Daniel Deronda
乔治.艾略特 George Eliot
CHAPTER LII. Page 1
"La même fermeté qui sert à résister à l'amour sert aussi à le rendreviolent et durable; et les personnes faibles qui sont toujoursagitées des passions n'en sont presque jamais véritablement remplies."--LA ROCHEFOUCAULD.
Among Deronda's letters the next morning was one from Hans Meyrick of fourquarto pages, in the small, beautiful handwriting which ran in the Meyrickfamily.
MY DEAR DERONDA,--In return for your sketch of Italian movements andyour view of the world's affairs generally, I may say that here athome the most judicious opinion going as to the effects of presentcauses is that "time will show." As to the present causes of pasteffects, it is now seen that the late swindling telegrams account forthe last year's cattle plague--which is a refutation of philosophyfalsely so called, and justifies the compensation to the farmers. Myown idea that a murrain will shortly break out in the commercialclass, and that the cause will subsequently disclose itself in theready sale of all rejected pictures, has been called an unsound use ofanalogy; but there are minds that will not hesitate to rob even theneglected painter of his solace. To my feeling there is great beautyin the conception that some bad judge might give a high price for myBerenice series, and that the men in the city would have already beenpunished for my ill-merited luck.
Meanwhile I am consoling myself for your absence by finding myadvantage in it--shining like Hesperus when Hyperion has departed;sitting with our Hebrew prophet, and making a study of his head, inthe hours when he used to be occupied with you--getting credit withhim as a learned young Gentile, who would have been a Jew if he could--and agreeing with him in the general principle, that whatever isbest is for that reason Jewish. I never held it my _forte_ to bea severe reasoner, but I can see that if whatever is best is A, and Bhappens to be best, B must be A, however little you might haveexpected it beforehand. On that principle I could see the force of apamphlet I once read to prove that all good art was Protestant.However, our prophet is an uncommonly interesting sitter--a bettermodel than Rembrandt had for his Rabbi--and I never come away from himwithout a new discovery. For one thing, it is a constant wonder to methat, with all his fiery feeling for his race and their traditions, heis no straight-laced Jew, spitting after the word Christian, andenjoying the prospect that the Gentile mouth will water in vain for aslice of the roasted Leviathan, while Israel will be sending up platesfor more, _ad libitum_, (You perceive that my studies had taughtme what to expect from the orthodox Jew.) I confess that I have alwaysheld lightly by your account of Mordecai, as apologetic, and merelypart of your disposition to make an antedeluvian point of view lestyou should do injustice to the megatherium. But now I have given earto him in his proper person, I find him really a sort ofphilosophical-allegorical-mystical believer, and yet with a sharpdialectic point, so that any argumentative rattler of peas in abladder might soon be pricked in silence by him. The mixture may beone of the Jewish prerogatives, for what I know. In fact, his mindseems so broad that I find my own correct opinions lying in it quitecommodiously, and how they are to be brought into agreement with thevast remainder is his affair, not mine. I leave it to him to settleour basis, never yet having seen a basis which is not a world-supporting elephant, more or less powerful and expensive to keep. Mymeans will not allow me to keep a private elephant. I go into mysteryinstead, as cheaper and more lasting--a sort of gas which is likely tobe continually supplied by the decomposition of the elephants. And ifI like the look of an opinion, I treat it civilly, without suspiciousinquiries. I have quite a friendly feeling toward Mordecai's notionthat a whole Christian is three-fourths a Jew, and that from theAlexandrian time downward the most comprehensive minds have beenJewish; for I think of pointing out to Mirah that, Arabic and otherincidents of life apart, there is really little difference between meand--Maimonides. But I have lately been finding out that it is yourshallow lover who can't help making a declaration. If Mirah's wayswere less distracting, and it were less of a heaven to be in herpresence and watch her, I must long ago have flung myself at her feet,and requested her to tell me, with less indirectness, whether shewished me to blow my brains out. I have a knack of hoping, which is asgood as an estate in reversion, if one can keep from the temptation ofturning it into certainty, which may spoil all. My Hope wanders amongthe orchard blossoms, feels the warm snow falling on it through thesunshine, and is in doubt of nothing; but, catching sight of Certaintyin the distance, sees an ugly Janus-faced deity, with a dubious winkon the hither side of him, and turns quickly away. But you, with yoursupreme reasonableness, and self-nullification, and preparation forthe worst--you know nothing about Hope, that immortal, deliciousmaiden forever courted forever propitious, whom fools have calleddeceitful, as if it were Hope that carried the cup of disappointment,whereas it is her deadly enemy, Certainty, whom she only escapes bytransformation. (You observe my new vein of allegory?) Seriously,however, I must be permitted to allege that truth will prevail, thatprejudice will melt before it, that diversity, accompanied by merit,will make itself felt as fascination, and that no virtuous aspirationwill be frustrated--all which, if I mistake not, are doctrines of theschools, and they imply that the Jewess I prefer will prefer me. Anyblockhead can cite generalities, but the mind-master discerns theparticular cases they represent.
