Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER XLVIII. Page 1
'Tis hard and ill-paid task to order all things beforehand by the ruleof our own security, as is well hinted by Machiavelli concerningCaesar Borgia, who, saith he, had thought of all that might occur onhis father's death, and had provided against every evil chance saveonly one: it had never come into his mind that when his father died,his own death would quickly follow.
Grandcourt's importance as a subject of this realm was of the grandlypassive kind which consists in the inheritance of land. Political andsocial movements touched him only through the wire of his rental, and hismost careful biographer need not have read up on Schleswig-Holstein, thepolicy of Bismarck, trade-unions, household suffrage, or even the lastcommercial panic. He glanced over the best newspaper columns on thesetopics, and his views on them can hardly be said to have wanted breadth,since he embraced all Germans, all commercial men, and all voters liableto use the wrong kind of soap, under the general epithet of "brutes;" buthe took no action on these much-agitated questions beyond looking fromunder his eyelids at any man who mentioned them, and retaining a silencewhich served to shake the opinions of timid thinkers.
But Grandcourt, within his own sphere of interest, showed some of thequalities which have entered into triumphal diplomacy of the wildestcontinental sort.
No movement of Gwendolen in relation to Deronda escaped him. He would havedenied that he was jealous; because jealousy would have implied some doubtof his own power to hinder what he had determined against. That his wifeshould have more inclination to another man's society than to his ownwould not pain him: what he required was that she should be as fully awareas she would have been of a locked hand-cuff, that her inclination washelpless to decide anything in contradiction with his resolve. Howevermuch of vacillating whim there might have been in his entrance onmatrimony, there was no vacillating in his interpretation of the bond. Hehad not repented of his marriage; it had really brought more of aim intohis life, new objects to exert his will upon; and he had not repented ofhis choice. His taste was fastidious, and Gwendolen satisfied it: he wouldnot have liked a wife who had not received some elevation of rank fromhim; nor one who did not command admiration by her mien and beauty; norone whose nails were not of the right shape; nor one the lobe of whose earwas at all too large and red; nor one who, even if her nails and ears wereright, was at the same time a ninny, unable to make spirited answers.These requirements may not seem too exacting to refined contemporarieswhose own ability to fall in love has been held in suspense for lack ofindispensable details; but fewer perhaps may follow him in his contentmentthat his wife should be in a temper which would dispose her to fly out ifshe dared, and that she should have been urged into marrying him by otherfeelings than passionate attachment. Still, for those who prefer commandto love, one does not see why the habit of mind should change precisely atthe point of matrimony.
Grandcourt did not feel that he had chosen the wrong wife; and havingtaken on himself the part of husband, he was not going in any way to befooled, or allow himself to be seen in a light that could be regarded aspitiable. This was his state of mind--not jealousy; still, his behavior insome respects was as like jealousy as yellow is to yellow, which color weknow may be the effect of very different causes.
He had come up to town earlier than usual because he wished to be on thespot for legal consultation as to the arrangements of his will, thetransference of mortgages, and that transaction with his uncle about thesuccession to Diplow, which the bait of ready money, adroitly dangledwithout importunity, had finally won him to agree upon. But anotheracceptable accompaniment of his being in town was the presentation ofhimself with the beautiful bride whom he had chosen to marry in spite ofwhat other people might have expected of him. It is true that Grandcourtwent about with the sense that he did not care a languid curse for anyone's admiration: but this state of not-caring, just as much as desire,required its related object--namely, a world of admiring or envyingspectators: for if you are fond of looking stonily at smiling persons--thepersons must be and they must smile--a rudimentary truth which is surelyforgotten by those who complain of mankind as generally contemptible,since any other aspect of the race must disappoint the voracity of theircontempt. Grandcourt, in town for the first time with his wife, had hisnon-caring abstinence from curses enlarged and diversified by splendidreceptions, by conspicuous rides and drives, by presentations of himselfwith her on all distinguished occasions. He wished her to be sought after;he liked that "fellows" should be eager to talk with her and escort herwithin his observation; there was even a kind of lofty coquetry on herpart that he would not have objected to. But what he did not like were herways in relation to Deronda.
