Daniel Deronda

Chapter 9

The news was that Diplow Hall, Sir Hugo Mallinger's place, which had for a

couple of years turned its white window-shutters in a painfully wall-eyed

manner on its fine elms and beeches, its lilied pool and grassy acres

specked with deer, was being prepared for a tenant, and was for the rest

of the summer and through the hunting season to be inhabited in a fitting

style both as to house and stable. But not by Sir Hugo himself: by his

nephew, Mr. Mallinger Grandcourt, who was presumptive heir to the

baronetcy, his uncle's marriage having produced nothing but girls. Nor was

this the only contingency with which fortune flattered young Grandcourt,

as he was pleasantly called; for while the chance of the baronetcy came

through his father, his mother had given a baronial streak to his blood,

so that if certain intervening persons slightly painted in the middle

distance died, he would become a baron and peer of this realm.

It is the uneven allotment of nature that the male bird alone has the

tuft, but we have not yet followed the advice of hasty philosophers who

would have us copy nature entirely in these matters; and if Mr. Mallinger

Grandcourt became a baronet or a peer, his wife would share the title--

which in addition to his actual fortune was certainly a reason why that

wife, being at present unchosen, should be thought of by more than one

person with a sympathetic interest as a woman sure to be well provided

for.

Some readers of this history will doubtless regard it as incredible that

people should construct matrimonial prospects on the mere report that a

bachelor of good fortune and possibilities was coming within reach, and

will reject the statement as a mere outflow of gall: they will aver that

neither they nor their first cousins have minds so unbridled; and that in

fact this is not human nature, which would know that such speculations

might turn out to be fallacious, and would therefore not entertain them.

But, let it be observed, nothing is here narrated of human nature

generally: the history in its present stage concerns only a few people in

a corner of Wessex--whose reputation, however, was unimpeached, and who, I

am in the proud position of being able to state, were all on visiting

terms with persons of rank.

There were the Arrowpoints, for example, in their beautiful place at

Quetcham: no one could attribute sordid views in relation to their

daughter's marriage to parents who could leave her at least half a

million; but having affectionate anxieties about their Catherine's

position (she having resolutely refused Lord Slogan, an unexceptionable

Irish peer, whose estate wanted nothing but drainage and population), they

wondered, perhaps from something more than a charitable impulse, whether

Mr. Grandcourt was good-looking, of sound constitution, virtuous, or at

least reformed, and if liberal-conservative, not too liberal-conservative;

and without wishing anybody to die, thought his succession to the title an

event to be desired.

If the Arrowpoints had such ruminations, it is the less surprising that

they were stimulated in Mr. Gascoigne, who for being a clergyman was not

the less subject to the anxieties of a parent and guardian; and we have

seen how both he and Mrs. Gascoigne might by this time have come to feel

that he was overcharged with the management of young creatures who were

hardly to be held in with bit or bridle, or any sort of metaphor that

would stand for judicious advice.

Naturally, people did not tell each other all they felt and thought about

young Grandcourt's advent: on no subject is this openness found prudently

practicable--not even on the generation of acids, or the destination of

the fixed stars: for either your contemporary with a mind turned toward

the same subjects may find your ideas ingenious and forestall you in

applying them, or he may have other views on acids and fixed stars, and

think ill of you in consequence. Mr. Gascoigne did not ask Mr. Arrowpoint

if he had any trustworthy source of information about Grandcourt

considered as a husband for a charming girl; nor did Mrs. Arrowpoint

observe to Mrs. Davilow that if the possible peer sought a wife in the

neighborhood of Diplow, the only reasonable expectation was that he would

offer his hand to Catherine, who, however, would not accept him unless he

were in all respects fitted to secure her happiness. Indeed, even to his

wife the rector was silent as to the contemplation of any matrimonial

result, from the probability that Mr. Grandcourt would see Gwendolen at

the next Archery Meeting; though Mrs. Gascoigne's mind was very likely

still more active in the same direction. She had said interjectionally to

her sister, "It would be a mercy, Fanny, if that girl were well married!"

to which Mrs. Davilow discerning some criticism of her darling in the

fervor of that wish, had not chosen to make any audible reply, though she

had said inwardly, "You will not get her to marry for your pleasure"; the

mild mother becoming rather saucy when she identified herself with her

daughter.