I am less convinced that my society makes amends to Mordecai for yourabsence, but another substitute occasionally comes in the form ofJacob Cohen. It is worth while to catch our prophet's expression whenhe has that remarkable type of young Israel on his knee, and poursforth some Semitic inspiration with a sublime look of melancholypatience and devoutness. Sometimes it occurs to Jacob that Hebrew willbe more edifying to him if he stops his ears with his palms, andimitates the venerable sounds as heard through that muffled medium.When Mordecai gently draws down the little fists and holds them fast,Jacob's features all take on an extraordinary activity, very much asif he was walking through a menagerie and trying to imitate everyanimal in turn, succeeding best with the owl and the peccary. But Idare say you have seen something of this. He treats me with theeasiest familiarity, and seems in general to look at me as a second-hand Christian commodity, likely to come down in price; remarking onmy disadvantages with a frankness which seems to imply some thoughtsof future purchase. It is pretty, though, to see the change in him ifMirah happens to come in. He turns child suddenly--his age usuallystrikes one as being like the Israelitish garments in the desert,perhaps near forty, yet with an air of recent production. But, withMirah, he reminds me of the dogs that have been brought up by women,and remain manageable by them only. Still, the dog is fond of Mordecaitoo, and brings sugar-plums to share with him, filling his own mouthto rather an embarrassing extent, and watching how Mordecai deals witha smaller supply. Judging from this modern Jacob at the age of six, myastonishment is that his race has not bought us all up long ago, andpocketed our feebler generations in the form of stock and scrip, as somuch slave property. There is one Jewess I should not mind being slaveto. But I wish I did not imagine that Mirah gets a little sadder, andtries all the while to hide it. It is natural enough, of course, whileshe has to watch the slow death of this brother, whom she has taken toworshipping with such looks of loving devoutness that I am ready towish myself in his place.
For the rest, we are a little merrier than usual. Rex Gascoigne--youremember a head you admired among my sketches, a fellow with a goodupper lip, reading law--has got some rooms in town now not far off us,and has had a neat sister (upper lip also good) staying with him thelast fortnight. I have introduced them both to my mother and thegirls, who have found out from Miss Gascoigne that she is cousin toyour Vandyke duchess!!! I put the notes of exclamation to mark thesurprise that the information at first produced on my feebleunderstanding. On reflection I discovered that there was not the leastground for surprise, unless I had beforehand believed that nobodycould be anybody's cousin without my knowing it. This sort ofsurprise, I take it, depends on a liveliness of the spine, with a moreor less constant nullity of brain. There was a fellow I used to meetat Rome who was in an effervescence of surprise at contact with thesimplest information. Tell him what you would--that you were fond ofeasy boots--he would always say, "No! are you?" with the same energyof wonder: the very fellow of whom pastoral Browne wroteprophetically--
"A wretch so empty that if e'er there beIn nature found the least vacuity'Twill be in him."
I have accounted for it all--he had a lively spine.
