Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER V.
"Her witValues itself so highly, that to herAll matter else seems weak."--_Much Ado About Nothing._
Gwendolen's reception in the neighborhood fulfilled her uncle'sexpectations. From Brackenshaw Castle to the Firs at Winchester, where Mr.Quallon the banker kept a generous house, she was welcomed with manifestadmiration, and even those ladies who did not quite like her, felt acomfort in having a new, striking girl to invite; for hostesses whoentertain much must make up their parties as ministers make up theircabinets, on grounds other than personal liking. Then, in order to haveGwendolen as a guest, it was not necessary to ask any one who wasdisagreeable, for Mrs. Davilow always made a quiet, picturesque figure asa chaperon, and Mr. Gascoigne was everywhere in request for his own sake.
Among the houses where Gwendolen was not quite liked, and yet invited, wasQuetcham Hall. One of her first invitations was to a large dinner-partythere, which made a sort of general introduction for her to the society ofthe neighborhood; for in a select party of thirty and of well-composedproportions as to age, few visitable families could be entirely left out.No youthful figure there was comparable to Gwendolen's as she passedthrough the long suite of rooms adorned with light and flowers, and,visible at first as a slim figure floating along in white drapery,approached through one wide doorway after another into fuller illuminationand definiteness. She had never had that sort of promenade before, and shefelt exultingly that it befitted her: any one looking at her for the firsttime might have supposed that long galleries and lackeys had always been amatter of course in her life; while her cousin Anna, who was really morefamiliar with these things, felt almost as much embarrassed as a rabbitsuddenly deposited in that well-lit-space.
"Who is that with Gascoigne?" said the archdeacon, neglecting a discussionof military manoeuvres on which, as a clergyman, he was naturally appealedto. And his son, on the other side of the room--a hopeful young scholar,who had already suggested some "not less elegant than ingenious,"emendations of Greek texts--said nearly at the same time, "By George! whois that girl with the awfully well-set head and jolly figure?"
But to a mind of general benevolence, wishing everybody to look well, itwas rather exasperating to see how Gwendolen eclipsed others: how even thehandsome Miss Lawe, explained to be the daughter of Lady Lawe, lookedsuddenly broad, heavy and inanimate; and how Miss Arrowpoint,unfortunately also dressed in white, immediately resembled a _carte-de-visite_ in which one would fancy the skirt alone to have been charged for.Since Miss Arrowpoint was generally liked for the amiable unpretending wayin which she wore her fortunes, and made a softening screen for theoddities of her mother, there seemed to be some unfitness in Gwendolen'slooking so much more like a person of social importance.
"She is not really so handsome if you come to examine her features," saidMrs. Arrowpoint, later in the evening, confidentially to Mrs. Vulcany. "Itis a certain style she has, which produces a great effect at first, butafterward she is less agreeable."
In fact, Gwendolen, not intending it, but intending the contrary, hadoffended her hostess, who, though not a splenetic or vindictive woman, hadher susceptibilities. Several conditions had met in the Lady of Quetchamwhich to the reasoners in that neighborhood seemed to have an essentialconnection with each other. It was occasionally recalled that she had beenthe heiress of a fortune gained by some moist or dry business in the city,in order fully to account for her having a squat figure, a harsh parrot-like voice, and a systematically high head-dress; and since these pointsmade her externally rather ridiculous, it appeared to many only naturalthat she should have what are called literary tendencies. A littlecomparison would have shown that all these points are to be found apart;daughters of aldermen being often well-grown and well-featured, prettywomen having sometimes harsh or husky voices, and the production of feebleliterature being found compatible with the most diverse forms of_physique_, masculine as well as feminine.
Gwendolen, who had a keen sense of absurdity in others, but was kindlydisposed toward any one who could make life agreeable to her, meant to winMrs. Arrowpoint by giving her an interest and attention beyond what otherswere probably inclined to show. But self-confidence is apt to addressitself to an imaginary dullness in others; as people who are well offspeak in a cajoling tone to the poor, and those who are in the prime oflife raise their voice and talk artificially to seniors, hastilyconceiving them to be deaf and rather imbecile. Gwendolen, with all hercleverness and purpose to be agreeable, could not escape that form ofstupidity: it followed in her mind, unreflectingly, that because Mrs.Arrowpoint was ridiculous she was also likely to be wanting inpenetration, and she went through her little scenes without suspicion thatthe various shades of her behavior were all noted.
