From Baden to Lucerne.
The second week in July saw Mr. Palliser's party, carriage and all,
established at Lucerne, in Switzerland, safe beyond the reach of
the German gambling tables. Alice Vavasor was still with them; and
the reader will therefore understand that that quarrel about Lady
Glencora's wickedness had been settled without any rupture. It had
been settled amicably, and by the time that they had reached Lucerne,
Alice was inclined to acknowledge that the whole thing was not worth
notice; but for many days her anger against Mr. Palliser had not been
removed, and her intimacy with him had been much checked. It was now
a month since the occurrence of that little scene in the salon at
Baden, which was described in the last chapter,--since Mr. Palliser
had marched off with his wife, leaving Alice to follow as she best
could by herself. After that, as the reader may remember, he had
almost told her that she was to be blamed because of his wife's
indiscretion; and when she had declared her intention of leaving him,
and making her way home to England by herself, he had answered her
not at all, and had allowed her to go off to her own room under the
full ban of his displeasure. Since that he had made no apology to
her; he had not, in so many words, acknowledged that he had wronged
her; but Alice had become aware that he intended to apologize by his
conduct, and she had been content so far to indulge his obstinacy as
to accept this conduct on his part in lieu of any outspoken petition
for pardon. The acknowledgement of a mistake and the asking for grace
is almost too much for any woman to expect from such a man as Mr.
Palliser.
Early on the morning after the scene in question, Lady Glencora
had gone into Alice's bedroom, and had found her cousin in her
dressing-gown, packing up her things, or looking as though she
intended to do so. "You are not such a fool," she said, "as to think
anything of what occurred yesterday?" Alice assured her that, whether
fool or not, she did think a great deal of it. "In point of fact,"
said Alice, "I can't stand it. He expects me to take care of you, and
chooses to show himself offended if you don't do just what he thinks
proper; whereas, as you know well enough, I have not the slightest
influence over you." All these positions Lady Glencora contradicted
vigorously. Of course, Mr. Palliser had been wrong in walking out
of the Assembly Rooms as he had done, leaving Alice behind him. So
much Lady Glencora admitted. But this had come of his intense anxiety.
"And you know what a man he is," said his wife--"how stiff, and hard,
and unpleasant he can be without meaning it."--"There is no reason
why I should bear his unpleasantness," said Alice. "Yes, there
is,--great reason. You are to do it for the sake of friendship. And
as for my not doing what you tell me, you know that's not true."
"Did I not beg you to keep away from the table?"
"Of course you did, and of course I was naughty; but that was only
once. Alice, I want you more than I ever wanted you before. I cannot
tell you more now, but you must stay with me."
Alice consented to come down to breakfast without any immediate
continuance of her active preparations for going, and at last, of
course, she stayed. When she entered the breakfast-room Mr. Palliser
came up to her, and offered her his hand. She had no alternative
but to take it, and then seated herself. That there was an intended
apology in the manner in which he offered her toast and butter, she
was convinced; and the special courtesy with which he handed her to
the carriage, when she and Lady Glencora went out for their drive,
after dinner, was almost as good as a petition for pardon. So the
thing went on, and by degrees Mr. Palliser and Miss Vavasor were again
friends.
But Alice never knew in what way the matter was settled between
Mr. Palliser and his wife, or whether there was any such settling.
Probably there was none. "Of course, he understands that it didn't
mean anything," Lady Glencora had said. "He knows that I don't want
to gamble." But let that be as it might, their sojourn at Baden was
curtailed, and none of the party went up again to the Assembly Rooms
before their departure.
Before establishing themselves at Lucerne they made a little tour
round by the Falls of the Rhine and Zurich. In their preparations
for this journey, Alice made a struggle, but a struggle in vain, to
avoid a passage through Basle. It was only too clear to her that Mr.
Palliser was determined to go by Basle. She could not bring herself
to say that she had recollections connected with that place which
would make a return to it unpleasant to her. If she could have
said as much, even to Glencora, Mr. Palliser would no doubt have
gone round,--round by any more distant route that might have been
necessary to avoid that eternal gateway into Switzerland. But she
could not say it. She was very averse to talking about herself and
her own affairs, even with her cousin. Of course Lady Glencora knew
the whole story of Mr. John Grey and his rejection,--and knew much
also of that other story of Mr. George Vavasor. And, of course, like
all Alice's friends, she hated George Vavasor, and was prepared to
receive Mr. John Grey with open arms, if there were any possibility
that her cousin would open her arms to him also. But Alice was so
stubborn about her own affairs that her friend found it almost
impossible to speak of them. "It is not that you trouble me," Alice
once said, "but that you trouble yourself about that which is of no
use. It is all done and over; and though I know that I have behaved
badly,--very badly,--yet I believe that everything has been done for
the best. I am inclined to think that I can live alone, or perhaps
with my cousin Kate, more happily than I could with any husband."
