Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXIX. Page 1
very well received." she found herself under!
"Surely whoever speaks to me in the right voice,him or her I shall follow.As the water follows the moon, silently,with fluid steps anywhere around the globe."--WALT WHITMAN.
"Now my cousins are at Diplow," said Grandcourt, "will you go there?--to-morrow? The carriage shall come for Mrs. Davilow. You can tell me what youwould like done in the rooms. Things must be put in decent order while weare away at Ryelands. And to-morrow is the only day."
He was sitting sideways on a sofa in the drawing-room at Offendene, onehand and elbow resting on the back, and the other hand thrust between hiscrossed knees--in the attitude of a man who is much interested in watchingthe person next to him. Gwendolen, who had always disliked needlework, hadtaken to it with apparent zeal since her engagement, and now held a pieceof white embroidery which, on examination, would have shown many falsestitches. During the last eight or nine days their hours had been chieflyspent on horseback, but some margin had always been left for this moredifficult sort of companionship, which, however, Gwendolen had not founddisagreeable. She was very well satisfied with Grandcourt. His answers toher lively questions about what he had seen and done in his life, boredrawling very well. From the first she had noticed that he knew what tosay; and she was constantly feeling not only that he had nothing of thefool in his composition, but that by some subtle means he communicated toher the impression that all the folly lay with other people, who did whathe did not care to do. A man who seems to have been able to command thebest, has a sovereign power of depreciation. Then Grandcourt's behavior asa lover had hardly at all passed the limit of an amorous homage which wasinobtrusive as a wafted odor of roses, and spent all its effects in agratified vanity. One day, indeed, he had kissed not her cheek but herneck a little below her ear; and Gwendolen, taken by surprise, had startedup with a marked agitation which made him rise too and say, "I beg yourpardon--did I annoy you?" "Oh, it was nothing," said Gwendolen, ratherafraid of herself, "only I cannot bear--to be kissed under my ear." Shesat down again with a little playful laugh, but all the while she felt herheart beating with a vague fear: she was no longer at liberty to flout himas she had flouted poor Rex. Her agitation seemed not uncomplimentary, andhe had been contented not to transgress again.
To-day a slight rain hindered riding; but to compensate, a package hadcome from London, and Mrs. Davilow had just left the room after bringingin for admiration the beautiful things (of Grandcourt's ordering) whichlay scattered about on the tables. Gwendolen was just then enjoying thescenery of her life. She let her hands fall on her lap, and said with apretty air of perversity--
"Why is to-morrow the only day?"
"Because the next day is the first with the hounds," said Grandcourt.
"And after that?"
"After that I must go away for a couple of days--it's a bore--but I shallgo one day and come back the next." Grandcourt noticed a change in herface, and releasing his hand from under his knees, he laid it on hers, andsaid, "You object to my going away?"
"It's no use objecting," said Gwendolen, coldly. She was resisting to theutmost her temptation to tell him that she suspected to whom he was going--the temptation to make a clean breast, speaking without restraint.
"Yes it is," said Grandcourt, enfolding her hand. "I will put off going.And I will travel at night, so as only to be away one day." He thoughtthat he knew the reason of what he inwardly called this bit of temper, andshe was particularly fascinating to him at this moment.
"Then don't put off going, but travel at night," said Gwendolen, feelingthat she could command him, and finding in this peremptoriness a smalloutlet for her irritation.
"Then you will go to Diplow to-morrow?"
"Oh, yes, if you wish it," said Gwendolen, in a high tone of carelessassent. Her concentration in other feelings had really hindered her fromtaking notice that her hand was being held.
"How you treat us poor devils of men!" said Grandcourt, lowering his tone."We are always getting the worst of it."
"_Are_ you?" said Gwendolen, in a tone of inquiry, looking at him morenaïvely than usual. She longed to believe this commonplace _badinage_ asthe serious truth about her lover: in that case, she too was justified. Ifshe knew everything, Mrs. Glasher would appear more blamable thanGrandcourt. "_Are_ you always getting the worst?"
"Yes. Are you as kind to me as I am to you?" said Grandcourt, looking intoher eyes with his narrow gaze.