"You are fond of books as well as of music, riding, and archery, I hear,"Mrs. Arrowpoint said, going to her for a _tete-à-tete_ in the drawing-roomafter dinner. "Catherine will be very glad to have so sympathetic aneighbor." This little speech might have seemed the most gracefulpoliteness, spoken in a low, melodious tone; but with a twang, fatallyloud, it gave Gwendolen a sense of exercising patronage when she answered,gracefully:
"It is I who am fortunate. Miss Arrowpoint will teach me what good musicis. I shall be entirely a learner. I hear that she is a thoroughmusician."
"Catherine has certainly had every advantage. We have a first-ratemusician in the house now--Herr Klesmer; perhaps you know all hiscompositions. You must allow me to introduce him to you. You sing, Ibelieve. Catherine plays three instruments, but she does not sing. I hopeyou you will let us hear you. I understand you are an accomplishedsinger."
"Oh, no!--'die Kraft ist schwach, allein die Lust ist gross,' asMephistopheles says."
"Ah, you are a student of Goethe. Young ladies are so advanced now. Isuppose you have read everything."
"No, really. I shall be so glad if you will tell me what to read. I havebeen looking into all the books in the library at Offendene, but there isnothing readable. The leaves all stick together and smell musty. I wish Icould write books to amuse myself, as you can! How delightful it must beto write books after one's own taste instead of reading other people's!Home-made books must be so nice."
For an instant Mrs. Arrowpoint's glance was a little sharper, but theperilous resemblance to satire in the last sentence took the hue ofgirlish simplicity when Gwendolen added--
"I would give anything to write a book!"
"And why should you not?" said Mrs. Arrowpoint, encouragingly. "You havebut to begin as I did. Pen, ink, and paper are at everybody's command. ButI will send you all I have written with pleasure."
"Thanks. I shall be so glad to read your writings. Being acquainted withauthors must give a peculiar understanding of their books: one would beable to tell then which parts were funny and which serious. I am sure Ioften laugh in the wrong place." Here Gwendolen herself became aware ofdanger, and added quickly, "In Shakespeare, you know, and other greatwriters that we can never see. But I always want to know more than thereis in the books."
"If you are interested in any of my subjects I can lend you many extrasheets in manuscript," said Mrs. Arrowpoint--while Gwendolen felt herselfpainfully in the position of the young lady who professed to like pottedsprats.
"These are things I dare say I shall publish eventually: several friendshave urged me to do so, and one doesn't like to be obstinate. My Tasso,for example--I could have made it twice the size."
took the hue ofgirlish simplicity when Gwendolen added-- otherwise occupied.explained?
"I dote on Tasso," said Gwendolen.
"Well, you shall have all my papers, if you like. So many, you know, havewritten about Tasso; but they are all wrong. As to the particular natureof his madness, and his feelings for Leonora, and the real cause of hisimprisonment, and the character of Leonora, who, in my opinion, was acold-hearted woman, else she would have married him in spite of herbrother--they are all wrong. I differ from everybody."
"How very interesting!" said Gwendolen. "I like to differ from everybody.I think it is so stupid to agree. That is the worst of writing youropinions; and make people agree with you." This speech renewed a slightsuspicion in Mrs. Arrowpoint, and again her glance became for a momentexamining. But Gwendolen looked very innocent, and continued with a docileair:
"I know nothing of Tasso except the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, which we readand learned by heart at school."
"Ah, his life is more interesting than his poetry, I have constructed theearly part of his life as a sort of romance. When one thinks of his fatherBernardo, and so on, there is much that must be true."
"Imagination is often truer than fact," said Gwendolen, decisively, thoughshe could no more have explained these glib words than if they had beenCoptic or Etruscan. "I shall be so glad to learn all about Tasso--and hismadness especially. I suppose poets are always a little mad."
the _Gerusalemme Liberata_, which we readand learned by heart at school."those of personal.
"To be sure--'the poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling'; and somebody saysof Marlowe--
'For that fine madness still he did maintain,Which always should possess the poet's brain.'"
"But it was not always found out, was it?" said Gwendolen innocently. "Isuppose some of them rolled their eyes in private. Mad people are oftenvery cunning."
