Felix Holt, the Radical

by George Eliot

  CHAPTER XLII.

  Thou sayst it, and not I; for thou hast done The ugly deed that made these ugly words.

  --SOPHOCLES: _Electra_.

  Yea, it becomes a man To cherish memory, where he had delight. For kindness is the natural birth of kindness. Whose soul records not the great debt of joy, Is stamped for ever an ignoble man.

  --SOPHOCLES: _Ajax_.

  It so happened that, on the morning of the day when Esther went to seeher father, Jermyn had not yet heard of her presence at Transome Court.One fact conducing to keep him in this ignorance was, that some daysafter his critical interview with Harold--days during which he had beenwondering how long it would be before Harold made up his mind tosacrifice the luxury of satisfied anger for the solid advantage ofsecuring fortune and position--he was peremptorily called away bybusiness to the south of England, and was obliged to inform Harold byletter of his absence. He took care also to notify his return; butHarold made no sign in reply. The days passed without bringing him anygossip concerning Esther's visit, for such gossip was almost confined toMr. Lyon's congregation, her Church pupils, Miss Louisa Jermyn amongthem, having been satisfied by her father's written statement that shewas gone on a visit of uncertain duration. But on this day of Esther'scall in Malthouse Yard, the Miss Jermyns in their walk saw her gettinginto the Transomes' carriage, which they had previously observed to bewaiting, and which they now saw bowled along on the road toward LittleTreby. It followed that only a few hours later the news reached theastonished ears of Matthew Jermyn.

  Entirely ignorant of those converging indications and small links ofincident which had raised Christian's conjectures, and had graduallycontributed to put him in possession of the facts; ignorant too of somebusy motives in the mind of his obliged servant Johnson Jermyn was notlikely to see at once how the momentous information that Esther was thesurviving Bycliffe could possibly have reached Harold. His daughtersnaturally leaped, as others had done, to the conclusion that theTransomes, seeking a governess for little Harry, had had their choicedirected to Esther, and observed that they must have attracted her by ahigh salary to induce her to take charge of such a small pupil; thoughof course it was important that his English and French should becarefully attended to from the first. Jermyn, hearing this suggestion,was not without a momentary hope that it might be true, and that Haroldwas still safely unconscious of having under the same roof with him thelegal claimant of the family estate.

  But a mind in the grasp of a terrible anxiety is not credulous of easysolutions. The one stay that bears up our hopes is sure to appear frail,and if looked at long will seem to totter. Too much depended on thatunconsciousness of Harold's; and although Jermyn did not see the courseof things that could have disclosed and combined the various items ofknowledge which he had imagined to be his own secret, and therefore hissafeguard, he saw quite clearly what was likely to be the result of thedisclosure. Not only would Harold Transome be no longer afraid of him,but also, by marrying Esther (and Jermyn at once felt sure of thisissue), would be triumphantly freed from any unpleasant consequences,and could pursue much at his ease the gratification of ruining MatthewJermyn. The prevision of an enemy's triumphant ease is in any casesufficiently irritating to hatred, and there were reasons why it waspeculiarly exasperating here: but Jermyn had not the leisure now formere fruitless emotion he had to think of a possible device which mightsave him from imminent ruin--not an indefinite adversity, but a ruin indetail, which his thoughts painted out with the sharpest, ugliestintensity. A man of sixty, with an unsuspicious wife and daughterscapable of shrieking and fainting at a sudden revelation, and of lookingat him reproachfully in their daily misery under a shabby lot to whichhe had reduced them--with a mind and with habits dried hard by theyears--with no glimpse of an endurable standing-ground except where hecould domineer and be prosperous according to the ambitions of pushingmiddle-class gentility,--such a man is likely to find the prospect ofworldly ruin ghastly enough to drive him to the most uninviting means ofescape. He will probably prefer any private scorn that will save himfrom public infamy, or that will leave him with money in his pocket, tothe humiliation and hardship of new servitude in old age, a shabby hatand a melancholy hearth, where the firing must be used charily and thewomen look sad. But though a man may be willing to escape through asewer, a sewer with an outlet into the dry air is not always at hand.Running away, especially when spoken of as absconding, seems at adistance to offer a good modern substitute for the right of sanctuary;but seen closely, it is often found inconvenient and scarcely possible.

