Madame Goesler’s Politics
It may be remembered that when Lady Glencora Palliser was shown into
Madame Goesler’s room, Madame Goesler had just explained somewhat
forcibly to the Duke of Omnium her reasons for refusing the loan of
his Grace’s villa at Como. She had told the Duke in so many words
that she did not mean to give the world an opportunity of maligning
her, and it would then have been left to the Duke to decide whether
any other arrangements might have been made for taking Madame Goesler
to Como, had he not been interrupted. That he was very anxious to
take her was certain. The green brougham had already been often
enough at the door in Park Lane to make his Grace feel that Madame
Goesler’s company was very desirable,--was, perhaps, of all things
left for his enjoyment, the one thing the most desirable. Lady
Glencora had spoken to her husband of children crying for the top
brick of the chimney. Now it had come to this, that in the eyes
of the Duke of Omnium Marie Max Goesler was the top brick of the
chimney. She had more wit for him than other women,--more of that
sort of wit which he was capable of enjoying. She had a beauty which
he had learned to think more alluring than other beauty. He was sick
of fair faces, and fat arms, and free necks. Madame Goesler’s eyes
sparkled as other eyes did not sparkle, and there was something
of the vagueness of mystery in the very blackness and gloss and
abundance of her hair,--as though her beauty was the beauty of some
world which he had not yet known. And there was a quickness and yet
a grace of motion about her which was quite new to him. The ladies
upon whom the Duke had of late most often smiled had been somewhat
slow,--perhaps almost heavy,--though, no doubt, graceful withal. In
his early youth he remembered to have seen, somewhere in Greece, such
a houri as was this Madame Goesler. The houri in that case had run
off with the captain of a Russian vessel engaged in the tallow trade;
but not the less was there left on his Grace’s mind some dreamy
memory of charms which had impressed him very strongly when he was
simply a young Mr. Palliser, and had had at his command not so
convenient a mode of sudden abduction as the Russian captain’s tallow
ship. Pressed hard by such circumstances as these, there is no
knowing how the Duke might have got out of his difficulties had not
Lady Glencora appeared upon the scene.
Since the future little Lord Silverbridge had been born, the Duke had
been very constant in his worship of Lady Glencora, and as, from year
to year, a little brother was added, thus making the family very
strong and stable, his acts of worship had increased; but with his
worship there had come of late something almost of dread,--something
almost of obedience, which had made those who were immediately
about the Duke declare that his Grace was a good deal changed. For,
hitherto, whatever may have been the Duke’s weaknesses, he certainly
had known no master. His heir, Plantagenet Palliser, had been always
subject to him. His other relations had been kept at such a distance
as hardly to be more than recognised; and though his Grace no
doubt had had his intimacies, they who had been intimate with him
had either never tried to obtain ascendancy, or had failed. Lady
Glencora, whether with or without a struggle, had succeeded, and
people about the Duke said that the Duke was much changed. Mr.
Fothergill,--who was his Grace’s man of business, and who was not
a favourite with Lady Glencora,--said that he was very much changed
indeed. Finding his Grace so much changed, Mr. Fothergill had made
a little attempt at dictation himself, but had receded with fingers
very much scorched in the attempt. It was indeed possible that the
Duke was becoming in the slightest degree weary of Lady Glencora’s
thraldom, and that he thought that Madame Max Goesler might be more
tender with him. Madame Max Goesler, however, intended to be tender
only on one condition.
When Lady Glencora entered the room, Madame Goesler received her
beautifully. “How lucky that you should have come just when his Grace
is here!” she said.
“I saw my uncle’s carriage, and of course I knew it,” said Lady
Glencora.
“Then the favour is to him,” said Madame Goesler, smiling.
“No, indeed; I was coming. If my word is to be doubted in that point,
I must insist on having the servant up; I must, certainly. I told
him to drive to this door, as far back as Grosvenor Street. Did I
not, Planty?” Planty was the little Lord Silverbridge as was to
be, if nothing unfortunate intervened, who was now sitting on his
granduncle’s knee.
