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Title: Vivian Grey

Author: The Earl of Beaconsfield
        [AKA Benjamin Disraeli]

Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9840]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on October 23, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VIVIAN GREY ***




Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Charlie Kirschner
and PG Distributed Proofreaders




                      The English Comedie Humaine
                             Second Series


                              VIVIAN GREY


                                   BY
                        THE EARL OF BEACONSFIELD






PUBLISHER'S NOTE.

As a novelist, Benjamin Disraeli belongs to the early part of the
nineteenth century. "Vivian Grey" (1826-27) and "Sybil" (1845) mark the
beginning and the end of his truly creative period; for the two
productions of his latest years, "Lothair" (1870) and "Endymion" (1880),
add nothing to the characteristics of his earlier volumes except the
changes of feeling and power which accompany old age. His period, thus,
is that of Bulwer, Dickens, and Thackeray, and of the later years of Sir
Walter Scott--a fact which his prominence as a statesman during the last
decade of his life, as well as the vogue of "Lothair" and "Endymion,"
has tended to obscure. His style, his material, and his views of English
character and life all date from that earlier time. He was born in 1804
and died in 1881.

Disraeli was barely twenty-one when he published "Vivian Grey," his
first work of fiction; and the young author was at once hailed as a
master of his art by an almost unanimous press.

In this, as in his subsequent books, it was not so much Disraeli's
notable skill as a novelist but rather his portrayal of the social and
political life of the day that made him one of the most popular writers
of his generation, and earned for him a lasting fame as a man of
letters. In "Vivian Grey" is narrated the career of an ambitious young
man of rank; and in this story the brilliant author has preserved to us
the exact tone of the English drawing-room, as he so well knew it,
sketching with sure and rapid strokes a whole portrait gallery of
notables, disguised in name may be, but living characters nevertheless,
who charm us with their graceful manners and general air of being people
of consequence. "Vivian Grey," then, though not a great novel is beyond
question a marvelously true picture of the life and character of an
interesting period of English history and made notable because of
Disraeli's fine imagination and vivid descriptive powers.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


Is there anything you want, sir?

He distinctly beheld Mrs. Felix Lorraine open a small silver box.

It was very slowly that the dark thought came over his mind.




VIVIAN GREY


BOOK I


CHAPTER I


We are not aware that the infancy of Vivian Grey was distinguished by
any extraordinary incident. The solicitude of the most affectionate of
mothers, and the care of the most attentive of nurses, did their best to
injure an excellent constitution. But Vivian was an only child, and
these exertions were therefore excusable. For the first five years of
his life, with his curly locks and his fancy dress, he was the pride of
his own and the envy of all neighbouring establishments; but, in process
of time, the spirit of boyism began to develop itself, and Vivian not
only would brush his hair straight and rebel against his nurse, but
actually insisted upon being--breeched! At this crisis it was discovered
that he had been spoiled, and it was determined that he should be sent
to school. Mr. Grey observed, also, that the child was nearly ten years
old, and did not know his alphabet, and Mrs. Grey remarked that he was
getting ugly. The fate of Vivian was decided.

"I am told, my dear," observed Mrs. Grey, one day after dinner to her
husband, "I am told, my dear, that Dr. Flummery's would do very well for
Vivian. Nothing can exceed the attention which is paid to the pupils.
There are sixteen young ladies, all the daughters of clergymen, merely
to attend to the morals and the linen; terms moderate: 100 guineas per
annum, for all under six years of age, and few extras, only for fencing,
pure milk, and the guitar. Mrs. Metcalfe has both her boys there, and
she says their progress is astonishing! Percy Metcalfe, she assures me,
was quite as backward as Vivian; indeed, backwarder; and so was Dudley,
who was taught at home on the new system, by a pictorial alphabet, and
who persisted to the last, notwithstanding all the exertions of Miss
Barrett, in spelling A-P-E, monkey, merely because over the word there
was a monster munching an apple."

"And quite right in the child, my dear. Pictorial alphabet! pictorial
fool's head!"

"But what do you say to Flummery's, Horace?"

"My dear, do what you like. I never trouble myself, you know, about
these matters;" and Mr. Grey refreshed himself, after this domestic
attack, with a glass of claret.

Mr. Grey was a gentleman who had succeeded, when the heat of youth was
over, to the enjoyment of a life estate of some two thousand a year. He
was a man of lettered tastes, and had hailed with no slight pleasure his
succession to a fortune which, though limited in its duration, was still
a great thing for a young lounger about town, not only with no
profession, but with a mind unfitted for every species of business.
Grey, to the astonishment of his former friends, the wits, made an
excellent domestic match; and, leaving the whole management of his
household to his lady, felt himself as independent in his magnificent
library as if he had never ceased to be that true freeman, A MAN
OF CHAMBERS.

The young Vivian had not, by the cares which fathers are always heirs
to, yet reminded his parent that children were anything else but
playthings. The intercourse between father and son was, of course,
extremely limited; for Vivian was, as yet, the mother's child; Mr.
Grey's parental duties being confined to giving his son a daily glass of
claret, pulling his ears with all the awkwardness of literary affection,
and trusting to God "that the urchin would never scribble."

"I won't go to school, mamma," bawled Vivian.

"But you must, my love," answered Mrs. Grey; "all good boys go to
school;" and in the plenitude of a mother's love she tried to make her
offspring's hair curl.

"I won't have my hair curl, mamma; the boys will laugh at me," rebawled
the beauty.

"Now who could have told the child that?" monologised mamma, with all a
mamma's admiration.

"Charles Appleyard told me so; his hair curled, and the boys called him
girl. Papa! give me some more claret; I won't go to school."




CHAPTER II


Three or four years passed over, and the mind of Vivian Grey
astonishingly developed itself. He had long ceased to wear frills, had
broached the subject of boots three or four times, made a sad inroad
during the holidays in Mr. Grey's bottle of claret, and was reported as
having once sworn at the butler. The young gentleman began also to hint,
during every vacation, that the fellows at Flummery's were somewhat too
small for his companionship, and (first bud of puppyism!) the former
advocate of straight hair now expended a portion of his infant income in
the purchase of Macassar, and began to cultivate his curls. Mrs. Grey
could not entertain for a moment the idea of her son's associating with
children, the eldest of whom (to adopt his own account) was not above
eight years old; so Flummery, it was determined, he should leave. But
where to go? Mr. Grey was for Eton, but his lady was one of those women
whom nothing in the world can persuade that a public school is anything
else but a place where boys are roasted alive; and so with tears, and
taunts, and supplications, the point of private education was conceded.

At length it was resolved that the only hope should remain at home a
season, until some plan should be devised for the cultivation of his
promising understanding. During this year Vivian became a somewhat more
constant intruder into the library than heretofore; and living so much
among books, he was insensibly attracted to those silent companions,
that speak so eloquently.

How far the character of the parent may influence the character of the
child the metaphysician must decide. Certainly the character of Vivian
Grey underwent, at this period of his life, a sensible change.
Doubtless, constant communion with a mind highly refined, severely
cultivated, and much experienced, cannot but produce a beneficial
impression, even upon a mind formed and upon principles developed: how
infinitely more powerful must the influence of such communion be upon a
youthful heart, ardent, innocent, and unpractised! As Vivian was not to
figure in the microcosm of a public school, a place for which, from his
temper, he was almost better fitted than any young genius whom the
playing fields of Eton or the hills of Winton can remember, there was
some difficulty in fixing upon his future Academus. Mr. Grey's two
axioms were, first, that no one so young as his son should settle in the
metropolis, and that Vivian must consequently not have a private tutor;
and, secondly, that all private schools were quite worthless; and,
therefore, there was every probability of Vivian not receiving any
education whatever.

At length, an exception to axiom second started up in the establishment
of Mr. Dallas. This gentleman was a clergyman, a profound Grecian, and a
poor man. He had edited the Alcestis, and married his laundress; lost
money by his edition, and his fellowship by his match. In a few days the
hall of Mr. Grey's London mansion was filled with all sorts of
portmanteaus, trunks, and travelling cases, directed in a boy's
sprawling hand to "Vivian Grey, Esquire, at the Reverend Everard
Dallas, Burnsley Vicarage, Hants."

"God bless you, my boy! write to your mother soon, and remember your
Journal."




CHAPTER III


The rumour of the arrival of "a new fellow" circulated with rapidity
through the inmates of Burnsley Vicarage, and about fifty young devils
were preparing to quiz the newcomer, when the school-room door opened,
and Mr. Dallas, accompanied by Vivian, entered.

"A dandy, by Jove!" whispered St. Leger Smith. "What a knowing set
out!" squeaked Johnson secundus. "Mammy-sick!" growled Barlow primus.
This last exclamation was, however, a scandalous libel, for certainly no
being ever stood in a pedagogue's presence with more perfect sang froid,
and with a bolder front, than did, at this moment, Vivian Grey.

One principle in Mr. Dallas's system was always to introduce a new-comer
in school-hours. He was thus carried immediately in medias res, and the
curiosity of his co-mates being in a great degree satisfied at the time
when that curiosity could not personally annoy him, the new-comer was,
of course, much better prepared to make his way when the absence of the
ruler became a signal for some oral communication with "the arrival."

However, in the present instance the young savages at Burnsley Vicarage
had caught a Tartar; and in a very few days Vivian Grey was decidedly
the most popular fellow in the school. He was "so dashing! so devilish
good-tempered! so completely up to everything!" The magnates of the land
were certainly rather jealous of his success, but their very sneers bore
witness to his popularity. "Cursed puppy," whispered St. Leger Smith.
"Thinks himself knowing," squeaked Johnson secundus. "Thinks himself
witty," growled Barlow primus.

Notwithstanding this cabal, days rolled on at Burnsley Vicarage only to
witness the increase of Vivian's popularity. Although more deficient
than most of his own age in accurate classical attainments, he found
himself, in talents and various acquirements, immeasurably their
superior. And singular is it that at school distinction in such points
is ten thousand times more admired by the multitude than the most
profound knowledge of Greek Metres, or the most accurate acquaintance
with the value of Roman coins. Vivian Grey's English verses and Vivian
Grey's English themes were the subject of universal commendation. Some
young lads made copies of these productions, to enrich, at the Christmas
holidays, their sisters' albums; while the whole school were scribbling
embryo prize-poems, epics of twenty lines on "the Ruins of Paestum" and
"the Temple of Minerva;" "Agrigentum," and "the Cascade of Terni."
Vivian's productions at this time would probably have been rejected by
the commonest twopenny publication about town, yet they turned the brain
of the whole school; while fellows who were writing Latin Dissertations
and Greek Odes, which might have made the fortune of the Classical
Journal, were looked on by the multitude as as great dunderheads as
themselves. Such is the advantage which, even in this artificial world,
everything that is genuine has over everything that is false and forced.
The dunderheads who wrote "good Latin" and "Attic Greek" did it by a
process by means of which the youngest fellow in the school was
conscious he could, if he chose, attain the same perfection. Vivian
Grey's verses were unlike anything which had yet appeared in the
literary Annals of Burnsley Vicarage, and that which was quite novel was
naturally thought quite excellent.

There is no place in the world where greater homage is paid to talent
than an English school. At a public school, indeed, if a youth of great
talents be blessed with an amiable and generous disposition, he ought
not to envy the Minister of England. If any captain of Eton or praefect
of Winchester be reading these pages, let him dispassionately consider
in what situation of life he can rationally expect that it will be in
his power to exercise such influence, to have such opportunities of
obliging others, and be so confident of an affectionate and grateful
return. Aye, there's the rub! Bitter thought! that gratitude should
cease the moment we become men.

And sure I am that Vivian Grey was loved as ardently and as faithfully
us you might expect from innocent young hearts. His slight
accomplishments were the standard of all perfection, his sayings were
the soul of all good fellowship, and his opinion the guide in any crisis
which occurred in the monotonous existence of the little commonwealth.
And time flew gaily on.

One winter evening, as Vivian, with some of his particular cronies, were
standing round the school-room fire, they began, as all schoolboys do
when it grows rather dark and they grow rather sentimental, to talk
of HOME.

"Twelve weeks more," said Augustus Etherege; "twelve weeks more, and we
are free! The glorious day should be celebrated."

"A feast, a feast!" exclaimed Poynings.

"A feast is but the work of a night," said Vivian Grey; "something more
stirring for me! What say you to private theatricals?"

The proposition was, of course, received with enthusiasm, and it was not
until they had unanimously agreed to act that they universally
remembered that acting was not allowed. And then they consulted whether
they should ask Dallas, and then they remembered that Dallas had been
asked fifty times, and then they "supposed they must give it up;" and
then Vivian Grey made a proposition which the rest were secretly sighing
for, but which they were afraid to make themselves; he proposed that
they should act without asking Dallas. "Well, then, we'll do it without
asking him," said Vivian; "nothing is allowed in this life, and
everything is done: in town there is a thing called the French play, and
that is not allowed, yet my aunt has got a private box there. Trust me
for acting, but what shall we perform?"

This question was, as usual, the fruitful source of jarring opinions.
One proposed Othello, chiefly because it would be so easy to black a
face with a burnt cork. Another was for Hamlet, solely because he wanted
to act the ghost, which he proposed doing in white shorts and a
night-cap. A third was for Julius Caesar, because the murder scene would
be such fun.

"No! no!" said Vivian, tired at these various and varying proposals,
"this will never do. Out upon Tragedies; let's have a Comedy!"

"A Comedy! a Comedy! oh! how delightful!"




CHAPTER IV


After an immense number of propositions, and an equal number of
repetitions, Dr. Hoadley's bustling drama was fixed upon. Vivian was to
act Ranger, Augustus Etherege was to personate Clarinda, because he was
a fair boy and always blushing; and the rest of the characters found
able representatives. Every half-holiday was devoted to rehearsals, and
nothing could exceed the amusement and thorough fun which all the
preparations elicited. All went well; Vivian wrote a pathetic prologue
and a witty epilogue. Etherege got on capitally in the mask scene, and
Poynings was quite perfect in Jack Maggot. There was, of course, some
difficulty in keeping all things in order, but then Vivian Grey was such
an excellent manager! and then, with infinite tact, the said manager
conciliated the Classics, for he allowed St. Leger Smith to select a
Greek motto, from the Andromache, for the front of the theatre; and
Johnson secundus and Barlow primus were complimented by being allowed to
act the chairmen.

But alas! in the midst of all this sunshine, the seeds of discord and
dissension were fast flourishing. Mr. Dallas himself was always so
absorbed in some freshly-imported German commentator that it was a fixed
principle with him never to trouble himself with anything that concerned
his pupils "out of school hours." The consequence was, that certain
powers were necessarily delegated to a certain set of beings
called USHERS.

The usherian rule had, however, always been comparatively light at
Burnsley Vicarage, for the good Dallas, never for a moment entrusting
the duties of tuition to a third person, engaged these deputies merely
as a sort of police, to regulate the bodies, rather than the minds, of
his youthful subjects. One of the first principles of the new theory
introduced into the establishment of Burnsley Vicarage by Mr. Vivian
Grey was, that the ushers were to be considered by the boys as a
species of upper servants; were to be treated with civility, certainly,
as all servants are by gentlemen; but that no further attention was to
be paid them, and that any fellow voluntarily conversing with an usher
was to be cut dead by the whole school. This pleasant arrangement was no
secret to those whom it most immediately concerned, and, of course,
rendered Vivian rather a favourite with them. These men had not the tact
to conciliate the boy, and were, notwithstanding, too much afraid of his
influence in the school to attack him openly; so they waited with that
patience which insulted beings can alone endure.

One of these creatures must not be forgotten; his name was Mallett; he
was a perfect specimen of the genuine usher. The monster wore a black
coat and waistcoat; the residue of his costume was of that mysterious
colour known by the name of pepper-and-salt. He was a pallid wretch with
a pug nose, white teeth, and marked with the small-pox: long, greasy,
black hair, and small black, beady eyes. This daemon watched the
progress of the theatrical company with eyes gloating with vengeance. No
attempt had been made to keep the fact of the rehearsal a secret from
the police; no objection, on their part, had as yet been made; the
twelve weeks diminished to six; Ranger had secretly ordered a dress from
town, and was to get a steel-handled sword from Fentum's for Jack
Maggot; and everything was proceeding with delightful success, when one
morning, as Mr. Dallas was apparently about to take his departure, with
a volume of Becker's Thucydides under his arm, the respected Dominie
stopped, and thus harangued: "I am informed that a great deal is going
on in this family with which it is intended that I shall be kept
unacquainted. It is not my intention to name anybody or anything at
present; but I must say that of late the temper of this family has sadly
changed. Whether there be any seditious stranger among you or not, I
shall not at present even endeavour to discover; but I will warn my old
friends of their new ones:" and so saying, the Dominie withdrew.

All eyes were immediately fixed on Vivian, and the faces of the Classics
were triumphant with smiles; those of the manager's particular friends,
the Romantics, we may call them, were clouded; but who shall describe
the countenance of Mallett? In a moment the school broke up with an
agitated and tumultuous uproar. "No stranger!" shouted St. Leger Smith;
"no stranger!" vociferated a prepared gang. Vivian's friends were
silent, for they hesitated to accept for their leader the insulting
title. Those who were neither Vivian's friends nor in the secret, weak
creatures who side always with the strongest, immediately swelled the
insulting chorus of Mr. St. Leger Smith. That worthy, emboldened by his
success and the smiles of Mallett, contained himself no longer: "Down
with the manager!" he cried. His satellites chorussed. But now Vivian
rushed forward. "Mr. Smith, I thank you for being so definite; take
that!" and he struck Smith with such force that the Cleon staggered and
fell; but Smith instantly recovered, and a ring was instantly formed. To
a common observer, the combatants were unequally matched; for Smith was
a burly, big-limbed animal, alike superior to Grey in years and
strength. But Vivian, though delicate in frame and more youthful, was
full his match in spirit, and, thanks to being a Cockney! ten times his
match in science. He had not built a white great coat or drunk blue ruin
at Ben Burn's for nothing!

Oh! how beautifully he fought! how admirably straight he hit! and his
stops quick as lightning! and his followings up confounding his
adversary with their painful celerity! Smith alike puzzled and punished,
yet proud in his strength, hit round, and wild, and false, and foamed
like a furious elephant. For ten successive rounds the result was
dubious; but in the eleventh the strength of Smith began to fail him,
and the men were more fairly matched. "Go it, Ranger! go it, Ranger!"
halloed the Greyites; "No stranger! no stranger!" eagerly bawled the
more numerous party. "Smith's floored, by Jove!" exclaimed Poynings, who
was Grey's second. "At it again! at it again!" exclaimed all. And now,
when Smith must certainly have given in, suddenly stepped forward Mr.
Mallett, accompanied by--Dallas!

"How, Mr. Grey! No answer, sir; I understand that you have always an
answer ready. I do not quote Scripture lightly, Mr. Grey; but 'Take heed
that you offend not, even with your tongue.' Now, sir, to your room."

When Vivian Grey again joined his companions, he found himself almost
universally shunned. Etherege and Poynings were the only individuals who
met him with their former frankness.

"A horrible row, Grey," said the latter. "After you went, the Doctor
harangued the whole school, and swears you have seduced and ruined us
all; everything was happiness until you came, &c. Mallett is of course
at the bottom of the whole business: but what can we do? Dallas says you
have the tongue of a serpent, and that he will not trust himself to hear
your defence. Infamous shame! I swear! And now every fellow has got a
story against you: some say you are a dandy, others want to know whether
the next piece performed at your theatre will be 'The Stranger;' as for
myself and Etherege, we shall leave in a few weeks, and it does not
signify to us; but what the devil you're to do next half, by Jove, I
can't say. If I were you, I would not return."

"Not return, eh! but that will I, though; and we shall see who, in
future, can complain of the sweetness of my voice! Ungrateful fools!"




CHAPTER V


The Vacation was over, and Vivian returned to Burnsley Vicarage. He
bowed cavalierly to Mr. Dallas on his arrival, and immediately sauntered
up into the school-room, where he found a tolerable quantity of wretches
looking as miserable as schoolboys who have left their pleasant homes
generally do for some four-and-twenty hours. "How d'ye do, Grey? How
d'ye do, Grey?" burst from a knot of unhappy fellows, who would have
felt quite delighted had their newly arrived co-mate condescended to
entertain them, as usual, with some capital good story fresh from town.
But they were disappointed.

"We can make room for you at the fire, Grey," said Theophilus

"I thank you, I am not cold."

"I suppose you know that Poynings and Etherege don't come back, Grey?"

"Everybody knew that last half:" and so he walked on.

"Grey, Grey!" halloed King, "don't go into the dining-room; Mallett is
there alone, and told us not to disturb him. By Jove, the fellow is
going in: there will be a greater row this half between Grey and Mallett
than ever."

Days, the heavy first days of the half, rolled on, and all the citizens
of the little commonwealth had returned.

"What a dull half this will be!" said Eardley; "how one misses Grey's
set! After all, they kept the school alive: Poynings was a first-rate
fellow, and Etherege so deuced good-natured! I wonder whom Grey will
crony with this half; have you seen him and Dallas speak together yet?
He cut the Doctor quite dead at Greek to-day."

"Why, Eardley! Eardley! there is Grey walking round playing fields with
Mallett!" halloed a sawney who was killing the half-holiday by looking
out of the window.

"The devil! I say, Matthews, whose flute is that? It is a devilish
handsome one!"

"It's Grey's! I clean it for him," squeaked a little boy. "He gives me
sixpence a week!"

"Oh, you sneak!" said one.

"Cut him over!"

"Roast him!" cried a third.

"To whom are you going to take the flute?" asked a fourth.

"To Mallett," squeaked the little fellow. "Grey lends his flute to
Mallett every day."

"Grey lends his flute to Mallett! The deuce he does! So Grey and Mallett
are going to crony!"

A wild exclamation burst forth from the little party; and away each of
them ran, to spread in all directions the astounding intelligence.

If the rule of the ushers had hitherto been light at Burnsley Vicarage,
its character was materially changed during this half-year. The
vexatious and tyrannical influence of Mallett was now experienced in all
directions, meeting and interfering with the comforts of the boys in
every possible manner. His malice was accompanied, too, by a tact which
could not have been expected from his vulgar mind, and which, at the
same time, could not have been produced by the experience of one in his
situation. It was quite evident to the whole community that his conduct
was dictated by another mind, and that that mind was one versed in all
the secrets of a school-boy's life, and acquainted with all the workings
of a school-boy's mind: a species of knowledge which no pedagogue in the
world ever yet attained. There was no difficulty in discovering whose
was the power behind the throne. Vivian Grey was the perpetual companion
of Mallett in his walks, and even in the school; he shunned also the
converse of every one of the boys, and did not affect to conceal that
his quarrel was universal. Superior power, exercised by a superior mind,
was for a long time more than a match even for the united exertions of
the whole school. If any one complained, Mallett's written answer (and
such Dallas always required) was immediately ready, explaining
everything in the most satisfactory manner, and refuting every complaint
with the most triumphant spirit. Dallas, of course, supported his
deputy, and was soon equally detested. This tyranny had continued
through a great part of the long half-year, and the spirit of the school
was almost broken, when a fresh outrage occurred, of such a nature that
the nearly enslaved multitude conspired.

The plot was admirably formed. On the first bell ringing for school, the
door was to be immediately barred, to prevent the entrance of Dallas.
Instant vengeance was then to be taken on Mallett and his companion--the
sneak! the spy! the traitor! The bell rang: the door was barred: four
stout fellows seized on Mallett, four rushed to Vivian Grey: but stop:
he sprang upon his desk, and, placing his back against the wall, held a
pistol at the foremost: "Not an inch nearer, Smith, or I fire. Let me
not, however, baulk your vengeance on yonder hound: if I could suggest
any refinements in torture, they would be at your service." Vivian Grey
smiled, while the horrid cries of Mallett indicated that the boys were
"roasting" him. He then walked to the door and admitted the barred-out
Dominie. Silence was restored. There was an explanation and no defence;
and Vivian Grey was expelled.




CHAPTER VI


Vivian was now seventeen; and the system of private education having so
decidedly failed, it was resolved that he should spend the years
antecedent to his going to Oxford at home. Nothing could be a greater
failure than the first weeks of his "course of study." He was
perpetually violating the sanctity of the drawing-room by the presence
of Scapulas and Hederics, and outraging the propriety of morning
visitors by bursting into his mother's boudoir with lexicons
and slippers.

"Vivian, my dear," said his father to him one day, "this will never do;
you must adopt some system for your studies, and some locality for your
reading. Have a room to yourself; set apart certain hours in the day
for your books, and allow no consideration on earth to influence you to
violate their sacredness; and above all, my dear boy, keep your papers
in order. I find a dissertation on 'The Commerce of Carthage' stuck in
my large paper copy of 'Dibdin's Decameron,' and an 'Essay on the
Metaphysics of Music' (pray, my dear fellow, beware of magazine
scribbling) cracking the back of Montfaucon's 'Monarchie.'"

Vivian apologised, promised, protested, and finally sat down "TO READ."
He had laid the foundations of accurate classical knowledge under the
tuition of the learned Dallas; and twelve hours a day and
self-banishment from society overcame, in twelve months, the ill effects
of his imperfect education. The result of this extraordinary exertion
may be conceived. At the end of twelve months, Vivian, like many other
young enthusiasts, had discovered that all the wit and wisdom of the
world were concentrated in some fifty antique volumes, and he treated
the unlucky moderns with the most sublime spirit of hauteur imaginable.
A chorus in the Medea, that painted the radiant sky of Attica, disgusted
him with the foggy atmosphere of Great Britain; and while Mrs. Grey was
meditating a visit to Brighton, her son was dreaming of the gulf of
Salamis. The spectre in the Persae was his only model for a ghost, and
the furies in the Orestes were his perfection of tragical machinery.

Most ingenious and educated youths have fallen into the same error, but
few have ever carried such feelings to the excess that Vivian Grey did;
for while his mind was daily becoming more enervated under the beautiful
but baneful influence of Classic Reverie, the youth lighted upon PLATO.

Wonderful is it that while the whole soul of Vivian Grey seemed
concentrated and wrapped in the glorious pages of the Athenian; while,
with keen and almost inspired curiosity, he searched, and followed up,
and meditated upon, the definite mystery, the indefinite development;
while his spirit alternately bowed in trembling and in admiration, as he
seemed to be listening to the secrets of the Universe revealed in the
glorious melodies of an immortal voice; wonderful is it, I say, that the
writer, the study of whose works appeared to the young scholar, in the
revelling of his enthusiasm, to be the sole object for which man was
born and had his being, was the cause by which Vivian Grey was saved
from being all his life a dreaming scholar.

Determined to spare no exertions, and to neglect no means, by which he
might enter into the very penetralia of his mighty master's meaning,
Vivian determined to attack the latter Platonists. These were a race of
men, of whose existence he knew merely by the references to their
productions which were sprinkled in the commentaries of his "best
editions." In the pride of boyish learning, Vivian had limited his
library to Classics, and the proud leaders of the later schools did not
consequently grace his diminutive bookcase. In this dilemma he flew to
his father, and confessed by his request that his favourites were not
all-sufficient.

"Father! I wish to make myself master of the latter Platonists. I want
Plotinus, and Porphyry, and Iamblichus, and Syrirnus, and Maximus
Tyrius, and Proclus, and Hierocles, and Sallustius, and Damascius."

Mr. Grey stared at his son, and laughed.

"My dear Vivian! are you quite convinced that the authors you ask for
are all pure Platonists? or have not some of them placed the great end
rather in practical than theoretic virtue, and thereby violated the
first principles of your master? which would be shocking. Are you sure,
too, that these gentlemen have actually 'withdrawn the sacred veil,
which covers from profane eyes the luminous spectacles?' Are you quite
convinced that every one of these worthies lived at least five hundred
years after the great master? for I need not tell so profound a
Platonist as yourself that it was not till that period that even
glimpses of the great master's meaning were discovered. Strange! that
TIME should alike favour the philosophy of theory and the philosophy of
facts. Mr. Vivian Grey, benefiting, I presume, by the lapse of further
centuries, is about to complete the great work which Proclus and
Porphyry commenced."

"My dear sir! you are pleased to be amusing this morning."

"My dear boy! I smile, but not with joy. Sit down, and let us have a
little conversation together. Father and son, and father and son on such
terms as we are, should really communicate oftener together than we do.
It has been, perhaps, my fault; it shall not be so again."

"My dear sir!"

"Nay, nay, it shall be my fault now. Whose it shall be in future,
Vivian, time will show. My dear Vivian, you have now spent upwards of a
year under this roof, and your conduct has been as correct as the most
rigid parent might require. I have not wished to interfere with the
progress of your mind, and I regret it. I have been negligent, but not
wilfully so. I do regret it; because, whatever may be your powers,
Vivian, I at least have the advantage of experience. I see you smile at
a word which I so often use. Well, well, were I to talk to you for ever,
you would not understand what I mean by that single word. The time will
come when you will deem that single word everything. Ardent youths in
their closets, Vivian, too often fancy that they are peculiar beings;
and I have no reason to believe that you are an exception to the general
rule. In passing one whole year of your life, as you have done, you
doubtless imagine that you have been spending your hours in a manner
which no others have done before. Trust me, my boy, thousands have done
the same; and, what is of still more importance, thousands are doing,
and will do, the same. Take the advice of one who has committed as many,
ay more, follies than yourself; but who would bless the hour that he had
been a fool if his experience might be of benefit to his beloved son."

"My father!"

"Nay, don't agitate yourself; we are consulting together. Let us see
what is to be done. Try to ascertain, when you are alone, what may be
the chief objects of your existence in this world. I want you to take no
theological dogmas for granted, nor to satisfy your doubts by ceasing to
think; but, whether we are in this world in a state of probation for
another, or whether we cease altogether when we cease to breathe, human
feelings tell me that we have some duties to perform; to our fellow
creatures, to our friends, to ourselves. Pray tell me, my dear boy, what
possible good your perusal of the latter Platonists can produce to
either of these three interests? I trust that my child is not one of
those who look with a glazed eye on the welfare of their fellow-men, and
who would dream away an useless life by idle puzzles of the brain;
creatures who consider their existence as an unprofitable mystery, and
yet are afraid to die. You will find Plotinus in the fourth shelf of the
next room, Vivian."




CHAPTER VII


In England, personal distinction is the only passport to the society of
the great. Whether this distinction arise from fortune, family, or
talent, is immaterial; but certain it is, to enter into high society, a
man must either have blood, a million, or a genius.

The reputation of Mr. Grey had always made him an honoured guest among
the powerful and the great. It was for this reason that he had always
been anxious that his son should be at home as little as possible; for
he feared for a youth the fascination of London society. Although busied
with his studies, and professing "not to visit," Vivian could not avoid
occasionally finding himself in company in which boys should never be
seen; and, what was still worse, from a certain social spirit, an
indefinable tact with which Nature had endowed him, this boy of nineteen
began to think this society delightful. Most persons of his age would
have passed through the ordeal with perfect safety; they would have
entered certain rooms, at certain hours, with stiff cravats, and Nugee
coats, and black velvet waistcoats; and after having annoyed all those
who condescended to know of their existence, with their red hands and
their white gloves, they would have retired to a corner of the room, and
conversationised with any stray four-year-older not yet sent to bed.

But Vivian Grey was a graceful, lively lad, with just enough of dandyism
to preserve him from committing gaucheries, and with a devil of a
tongue. All men will agree with me that the only rival to be feared by a
man of spirit is a clever boy. What makes them so popular with women it
is difficult to explain; however, Lady Julia Knighton, and Mrs. Frank
Delmington, and half a score of dames of fashion, were always
patronising our hero, who found an evening spent in their society not
altogether dull, for there is no fascination so irresistible to a boy as
the smile of a married woman. Vivian had passed such a recluse life for
the last two years and a half, that he had quite forgotten that he was
once considered an agreeable fellow; and so, determined to discover what
right he ever had to such a reputation, he dashed into all these
amourettes in beautiful style.

But Vivian Grey was a young and tender plant in a moral hothouse. His
character was developing itself too soon. Although his evenings were now
generally passed in the manner we have alluded to, this boy was, during
the rest of the day, a hard and indefatigable student; and having now
got through an immense series of historical reading, he had stumbled
upon a branch of study certainly the most delightful in the world; but,
for a boy, as certainly the most perilous, THE STUDY OF POLITICS.

And now everything was solved! the inexplicable longings of his soul,
which had so often perplexed him, were at length explained. The want,
the indefinable want, which he had so constantly experienced, was at
last supplied; the grand object on which to bring the powers of his mind
to bear and work was at last provided. He paced his chamber in an
agitated spirit, and panted for the Senate.

It may be asked, what was the evil of all this? and the reader will,
perhaps, murmur something about an honourable spirit and youthful
ambition. The evil was great. The time drew nigh for Vivian to leave his
home for Oxford, that is, for him to commence his long preparation for
entering on his career in life. And now this person, who was about to be
a pupil, this stripling, who was going to begin his education, had all
the desires of a matured mind, of an experienced man, but without
maturity and without experience. He was already a cunning reader of
human hearts; and felt conscious that his was a tongue which was born to
guide human beings. The idea of Oxford to such an individual was
an insult!




CHAPTER VIII


We must endeavour to trace, if possible, more accurately the workings of
Vivian Grey's mind at this period of his existence. In the plenitude of
his ambition, he stopped one day to enquire in what manner he could
obtain his magnificent ends.

"The Bar: pooh! law and bad jokes till we are forty; and then, with the
most brilliant success, the prospect of gout and a coronet. Besides, to
succeed as an advocate, I must be a great lawyer; and, to be a great
lawyer, I must give up my chance of being a great man. The Services in
war time are fit only for desperadoes (and that truly am I); but, in
peace, are fit only for fools. The Church is more rational. Let me see:
I should certainly like to act Wolsey; but the thousand and one chances
against me! And truly I feel my destiny should not be on a chance. Were
I the son of a millionaire, or a noble, I might have all. Curse on my
lot! that the want of a few rascal counters, and the possession of a
little rascal blood, should mar my fortunes!"

Such was the general tenor of Vivian's thoughts, until, musing himself
almost into madness, he at last made, as he conceived, the Grand
Discovery. Riches are Power, says the Economist; and is not Intellect?
asks the Philosopher. And yet, while the influence of the millionaire is
instantly felt in all classes of society, how is it that "Noble Mind" so
often leaves us unknown and unhonoured? Why have there been statesmen
who have never ruled, and heroes who have never conquered? Why have
glorious philosophers died in a garret? and why have there been poets
whose only admirer has been Nature in her echoes? It must be that these
beings have thought only of themselves, and, constant and elaborate
students of their own glorious natures, have forgotten or disdained the
study of all others. Yes! we must mix with the herd; we must enter into
their feelings; we must humour their weaknesses; we must sympathise with
the sorrows that we do not feel; and share the merriment of fools. Oh,
yes! to rule men, we must be men; to prove that we are strong, we must
be weak; to prove that we are giants, we must be dwarfs; even as the
Eastern Genie was hid in the charmed bottle. Our wisdom must be
concealed under folly, and our constancy under caprice.

"I have been often struck by the ancient tales of Jupiter's visits to
the earth. In these fanciful adventures, the god bore no indication of
the Thunderer's glory; but was a man of low estate, a herdsman, a hind,
often even an animal. A mighty spirit has in Tradition, Time's great
moralist, perused 'the wisdom of the ancients.' Even in the same spirit,
I would explain Jove's terrestrial visitings. For, to govern man, even
the god appeared to feel as a man; and sometimes as a beast, was
apparently influenced by their vilest passions. Mankind, then, is my
great game.

"At this moment, how many a powerful noble wants only wit to be a
Minister; and what wants Vivian Grey to attain the same end? That
noble's influence. When two persons can so materially assist each
other, why are they not brought together? Shall I, because my birth
baulks my fancy, shall I pass my life a moping misanthrope in an old
chateau? Supposing I am in contact with this magnifico, am I prepared?
Now, let me probe my very soul. Does my cheek blanch? I have the mind
for the conception; and I can perform right skilfully upon the most
splendid of musical instruments, the human voice, to make those
conceptions beloved by others. There wants but one thing more: courage,
pure, perfect courage; and does Vivian Grey know fear?" He laughed an
answer of bitterest derision.




CHAPTER IX


Is it surprising that Vivian Grey, with a mind teeming with such
feelings, should view the approach of the season for his departure to
Oxford with sentiments of disgust? After hours of bitter meditation, he
sought his father; he made him acquainted with his feelings, but
concealed from him his actual views, and dwelt on the misery of being
thrown back in life, at a period when society seemed instinct with a
spirit peculiarly active, and when so many openings were daily offered
to the adventurous and the bold.

"Vivian," said Mr. Grey, "beware of endeavouring to become a great man
in a hurry. One such attempt in ten thousand may succeed: these are
fearful odds. Admirer as you are of Lord Bacon, you may perhaps remember
a certain parable of his, called 'Memnon, or a youth too forward.' I
hope you are not going to be one of those sons of Aurora, 'who, puffed
up with the glittering show of vanity and ostentation, attempt actions
above their strength.'

"You talk to me about the peculiarly active spirit of society; if the
spirit of society be so peculiarly active, Mr. Vivian Grey should beware
lest it outstrip him. Is neglecting to mature your mind, my boy, exactly
the way to win the race? This is an age of unsettled opinions and
contested principles; in the very measures of our administration, the
speculative spirit of the present day is, to say the least, not
impalpable. Nay, don't start, my dear fellow, and look the very
Prosopopeia of Political Economy! I know exactly what you are going to
say; but, if you please, we will leave Turgot and Galileo to Mr.
Canning and the House of Commons, or your Cousin Hargrave and his
Debating Society. However, jesting apart, get your hat, and walk with me
as far as Evans's, where I have promised to look in, to see the Mazarin
Bible, and we will talk this affair over as we go along.

"I am no bigot, you know, Vivian. I am not one of those who wish to
oppose the application of refined philosophy to the common business of
life. We are, I hope, an improving race; there is room, I am sure, for
great improvement, and the perfectibility of man is certainly a pretty
dream. (How well that Union Club House comes out now, since they have
made the opening), but, although we may have steam kitchens, human
nature is, I imagine, much the same this moment that we are walking in
Pall Mall East, as it was some thousand years ago, when as wise men were
walking on the banks of the Ilyssus. When our moral powers increase in
proportion to our physical ones, then huzza, for the perfectibility of
man! and respectable, idle loungers like you and I, Vivian, may then
have a chance of walking in the streets of London without having their
heels trodden upon, a ceremony which I have this moment undergone. In
the present day we are all studying science, and none of us are studying
ourselves. This is not exactly the Socratic process; and as for the
[Greek: gnothi seauton] of the more ancient Athenian, that principle is
quite out of fashion in the nineteenth century (I believe that's the
phrase). Self is the only person whom we know nothing about.

"But, my dear Vivian, as to the immediate point of our consideration. In
my library, uninfluenced and uncontrolled by passion or by party, I
cannot but see that it is utterly impossible that all that we are
wishing and striving for can take place, without some, without much
evil. In ten years' time, perhaps, or less, the fever will have
subsided, and in ten years' time, or less, your intellect will be
matured. Mow, my good sir, instead of talking about the active spirit of
the age, and the opportunities offered to the adventurous and the bold,
ought you not rather to congratulate yourself that a great change is
effecting at a period of your life when you need not, individually, be
subjected to the possibility of being injured by its operation; and when
you are preparing your mind to take advantage of the system, when that
system is matured and organised?

"As to your request, it assuredly is one of the most modest, and the
most rational, that I have lately been favoured with. Although I would
much rather that any influence which I may exercise over your mind,
should be the effect of my advice as your friend than of my authority as
your father; still I really feel it my duty, parentally, to protest
against this crude proposition of yours. However, if you choose to lose
a term or two, do. Don't blame me, you know, if afterwards you
repent it."

Here dashed by the gorgeous equipage of Mrs. Ormolu, the wife of a man
who was working all the gold and silver mines in Christendom. "Ah! my
dear Vivian," said Mr. Grey, "it is this which has turned all your
brains. In this age every one is striving to make an immense fortune,
and what is most terrific, at the same time a speedy one. This thirst
for sudden wealth it is which engenders the extravagant conceptions, and
fosters that wild spirit of speculation which is now stalking abroad;
and which, like the Daemon in Frankenstein, not only fearfully wanders
over the whole wide face of nature, but grins in the imagined solitude
of our secret chambers. Oh! my son, it is for the young men of the
present day that I tremble; seduced by the temporary success of a few
children of fortune, I observe that their minds recoil from the
prospects which are held forth by the ordinary, and, mark me, by the
only modes of acquiring property, fair trade, and honourable
professions. It is for you and your companions that I fear. God grant
that there may not be a moral as well as a political disorganisation!
God grant that our youth, the hope of our state, may not be lost to us!
For, oh! my son, the wisest has said, 'He that maketh haste to be rich
shall not be innocent.' Let us step into Clarke's and take an ice."




BOOK II


CHAPTER I


The Marquess of Carabas started in life as the cadet of a noble family.
The earl, his father, like the woodman in the fairy tale, was blessed
with three sons: the first was an idiot, and was destined for the
Coronet; the second was a man of business, and was educated for the
Commons; the third was a Roue, and was shipped to the Colonies.

The present Marquess, then the Honourable Sidney Lorraine, prospered in
his political career. He was servile, and pompous, and indefatigable,
and loquacious, so whispered the world: his friends hailed him as, at
once, a courtier and a sage, a man of business and an orator. After
revelling in his fair proportion of commissionerships, and
under-secretaryships, and the rest of the milk and honey of the
political Canaan, the apex of the pyramid of his ambition was at length
visible, for Sidney Lorraine became President of a Board, and wriggled
into the adytum of the cabinet.

At this moment his idiot brother died. To compensate for his loss of
office, and to secure his votes, the Earl of Carabas was promoted in the
peerage, and was presented with some magnificent office, meaning
nothing; swelling with dignity, and void of duties. As years rolled on,
various changes took place in the administration, of which his Lordship
was once a component part; and the ministry, to their surprise, getting
popular, found that the command of the Carabas interest was not of such
vital importance to them as heretofore, and so his Lordship was voted a
bore, and got shelved. Not that his Lordship was bereaved of his
splendid office, or that anything occurred, indeed, by which the
uninitiated might have been led to suppose that the beams of his
Lordship's consequence were shorn; but the Marquess's secret
applications at the Treasury were no longer listened to, and pert
under-secretaries settled their cravats, and whispered "that the Carabas
interest was gone by."

The noble Marquess was not insensible to his situation, for he was what
the world calls ambitious; but the vigour of his faculties had vanished
beneath the united influence of years and indolence and ill-humour; for
his Lordship, to avoid ennui, had quarrelled with his son, and then,
having lost his only friend, had quarrelled with himself.

Such was the distinguished individual who graced, one day at the latter
end of the season of 18--, the classic board of Horace Grey, Esquire.
The reader will, perhaps, be astonished, that such a man as his Lordship
should be the guest of such a man as our hero's father; but the truth
is, the Marquess of Carabas had just been disappointed in an attempt on
the chair of the President of the Royal Society, which, for want of
something better to do, he was ambitious of filling, and this was a
conciliatory visit to one of the most distinguished members of that
body, and one who had voted against him with particular enthusiasm. The
Marquess, still a politician, was now, as he imagined, securing his
host's vote for a future St. Andrew's day.

The cuisine of Mr. Grey was superb; for although an enthusiastic
advocate for the cultivation of the mind, he was an equally ardent
supporter of the cultivation of the body. Indeed, the necessary
dependence of the sanity of the one on the good keeping of the other,
was one of his favourite theories, and one which, this day, he was
supporting with pleasant and facetious reasoning. His Lordship was
delighted with his new friend, and still more delighted with his new
friend's theory. The Marquess himself was, indeed, quite of the same
opinion as Mr. Grey; for he never made a speech without previously
taking a sandwich, and would have sunk under the estimates a thousand
times, had it not been for the juicy friendship of the fruit
of Portugal.

The guests were not numerous. A regius professor of Greek; an officer
just escaped from Sockatoo; a man of science, and two M.P.'s with his
Lordship; the host, and Mr. Vivian Grey, constituted the party. Oh, no!
there were two others. There was a Mr. John Brown, a fashionable poet,
and who, ashamed of his own name, published his melodies under the more
euphonious and romantic title of "Clarence Devonshire," and there was a
Mr. Thomas Smith, a fashionable novelist; that is to say, a person who
occasionally publishes three volumes, one half of which contain the
adventures of a young gentleman in the country, and the other volume and
a half the adventures of the same young gentleman in the metropolis; a
sort of writer, whose constant tattle about beer and billiards, and
eating soup, and the horribility of "committing" puns, give truly an
admirable and accurate idea of the conversation of the refined society
of the refined metropolis of Great Britain. These two last gentlemen
were "pets" of Mrs. Grey.

The conversation may be conceived. Each person was of course prepared
with a certain quota of information, without which no man in London is
morally entitled to dine out; and when the quota was expended, the
amiable host took the burthen upon his own shoulders, and endeavoured,
as the phrase goes, to draw out his guests.

O London dinners! empty artificial nothings! and that beings can be
found, and those too the flower of the land, who, day after day, can
act the same parts in the same dull, dreary farce! The officer had
discoursed sufficiently about "his intimate friend, the Soudan," and
about the chain armour of the Sockatoo cuirassiers; and one of the
M.P.'s, who was in the Guards, had been defeated in a ridiculous attempt
to prove that the breast-plates of the household troops of Great Britain
were superior to those of the household troops of Timtomtoo. Mrs. Grey,
to whose opinion both parties deferred, gave it in favour of the Soudan.
And the man of science had lectured about a machine which might destroy
fifteen square feet of human beings in a second, and yet be carried in
the waistcoat pocket. And the classic, who, for a professor, was quite a
man of the world, had the latest news of the new Herculaneum process,
and was of opinion that, if they could but succeed in unrolling a
certain suspicious-looking scroll, we might be so fortunate as to
possess a minute treatise on &c., &c., &c. In short, all had said their
say. There was a dead pause, and Mrs. Grey looked at her husband,
and rose.