  Jermyn, on thoroughly considering his position, saw that he had no veryagreeable resources at command. But he soon made up his mind what hewould do next. He wrote to Mrs. Transome requesting her to appoint anhour in which he could see her privately: he knew she would understandthat it was to be an hour when Harold was not at home. As he sealed theletter, he indulged a faint hope that in this interview he might beassured of Esther's birth being unknown at Transome Court; but in theworst case, perhaps some help might be found in Mrs. Transome. To suchuses may tender relations come when they have ceased to be tender! TheHazaels of our world who are pushed on quickly against theirpreconceived confidence in themselves to do doglike actions by thesudden suggestion of a wicked ambition, are much fewer than those whoare led on through the years by the gradual demands of a selfishnesswhich has spread its fibres far and wide through the intricate vanitiesand sordid cares of an everyday existence.

  In consequence of that letter to Mrs. Transome, Jermyn was, two daysafterward, ushered into the smaller drawing-room at Transome Court. Itwas a charming little room in its refurbished condition: it had twopretty inlaid cabinets, great china vases with contents that sent forthodors of paradise, groups of flowers in oval frames on the walls, andMrs. Transome's own portrait in the evening costume of =1800=, with agarden in the background. That brilliant young woman looked smilinglydown on Mr. Jermyn as he passed in front of the fire; and at presenthers was the only gaze in the room. He could not help meeting the gazeas he waited, holding his hat behind him--could not help seeing manymemories lit up by it; but the strong bent of his mind was to go onarguing each memory into a claim, and to see in the regard others hadfor him a merit of his own. There had been plenty of roads open to himwhen he was a young man; perhaps if he had not allowed himself to bedetermined (chiefly, of course, by the feelings of others, for of whateffect would his own feelings have been without them?) into the road heactually took, he might have done better for himself. At any rate, hewas likely at last to get the worst of it, and it was he who had mostreason to complain. The fortunate Jason, as we know from Euripides,piously thanked the goddess, and saw clearly that he was not at allobliged to Medea; Jermyn was, perhaps, not aware of the precedent, butthought out his own freedom from obligation and the indebtedness ofothers toward him with a native faculty not inferior to Jason's.

  Before three minutes had passed, however, as if by some sorcery, thebrilliant smiling young woman above the mantelpiece seemed to beappearing at the doorway withered and frosted by many winters, and withlips and eyes from which the smile had departed. Jermyn advanced, andthey shook hands, but neither of them said anything by way of greeting.Mrs. Transome seated herself, and pointed to a chair opposite and nearher.

  "Harold has gone to Loamford," she said, in a subdued tone. "You hadsomething particular to say to me?"

  "Yes," said Jermyn, with his soft and deferential air. "The last time Iwas here I could not take the opportunity of speaking to you. But I amanxious to know whether you are aware of what has passed between me andHarold?"

  "Yes, he has told me everything."

  "About his proceedings against me? and the reason he stopped them?"

  "Yes: have you had notice that he has begun them again?"

  "No," said Jermyn, with a very unpleasant sensation.

  "Of course he will now," said Mrs. Tr
ansome. "There is no reason in hismind why he should not."

  "Has he resolved to risk the estate then?"

  "He feels in no danger on that score. And if there were, the dangerdoesn't depend on you. The most likely thing is, that he will marry thisgirl."

  "He knows everything then?" said Jermyn, the expression of his facegetting clouded.

  "Everything. It's of no use for you to think of mastering him: you can'tdo it. I used to wish Harold to be fortunate, and he is fortunate," saidMrs. Transome, with intense bitterness. "It's not my star that heinherits."

