In the checkered area of human experience the seasons are all mingled
as in the golden age: fruit and blossom hang together; in the same
moment the sickle is reaping and the seed is sprinkled; one tends the
green cluster and another treads the winepress. Nay, in each of our
lives harvest and spring-time are continually one, until himself
gathers us and sows us anew in his invisible fields.
Among the blessings of love there is hardly one more exquisite than the
sense that in uniting the beloved life to ours we can watch over its
happiness, bring comfort where hardship was, and over memories of
privation and suffering open the sweetest fountains of joy. Deronda’s
love for Mirah was strongly imbued with that blessed protectiveness.
Even with infantine feet she had begun to tread among thorns; and the
first time he had beheld her face it had seemed to him the girlish
image of despair.
But now she was glowing like a dark-tipped yet delicate ivory-tinted
flower in the warm sunlight of content, thinking of any possible grief
as part of that life with Deronda, which she could call by no other
name than good. And he watched the sober gladness which gave new beauty
to her movements; and her habitual attitudes of repose, with a delight
which made him say to himself that it was enough of personal joy for
him to save her from pain. She knew nothing of Hans’s struggle or of
Gwendolen’s pang; for after the assurance that Deronda’s hidden love
had been for her, she easily explained Gwendolen’s eager solicitude
about him as part of a grateful dependence on his goodness, such as she
herself had known. And all Deronda’s words about Mrs. Grandcourt
confirmed that view of their relation, though he never touched on it
except in the most distant manner. Mirah was ready to believe that he
had been a rescuing angel to many besides herself. The only wonder was,
that she among them all was to have the bliss of being continually by
his side.
So, when the bridal veil was around Mirah it hid no doubtful
tremors—only a thrill of awe at the acceptance of a great gift which
required great uses. And the velvet canopy never covered a more goodly
bride and bridegroom, to whom their people might more wisely wish
offspring; more truthful lips never touched the sacrament
marriage-wine; the marriage-blessing never gathered stronger promise of
fulfillment than in the integrity of their mutual pledge. Naturally,
they were married according to the Jewish rite. And since no religion
seems yet to have demanded that when we make a feast we should invite
only the highest rank of our acquaintances, few, it is to be hoped,
will be offended to learn that among the guests at Deronda’s little
wedding-feast was the entire Cohen family, with the one exception of
the baby who carried on her teething intelligently at home. How could
Mordecai have borne that those friends of his adversity should have
been shut out from rejoicing in common with him?
Mrs. Meyrick so fully understood this that she had quite reconciled
herself to meeting the Jewish pawnbroker, and was there with her three
daughters—all of them enjoying the consciousness that Mirah’s marriage
to Deronda crowned a romance which would always make a sweet memory to
them. For which of them, mother or girls, had not had a generous part
in it—giving their best in feeling and in act to her who needed? If
Hans could have been there, it would have been better; but Mab had
already observed that men must suffer for being so inconvenient;
suppose she, Kate, and Amy had all fallen in love with Mr.
Deronda?—but being women they were not so ridiculous.
The Meyricks were rewarded for conquering their prejudices by hearing a
speech from Mr. Cohen, which had the rare quality among speeches of not
being quite after the usual pattern. Jacob ate beyond his years, and
contributed several small whinnying laughs as a free accompaniment of
his father’s speech, not irreverently, but from a lively sense that his
family was distinguishing itself; while Adelaide Rebekah, in a new
Sabbath frock, maintained throughout a grave air of responsibility.
Mordecai’s brilliant eyes, sunken in their large sockets, dwelt on the
scene with the cherishing benignancy of a spirit already lifted into an
aloofness which nullified only selfish requirements and left sympathy
alive. But continually, after his gaze had been traveling round on the
others, it returned to dwell on Deronda with a fresh gleam of trusting
affection.
The wedding-feast was humble, but Mirah was not without splendid
wedding-gifts. As soon as the betrothal had been known, there were
friends who had entertained graceful devices. Sir Hugo and Lady
Mallinger had taken trouble to provide a complete equipment for Eastern
travel, as well as a precious locket containing an inscription—“_To
the bride of our dear Daniel Deronda all blessings. H. and L. M._” The
Klesmers sent a perfect watch, also with a pretty inscription.
But something more precious than gold and gems came to Deronda from the
neighborhood of Diplow on the morning of his marriage. It was a letter
containing these words:
Do not think of me sorrowfully on your wedding-day. I have remembered
your words—that I may live to be one of the best of women, who
make others glad that they were born. I do not yet see how that can
be, but you know better than I. If it ever comes true, it will be
because you helped me. I only thought of myself, and I made you
grieve. It hurts me now to think of your grief. You must not grieve
any more for me. It is better—it shall be better with me because I
have known you.
GWENDOLEN GRANDCOURT.
The preparations for the departure of all three to the East began at
once; for Deronda could not deny Ezra’s wish that they should set out
on the voyage forthwith, so that he might go with them, instead of
detaining them to watch over him. He had no belief that Ezra’s life
would last through the voyage, for there were symptoms which seemed to
show that the last stage of his malady had set in. But Ezra himself had
said, “Never mind where I die, so that I am with you.”
He did not set out with them. One morning early he said to Deronda, “Do
not quit me to-day. I shall die before it is ended.”
He chose to be dressed and sit up in his easy chair as usual, Deronda
and Mirah on each side of him, and for some hours he was unusually
silent, not even making the effort to speak, but looking at them
occasionally with eyes full of some restful meaning, as if to assure
them that while this remnant of breathing-time was difficult, he felt
an ocean of peace beneath him.
It was not till late in the afternoon, when the light was falling, that
he took a hand of each in his and said, looking at Deronda, “Death is
coming to me as the divine kiss which is both parting and
reunion—which takes me from your bodily eyes and gives me full
presence in your soul. Where thou goest, Daniel, I shall go. Is it not
begun? Have I not breathed my soul into you? We shall live together.”
He paused, and Deronda waited, thinking that there might be another
word for him. But slowly and with effort Ezra, pressing on their hands,
raised himself and uttered in Hebrew the confession of the divine
Unity, which long for generations has been on the lips of the dying
Israelite.
He sank back gently into his chair, and did not speak again. But it was
some hours before he had ceased to breathe, with Mirah’s and Deronda’s
arms around him.
“Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise or blame; nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.”