How singular it is, that when this move takes place every one appears to
be relieved, and yet every one of any experience must be quite aware
that the dead bore work is only about to commence. Howbeit, all filled
their glasses, and the peer, at the top of the table, began to talk
politics. I am sure I cannot tell what the weighty subject was that was
broached by the ex-minister; for I did not dine with Grey that day, and
had I done so, I should have been equally ignorant, for I am a dull man,
and always sleep at dinner. However, the subject was political, the
claret flew round, and a stormy argument commenced. The Marquess was
decidedly wrong, and was sadly badgered by the civil M.P. and the
professor. The host, who was of no party, supported his guest as long as
possible, and then left him to his fate. The military M.P. fled to the
drawing-room to philander with Mrs. Grey; and the man of science and the
African had already retired to the intellectual idiocy of a May Fair "At
Home." The novelist was silent, for he was studying a scene; and the
poet was absent, for he was musing a sonnet.

The Marquess refuted, had recourse to contradiction, and was too acute a
man to be insensible to the forlornness of his situation; when, at this
moment, a voice proceeded from the end of the table, from a young
gentleman, who had hitherto preserved a profound silence, but whose
silence, if the company were to have judged from the tones of his
voice, and the matter of his communication, did not altogether proceed
from a want of confidence in his own abilities. "In my opinion," said
Mr. Vivian Grey, as he sat lounging in his father's vacated seat, "in my
opinion his Lordship has been misunderstood; and it is, as is generally
the case, from a slight verbal misconception in the commencement of this
argument, that the whole of this difference arises."

The eyes of the Marquess sparkled, and the mouth of the Marquess was
closed. His Lordship was delighted that his reputation might yet be
saved; but as he was not perfectly acquainted in what manner that
salvation was to be effected, he prudently left the battle to his
youthful champion.

Mr. Vivian Grey proceeded with the utmost sang froid; he commented upon
expressions, split and subtilised words, insinuated opinions, and
finally quoted a whole passage of Bolingbroke to prove that the opinion
of the most noble the Marquess of Carabas was one of the soundest,
wisest, and most convincing of opinions that ever was promulgated by
mortal man. The tables were turned, the guests looked astounded, the
Marquess settled his ruffles, and perpetually exclaimed, "Exactly what I
meant!" and his opponents, full of wine and quite puzzled, gave in.

It was a rule with Vivian Grey never to advance any opinion as his own.
He had been too deep a student of human nature, not to be aware that the
opinions of a boy of twenty, however sound, and however correct, stand
but a poor chance of being adopted by his elder, though feebler,
fellow-creatures. In attaining any end, it was therefore his system
always to advance his opinion as that of some eminent and considered
personage; and when, under the sanction of this name, the opinion or
advice was entertained and listened to, Vivian Grey had no fear that he
could prove its correctness and its expediency. He possessed also the
singular faculty of being able to improvise quotations, that is, he
could unpremeditatedly clothe his conceptions in language characteristic
of the style of any particular author; and Vivian Grey was reputed in
the world as having the most astonishing memory that ever existed; for
there was scarcely a subject of discussion in which he did not gain the
victory, by the great names he enlisted on his side of the argument. His
father was aware of the existence of this dangerous faculty, and had
often remonstrated with his son on the use of it. On the present
occasion, when the buzz had somewhat subsided, Mr. Grey looked smiling
to his son, and said, "Vivian, my dear, can you tell me in what work of
Bolingbroke I can find the eloquent passage you have just quoted?"

"Ask Mr. Hargrave, sir," replied the son, with perfect coolness; then,
turning to the member, "You know, Mr. Hargrave, you are reputed the most
profound political student in the House, and more intimately acquainted
than any other person with the works of Bolingbroke."

Mr. Hargrave knew no such thing; but he was a weak man, and, seduced by
the compliment, he was afraid to prove himself unworthy of it by
confessing his ignorance of the passage.

Coffee was announced.

Vivian did not let the peer escape him in the drawing-room. He soon
managed to enter into conversation with him; and certainly the Marquess
of Carabas never found a more entertaining companion. Vivian discoursed
on a new Venetian liqueur, and taught the Marquess how to mull Moselle,
an operation of which the Marquess had never heard (as who has?); and
then the flood of anecdotes, and little innocent personalities, and the
compliments so exquisitely introduced, that they scarcely appeared to be
compliments; and the voice so pleasant, and conciliating, and the
quotation from the Marquess's own speech; and the wonderful art of which
the Marquess was not aware, by which, during all this time, the lively,
chattering, amusing, elegant conversationist, so full of scandal,
politics, and cookery, did not so much appear to be Mr. Vivian Grey as
the Marquess of Carabas himself.

"Well, I must be gone," said the fascinated noble; "I really have not
felt in such spirits for some time; I almost fear I have been vulgar
enough to be amusing, eh! eh! eh! but you young men are sad fellows, eh!
eh! eh! Don't forget to call on me; good evening! and Mr. Vivian Grey!
Mr. Vivian Grey!" said his lordship, returning, "you will not forget the
receipt you promised me for making tomahawk punch."

"Certainly not, my Lord," said the young man; "only it must be invented
first," thought Vivian, as he took up his light to retire. "But never
mind, never mind;

     Chapeau bas! chapeau bas!
     Glorie au Marquis de Carabas!!"




CHAPTER II


A few days after the dinner at Mr. Grey's, as the Marquess of Carabas
was sitting in his library, and sighing, in the fulness of his ennui, as
he looked on his large library table, once triply covered with official
communications, now thinly besprinkled with a stray parliamentary paper
or two, his steward's accounts, and a few letters from some grumbling
tenants, Mr. Vivian Grey was announced.

"I fear I am intruding on your Lordship, but I really could not refrain
from bringing you the receipt I promised."

"Most happy to see ye, most happy to see ye."

"This is exactly the correct receipt, my Lord. TO EVERY TWO BOTTLES OF
STILL CHAMPAGNE, ONE PINT OF CURACOA." The Peer's eyes glistened, and
his companion proceeded; "ONE PINT OF CURACOA; CATCH THE AROMA OF A
POUND OF GREEN TEA, AND DASH THE WHOLE WITH GLENLIVET."

"Splendid!" ejaculated the Marquess.

"The nice point, however, which it is impossible to define in a receipt,
is catching the aroma. What sort of a genius is your Lordship's chef?"

"First-rate! Laporte _is_ a genius."

"Well, my Lord! I shall be most happy to superintend the first
concoction for you; and remember particularly," said Vivian, rising,
"remember it must be iced."

"Certainly, my dear fellow; but pray don't think of going yet."

"I am very sorry, my Lord; but such a pressure of engagements; your
Lordship's kindness is so great, and, really, I fear, that at this
moment especially, your Lordship can scarcely be in a humour for my
trifling."

"Why this moment especially, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Oh, my Lord! I am perfectly aware of your Lordship's talents for
business; but still I had conceived, that the delicate situation in
which your Lordship is now placed, requiring such anxious
attention such--"

"Delicate situation! anxious attention! why man! you speak riddles. I
certainly have a great deal of business to transact: people are so
obstinate, or so foolish, they will consult me, certainly; and certainly
I feel it my duty, Mr. Vivian Grey; I feel it the duty, sir of every
Peer in this happy country (here his Lordship got parliamentary): yes,
sir, I feel it due to my character, to my family, to, to, to assist with
my advice all those who think fit to consult me." Splendid peroration!

"Oh, my Lord!" carelessly remarked Vivian, "I thought it was a mere on
dit."

"Thought what, my dear sir? you really quite perplex me."

"I mean to say, my Lord; I, I thought it was impossible the overtures
had been made."

"Overtures, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Yes, my Lord! Overtures; has not your Lordship seen the _Post_. But I
knew it was impossible; I said so, I--"

"Said what, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Said that the whole paragraph was unfounded."

"Paragraph! what paragraph?" and his Lordship rose, and rang the library
bell with vehemence: "Sadler, bring me the _Morning Post_."

The servant entered with the paper. Mr. Vivian Grey seized it from his
hands before it reached the Marquess, and glancing his eye over it with
the rapidity of lightning, doubled up the sheet in a convenient readable
form, and pushing it into his Lordship's hands, exclaimed, "There, my
Lord! there, that will explain all."

His Lordship read:

"We are informed that some alteration in the composition of the present
administration is in contemplation; Lord Past Century, it is said, will
retire; Mr. Liberal Principles will have the--; and Mr. Charlatan Gas
the--. A noble Peer, whose practised talents have already benefited the
nation, and who, on vacating his seat in the Cabinet, was elevated in
the Peerage, is reported as having had certain overtures made him, the
nature of which may be conceived, but which, under present
circumstances, it would be indelicate in us to hint at."

It would have been impossible for a hawk to watch its quarry with eyes
of more fixed and anxious earnestness than did Vivian Grey the Marquess
of Carabas, as his Lordship's eyes wandered over the paragraph. Vivian
drew his chair close to the table opposite to the Marquess, and when the
paragraph was read, their eyes met.

"Utterly untrue," whispered the Peer, with an agitated voice, and with
a countenance which, for a moment, seemed intellectual.

"But why Mr. Vivian Grey should deem the fact of such overtures having
been made 'impossible,' I confess, astonishes me."

"Impossible, my Lord!"

"Ay, Mr. Grey, impossible, that was your word."

"Oh, my Lord! what should I know about these matters?"

"Nay, nay, Mr. Grey, something must have been floating in your mind: why
impossible, why impossible? Did your father think so?"

"My father! Oh! no, he never thinks about these matters; ours is not a
political family; I am not sure that he ever looks at a newspaper."

"But, my dear Mr. Grey, you would not have used the word without some
meaning. Why did you think it impossible? impossible is such a peculiar
word." And here the Marquess looked up with great earnestness to a
portrait of himself, which hung over the fire-place. It was one of Sir
Thomas's happiest efforts; but it was not the happiness of the likeness,
or the beauty of the painting, which now attracted his Lordship's
attention; he thought only of the costume in which he appeared in that
portrait: the court dress of a Cabinet Minister. "Impossible, Mr. Grey,
you must confess, is a very peculiar word," reiterated his Lordship.

"I said impossible, my Lord, because I did conceive, that had your
Lordship been of a disposition to which such overtures might have been
made with any probability of success, the Marquess of Carabas would have
been in a situation which would have precluded the possibility of those
overtures being made at all."

"Hah!" and the Marquess nearly started from his seat.

"Yes, my Lord, I am a young, an inexperienced young man, ignorant of the
world's ways; doubtless I was wrong, but I have much to learn," and his
voice faltered; "but I did conceive, that having power at his command,
the Marquess of Carabas did not exercise it, merely because he despised
it: but what should I know of such matters, my Lord?"

"Is power a thing so easily to be despised, young man?" asked the
Marquess. His eye rested on a vote of thanks from the "Merchants and
Bankers of London to the Right Honourable Sydney Lorraine, President,
&c., &c., &c.," which, splendidly emblazoned, and gilt, and framed, and
glazed, was suspended opposite the President's portrait.

"Oh, no! my Lord, you mistake me," eagerly burst forth Vivian. "I am no
cold-blooded philosopher that would despise that, for which, in my
opinion, men, real men, should alone exist. Power! Oh! what sleepless
nights, what days of hot anxiety! what exertions of mind and body! what
travel! what hatred! what fierce encounters! what dangers of all
possible kinds, would I not endure with a joyous spirit to gain it! But
such, my Lord, I thought were feelings peculiar to inexperienced young
men: and seeing you, my Lord, so situated, that you might command all
and everything, and yet living as you do, I was naturally led to believe
that the object of my adoration was a vain glittering bauble, of which
those who could possess it, knew the utter worthlessness."

The Peer sat in a musing mood, playing the Devil's tattoo on the library
table; at last he raised his eyes, and said in a low whisper, "Are you
so certain that I can command all and everything?"

"All and everything! did I say all and everything? Really, my Lord, you
scan my expressions so critically! but I see your Lordship is smiling at
my boyish nonsense! and really I feel that I have already wasted too
much of your Lordship's valuable time, and displayed too much of my own
ignorance."

"My dear sir! I am not aware that I was smiling."

"Oh! your Lordship is so very kind."

"But, my dear sir! you are really labouring under a great mistake. I am
desirous, I am particularly desirous, of having your opinion upon
this subject."

"My opinion, my Lord! what should my opinion be, but an echo of the
circle in which I live, but a faithful representation of the feelings of
general society?"

"And, Mr. Grey, I should be glad to know what can possibly be more
interesting to me than a faithful representation of the feelings of
general society on this subject?"

"The many, my Lord, are not always right."

"Mr. Grey, the many are not often wrong. Come, my dear sir, do me the
favour of being frank, and let me know why the public is of opinion that
all and everything are in my power, for such, after all, were
your words."

"If I did use them, my Lord, it was because I was thinking, as I often
do, what, after all, in this country is public life? Is it not a race
in which the swiftest must surely win the prize; and is not that prize
power? Has not your Lordship treasure? There is your moral steam which
can work the world. Has not your Lordship's treasure most splendid
consequence, pure blood and aristocratic influence? The Millionaire has
in his possession the seeds of everything, but he must wait for half a
century till his descendant finds himself in your Lordship's state; till
he is yclept noble, and then he starts fair in the grand course. All
these advantages your Lordship has apparently at hand, with the
additional advantage (and one, oh! how great!) of having already proved
to your country that you know how to rule."

There was a dead silence, which at length the Marquess broke. "There is
much in what you say; but I cannot conceal it from myself, I have no
wish to conceal it from you; I am not what I was." O, ambition! art thou
the parent of truth?

"Ah! my Lord!" eagerly rejoined Vivian, "here is the terrible error into
which you great statesmen have always fallen. Think you not, that
intellect is as much a purchasable article as fine parks and fair
castles? With your Lordship's tried and splendid talents, everything
might be done; but, in my opinion, if, instead of a practised, an
experienced, and wary Statesman, I was now addressing an idiot Earl, I
should not see that the great end might not equally be consummated."

"Say you so, my merry man, and how?"

"Why, my Lord: but, but, I feel that I am trespassing on your Lordship's
time, otherwise I think I could show why society is of opinion that your
Lordship can do all and everything; how, indeed, your Lordship might, in
a very short time, be Prime Minister."

"No, Mr. Grey; this conversation must be finished. I will just give
orders that we may not be disturbed, and then we shall proceed
immediately. Come, now! your manner takes me, and we shall converse in
the spirit of the most perfect confidence."

Here, as the Marquess settled at the same time his chair and his
countenance, and looked as anxious as if Majesty itself were consulting
him on the formation of a ministry, in burst the Marchioness,
notwithstanding all the remonstrances, entreaties, threats, and
supplications of Mr. Sadler.

Her Ladyship had been what they style a splendid woman; that was now
past, although, with the aid of cashmeres, diamonds, and turbans, her
general appearance was still striking. Her Ladyship was not remarkable
for anything save a correct taste for poodles, parrots, and bijouterie,
and a proper admiration of Theodore Hook and John Bull.

"Oh! Marquess," exclaimed her Ladyship, and a favourite green parrot,
which came flying in after its accustomed perch, her Ladyship's left
shoulder, shrieked at the same time in concert, "Oh! Marquess, my poor
Julie! You know we have noticed how nervous she has been for some days
past, and I had just given her a saucer of arrow-root and milk, and she
seemed a little easier, and I said to Miss Graves. 'I really do think
she is a leetle better' and Miss Graves said, 'Yes, my Lady, I hope she
is; 'when just as we flattered ourselves that the dear little creature
was enjoying a quiet sleep, Miss Graves called out, 'Oh, my Lady! my
Lady! Julie's in a fit!' and when I turned round she was lying on her
back, kicking, with her eyes shut.' And here the Marchioness detected
Mr. Grey, and gave him as sublime a stare as might be expected from a
lady patroness of Almack's.

"The Marchioness, Mr. Vivian Grey, my love, I assure you we are engaged
in a most important, a most--"

"Oh! I would not disturb you for the world, only if you will just tell
me what you think ought to be done; leeches, or a warm bath; or shall I
send for Doctor Blue Pill?"

The Marquess looked a little annoyed, as if he wished her Ladyship in
her own room again. He was almost meditating a gentle reprimand, vexed
that his grave young friend should have witnessed this frivolous
intrusion, when that accomplished stripling, to the astonishment of the
future minister, immediately recommended "the warm bath," and then
lectured, with equal rapidity and erudition, on dogs, and their diseases
In general.

The Marchioness retired, "easier in her mind about Julie than she had
been for some days," as Vivian assured her "that it was not apoplexy,
but only the first symptom of an epidemic." And as she retired, she
murmured her gratitude gracefully to Julie's young physician.

"Now, Mr. Grey," said his Lordship, endeavouring to recover his dignity,
"we were discussing the public sentiments you know on a certain point,
when this unfortunate interruption--"

Vivian had not much difficulty in collecting his ideas, and he
proceeded, not as displeased as his Lordship with the domestic scene.

"I need not remind your Lordship that the two great parties into which
this State is divided are apparently very unequally proportioned. Your
Lordship well knows how the party to which your Lordship is said to
belong: your Lordship knows, I imagine, how that is constituted. We have
nothing to do with the other. My Lord, I must speak out. No thinking
man, and such, I trust, Vivian Grey is, no thinking man can for a moment
suppose, that your Lordship's heart is very warm in the cause of a
party, which, for I will not mince my words, has betrayed you. How is
it, it is asked by thinking men, how is it that the Marquess of Carabas
is the tool of a faction?"

The Marquess breathed aloud, "They say so, do they?"

"Why, my Lord, listen even to your servants in your own hall, need I say
more? How, then! is this opinion true? Let us look to your conduct to
the party to which you are said to belong. Your votes are theirs, your
influence is theirs; and for all this, what return, my Lord Marquess,
what return? My Lord, I am not rash enough to suppose, that your
Lordship, alone and unsupported, can make yourself the arbiter of this
country's destinies. It would be ridiculous to entertain such an idea
for a second. The existence of such a man would not be endured by the
nation for a second. But, my Lord, union is strength. Nay, my Lord,
start not; I am not going to advise you to throw yourself into the arms
of opposition; leave such advice for greenhorns. I am not going to adopt
a line of conduct, which would, for a moment, compromise the consistency
of your high character; leave such advice for fools. My Lord, it is to
preserve your consistency, it is to vindicate your high character, it is
to make the Marquess of Carabas perform the duties which society
requires from him, that I, Vivian Grey, a member of that society, and an
humble friend of your Lordship, speak so boldly."

"My friend," said the agitated Peer, "you cannot speak too boldly. My
mind opens to you. I have felt, I have long felt, that I was not what I
ought to be, that I was not what society requires me to be; but where is
your remedy? what is the line of conduct that I should pursue?"

"The remedy, my Lord! I never conceived, for a moment, that there was
any doubt of the existence of means to attain all and everything. I
think that was your Lordship's phrase. I only hesitated as to the
existence of the inclination on the part of your Lordship."

"You cannot doubt it now," said the Peer, in a low voice; and then his
Lordship looked anxiously round the room, as if he feared that there had
been some mysterious witness to his whisper.

"My Lord," said Vivian, and he drew his chair close to the Marquess,
"the plan is shortly this. There are others in a similar situation with
yourself. All thinking men know, your Lordship knows still better, that
there are others equally influential, equally ill-treated. How is it
that I see no concert, among these individuals? How is it that, jealous
of each other, or each trusting that he may ultimately prove an
exception to the system of which he is a victim; how is it, I say, that
you look with cold hearts on each other's situation? My Lord Marquess,
it is at the head of these that I would place you, it is these that I
would have act with you; and this is the union which is strength."

"You are right, you are right; there is Courtown, but we do not speak;
there is Beaconsfield, but we are not intimate: but much might be done."

"My Lord, you must not be daunted at a few difficulties, or at a little
exertion. But as for Courtown, or Beaconsfield, or fifty other offended
men, if it can be shown to them that their interest is to be your
Lordship's friend, trust me, that ere six months are over, they will
have pledged their troth. Leave all this to me, give me your Lordship's
name," said Vivian, whispering most earnestly in the Marquess's ear, and
laying his hand upon his Lordship's arm; "give me your Lordship's name,
and your Lordship's influence, and I will take upon myself the whole
organisation of the Carabas party."

"The Carabas party! Ah! we must think more of this."

The Marquess's eyes smiled with triumph, as he shook Vivian cordially by
the hand, and begged him to call upon him on the morrow.




CHAPTER III


The intercourse between the Marquess and Vivian after this interview was
constant. No dinner-party was thought perfect at Carabas House without
the presence of the young gentleman; and as the Marchioness was
delighted with the perpetual presence of an individual whom she could
always consult about Julie, there was apparently no domestic obstacle to
Vivian's remaining in high favour.

The Earl of Eglamour, the only child in whom were concentrated all the
hopes of the illustrious House of Lorraine, was in Italy. The only
remaining member of the domestic circle who was wanting was the
Honourable Mrs. Felix Lorraine, the wife of the Marquess's younger
brother. This lady, exhausted by the gaiety of the season, had left town
somewhat earlier than she usually did, and was inhaling fresh air, and
studying botany, at the magnificent seat of the Carabas family, Chateau
Desir, at which splendid place Vivian was to pass the summer.

In the meantime all was sunshine with Vivian Grey. His noble friend and
himself were in perpetual converse, and constantly engaged in deep
consultation. As yet, the world knew nothing, except that, according to
the Marquess of Carabas, "Vivian Grey was the most astonishingly clever
and prodigiously accomplished fellow that ever breathed;" and, as the
Marquess always added, "resembled himself very much when he was young."

But it must not be supposed that Vivian was to all the world the
fascinating creature that he was to the Marquess of Carabas. Many
complained that he was reserved, silent, satirical, and haughty. But the
truth was, Vivian Grey often asked himself, "Who is to be my enemy
to-morrow?" He was too cunning a master of the human mind, not to be
aware of the quicksands upon which all greenhorns strike; he knew too
well the danger of unnecessary intimacy. A smile for a friend, and a
sneer for the world, is the way to govern mankind, and such was the
motto of Vivian Grey.




CHAPTER IV


How shall we describe Chateau Desir, that place fit for all princes? In
the midst of a park of great extent, and eminent for scenery, as varied
as might please nature's most capricious lover; in the midst of green
lawns and deep winding glens, and cooling streams, and wild forest, and
soft woodland, there was gradually formed an elevation, on which was
situate a mansion of great size, and of that bastard, but picturesque
style of architecture, called the Italian Gothic. The date of its
erection was about the middle of the sixteenth century. You entered by a
noble gateway, in which the pointed style still predominated; but in
various parts of which, the Ionic column, and the prominent keystone,
and other creations of Roman architecture, intermingled with the
expiring Gothic, into a large quadrangle, to which the square casement
windows, and the triangular pediments or gable ends supplying the place
of battlements, gave a varied and Italian feature. In the centre of the
court, from a vast marble basin, the rim of which was enriched by a
splendidly sculptured lotus border, rose a marble group representing
Amphitrite with her marine attendants, whose sounding shells and coral
sceptres sent forth their subject element in sparkling showers. This
work, the chef d'oeuvre celebrated artist of Vicenza, had been purchased
by Valerian, first Lord Carabas, who having spent the greater part of
his life as the representative of his monarch at the Ducal Court of
Venice, at length returned to his native country; and in the creation of
Chateau Desir endeavoured to find some consolation for the loss of his
beautiful villa on the banks of the Adige.

Over the gateway there rose a turreted tower, the small square window of
which, notwithstanding its stout stanchions, illumined the muniment room
of the House of Carabas. In the spandrils of the gateway and in many
other parts of the building might be seen the arms of the family; while
the tall twisted stacks of chimneys, which appeared to spring from all
parts of the roof, were carved and built in such curious and quaint
devices that they were rather an ornament than an excrescence. When you
entered the quadrangle, you found one side solely occupied by the old
hall, the huge carved rafters of whose oak roof rested on corbels of the
family supporters against the walls. These walls were of stone, but
covered half-way from the ground with a panelling of curiously-carved
oak; whence were suspended, in massy frames, the family portraits,
painted by Dutch and Italian artists. Near the dais, or upper part of
the hall, there projected an oriel window, which, as you beheld, you
scarcely knew what most to admire, the radiancy of its painted panes or
the fantastic richness of Gothic ornament, which was profusely lavished
in every part of its masonry. Here too the Gothic pendent and the Gothic
fan-work were intermingled with the Italian arabesques, which, at the
time of the building of the Chateau, had been recently introduced into
England by Hans Holbein and John of Padua.

How wild and fanciful are those ancient arabesques! Here at Chateau
Desir, in the panelling of the old hall, might you see fantastic
scrolls, separated by bodies ending in termini, and whose heads
supported the Ionic volute, while the arch, which appeared to spring
from these capitals, had, for a keystone, heads more monstrous than
those of the fabled animals of Ctesias; or so ludicrous, that you forgot
the classic griffin in the grotesque conception of the Italian artist.
Here was a gibbering monkey, there a grinning pulcinello; now you viewed
a chattering devil, which might have figured in the "Temptation of St.
Anthony;" and now a mournful, mystic, bearded countenance, which might
have flitted in the back scene of a "Witches' Sabbath."

A long gallery wound through the upper story of two other sides of the
quadrangle, and beneath were the show suite of apartments with a sight
of which the admiring eyes of curious tourists were occasionally
delighted.

The grey stone walls of this antique edifice were, in many places,
thickly covered with ivy and other parasitical plants, the deep green of
whose verdure beautifully contrasted with the scarlet glories of the
pyrus japonica, which gracefully clustered round the windows of the
lower chambers. The mansion itself was immediately surrounded by
numerous ancient forest trees. There was the elm with its rich branches
bending down like clustering grapes; there was the wide-spreading oak
with its roots fantastically gnarled; there was the ash, with its smooth
bark and elegant leaf; and the silver beech, and the gracile birch; and
the dark fir, affording with its rough foliage a contrast to the trunks
of its more beautiful companions, or shooting far above their branches,
with the spirit of freedom worthy of a rough child of the mountains.

Around the Castle were extensive pleasure-grounds, which realised the
romance of the "Gardens of Verulam." And truly, as you wandered through
their enchanting paths there seemed no end to their various beauties,
and no exhaustion of their perpetual novelty. Green retreats succeeded
to winding walks; from the shady berceau you vaulted on the noble
terrace; and if, for an instant, you felt wearied by treading the velvet
lawn, you might rest in a mossy cell, while your mind was soothed by the
soft music of falling waters. Now your curious eyes were greeted by
Oriental animals, basking in a sunny paddock; and when you turned from
the white-footed antelope and the dark-eyed gazelle, you viewed an
aviary of such extent, that within its trellised walls the imprisoned,
songsters could build, in the free branches of a tree, their
natural nests.

"O fair scene!" thought Vivian Grey, as he approached, on a fine
summer's afternoon, the splendid Chateau, "O fair scene! doubly fair to
those who quit for thee the thronged and agitated city. And can it be,
that those who exist within this enchanted domain, can think of anything
but sweet air, and do aught but revel in the breath of perfumed
flowers?" And here he gained the garden-gate: so he stopped his
soliloquy, and gave his horse to his groom.




CHAPTER V


The Marquess had preceded Vivian in his arrival about three or four
days, and of course, to use the common phrase, the establishment "was
quite settled." It was, indeed, to avoid the possibility of witnessing
the domestic arrangements of a nobleman in any other point of view save
that of perfection, that Vivian had declined accompanying his noble
friend to the Chateau. Mr. Grey, junior, was an epicurean, and all
epicureans will quite agree with me, that his conduct on this head was
extremely wise. I am not very nice myself about these matters; but there
are, we all know, a thousand little things that go wrong on the arrivals
of even the best regulated families; and to mention no others, for any
rational being voluntarily to encounter the awful gaping of an English
family, who have travelled one hundred miles in ten successive hours,
appears to me to be little short of madness.

"Grey, my boy, quite happy to see ye! later than I expected; first bell
rings in five minutes. Sadler will show you your room. Your father, I
hope, quite well?"

Such was the salutation of the Marquess; and Vivian accordingly retired
to arrange his toilet.

The first bell rang, and the second bell rang, and Vivian was seated at
the dinner-table. He bowed to the Marchioness, and asked after her
poodle, and gazed with some little curiosity at the vacant chair
opposite him.

"Mrs. Felix Lorraine, Mr. Vivian Grey," said the Marquess, as a lady
entered the room.

Now, although we are of those historians who are of opinion that the
nature of the personages they celebrate should be developed rather by a
recital of their conduct than by a set character on their introduction,
it is, nevertheless, incumbent upon us to devote a few lines to the lady
who has just entered, which the reader will be so good as to get
through, while she is accepting an offer of some white soup; by this
means he will lose none of the conversation.

The Honourable Felix Lorraine we have before described as a roue. After
having passed through a career with tolerable credit, which would have
blasted the character of any vulgar personage, Felix Lorraine ended by
pigeoning a young nobleman, whom, for that purpose, he had made his
intimate friend. The affair got wind; after due examination, was
proclaimed "too bad," and the guilty personage was visited with the
heaviest vengeance of modern society; he was expelled his club. By this
unfortunate exposure, Mr. Felix Lorraine was obliged to give in a match,
which was on the tapis, with the celebrated Miss Mexico, on whose
million he had determined to set up a character and a chariot, and at
the same time pension his mistress, and subscribe to the Society for the
Suppression of Vice. Felix left England for the Continent, and in due
time was made drum-major at Barbadoes, or fiscal at Ceylon, or something
of that kind. While he loitered in Europe, he made a conquest of the
heart of the daughter of some German baron, and after six weeks passed
in the most affectionate manner, the happy couple performing their
respective duties with perfect propriety, Felix left Germany for his
colonial appointment, and also left his lady behind him.

Mr. Lorraine had duly and dutifully informed his family of his marriage;
and they, as amiably and affectionately, had never answered his letters,
which he never expected they would. Profiting by their example, he never
answered his wife's, who, in due time, to the horror of the Marquess,
landed in England, and claimed the protection of her "beloved husband's
family." The Marquess vowed he would never see her; the lady, however,
one morning gained admittance, and from that moment she had never
quitted her brother-in-law's roof, and not only had never quitted it,
but now made the greatest favour of her staying.

The extraordinary influence which Mrs. Felix Lorraine possessed was
certainly not owing to her beauty, for the lady opposite Vivian Grey
had apparently no claims to admiration, on the score of her personal
qualifications. Her complexion was bad, and her features were
indifferent, and these characteristics were not rendered less
uninterestingly conspicuous by, what makes an otherwise ugly woman quite
the reverse, namely, a pair of expressive eyes; for certainly this
epithet could not be applied to those of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, which
gazed in all the vacancy of German listlessness.

The lady did bow to Mr. Grey, and that was all; and then she negligently
spooned her soup, and then, after much parade, sent it away untouched.
Vivian was not under the necessity of paying any immediate courtesy to
his opposite neighbour, whose silence, he perceived, was for the nonce,
and consequently for him. But the day was hot, and Vivian had been
fatigued by his ride, and the Marquess' champagne was excellent; and so,
at last, the floodgates of his speech burst, and talk he did. He
complimented her Ladyship's poodle, quoted German to Mrs. Felix
Lorraine, and taught the Marquess to eat cabinet pudding with Curacoa
sauce (a custom which, by-the-bye, I recommend to all); and then his
stories, his scandal, and his sentiment; stories for the Marquess,
scandal for the Marchioness, and sentiment for the Marquess' sister!
That lady, who began to find out her man, had no mind to be longer
silent, and although a perfect mistress of the English language, began
to articulate a horrible patois, that she might not be mistaken for an
Englishwoman, an occurrence which she particularly dreaded. But now came
her punishment, for Vivian saw the effect which he had produced on Mrs.
Felix Lorraine, and that Mrs. Felix Lorraine now wished to produce a
corresponding effect upon him, and this he was determined she should not
do; so new stories followed, and new compliments ensued, and finally he
anticipated her sentences, and sometimes her thoughts. The lady sat
silent and admiring! At last the important meal was finished, and the
time came when good dull English dames retire; but of this habit Mrs.
Felix Lorraine did not approve, and although she had not yet prevailed
upon Lady Carabas to adopt her ideas on field-days, still, when alone,
the good-natured Marchioness had given in, and to save herself from
hearing the din of male voices at a time at which during her whole life
she had been unaccustomed to them, the Marchioness of Carabas dozed. Her
worthy spouse, who was prevented, by the presence of Mrs. Felix
Lorraine, from talking politics with Vivian, passed the bottle pretty
briskly, and then, conjecturing that "from the sunset we should have a
fine day to-morrow," fell back in his easy-chair, and snored.

Mrs. Felix Lorraine looked at her noble relatives, and shrugged up her
shoulders with an air which baffleth all description. "Mr. Grey, I
congratulate you on this hospitable reception; you see we treat you
quite en famille. Come! 'tis a fine evening; you have seen as yet but
little of Chateau Desir: we may as well enjoy the fine air on
the terrace."




CHAPTER VI


"You must know, Mr. Grey, that this is my favourite walk, and I
therefore expect that it will be yours."

"It cannot indeed fail to be such, the favourite as it alike is of
nature and Mrs. Felix Lorraine."

"On my word, a very pretty sentence! And who taught you, young sir, to
bandy words so fairly?"

"I never can open my mouth, except in the presence of a woman," observed
Vivian, with impudent mendacity; and he looked interesting and innocent.

"Indeed! And what do you know about such wicked work as talking to
women?" and here Mrs. Felix Lorraine imitated Vivian's sentimental
voice. "Do you know," she continued, "I feel quite happy that you have
come down here; I begin to think that we shall be great friends."

"Nothing appears to me more evident," said Vivian.

"How delicious is friendship!" exclaimed Mrs. Felix Lorraine;
"delightful sentiment, that prevents life from being a curse! Have you a
friend, Mr. Vivian Grey?"

"Before I answer that question, I should like to know what meaning Mrs.
Felix Lorraine attaches to that important monosyllable, friend."

"Oh, you want a definition. I hate definitions; and of all the
definitions in the world, the one I have been most unfortunate in has
been a definition of friendship; I might say" (and here her voice sunk),
"I might say of all the sentiments in the world, friendship is the one
which has been must fatal to me; but I must not inoculate you with my
bad spirits, bad spirits are not for young blood like yours, leave them
to old persons like myself."

"Old!" said Vivian, in a proper tone of surprise.

"Old! ay old; how old do you think I am?"

"You may have seen twenty summers," gallantly conjectured Vivian.

The lady looked pleased, and almost insinuated that she had seen one or
two more.

"A clever woman," thought Vivian, "but vain; I hardly know what to think
of her."

"Mr. Grey, I fear you find me in bad spirits to-day; but alas! I--I have
cause. Although we see each other to-day for the first time, yet there
is something in your manner, something in the expression of your eyes,
that make me believe my happiness is not altogether a matter of
indifference to you." These words, uttered in one of the sweetest voices
by which ever human being was fascinated, were slowly and deliberately
spoken, as if it were intended that they should rest on the ear of the
object to whom they were addressed.

"My dearest madam! it is impossible that I can have but one sentiment
with regard to you, that of--"

"Of what, Mr. Grey?"

"Of solicitude for your welfare."

The lady gently took the arm of the young man, and then with an agitated
voice, and a troubled spirit, dwelt upon the unhappiness of her lot, and
the cruelty of her fortunes. Her husband's indifference was the
sorrowful theme of her lamentations; and she ended by asking Mr. Vivian
Grey's advice, as to the line of conduct which she should pursue with
regard to him; first duly informing Vivian that this was the only time
and he the only person to whom this subject had been ever mentioned.

"And why should I mention it here, and to whom? The Marquess is the best
of men, but--" and here she looked up in Vivian's face, and spoke
volumes; "and the Marchioness is the most amiable of women: at least, I
suppose her lap-dog thinks so."

The advice of Vivian was concise. He sent the husband to the devil in
two seconds, and insisted upon the wife's not thinking of him for
another moment; and then the lady dried her eyes, and promised to do
her best.

"And now," said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, "I must talk about your own
affairs. I think your plan excellent."

"Plan, madam!"

"Yes, plan, sir! the Marquess has told me all. I have no head for
politics, Mr. Grey; but if I cannot assist you in managing the nation, I
perhaps may in managing the family, and my services are at your command.
Believe me, you will have enough to do: there, I pledge you my troth. Do
you think it a pretty hand?"

Vivian did think it a very pretty hand, and he performed due courtesies
in a becoming style.

"And now, good even to you," said the lady; "this little gate leads to
my apartments. You will have no difficulty in finding your way back." So
saying, she disappeared.




CHAPTER VII


The first week at Chateau Desir passed pleasantly enough. Vivian's
morning was amply occupied in maturing with the Marquess the grand
principles of the new political system: in weighing interests, in
balancing connections, and settling "what side was to be taken on the
great questions?" O politics, thou splendid juggle! The whole business,
although so magnificent in its result, appeared very easy to the two
counsellors, for it was one of the first principles of Mr. Vivian Grey,
that everything was possible. Men did fail in life to be sure, and after
all, very little was done by the generality; but still all these
failures, and all this inefficiency, might be traced to a want of
physical and mental courage. Some men were bold in their conceptions,
and splendid heads at a grand system, but then, when the day of battle
came, they turned out very cowards; while others, who had nerve enough
to stand the brunt of the hottest fire, were utterly ignorant of
military tactics, and fell before the destroyer, like the brave
untutored Indians before the civilised European. Now Vivian Grey was
conscious that there was at least one person in the world who was no
craven either in body or in mind, and so he had long come to the
comfortable conclusion, that it was impossible that his career could be
anything but the most brilliant. And truly, employed as he now was, with
a peer of the realm, in a solemn consultation on that realm's most
important interests, at a time when creatures of his age were moping in
Halls and Colleges, is it to be wondered at that he began to imagine
that his theory was borne out by experience and by fact? Not that it
must be supposed, even for a moment, that Vivian Grey was what the world
calls conceited. Oh no! he knew the measure of his own mind, and had
fathomed the depth of his powers with equal skill and impartiality; but
in the process he could not but feel that he could conceive much, and
dare do more.

We said the first week at Chateau Desir passed pleasantly enough; and so
it did, for Vivian's soul revelled in the morning councils on his future
fortunes, with as much eager joy as a young courser tries the turf,
preliminary to running for the plate. And then, in the evening, were
moonlit walks with Mrs. Felix Lorraine! And then the lady abused England
so prettily, and initiated her companion, in all the secrets of German
Courts, and sang beautiful French songs, and told the legends of her
native land in such, an interesting, semi-serious tone, that Vivian
almost imagined, that she believed them; and then she would take him
beside the luminous lake in the park, and now it looked just like the
dark blue Rhine! and then she remembered Germany, and grew sad, and
abused her husband; and then she taught Vivian the guitar, and some
other fooleries besides.




CHAPTER VIII


The second week of Vivian's visit had come round, and the flag waved
proudly on the proud tower of Chateau Desir, indicating to the admiring
county, that the most noble Sidney, Marquess of Carabas, held public
days twice a week at his grand castle. And now came the neighbouring
peer, full of grace and gravity, and the mellow baronet, with his hearty
laugh, and the jolly country squire, and the middling gentry, and the
jobbing country attorney, and the flourishing country surveyor; some
honouring by their presence, some who felt the obligation equal, and
others bending before the noble host, as if paying him adoration was
almost an equal pleasure with that of guzzling his venison pasties and
quaffing his bright wines.

Independently of all these periodical visitors, the house was full of
permanent ones. There were the Viscount and Viscountess Courtown and
their three daughters, and Lord and Lady Beaconsfield and their three
sons, and Sir Berdmore and Lady Scrope, and Colonel Delmington of the
Guards, and Lady Louisa Manvers and her daughter Julia. Lady Louisa was
the only sister of the Marquess, a widow, proud and penniless.

To all these distinguished personages Vivian was introduced by the
Marquess as "a monstrous clever young man, and his Lordship's most
particular friend," and then the noble Carabas left the game in his
young friend's hands.

And right well Vivian did his duty. In a week's time it would have been
hard to decide with whom of the family of the Courtowns Vivian was the
greatest favourite. He rode with the Viscount, who was a good horseman,
and was driven by his Lady, who was a good whip; and when he had
sufficiently admired the tout ensemble of her Ladyship's pony phaeton,
he entrusted her, "in confidence," with some ideas of his own about
martingales, a subject which he assured her Ladyship "had been the
object of his mature consideration." The three honourable Misses were
the most difficult part of the business; but he talked sentiment with
the first, sketched with the second, and romped with the third.

Ere the Beaconsfields could be jealous of the influence of the
Courtowns, Mr. Vivian Grey had promised his Lordship, who was a
collector of medals, an unique which had never yet been heard of; and
her Ladyship, who was a collector of autographs, the private letters of
every man of genius that ever had been heard of. In this division of the
Carabas guests he was not bored with a family; for sons he always made
it a rule to cut dead; they are the members of a family who, on an
average, are generally very uninfluential, for, on an average, they are
fools enough to think it very knowing to be very disagreeable. So the
wise man but little loves them, but woe to the fool who neglects the
daughters!

Sir Berdmore Scrope Vivian found a more unmanageable personage; for the
baronet was confoundedly shrewd, and without a particle of sentiment in
his composition. It was a great thing, however, to gain him; for Sir
Berdmore was a leading country gentleman, and having quarrelled with
Ministers about the corn laws, had been counted disaffected ever since.
The baronet, however, although a bold man to the world, was luckily
henpecked; so Vivian made love to the wife and secured the husband.




CHAPTER IX


I think that Julia Manvers was really the most beautiful creature that
ever smiled in this fair world. Such a symmetrically formed shape, such
perfect features, such a radiant complexion, such luxuriant auburn hair,
and such blue eyes, lit up by a smile of such mind and meaning, have
seldom blessed the gaze of admiring man! Vivian Grey, fresh as he was,
was not exactly the creature to lose his heart very speedily. He looked
upon marriage as a comedy in which, sooner or later, he was, as a
well-paid actor, to play his part; and could it have advanced his views
one jot he would have married the Princess Caraboo to-morrow. But of all
wives in the world, a young and handsome one was that which he most
dreaded; and how a statesman who was wedded to a beautiful woman could
possibly perform his duties to the public, did most exceedingly puzzle
him. Notwithstanding these sentiments, however, Vivian began to think
that there really could be no harm in talking to so beautiful a creature
as Julia, and a little conversation with her would, he felt, be no
unpleasing relief to the difficult duties in which he was involved.

To the astonishment of the Honourable Buckhurst Stanhope, eldest son of
Lord Beaconsfield, Mr. Vivian Grey, who had never yet condescended to
acknowledge his existence, asked him one morning, with the most
fascinating of smiles and with the most conciliating voice, "whether
they should ride together." The young heir-apparent looked stiff and
assented. He arrived again at Chateau Desir in a couple of hours,
desperately enamoured of the eldest Miss Courtown. The sacrifice of two
mornings to the Honourable Dormer Stanhope and the Honourable Gregory
Stanhope sent them home equally captivated by the remaining sisters.
Having thus, like a man of honour, provided for the amusement of his
former friends, the three Miss Courtowns, Vivian left Mrs. Felix
Lorraine to the Colonel, whose moustache, by-the-bye, that lady
considerably patronised; and then, having excited an universal feeling
of gallantry among the elders, Vivian found his whole day at the service
of Julia Manvers.

"Miss Manvers, I think that you and I are the only faithful subjects in
this Castle of Indolence. Here am I lounging on an ottoman, my ambition
reaching only so far as the possession of a chibouque, whose aromatic
and circling wreaths, I candidly confess, I dare not here excite; and
you, of course, much too knowing to be doing anything on the first of
August save dreaming of races, archery feats, and county balls: the
three most delightful things which the country can boast, either for
man, woman, or child."

"Of course, you except sporting for yourself, shooting especially, I
suppose."

"Shooting, oh! ah! there is such a thing. No, I am no shot; not that I
have not hi my time cultivated a Manton; but the truth is, having, at an
early age, mistaken my intimate friend for a cock pheasant, I sent a
whole crowd of fours into his face, and thereby spoilt one of the
prettiest countenances in Christendom; so I gave up the field. Besides,
as Tom Moore says, I have so much to do in the country, that, for my
part, I really have no time for killing birds and jumping over ditches:
good work enough for country squires, who must, like all others, have
their hours of excitement. Mine are of a different nature, and boast a
different locality; and so when I come into the country, 'tis for
pleasant air, and beautiful trees, and winding streams; things which, of
course, those who live among them all the year round do not suspect to
be lovely and adorable creations. Don't you agree with Tom Moore,
Miss Manvers?"

"Oh, of course! but I think it is very improper, that habit, which every
one has, of calling a man of such eminence as the author of 'Lalla
Rookh' _Tom_ Moore."

"I wish he could but hear you! But, suppose I were to quote Mr. Moore,
or Mr. Thomas Moore, would you have the most distant conception whom I
meant? Certainly not. By-the-bye, did you ever hear the pretty name they
gave him at Paris?"

"No, what was it?"

"One day Moore and Rogers went to call on Denon. Rogers gave their names
to the Swiss, Monsieur Rogers et Monsieur Moore. The Swiss dashed open
the library door, and, to the great surprise of the illustrious
antiquary, announced, Monsieur l'Amour! While Denon was doubting whether
the God of Love was really paying him a visit or not, Rogers entered. I
should like to have seen Denon's face!"

"And Monsieur Denon did take a portrait of Mr. Rogers as Cupid, I
believe?"

"Come, madam, 'no scandal about Queen Elizabeth.' Mr. Rogers is one of
the most elegant-minded men in the country."

"Nay! do not lecture me with such a laughing face, or else your moral
will be utterly thrown away."

"Ah! you have Retsch's 'Faust' there. I did not expect on a drawing-room
table at Chateau Desir to see anything so old, and so excellent, I
thought the third edition of Tremaine would be a very fair specimen of
your ancient literature, and Major Denham's hair-breadth escapes of your
modern. There was an excellent story about, on the return of Denham and
Clapperton. The travellers took different routes, in order to arrive at
the same point of destination. In his wanderings the Major came unto an
unheard-of Lake, which, with the spirit which they of the Guards surely
approved, he christened 'Lake Waterloo.' Clapperton arrived a few days
after him; and the pool was immediately re-baptized 'Lake Trafalgar.'
There was a hot quarrel in consequence. Now, if I had been there, I
would have arranged matters, by proposing as a title, to meet the views
of all parties, 'The United Service Lake.'"

