Book: Alice, or The Mysteries, Book IV
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Edward Bulwer Lytton >> Alice, or The Mysteries, Book IV
"Stay,--give me the name of my preserver! Mine is--"
"Hush! what matter names? This is a sacrifice we have both made to
honour. You will sooner recover your self-esteem (and without
self-esteem there is neither faith nor honour), when you think that your
family, your connections, are spared all association with your own error;
that I may hear them spoken of, that I may mix with them without fancying
that they owe me gratitude."
"Your own name then?" said Legard, deeply penetrated with the delicate
generosity of his benefactor.
"Tush!" muttered the stranger impatiently as he closed the door.
The next morning when he awoke Legard saw upon the table a small packet;
it contained a sum that exceeded the debt named.
On the envelope was written, "Remember the bond."
The stranger had already quitted Venice. He had not travelled through
the Italian cities under his own name, for he had just returned from the
solitudes of the East, and was not yet hardened to the publicity of the
gossip which in towns haunted by his countrymen attended a well-known
name; that given to Legard by the innkeeper, mutilated by Italian
pronunciation, the young man had never heard before, and soon forgot. He
paid his debts, and he scrupulously kept his word. The adventure of that
night went far, indeed, to reform and ennoble the mind and habits of
George Legard. Time passed, and he never met his benefactor, till in the
halls of Burleigh he recognized the stranger in Maltravers.
CHAPTER VII.
WHY value, then, that strength of mind they boast,
As often varying, and as often lost?
HAWKINS BROWNE (translated by SOAME JENYNS).
MALTRAVERS was lying at length, with his dogs around him, under a
beech-tree that threw its arms over one of the calm still pieces of water
that relieved the groves of Burleigh, when Colonel Legard spied him from
the bridle-road which led through the park to the house. The colonel
dismounted, threw the rein over his arm; and at the sound of the hoofs
Maltravers turned, saw the visitor, and rose. He held out his hand to
Legard, and immediately began talking of indifferent matters.
Legard was embarrassed; but his nature was not one to profit by the
silence of a benefactor. "Mr. Maltravers," said he, with graceful
emotion, "though you have not yet allowed me an opportunity to allude to
it, do not think I am ungrateful for the service you rendered me."
Maltravers looked grave, but made no reply. Legard resumed, with a
heightened colour,--
"I cannot say how I regret that it is not yet in my power to discharge my
debt; but--"
"When it is, you will do so. Pray think no more of it. Are you going to
the rectory?"
"No, not this morning; in fact, I leave B-----shire tomorrow. Pleasant
family, the Mertons."
"And Miss Cameron--"
"Is certainly beautiful,--and very rich. How could she ever think of
marrying Lord Vargrave, so much older,--she who could have so many
admirers?"
"Not, surely, while betrothed to another?"
This was a refinement which Legard, though an honourable man as men go,
did not quite understand. "Oh," said he, "that was by some eccentric old
relation,--her father-in-law, I think. Do you think she is bound by such
an engagement?"
Maltravers made no reply, but amused himself by throwing a stick into the
water, and sending one of his dogs after it. Legard looked on, and his
affectionate disposition yearned to make advances which something distant
in the manner of Maltravers chilled and repelled.
When Legard was gone, Maltravers followed him with his eyes. "And this
is the man whom Cleveland thinks Evelyn could love! I could forgive her
marrying Vargrave. Independently of the conscientious feeling that may
belong to the engagement, Vargrave has wit, talent, intellect; and this
man has nothing but the skin of the panther. Was I wrong to save him?
No. Every human life, I suppose, has its uses. But Evelyn--I could
despise her if her heart was the fool of the eye!"
These comments were most unjust to Legard; but they were just of that
kind of injustice which the man of talent often commits against the man
of external advantages, and which the latter still more often retaliates
on the man of talent. As Maltravers thus soliloquized, he was accosted
by Mr. Cleveland.
"Come, Ernest, you must not cut these unfortunate Mertons any longer. If
you continue to do so, do you know what Mrs. Hare and the world will
say?"
"No--what?"
"That you have been refused by Miss Merton."
"That _would_ be a calumny!" said Ernest, smiling.
"Or that you are hopelessly in love with Miss Cameron."
Maltravers started; his proud heart swelled; he pulled his hat over his
brows, and said, after a short pause,--
"Well, Mrs. Hare and the world must not have it all their own way; and
so, whenever you go to the rectory, take me with you."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE more he strove
To advance his suit, the farther from her love.