To her husband Mrs. Gascoigne said, "I hear Mr. Grandcourt has got two

places of his own, but he comes to Diplow for the hunting. It is to be

hoped he will set a good example in the neighborhood. Have you heard what

sort of a young man he is, Henry?"

Mr. Gascoigne had not heard; at least, if his male acquaintances had

gossiped in his hearing, he was not disposed to repeat their gossip, or to

give it any emphasis in his own mind. He held it futile, even if it had

been becoming, to show any curiosity as to the past of a young man whose

birth, wealth, and consequent leisure made many habits venial which under

other circumstances would have been inexcusable. Whatever Grandcourt had

done, he had not ruined himself; and it is well-known that in gambling,

for example, whether of the business or holiday sort, a man who has the

strength of mind to leave off when he has only ruined others, is a

reformed character. This is an illustration merely: Mr. Gascoigne had not

heard that Grandcourt had been a gambler; and we can hardly pronounce him

singular in feeling that a landed proprietor with a mixture of noble blood

in his veins was not to be an object of suspicious inquiry like a reformed

character who offers himself as your butler or footman. Reformation, where

a man can afford to do without it, can hardly be other than genuine.

Moreover, it was not certain on any other showing hitherto, that Mr.

Grandcourt had needed reformation more than other young men in the ripe

youth of five-and-thirty; and, at any rate, the significance of what he

had been must be determined by what he actually was.

Mrs. Davilow, too, although she would not respond to her sister's pregnant

remark, could not be inwardly indifferent to an advent that might promise

a brilliant lot for Gwendolen. A little speculation on "what may be" comes

naturally, without encouragement--comes inevitably in the form of images,

when unknown persons are mentioned; and Mr. Grandcourt's name raised in

Mrs. Davilow's mind first of all the picture of a handsome, accomplished,

excellent young man whom she would be satisfied with as a husband for her

daughter; but then came the further speculation--would Gwendolen be

satisfied with him? There was no knowing what would meet that girl's taste

or touch her affections--it might be something else than excellence; and

thus the image of the perfect suitor gave way before a fluctuating

combination of qualities that might be imagined to win Gwendolen's heart.

In the difficulty of arriving at the particular combination which would

insure that result, the mother even said to herself, "It would not signify

about her being in love, if she would only accept the right person." For

whatever marriage had been for herself, how could she the less desire it

for her daughter? The difference her own misfortunes made was, that she

never dared to dwell much to Gwendolen on the desirableness of marriage,

dreading an answer something like that of the future Madame Roland, when

her gentle mother urging the acceptance of a suitor, said, "Tu seras

heureuse, ma ch****" "Oui, maman, comme toi."

In relation to the problematic Mr. Grandcourt least of all would Mrs.

Davilow have willingly let fall a hint of the aerial castle-building which

she had the good taste to be ashamed of; for such a hint was likely enough

to give an adverse poise to Gwendolen's own thought, and make her detest

the desirable husband beforehand. Since that scene after poor Rex's

farewell visit, the mother had felt a new sense of peril in touching the

mystery of her child's feeling, and in rashly determining what was her

welfare: only she could think of welfare in no other shape than marriage.

The discussion of the dress that Gwendolen was to wear at the Archery

Meeting was a relevant topic, however; and when it had been decided that

as a touch of color on her white cashmere, nothing, for her complexion,

was comparable to pale green--a feather which she was trying in her hat

before the looking-glass having settled the question--Mrs. Davilow felt

her ears tingle when Gwendolen, suddenly throwing herself into the

attitude of drawing her bow, said with a look of comic enjoyment--

"How I pity all the other girls at the Archery Meeting--all thinking of

Mr. Grandcourt! And they have not a shadow of a chance."