"That would have been happy."

"How beautiful Margaret is," said Vivian, rising from his ottoman, and
seating himself on the sofa by the lady. "I always think that this is
the only Personification where Art has not rendered Innocence insipid."

"Do you think so?"

"Why, take Una in the Wilderness, or Goody Two Shoes. These, I believe,
were the most innocent persons that ever existed, and I am sure you will
agree with me, they always look the most insipid. Nay, perhaps I was
wrong in what I said; perhaps it is Insipidity that always looks
innocent, not Innocence always insipid."

"How can you refine so, when the thermometer is at 100 deg.! Pray, tell me
some more stories."

"I cannot, I am in a refining humour: I could almost lecture to-day at
the Royal Institution. You would not call these exactly Prosopopeias of
Innocence?" said Vivian, turning over a bundle of Stewart Newton's
beauties, languishing, and lithographed. "Newton, I suppose, like Lady
Wortley Montague, is of opinion, that the face is not the most beautiful
part of woman; at least, if I am to judge from these elaborate ankles.
Now, the countenance of this Donna, forsooth, has a drowsy placidity
worthy of the easy-chair she is lolling in, and yet her ankle would not
disgrace the contorted frame of the most pious faquir."

"Well! I am an admirer of Newton's paintings."

"Oh! so am I. He is certainly a cleverish fellow, but rather too much
among the blues; a set, of whom, I would venture to say, Miss Manvers
knoweth little about."

"Oh, not the least! Mamma does not visit that way. What are they?"

"Oh, very powerful people! though 'Mamma does not visit that way.' Their
words are Ukases as far as Curzon Street, and very Decretals in the
general vicinity of May Fair; but you shall have a further description
another time. How those rooks bore! I hate staying with ancient
families; you are always cawed to death. If ever you write a novel, Miss
Manvers, mind you have a rookery in it. Since Tremaine, and Washington
Irving, nothing will go down without."

"By-the-bye, who is the author of Tremaine?"

"It is either Mr. Ryder, or Mr. Spencer Percival, or Mr. Dyson, or Miss
Dyson, or Mr. Bowles, or the Duke of Buckingham, or Mr. Ward, or a young
officer in the Guards, or an old Clergyman in the North of England, or a
middle-aged Barrister on the Midland Circuit."

"Mr. Grey, I wish you could get me an autograph of Mr. Washington
Irving; I want it for a particular friend."

"Give me a pen and ink; I will write you one immediately."

"Ridiculous!"

"There! now you have made me blot Faustus."

At this moment the room-door suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut.

"Who was that?"

"Mephistopheles, or Mrs. Felix Lorraine; one or the other, perhaps
both."

"What!"

"What do you think of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, Miss Manvers?"

"Oh! I think her a very amusing woman, a very clever woman a
very--but--"

"But what?"

"But I cannot exactly make her out."

"Nor I; she is a dark riddle; and, although I am a very Oedipus, I
confess I have not yet unravelled it. Come, there is Washington Irving's
autograph for you; read it; is it not quite in character? Shall I write
any more? One of Sir Walter's, or Mr. Southey's, or Mr. Milman's or Mr.
Disraeli's? or shall I sprawl a Byron?"

"I really cannot sanction such unprincipled conduct. You may make me one
of Sir Walter's, however."

"Poor Washington!" said Vivian, writing. "I knew him well. Be always
slept at dinner. One day, as he was dining at: Mr. Hallam's, they took
him, when asleep, to Lady Jersey's: and, to see the Sieur Geoffrey, they
say, when he opened his eyes in the illumined saloons, was really quite
admirable! quite an Arabian tale!"

"How delightful! I should have so liked to have seen him! He seems quite
forgotten now in England. How came we to talk of him?"

"Forgotten! Oh! he spoilt his elegant talents in writing German and
Italian twaddle with all the rawness of a Yankee. He ought never to have
left America, at least in literature; there was an uncontested and
glorious field for him. He should have been managing director of the
Hudson Bay Company, and lived all his life among the beavers."

"I think there is nothing more pleasant than talking over the season, in
the country, in August."

"Nothing more agreeable. It was dull though, last season, very dull; I
think the game cannot be kept going another year. If it were not for the
General Election, we really must have a war for variety's sake. Peace
gets quite a bore. Everybody you dine with has a good cook, and gives
you a dozen different wines, all perfect. We cannot bear this any
longer; all the lights and shadows of life are lost. The only good thing
I heard this year was an ancient gentlewoman going up to Gunter and
asking him for 'the receipt for that white stuff,' pointing to his Roman
punch. I, who am a great man for receipts, gave it her immediately: 'One
hod of mortar to one bottle of Noyau.'"

"And did she thank you?"

"Thank me! ay, truly; and pushed a card into my hand, so thick and sharp
that it cut through my glove. I wore my arm in a sling for a month
afterwards,"

"And what was the card?"

"Oh, you need not look so arch. The old lady was not even a faithless
duenna. It was an invitation to an assembly, or something of the kind,
at a place, somewhere, as Theodore Hook or Mr. Croker would say,
'between Mesopotamia and Russell Square.'"

"Pray, Mr. Grey, is it true that all the houses in Russell Square are
tenantless?"

"Quite true; the Marquess of Tavistock has given up the county in
consequence. A perfect shame, is it not? Let us write it up."

"An admirable plan! but we will take the houses first, at a pepper-corn
rent."

"What a pity, Miss Manvers, the fashion has gone out of selling oneself
to the devil."

"Good gracious, Mr. Grey!"

"On my honour, I am quite serious. It does appear to me to be a very
great pity. What a capital plan for younger brothers! It is a kind of
thing I have been trying to do all my life, and never could succeed. I
began at school with toasted cheese and a pitchfork; and since then I
have invoked, with all the eloquence of Goethe, the evil one in the
solitude of the Hartz, but without success. I think I should make an
excellent bargain with him: of course I do not mean that ugly vulgar
savage with a fiery tail. Oh, no! Satan himself for me, a perfect
gentleman! Or Belial: Belial would be the most delightful. He is the
fine genius of the Inferno, I imagine, the Beranger of Pandemonium."

"I really cannot listen to such nonsense one moment longer. What would
you have if Belial were here?"

"Let us see. Now, you shall act the spirit, and I, Vivian Grey. I wish
we had a short-hand writer here to take down the Incantation Scene. We
would send it to Arnold. Commencons: Spirit! I will have a fair castle."

The lady bowed.

"I will have a palace in town."

The lady bowed.

"I will have a fair wife. Why, Miss Manvers, you forget to bow!"

"I really beg your pardon!"

"Come, this is a novel way of making an offer, and, I hope, a successful
one."

"Julia, my dear," cried a voice in the veranda, "Julia, my dear, I want
you to walk with me."

"Say you are engaged with the Marchioness," whispered Vivian, with a low
but distinct--voice; his eyes fixed on the table, and his lips not
appearing to move.

"Mamma, I am--"

"I want you immediately and particularly, Julia," cried Lady Louisa, in
an earnest voice.

"I am coming, I am coming. You see I must go."




CHAPTER X


"Confusion on that old hag! Her eye looked evil on me, at the very
moment! Although a pretty wife is really the destruction of a young
man's prospects, still, in the present case, the niece of my friend, my
patron, high family, perfectly unexceptionable, &c. &c. &c. Such blue
eyes! upon my honour, this must be an exception to the general rule,"
Here a light step attracted his attention, and, on turning round, he
found Mrs. Felix Lorraine at his elbow.

"Oh! you are here, Mr. Grey, acting the solitaire in the park! I want
your opinion about a passage in 'Herman and Dorothea.'"

"My opinion is always at your service; but if the passage is not
perfectly clear to Mrs. Felix Lorraine, it will be perfectly obscure, I
am convinced, to me."

"Ah! yes, of course. Oh, dear! after all my trouble, I have forgotten my
book. How mortifying! Well, I will show it to you after dinner: adieu!
and, by-the-bye, Mr. Grey, as I am here, I may as well advise you not to
spoil all the Marquess's timber, by carving a certain person's name on
his park trees. I think your plans in that quarter are admirable. I have
been walking with Lady Louisa the whole morning, and you cannot think
how I puffed you! Courage, Cavalier, and we shall soon be connected, not
only in friendship, but in blood."

The next morning, at breakfast, Vivian was surprised to find that the
Manvers party was suddenly about to leave the Castle. All were
disconsolate at their departure: for there was to be a grand
entertainment at Chateau Desir that very day, but particularly Mrs.
Felix Lorraine and Mr. Vivian Grey. The sudden departure was accounted
for by the arrival of "unexpected," &c. &c. &c. There was no hope; the
green post-chariot was at the door, a feeble promise of a speedy return;
Julia's eyes were filled with tears. Vivian was springing forward to
press her hand, and bear her to the carriage, when Mrs. Felix Lorraine
seized his arm, vowed she was going to faint, and, ere she could recover
herself, or loosen her grasp, the Manvers were gone.




CHAPTER XI


The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances was quite
dispelled when the Marquess entered.

"Lady Carabas," said he, "you must prepare for many visitors to-day.
There are the Amershams, and Lord Alhambra, and Ernest Clay, and twenty
other young heroes, who, duly informed that the Miss Courtowns were
honouring us with their presence, are pouring in from all quarters; is
it not so, Juliana?" gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: "but
who do you think is coming besides?"

"Who, who?" exclaimed all.

"Nay, you shall guess," said the Peer.

"The Duke of Waterloo?" guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.

"Prince Hungary?" asked her sister Laura.

"Is it a gentleman?" asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

"No, no, you are all wrong, and all very stupid. It is Mrs. Million."

"Oh, how delightful!" said Cynthia.

"Oh, how annoying!" said the Marchioness.

"You need not look so agitated, my love," said the Marquess; "I have
written to Mrs. Million to say that we shall be most happy to see her;
but as the castle is very full, she must not come with five
carriages-and-four, as she did last year."

"And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the Hall, Marquess?" asked
Cynthia Courtown.

"Mrs. Million will do what she likes; I only know that I shall dine in
the Hall, whatever happens, and whoever comes; and so, I suppose, will
Miss Cynthia Courtown?"

Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his
melancholy by a gallop.

Returning home, he intended to look in at a pretty farm-house, where
lived one John Conyers, a great friend of Vivian's. This man had, about
a fortnight ago, been of essential service to our hero, when a vicious
horse, which he was endeavouring to cure of some ugly tricks, had nearly
terminated his mortal career.

"Why are you crying so, my boy?" asked Vivian of a little Conyers, who
was sobbing bitterly at the floor. He was answered only with
desperate sobs.

"Oh, 'tis your honour," said a decent-looking woman, who came out of the
house; "I thought they had come back again."

"Come back again! why, what is the matter, dame?"

"Oh! your honour, we're in sad distress; there's been a seizure this
morning, and I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself."

"Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?"

"Oh! your honour, we a'nt his Lordship's tenants no longer; there's been
a change for Purley Mill, and now we're Lord Mounteney's people. John
Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick
always gave time: Lord Mounteney's gem'man says the system's bad, and so
he'll put an end to it; and so all's gone, your honour; all's gone, and
I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself."

"And who is Lord Mounteney's man of business?"

"Mr. Stapylton Toad," sobbed the good dame.

"Here, boy, leave off crying, and hold my horse; keep your hold tight,
but give him rein, he'll be quiet enough then. I will see honest
John, dame."

"I'm sure your honour's very kind, but I'm mortal fear'd the good man's
beside himself, and he's apt to do very violent things when the fits on
him. He hasn't been so bad since young Barton behaved so wickedly to
his sister."

"Never mind! there is nothing like a friend's face in the hour of
sorrow."

"I wouldn't advise your honour," said the good dame. "It's an awful hour
when the fit's on him; he knows not friend or foe, and scarcely knows
me, your honour."

"Never mind, I'll see him."

Vivian entered the house; but who shall describe the scene of
desolation! The room was entirely stripped; there was nothing left, save
the bare whitewashed walls, and the red tiled flooring. The room was
darkened; and seated on an old block of wood, which had been pulled out
of the orchard, since the bailiff had left, was John Conyers. The fire
was out, but his feet were still among the ashes. His head was buried in
his hands, and bowed down nearly to his knees. The eldest girl, a fine
sensible child of about thirteen, was sitting with two brothers on the
floor in a corner of the room, motionless, their faces grave, and still
as death, but tearless. Three young children, of an age too tender to
know grief, were acting unmeaning gambols near the door.

"Oh! pray beware, your honour," earnestly whispered the poor dame, as
she entered the cottage with the visitor.

Vivian walked up with a silent step to the end of "the room, where
Conyers was sitting. He remembered this little room, when he thought it
the very model of the abode of an English husbandman. The neat row of
plates, and the well-scoured utensils, and the fine old Dutch clock, and
the ancient and amusing ballad, purchased at some neighbouring fair, or
of some itinerant bibliopole, and pinned against the wall, all gone!

"Conyers!" exclaimed Vivian.

There was no answer, nor did the miserable man appear in the slightest
degree to be sensible of Vivian's presence.

"My good John!"

The man raised his head from his resting-place, and turned to the spot
whence the voice proceeded. There was such an unnatural fire in his
eyes, that Vivian's spirit almost quailed. His alarm was not decreased,
when he perceived that the master of the cottage did not recognize him.
The fearful stare was, however, short, and again the sufferer's face
was hid.

The wife was advancing, but Vivian waved his hand to her to withdraw,
and she accordingly fell into the background; but her fixed eye did not
leave her husband for a second.

"John Conyers, it is your friend, Mr. Vivian Grey, who is here," said
Vivian.

"Grey!" moaned the husbandman; "Grey! who is he?"

"Your friend, John Conyers. Do you quite forget me?" said Vivian
advancing, and with a tone "which Vivian Grey could alone assume.

"I think I have seen you, and you were kind," and the face was again
hid.

"And always will be kind, John. I have come to comfort you. I thought
that a friend's voice would do you good. Come, cheer up, my man!" and
Vivian dared to touch him. His hand was not repulsed. "Do you remember
what good service you did me when I rode white-footed Moll? Why, I was
much worse off then than you are now: and yet, you see, a friend came
and saved me. You must not give way so, my good fellow. After all, a
little management will set everything right," and he took the
husbandman's sturdy hand.

"I do remember you," he faintly cried. "You were always very kind."

"And always will be, John; always to friends like you. Come, come, cheer
up and look about you, and let the sunbeam enter your cottage:" and
Vivian beckoned to the wife to open the closed shutter.

Conyers stared around him, but his eye rested only on bare walls, and
the big tear coursed down his hardy cheek.

"Nay, never mind, man," said Vivian, "we will soon have chairs and
tables again. And as for the rent, think no more about that at present."

The husbandman looked up, and then burst into weeping. Vivian could
scarcely hold down his convulsed frame on the rugged seat; but the wife
advanced from the back of the room, and her husband's head rested
against her bosom. Vivian held his honest hand, and the eldest girl rose
unbidden from her silent sorrow, and clung to her father's knee.

"The fit is over," whispered the wife. "There, there, there's a man, all
is now well;" and Vivian left him resting on his wife's bosom.

"Here, you curly-headed rascal, scamper down to the village immediately,
and bring up a basket of something to eat; and tell Morgan Price that
Mr. Grey says he is to send up a couple of beds, and some chairs here
immediately, and some plates and dishes, and everything else, and don't
forget some ale;" so saying, Vivian flung the urchin a sovereign.

"And now, dame, for Heaven's sake, light the fire. As for the rent,
John, do not waste this trifle on that," whispered Vivian, slipping his
purse into his hand, "for I will see Stapylton Toad, and get time. Why,
woman, you'll never strike a light, if your tears drop so fast into the
tinder-box. Here, give it me. You are not fit to work to-day. And how is
the trout in Ravely Mead, John, this hot weather? You know you never
kept your promise with me. Oh! you are a sad fellow! There! there's a
spark! I wonder why old Toad did not take the tinder-box. It is a very
valuable piece of property, at least to us. Run and get me some wood,
that's a good boy. And so white-footed Moll is past all recovery? Well,
she was a pretty creature! There, that will do famously," said Vivian,
fanning the flame with his hat. "See, it mounts well! And now, God bless
you all! for I am an hour too late, and must scamper for my very life."




CHAPTER XII


Mrs. Million arrived, and kept her promise; only three
carriages-and-four! Out of the first descended the mighty lady herself,
with some noble friends, who formed the most distinguished part of her
suite: out of the second came her physician, Dr. Sly; her toad-eater,
Miss Gusset; her secretary, and her page. The third carriage bore her
groom of the chambers, and three female attendants. There were only two
men servants to each equipage; nothing could be more moderate, or, as
Miss Gusser said, "in better taste."

Mrs. Million, after having granted the Marquess a private interview in
her private apartments, signified her imperial intention of dining in
public, which, as she had arrived late, she trusted she might do in her
travelling dress. The Marquess kotooed like a first-rate mandarin, and
vowed "that her will was his conduct."

The whole suite of apartments were thrown open, and were crowded with
guests. Mrs. Million entered; she was leaning on the Marquess' arm, and
in a travelling dress, namely, a crimson silk pelisse, hat and feathers,
with diamond ear-rings, and a rope of gold round her neck. A train of
about twelve persons, consisting of her noble fellow-travellers,
toad-eaters, physicians, secretaries, &c. &c. &c. followed. The entree
of Her Majesty could not have created a greater sensation than did that
of Mrs. Million. All fell back. Gartered peers, and starred ambassadors,
and baronets with blood older than the creation, and squires, to the
antiquity of whose veins chaos was a novelty; all retreated, with eyes
that scarcely dared to leave the ground; even Sir Plantagenet Pure,
whose family had refused a peerage regularly every century, now, for the
first time in his life, seemed cowed, and in an awkward retreat to make
way for the approaching presence, got entangled with the Mameluke boots
of my Lord Alhambra.

At last a sofa was gained, and the great lady was seated, and the
sensation having somewhat subsided, conversation was resumed; and the
mighty Mrs. Million was not slightly abused, particularly by those who
had bowed lowest at her entree; and now the Marquess of Carabas, as was
wittily observed by Mr. Septimus Sessions, a pert young barrister, "went
the circuit," that is to say, made the grand tour of the suite of
apartments, making remarks to every one of his guests, and keeping up
his influence in the county.

"Ah, my Lord Alhambra! this is too kind; and how is your excellent
father, and my good friend? Sir Plantagenet, yours most sincerely! we
shall have no difficulty about that right of common. Mr. Leverton, I
hope you find the new plough work well; your son, sir, will do the
county honour. Sir Godfrey, I saw Barton upon that point, as I promised.
Lady Julia, I am rejoiced to see ye at Chateau Desir, more blooming than
ever! Good Mr. Stapylton Toad, so that little change was effected: My
Lord Devildrain, this is a pleasure indeed!"

"Why, Ernest Clay," said Mr. Buckhurst Stanhope, "I thought Alhambra
wore a turban; I am quite disappointed."

"Not in the country. Stanhope; here he only sits cross-legged on an
ottoman, and carves his venison with an ataghan."

"Well, I am glad he does not wear a turban; that would be bad taste, I
think," said Fool Stanhope. "Have you read his poem?"

"A little. He sent me a copy, and as I am in the habit of lighting my
pipe or so occasionally with a leaf, why I cannot help occasionally
seeing a line: it seems quite first-rate."

"Indeed!" said Fool Stanhope; "I must get it."

"My dear Puff! I am quite glad to find you here," said Mr. Cayenne, a
celebrated reviewer, to Mr. Partenopex Puff, a small author and smaller
wit. "Have you seen Middle Ages lately?"

"Not very lately," drawled Mr. Partenopex, "I breakfasted with him
before I left town, and met a Professor Bopp there, a very interesting
man, and Principal of the celebrated University of Heligoland, the model
of the London."

"Ah, indeed! talking of the London, is Foaming Fudge to come in for
Cloudland?"

"Doubtless! Oh! he is a prodigious fellow! What do you think Booby
says? He says that Foaming Fudge can do more than any man in Great
Britain; that he had one day to plead in the King's Bench, spout at a
tavern, speak in the House, and fight a duel; and that he found time for
everything but the last."

"Excellent!" laughed Mr. Cayenne.

Mr. Partenopex Puff was reputed, in a certain set, a sayer of good
things, but he was a modest wit, and generally fathered his bon mots on
his valet Booby, his monkey, or his parrot.

"I saw you in the last number," said Cayenne. "From the quotations from
your own works, I imagine the review of your own book was by yourself?"

"What do you think Booby said?"

"Mr. Puff, allow me to introduce you to Lord Alhambra," said Ernest
Clay, by which means Mr. Puff's servant's last good thing was lost.

"Mr. Clay, are you an archer?" asked Cynthia Courtown.

"No, fair Dian; but I can act Endymion."

"I don't know what you mean. Go away."

"Aubrey Vere, welcome to ----shire. Have you seen Prima Donna?"

"No; is he here? How did you like his last song in the Age?"

"His last song! Pooh! pooh! he only supplies the scandal."

"Groves," said Sir Hanway Etherington, "have you seen the newspaper this
morning? Baron Crupper has tried fifteen men for horse-stealing at York,
and acquitted every one."

"Well then, Sir Hanway, I think his Lordship's remarkable wrong; for
when a man gets a horse to suit him, if he loses it, 'tisn't so easy to
suit himself again. That's the ground I stand upon."

All this time the Marquess of Carabas had wanted Vivian Grey twenty
times, but that gentleman had not appeared. The important moment
arrived, and his Lordship offered his arm to Mrs. Million, who, as the
Gotha Almanack says, "takes precedence of all Archduchesses, Grand
Duchesses, Duchesses, Princesses, Landgravines, Margravines,
Palsgravines, &c. &c. &c."




CHAPTER XIII


In their passage to the Hall, the Marquess and Mrs. Million met Vivian
Grey, booted and spurred, and covered with mud.

"Oh! Mrs. Million--Mr. Vivian Grey. How is this, my dear fellow? you
will be too late."

"Immense honour!" said Vivian, bowing to the ground to the lady. "Oh! my
Lord I was late, and made a short cut over Fearnley Bog. It has proved a
very Moscow expedition. However, I am keeping you. I shall be in time
for the guava and liqueurs, and you know that is the only refreshment I
ever take."

"Who is that, Marquess?" asked Mrs. Million.

"That is Mr. Vivian Grey, the most monstrous clever young man, and
nicest fellow I know."

"He does, indeed, seem, a very nice young man," said Mrs. Million.

Some steam process should be invented for arranging guests when they are
above five hundred. In the present instance all went wrong when they
entered the Hall; but, at last, the arrangements, which, of course, were
of the simplest nature, were comprehended, and the guests were seated.
There were three tables, each stretching down the Hall; the dais was
occupied by a military band. The number of guests, the contrast between
the antique chamber and their modern costumes, the music, the various
liveried menials, all combined to produce a whole, which at the same
time was very striking, and "in remarkable good taste."

In process of time, Mr. Vivian Grey made his entrance. There were a few
vacant seats at the bottom of the table, "luckily for him," as kindly
remarked Mr. Grumbleton. To the astonishment and indignation, however,
of this worthy squire, the late comer passed by the unoccupied position,
and proceeded onward with undaunted coolness, until he came to about the
middle of the middle table, and which was nearly the best situation
in the Hall.

"Beautiful Cynthia," said Vivian Grey, softly and sweetly whispering in
Miss Courtown's ear, "I am sure you will give up your place to me; you
have nerve enough, you know, for anything, and would no more care for
standing out than I for sitting in." There is nothing like giving a
romp credit for a little boldness. To keep up her character she will
out-herod Herod.

"Oh! Grey, is it you? certainly, you shall have my place immediately;
but I am not sure that we cannot make room for you. Dormer Stanhope,
room must be made for Grey, or I shall leave the table immediately. You
men!" said the hoyden, turning round to a set of surrounding servants,
"push this form down and put a chair between."

The men obeyed. All who sat lower in the table on Miss Cynthia
Courtown's side than that lady, were suddenly propelled downwards about
the distance of two feet. Dr. Sly, who was flourishing a carving-knife
and fork, preparatory to dissecting a gorgeous haunch, had these fearful
instruments suddenly precipitated into a trifle, from whose sugared
trellis-work he found great difficulty in extricating them; while Miss
Gusset, who was on the point of cooling herself with some exquisite iced
jelly, found her frigid portion as suddenly transformed into a plate of
peculiarly ardent curry, the property, but a moment before, of old
Colonel Rangoon. Everything, however, receives a civil reception from a
toad-eater, so Miss Gusset burnt herself to death by devouring a
composition, which would have reduced anyone to ashes who had not fought
against Bundoolah.

"Now that is what I call a sensible arrangement; what could go off
better?" said Vivian.

"You may think so, sir," said Mr. Boreall, a sharp-nosed and
conceited-looking man, who, having got among a set whom he did not the
least understand, was determined to take up Dr. Sly's quarrel, merely
for the sake of conversation. "You, I say, sir, may think it so, but I
rather imagine that the ladies and gentlemen lower down can hardly think
it a sensible arrangement;" and here Boreall looked as if he had done
his duty, in giving a young man a proper reproof.

Vivian glanced a look of annihilation. "I had reckoned upon two deaths,
sir, when I entered the Hall, and finding, as I do, that the whole
business has apparently gone off without any fatal accident, why, I
think the circumstances bear me out in my expression."

Mr. Boreall was one of those unfortunate men who always take things to
the letter: he consequently looked amazed, and exclaimed, "Two
deaths, sir?"

"Yes, sir, two deaths; I reckoned, of course, on some corpulent parent
being crushed to death in the scuffle, and then I should have had to
shoot his son through the head for his filial satisfaction. Dormer
Stanhope, I never thanked you for exerting yourself: send me that
fricandeau you have just helped yourself to."

Dormer, who was, as Vivian well knew, something of an epicure, looked
rather annoyed, but by this time he was accustomed to Vivian Grey, and
sent him the portion he had intended for himself. Could epicure do more?

"Whom are we among, bright Cynthia?" asked Vivian.

"Oh! an odd set," said the lady, looking dignified; "but you know we can
be exclusive."

"Exclusive! pooh! trash! Talk to everybody; it looks as if you were
going to stand for the county. Have we any of the millionaires near us?"

"The Doctor and Toady are lower down."

"Where is Mrs. Felix Lorraine?"

"At the opposite table, with Ernest Clay."

"Oh! there is Alhambra, next to Dormer Stanhope. Lord Alhambra, I am
quite rejoiced to see you."

"Ah! Mr. Grey, I am quite rejoiced to see you. How is your father?"

"Extremely well; he is at Paris; I heard from him yesterday. Do you ever
see the Weimar Literary Gazette, my Lord?"

"No; why?"

"There is an admirable review of your poem in the last number I have
received."

The young nobleman looked agitated. "I think, by the style," continued
Vivian, "that it is by Goethe. It is really delightful to see the oldest
poet in Europe dilating on the brilliancy of a new star on the
poetical horizon."

This was uttered with a perfectly grave voice, and now the young
nobleman blushed. "Who is _Gewter_?" asked Mr. Boreall, who possessed
such a thirst for knowledge that he never allowed an opportunity to
escape him of displaying his ignorance.

"A celebrated German writer," lisped the modest Miss Macdonald.

"I never heard his name," persevered the indefatigable Boreall; "how do
you spell it?"

"GOETHE," re-lisped modesty.

"Oh! _Goty_!" exclaimed the querist. "I know him well: he wrote the
Sorrows of Werter."

"Did he indeed, sir?" asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring
face.

"Oh! don't you know that?" said Boreall, "and poor stuff it is!"

"Lord Alhambra! I will take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the
Marquess' wines are in the state they should be:

     The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced,
     For Christian men the various wines were _iced_.

I always think that those are two of the best lines in your Lordship's
poem," said Vivian.

His Lordship did not exactly remember them: it would have been a wonder
if he had: but he thought Vivian Grey the most delightful fellow he ever
met, and determined to ask him to Helicon Castle for the
Christmas holidays.

"Flat! flat!" said Vivian, as he dwelt upon the flavour of the Rhine's
glory. "Not exactly from the favourite bin of Prince Metternich, I
think. By-the-bye, Dormer Stanhope, you have a taste that way; I will
tell you two secrets, which never forget: decant your Johannisberg, and
ice your Maraschino. Ay, do not stare, my dear Gastronome, but do it."

"O, Vivian! why did not you come and speak to me?" exclaimed a lady who
was sitting at the side opposite Vivian, but higher in the table.

"Ah! adorable Lady Julia! and so you were done on the grey filly."

"Done!" said the sporting beauty with pouting lips; "but it is a long
story, and I will tell it you another time."

"Ah! do. How is Sir Peter?"

"Oh! he has had a fit or two, since you saw him last."

"Poor old gentleman! let us drink his health. Do you know Lady Julia
Knighton?" asked Vivian of his neighbour. "This Hall is bearable to dine
in; but I once breakfasted here, and I never shall forget the ludicrous
effect produced by the sun through the oriel window. Such complexions!
Every one looked like a prize-fighter ten days after a battle. After
all, painted glass is a bore; I wish the Marquess would have it knocked
out, and have it plated."

"Knock out the painted glass!" said Mr. Boreall; "well, I must confess,
I cannot agree with you."

"I should have been extremely surprised if you could. If you do not
insult that man, Miss Courtown, in ten minutes I shall be no more. I
have already a nervous fever."

"May I have the honour of taking a glass of champagne with you, Mr.
Grey?" said Boreall.

"Mr. Grey, indeed!" muttered Vivian: "Sir, I never drink anything but
brandy."

"Allow me to give _you_ some champagne, Miss," resumed Boreall, as he
attacked the modest Miss Macdonald: "champagne, you know," continued he,
with a smile of agonising courtesy, "is quite the lady's wine."

"Cynthia Courtown," whispered Vivian with a sepulchral voice, "'tis all
over with me: I have been thinking what would come next. This is too
much: I am already dead. Have Boreall arrested; the chain of
circumstantial evidence is very strong."

"Baker!" said Vivian, turning to a servant, "go and inquire if Mr.
Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day."

A flourish of trumpets announced the rise of the Marchioness of Carabas,
and in a few minutes the most ornamental portion of the guests had
disappeared. The gentlemen made a general "move up," and Vivian found
himself opposite his friend, Mr. Hargrave.

"Ah! Mr. Hargrave, how d'ye do? What do you think of the Secretary's
state paper?"

"A magnificent composition, and quite unanswerable. I was just speaking
of it to my friend here, Mr. Metternich Scribe. Allow me to introduce
you to Mr. Metternich Scribe."

"Mr. Metternich Scribe, Mr. Vivian Grey!" and here Mr. Hargrave
introduced Vivian to an effeminate-looking, perfumed young man, with a
handsome, unmeaning face and very white hands; in short, as dapper a
little diplomatist as ever tattled about the Congress of Verona, smirked
at Lady Almack's supper after the Opera, or vowed "that Richmond Terrace
was a most convenient situation for official men."

"We have had it with us some time before the public received it," said
the future under-secretary, with a look at once condescending and
conceited.

"Have you?" said Vivian: "well, it does your office credit. It is a
singular thing that Canning and Croker are the only official men who can
write grammar."

The dismayed young gentleman of the Foreign Office was about to mince a
repartee, when Vivian left his seat, for he had a great deal of business
to transact. "Mr. Leverton," said he, accosting a flourishing grazier,
"I have received a letter from my friend, M. De Noe. He is desirous of
purchasing some Leicestershires for his estate in Burgundy. Pray, may I
take the liberty of introducing his agent to you?"

Mr. Leverton was delighted.

"I also wanted to see you about some other little business. Let me see,
what was it? Never mind, I will take my wine here, if you can make room
for me; I shall remember it, I dare say, soon. Oh! by-the-bye: ah! that
was it. Stapylton Toad; Mr. Stapylton Toad; I want to know all about Mr.
Stapylton Toad. I dare say you can tell me. A friend of mine intends to
consult him on some parliamentary business, and he wishes to know
something about him before he calls."

We will condense, for the benefit of the reader, the information of Mr.
Leverton.

Stapylton Toad had not the honour of being acquainted with his father's
name; but as the son found himself, at an early age, apprenticed to a
solicitor of eminence, he was of opinion that his parent must have been
respectable. Respectable! mysterious word! Stapylton was a diligent and
faithful clerk, but was not so fortunate in his apprenticeship as the
celebrated Whittington, for his master had no daughter and many sons; in
consequence of which, Stapylton, not being able to become his master's
partner, became his master's rival.

On the door of one of the shabbiest houses in Jermyn Street the name of
Mr. Stapylton Toad for a long time figured, magnificently engraved on a
broad brass plate. There was nothing however, otherwise, in the
appearance of the establishment, which indicated that Mr. Toad's
progress was very rapid, or his professional career extraordinarily
prosperous. In an outward office one solitary clerk was seen, oftener
stirring his office fire than wasting his master's ink; and Mr. Toad was
known by his brother attorneys as a gentleman who was not recorded in
the courts as ever having conducted a single cause. In a few years,
however, a story was added to the Jermyn Street abode, which, new
pointed and new painted, began to assume a mansion-like appearance. The
house-door was also thrown open, for the solitary clerk no longer found
time to answer the often agitated bell; and the eyes of the entering
client were now saluted by a gorgeous green baize office door; the
imposing appearance of which was only equalled by Mr. Toad's new private
portal, splendid with a brass knocker and patent varnish. And now his
brother attorneys began to wonder "how Toad got on! and who Toad's
clients were!"

A few more years rolled over, and Mr. Toad was seen riding in the Park
at a classical hour, attended by a groom in a classical livery. And now
"the profession" wondered still more, and significant looks were
interchanged by "the respectable houses:" and flourishing practitioners
in the City shrugged up their shoulders, and talked mysteriously of
"money business," and "some odd work in annuities." In spite, however,
of the charitable surmises of his brother lawyers, it must be confessed
that nothing of even an equivocal nature ever transpired against the
character of the flourishing Mr. Toad, who, to complete the
mortification of his less successful rivals, married, and at the same
time moved from Jermyn Street to Cavendish Square. The new residence
of--Mr. Toad had previously been the mansion of a noble client, and one
whom, as the world said, Mr. Toad "had got out of difficulties." This
significant phrase will probably throw some light upon the nature of the
mysterious business of our prosperous practitioner. Noble Lords who have
been in difficulties will not much wonder at the prosperity of those who
get them out.

About this time Mr. Toad became acquainted with Lord Mounteney, a
nobleman in great distress, with fifty thousand per annum. His Lordship
"really did not know how he had got involved: he never gamed, he was not
married, and his consequent expenses had never been unreasonable: he was
not extraordinarily negligent; quite the reverse: was something of a man
of business, remembered once looking over his accounts; and yet in spite
of his regular and correct career, found himself quite involved, and
must leave England."

The arrangement of the Mounteney property was the crowning stroke of Mr.
Stapylton Toad's professional celebrity. His Lordship was not under the
necessity of quitting England, and found himself in the course of five
years in the receipt of a clear rental of five-and-twenty thousand per
annum. His Lordship was in raptures; and Stapylton Toad purchased an
elegant villa in Surrey, and became a Member of Parliament. Goodburn
Park, for such was the name of Mr. Toad's country residence, in spite of
its double lodges and patent park paling, was not, to Mr. Toad, a very
expensive purchase; for he "took it off the hands" of a distressed
client who wanted an immediate supply, "merely to convenience him," and,
consequently, became the purchaser at about half its real value.
"Attorneys," as Bustle the auctioneer says, "have _such_ opportunities!"

Mr. Toad's career in the House was as correct as his conduct out of it.
After ten years' regular attendance, the boldest conjecturer would not
have dared to define his political principles. It was a rule with
Stapylton Toad never to commit himself. Once, indeed, he wrote an able
pamphlet on the Corn Laws, which excited the dire indignation of the
Political Economy Club. But Stapylton cared little for their subtle
confutations and their loudly expressed contempt. He had obliged the
country gentlemen of England, and ensured the return, at the next
election, of Lord Mounteney's brother for the county. At this general
election, also, Stapylton Toad's purpose in entering the House became
rather more manifest; for it was found, to the surprise of the whole
country, that there was scarcely a place in England; county, town, or
borough; in which Mr. Stapylton Toad did not possess some influence. In
short, it was discovered, that Mr. Stapylton Toad had "a first-rate
parliamentary business;" that nothing could be done without his
co-operation, and everything with it. In spite of his prosperity,
Stapylton had the good sense never to retire from business, and even to
refuse a baronetcy; on condition, however, that it should be offered
to his son.

Stapylton, like the rest of mankind, had his weak points. The late
Marquess of Almack's was wont to manage him very happily, and Toad was
always introducing that minister's opinion of his importance. "'My time
is quite at your service, General,' although the poor dear Marquess used
to say, 'Mr. Stapylton Toad, your time is mine.' He knew the business I
had to get through!" The family portraits also, in ostentatious frames,
now adorned the dining-room of his London mansion; and it was amusing to
hear the worthy M.P. dilate upon his likeness to his respected father.

"You see, my Lord," Stapylton would say, pointing to a dark, dingy
picture of a gentleman in a rich court dress, "you see, my Lord, it is
not in a very good light, and it certainly is a very dark picture, by
Hudson; all Hudson's pictures were dark. But if I were six inches
taller, and could hold the light just there, I think your Lordship would
be astonished at the resemblance; but it's a dark picture, certainly it
is dark; all Hudson's pictures were."




CHAPTER XIV


The Cavaliers have left the ancient Hall, and the old pictures frown
only upon empty tables. The Marquess immediately gained a seat by Mrs.
Million, and was soon engrossed in deep converse with that illustrious
lady. In one room, the most eminent and exclusive, headed by Mrs. Felix
Lorraine, were now winding through the soothing mazes of a slow waltz,
and now whirling, with all the rapidity of Eastern dervishes, to true
double Wien time. In another saloon, the tedious tactics of quadrilles
commanded the exertions of less civilised beings: here Liberal Snake,
the celebrated political economist, was lecturing to a knot of alarmed
country gentlemen; and there an Italian improvisatore poured forth to an
admiring audience all the dulness of his inspiration. Vivian Grey was
holding an earnest conversation in one of the recesses with Mr.
Stapylton Toad. He had already charmed that worthy by the deep interest
which he took in everything relating to elections and the House of
Commons, and now they were hard at work on the Corn Laws. Although they
agreed upon the main points, and Vivian's ideas upon this important
subject had, of course, been adopted after studying Mr. Toad's "most
luminous and convincing pamphlet," still there were a few minor points
on which Vivian "was obliged to confess" that "he did not exactly see
his way." Mr. Toad was astonished, but argumentative, and, of course, in
due time, had made a convert of his companion; "a young man," as he
afterwards remarked to Lord Mounteney, "in whom he knew not which most
to admire, the soundness of his own views, or the candour with which he
treated those of others." If you wish to win a man's heart, allow him to
confute you.

"I think, Mr. Grey, you must admit that my definition of labour is the
correct one?" said Mr. Toad, looking earnestly in Vivian's face, his
finger just presuming to feel a button.

"That exertion of mind or body which is not the involuntary effect of
the influence of natural sensations," slowly repeated Vivian, as if his
whole soul was concentrated in each monosyllable. "Y-e-s, Mr. Toad, I do
admit it."

"Then, my dear sir, the rest follows of course," triumphantly exclaimed
the member; "don't you see it?"

"Although I admit the correctness of your definition, Mr. Toad, I am not
free to confess that I am ex-act-ly convinced of the soundness of your
conclusion," said Vivian, in a musing mood.

"But, my dear sir, I am surprised that you don't see that--"

"Stop, Mr. Toad," eagerly exclaimed Vivian; "I see my error. I
misconceived your meaning: you are right, sir; your definition
is correct."

"I was confident that I should convince you, Mr. Grey."

"This conversation, I assure you, Mr. Toad, has been to me a peculiarly
satisfactory one. Indeed, sir, I have long wished to have the honour of
making your acquaintance. When but a boy, I remember, at my father's
table, the late Marquess of Almack's--"

"Yes, Mr. Grey."

"One of the ablest men, Mr. Toad, after all, that this country ever
produced."

"Oh, poor dear man!"

"I remember his observing to a friend of mine, who was at that time
desirous of getting into the House: 'Hargrave,' said his Lordship, 'if
you want any information upon points of practical politics;' that was
his phrase; you remember, Mr. Toad, that his Lordship was peculiar in
his phrases?"

"Oh! yes, poor dear man; but you were observing, Mr. Grey--"

"Ay, ay! 'If you want any information,' said his Lordship, 'on such
points, there is only one man in the kingdom whom you should consult,
and he is one of the soundest heads I know, and that is Stapylton Toad,
the member for Mounteney;' you know you were in for Mounteney then,
Mr. Toad."

"I was, and accepted the Chilterns to make room for Augustus Clay,
Ernest Clay's brother, who was so involved, that the only way to keep
him out of the House of Correction was to get him into the House of
Commons. But the Marquess said so, eh?"

"Ay, and much more, which I scarcely can remember;" and then followed a
long dissertation on the character of the noble statesman, and his views
as to the agricultural interest, and the importance of the agricultural
interest; and then a delicate hint was thrown out as to "how delightful
it would be to write a pamphlet together" on this mighty agricultural
interest; and then came a panegyric on the character of country
gentlemen, and English yeomen, and the importance of keeping up the old
English spirit in the peasantry, &c. &c. &c. &c.; and then, when Vivian
had led Mr. Toad to deliver a splendid and patriotic oration on this
point, he "just remembered (quite apropos to the sentiments which Mr.
Toad had just delivered, and which, he did not hesitate to say, 'did
equal honour to his head and heart') that there was a little point,
which, if it was not trespassing too much on Mr. Toad's attention, he
would just submit to him;" and then he mentioned poor John Conyers'
case, although "he felt convinced, from Mr. Toad's well-known benevolent
character, that it was quite unnecessary for him to do so, as he felt
assured that it would be remedied immediately it fell under his
cognisance; but then Mr. Toad had really so much business to transact,
that perhaps these slight matters might occasionally not be submitted to
him," &c. &c. &c.

What could Stapylton Toad do but, after a little amiable grumbling about
"bad system and bad precedent," promise everything that Vivian
Grey required?

"Mr. Vivian Grey," said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, "I cannot understand why
you have been talking to Mr. Toad so long. Will you waltz?"

Before Vivian could answer, a tittering, so audible that it might almost
be termed a shout, burst forth from the whole room. Cynthia Courtown had
stolen behind Lord Alhambra, as he was sitting on an ottoman a la
Turque, and had folded a cashmere shawl round his head with a most
Oriental tie. His Lordship, who, notwithstanding his eccentricities, was
really a very amiable man, bore his blushing honours with a gracious
dignity worthy of a descendant of the Abencerrages. The sensation which
this incident occasioned favoured Vivian's escape from Mrs. Felix, for
he had not left Mr. Stapylton Toad with any intention of waltzing.

But he had hardly escaped from the waltzers ere he found himself in
danger of being involved in a much more laborious duty; for now he
stumbled on the Political Economist, and he was earnestly requested by
the contending theorists to assume the office of moderator. Emboldened
by his success. Liberal Snake had had the hardihood to attack a
personage of whose character he was not utterly ignorant, but on whom
he was extremely desirous of "making an--impression." This important
person was Sir Christopher Mowbray, who, upon the lecturer presuming to
inform him "what rent was," damned himself several times from sheer
astonishment at the impudence of the fellow. I don't wish to be coarse,
but Sir Christopher is a great man, and the sayings of great men,
particularly when they are representative of the sentiment of a species,
should not pass unrecorded.

Sir Christopher Mowbray is member for the county of ----; and member for
the county he intends to be next election, although he is in his
seventy-ninth year, for he can still follow a fox with as pluck a heart
and with as stout a voice as any squire in Christendom. Sir Christopher,
it must be confessed, is rather peculiar in his ideas. His grandson,
Peregrine Mowbray, who is as pert a genius as the applause of a
common-room ever yet spoiled, and as sublime an orator as the cheerings
of the Union ever yet inspired, says "the Baronet is not up to the
nineteenth century;" and perhaps this phrase will give the reader a more
significant idea of Sir Christopher Mowbray than a character as long and
as laboured as the most perfect of my Lord Clarendon's. The truth is,
the good Baronet had no idea of "liberal principles," or anything else
of that school. His most peculiar characteristic is a singular habit
which he has got of styling political economists French Smugglers.
Nobody has ever yet succeeded in extracting a reason from him for this
singular appellation, and even if you angle with the most exquisite
skill for the desired definition, Sir Christopher immediately salutes
you with a volley of oaths, and damns French wines, Bible Societies, and
Mr. Huskisson. Sir Christopher for half a century has supported in the
senate, with equal sedulousness and silence, the constitution and the
corn laws; he is perfectly aware of "the present perilous state of the
country," and watches with great interest all "the plans and plots" of
this enlightened age. The only thing which he does not exactly
comprehend is the London University. This affair really puzzles the
worthy gentleman, who could as easily fancy a county member not being a
freeholder as an university not being at Oxford or Cambridge. Indeed to
this hour the old gentleman believes that the whole business is "a
hoax;" and if you tell him that, far from the plan partaking of the
visionary nature he conceives, there are actually four acres of very
valuable land purchased near White Conduit House for the erection, and
that there is little apprehension that, in the course of a century, the
wooden poles which are now stuck about the ground will not be as fair
and flourishing as the most leafy bowers of New College Gardens, the old
gentleman looks up to heaven, as if determined not to be taken in, and
leaning back in his chair, sends forth a sceptical and smiling "No! no!
no! that won't do."

Vivian extricated himself with as much grace as possible from the toils
of the Economist, and indeed, like a skilful general, turned this little
rencontre to account in accomplishing the very end for the attainment of
which he had declined waltzing with Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

"My dear Lord," said Vivian, addressing the Marquess, who was still by
the side of Mrs. Million, "I am going to commit a most ungallant act;
but you great men must pay a tax for your dignity. I am going to disturb
you. You are wanted by half the county! What could possibly induce you
ever to allow a Political Economist to enter Chateau Desir? There are.
at least, three baronets and four squires in despair, writhing under the
tortures of Liberal Snake. They have deputed me to request your
assistance, to save them from being defeated in the presence of half
their tenantry; and I think, my Lord," said Vivian, with a serious
voice, "if you could possibly contrive to interfere, it would be
desirable. That lecturing knave never knows when to stop, and he is
actually insulting men before whom, after all, he ought not to dare open
his lips. I see that your Lordship is naturally not very much inclined
to quit your present occupation, in order to act moderator to a set of
brawlers; but come, you shall not be quite sacrificed to the county. I
will give up the waltz in which I was engaged, and keep your seat until
your return."