DRYDEN: _Theodore and Honoria_.
THE line of conduct which Vargrave now adopted with regard to Evelyn was
craftily conceived and carefully pursued. He did not hazard a single
syllable which might draw on him a rejection of his claims; but at the
same time no lover could be more constant, more devoted, in attentions.
In the presence of others, there was an air of familiar intimacy that
seemed to arrogate a right, which to her he scrupulously shunned to
assert. Nothing could be more respectful, nay, more timid, than his
language, or more calmly confident than his manner. Not having much
vanity, nor any very acute self-conceit, he did not delude himself into
the idea of winning Evelyn's affections; he rather sought to entangle her
judgment, to weave around her web upon web,--not the less dangerous for
being invisible. He took the compact as a matter of course, as something
not to be broken by any possible chance; her hand was to be his as a
right: it was her heart that he so anxiously sought to gain. But this
distinction was so delicately drawn, and insisted upon so little in any
tangible form, that, whatever Evelyn's wishes for an understanding, a
much more experienced woman would have been at a loss to ripen one.
Evelyn longed to confide in Caroline, to consult her; but Caroline,
though still kind, had grown distant. "I wish," said Evelyn, one night
as she sat in Caroline's dressing-room,--"I wish that I knew what tone to
take with Lord Vargrave. I feel more and more convinced that a union
between us is impossible; and yet, precisely because he does not press
it, am I unable to tell him so. I wish you could undertake that task;
you seem such friends with him."
"I!" said Caroline, changing countenance.
"Yes, you! Nay, do not blush, or I shall think you envy me. Could you
not save us both from the pain that otherwise must come sooner or later?"
"Lord Vargrave would not thank me for such an act of friendship.
Besides, Evelyn, consider,--it is scarcely possible to break off this
engagement _now_."
"_Now_! and why now?" said Evelyn, astonished.
"The world believes it so implicitly. Observe, whoever sits next you
rises if Lord Vargrave approaches; the neighbourhood talk of nothing else
but your marriage; and your fate, Evelyn, is not pitied."
"I will leave this place! I will go back to the cottage! I cannot bear
this!" said Evelyn, passionately wringing her hands.
"You do not love another, I am sure: not young Mr. Hare, with his green
coat and straw-coloured whiskers; or Sir Henry Foxglove, with his
how-d'ye-do like a view-halloo; perhaps, indeed, Colonel Legard,--he is
handsome. What! do you blush at his name? No; you say 'not Legard:' who
else is there?"
"You are cruel; you trifle with me!" said Evelyn, in tearful reproach;
and she rose to go to her own room.
"My dear girl!" said Caroline, touched by her evident pain; "learn from
me--if I may say so--that marriages are _not_ made in heaven! Yours will
be as fortunate as earth can bestow. A love-match is usually the least
happy of all. Our foolish sex demand so much in love; and love, after
all, is but one blessing among many. Wealth and rank remain when love is
but a heap of ashes. For my part, I have chosen my destiny and my
husband."
"Your husband!"
"Yes, you see him in Lord Doltimore. I dare say we shall be as happy as
any amorous Corydon and Phyllis." But there was irony in Caroline's
voice as she spoke; and she sighed heavily. Evelyn did not believe her
serious; and the friends parted for the night.
"Mine is a strange fate!" said Caroline to herself; "I am asked by the
man whom I love, and who professes to love me, to bestow myself on
another, and to plead for him to a younger and fairer bride. Well, I
will obey him in the first; the last is a bitterer task, and I cannot
perform it earnestly. Yet Vargrave has a strange power over me; and when
I look round the world, I see that he is right. In these most
commonplace artifices, there is yet a wild majesty that charms and
fascinates me. It is something to rule the world: and his and mine are
natures formed to do so."
CHAPTER IX.
A SMOKE raised with the fume of sighs.
_Romeo and Juliet_.
IT is certain that Evelyn experienced for Maltravers sentiments which, if
not love, might easily be mistaken for it. But whether it were that
master-passion, or merely its fanciful resemblance,--love in early youth
and innocent natures, if of sudden growth, is long before it makes itself
apparent. Evelyn had been prepared to feel an interest in her solitary
neighbour. His mind, as developed in his works, had half-formed her own.
Her childish adventure with the stranger had never been forgotten. Her
present knowledge of Maltravers was an union of dangerous and often
opposite associations,--the Ideal and the Real.