After the musical party at Lady Mallinger's, when Grandcourt had observedthe dialogue on the settee as keenly as Hans had done, it wascharacteristic of him that he named Deronda for invitation along with theMallinger's, tenaciously avoiding the possible suggestion to anybodyconcerned that Deronda's presence or absence could be of the leastimportance to him; and he made no direct observation to Gwendolen on herbehavior that evening, lest the expression of his disgust should be alittle too strong to satisfy his own pride. But a few days afterward heremarked, without being careful of the _à propos_--
her husband in that way.ought to have good manners. Else it'sintolerable to appear with her." it as if she.
"Nothing makes a woman more of a gawky than looking out after people andshowing tempers in public. A woman ought to have good manners. Else it'sintolerable to appear with her."
Gwendolen made the expected application, and was not without alarm at thenotion of being a gawky. For she, too, with her melancholy distaste forthings, preferred that her distaste should include admirers. But the senseof overhanging rebuke only intensified the strain of expectation towardany meeting with Deronda. The novelty and excitement of her town life waslike the hurry and constant change of foreign travel; whatever might bethe inward despondency, there was a programme to be fulfilled, not withoutgratification to many-sided self. But, as always happens with a deepinterest, the comparatively rare occasions on which she could exchange anywords with Deronda had a diffusive effect in her consciousness, magnifyingtheir communication with each other, and therefore enlarging the place sheimagined it to have in his mind. How could Deronda help this? He certainlydid not avoid her; rather he wished to convince her by every delicateindirect means that her confidence in him had not been indiscreet since ithad not lowered his respect. Moreover he liked being near her--how couldit be otherwise? She was something more than a problem: she was a lovelywoman, for the turn of whose mind and fate he had a care which, howeverfutile it might be, kept soliciting him as a responsibility, perhaps allthe more that, when he dared to think of his own future, he saw it lyingfar away from this splendid sad-hearted creature, who, because he had oncebeen impelled to arrest her attention momentarily, as he might have seizedher arm with warning to hinder her from stepping where there was danger,had turned to him with a beseeching persistent need.
One instance in which Grandcourt stimulated a feeling in Gwendolen that hewould have liked to suppress without seeming to care about it, hadrelation to Mirah. Gwendolen's inclination lingered over the project ofthe singing lessons as a sort of obedience to Deronda's advice, but dayfollowed day with that want of perceived leisure which belongs to liveswhere there is no work to mark off intervals; and the continual liabilityto Grandcourt's presence and surveillance seemed to flatten every effortto the level of the boredom which his manner expressed; his negative mindwas as diffusive as fog, clinging to all objects, and spoiling allcontact.
But one morning when they were breakfasting, Gwendolen, in a recurrent fitof determination to exercise the old spirit, said, dallying prettily overher prawns without eating them--
"I think of making myself accomplished while we are in town, and havingsinging lessons."
"Why?" said Grandcourt, languidly.
"Why?" echoed Gwendolen, playing at sauciness; "because I can't eat _pâtéde foie gras_ to make me sleepy, and I can't smoke, and I can't go to theclub to make me like to come away again--I want a variety of _ennui_. Whatwould be the most convenient time, when you are busy with your lawyers andpeople, for me to have lessons from that little Jewess, whose singing isgetting all the rage."
"Whenever you like," said Grandcourt, pushing away his plate, and leaningback in his chair while he looked at her with his most lizard-likeexpression and, played with the ears of the tiny spaniel on his lap(Gwendolen had taken a dislike to the dogs because they fawned on him).
Then he said, languidly, "I don't see why a lady should sing. Amateursmake fools of themselves. A lady can't risk herself in that way incompany. And one doesn't want to hear squalling in private."
"I like frankness: that seems to me a husband's great charm," saidGwendolen, with her little upward movement of her chin, as she turned hereyes away from his, and lifting a prawn before her, looked at the boiledingenuousness of its eyes as preferable to the lizard's. "But;" she added,having devoured her mortification, "I suppose you don't object to MissLapidoth's singing at our party on the fourth? I thought of engaging her.Lady Brackenshaw had her, you know: and the Raymonds, who are veryparticular about their music. And Mr. Deronda, who is a musician himselfand a first-rate judge, says there is no singing in such good taste ashers for a drawing-room. I think his opinion is an authority."
