The Egoist: A Comedy in Narrative
CHAPTER V
CLARA MIDDLETON
The great meeting of Sir Willoughby Patterne and Miss Middleton hadtaken place at Cherriton Grange, the seat of a county grandee, wherethis young lady of eighteen was first seen rising above the horizon.She had money and health and beauty, the triune of perfect starriness,which makes all men astronomers. He looked on her, expecting her tolook at him. But as soon as he looked he found that he must be inmotion to win a look in return. He was one of a pack; many were aheadof him, the whole of them were eager. He had to debate within himselfhow best to communicate to her that he was Willoughby Patterne, beforeher gloves were too much soiled to flatter his niceness, for here andthere, all around, she was yielding her hand to partners--obscurantmales whose touch leaves a stain. Far too generally gracious was HerStarriness to please him. The effect of it, nevertheless, was to hurryhim with all his might into the heat of the chase, while yet he knew nomore of her than that he was competing for a prize, and WilloughbyPatterne was only one of dozens to the young lady.
A deeper student of Science than his rivals, he appreciated Nature'scompliment in the fair ones choice of you. We now scientifically knowthat in this department of the universal struggle, success is awardedto the bettermost. You spread a handsomer tail than your fellows, youdress a finer top-knot, you pipe a newer note, have a longer stride;she reviews you in competition, and selects you. The superlative ismagnetic to her. She may be looking elsewhere, and you will see--thesuperlative will simply have to beckon, away she glides. She cannothelp herself; it is her nature, and her nature is the guarantee for thenoblest races of men to come of her. In complimenting you, she is apromise of superior offspring. Science thus--or it is better to say--anacquaintance with science facilitates the cultivation of aristocracy.Consequently a successful pursuit and a wresting of her from a body ofcompetitors, tells you that you are the best man. What is more, ittells the world so.
Willoughby aired his amiable superlatives in the eye of Miss Middleton;he had a leg. He was the heir of successful competitors. He had astyle, a tone, an artist tailor, an authority of manner; he had in thehopeful ardour of the chase among a multitude a freshness that gave himadvantage; and together with his undeviating energy when there was aprize to be won and possessed, these were scarce resistible. He sparedno pains, for he was adust and athirst for the winning-post. He courtedher father, aware that men likewise, and parents pre-eminently, havetheir preference for the larger offer, the deeper pocket, the broaderlands, the respectfuller consideration. Men, after their fashion, aswell as women, distinguish the bettermost, and aid him to succeed, asDr. Middleton certainly did in the crisis of the memorable questionproposed to his daughter within a month of Willoughby's reception atUpton Park. The young lady was astonished at his whirlwind wooing ofher, and bent to it like a sapling. She begged for time; Willoughbycould barely wait. She unhesitatingly owned that she liked no onebetter, and he consented. A calm examination of his position told himthat it was unfair so long as he stood engaged, and she did not. Shepleaded a desire to see a little of the world before she plightedherself. She alarmed him; he assumed the amazing god of love under thesubtlest guise of the divinity. Willingly would he obey her behests,resignedly languish, were it not for his mother's desire to see thefuture lady of Patterne established there before she died. Love shonecunningly through the mask of filial duty, but the plea of urgency wasreasonable. Dr. Middleton thought it reasonable, supposing his daughterto have an inclination. She had no disinclination, though she had amaidenly desire to see a little of the world--grace for one year, shesaid. Willoughby reduced the year to six months, and granted that term,for which, in gratitude, she submitted to stand engaged; and that wasno light whispering of a word. She was implored to enter the state ofcaptivity by the pronunciation of vows--a private but a bindingceremonial. She had health and beauty, and money to gild these gifts;not that he stipulated for money with his bride, but it adds a lustreto dazzle the world; and, moreover, the pack of rival pursuers hungclose behind, yelping and raising their dolorous throats to the moon.Captive she must be.
