Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XL. Page 1
"Within the soul a faculty abides,That with interpositions, which would hideAnd darken, so can deal, that they becomeContingencies of pomp; and serve to exaltHer native brightness, as the ample moon.In the deep stillness of a summer even.Rising behind a thick and lofty grove.Into a substance glorious as her own,Yea, with her own incorporated, by powerCapacious and serene."--WORDSWORTH: _Excursion_, B. IV.
Deronda came out of the narrow house at Chelsea in a frame of mind thatmade him long for some good bodily exercise to carry off what he washimself inclined to call the fumes of his temper. He was going toward thecity, and the sight of the Chelsea Stairs with the waiting boats at oncedetermined him to avoid the irritating inaction of being driven in a cab,by calling a wherry and taking an oar.
His errand was to go to Ram's book-shop, where he had yesterday arrivedtoo late for Mordecai's midday watch, and had been told that he invariablycame there again between five and six. Some further acquaintance withthis, remarkable inmate of the Cohens was particularly desired by Derondaas a preliminary to redeeming his ring: he wished that their conversationshould not again end speedily with that drop of Mordecai's interest whichwas like the removal of a drawbridge, and threatened to shut out any easycommunication in future. As he got warmed with the use of the oar, fixinghis mind on the errand before him and the ends he wanted to achieve onMirah's account, he experienced, as was wont with him, a quick change ofmental light, shifting his point of view to that of the person whom he hadbeen thinking of hitherto chiefly as serviceable to his own purposes, andwas inclined to taunt himself with being not much better than an enlistingsergeant, who never troubles himself with the drama that brings him theneedful recruits.
"I suppose if I got from this man the information I am most anxiousabout," thought Deronda, "I should be contented enough if he felt nodisposition to tell me more of himself, or why he seemed to have someexpectation from me which was disappointed. The sort of curiosity he stirswould die out; and yet it might be that he had neared and parted as onecan imagine two ships doing, each freighted with an exile who would haverecognized the other if the two could have looked out face to face. Notthat there is any likelihood of a peculiar tie between me and this poorfellow, whose voyage, I fancy, must soon be over. But I wonder whetherthere is much of that momentous mutual missing between people whointerchange blank looks, or even long for one another's absence in acrowded place. However, one makes one's self chances of missing by goingon the recruiting sergeant's plan."
When the wherry was approaching Blackfriars Bridge, where Deronda meant toland, it was half-past four, and the gray day was dying gloriously, itswestern clouds all broken into narrowing purple strata before a wide-spreading saffron clearness, which in the sky had a monumental calm, buton the river, with its changing objects, was reflected as a luminousmovement, the alternate flash of ripples or currents, the sudden glow ofthe brown sail, the passage of laden barges from blackness into color,making an active response to that brooding glory.
Feeling well heated by this time, Deronda gave up the oar and drew overhim again his Inverness cape. As he lifted up his head while fastening thetopmost button his eyes caught a well-remembered face looking toward himover the parapet of the bridge--brought out by the western light intostartling distinctness and brilliancy--an illuminated type of bodilyemaciation and spiritual eagerness. It was the face of Mordecai, who also,in his watch toward the west, had caught sight of the advancing boat, andhad kept it fast within his gaze, at first simply because it wasadvancing, then with a recovery of impressions that made him quiver aswith a presentiment, till at last the nearing figure lifted up its facetoward him--the face of his visions--and then immediately, with whiteuplifted hand, beckoned again and again.
For Deronda, anxious that Mordecai should recognize and await him, hadlost no time before signaling, and the answer came straightway. Mordecailifted his cap and waved it--feeling in that moment that his inwardprophecy was fulfilled. Obstacles, incongruities, all melted into thesense of completion with which his soul was flooded by this outwardsatisfaction of his longing. His exultation was not widely different fromthat of the experimenter, bending over the first stirrings of change thatcorrespond to what in the fervor of concentrated prevision his thought hasforeshadowed. The prefigured friend had come from the golden background,and had signaled to him: this actually was: the rest was to be.
sunk eyes were fixed on those ofthe friend who had at last arrived with a look of affectionate dependence,at once pathetic and.