Love, in its first dim and imperfect shape, is but imagination
concentrated on one object. It is a genius of the heart, resembling that
of the intellect; it appeals to, it stirs up, it evokes, the sentiments
and sympathies that lie most latent in our nature. Its sigh is the
spirit that moves over the ocean, and arouses the Anadyomene into life.
Therefore is it that MIND produces affections deeper than those of
external form; therefore it is that women are worshippers of glory, which
is the palpable and visible representative of a genius whose operations
they cannot always comprehend. Genius has so much in common with love,
the imagination that animates one is so much the property of the other,
that there is not a surer sign of the existence of genius than the love
that it creates and bequeaths. It penetrates deeper than the reason, it
binds a nobler captive than the fancy. As the sun upon the dial, it
gives to the human heart both its shadow and its light. Nations are its
worshippers and wooers; and Posterity learns from its oracles to dream,
to aspire, to adore!
Had Maltravers declared the passion that consumed him, it is probable
that it would soon have kindled a return. But his frequent absence, his
sustained distance of manner, had served to repress the feelings that in
a young and virgin heart rarely flow with much force until they are
invited and aroused. _Le besoin d'aimer_ in girls, is, perhaps, in
itself powerful; but is fed by another want, _le besoin d'etre aime_!
_If_, therefore, Evelyn at present felt love for Maltravers, the love had
certainly not passed into the core of life: the tree had not so far
struck its roots but what it might have borne transplanting. There was
in her enough of the pride of sex to have recoiled from the thought of
giving love to one who had not asked the treasure. Capable of
attachment, more trustful and therefore, if less vehement, more beautiful
and durable than that which had animated the brief tragedy of Florence
Lascelles, she could not have been the unknown correspondent, or revealed
the soul, because the features wore a mask.
It must also be allowed that, in some respects, Evelyn was too young and
inexperienced thoroughly to appreciate all that was most truly lovable
and attractive in Maltravers. At four and twenty she would, perhaps,
have felt no fear mingled with her respect for him; but seventeen and six
and thirty is a wide interval! She never felt that there was that
difference in years until she had met Legard, and then at once she
comprehended it. With Legard she had moved on equal terms; he was not
too wise, too high for her every-day thoughts. He less excited her
imagination, less attracted her reverence. But, somehow or other, that
voice which proclaimed her power, those eyes which never turned from
hers, went nearer to her heart. As Evelyn had once said to Caroline, "It
was a great enigma!"--her own feelings were a mystery to her, and she
reclined by the "Golden Waterfalls" without tracing her likeness in the
glass of the pool below.
Maltravers appeared again at the rectory. He joined their parties by
day, and his evenings were spent with them as of old. In this I know not
precisely what were his motives--perhaps he did not know them himself.
It might be that his pride was roused; it might be that he could not
endure the notion that Lord Vargrave should guess his secret by an
absence almost otherwise unaccountable,--he could not patiently bear to
give Vargrave that triumph; it might be that, in the sternness of his
self-esteem, he imagined he had already conquered all save affectionate
interest in Evelyn's fate, and trusted too vainly to his own strength;
and it might be, also, that he could not resist the temptation of seeing
if Evelyn were contented with her lot, and if Vargrave were worthy of the
blessing that awaited him. Whether one of these or all united made him
resolve to brave his danger, or whether, after all, he yielded to a
weakness, or consented to what--invited by Evelyn herself--was almost a
social necessity, the reader and not the narrator shall decide.
Legard was gone; but Doltimore remained in the neighbourhood, having
hired a hunting-box not far from Sir John Merton's manors, over which he
easily obtained permission to sport. When he did not dine elsewhere,
there was always a place for him at the parson's hospitable board,--and
that place was generally next to Caroline. Mr. and Mrs. Merton had given
up all hope of Mr. Maltravers for their eldest daughter; and, very
strangely, this conviction came upon their minds on the first day they
made the acquaintance of the young lord.
"My dear," said the rector, as he was winding up his watch, preparatory
to entering the connubial couch,--"my dear, I don't think Mr. Maltravers
is a marrying man."
"I was just going to make the same remark," said Mrs. Merton, drawing the
clothes over her. "Lord Doltimore is a very fine young man, his estates
unencumbered. I like him vastly, my love. He is evidently smitten with
Caroline: so Lord Vargrave and Mrs. Hare said."
"Sensible, shrewd woman, Mrs. Hare. By the by, we'll send her a
pineapple. Caroline was made to be a woman of rank!"
"Quite; so much self-possession!"
"And if Mr. Maltravers would sell or let Burleigh--"
"It would be so pleasant!"