  "Do you know how he came by the information about this girl?"

  "No; but she knew it all before we spoke to her. It's no secret."

  Jermyn was confounded by this hopeless frustration to which he had nokey. Though he thought of Christian, the thought shed no light; but themore fatal point was clear: he held no secret that could help him.

  "You are aware that these chancery proceedings may ruin me?"

  "He told me they would. But if you are imagining I can do anything, praydismiss the notion. I have told him as plainly as I dare that I wish himto drop all public quarrel with you, and that you could make anarrangement without scandal. I can do no more. He will not listen to me;he doesn't mind about my feelings. He cares more for Mr. Transome thanhe does for me. He will not listen to me any more than if I were an oldballad-singer."

  "It's very hard on me, I know," said Jermyn, in the tone with which aman flings out a reproach.

  "I besought you three months ago to bear anything rather than quarrelwith him."

  "I have not quarrelled with him. It is he who has been always seeking aquarrel with me. I have borne a great deal--more than any one elsewould. He set his teeth against me from the first."

  "He saw things that annoyed him; and men are not like women," said Mrs.Transome. There was bitter innuendo in that truism.

  "It's very hard on me--I know that," said Jermyn, with anintensification of his previous tone, rising and walking a step or two,then turning and laying his hand on the back of the chair. "Of coursethe law in this case can't in the least represent the justice of thematter. I made a good many sacrifices in times past. I gave up a greatdeal of fine business for the sake of attending to the family affairs,and in that lawsuit they would have gone to rack and ruin if it hadn'tbeen for me."

  He moved away again, laid down his hat, which he had been previouslyholding, and thrust his hands into his pockets as he returned. Mrs.Transome sat motionless as marble, and almost as pale. Her hands laycrossed on her knees. This man, young, slim, and graceful, with aselfishness which then took the form of homage to her, had at one timekneeled to her and kissed those hands fervently, and she had thoughtthere was a poetry in such passion beyond any to be found in everydaydomesticity.

  "I stretched my conscience a good deal in that affair of Bycliffe, asyou know perfectly well. I told you everything at the time. I told you Iwas very uneasy about those witnesses, and about getting him thrown intoprison. I know it's the blackest thing anybody could charge me with, ifthey knew my life from beginning to end; and I should never have doneit, if I had not been under an infatuation such as makes a man doanything. What did it signify to me about the loss of the lawsuit? I wasa young bachelor--I had the world before me."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Transome, in a low tone. "It was a pity you didn't makeanother choice."

  "What would have become of you?" said Jermyn, carried along a climax,like other self-justifiers. "I had to think of you. You would not haveliked me to make another choice then."

  "Clearly," said Mrs. Transome, with concentrated bitterness, but stillquietly; "the greater mistake was mine."

  Egoism is usually stupid in a dialogue; but Jermyn's did not make him sostupid that he did not feel the edge of Mrs. Transome's words. Theyincreased his irritation.

  "I hardly see that," he replied, with a slight laugh of scorn. "You hadan estate and a position to save, to go no farther. I remember very wellwhat you said to me--'A clever lawyer can do anything if he has thewill; if it's impossible, he will make it possible. And the property issure to be Harold's some day.' He was a baby then."

  "I remember most things a little too well; you had better say at oncewhat is your object in recalling them."

  "An object that is nothing more than justice. With the relation I stoodin, it was not likely I should think myself bound by all the forms thatare made to bind strangers. I had often immense trouble to raise themoney necessary to pay off debts and carry on the affairs; and, as Isaid before, I had given up other lines of advancement which would havebeen open to me if I had not stayed in this neighborhood at a criticaltime when I was fresh to the world. Anybody who knew the wholecircumstances would say that my being hunted and run down on the scoreof my past transactions with regard to the family affairs, is anabominably unjust and unnatural thing."

  Jermyn paused a moment, and then added, "At my time of life----and witha family about me----and after what has passed----I should have thoughtthere was nothing you would care more to prevent."