"That is such nonsense."
"Perhaps so; but, at any rate, I mean to try. We Vavasors don't seem
to be good at marrying."
"You want some one to break your heart for you; that's what you
want," said Lady Glencora. In saying this she knew but little of
the state of her friend's heart, and perhaps was hardly capable
of understanding it. With all the fuss that Lady Glencora made to
herself,--with all the tears that she had shed about her lost lover,
and was so often shedding,--with all her continual thinking of the
matter, she had never loved Burgo Fitzgerald as Alice Vavasor had
loved Mr. Grey. But her nature was altogether different to that of
Alice. Love with her had in it a gleam of poetry, a spice of fun,
a touch of self-devotion, something even of hero-worship; but with
it all there was a dash of devilry, and an aptitude almost for
wickedness. She knew Burgo Fitzgerald to be a scapegrace, and she
liked him the better on that account. She despised her husband
because he had no vices. She would have given everything she had
to Burgo,--pouring her wealth upon him with a total disregard of
herself, had she been allowed to do so. She would have forgiven him
sin after sin, and might perhaps have brought him round, at last, to
some life not absolutely reckless and wretched. But in all that she
might have done, there would have been no thoughtfulness,--no true
care either for him or for herself. And now that she was married
there was no thoughtfulness, or care either for herself or for her
husband. She was ready to sacrifice herself for him, if any sacrifice
might be required of her. She believed herself to be unfit for him,
and would have submitted to be divorced,--or smothered out of the
way, for the matter of that,--if the laws of the land would have
permitted it. But she had never for a moment given to herself the
task of thinking what conduct on her part might be the best for his
welfare.
But Alice's love had been altogether of another kind,--and I am by no
means sure that it was better suited for the work of this work-a-day
world than that of her cousin. It was too thoughtful. I will not
say that there was no poetry in it, but I will say that it lacked
romance. Its poetry was too hard for romance. There was certainly
in it neither fun nor wickedness; nor was there, I fear, so large
a proportion of hero-worship as there always should be in a girl's
heart when she gives it away. But there was in it an amount
of self-devotion which none of those near to her had hitherto
understood,--unless it were that one to whom the understanding of it
was of the most importance. In all the troubles of her love, of her
engagements, and her broken promises, she had thought more of others
than of herself,--and, indeed, those troubles had chiefly come from
that self-devotion. She had left John Grey because she feared that
she would do him no good as his wife,--that she would not make him
happy; and she had afterwards betrothed herself for a second time to
her cousin, because she believed that she could serve him by marrying
him. Of course she had been wrong. She had been very wrong to give up
the man she did love, and more wrong again in suggesting to herself
the possibility of marrying the man she did not love. She knew that
she had been wrong in both, and was undergoing repentance with very
bitter inward sackcloth. But she said little of all this even to her
cousin.
They went to Lucerne by Basle, and put up at the big hotel with the
balcony over the Rhine, which Alice remembered so well. On the first
evening of her arrival she found herself again looking down upon the
river, as though it might have been from the same spot which she had
occupied together with George and Kate. But, in truth, that house is
very large, and has many bedrooms over the water. Who has ever been
through Basle, and not stood in one of them, looking down upon the
father of waters? Here, on this very spot, in one of these balconies,
was brought to her a letter from her cousin Kate, which was filled
with tidings respecting her cousin George. Mr. Palliser brought it to
her with his own hands, and she had no other alternative but to read
it in his presence. "George has lost his election," the letter began.
For one moment Alice thought of her money, and the vain struggle
in which it had been wasted. For one moment, something like regret
for the futility of the effort she had made came upon her. But it
passed away at once. "It was worth our while to try it," she said to
herself, and then went on with her letter. "I and Aunt Greenow are up
in London," the letter went on to say, "and have just heard the news.
Though I have been here for three days, and have twice sent word to
him to say so, he has not been near me. Perhaps it is best that he
should stay away, as I do not know how any words could pass between
us that would be pleasant. The poll was finished this afternoon, and
he lost his election by a large majority. There were five candidates
altogether for the two seats--three Liberals, and two Conservatives.
The other two Liberals were seated, and he was the last of the five.
