Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XLV.
Behold my lady's carriage stop the way.With powdered lacquey and with charming bay;She sweeps the matting, treads the crimson stair.Her arduous function solely "to be there."Like Sirious rising o'er the silent sea.She hides her heart in lustre loftily.
So the Grandcourts were in Grosvenor Square in time to receive a card forthe musical party at Lady Mallinger's, there being reasons of businesswhich made Sir Hugo know beforehand that his ill-beloved nephew was comingup. It was only a third evening after their arrival, and Gwendolen maderather an absent-minded acquaintance with her new ceilings and furniture,preoccupied with the certainty that she was going to speak to Derondaagain, and also to see the Miss Lapidoth who had gone through so much, andwas "capable of submitting to anything in the form of duty." For Gwendolenhad remembered nearly every word that Deronda had said about Mirah, andespecially that phrase, which she repeated to herself bitterly, having anill-defined consciousness that her own submission was something verydifferent. She would have been obliged to allow, if any one had said it toher, that what she submitted to could not take the shape of duty, but wassubmission to a yoke drawn on her by an action she was ashamed of, andworn with a strength of selfish motives that left no weight for duty tocarry.
The drawing-rooms in Park Lane, all white, gold, and pale crimson, wereagreeably furnished, and not crowded with guests, before Mr. and Mrs.Grandcourt entered; and more than half an hour of instrumental music wasbeing followed by an interval of movement and chat. Klesmer was there withhis wife, and in his generous interest for Mirah he proposed to accompanyher singing of Leo's "_O patria mia_," which he had before recommended herto choose, as more distinctive of her than better known music. He wasalready at the piano, and Mirah was standing there conspicuously, whenGwendolen, magnificent in her pale green velvet and poisoned diamonds, wasushered to a seat of honor well in view of them. With her long sight andself-command she had the rare power of quickly distinguishing persons andobjects on entering a full room, and while turning her glance toward Mirahshe did not neglect to exchange a bow with Klesmer as she passed. Thesmile seemed to each a lightning-flash back on that morning when it hadbeen her ambition to stand as the "little Jewess" was standing, and surveya grand audience from the higher rank of her talent--instead of which shewas one of the ordinary crowd in silk and gems, whose utmost performanceit must be to admire or find fault. "He thinks I am in the right roadnow," said the lurking resentment within her.
Gwendolen had not caught sight of Deronda in her passage, and while shewas seated acquitting herself in chat with Sir Hugo, she glanced round herwith careful ease, bowing a recognition here and there, and fearful lestan anxious-looking exploration in search of Deronda might be observed byher husband, and afterward rebuked as something "damnably vulgar." But alltraveling, even that of a slow gradual glance round a room, brings aliability to undesired encounters, and amongst the eyes that metGwendolen's, forcing her into a slight bow, were those of the "amateur toofond of Meyerbeer," Mr. Lush, whom Sir Hugo continued to find useful as ahalf-caste among gentlemen. He was standing near her husband, who,however, turned a shoulder toward him, and was being understood to listento Lord Pentreath. How was it that at this moment, for the first time,there darted through Gwendolen, like a disagreeable sensation, the ideathat this man knew all about her husband's life? He had been banished fromher sight, according to her will, and she had been satisfied; he had sunkentirely into the background of her thoughts, screened away from her bythe agitating figures that kept up an inward drama in which Lush had noplace. Here suddenly he reappeared at her husband's elbow, and theresprang up in her, like an instantaneously fabricated memory in a dream,the sense of his being connected with the secrets that made her wretched.She was conscious of effort in turning her head away from him, trying tocontinue her wandering survey as if she had seen nothing of moreconsequence than the picture on the wall, till she discovered Deronda. Buthe was not looking toward her, and she withdrew her eyes from him, withouthaving got any recognition, consoling herself with the assurance that hemust have seen her come in. In fact, he was not standing far from the doorwith Hans Meyrick, whom he had been careful to bring into Lady Mallinger'slist. They were both a little more anxious than was comfortable lest Mirahshould not be heard to advantage. Deronda even felt himself on the brinkof betraying emotion, Mirah's presence now being linked with crowdingimages of what had gone before and was to come after--all centering in thebrother he was soon to reveal to her; and he had escaped as soon as hecould from the side of Lady Pentreath, who had said in her violoncellovoice--
He was beginning to feel on Mirah's behalf something of what he had feltfor himself in his seraphic boyish time, when Sir Hugo asked him if hewould like to be a great singer--an indignant dislike to her beingremarked on in a free and easy way, as if she were an imported commoditydisdainfully paid for by the fashionable public, and he winced the morebecause Mordecai, he knew, would feel that the name "Jewess" was taken asa sort of stamp like the lettering of Chinese silk. In this susceptiblemood he saw the Grandcourts enter, and was immediately appealed to by Hansabout "that Vandyke duchess of a beauty." Pray excuse Deronda that in thismoment he felt a transient renewal of his first repulsion from Gwendolen,as if she and her beauty and her failings were to blame for theundervaluing of Mirah as a woman--a feeling something like classanimosity, which affection for what is not fully recognized by others,whether in persons or in poetry, rarely allows us to escape. To Hansadmiring Gwendolen with his habitual hyperbole, he answered, with asarcasm that was not quite good-natured--
"I thought you could admire no style of woman but your Berenice."