She meant to sling a small stone at her husband in that way.
"It's very indecent of Deronda to go about praising that girl," saidGrandcourt in a tone of indifference.
"Indecent!" exclaimed Gwendolen, reddening and looking at him again,overcome by startled wonder, and unable to reflect on the probable falsityof the phrase--"to go about praising."
"Yes; and especially when she is patronized by Lady Mallinger. He ought tohold his tongue about her. Men can see what is his relation to her."
"Men who judge of others by themselves," said Gwendolen, turning whiteafter her redness, and immediately smitten with a dread of her own words.
"Of course. And a woman should take their judgment--else she is likely torun her head into the wrong place," said Grandcourt, conscious of usingpinchers on that white creature. "I suppose you take Deronda for a saint."
"Oh dear no?" said Gwendolen, summoning desperately her almost miraculouspower of self-control, and speaking in a high hard tone. "Only a littleless of a monster."
She rose, pushed her chair away without hurry, and walked out of the roomwith something like the care of a man who is afraid of showing that he hastaken more wine than usual. She turned the keys inside her dressing-roomdoors, and sat down for some time looking pale and quiet as when she wasleaving the breakfast-room. Even in the moments after reading thepoisonous letter she had hardly had more cruel sensations than now; foremotion was at the acute point, where it is not distinguishable fromsensation. Deronda unlike what she had believed him to be, was an imagewhich affected her as a hideous apparition would have done, quite apartfrom the way in which it was produced. It had taken hold of her as painbefore she could consider whether it were fiction or truth; and further tohinder her power of resistance came the sudden perception, how very slightwere the grounds of her faith in Deronda--how little she knew of his life--how childish she had been in her confidence. His rebukes and hisseverity to her began to seem odious, along with all the poetry and loftydoctrine in the world, whatever it might be; and the grave beauty of hisface seemed the most unpleasant mask that the common habits of men couldput on.
All this went on in her with the rapidity of a sick dream; and her startinto resistance was very much like a waking. Suddenly from out the graysombre morning there came a stream of sunshine, wrapping her in warmth andlight where she sat in stony stillness. She moved gently and looked roundher--there was a world outside this bad dream, and the dream provednothing; she rose, stretching her arms upward and clasping her hands withher habitual attitude when she was seeking relief from oppressive feeling,and walked about the room in this flood of sunbeams.
"It is not true! What does it matter whether _he_ believes it or not?"This is what she repeated to herself--but this was not her faith come backagain; it was only the desperate cry of faith, finding suffocationintolerable. And how could she go on through the day in this state? Withone of her impetuous alternations, her imagination flew to wild actions bywhich she would convince herself of what she wished: she would go to LadyMallinger and question her about Mirah; she would write to Deronda andupbraid him with making the world all false and wicked and hopeless toher--to him she dared pour out all the bitter indignation of her heart.No; she would go to Mirah. This last form taken by her need was moredefinitely practicable, and quickly became imperious. No matter what cameof it. She had the pretext of asking Mirah to sing at her party on thefourth. What was she going to say beside? How satisfy? She did notforesee--she could not wait to foresee. If that idea which was maddeningher had been a living thing, she would have wanted to throttle it withoutwaiting to foresee what would come of the act. She rang her bell and askedif Mr. Grandcourt were gone out: finding that he was, she ordered thecarriage, and began to dress for the drive; then she went down, and walkedabout the large drawing-room like an imprisoned dumb creature, notrecognizing herself in the glass panels, not noting any object around herin the painted gilded prison. Her husband would probably find out whereshe had been, and punish her in some way or other--no matter--she couldneither desire nor fear anything just now but the assurance that she hadnot been deluding herself in her trust.
