Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XXX. Page 2
Grandcourt ceased his slow delivery of sentences. He did not expect her tothank him, but he considered that she might reasonably be contented; if itwere possible for Lydia to be contented. She showed no change, and after aminute he said--
"You have never had any reason to fear that I should be illiberal. I don'tcare a curse about the money."
"If you did care about it, I suppose you would not give it us," saidLydia. The sarcasm was irrepressible.
"That's a devilishly unfair thing to say," Grandcourt replied, in a lowertone; "and I advise you not to say that sort of thing again."
"Should you punish me by leaving the children in beggary?" In spite ofherself, the one outlet of venom had brought the other.
"There is no question about leaving the children in beggary," saidGrandcourt, still in his low voice. "I advise you not to say things thatyou will repent of."
"I am used to repenting," said she, bitterly. "Perhaps you will repent.You have already repented of loving me."
"All this will only make it uncommonly difficult for us to meet again.What friend have you besides me?"
"Quite true."
The words came like a low moan. At the same moment there flashed throughher the wish that after promising himself a better happiness than that hehad had with her, he might feel a misery and loneliness which would drivehim back to her to find some memory of a time when he was young, glad, andhopeful. But no! he would go scathless; it was she that had to suffer.
With this the scorching words were ended. Grandcourt had meant to staytill evening; he wished to curtail his visit, but there was no suitabletrain earlier than the one he had arranged to go by, and he had still tospeak to Lydia on the second object of his visit, which like a secondsurgical operation seemed to require an interval. The hours had to go by;there was eating to be done; the children came in--all this mechanism oflife had to be gone through with the dreary sense of constraint which isoften felt in domestic quarrels of a commoner kind. To Lydia it was someslight relief for her stifled fury to have the children present: she felta savage glory in their loveliness, as if it would taunt Grandcourt withhis indifference to her and them--a secret darting of venom which wasstrongly imaginative. He acquitted himself with all the advantage of a manwhose grace of bearing has long been moulded on an experience of boredom--nursed the little Antonia, who sat with her hands crossed and eyesupturned to his bald head, which struck her as worthy of observation--andpropitiated Henleigh by promising him a beautiful saddle and bridle. Itwas only the two eldest girls who had known him as a continual presence;and the intervening years had overlaid their infantine memories with abashfulness which Grandcourt's bearing was not likely to dissipate. He andLydia occasionally, in the presence of the servants, made a conventionalremark; otherwise they never spoke; and the stagnant thought inGrandcourt's mind all the while was of his own infatuation in having givenher those diamonds, which obliged him to incur the nuisance of speakingabout them. He had an ingrained care for what he held to belong to hiscaste, and about property he liked to be lordly; also he had aconsciousness of indignity to himself in having to ask for anything in theworld. But however he might assert his independence of Mrs. Glasher'spast, he had made a past for himself which was a stronger yoke than any hecould impose. He must ask for the diamonds which he had promised toGwendolen.
At last they were alone again, with the candles above them, face to facewith each other. Grandcourt looked at his watch, and then said, in anapparently indifferent drawl, "There is one thing I had to mention, Lydia.My diamonds--you have them."
"Yes, I have them," she answered promptly, rising and standing with herarms thrust down and her fingers threaded, while Grandcourt sat still. Shehad expected the topic, and made her resolve about it. But she meant tocarry out her resolve, if possible, without exasperating him. During thehours of silence she had longed to recall the words which had only widenedthe breach between them.
"They are in this house, I suppose?"
"No; not in this house."
"I thought you said you kept them by you."
"When I said so it was true. They are in the bank at Dudley."
"Get them away, will you? I must make an arrangement for your deliveringthem to some one."
"Make no arrangement. They shall be delivered to the person you intendedthem for. _I_ will make the arrangement."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. I have always told you that I would give them up to yourwife. I shall keep my word. She is not your wife yet."
"This is foolery," said Grandcourt, with undertoned disgust. It was tooirritating that this indulgence of Lydia had given her a sort of masteryover him in spite of dependent condition.
She did not speak. He also rose now, but stood leaning against the mantle-piece with his side-face toward her.
"The diamonds must be delivered to me before my marriage," he began again.
"What is your wedding-day?"
"The tenth. There is no time to be lost."
"And where do you go after the marriage?"
He did not reply except by looking more sullen. Presently he said, "Youmust appoint a day before then, to get them from the bank and meet me--orsomebody else I will commission;--it's a great nuisance, Mention a day."
"No; I shall not do that. They shall be delivered to her safely. I shallkeep my word."
"Do you mean to say," said Grandcourt, just audibly, turning to face her,"that you will not do as I tell you?"
"Yes, I mean that," was the answer that leaped out, while her eyes flashedclose to him. The poor creature was immediately conscious that if herwords had any effect on her own lot, the effect must be mischievous, andmight nullify all the remaining advantage of her long patience. But theword had been spoken.
He was in a position the most irritating to him. He could not shake hernor touch her hostilely; and if he could, the process would not bring hismother's diamonds. He shrank from the only sort of threat that wouldfrighten her--if she believed it. And in general, there was nothing hehated more than to be forced into anything like violence even in words:his will must impose itself without trouble. After looking at her for amoment, he turned his side-face toward her again, leaning as before, andsaid--
"Infernal idiots that women are!"
