by Henry James
CHAPTER VIII
Charlotte and Mr. Brand had not returned when they reached the house;but the Baroness had come to tea, and Robert Acton also, who nowregularly asked for a place at this generous repast or made hisappearance later in the evening. Clifford Wentworth, with his juvenilegrowl, remarked upon it.
"You are always coming to tea nowadays, Robert," he said. "I shouldthink you had drunk enough tea in China."
"Since when is Mr. Acton more frequent?" asked the Baroness.
"Since you came," said Clifford. "It seems as if you were a kind ofattraction."
"I suppose I am a curiosity," said the Baroness. "Give me time and Iwill make you a salon."
"It would fall to pieces after you go!" exclaimed Acton.
"Don't talk about her going, in that familiar way," Clifford said. "Itmakes me feel gloomy."
Mr. Wentworth glanced at his son, and taking note of these words,wondered if Felix had been teaching him, according to the programme hehad sketched out, to make love to the wife of a German prince.
Charlotte came in late with Mr. Brand; but Gertrude, to whom, at least,Felix had taught something, looked in vain, in her face, for the tracesof a guilty passion. Mr. Brand sat down by Gertrude, and she presentlyasked him why they had not crossed the pond to join Felix and herself.
"It is cruel of you to ask me that," he answered, very softly. He had alarge morsel of cake before him; but he fingered it without eating it."I sometimes think you are growing cruel," he added.
Gertrude said nothing; she was afraid to speak. There was a kind of ragein her heart; she felt as if she could easily persuade herself that shewas persecuted. She said to herself that it was quite right that sheshould not allow him to make her believe she was wrong. She thoughtof what Felix had said to her; she wished indeed Mr. Brand would marryCharlotte. She looked away from him and spoke no more. Mr. Brandended by eating his cake, while Felix sat opposite, describing toMr. Wentworth the students' duels at Heidelberg. After tea they alldispersed themselves, as usual, upon the piazza and in the garden; andMr. Brand drew near to Gertrude again.
"I did n't come to you this afternoon because you were not alone," hebegan; "because you were with a newer friend."
"Felix? He is an old friend by this time."
Mr. Brand looked at the ground for some moments. "I thought I wasprepared to hear you speak in that way," he resumed. "But I find it verypainful."
"I don't see what else I can say," said Gertrude.
Mr. Brand walked beside her for a while in silence; Gertrude wished hewould go away. "He is certainly very accomplished. But I think I oughtto advise you."
"To advise me?"
"I think I know your nature."
"I think you don't," said Gertrude, with a soft laugh.
"You make yourself out worse than you are--to please him," Mr. Brandsaid, gently.
"Worse--to please him? What do you mean?" asked Gertrude, stopping.
Mr. Brand stopped also, and with the same soft straight-forwardness, "Hedoes n't care for the things you care for--the great questions of life."
Gertrude, with her eyes on his, shook her head. "I don't care for thegreat questions of life. They are much beyond me."
"There was a time when you did n't say that," said Mr. Brand.
"Oh," rejoined Gertrude, "I think you made me talk a great deal ofnonsense. And it depends," she added, "upon what you call the greatquestions of life. There are some things I care for."
"Are they the things you talk about with your cousin?"
"You should not say things to me against my cousin, Mr. Brand," saidGertrude. "That is dishonorable."
He listened to this respectfully; then he answered, with a littlevibration of the voice, "I should be very sorry to do anythingdishonorable. But I don't see why it is dishonorable to say that yourcousin is frivolous."
"Go and say it to himself!"
"I think he would admit it," said Mr. Brand. "That is the tone he wouldtake. He would not be ashamed of it."
"Then I am not ashamed of it!" Gertrude declared. "That is probably whatI like him for. I am frivolous myself."
"You are trying, as I said just now, to lower yourself."
"I am trying for once to be natural!" cried Gertrude passionately. "Ihave been pretending, all my life; I have been dishonest; it is you thathave made me so!" Mr. Brand stood gazing at her, and she went on, "Whyshould n't I be frivolous, if I want? One has a right to be frivolous,if it 's one's nature. No, I don't care for the great questions. I carefor pleasure--for amusement. Perhaps I am fond of wicked things; it isvery possible!"