The Marquess, who was always "keeping up county influence," was very
shocked at the obstreperous conduct of Liberal Snake. Indeed he had
viewed the arrival of this worthy with no smiling countenance, but what
could he say, as he came in the suit of Lord Pert, who was writing, with
the lecturer's assistance, a little pamphlet on the Currency?
Apologising to Mrs. Million, and promising to return as soon as possible
and lead her to the music-room, the Marquess retired, with the
determination of annihilating one of the stoutest members of the
Political Economy Club.

Vivian began by apologising to Mrs. Million for disturbing her progress
to the Hall by his sudden arrival before dinner; and then for a quarter
of an hour poured forth the usual quantity of piquant anecdotes and
insidious compliments. Mrs. Million found Vivian's conversation no
disagreeable relief to the pompous prosiness of his predecessor.

And now, having succeeded in commanding Mrs. Million's attention by that
general art of pleasing which was for all the world, and which was, of
course, formed upon his general experience of human nature, Vivian began
to make his advances to Mrs. Million's feelings by a particular art of
pleasing; that is, an art which was for the particular person alone whom
he was at any time addressing, and which was founded on his particular
knowledge of that person's character.

"How beautiful the old Hall looked to-day! It is a scene which can only
be met with in ancient families."

"Ah! there is nothing like old families!" remarked Mrs. Million, with
all the awkward feelings of a parvenue.

"Do you think so?" said Vivian; "I once thought so myself, but I confess
that my opinion is greatly changed. After all, what is noble blood? My
eye is now resting on a crowd of nobles; and yet, being among them, do
we treat them in a manner differing in any way from that which we should
employ to individuals of a lower caste who were equally uninteresting?"

"Certainly not," said Mrs. Million.

"The height of the ambition of the less exalted ranks is to be noble,
because they conceive to be noble implies to be superior; associating in
their minds, as they always do, a pre-eminence over then equals. But to
be noble among nobles, where is the preeminence?"

"Where indeed?" said Mrs. Million; and she thought of herself, sitting
the most considered personage in this grand castle, and yet with
sufficiently base blood flowing in her veins.

"And thus, in the highest circles," continued Vivian, "a man is of
course not valued because he is a Marquess or a Duke; but because he is
a great warrior, or a great statesman, or very fashionable, or very
witty. In all classes but the highest, a peer, however unbefriended by
nature or by fortune, becomes a man of a certain rate of consequence;
but to be a person of consequence in the highest class requires
something else besides high blood."

"I quite agree with you in your sentiments, Mr. Grey. Now what
character or what situation in life would you choose, if you had the
power of making your choice?"

"That is really a most metaphysical question. As is the custom of all
young men, I have sometimes, in my reveries, imagined what I conceived
to be a lot of pure happiness: and yet Mrs. Million will perhaps be
astonished that I was neither to be nobly born nor to acquire nobility,
that I was not to be a statesman, or a poet, or a warrior, or a
merchant, nor indeed any profession, not even a professional dandy."

"Oh! love in a cottage, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Million.

"Neither love in a cottage, nor science in a cell."

"Oh! pray tell me what it is."

"What if is? Oh! Lord Mayor of London, I suppose; that is the only
situation which answers to my oracular description."

"Then you have been joking all this time!"

"Not at all. Come then, let us imagine this perfect lot. In the first
place, I would be born in the middle classes of society, or even lower,
because I would wish my character to be impartially developed. I would
be born to no hereditary prejudices, no hereditary passions. My course
in life should not be carved out by the example of a grandfather, nor my
ideas modelled to a preconceived system of family perfection. Do you
like my first principle, Mrs. Million?"

"I must hear everything before I give an opinion."

"When, therefore, my mind was formed, I would wish to become the
proprietor of a princely fortune."

"Yes!" eagerly exclaimed Mrs. Million.

"And now would come the moral singularity of my fate. If I had gained
this fortune by commerce, or in any other similar mode, my disposition,
before the creation of this fortune, would naturally have been formed,
and been permanently developed; and my mind would have been similarly
affected, had I succeeded to some ducal father; for I should then, in
all probability, have inherited some family line of conduct, both moral
and political. But under the circumstances I have imagined, the result
would be far different. I should then be in the singular situation of
possessing, at the same time, unbounded wealth, and the whole powers and
natural feelings of my mind unoppressed and unshackled. Oh! how splendid
would be my career! I would not allow the change in my condition to
exercise any influence on my natural disposition. I would experience
the same passions and be subject to the same feelings, only they should
be exercised and influential in a wider sphere. Then would be seen the
influence of great wealth, directed by a disposition similar to that of
the generality of men, inasmuch as it had been formed like that of the
generality of men; and consequently, one much better acquainted with
their feelings, their habits, and their wishes. Such a lot would indeed
be princely! Such a lot would infallibly ensure the affection and
respect of the great majority of mankind; and, supported by them, what
should I care if I were misunderstood by a few fools and abused by a
few knaves?"

Here came the Marquess to lead the lady to the concert. As she quitted
her seat, a smile, beaming with graciousness, rewarded her youthful
companion. "Ah!" thought Mrs. Million, "I go to the concert, but leave
sweeter music than can possibly meet me there. What is the magic of
these words? It is not flattery; such is not the language of Miss
Gusset! It is not a rifacimento of compliments; such is not the style
with which I am saluted by the Duke of Doze and the Earl of Leatherdale!
Apparently I have heard a young philosopher delivering his sentiments
upon an abstract point in human life; and yet have I not listened to a
brilliant apology for my own character, and a triumphant defence of my
own conduct. Of course it was unintentional; and yet how agreeable to be
unintentionally defended!" So mused Mrs. Million, and she made a
thousand vows not to let a day pass over without obtaining a pledge from
Vivian Grey to visit her on their return to the metropolis.

Vivian remained in his seat for some time after the departure of his
companion. "On my honour, I have half a mind to desert my embryo faction
and number myself in her gorgeous retinue. Let me see. What part should
I act? her secretary, or her toad-eater, or her physician, or her cook?
or shall I be her page? Me-thinks I should make a pretty page, and hand
a chased goblet as gracefully as any monkey that ever bent his knee in a
lady's chamber. Well! at any rate, there is this chance to be kept back,
as the gambler does his last trump, or the cunning fencer his
last ruse."

He rose to offer his arm to some stray fair one; for crowds were now
hurrying to pineapples and lobster salads: that is to say, supper was
ready in the Long Gallery.

In a moment Vivian's arm was locked in that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

"Oh, Mr. Grey, I have got a much better ghost story than even that of
the Leyden Professor for you; but I am so wearied with waltzing that I
must tell it you to-morrow. How came you to be so late this morning?
Have you been paying many calls to-day? I quite missed you at dinner. Do
you think Ernest Clay handsome? I dare not repeat what Lady Scrope said
of you! You are an admirer of Lady Julia Knighton, I believe? I do not
much like this plan of supping in the Long Gallery; it is a favourite
locale of mine, and I have no idea of my private promenade being invaded
by the uninteresting presence of trifles and Italian creams. Have you
been telling Mrs. Million that she was very witty?" asked Vivian's
companion, with a significant look.




CHAPTER XV


Sweet reader! you know what a Toadey is? That agreeable animal which you
meet every day in civilised society. But perhaps you have not speculated
very curiously upon this interesting race. So much the worse! for you
cannot live many lustres without finding it of some service to be a
little acquainted with their habits.

The world in general is under a mistake as to the nature of these
vermin. They are by no means characterised by that similarity of
disposition for which your common observer gives them credit. There are
Toadeys of all possible natures.

There is your Common-place Toadey, who merely echoes its feeder's
common-place observations. There is your Playing-up Toadey, who,
unconscious to its feeder, is always playing up to its feeder's
weaknesses; and, as the taste of that feeder varies, accordingly
provides its cates and confitures. A little bit of scandal for a dashing
widow, or a pious little hymn for a sainted one; the secret history of a
newly discovered gas for a May Fair feeder, and an interesting anecdote
about a Newgate bobcap or a Penitentiary apron for a charitable one.
Then there is your Drawing-out Toadey, who omits no opportunity of
giving you a chance of being victorious in an argument where there is no
contest, and a dispute where there is no difference; and then there
is--but we detest essay writing, so we introduce you at once to a party
of these vermin. If you wish to enjoy a curious sight, you must watch
the Toadeys when they are unembarrassed by the almost perpetual presence
of their breeders; when they are animated by "the spirit of freedom;"
when, like Curran's Negro, the chain bursts by the impulse of their
swelling veins. The great singularity is the struggle between their
natural and their acquired feelings: the eager opportunity which they
seize of revenging their voluntary bondage, by their secret taunts, on
their adopted task-masters, and the servility which they habitually mix
up even with their scandal. Like veritable Grimalkins, they fawn upon
their victims previous to the festival; compliment them upon the length
of their whiskers and the delicacy of their limbs prior to excoriating
them, and dwelling on the flavour of their crashed bones. 'Tis a
beautiful scene, and ten thousand times more piquant than the humours of
a Servants' Hall, or the most grotesque and glorious moments of high
life below stairs.

"Dear Miss Graves," said Miss Gusset, "you can't imagine how terrified I
was at that horrible green parrot flying upon my head! I declare it
pulled out three locks of hair."

"Horrible green parrot, my dear madam! Why, it was sent to my Lady by
Prince Xtmnprqtosklw, and never shall I forget the agitation we were in
about that parrot. I thought it would never have got to the Chateau, for
the Prince could only send his carriage with it as far as Toadcaster.
Luckily my Lady's youngest brother, who was staying at Desir, happened
to get drowned at the time; and so Davenport, very clever of him! sent
her on in my Lord Dormer's hearse."

"In the hearse! Good heavens, Miss Graves! How could you think of green
parrots at such an awful moment? I should have been in fits for three
days; eh! Dr. Sly?"

"Certainly you would, madame; your nerves are very delicate."

"Well! I, for my part, never could see much use in giving up to one's
feelings. It is all very well for commoners," rather rudely exclaimed
the Marchioness' Toadey; "but we did not choose to expose ourselves to
the servants when the old General died this year. Everything went on as
usual. Her Ladyship attended Almack's; my Lord took his seat in the
House; and I looked in at Lady Doubtful's where we do not visit, but
where the Marchioness wishes to be civil."

"We do not visit Lady Doubtful either," replied Miss Gusset: "she had
not a card for our fete champetre. I was so sorry you were not in town.
It was so delightful!"

"Do tell me who was there? I quite long to know all about it. I saw some
account of it. Everything seemed to go off so well. Do tell me who
was there?"

"Oh! there was plenty of Royalty at the head of the list. Really I
cannot go Into particulars, but everybody was there who is anybody;
eh! Dr. Sly?"

"Certainly, madam. The pines were most admirable. There are few people
for whom I entertain a higher esteem, than Mr. Gunter."

"The Marchioness seems very fond of her parrot, Miss Graves; but she is
a sweet woman!"

"Oh, a dear, amiable creature! but I cannot think how she can bear the
eternal screaming of that noisy bird."

"Nor I, indeed. Well, thank goodness, Mrs. Million has no pets; eh! Dr.
Sly?"

"Certainly. I am clearly of opinion that it cannot be wholesome to have
so many animals about a house. Besides which, I have noticed that the
Marchioness always selects the nicest morsels for that little poodle;
and I am also clearly of opinion, Miss Graves, that the fit it had the
other day arose from repletion."

"I have no doubt of it in the world. She consumes three pounds of
arrowroot weekly and two pounds of the finest loaf sugar, which I have
the trouble of grating every Monday morning. Mrs. Million appears to be
a most amiable woman, Miss Gusset?"

"Quite perfection; so charitable, so intellectual, such a soul! It is a
pity, though, her manner is so abrupt; she really does not appear to
advantage sometimes; eh! Dr. Sly?"

The Toadey's Toadey bowed assent as usual. "Well," rejoined Miss Graves,
"that is rather a fault of the dear Marchioness, a little want of
consideration for another's feelings; but she means nothing."

"Oh, no! nor Mrs. Million, dear creature! She means nothing; though I
dare say, not knowing her so well as we do; eh! Dr. Sly? you were a
little surprised at the way in which she spoke to me at dinner."

"All people have their oddities, Miss Gusset. I am sure the Marchioness
is not aware how she tries my patience about that little wretch Julie. I
had to rub her with warm flannels for an hour and a half before the fire
this morning; that is that Vivian Grey's doing."

"Who is this Mr. Grey, Miss Graves?"

"Who, indeed! Some young man the Marquess has picked up, and who comes
lecturing here about poodles and parrots, and thinking himself quite
Lord Paramount, I can assure you. I am surprised that the Marchioness,
who is a most sensible woman, can patronise such conduct a moment; but
whenever she begins to see through him the young gentleman has always
got a story about a bracelet, or a bandeau, and quite turns her head."

"Very disagreeable, I am sure."

"Some people are so easily managed! By-the-bye, Miss Gusset, who could
have advised Mrs. Million to wear crimson? So large as she is, it does
not at all suit her. I suppose it's a favourite colour."

"Dear Miss Graves, you are always so insinuating. What can Miss Graves
mean; eh! Dr. Sly?"

A Lord Burleigh shake of the head.

"Cynthia Courtown seems as lively as ever," said Miss Gusset.

"Yes, lively enough; but I wish her manner was less brusque."

"Brusque, indeed! you may well say so. She nearly pushed me down in the
Hall; and when I looked as if I thought she might have given me a little
more room, she tossed her head and said, 'Beg pardon, never saw you!'"

"I wonder what Lord Alhambra sees in that girl?"

"Oh! those forward misses always take the men."

"Well," said Miss Graves, "I have no notion that it will come to
anything; I am sure, I, for one, hope not," added she, with all a
Toadey's venom.

"The Marquess seems to keep a remarkably good table," said the
physician. "There was a haunch to-day, which I really think was the
finest haunch I ever met with; but that little move at dinner; it was,
to say the least, very ill-timed."

"Yes, that was Vivian Grey again," said Miss Graves, very indignantly.

"So you have got the Beaconsfields here, Miss Graves! nice, unaffected,
quiet people."

"Yes, very quiet."

"As you say, Miss Graves, very quiet, but a little heavy."

"Yes, heavy enough."

"If you had but seen the quantity of pineapples that boy Dormer Stanhope
devoured at our fete champetre! but I have the comfort of knowing that
they made him very ill; eh! Dr. Sly?"

"Oh! he learnt that from his uncle," said Miss Graves; "it is quite
disgusting to see how that Vivian Grey encourages him."

"What an elegant, accomplished woman Mrs. Felix Lorraine seems to be,
Miss Graves! I suppose the Marchioness is very fond of her?"

"Oh, yes; the Marchioness is so good-natured that I dare say she thinks
very well of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. She thinks well of everyone; but I
believe Mrs. Felix is rather a greater favourite with the Marquess."

"O--h!" drawled out Miss Gusset with a very significant tone. "I suppose
she is one of your playing-up ladies. I think you told me she was only
on a visit here."

"A pretty long visit, though, for a sister-in-law, if sister-in-law she
be. As I was saying to the Marchioness the other day, when Mrs. Felix
offended her so violently by trampling on the dear little Julie, if it
came into a court of justice I should like to see the proof; that's all.
At any rate, it is pretty evident that Mr. Lorraine has had enough of
his bargain."

"Quite evident, I think; eh! Dr. Sly? Those German women never make good
English wives," continued Miss Gusset, with all a Toadey's patriotism.

"Talking of wives, did not you think Lady Julia spoke very strangely of
Sir Peter after dinner to-day? I hate that Lady Julia, if it be only for
petting Vivian Grey so."

"Yes, indeed, it is quite enough to make one sick; eh! Dr. Sly?"

The doctor shook his head mournfully, remembering the haunch.

"They say Ernest Clay is in sad difficulties, Miss Gusset."

"Well, I always expected his dash would end in that. Those wild
harum-scarum men are monstrous disagreeable. I like a person of some
reflection; eh! Dr. Sly?"

Before the doctor could bow his usual assent there entered a pretty
little page, very daintily attired in a fancy dress of green and silver.
Twirling his richly chased dirk with one tiny white hand, and at the
same time playing with a pet curl which was picturesquely flowing over
his forehead, he advanced with ambling gait to Miss Gusset, and, in a
mincing voice and courtly phrase, summoned her to the imperial presence.

The lady's features immediately assumed the expression which befitted
the approaching interview, and in a moment Miss Graves and the physician
were left alone.

"Very amiable young woman Miss Gusset appears to be, Dr. Sly?"

"Oh! the most amiable being in the world; I owe her the greatest
obligations."

"So gentle in her manners."

"O yes, so gentle."

"So considerate for everybody."

"Oh, yes! so considerate," echoed the Aberdeen M.D.

"I am afraid, though, she must sometimes meet with people who do not
exactly understand her character; such extraordinary consideration for
others is sometimes liable to misconstruction."

"Very sensibly remarked, Miss Graves. I am sure Miss Gusset means well;
and that kind of thing is all very admirable in its way; but, but--"

"But what, Dr. Sly?"

"Why, I was merely going to hazard an observation, that according to my
feelings, that is, to my own peculiar view of the case, I should prefer
some people thinking more about their own business, and, and, but I
mean nothing."

"Oh, no, of course not, Dr. Sly! You know we always except our own
immediate friends, at least when we can be sure they are our friends;
but, as you were saying, or going to say, those persons who are so very
anxious about other people's affairs are not always the most agreeable
persons in the world to live with. It certainly did strike me that that
interference of Miss Gusset's about Julie to-day was, to say the least,
very odd."

"Oh, my dear madam! when you know her as well as I do, you will see she
is always ready to put in a word."

"Well! do you know, Dr. Sly, between ourselves, that was exactly my
impression; and she is then very, very, I do not exactly mean to say
meddling or inquisitive; but, but you understand me, Dr. Sly?"

"Perfectly; and if I were to speak my mind, which I do not hesitate to
do in confidence to you, Miss Graves, I really should say that she is
the most jealous, irritable, malicious, meddling, and at the same time
fawning, disposition that I ever met with in the whole course of my
life, and I speak from experience."

"Well, do you know, Dr. Sly, from all I have seen, that was exactly my
impression; therefore I have been particularly careful not to commit
myself to such a person."

"'Ah! Miss Graves! if all ladies were like you' O--h!"

"My dear Dr. Sly!"




CHAPTER XVI


Vivian had duly acquainted the Marquess with the successful progress of
his negotiations with their intended partisans, and Lord Carabas had
himself conversed with them singly on the important subject. It was
thought proper, however, in this stage of the proceedings, that the
persons interested should meet together; and so the two Lords, and Sir
Berdmore, and Vivian were invited to dine with the Marquess alone, and
in his library.

There was abundance of dumb waiters and other inventions by which the
ease of the guests might be consulted, without risking even their secret
looks to the gaze of liveried menials. The Marquess' gentleman sat in an
ante-chamber, in case human aid might be necessary, and everything, as
his Lordship averred, was "on the same system as the Cabinet Dinners."

In the ancient kingdom of England it hath ever been the custom to dine
previously to transacting business. This habit is one of those few which
are not contingent upon the mutable fancies of fashion, and at this day
we see Cabinet Dinners and Vestry Dinners alike proving the correctness
of our assertion. Whether the custom really expedites the completion or
the general progress of the business which gives rise to it, is a grave
question, which we do not feel qualified to decide. Certain it is that
very often, after the _dinner_, an appointment is made for the
transaction of the _business_ on the following morning: at the same time
it must be remembered that, had it not been for the opportunity which
the banquet afforded of developing the convivial qualities of the
guests, and drawing out, by the assistance of generous wine, their most
kindly sentiments and most engaging feelings, it is very probable that
the appointment for the transaction of the business would never have
been made at all.

There certainly was every appearance that "the great business," as the
Marquess styled it, would not be very much advanced by the cabinet
dinner at Chateau Desir. For, in the first place, the table was laden
"with every delicacy of the season," and really, when a man is either
going to talk sense, fight a duel, or make his will, nothing should be
seen at dinner save cutlets and the lightest Bordeaux. And, in the
second place, it must be confessed, that when it came to the point of
all the parties interested meeting, the Marquess' courage somewhat
misgave him. Not that any particular reason occurred to him which would
have induced him to yield one jot of the theory of his sentiments, but
the putting them in practice rather made him nervous. In short, he was
as convinced as ever that he was an ill-used man, of great influence and
abilities; but then he remembered his agreeable sinecure and his
dignified office, and he might not succeed. The thought did not please.

But here they were all assembled; receding was impossible; and so the
Marquess took a glass of claret, and felt more courageous.

"My Lords and Gentlemen," he began, "although I have myself taken the
opportunity of communicating to you singly my thoughts upon a certain
subject, and although, if I am rightly informed, my excellent young
friend has communicated to you more fully upon that subject; yet, my
Lords and Gentlemen, I beg to remark that this is the first time that we
have collectively assembled to consult on the possibility of certain
views, upon the propriety of their nature, and the expediency of their
adoption." (Here the claret passed.) "The present state of parties," the
Marquess continued, "has doubtless for a long time engaged your
attention. It is very peculiar, and although the result has been
gradually arrived at, it is nevertheless, now that it is realised,
startling, and not, I apprehend, very satisfactory. There are few
distinctions now between the two sides of the House of Commons, very
different from the times in which most, I believe all, of us, my Lords
and Gentlemen, were members of that assembly. The question then
naturally arises, why a certain body of individuals, who now represent
no opinions, should arrogate to themselves the entire government and
control of the country? A second question would occur, how they contrive
to succeed in such an assumption? They succeed clearly because the
party who placed them in power, because they represented certain
opinions, still continue to them their support. Some of the most
influential members of that party, I am bold to say, may be found in
this room. I don't know, if the boroughs of Lord Courtown and Lord
Beaconsfield were withdrawn at a critical division, what might be the
result. I am quite sure that if the forty country gentlemen who follow,
I believe I am justified in saying, our friend Sir Berdmore, and wisely
follow him, were to declare their opposition to any particular tax, the
present men would be beaten, as they have been beaten before. I was
myself a member of the government when so beaten, and I know what Lord
Liverpool said the next morning. Lord Liverpool said the next morning.
'Forty country gentlemen, if they choose, might repeal every tax in the
Budget.' Under these circumstances, my Lords and Gentlemen, it becomes
us, in my opinion, to consider our situation. I am far from wishing to
witness any general change, or indeed, very wide reconstruction of the
present administration. I think the interests of the country require
that the general tenor of their system should be supported; but there
are members of that administration whose claims to that distinction
appear to me more than questionable, while at the same time there are
individuals excluded, personages of great influence and recognised
talents, who ought no longer, in my opinion, to occupy a position in the
background. Mr. Vivian Grey, a gentleman whom I have the honour to call
my particular friend, and who, I believe, has had already the pleasure
of incidentally conversing with you on the matters to which I have
referred, has given great attention to this important subject. He is a
younger man than any of us, and certainly has much better lungs than I
have. I will take the liberty, therefore, of requesting him to put the
case in its completeness before us."

A great deal of "desultory conversation," as it is styled, relative to
the great topic of debate, now occurred. When the blood of the party was
tolerably warmed, Vivian addressed them. The tenor of his oration may be
imagined. He developed the new political principles, demonstrated the
mistake under the baneful influence of which they had so long suffered,
promised them place, and power, and patronage, and personal
consideration, if they would only act on the principles which he
recommended, in the most flowing language and the most melodious voice
in which the glories of ambition were ever yet chaunted. There was a
buzz of admiration when the flattering music ceased; the Marquess smiled
triumphantly, as if to say, "Didn't I tell you he was a monstrous clever
fellow?" and the whole business seemed settled. Lord Courtown gave in a
bumper, _"Mr. Vivian Grey, and success to his maiden speech!"_ and
Vivian replied by proposing _"The New Union!"_ At last, Sir Berdmore,
the coolest of them all, raised his voice: "He quite agreed with Mr.
Grey in the principles which he had developed; and, for his own part, he
was free to confess that he had perfect confidence in that gentleman's
very brilliant abilities, and augured from their exertion complete and
triumphant success. At the same time, he felt it his duty to remark to
their Lordships, and also to that gentleman, that the House of Commons
was a new scene to him; and he put it, whether they were quite convinced
that they were sufficiently strong as regarded talent in that assembly.
He could not take it upon himself to offer to become the leader of the
party. Mr. Grey might be capable of undertaking that charge, but still,
it must be remembered that in that assembly he was as yet untried. He
made no apology to Mr. Grey for speaking his mind so freely; he was sure
that his motives could not be misinterpreted. If their Lordships, on the
whole, were of opinion that this charge should be entrusted to him, he,
Sir Berdmore, having the greatest confidence in Mr. Grey's abilities,
would certainly support him to the utmost."

"He can do anything," said the Marquess.

"He is a surprising clever man!" said Lord Courtown.

"He is a surprising clever man!" echoed Lord Beaconsfield.

"Stop, my Lords," said Vivian; "your good opinion deserves my gratitude,
but these important matters do indeed require a moment's consideration.
I trust that Sir Berdmore Scrope does not imagine that I am the vain
idiot to be offended at his most excellent remarks, even for a moment.
Are we not met here for the common good, and to consult for the success
of the common cause? Whatever my talents are, they are at your service,
and in your service will I venture anything; but surely, my Lords, you
will not unnecessarily entrust this great business to a raw hand! I need
only aver that I am ready to follow any leader who can play his great
part in a becoming manner."

"Noble!" said the Marquess.

But who was the leader to be? Sir Berdmore frankly confessed that he
had none to propose; and the Viscount and the Baron were quite silent.

"Gentlemen!" exclaimed the Marquess, "Gentlemen! there is a man who
could do our bidding," The eyes of every guest were fixed on the
haranguing host.

"Gentlemen, fill your glasses, I give you our leader, Mr. Frederick
Cleveland!"

"Cleveland"' every one exclaimed. A glass of claret fell from Lord
Courtown's hand; Lord Beaconsfield stopped as he was about to fill his
glass, and stood gaping at the Marquess with the decanter in his hand;
and Sir Berdmore stared on the table, as men do when something
unexpected and astounding has occurred at dinner which seems past all
their management.

"Cleveland!" exclaimed the guests.

"I should as soon have expected you to have given us Lucifer!" said Lord
Courtown.

"Or the present Secretary!" said Lord Beaconsfield.

"Or yourself," said Sir Berdmore.

"And does any one maintain that Frederick Cleveland is not capable of
driving out a much stronger Government than he will have to cope with?"
demanded the Marquess with a rather fierce air.

"We do not deny Mr. Cleveland's powers, my Lord; we only humbly beg to
suggest that it appears to us that, of all the persons in the world, the
man with whom Mr. Cleveland would be least inclined to coalesce would be
the Marquess of Carabas."

The Marquess looked somewhat blank.

"Gentlemen," said Vivian, "do not despair; it is enough for me to know
that there is a man who is capable of doing our work. Be he animate man
or incarnate fiend, provided he can be found within this realm, I pledge
myself that within ten days he is drinking my noble friend's health at
this very board."

The Marquess said, "Bravo," the rest smiled, and rose from the table in
some confusion. Little more was said on the "great business." The guests
took refuge in coffee and a glass of liqueur. The pledge was, however,
apparently accepted, and Lord Carabas and Vivian were soon left alone.
The Marquess seemed agitated by Vivian's offer and engagement. "This is
a grave business," he said: "you hardly know, my dear Vivian, what you
have undertaken; but, if anybody can succeed, you will. We must talk of
this to-morrow. There are some obstacles, and I should once have
thought, invincible. I cannot conceive what made me mention his name;
but it has been often in my mind since you first spoke to me. You and he
together, we might carry everything before us. But there are some
obstacles; no doubt there are some obstacles. You heard what Courtown
said, a man who does not make difficulties, and Beaconsfield, a man who
does not say much. Courtown called him Lucifer. He is Lucifer. But, by
Jove, you are the man to overcome obstacles. We must talk of it
to-morrow. So now, my dear fellow, good night!"

"What have I done?" thought Vivian; "I am sure that Lucifer may know,
for I do not. This Cleveland is, I suppose, after all, but a man. I saw
the feeble fools were wavering, and, to save all, made a leap in the
dark. Well! is my skull cracked? Nous verrons. How hot either this room
or my blood is! Come, for some fresh air (he opened the library window).
How fresh and soft it is! Just the night for the balcony. Hah! music! I
cannot mistake that voice. Singular woman! I will just walk on till I am
beneath her window."

Vivian accordingly proceeded along the balcony, which extended down one
whole side of the Chateau. While he was looking at the moon he stumbled
against some one. It was Colonel Delmington. He apologised to the
militaire for treading on his toes, and wondered "how the devil he
got there!"




BOOK III


CHAPTER I


Fredrick Cleveland was educated at Eton and at Cambridge; and after
having proved, both at the school and the University, that he possessed
talents of a high order, he had the courage, in order to perfect them,
to immure himself for three years in a German University. It was
impossible, therefore, for two minds to have been cultivated on more
contrary systems than those of Frederick Cleveland and Vivian Grey. The
systems on which they had been educated were not, however, more
discordant than the respective tempers of the pupils. With that of
Vivian Grey the reader is now somewhat acquainted. It has been shown
that he was one precociously convinced of the necessity of managing
mankind, by studying their tempers and humouring their weaknesses.
Cleveland turned from the Book of Nature with contempt, and although his
was a mind of extraordinary acuteness, he was, at three-and-thirty, as
ignorant of the workings of the human heart as when, in the innocence of
boyhood, he first reached Eton.

Although possessed of no fortune, from his connections and the
reputation of his abilities, he entered Parliament at an early age. His
success was eminent. It was at this period that he formed a, great
intimacy with the present Marquess of Carabas, then Under Secretary of
State. His exertions for the party to which Mr. Under Secretary Lorraine
belonged were unremitting; and it was mainly through their influence
that a great promotion took place in the official appointments of the
party. When the hour of reward came, Mr. Lorraine and his friends
unfortunately forgot their youthful champion. He remonstrated, and they
smiled: he reminded them of private friendship, and they answered him
with political expediency. Mr. Cleveland went down to the House, and
attacked his old comates in a spirit of unexampled bitterness. He
examined in review the various members of the party that had deserted
him. They trembled on their seats, while they writhed beneath the
keenness of his satire: but when the orator came to Mr. President
Lorraine, he flourished the tomahawk on high like a wild Indian
chieftain; and the attack was so awfully severe, so overpowering, so
annihilating, that even this hackneyed and hardened official trembled,
turned pale, and quitted the House, Cleveland's triumph was splendid,
but it was only for a night. Disgusted with mankind, he scouted the
thousand offers of political connections which crowded upon him; and
having succeeded in making an arrangement with his creditors, he
accepted the Chiltern Hundreds.

By the interest of his friends he procured a judicial situation of
sufficient emolument, but of local duty; and to fulfil this duty he was
obliged to reside in North Wales. The locality, indeed, suited him well,
for he was sick of the world at nine-and-twenty; and, carrying his
beautiful and newly-married wife from the world, which without him she
could not love, Mr. Cleveland enjoyed all the luxuries of a cottage
ornee in the most romantic part of the Principality. Here were born unto
him a son and daughter, beautiful children, upon whom the father
lavished all the affection which Nature had intended for the world.

Four years had Cleveland now passed in his solitude, an unhappy man. A
thousand times during the first year of his retirement he cursed the
moment of excitement which had banished him from the world; for he found
himself without resources, and restless as a curbed courser. Like many
men who are born to be orators, like Curran and like Fox, Cleveland was
not blessed, or cursed, with the faculty of composition; and indeed, had
his pen been that of a ready writer, pique would have prevented him from
delighting or instructing a world whose nature he endeavoured to
persuade himself was base, and whose applause ought, consequently, to be
valueless. In the second year he endeavoured to while away his time by
interesting himself in those pursuits which Nature has kindly provided
for country gentlemen. Farming kept him alive for a while; but, at
length, his was the prize ox; and, having gained a cup, he got wearied
of kine too prime for eating, wheat too fine for the composition of the
staff of life, and ploughs so ingeniously contrived that the very
ingenuity prevented them from being useful. Cleveland was now seen
wandering over the moors and mountains, with a gun over his shoulder and
a couple of dogs at his heels; but ennui returned in spite of his patent
percussion: and so, at length, tired of being a sportsman, he almost
became what he had fancied himself in an hour of passion, a misanthrope.

After having been closeted with Lord Carabas for a considerable time the
morning after the cabinet dinner, Vivian left Chateau Desir.

He travelled night and day, until he arrived in the vicinity of Mr.
Cleveland's abode. What was he to do now? After some deliberation, he
despatched a note to Mr. Cleveland, informing him "that he (Mr. Grey)
was the bearer to Mr. Cleveland of a 'communication of importance.'
Under the circumstances of the case, he observed that he had declined
bringing any letters of introduction. He was quite aware, therefore,
that he should have no right to complain if he had to travel back three
hundred miles without having the honour of an interview; but he trusted
that this necessary breach of etiquette would be overlooked."

The note produced the desired effect, and an appointment was made for
Mr. Grey to call at Kenrich Lodge on the following morning.

Vivian, as he entered the room, took a rapid glance at its master. Mr.
Cleveland was tall and distinguished, with a fare which might have been
a model for manly beauty. He came forward to receive Vivian with a
Newfoundland dog on one side and a large black greyhound on the other;
and the two animals, after having elaborately examined the stranger,
divided between them the luxuries of the rug. The reception which Mr.
Cleveland gave our hero was cold and constrained; but it did not appear
to be purposely uncivil, and Vivian flattered himself that his manner
was not unusually stiff.

"I do not know whether I have the honour of addressing the son of Mr.
Horace Grey?" said Mr. Cleveland, with a frowning countenance, which was
intended to be courteous.

"I have that honour."

"Your father, sir, is a most amiable and able man. I had the pleasure of
his acquaintance when I was in London, many years ago, at a time when
Mr. Vivian Grey was not entrusted, I rather imagine, with missions 'of
importance.'" Although Mr. Cleveland smiled when he said this, his smile
was anything but a gracious one. The subdued satire of his keen eye
burst out for an instant, and he looked as if he would have said, "Who
is this yonker who is trespassing upon my retirement?"

Vivian had, unbidden, seated himself by the side of Mr. Cleveland's
library table; and, not knowing exactly how to proceed, was employing
himself by making a calculation whether there were more black than white
spots on the body of the old Newfoundland, who was now apparently
happily slumbering.

"Well, sir!" continued the Newfoundland's master, "the nature of your
communication? I am fond of coming to the point."

Now this was precisely the thing which Vivian had determined not to do;
and so he diplomatised, in order to gain time. "In stating, Mr.
Cleveland, that the communication which I had to make was one of
importance, I beg to be understood, that it was with reference merely to
my opinion of its nature that that phrase was used, and not as relative
to the possible, or, allow me to say, the probable, opinion of Mr.
Cleveland."

"Well, sir!" said that gentleman, with a somewhat disappointed air.

"As to the purport or nature of the communication it is," said Vivian,
with one of his sweetest cadences and looking up to Mr. Cleveland's face
with an eye expressive of all kindness, "it is of a political nature."

"Well, sir!" again exclaimed Cleveland, looking very anxious, and moving
restlessly on his library chair.

"When we take into consideration, Mr. Cleveland, the present aspect of
the political world, when we call to mind the present situation of the
two great political parties, you will not be surprised, I feel
confident, when I mention that certain personages have thought that the
season was at hand when a move might be made in the political world with
very considerable effect--"

"Mr. Grey, what am I to understand?" interrupted Mr. Cleveland, who
began to suspect that the envoy was no greenhorn.

"I feel confident, Mr. Cleveland, that I am doing very imperfect justice
to the mission with which I am entrusted; but, sir, you must be aware
that the delicate nature of such disclosures, and--"

"Mr. Grey, I feel confident that you do not doubt my honour; and, as for
the rest, the world has, I believe, some foolish tales about me; but,
believe me, you shall be listened to with patience. I am certain that,
whatever may be the communication, Mr. Vivian Grey is a gentleman who
will do its merits justice."

And now Vivian, having succeeded in exciting Cleveland's curiosity and
securing himself the certainty of a hearing, and having also made a
favourable impression, dropped the diplomatist altogether, and was
explicit enough for a Spartan.

"Certain Noblemen and Gentlemen of eminence and influence, hitherto
considered as props of the ---- party, are about to take a novel and
decided course next Session. It is to obtain the aid and personal
co-operation of Mr. Cleveland that I am now in Wales.

"Mr. Grey, I have promised to listen to you with patience: you are too
young a man to know much, perhaps, of the history of so insignificant a
personage as myself, otherwise you would have been aware that there is
no subject in the world on which I am less inclined to converse than
that of politics. If I were entitled to take such a liberty, I would
recommend you to think of them as little as I do; but enough of this.
Who is the mover of the party?"

"My Lord Courtown is a distinguished member of it."

"Courtown, Courtown; powerful enough: but surely the good Viscount's
skull is not exactly the head for the chief of a cabal?"

"There is my Lord Beaconsfield."

"Powerful, too; but a dolt."

"Well," thought Vivian, "it must out at last; and so to it boldly. And,
Mr. Cleveland, there is little fear that we may secure the great
influence and tried talents of the Marquess of Carabas."

"The Marquess of Carabas!" almost shrieked Mr. Cleveland, as be started
from his seat and paced the room with hurried steps; and the greyhound
and the Newfoundland jumped up from the rug, shook themselves, growled,
and then imitated their master in promenading the apartment, but with
more dignified and stately paces. "The Marquess of Carabas! Now, Mr.
Grey, speak to me with the frankness which one gentleman should use to
another; is the Marquess of Carabas privy to this application?"

"He himself proposed it."

"Then he is baser than even I conceived. Mr. Grey, I am a man spare of
my speech to those with whom I am unacquainted, and the world tails me a
soured, malicious man. And yet, when I think for a moment that one so
young as you are, endowed as I must suppose with no ordinary talents,
and actuated as I will believe with a pure and honourable spirit, should
be the dupe, or tool, or even present friend of such a creature as this
perjured Peer, it gives me pang."

"Mr. Cleveland," said Vivian, "I am grateful for your kindness; and
although we may probably part, in a few hours, never to meet again, I
will speak to you with the frankness which you have merited, and to
which I feel you are entitled. I am not the dupe of the Marquess of
Carabas; I am not, I trust, the dupe, or tool, of any one whatever.
Believe me, sir, there is that at work in England which, taken at the
tide, may lead on to fortune. I see this, sir; I, a young man,
uncommitted in political principles, unconnected in public life, feeling
some confidence, I confess, in my own abilities, but desirous of
availing myself, at the same time, of the powers of others. Thus
situated, I find myself working for the same end as my Lord Carabas and
twenty other men of similar calibre, mental and moral; and, sir, am I to
play the hermit in the drama of life because, perchance, my
fellow-actors may be sometimes fools, and occasionally knaves? If the
Marquess of Carabas has done you the ill-service which Fame says he
has, your sweetest revenge will be to make him your tool; your most
perfect triumph, to rise to power by his influence.

"I confess that I am desirous of finding in you the companion of my
career. Your splendid talents have long commanded my admiration; and, as
you have given me credit for something like good feeling, I will say
that my wish to find in you a colleague is greatly increased when I see
that those splendid talents are even the least estimable points in Mr.
Cleveland's character. But, sir, perhaps all this time I am in error;
perhaps Mr. Cleveland is, as the world reports him, no longer the
ambitious being who once commanded the admiration of a listening Senate;
perhaps, convinced of the vanity of human wishes, Mr. Cleveland would
rather devote his attention to the furtherance of the interests of his
immediate circle; and, having schooled his intellect in the Universities
of two nations, is probably content to pass the hours of his life in
mediating in the quarrels of a country village."

Vivian ceased. Cleveland heard him with his head resting on both his
arms. He started at the last expression, and something like a blush
suffused his cheek, but he did not reply. At last he jumped up and rang
the bell. "Come, Mr. Grey," said he, "I am in no humour for politics
this morning. You must not, at any rate, visit Wales for nothing.
Morris! send down to the village for this gentleman's luggage. Even we
cottagers have a bed for a friend, Mr. Grey: come, and I will introduce
you to my wife."




CHAPTER II


And Vivian was now an inmate of Kenrich Lodge. It would have been
difficult to have conceived a life of more pure happiness than that
which was apparently enjoyed by its gifted master. A beautiful wife and
lovely children, and a romantic situation, and an income sufficient not
only for their own but for the wants of their necessitous neighbours;
what more could man wish? Answer me, thou inexplicable myriad of
sensations which the world calls human nature!

Three days passed over in delightful converse. It was so long since
Cleveland had seen any one fresh from the former scenes of his life,
that the company of any one would have been agreeable; but here was a
companion who knew every one, everything, full of wit and anecdote, and
literature and fashion; and then so engaging in his manners, and with
such a winning voice.

The heart of Cleveland relented; his stern manner gave way; all his
former warm and generous feeling gained the ascendant; he was in turn
amusing, communicative, and engaging. Finding that he could please
another, he began to be pleased himself. The nature of the business upon
which Vivian was his guest rendered confidence necessary; confidence
begets kindness. In a few days Vivian necessarily became more acquainted
with Mr. Cleveland's disposition and situation than if they had been
acquainted for as many years; in short.

     They talked with open heart and tongue,
     Affectionate and true,
     A pair of friends.

Vivian, for some time, dwelt upon everything but the immediate subject
of his mission; but when, after the experience of a few days, their
hearts were open to each other, and they had mutually begun to discover
that there was a most astonishing similarity in their principles, their
tastes, their feelings, then the magician poured forth his incantation,
and raised the once-laid ghost of Cleveland's ambition. The recluse
agreed to take the lead of the Carabas party. He was to leave Wales
immediately, and resign his place; in return for which the nephew of
Lord Courtown was immediately to give up, in his favour, an office of
considerable emolument; and, having thus provided some certainty for his
family, Frederick Cleveland prepared himself to combat for a more
important office.




CHAPTER III


"Is Mr. Cleveland handsome?" asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine of Vivian,
immediately on his return, "and what colour are his eyes?"

"Upon my honour, I have not the least recollection of ever looking at
them; but I believe he is not blind."

"How foolish you are! now tell me, pray, point de moquerie, is he
amusing?"

"What does Mrs. Felix Lorraine mean by amusing?" asked Vivian.

"Oh! you always tease me with your definitions; go away. I will quarrel
with you."

"By-the-bye, Mrs. Felix Lorraine, how is Colonel Delmington?"

Vivian redeemed his pledge: Mr. Cleveland arrived. It was the wish of
the Marquess, if possible, not to meet his old friend till dinner-time.
He thought that, surrounded by his guests, certain awkward senatorial
reminiscences might be got over. But, unfortunately, Mr. Cleveland
arrived about an hour before dinner, and, as it was a cold autumnal day,
most of the visitors who were staying at Chateau Desir were assembled in
the drawing-room. The Marquess sallied forward to receive his guest with
a most dignified countenance and a most aristocratic step; but, before
he got half-way, his coronation pace degenerated into a strut, and then
into a shamble, and with an awkward and confused countenance, half
impudent and half flinching, he held forward his left hand to his
newly-arrived visitor. Mr. Cleveland looked terrifically courteous and
amiably arrogant. He greeted the Marquess with a smile at once gracious
and grim, and looked something like Goliath, as you see the Philistine
depicted in some old German painting, looking down upon the pigmy
fighting men of Israel.

As is generally the custom when there is a great deal to be arranged and
many points to be settled, days flew over, and very little of the future
system of the party was matured. Vivian made one or two ineffectual
struggles to bring the Marquess to a business-like habit of mind, but
his Lordship never dared to trust himself alone with Cleveland, and,
indeed, almost lost the power of speech when in presence of the future
leader of his party; so, in the morning, the Marquess played off the two
Lords and Sir Berdmore against his former friend, and then, to
compensate for not meeting Mr. Cleveland in the morning, he was
particularly courteous to him at dinner-time, and asked him always "how
he liked his ride?" and invariably took wine with him. As for the rest
of the day, he had particularly requested his faithful counsellor, Mrs.
Felix Lorraine, "for God's sake to take this man off his shoulders;" and
so that lady, with her usual kindness, and merely to oblige his
Lordship, was good enough to patronise Mr. Cleveland, and on the fourth
day was taking a moonlit walk with him.

Mr. Cleveland had now been ten days at Chateau Desir, and was to take
his departure the next morning for Wales, in order to arrange everything
for his immediate settlement in the metropolis. Every point of
importance was postponed until their meeting in London. Mr. Cleveland
only agreed to take the lead of the party in the Commons, and received
the personal pledge of Lord Courtown as to the promised office.

It was a September day, and to escape from the excessive heat of the
sun, and at the same time to enjoy the freshness of the air, Vivian was
writing his letters in the conservatory, which opened into one of the
drawing-rooms. The numerous party which then honoured the Chateau with
their presence were out, as he conceived, on a picnic excursion to the
Elfin's Well, a beautiful spot about ten miles off; and among the
adventurers were, as he imagined, Mrs. Felix Lorraine and Mr. Cleveland.

Vivian was rather surprised at hearing voices in the adjoining room, and
he was still more so when, on looking round, he found that the sounds
proceeded from the very two individuals whom he thought were far away.
Some tall American plants concealed him from their view, but he observed
all that passed distinctly, and a singular scene it was. Mrs. Felix
Lorraine was on her knees at the feet of Mr. Cleveland; her countenance
indicated the most contrary passions, contending, as it were, for
mastery; supplication, anger, and, shall I call it, love? Her
companion's countenance was hid, but it was evident that it was not
wreathed with smiles: there were a few hurried sentences uttered, and
then both quitted the room at different doors, the lady in despair, and
the gentleman in disgust.