Gwendolen felt herself stricken. She was conscious of having received somuch, that her sense of command was checked, and sank away in theperception that, look around her as she might, she could not turn back: itwas as if she had consented to mount a chariot where another held thereins; and it was not in her nature to leap out in the eyes of the world.She had not consented in ignorance, and all she could say now would be aconfession that she had not been ignorant. Her right to explanation wasgone. All she had to do now was to adjust herself, so that the spikes ofthat unwilling penance which conscience imposed should not gall her. Witha sort of mental shiver, she resolutely changed her mental attitude. Therehad been a little pause, during which she had not turned away her eyes;and with a sudden break into a smile, she said--
"If I were as kind to you as you are to me, that would spoil yourgenerosity: it would no longer be as great as it could be--and it is thatnow."
"Then I am not to ask for one kiss," said Grandcourt, contented to pay alarge price for this new kind of love-making, which introduced marriage bythe finest contrast.
"Not one?" said Gwendolen, getting saucy, and nodding at him defiantly.
He lifted her little left hand to his lips, and then released itrespectfully. Clearly it was faint praise to say of him that he was notdisgusting: he was almost charming; and she felt at this moment that itwas not likely she could ever have loved another man better than this one.His reticence gave her some inexplicable, delightful consciousness.
"Apropos," she said, taking up her work again, "is there any one besidesCaptain and Mrs. Torrington at Diplow?--or do you leave them _tete-à-tete_? I suppose he converses in cigars, and she answers with herchignon."
"She has a sister with her," said Grandcourt, with his shadow of a smile,"and there are two men besides--one of them you know, I believe."
"Ah, then, I have a poor opinion of him," said Gwendolen, shaking herhead.
"You saw him at Leubronn--young Deronda--a young fellow with theMallingers."
Gwendolen felt as if her heart were making a sudden gambol, and herfingers, which tried to keep a firm hold on her work got cold.
"I never spoke to him," she said, dreading any discernible change inherself. "Is he not disagreeable?"
"No. Some one told me his name the evening before I came away? that wasall. What is he?"
"A sort of ward of Sir Hugo Mallinger's. Nothing of any consequence."
"Oh, poor creature! How very unpleasant for him!" said Gwendolen, speakingfrom the lip, and not meaning any sarcasm. "I wonder if it has left offraining!" she added, rising and going to look out of the window.
Happily it did not rain the next day, and Gwendolen rode to Diplow onCriterion as she had done on that former day when she returned with hermother in the carriage. She always felt the more daring for being in herriding-dress; besides having the agreeable belief that she looked as wellas possible in it--a sustaining consciousness in any meeting which seemsformidable. Her anger toward Deronda had changed into a superstitiousdread--due, perhaps, to the coercion he had exercised over her thought--lest the first interference of his in her life might foreshadow somefuture influence. It is of such stuff that superstitions are commonlymade: an intense feeling about ourselves which makes the evening starshine at us with a threat, and the blessing of a beggar encourage us. Andsuperstitions carry consequences which often verify their hope or theirforeboding.
The time before luncheon was taken up for Gwendolen by going over therooms with Mrs. Torrington and Mrs. Davilow; and she thought it likelythat if she saw Deronda, there would hardly be need for more than a bowbetween them. She meant to notice him as little as possible.
And after all she found herself under an inward compulsion too strong forher pride. From the first moment of their being in the room together, sheseemed to herself to be doing nothing but notice him; everything else wasautomatic performance of an habitual part.
When he took his place at lunch, Grandcourt had said, "Deronda, MissHarleth tells me you were not introduced to her at Leubronn?"
"Miss Harleth hardly remembers me, I imagine," said Deronda, looking ather quite simply, as they bowed. "She was intensely occupied when I sawher."
Now, did he suppose that she had not suspected him of being the personwho redeemed her necklace?
"On the contrary. I remember you very well," said Gwendolen, feelingrather nervous, but governing herself and looking at him in return withnew examination. "You did not approve of my playing at roulette."
"How did you come to that conclusion?" said Deronda, gravely.
"Oh, you cast an evil eye on my play," said Gwendolen, with a turn of herhead and a smile. "I began to lose as soon as you came to look on. I hadalways been winning till then."