However, this cousinship with the duchess came out by chance one daythat Mirah was with them at home and they were talking about theMallingers. _Apropos_; I am getting so important that I haverival invitations. Gascoigne wants me to go down with him to hisfather's rectory in August and see the country round there. But Ithink self-interest well understood will take me to Topping Abbey, forSir Hugo has invited me, and proposes--God bless him for his rashness!--that I should make a picture of his three daughters sitting on abank--as he says, in the Gainsborough style. He came to my studio theother day and recommended me to apply myself to portrait. Of course Iknow what that means.--"My good fellow, your attempts at the historicand poetic are simply pitiable. Your brush is just that of asuccessful portrait-painter--it has a little truth and a greatfacility in falsehood--your idealism will never do for gods andgoddesses and heroic story, but it may fetch a high price as flattery.Fate, my friend, has made you the hinder wheel--_rota posteriorcurras, et in axe secundo_--run behind, because you can't help it."--What great effort it evidently costs our friends to give us thesecandid opinions! I have even known a man to take the trouble to call,in order to tell me that I had irretrievably exposed my want ofjudgment in treating my subject, and that if I had asked him we wouldhave lent me his own judgment. Such was my ingratitude and myreadiness at composition, that even while he was speaking I inwardlysketched a Last Judgment with that candid friend's physiognomy on theleft. But all this is away from Sir Hugo, whose manner of implyingthat one's gifts are not of the highest order is so exceedingly good-natured and comfortable that I begin to feel it an advantage not to beamong those poor fellows at the tip-top. And his kindness to me tastesall the better because it comes out of his love for you, old boy. Hischat is uncommonly amusing. By the way, he told me that your Vandykeduchess is gone with her husband yachting to the Mediterranean. Ibethink me that it is possible to land from a yacht, or to be taken onto a yacht from the land. Shall you by chance have an opportunity ofcontinuing your theological discussion with the fair Supralapsarian--Ithink you said her tenets were of that complexion? Is Duke Alphonsoalso theological?--perhaps an Arian who objects to triplicity. (Stagedirection. While D. is reading, a profound scorn gathers in his facetill at the last word he flings down the letter, grasps his coat-collar in a statuesque attitude and so remains with a look generallytremendous, throughout the following soliloquy, "O night, O blackness,etc., etc.")
Excuse the brevity of this letter. You are not used to more from methan a bare statement of facts, without comment or digression. Onefact I have omitted--that the Klesmers on the eve of departure havebehaved magnificently, shining forth as might be expected from theplanets of genius and fortune in conjunction. Mirah is rich with theiroriental gifts.
What luck it will be if you come back and present yourself at theAbbey while I am there! I am going to behave with consummatediscretion and win golden opinions, But I shall run up to town now andthen, just for a peep into Gad Eden. You see how far I have got inHebrew lore--up with my Lord Bolingbroke, who knew no Hebrew, but"understood that sort of learning and what is writ about it." If Mirahcommanded, I would go to a depth below the tri-literal roots. Alreadyit makes no difference to me whether the points are there or not. Butwhile her brother's life lasts I suspect she would not listen to alover, even one whose "hair is like a flock of goats on Mount Gilead"--and I flatter myself that few heads would bear that tryingcomparison better than mine. So I stay with my hope among the orchard-blossoms.
Your devoted,
HANS MEYRICK.
Some months before, this letter from Hans would have divided Deronda'sthoughts irritatingly: its romancing, about Mirah would have had anunpleasant edge, scarcely anointed with any commiseration for his friend'sprobable disappointment. But things had altered since March. Mirah was nolonger so critically placed with regard to the Meyricks, and Deronda's ownposition had been undergoing a change which had just been crowned by therevelation of his birth. The new opening toward the future, though hewould not trust in any definite visions, inevitably shed new lights, andinfluenced his mood toward past and present; hence, what Hans called hishope now seemed to Deronda, not a mischievous unreasonableness whichroused his indignation, but an unusually persistent bird-dance of anextravagant fancy, and he would have felt quite able to pity anyconsequent suffering of his friend's, if he had believed in the sufferingas probable. But some of the busy thought filling that long day, whichpassed without his receiving any new summons from his mother, was given tothe argument that Hans Meyrick's nature was not one in which love couldstrike the deep roots that turn disappointment into sorrow: it was toorestless, too readily excitable by novelty, too ready to turn itself intoimaginative material, and wear its grief as a fantastic costume. "Alreadyhe is beginning to play at love: he is taking the whole affair as acomedy," said Deronda to himself; "he knows very well that there is nochance for him. Just like him--never opening his eyes on any possibleobjection I could have to receive his outpourings about Mirah. Poor oldHans! If we were under a fiery hail together he would howl like a Greek,and if I did not howl too it would never occur to him that I was as badlyoff as he. And yet he is tender-hearted and affectionate in intention, andI can't say that he is not active in imagining what goes on in otherpeople--but then he always imagines it to fit his own inclination."
