Evan Harrington, Complete

G >> George Meredith >> Evan Harrington, Complete

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Now the Countess had been considering that she would like to have a word
or two with Mr. Harry, and kissing her fingers to the occupants of
Olympus, and fixing her fancy on the diverse thoughts of the ladies and
gentlemen, deduced from a rapturous or critical contemplation of her
figure from behind, she descended the slope.

Was it going to be a happy day? The well-imagined opinions of the
gentleman on her attire and style, made her lean to the affirmative; but
Rose's demure behaviour, and something--something would come across her
hopes. She had, as she now said to herself, stopped for the pic-nic,
mainly to give Caroline a last opportunity of binding the Duke to visit
the Cogglesby saloons in London. Let Caroline cleverly contrive this, as
she might, without any compromise, and the stay at Beckley Court would be
a great gain. Yes, Caroline was still with the Duke; they were talking
earnestly. The Countess breathed a short appeal to Providence that
Caroline might not prove a fool. Overnight she had said to Caroline: 'Do
not be so English. Can one not enjoy friendship with a nobleman without
wounding one's conscience or breaking with the world? My dear, the Duke
visiting you, you cow that infamous Strike of yours. He will be utterly
obsequious! I am not telling you to pass the line. The contrary. But we
continentals have our grievous reputation because we dare to meet as
intellectual beings, and defy the imputation that ladies and gentlemen
are no better than animals.'

It sounded very lofty to Caroline, who, accepting its sincerity, replied:

'I cannot do things by halves. I cannot live a life of deceit. A life of
misery--not deceit.'

Whereupon, pitying her poor English nature, the Countess gave her advice,
and this advice she now implored her familiars to instruct or compel
Caroline to follow.

The Countess's garment was plucked at. She beheld little Dorothy Loring
glancing up at her with the roguish timidity of her years.

'May I come with you?' asked the little maid, and went off into a
prattle: 'I spent that five shillings--I bought a shilling's worth of
sweet stuff, and nine penn'orth of twine, and a shilling for small wax
candles to light in my room when I'm going to bed, because I like plenty
of light by the looking-glass always, and they do make the room so hot!
My Jane declared she almost fainted, but I burnt them out! Then I only
had very little left for a horse to mount my doll on; and I wasn't going
to get a screw, so I went to Papa, and he gave me five shillings. And,
oh, do you know, Rose can't bear me to be with you. Jealousy, I suppose,
for you're very agreeable. And, do you know, your Mama is coming to-day?
I've got a Papa and no Mama, and you've got a Mama and no Papa. Isn't it
funny? But I don't think so much of it, as you 're grown up. Oh, I'm
quite sure she is coming, because I heard Harry telling Juley she was,
and Juley said it would be so gratifying to you.'

A bribe and a message relieved the Countess of Dorothy's attendance on
her.

What did this mean? Were people so base as to be guilty of hideous plots
in this house? Her mother coming! The Countess's blood turned deadly
chill. Had it been her father she would not have feared, but her mother
was so vilely plain of speech; she never opened her mouth save to deliver
facts: which was to the Countess the sign of atrocious vulgarity.

But her mother had written to say she would wait for Evan in Fallow
field! The Countess grasped at straws. Did Dorothy hear that? And if
Harry and Juliana spoke of her mother, what did that mean? That she was
hunted, and must stand at bay!

'Oh, Papa! Papa! why did you marry a Dawley?' she exclaimed, plunging to
what was, in her idea, the root of the evil.

She had no time for outcries and lamentations. It dawned on her that this
was to be a day of battle. Where was Harry? Still in the midst of the
Conley throng, apparently pooh-poohing something, to judge by the twist
of his mouth.

The Countess delicately signed for him to approach her. The extreme
delicacy of the signal was at least an excuse for Harry to perceive
nothing. It was renewed, and Harry burst into a fit of laughter at some
fun of one of the Conley girls. The Countess passed on, and met Juliana
pacing by herself near the lower gates of the park. She wished only to
see how Juliana behaved. The girl looked perfectly trustful, as much so
as when the Countess was pouring in her ears the tales of Evan's growing
but bashful affection for her.

'He will soon be here,' whispered the Countess. 'Has he told you he will
come by this entrance?'

'No,' replied Juliana.

'You do not look well, sweet child.'

'I was thinking that you did not, Countess?'

'Oh, indeed, yes! With reason, alas! All our visitors have by this time
arrived, I presume?'

'They come all day.'