Again a shade flitted over Mrs. Arrowpoint's face; but the entrance of thegentlemen prevented any immediate mischief between her and this too quickyoung lady, who had over-acted her _naïveté_.
"Ah, here comes Herr Klesmer," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, rising; and presentlybringing him to Gwendolen, she left them to a dialogue which was agreeableon both sides, Herr Klesmer being a felicitous combination of the German,the Sclave and the Semite, with grand features, brown hair floating inartistic fashion, and brown eyes in spectacles. His English had littleforeignness except its fluency; and his alarming cleverness was made lessformidable just then by a certain softening air of stlliness which willsometimes befall even genius in the desire of being agreeable to beauty.
Music was soon begun. Miss Arrowpoint and Herr Klesmer played a four-handed piece on two pianos, which convinced the company in general that itwas long, and Gwendolen in particular that the neutral, placid-faced MissArrowpoint had a mastery of the instrument which put her own execution outof question--though she was not discouraged as to her often-praised touchand style. After this every one became anxious to hear Gwendolen sing;especially Mr. Arrowpoint; as was natural in a host and a perfectgentleman, of whom no one had anything to say but that he married MissCuttler and imported the best cigars; and he led her to the piano witheasy politeness. Herr Klesmer closed the instrument in readiness for her,and smiled with pleasure at her approach; then placed himself at adistance of a few feet so that he could see her as she sang.
Gwendolen was not nervous; what she undertook to do she did withouttrembling, and singing was an enjoyment to her. Her voice was a moderatelypowerful soprano (some one had told her it was like Jenny Lind's), her eargood, and she was able to keep in tune, so that her singing gave pleasureto ordinary hearers, and she had been used to unmingled applause. She hadthe rare advantage of looking almost prettier when she was singing than atother times, and that Herr Klesmer was in front of her seemed notdisagreeable. Her song, determined on beforehand, was a favorite aria ofBelini's, in which she felt quite sure of herself.
"Charming?" said Mr. Arrowpoint, who had remained near, and the word wasechoed around without more insincerity than we recognize in a brotherlyway as human. But Herr Klesmer stood like a statue--if a statue can beimagined in spectacles; at least, he was as mute as a statue. Gwendolenwas pressed to keep her seat and double the general pleasure, and she didnot wish to refuse; but before resolving to do so, she moved a littletoward Herr Klesmer, saying with a look of smiling appeal, "It would betoo cruel to a great musician. You cannot like to hear poor amateursinging."
"No, truly; but that makes nothing," said Herr Klesmer, suddenly speakingin an odious German fashion with staccato endings, quite unobservable inhim before, and apparently depending on a change of mood, as Irishmenresume their strongest brogue when they are fervid or quarrelsome. "Thatmakes nothing. It is always acceptable to see you sing."
Was there ever so unexpected an assertion of superiority? at least beforethe late Teutonic conquest? Gwendolen colored deeply, but, with her usualpresence of mind, did not show an ungraceful resentment by moving awayimmediately; and Miss Arrowpoint, who had been near enough to overhear(and also to observe that Herr Klesmer's mode of looking at Gwendolen wasmore conspicuously admiring than was quite consistent with good taste),now with the utmost tact and kindness came close to her and said--
"Imagine what I have to go through with this professor! He can hardlytolerate anything we English do in music. We can only put up with hisseverity, and make use of it to find out the worst that can be said of us.It is a little comfort to know that; and one can bear it when every oneelse is admiring."
Harleth," said young Clintock,the archdeacon's classical son, who had been so fortunate!
"I should be very much obliged to him for telling me the worst," saidGwendolen, recovering herself. "I dare say I have been extremely illtaught, in addition to having no talent--only liking for music." This wasvery well expressed considering that it had never entered her mind before.
"Yes, it is true: you have not been well taught," said Herr Klesmer,quietly. Woman was dear to him, but music was dearer. "Still, you are notquite without gifts. You sing in tune, and you have a pretty fair organ.But you produce your notes badly; and that music which you sing is beneathyou. It is a form of melody which expresses a puerile state of culture--adawdling, canting, see-saw kind of stuff--the passion and thought ofpeople without any breadth of horizon. There is a sort of self-satisfiedfolly about every phrase of such melody; no cries of deep, mysteriouspassion--no conflict--no sense of the universal. It makes men small asthey listen to it. Sing now something larger. And I shall see."