He made her engagement no light whispering matter. It was a solemnplighting of a troth. Why not? Having said, I am yours, she could say,I am wholly yours, I am yours forever, I swear it, I will never swervefrom it, I am your wife in heart, yours utterly; our engagement iswritten above. To this she considerately appended, "as far as I amconcerned"; a piece of somewhat chilling generosity, and he forced herto pass him through love's catechism in turn, and came out with ferventanswers that bound him to her too indissolubly to let her doubt of herbeing loved. And I am loved! she exclaimed to her heart's echoes, insimple faith and wonderment. Hardly had she begun to think of love erethe apparition arose in her path. She had not thought of love with anywarmth, and here it was. She had only dreamed of love as one of thedistant blessings of the mighty world, lying somewhere in the world'sforests, across wild seas, veiled, encompassed with beautiful perils, athrobbing secrecy, but too remote to quicken her bosom's throbs. Herchief idea of it was, the enrichment of the world by love.
Thus did Miss Middleton acquiesce in the principle of selection.
And then did the best man of a host blow his triumphant horn, andloudly.
He looked the fittest; he justified the dictum of Science. The survivalof the Patternes was assured. "I would," he said to his admirer, Mrs.Mountstuart Jenkinson, "have bargained for health above everything, butshe has everything besides--lineage, beauty, breeding: is what theycall an heiress, and is the most accomplished of her sex." With adelicate art he conveyed to the lady's understanding that MissMiddleton had been snatched from a crowd, without a breath of the crowdhaving offended his niceness. He did it through sarcasm at your modernyoung women, who run about the world nibbling and nibbled at, untilthey know one sex as well as the other, and are not a whit lesscognizant of the market than men; pure, possibly; it is not so easy tosay innocent; decidedly not our feminine ideal. Miss Middleton wasdifferent: she was the true ideal, fresh-gathered morning fruit in abasket, warranted by her bloom.
Women do not defend their younger sisters for doing what they perhapshave done--lifting a veil to be seen, and peeping at a world whereinnocence is as poor a guarantee as a babe's caul against shipwreck.Women of the world never think of attacking the sensual stipulation forperfect bloom, silver purity, which is redolent of the Oriental originof the love-passion of their lords. Mrs. Mountstuart congratulated SirWilloughby on the prize he had won in the fair western-eastern.
"Let me see her," she said; and Miss Middleton was introduced andcritically observed.
She had the mouth that smiles in repose. The lips met full on thecentre of the bow and thinned along to a lifting dimple; the eyelidsalso lifted slightly at the outer corners, and seemed, like the lipinto the limpid cheek, quickening up the temples, as with a run oflight, or the ascension indicated off a shoot of colour. Her featureswere playfellows of one another, none of them pretending to rigidcorrectness, nor the nose to the ordinary dignity of governess amongmerry girls, despite which the nose was of a fair design, not acutelyinterrogative or inviting to gambols. Aspens imaged in water, waitingfor the breeze, would offer a susceptible lover some suggestion of herface: a pure, smooth-white face, tenderly flushed in the cheeks, wherethe gentle dints, were faintly intermelting even during quietness. Hereyes were brown, set well between mild lids, often shadowed, notunwakeful. Her hair of lighter brown, swelling above her temples on thesweep to the knot, imposed the triangle of the fabulous wild woodlandvisage from brow to mouth and chin, evidently in agreement with hertaste; and the triangle suited her; but her face was not significant ofa tameless wildness or of weakness; her equable shut mouth threw itslong curve to guard the small round chin from that effect; her eyeswavered only in humour, they were steady when thoughtfulness wasawakened; and at such seasons the build of her winter-beechwood hairlost the touch of nymphlike and whimsical, and strangely, by mereoutline, added to her appearance of studious concentration. Observe thehawk on st
retched wings over the prey he spies, for an idea of thischange in the look of a young lady whom Vernon Whitford could liken tothe Mountain Echo, and Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson pronounced to be "adainty rogue in porcelain".