The Countess hastened away from one who, when roused, could be almost as
clever as herself, and again stood in meditation near the joyful Harry.
This time she did not signal so discreetly. Harry could not but see it,
and the Conley girls accused him of cruelty to the beautiful dame, which
novel idea stung Harry with delight, and he held out to indulge in it a
little longer. His back was half turned, and as he talked noisily, he
could not observe the serene and resolute march of the Countess toward
him. The youth gaped when he found his arm taken prisoner by the
insertion of a small deliciously-gloved and perfumed hand through it. 'I
must claim you for a few moments,' said the Countess, and took the
startled Conley girls one and all in her beautiful smile of excuse.

'Why do you compromise me thus, sir?'

These astounding words were spoken out of the hearing of the Conley
girls.

'Compromise you!' muttered Harry.

Masterly was the skill with which the Countess contrived to speak angrily
and as an injured woman, while she wore an indifferent social
countenance.

'I repeat, compromise me. No, Mr. Harry Jocelyn, you are not the
jackanapes you try to make people think you: you understand me.'

The Countess might accuse him, but Harry never had the ambition to make
people think him that: his natural tendency was the reverse: and he
objected to the application of the word jackanapes to himself, and was
ready to contest the fact of people having that opinion at all. However,
all he did was to repeat: 'Compromise!'

'Is not open unkindness to me compromising me?'

'How?' asked Harry.

'Would you dare to do it to a strange lady? Would you have the impudence
to attempt it with any woman here but me? No, I am innocent; it is my
consolation; I have resisted you, but you by this cowardly behaviour
place me--and my reputation, which is more--at your mercy. Noble
behaviour, Mr. Harry Jocelyn! I shall remember my young English
gentleman.'

The view was totally new to Harry.

'I really had no idea of compromising you,' he said. 'Upon my honour, I
can't see how I did it now!'

'Oblige me by walking less in the neighbourhood of those fat-faced
glaring farm-girls,' the Countess spoke under her breath; 'and don't look
as if you were being whipped. The art of it is evident--you are but
carrying on the game.--Listen. If you permit yourself to exhibit an
unkindness to me, you show to any man who is a judge, and to every woman,
that there has been something between us. You know my innocence--yes! but
you must punish me for having resisted you thus long.'

Harry swore he never had such an idea, and was much too much of a man and
a gentleman to behave in that way.--And yet it seemed wonderfully clever!
And here was the Countess saying:

'Take your reward, Mr. Harry Jocelyn. You have succeeded; I am your
humble slave. I come to you and sue for peace. To save my reputation I
endanger myself. This is generous of you.'

'Am I such a clever fellow?' thought the young gentleman. 'Deuced lucky
with women': he knew that: still a fellow must be wonderfully,
miraculously, clever to be able to twist and spin about such a woman as
this in that way. He did not object to conceive that he was the fellow to
do it. Besides, here was the Countess de Saldar-worth five hundred of the
Conley girls--almost at his feet!

Mollified, he said: 'Now, didn't you begin it?'

'Evasion!' was the answer. 'It would be such pleasure to you so see a
proud woman weep! And if yesterday, persecuted as I am, with dreadful
falsehoods abroad respecting me and mine, if yesterday I did seem cold to
your great merits, is it generous of you to take this revenge?'

Harry began to scent the double meaning in her words. She gave him no
time to grow cool over it. She leaned, half abandoned, on his arm. Arts
feminine and irresistible encompassed him. It was a fatal mistake of
Juliana's to enlist Harry Jocelyn against the Countess de Saldar. He
engaged, still without any direct allusion to the real business, to move
heaven and earth to undo all that he had done, and the Countess implied
an engagement to do--what? more than she intended to fulfil.

Ten minutes later she was alone with Caroline.

'Tie yourself to the Duke at the dinner,' she said, in the forcible
phrase she could use when necessary. 'Don't let them scheme to separate
you. Never mind looks--do it!'

Caroline, however, had her reasons for desiring to maintain appearances.
The Countess dashed at her hesitation.

'There is a plot to humiliate us in the most abominable way. The whole
family have sworn to make us blush publicly. Publicly blush! They have
written to Mama to come and speak out. Now will you attend to me,
Caroline? You do not credit such atrocity? I know it to be true.'

'I never can believe that Rose would do such a thing,' said Caroline.' We
can hardly have to endure more than has befallen us already.'

Her speech was pensive, as of one who had matter of her own to ponder
over. A swift illumination burst in the Countess's mind.