“Dou said to the little house in Park Lane,” said the boy.
“Yes,--because I forgot the number.”
“And it is the smallest house in Park Lane, so the evidence is
complete,” said Madame Goesler. Lady Glencora had not cared much for
evidence to convince Madame Goesler, but she had not wished her uncle
to think that he was watched and hunted down. It might be necessary
that he should know that he was watched, but things had not come to
that as yet.
“How is Plantagenet?” asked the Duke.
“Answer for papa,” said Lady Glencora to her child.
“Papa is very well, but he almost never comes home.”
“He is working for his country,” said the Duke. “Your papa is a busy,
useful man, and can’t afford time to play with a little boy as I
can.”
“But papa is not a duke.”
“He will be some day, and that probably before long, my boy. He will
be a duke quite as soon as he wants to be a duke. He likes the House
of Commons better than the strawberry leaves, I fancy. There is not a
man in England less in a hurry than he is.”
“No, indeed,” said Lady Glencora.
“How nice that is,” said Madame Goesler.
“And I ain’t in a hurry either,--am I, mamma?” said the little future
Lord Silverbridge.
“You are a wicked little monkey,” said his grand-uncle, kissing him.
At this moment Lady Glencora was, no doubt, thinking how necessary
it was that she should be careful to see that things did turn out
in the manner proposed,--so that people who had waited should not
be disappointed; and the Duke was perhaps thinking that he was not
absolutely bound to his nephew by any law of God or man; and Madame
Max Goesler,--I wonder whether her thoughts were injurious to the
prospects of that handsome bold-faced little boy.
Lady Glencora rose to take her leave first. It was not for her to
show any anxiety to force the Duke out of the lady’s presence. If the
Duke were resolved to make a fool of himself, nothing that she could
do would prevent it. But she thought that this little inspection
might possibly be of service, and that her uncle’s ardour would
be cooled by the interruption to which he had been subjected. So
she went, and immediately afterwards the Duke followed her. The
interruption had, at any rate, saved him on that occasion from making
the highest bid for the pleasure of Madame Goesler’s company at Como.
The Duke went down with the little boy in his hand, so that there
was not an opportunity for a single word of interest between the
gentleman and the lady.
Madame Goesler, when she was alone, seated herself on her sofa,
tucking her feet up under her as though she were seated somewhere in
the East, pushed her ringlets back roughly from her face, and then
placed her two hands to her sides so that her thumbs rested lightly
on her girdle. When alone with something weighty on her mind she
would sit in this form for the hour together, resolving, or trying
to resolve, what should be her conduct. She did few things without
much thinking, and though she walked very boldly, she walked warily.
She often told herself that such success as she had achieved could
not have been achieved without much caution. And yet she was ever
discontented with herself, telling herself that all that she had done
was nothing, or worse than nothing. What was it all, to have a duke
and to have lords dining with her, to dine with lords or with a duke
itself, if life were dull with her, and the hours hung heavy! Life
with her was dull, and the hours did hang heavy. And what if she
caught this old man, and became herself a duchess,--caught him by
means of his weakness, to the inexpressible dismay of all those
who were bound to him by ties of blood,--would that make her life
happier, or her hours less tedious? That prospect of a life on the
Italian lakes with an old man tied to her side was not so charming in
her eyes as it was in those of the Duke. Were she to succeed, and to
be blazoned forth to the world as Duchess of Omnium, what would she
have gained?