"Oh, not now--by-and-by," said Gwendolen, with a sinking of heart at thesudden width of horizon opened round her small musical performance. For alady desiring to lead, this first encounter in her campaign was startling.But she was bent on not behaving foolishly, and Miss Arrowpoint helped herby saying--
"Yes, by-and-by. I always require half an hour to get up my courage afterbeing criticised by Herr Klesmer. We will ask him to play to us now: he isbound to show us what is good music."
To be quite safe on this point Herr Klesmer played a composition of hisown, a fantasia called _Freudvoll, Leidvoll, Gedankenvoll_--an extensivecommentary on some melodic ideas not too grossly evident; and he certainlyfetched as much variety and depth of passion out of the piano as thatmoderately responsive instrument lends itself to, having an imperiousmagic in his fingers that seem to send a nerve-thrill through ivory keyand wooden hammer, and compel the strings to make a quivering lingeringspeech for him. Gwendolen, in spite of her wounded egoism, had fullness ofnature enough to feel the power of this playing, and it gradually turnedher inward sob of mortification into an excitement which lifted her forthe moment into a desperate indifference about her own doings, or at leasta determination to get a superiority over them by laughing at them as ifthey belonged to somebody else. Her eyes had become brighter, her cheeksslightly flushed, and her tongue ready for any mischievous remarks.
"I wish you would sing to us again, Miss Harleth," said young Clintock,the archdeacon's classical son, who had been so fortunate as to take herto dinner, and came up to renew conversation as soon as Herr Klesmer'sperformance was ended, "That is the style of music for me. I never canmake anything of this tip-top playing. It is like a jar of leeches, whereyou can never tell either beginnings or endings. I could listen to yoursinging all day."
"Yes, we should be glad of something popular now--another song from youwould be a relaxation," said Mrs. Arrowpoint, who had also come near withpolite intentions.
"That must be because you are in a puerile state of culture, and have nobreadth of horizon. I have just learned that. I have been taught how badmy taste is, and am feeling growing pains. They are never pleasant," saidGwendolen, not taking any notice of Mrs. Arrowpoint, and looking up with abright smile at young Clintock.
Mrs. Arrowpoint was not insensible to this rudeness, but merely said,"Well, we will not press anything disagreeably," and as there was aperceptible outburst of imprisoned conversation just then, and a movementof guests seeking each other, she remained seated where she was, andlooked around her with the relief of a hostess at finding she is notneeded.
"I am glad you like this neighborhood," said young Clintock, well-pleasedwith his station in front of Gwendolen.
"Exceedingly. There seems to be a little of everything and not much ofanything."
"That is rather equivocal praise."
"Not with me. I like a little of everything; a little absurdity, forexample, is very amusing. I am thankful for a few queer people; but muchof them is a bore."
(Mrs. Arrowpoint, who was hearing this dialogue, perceived quite a newtone in Gwendolen's speech, and felt a revival of doubt as to her interestin Tasso's madness.)
"I think there should be more croquet, for one thing," young Clintock; "Iam usually away, but if I were more here I should go in for a croquetclub. You are one of the archers, I think. But depend upon it croquet isthe game of the future. It wants writing up, though. One of our best menhas written a poem on it, in four cantos;--as good as Pope. I want him topublish it--You never read anything better."
"I shall study croquet to-morrow. I shall take to it instead of singing."
"No, no, not that; but do take to croquet. I will send you Jenning's poemif you like. I have a manuscript copy."
"Is he a great friend of yours?"
"Well, rather."
"Oh, if he is only rather, I think I will decline. Or, if you send it tome, will you promise not to catechise me upon it and ask me which part Ilike best? Because it is not so easy to know a poem without reading it asto know a sermon without listening."
"Decidedly," Mrs. Arrowpoint thought, "this girl is double and satirical.I shall be on my guard against her."
But Gwendolen, nevertheless, continued to receive polite attentions fromthe family at Quetcham, not merely because invitations have larger groundsthan those of personal liking, but because the trying little scene at thepiano had awakened a kindly solicitude toward her in the gentle mind ofMiss Arrowpoint, who managed all the invitations and visits, her motherbeing otherwise occupied.