"That is the style I worship--not admire," said Hans. "Other styles ofwomen I might make myself wicked for, but for Berenice I could makemyself--well, pretty good, which is something much more difficult."
"Hush," said Deronda, under the pretext that the singing was going tobegin. He was not so delighted with the answer as might have beenexpected, and was relieved by Hans's movement to a more advanced spot.
Deronda had never before heard Mirah sing "_O patria mia_." He knew wellLeopardi's fine Ode to Italy (when Italy sat like a disconsolate mother inchains, hiding her face on her knees and weeping), and the few selectedwords were filled for him with the grandeur of the whole, which seemed tobreath an inspiration through the music. Mirah singing this, made Mordecaimore than ever one presence with her. Certain words not included in thesong nevertheless rang within Deronda as harmonies from the invisible--
"Non ti difendeNessun dè tuoi! L'armi, qua l'armi: io soloCombatteró, procomberó sol io"--(Footnote: Do none of thy children defend thee? Arms! bring me arms! aloneI will fight, alone I will fall.)
they seemed the very voice of that heroic passion which is falsely said todevote itself in vain when it achieves the god-like end of manifestingunselfish love. And that passion was present to Deronda now as the vividimage of a man dying helplessly away from the possibility of battle.
Mirah was equal to his wishes. While the general applause was sounding,Klesmer gave a more valued testimony, audible to her only--"Good, good--the crescendo better than before." But her chief anxiety was to know thatshe had satisfied Mr. Deronda: any failure on her part this evening wouldhave pained her as an especial injury to him. Of course all her prospectswere due to what he had done for her; still, this occasion of singing inthe house that was his home brought a peculiar demand. She looked towardhim in the distance, and he saw that she did; but he remained where hewas, and watched the streams of emulous admirers closing round her, tillpresently they parted to make way for Gwendolen, who was taken up to beintroduced by Mrs. Klesmer. Easier now about "the little Jewess," Danielrelented toward poor Gwendolen in her splendor, and his memory went back,with some penitence for his momentary hardness, over all the signs andconfessions that she too needed a rescue, and one much more difficult thanthat of the wanderer by the river--a rescue for which he felt himselfhelpless. The silent question--"But is it not cowardly to make that areason for turning away?" was the form in which he framed his resolve togo near her on the first opportunity, and show his regard for her pastconfidence, in spite of Sir Hugo's unwelcome hints.
Klesmer, having risen to Gwendolen as she approached, and being includedby her in the opening conversation with Mirah, continued near them alittle while, looking down with a smile, which was rather in his eyes thanon his lips, at the piquant contrast of the two charming young creaturesseated on the red divan. The solicitude seemed to be all on the side ofthe splendid one.
"You must let me say how much I am obliged to you," said Gwendolen. "I hadheard from Mr. Deronda that I should have a great treat in your singing,but I was too ignorant to imagine how great."
"You are very good to say so," answered Mirah, her mind chiefly occupiedin contemplating Gwendolen. It was like a new kind of stage-experience toher to be close to genuine grand ladies with genuine brilliants andcomplexions, and they impressed her vaguely as coming out of some unknowndrama, in which their parts perhaps got more tragic as they went on.
"We shall all want to learn of you--I, at least," said Gwendolen. "I singvery badly, as Herr Klesmer will tell you,"--here she glanced upward tothat higher power rather archly, and continued--"but I have been rebukedfor not liking to middling, since I can be nothing more. I think that is adifferent doctrine from yours?" She was still looking at Klesmer, who saidquickly--
"Not if it means that it would be worth while for you to study further,and for Miss Lapidoth to have the pleasure of helping you." With that hemoved away, and Mirah taking everything with _naïve_ seriousness, said--
"If you think I could teach you, I shall be very glad. I am anxious toteach, but I have only just begun. If I do it well, it must be byremembering how my master taught me."