Mr. Brand remained staring; he was even a little pale, as if he had beenfrightened. "I don't think you know what you are saying!" he exclaimed.
"Perhaps not. Perhaps I am talking nonsense. But it is only with youthat I talk nonsense. I never do so with my cousin."
"I will speak to you again, when you are less excited," said Mr. Brand.
"I am always excited when you speak to me. I must tell you that--even ifit prevents you altogether, in future. Your speaking to me irritates me.With my cousin it is very different. That seems quiet and natural."
He looked at her, and then he looked away, with a kind of helplessdistress, at the dusky garden and the faint summer stars. After which,suddenly turning back, "Gertrude, Gertrude!" he softly groaned. "Am Ireally losing you?"
She was touched--she was pained; but it had already occurred to her thatshe might do something better than say so. It would not have alleviatedher companion's distress to perceive, just then, whence she hadsympathetically borrowed this ingenuity. "I am not sorry for you,"Gertrude said; "for in paying so much attention to me you are followinga shadow--you are wasting something precious. There is something elseyou might have that you don't look at--something better than I am. Thatis a reality!" And then, with intention, she looked at him and triedto smile a little. He thought this smile of hers very strange; but sheturned away and left him.
She wandered about alone in the garden wondering what Mr. Brand wouldmake of her words, which it had been a singular pleasure for her toutter. Shortly after, passing in front of the house, she saw at adistance two persons standing near the garden gate. It was Mr. Brandgoing away and bidding good-night to Charlotte, who had walked down withhim from the house. Gertrude saw that the parting was prolonged. Thenshe turned her back upon it. She had not gone very far, however, whenshe heard her sister slowly following her. She neither turned round norwaited for her; she knew what Charlotte was going to say. Charlotte, whoat last overtook her, in fact presently began; she had passed her arminto Gertrude's.
"Will you listen to me, dear, if I say something very particular?"
"I know what you are going to say," said Gertrude. "Mr. Brand feels verybadly."
"Oh, Gertrude, how can you treat him so?" Charlotte demanded. And as hersister made no answer she added, "After all he has done for you!"
"What has he done for me?"
"I wonder you can ask, Gertrude. He has helped you so. You told me soyourself, a great many times. You told me that he helped you to strugglewith your--your peculiarities. You told me that he had taught you how togovern your temper."
For a moment Gertrude said nothing. Then, "Was my temper very bad?" sheasked.
"I am not accusing you, Gertrude," said Charlotte.
"What are you doing, then?" her sister demanded, with a short laugh.
"I am pleading for Mr. Brand--reminding you of all you owe him."
"I have given it all back," said Gertrude, still with her little laugh."He can take back the virtue he imparted! I want to be wicked again."
Her sister made her stop in the path, and fixed upon her, in thedarkness, a sweet, reproachful gaze. "If you talk this way I shallalmost believe it. Think of all we owe Mr. Brand. Think of how he hasalways expected something of you. Think how much he has been to us.Think of his beautiful influence upon Clifford."
"He is very good," said Gertrude, looking at her sister. "I know he isvery goo
d. But he should n't speak against Felix."
"Felix is good," Charlotte answered, softly but promptly. "Felix is verywonderful. Only he is so different. Mr. Brand is much nearer to us. Ishould never think of going to Felix with a trouble--with a question.Mr. Brand is much more to us, Gertrude."
"He is very--very good," Gertrude repeated. "He is more to you; yes,much more. Charlotte," she added suddenly, "you are in love with him!"
"Oh, Gertrude!" cried poor Charlotte; and her sister saw her blushing inthe darkness.
Gertrude put her arm round her. "I wish he would marry you!" she wenton.
Charlotte shook herself free. "You must not say such things!" sheexclaimed, beneath her breath.
"You like him more than you say, and he likes you more than he knows."
"This is very cruel of you!" Charlotte Wentworth murmured.