"Why will you not tell me where you are going after the marriage? I couldbe at the wedding if I liked, and learn in that way," said Lydia, notshrinking from the one suicidal form of threat within her power.
"Of course, if you like, you can play the mad woman," said Grandcourt,with _sotto voce_ scorn. "It is not to be supposed that you will wait tothink what good will come of it--or what you owe to me."
He was in a state of disgust and embitterment quite new in the history oftheir relation to each other. It was undeniable that this woman, whoselife he had allowed to send such deep suckers into his, had a terriblepower of annoyance in her; and the rash hurry of his proceedings had lefther opportunities open. His pride saw very ugly possibilities threateningit, and he stood for several minutes in silence reviewing the situation--considering how he could act upon her. Unlike himself she was of a directnature, with certain simple strongly-colored tendencies, and there was oneoften-experienced effect which he thought he could count upon now. As SirHugo had said of him, Grandcourt knew how to play his cards upon occasion.
He did not speak again, but looked at his watch, rang the bell, andordered the vehicle to be brought round immediately. Then he removedfarther from her, walked as if in expectation of a summons, and remainedsilent without turning his eyes upon her.
She was suffering the horrible conflict of self-reproach and tenacity. Shesaw beforehand Grandcourt leaving her without even looking at her again--herself left behind in lonely uncertainty--hearing nothing from him--notknowing whether she had done her children harm--feeling that she hadperhaps made him hate her;--all the wretchedness of a creature who haddefeated her own motives. And yet she could not bear to give up a purposewhich was a sweet morsel to her vindictiveness. If she had not been amother she would willingly have sacrificed herself to her revenge--to whatshe felt to be the justice of hindering another from getting happiness bywillingly giving her over to misery. The two dominant passions were atstruggle. She must satisfy them both.
"Don't let us part in anger, Henleigh," she began, without changing hervoice or attitude: "it is a very little thing I ask. If I were refusing togive anything up that you call yours it would be different: that would bea reason for treating me as if you hated me. But I ask such a littlething. If you will tell me where you are going on the wedding-day I willtake care that the diamonds shall be delivered to her without scandal.Without scandal," she repeated entreatingly.
"Such preposterous whims make a woman odious," said Grandcourt, not givingway in look or movement. "What is the use of talking to mad people?"
"Yes, I am foolish--loneliness has made me foolish--indulge me." Sobs roseas she spoke. "If you will indulge me in this one folly I will be verymeek--I will never trouble you." She burst into hysterical crying, andsaid again almost with a scream--"I will be very meek after that."
There was a strange mixture of acting and reality in this passion. Shekept hold of her purpose as a child might tighten its hand over a smallstolen thing, crying and denying all the while. Even Grandcourt waswrought upon by surprise: this capricious wish, this childish violence,was as unlike Lydia's bearing as it was incongruous with her person. Bothhad always had a stamp of dignity on them. Yet she seemed more manageablein this state than in her former attitude of defiance. He came close up toher again, and said, in his low imperious tone, "Be quiet, and hear what Itell you, I will never forgive you if you present yourself again and makea scene."
She pressed her handkerchief against her face, and when she could speakfirmly said, in the muffled voice that follows sobbing, "I will not--ifyou will let me have my way--I promise you not to thrust myself forwardagain. I have never broken my word to you--how many have you broken to me?When you gave me the diamonds to wear you were not thinking of havinganother wife. And I now give them up--I don't reproach you--I only ask youto let me give them up in my own way. Have I not borne it well? Everythingis to be taken away from me, and when I ask for a straw, a chip--you denyit me." She had spoken rapidly, but after a little pause she said moreslowly, her voice freed from its muffled tone: "I will not bear to have itdenied me."
Grandcourt had a baffling sense that he had to deal with something likemadness; he could only govern by giving way. The servant came to say thefly was ready. When the door was shut again Grandcourt said sullenly, "Weare going to Ryelands then."
"They shall be delivered to her there," said Lydia, with decision.
"Very well, I am going." He felt no inclination even to take her hand: shehad annoyed him too sorely. But now that she had gained her point, she wasprepared to humble herself that she might propitiate him.
"Forgive me; I will never vex you again," she said, with beseeching looks.Her inward voice said distinctly--"It is only I who have to forgive." Yetshe was obliged to ask forgiveness.
"You had better keep that promise. You have made me feel uncommonly illwith your folly," said Grandcourt, apparently choosing this statement asthe strongest possible use of language.
"Poor thing!" cried Lydia, with a faint smile;--was he aware of the minorfact that he made her feel ill this morning?
But with the quick transition natural to her, she was now ready to coaxhim if he would let her, that they might part in some degree reconciled.She ventured to lay her hand on his shoulder, and he did not move awayfrom her: she had so far succeeded in alarming him, that he was not sorryfor these proofs of returned subjection.
"Light a cigar," she said, soothingly, taking the case from his breast-pocket and opening it.
Amidst such caressing signs of mutual fear they parted. The effect thatclung and gnawed within Grandcourt was a sense of imperfect mastery.