With this touch of causticity Deronda got rid of the slight heat atpresent raised by Hans's naive expansiveness. The nonsense aboutGwendolen, conveying the fact that she was gone yachting with her husband,only suggested a disturbing sequel to his own strange parting with her.But there was one sentence in the letter which raised a more immediate,active anxiety. Hans's suspicion of a hidden sadness in Mirah was not inthe direction of his wishes, and hence, instead of distrusting hisobservation here, Deronda began to conceive a cause for the sadness. Wasit some event that had occurred during his absence, or only the growingfear of some event? Was it something, perhaps alterable, in the newposition which had been made for her? Or--had Mordecai, against hishabitual resolve, communicated to her those peculiar cherished hopes abouthim, Deronda, and had her quickly sensitive nature been hurt by thediscovery that her brother's will or tenacity of visionary conviction hadacted coercively on their friendship--been hurt by the fear that there wasmore of pitying self-suppression than of equal regard in Deronda'srelation to him? For amidst all Mirah's quiet renunciation, the evidentthirst of soul with which she received the tribute of equality implied acorresponding pain if she found that what she had taken for a purelyreverential regard toward her brother had its mixture of condescension.
In this last conjecture of Deronda's he was not wrong as to the quality inMirah's nature on which he was founding--the latent protest against thetreatment she had all her life being subject to until she met him. Forthat gratitude which would not let her pass by any notice of theiracquaintance without insisting on the depth of her debt to him, took halfits fervor from the keen comparison with what others had thought enough torender to her. Deronda's affinity in feeling enabled him to penetrate suchsecrets. But he was not near the truth in admitting the idea that Mordecaihad broken his characteristic reticence. To no soul but Deronda himselfhad he yet breathed the history of their relation to each other, or hisconfidence about his friend's origin: it was not only that these subjectswere for him too sacred to be spoken of without weighty reason, but thathe had discerned Deronda's shrinking at any mention of his birth; and theseverity of reserve which had hindered Mordecai from answering a questionon a private affair of the Cohen family told yet more strongly here.
"Ezra, how is it?" Mirah one day said to him--"I am continually going tospeak to Mr. Deronda as if he were a Jew?"
He smiled at her quietly, and said, "I suppose it is because he treats usas if he were our brother. But he loves not to have the difference ofbirth dwelt upon."
"He has never lived with his parents, Mr. Hans, says," continued Mirah, towhom this was necessarily a question of interest about every one for whomshe had a regard.
"Seek not to know such things from Mr. Hans," said Mordecai, gravely,laying his hand on her curls, as he was wont. "What Daniel Deronda wishesus to know about himself is for him to tell us."
And Mirah felt herself rebuked, as Deronda had done. But to be rebuked inthis way by Mordecai made her rather proud.
"I see no one so great as my brother," she said to Mrs. Meyrick one daythat she called at the Chelsea house on her way home, and, according toher hope, found the little mother alone. "It is difficult to think that hebelongs to the same world as those people I used to live amongst. I toldyou once that they made life seem like a madhouse; but when I am with Ezrahe makes me feel that his life is a great good, though he has suffered somuch; not like me, who wanted to die because I had suffered a little, andonly for a little while. His soul is so full, it is impossible for him towish for death as I did. I get the same sort of feeling from him that Igot yesterday, when I was tired, and came home through the park after thesweet rain had fallen and the sunshine lay on the grass and flowers.Everything in the sky and under the sky looked so pure and beautiful thatthe weariness and trouble and folly seemed only a small part of what is,and I became more patient and hopeful."