'No? Have you, dear, darling Carry? not that I intend that you should!
but to-day the Duke would be such ineffable support to us. May I deem you
have not been too cruel to-day? You dear silly English creature, "Duck,"
I used to call you when I was your little Louy. All is not yet lost, but
I will save you from the ignominy if I can. I will!'

Caroline denied nothing--confirmed nothing, just as the Countess had
stated nothing. Yet they understood one another perfectly. Women have a
subtler language than ours: the veil pertains to them morally as bodily,
and they see clearer through it.

The Countess had no time to lose. Wrath was in her heart. She did not
lend all her thoughts to self-defence.

Without phrasing a word, or absolutely shaping a thought in her head, she
slanted across the sun to Mr. Raikes, who had taken refreshment, and in
obedience to his instinct, notwithstanding his enormous pretensions, had
commenced a few preliminary antics.

'Dear Mr. Raikes!' she said, drawing him aside, 'not before dinner!'

'I really can't contain the exuberant flow!' returned that gentleman. 'My
animal spirits always get the better of me,' he added confidentially.

'Suppose you devote your animal spirits to my service for half an hour.'

'Yours, Countess, from the 'os frontis' to the chine!' was the exuberant
rejoinder.

The Countess made a wry mouth.

'Your curricle is in Beckley?'

'Behold!' said Jack. 'Two juveniles, not half so blest as I, do from the
seat regard the festive scene o'er yon park palings. They are there, even
Franko and Fred. I 'm afraid I promised to get them in at a later period
of the day. Which sadly sore my conscience doth disturb! But what is to
be done about the curricle, my Countess?'

'Mr. Raikes,' said the Countess, smiling on him fixedly, 'you are
amusing; but in addressing me, you must be precise, and above all things
accurate. I am not your Countess!'

He bowed profoundly. 'Oh, that I might say my Queen!'

The Countess replied: 'A conviction of your lunacy would prevent my
taking offence, though I might wish you enclosed and guarded.'

Without any further exclamations, Raikes acknowledged a superior.

'And, now, attend to me,' said the Countess. 'Listen:

You go yourself, or send your friends instantly to Fallow field. Bring
with you that girl and her child. Stop: there is such a person. Tell her
she is to be spoken to about the prospects of the poor infant. I leave
that to your inventive genius. Evan wishes her here. Bring her, and
should you see the mad captain who behaves so oddly, favour him with a
ride. He says he dreams his wife is here, and he will not reveal his
name! Suppose it should be my own beloved husband! I am quite anxious.'

The Countess saw him go up to the palings and hold a communication with
his friends Franko and Fred. One took the whip, and after mutual
flourishes, drove away.

'Now!' mused the Countess, 'if Captain Evremonde should come!' It would
break up the pic-nic. Alas! the Countess had surrendered her humble hopes
of a day's pleasure. But if her mother came as well, what a diversion
that would be! If her mother came before the Captain, his arrival would
cover the retreat; if the Captain preceded her, she would not be noticed.
Suppose her mother refrained from coming? In that case it was a pity, but
the Jocelyns had brought it on themselves.

This mapping out of consequences followed the Countess's deeds, and did
not inspire them. Her passions sharpened her instincts, which produced
her actions. The reflections ensued: as in nature, the consequences were
all seen subsequently! Observe the difference between your male and
female Generals.

On reflection, too, the Countess praised herself for having done all that
could be done. She might have written to her mother: but her absence
would have been remarked: her messenger might have been overhauled and,
lastly, Mrs. Mel--'Gorgon of a mother!' the Countess cried out: for Mrs.
Mel was like a Fate to her. She could remember only two occasions in her
whole life when she had been able to manage her mother, and then by lying
in such a way as to distress her conscience severely.

'If Mama has conceived this idea of coming, nothing will impede her. My
prayers will infuriate her!' said the Countess, and she was sure that she
had acted both rightly and with wisdom.

She put on her armour of smiles: she plunged into the thick of the enemy.
Since they would not allow her to taste human happiness--she had asked
but for the pic-nic! a small truce! since they denied her that, rather
than let them triumph by seeing her wretched, she took into her bosom the
joy of demons. She lured Mr. George Uplift away from Miss Carrington, and
spoke to him strange hints of matrimonial disappointments, looking from
time to time at that apprehensive lady, doating on her terrors. And Mr.
George seconded her by his clouded face, for he was ashamed not to show
that he did not know Louisa Harrington in the Countess de Saldar, and had
not the courage to declare that he did. The Countess spoke familiarly,
but without any hint of an ancient acquaintance between them. 'What a
post her husband's got!' thought Mr. George, not envying the Count. He
was wrong: she was an admirable ally. All over the field the Countess
went, watching for her mother, praying that if she did come, Providence
might prevent her from coming while they were at dinner. How clearly Mrs.
Shorne and Mrs. Melville saw her vulgarity now! By the new light of
knowledge, how certain they were that they had seen her ungentle training
in a dozen little instances.

