by George Eliot
CHAPTER X.
"He made love neither with roses, nor with apples, nor with locks of hair."--THEOCRITUS.
One Sunday afternoon Felix Holt rapped at the door of Mr. Lyon's house,although he could hear the voice of the minister preaching in thechapel. He stood with a book under his arm, apparently confident thatthere was someone in the house to open the door for him. In fact, Esthernever went to chapel in the afternoon: that "exercise" made her headache.
In these September weeks Felix had got rather intimate with Mr. Lyon.They shared the same political sympathies; and though, to Liberals whohad neither freehold nor copyhold nor leasehold, the share in a countyelection consisted chiefly of that prescriptive amusement of themajority known as "looking on," there was still something to be said onthe occasion, if not to be done. Perhaps the most delightful friendshipsare those in which there is much agreement, much disputation, and yetmore personal liking; and the advent of the public-spirited,contradictory, yet affectionate Felix, into Treby life, had made awelcome epoch to the minister. To talk with this young man, who, thoughhopeful, had a singularity which some might at once have pronouncedheresy, but which Mr. Lyon persisted in regarding as orthodoxy "in themaking," was like a good bite to strong teeth after a too plentifulallowance of spoon meat. To cultivate his society with a view tochecking his erratic tendencies was a laudable purpose; but perhaps ifFelix had been rapidly subdued and reduced to conformity, little Mr.Lyon would have found the conversation much flatter.
Esther had not seen so much of their new acquaintance as her father had.But she had begun to find him amusing, and also rather irritating to herwoman's love of conquest. He always opposed and criticised her; andbesides that, he looked at her as if he never saw a single detail abouther person--quite as if she were a middle-aged woman in a cap. She didnot believe that he had ever admired her hands, or her long neck, or hergraceful movements, which had made all the girls at school call herCalypso (doubtless from their familiarity with "Telemaque"). Felix oughtproperly to have been a little in love with her--never mentioning it, ofcourse, because that would have been disagreeable, and his being aregular lover was out of the question. But it was quite clear that,instead of feeling any disadvantage on his own side, he held himself tobe immeasurably her superior: and, what was worse, Esther had a secretconsciousness that he was her superior. She was all the more vexed atthe suspicion that he thought slightly of her; and wished in hervexation that she could have found more fault with him--that she had notbeen obliged to admire more and more the varying expressions of his openface and his deliciously good-humored laugh, always loud at a jokeagainst himself. Besides, she could not help having her curiosity rousedby the unusual combinations both in his mind and in his outwardposition, and she had surprised herself as well as her father one day bysuddenly starting up and proposing to walk with him when he was going topay an afternoon visit to Mrs. Holt, to try and soothe her concerningFelix. "What a mother he has!" she said to herself when they came awayagain; "but, rude and queer as he is, I cannot say there is anythingvulgar about him. Yet--I don't know--if I saw him by the side of afinished gentleman." Esther wished that finished gentleman were amongher acquaintances: he would certainly admire her, and make her aware ofFelix's inferiority.
On this particular Sunday afternoon, when she heard the knock at thedoor, she was seated in the kitchen corner between the fire and thewindow reading "Rene." Certainly in her well-fitting light-bluedress--she almost always wore some shade of blue--with her delicatesandaled slipper stretched toward the fire, her little gold watch, whichhad cost her nearly a quarter's earnings, visible at her side, herslender fingers playing with a shower of brown curls, and a coronet ofshining plaits, at the summit of her head, she was a remarkableCinderella. When the rap came, she colored, and was going to shut herbook and put it out of the way on the window ledge behind her; but shedesisted with a little toss, laid it open on the table beside her, andwalked to the outer door, which opened into the kitchen. There wasrather a mischievous gleam in her face: the rap was not a small one; itcame probably from a large personage with a vigorous arm.
"Good afternoon, Miss Lyon," said Felix, taking off his cloth cap: heresolutely declined the expensive ugliness of a hat, and in a poked capand without a cravat, made a figure at which his mother cried everySunday, and thought of with a slow shake of the head at several passagesin the minister's prayer.
"Dear me, it is you, Mr. Holt! I fear you will have to wait some timebefore you can see my father. The sermon is not ended yet, and therewill be the hymn and the prayer, and perhaps other things to detainhim."
"Well, will you let me sit down in the kitchen? I don't want to be abore."
"Oh, no," said Esther, with her pretty light laugh, "I always give youcredit for not meaning it. Pray come in, if you don't mind waiting. Iwas sitting in the kitchen: the kettle is singing quite prettily. It ismuch nicer than the parlor--not half so ugly."
"There I agree with you."
"How very extraordinary! But if you prefer the kitchen, and don't wantto sit with me, I can go into the parlor."
