venerable knick-knacks.
"Mamma, mamma, pray come here!" said Gwendolen, Mrs. Davilow havingfollowed slowly in talk with the housekeeper. "Here is an organ. I will beSaint Cecilia: some one shall paint me as Saint Cecilia. Jocosa (this washer name for Miss Merry), let down my hair. See, mamma?"
She had thrown off her hat and gloves, and seated herself before the organin an admirable pose, looking upward; while the submissive and sad Jocosatook out the one comb which fastened the coil of hair, and then shook outthe mass till it fell in a smooth light-brown stream far below its owner'sslim waist.
Mrs. Davilow smiled and said, "A charming picture, my dear!" notindifferent to the display of her pet, even in the presence of ahousekeeper. Gwendolen rose and laughed with delight. All this seemedquite to the purpose on entering a new house which was so excellent abackground.
"What a queer, quaint, picturesque room!" she went on, looking about her."I like these old embroidered chairs, and the garlands on the wainscot,and the pictures that may be anything. That one with the ribs--nothing butribs and darkness--I should think that is Spanish, mamma."
"Oh, Gwendolen!" said the small Isabel, in a tone of astonishment, whileshe held open a hinged panel of the wainscot at the other end of the room.
Every one, Gwendolen first, went to look. The opened panel had disclosedthe picture of an upturned dead face, from which an obscure figure seemedto be fleeing with outstretched arms. "How horrible!" said Mrs. Davilow,with a look of mere disgust; but Gwendolen shuddered silently, and Isabel,a plain and altogether inconvenient child with an alarming memory, said--
"You will never stay in this room by yourself, Gwendolen."
"How dare you open things which were meant to be shut up, you perverselittle creature?" said Gwendolen, in her angriest tone. Then snatching thepanel out of the hand of the culprit, she closed it hastily, saying,"There is a lock--where is the key? Let the key be found, or else let onebe made, and let nobody open it again; or rather, let the key be broughtto me."
At this command to everybody in general Gwendolen turned with a face whichwas flushed in reaction from her chill shudder, and said, "Let us go up toour own room, mamma."
The housekeeper on searching found the key in the drawer of the cabinetclose by the panel, and presently handed it to Bugle, the lady's-maid,telling her significantly to give it to her Royal Highness.
"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Startin," said Bugle, who had been busyup-stairs during the scene in the drawing-room, and was rather offended atthis irony in a new servant.
"I mean the young lady that's to command us all-and well worthy for looksand figure," replied Mrs. Startin in propitiation. "She'll know what keyit is."
"If you have laid out what we want, go and see to the others, Bugle,"Gwendolen had said, when she and Mrs. Davilow entered their black andyellow bedroom, where a pretty little white couch was prepared by the sideof the black and yellow catafalque known as the best bed. "I will helpmamma."
But her first movement was to go to the tall mirror between the windows,which reflected herself and the room completely, while her mamma sat downand also looked at the reflection.
"That is a becoming glass, Gwendolen; or is it the black and gold colorthat sets you off?" said Mrs. Davilow, as Gwendolen stood obliquely withher three-quarter face turned toward the mirror, and her left handbrushing back the stream of hair.
"I should make a tolerable St. Cecilia with some white roses on my head,"said Gwendolen,--"only how about my nose, mamma? I think saint's nosesnever in the least turn up. I wish you had given me your perfectlystraight nose; it would have done for any sort of character--a nose of allwork. Mine is only a happy nose; it would not do so well for tragedy."
"Oh, my dear, any nose will do to be miserable with in this world," saidMrs. Davilow, with a deep, weary sigh, throwing her black bonnet on thetable, and resting her elbow near it.
"Now, mamma," said Gwendolen, in a strongly remonstrant tone, turning awayfrom the glass with an air of vexation, "don't begin to be dull here. Itspoils all my pleasure, and everything may be so happy now. What have youto be gloomy about _now_?"
"Nothing, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, seeming to rouse herself, andbeginning to take off her dress. "It is always enough for me to see youhappy."
"But you should be happy yourself," said Gwendolen, still discontentedly,though going to help her mamma with caressing touches. "Can nobody behappy after they are quite young? You have made me feel sometimes as ifnothing were of any use. With the girls so troublesome, and Jocosa sodreadfully wooden and ugly, and everything make-shift about us, and youlooking so dull--what was the use of my being anything? But now you_might_ be happy."
"So I shall, dear," said Mrs. Davilow, patting the cheek that was bendingnear her.
"Yes, but really. Not with a sort of make-believe," said Gwendolen, withresolute perseverance. "See what a hand and arm!--much more beautiful thanmine. Any one can see you were altogether more beautiful."
"No, no, dear; I was always heavier. Never half so charming as you are."
"Well, but what is the use of my being charming, if it is to end in mybeing dull and not minding anything? Is that what marriage always comesto?"
"No, child, certainly not. Marriage is the only happy state for a woman,as I trust you will prove."
"I will not put up with it if it is not a happy state. I am determined tobe happy--at least not to go on muddling away my life as other people do,being and doing nothing remarkable. I have made up my mind not to letother people interfere with me as they have done. Here is some warm waterready for you, mamma," Gwendolen ended, proceeding to take off her owndress and then waiting to have her hair wound up by her mamma.
There was silence for a minute or two, till Mrs. Davilow said, whilecoiling the daughter's hair, "I am sure I have never crossed you,Gwendolen."
"You often want me to do what I don't like."
"You mean, to give Alice lessons?"
"Yes. And I have done it because you asked me. But I don't see why Ishould, else. It bores me to death, she is so slow. She has no ear formusic, or language, or anything else. It would be much better for her tobe ignorant, mamma: it is her _rôle_, she would do it well."
"That is a hard thing to say of your poor sister, Gwendolen, who is sogood to you, and waits on you hand and foot."
"I don't see why it is hard to call things by their right names, and putthem in their proper places. The hardship is for me to have to waste mytime on her. Now let me fasten up your hair, mamma."
"We must make haste; your uncle and aunt will be here soon. For heaven'ssake, don't be scornful to _them_, my dear child! or to your cousin Anna,whom you will always be going out with. Do promise me, Gwendolen. Youknow, you can't expect Anna to be equal to you."
"I don't want her to be equal," said Gwendolen, with a toss of her headand a smile, and the discussion ended there.
When Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne and their daughter came, Gwendolen, far frombeing scornful, behaved as prettily as possible to them. She wasintroducing herself anew to relatives who had not seen her since thecomparatively unfinished age of sixteen, and she was anxious--no, notanxious, but resolved that they should admire her.
Mrs. Gascoigne bore a family likeness to her sister. But she was darkerand slighter, her face was unworn by grief, her movements were lesslanguid, her expression more alert and critical as that of a rector's wifebound to exert a beneficent authority. Their closest resemblance lay in anon-resistant disposition, inclined to imitation and obedience; but this,owing to the difference in their circumstances, had led them to verydifferent issues. The younger sister had been indiscreet, or at leastunfortunate in her marriages; the elder believed herself the most enviableof wives, and her pliancy had ended in her sometimes taking shapes ofsurprising definiteness. Many of her opinions, such as those on churchgovernment and the character of Archbishop Laud, seemed too decided underevery alteration to have been arrived at otherwise than by a wifelyreceptiveness. And there was much to encourage trust in her husband'sauthority. He had some agreeable virtues, some striking advantages, andthe failings that were imputed to him all leaned toward the side ofsuccess.