CHAPTER IV


And now Chateau Desir was almost deserted. Mrs. Million continued her
progress northward. The Courtowns, and the Beaconsfields, and the
Scropes quitted immediately after Mr. Cleveland; and when the families
that form the material of the visiting corps retire, the nameless
nothings that are always lounging about the country mansions of the
great, such as artists, tourists, authors, and other live stock, soon
disappear. Mr. Vivian Grey agreed to stay another fortnight, at the
particular request of the Marquess.

Very few days had passed ere Vivian was exceedingly struck at the
decided change which suddenly took place in his Lordship's general
demeanour towards him.

The Marquess grew reserved and uncommunicative, scarcely mentioning "the
great business" which had previously been the sole subject of his
conversation but to find fault with some arrangement, and exhibiting,
whenever his name was mentioned, a marked acrimony against Mr.
Cleveland. This rapid change alarmed as much as it astonished Vivian,
and he mentioned his feelings and observations to Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
That lady agreed with him that something certainly was wrong; but could
not, unfortunately, afford him any clue to the mystery. She expressed
the liveliest solicitude that any misunderstanding should be put an end
to, and offered her services for that purpose.

In spite, however, of her well-expressed anxiety, Vivian had his own
ideas on the subject; and, determined to unravel the affair, he had
recourse to the Marchioness.

"I hope your Ladyship is well to-day. I had a letter from Count Caumont
this morning. He tells me that he has got the prettiest poodle from
Paris that you can possibly conceive! waltzes like an angel, and acts
proverbs on its hind feet."

Her Ladyship's eyes glistened with admiration.

"I have told Caumont to send it me down immediately, and I shall then
have the pleasure of presenting it to your Ladyship."

Her Ladyship's eyes sparkled with delight.

"I think," continued Vivian, "I shall take a ride to-day. By-the-bye,
how is the Marquess? he seems in low spirits lately."

"Oh, Mr. Grey! I do not know what you have done to him," said her
Ladyship, settling at least a dozen bracelets; "but, but--"

"But what?"

"He thinks; he thinks."

"Thinks what, dear lady?"

"That you have entered into a combination, Mr. Grey."

"Entered into a combination!"

"Yes, Mr. Grey! a conspiracy, a conspiracy against the Marquess, with
Mr. Cleveland. He thinks that you have made him serve your purpose, and
now you are going to get rid of him."

"Well, that is excellent, and what else does he think?"

"He thinks you talk too loud," said the Marchioness, still working at
her bracelets.

"Well! that is shockingly vulgar! Allow me to recommend your Ladyship to
alter the order of those bracelets, and place the blue and silver
against the maroon. You may depend upon it, that is the true Vienna
order. And what else dues the Marquess say?"

"He thinks you are generally too authoritative. Not that I think so, Mr.
Grey: I am sure your conduct to me has been most courteous. The blue and
silver next to the maroon, did you say? Yes; certainly it does look
better. I have no doubt the Marquess is quite wrong, and I dare say you
will set things right immediately. You will remember the pretty poodle,
Mr. Grey? and you will not tell the Marquess I mentioned anything."

"Oh! certainly not. I will give orders for them to book an inside place
for the poodle, and send him down by the coach immediately, I must be
off now. Remember the blue and silver next to the maroon. Good morning
to your Ladyship."

"Mrs. Felix Lorraine, I am your most obedient slave," said Vivian Grey,
as he met that lady on the landing-place. "I can see no reason why I
should not drive you this bright day to the Elfin's Well; we have long
had an engagement to go there."

The lady smiled a gracious assent: the pony phaeton was immediately
ordered.

"How pleasant Lady Courtown and I used to discourse about martingales! I
think I invented one, did not I? Pray, Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can you tell
me what a martingale is? for upon my honour I have forgotten, or
never knew."

"If you found a martingale for the mother, Vivian, it had been well if
you had found a curb for the daughter. Poor Cynthia! I had intended once
to advise the Marchioness to interfere; but one forgets these things."

"One does. O, Mrs. Felix!" exclaimed Vivian, "I told your admirable
story of the Leyden Professor to Mrs. Cleveland. It is universally
agreed to be the best ghost-story extant. I think you said you knew the
Professor."

"Well! I have seen him often, and heard the story from his own lips.
And, as I mentioned before, far from being superstitious, he was an
esprit fort. Do you know, Mr. Grey, I have such an interesting packet
from Germany to-day; from my cousin, Baron Rodenstein. But I must keep
all the stories for the evening; come to my boudoir, and I will read
them to you. There is one tale which I am sure will make a convert even
of you. It happened to Rodenstein himself, and within these three
months," added the lady in a serious tone. "The Rodensteins are a
singular family. My mother was a Rodenstein. Do you think this
beautiful?" said Mrs. Felix, showing Vivian a small miniature which was
attached to a chain round her neck. It was the portrait of a youth
habited in the costume of a German student. His rich brown hair was
flowing over his shoulders, and his dark blue eyes beamed with such a
look of mysterious inspiration, that they might have befitted a
young prophet.

"Very, very beautiful!"

"'Tis Max, Max Rodenstein," said the lady, with a faltering voice. "He
was killed at Leipsic, at the head of a band of his friends and
fellow-students. O, Mr. Grey! this is a fair work of art, but if you had
but seen the prototype you would have gazed on this as on a dim and
washed-out drawing. There was one portrait, indeed, which did him more
justice; but then that portrait was not the production of
mortal pencil."

Vivian looked at his companion with a somewhat astonished air, but Mrs.
Felix Lorraine's countenance was as little indicative of jesting as that
of the young student whose miniature rested on her bosom.

"Did you say _not_ the production of a mortal hand, Mrs. Felix
Lorraine?"

"I am afraid I shall weary you with my stories, but the one I am about
to tell you is so well evidenced that I think even Mr. Vivian Grey will
hear it without a sneer."

"A sneer! O lady-love, do I ever sneer?"

"Max Rodenstein was the glory of his house. A being so beautiful in body
and in soul you cannot imagine, and I will not attempt to describe. This
miniature has given you some faint idea of his image, and yet this is
only the copy of a copy. The only wish of the Baroness Rodenstein, which
never could be accomplished, was the possession of a portrait of her
youngest son, for no consideration could induce Max to allow his
likeness to be taken. His old nurse had always told him that the moment
his portrait was taken he would die. The condition upon which such a
beautiful being was allowed to remain in the world was, she always said,
that his beauty should not be imitated. About three months before the
battle of Leipsic, when Max was absent at the University, which was
nearly four hundred miles from Rodenstein Castle, there arrived one
morning a large case directed to the Baroness. On opening it it was
found to contain a picture, the portrait of her son. The colouring was
so vivid, the general execution so miraculous, that for some moments
they forgot to wonder at the incident in their admiration of the work of
art. In one corner of the picture, in small characters yet fresh, was an
inscription, which on examining they found consisted of these words:
'Painted last night. Now, lady, thou hast thy wish.' My aunt sank into
the Baron's arms.

"In silence and in trembling the wonderful portrait was suspended over
the fireplace of my aunt's favourite apartment. The next day they
received letters from Max. He was quite well, but mentioned nothing of
the mysterious painting.

"Three months afterwards, as a lady was sitting alone in the Baroness's
room, and gazing on the portrait of him she loved right dearly, she
suddenly started from her seat, and would have shrieked, had not an
indefinable sensation prevented her. The eyes of the portrait moved. The
lady stood leaning on a chair, pale, and trembling like an aspen, but
gazing steadfastly on the animated portrait. It was no illusion of a
heated fancy; again the eyelids trembled, there was a melancholy smile,
and then they closed. The clock of Rodenstein Castle struck three.
Between astonishment and fear the lady was tearless. Three days
afterwards came the news of the battle of Leipsic, and at the very
moment that the eyes of the portrait closed Max Rodenstein had been
pierced by a Polish Lancer."

"And who was this wonderful lady, the witness of this wonderful
incident?" asked Vivian.

"That lady was myself."

There was something so singular in the tone of Mrs. Felix Lorraine's
voice, and so peculiar in the expression of her countenance, as she
uttered these words, that the jest died on Vivian's tongue; and, for
want of something better to do, he lashed the little ponies, which were
already scampering at their full speed.

The road to the Elfin's Well ran through the wildest parts of the park;
and after an hour and a half's drive they reached the fairy spot. It was
a beautiful and pellucid spring, that bubbled up in a small wild dell,
which, nurtured by the flowing stream, was singularly fresh and green.
Above the spring had been erected a Gothic arch of grey stone, round
which grew a few fine birch-trees. In short, nature had intended the
spot for picnics. There was fine water, and an interesting tradition;
and as the parties always bring, or always should bring, a trained
punster, champagne, and cold pasties, what more ought Nature to
have provided?

"Come, Mrs. Lorraine, I will tie Gypsey to this ash, and then you and I
will rest ourselves beneath these birch-trees, just where the
fairies dance."

"Oh, delightful!"

"Now, truly, we should have some book of beautiful poetry to while away
an hour. You will blame me for not bringing one. Do not. I would sooner
listen to your voice; and, indeed, there is a subject on which I wish to
ask your particular advice."

"Is there?"

"I have been thinking that this is a somewhat rash step of the Marquess;
this throwing himself into the arms of his former bitterest enemy,
Cleveland."

"You really think so?"

"Why, Mrs. Lorraine, does it appear to you to be the most prudent course
of action which could have been conceived?"

"Certainly not."

"You agree with me, then, that there is, if not cause for regret at this
engagement, at least for reflection on its probable consequences?"

"I quite agree with you."

"I know you do. I have had some conversation with the Marquess upon this
subject this very morning."

"Have you?" eagerly exclaimed the lady, and she looked pale and breathed
short.

"Ay; and he tells me you have made some very sensible observations on
the subject. 'Tis pity they were not made before Mr. Cleveland left; the
mischief might then have been prevented."

"I certainly have made some observations."

"And very kind of you. What a blessing for the Marquess to have such a
friend!"

"I spoke to him," said Mrs. Felix, with a more assured tone, "in much
the same spirit as you have been addressing me. It does, indeed, seem a
most imprudent act, and I thought it my duty to tell him so."

"Ay, no doubt; but how came you, lady fair, to imagine that _I_ was also
a person to be dreaded by his Lordship; _I_, Vivian Grey!"

"Did I say _you_?" asked the lady, pale as death.

"Did you not, Mrs. Felix Lorraine? Have you not, regardless of my
interests, in the most unwarrantable and unjustifiable manner; have you
not, to gratify some private pique which you entertain against Mr.
Cleveland; have you not, I ask you, poisoned the Marquess' mind against
one who never did aught to you but what was kind and honourable?"

"I have been imprudent; I confess it; I have spoken somewhat loosely."

"Now. listen to me once more," and Vivian grasped her hand. "What has
passed between you and Mr. Cleveland it is not for me to inquire. I give
you my word of honour that he never even mentioned your name to me. I
can scarcely understand how any man could have incurred the deadly
hatred which you appear to entertain for him. I repeat, I can
contemplate no situation in which you could be placed together which
would justify such behaviour. It could not be justified, even if he had
spurned you while--kneeling at his feet."

Mrs. Felix Lorraine shrieked and fainted. A sprinkling from the fairy
stream soon recovered her. "Spare me! spare me!" she faintly cried: "say
nothing of what you have seen."

"Mrs. Lorraine, I have no wish. I have spoken thus explicitly that we
may not again misunderstand each other. I have spoken thus explicitly, I
say, that I may not be under the necessity of speaking again, for if I
speak again it must not be to Mrs. Felix Lorraine. There is my hand; and
now let the Elfin's Well be blotted out of our memories."

Vivian drove rapidly home, and endeavoured to talk in his usual tone and
with his usual spirit; but his companion could not be excited. Once, ay
twice, she pressed his hand, and as he assisted her from the phaeton she
murmured something like a blessing. She ran upstairs immediately. Vivian
had to give some directions about the ponies; Gipsey was ill, or Fanny
had a cold, or something of the kind; and so he was detained for about
a quarter of an hour before the house, speaking most learnedly to
grooms, and consulting on cases with a skilled gravity worthy of
Professor Coleman.

When he entered the house he found the luncheon prepared, and Mrs. Felix
pressed him earnestly to take some refreshment. He was indeed wearied,
and agreed to take a glass of hock and seltzer.

"Let me mix it for you," said Mrs. Felix; "do you like sugar?"

Tired with his drive, Vivian Grey was leaning on the mantelpiece, with
his eyes vacantly gazing on the looking-glass which rested on the marble
slab. It was by pure accident that, reflected in the mirror, he
distinctly beheld Mrs. Felix Lorraine open a small silver box, and throw
some powder into the tumbler which she was preparing for him. She was
leaning down, with her back almost turned to the glass, but still Vivian
saw it distinctly. A sickness came over him, and ere he could recover
himself his Hebe tapped him on the shoulder.

"Here, drink, drink while it is effervescent."

"I cannot drink," said Vivian, "I am not thirsty; I am too hot; I am
anything--"

"How foolish you are! It will be quite, spoiled."

"No, no; the dog shall have it. Here, Fidele, you look thirsty enough;
come here--"

"Mr. Grey, I do not mix tumblers for dogs," said the lady, rather
agitated: "if you will not take it," and she held it once more before
him, "here it goes for ever." So saying she emptied the tumbler into a
large globe of glass, in which some gold and silver fish were swimming
their endless rounds.




CHAPTER V


This last specimen of Mrs. Felix Lorraine was somewhat too much even for
the steeled nerves of Vivian Grey, and he sought his chamber for relief.

"Is it possible? Can I believe my senses? Or has some demon, as we read
of in old tales, mocked me in a magic mirror? I can believe anything.
Oh! my heart is very sick! I once imagined that I was using this woman
for my purpose. Is it possible that aught of good can come to one who
is forced to make use of such evil instruments as these? A horrible
thought sometimes comes over my spirit. I fancy that in this mysterious
foreigner, that in this woman, I have met a kind of double of myself.
The same wonderful knowledge of the human mind, the same sweetness of
voice, the same miraculous management which has brought us both under
the same roof: yet do I find her the most abandoned of all beings; a
creature guilty of that which, even in this guilty age, I thought was
obsolete. And is it possible that I am like her? that I can resemble
her? that even the indefinite shadow of my most unhallowed thought can
for a moment be as vile as her righteousness? O God! the system of my
existence seems to stop. I cannot breathe." He flung himself upon his
bed, and felt for a moment as if he had quaffed the poisoned draught so
lately offered.

"It is not so; it cannot be so; it shall not be so! In seeking the
Marquess I was unquestionably impelled by a mere feeling of
self-interest; but I have advised him to no course of action in which
his welfare is not equally consulted with my own. Indeed, if not
principle, interest would make me act faithfully towards him, for my
fortunes are bound up in his. But am I entitled, I, who can lose
nothing, am I entitled to play with other men's fortunes? Am I all this
time deceiving myself with some wretched sophistry? Am I, then, an
intellectual Don Juan, reckless of human minds, as he was of human
bodies; a spiritual libertine? But why this wild declamation? Whatever I
have done, it is too late to recede; even this very moment delay is
destruction, for now it is not a question as to the ultimate prosperity
of our worldly prospects, but the immediate safety of our very bodies.
Poison! O God! O God! Away with all fear, all repentance, all thought of
past, all reckoning of future. If I be the Juan that I fancied myself,
then Heaven be praised! I have a confidant in all my troubles; the most
faithful of counsellors, the craftiest of valets; a Leporello often
tried and never found wanting: my own good mind. And now, thou female
fiend! the battle is to the strongest; and I see right well that the
struggle between two such spirits will be a long and a fearful one. Woe,
I say, to the vanquished! You must be dealt with by arts which even
yourself cannot conceive. Your boasted knowledge of human nature shall
not again stand you in stead; for, mark me, from henceforward Vivian
Grey's conduct towards you shall have no precedent in human nature."

As Vivian re-entered the drawing-room he met a servant carrying in the
globe of gold and silver fishes.

"What, still in your pelisse, Mrs. Lorraine!" said Vivian. "Nay, I
hardly wonder at it, for surely, a prettier pelisse never yet fitted
prettier form. You have certainly a most admirable taste in dress; and
this the more surprises me, for it is generally your plain personage
that is the most recherche in frills and fans and flounces."

The lady smiled.

"Oh! by-the-bye," continued her companion, "I have a letter from
Cleveland this morning. I wonder how any misunderstanding could possibly
have existed between you, for he speaks of you in such terms."

"What does he say?" was the quick question.

"Oh! what does he say?" drawled out Vivian; and he yawned, and was most
provokingly uncommunicative.

"Come, come, Mr. Grey, do tell me."

"Oh! tell you, certainly. Come, let us walk together in the
conservatory:" so saying, he took the lady by the hand, and they
left the room.

"And now for the letter, Mr. Grey."

"Ay, now for the letter;" and Vivian slowly drew an epistle from his
pocket, and therefrom read some exceedingly sweet passages, which made
Mrs. Felix Lorraine's very heart-blood tingle. Considering that Vivian
Grey had never in his life received a single letter from Mr. Cleveland,
this was tolerably well: but he was always an admirable improvisatore!
"I am sure that when Cleveland comes to town everything will be
explained; I am sure, at least, that it will not be my fault if you are
not the best friends. I am heroic in saying all this, Mrs. Lorraine;
there was a time when (and here Vivian seemed so agitated that he could
scarcely proceed), there was a time when I could have called that man
liar who would have prophesied that Vivian Grey could have assisted
another in riveting the affections of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. But enough of
this. I am a weak, inexperienced boy, and misinterpret, perhaps, that
which is merely the compassionate kindness natural to all women into a
feeling of a higher nature. But I must learn to contain myself; I really
do feel quite ashamed of my behaviour about the tumbler to-day. To act
with such, unwarrantable unkindness, merely because I had remembered
that you once performed the same kind office for Colonel Delmington, was
indeed too bad."

"Colonel Delmington is a vain, empty-headed fool. Do not think of him,
my dear Mr. Grey," said Mrs. Felix, with a countenance beaming
with smiles.

"Well, I will not; and I will try to behave like a man; like a man of
the world, I should say. But indeed you must excuse the warm feelings of
a youth; and truly, when I call to mind the first days of our
acquaintance, and then remember that our moonlit walks are gone for
ever, and that our--"

"Nay, do not believe so, my dear Vivian; believe me, as I ever shall be.
your friend, your--"

"I will, I will, my dear, my own Amalia!"




CHAPTER VI


It was an autumnal night; the wind was capricious and changeable as a
petted beauty, or an Italian greyhound, or a shot silk. Now the breeze
blew so fresh that the white clouds dashed along the sky as if they bore
a band of witches too late for their Sabbath meeting, or some other
mischief; and now, lulled and soft as the breath of a slumbering infant,
you might almost have fancied it Midsummer Eve; and the bright moon,
with her starry court, reigned undisturbed in the light blue sky. Vivian
Grey was leaning against an old beech-tree in the most secluded part of
the park, and was gazing on the moon.

O thou bright moon! thou object of my first love! thou shalt not escape
an invocation, although perchance at this very moment some varlet
sonnetteer is prating of "the boy Endymion" and "thy silver bow." Here
to thee, Queen of the Night! in whatever name thou most delightest! Or
Bendis, as they hailed thee in rugged Thrace; or Bubastis, as they
howled to thee in mysterious Egypt; or Dian, as they sacrificed to thee
in gorgeous Rome; or Artemis, as they sighed to thee on the bright
plains of ever glorious Greece! Why is it that all men gaze on thee? Why
is it that all men love thee? Why is it that all men worship thee?

Shine on, shine on, sultana of the soul! the Passions are thy eunuch
slaves, Ambition gazes on thee, and his burning brow is cooled, and his
fitful pulse is calm. Grief wanders in her moonlit walk and sheds no
tear; and when thy crescent smiles the lustre of Joy's revelling eye is
dusked. Quick Anger, in thy light, forgets revenge; and even dove-eyed
Hope feeds on no future joys when gazing on the miracle of thy beauty.

Shine on, shine on! although a pure Virgin, thou art the mighty mother
of all abstraction! The eye of the weary peasant returning from his
daily toil, and the rapt gaze of the inspired poet, are alike fixed on
thee; thou stillest the roar of marching armies, and who can doubt thy
influence o'er the waves who has witnessed the wide Atlantic sleeping
under thy silver beam?

Shine on, shine on! they say thou art Earth's satellite; yet when I gaze
on thee my thoughts are not of thy suzerain. They teach us that thy
power is a fable, and that thy divinity is a dream. Oh, thou bright
Queen! I will be no traitor to thy sweet authority; and verily, I will
not believe that thy influence o'er our hearts is, at this moment, less
potent than when we worshipped in thy glittering fane of Ephesus, or
trembled at the dark horrors of thine Arician rites. Then, hail to thee,
Queen of the Night! Hail to thee, Diana, Triformis; Cynthia, Orthia,
Taurica; ever mighty, ever lovely, ever holy! Hail! hail! hail!

Were I a metaphysician, I would tell you why Vivian Grey had been gazing
two hours on the moon; for I could then present you with a most logical
programme of the march of his ideas, since he whispered his last honied
speech in the ear of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, at dinner-time, until this
very moment, when he did not even remember that such a being as Mrs.
Felix Lorraine breathed. Glory to the metaphysician's all-perfect
theory! When they can tell me why, at a bright banquet, the thought of
death has flashed across my mind, who fear not death; when they can tell
me why, at the burial of my beloved friend, when my very heart-strings
seemed bursting, my sorrow has been mocked by the involuntary
remembrance of ludicrous adventures and grotesque tales; when they can
tell me why, in a dark mountain pass, I have thought of an absent
woman's eyes; or why, when in the very act of squeezing the third lime
into a beaker of Burgundy cup, my memory hath been of lean apothecaries
and their vile drugs; why then, I say again, glory to the
metaphysician's all-perfect theory! and fare you well, sweet world, and
you, my merry masters, whom, perhaps, I have studied somewhat too
cunningly: nosce teipsum shall be my motto. I will doff my travelling
cap, and on with the monk's cowl.

There are mysterious moments in some men's lives when the faces of human
beings are very agony to them, and when the sound of the human voice is
jarring as discordant music. These fits are not the consequence of
violent or contending passions: they grow not out of sorrow, or joy, or
hope, or fear, or hatred, or despair. For in the hour of affliction the
tones of our fellow-creatures are ravishing as the most delicate lute;
and in the flush moment of joy where is the smiler who loves not a
witness to his revelry or a listener to his good fortune? Fear makes us
feel our humanity, and then we fly to men, and Hope is the parent of
kindness. The misanthrope and the reckless are neither agitated nor
agonised. It is in these moments that men find in Nature that
congeniality of spirit which they seek for in vain in their own species.
It is in these moments that we sit by the side of a waterfall and listen
to its music the live-long day. It is in these moments that men gaze
upon the moon. It is in these moments that Nature becomes our Egeria;
and, refreshed and renovated by this beautiful communion, we return to
the world better enabled to fight our parts in the hot war of passions,
to perform the great duties for which man appeared to have been created,
to love, to hate, to slander, and to slay.

It was past midnight, and Vivian was at a considerable distance from the
Chateau. He proposed entering by a side door, which led into the
billiard-room, and from thence, crossing the Long Gallery, he could
easily reach his apartment without disturbing any of the household. His
way led through the little gate at which he had parted with Mrs. Felix
Lorraine on the first day of their meeting.

As he softly opened the door which led into the Long Gallery he found he
was not alone: leaning against one of the casements was a female. Her
profile was to Vivian as he entered, and the moon, which shone bright
through the window, lit up a countenance which he might be excused for
not immediately recognising as that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. She was
gazing steadfastly, but her eye did not seem fixed upon any particular
object. Her features appeared convulsed, but their contortions were not
momentary, and, pale as death, a hideous grin seemed chiselled on her
idiot countenance.

Vivian scarcely knew whether to stay or to retire. Desirous not to
disturb her, he determined not even to breathe; and, as is generally the
case, his very exertions to be silent made him nervous, and to save
himself from being stifled he coughed.

Mrs. Lorraine immediately started and stared wildly around her, and when
her eye caught Vivian's there was a sound in her throat something like
the death-rattle.

"Who are you?" she eagerly asked.

"A friend, and Vivian Grey."

"How came you here?" and she rushed forward and wildly seized his hand,
and then she muttered to herself, "'tis flesh."

"I have been playing, I fear, the mooncalf to-night; and find that,
though I am a late watcher, I am not a solitary one."

Mrs. Lorraine stared earnestly at him, and then she endeavoured to
assume her usual expression of countenance; but the effort was too much
for her. She dropped Vivian's arm, and buried her face in her own hands.
Vivian was retiring, when she again looked up. "Where are you going?"
she asked, with a quick voice.

"To sleep, as I would advise all: 'tis much past midnight."

"You say not the truth. The brightness of your eye belies the sentence
of your tongue. You are not for sleep."

"Pardon me, dear Mrs. Lorraine; I really have been yawning for the last
hour," said Vivian, and he moved on.

"You are speaking to one who takes her answer from the eye, which does
not deceive, and from the speaking lineaments of the face, which are
Truth's witnesses. Keep your voice for those who can credit man's words.
You will go, then? What! are you afraid of a woman, because 'tis past
midnight,' and you are in an old gallery?"

"Fear, Mrs. Lorraine, is not a word in my vocabulary."

"The words in your vocabulary are few, boy! as are the years of your
age. He who sent you here this night sent you here not to slumber. Come
hither!" and she led Vivian to the window: "what see you?"

"I see Nature at rest, Mrs. Lorraine; and I would fain follow the
example of beasts, birds, and fishes."

"Yet gaze upon this scene one second. See the distant hills, how
beautifully their rich covering is tinted with the moonbeam! These
nearer fir-trees, how radiantly their black skeleton forms are tipped
with silver; and the old and thickly foliaged oaks bathed in light! and
the purple lake reflecting in its lustrous bosom another heaven? la it
not a fair scene?"

"Beautiful! most beautiful!"

"Yet, Vivian, where is the being for whom all this beauty exists? Where
is your mighty creature, Man? The peasant on his rough couch enjoys,
perchance, slavery's only service-money, sweet sleep; or, waking in the
night, curses at the same time his lot and his lord. And that lord is
restless on some downy couch; his night thoughts, not of this sheeny
lake and this bright moon, but of some miserable creation of man's
artifice, some mighty nothing, which Nature knows not of, some offspring
of her bastard child, Society. Why, then, is Nature loveliest when man
looks not on her? For whom, then, Vivian Grey, is this scene so fair?"

"For poets, lady; for philosophers; for all those superior spirits who
require some relaxation from the world's toils; spirits who only
commingle with humanity on the condition that they may sometimes commune
with Nature."

"Superior spirits! say you?" and here they paced the gallery. "When
Valerian, first Lord Carabas, raised this fair castle; when, profuse for
his posterity, all the genius of Italian art and Italian artists was
lavished on this English palace; when the stuffs and statues, the
marbles and the mirrors, the tapestry, and the carvings, and the
paintings of Genoa, and Florence, and Venice, and Padua, and Vicenza,
were obtained by him at miraculous cost, and with still more miraculous
toil; what think you would have been his sensations If, while his soul
was revelling in the futurity of his descendants keeping their state in
this splendid pile, some wizard had foretold to him that, ere three
centuries could elapse, the fortunes of his mighty family would be the
sport of two individuals; one of them a foreigner, unconnected in blood,
or connected only in hatred; and the other a young adventurer alike
unconnected with his race, in blood or in love; a being ruling all
things by the power of his own genius, and reckless of all consequences
save his own prosperity? If the future had been revealed to my great
ancestor, the Lord Valerian, think you, Vivian Grey, that you and I
should be walking in this Long Gallery?"

"Really, Mrs. Lorraine, I have been so interested in discovering what
people think in the nineteenth century, that I have had but little time
to speculate on the possible opinions of an old gentleman who flourished
in the sixteenth."

"You may sneer, sir; but I ask you, if there are spirits so superior to
that of the slumbering Lord of this castle as those of Vivian Grey and
Amelia Lorraine, why may there not be spirits proportionately superior
to our own?"

"If you are keeping me from my bed, Mrs. Lorraine, merely to lecture my
conceit by proving that there are in this world wiser heads than that of
Vivian Grey, on my honour you are giving yourself a great deal of
unnecessary trouble."

"You will misunderstand me, then, you wilful boy!"

"Nay, lady, I will not affect to misunderstand your meaning; but I
recognise, you know full well, no intermediate essence between my own
good soul and that ineffable and omnipotent spirit in whose existence
philosophers and priests alike agree."

"Omnipotent and ineffable essence! Leave such words to scholars and to
school-boys! And think you that such indefinite nothings, such unmeaning
abstractions, can influence beings whose veins are full of blood,
bubbling like this?" And here she grasped Vivian with a feverish hand.
"Omnipotent and ineffable essence! Oh! I have lived in a land where
every mountain, and every stream, and every wood, and every ruin, has
its legend and its peculiar spirit; a land in whose dark forests the
midnight hunter, with his spirit-shout, scares the slumbers of the
trembling serf; a land from whose winding rivers the fair-haired Undine
welcomes the belated traveller to her fond and fatal embrace; and you
talk to me of omnipotent and ineffable essence! Miserable Mocker! It is
not true, Vivian Grey; you are but echoing the world's deceit, and even
at this hour of the night you dare not speak as you do think. You
worship no omnipotent and ineffable essence; you believe in no
omnipotent and ineffable essence. Shrined in this secret chamber of your
soul there is an image before which you bow down in adoration, and that
image is YOURSELF. And truly, when I do gaze upon your radiant eyes,"
and here the lady's tone became more terrestrial; "and truly, when I do
look upon your luxuriant curls," and here the lady's small white hand
played like lightning through Vivian's dark hair; "and truly, when I do
remember the beauty of your all-perfect form, I cannot deem your
self-worship a false idolatry," and here the lady's arms were locked
round Vivian's neck, and her head rested on his bosom.

"Oh, Amalia! it would lie far better for you to rest here than to think
of that of which the knowledge is vanity."

"Vanity!" shrieked Mrs. Lorraine, and she violently loosened her
embrace, and extricated herself from the arm which, rather in courtesy
than in kindness, had been wound round her delicate waist: "Vanity! Oh!
if you knew but what I know, oh! if you had but seen what I have seen;"
and here her voice failed her, and she stood motionless in the
moonshine, with averted head and outstretched arms.

"Amalia! this is madness; for Heaven's sake calm yourself!"

"Calm myself! Yes, it is madness; very, very madness! 'tis the madness
of the fascinated bird; 'tis the madness of the murderer who is
voluntarily broken on the wheel; 'tis the madness of the fawn that gazes
with adoration on the lurid glare of the anaconda's eye; 'tis the
madness of woman who flies to the arms of her Fate;" and here she sprang
like a tigress round Vivian's neck, her long light hair bursting from
its bands, and clustering down her shoulders.

And here was Vivian Grey, at past midnight, in this old gallery, with
this wild woman clinging round his neck. The figures in the ancient
tapestry looked living in the moon, and immediately opposite him was one
compartment of some old mythological tale, in which were represented,
grinning, in grim majesty, the Fates.

The wind now rose again, and the clouds which had vanished began to
reassemble in the heavens. As the blue sky was gradually covering, the
gigantic figures of Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos became as gradually
dimmer and dimmer, and the grasp of Vivian's fearful burden looser and
looser. At last the moon was entirely hid, the figures of the Fates
vanished, and Mrs. Felix Lorraine sank lifeless into his arms.

Vivian groped his way with difficulty to the nearest window, the very
one at which she was leaning when he first entered the gallery. He
played with her wild curls; he whispered to her in a voice sweeter than
the sweetest serenade; but she only raised her eyes from his breast and
stared wildly at him, and then clung round his neck with, if possible, a
tighter grasp.

For nearly half an hour did Vivian stand leaning against the window,
with his mystic and motionless companion. At length the wind again fell;
there was a break in the sky, and a single star appeared in the midst of
the clouds, surrounded with a little heaven of azure.

"See there, see there!" the lady cried, and then she unlocked her arms.
"What would you give, Vivian Grey, to read that star?"

"Am I more interested in that star, Amalia, than in any other of the
bright host?" asked Vivian with a serious tone, for he thought it
necessary to humour his companion.

"Are you not? is it not the star of your destiny?"

"Are you learned in all the learning of the Chaldeans, too?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" slowly murmured Mrs. Lorraine, and then she started:
but Vivian seized her arms, and prevented her from again clasping
his neck.

"I must keep these pretty hands close prisoners," he said, smiling,
"unless you promise to behave with more moderation. Come, my Amalia! you
shall be my instructress! Why am I so interested in this brilliant
star?" and holding her hands in one of his, he wound his arm round her
waist, and whispered her such words as he thought might calm her
troubled spirit. The wildness of her eyes gradually gave way; at length
she raised them to Vivian with a look of meek tenderness, and her head
sank upon his breast.

"It shines, it shines, it shines, Vivian!" she softly whispered; "glory
to thee and woe to me! Nay, you need not hold my hands; I will not harm
you. I cannot: 'tis no use. O Vivian! when we first met, how little did
I know to whom I pledged myself!"

"Amalia, forget these wild fancies; estrange yourself from the wild
belief which has exercised so baneful an influence, not only over your
mind, but over the very soul of the land from which you come. Recognise
in me only your friend, and leave the other world to those who value it
more, or more deserve it. Does not this fair earth contain sufficient of
interest and enjoyment?"

"O Vivian! you speak with a sweet voice, but with a sceptic's spirit.
You know not what I know."

"Tell me, then, my Amalia; let me share your secrets, provided they be
your sorrows."

"Almost within this hour, and in this park, there has happened that
which--" and here her voice died, and she looked fear-fully round her.

"Nay, fear not; no one can harm you here, no one shall harm you. Rest
upon me, and tell me all thy grief."

"I dare not, I cannot tell you."

"Nay, thou shalt."

"I cannot speak; your eye scares me. Are you mocking me? I cannot speak
if you look so at me."

"I will not look on you; I will gaze on yonder star. Now speak on."

"O Vivian, there is a custom in my native land: the world calls it an
unhallowed one; you, in your proud spirit, will call it a vain one. But
you would not deem it vain if you were the woman now resting on your
bosom. At certain hours of particular nights, and with peculiar
ceremonies, which I need not here mention, we do believe that in a lake
or other standing water fate reveals itself to the solitary votary. O
Vivian, I have been too long a searcher after this fearful science; and
this very night, agitated in spirit, I sought yon water. The wind was in
the right direction, and everything concurred in favouring a propitious
divination. I knelt down to gaze on the lake. I had always been
accustomed to view my own figure performing some future action, or
engaged in some future scene of my life. I gazed, but I saw nothing but
a brilliant star. I looked up into the heavens, but the star was not
there, and the clouds were driving quick across the sky. More than
usually agitated by this singular occurrence, I gazed once more; and
just at the moment when with breathless and fearful expectation I waited
the revelation of my immediate destiny there flitted a figure across the
water. It was there only for the breathing of u second, and as it passed
it mocked me." Here Mrs. Lorraine writhed in Vivian's arms; her features
were moulded in the same unnatural expression as when he first entered
the gallery, and the hideous grin was again sculptured on her
countenance. Her whole frame was in such a state of agitation that she
rose up and down in Vivian's arms, and it was only with the exertions of
his whole strength that he could retain her.

"Why, Amalia, this, this was nothing; your own figure."

"No, not my own; it was yours!"

Uttering a piercing shriek, which echoed through the winding gallery,
she swooned.

Vivian gazed on her in a state of momentary stupefaction, for the
extraordinary scene had begun to influence his own nerves. And now he
heard the tread of distant feet, and a light shone through the key-hole
of the nearest door. The fearful shriek had alarmed some of the
household. What was to be done? In desperation Vivian caught the lady up
in his arms, and dashing out of an opposite door bore her to
her chamber.




CHAPTER VII


What is this chapter to be about? Come, I am inclined to be courteous!
You shall choose the subject of it. What shall it be, sentiment or
scandal? a love-scene or a lay sermon? You will not choose? Then we must
open the note which Vivian, in the morning, found on his pillow:--

"Did you hear the horrid shriek last night? It must have disturbed every
one. I think it must have been one of the South American birds which
Captain Tropic gave the Marchioness. Do not they sometimes favour the
world with these nocturnal shriekings? Is not there a passage in Spix
apropos to this? A----."

"Did you hear the shriek last night, Mr. Grey?" asked the Marchioness,
as Vivian entered the breakfast-room.

"Oh, yes! Mr. Grey, did you hear the shriek?" asked Miss Graves.

"Who did not?"

"What could it be?" said the Marchioness.

"What could it be?" said Miss Graves.

"What should it be; a cat in a gutter, or a sick cow, or a toad dying to
be devoured, Miss Graves?"

Always snub toadeys and led captains. It is only your greenhorns who
endeavour to make their way by fawning and cringing to every member of
the establishment. It is a miserable mistake. No one likes his
dependants to be treated with respect, for such treatment affords an
unpleasant contrast to his own conduct. Besides, it makes the toadey's
blood unruly. There are three persons, mind you, to be attended to: my
lord, or my lady, as the case may be (usually the latter), the pet
daughter, and the pet dog. I throw out these hints en passant, for my
principal objects in writing this work are to amuse myself and to
instruct society. In some future hook, probably the twentieth or
twenty-fifth, when the plot logins to wear threadbare, and we can afford
a digression. I may give a chapter on Domestic Tactics.

"My dear Marchioness," continued Vivian, "see there: I have kept my
promise, there is your bracelet. How is Julie to-day?"

"Poor dear, I hope she is better."

"Oh! yes, poor Julie I think she is better."

"I do not know that, Miss Graves," said her Ladyship, somewhat tartly,
not at all approving of a toadey thinking. "I am afraid that scream
last night must have disturbed her. O dear, Mr. Grey, I am afraid she
will be ill again."

Miss Graves looked mournful, and lifted up her eyes and hands to Heaven,
but did not dare to speak this time.

"I thought she looked a little heavy about the eyes this morning," said
the Marchioness, apparently very agitated; "and I have heard from
Eglamour this post; he is not well, too; I think everybody is ill now;
he has caught a fever going to see the ruins of Paestum. I wonder why
people go to see ruins!"

"I wonder, indeed," said Miss Graves; "I never could see anything in a
ruin."

"O, Mr. Grey!" continued the Marchioness, "I really am afraid Julie is
going to be very ill."

"Let Miss Graves pull her tail and give her a little mustard seed: she
will be better tomorrow."

"Remember that, Miss Graves."

"Oh! y-e-s, my Lady!"

"Mrs. Felix," said the Marchioness, as that lady entered the room, "you
are late to-day; I always reckon upon you as a supporter of an early
breakfast at Desir."

"I have been half round the park."

"Did you hear the scream, Mrs. Felix?"

"Do you know what it was, Marchioness?"

"No: do you?"

"See the reward of early rising and a walk before breakfast. It was one
of your new American birds, and it has half torn down your aviary."

"One of the new Americans? O the naughty thing; and has it broken the
new fancy wirework?"

Here a little odd-looking, snuffy old man, with a brown scratch wig, who
had been very busily employed the whole breakfast-time with a cold game
pie, the bones of which Vivian observed him most scientifically pick and
polish, laid down his knife and fork, and addressed the Marchioness with
an air of great interest.

"Pray, will your Ladyship have the goodness to inform me what bird this
is?"

The Marchioness looked astounded at any one presuming to ask her a
question; and then she drawled, "Mr. Grey, you know everything; tell
this gentleman what some bird is."

Now this gentleman was Mr. Mackaw, the most celebrated ornithologist
extant, and who had written a treatise on Brazilian parroquets, in three
volumes folio. He had arrived late at the Chateau the preceding night,
and, although he had the honour of presenting his letter of introduction
to the Marquess, this morning was the first time he had been seen by any
of the party present, who were of course profoundly ignorant of his
character.

"Oh! we were talking of some South American bird given to the
Marchioness by the famous Captain Tropic; you know him, perhaps;
Bolivar's brother-in-law, or aide-de-camp, or something of that kind;
and which screams so dreadfully at night that the whole family is
disturbed. The Chowchowtow it is called; is not it, Mrs. Lorraine?"

"The Chowchowtow!" said Mr. Mackaw; "I don't know it by that name."

"Do not you? I dare say we shall find an account of it in Spix,
however," said Vivian, rising, and taking a volume from the book-case;
"ay! here it is; I will read it to you."

"'The Chowchowtow is about five feet seven inches in height from the
point of the bill to the extremity of the claws. Its plumage is of a
dingy, yellowish white; its form is elegant, and in its movements and
action a certain pleasing and graceful dignity is observable; but its
head is by no means worthy of the rest of its frame; and the expression
of its eye is indicative of the cunning and treachery of its character.
The habits of this bird are peculiar: occasionally most easily
domesticated, it is apparently sensible of the slightest kindness; but
its regard cannot be depended upon, and for the slightest inducement, or
with the least irritation, it will fly at its feeder. At other times it
seeks perfect solitude, and can only be captured with the utmost skill
and perseverance. It generally feeds three times a day, but its appetite
is not rapacious; it sleeps little, is usually on the wing at sunrise,
and proves that it slumbers but little in the night by its nocturnal and
thrilling shrieks'"

"What an extraordinary bird! Is that the bird you meant, Mrs. Felix
Lorraine?"

Mr. Mackaw was restless the whole time that Vivian was reading this
interesting passage. At last he burst forth with an immense deal of
science and a great want of construction, a want which scientific men
often experience, always excepting those mealy-mouthed professors who
lecture "at the Royal," and get patronised by the blues, the Lavoisiers
of May Fair!

"Chowchowtow, my Lady! five feet seven inches high! Brazilian bird! When
I just remind your Ladyship that the height of the tallest bird to be
found in Brazil, and in mentioning this fact, I mention nothing
hypothetical, the tallest bird does not stand higher than four feet
nine. Chowchowtow! Dr. Spix is a name, accurate traveller, don't
remember the passage, most singular bird! Chowchowtow! don't know it by
that name. Perhaps your Ladyship is not aware; I think you called that
gentleman Mr. Grey; perhaps Mr. Grey is not aware, that I am Mr. Mackaw,
I arrived late here last night, whose work in three volumes folio, on
Brazilian Parroquets, although I had the honour of seeing his Lordship.
is, I trust, a sufficient evidence that I am not speaking at random on
this subject; and consequently, from the lateness of the hour, could not
have the honour of being introduced to your Ladyship."

"Mr. Mackaw!" thought Vivian. "The deuce you are! Oh! why did I not say
a Columbian cassowary, or a Peruvian penguin, or a Chilian condor, or a
Guatemalan goose, or a Mexican mastard; anything but Brazilian. Oh!
unfortunate Vivian Grey!"

The Marchioness, who was quite overcome with this scientific appeal,
raised her large, beautiful, sleepy eyes from a delicious compound of
French roll and new milk, which she was working up in a Sevre saucer for
Julie; and then, as usual, looked to Vivian for assistance.

"Mr. Grey, you know everything; tell Mr. Mackaw about a bird."

"Is there any point on which you differ from Spix in his account of the
Chowchowtow, Mr. Mackaw?"

"My dear sir, I don't follow him at all. Dr. Spix is a most excellent
man, a most accurate traveller, quite a name; but, to be sure, I've only
read his work in our own tongue; and I fear from the passage you have
just quoted, five feet seven inches high! in Brazil! it must be an
imperfect version. I say, that four feet nine is the greatest height I
know. I don't speak without some foundation for my statement. The only
bird I know above that height is the Paraguay cassowary; which, to be
sure, is sometimes found in Brazil. But the description of your bird,
Mr. Grey, does not answer that at all. I ought to know. I do not speak
at random. The only living specimen of that extraordinary bird, the
Paraguay cassowary, in this country, is in my possession. It was sent me
by Bompland, and was given to him by the Dictator of Paraguay himself. I
call it, in compliment, Doctor Francia. I arrived here so late last
night, only saw his Lordship, or I would have had it on the lawn
this morning."

"Oh, then, Mr. Mackaw," said Vivian, "that was the bird which screamed
last night!"

"Oh, yes! oh, yes! Mr. Mackaw," said Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

"Lady Carabas!" continued Vivian, "it is found out. It is Mr. Mackaw's
particular friend, his family physician, whom he always travels with,
that awoke us all last night."

"Is he a foreigner?" asked the Marchioness, looking up.

"My dear Mr. Grey, impossible! the Doctor never screams."

"Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!" said Vivian.

"Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!" said Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

"I tell you he never screams," reiterated the man of science; "I tell
you he can't scream; he's muzzled."

"Oh, then, it must Have been the Chowchowtow."

"Yes, I think it must have been the Chowchowtow."

"I should very much like to hear Spix's description again," said Mr.
Mackaw, "only I fear it is troubling you too much, Mr. Grey."

"Read it yourself, my dear sir," said Vivian, putting the book into his
hand, which was the third volume of Tremaine.

Mr. Mackaw looked at the volume, and turned it over, and sideways, and
upside downwards: the brain of a man who has written three folios on
parroquets is soon puzzled. At first, he thought the book was a novel;
but then, an essay on predestination, under the title of Memoirs of a
Man of Refinement, rather puzzled him; then he mistook it for an Oxford
reprint of Pearson on the Creed; and then he stumbled on rather a warm
scene in an old Chateau in the South of France.

Before Mr. Mackaw could gain the power of speech the door opened, and
entered, who? Dr. Francia.

Mr. Mackaw's travelling companion possessed the awkward accomplishment
of opening doors, and now strutted in, in quest of his beloved master.
Affection for Mr. Mackaw was not, however, the only cause which induced
this entrance.

The household of Chateau Desir, unused to cassowaries, had neglected to
supply Dr. Francia with his usual breakfast, which consisted of half a
dozen pounds of rump steaks, a couple of bars of hard iron, some pig
lead, and brown stout. The consequence was, the Dictator was
sadly famished.

All the ladies screamed; and then Mrs. Felix Lorraine admired the
Doctor's violet neck, and the Marchioness looked with an anxious eye on
Julie, and Miss Graves, as in duty bound, with an anxious eye on the
Marchioness.

There stood the Doctor, quite still, with his large yellow eye fixed on
Mr. Mackaw. At length he perceived the cold pasty, and his little black
wings began to flutter on the surface of his immense body.