'She is not well-bred, 'cela se voit',' said Lady Jocelyn.

'Bred! it's the stage! How could such a person be bred?' said Mrs.
Shorne.

Accept in the Countess the heroine who is combating class-prejudices, and
surely she is pre-eminently noteworthy. True, she fights only for her
family, and is virtually the champion of the opposing institution
misplaced. That does not matter: the Fates may have done it purposely: by
conquering she establishes a principle. A Duke adores her sister, the
daughter of the house her brother, and for herself she has many
protestations in honour of her charms: nor are they empty ones. She can
confound Mrs. Melville, if she pleases to, by exposing an adorer to lose
a friend. Issuing out of Tailordom, she, a Countess, has done all this;
and it were enough to make her glow, did not little evils, and angers,
and spites, and alarms so frightfully beset her.

The sun of the pic-nic system is dinner. Hence philosophers may deduce
that the pic-nic is a British invention. There is no doubt that we do not
shine at the pic-nic until we reflect the face of dinner. To this, then,
all who were not lovers began seriously to look forward, and the advance
of an excellent county band, specially hired to play during the
entertainment, gave many of the guests quite a new taste for sweet music;
and indeed we all enjoy a thing infinitely more when we see its meaning.

About this time Evan entered the lower park-gates with Andrew. The first
object he encountered was John Raikes in a state of great depression. He
explained his case:

'Just look at my frill! Now, upon my honour, you know, I'm good-tempered;
I pass their bucolic habits, but this is beyond bearing. I was near the
palings there, and a fellow calls out, "Hi! will you help the lady over?"
Holloa! thinks I, an adventure! However, I advised him to take her round
to the gates. The beast burst out laughing. "Now, then," says he, and I
heard a scrambling at the pales, and up came the head of a dog. "Oh! the
dog first," says I. "Catch by the ears," says he. I did so. "Pull," says
he. "'Gad, pull indeed!", The beast gave a spring and came slap on my
chest, with his dirty wet muzzle on my neck! I felt instantly it was the
death of my frill, but gallant as you know me, I still asked for the
lady. "If you will please, or an it meet your favour, to extend your hand
to me!" I confess I did think it rather odd, the idea of a lady coming in
that way over the palings! but my curst love of adventure always blinds
me. It always misleads my better sense, Harrington. Well, instead of a
lady, I see a fellow--he may have been a lineal descendant of Cedric the
Saxon. "Where's the lady?" says I. "Lady?" says he, and stares, and then
laughs: "Lady! why," he jumps over, and points at his beast of a dog,
"don't you know a bitch when you see one?" I was in the most ferocious
rage! If he hadn't been a big burly bully, down he'd have gone. "Why
didn't you say what it was?" I roared. "Why," says he, "the word isn't
considered polite!" I gave him a cut there. I said, "I rejoice to be
positively assured that you uphold the laws and forms of civilization,
sir." My belief is he didn't feel it.'

'The thrust sinned in its shrewdness,' remarked Evan, ending a laugh.

'Hem!' went Mr. Raikes, more contentedly: 'after all, what are
appearances to the man of wit and intellect? Dress, and women will
approve you: but I assure you they much prefer the man of wit in his
slouched hat and stockings down. I was introduced to the Duke this
morning. It is a curious thing that the seduction of a Duchess has always
been one of my dreams.'

At this Andrew Cogglesby fell into a fit of laughter.

'Your servant,' said Mr. Raikes, turning to him. And then he muttered
'Extraordinary likeness! Good Heavens! Powers!'

From a state of depression, Mr. Raikes--changed into one of bewilderment.
Evan paid no attention to him, and answered none of his hasty undertoned
questions. Just then, as they were on the skirts of the company, the band
struck up a lively tune, and quite unconsciously, the legs of Raikes,
affected, it may be, by supernatural reminiscences, loosely hornpiped. It
was but a moment: he remembered himself the next: but in that fatal
moment eyes were on him. He never recovered his dignity in Beckley Court:
he was fatally mercurial.

'What is the joke against this poor fellow?' asked Evan of Andrew.