Mrs. Davilow had not the presence of mind to answer immediately, and

Gwendolen turned round quickly toward her, saying, wickedly--

"Now you know they have not, mamma. You and my uncle and aunt--you all

intend him to fall in love with me."

Mrs. Davilow, pigued into a little stratagem, said, "Oh, my, dear, that is

not so certain. Miss Arrowpoint has charms which you have not."

"I know, but they demand thought. My arrow will pierce him before he has

time for thought. He will declare himself my slave--I shall send him round

the world to bring me back the wedding ring of a happy woman--in the

meantime all the men who are between him and the title will die of

different diseases--he will come back Lord Grandcourt--but without the

ring--and fall at my feet. I shall laugh at him--he will rise in

resentment--I shall laugh more--he will call for his steed and ride to

Quetcham, where he will find Miss Arrowpoint just married to a needy

musician, Mrs. Arrowpoint tearing her cap off, and Mr. Arrowpoint standing

by. Exit Lord Grandcourt, who returns to Diplow, and, like M. Jabot,

_change de linge_."

Was ever any young witch like this? You thought of hiding things from her

--sat upon your secret and looked innocent, and all the while she knew

by the corner of your eye that it was exactly five pounds ten you were

sitting on! As well turn the key to keep out the damp! It was probable

that by dint of divination she already knew more than any one else did of

Mr. Grandcourt. That idea in Mrs. Davilow's mind prompted the sort of

question which often comes without any other apparent reason than the

faculty of speech and the not knowing what to do with it.

"Why, what kind of a man do you imagine him to be, Gwendolen?"

"Let me see!" said the witch, putting her forefinger to her lips, with a

little frown, and then stretching out the finger with decision. "Short--

just above my shoulder--crying to make himself tall by turning up his

mustache and keeping his beard long--a glass in his right eye to give him

an air of distinction--a strong opinion about his waistcoat, but uncertain

and trimming about the weather, on which he will try to draw me out. He

will stare at me all the while, and the glass in his eye will cause him to

make horrible faces, especially when he smiles in a flattering way. I

shall cast down my eyes in consequence, and he will perceive that I am not

indifferent to his attentions. I shall dream that night that I am looking

at the extraordinary face of a magnified insect--and the next morning he

will make an offer of his hand; the sequel as before."

"That is a portrait of some one you have seen already, Gwen. Mr.

Grandcourt may be a delightful young man for what you know."

"Oh, yes," said Gwendolen, with a high note of careless admission, taking

off her best hat and turning it round on her hand contemplatively. "I

wonder what sort of behavior a delightful young man would have? I know he

would have hunters and racers, and a London house and two country-houses--

one with battlements and another with a veranda. And I feel sure that with

a little murdering he might get a title."

The irony of this speech was of the doubtful sort that has some genuine

belief mixed up with it. Poor Mrs. Davilow felt uncomfortable under it.

Her own meanings being usually literal and in intention innocent; and she

said with a distressed brow:

"Don't talk in that way, child, for heaven's sake! you do read such books

--they give you such ideas of everything. I declare when your aunt and I

were your age we knew nothing about wickedness. I think it was better so."

"Why did you not bring me up in that way, mamma?" said Gwendolen. But

immediately perceiving in the crushed look and rising sob that she had

given a deep wound, she tossed down her hat and knelt at her mother's feet

crying--

"Mamma, mamma! I was only speaking in fun. I meant nothing."

"How could I, Gwendolen?" said poor Mrs. Davilow, unable to hear the

retraction, and sobbing violently while she made the effort to speak.

"Your will was always too strong for me--if everything else had been

different."