"Had you not better give Caroline a hint?"
"My love, she is so sensible, let her go her own way."
"You are right, my dear Betsy; I shall always say that no one has more
common-sense than you; you have brought up your children admirably!"
"Dear Charles!"
"It is coldish to-night, love," said the rector; and he put out the
candle.
From that time, it was not the fault of Mr. and Mrs. Merton if Lord
Doltimore did not find their house the pleasantest in the county.
One evening the rectory party were assembled together in the cheerful
drawing-room. Cleveland, Mr. Merton, Sir John, and Lord Vargrave,
reluctantly compelled to make up the fourth, were at the whist-table;
Evelyn, Caroline, and Lord Doltimore were seated round the fire, and Mrs.
Merton was working a footstool. The fire burned clear, the curtains were
down, the children in bed: it was a family picture of elegant comfort.
Mr. Maltravers was announced.
"I am glad you are come at last," said Caroline, holding out her fair
hand. "Mr. Cleveland could not answer for you. We are all disputing as
to which mode of life is the happiest."
"And your opinion?" asked Maltravers, seating himself in the vacant
chair,--it chanced to be next to Evelyn's.
"My opinion is decidedly in favour of London. A metropolitan life, with
its perpetual and graceful excitements,--the best music, the best
companions, the best things in short. Provincial life is so dull, its
pleasures so tiresome; to talk over the last year's news, and wear out
one's last year's dresses, cultivate a conservatory, and play Pope Joan
with a young party,--dreadful!"
"I agree with Miss Merton," said Lord Doltimore, solemnly; not but what I
like the country for three or four months in the year, with good shooting
and hunting, and a large house properly filled, independent of one's own
neighbourhood: but if I am condemned to choose one place to live in, give
me Paris."
"Ah, Paris; I never was in Paris. I should so like to travel!" said
Caroline.
"But the inns abroad are so very bad," said Lord Doltimore; "how people
can rave about Italy, I can't think. I never suffered so much in my life
as I did in Calabria; and at Venice I was bit to death by mosquitoes.
Nothing like Paris, I assure you: don't you think so, Mr. Maltravers?"
"Perhaps I shall be able to answer you better in a short time. I think
of accompanying Mr. Cleveland to Paris!"
"Indeed!" said Caroline. "Well, I envy you; but is it a sudden
resolution?"
"Not very."
"Do you stay long?" asked Lord Doltimore.
"My stay is uncertain."
"And you won't let Burleigh in the meanwhile?"
"_Let_ Burleigh? No; if it once pass from my hands it will be forever!"
Maltravers spoke gravely, and the subject was changed. Lord Doltimore
challenged Caroline to chess.
They sat down, and Lord Doltimore arranged the pieces.
"Sensible man, Mr. Maltravers," said the young lord; "but I don't hit it
off with him: Vargrave is more agreeable. Don't you think so?"
"Y-e-s."
"Lord Vargrave is very kind to me,--I never remember any one being more
so; got Legard that appointment solely because it would please me,--very
friendly fellow! I mean to put myself under his wing next session!"
"You could not do better, I'm sure," said Caroline; "he is so much looked
up to; I dare say he will be prime minister one of these days."
"I take the bishop:--do you think so really?--you are rather a
politician?"
"Oh, no; not much of that. But my father and my uncle are stanch
politicians; gentlemen know so much more than ladies. We should always
go by their opinions. I think I will take the queen's pawn--your
politics are the same as Lord Vargrave's?"
"Yes, I fancy so: at least I shall leave my proxy with him. Glad you
don't like politics,--great bore."
"Why, so young, so connected as you are--" Caroline stopped short, and
made a wrong move.
"I wish we were going to Paris together, we should enjoy it so;" and Lord
Doltimore's knight checked the tower and queen.
Caroline coughed, and stretched her hand quickly to move.
"Pardon me, you will lose the game if you do so!" and Doltimore placed
his hand on hers, their eyes met, Caroline turned away, and Lord
Doltimore settled his right collar.
"And is it true? are you really going to leave us?" said Evelyn, and she
felt very sad. But still the sadness might not be that of love,--she had
felt sad after Legard had gone.
"I do not think I shall long stay away," said Maltravers, trying to speak
indifferently. "Burleigh has become more dear to me than it was in
earlier youth; perhaps because I have made myself duties there: and in
other places I am but an isolated and useless unit in the great mass."
"You! everywhere, you must have occupations and resources,--everywhere,
you must find yourself not alone. But you will not go yet?"