I continue to hear tidings about him from day to day,--or rather, my
aunt hears them and tells them to me, which fill me full of fears as
to his future career. I believe that he has abandoned his business,
and that he has now no source of income. I would willingly share what
I have with him; or I would do more than that. After keeping back
enough to repay you gradually what he owes you, I would give him all
my share of the income out of the estate. But I cannot do this while
we are presumed to be enemies. I am up here to see a lawyer as to
some steps which he is taking to upset grandpapa's will. The lawyer
says that it is all nonsense, and that George's lawyer is not really
in earnest; but I cannot do anything till the matter is settled. Dear
Alice, though so much of your money is for a time gone, I am bound to
congratulate you on your safety,--on what I may more truly call your
escape. You will understand what my own feelings must be in writing
this, after all that I did to bring you and him together,--after all
my hopes and ambition respecting him. As for the money, it shall be
repaid. I do not think I shall ever dare to indulge in any strong
desire again. I think you will forgive me the injury I have done
you;--and I know that you will pity me.
"I am here to see the London lawyer,--but not only for that. Aunt
Greenow is buying her wedding clothes, and Captain Bellfield is in
lodgings near to us, also buying his trousseau; or, as I should
more properly say, having it bought for him. I am hardly in a mood
for much mirth, but it is impossible not to laugh inwardly when
she discusses before me the state of his wardrobe, and proposes
economical arrangements--greatly to his disgust. At present, she
holds him very tightly in hand, and makes him account for all his
hours as well as all his money. 'Of course, he'll run wild directly
he's married,' she said to me, yesterday; 'and, of course, there'll
always be a fight about it; but the more I do to tame him now, the
less wild he'll be by-and-by. And though I dare say, I shall scold
him sometimes, I shall never quarrel with him.' I have no doubt all
that is true; but what a fool she is to trouble herself with such a
man. She says she does it for an occupation. I took courage to tell
her once that a caged tiger would give her as much to do, and be less
dangerous. She was angry at this, and answered me very sharply. I had
tried my hand on a tiger, she said, and had felt his claws. She chose
to sacrifice herself,--if a sacrifice it were to be,--when some good
result might be possible. I had nothing further to say; and from that
time to this we have been on the pleasantest terms possible as to the
Captain. They have settled with your father to take Vavasor Hall for
three years, and I suppose I shall stay with them till your return.
What I may do then will depend entirely upon your doings. I feel
myself to be a desolate, solitary being, without any tie to any
person, or to any place. I never thought that I should feel the death
of my grandfather to be such a loss to me as it has been. Except you,
I have nothing left to me; and, as regards you, I have the unpleasant
feeling that I have for years been endeavouring to do you the worst
possible injury, and that you must regard me as an enemy from whom
you have escaped indeed, but not without terrible wounds."
Alice was always angered by any assumption that her conduct to Mr.
Grey had been affected by the advice or influence of her cousin Kate.
But this very feeling seemed to preserve Kate from the worse anger,
which might have been aroused against her, had Alice acknowledged the
injury which her cousin had in truth done to her. It was undoubtedly
true that had Alice neither seen nor heard from Kate during the
progress of John Grey's courtship, John Grey would not have lost his
wife. But against this truth Alice was always protesting within her
own breast. She had been weak, foolish, irresolute,--and had finally
acted with false judgement. So much she now admitted to herself. But
she would not admit that any other woman had persuaded her to such
weakness. "She mistakes me," Alice thought, as she put up her letter.
"She is not the enemy who has wounded me."
Mr. Palliser, who had brought her the letter, was seated in the same
balcony, and while Alice had been reading, had almost buried himself
in newspapers which conveyed intelligence as to the general elections
then in progress. He was now seated with a sheet of _The Times_ in
his hand, opened to its full extent,--for he had been too impatient
to cut the paper,--and as he held it up in his hands before his eyes,
was completely hidden beneath it. Five or six other open papers were
around him, and he had not spoken a word since he had commenced his
present occupation. Lady Glencora was standing on the other side of
him, and she also had received letters. "Sophy tells me that you are
returned for Silverbridge," she said at last.
"Who? I! yes; I'm returned," said Mr. Palliser, speaking with
something like disdain in his voice as to the possibility of anybody
having stood with a chance of success against him in his own family
borough. For a full appreciation of the advantages of a private seat
in the House of Commons let us always go to those great Whig families
who were mainly instrumental in carrying the Reform Bill. The house
of Omnium had been very great on that occasion. It had given up
much, and had retained for family use simply the single seat at
Silverbridge. But that that seat should be seriously disputed hardly
suggested itself as possible to the mind of any Palliser. The
Pallisers and the other great Whig families have been right in this.