In three minutes Deronda had landed, had paid his boatman, and was joiningMordecai, whose instinct it was to stand perfectly still and wait for him.
"I was very glad to see you standing here," said Deronda, "for I wasintending to go on to the book-shop and look for you again. I was thereyesterday--perhaps they mentioned it to you?"
"Yes," said Mordecai; "that was the reason I came to the bridge."
This answer, made with simple gravity, was startlingly mysterious toDeronda. Were the peculiarities of this man really associated with anysort of mental alienation, according to Cohen's hint?
"You knew nothing of my being at Chelsea?" he said, after a moment.
"No; but I expected you to come down the river. I have been waiting foryou these five years." Mordecai's deep-sunk eyes were fixed on those ofthe friend who had at last arrived with a look of affectionate dependence,at once pathetic and solemn. Deronda's sensitiveness was not the lessresponsive because he could not but believe that this strangely-disclosedrelation was founded on an illusion.
"It will be a satisfaction to me if I can be of any real use to you," heanswered, very earnestly. "Shall we get into a cab and drive to--whereveryou wish to go? You have probably had walking enough with your shortbreath."
"Let us go to the book-shop. It will soon be time for me to be there. Butnow look up the river," said Mordecai, turning again toward it andspeaking in undertones of what may be called an excited calm--so absorbedby a sense of fulfillment that he was conscious of no barrier to acomplete understanding between him and Deronda. "See the sky, how it isslowly fading. I have always loved this bridge: I stood on it when I was alittle boy. It is a meeting-place for the spiritual messengers. It istrue--what the Masters said--that each order of things has its angel: thatmeans the full message of each from what is afar. Here I have listened tothe messages of earth and sky; when I was stronger I used to stay andwatch for the stars in the deep heavens. But this time just about sunsetwas always what I loved best. It has sunk into me and dwelt with me--fading, slowly fading: it was my own decline: it paused--it Waited, tillat last it brought me my new life--my new self--who will live when thisbreath is all breathed out."
Deronda did not speak. He felt himself strangely wrought upon. The first-prompted suspicion that Mordecai might be liable to hallucinations ofthought--might have become a monomaniac on some subject which had giventoo severe a strain to his diseased organism--gave way to a moresubmissive expectancy. His nature was too large, too ready to conceiveregions beyond his own experience, to rest at once in the easyexplanation, "madness," whenever a consciousness showed some fullness andconviction where his own was blank. It accorded with his habitualdisposition that he should meet rather than resist any claim on him in theshape of another's need; and this claim brought with it a sense ofsolemnity which seemed a radiation from Mordecai, as utterly nullifyinghis outward poverty and lifting him into authority as if he had been thatpreternatural guide seen in the universal legend, who suddenly drops hismean disguise and stands a manifest Power. That impression was the moresanctioned by a sort of resolved quietude which the persuasion offulfillment had produced in Mordecai's manner. After they had stood amoment in silence he said, "Let us go now," and when they were riding headded, "We will get down at the end of the street and walk to the shop.You can look at the books, and Mr. Ram will be going away directly andleave us alone."
It seemed that this enthusiast was just as cautious, just as much alive tojudgments in other minds as if he had been that antipode of all enthusiasmcalled "a man of the world."
While they were rattling along in the cab, Mirah was still present withDeronda in the midst of this strange experience, but he foresaw that thecourse of conversation would be determined by Mordecai, not by himself: hewas no longer confident what questions he should be able to ask; and witha reaction on his own mood, he inwardly said, "I suppose I am in a stateof complete superstition, just as if I were awaiting the destiny thatcould interpret the oracle. But some strong relation there must be betweenme and this man, since he feels it strongly. Great heaven! what relationhas proved itself more potent in the world than faith even when mistaken--than expectation even when perpetually disappointed? Is my side of therelation to be disappointing or fulfilling?--well, if it is ever possiblefor me to fulfill I will not disappoint."