She was provided with Mirah's address. Soon she was on the way with allthe fine equipage necessary to carry about her poor uneasy heart,depending in its palpitations on some answer or other to questioning whichshe did not know how she should put. She was as heedless of what happenedbefore she found that Miss Lapidoth was at home, as one is of lobbies andpassages on the way to a court of justice--heedless of everything till shewas in a room where there were folding-doors, and she heard Deronda'svoice behind it. Doubtless the identification was helped by forecast, butshe was as certain of it as if she had seen him. She was frightened at herown agitation, and began to unbutton her gloves that she might button themagain, and bite her lips over the pretended difficulty, while the dooropened, and Mirah presented herself with perfect quietude and a sweetsmile of recognition. There was relief in the sight of her face, andGwendolen was able to smile in return, while she put out her hand insilence; and as she seated herself, all the while hearing the voice, shefelt some reflux of energy in the confused sense that the truth could notbe anything that she dreaded. Mirah drew her chair very near, as if shefelt that the sound of the conversation should be subdued, and looked ather visitor with placid expectation, while Gwendolen began in a low tone,with something that seemed like bashfulness--
when his father died,his own death would quickly follow.Gwendolen, reddening and looking at him.
"Perhaps you wonder to see me--perhaps I ought to have written--but Iwished to make a particular request."
"I am glad to see you instead of having a letter," said Mirah, wonderingat the changed expression and manner of the "Vandyke duchess," as Hans hadtaught her to call Gwendolen. The rich color and the calmness of her ownface were in strong contrast with the pale agitated beauty under theplumed hat.
"I thought," Gwendolen went on--"at least I hoped, you would not object tosing at our house on the 4th--in the evening--at a party like LadyBrackenshaw's. I should be so much obliged."
"I shall be very happy to sing for you. At ten?" said Mirah, whileGwendolen seemed to get more instead of less embarrassed.
"At ten, please," she answered; then paused, and felt that she had nothingmore to say. She could not go. It was impossible to rise and say good-bye.Deronda's voice was in her ears. She must say it--she could contrive noother sentence--
"Mr. Deronda is in the next room."
"Yes," said Mirah, in her former tone. "He is reading Hebrew with mybrother."
"You have a brother?" said Gwendolen, who had heard this from LadyMallinger, but had not minded it then.
"Yes, a dear brother who is ill-consumptive, and Mr. Deronda is the bestof friends to him, as he has been to me," said Mirah, with the impulsethat will not let us pass the mention of a precious person indifferently.
"Tell me," said Gwendolen, putting her hand on Mirah's, and speakinghardly above a whisper--"tell me--tell me the truth. You are sure he isquite good. You know no evil of him. Any evil that people say of him isfalse."
Could the proud-spirited woman have behaved more like a child? But thestrange words penetrated Mirah with nothing but a sense of solemnity andindignation. With a sudden light in her eyes and a tremor in her voice,she said--
"Who are the people that say evil of him? I would not believe any evil ofhim, if an angel came to tell it me. He found me when I was so miserable--I was going to drown myself; I looked so poor and forsaken; you would havethought I was a beggar by the wayside. And he treated me as if I had beena king's daughter. He took me to the best of women. He found my brotherfor me. And he honors my brother--though he too was poor--oh, almost aspoor as he could be. And my brother honors him. That is no light thing tosay"--here Mirah's tone changed to one of profound emphasis, and she shookher head backward: "for my brother is very learned and great-minded. AndMr. Deronda says there are few men equal to him." Some Jewish defiance hadflamed into her indignant gratitude and her anger could not help includingGwendolen since she seemed to have doubted Deronda's goodness.
But Gwendolen was like one parched with thirst, drinking the fresh waterthat spreads through the frame as a sufficient bliss. She did not noticethat Mirah was angry with her; she was not distinctly conscious ofanything but of the penetrating sense that Deronda and his life were nomore like her husband's conception than the morning in the horizon waslike the morning mixed with street gas. Even Mirah's words sank into theindefiniteness of her relief. She could hardly have repeated them, or saidhow her whole state of feeling was changed. She pressed Mirah's hand, andsaid, "Thank you, thank you," in a hurried whisper, then rose, and added,with only a hazy consciousness, "I must go, I shall see you--on thefourth--I am so much obliged"--bowing herself out automatically, whileMirah, opening the door for her, wondered at what seemed a sudden retreatinto chill loftiness.