Gwendolen was in reality too uncertain about herself to be prepared forthis simple promptitude of Mirah's, and in her wish to change the subject,said, with some lapse from the good taste of her first address--
"You have not been long in London, I think?--but you were perhapsintroduced to Mr. Deronda abroad?"
"No," said Mirah; "I never saw him before I came to England in thesummer."
"But he has seen you often and heard you sing a great deal, has he not?"said Gwendolen, led on partly by the wish to hear anything about Deronda,and partly by the awkwardness which besets the readiest person, incarrying on a dialogue when empty of matter. "He spoke of you to me withthe highest praise. He seemed to know you quite well."
"Oh, I was poor and needed help," said Mirah, in a new tone of feeling,"and Mr. Deronda has given me the best friends in the world. That is theonly way he came to know anything about me--because he was sorry for me. Ihad no friends when I came. I was in distress. I owe everything to him."
artificially." thought you could admire no style of woman but your Berenice.
Poor Gwendolen, who had wanted to be a struggling artist herself, couldnevertheless not escape the impression that a mode of inquiry which wouldhave been rather rude toward herself was an amiable condescension to thisJewess who was ready to give her lessons. The only effect on Mirah, asalways on any mention of Deronda, was to stir reverential gratitude andanxiety that she should be understood to have the deepest obligation tohim.
But both he and Hans, who were noticing the pair from a distance, wouldhave felt rather indignant if they had known that the conversation had ledup to Mirah's representation of herself in this light of neediness. In themovement that prompted her, however, there was an exquisite delicacy,which perhaps she could not have stated explicitly--the feeling that sheought not to allow any one to assume in Deronda a relation of moreequality or less generous interest toward her than actually existed. Heranswer was delightful to Gwendolen: she thought of nothing but the readycompassion which in another form she had trusted in and found herself; andon the signals that Klesmer was about to play she moved away in muchcontent, entirely without presentiment that this Jewish _protégé_ wouldever make a more important difference in her life than the possibleimprovement of her singing--if the leisure and spirits of a Mrs.Grandcourt would allow of other lessons than such as the world was givingher at rather a high charge.
With her wonted alternation from resolute care of appearances to some rashindulgence of an impulse, she chose, under the pretext of getting fartherfrom the instrument, not to go again to her former seat, but placedherself on a settee where she could only have one neighbor. She was nearerto Deronda than before: was it surprising that he came up in time to shakehands before the music began--then, that after he had stood a little whileby the elbow of the settee at the empty end, the torrent-like confluencesof bass and treble seemed, like a convulsion of nature, to cast theconduct of petty mortals into insignificance, and to warrant his sittingdown?
But when at the end of Klesmer's playing there came the outburst of talkunder which Gwendolen had hoped to speak as she would to Deronda, sheobserved that Mr. Lush was within hearing, leaning against the wall closeby them. She could not help her flush of anger, but she tried to have onlyan air of polite indifference in saying--
"Miss Lapidoth is everything you described her to be."
"You have been very quick in discovering that," said Deronda, ironically.
"I have not found out all the excellencies you spoke of--I don't meanthat," said Gwendolen; "but I think her singing is charming, and herself,too. Her face is lovely--not in the least common; and she is such acomplete little person. I should think she will be a great success."
This speech was grating on Deronda, and he would not answer it, but lookedgravely before him. She knew that he was displeased with her, and she wasgetting so impatient under the neighborhood of Mr. Lush, which preventedher from saying any word she wanted to say, that she meditated somedesperate step to get rid of it, and remained silent, too. That constraintseemed to last a long while, neither Gwendolen nor Deronda looking at theother, till Lush slowly relieved the wall of his weight, and joined someone at a distance.
Gwendolen immediately said, "You despise me for talking artificially."
"No," said Deronda, looking at her coolly; "I think that is quiteexcusable sometimes. But I did not think what you were last saying wasaltogether artificial."
"There was something in it that displeased you," said Gwendolen. "What wasit?"
"It is impossible to explain such things," said Deronda. "One can nevercommunicate niceties of feeling about words and manner."
"You think I am shut out from understanding them," said Gwendolen, with aslight tremor in her voice, which she was trying to conquer. "Have I shownmyself so very dense to everything you have said?" There was anindescribable look of suppressed tears in her eyes, which were turned onhim.
"Not at all," said Deronda, with some softening of voice. "But experiencediffers for different people. We don't all wince at the same things. Ihave had plenty of proof that you are not dense." He smiled at her.