"Che, che, che, che!" said the ornithologist, who did not like the
symptoms at all: "Che, che, che, che, don't be frightened, ladies! you
see he's muzzled; che, che, che, che, now, my dear doctor, now, now,
now, Franky, Franky, Franky, now go away, go away, that's a dear doctor,
che, che, che, che!"

But the large yellow eye grew more flaming and fiery, and the little
black wings grew larger and larger; and now the left leg was dashed to
and fro with a fearful agitation. Mackaw looked agonised. What a whirr!
Francia is on the table! All shriek, the chairs tumble over the
ottomans, the Sevre china is in a thousand pieces, the muzzle is torn
off and thrown at Miss Graves; Mackaw's wig is dashed in the clotted
cream, and devoured on the spot; and the contents of the boiling urn are
poured over the beauteous and beloved Julie!




CHAPTER VIII


THE HONOURABLE CYNTHIA COURTOWN TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

"Alburies, Oct. 18--.

"DEAR GREY,

"We have now been at Alburies for a fortnight. Nothing can be more
delightful. Here is everybody in the world that I wish to see, except
yourself. The Knightons, with as many outriders as usual: Lady Julia and
myself are great allies; I like her amazingly. The Marquess of Grandgout
arrived here last week, with a most delicious party; all the men who
write 'John Bull.' I was rather disappointed at the first sight of
Stanislaus Hoax. I had expected, I do not know why, something juvenile
and squibbish, when lo! I was introduced to a corpulent individual, with
his coat buttoned up to his chin, looking dull, gentlemanlike, and
apoplectic. However, on acquaintance, he came out quite rich, sings
delightfully, and improvises like a prophet, ten thousand times more
entertaining than Pistrucci. We are sworn friends; and I know all the
secret history of 'John Bull.' There is not much, to be sure, that you
did not tell me yourself; but still there are some things. I must not
trust them, however, to paper, and therefore pray dash down to Alburies
immediately; I shall be most happy to introduce you to Lord Devildrain.
There _was_ an interview. What think you of that? Stanislaus told me
all, circumstantially, and after dinner; I do not doubt that it is quite
true. What would you give for the secret history of the 'rather yellow,
rather yellow,' chanson? I dare not tell it you. It came from a quarter
that will quite astound you, and in a very elegant, small, female hand.
You remember Lambton did stir very awkwardly in the Lisbon business.
Stanislaus wrote all the songs that appeared in the first number, except
that; but he never wrote a single line of prose for the first three
months: it all came from Vivida Vis.

"I like the Marquess of Grandgout so much! I hope he will be elevated in
the peerage: he looks as if he wanted it so! Poor dear man!"

"Oh! do you know I have discovered a liaison between Bull and
Blackwood. I am to be in the next Noctes; I forget the words of the
chorus exactly, but Courtown is to rhyme with port down, or something of
that kind, and then they are to dash their glasses over their heads,
give three cheers, and adjourn to whisky-toddy and the Chaldee chamber.
How delightful!

"The Prima Donnas are at Cheltenham, looking most respectable. Do you
ever see the 'Age'? It is not proper for me to take it in. Pray send me
down your numbers, and tell me all about it. Is it true that his
Lordship paragraphises a little?

"I have not heard from Ernest Clay, which I think very odd. If you write
to him, mention this, and tell him to send me word how Dormer Stanhope
behaves at mess. I understand there has been a melee, not much; merely a
rouette; do get it all out of him.

"Colonel Delmington is at Cheltenham, with the most knowing beard you
can possibly conceive; Lady Julia rather patronises him. Lady Doubtful
has been turned out of the rooms; fifty challenges in consequence and
one duel; missed fire, of course.

"I have heard from Alhambra; he has been wandering about in all
directions. He has been to the Lakes, and is now at Edinburgh. He likes
Southey. He gave the laureate a quantity of hints for his next volume of
the Peninsular War, but does not speak very warmly of Wordsworth:
gentlemanly man, but only reads his own poetry.

"Here has been a cousin of yours about us; a young barrister going the
circuit; by name Hargrave Grey. The name attracted my notice, and due
inquiries having been made and satisfactorily answered, I patronised the
limb of law. Fortunate for him! I got him to all the fancy balls and
pic-nics that were going on. He was in heaven for a fortnight, and at
length, having overstayed his time, he left us, also leaving his bag and
only brief behind him. They say he is ruined for life. Write soon.

"Yours ever,

"CYNTHIA COURTOWN."

ERNEST CLAY, ESQ., TO VlVIAN GREY, ESQ.

"October, 18--.

"DEAR GREY,

"I am sick of key-bugles and country-balls! All the girls in the town
are in love with me, or my foraging cap. I am very much obliged to you
for your letter to Kennet, which procured everything I wanted. The
family turned out bores, as you had prepared me. I never met such a
clever family in my life; the father is summoning up courage to favour
the world with a volume of sermons; and Isabella Kennet most
satisfactorily proved to me, after an argument of two hours, which for
courtesy's sake I fought very manfully, that Sir Walter Scott was not
the author of Waverley; and then she vowed, as I have heard fifty young
literary ladies vow before, that she had 'seen the Antiquary in
manuscript.'

"There has been a slight row to diversify the monotony of our military
life. Young Premium, the son of the celebrated loan-monger, has bought
in; and Dormer Stanhope, and one or two others equally fresh,
immediately anticipated another Battier business; but, with the greatest
desire to make a fool of myself, I have a natural repugnance to
mimicking the foolery of others; so with some little exertion, and very
fortunately for young Premium, I got the tenth voted vulgar, on the
score of curiosity, and we were civil to the man. As it turned out, it
was all very well, for Premium is a quiet, gentlemanlike fellow enough,
and exceedingly useful. He will keep extra grooms for the whole mess, if
they want it. He is very grateful to me for what does not deserve any
gratitude, and for what gave me no trouble; for I did not defend him
from any feeling of kindness: and both the Mounteneys, and young
Stapylton Toad, and Augustus, being in the regiment, why, I have very
little trouble in commanding a majority, if it come to a division.

"I dined the other day at old Premium's, who lives near this town in a
magnificent old hall; which, however, is not nearly splendid enough for
a man who is the creditor of every nation from California to China; and,
consequently, the great Mr. Stucco is building a plaster castle for him
in another part of the park. Glad am I enough that I was prevailed upon
to patronise the Premium; for I think I seldom witnessed a more amusing
scene than I did the day I dined there.

"I was ushered through an actual street of servitors, whose liveries
were really cloth of gold, and whose elaborately powdered heads would
not have disgraced the most ancient mansion in St. James's Square, into
a large and crowded saloon. I was, of course, received with miraculous
consideration; and the ear of Mrs. Premium seemed to dwell upon the
jingling of my spurs (for I am adjutant) as upon exquisite music. It
was bona fide evidence of 'the officers being there.'

"Premium is a short, but by no means vulgar-looking man, about fifty,
with a high forehead covered with wrinkles, and with eyes deep sunk in
his head. I never met a man of apparently less bustle, and of a cooler
temperament. He was an object of observation from his very
unobtrusiveness. There were. I immediately perceived, a great number of
foreigners in the room. They looked much too knowing for Arguelles and
Co., and I soon found that they were members of the different embassies,
or missions of the various Governments to whose infant existence Premium
is foster father. There were two striking figures in Oriental costume,
who were shown to me as the Greek Deputies; not that you are to imagine
that they always appear in this picturesque dress. It was only as a
particular favour, and to please Miss Premium (there, Grey, my boy!
there is a quarry!), that the illustrious envoys appeared habited this
day in their national costume.

"You would have enjoyed the scene. In one part of the room was a naval
officer, just hot from the mines of Mexico, and lecturing eloquently on
the passing of the Cordillera. In another was a man of science, dilating
on the miraculous powers of a newly-discovered amalgamation process to a
knot of merchants, who, with bent brows and eager eyes, were already
forming a Company for its adoption. Here floated the latest anecdote of
Bolivar; and there a murmur of some new movement of Cochrane's. And then
the perpetual babble about 'rising states,' and 'new loans,' and
'enlightened views,' and 'juncture of the two oceans,' and 'liberal
principles,' and 'steamboats to Mexico,' and the earnest look which
every one had in the room. How different to the vacant gaze that we have
been accustomed to! I was really particularly struck by the
circumstance. Every one at Premium's looked full of some great plan, as
if the fate of empires wag on his very breath. I hardly knew whether
they were most like conspirators, or gamblers, or the lions of a public
dinner, conscious of an universal gaze, and consequently looking
proportionately interesting. One circumstance particularly struck me: as
I was watching the acute countenance of an individual, who young Premium
informed me was the Chilian minister, and who was listening with great
attention to a dissertation from Captain Tropic, the celebrated
traveller, on the feasibility of a railroad over the Andes, I observed a
great sensation among those around me; every one shifting, and
shuffling, and staring, and assisting in that curious and confusing
ceremony called 'making way.' Even Premium appeared a little excited
when he came forward with a smile on his face to receive an individual,
apparently a foreigner, and who stepped on with great though gracious
dignity. Being curious to know who this great man was, I found that this
was an ambassador, the representative of a recognised state.

"'Pon my honour, when I saw all this, I could not refrain from
moralising on the magic of wealth; and when I just remembered the embryo
plot of some young Hussar officers to cut the son of the magician, I
rather smiled; but while I, with even greater reverence than all others,
was making way for his Excellency, I observed Mrs. Premium looking at my
spurs. 'Farewell Philosophy!' thought I; 'Puppyism for ever!'

"Dinner was at last announced, and the nice etiquette which was observed
between recognised states and non-recognised states was really
excessively amusing: not only the ambassador would take precedence of
the mere political agent, but his Excellency's private secretary was
equally tenacious as to the agent's private secretary. At length we were
all seated: the spacious dining-room was hung round with portraits of
most of the successful revolutionary leaders, and over Mr. Premium was
suspended a magnificent portrait of Bolivar. If you could but have seen
the plate! By Jove! I have eaten off the silver of most of the first
families in England, yet never in my life did it enter into my
imagination that it was possible for the most ingenious artist that ever
existed to repeat a crest half so often in a tablespoon as in that of
Premium. The crest is a bubble, and really the effect produced by it is
most ludicrous.

"I was very much struck at table by the appearance of an individual who
came in very late, but who was evidently, by his bearing, no
insignificant personage. He was a tall man, with a long hooked nose and
high cheek bones, and with an eye (were you ever at the Old Bailey?
there you may see its fellow); his complexion looked as if it had been
accustomed to the breezes of many climes, and his hair, which had once
been red, was now silvered, or rather iron-greyed, not by age. Yet there
was in his whole bearing, in his slightest actions, even in the easy,
desperate air with which he took; a glass of wine, an indefinable
something (you know what I mean) which attracted your unremitting
attention to him. I was not wrung in my suspicions of his celebrity;
for, as Miss Premium, whom I sat next to, whispered, 'he was quite a
lion.' It was Lord Oceanville What he is after no one knows. Some say he
is going to Greece, others whisper an invasion of Paraguay, and others,
of course, say other things; perhaps equally correct. I think he is for
Greece. I know he is one of the most extraordinary men I ever met with.
I am getting prosy. Good-bye! Write soon. Any fun going on? How is
Cynthia? I ought to have written. How is Mrs. Felix Lorraine? She is a
deuced odd woman!

"Yours faithfully,

"ERNEST CLAY."

HARGRAVE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

"October, 18--.

"DEAR VIVIAN,

"You ought not to expect a letter from me. I cannot conceive why you do
not occasionally answer your correspondents' letters, if correspondents
they may be called. It is really a most unreasonable habit of yours; any
one but myself would quarrel with you.

"A letter from Baker met me at this place, and I find that the whole of
that most disagreeable and annoying business is arranged. From the
promptitude, skill, and energy which are apparent in the whole affair, I
suspect I have to thank the very gentleman whom I was just going to
quarrel with. You are a good fellow, Vivian, after all. For want of a
brief, I sit down to give you a sketch of my adventures on this my
first circuit.

"This circuit is a cold and mercantile adventure, and I am disappointed
in it. Not so either, for I looked for but little to enjoy. Take one day
of my life as a specimen; the rest are mostly alike. The sheriff's
trumpets are playing; one, some tune of which I know nothing, and the
other no tune at all. I am obliged to turn out at eight. It is the first
day of the Assize, so there is some chance of a brief, being a new
place. I push my way into court through files of attorneys, as civil to
the rogues as possible, assuring them there is plenty of room, though I
am at the very moment gasping for breath wedged-in in a lane of
well-lined waistcoats. I get into court, take my place in the quietest
corner, and there I sit, and pass other men's fees and briefs like a
twopenny postman, only without pay. Well! 'tis six o'clock, dinner-time,
at the bottom of the table, carve for all, speak to none, nobody speaks
to me, must wait till last to sum up, and pay the bill. Reach home quite
devoured by spleen, after having heard every one abused who happened to
be absent.

"I travelled to this place with Manners, whom I believe you know, and
amused myself by getting from him an account of my fellows,
anticipating, at the same time, what in fact happened; to wit, that I
should afterwards get his character from them. It is strange how freely
they deal with each other; that is, the person spoken of being away. I
would not have had you see our Stanhope for half a hundred pounds; your
jealousy would have been so excited. To say the truth, we are a little
rough; our mane wants pulling and our hoofs trimming, but we jog along
without performing either operation; and, by dint of rattling the whip
against the splash-board, using all one's persuasion of hand and voice,
and jerking the bit in his mouth, we do contrive to get into the circuit
town, usually, just about the time that the sheriff and his _posse
comitatus_ are starting to meet my Lord the King's Justice: and that is
the worst of it; for their horses are prancing and pawing coursers just
out of the stable, sleek skins and smart drivers. We begin to be knocked
up just then, and our appearance is the least brilliant of any part of
the day. Here I had to pass through a host of these powdered, scented
fops; and the multitude who had assembled to gaze on the nobler
exhibition rather scoffed at our humble vehicle. As Manners had just
then been set down to find the inn and lodging, I could not jump out and
leave our equipage to its fate, so I settled my cravat, and seemed not
to mind it, only I did.

"But I must leave off this nonsense, and attend to his Lordship's
charge, which is now about to commence. I have not been able to get you
a single good murder, although I have kept a sharp look-out, as you
desired me; but there is a chance of a first-rate one at ----n.

"I am quite delighted with Mr. Justice St. Prose. He is at this moment
in a most entertaining passion, preparatory to a 'conscientious' summing
up; and in order that his ideas may not be disturbed, he has very
liberally ordered the door-keeper to have the door oiled immediately, at
his own expense. Now for my Lord the King's Justice.

"'Gentlemen of the Jury,

"'The noise is insufferable, the heat is intolerable, the door-keepers
let the people keep shuffling in, the ducks in the corner are going
quack, quack, quack, here's a little girl being tried for her life, and
the judge can't hear a word that's said. Bring me my black cap, and I'll
condemn her to death instantly.'

"'You can't, my Lord.' shrieks the infant sinner; 'it's only for petty
larceny!'

"I have just got an invite from the Kearneys. Congratulate me.

"Dear Vivian, yours faithfully,

"HARGRAVE GREY."


LADY SCROPE TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

"Ormsby Park, Oct. 18--.

"MY DEAR VIVIAN,

"By desire of Sir Berdmore, I have to request the fulfilment of a
promise, upon the hope of which being performed I have existed through
this dull month. Pray, my dear Vivian, come to us immediately. Ormsby
has at present little to offer for your entertainment. We have had that
unendurable bore Vivacity Dull with us for a whole fortnight. A report
of the death of the Lord Chancellor, or a rumour of the production of a
new tragedy, has carried him up to town; but whether it be to ask for
the seals, or to indite an ingenious prologue to a play which will be
condemned the first night, I cannot inform you. I am quite sure he is
capable of doing either. However, we shall have other deer in a
few days.

"I believe you have never met the Mounteneys. They have never been at
Hallesbrooke since you have been at Desir. They are coming to us
immediately. I am sure you will like them very much. Lord Mounteney is
one of those kind, easy-minded, accomplished men, who, after all, are
nearly the pleasantest society one ever meets. Rather wild in his youth,
but with his estate now unencumbered, and himself perfectly domestic.
His lady is an unaffected, agreeable woman. But it is Caroline Mounteney
whom I wish you particularly to meet. She is one of those delicious
creatures who, in spite of not being married, are actually conversable.
Spirited, without any affectation or brusquerie; beautiful, and knowing
enough to be quite conscious of it; perfectly accomplished, and yet
never annoying you with tattle about Bochsa, and Ronzi de Begnis, and
D'Egville.

"We also expect the Delmonts, the most endurable of the Anglo-Italians
that I know. Mrs. Delmont is not always dropping her handkerchief like
Lady Gusto, as if she expected a miserable cavalier servente to be
constantly upon his knees; or giving those odious expressive looks,
which quite destroy my nerves whenever I am under the same roof as that
horrible Lady Soprano. There is a little too much talk, to be sure,
about Roman churches, and newly-discovered mosaics, and Abbate Maii, but
still we cannot expect perfection. There are reports going about that
Ernest Clay is either ruined or going to be married. Perhaps both are
true. Young Premium has nearly lost his character by driving a
square-built, striped green thing, drawn by one horse. Ernest Clay got
him through this terrible affair. What can be the reasons of the Sieur
Ernest's excessive amiability?

"Both the young Mounteneys are with their regiment, but Aubrey Vere is
coming to us, and I have half a promise from--; but I know you never
speak to unmarried men, so why do I mention them? Let me, I beseech you,
my dear Vivian, have a few days of you to myself before Ormsby is full,
and before you are introduced to Caroline Mounteney. I did not think it
was possible that I could exist so long without seeing you; but you
really must not try me too much, or I shall quarrel with you. I have
received all your letters, which are very, very agreeable; but I think
rather, rather impudent. Adieu!

"HARRIETTE SCROPE."

HORACE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

"Paris, Oct. 18--.

"MY DEAR VIVIAN,

"I have received yours of the 9th, and have read it with mixed feelings
of astonishment and sorrow.

"You are now, my dear son, a member of what is called the great world;
society formed on anti-social principles. Apparently you have possessed
yourself of the object of your wishes; but the scenes you live in are
very moveable; the characters you associate with are all masked; and it
will always be doubtful whether you c an retain that long, which has
been obtained by some slippery artifice. Vivian, you are a juggler; and
the deceptions of your sleight-of-hand tricks depend upon
instantaneous motions.

"When the selfish combine with the selfish, bethink you how many
projects are doomed to disappointment! how many cross interests baffle
the parties at the same time joined together without ever uniting. What
a mockery is their love! but how deadly are their hatreds! All this
great society, with whom so young an adventurer has trafficked, abate
nothing of their price in the slavery of their service and the sacrifice
of violated feelings. What sleepless nights has it cost you to win over
the disobliged, to conciliate the discontented, to cajole the
contumatious! You may smile at the hollow flatteries, answering to
flatteries as hollow, which like bubbles when they touch, dissolve into
nothing; but tell me, Vivian, what has the self-tormentor felt at the
laughing treacheries which force a man down into self-contempt?

"Is it not obvious, my dear Vivian, that true Fame and true Happiness
must rest upon the imperishable social affections? I do not mean that
coterie celebrity which paltry minds accept as fame; but that which
exists independent of the opinions or the intrigues of individuals: nor
do I mean that glittering show of perpetual converse with the world
which some miserable wanderers call Happiness; but that which can only
be drawn from the sacred and solitary fountain of your own feelings.

"Active as you have now become in the great scenes of human affairs, I
would not have you be guided by any fanciful theories of morals or of
human nature. Philosophers have amused themselves by deciding on human
actions by systems; but, as these system? are of the most opposite
natures, it is evident that each philosopher, in reflecting his own
feelings in the system he has so elaborately formed, has only painted
his own character.

"Do not, therefore, conclude, with Hobbes and Mandeville, that man lives
in a state of civil warfare with man; nor with Shaftesbury, adorn with a
poetical philosophy our natural feelings. Man is neither the vile nor
the excellent being which he sometimes imagines himself to be. He does
not so much act by system as by sympathy. If this creature cannot always
feel for others, he is doomed to feel for himself; and the vicious are,
at least, blessed with the curse of remorse.

"You are now inspecting one of the worst portions of society in what is
called the great world (St. Giles' is bad, but of another kind), and it
may be useful, on the principle that the actual sight of brutal ebriety
was supposed to have inspired youth with the virtue of temperance; on
the same principle that the Platonist, in the study of deformity,
conceived the beautiful. Let me warn you not to fall into the usual
error of youth in fancying that the circle you move in is precisely the
world itself. Do not imagine that there are not other beings, whose
benevolent principle is governed by finer sympathies, by more generous
passions, and by those nobler emotions which really constitute all our
public and private virtues. I give you this hint, lest, in your present
society, you might suppose these virtues were merely historical.

"Once more, I must beseech you not to give loose to any elation of mind.
The machinery by which you have attained this unnatural result must be
so complicated that in the very tenth hour you will find yourself
stopped in some part where you never counted on an impediment; and the
want of a slight screw or a little oil will prevent you from
accomplishing your magnificent end.

"We are, and have been, very dull here. There is every probability of
Madame de Genlis writing more volumes than ever. I called on the old
lady, and was quite amused with the enthusiasm of her imbecility.
Chateaubriand is getting what you call a bore; and the whole city is mad
about a new opera by Boieldieu. Your mother sends her love, and desires
me to say, that the salmi of woodcocks, a la Lucullus, which you write
about, does not differ from the practice here in vogue. How does your
cousin Hargrave prosper on his circuit? The Delmingtons are here, which
makes it very pleasant for your mother, as well as for myself; for it
allows me to hunt over the old bookshops at my leisure. There are no new
books worth sending you, or they would accompany this; but I would
recommend you to get Meyer's new volume from Treuettel and Wurtz, and
continue to make notes as you read it. Give my compliments to the
Marquess, and believe me,

"Your affectionate father,

"HORACE GREY."




CHAPTER IX


It was impossible for any human being to behave with more kindness than
the Marquess of Carabas did to Vivian Grey after that young gentleman's
short conversation with Mrs. Felix Lorraine in the conservatory. The
only feeling which seemed to actuate the Peer was an eager desire to
compensate, by his present conduct, for any past misunderstanding, and
he loaded his young friend with all possible favour. Still Vivian was
about to quit Chateau Desir; and in spite of all that had passed, he was
extremely loth to leave his noble friend under the guardianship of his
female one.

About this time, the Duke and Duchess of Juggernaut, the very pink of
aristocracy, the wealthiest, the proudest, the most ancient, and most
pompous couple in Christendom, honoured Chateau Desir with their
presence for two days; only two days, making the Marquess's mansion a
convenient resting-place in one of their princely progresses to one of
their princely castles.

Vivian contrived to gain the heart of her Grace by his minute
acquaintance with the Juggernaut pedigree; and having taken the
opportunity, in one of their conversations, to describe Mrs. Felix
Lorraine as the most perfect specimen of divine creation with which he
was acquainted, at the same time the most amusing and the most amiable
of women, that lady was honoured with an invitation to accompany her
Grace to Himalaya Castle. As this was the greatest of all possible
honours, and as Desir was now very dull, Mrs. Felix Lorraine accepted
the invitation, or rather obeyed the command, for the Marquess would not
hear of a refusal, Vivian having dilated in the most energetic terms on
the opening which now presented itself of gaining the Juggernaut. The
coast being thus cleared, Vivian set off the next day for Sir
Berdmore Scrope's.




BOOK IV


CHAPTER I


The important hour drew nigh. Christmas was to be passed by the Carabas
family, the Beaconsfields, the Scropes, and the Clevelands at Lord
Courtown's villa at Richmond; at which place, on account of its vicinity
to the metropolis, the Viscount had determined to make out the holidays,
notwithstanding the Thames entered his kitchen windows, and the Donna
del Lago was acted in the theatre with real water, Cynthia Courtown
performing Elena, paddling in a punt.

"Let us order our horses, Cleveland, round to the Piccadilly gate, and
walk through the Guards. I must stretch my legs. That bore, Horace
Buttonhole, captured me in Pall Mall East, and has kept me in the same
position for upwards of half an hour. I shall make a note to blackball
him at the Athenaeum. How is Mrs. Cleveland?"

"Extremely well. She goes down to Buckhurst Lodge with Lady Carabas. Is
not that Lord Lowersdale?"

"His very self. He is going to call on Vivida Vis, I have no doubt.
Lowersdale is a man of very considerable talent; much more than the
world gives him credit for."

"And he doubtless finds a very able counsellor in Monsieur le
Secretaire?"

"Can you name a better one?"

"You rather patronise Vivida, I think, Grey?"

"Patronise him! he is my political pet!"

"And yet Kerrison tells me you reviewed the Suffolk papers in the
Edinburgh."

"So I did; what of that? I defended them in Blackwood."

"This, then, is the usual method of you literary gentlemen. Thank God! I
never could write a line."

"York House rises proudly; if York House be its name."

"This confounded Catholic Question is likely to give us a great deal of
trouble, Grey. It is perfect madness for us to advocate the cause of the
'six millions of hereditary bondsmen;' and yet, with not only the
Marchese, but even Courtown and Beaconsfield committed, it is, to say
the least, a very delicate business."

"Very delicate, certainly; but there are some precedents, I suspect,
Cleveland, for the influence of a party being opposed to measures which
the heads of that party had pledged themselves to adopt."

"Does old Gifford still live at Pimlico, Grey?"

"Still."

"He is a splendid fellow, after all."

"Certainly, a mind of great powers, but bigoted."

"Oh, yes! I know exactly what you are going to say. It is the fashion, I
am aware, to abuse the old gentleman. He is the Earl of Eldon of
literature; not the less loved because a little vilified. But, when I
just remember what Gifford has done; when I call to mind the perfect and
triumphant success of everything he has undertaken; the Anti-Jacobin,
the Baviad and Maeviad, the Quarterly; all palpable hits, on the very
jugular; I hesitate before I speak of William Gifford in any other
terms, or in any other spirit, than those of admiration and of
gratitude.

"And to think. Grey, that the Tory Administration and the Tory party of
Great Britain should never, by one single act, or in a single instance,
have indicated that they were in the least aware that the exertions of
such a man differed in the slightest degree from those of Hunt and Hone!
Of all the delusions which flourish in this mad world, the delusion of
that man is the most frantic who voluntarily, and of his own accord,
supports the interest of a party. I mention this to you because it is
the rock on which all young politicians strike. Fortunately, you enter
life under different circumstances from those which usually attend most
political debutants. You have your connections formed and your views
ascertained. But if, by any chance, you find yourself independent and
unconnected, never, for a moment, suppose that you can accomplish your
objects by coming forward, unsolicited, to fight the battle of a party.
They will cheer your successful exertions, and then smile at your
youthful zeal; or, crossing themselves for the unexpected succour, be
too cowardly to reward their unexpected champion. No, Grey; make them
fear you, and they will kiss your feet. There is no act of treachery or
meanness of which a political party is not capable; for in politics
there is no honour.

"As to Gifford, I am surprised at their conduct towards him, although I
know better than most men of what wood a minister is made, and how much
reliance may be placed upon the gratitude of a party: but Canning; from
Canning I certainly did expect different conduct."

"Oh, Canning! I love the man: but as you say, Cleveland, ministers have
short memories, and Canning's; that was Antilles that just passed us;
apropos to whom, I quite rejoice that the Marquess has determined to
take such a decided course on the West India Question."

"Oh, yes! curse your East India sugar."

"To be sure; slavery and sweetmeats forever!"

"But, aside with joking, Grey, I really think, that if any man of
average ability dare rise in the House, and rescue many of the great
questions of the day from what Dugald Stuart or Disraeli would call the
spirit of Political Religionism, with which they are studiously mixed
up, he would not fail to make a great impression upon the House, and a
still greater one upon the country."

"I quite agree with you; and certainly I should recommend commencing
with the West India Question. Singular state of affairs when even
Canning can only insinuate his opinion when the very existence of some
of our most valuable colonies is at stake, and when even his
insinuations are only indulged with an audience on the condition that he
favours the House with an introductory discourse of twenty minutes on
'the divine Author of our faith,' and an eloge of equal length on the
Genie du Christianisme, in a style worthy of Chateaubriand."

"Miserable work, indeed! I have got a pamphlet on the West India
Question sent me this morning. Do you know any raving lawyer, any mad
Master in Chancery, or something of the kind, who meddles in
these affairs?"

"Oh! Stephen! a puddle in a storm! He is for a crusade for the
regeneration of the Antilles; the most forcible of feebles, the most
energetic of drivellers; Velluti acting Pietro l'Eremita."

"Do you know, by any chance, whether Southey's Vindiciae is out yet? I
wanted to look it over during the holidays."

"Not out, though it has been advertised some time; but what do you
expect?"

"Nay, it is an interesting controversy, as controversies go. Not exactly
Milton and Salmasius; but fair enough."

"I do not know. It has long degenerated into a mere personal bickering
between the Laureate and Butler. Southey is, of course, revelling in the
idea of writing an English work with a Latin title! and that, perhaps,
is the only circumstance for which the controversy is prolonged."

"But Southey, after all, is a man of splendid talents."

"Doubtless; the most philosophical of bigots, and the most poetical of
prose writers."

"Apropos to the Catholic Question, there goes Colonial Bother'em trying
to look like Prince Metternich; a decided failure."

"What can keep him in town?"

"Writing letters, I suppose, Heaven preserve me from receiving any of
them!"

"Is it true, then, that his letters are of the awful length that is
whispered?"

"True! Oh! they are something beyond all conception! Perfect epistolary
Boa Constrictors. I speak with feeling, for I have myself suffered under
their voluminous windings."

"Have you seen his quarto volume: 'The Cure for the Catholic Question?'"

"Yes."

"If you have it, lend it to me. What kind of thing is it?"

"Oh! what should it be! ingenious and imbecile. He advises the
Catholics, in the old nursery language, to behave like good boys; to
open their mouths and shut their eyes, and see what God will send them."

"Well, that is the usual advice. Is there nothing more characteristic of
the writer?"

"What think you of a proposition of making Jockey of Norfolk Patriarch
of England, and of an ascertained _credo_ for our Catholic
fellow-subjects? Ingenious, is not it?"

"Have you seen Puff's new volume of Ariosto?"

"I have. What could possibly have induced Mr. Partenopex Puff to have
undertaken such a duty? Mr. Puff is a man destitute of poetical powers,
possessing no vigour of language, and gifted with no happiness of
expression. His translation is hard, dry, and husky, as the outside of a
cocoanut. I am amused to see the excellent tact with which the public
has determined not to read his volumes, in spite of the incessant
exertions of a certain set to ensure their popularity; but the time has
gone by when the smug coterie could create a reputation."

"Do you think the time ever existed, Cleveland?"

"What could have seduced Puff into being so ambitious? I suppose his
admirable knowledge of Italian; as if a man were entitled to strike a
die for the new sovereign merely because he was aware how much alloy
might legally debase its carats of pure gold."

"I never can pardon Puff for that little book on Cats. The idea was
admirable; but, instead of one of the most delightful volumes that ever
appeared, to take up a dull, tame compilation from Bingley's Animal
Biography!"

"Yes! and the impertinence of dedicating such a work to the Officers of
His Majesty's Household troops! Considering the quarter from whence it
proceeded, I certainly did not expect much, but still I thought that
there was to be some little esprit. The poor Guards! how nervous they
must have been at the announcement! What could have been the point of
that dedication?"

"I remember a most interminable proser, who was blessed with a very
sensible-sounding voice, and who, on the strength of that, and his
correct and constant emphases, was considered by the world, for a great
time, as a sage. At length it was discovered that he was quite the
reverse. Mr. Puff's wit is very like this man's wisdom. You take up one
of his little books, and you fancy, from its titlepage, that it is going
to be very witty; as you proceed, you begin to suspect that the man is
only a wag, and then, surprised at not 'seeing the point,' you have a
shrewd suspicion that he is a great hand at dry humour. It is not till
you have closed the volume that you wonder who it is that has had the
hardihood to intrude such imbecility upon an indulgent world."

"Come, come! Mr. Puff is a worthy gentleman. Let him cease to dusk the
radiancy of Ariosto's sunny stanzas, and I shall be the first man who
will do justice to his merits. He certainly tattles prettily about
tenses and terminations, and is not an inelegant grammarian."

"Our literature, I think, is at a low ebb."

"There is nothing like a fall of stocks to affect what it is the fashion
to style the Literature of the present day, a fungus production which
has flourished from the artificial state of our society, the mere
creature of our imaginary wealth. Everybody being very rich, has
afforded to be very literary, books being considered a luxury almost as
elegant and necessary as ottomans, bonbons, and pier-glasses. Consols
at 100 were the origin of all book societies. The Stockbrokers' ladies
took off the quarto travels and the hot-pressed poetry. They were the
patronesses of your patent ink and your wire-wove paper. That is all
past. Twenty per cent difference in the value of our public securities
from this time last year, that little incident has done more for the
restoration of the old English feeling, than all the exertions of Church
and State united. There is nothing like a fall in Consols to bring the
blood of our good people of England into cool order. It is your grand
state medicine, your veritable Doctor Sangrado!

"A fall in stocks! and halt to 'the spread of knowledge!' and 'the
progress of liberal principles' is like that of a man too late for
post-horses. A fall in stocks! and where are your London Universities,
and your Mechanics' Institutes, and your new Docks? Where your
philosophy, your philanthropy, and your competition? National prejudices
revive as national prosperity decreases. If the Consols were at 60 we
should be again bellowing, God save the King! eating roast beef, and
damning the French."

"And you imagine literature is equally affected, Grey?"

"Clearly. We were literary because we were rich. Amid the myriad of
volumes which issued monthly from the press, what one was not written
for the mere hour? It is all very well to buy mechanical poetry and
historical novels when our purses have a plethora; but now, my dear
fellow, depend upon it, the game is up. We have no scholars now, no
literary recluses, no men who ever appear to think. 'Scribble, scribble,
scribble' as the Duke of Cumberland said to Gibbon, should be the motto
of the mighty 'nineteenth century.'"

"Southey, I think, Grey, is an exception."

"By no means. Southey is a political writer, a writer for a particular
purpose. All his works, from those in three volumes quarto to those in
one duodecimo, are alike political pamphlets."

"We certainly want a master-spirit to set us right, Grey. We want
Byron."

"There was the man! And that such a man should be lost to us at the very
moment that he had begun to discover why it had pleased the Omnipotent
to have endowed him with such powers!"

"If one thing were more characteristic of Byron's mind than another, it
was his strong, shrewd, common sense; his pure, unalloyed sagacity."

"You knew him, I think, Cleveland?"

"Well, I was slightly acquainted with him when in England; slightly,
however, for I was then very young. But many years afterwards I met him
in Italy. It was at Pisa, just before he left that place for Genoa. I
was then very much struck at the alteration in his appearance."

"Indeed."

"Yes; his face was swollen, and he was getting fat. His hair was grey,
and his countenance had lost that spiritual expression which it once
eminently possessed. His teeth were decaying; and he said that if ever
he came to England it would be to consult Wayte about them. I certainly
was very much struck at his alteration for the worse. Besides, he was
dressed in the most extraordinary manner."

"Slovenly?"

"Oh, no, no, no! in the most dandified style that you can conceive; but
not that of an English dandy either. He had on a magnificent foreign
foraging cap, which he wore in the room, but his grey curls were quite
perceptible; and a frogged surtout; and he had a large gold chain round
his neck, and pushed into his waistcoat pocket. I imagined, of course,
that a glass was attached to it; but I afterwards found that it bore
nothing but a quantity of trinkets. He had also another gold chain tight
round his neck, like a collar."

"How odd! And did you converse much with him?"

"I was not long at Pisa, but we never parted, and there was only one
subject of conversation, England, England, England. I never met a man in
whom the maladie du pays was so strong. Byron was certainly at this time
restless and discontented. He was tired of his dragoon captains and
pensioned poetasters, and he dared not come back to England with what he
considered a tarnished reputation. His only thought was of some
desperate exertion to clear himself: it was for this he went to Greece.
When I was with him he was in correspondence with some friends in
England about the purchase of a large tract of land in Colombia. He
affected a great admiration of Bolivar."

"Who, by-the-bye, is a great man."

"Assuredly."

"Your acquaintance with Byron must have been one of the gratifying
incidents of your life, Cleveland?"

"Certainly; I may say with Friar Martin, in Goetz of Berlichingen, 'The
sight of him touched my heart. It is a pleasure to have seen a
great man.'"

"Hobhouse was a faithful friend to him?"

"His conduct has been beautiful; and Byron had a thorough affection for
him, in spite of a few squibs and a few drunken speeches, which damned
good-natured friends have always been careful to repeat."

"The loss of Byron can never be retrieved. He was indeed a real man; and
when I say this, I award him the most splendid character which human
nature need aspire to. At least, I, for my part, have no ambition to be
considered either a divinity or an angel; and truly, when I look round
upon the creatures alike effeminate in mind and body of which the world
is, in general, composed, I fear that even my ambition is too exalted.
Byron's mind was like his own ocean, sublime in its yesty madness,
beautiful in its glittering summer brightness, mighty in the lone
magnificence of its waste of waters, gazed upon from the magic of its
own nature, yet capable of representing, but as in a glass darkly, the
natures of all others."

"Hyde Park is greatly changed since I was a dandy, Vivian. Pray, do the
Misses Otranto still live in that house?"

"Yes; blooming as ever."

"It is the fashion to abuse Horace Walpole, but I really think him the
most delightful writer that ever existed. I wonder who is to be the
Horace Walpole of the present century? some one, perhaps, we
least suspect."

"Vivida Vis, think you?"

"More than probable. I will tell you who ought to be writing Memoirs;
Lord Dropmore. Does my Lord Manfred keep his mansion there, next to the
Misses Otranto?"

"I believe so, and lives there."

"I knew him in Germany; a singular man, and not understood. Perhaps he
does not understand himself. I see our horses."

"I will join you in an instant, Cleveland. I just want to speak one word
to Osborne, whom I see coming down here. Well, Osborne, I must come and
knock you up one of these mornings. I have got a commission for you from
Lady Julia Knighton, to which you must pay particular attention."

"Well, Mr. Grey, how does Lady Julia like the bay mare?"

"Very much, indeed; but she wants to know what you have done about the
chestnut."

"Oh! put it off, sir, in the prettiest style, on young Mr. Feoffment,
who has just married, and taken a house in Gower Street. He wanted a bit
of blood; hopes he likes it!"

"Hopes he does, Jack. There is a particular favour which you can do for
me, Osborne, and which I am sure you will. Ernest Clay; you know Ernest
Clay; a most excellent fellow is Ernest Clay, you know, and a great
friend of yours, Osborne; I wish you would just step down to Connaught
Place, and look at those bays he bought of Harry Mounteney. He is in a
little trouble, and we must do what we can for him; you know he is an
excellent fellow, and a great friend of yours. Thank you, I knew you
would. Good morning; remember Lady Julia. So you really fitted young
Feoffment with the chestnut; well, that was admirable! Good morning."

"I do not know whether you care for these things at all, Cleveland, but
Premium, a famous millionaire, has gone this morning, for I know not how
much! Half the new world will be ruined; and in this old one a most
excellent fellow, my friend Ernest Clay. He was engaged to Premium's
daughter, his last resource, and now, of course, it is all up with him."

"I was at College with his brother, Augustus Clay. He is a nephew of
Lord Mounteney's, is he not?"

"The very same. Poor fellow! I do not know what we must do for him. I
think I shall advise him to change his name to Clay_ville_; and if the
world ask him the reason of the euphonious augmentation, why, he can
swear it was to distinguish himself from his brothers. Too many roues of
the same name will never do. And now spurs to our steeds! for we are
going at least three miles out of our way, and I must collect my senses
and arrange my curls before dinner, for I have to flirt with at least
three fair ones."




CHAPTER II


These conversations play the very deuce with one's story. We had
intended to have commenced this book with something quite terrific, a
murder or a marriage; and all our great ideas have ended in a lounge.
After all, it is, perhaps, the most natural termination. In life,
surely man is not always as monstrously busy as he appears to be in
novels and romances. We are not always in action, not always making
speeches or making money, or making war, or making love. Occasionally we
talk, about the weather generally; sometimes about, ourselves; oftener
about our friends; as often about our enemies, at least, those who have
any; which, in my opinion, is the vulgarest of all possessions.

But we must get on.

Mr. Cleveland and Mrs. Felix Lorraine again met, and the gentleman
scarcely appeared to be aware that this meeting was not their first. The
lady sighed and remonstrated. She reproached Mr. Cleveland with passages
of letters. He stared, and deigned not a reply to an artifice which he
considered equally audacious and shallow. There was a scene. Vivian was
forced to interfere; but as he deprecated all explanation, his
interference was of little avail; and, as it was ineffectual for one
party and uncalled for by the other, it was, of course, not encouraged.
The presence of Mrs. Cleveland did not tend to assist Mrs. Felix in that
self-control which, with all her wildness, she could appositely
practise. In the presence of the Clevelands she was fitful, capricious,
perplexing; sometimes impertinent, sometimes humble; but always ill at
ease, and never charming.

Peculiar, however, as was her conduct in this particular relation, it
was in all others, at this moment, most exemplary. Her whole soul seemed
concentrated in the success of the approaching struggle. No office was
too mechanical for her attention, or too elaborate for her enthusiastic
assiduity. Her attentions were not confined merely to Vivian and the
Marquess, but were lavished with equal generosity on their colleagues.
She copied letters for Sir Berdmore, and composed letters for Lord
Courtown, and construed letters to Lord Beaconsfield; they, in return,
echoed her praises to her delighted relative, who was daily
congratulated on the possession of "such a fascinating sister in law."

"Well, Vivian," said Mrs. Lorraine, to that young gentleman, the day
previous to his departure from Buckhurst Lodge, "you are going to leave
me behind you."

"Indeed!"

"Yes! I hope you will not want me. I am very annoyed at not being able
to go to town with you, but Lady Courtown is so pressing! and I have
really promised so often to stay a week with her, that I thought it was
better to make out my promise at once than in six months hence."

"Well! I am exceedingly sorry, for you really are so useful! and the
interest you take in everything is so encouraging, that I very much fear
we shall not be able to get on without you. The important hour
draws nigh."

"It does, indeed, Vivian; and I assure you that there is no person
awaiting it with intenser interest than myself. I little thought," she
added, in a low but distinct voice, "I little thought, when I first
reached England, that I should ever again be interested in anything in
this world."

Vivian was silent, for he had nothing to say.

"Vivian!" very briskly resumed Mrs. Lorraine, "I shall get you to frank
all my letters for me. I shall never trouble the Marquess again. Do you
know, it strikes me you will make a very good speaker!"

"You flatter me exceedingly; suppose you give me a few lessons."

"But you must leave off some of your wicked tricks, Vivian! You must not
improvise parliamentary papers!"

"Improvise papers, Mrs. Lorraine! What can you mean?"

"Oh! nothing. I never mean anything."

"But you must have had some meaning."

"Some meaning! Yes, I dare say I had; I meant; I meant; do you think it
will rain to-day?"

"Every prospect of a hard frost. I never knew before that I was an
improvisatore."

"Nor I. Have you heard from papa lately? I suppose he is quite in
spirits at your success?"

"My father is a man who seldom gives way to any elation of mind."

"Ah, indeed! a philosopher, I have no doubt, like his son."

"I have no claims to the title of philosopher, although I have had the
advantage of studying in the school of Mrs. Felix Lorraine."

"What do you mean? If I thought you meant to be impertinent, I really
would; but I excuse you; I think the boy means well."

"The boy 'means nothing; he never means anything.'"

"Come, Vivian! we are going to part. Do not let us quarrel the last day.
There, there is a sprig of myrtle for you!

     What! not accept my foolish flower?
       Nay, then, I am indeed unblest!

and now you want it all! Unreasonable young man! If I were not the
kindest lady in the land I should tear this sprig into a thousand pieces
sooner; but come, my child! you shall have it. There! it looks quite
imposing in your button-hole. How handsome you look to-day!"

"How agreeable you are! I love compliments!"

"Ah, Vivian! will you never give me credit for anything but a light and
callous heart? Will you never be convinced that, that; but why make this
humiliating confession? Oh! no, let me be misunderstood for ever! The
time may come when Vivian Grey will find that Amalia Lorraine was--"

"Was what, madam?"

"You shall choose the word, Vivian."

"Say, then, my friend."

"'Tis a monosyllable full of meaning, and I will not quarrel with it.
And now, adieu! Heaven prosper you! Believe me, that my first thoughts
and my last are for you and of you!"




CHAPTER III


"This is very kind of you, Grey! I was afraid my note might not have
caught you. You have not breakfasted? Really I wish you would take up
your quarters in Carabas House, for I want you now every moment."

"What is the urgent business of this morning?"

"Oh! I have seen Bromley."

"Hah!"

"And everything most satisfactory, I did not go into detail; I left that
for you: but I ascertained sufficient to convince me that management is
now alone required."

"Well, my Lord, I trust that will not be wanting."

"No, Vivian; you have opened my eyes to the situation in which fortune
has placed me. The experience of every day only proves the truth and
soundness of your views. Fortunate, indeed, was the hour in which
we met."

"My Lord, I do trust that it was a meeting which neither of us will live
to repent."

"Impossible! my dear friend, I do not hesitate to say that I would not
change my present lot for that of any Peer of this realm; no, not for
that of His Majesty's most favoured counsellor. What! with my character
and my influence, and my connections, I to be a tool! I, the Marquess of
Carabas! I say nothing of my own powers; but, as you often most justly
and truly observe, the world has had the opportunity of judging of them;
and I think I may recur, without vanity, to the days in which my voice
had some weight in the Royal Councils. And, as I have often remarked, I
have friends, I have you, Vivian. My career is before you. I know what I
should have done at your age; not to say what I did do. I to be a tool!
The very last person that ought to be a tool. But I see my error: you
have opened my eyes, and blessed be the hour in which we met. But we
must take care how we act, Vivian; we must be wary; eh! Vivian, wary,
wary. People must know what their situations are; eh! Vivian?"

"Exceedingly useful knowledge; but I do not exactly understand the
particular purport of your Lordship's last observation."