"Roulette in such a kennel as Leubronn is a horrid bore," said Grandcourt.
"_I_ found it a bore when I began to lose," said Gwendolen. Her face wasturned toward Grandcourt as she smiled and spoke, but she gave a sidelongglance at Deronda, and saw his eyes fixed on her with a look so gravelypenetrating that it had a keener edge for her than his ironical smile ather losses--a keener edge than Klesmer's judgment. She wheeled her neckround as if she wanted to listen to what was being said by the rest, whileshe was only thinking of Deronda. His face had that disturbing kind ofform and expression which threatens to affect opinion--as if one'sstandard was somehow wrong. (Who has not seen men with faces of thiscorrective power till they frustrated it by speech or action?) His voice,heard now for the first time, was to Grandcourt's toneless drawl, whichhad been in her ears every day, as the deep notes of a violoncello to thebroken discourse of poultry and other lazy gentry in the afternoonsunshine. Grandcourt, she inwardly conjectured, was perhaps right insaying that Deronda thought too much of himself:--a favorite way ofexplaining a superiority that humiliates. However the talk turned on therinderpest and Jamaica, and no more was said about roulette. Grandcourtheld that the Jamaica negro was a beastly sort of baptist Caliban; Derondasaid he had always felt a little with Caliban, who naturally had his ownpoint of view and could sing a good song; Mrs. Davilow observed that herfather had an estate in Barbadoes, but that she herself had never been inthe West Indies; Mrs. Torrington was sure she should never sleep in herbed if she lived among blacks; her husband corrected her by saying thatthe blacks would be manageable enough if it were not for the half-breeds;and Deronda remarked that the whites had to thank themselves for the half-breeds.
While this polite pea-shooting was going on, Gwendolen trifled with herjelly, and looked at every speaker in turn that she might feel at ease inlooking at Deronda.
"I wonder what he thinks of me, really? He must have felt interested inme, else he would not have sent me my necklace. I wonder what he thinks ofmy marriage? What notions has he to make him so grave about things? Why ishe come to Diplow?"
These questions ran in her mind as the voice of an uneasy longing to bejudged by Deronda with unmixed admiration--a longing which had had itsseed in her first resentment at his critical glance. Why did she care somuch about the opinion of this man who was "nothing of any consequence"?She had no time to find the reason--she was too much engaged in caring. Inthe drawing-room, when something had called Grandcourt away, she wentquite unpremeditatedly up to Deronda, who was standing at a table apart,turning over some prints, and said to him--
"Shall you hunt to-morrow, Mr. Deronda?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"You don't object to hunting, then?"
"I find excuses for it. It is a sin I am inclined to--when I can't getboating or cricketing."
"Do you object to my hunting?" said Gwendolen, with a saucy movement ofthe chin.
"I have no right to object to anything you choose to do."
"You thought you had a right to object to my gambling," persistedGwendolen.
"I was sorry for it. I am not aware that I told you of my objection," saidDeronda, with his usual directness of gaze--a large-eyed gravity, innocentof any intention. His eyes had a peculiarity which has drawn many men intotrouble; they were of a dark yet mild intensity which seemed to express aspecial interest in every one on whom he fixed them, and might easily helpto bring on him those claims which ardently sympathetic people are oftencreating in the minds of those who need help. In mendicant fashion we makethe goodness of others a reason for exorbitant demands on them. That sortof effect was penetrating Gwendolen.
"You hindered me from gambling again," she answered. But she had no soonerspoken than she blushed over face and neck; and Deronda blushed, too,conscious that in the little affair of the necklace he had taken aquestionable freedom.
It was impossible to speak further; and she turned away to a window,feeling that she had stupidly said what she had not meant to say, and yetbeing rather happy that she had plunged into this mutual understanding.Deronda also did not like it. Gwendolen seemed more decidedly attractivethan before; and certainly there had been changes going on within hersince that time at Leubronn: the struggle of mind attending a consciouserror had wakened something like a new soul, which had better, but alsoworse, possibilities than her former poise of crude self-confidence: amongthe forces she had come to dread was something within her that troubledsatisfaction.