In ten minutes the two men, with as intense a consciousness as if they hadbeen two undeclared lovers, felt themselves alone in the small gas-litbook-shop and turned face to face, each baring his head from aninstinctive feeling that they wished to see each other fully. Mordecaicame forward to lean his back against the little counter, while Derondastood against the opposite wall hardly more than four feet off. I wish Icould perpetuate those two faces, as Titian's "Tribute Money" hasperpetuated two types presenting another sort of contrast. Imagine--we allof us can--the pathetic stamp of consumption with its brilliancy of glanceto which the sharply-defined structure of features reminding one of aforsaken temple, give already a far-off look as of one getting unwillinglyout of reach; and imagine it on a Jewish face naturally accentuated forthe expression of an eager mind--the face of a man little above thirty,but with that age upon it which belongs to time lengthened by suffering,the hair and beard, still black, throwing out the yellow pallor of theskin, the difficult breathing giving more decided marking to the mobilenostril, the wasted yellow hands conspicuous on the folded arms: then giveto the yearning consumptive glance something of the slowly dying mother'slook, when her one loved son visits her bedside, and the flickering powerof gladness leaps out as she says, "My boy!"--for the sense of spiritualperpetuation in another resembles that maternal transference of self.
Seeing such a portrait you would see Mordecai. And opposite to him was aface not more distinctively oriental than many a type seen among what wecall the Latin races; rich in youthful health, and with a forciblemasculine gravity in its repose, that gave the value of judgment to thereverence with which he met the gaze of this mysterious son of poverty whoclaimed him as a long-expected friend. The more exquisite quality ofDeronda's nature--that keenly perceptive sympathetic emotiveness which ranalong with his speculative tendency--was never more thoroughly tested. Hefelt nothing that could be called belief in the validity of Mordecai'simpressions concerning him or in the probability of any greatly effectiveissue: what he felt was a profound sensibility to a cry from the depths ofanother and accompanying that, the summons to be receptive instead ofsuperciliously prejudging. Receptiveness is a rare and massive power, likefortitude; and this state of mind now gave Deronda's face its utmostexpression of calm benignant force--an expression which nourishedMordecai's confidence and made an open way before him. He began to speak.
"You cannot know what has guided me to you and brought us together at thismoment. You are wondering."
"I am not impatient," said Deronda. "I am ready to listen to whatever youmay wish to disclose."
"You see some of the reasons why I needed you," said Mordecai, speakingquietly, as if he wished to reserve his strength. "You see that I amdying. You see that I am as one shut up behind bars by the wayside, who ifhe spoke to any would be met only by head-shaking and pity. The day isclosing--the light is fading--soon we should not have been able to discerneach other. But you have come in time."
"I rejoice that I am come in time," said Deronda, feelingly. He would notsay, "I hope you are not mistaken in me,"--the very word "mistaken," hethought, would be a cruelty at that moment.
"But the hidden reasons why I need you began afar off," said Mordecai;"began in my early years when I was studying in another land. Then ideas,beloved ideas, came to me, because I was a Jew. They were a trust tofulfill, because I was a Jew. They were an inspiration, because I was aJew, and felt the heart of my race beating within me. They were my life; Iwas not fully born till then. I counted this heart, and this breath, andthis right hand"--Mordecai had pathetically pressed his hand upon hisbreast, and then stretched its wasted fingers out before him--"I countedmy sleep and my waking, and the work I fed my body with, and the sightsthat fed my eyes--I counted them but as fuel to the divine flame. But Ihad done as one who wanders and engraves his thought in rocky solitudes,and before I could change my course came care and labor and disease, andblocked the way before me, and bound me with the iron that eats itselfinto the soul. Then I said, 'How shall I save the life within me frombeing stifled with this stifled breath?'"