She perfectly understood the motive of Lady Glencora’s visit, and
thought that she would at any rate gain something in the very triumph
of baffling the manoeuvres of so clever a woman. Let Lady Glencora
throw her ægis before the Duke, and it would be something to carry
off his Grace from beneath the protection of so thick a shield. The
very flavour of the contest was pleasing to Madame Goesler. But, the
victory gained, what then would remain to her? Money she had already;
position, too, she had of her own. She was free as air, and should it
suit her at any time to go off to some lake of Como in society that
would personally be more agreeable to her than that of the Duke of
Omnium, there was nothing to hinder her for a moment. And then came a
smile over her face,--but the saddest smile,--as she thought of one
with whom it might be pleasant to look at the colour of Italian skies
and feel the softness of Italian breezes. In feigning to like to do
this with an old man, in acting the raptures of love on behalf of a
worn-out duke who at the best would scarce believe in her acting,
there would not be much delight for her. She had never yet known what
it was to have anything of the pleasure of love. She had grown, as
she often told herself, to be a hard, cautious, selfish, successful
woman, without any interference or assistance from such pleasure.
Might there not be yet time left for her to try it without
selfishness,--with an absolute devotion of self,--if only she
could find the right companion? There was one who might be such a
companion, but the Duke of Omnium certainly could not be such a one.
But to be Duchess of Omnium! After all, success in this world is
everything;--is at any rate the only thing the pleasure of which will
endure. There was the name of many a woman written in a black list
within Madame Goesler’s breast,--written there because of scorn,
because of rejected overtures, because of deep social injury; and
Madame Goesler told herself often that it would be a pleasure to her
to use the list, and to be revenged on those who had ill-used and
scornfully treated her. She did not readily forgive those who had
injured her. As Duchess of Omnium she thought that probably she might
use that list with efficacy. Lady Glencora had treated her well, and
she had no such feeling against Lady Glencora. As Duchess of Omnium
she would accept Lady Glencora as her dearest friend, if Lady
Glencora would admit it. But if it should be necessary that there
should be a little duel between them, as to which of them should take
the Duke in hand, the duel must of course be fought. In a matter so
important, one woman would of course expect no false sentiment from
another. She and Lady Glencora would understand each other;--and no
doubt, respect each other.
I have said that she would sit there resolving, or trying to resolve.
There is nothing in the world so difficult as that task of making
up one’s mind. Who is there that has not longed that the power and
privilege of selection among alternatives should be taken away from
him in some important crisis of his life, and that his conduct should
be arranged for him, either this way or that, by some divine power
if it were possible,--by some patriarchal power in the absence of
divinity,--or by chance even, if nothing better than chance could be
found to do it? But no one dares to cast the die, and to go honestly
by the hazard. There must be the actual necessity of obeying the die,
before even the die can be of any use. As it was, when Madame Goesler
had sat there for an hour, till her legs were tired beneath her, she
had not resolved. It must be as her impulse should direct her when
the important moment came. There was not a soul on earth to whom she
could go for counsel, and when she asked herself for counsel, the
counsel would not come.
Two days afterwards the Duke called again. He would come generally on
a Thursday,--early, so that he might be there before other visitors;
and he had already quite learned that when he was there other
visitors would probably be refused admittance. How Lady Glencora had
made her way in, telling the servant that her uncle was there, he had
not understood. That visit had been made on the Thursday, but now he
came on the Saturday,--having, I regret to say, sent down some early
fruit from his own hot-houses,--or from Covent Garden,--with a little
note on the previous day. The grapes might have been pretty well, but
the note was injudicious. There were three lines about the grapes, as
to which there was some special history, the vine having been brought
from the garden of some villa in which some ill-used queen had lived
and died; and then there was a postscript in one line to say that the
Duke would call on the following morning. I do not think that he had
meant to add this when he began his note; but then children, who want
the top brick, want it so badly, and cry for it so perversely!
Of course Madame Goesler was at home. But even then she had not made
up her mind. She had made up her mind only to this,--that he should
be made to speak plainly, and that she would take time for her reply.
Not even with such a gem as the Duke’s coronet before her eyes, would
she jump at it. Where there was so much doubt, there need at least be
no impatience.
“You ran away the other day, Duke, because you could not resist the
charm of that little boy,” she said, laughing.
“He is a dear little boy,--but it was not that,” he answered.
“Then what was it? Your niece carried you off in a whirl-wind. She
was come and gone, taking you with her, in half a minute.”
