Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXVII.
Desire has trimmed the sails, and CircumstanceBrings but the breeze to fill them.
While Grandcourt on his beautiful black Yarico, the groom behind him onCriterion, was taking the pleasant ride from Diplow to Offendene,Gwendolen was seated before the mirror while her mother gathered up thelengthy mass of light-brown hair which she had been carefully brushing.
"Only gather it up easily and make a coil, mamma," said Gwendolen.
"Let me bring you some ear-rings, Gwen," said Mrs. Davilow, when the hairwas adjusted, and they were both looking at the reflection in the glass.It was impossible for them not to notice that the eyes looked brighterthan they had done of late, that there seemed to be a shadow lifted fromthe face, leaving all the lines once more in their placid youthfulness.The mother drew some inference that made her voice rather cheerful. "Youdo want your earrings?"
"No, mamma; I shall not wear any ornaments, and I shall put on my blacksilk. Black is the only wear when one is going to refuse an offer," saidGwendolen, with one of her old smiles at her mother, while she rose tothrow off her dressing-gown.
"Suppose the offer is not made after all," said Mrs. Davilow, not withouta sly intention.
"Then that will be because I refuse it beforehand," said Gwendolen. "Itcomes to the same thing."
There was a proud little toss of the head as she said this; and when shewalked down-stairs in her long black robes, there was just that firm poiseof head and elasticity of form which had lately been missing, as in aparched plant. Her mother thought, "She is quite herself again. It must bepleasure in his coming. Can her mind be really made up against him?"
Gwendolen would have been rather angry if that thought had been uttered;perhaps all the more because through the last twenty hours, with a briefinterruption of sleep, she had been so occupied with perpetuallyalternating images and arguments for and against the possibility of hermarrying Grandcourt, that the conclusion which she had determined onbeforehand ceased to have any hold on her consciousness: the alternate dipof counterbalancing thoughts begotten of counterbalancing desires hadbrought her into a state in which no conclusion could look fixed to her.She would have expressed her resolve as before; but it was a form out ofwhich the blood had been sucked--no more a part of quivering life than the"God's will be done" of one who is eagerly watching chances. She did notmean to accept Grandcourt; from the first moment of receiving his lettershe had meant to refuse him; still, that could not but prompt her to lookthe unwelcome reasons full in the face until she had a little less awe ofthem, could not hinder her imagination from filling out her knowledge invarious ways, some of which seemed to change the aspect of what she knew.By dint of looking at a dubious object with a constructive imagination,who can give it twenty different shapes. Her indistinct grounds ofhesitation before the interview at the Whispering Stones, at presentcounted for nothing; they were all merged in the final repulsion. If ithad not been for that day in Cardell Chase, she said to herself now, therewould have been no obstacle to her marrying Grandcourt. On that day andafter it, she had not reasoned and balanced; she had acted with a force ofimpulse against which all questioning was no more than a voice against atorrent. The impulse had come--not only from her maidenly pride andjealousy, not only from the shock of another woman's calamity thrust closeon her vision, but--from her dread of wrong-doing, which was vague, it wastrue, and aloof from the daily details of her life, but not the lessstrong. Whatever was accepted as consistent with being a lady she had noscruple about; but from the dim region of what was called disgraceful,wrong, guilty, she shrunk with mingled pride and terror; and even apartfrom shame, her feeling would have made her place any deliberate injury ofanother in the region of guilt.
But now--did she know exactly what was the state of the case with regardto Mrs. Glasher and her children? She had given a sort of promise--hadsaid, "I will not interfere with your wishes." But would another woman whomarried Grandcourt be in fact the decisive obstacle to her wishes, or bedoing her and her boy any real injury? Might it not be just as well, naybetter, that Grandcourt should marry? For what could not a woman do whenshe was married, if she knew how to assert herself? Here all wasconstructive imagination. Gwendolen had about as accurate a conception ofmarriage--that is to say, of the mutual influences, demands, duties of manand woman in the state of matrimony--as she had of magnetic currents andthe law of storms.
"Mamma managed baldly," was her way of summing up what she had seen of hermother's experience: she herself would manage quite differently. And thetrials of matrimony were the last theme into which Mrs. Davilow couldchoose to enter fully with this daughter.