That evening Mrs. Davilow said, "Was it really so, or only a joke ofyours, about Mr. Deronda's spoiling your play, Gwen?"
Her curiosity had been excited, and she could venture to ask a questionthat did not concern Mr. Grandcourt.
"Oh, it merely happened that he was looking on when I began to lose," saidGwendolen, carelessly. "I noticed him."
"I don't wonder at that: he is a striking young man. He puts me in mind ofItalian paintings. One would guess, without being told, that there wasforeign blood in his veins."
"Is there?" said Gwendolen.
"Mrs. Torrington says so. I asked particularly who he was, and she told methat his mother was some foreigner of high rank."
"His mother?" said Gwendolen, rather sharply. "Then who was his father?"
"Well--every one says he is the son of Sir Hugo Mallinger, who brought himup; though he passes for a ward. She says, if Sir Hugo Mallinger couldhave done as he liked with his estates, he would have left them to thisMr. Deronda, since he has no legitimate son."
Gwendolen was silent; but her mother observed so marked an effect in herface that she was angry with herself for having repeated Mrs. Torrington'sgossip. It seemed, on reflection, unsuited to the ear of her daughter, forwhom Mrs. Davilow disliked what is called knowledge of the world; andindeed she wished that she herself had not had any of it thrust upon her.
An image which had immediately arisen in Gwendolen's mind was that of theunknown mother--no doubt a dark-eyed woman--probably sad. Hardly any facecould be less like Deronda's than that represented as Sir Hugo's in acrayon portrait at Diplow. A dark-eyed woman, no longer young, had become"stuff o' the conscience" to Gwendolen.
That night when she had got into her little bed, and only a dim light wasburning, she said--
"Mamma, have men generally children before they are married?"
"No, dear, no," said Mrs. Davilow. "Why do you ask such a question?" (Butshe began to think that she saw the why.)
"If it were so, I ought to know," said Gwendolen, with some indignation.
"You are thinking of what I said about Mr. Deronda and Sir Hugo Mallinger.That is a very unusual case, dear."
"Does Lady Mallinger know?"
"She knows enough to satisfy her. That is quite clear, because Mr. Derondahas lived with them."
"And people think no worse of him?"
the next day is the first with the hounds," said Grandcourt?
"Well, of course he is under some disadvantage: it is not as if he wereLady Mallinger's son. He does not inherit the property, and he is not ofany consequence in the world. But people are not obliged to know anythingabout his birth; you see, he is very well received."
"I wonder whether he knows about it; and whether he is angry with hisfather?"
"My dear child, why should you think of that?"
"Why?" said Gwendolen, impetuously, sitting up in her bed. "Haven'tchildren reason to be angry with their parents? How can they help theirparents marrying or not marrying?"
But a consciousness rushed upon her, which made her fall back again on herpillow. It was not only what she would have felt months before--that shemight seem to be reproaching her mother for that second marriage of hers;what she chiefly felt now was, that she had been led on to a condemnationwhich seemed to make her own marriage a forbidden thing.
There was no further talk, and till sleep came over her Gwendolen laystruggling with the reasons against that marriage--reasons which pressedupon her newly now that they were unexpectedly mirrored in the story of aman whose slight relations with her had, by some hidden affinity, bittenthemselves into the most permanent layers of feeling. It wascharacteristic that, with all her debating, she was never troubled by thequestion whether the indefensibleness of her marriage did not include thefact that she had accepted Grandcourt solely as a man whom it wasconvenient for her to marry, not in the least as one to whom she would bebinding herself in duty. Gwendolen's ideas were pitiably crude; but manygrand difficulties of life are apt to force themselves on us in ourcrudity. And to judge wisely, I suppose we must know how things appear tothe unwise; that kind of appearance making the larger part of the world'shistory.
In the morning there was a double excitement for her. She was going tohunt, from which scruples about propriety had threatened to hinder her,until it was found that Mrs. Torrington was horsewoman enough to accompanyher--going to hunt for the first time since her escapade with Rex; and shewas going again to see Deronda, in whom, since last night, her interesthad so gathered that she expected, as people do about revealedcelebrities, to see something in his appearance which she had missedbefore.