"You do not, eh?" asked the Peer; and he fixed his eyes as earnestly and
expressively as he possibly could upon his young companion. "Well, I
thought not. I was positive it was not true," continued the Marquess
in a murmur.

"What, my Lord?"

"Oh! nothing, nothing; people talk at random, at random, at random. I
feel confident you quite agree with me; eh! Vivian?"

"Really, my Lord, I fear I am unusually dull this morning."

"Dull! no, no; you quite agree with me. I feel confident you do. People
must be taught what their situations are; that is what I was saying,
Vivian. My Lord Courtown," added the Marquess, in a whisper, "is not to
have everything his own way; eh! Vivian?"

"Oh, oh!" thought Vivian; "this, then, is the result of that admirable
creature, Miss Felix Lorraine, staying a week with her dear friend, Lady
Courtown." "My Lord, it would be singular if, in the Carabas party, the
Carabas interest was not the predominant one."

"I knew you thought so. I could not believe for a minute that you could
think otherwise: but some people take such strange ideas into their
heads, I cannot account for them. I felt confident what would be your
opinion. My Lord Courtown is not to carry everything before him in the
spirit that I have lately observed; or rather, in the spirit which I
understand, from very good authority, is exhibited. Eh! Vivian; that is
your opinion, is not it?"

"Oh! my dear Marquess, we must think alike on this, as on all points."

"I knew it. I felt confident as to your sentiments upon this subject. I
cannot conceive why some people take such strange ideas into their
heads! I knew that you could not disagree with me upon this point. No,
no, no; my Lord Courtown must feel which is the predominant interest, as
you so well express it. How choice your expressions always are! I do not
know how it is, but you always hit upon the right expression, Vivian.
The predominant interest, the pre-do-mi-nant in-te-rest. To be sure.
What! with my high character and connections, with my stake in society,
was it to be expected that I, the Marquess of Carabas, was going to make
any move which compromised the predominancy of my interests? No, no, no,
my Lord Courtown; the predominant interest must be kept predominant;
eh! Vivian?"

"To be sure, my Lord; explicitness and decision will soon arrange any
desagremens."

"I have been talking to Lady Carabas, Vivian, upon the expediency of her
opening the season early. I think a course of parliamentary dinners
would produce a good effect. It gives a tone to a political party."

"Certainly; the science of political gastronomy has never been
sufficiently studied."

"Egad! Vivian, I am in such spirits this morning. This business of
Bromley so delights me; and finding you agree with me about Lord
Courtown, I was confident as to your sentiments on that point. But some
people take such strange ideas into their heads! To be sure, to be sure,
the predominant interest, mine, that is to say ours, Vivian, is the
predominant interest. I have no idea of the predominant interest not
being predominant; that would be singular! I knew you would agree with
me; we always agree. 'Twas a lucky hour when we met. Two minds so
exactly alike! I was just your very self when I was young; and as for
you, my career is before you."

Here entered Mr. Sadler with the letters.

"One from Courtown. I wonder if he has seen Mounteney. Mounteney is a
very good-natured fellow, and I think might be managed. Ah! I wish you
could get hold of him, Vivian; you would soon bring him round. What it
is to have brains, Vivian!" and here the Marquess shook his head very
pompously, and at the same time tapped very significantly on his left
temple. "Hah! what, what is all this? Here, read it, read it, man; I
have no head to-day."

Vivian took the letter, and his quick eye dashed through its contents in
a second. It was from Lord Courtown, and dated far in the country. It
talked of private communications, and premature conduct, and the
suspicious, not to say dishonourable, behaviour of Mr. Vivian Grey: it
trusted that such conduct was not sanctioned by his Lordship, but
"nevertheless obliged to act with decision, regretted the necessity,"
&c. &c. &c. &c. In short, Lord Courtown had deserted, and recalled his
pledge as to the official appointment promised to Mr. Cleveland,
"because that promise was made while he was the victim of delusions
created by the representations of Mr. Grey."

"What can all this mean, my Lord?"

The Marquess swore a fearful oath, and threw another letter.

"This is from Lord Beaconsfield, my Lord," said Vivian, with a face
pallid as death, "and apparently the composition of the same writer; at
least, it is the same tale, the same refacimento of lies, and treachery,
and cowardice, doled out with diplomatic politesse. But I will off
to ----shire instantly. It is not yet too late to save everything. This
is Wednesday; on Thursday afternoon I shall be at Norwood Park. Thank
God! I came this morning."

The face of the Marquess, who was treacherous as the wind, seemed
already to indicate "Adieu! Mr. Vivian Grey!" but that countenance
exhibited some very different passions when it glanced over the contents
of the next epistle. There was a tremendous oath and a dead silence. His
Lordship's florid countenance turned as pale as that of his companion.
The perspiration stole down in heavy drops. He gasped for breath!

"Good God! my Lord, what is the matter?"

"The matter!" howled the Marquess, "the matter! That I have been a vain,
weak, miserable fool!" and then there was another oath, and he flung the
letter to the other side of the table.

It was the official conge of the Most Noble Sydney Marquess of Carabas.
His Majesty had no longer any occasion for his services. His successor
was Lord Courtown!

We will not affect to give any description of the conduct of the
Marquess of Carabas at this moment. He raved, he stamped, he
blasphemed! but the whole of his abuse was levelled against his former
"monstrous clever" young friend; of whose character he had so often
boasted that his own was she prototype, but who was now an adventurer, a
swindler, a scoundrel, a liar, a base, deluding, flattering, fawning
villain, &c. &c. &c. &c,

"My Lord," said Vivian.

"I will not hear you; out on your fair words! They have duped me enough
already. That I, with my high character and connections! that I, the
Marquess of Carabas, should have been the victim of the arts of a young
scoundrel!"

Vivian's fist was once clenched, but it was only for a moment. The
Marquess leant back in his chair with his eyes shut. In the agony of the
moment a projecting tooth of his upper jaw had forced itself through his
under lip, and from the wound the blood was flowing freely over his dead
white countenance. Vivian left the room.




CHAPTER IV


He stopped one moment on the landing-place, ere he was about to leave
the house for ever.

"'Tis all over! and so, Vivian Grey, your game is up! and to die, too,
like a dog! a woman's dupe! Were I a despot, I should perhaps satiate my
vengeance upon this female fiend with the assistance of the rack, but
that cannot be; and, after all, it would be but a poor revenge in one
who has worshipped the Empire of the Intellect to vindicate the agony I
am now enduring upon the base body of a woman. No! 'tis not all over.
There is yet an intellectual rack of which few dream: far, far more
terrific than the most exquisite contrivances of Parysatis. Jacinte,"
said he to a female attendant that passed, "is your mistress at home?"

"She is, sir."

"'Tis well," said Vivian, and he sprang upstairs.

"Health to the lady of our love!" said Vivian Grey, as he entered the
elegant boudoir of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. "In spite of the easterly wind,
which has spoiled my beauty for the season, I could not refrain from
inquiring after your prosperity before I went to the Marquess. Have you
heard the news?"

"News! no; what news?"

"'Tis a sad tale," said Vivian, with a melancholy voice.

"Oh! then, pray do not tell it me. I am in no humour for sorrow to-day.
Come! a bon-mot, or a calembourg, or exit Mr. Vivian Grey."

"Well, then, good morning! I am off for a black crape, or a Barcelona
kerchief. Mrs. Cleveland is dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine.

"Dead! She died last night, suddenly. Is it not horrible?"

"Shocking!" exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine, with a mournful voice and an eye
dancing with joy. "Why, Mr. Grey, I do declare you are weeping."

"It is not for the departed!"

"Nay, Vivian! for Heaven's sake, what is the matter?"

"My dear Mrs. Lorraine!" but here the speaker's voice was choked with
grief, and he could not proceed.

"Pray compose yourself."

"Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can I speak with you half an hour, undisturbed?"

"By all means. I will ring for Jacinte. Jacinte! mind I am not at home
to anyone. Well, what is the matter?"

"O! madam, I must pray your patience; I wish you to shrive a penitent."

"Good God! Mr. Grey! for Heaven's sake be explicit."

"For Heaven's sake, for your sake, for my soul's sake, I would be
explicit; but explicitness is not the language of such as I am. Can you
listen to a tale of horror? can you promise me to contain yourself?"

"I will promise anything. Pray, pray proceed."

But in spite of her earnest solicitations her companion was mute. At
length he rose from his chair, and leaning on the chimney-piece, buried
his face in his hands and wept.

"Vivian," said Mrs. Lorraine, "have you seen the Marquess yet?"

"Not yet," he sobbed; "I am going to him, but I am in no humour for
business this morning."

"Compose yourself, I beseech you. I will hear everything. You shall not
complain of an inattentive or an irritable auditor. Now, my dear Vivian,
sit down and tell me all." She led him to a chair, and then, after
stifling his sobs, with a broken voice he proceeded.

"You will recollect, madam, that accident made me acquainted with
certain circumstances connected with yourself and Mr. Cleveland. Alas!
actuated by the vilest of sentiments, I conceived a violent hatred
against that gentleman, a hatred only to be equalled by my passion for
you; but I find difficulty in dwelling upon the details of this sad
story of jealousy and despair."

"Oh! speak, speak! compensate for all you have done by your present
frankness; be brief, be brief."

"I will be brief," said Vivian, with earnestness: "I will be brief. Know
then, madam, that in order to prevent the intercourse between you and
Mr. Cleveland from proceeding I obtained his friendship, and became the
confidante of his heart's sweetest secret. Thus situated, I suppressed
the letters with which I was entrusted from him to you, and, poisoning
his mind, I accounted for your silence by your being employed in other
correspondence; nay, I did more; with the malice of a fiend, I boasted
of--; nay, do not stop me; I have more to tell."

Mrs. Felix Lorraine, with compressed lips and looks of horrible
earnestness, gazed in silence.

"The result of all this you know; but the most terrible part is to come;
and, by a strange fascination, I fly to confess my crimes at your feet,
even while the last minutes have witnessed my most heinous one. Oh!
madam. I have stood over the bier of the departed; I have mingled my
tears with those of the sorrowing widower, his young and tender child
was on my knee, and as I kissed his innocent lips, me thought it was but
my duty to the departed to save the father from his mother's rival--"
He stopped.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, in a low whisper.

"It was then, even then, in the hour of his desolation, that I mentioned
your name, that it might the more disgust him; and while he wept over
his virtuous and sainted wife, I dwelt on the vices of his rejected
mistress."

Mrs. Lorraine clasped her hands, and moved restlessly on her seat.

"Nay! do not stop me; let me tell all. 'Cleveland,' said I, 'if ever you
become the husband of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, remember my last words: it
will be well for you if your frame be like that of Mithridates of
Pontus, and proof against ---- poison.'"

"And did you say this?" shrieked the woman.

"Even these were my words."

"Then may all evil blast you!" She threw herself on the sofa; her voice
was choked with the convulsions of her passion, and she writhed in
fearful agony.

Vivian Grey, lounging in an arm-chair in the easiest of postures, and
with a face brilliant with smiles, watched his victim with the eye of a
Mephistopheles.

She slowly recovered, and, with a broken voice, poured forth her sacred
absolution to the relieved penitent.

"You wonder I do not stab you; hah! hah! hah! there is no need for that!
the good powers be praised that you refused the draught I once
proffered. Know, wretch, that your race is run. Within five minutes you
will breathe a beggar and an outcast. Your golden dreams are over, your
cunning plans are circumvented, your ambitious hopes are crushed for
ever, you are blighted in the very spring of your life. Oh, may you
never die! May you wander for ever, the butt of the world's malice; and
may the slow moving finger of scorn point where'er you go at the ruined
Charlatan!"

"Hah, hah! is it so? Think you that Vivian Grey would fall by a woman's
wile? Think you that Vivian Grey could be crushed by such a worthless
thing as you? Know, then, that your political intrigues have been as
little concealed from me as your personal ones; I have been acquainted
with all. The Marquess has himself seen the Minister, and is more firmly
established in his pride of place than ever. I have myself seen our
colleagues, whom you tampered with, and their hearts are still true, and
their purpose still fixed. All, all prospers; and ere five days are
passed 'the Charlatan' will be a Senator."

The shifting expression of Mrs. Lorraine's countenance, while Vivian was
speaking, would have baffled the most cunning painter. Her complexion
was capricious as the chameleon's, and her countenance was so convulsed
that her features seemed of all shapes and sizes. One large vein
protruded nearly a quarter of an inch from her forehead, and the dank
light which gleamed in her tearful eye was like an unwholesome meteor
quivering in a marsh. When he ended she sprang from the sofa, and,
looking up and extending her arms with unmeaning wildness, she gave one
loud shriek and dropped like a bird shot on the wing; she had burst a
blood-vessel.

Vivian raised her on the sofa and paid her every possible attention.
There is always a medical attendant lurking about the mansions of the
noble, and to this worthy and the attendant Jacinte Vivian delivered
his patient.

Had Vivian Grey left the boudoir a pledged bridegroom his countenance
could not have been more triumphant; but he was labouring under
unnatural excitement; for it is singular that when, as he left the
house, the porter told him that Mr. Cleveland was with his Lord, Vivian
had no idea at the moment what individual bore that name. The fresh air
of the street revived him, and somewhat cooled the bubbling of his
blood. It was then that the man's information struck upon his senses.

"So, poor Cleveland!" thought Vivian; "then he knows all!" His own
misery he had not yet thought of; but when Cleveland occurred to him,
with his ambition once more baulked, his high hopes once more blasted,
and his honourable soul once more deceived; when he thought of his fair
wife, and his infant children, and his ruined prospects, a sickness came
over his heart, he grew dizzy, and fell.

"And the gentleman's ill, I think," said an honest Irishman; and, in the
fulness of his charity, he placed Vivian on a door-step.

"So it seems," said a genteel passenger in black; and he snatched, with
great sang-froid, Vivian's watch. "Stop thief!" hallooed the Hibernian.
Paddy was tripped up. There was a row, in the midst of which Vivian Grey
crawled to an hotel.




CHAPTER V


In half an hour Vivian was at Mr. Cleveland's door.

"My master is at the Marquess of Carabas', sir; he will not return, but
is going immediately to Richmond, where Mrs. Cleveland is staying."

Vivian immediately wrote to Mr. Cleveland. "If your master have left the
Marquess', let this be forwarded to him at Richmond immediately."

"CLEVELAND!

"You know all. It would be mockery were I to say that at this moment I
am not thinking of myself. I am a ruined man in body and in mind. But
my own misery is nothing; I can die, I can go mad, and who will be
harmed? But you! I had wished that we should never meet again; but my
hand refuses to trace the thoughts with which my heart is full, and I am
under the sad necessity of requesting you to see me once more. We have
been betrayed, and by a woman; but there has been revenge. Oh,
what revenge!

"VIVIAN GREY."

When Vivian left Mr. Cleveland's he actually did not know what to do
with himself. Home, at present, he could not face, and so he continued
to wander about, quite unconscious of locality. He passed in his
progress many of his acquaintance, who, from his distracted air and
rapid pace, imagined that he was intent on some important business. At
length he found himself in one of the most sequestered parts of
Kensington Gardens. It was a cold, frosty day, and as Vivian flung
himself upon one of the summer seats the snow drifted from off the
frozen board; but Vivian's brow was as burning hot as if he had been an
inhabitant of Sirius. Throwing his arms on a small garden table, he
buried his face in his hands and wept as men can but once weep in
this world.

O, thou sublime and most subtle philosopher, who, in thy lamp-lit cell,
art speculating upon the passions which thou hast never felt! O, thou
splendid and most admirable poet, who, with cunning words, art painting
with a smile a tale of woe! tell me what is Grief, and solve me the
mystery of Sorrow.

Not for himself, for after the first pang he would have whistled off his
high hopes with the spirit of a Ripperda; not even for Cleveland, for at
this moment, it must be confessed, his thoughts were not for his friend,
did Vivian Grey's soul struggle as if it were about to leave its fleshy
chamber. We said he wept as men can weep but once in this world, and yet
it would have been impossible for him to have defined what, at that
fearful moment, was the cause of his heart's sorrow. Incidents of
childhood of the most trivial nature, and until this moment forgotten,
flashed across his memory; he gazed on the smile of his mother, he
listened to the sweet tones of his father's voice, and his hand
clenched, with still more agonised grasp, his rude resting-place, and
the scalding tears dashed down his cheek in still more ardent torrents.
He had no distinct remembrance of what had so lately happened; but
characters flitted before him as in a theatre, in a dream, dim and
shadowy, yet full of mysterious and undefinable interest; and then there
came a horrible idea across his mind that his glittering youth was gone
and wasted; and then there was a dark whisper of treachery, and
dissimulation, and dishonour; and then he sobbed as if his very heart
were cracking. All his boasted philosophy vanished; his artificial
feelings fled him. Insulted Nature reasserted her long-spurned
authority, and the once proud Vivian Grey felt too humble even to curse
himself. Gradually his sobs became less convulsed and his brow more
cool; and, calm from very exhaustion, he sat for upwards of an hour
motionless.

At this moment there issued, with their attendant, from an adjoining
shrubbery, two beautiful children. They were so exceedingly lovely that
the passenger would have stopped to gaze upon them. The eldest, who yet
was very young, was leading his sister hand in hand with slow and
graceful steps, mimicking the courtesy of men. But when his eye caught
Vivian's the boy uttered a loud cry of exultation, and rushed, with the
eagerness of infantile affection, to his gentle and favourite playmate.
They were the young Clevelands. With what miraculous quickness will man
shake off the outward semblance of grief when his sorrow is a secret!
The mighty merchant, who knows that in four-and-twenty hours the world
must be astounded by his insolvency, will walk in the front of his
confident creditor as if he were the lord of a thousand argosies; the
meditating suicide will smile on the arm of a companion as if to breathe
in this sunny world were the most ravishing and rapturous bliss. We
cling to our stations in our fellow-creatures' minds and memories; we
know too well the frail tenure on which we are in this world great and
considered personages. Experience makes us shrink from the specious
sneer of sympathy; and when we are ourselves falling, bitter Memory
whispers that we have ourselves been neglectful.

And so it was that even unto these infants Vivian Grey dared not appear
other than a gay and easy-hearted man; and in a moment he was dancing
them on his knee, and playing with their curls, and joining in their
pretty prattle, and pressing their small and fragrant lips.

It was night when he paced down--. He passed his club; that club to
become a member of which had once been the object of his high ambition,
and to gain which privilege had cost such hours of canvassing, such
interference of noble friends, and the incurring of favours from so many
people, "which never could be forgotten!"

A desperate feeling actuated him, and he entered the Club-house. He
walked into the great saloon and met some fifty "most particular
friends," all of whom asked him "how the Marquess did," or "have you
seen Cleveland?" and a thousand other as comfortable queries. At length,
to avoid these disagreeable rencontres, and indeed to rest himself, he
went to a smaller and more private room. As he opened the door his eyes
lighted upon Cleveland.

He was standing with his back to the fire. There were only two other
persons in the room; one was a friend of Cleveland's, and the other an
acquaintance of Vivian's. The latter was writing at the table.

When Vivian saw Cleveland he would have retired, but he was bid to "come
in" in a voice of thunder.

As he entered he instantly perceived that Cleveland was under the
influence of wine. When in this situation, unlike other men, Mr.
Cleveland's conduct was not distinguished by any of the little
improprieties of behaviour by which a man is always known by his friends
"to be very drunk." He neither reeled, nor hiccuped, nor grew maudlin.
The effect of drinking upon him was only to increase the intensity of
the sensation by which his mind was at the moment influenced. He did not
even lose the consciousness of identity of persons. At this moment it
was clear to Vivian that Cleveland was under the influence of the
extremest passion; his eyes rolled wildly, and seemed fixed only upon
vacancy. As Vivian was no friend to scenes before strangers he bowed to
the two gentlemen and saluted Cleveland with his wonted cordiality; but
his proffered hand was rudely repelled.

"Away!" exclaimed Cleveland, in a furious tone; "I have no friendship
for traitors."

The two gentlemen stared, and the pen of the writer stopped.

"Cleveland!" said Vivian, in an earnest whisper, as he came up close to
him; "for God's sake contain yourself. I have written you a letter which
explains all; but--"

"Out! out upon you. Out upon your honied words and your soft phrases! I
have been their dupe too long;" and he struck Vivian.

"Sir John Poynings!" said Vivian, with a quivering lip, turning to the
gentleman who was writing at the table, "we were school-fellows;
circumstances have prevented us from meeting often in after-life; but I
now ask you, with the frankness of an old acquaintance, to do me the sad
service of accompanying me in this quarrel, a quarrel which I call
Heaven to witness is not of my seeking."

The Baronet, who was in the Guards, and although a great dandy, quite a
man of business in these matters, immediately rose from his seat and led
Vivian to a corner of the room. After some whispering he turned round to
Mr. Cleveland, and bowed to him with a very significant look. It was
evident that Cleveland comprehended his meaning, for, though he was
silent, he immediately pointed to the other gentleman, his friend, Mr.
Castleton.

"Mr. Castleton," said Sir John, giving his card, "Mr. Grey will
accompany me to my rooms in Pall Mall; it is now ten o'clock; we shall
wait two hours, in which time I hope to hear from you. I leave time, and
place, and terms to yourself. I only wish it to be understood that it is
the particular desire of my principal that the meeting should be as
speedy as possible."

About eleven o'clock the communication from Mr. Castleton arrived. It
was quite evident that Cleveland was sobered, for in one instance Vivian
observed that the style was corrected by his own hand. The hour was
eight the next morning, at ---- Common, about six miles from town.

Poynings wrote to a professional friend to be on the ground at half-past
seven, and then he and Vivian retired.

Did you ever fight a duel? No? nor send a challenge either? Well! you
are fresh, indeed! 'Tis an awkward business, after all, even for the
boldest. After an immense deal of negotiation, and giving your opponent
every opportunity of coming to an honourable understanding, the fatal
letter is at length signed, sealed, and sent. You pass your mornings at
your second's apartments, pacing his drawing-room with a quivering lip
and uncertain step. At length he enters with an answer; and while be
reads you endeavour to look easy, with a countenance merry with the most
melancholy smile. You have no appetite for dinner, but you are too brave
not to appear at table; and you are called out after the second glass by
the arrival of your solicitor, who comes to alter your will. You pass a
restless night, and rise in the morning as bilious as a Bengal general.
Urged by impending fate, you make a desperate effort to accommodate
matters; but in the contest between your pride and your terror you at
the same time prove that you are a coward and fail in the negotiation.
You both fire and miss, and then the seconds interfere, and then you
shake hands: everything being arranged in the most honourable manner and
to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. The next day you are seen
pacing Bond Street with an erect front and a flashing eye, with an air
at once dandyish and heroical, a mixture at the same time of Brummell
and the Duke of Wellington.

It was a fine February morning. Sir John drove Vivian to the ground in
his cabriolet.

"Nothing like a cab, Grey, for the business you are going on: you glide
along the six miles in such style that it actually makes you quite
courageous. I remember once going down, on a similar purpose, in a post
and pair, and 'pon my soul, when I came to the ground, my hand shook so
that I could scarcely draw. But I was green then. Now, when I go in my
cab, with Philidor with his sixteen-mile-an-hour paces, egad! I wing my
man in a trice; and take all the parties home to Pall Mall, to celebrate
the event with a grilled bone, Havannahs, and Regent's punch. Ah! there!
that is Cleveland that we have just passed, going to the ground in a
chariot: he is a dead man, or my name is not Poynings."

"Come, Sir John; no fear of Cleveland's dying," said Vivian, with a
smile.

"What? You mean to fire in the air, and all that sort of thing?
Sentimental, but slip-slop!"

The ground is measured, all is arranged. Cleveland, a splendid shot,
fired first. He grazed Vivian's elbow. Vivian fired in the air. The
seconds interfered. Cleveland was implacable, and, "in the most
irregular manner," as Sir John declared, insisted upon another shot. To
the astonishment of all, he fired quite wild. Vivian shot at random, and
his bullet pierced Cleveland's heart. Cleveland sprang nearly two yards
from the ground and then fell upon his back. In a moment Vivian was at
the side of his fallen antagonist, but the dying man "made no sign;" he
stared wildly, and then closed his eyes for ever!




CHAPTER VI


When Vivian Grey remembered his existence he found himself in bed. The
curtains of his couch were closed; but as he stared around him they were
softly withdrawn, and a face that recalled everything to his
recollection gazed upon him with a look of affectionate anxiety.

"My father!" exclaimed Vivian; but the finger pressed on the parental
lip warned him to silence. His father knelt by his side, and then the
curtains were again closed.

Six weeks, unconsciously to Vivian, had elapsed since the fatal day, and
he was now recovering from the effects of a fever from which his medical
attendants had supposed he never could have rallied. And what had been
the past? It did indeed seem like a hot and feverish dream. Here was he
once more in his own quiet room, watched over by his beloved parents;
and had there then ever existed such beings as the Marquess, and Mrs.
Lorraine, and Cleveland, or were they only the actors in a vision? "It
must be so," thought Vivian; and he jumped up in his bed and stared
wildly around him. "And yet it was a horrid dream! Murder, horrible
murder! and so real, so palpable! I muse upon their voices as upon
familiar sounds, and I recall all the events, not as the shadowy
incidents of sleep, that mysterious existence in which the experience of
a century seems caught in the breathing of a second, but as the natural
and material consequences of time and stirring life. O, no! it is too
true!" shrieked the wretched sufferer, as his eye glanced upon a
despatch-box which was on the table, and which had been given to him by
Lord Carabas; "It is true! it is true! Murder! murder!" He foamed at the
mouth, and sank exhausted on his pillow.

But the human mind can master many sorrows, and, after a desperate
relapse and another miraculous rally, Vivian Grey rose from his bed.

"My father, I fear that I shall live!"

"Hope, rather, my beloved."

"Oh! why should I hope?" and the sufferer's head sank upon his breast.

"Do not give way, my son; all will yet be well, and we shall all yet be
happy," said the father, with streaming eyes.

"Happy! oh, not in this world, my father!"

"Vivian, my dearest, your mother visited you this morning, but you were
asleep. She was quite happy to find you slumbering so calmly."

"And yet my dreams were not the dreams of joy. O, my mother! you were
wont to smile upon me; alas! you smiled upon your sorrow."

"Vivian, my beloved! you must indeed restrain your feelings. At your age
life cannot be the lost game you think it. A little repose, and I shall
yet see my boy the honour to society which he deserves to be."

"Alas! my father, you know not what I feel. The springiness of my mind
has gone. O, man, what a vain fool thou art! Nature has been too
bountiful to thee. She has given thee the best of friends, and thou
valuest not the gift of exceeding price until the griefs are past even
friendship's cure. O, my father! why did I leave thee?" and he seized
Mr. Grey's hand with convulsive grasp.

Time flew on, even in this house of sorrow. "My boy," said Mr. Grey to
his son one day, "your mother and I have been consulting together about
you; and we think, now that you have somewhat recovered your strength,
it may be well for you to leave England for a short time. The novelty of
travel will relieve your mind without too much exciting it; and if you
can manage by the autumn to settle down anywhere within a thousand miles
of England, why we will come and join you, and you know that will be
very pleasant. What say you to this little plan?"

In a few weeks after this proposition had been made Vivian Grey was in
Germany. He wandered for some months in that beautiful land of rivers,
among which flows the Rhine, matchless in its loveliness; and at length
the pilgrim shook the dust off his feet at Heidelberg, in which city
Vivian proposed taking up his residence. It is, in truth, a place of
surpassing loveliness, where all the romantic wildness of German scenery
is blended with the soft beauty of the Italian. An immense plain, which,
in its extent and luxuriance, reminds you of the fertile tracts of
Lombardy, is bordered on one side by the Bergstrasse Mountains, and on
the other by the range of the Vosges. Situate on the river Neckar, in a
ravine of the Bergstrasse, amid mountains covered with vines, is
Heidelberg; its ruined castle backing the city, and still frowning from
one of the most commanding heights. In the middle of the broad plain may
be distinguished the shining spires of Mannheim, Worms, and Frankenthal;
and pouring its rich stream through this luxuriant land, the beautiful
and abounding Rhine receives the tribute of the Neckar. The range of the
Vosges forms the extreme distance.

To the little world of the little city of which he was now an habitant
Vivian Grey did not appear a broken-hearted man. He lived neither as a
recluse nor a misanthrope. He became extremely addicted to field sports,
especially to hunting the wild boar; for he feared nothing so much as
thought, and dreaded nothing so much as the solitude of his own chamber.
He was an early riser to escape from hideous dreams; and at break of
dawn he wandered among the wild passes of the Bergstrasse; or, climbing
a lofty ridge, was a watcher for the rising sun; and in the evening he
sailed upon the star-lit Neckar.




BOOK V


CHAPTER I


Thou rapid Aar! thy waves are swollen by the snows of a thousand hills;
but for whom are thy leaping waters fed? Is it for the Rhine?

Calmly, O placid Neckar! does thy blue stream glide through thy
vine-clad vales; but calmer seems thy course when it touches the
rushing Rhine!

How fragrant are the banks which are cooled by thy dark-green waters,
thou tranquil Maine! but is not the perfume sweeter of the gardens of
the Rhine?

Thou impetuous Nah! I lingered by thine islands of nightingales, and I
asked thy rushing waters why they disturbed the music of thy groves?
They told me they were hastening to the Rhine!

Red Moselle! fierce is the swell of thy spreading course; but why do thy
broad waters blush when they meet the Rhine?

Thou delicate Meuse! how clear is the current of thy limpid wave; as the
wife yields to the husband do thy pure waters yield to the Rhine!

And thou, triumphant and imperial River, flushed with the tribute of
these vassal streams! thou art thyself a tributary, and hastenest even
in the pride of conquest to confess thine own vassalage! But no superior
stream exults in the homage of thy servile waters; the Ocean, the
eternal Ocean, alone comes forward to receive thy kiss! not as a
conqueror, but as a parent, he welcomes with proud joy his gifted child,
the offspring of his honour; thy duty, his delight; thy tribute, thine
own glory!

Once more upon thy banks, most beauteous Rhine! In the spring-time of my
youth I gazed on thee, and deemed thee matchless. Thy vine-enamoured
mountains, thy spreading waters, thy traditionary crags, thy shining
cities, the sparkling villages of thy winding shores, thy antique
convents, thy grey and silent castles, the purple glories of thy radiant
grape, the vivid tints of thy teeming flowers, the fragrance of thy sky,
the melody of thy birds, whose carols tell the pleasures of their sunny
woods; are they less lovely now, less beautiful, less sweet?

The keen emotions of our youth are often the occasion of our estimating
too ardently; but the first impression of beauty, though often
overcharged, is seldom supplanted: and as the first great author which
he reads is reverenced by the boy as the most immortal, and the first
beautiful woman that he meets is sanctified by him as the most adorable;
so the impressions created upon us by those scenes of nature which first
realise the romance of our reveries never escape from our minds, and are
ever consecrated in our memories; and thus some great spirits, after
having played their part on the theatre of the world, have retired from
the blaze of courts and cities to the sweet seclusion of some spot with
which they have accidentally met in the earliest years of their career.

But we are to speak of one who had retired from the world before his
time.

Upwards of a year had elapsed since Vivian Grey left England. The mode
of life which he pursued at Heidelberg for many months has already been
mentioned. He felt himself a broken-hearted man, and looked for death,
whose delay was no blessing; but the feelings of youth which had misled
him in his burning hours of joy equally deceived him in his days of
sorrow. He lived; and in the course of time found each day that life was
less burdensome. The truth is, that if it be the lot of man to suffer,
it is also his fortune to forget. Oblivion and sorrow share our being,
as Darkness and Light divide the course of time. It is not in human
nature to endure extremities, and sorrows soon destroy either us or
themselves. Perhaps the fate of Niobe is no fable, but a type of the
callousness of our nature. There is a time in human suffering when
succeeding sorrows are but like snow falling on an iceberg. It is indeed
horrible to think that our peace of mind should arise, not from a
retrospection of the past, but from a forgetfulness of it; but, though
this peace be produced at the best by a mental opiate, it is not
valueless; and Oblivion, after all, is a just judge. As we retain but a
faint remembrance of our felicity, it is but fair that the smartest
stroke of sorrow should, if bitter, at least be brief. But in feeling
that he might yet again mingle in the world, Vivian Grey also felt that
he must meet mankind with different feelings, and view their pursuits
with a different interest. He woke from his secret sorrow in as changed
a state of being as the water nymph from her first embrace; and he woke
with a new possession, not only as miraculous as Undine's soul, but
gained at as great a price, and leading to as bitter results. The nymph
woke to new pleasures and to new sorrows; and, innocent as an infant,
she deemed mankind a god, and the world a paradise. Vivian Grey
discovered that this deity was but an idol of brass, and this garden of
Eden but a savage waste; for, if the river nymph had gained a soul, he
had gained Experience.

Experience, mysterious spirit! whose result is felt by all, whose nature
is described by none. The father warns the son of thy approach, and
sometimes looks to thee as his offspring's cure and his own consolation.
We hear of thee in the nursery, we hear of thee in the world, we hear of
thee in books; but who has recognised thee until he was thy subject, and
who has discovered the object of so much fame until he has kissed thy
chain? To gain thee is the work of all and the curse of all; thou art at
the same time necessary to our happiness and destructive of our
felicity; thou art the saviour of all things and the destroyer of all
things; our best friend and our bitterest enemy; for thou teachest us
truth, and that truth is, despair. Ye youth of England, would that ye
could read this riddle!

To wake from your bright hopes, and feel that all is vanity, to be
roused from your crafty plans and know that all is worthless, is a
bitter, but your sure, destiny. Escape is impossible; for despair is the
price of conviction. How many centuries have fled since Solomon, in his
cedar palaces, sung the vanity of man! Though his harp was golden and
his throne of ivory, his feelings were not less keen, and his conviction
not less complete. How many sages of all nations have, since the monarch
of Jerusalem, echoed his sad philosophy! yet the vain bubble still
glitters and still allures, and must for ever.

The genealogy of Experience is brief; for Experience is the child of
Thought, and Thought is the child of Action. We cannot learn men from
books, nor can we form, from written descriptions, a more accurate idea
of the movements of the human heart than we can of the movements of
nature. A man may read all his life, and form no conception of the rush
of a mountain torrent, or the waving of a forest of pines in a storm;
and a man may study in his closet the heart of his fellow-creatures for
ever, and have no idea of the power of ambition, or the strength
of revenge.

It is when we have acted ourselves, and have seen others acting; it is
when we have laboured ourselves under the influence of our passions, and
have seen others labouring; it is when our great hopes have been
attained or have been baulked; it is when, after having had the human
heart revealed to us, we have the first opportunity to think; it is then
that the whole truth lights upon us; it is then that we ask of ourselves
whether it be wise to endure such anxiety of mind, such agitation of
spirit, such harrowing of the soul, to gain what may cease to interest
to-morrow, or for which, at the best, a few years of enjoyment can alone
be afforded; it is then that we waken to the hollowness of all human
things; it is then that the sayings of sages and the warnings of
prophets are explained and understood; it is then that we gain
Experience.

Vivian Grey was now about to join, for the second time, the great and
agitated crowd of beings who are all intent in the search after that
undiscoverable talisman, Happiness. That he entertained any hope of
being the successful inquirer is not to be imagined. He considered that
the happiest moment in human life is exactly the sensation of a sailor
who has escaped a shipwreck, and that the mere belief that his wishes
are to be indulged is the greatest bliss enjoyed by man.

How far his belief was correct, how he prospered in this his second
venture on the great ocean of life, it is our business to relate. There
were moments when he wished himself neither experienced nor a
philosopher; moments when he looked back to the lost paradise of his
innocent boyhood, those glorious hours when the unruffled river of his
Life mirrored the cloudless heaven of his Hope!




CHAPTER II


Vivian pulled up his horse as he ascended through the fine beechwood
which leads immediately to the city of Frankfort from the Darmstadt
road. The crowd seemed to increase every moment, but as they were all
hastening the same way, his progress was not much impeded. It was
Frankfort fair; and all countenances were expressive of that excitement
which we always experience at great meetings of our fellow-creatures;
whether the assemblies be for slaughter, pleasure, or profit, and
whether or not we ourselves join in the banquet, the battle, or the
fair. At the top of the hill is an old Roman tower, and from this point
the flourishing city of Frankfort, with its picturesque Cathedral, its
numerous villas, and beautiful gardens in the middle of the fertile
valley of the Maine, burst upon Vivian's sight. On crossing the bridge
over the river, the crowd became almost impassable, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that Vivian steered his way through the old narrow
winding streets, full of tall ancient houses, with heavy casements and
notched gable ends. These structures did not, however, at the present
moment, greet the traveller with their usual sombre and antique
appearance: their outside walls were, in most instances, covered with
pieces of broad cloth of the most showy colours, red, blue, and yellow
predominating. These standards of trade were not merely used for the
purpose of exhibiting the quality of the article sold in the interior,
but also of informing the curious traveller the name and nation of their
adventurous owners. Inscriptions in German, French, Russian, English,
Italian, and even Hebrew, appeared in striking characters on each
woollen specimen; and, as if these were not sufficient to attract the
attention of the passenger, an active apprentice, or assistant,
commented in eloquent terms on the peculiar fairness and honesty of his
master. The public squares and other open spaces, and indeed every spot
which was secure from the hurrying wheels of the heavy old-fashioned
coaches of the Frankfort aristocracy and the spirited pawings of their
sleek and long-tailed coach-horses, were covered with large and showy
booths, which groaned under the accumulated treasures of all countries.
French silks and French clocks rivalled Manchester cottons and Sheffield
cutlery, and assisted to attract or entrap the gazer, in company with
Venetian chains, Neapolitan coral, and Vienna pipe-heads: here was the
booth of a great book-seller, who looked to the approaching Leipsic fair
for some consolation for his slow sale and the bad taste of the people
of Frankfort; and there was a dealer in Bologna sausages, who felt quite
convinced that in some things the taste of the Frankfort public was by
no means to be lightly spoken of. All was bustle, bargaining, and
business: there were quarrels and conversation in all languages; and
Vivian Grey, although he had no chance either of winning or losing
money, was amused.

At last Vivian gained the High Street; and here, though the crowd was
not less, the space was greater; and so in time he arrived at the grand
hotel of "the Roman Emperor," where he stopped. It was a long time
before he could be informed whether Baron Julius von Konigstein at
present honoured that respectable establishment with his presence; for,
although Vivian did sometimes succeed in obtaining an audience of a
hurrying waiter, that personage, when in a hurry, has a peculiar habit
of never attending to a question which a traveller addresses to him. In
this dilemma Vivian was saluted by a stately-looking personage above the
common height. He was dressed in a very splendid uniform of green and
gold, covered with embroidery, and glittering with frogs. He wore a
cocked hat adorned with a flowing parti-coloured plume, and from his
broad golden belt was suspended a weapon of singular shape and costly
workmanship. This personage was as stiff and stately as he was
magnificent. His eyes were studiously preserved from the profanation of
meeting the ground, and his well-supported neck seldom condescended to
move from its perpendicular position. His coat was buttoned to the chin
and over the breast, with the exception of one small aperture, which was
elegantly filled up by a delicate white cambric handkerchief, very
redolent of rich perfumes. This gorgeous gentleman, who might have been
mistaken for an elector of the German Empire, had the German Empire been
in existence, or the governor of the city at the least, turned out to be
the chasseur of the Baron von Konigstein; and with his courtly
assistance Vivian soon found himself ascending the staircase of the
Roman Emperor.

Vivian was ushered into an apartment, in which he found three or four
individuals at breakfast. A middle-aged man of distinguished appearance,
in a splendid chamber robe, sprung up from a many-cushioned easy-chair,
and seized his hand as he was announced.

"My dear Mr. Grey! I have left notes for you at the principal hotels.
And how is Eugene? wild blood for a student, but an excellent heart, and
you have been so kind to him! He feels under such particular obligations
to you. Will you breakfast? Ah! I see you smile at my supposing a
horseman unbreakfasted. And have you ridden here from Heidelberg this
morning? Impossible! Only from Darmstadt! I thought so! You were at the
Opera then last night. And how is the little Signora? We are to gain
her though! trust the good people of Frankfort for that! Pray be
seated, but really I am forgetting the commonest rules of breeding. Next
to the pleasure of having friends is that of introducing them to each
other. Prince, you will have great pleasure in being introduced to my
friend, Mr. Grey: Mr. Grey! Prince Salvinski! my particular friend,
Prince Salvinski. The Count von Altenburgh! Mr. Grey! my very particular
friend, the Count von Altenburgh. And the Chevalier de Boeffleurs! Mr.
Grey! my most particular friend, the Chevalier de Boeffleurs."

Baron Julius von Konigstein was minister to the Diet of Frankfort from a
first-rate German power. In person he was short, but delicately formed;
his head a little bald, but as he was only five-and-thirty, this could
scarcely be from age; and his remaining hair, black, glossy, and
curling, proved that their companion ringlets had not been long lost.
His features were small, but not otherwise remarkable, except a pair of
liquid black eyes, of great size, which would have hardly become a
Stoic, and which gleamed with great meaning and perpetual animation.

"I understand, Mr. Grey, that you are a regular philosopher. Pray who is
the favourite master? Kant or Fichte? or is there any other new star who
has discovered the origin of our essence, and proved the non-necessity
of eating? Count, let me help you to a little more of these saucisses
aux choux. I am afraid, from Eugene's account, that you are almost past
redemption; and I am sorry to say that, although I am very desirous of
being your physician and effecting your cure, Frankfort will supply me
with very few means to work your recovery. If you could but get me an
appointment once again to your delightful London, I might indeed produce
some effect; or were I even at Berlin, or at your delicious Vienna,
Count Altenburgh! (the Count bowed); or at that Paradise of women,
Warsaw, Prince Salvinski!! (the Prince bowed); or at Paris, Chevalier!!!
(the Chevalier bowed); why, then, indeed, you should have some
difficulty in finding an excuse for being in low spirits with Julius von
Konigstein! But Frankfort, eh! de Boeffleurs?"

"Oh! Frankfort!" sighed the French Chevalier, who was also attached to a
mission in this very city, and who was thinking of his own gay
Boulevards and his brilliant Tuileries.

"We are mere citizens here!" continued the Baron, taking a long pinch of
snuff, "mere citizens! Do you snuff?" and here he extended to Vivian a
gold box, covered with the portrait of a crowned head, surrounded with
diamonds. "A present from the King of Sardinia, when I negotiated the
marriage of the Duke of ---- and his niece, and settled the
long-agitated controversy about the right of anchovy fishing on the left
shore of the Mediterranean.

"But the women," continued the Baron, "the women; that is a different
thing. There is some amusement among the little bourgeoises, who are
glad enough to get rid of their commercial beaus; whose small talk,
after a waltz, is about bills of exchange, mixed up with a little
patriotism about their free city, and some chatter about what they call
'the fine arts;' their awful collections of 'the Dutch school:' school
forsooth! a cabbage, by Gerard Dowl and a candlestick, by Mieris! And
now will you take a basin of soup, and warm yourself, while his Highness
continues his account of being frozen to death this spring at the top of
Mont-Blanc: how was it, Prince?"

"Your Highness has been a great traveller?" said Vivian.

"I have seen a little of most countries. These things are interesting
enough when we are young; but when we get a little more advanced in
life, the novelty wears off, and the excitement ceases. I have been in
all quarters of the globe. In Europe I have seen everything except the
miracles of Prince Hohenlohe. In Asia, everything except the ruins of
Babylon. In Africa, I have seen every thing but Timbuctoo; and, in
America, everything except Croker's Mountains."

Next to eating, music is the business in which an Austrian is most
interested, and Count von Altenburgh, having had the misfortune of
destroying, for the present, one great source of his enjoyment, became
now very anxious to know what chance there existed of his receiving some
consolation from the other. Pushing his plate briskly from him, he
demanded with an anxious air, "Can any gentleman inform me what chance
there is of the Signora coming?"

"No news to-day," said the Baron, with a mournful look; "I am almost in
despair. What do you think of the last notes that have been
interchanged?"

"Very little chance," said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, shaking his
head. "Really these burghers, with all their affected enthusiasm, have
managed the business exceedingly bad. No opera can possibly succeed that
is not conducted by a committee of noblemen."

"Certainly!" said the Baron; "we are sure then to have the best singers,
and be in the Gazette the same season."

"Which is much better, I think, Von Konigstein, than paying our bills
and receiving no pleasure."

"But," continued the Baron, "these clumsy burghers, with their affected
enthusiasm, as you well observe; who could have contemplated such
novices in diplomacy! Whatever may be the issue, I can at least lay my
head upon my pillow and feel that I have done my duty. Did not I, de
Boeffleurs, first place the negotiation on a basis of acknowledged
feasibility and mutual benefit? Who drew the protocol, I should like to
know? Who baffled the intrigues of the English Minister, the Lord
Amelius Fitzfudge Boroughby? Who sat up one whole night with the
Signora's friend, the Russian Envoy, Baron Squallonoff, and who was it
that first arranged about the extra chariot?" and here the
representative of a first-rate German Power looked very much like a
resigned patriot, who feels that he deserves a ribbon.

"No doubt of it, my dear Von Konigstein," echoed the French Charge
d'Affaires, "and I think, whatever may be the result, that I, too, may
look back to this negotiation with no ungratified feelings. Had the
arrangement been left as I had wished, merely to the Ministers of the
Great Powers, I am confident that the Signora would have been singing
this night in our Opera House."

"What is the grand point of difference at present?" asked the Austrian.

"A terrific one," said the Baron; "the lady demanded twenty covers, two
tables, two carriages, one of which I arranged should be a chariot; that
at least the town owes to me; and, what else? merely a town mansion and
establishment. Exerting myself day and night, these terms were at length
agreed to by the municipality, and the lady was to ride over from
Darmstadt to sign and seal. In the course of her ride she took a cursed
fancy to the country villa of a great Jew banker, and since that moment
the arrangement has gone off. We have offered her everything; the
commandant's country castle; his lady's country farm; the villa of the
director of the Opera; the retreat of our present prima donna; all in
vain. We have even hinted at a temporary repose in a neighbouring royal
residence; but all useless. The banker and the Signora are equally
intractable, and Frankfort is in despair."

