Book: Alice, or The Mysteries, Book IV
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Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Alice, or The Mysteries, Book IV
"But we were talking of family portraits: there is one in the
entrance-hall, which perhaps you have not observed; it is half
obliterated by damp and time, yet it is of a remarkable personage,
connected with Maltravers by ancestral intermarriages,--Lord Falkland,
the Falkland of Clarendon; a man weak in character, but made most
interesting by history,--utterly unfitted for the severe ordeal of those
stormy times; sighing for peace when his whole soul should have been in
war; and repentant alike whether with the Parliament or the king, but
still a personage of elegant and endearing associations; a
student-soldier, with a high heart and a gallant spirit. Come and look
at his features,--homely and worn, but with a characteristic air of
refinement and melancholy thought."
Thus running on, the agreeable old gentleman drew Evelyn into the outer
hall. Upon arriving there, through a small passage, which opened upon
the hall, they were surprised to find the old housekeeper and another
female servant standing by a rude kind of couch on which lay the form of
the poor woman described in the last chapter. Maltravers and two other
men were also there; and Maltravers himself was giving orders to his
servants, while he leaned over the sufferer, who was now conscious both
of pain and the service rendered to her. As Evelyn stopped abruptly, and
in surprise, opposite and almost at the foot of the homely litter, the
woman raised herself up on one arm, and gazed at her with a wild stare;
then muttering some incoherent words which appeared to betoken delirium,
she sank back, and was again insensible.
CHAPTER IV.
HENCE oft to win some stubborn maid,
Still does the wanton god assume
The martial air, the gay cockade,
The sword, the shoulder-knot, and plume.
MARRIOTT.
THE hall was cleared, the sufferer had been removed, and Maltravers was
left alone with Cleveland and Evelyn.
He simply and shortly narrated the adventure of the morning; but he did
not mention that Vargrave had been the cause of the injury his new guest
had sustained. Now this event had served to make a mutual and kindred
impression on Evelyn and Maltravers. The humanity of the latter, natural
and commonplace as it was, was an endearing recollection to Evelyn,
precisely as it showed that his cold theory of disdain towards the mass
did not affect his actual conduct towards individuals. On the other
hand, Maltravers had perhaps been yet more impressed with the prompt and
ingenuous sympathy which Evelyn had testified towards the sufferer: it
had so evidently been her first gracious and womanly impulse to hasten to
the side of this humble stranger. In that impulse, Maltravers himself
had been almost forgotten; and as the poor woman lay pale and lifeless,
and the young Evelyn bent over her in beautiful compassion, Maltravers
thought she had never seemed so lovely, so irresistible,--in fact, pity
in woman is a great beautifier.
As Maltravers finished his short tale, Evelyn's eyes were fixed upon him
with such frank and yet such soft approval, that the look went straight
to his heart. He quickly turned away, and abruptly changed the
conversation.
"But how long have you been here, Miss Cameron,--and your companions?"
"We are again intruders; but this time it was not my fault."
"No," said Cleveland, "for a wonder it was male, and not lady-like
curiosity that trespassed on Bluebeard's chamber. But, however, to
soften your resentment, know that Miss Cameron has brought you a
purchaser for Burleigh. Now, then, we can test the sincerity of your
wish to part with it. I assure you, meanwhile, that Miss Cameron was as
much shocked at the idea as I was. Were you not?"
"But you surely have no intention of selling Burleigh?" said Evelyn,
anxiously.
"I fear I do not know my own mind."
"Well," said Cleveland, "here comes your tempter. Lord Doltimore, let me
introduce Mr. Maltravers."
Lord Doltimore bowed.
"Been admiring your horses, Mr. Maltravers. I never saw anything so
perfect as the black one; may I ask where you bought him?"
"It was a present to me," answered Maltravers.
"A present?"
"Yes, from one who would not have sold that horse for a king's
ransom,--an old Arab chief, with whom I formed a kind of friendship in
the desert. A wound disabled him from riding, and he bestowed the horse
on me, with as much solemn tenderness for the gift as if he had given me
his daughter in marriage."
"I think of travelling in the East," said Lord Doltimore, with much
gravity: "I suppose nothing will induce you to sell the black horse?"
"Lord Doltimore!" said Maltravers, in a tone of lofty surprise.
"I do not care for the price," continued the young nobleman, a little
disconcerted.
"No; I never sell any horse that has once learned to know me. I would as
soon think of selling a friend. In the desert, one's horse is one's
friend. I am almost an Arab myself in these matters."