"I wonder what mamma and my uncle would say if they knew about Mrs.Glasher!" thought Gwendolen in her inward debating; not that she couldimagine herself telling them, even if she had not felt bound to silence."I wonder what anybody would say; or what they would say to Mr.Grandcourt's marrying some one else and having other children!" Toconsider what "anybody" would say, was to be released from the difficultyof judging where everything was obscure to her when feeling had ceased tobe decisive. She had only to collect her memories, which proved to herthat "anybody" regarded the illegitimate children as more rightfully to belooked shy on and deprived of social advantages than illegitimate fathers.The verdict of "anybody" seemed to be that she had no reason to concernherself greatly on behalf of Mrs. Glasher and her children.
But there was another way in which they had caused her concern. Whatothers might think, could not do away with a feeling which in the firstinstance would hardly be too strongly described as indignation andloathing that she should have been expected to unite herself with anoutworn life, full of backward secrets which must have been more keenlyfelt than any association with _her_. True, the question of love on herown part had occupied her scarcely at all in relation to Grandcourt. Thedesirability of marriage for her had always seemed due to other feelingthan love; and to be enamored was the part of the man, on whom theadvances depended. Gwendolen had found no objection to Grandcourt's way ofbeing enamored before she had had that glimpse of his past, which sheresented as if it had been a deliberate offense against her. His advancesto _her_ were deliberate, and she felt a retrospective disgust for them.Perhaps other men's lives were of the same kind--full of secrets whichmade the ignorant suppositions of the women they wanted to marry a farceat which they were laughing in their sleeves.
These feelings of disgust and indignation had sunk deep; and though othertroublous experience in the last weeks had dulled them from passion intoremembrance, it was chiefly their reverberating activity which kept herfirm to the understanding with herself, that she was not going to acceptGrandcourt. She had never meant to form a new determination; she had onlybeen considering what might be thought or said. If anything could haveinduced her to change, it would have been the prospect of making allthings easy for "poor mamma:" that, she admitted, was a temptation. Butno! she was going to refuse him. Meanwhile, the thought that he was comingto be refused was inspiriting: she had the white reins in her hands again;there was a new current in her frame, reviving her from the beaten-downconsciousness in which she had been left by the interview with Klesmer.She was not now going to crave an opinion of her capabilities; she wasgoing to exercise her power.
Was this what made her heart palpitate annoyingly when she heard thehorse's footsteps on the gravel?--when Miss Merry, who opened the door toGrandcourt, came to tell her that he was in the drawing-room? The hours ofpreparation and the triumph of the situation were apparently of no use:she might as well have seen Grandcourt coming suddenly on her in the midstof her despondency. While walking into the drawing-room, she had toconcentrate all her energy in that self-control, which made her appeargravely gracious--as she gave her hand to him, and answered his hope thatshe was quite well in a voice as low and languid as his own. A momentafterward, when they were both of them seated on two of the wreath-paintedchairs--Gwendolen upright with downcast eyelids, Grandcourt about twoyards distant, leaning one arm over the back of his chair and looking ather, while he held his hat in his left hand--any one seeing them as apicture would have concluded that they were in some stage of love-makingsuspense. And certainly the love-making had begun: she already feltherself being wooed by this silent man seated at an agreeable distance,with the subtlest atmosphere of attar of roses and an attention bentwholly on her. And he also considered himself to be wooing: he was not aman to suppose that his presence carried no consequences; and he wasexactly the man to feel the utmost piquancy in a girl whom he had notfound quite calculable.
"I was disappointed not to find you at Leubronn," he began, his usualbroken drawl having just a shade of amorous languor in it. "The place wasintolerable without you. A mere kennel of a place. Don't you think so?"
"I can't judge what it would be without myself," said Gwendolen, turningher eyes on him, with some recovered sense of mischief. "_With_ myself Ilike it well enough to have stayed longer, if I could. But I was obligedto come home on account of family troubles."
"It was very cruel of you to go to Leubronn," said Grandcourt, taking nonotice of the troubles, on which Gwendolen--she hardly knew why--wishedthat there should be a clear understanding at once. "You must have knownthat it would spoil everything: you knew you were the heart and soul ofeverything that went on. Are you quite reckless about me?"
It would be impossible to say "yes" in a tone that would be takenseriously; equally impossible to say "no;" but what else could she say? Inher difficulty, she turned down her eyelids again and blushed over faceand neck. Grandcourt saw her in a new phase, and believed that she wasshowing her inclination. But he was determined that she should show itmore decidedly.
"Perhaps there is some deeper interest? Some attraction--some engagement--which it would have been only fair to make me aware of? Is there any manwho stands between us?"