But if it was cruel Gertrude continued pitiless. "Not if it 's true,"she answered. "I wish he would marry you."
"Please don't say that."
"I mean to tell him so!" said Gertrude.
"Oh, Gertrude, Gertrude!" her sister almost moaned.
"Yes, if he speaks to me again about myself. I will say, 'Why don't youmarry Charlotte? She 's a thousand times better than I.'"
"You are wicked; you are changed!" cried her sister.
"If you don't like it you can prevent it," said Gertrude. "You canprevent it by keeping him from speaking to me!" And with this she walkedaway, very conscious of what she had done; measuring it and finding acertain joy and a quickened sense of freedom in it.
Mr. Wentworth was rather wide of the mark in suspecting that Cliffordhad begun to pay unscrupulous compliments to his brilliant cousin; forthe young man had really more scruples than he received credit for inhis family. He had a certain transparent shamefacedness which wasin itself a proof that he was not at his ease in dissipation. Hiscollegiate peccadilloes had aroused a domestic murmur as disagreeableto the young man as the creaking of his boots would have been to ahouse-breaker. Only, as the house-breaker would have simplified mattersby removing his chaussures, it had seemed to Clifford that the shortestcut to comfortable relations with people--relations which should makehim cease to think that when they spoke to him they meant somethingimproving--was to renounce all ambition toward a nefarious development.And, in fact, Clifford's ambition took the most commendable form. Hethought of himself in the future as the well-known and much-liked Mr.Wentworth, of Boston, who should, in the natural course of prosperity,have married his pretty cousin, Lizzie Acton; should live in awide-fronted house, in view of the Common; and should drive, behind alight wagon, over the damp autumn roads, a pair of beautifully matchedsorrel horses. Clifford's vision of the coming years was very simple;its most definite features were this element of familiar matrimony andthe duplication of his resources for trotting. He had not yet asked hiscousin to marry him; but he meant to do so as soon as he had taken hisdegree. Lizzie was serenely conscious of his intention, and she had madeup her mind that he would improve. Her brother, who was very fond ofthis light, quick, competent little Lizzie, saw on his side no reason tointerpose. It seemed to him a graceful social law that Clifford and hissister should become engaged; he himself was not engaged, but every oneelse, fortunately, was not such a fool as he. He was fond of Clifford,as well, and had his own way--of which it must be confessed he was alittle ashamed--of looking at those aberrations which had led to theyoung man's compulsory retirement from the neighboring seat of learning.Acton had seen the world, as he said to himself; he had been to Chinaand had knocked about among men. He had learned the essential differencebetween a nice young fellow and a mean young fellow, and was satisfiedthat there was no harm in Clifford. He believed--although it must beadded that he had not quite the courage to declare it--in the doctrineof wild oats, and thought it a useful preventive of superfluous fears.If Mr. Wentworth and Charlotte and Mr. Brand would only apply it inClifford's case, they would be happier; and Acton thought it a pitythey should not be happier. They took the boy's misdemeanors too much toheart; they talked to him too solemnly; they frightened and bewilderedhim. Of course there was the great standard of morality, which forbadethat a man should get tipsy, play at billiards for money, or cultivatehis sensual consciousness; but what fear was there that poor Cliffordwas going to run a tilt at any great standard? It had, however, neveroccurred to Acton to dedicate the Baroness Munster to the redemption ofa refractory collegian. The instrument, here, would have seemed tohim quite too complex for the operation. Felix, on the other hand, hadspoken in obedience to the belief that the more charming a woman is themore numerous, literally, are her definite social uses.
Eugenia herself, as we know, had plenty of leisure to enumerate heruses. As I have had the honor of intimating, she had come four thousandmiles to seek her fortune; and it is not to be supposed that after thisgreat effort she could neglect any apparent aid to advancement. It ismy misfortune that in attempting to describe in a short compass thedeportment of this remarkable woman I am obliged to express thingsrather brutally. I feel this to be the case, for instance, when I saythat she had primarily detected such an aid to advancement in the personof Robert Acton, but that she had afterwards remembered that aprudent archer has always a second bowstring. Eugenia was a woman offinely-mingled motive, and her intentions were never sensibly gross.She had a sort of aesthetic ideal for Clifford which seemed to her adisinterested reason for taking him in hand. It was very well for afresh-colored young gentleman to be ingenuous; but Clifford, really, wascrude. With such a pretty face he ought to have prettier manners. Shewould teach him that, with a beautiful name, the expectation of a largeproperty, and, as they said in Europe, a social position, an only sonshould know how to carry himself.