"But talking of sale and barter reminds me of Burleigh," said Cleveland,
maliciously. "Lord Doltimore is a universal buyer. He covets all your
goods: he will take the house, if he can't have the stables."
"I only mean," said Lord Doltimore, rather peevishly, "that if you wish
to part with Burleigh, I should like to have the option of purchase."
"I will remember it, if I determine to sell the place," answered
Maltravers, smiling gravely; "at present I am undecided."
He turned away towards Evelyn as he spoke, and almost started to observe
that she was joined by a stranger, whose approach he had not before
noticed,--and that stranger a man of such remarkable personal advantages,
that, had Maltravers been in Vargrave's position, he might reasonably
have experienced a pang of jealous apprehension. Slightly above the
common height; slender, yet strongly formed; set off by every advantage
of dress, of air, of the nameless tone and pervading refinement that
sometimes, though not always, springs from early and habitual intercourse
with the most polished female society,--Colonel Legard, at the age of
eight and twenty, had acquired a reputation for beauty almost as popular
and as well known as that which men usually acquire by mental
qualifications. Yet there was nothing effeminate in his countenance, the
symmetrical features of which were made masculine and expressive by the
rich olive of the complexion, and the close jetty curls of the
Antinous-like hair.
They seemed, as they there stood--Evelyn and Legard--so well suited to
each other in personal advantages, their different styles so happily
contrasted; and Legard, at the moment, was regarding her with such
respectful admiration, and whispering compliment to her in so subdued a
tone, that the dullest observer might have ventured a prophecy by no
means agreeable to the hopes of Lumley Lord Vargrave.
But a feeling or fear of this nature was not that which occurred to
Maltravers, or dictated his startled exclamation of surprise.
Legard looked up as he heard the exclamation, and saw Maltravers, whose
back had hitherto been turned towards him. He, too, was evidently
surprised, and seemingly confused; the colour mounted to his cheek, and
then left it pale.
"Colonel Legard," said Cleveland, "a thousand apologies for my neglect: I
really did not observe you enter,--you came round by the front door, I
suppose. Let me make you acquainted with Mr. Maltravers."
Legard bowed low.
"We have met before," said he, in embarrassed accents: "at Venice, I
think!"
Maltravers inclined his head rather stiffly at first, but then, as if
moved by a second impulse, held out his hand cordially.
"Oh, Mr. Ernest, here you are!" cried Sophy, bounding into the hall,
followed by Mr. Merton, the old admiral, Caroline, and Cecilia.
The interruption seemed welcome and opportune. The admiral, with blunt
cordiality, expressed his pleasure at being made known to Mr. Maltravers.
The conversation grew general; refreshments were proffered and declined;
the visit drew to its close.
It so happened that as the guests departed, Evelyn, from whose side the
constant colonel had insensibly melted away, lingered last,--save,
indeed, the admiral, who was discussing with Cleveland a new specific for
the gout. And as Maltravers stood on the steps, Evelyn turned to him
with all her beautiful _naivete_ of mingled timidity and kindness, and
said,--
"And are we really never to see you again; never to hear again your tales
of Egypt and Arabia; never to talk over Tasso and Dante? No books, no
talk, no disputes, no quarrels? What have we done? I thought we had
made it up,--and yet you are still unforgiving. Give me a good scold,
and be friends!"
"Friends! you have no friend more anxious, more devoted than I am.
Young, rich, fascinating as you are, you will carve no impression on
human hearts deeper than that you have graven here!"
Carried away by the charm of her childlike familiarity and enchanting
sweetness, Maltravers had said more than he intended; yet his eyes, his
emotion, said more than his words.
Evelyn coloured deeply, and her whole manner changed. However, she
turned away, and saying, with a forced gayety, "Well, then, you will not
desert us; we shall see you once more?" hurried down the steps to join
her companions.
CHAPTER V.
SEE how the skilful lover spreads his toils.--STILLINGFLEET.
THE party had not long returned to the rectory, and the admiral's
carriage was ordered, when Lord Vargrave made his appearance. He
descanted with gay good-humour on his long drive, the bad roads, and his
disappointment at the _contretemps_ that awaited him; then, drawing aside
Colonel Legard, who seemed unusually silent and abstracted, he said to
him,--
"My dear colonel, my visit this morning was rather to you than to
Doltimore. I confess that I should like to see your abilities enlisted
on the side of the Government; and knowing that the post of Storekeeper
to the Ordnance will be vacant in a day or two by the promotion of Mr.