"But one may feel things and are not able to do anything better for allthat," said Gwendolen, not smiling in return--the distance to whichDeronda's words seemed to throw her chilling her too much. "I begin tothink we can only get better by having people about us who raise goodfeelings. You must not be surprised at anything in me. I think it is toolate for me to alter. I don't know how to set about being wise, as youtold me to be."
"I seldom find I do any good by my preaching. I might as well have keptfrom meddling," said Deronda, thinking rather sadly that his interferenceabout that unfortunate necklace might end in nothing but an added pain tohim in seeing her after all hardened to another sort of gambling thanroulette.
"Don't say that," said Gwendolen, hurriedly, feeling that this might beher only chance of getting the words uttered, and dreading the increase ofher own agitation. "If you despair of me, I shall despair. Your sayingthat I should not go on being selfish and ignorant has been some strengthto me. If you say you wish you had not meddled--that means you despair ofme and forsake me. And then you will decide for me that I shall not begood. It is you who will decide; because you might have made me differentby keeping as near to me as you could, and believing in me."
She had not been looking at him as she spoke, but at the handle of the fanwhich she held closed. With the last words she rose and left him,returning to her former place, which had been left vacant; while every onewas settling into quietude in expectation of Mirah's voice, whichpresently, with that wonderful, searching quality of subdued song in whichthe melody seems simply an effect of the emotion, gave forth, _Per pietànon dirmi addio_.
andanxiety that she should be understood to have the deepest obligation tohim.nothing personal. But she told you.
In Deronda's ear the strain was for the moment a continuance ofGwendolen's pleading--a painful urging of something vague and difficult,irreconcilable with pressing conditions, and yet cruel to resist. Howeverstrange the mixture in her of a resolute pride and a precocious air ofknowing the world, with a precipitate, guileless indiscretion, he wasquite sure now that the mixture existed. Sir Hugo's hints had made himalive to dangers that his own disposition might have neglected; but thatGwendolen's reliance on him was unvisited by any dream of his being a manwho could misinterpret her was as manifest as morning, and made an appealwhich wrestled with his sense of present dangers, and with his forebodingof a growing incompatible claim on him in her mind. There was aforeshadowing of some painful collision: on the one side the grasp ofMordecai's dying hand on him, with all the ideals and prospects itaroused; on the other the fair creature in silk and gems, with her hiddenwound and her self-dread, making a trustful effort to lean and findherself sustained. It was as if he had a vision of himself besought withoutstretched arms and cries, while he was caught by the waves andcompelled to mount the vessel bound for a far-off coast. That was thestrain of excited feeling in him that went along with the notes of Mirah'ssong; but when it ceased he moved from his seat with the reflection thathe had been falling into an exaggeration of his own importance, and aridiculous readiness to accept Gwendolen's view of himself, as if he couldreally have any decisive power over her.
"What an enviable fellow you are," said Hans to him, "sitting on a sofawith that young duchess, and having an interesting quarrel with her!"
"Quarrel with her?" repeated Deronda, rather uncomfortably.
"Oh, about theology, of course; nothing personal. But she told you whatyou ought to think, and then left you with a grand air which wasadmirable. Is she an Antinomian--if so, tell her I am an Antinomianpainter, and introduce me. I should like to paint her and her husband. Hehas the sort of handsome _physique_ that the Duke ought to have in_Lucrezia Borgia_--if it could go with a fine baritone, which it can't."
Deronda devoutly hoped that Hans's account of the impression his dialoguewith Gwendolen had made on a distant beholder was no more than a bit offantastic representation, such as was common with him.
And Gwendolen was not without her after-thoughts that her husband's eyesmight have been on her, extracting something to reprove--some offenceagainst her dignity as his wife; her consciousness telling her that shehad not kept up the perfect air of equability in public which was her ownideal. But Grandcourt made no observation on her behavior. All he said asthey were driving home was--
"Lush will dine with us among the other people to-morrow. You will treathim civilly."
Gwendolen's heart began to beat violently. The words that she wanted toutter, as one wants to return a blow, were. "You are breaking your promiseto me--the first promise you made me." But she dared not utter them. Shewas as frightened at a quarrel as if she had foreseen that it would endwith throttling fingers on her neck. After a pause, she said in the tonerather of defeat than resentment--
"I thought you did not intend him to frequent the house again."
"I want him just now. He is useful to me; and he must be treated civilly."
Silence. There may come a moment when even an excellent husband who hasdropped smoking under more or less of a pledge during courtship, for thefirst time will introduce his cigar-smoke between himself and his wife,with the tacit understanding that she will have to put up with it. Mr.Lush was, so to speak, a very large cigar.
If these are the sort of lovers' vows at which Jove laughs, he must have amerry time of it.