  "I do care. It makes me miserable. That is the extent of my power--tofeel miserable."

  "No, it is not the extent of your power. You could save me if you would.It is not to be supposed that Harold would go on against me--if he knewthe whole truth."

  Jermyn had sat down before he uttered the last words. He had lowered hisvoice slightly. He had the air of one who thought that he had preparedthe way for an understanding. That a man with so much sharpness, with somuch suavity at command--a man who piqued himself on his persuasivenesstoward women--should behave just as Jermyn did on this occasion, wouldbe surprising but for the constant experience that temper and selfishinsensibility will defeat excellent gifts--will make a sensible personshout when shouting is out of place, and will make a polished man rudewhen his polish might be of eminent use to him.

  As Jermyn, sitting down and leaning forward with an elbow on his knee,uttered his last words--"if he knew the whole truth"--a slight shockseemed to pass through Mrs. Transome's hitherto motionless body,followed by a sudden light in her eyes, as in an animal's about tospring.

  "And you expect me to tell him?" she said, not loudly, but yet with aclear metallic ring in her voice.

  "Would it not be right for him to know?" said Jermyn, in a more blandand persuasive tone than he had yet used.

  Perhaps some of the most terrible irony of the human lot is this of adeep truth coming to be uttered by lips that have no right to it.

  "I will never tell him!" said Mrs. Transome, starting up, her wholeframe thrilled with a passion that seemed almost to make her youngagain. Her hands hung beside her clenched tightly, her eyes and lipslost the helpless repressed bitterness of discontent, and seemedsuddenly fed with energy. "You reckon up your sacrifices for me: youhave kept a good account of them, and it is needful: they are some ofthem what no one else could guess or find out. But you made yoursacrifices when they seemed pleasant to you; when you told me they wereyour happiness; when you told me that it was I who stooped, and I whobestowed favors."

  Jermyn rose too, and laid his hand on the back of the chair. He hadgrown visibly paler, but seemed about to speak.

  "Don't speak!" Mrs. Transome said peremptorily. "Don't open your lipsagain. You have said enough; I will speak now. I have made sacrificestoo, but it was when I knew that they were not my happiness. It wasafter I saw that I had stooped--after I saw that your tenderness hadturned into calculation--after I saw that you cared for yourself only,and not for me. I heard your explanations--of your duty in life--of ourmutual reputation--of a virtuous young lady attached to you. I bore it;I let everything go; I shut my eyes: I might almost have let myselfstarve, rather than have scenes of quarrel with the man I had loved, inwhich I must accuse him of turning my love into a good bargain." Therewas a slight tremor in Mrs. Transome's voice in the last words, and fora moment she paused: but when she spoke again it seemed as if the tremorhad frozen into a cutting icicle. "I suppose if a lover picked one'spocket, t
here's no woman would like to own it. I don't say I was notafraid of you: I was afraid of you, and I know now I was right."

  "Mrs. Transome," said Jermyn, white to the lips, "it is needless to saymore. I withdraw any words that have offended you."

  "You can't withdraw them. Can a man apologize for being a dastard?--AndI have caused you to strain your conscience, have I?--it is I who havesullied your purity? I should think the demons have more honor--they arenot so impudent to one another. I would not lose the misery of being awoman, now I see what can be the baseness of a man. One must be aman--first to tell a woman that her love has made her your debtor, andthen ask her to pay you by breaking the last poor threads between herand her son."

  "I do not ask it," said Jermyn, with a certain asperity. He wasbeginning to find this intolerable. The mere brute strength of amasculine creature rebelled. He felt almost inclined to throttle thevoice out of this woman.

  "You do ask it: it is what you would like. I have had a terror on melest evil should happen to you. From the first, after Harold came home,I had a terrible dread. It seemed as if murder might come between you--Ididn't know what. I felt the horror of his not knowing the truth. Imight have been dragged at last, by my own feeling--by my own memory--totell him all, and make him as well as myself miserable, to save you."