Vernon's fancy of her must have sprung from her prompt and most musicalresponsiveness. He preferred the society of her learned father to thatof a girl under twenty engaged to his cousin, but the charm of herready tongue and her voice was to his intelligent understanding wit,natural wit, crystal wit, as opposed to the paste-sparkle of the wit ofthe town. In his encomiums he did not quote Miss Middleton's wit;nevertheless, he ventured to speak of it to Mrs. Mountstuart, causingthat lady to say: "Ah, well, I have not noticed the wit. You may havethe art of drawing it out."
No one had noticed the wit. The corrupted hearing of people required acollision of sounds, Vernon supposed. For his part, to prove theirexcellence, he recollected a great many of Miss Middleton's remarks;they came flying to him; and so long as he forbore to speak them aloud,they had a curious wealth of meaning. It could not be all her manner,however much his own manner might spoil them. It might be, to a certaindegree, her quickness at catching the hue and shade of evanescentconversation. Possibly by remembering the whole of a conversationwherein she had her place, the wit was to be tested; only how could anyone retain the heavy portion? As there was no use in beingargumentative on a subject affording him personally, and apparentlysolitarily, refreshment and enjoyment, Vernon resolved to keep it tohimself. The eulogies of her beauty, a possession in which he did notconsider her so very conspicuous, irritated him in consequence. Toflatter Sir Willoughby, it was the fashion to exalt her as one of thetypes of beauty; the one providentially selected to set off hismasculine type. She was compared to those delicate flowers, the ladiesof the Court of China, on rice-paper. A little French dressing wouldmake her at home on the sward by the fountain among the lutes andwhispers of the bewitching silken shepherdesses who live though theynever were. Lady Busshe was reminded of the favourite lineaments of thewomen of Leonardo, the angels of Luini. Lady Culmer had seen crayonsketches of demoiselles of the French aristocracy resembling her. Someone mentioned an antique statue of a figure breathing into a flute: andthe mouth at the flutestop might have a distant semblance of the bendof her mouth, but this comparison was repelled as grotesque.
For once Mrs. Mountstuart Jenkinson was unsuccessful.
Her "dainty rogue in porcelain" displeased Sir Willoughby. "Why rogue?"he said. The lady's fame for hitting the mark fretted him, and thegrace of his bride's fine bearing stood to support him in hisobjection. Clara was young, healthy, handsome; she was therefore fittedto be his wife, the mother of his children, his companion picture.Certainly they looked well side by side. In walking with her, indrooping to her, the whole man was made conscious of the female imageof himself by her exquisite unlikeness. She completed him, added thesofter lines wanting to his portrait before the world. He had wooed herrageingly; he courted her becomingly; with the manly self-possessionenlivened by watchful tact which is pleasing to girls. He never seemedto undervalue himself in valuing her: a secret priceless in thecourtship of young women that have heads; the lover doubles their senseof personal worth through not forfeiting his own. Those were proud andhappy days when he rode Black Norman over to Upton Park, and his ladylooked forth for him and knew him coming by the faster beating of herheart.
Her mind, too, was receptive. She took impressions of hischaracteristics, and supplied him a feast. She remembered his chancephrases; noted his ways, his peculiarities, as no one of her sex haddone. He thanked his cousin Vernon for saying she had wit. She had it,and of so high a flavour that the more he thought of the epigramlaunched at her the more he grew displeased. With the wit to understandhim, and the heart to worship, she had a dignity rarely seen in youngladies.
"Why rogue?" he insisted with Mrs. Mountstuart.
"I said--in porcelain," she replied.
"Rogue perplexes me."
"Porcelain explains it."
"She has the keenest sense of honour."
"I am sure she is a paragon of rectitude."
"She has a beautiful bearing."
"The carriage of a young princess!"
"I find her perfect."
"And still she may be a dainty rogue in porcelain."
"Are you judging by the mind or the person, ma'am?"
"Both."
"And which is which?"
"There's no distinction."
"Rogue and mistress of Patterne do not go together."
"Why not? She will be a novelty to our neighbourhood and an animationof the Hall."