"I came on purpose to sit with you," said Felix, in his blunt way, "butI thought it likely you might be vexed at seeing me. I wanted to talk toyou, but I've got nothing pleasant to say. As your father would have it,I'm not given to prophesy smooth things--to prophesy deceit."
"I understand," said Esther, sitting down. "Pray be seated. You thoughtI had no afternoon sermon, so you came to give me one."
"Yes," said Felix, seating himself sideways in a chair not far off her,and leaning over the back to look at her with his large, clear, grayeyes, "and my text is something you said the other day. You said youdidn't mind about people having right opinions so that they had goodtaste. Now I want you to see what shallow stuff that is."
"Oh, I don't doubt it if you say so. I know you are a person of rightopinions."
"But by opinions you mean men's thoughts about great subjects, and bytaste you mean their thoughts about small ones: dress, behavior,amusements, ornaments."
"Well--yes--or rather, their sensibilities about those things."
"It comes to the same thing; thoughts, opinions, knowledge, are only asensibility to facts and ideas. If I understand a geometrical problem,it is because I have a sensibility to the way in which lines and figuresare related to each other; and I want you to see that the creature whohas the sensibilities that you call taste, and not the sensibilitiesthat you call opinions, is simply a lower, pettier sort of thing--aninsect that notices the shaking of the table, but never notices thethunder."
"Very well, I am an insect; yet I notice that you are thundering at me."
"No, you are not an insect. That is what exasperates me at your making aboast of littleness. You have enough understanding to make it wickedthat you should add one more to the women who hinder men's lives fromhaving any nobleness in them."
Esther colored deeply: she resented this speech, yet she disliked itless than many Felix had addressed to her.
"What is my horrible guilt?" she said, rising and standing, as she waswont, with one foot on the fender, and looking at the fire. If it hadbeen any one but Felix who was near her, it might have occurred to herthat this attitude showed her to advantage; but she had only a mortifiedsense that he was quite indifferent to what others praised her for.
"Why do you read this mawkish stuff on a Sunday, for example?" he said,snatching up "Rene," and running his eye over the pages.
"Why don't you always go to chapel, Mr. Holt, and read Howe's 'LivingTemple,' and join the church?"
"There's just the difference between us--I know why I don't do thosethings. I distinctly see that I can do something better. I have otherprinciples, and should sink myself by doing what I don't recognize asthe best."
"I understand," said Esther, as lightly as she could, to conceal herbitterness. "I am a lower kind of being, and could not so easily sinkmyself."
"Not by entering into your father's ideas. If a woman really believesherself to
be a lower kind of being, she should place herself insubjection: she should be ruled by the thoughts of her father orhusband. If not, let her show her power of choosing something better.You must know that your father's principles are greater and worthierthan what guides your life. You have no reason but idle fancy andselfish inclination for shirking his teaching and giving your soul up totrifles."
"You are kind enough to say so. But I am not aware that I have everconfided my reasons to you."
"Why, what worth calling a reason could make any mortal hang over thistrash?--idiotic immorality dressed up to look fine, with a little bit ofdoctrine tacked to it, like a hare's foot on a dish, to make believe themess is not cat's flesh. Look here! 'Est-ce ma faute, si je trouvepartout les bornes, si ce qui est fini n'a pour moi aucune valeur?' Yes,sir, distinctly your fault, because you're an ass. Your dunce who can'tdo his sums always has a taste for the infinite. Sir, do you know what arhomboid is? Oh, no, I don't value these things with limits. 'Cependant,j'aime la monotonie des sentimens de la vie, et si j'avais encore lafolie de croire au bonheur----'"
"Oh, pray, Mr. Holt, don't go on reading with that dreadful accent; itsets one's teeth on edge." Esther, smarting helplessly under theprevious lashes, was relieved by this diversion of criticism.
"There it is!" said Felix, throwing the book on the table, and gettingup to walk about. "You are only happy when you can spy a tag or a tasselloose to turn the talk, and get rid of any judgment that must carrygrave action after it."
"I think I have borne a great deal of talk without turning it."
"Not enough, Miss Lyon--not all that I came to say. I want you tochange. Of course I am a brute to say so. I ought to say you areperfect. Another man would, perhaps. But I say I want you to change."
"How am I to oblige you? By joining the Church?"
"No; but by asking yourself whether life is not as solemn a thing asyour father takes it to be--in which you may be either a blessing or acurse to many. You know you have never done that. You don't care to bebetter than a bird trimming its feathers, and pecking about after whatpleases it. You are discontented with the world because you can't getjust the small things that suit your pleasure, not because it's a worldwhere myriads of men and women are ground by wrong and misery, andtainted with pollution."