"Not yet--no. [Evelyn's spirits rose.] Have you read the book I sent
you?" (It was one of De Stael's.)
"Yes; but it disappoints me."
"And why? It is eloquent."
"But is it true? Is there so much melancholy in life? Are the
affections so full of bitterness? For me, I am so happy when with those
I love! When I am with my mother, the air seems more fragrant, the skies
more blue: it is surely not affection, but the absence of it, that makes
us melancholy."
"Perhaps so; but if we had never known affection, we might not miss it:
and the brilliant Frenchwoman speaks from memory, while you speak from
hope,--memory, which is the ghost of joy: yet surely, even in the
indulgence of affection, there is at times a certain melancholy, a
certain fear. Have you never felt it, even with--with your mother?"
"Ah, yes! when she suffered, or when I have thought she loved me less
than I desired."
"That must have been an idle and vain thought. Your mother! does she
resemble you?"
"I wish I could think so. Oh, if you knew her! I have longed so often
that you were acquainted with each other! It was she who taught me to
sing your songs."
"My dear Mrs. Hare, we may as well throw up our cards," said the keen
clear voice of Lord Vargrave: "you have played most admirably, and I know
that your last card will be the ace of trumps; still the luck is against
us."
"No, no; pray play it out, my lord."
"Quite useless, ma'am," said Sir John, showing two honours. "We have
only the trick to make."
"Quite useless," echoed Lumley, tossing down his sovereigns, and rising
with a careless yawn.
"How d'ye do, Maltravers?"
Maltravers rose; and Vargrave turned to Evelyn, and addressed her in a
whisper. The proud Maltravers walked away, and suppressed a sigh; a
moment more, and he saw Lord Vargrave occupying the chair he had left
vacant. He laid his hand on Cleveland's shoulder.
"The carriage is waiting,--are you ready?"
CHAPTER X.
OBSCURIS vera involvens.*--VIRGIL.
* "Wrapping truth in obscurity."
A DAY or two after the date of the last chapter, Evelyn and Caroline were
riding out with Lord Vargrave and Mr. Merton, and on returning home they
passed through the village of Burleigh.
"Maltravers, I suppose, has an eye to the county one of these days," said
Lord Vargrave, who honestly fancied that a man's eyes were always
directed towards something for his own interest or advancement;
"otherwise he could not surely take all this trouble about workhouses and
paupers. Who could ever have imagined my romantic friend would sink into
a country squire?"
"It is astonishing what talent and energy he throws into everything he
attempts," said the parson. "One could not, indeed, have supposed that a
man of genius could make a man of business."
"Flattering to your humble servant--whom all the world allow to be the
last, and deny to be the first. But your remark shows what a sad
possession genius is: like the rest of the world, you fancy that it
cannot be of the least possible use. If a man is called a genius, it
means that he is to be thrust out of all the good things in this life.
He is not fit for anything but a garret! Put a _genius_ into office!
make a _genius_ a bishop! or a lord chancellor!--the world would be
turned topsy-turvy! You see that you are quite astonished that a genius
can be even a county magistrate, and know the difference between a spade
and a poker! In fact, a genius is supposed to be the most ignorant,
impracticable, good-for-nothing, do-nothing sort of thing that ever
walked upon two legs. Well, when I began life I took excellent care that
nobody should take _me_ for a genius; and it is only within the last year
or two that I ventured to emerge a little out of my shell. I have not
been the better for it; I was getting on faster while I was merely a
plodder. The world is so fond of that droll fable, the hare and the
tortoise,--it really believes because (I suppose the fable to be true!) a
tortoise _once_ beat a hare that all tortoises are much better runners
than hares possibly can be. Mediocre men have the monopoly of the loaves
and fishes; and even when talent does rise in life, it is a talent which
only differs from mediocrity by being more energetic and bustling."
"You are bitter, Lord Vargrave," said Caroline, laughing; "yet surely you
have had no reason to complain of the non-appreciation of talent?"
"Humph! if I had had a grain more talent I should have been crushed by
it. There is a subtle allegory in the story of the lean poet, who put
_lead_ in his pocket to prevent being blown away! 'Mais a nos
moutons,'--to return to Maltravers. Let us suppose that he was merely
clever, had not had a particle of what is called genius, been merely a
hardworking able gentleman, of good character and fortune, he might be
half-way up the hill by this time; whereas now, what is he? Less before
the public than he was at twenty-eight,--a discontented anchorite, a
meditative idler."
"No, not that," said Evelyn, warmly, and then checked herself.