Once Clifford had begun to come and see her by himself and for himself,he came very often. He hardly knew why he should come; he saw her almostevery evening at his father's house; he had nothing particular to say toher. She was not a young girl, and fellows of his age called only uponyoung girls. He exaggerated her age; she seemed to him an old woman; itwas happy that the Baroness, with all her intelligence, was incapable ofguessing this. But gradually it struck Clifford that visiting old womenmight be, if not a natural, at least, as they say of some articles ofdiet, an acquired taste. The Baroness was certainly a very amusing oldwoman; she talked to him as no lady--and indeed no gentleman--had evertalked to him before.
"You should go to Europe and make the tour," she said to him oneafternoon. "Of course, on leaving college you will go."
"I don't want to go," Clifford declared. "I know some fellows who havebeen to Europe. They say you can have better fun here."
"That depends. It depends upon your idea of fun. Your friends probablywere not introduced."
"Introduced?" Clifford demanded.
"They had no opportunity of going into society; they formed norelations." This was one of a certain number of words that the Baronessoften pronounced in the French manner.
"They went to a ball, in Paris; I know that," said Clifford.
"Ah, there are balls and balls; especially in Paris. No, you must go,you know; it is not a thing from which you can dispense yourself. Youneed it."
"Oh, I 'm very well," said Clifford. "I 'm not sick."
"I don't mean for your health, my poor child. I mean for your manners."
"I have n't got any manners!" growled Clifford.
"Precisely. You don't mind my assenting to that, eh?" asked the Baronesswith a smile. "You must go to Europe and get a few. You can get thembetter there. It is a pity you might not have come while I was livingin--in Germany. I would have introduced you; I had a charming littlecircle. You would perhaps have been rather young; but the younger onebegins, I think, the better. Now, at any rate, you have no time to lose,and when I return you must immediately come to me."
All this, to Clifford's apprehension, was a great mixture--his beginningyoung, Eugenia's return to Europe, his being introduced to her charminglittle circle. What was he to begin, and wh
at was her little circle? Hisideas about her marriage had a good deal of vagueness; but they werein so far definite as that he felt it to be a matter not to be freelymentioned. He sat and looked all round the room; he supposed she wasalluding in some way to her marriage.
"Oh, I don't want to go to Germany," he said; it seemed to him the mostconvenient thing to say.
She looked at him a while, smiling with her lips, but not with her eyes.
"You have scruples?" she asked.
"Scruples?" said Clifford.
"You young people, here, are very singular; one does n't know whereto expect you. When you are not extremely improper you are so terriblyproper. I dare say you think that, owing to my irregular marriage, Ilive with loose people. You were never more mistaken. I have been allthe more particular."
"Oh, no," said Clifford, honestly distressed. "I never thought such athing as that."
"Are you very sure? I am convinced that your father does, and yoursisters. They say to each other that here I am on my good behavior, butthat over there--married by the left hand--I associate with light women."
"Oh, no," cried Clifford, energetically, "they don't say such things asthat to each other!"
"If they think them they had better say them," the Baroness rejoined."Then they can be contradicted. Please contradict that whenever you hearit, and don't be afraid of coming to see me on account of the company Ikeep. I have the honor of knowing more distinguished men, my poor child,than you are likely to see in a life-time. I see very few women; butthose are women of rank. So, my dear young Puritan, you need n't beafraid. I am not in the least one of those who think that the society ofwomen who have lost their place in the vrai monde is necessary to forma young man. I have never taken that tone. I have kept my place myself,and I think we are a much better school than the others. Trust me,Clifford, and I will prove that to you," the Baroness continued, whileshe made the agreeable reflection that she could not, at least, beaccused of perverting her young kinsman. "So if you ever fall amongthieves don't go about saying I sent you to them."