Inwardly the answer framed itself. "No; but there is a woman." Yet howcould she utter this? Even if she had not promised that woman to besilent, it would have been impossible for her to enter on the subject withGrandcourt. But how could she arrest his wooing by beginning to make aformal speech--"I perceive your intention--it is most flattering, etc."? Afish honestly invited to come and be eaten has a clear course indeclining, but how if it finds itself swimming against a net? And apartfrom the network, would she have dared at once to say anything decisive?Gwendolen had not time to be clear on that point. As it was, she feltcompelled to silence, and after a pause, Grandcourt said--
"Am I to understand that some one else is preferred?"
Gwendolen, now impatient of her own embarrassment, determined to rush atthe difficulty and free herself. She raised her eyes again and said withsomething of her former clearness and defiance, "No"--wishing him tounderstand, "What then? I may not be ready to take _you_." There wasnothing that Grandcourt could not understand which he perceived likely toaffect his _amour propre_.
"The last thing I would do, is to importune you. I should not hope to winyou by making myself a bore. If there were no hope for me, I would ask youto tell me so at once, that I might just ride away to--no matter where."
Almost to her own astonishment, Gwendolen felt a sudden alarm at the imageof Grandcourt finally riding away. What would be left her then? Nothingbut the former dreariness. She liked him to be there. She snatched at thesubject that would defer any decisive answer.
"I fear you are not aware of what has happened to us. I have lately had tothink so much of my mamma's troubles, that other subjects have been quitethrown into the background. She has lost all her fortune, and we are goingto leave this place. I must ask you to excuse my seeming preoccupied."
In eluding a direct appeal Gwendolen recovered some of her self-possession. She spoke with dignity and looked straight at Grandcourt,whose long, narrow, impenetrable eyes met hers, and mysteriously arrestedthem: mysteriously; for the subtly-varied drama between man and woman isoften such as can hardly be rendered in words put together like dominoes,according to obvious fixed marks. The word of all work, Love, will no moreexpress the myriad modes of mutual attraction, than the word Thought caninform you what is passing through your neighbor's mind. It would be hardto tell on which side--Gwendolen's or Grandcourt's--the influence was moremixed. At that moment his strongest wish was to be completely master ofthis creature--this piquant combination of maidenliness and mischief: thatshe knew things which had made her start away from him, spurred him totriumph over that repugnance; and he was believing that he should triumph.And she--ah, piteous equality in the need to dominate!--she was overcomelike the thirsty one who is drawn toward the seeming water in the desert,overcome by the suffused sense that here in this man's homage to her laythe rescue from helpless subjection to an oppressive lot.
All the while they were looking at each other; and Grandcourt said, slowlyand languidly, as if it were of no importance, other things having beensettled--
"You will tell me now, I hope, that Mrs. Davilow's loss of fortune willnot trouble you further. You will trust me to prevent it from weighingupon her. You will give me the claim to provide against that."
The little pauses and refined drawlings with which this speech wasuttered, gave time for Gwendolen to go through the dream of a life. As thewords penetrated her, they had the effect of a draught of wine, whichsuddenly makes all things easier, desirable things not so wrong, andpeople in general less disagreeable. She had a momentary phantasmal lovefor this man who chose his words so well, and who was a mere incarnationof delicate homage. Repugnance, dread, scruples--these were dim asremembered pains, while she was already tasting relief under the immediatepain of hopelessness. She imagined herself already springing to hermother, and being playful again. Yet when Grandcourt had ceased to speak,there was an instant in which she was conscious of being at the turning ofthe ways.
"You are very generous," she said, not moving her eyes, and speaking witha gentle intonation.
"You accept what will make such things a matter of course?" saidGrandcourt, without any new eagerness. "You consent to become my wife?"
This time Gwendolen remained quite pale. Something made her rise from herseat in spite of herself and walk to a little distance. Then she turnedand with her hands folded before her stood in silence.
Grandcourt immediately rose too, resting his hat on the chair, but stillkeeping hold of it. The evident hesitation of this destitute girl to takehis splendid offer stung him into a keenness of interest such as he hadnot known for years. None the less because he attributed her hesitationentirely to her knowledge about Mrs. Glasher. In that attitude ofpreparation, he said--
"Do you command me to go?" No familiar spirit could have suggested to himmore effective words.
"No," said Gwendolen. She could not let him go: that negative was aclutch. She seemed to herself to be, after all, only drifted toward thetremendous decision--but drifting depends on something besides thecurrents when the sails have been set beforehand.
"You accept my devotion?" said Grandcourt, holding his hat by his side andlooking straight into her eyes, without other movement. Their eyes meetingin that way seemed to allow any length of pause: but wait as long as shewould, how could she contradict herself! What had she detained him for? Hehad shut out any explanation.