-----, I wrote to secure the refusal. To-day's post brings me the
answer. I offer the place to you; and I trust, before long, to procure
you also a seat in parliament. But you must start for London
immediately."
A week ago, and Legard's utmost ambition would have been amply gratified
by this post; he now hesitated.
"My dear lord," said he, "I cannot say how grateful I feel for your
kindness; but--but--"
"Enough; no thanks, my dear Legard. Can you go to town to-morrow?"
"Indeed," said Legard, "I fear not; I must consult my uncle."
"I can answer for him; I sounded him before I wrote. Reflect! You are
not rich, my dear Legard; it is an excellent opening: a seat in
parliament, too! Why, what can be your reason for hesitation?"
There was something meaning and inquisitive in the tone of voice in which
this question was put that brought the colour to the colonel's cheek. He
knew not well what to reply; and he began, too, to think that he ought
not to refuse the appointment. Nay, would his uncle, on whom he was
dependent, consent to such a refusal? Lord Vargrave saw the
irresolution, and proceeded. He spent ten minutes in combating every
scruple, every objection: he placed all the advantages of the post, real
or imaginary, in every conceivable point of view before the colonel's
eyes; he sought to flatter, to wheedle, to coax, to weary him into
accepting it; and he at length partially succeeded. The colonel
petitioned for three days' consideration, which Vargrave reluctantly
acceded to; and Legard then stepped into his uncle's carriage, with the
air rather of a martyr than a maiden placeman.
"Aha!" said Vargrave, chuckling to himself as he took a turn in the
grounds, "I have got rid of that handsome knave; and now I shall have
Evelyn all to myself!"
CHAPTER VI.
I AM forfeited to eternal disgrace if you do not commiserate.
. . . . . .
Go to, then, raise, recover.--BEN JONSON: _Poetaster_.
THE next morning Admiral Legard and his nephew were conversing in the
little cabin consecrated by the name of the admiral's "own room."
"Yes," said the veteran, "it would be moonshine and madness not to accept
Vargrave's offer; though one can see through such a millstone as that
with half an eye. His lordship is jealous of such a fine, handsome young
fellow as you are,--and very justly. But as long as he is under the same
roof with Miss Cameron, you will have no opportunity to pay your court;
when he goes, you can always manage to be in her neighbourhood; and then,
you know--puppy that you are--her business will be very soon settled."
And the admiral eyed the handsome colonel with grim fondness.
Legard sighed.
"Have you any commands at -----?" said he; "I am just going to canter
over there before Doltimore is up."
"Sad lazy dog, your friend."
"I shall be back by twelve."
"What are you going to ----- for?"
"Brookes, the farrier, has a little spaniel,--King Charles's breed. Miss
Cameron is fond of dogs. I can send it to her, with my compliments,--it
will be a sort of leave-taking."
"Sly rogue; ha, ha, ha! d-----d sly; ha, ha!" and the admiral punched the
slender waist of his nephew, and laughed till the tears ran down his
cheeks.
"Good-by, sir."
"Stop, George; I forgot to ask you a question; you never told me you knew
Mr. Maltravers. Why don't you cultivate his acquaintance?"
"We met at Venice accidentally. I did not know his name then; he left
just as I arrived. As you say, I ought to cultivate his acquaintance."
"Fine character!"
"Very!" said Legard, with energy, as he abruptly quitted the room.
George Legard was an orphan. His father--the admiral's elder
brother--had been a spendthrift man of fashion, with a tolerably large
unentailed estate. He married a duke's daughter without a sixpence.
Estates are troublesome,--Mr. Legard's was sold. On the purchase-money
the happy pair lived for some years in great comfort, when Mr. Legard
died of a brain fever; and his disconsolate widow found herself alone in
the world with a beautiful little curly-headed boy, and an annuity of one
thousand a year, for which her settlement had been exchanged. All the
rest of the fortune was gone,--a discovery not made till Mr. Legard's
death. Lady Louisa did not long survive the loss of her husband and her
station in society; her income of course died with herself. Her only
child was brought up in the house of his grandfather, the duke, till he
was of age to hold the office of king's page; thence, as is customary, he
was promoted to a commission in the Guards. To the munificent emoluments
of his pay, the ducal family liberally added an allowance of two hundred
a year; upon which income Cornet Legard contrived to get very handsomely
in debt. The extraordinary beauty of his person, his connections, and
his manners obtained him all the celebrity that fashion can bestow; but
poverty is a bad thing. Luckily, at this time, his uncle the admiral
returned from sea, to settle for the rest of his life in England.
