Constantius. Yes, one must make an exception with regard to the Klesmers and the Meyricks. They are delightful, and as for Klesmer himself, and Hans Meyrick, Theodora may maintain her epithet. Shakespearean characters are characters that are born of the overflow of observation—characters that make the drama seem multitudinous, like life. Klesmer comes in with a sort of Shakespearean “value,” as a painter would say, and so, in a different tone, does Hans Meyrick. They spring from a much-peopled mind.
Theodora. I think Gwendolen’s confrontation with Klesmer one of the finest things in the book.
Constantius. It is like everything in George Eliot; it will bear thinking of.
Pulcheria. All that is very fine, but you cannot persuade me that Deronda is not a very ponderous and ill-made story. It has nothing that one can call a subject. A silly young girl and a solemn, sapient young man who doesn’t fall in love with her! That is the donnée of eight monthly volumes. I call it very flat. Is that what the exquisite art of Thackeray and Miss Austen and Hawthorne has come to? I would as soon read a German novel outright.
Theodora. There is something higher than form—there is spirit.
Constantius. I am afraid Pulcheria is sadly æsthetic. She had better confine herself to Mérimée.
Pulcheria. I shall certainly to-day read over La Double Méprise.
Theodora. Oh, my dear, y pensez-vous?
Constantius. Yes, I think there is little art in Deronda, but I think there is a vast amount of life. In life without art you can find your account; but art without life is a poor affair. The book is full of the world.
Theodora. It is full of beauty and knowledge, and that is quite art enough for me.