"To be frank, rogue does not rightly match with me."
"Take her for a supplement."
"You like her?"
"In love with her! I can imagine life-long amusement in her company.Attend to my advice: prize the porcelain and play with the rogue."
Sir Willoughby nodded, unilluminated. There was nothing of rogue inhimself, so there could be nothing of it in his bride. Elfishness,tricksiness, freakishness, were antipathetic to his nature; and heargued that it was impossible he should have chosen for his complementa person deserving the title. It would not have been sanctioned by hisguardian genius. His closer acquaintance with Miss Middleton squaredwith his first impressions; you know that this is convincing; thecommon jury justifies the presentation of the case to them by the grandjury; and his original conclusion that she was essentially feminine, inother words, a parasite and a chalice, Clara's conduct confirmed fromday to day. He began to instruct her in the knowledge of himselfwithout reserve, and she, as she grew less timid with him, became morereflective.
"I judge by character," he said to Mrs. Mountstuart.
"If you have caught the character of a girl," said she.
"I think I am not far off it."
"So it was thought by the man who dived for the moon in a well."
"How women despise their sex!"
"Not a bit. She has no character yet. You are forming it, and pray beadvised and be merry; the solid is your safest guide; physiognomy andmanners will give you more of a girl's character than all the divingsyou can do. She is a charming young woman, only she is one of thatsort."
"Of what sort?" Sir Willoughby asked, impatiently.
"Rogues in porcelain."
"I am persuaded I shall never comprehend it."
"I cannot help you one bit further."
"The word rogue!"
"It was dainty rogue."
"Brittle, would you say?"
"I am quite unable to say."
"An innocent naughtiness?"
"Prettily moulded in a delicate substance."
"You are thinking of some piece of Dresden you suppose her toresemble."
"I dare say."
"Artificial?"
"You would not have her natural?"
"I am heartily satisfied with her from head to foot, my dear Mrs.Mountstuart."
"Nothing could be better. And sometimes she will lead, and generallyyou will lead, and everything will go well, my dear Sir Willoughby."
Like all rapid phrasers, Mrs. Mountstuart detested the analysis of hersentence. It had an outline in vagueness, and was flung out to beapprehended, not dissected. Her directions for the reading of MissMiddleton's character were the same that she practised in reading SirWilloughby's, whose physiognomy and manners bespoke him what shepresumed him to be, a splendidly proud gentleman, with good reason.
Mrs. Mountstuart's advice was wiser than her procedure, for she stoppedshort where he declined to begin. He dived below the surface withoutstudying that index-page. He had won Miss Middleton's hand; he believedhe had captured her heart; but he was not so certain of his possessionof her soul, and he went after it. Our enamoured gentleman hadtherefore no tally of Nature's writing above to set beside hisdiscoveries in the deeps. Now it is a dangerous accompaniment of thishabit of driving, that where we do not light on the discoveries weanticipate, we fall to work sowing and planting; which becomes adisturbance of
the gentle bosom. Miss Middleton's features were legibleas to the mainspring of her character. He could have seen that she hada spirit with a natural love of liberty, and required the next thing toliberty, spaciousness, if she was to own allegiance. Those features,unhappily, instead of serving for an introduction to the within, weretreated as the mirror of himself. They were indeed of an amiablesweetness to tempt an accepted lover to angle for the first person inthe second. But he had made the discovery that their minds differed onone or two points, and a difference of view in his bride was obnoxiousto his repose. He struck at it recurringly to show her error undervarious aspects. He desired to shape her character to the feminine ofhis own, and betrayed the surprise of a slight disappointment at heradvocacy of her ideas. She said immediately: "It is not too late,Willoughby," and wounded him, for he wanted her simply to be materialin his hands for him to mould her; he had no other thought. He lecturedher on the theme of the infinity of love. How was it not too late? Theywere plighted; they were one eternally; they could not be parted. Shelistened gravely, conceiving the infinity as a narrow dwelling where avoice droned and ceased not. However, she listened. She became anattentive listener.