Hitherto, the admiral had taken no notice of George. He himself had
married a merchant's daughter with a fair portion; and had been blessed
with two children, who monopolized all his affection. But there seemed
some mortality in the Legard family; in one year after returning to
England and settling in B-----shire, the admiral found himself wifeless
and childless. He then turned to his orphan nephew; and soon became
fonder of him than he had ever been of his own children. The admiral,
though in easy circumstances, was not wealthy; nevertheless, he advanced
the money requisite for George's rise in the army, and doubled the
allowance bestowed by the duke. His grace heard of this generosity, and
discovered that he himself had a very large family growing up; that the
marquess was going to be married, and required an increase of income;
that he had already behaved most handsomely to his nephew; and the result
of this discovery was that the duke withdrew the two hundred a year.
Legard, however, who looked on his uncle as an exhaustless mine, went on
breaking hearts and making debts--till one morning he woke in the Bench.
The admiral was hastily summoned to London. He arrived; paid off the
duns--a kindness which seriously embarrassed him--swore, scolded, and
cried; and finally insisted that Legard should give up that d-----d
coxcomb regiment, in which he was now captain, retire on half-pay, and
learn economy and a change of habits on the Continent.
The admiral, a rough but good-natured man on the whole, had two or three
little peculiarities. In the first place, he piqued himself on a sort of
John Bull independence; was a bit of a Radical (a strange anomaly in an
admiral)--which was owing, perhaps, to two or three young lords having
been put over his head in the earlier part of his career; and he made it
a point with his nephew (of whose affection he was jealous) to break with
those fine grand connections, who plunged him into a sea of extravagance,
and then never threw him a rope to save him from drowning.
In the second place, without being stingy, the admiral had a good deal of
economy in his disposition. He was not a man to allow his nephew to ruin
him. He had an extraordinarily old-fashioned horror of gambling,--a
polite habit of George's; and he declared positively that his nephew
must, while a bachelor, learn to live upon seven hundred a year.
Thirdly, the admiral could be a very stern, stubborn, passionate old
brute; and when he coolly told George, "Harkye, you young puppy, if you
get into debt again--if you exceed the very handsome allowance I make
you--I shall just cut you off with a shilling," George was fully aware
that his uncle was one who would rigidly keep his word.
However, it was something to be out of debt, and one of the handsomest
men of his age; and George Legard, whose rank in the Guards made him a
colonel in the line, left England tolerably contented with the state of
affairs.
Despite the foibles of his youth, George Legard had many high and
generous qualities. Society had done its best to spoil a fine and candid
disposition, with abilities far above mediocrity; but society had only
partially succeeded. Still, unhappily, dissipation had grown a habit
with him; all his talents were of a nature that brought a ready return.
At his age, it was but natural that the praise of _salons_ should retain
all its sweetness.
In addition to those qualities which please the softer sex, Legard was a
good whist player, superb at billiards, famous as a shot, unrivalled as a
horseman,--in fact, an accomplished man, "who did everything so devilish
well!" These accomplishments did not stand him in much stead in Italy;
and, though with reluctance and remorse, he took again to gambling,--he
really _had_ nothing else to do.
In Venice there was, one year, established a society somewhat on the
principle of the _salon_ at Paris. Some rich Venetians belonged to it;
but it was chiefly for the convenience of foreigners,--French, English,
and Austrians. Here there was select gaming in one room, while another
apartment served the purposes of a club. Many who never played belonged
to this society; but still they were not the _habitues_.
Legard played: he won at first, then he lost, then he won again; it was a
pleasant excitement. One night, after winning largely at _roulette_, he
sat down to play _ecarte_ with a Frenchman of high rank. Legard played
well at this, as at all scientific games; he thought he should make a
fortune out of the Frenchman. The game excited much interest; the crowd
gathered round the table; bets ran high; the vanity of Legard, as well as
his interest, was implicated in the conflict. It was soon evident that
the Frenchman played as well as the Englishman. The stakes, at first
tolerably high, were doubled. Legard betted freely. Cards went against
him; he lost much, lost all that he had, lost more than he had, lost
several hundreds, which he promised to pay the next morning. The table
was broken up, the spectators separated. Amongst the latter had been one
Englishman, introduced into the club for the first time that night. He
had neither played nor betted, but had observed the game with a quiet and
watchful interest. This Englishman lodged at the same hotel as Legard.