"Yes," came as gravely from Gwendolen's lips as if she had been answeringto her name in a court of justice. He received it gravely, and they stilllooked at each other in the same attitude. Was there ever such a waybefore of accepting the bliss-giving "Yes"? Grandcourt liked better to beat that distance from her, and to feel under a ceremony imposed by anindefinable prohibition that breathed from Gwendolen's bearing.
But he did at length lay down his hat and advance to take her hand, justpressing his lips upon it and letting it go again. She thought hisbehavior perfect, and gained a sense of freedom which made her almostready to be mischievous. Her "Yes" entailed so little at this moment thatthere was nothing to screen the reversal of her gloomy prospects; hervision was filled by her own release from the Momperts, and her mother'srelease from Sawyer's Cottage. With a happy curl of the lips, she said--
"Will you not see mamma? I will fetch her."
"Let us wait a little," said Grandcourt, in his favorite attitude, havinghis left forefinger and thumb in his waist-coat pocket, and with his righthand caressing his whisker, while he stood near Gwendolen and looked ather--not unlike a gentleman who has a felicitous introduction at anevening party.
"Have you anything else to say to me," said Gwendolen, playfully.
"Yes--I know having things said to you is a great bore," said Grandcourt,rather sympathetically.
"Not when they are things I like to hear."
"Will it bother you to be asked how soon we can be married?"
"I think it will, to-day," said Gwendolen, putting up her chin saucily.
"Not to-day, then, but to-morrow. Think of it before I come to-morrow. Ina fortnight--or three weeks--as soon as possible."
"Ah, you think you will be tired of my company," said Gwendolen. "I noticewhen people are married the husband is not so much with his wife as whenthey are engaged. But perhaps I shall like that better, too."
She laughed charmingly.
"You shall have whatever you like," said Grandcourt.
"And nothing that I don't like?--please say that; because I think Idislike what I don't like more than I like what I like," said Gwendolen,finding herself in the woman's paradise, where all her nonsense isadorable.
Grandcourt paused; these were subtilties in which he had much experienceof his own. "I don't know--this is such a brute of a world, things arealways turning up that one doesn't like. I can't always hinder your beingbored. If you like to ride Criterion, I can't hinder his coming down bysome chance or other."
"Ah, my friend Criterion, how is he?"
"He is outside: I made the groom ride him, that you might see him. He hadthe side-saddle on for an hour or two yesterday. Come to the window andlook at him."
They could see the two horses being taken slowly round the sweep, and thebeautiful creatures, in their fine grooming, sent a thrill of exultationthrough Gwendolen. They were the symbols of command and luxury, indelightful contrast with the ugliness of poverty and humiliation at whichshe had lately been looking close.
"Will you ride Criterion to-morrow?" said Grandcourt. "If you will,everything shall be arranged."
"I should like it of all things," said Gwendolen. "I want to lose myselfin a gallop again. But now I must go and fetch mamma."
"Take my arm to the door, then," said Grandcourt, and she accepted. Theirfaces were very near each other, being almost on a level, and he waslooking at her. She thought his manners as a lover more agreeable than anyshe had seen described. She had no alarm lest he meant to kiss her, andwas so much at her ease, that she suddenly paused in the middle of theroom and said half archly, half earnestly--
"Oh, while I think of it--there is something I dislike that you can saveme from. I do _not_ like Mr. Lush's company."
"You shall not have it. I'll get rid of him."
"You are not fond of him yourself?"
"Not in the least. I let him hang on me because he has always been a poordevil," said Grandcourt, in an _adagio_ of utter indifference. "They gothim to travel with me when I was a lad. He was always that coarse-hairedkind of brute--sort of cross between a hog and a _dilettante_."
Gwendolen laughed. All that seemed kind and natural enough: Grandcourt'sfastidiousness enhanced the kindness. And when they reached the door, hisway of opening it for her was the perfection of easy homage. Really, shethought, he was likely to be the least disagreeable of husbands.
Mrs. Davilow was waiting anxiously in her bed-room when Gwendolen entered,stepped toward her quickly, and kissing her on both cheeks said in a lowtone, "Come down, mamma, and see Mr. Grandcourt. I am engaged to him."
"My darling child," said Mrs. Davilow, with a surprise that was rathersolemn than glad.
"Yes," said Gwendolen, in the same tone, and with a quickness whichimplied that it was needless to ask questions. "Everything is settled. Youare not going to Sawyer's Cottage, I am not going to be inspected by Mrs.Mompert, and everything is to be as I like. So come down with meimmediately."