This disjoined logic was intelligible enough to the daughter. "Dear mamma,

I don't find fault with you--I love you," said Gwendolen, really

compunctious. "How can you help what I am? Besides, I am very charming.

Come, now." Here Gwendolen with her handkerchief gently rubbed away her

mother's tears. "Really--I am contented with myself. I like myself better

than I should have liked my aunt and you. How dreadfully dull you must

have been!"

Such tender cajolery served to quiet the mother, as it had often done

before after like collisions. Not that the collisions had often been

repeated at the same point; for in the memory of both they left an

association of dread with the particular topics which had occasioned them:

Gwendolen dreaded the unpleasant sense of compunction toward her mother,

which was the nearest approach to self-condemnation and self-distrust that

she had known; and Mrs. Davilow's timid maternal conscience dreaded

whatever had brought on the slightest hint of reproach. Hence, after this

little scene, the two concurred in excluding Mr. Grandcourt from their

conversation.

When Mr. Gascoigne once or twice referred to him, Mrs. Davilow feared

least Gwendolen should betray some of her alarming keen-sightedness about

what was probably in her uncle's mind; but the fear was not justified.

Gwendolen knew certain differences in the characters with which she was

concerned as birds know climate and weather; and for the very reason that

she was determined to evade her uncle's control, she was determined not to

clash with him. The good understanding between them was much fostered by

their enjoyment of archery together: Mr. Gascoigne, as one of the best

bowmen in Wessex, was gratified to find the elements of like skill in his

niece; and Gwendolen was the more careful not to lose the shelter of his

fatherly indulgence, because since the trouble with Rex both Mrs.

Gascoigne and Anna had been unable to hide what she felt to be a very

unreasonable alienation from her. Toward Anna she took some pains to

behave with a regretful affectionateness; but neither of them dared to

mention Rex's name, and Anna, to whom the thought of him was part of the

air she breathed, was ill at ease with the lively cousin who had ruined

his happiness. She tried dutifully to repress any sign of her changed

feeling; but who in pain can imitate the glance and hand-touch of

pleasure.

This unfair resentment had rather a hardening effect on Gwendolen, and

threw her into a more defiant temper. Her uncle too might be offended if

she refused the next person who fell in love with her; and one day when

that idea was in her mind she said--

"Mamma, I see now why girls are glad to be married--to escape being

expected to please everybody but themselves."

Happily, Mr. Middleton was gone without having made any avowal; and

notwithstanding the admiration for the handsome Miss Harleth, extending

perhaps over thirty square miles in a part of Wessex well studded with

families whose numbers included several disengaged young men, each glad to

seat himself by the lively girl with whom it was so easy to get on in

conversation,--notwithstanding these grounds for arguing that Gwendolen

was likely to have other suitors more explicit than the cautious curate,

the fact was not so.

Care has been taken not only that the trees should not sweep the stars

down, but also that every man who admires a fair girl should not be

enamored of her, and even that every man who is enamored should not

necessarily declare himself. There are various refined shapes in which the

price of corn, known to be potent cause in their relation, might, if

inquired into, show why a young lady, perfect in person, accomplishments,

and costume, has not the trouble of rejecting many offers; and nature's

order is certainly benignant in not obliging us one and all to be

desperately in love with the most admirable mortal we have ever seen.

Gwendolen, we know, was far from holding that supremacy in the minds of

all observers. Besides, it was but a poor eight months since she had come

to Offendene, and some inclinations become manifest slowly, like the

sunward creeping of plants.

In face of this fact that not one of the eligible young men already in the

neighborhood had made Gwendolen an offer, why should Mr. Grandcourt be

thought of as likely to do what they had left undone?

Perhaps because he was thought of as still more eligible; since a great

deal of what passes for likelihood in the world is simply the reflex of a

wish. Mr. and Mrs. Arrowpoint, for example, having no anxiety that Miss

Harleth should make a brilliant marriage, had quite a different likelihood

in their minds.