“She had disturbed me when I was thinking of something,” said the
Duke.
“Things shouldn’t be thought of,--not so deeply as that.” Madame
Goesler was playing with a bunch of his grapes now, eating one or
two from a small china plate which had stood upon the table, and
he thought that he had never seen a woman so graceful and yet
so natural. “Will you not eat your own grapes with me? They are
delicious;--flavoured with the poor queen’s sorrows.” He shook his
head, knowing that it did not suit his gastric juices to have to deal
with fruit eaten at odd times. “Never think, Duke. I am convinced
that it does no good. It simply means doubting, and doubt always
leads to error. The safest way in the world is to do nothing.”
“I believe so,” said the Duke.
“Much the safest. But if you have not sufficient command over
yourself to enable you to sit in repose, always quiet, never
committing yourself to the chance of any danger,--then take a leap in
the dark; or rather many leaps. A stumbling horse regains his footing
by persevering in his onward course. As for moving cautiously, that I
detest.”
“And yet one must think;--for instance, whether one will succeed or
not.”
“Take that for granted always. Remember, I do not recommend motion at
all. Repose is my idea of life;--repose and grapes.”
The Duke sat for a while silent, taking his repose as far as the
outer man was concerned, looking at his top brick of the chimney, as
from time to time she ate one of his grapes. Probably she did not eat
above half-a-dozen of them altogether, but he thought that the grapes
must have been made for the woman, she was so pretty in the eating of
them. But it was necessary that he should speak at last. “Have you
been thinking of coming to Como?” he said.
“I told you that I never think.”
“But I want an answer to my proposition.”
“I thought I had answered your Grace on that question.” Then she put
down the grapes, and moved herself on her chair, so that she sat with
her face turned away from him.
“But a request to a lady may be made twice.”
“Oh, yes. And I am grateful, knowing how far it is from your
intention to do me any harm. And I am somewhat ashamed of my warmth
on the other day. But still there can be but one answer. There
are delights which a woman must deny herself, let them be ever so
delightful.”
“I had thought,--” the Duke began, and then he stopped himself.
“Your Grace was saying that you thought,--”
“Marie, a man at my age does not like to be denied.”
“What man likes to be denied anything by a woman at any age? A woman
who denies anything is called cruel at once,--even though it be
her very soul.” She had turned round upon him now, and was leaning
forward towards him from her chair, so that he could touch her if he
put out his hand.
He put out his hand and touched her. “Marie,” he said, “will you deny
me if I ask?”
“Nay, my lord; how shall I say? There is many a trifle I would deny
you. There is many a great gift I would give you willingly.”
“But the greatest gift of all?”
“My lord, if you have anything to say, you must say it plainly. There
never was a woman worse than I am at the reading of riddles.”
“Could you endure to live in the quietude of an Italian lake with an
old man?” Now he touched her again, and had taken her hand.
“No, my lord;--nor with a young one,--for all my days. But I do not
know that age would guide me.”
Then the Duke rose and made his proposition in form. “Marie, you know
that I love you. Why it is that I at my age should feel so sore a
love, I cannot say.”
“So sore a love!”
“So sore, if it be not gratified. Marie, I ask you to be my wife.”
“Duke of Omnium, this from you!”
“Yes, from me. My coronet is at your feet. If you will allow me to
raise it, I will place it on your brow.”
Then she went away from him, and seated herself at a distance. After
a moment or two he followed her, and stood with his arm upon her
shoulder. “You will give me an answer, Marie?”
“You cannot have thought of this, my lord.”
“Nay; I have thought of it much.”
“And your friends?”
“My dear, I may venture to please myself in this,--as in everything.
Will you not answer me?”
“Certainly not on the spur of the moment, my lord. Think how high is
the position you offer me, and how immense is the change you propose
to me. Allow me two days, and I will answer you by letter. I am so
fluttered now that I must leave you.” Then he came to her, took her
hand, kissed her brow, and opened the door for her.