'Never mind, Van. You'll roar. Old Tom again. We 'll see by-and-by, after
the champagne. He--this young Raikes-ha! ha!--but I can't tell you.' And
Andrew went away to Drummond, to whom he was more communicative. Then he
went to Melville, and one or two others, and the eyes of many became
concentrated on Raikes, and it was observed as a singular sign that he
was constantly facing about, and flushing the fiercest red. Once he made
an effort to get hold of Evan's arm and drag him away, as one who had an
urgent confession to be delivered of, but Evan was talking to Lady
Jocelyn, and other ladies, and quietly disengaged his arm without even
turning to notice the face of his friend. Then the dinner was announced,
and men saw the dinner. The Countess went to shake her brother's hand,
and with a very gratulatory visage, said through her half-shut teeth.

'If Mama appears, rise up and go away with her, before she has time to
speak a word.' An instant after Evan found himself seated between Mrs.
Evremonde and one of the Conley girls. The dinner had commenced. The
first half of the Battle of the Bull-dogs was as peaceful as any ordinary
pic-nic, and promised to the general company as calm a conclusion.

CHAPTER XXXI

THE BATTLE OF THE BULL-DOGS. PART II.

If it be a distinct point of wisdom to hug the hour that is, then does
dinner amount to a highly intellectual invitation to man, for it
furnishes the occasion; and Britons are the wisest of their race, for
more than all others they take advantage of it. In this Nature is
undoubtedly our guide, seeing that he who, while feasting his body allows
to his soul a thought for the morrow, is in his digestion curst, and
becomes a house of evil humours. Now, though the epicure may complain of
the cold meats, a dazzling table, a buzzing company, blue sky, and a band
of music, are incentives to the forgetfulness of troubles past and
imminent, and produce a concentration of the faculties. They may not
exactly prove that peace is established between yourself and those who
object to your carving of the world, but they testify to an armistice.

Aided by these observations, you will understand how it was that the
Countess de Saldar, afflicted and menaced, was inspired, on taking her
seat, to give so graceful and stately a sweep to her dress that she was
enabled to conceive woman and man alike to be secretly overcome by it.
You will not refuse to credit the fact that Mr. Raikes threw care to the
dogs, heavy as was that mysterious lump suddenly precipitated on his
bosom; and you will think it not impossible that even the springers of
the mine about to explode should lose their subterranean countenances. A
generous abandonment to one idea prevailed. As for Evan, the first glass
of champagne rushed into reckless nuptials with the music in his head,
bringing Rose, warm almost as life, on his heart. Sublime are the visions
of lovers! He knew he must leave her on the morrow; he feared he might
never behold her again; and yet he tasted bliss, for it seemed within the
contemplation of the Gods that he should dance with his darling before
dark-haply waltz with her! Oh, heaven! he shuts his eyes, blinded. The
band wheels off meltingly in a tune all cadences, and twirls, and risings
and sinkings, and passionate outbursts trippingly consoled. Ah! how sweet
to waltz through life with the right partner. And what a singular thing
it is to look back on the day when we thought something like it! Never
mind: there may be spheres where it is so managed--doubtless the planets
have their Hanwell and Bedlam.

I confess that the hand here writing is not insensible to the effects of
that first glass of champagne. The poetry of our Countess's achievements
waxes rich in manifold colours: I see her by the light of her own pleas
to Providence. I doubt almost if the hand be mine which dared to make a
hero play second fiddle, and to his beloved. I have placed a bushel over
his light, certainly. Poor boy! it was enough that he should have
tailordom on his shoulders: I ought to have allowed him to conquer
Nature, and so come out of his eclipse. This shall be said of him: that
he can play second fiddle without looking foolish, which, for my part, I
call a greater triumph than if he were performing the heroics we are more
accustomed to. He has steady eyes, can gaze at the right level into the
eyes of others, and commands a tongue which is neither struck dumb nor
set in a flutter by any startling question. The best instances to be
given that he does not lack merit are that the Jocelyns, whom he has
offended by his birth, cannot change their treatment of him, and that the
hostile women, whatever they may say, do not think Rose utterly insane.
At any rate, Rose is satisfied, and her self-love makes her a keen
critic. The moment Evan appeared, the sickness produced in her by the
Countess passed, and she was ready to brave her situation. With no mock
humility she permitted Mrs. Shorne to place her in a seat where glances
could not be interchanged. She was quite composed, calmly prepared for
conversation with any one. Indeed, her behaviour since the hour of
general explanation had been so perfectly well-contained, that Mrs.
Melville said to Lady Jocelyn:

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