Mordecai paused to rest that poor breath which had been taxed by therising excitement of his speech, And also he wished to check thatexcitement. Deronda dared not speak the very silence in the narrow spaceseemed alive with mingled awe and compassion before this strugglingfervor. And presently Mordecai went on--
"But you may misunderstand me. I speak not as an ignorant dreamer--as onebred up in the inland valleys, thinking ancient thoughts anew, and notknowing them ancient, never having stood by the great waters where theworld's knowledge passes to and fro. English is my mother-tongue, Englandis the native land of this body, which is but as a breaking pot of eartharound the fruit-bearing tree, whose seed might make the desert rejoice.But my true life was nourished in Holland at the feet of my mother'sbrother, a Rabbi skilled in special learning: and when he died I went toHamburg to study, and afterwards to Göttingen, that I might take a largeroutlook on my people, and on the Gentile world, and drank knowledge at allsources. I was a youth; I felt free; I saw our chief seats in Germany; Iwas not then in utter poverty. And I had possessed myself of a handicraft.For I said, I care not if my lot be as that of Joshua ben Chananja: afterthe last destruction he earned his bread by making needles, but in hisyouth he had been a singer on the steps of the Temple, and had a memory ofwhat was before the glory departed. I said, let my body dwell in poverty,and my hands be as the hands of the toiler: but let my soul be as a templeof remembrance where the treasures of knowledge enter and the innersanctuary is hope. I knew what I chose. They said, 'He feeds himself onvisions,' and I denied not; for visions are the creators and feeders ofthe world. I see, I measure the world as it is, which the vision willcreate anew. You are not listening to one who raves aloof from the livesof his fellows."
Mordecai paused, and Deronda, feeling that the pause was expectant, said,"Do me the justice to believe that I was not inclined to call your wordsraving. I listen that I may know, without prejudgment. I have hadexperience which gives me a keen interest in the story of a spiritualdestiny embraced willingly, and embraced in youth."
"A spiritual destiny embraced willingly--in youth?" Mordecai repeated in acorrective tone. "It was the soul fully born within me, and it came in myboyhood. It brought its own world--a mediaeval world, where there are menwho made the ancient language live again in new psalms of exile. They hadabsorbed the philosophy of the Gentile into the faith of the Jew, and theystill yearned toward a center for our race. One of their souls was bornagain within me, and awakened amid the memories of their world. Ittraveled into Spain and Provence; it debated with Aben-Ezra; it took shipwith Jehuda ha-Levi; it heard the roar of the Crusaders and the shrieks oftortured Israel. And when its dumb tongue was loosed, it spoke the speechthey had made alive with the new blood of their ardor, their sorrow, andtheir martyred trust: it sang with the cadence of their strain."
Mordecai paused again, and then said in a loud, hoarse whisper--
"While it is imprisoned in me, it will never learn another."
"Have you written entirely in Hebrew, then?" said Deronda, rememberingwith some anxiety the former question as to his own knowledge of thattongue.
"Yes--yes," said Mordecai, in a tone of deep sadness: "in my youth Iwandered toward that solitude, not feeling that it was a solitude. I hadthe ranks of the great dead around me; the martyrs gathered and listened.But soon I found that the living were deaf to me. At first I saw my lifespread as a long future: I said part of my Jewish heritage is anunbreaking patience; part is skill to seek divers methods and find arooting-place where the planters despair. But there came new messengersfrom the Eternal. I had to bow under the yoke that presses on the greatmultitude born of woman: family troubles called me--I had to work, tocare, not for myself alone. I was left solitary again; but already theangel of death had turned to me and beckoned, and I felt his skirtscontinually on my path. I loosed not my effort. I besought hearing andhelp. I spoke; I went to men of our people--to the rich in influence orknowledge, to the rich in other wealth. But I found none to listen withunderstanding. I was rebuked for error; I was offered a small sum incharity. No wonder. I looked poor; I carried a bundle of Hebrew manuscriptwith me; I said, our chief teachers are misleading the hope of our race.Scholar and merchant were both too busy to listen. Scorn stood asinterpreter between me and them. One said, 'The book of Mormon would neverhave answered in Hebrew; and if you mean to address our learned men, it isnot likely you can teach them anything.' He touched a truth there."
The last words had a perceptible irony in their hoarsened tone.
"But though you had accustomed yourself to write in Hebrew, few, surely,can use English better," said Deronda, wanting to hint consolation in anew effort for which he could smooth the way.
Mordecai shook his head slowly, and answered--
"Too late--too late. I can write no more. My writing would be like thisgasping breath. But the breath may wake the fount of pity--the writingnot. If I could write now and used English, I should be as one who beats aboard to summon those who have been used to no signal but a bell. My soulhas an ear to hear the faults of its own speech. New writing of mine wouldbe like this body"--Mordecai spread his arms--"within it there might bethe Ruach-ha-kodesh--the breath of divine thought--but, men would smile atit and say, 'A poor Jew!' and the chief smilers would be of my ownpeople."