They have kept in their hands, as rewards for their own services to
the country, no more than the country is manifestly willing to give
them. "Yes; I have been returned," said Mr. Palliser. "I'm sorry to
see, Miss Vavasor, that your cousin has not been so fortunate."
"So I find," said Alice. "It will be a great misfortune to him."
"Ah! I suppose so. Those Metropolitan elections cost so much trouble
and so much money, and under the most favourable circumstances, are
so doubtful. A man is never sure there till he has fought for his
seat three or four times."
"This has been the third time with him," said Alice, "and he is a
poor man."
"Dear, dear," said Mr. Palliser, who himself knew nothing of such
misfortunes. "I have always thought that those seats should be
left to rich commercial men who can afford to spend money upon them.
Instead of that, they are generally contested by men of moderate
means. Another of my friends in the House has been thrown out."
"Who is that unfortunate?" asked Lady Glencora.
"Mr. Bott," said the unthinking husband.
"Mr. Bott out!" exclaimed Lady Glencora. "Mr. Bott thrown out! I am so
glad. Alice, are you not glad? The red-haired man, that used to stand
about, you know, at Matching;--he has lost his seat in Parliament. I
suppose he'll go and stand about somewhere in Lancashire, now."
A very indiscreet woman was poor Lady Glencora. Mr. Palliser's face
became black beneath _The Times_ newspaper. "I did not know," said
he, "that my friend Mr. Bott and Miss Vavasor were enemies."
"Enemies! I don't suppose they were enemies," said Glencora. "But he
was a man whom no one could help observing,--and disliking."
"He was a man I specially disliked," said Alice, with great courage.
"He may be very well in Parliament; but I never met a man who could
make himself so disagreeable in society. I really did feel myself
constrained to be his enemy."
"Bravo, Alice!" said Lady Glencora.
"I hope he did nothing at Matching, to--to--to--," began Mr. Palliser,
apologetically.
"Nothing especially to offend me, Mr. Palliser,--except that he had
a way that I especially dislike of trying to make little secret
confidences."
"And then he was so ugly," said Lady Glencora.
"I felt certain that he endeavoured to do mischief," said Alice.
"Of course he did," said Lady Glencora; "and he had a habit of
rubbing his head against the papers in the rooms, and leaving a mark
behind him that was quite unpardonable."
Mr. Palliser was effectually talked down, and felt himself constrained
to abandon his political ally. Perhaps he did this the easier as the
loss which Mr. Bott had just suffered would materially interfere with
his political utility. "I suppose he will remain now among his own
people," said Mr. Palliser.
"Let us hope he will," said Lady Glencora,--"and that his own people
will appreciate the advantage of his presence." Then there was
nothing more said about Mr. Bott.
It was evening, and while they were still sitting among their letters
and newspapers, there came a shout along the water, and the noise of
many voices from the bridge. Suddenly, there shot down before them
in the swift running stream the heads of many swimmers in the river,
and with the swimmers came boats carrying their clothes. They went
by almost like a glance of light upon the waters, so rapid was the
course of the current. There was the shout of voices,--the quick
passage of the boats,--the uprising, some half a dozen times, of
the men's hands above the surface; and then they were gone down the
river, out of sight,--like morsels of wood thrown into a cataract,
which are borne away instantly.
"Oh, how I wish I could do that!" said Lady Glencora.
"It seems to be very dangerous," said Mr. Palliser. "I don't know how
they can stop themselves."
"Why should they want to stop themselves?" said Lady Glencora. "Think
how cool the water must be, and how beautiful to be carried along so
quickly, and to go on, and on, and on! I suppose we couldn't try it?"
As no encouragement was given to this proposition, Lady Glencora did
not repeat it; but stood leaning on the rail of the balcony, and
looking enviously down upon the water. Alice was, of course, thinking
of that other evening, when perhaps the same swimmers had come down
under the bridge and before the balcony, and where George Vavasor was
sitting in her presence. It was, I think, on that evening, that she
made up her mind to separate herself from Mr. Grey.
On the day after that, Mr. Palliser and his party went on to
Lucerne, making that journey, as I have said, by slow stages; taking
Schaffhausen and Zurich in their way. At Lucerne, they established
themselves for some time, occupying nearly a dozen rooms in the great
hotel which overlooks the lake. Here there came to them a visitor, of
whose arrival I will speak in the next chapter.