Esther felt her heart swelling with mingled indignation at this liberty,wounded pride at this depreciation, and acute consciousness that shecould not contradict what Felix said. He was outrageously ill-bred; butshe felt that she should be lowering herself by telling him so, andmanifesting her anger; in that way she would be confirming hisaccusation of a littleness that shrank from severe truth; and, besides,through all her mortification there pierced a sense that thisexasperation of Felix against her was more complimentary than anythingin his previous behavior. She had self-command enough to speak with herusual silvery voice.
"Pray go on, Mr. Holt. Relieve yourself of these burning truths. I amsure they must be troublesome to carry unuttered."
"Yes, they are," said Felix, pausing, and standing not far off her. "Ican't bear to see you going the way of the foolish women who spoil men'slives. Men can't help loving them, and so they make themselves slaves tothe petty desires of petty creatures. That's the way those who might dobetter spend their lives for nought--get checked in every greateffort--toil with brain and limb for things that have no more to do witha manly life than tarts and confectionery. That's what makes women acurse; and life is stunted to suit their littleness. That's why I'llnever love, if I can help it; and if I love, I'll bear it, and nevermarry."
The tumult of feeling in Esther's mind--mortification, anger, the senseof a terrible power over her that Felix seemed to have as his angrywords vibrated through her--was getting almost too much for herself-control. She felt her lips quivering; but her pride, which fearednothing so much as the betrayal of her emotion, helped her to adesperate effort. She pinched her own hand hard to overcome her tremor,and said, in a tone of scorn--
"I ought to be very much obliged to you for giving me your confidence sofreely."
"Ah! now you are offended with me, and disgusted with me. I expected itwould be so. A woman doesn't like a man who tells her the truth."
"I think you boast a little too much of your truth-telling, Mr. Holt,"said Esther, flashing out at last. "That virtue is apt to be easy topeople when they only wound others and not themselves. Telling the truthoften means no more than taking a liberty."
"Yes, I suppose I should have been taking a liberty if I had tried todrag you back by the skirt when I saw you running into a pit."
"You should really found a sect. Preaching is your vocation. It is apity you should ever have an audience of only one."
"I see I have made a fool of myself. I thought you had a more generousmind--that you might be kindled to a better ambition. But I've set yourvanity aflame--nothing else. I'm going. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Esther, not looking at him. He did not open the doorimmediately. He seemed to be adjusting his cap and pulling it down.Esther longed to be able to throw a lasso round him and compel him tostay, that she might say what she chose to him; her very anger made thisdeparture irritating, especially as he had the last word, and that avery bitter one. But soon the latch was lifted and the door closedbehind him. She ran up to her bedroom and burst into tears. Poor maiden!There was a strange contradiction of impulses in her mind in those firstmoments. She could not bear that Felix should not respect her, yet shecould not bear that he should see her bend before his denunciation. Sherevolted against his assumption of superiority, yet she felt herself ina new kind of subjection to him. He was ill-bred, he was rude, he hadtaken an unwarrantable liberty; yet his indignant words were a tributeto her: he thought she was worth more pains than the women of whom hetook no notice. It was excessively impertinent in him to tell her of hisresolving not to love--not to marry--as if she cared about that; as ifhe thought himself likely to inspire an affection that would incline anywoman to marry him after such eccentric steps as he had taken. Had heever for a moment imagined that she had thought of him in the light of aman who would make love to her?----But did he love her one little bit,and was that the reason why he wanted her to change? Esther felt lessangry at that form of freedom; though she was quite sure that she didnot love him, and that she could never love any one who was so much of apedagogue and master, to say nothing of his oddities. But he wanted herto change. For the first time in her life Esther felt herself seriouslyshaken in her self-contentment. She knew there was a mind to which sheappeared trivial, narrow, selfish. Every word Felix had said to herseemed to have burned itself into her memory. She felt as if she shouldforevermore be haunted by self-criticism, and never do anything tosatisfy those fancies on which she had simply piqued herself beforewithout being dogged by inward questions. Her father's desire for herconversion had never moved her; she saw that he adored her all thewhile, and he never checked her unregenerate acts as if they degradedher on earth, but only mourned over them as unfitting her for heaven.Unfitness for heaven (spoken of as "Jerusalem" and "glory"), the prayersof a good little father, whose thoughts and motives seemed to her likethe "Life of Dr. Doddridge," which she was content to leave unread, didnot attack her self-respect and self-satisfaction. But now she had beenstung--stung even into a new consciousness concerning her father. Was ittrue that his life was so much worthier than her own? She could notchange for anything Felix said, but she told herself he was mistaken ifhe supposed her incapable of generous thoughts.
She heard her father coming into the house. She dried her tears, triedto recover herself hurriedly, and went down to him.
"You want your tea, father; how your forehead burns!" she said gently,kissing his brow, and then putting her cool hand on it.
Mr. Lyon felt a little surprise; such spontaneous tenderness was notquite common with her; it reminded him of her mother.
"My sweet child," he said gratefully, thinking with wonder of thetreasures still left in our fallen nature.