  Again there was a slight tremor, as if at the remembrance of womanlytenderness and pity. But immediately she launched forth again.

  "But now you have asked me, I will never tell him! Be ruined--no--dosomething more dastardly to save yourself. If I sinned, my judgment wentbeforehand--that I should sin for a man like you."

  Swiftly upon those last words Mrs. Transome passed out of the room. Thesoftly padded door closed behind her making no noise, and Jermyn foundhimself alone.

  For a brief space he stood still. Human beings in moments of passionatereproach and denunciation, especially when their anger is on their ownaccount, are never so wholly in the right that the person who has towince cannot possibly protest against some unreasonableness orunfairness in their outburst. And if Jermyn had been capable of feelingthat he had thoroughly merited this infliction, he would not haveuttered the words that drew it down on him. Men do not become penitentand learn to abhor themselves by having their backs cut open with thelash; rather, they learn to abhor the lash. What Jermyn felt about Mrs.Transome when she disappeared was, that she was a furious woman--whowould not do what he wanted her to do. And he was supported as to hisjustifiableness by the inward repetition of what he had already said toher; it was right that Harold should know the truth. He did not takeinto account (how should he?) the exasperation and loathing excited byhis daring to urge the plea of right. A man who had stolen the pyx, andgot frightened when justice was at his heels, might feel the sort ofpenitence which would induce him to run back in the dark and lay the pyxwhere the sexton might find it; but if in doing so he whispered to theBlessed Virgin that he was moved by considering the sacredness of allproperty, and the peculiar sacredness of the pyx, it is not to bebelieved that she would like him the better for it. Indeed, one oftenseems to see why the saints should prefer candles to words, especiallyfrom penitents whose skin is in danger. Some salt of generosity wouldhave made Jermyn conscious that he had lost the citizenship whichauthorized him to plead the right; still more, that his self-vindicationto Mrs. Transome would be like the exhibition of a brand-mark, and onlyshow that he was shame-proof. There is heroism even in the circles ofhell for fellow-sinners who cling to each other in the fiery whirlwindand never recriminate. But these things, which are easy to discern whenthey are painted for us on the large canvas of poetic story, becomeconfused and obscure even for well-read gentlemen when their affectionfor themselves is alarmed by pressing details of actual experience. Iftheir comparison of instances is active at such times, it is chiefly inshowing them that their own case has subtle distinctions from all othercases, which should free them from unmitigated condemnation.

  And it was in this way with Matthew Jermyn. So many things were moredistinctly visible to him, and touched him more acutely, than the effectof his acts or words on Mrs. Transome's feelings! In fact--he asked,with a touch of something that makes us all akin--was it notpreposterous, this excess of feeling on points which he himself did notfind powerfully moving? She had treated him most unreasonably. It wouldhave been right for her to do what he had--not asked, but only hinted atin a mild and interrogatory manner. But the clearest and most unpleasantresult of the interview was, that this right thing which he desired somuch would certainly not be done for him by Mrs. Transome.

  As he was moving his arm from the chair-back, and turning to take hishat, there was a boisterous noise in the entrance-hall; the door of thedrawing-room, which had closed without latching, was pushed open, andold Mr. Transome appeared with a face of feeble delight, playing horseto little Harry, who roared and flogged behind him, while Moro yapped ina puppy voice at their heels. But when Mr. Transome saw Jermyn in theroom he stood still in the doorway, as if he did not know whetherentrance was permissible. The majority of his thoughts were but ravelledthreads of the past. The attorney came forward to shake hands with duepoliteness, but the old man said, with a bewildered look, and in ahesitating way--

  "Mr. Jermyn?--why--why--where is Mrs. Transome?"

  Jermyn smiled his way out past the unexpected group; and little Harry,thinking he had an eligible opportunity, turned round to give a partingstroke on the stranger's coat-tails.