He was at Venice only for a day; the promised sight of a file of English
newspapers had drawn him to the club; the general excitement around had
attracted him to the table; and once there, the spectacle of human
emotions exercised its customary charm.
On ascending the stairs that conducted to his apartment, the Englishman
heard a deep groan in a room the door of which was ajar. He paused, the
sound was repeated; he gently pushed open the door and saw Legard seated
by a table, while a glass on the opposite wall reflected his working and
convulsed countenance, with his hands trembling visibly, as they took a
brace of pistols from the case.
The Englishman recognized the loser at the club; and at once divined the
act that his madness or his despair dictated. Legard twice took up one
of the pistols, and twice laid it down irresolute; the third time he rose
with a start, raised the weapon to his head, and the next moment it was
wrenched from his grasp.
"Sit down, sir!" said the stranger, in a loud and commanding voice.
Legard, astonished and abashed, sank once more into his seat, and stared
sullenly and half-unconsciously at his countryman.
"You have lost your money," said the Englishman, after calmly replacing
the pistols in their case, which he locked, putting the key into his
pocket; "and that is misfortune enough for one night. If you had won,
and ruined your opponent, you would be excessively happy, and go to bed,
thinking Good Luck (which is the representative of Providence) watched
over you. For my part, I think you ought to be very thankful that you
are not the winner."
"Sir," said Legard, recovering from his surprise, and beginning to feel
resentment, "I do not understand this intrusion in my apartments. You
have saved me, it is true, from death,--but life is a worse curse."
"Young man, no! moments in life are agony, but life itself is a blessing.
Life is a mystery that defies all calculation. You can never say,
'To-day is wretched, therefore to-morrow must be the same!' And for the
loss of a little gold you, in the full vigour of youth, with all the
future before you, will dare to rush into the chances of eternity! You,
who have never, perhaps, thought what eternity is! Yet," added the
stranger, in a soft and melancholy voice, "you are young and
beautiful,--perhaps the pride and hope of others! Have you no tie, no
affection, no kindred; are you lord of yourself?"
Legard was moved by the tone of the stranger, as well as by the words.
"It is not the loss of money," said he, gloomily,--"it is the loss of
honour. To-morrow I must go forth a shunned and despised man,--I, a
gentleman and a soldier! They may insult me--and I have no reply!"
The Englishman seemed to muse, for his brow lowered, and he made no
answer. Legard threw himself back, overcome with his own excitement, and
wept like a child. The stranger, who imagined himself above the
indulgence of emotion (vain man!), woke from his revery at this burst of
passion. He gazed at first (I grieve to write) with a curl of the
haughty lip that had in it contempt; but it passed quickly away; and the
hard man remembered that he too had been young and weak, and his own
errors greater perhaps than those of the one he had ventured to despise.
He walked to and fro the room, still without speaking. At last he
approached the gamester, and took his hand.
"What is your debt?" he asked gently.
"What matters it?--more than I can pay."
"If life is a trust, so is wealth: _you_ have the first in charge for
others, _I_ may have the last. What is the debt?"
Legard started; it was a strong struggle between shame and hope. "If I
could borrow it, I could repay it hereafter,--I know I could; I would not
think of it otherwise."
"Very well, so be it,--I will lend you the money on one condition.
Solemnly promise me, on your faith as a soldier and a gentleman, that you
will not, for ten years to come--even if you grow rich, and can ruin
others--touch card or dice-box. Promise me that you will shun all gaming
for gain, under whatever disguise, whatever appellation. I will take
your word as my bond."
Legard, overjoyed, and scarcely trusting his senses, gave the promise.
"Sleep then, to-night, in hope and assurance of the morrow," said the
Englishman: "let this event be an omen to you, that while there is a
future there is no despair. One word more,--I do not want your thanks!
it is easy to be generous at the expense of justice. Perhaps I have been
so now. This sum, which is to save your life--a life you so little
value--might have blessed fifty human beings,--better men than either the
giver or receiver. What is given to error may perhaps be a wrong to
virtue. When you would ask others to support a career of blind and
selfish extravagance, pause and think over the breadless lips this wasted
gold would have fed! the joyless hearts it would have comforted! You
talk of repaying me: if the occasion offer, do so; if not--if we never
meet again, and you have it in your power, pay it for me to the Poor!
And now, farewell."