Clifford thought it so comical that he should know--in spite of herfigurative language--what she meant, and that she should mean what heknew, that he could hardly help laughing a little, although he triedhard. "Oh, no! oh, no!" he murmured.
"Laugh out, laugh out, if I amuse you!" cried the Baroness. "I am herefor that!" And Clifford thought her a very amusing person indeed."But remember," she said on this occasion, "that you are coming--nextyear--to pay me a visit over there."
About a week afterwards she said to him, point-blank, "Are you seriouslymaking love to your little cousin?"
"Seriously making love"--these words, on Madame Munster's lips, had toClifford's sense a portentous and embarrassing sound; he hesitated aboutassenting, lest he should commit himself to more than he understood."Well, I should n't say it if I was!" he exclaimed.
"Why would n't you say it?" the Baroness demanded. "Those things oughtto be known."
"I don't care whether it is known or not," Clifford rejoined. "But Idon't want people looking at me."
"A young man of your importance ought to learn to bear observation--tocarry himself as if he were quite indifferent to it. I won't say,exactly, unconscious," the Baroness explained. "No, he must seem to knowhe is observed, and to think it natural he should be; but he must appearperfectly used to it. Now you have n't that, Clifford; you have n't thatat all. You must have that, you know. Don't tell me you are not a youngman of importance," Eugenia added. "Don't say anything so flat as that."
"Oh, no, you don't catch me saying that!" cried Clifford.
"Yes, you must come to Germany," Madame Munster continued. "I will showyou how people can be talked about, and yet not seem to know it. Youwill be talked about, of course, with me; it will be said you are mylover. I will show you how little one may mind that--how little I shallmind it."
Clifford sat staring, blushing and laughing. "I shall mind it a gooddeal!" he declared.
"Ah, not too much, you know; that would be uncivil. But I give you leaveto mind it a little; especially if you have a passion for Miss Acton.Voyons; as regards that, you either have or you have not. It is verysimple to say it."
"I don't see why you want to know," said Clifford.
"You ought to want me to know. If one is arranging a marriage, one tellsone's friends."
"Oh, I 'm not arranging anything," said Clifford.
"You don't intend to marry your cousin?"
"Well, I expect I shall do as I choose!"
The Baroness leaned her head upon the back of her chair and closed hereyes, as if she were tired. Then opening them again, "Your cousin isvery charming!" she said.
"She is the prettiest girl in this place," Clifford rejoined.
"'In this place' is saying little; she would be charming anywhere. I amafraid you are entangled."
"Oh, no, I 'm not entangled."
"Are you engaged? At your age that is the same thing."
Clifford looked at the Baroness with some audacity. "Will you tell noone?"
"If it 's as sacred as that--no."
"Well, then--we are not!" said Clifford.
"That 's the great secret--that you are not, eh?" asked the Baroness,with a quick laugh. "I am very glad to hear it. You are altogether tooyoung. A young man in your position must choose and compare; he must seethe world first. Depend upon it," she added, "you should not settle thatmatter before you have come abroad and paid me that visit. There areseveral things I should like to call your attention to first."
"Well, I am rather afraid of that visit," said Clifford. "It seems to meit will be rather like going to school again."
The Baroness looked at him a moment.
"My dear child," she said, "there is no agreeable man who has not, atsome moment, been to school to a clever woman--probably a little olderthan himself. And you must be thankful when you get your instructionsgratis. With me you would get it gratis."
The next day Clifford told Lizzie Acton that the Baroness thought herthe most charming girl she had ever seen.
Lizzie shook her head. "No, she does n't!" she said.
"Do you think everything she says," asked Clifford, "is to be taken theopposite way?"
"I think that is!" said Lizzie.
Clifford was going to remark that in this case the Baroness must desiregreatly to bring about a marriage between Mr. Clifford Wentworth andMiss Elizabeth Acton; but he resolved, on the whole, to suppress thisobservation.