"She ought to have signed and sealed at Darmstadt," said the Count, very
indignantly.

"To be sure! they should have closed upon her caprice, and taken her
when she was in the fancy."

"Talking of Opera girls," commenced the Polish Prince, "I remember the
Countess Katszinski--"

"Your Highness has nothing upon your plate," quickly retorted the Baron,
who was in no humour for a story.

"Nothing more, I thank you," continued the Prince: "as I was saying, I
remember the Countess Katszinski--" but just at this moment the door
opened, and Ernstorff entered and handed a despatch to the Baron,
recommending it to his Excellency's particular attention.

"Business, I suppose," said the Plenipotentiary; "it may wait till
to-morrow."

"From M. Clarionet, your Excellency."

"From M. Clarionet!" eagerly exclaimed the Baron, and tore open the
epistle. "Gentlemen! congratulate me, congratulate yourselves,
congratulate Frankfort;" and the diplomatist, overcome, leant back in
his chair. "She is ours, Salvinski! she is ours, Von Altenburgh! she is
ours, my dear de Boeffleurs! Mr. Grey, you are most fortunate; the
Signora has signed and sealed; all is arranged; she sings to-night! What
a fine-spirited body is this Frankfort municipality! what elevation of
soul! what genuine enthusiasm! eh! de Boeffleurs?"

"Most genuine!" exclaimed the Chevalier, who hated German music with all
his heart, and was now humming an air from La Dame Blanche.

"But mind, my dear friend, this is a secret, a cabinet secret; the
municipality are to have the gratification of announcing the event to
the city in a public decree; it is but fair. I feel that I have only to
hint to secure your silence."

At this moment, with a thousand protestations of secresy, the party
broke up, each hastening to have the credit of first spreading the
joyful intelligence through the circles, and of depriving the Frankfort
senate of their hard-earned gratification. The Baron, who was in high
spirits, ordered the carriage to drive Vivian round the ramparts, where
he was to be introduced to some of the most fashionable beauties,
previous to the evening triumph.




CHAPTER III


Vivian passed a week very agreeably at Frankfort. In the Baron and his
friends he found the companions that he had need of; their conversation
and pursuits diverted his mind without engaging his feelings, and
allowed him no pause to brood. There were moments, indeed, when he found
in the Baron a companion neither frivolous nor uninstructive. His
Excellency had travelled in most countries, and had profited by his
travels. His taste for the fine arts was equalled by his knowledge of
them; and his acquaintance with many of the most eminent men of Europe
enriched his conversation with a variety of anecdotes, to which his
lively talents did ample justice. He seemed fond at times of showing
Vivian that he was not a mere artificial man of the world, destitute of
all feelings, and thinking only of himself: he recurred with
satisfaction to moments of his life when his passions had been in full
play; and, while he acknowledged the errors of his youth with candour,
he excused them with grace. In short, Vivian and he became what the
world calls friends; that is to say, they were men who had no objection
to dine in each other's company, provided the dinner were good; assist
each other in any scrape, provided no particular personal responsibility
were incurred by the assistant; and live under the same roof, provided
each were master of his own time. Vivian and the Baron, indeed, did more
than this; they might have been described as particular friends, for his
Excellency had persuaded our hero to accompany him for the summer to the
Baths of Ems, a celebrated German watering-place, situate in the duchy
of Nassau, in the vicinity of the Rhine.

On the morrow they were to commence their journey. The fair of
Frankfort, which had now lasted nearly a month, was at its close. A
bright sunshiny afternoon was stealing into twilight, when Vivian,
escaping from the principal street and the attractions of the Braunfels,
or chief shops under the Exchange, directed his steps to some of the
more remote and ancient streets. In crossing a little square his
attention was excited by a crowd which had assembled round a conjuror,
who, from the top of a small cart, which he had converted into a stage,
was haranguing, in front of a green curtain, an audience with great
fervency, and apparently with great effect; at least Vivian judged so
from the loud applauses which constantly burst forth. The men pressed
nearer, shouted, and clapped their hands; and the anxious mothers
struggled to lift their brats higher in the air that they might early
form a due conception of the powers of magic, and learn that the
maternal threats which were sometimes extended to them at home were not
mere idle boasting. Altogether, the men with their cocked hats, stiff
holiday coats, and long pipes; the women with their glazed gowns of
bright fancy patterns, close lace caps, or richly-chased silver
headgear; and the children with their gaping mouths and long heads of
hair, offered quaint studies for a German or Flemish painter. Vivian
became also one of the audience, and not an uninterested one.

The appearance of the conjuror was peculiar. He was not much more than
five feet high, but so slightly formed that he reminded you rather of
the boy than the dwarf. The upper part of his face was even delicately
moulded; his sparkling black eyes became his round forehead, which was
not too much covered by his short glossy black hair; his complexion was
clear, but quite olive; his nose was very small and straight, and
contrasted singularly with his enormous mouth, the thin bluish lips of
which were seldom closed, and consequently did not conceal his large
square teeth, which, though very white, were set apart, and were so
solid that they looked almost like double teeth. This enormous mouth,
which was supported by large jawbones, attracted the attention of the
spectator so keenly that it was some time before you observed the
prodigious size of the ears, which also adorned this extraordinary
countenance. The costume of this being was not less remarkable than his
natural appearance. He wore a complete under dress of pliant leather,
which fitted close up to his throat and down to his wrists and ankles,
where it was clasped with large fastenings, either of gold or some gilt
material. This, with the addition of a species of hussar jacket of green
cloth, which was quite unadorned with the exception of its vivid red
lining, was the sole covering of the conjuror; who, with a light cap and
feather in his hand, was now haranguing the spectators. The object of
his discourse was a panegyric of himself and a satire on all other
conjurors. He was the only conjuror, the real one, a worthy descendant
of the magicians of old.

"Were I to tell that broad-faced Herr," continued the conjuror, "who is
now gaping opposite to me, that this rod is the rod of Aaron, mayhap he
would call me a liar; yet were I to tell him that he was the son of his
father, he would not think it wonderful! And yet, can he prove it? My
friends, if I am a liar, the whole world is a liar, and yet any one of
you who'll go and proclaim that on the Braunfels will get his skull
cracked. Every truth is not to be spoken, and every lie is not to be
punished. I have told you that it is better for you to spend your money
in seeing my tricks than in swigging schnaps in the chimney corner; and
yet, my friends, this may be a lie. I have told you that the profits of
this whole night shall be given to some poor and worthy person in this
town; and perhaps I shall give them to myself. What then! I shall speak
the truth; and you will perhaps crack my skull. Is this a reward for
truth? O generation of vipers! My friends, what is truth? who can find
it in Frankfort? Suppose I call upon you, Mr. Baker, and sup with you
this evening; you will receive me as a neighbourly man should, tell me
to make myself at home, and do as I like. Is it not so? I see you smile,
as if my visit would make you bring out one of the bottles of your best
Asmanshausen!"

Here the crowd laughed out; for we are always glad when there is any
talk of another's hospitality being put to the test, although we stand
no chance of sharing in the entertainment ourselves. The baker looked
foolish, as all men singled out in a crowd do.

"Well, well," continued the conjuror, "I have no doubt his wine would
be as ready as your tobacco, Mr. Smith; or a wafila from your basket, my
honest cake-seller;" and so saying, with a long thin wand the conjuror
jerked up the basket of an itinerant and shouting pastry-cook, and
immediately began to thrust the contents into his mouth with a rapidity
ludicrously miraculous. The laugh now burst out again, but the honest
baker joined in it this time with an easy spirit.

"Be not disconcerted, my little custard-monger; if thou art honest, thou
shalt prosper. Did I not say that the profits of this night were for the
most poor and the most honest? If thy stock in trade were in thy basket,
my raspberry-puff, verily thou art not now the richest here; and so,
therefore, if thy character be a fair one, that is to say, if thou only
cheat five times a day, and give a tenth of thy cheatery to the poor,
thou shalt have the benefit. I ask thee again, what is truth? If I sup
with the baker, and he tells me to do what I like with all that is his,
and I kiss his wife, he will kick me out; yet to kiss his wife might be
my pleasure, if her breath were sweet. I ask thee again, what is truth?
Truth, they say, lies in a well; but perhaps this is a lie. How do we
know that truth is not in one of these two boxes?" asked the conjuror,
placing his cap on his head, and holding one small snuff-box to a tall,
savage-looking, one-eyed Bohemian, who, with a comrade, had walked over
from the Austrian garrison at Mentz.

"I see but one box," growled the soldier.

"It is because thou hast only one eye, friend; open the other, and thou
shalt see two," said the conjuror, in a slow, malicious tone, with his
neck extended, and his hand with the hateful box outstretched in it.

"Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, I'll soon stop thy prate,
chitterling!" bellowed the enraged Bohemian.

"Murder! the protection of the free city against the Emperor of Austria,
the King of Bohemia, Hungary, and Lombardy!" and the knave retreated to
the very extremity of the stage, and affecting agitating fear, hid
himself behind the green curtain, from a side of which his head was
alone visible, or rather an immense red tongue, which wagged in all
shapes at the unlucky soldier, except when it retired to the interior of
his mouth, to enable him to reiterate "Murder!" and invoke the
privileges of the free city of Frankfort.

When the soldier was a little cooled, the conjuror again came forward,
and, having moved his small magical table to a corner, and lit two
tapers, one of which he placed at each side of the stage, he stripped
off his hussar jacket, and began to imitate a monkey; an animal which,
by the faint light, in his singular costume, he very much resembled. How
amusing were his pranks! He first plundered a rice plantation, and then
he cracked cocoa-nuts; then he washed his face and arranged his toilet
with, his right paw; and finally he ran a race with his own tail, which
humorous appendage to his body was very wittily performed for the
occasion by a fragment, of an old tarred rope. His gambols were so
diverting that they even extracted applause from his enemy the one-eyed
serjeant; and, emboldened by the acclamations, from monkeys the conjuror
began to imitate men. He first drank like a Dutchman, and having reeled
round with a thousand oaths, to the manifold amusement of the crowd, he
suddenly began to smoke like a Prussian. Nothing could be more admirable
than the look of complacent and pompous stolidity with which he
accompanied each puff of his pipe. The applause was continued; and the
one-eyed Bohemian serjeant, delighted at the ridicule which was heaped
on his military rival, actually threw the mimic some groschen.

"Keep thy pence, friend," said the conjuror; "thou wilt soon owe me
more; we have not yet closed accounts. My friends, I have drank like a
Dutchman; I have smoked like a Prussian; and now I will eat like an
Austrian!" and here the immense mouth of the actor seemed distended even
a hundred degrees bigger, while with gloating eyes and extended arms he
again set to at the half-emptied wafila basket of the unhappy
pastry-cook.

"Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, thou art an impudent varlet!"
growled the Austrian soldier.

"You are losing your temper again," retorted the glutton, with his mouth
full; "how difficult you are to please! Well, then, if the Austrians may
not be touched, what say you to a Bohemian! a tall one-eyed Bohemian
serjeant, with an appetite like a hog and a liver like a lizard?"

"Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, this is too much!" and the soldier
sprang at the conjuror.

"Hold him!" cried Vivian Grey; for the mob, frightened at the soldier,
gave way.

"There is a gentle's voice under a dark cloak!" cried the conjuror; "but
I want no assistance;" and so saying, with a dexterous spring the
conjuror leaped over the heads of two or three staring children, and
lighted on the nape of the serjeant's gigantic neck; placing his
forefingers behind each of the soldier's ears, he threatened to slit
them immediately if he were not quiet. The serjeant's companion, of
course, came to his rescue, but Vivian engaged him, and attempted to
arrange matters. "My friends, surely a gay word at a fair is not to meet
with military punishment! What is the use of living in the free city of
Frankfort, or, indeed, in any other city, if jokes are to be answered
with oaths, and a light laugh met with a heavy blow? Avoid bloodshed, if
possible, but stand by the conjuror. His business is jibes and jests,
and this is the first time that I ever saw Merry Andrew arrested. Come,
my good fellows!" said he to the soldiers, "we had better be off; men so
important as you and I should not be spectators of these mummeries." The
Austrians, who understood Vivian's compliment literally, were not sorry
to make a dignified retreat; particularly as the mob, encouraged by
Vivian's interference, began to show fight. Vivian also took his
departure as soon as he could possibly steal off unnoticed; but not
before he had been thanked by the conjuror.

"I knew there was gentle blood under that cloak. If you like to see the
Mystery of the Crucifixion, with the Resurrection, and real fireworks,
it begins at eight o'clock, and you shall be admitted gratis. I knew
there was gentle blood under that cloak, and some day or other, when
your Highness is in distress, you shall not want the aid of
ESSPER GEORGE!"




CHAPTER IV


It was late in the evening when a britzska stopped at the post-house at
Coblentz. The passage-boat from Bingen had just arrived; and a portly
judge from the Danube, a tall, gaunt Prussian officer, a sketching
English artist, two University students, and some cloth-merchants,
returning from Frankfort fair, were busily occupied at a long table in
the centre of the room, at an ample banquet, in which sour-crout,
cherry-soup, and savoury sausages were not wanting. So keen were the
appetites of these worthies, that the entrance of the new comers, who
seated themselves at a small table in the corner of the room, was
scarcely noticed; and for half-an-hour nothing was heard but the sound
of crashing jaws and of rattling knives and forks. How singular is the
sight of a dozen hungry individuals intent upon their prey! What a noisy
silence! A human voice was at length heard. It proceeded from the fat
judge; a man at once convivial, dignified, and economical: he had not
spoken for two minutes before his character was evident to every person
in the room, although he flattered himself that his secret purpose was
concealed from all. Tired with the thin Moselle gratuitously allowed to
the table, the judge wished to comfort himself with a glass of more
generous liquor; aware of the price of a bottle of good Rudesheimer, he
was desirous of forming a copartnership with one or two gentlemen in the
venture; still more aware of his exalted situation, he felt it did not
become him to appear in the eyes of any one as an unsuccessful
suppliant.

"This Moselle is very thin," observed the judge, shaking his head.

"Very fair table-wine, I think" said the artist, refilling his tumbler,
and then proceeding with his sketch, which was a rough likeness, in
black chalk, of the worthy magistrate himself.

"Very good wine, I think," swore the Prussian, taking the bottle. With
the officer there was certainly no chance.

The cloth-merchants mixed even this thin Moselle with water, and
therefore they could hardly be looked to as boon companions; and the
students were alone left. A German student is no flincher at the bottle,
although he generally drinks beer. These gentry, however, were no great
favourites with the magistrate, who was a loyal man, of regular habits,
and no encourager of brawls, duels, and other still more disgraceful
outrages; to all which abominations, besides drinking beer and chewing
tobacco, the German student is remarkably addicted; but in the present
case what was to be done? He offered the nearest a pinch of snuff, as a
mode of commencing his acquaintance and cultivating his complacency. The
student dug his thumb into the box, and, with the additional aid of the
forefinger sweeping out half its contents, growled out something like
thanks, and then drew up in his seat, as if he had too warmly encouraged
the impertinent intrusion of a Philistine to whom he had never been
introduced.

The cloth-merchant, ceasing from sipping his meek liquor, and taking out
of his pocket a letter, from which he tore off the back, carefully
commenced collecting with his forefinger the particles of dispersed
snuff in a small pyramid, which, when formed, was dexterously slided
into the paper, then folded up and put into his pocket; the prudent
merchant contenting himself for the moment with the refreshment which
was afforded to his senses by the truant particles which had remained
in his nail.

"Waiter, a bottle of Rudesheimer!" bellowed the judge; "and if any
gentleman or gentlemen would like to join me, they may," he added, in a
more subdued tone. No one answered, and the bottle was put down. The
judge slowly poured out the bright yellow fluid into a tall bell glass,
adorned with a beautiful and encircling wreath of vine leaves; he held
the glass a moment before the lamp, for his eye to dwell with still
greater advantage on the transparent radiancy of the contents; and then
deliberately pouring them down his throat, and allowing them to dwell a
moment on his palate, he uttered an emphatic "bah!" and sucking in his
breath, leaned back in his chair. The student immediately poured out a
glass from the same bottle, and drank it off. The judge gave him a look,
and then blessed himself that, though his boon companion was a brute,
still he would lessen the expense of the bottle, which nearly amounted
to a day's pay; and so he again filled his glass, but this was merely to
secure his fair portion. He saw the student was a rapid drinker; and,
although he did not like to hurry his own enjoyment, he thought it most
prudent to keep his glass well stored by his side.

"I hope your Lordships have had a pleasant voyage," exclaimed a man,
entering the room rapidly as he spoke; and, deliberately walking up to
the table, he pushed between two of the cloth-merchants, who quietly
made way; and then placing a small square box before him, immediately
opened it, and sweeping aside the dishes and glasses which surrounded
him, began to fill their places with cups, balls, rings, and other
mysterious-looking matters, which generally accompany a conjuror.

"I hope your Lordships have had a pleasant voyage. I have been thinking
of you all the day. (Here the cups were arranged.) Next to myself, I am
interested for my friends. (Here the rice was sprinkled.) I came from
Fairy-land this morning. (Here the trick was executed.) Will any
gentleman lend me a handkerchief? Now, sir, tie any knot you choose:
tighter, tighter, tight as you can, tight as you can: now pull! Why,
sir, where's your knot?" Here most of the company good-naturedly
laughed at a trick which had amused them before a hundred times. But
the dignified judge had no taste for such trivial amusements; and,
besides, he thought that all this noise spoilt the pleasure of his wine,
and prevented him from catching the flavour of his Rudesheimer.
Moreover, the Judge was not in a very good humour. The student appeared
to have little idea of the rules and regulations of a fair partnership:
for not only did he not regulate his draughts by the moderate example of
his bottle companion, but actually filled the glass of his University
friend, and even offered the precious green flask to his neighbour, the
cloth-merchant. That humble individual modestly refused the proffer. The
unexpected circumstance of having his health drank by a stranger seemed
alone to have produced a great impression upon him; and adding a little
more water to his already diluted potation, he bowed reverently to the
student, who, in return, did not notice him. All these little
circumstances prevented the judge from laughing at the performances of
our friend Essper George; for we need hardly mention that the conjuror
was no other. His ill-humour did not escape the lord of the cups and
balls, who, as was his custom, immediately began to torment him.

"Will you choose a card?" asked the magician of the judge, with a most
humble look.

"No, sir!"

Essper George looked very penitent, as if he felt he had taken a great
liberty by his application; and so, to compensate for his incorrect
behaviour, he asked the magistrate whether he would have the goodness to
lend him his watch. The judge was irate, and determined to give the
intruder a set down.

"I am not one of those who can be amused by tricks that his grandfather
knew."

"Grandfather!" shrieked Essper; "what a wonderful grandfather yours must
have been! All my tricks are fresh from Fairyland this morning.
Grandfather, indeed! Pray, is this your grandfather?" and here the
conjuror, leaning over the table, with a rapid catch drew out from the
fat paunch of the judge a long grinning wooden figure, with great
staring eyes, and the parrot nose of a pulcinello. The laugh which
followed this sleight-of-hand was loud, long, and universal. The judge
lost his temper; and Essper George took the opportunity of the confusion
to drink off the glass of Rudesheimer which stood, as we have
mentioned, ready charged, at the magistrate's elbow.

The waiter now went round to collect the money of the various guests who
had partaken of the boat-supper; and, of course, charged the judge extra
for his ordered bottle, bowing at the same time very low, as was proper
to so good a customer. These little attentions at inns encourage
expenditure. The judge tried at the same time the bottle, which he found
empty, and applied to his two boon companions for their quota; but the
students affected a sort of brutal surprise at any one having the
impudence to imagine that they were going to pay their proportion; and
flinging down the money for their own supper on the table, they retired.
The magistrate, calling loudly for the landlord, followed them out
of the room.

Essper George stood moralising at the table, and emptying every glass
whose contents were not utterly drained, with the exception of the
tumblers of the cloth-merchants, of whose liquor he did not approve.

"Poor man! to get only one glass out of his own bottle! Ay! call for M.
Maas; threaten as you will. Your grandfather will not help you here.
Blood out of a wall and money out of a student come the same day. Ah! is
your Excellency here?" said Essper, turning round to our two travellers
with affected surprise, although he had observed them the whole time.
"Is your Excellency here? I have been looking for you through Frankfort
this whole morning. There! it will do for your glass. It is of chamois
leather, and I made it myself, from a beast I caught last summer in the
valley of the Rhone." So saying, he threw over Vivian's neck a neat
chain, or cord, of curiously-worked leather.

"Who the devil is this, Grey?" asked the Baron.

"A funny knave, whom I once saved from a thrashing, or something of the
kind, which I do him the justice to say he well deserved."

"Who the devil is this?" said Essper George. "Why, that is exactly the
same question I myself asked when I saw a tall, pompous, proud fellow,
dressed like a peacock on a May morning, standing at the door just now.
He looked as if he would pass himself off for an ambassador at least;
but I told him that if he got his wages paid he was luckier than most
servants. Was I right, your Excellency?"

"Poor Ernstorff!" said the Baron, laughing. "Yes; _he_ certainly gets
paid. Here, you are a clever varlet; fill your glass."

"No; no wine. Don't you hear the brawling, and nearly the bloodshed,
which are going on upstairs about a sour bottle of Rudesheimer? and here
I see two gentles who have ordered the best wine merely to show that
they are masters and not servants of the green peacock, and lo! cannot
get through a glass. Lord! lord! what is man? If my fat friend and his
grandfather would but come down stairs again, here is liquor enough to
make wine and water of the Danube; for he comes from thence by his
accent. No, I'll have none of your wine; keep it to throw on the sandy
floor, that the dust may not hurt your delicate shoes, nor dirt the hand
of the gentleman in green and gold when he cleans them for you in
the morning."

Here the Baron laughed again, and, as he bore his impertinence, Essper
George immediately became polite.

"Does your Highness go to Ems?"

"We hardly know, my friend."

"Oh! go there, gentlemen. I have tried them all; Aix-la-Chapelle, Spa,
Wiesbaden, Carlsbad, Pyrmont, every one of them; but what are these to
Ems? There we all live in the same house and eat from the same table.
When there I feel that you are all under my protection; I consider you
all as my children. Besides, the country, how delightful! the mountains,
the valleys, the river, the woods, and then the company so select! No
sharpers, no adventurers, no blacklegs: at Ems you can be taken in by no
one except your intimate friend. To Ems, by all means. I would advise
you, however, to send the gentleman in the cocked hat on before you to
engage rooms; for I can assure you that you will have a hard chance. The
baths are very full."

"And how do you get there, Essper?" asked Vivian.

"Those are subjects on which I never speak," answered the conjuror, with
a solemn air.

"But have you all your stock-in-trade with you, my good fellow? Where is
the Mystery?"

"Sold, sir; sold! I never keep to anything long. Variety is the mother
of Enjoyment. At Ems I shall not be a conjuror: but I never part with my
box. It takes no more room than one of those medicine chests, which I
dare say you have got with you in your carriage, to prop up your couple
of shattered constitutions."

"By Jove! you are a merry, impudent fellow," said the Baron; "and if
you like to get up behind my britzska, you may."

"No; I carry my own box and my own body, and I shall be at Ems to-morrow
in time enough to receive your Lordships."




CHAPTER V


In a delightful valley of Nassau, formed by the picturesque windings of
the Taunus Mountains, and on the banks of the noisy river Lahn, stands a
vast brick pile, of irregular architecture, which nearly covers an acre
of ground. This building was formerly a favourite palace of the ducal
house of Nassau; but the present Prince has thought proper to let out
the former residence of his family as an hotel for the accommodation of
the company, who in the season frequent this, the most lovely spot in
his lovely little duchy. This extensive building contains two hundred
and thirty rooms and eighty baths; and these apartments, which are under
the management of an official agent, who lives in the "Princely Bathing
House," for such is its present dignified title, are to be engaged at
fixed prices, which are marked over the doors. All the rooms in the
upper story of the Princely Bathing House open on, or are almost
immediately connected with, a long corridor, which extends the whole
length of the building. The ground-floor, besides the space occupied by
the baths, also affords a spacious promenade, arched with stone, and
surrounded with stalls, behind which are marshalled vendors of all the
possible articles which can be required by the necessities of the
frequenters of a watering-place. There you are greeted by the jeweller
of the Palais Royal and the marchande de mode of the Rue de la Paix; the
print-seller from Mannheim and the china-dealer from Dresden; and other
small speculators in the various fancy articles which abound in Vienna,
Berlin, Geneva, Basle, Strasburg, and Lausanne; such as pipes, costumes
of Swiss peasantry, crosses of Mont Blanc crystal, and all varieties of
national bijouterie. All things may here be sold, save those which
administer to the nourishment of the body or the pleasure of the palate.
Let not those of my readers who have already planned a trip to the sweet
vales of the Taunus be frightened by this last sentence. At Ems
"eatables and drinkables" are excellent and abounding; but they are
solely supplied by the restaurateur, who farms the monopoly from the
Duke. This gentleman, who is a pupil of Beauvillier's, and who has
conceived an exquisite cuisine, by adding to the lighter graces of
French cookery something of the more solid virtues of the German,
presides in a saloon of vast size and magnificent decoration, in which,
during the season, upwards of three hundred persons frequent the table
d'hote. It is the etiquette at Ems that, however distinguished or
however humble the rank of the visitors, their fare and their treatment
must be alike. In one of the most aristocratic countries in the word the
sovereign prince and his tradesman subject may be found seated in the
morning at the same board, and eating from the same dish, as in the
evening they may be seen staking on the same colour at the gaming-table,
and sharing in the same interest at the Redoute.

The situation of Ems is delightful. The mountains which form the valley
are not, as in Switzerland, so elevated that they confine the air or
seem to impede the facility of breathing. In their fantastic forms the
picturesque is not lost in the monotonous, and in the rich covering of
their various woods the admiring eye finds at the same time beauty and
repose. Opposite the ancient palace, on the banks of the Lahn, are the
gardens. In these, in a pavilion, a band of musicians seldom cease from
enchanting the visitors by their execution of the most favourite
specimens of German and Italian music. Numberless acacia arbours and
retired sylvan seats are here to be found, where the student or the
contemplative may seek refuge from the noise of his more gay companions,
and the tedium of eternal conversation. In these gardens, also, are the
billiard-room, and another saloon, in which each night meet, not merely
those who are interested in the mysteries of rouge et noir, and the
chances of roulette, but, in general, the whole of the company, male and
female, who are frequenting the baths. In quitting the gardens for a
moment, we must not omit mentioning the interesting booth of our friend,
the restaurateur, where coffee, clear and hot, and exquisite
confectionery, are never wanting. Nor should we forget the glittering
pennons of the gay boats which glide along the Lahn; nor the handsome
donkeys, who, with their white saddles and red bridles, seem not
unworthy of the princesses whom they sometimes bear. The gardens, with
an alley of limetrees, which are farther on, near the banks of the
river, afford easy promenades to the sick and debilitated; but the more
robust and active need not fear monotony in the valley of the Lahn. If
they sigh for the champaign country, they can climb the wild passes of
the encircling mountains, and from their tops enjoy the most magnificent
views of the Rhineland. There they may gaze on that mighty river,
flowing through the prolific plain which at the same time it nourishes
and adorns, bounded on each side by mountains of every form, clothed
with wood or crowned with castles. Or, if they fear the fatigues of the
ascent, they may wander farther up the valley, and in the wild dells,
romantic forests, and grey ruins of Stein and Nassau, conjure up the old
times of feudal tyranny when the forest was the only free land, and he
who outraged the laws the only one who did not suffer from their
authority.

Besides the Princely Bathing House, I must mention that there was
another old and extensive building near it, which, in very full seasons,
also accommodated visitors on the same system as the palace. At present,
this adjoining building was solely occupied by a Russian Grand Duke, who
had engaged it for the season.

Such is a slight description of Ems, a place almost of unique character;
for it is a watering-place with every convenience, luxury, and
accommodation; and yet without shops, streets, or houses.

The Baron and Vivian were fortunate in finding rooms, for the Baths were
very full; the extraordinary beauty of the weather having occasioned a
very early season. They found themselves at the baths early on the
morning after their arrival at Coblentz, and at three o'clock in the
same day had taken their places at the dinner table in the great saloon.
At the long table upwards of two hundred and fifty guests were
assembled, of different nations, and of very different characters. There
was the cunning, intriguing Greek, who served well his imperial master
the Russian. The order of the patron saint of Moscow, and the glittering
stars of other nations which sparkled on his green uniform, told how
well he had laboured for the interest of all other countries except his
own; but his clear, pale complexion, his delicately trimmed mustachio,
his lofty forehead, his arched eyebrow, and his Eastern eye, recalled to
the traveller, in spite of his barbarian trappings, the fine
countenances of the Aegean, and became a form which apparently might
have struggled in Thermopylae. Next to him was the Austrian diplomatist,
the Sosia of all cabinets, in whose gay address and rattling
conversation you could hardly recognise the sophistical defender of
unauthorised invasion, and the subtle inventor of Holy Alliances and
Imperial Leagues. Then came the rich usurer from Frankfort or the
prosperous merchant from Hamburgh, who, with his wife and daughters,
were seeking some recreation from his flourishing counting-house in the
sylvan gaieties of a German bathing-place. Flirting with these was an
adventurous dancing-master from Paris, whose profession at present was
kept in the background, and whose well-curled black hair, diamond pin,
and frogged coat hinted at the magnifico incog, and also enabled him, if
he did not choose in time to follow his own profession, to pursue
another one, which he had also studied, in the profitable mystery of the
Redoute. There were many other individuals, whose commonplace appearance
did not reveal a character which perhaps they did not possess. There
were officers in all uniforms, and there were some uniforms without
officers. But all looked perfectly comme il faut, and on the whole very
select; and if the great persons endeavoured for a moment to forget
their dignity, still these slight improprieties were amply made up by
the affected dignity of those little persons who had none to forget.

"And how like you the baths of Ems?" the Baron asked of Vivian, "We
shall get better seats to-morrow, and perhaps be among those whom you
shall know. I see many friends and some agreeable ones. In the meantime,
you must make a good dinner to-day, and I will amuse you, and assist
your digestion, by putting you up to some of the characters with whom
you are dining."

At this moment a party entered the room, who were rather late in their
appearance, but who attracted the attention of Vivian. The group
consisted of three persons; a very good-looking young man, who supported
on each arm a female. The lady on his right arm was apparently of about
five-and-twenty years of age. She was of majestic stature; her
complexion of untinged purity. Her features were like those conceptions
of Grecian sculptors which, in moments of despondency, we sometimes
believe to be ideal. Her full eyes were of the same deep blue as the
mountain lake, and gleamed from under their long lashes as that purest
of waters beneath its fringing sedge. Her brown light hair was braided
from her high forehead, and hung in long full curls over her neck; the
mass gathered up into a Grecian knot, and confined by a bandeau of
cameos. She wore a dress of black velvet, whose folding drapery was
confined round a waist which was in exact symmetry with the proportions
of her full bust and the polished roundness of her bending neck. The
countenance of the lady was dignified, without any expression of pride,
and reserved, without any of the harshness of austerity. In gazing on
her the enraptured spectator for a moment believed that Minerva had
forgotten her severity, and had entered into a delightful rivalry
with Venus.

Her companion was much younger, not so tall, and of slender form. The
long tresses of her chestnut hair shaded her oval face. Her small,
aquiline nose, bright hazel eyes, delicate mouth, and the deep colour of
her lips, were as remarkable as the transparency of her complexion. The
flush of her cheek was singular; it was of a brilliant pink: you may
find it in the lip of an Indian shell. The blue veins played beneath her
arched forehead, like lightning beneath a rainbow. She was dressed in
white, and a damask rose, half hid in her clustering hair, was her only
ornament. This lovely creature glided by Vivian Grey almost unnoticed,
so fixed was his gaze on her companion. Yet, magnificent as was the
style of Lady Madeleine Trevor, there were few who preferred even her
commanding graces to the softer beauties of Violet Fane.

This party, having passed Vivian, proceeded to the top of the room,
where places had been kept for them. Vivian's eye watched them till they
were lost among surrounding visitors: their peculiar loveliness could
not deceive him.

"English, no doubt," observed he to the Baron; "who can they be?"

"I have not the least idea; that is, I do not exactly know. I think they
are English," answered the Baron, in so confused a manner that Vivian
rather stared. After musing a moment, the Baron recovered himself.

"The unexpected sight of a face we feel that we know, and yet cannot
immediately recognise, is extremely annoying; it is almost agitating.
They are English. The lady in black is Lady Madeleine Trevor; I knew her
in London."

"And the gentleman?" asked Vivian: "is the gentleman Mr. Trevor?"

"No; Trevor, poor Trevor, is dead, I think; is, I am sure, dead. That, I
am confident, is not he. He was of the ---- family, and was in office
when I was in England. It was in my diplomatic capacity that I first
became acquainted with him. Lady Madeleine was, and, as you see, is, a
charming woman; a very charming woman is Lady Madeleine Trevor."

"And the young lady with her?"

"And the young lady with her, I cannot exactly say; I do not exactly
know. Her face is familiar to me, and yet I cannot remember her name.
She must have been very young, as you may see, when I was in England;
she cannot now be above eighteen. Miss Fane must therefore have been
very young when I was in England, Miss Fane; how singular I should have
recalled her name! that is her name, Violet Fane, a cousin, or some
relation, of Lady Madeleine: good family. Will you have some soup?"

Whether it were from not being among his friends, or some other cause,
the Baron was certainly not in his usual spirits this day at dinner.
Conversation, which with him was generally as easy as it was brilliant,
like a fountain at the same time sparkling and fluent, was evidently
constrained. For a few minutes he talked very fast, and was then
uncommunicative, absent, and dull. He, moreover, drank a great deal of
wine, which was not his custom; but the grape did not inspire him.
Vivian found amusement in his next neighbour, a forward, bustling man,
clever in his talk, very fine, but rather vulgar. He was the manager of
a company of Austrian actors, and had come to Ems on the chance of
forming an engagement for his troop, who generally performed at Vienna,
He had been successful in his adventure, the Archduke having engaged the
whole band at the New House, and in a few days the troop were to arrive;
at which time the manager was to drop the character of a travelling
gentleman, and cease to dine at the table d'hote of Ems. From this man
Vivian learnt that Lady Madeleine Trevor had been at the Baths for some
time before the season commenced: that at present hers was the party
which, from its long stay and eminent rank, gave the tone to the
amusements of the place; the influential circle which those who have
frequented watering-places have often observed, and which may be seen at
Ems, Spa, or Pyrmont, equally as at Harrowgate, Tunbridge Wells, or
Cheltenham.




CHAPTER VI


When dinner was finished the party broke up, and most of them assembled
in the gardens. The Baron, whose countenance had assumed its wonted
cheerfulness, and who excused his previous dulness by the usual story of
a sudden headache, proposed to Vivian to join the promenade. The gardens
were very full, and the Baron recognised many of his acquaintance.

"My dear Colonel, who possibly expected to meet you here? Why! did you
dine in the saloon? I only arrived this morning. This is my friend, Mr.
Grey; Colonel von Trumpetson."

"An Englishman, I believe?" said the Colonel, bowing. He was a starch
militaire, with a blue frock coat buttoned up to his chin, a bald head
with a few grey hairs, and long, thin mustachios like a mandarin's. "An
Englishman, I believe; pray, sir, will you inform me whether the
household troops in England wear the Marboeuf cuirass?"

"Sir!" said Vivian.

"I esteem myself particularly fortunate in thus meeting with an English
gentleman. It was only at dinner to-day that a controversy arose between
Major von Musquetoon and the Prince of Buttonstein on this point. As I
said to the Prince, you may argue for ever, for at present we cannot
decide the fact. How little did I think when I parted from the Major
that in a few minutes I should be able to settle the question beyond a
doubt. I esteem myself particularly fortunate in meeting with an
Englishman."

"I regret to say, Colonel, that the question is one that I cannot
decide."

"Sir, I wish you good morning," said the Colonel, very drily; and,
staring keenly at Vivian, he walked away.

"He is good enough to fight, I suppose," said the Baron, with a smile
and shrug of the shoulders, which seemed to return thanks to Providence
for having been educated in the civil service.

At this moment Lady Madeleine Trevor, leaning on the arm of the same
gentleman, passed, and the Baron bowed. The bow was coldly returned.

"You know her Ladyship, then! well!"

"I did know her," said the Baron; "but I see from her bow that I am at
present in no very high favour. The truth is, she is a charming woman,
but I never expected to see her in Germany, and there was some little
commission of hers which I neglected, some little order for Eau de
Cologne, or a message about a worked pocket-handkerchief, which I
utterly forgot: and then, I never wrote! and you know. Grey, that these
little sins of omission are never forgiven by women."

"My dear friend, De Konigstein, one pinch! one pinch!" chirped out a
little old odd-looking man, with a poudre head, and dressed in a costume
in which the glories of the vieille cour seemed to retire with
reluctance. A diamond ring twinkled on the snuffy hand, which was
encircled by a rich ruffle of dirty lace. The brown coat was not
modern, and yet not quite such an one as was worn by its master when he
went to see the King dine in public at Versailles before the Revolution:
large silver buckles still adorned the well-polished shoes; and silk
stockings, whose hue was originally black, were picked out with
clock-work of gold.

"My dear Marquis, I am most happy to see you; will you try the
boulangero?"

"With pleasure! A-a-h! what a box! a Louis-Quatorze, I think?"

"Oh, no! by no means so old."

"Pardon me, my dear De Konigstein; I think a Louis-Quatorze."

"I bought it in Sicily."

"A-a-h!" slowly exclaimed the little man, shaking his head.

"Well, good afternoon," said the Baron, passing on.

"My dear De Konigstein, one pinch; you have often said you have a
particular regard for me."

"My dear Marquis!"

"A-a-h! I thought so; you have often said you would serve me, if
possible."

"My dear Marquis, be brief."

"A-a-h! I will. There's a cursed crusty old Prussian officer here; one
Colonel de Trumpetson."

"Well, what can I do? you are surely not going to fight him!"

"A-a-h! no, no; I wish you to speak to him."

"Well, what?"

"He takes snuff."

"What is that to me?"

"He has got a box."

"Well!"

"It is a Louis-Quatorze; could not you get it for me?"

"Good morning to you," said the Baron, pulling on Vivian.

"You have had the pleasure, Grey, of meeting this afternoon two men who
have each only one idea. Colonel von Trumpetson and the Marquis de la
Tabatiere are equally tiresome. But are they more tiresome than any
other man who always speaks on the same subject? We are more irritable,
but not more wearied, with a man who is always thinking of the pattern
of a button-hole, or the shape of a snuff-box, than with one who is
always talking about pictures, or chemistry, or politics. The true bore
is that man who thinks the world is only interested in one subject,
because he himself can only comprehend one."

Here Lady Madeleine passed again, and this time the Baron's eyes were
fixed on the ground.

A buzz and a bustle at the other end of the gardens, to which the Baron
and Vivian were advancing, announced the entry of the Grand Duke. His
Imperial Highness was a tall man, with a quick, piercing eye, which was
prevented from giving to his countenance the expression of intellect,
which it otherwise would have done, by the dull and almost brutal effect
of his flat, Calmuck nose. He was dressed in a plain green uniform,
adorned by a single star; but his tightened waist, his stiff stock, and
the elaborate attention which had evidently been bestowed upon his
mustachio, denoted the military fop. The Grand Duke was accompanied by
three or four stiff and stately-looking personages, in whom the severity
of the martinet seemed sunk in the servility of the aide-de-camp.

The Baron bowed very low to the Prince as he drew near, and his
Highness, taking off his cocked-hat with an appearance of cordial
condescension, made a full stop. The silent gentlemen in the rear, who
had not anticipated this suspense in their promenade, almost foundered
on the heels of their royal master; and, frightened at the imminency of
the profanation, forgot their stiff pomp in a precipitate retreat of
half a yard.

"Baron," said his Highness, "why have I not seen you at the New House?"

"I have but this moment arrived, may it please your Imperial Highness."

"Your companion," continued the Grand Duke, pointing very graciously to
Vivian.

"My intimate friend, my fellow-traveller, and an Englishman. May I have
the honour of presenting Mr. Grey to your Imperial Highness?"

"Any friends of the Baron von Konigstein I shall always feel great
pleasure in having presented to me. Sir, I feel great pleasure in having
you presented to me. Sir, you ought to be proud of the name of
Englishman; sir, the English are a noble nation; sir, I have the highest
respect for the English nation!"

Vivian of course bowed very low; and of course made a very proper speech
on the occasion, which, as all speeches of that kind should be, was very
dutiful and quite inaudible.

"And what news from Berlin, Baron? let us move on," and the Baron turned
with the Grand Duke. The silent gentlemen, settling their mustachios,
followed in the rear. For about half an hour, anecdote after anecdote,
scene after scene, caricature after caricature, were poured out with
prodigal expenditure for the amusement of the Prince, who did nothing
during the exhibition but smile, stroke his whiskers, and at the end of
the best stories fence with his forefinger at the Baron's side, with a
gentle laugh, and a mock shake of the head, and a "Eh! Von Konigstein,
you're too bad!" Here Lady Madeleine Trevor passed again, and the Grand
Duke's hat nearly touched the ground. He received a most gracious bow.

"Finish the story about Salvinski, Baron, and then I will present you
for a reward to the most lovely creature in existence, a countrywoman of
your friend, Lady Madeleine Trevor."

"I have the honour of a slight acquaintance with her," said the Baron;
"I had the pleasure of knowing her in England."

"Indeed! Fortunate mortal! I see she has stopped, talking to some
stranger. Let us turn and join her."

The Grand Duke and the two friends accordingly turned, and of course the
silent gentlemen in the rear followed with due precision.

"Lady Madeleine!" said the Grand Duke, "I flattered myself for a moment
that I might have had the honour of presenting to you a gentleman for
whom I have a great esteem; but he has proved to me that he is more
fortunate than myself, since he had the honour before me of an
acquaintance with Lady Madeleine Trevor."

"I have not forgotten Baron von Konigstein," said her ladyship, with a
serious air. "May I ask his Highness how he prospered in his negotiation
with the Austrian troop?"

"Perfectly successful! Inspired by your Ladyship's approbation, my
steward has really done wonders. He almost deserves a diplomatic
appointment for the talent which he has shown; but what should I do
without Cracowsky? Lady Madeleine, can you conceive what I should do
without Cracowsky?"

"Not in the least."

"Cracowsky is everything to me. It is impossible to say what Cracowsky
is to me. I owe everything to Cracowsky. To Cracowsky I owe being here."
The Grand Duke bowed very low, for this eulogium on his steward also
conveyed a compliment to her Ladyship. The Grand Duke was certainly
right in believing that he owed his summer excursion to Ems to his
steward. That wily Pole regularly every year put his Imperial master's
summer excursion up to auction, and according to the biddings of the
proprietors of the chief baths did he take care that his master
regulated his visit. The restaurateur of Ems, in collusion with the
official agent of the Duke of Nassau, were fortunate this season in
having the Grand Duke knocked down to them.

"May I flatter myself that Miss Fane feels herself better?" asked the
Grand Duke.

"She certainly does feel herself better, but my anxiety about her does
not decrease. In her illness apparent convalescence is sometimes as
alarming as suffering."

The Grand Duke continued by the side of Lady Madeleine for about twenty
minutes, seizing every opportunity of uttering, in the most courtly
tone, inane compliments; and then trusting that he might soon have her
Ladyship's opinion respecting the Austrian troop at the New House, and
that Von Konigstein and his English friend would not delay letting him
see them there, his Imperial Highness, followed by his silent suite,
left the gardens.

"I am afraid Lady Madeleine must have almost mistaken me for a taciturn
lord chamberlain," said the Baron, occupying immediately the Grand
Duke's vacated side.

"Baron von Konigstein must be very changed if silence be imputed to him
as a fault," said Lady Madeleine.

"Baron von Konigstein is very much changed since last he had the
pleasure of conversing with Lady Madeleine Trevor; more changed than she
will perhaps believe; more changed than he can sometimes himself
believe. I hope that he will not be less acceptable to Lady Madeleine
Trevor because he is no longer rash, passionate, and unthinking; because
he has learnt to live more for others and less for himself."

"Baron von Konigstein does indeed appear changed, since, by his own
account, he has become, in a very few years, a being in whose existence
philosophers scarcely believe, a perfect man."

"My self-conceit has been so often reproved by you, that I will not
apologise for a quality which I almost flattered myself I no longer
possessed; but you will excuse, I am sure, one who, in zealous haste to
prove himself amended, has, I fear, almost shown that he has
deceived himself."

Some strange thoughts occurred to Vivian while this conversation was
taking place. "Is this a woman to resent the neglect of an order for Eau
de Cologne? My dear Von Konigstein, you are a very pleasant fellow, but
this is not the way men apologise for the non-purchase of a
pocket-handkerchief!"

"Have you been long at Ems?" inquired the Baron, with an air of great
deference.

"Nearly a month: we are travelling in consequence of the ill-health of a
relation. It was our intention to have gone on to Pisa, but our
physician, in consequence of the extreme heat of the summer, is afraid
of the fatigue of travelling, and has recommended Ems. The air between
these mountains is very soft and pure, and I have no reason to regret at
present that we have not advanced farther on our journey."

"The lady who was with your party at dinner is, I fear, your invalid.
She certainly does not look like one. I think," said the Baron, with an
effort, "I think that her face is not unknown to me. It is difficult,
even after so many years, to mistake Miss--"

"Fane," said Lady Madeleine, firmly; for it seemed that the Baron
required a little assistance at the end of his sentence.

"Ems," returned his Excellency, with great rapidity of utterance, "Ems
is a charming place, at least to me. I have, within these few years,
quite recurred to the feelings of my boyhood; nothing to me is more
disgustingly wearisome than the gay bustle of a city. My present
diplomatic appointment at Frankfort ensures a constant life among the
most charming scenes of nature. Naples, which was offered to me, I
refused. Eight years ago, I should have thought an appointment at Naples
a Paradise on earth."

"You must indeed be changed."

"How beautiful is the vicinity of the Rhine! I have passed within these
three days, for almost the twentieth time in my life, through the
Rheingau; and yet how fresh, and lovely, and novel, seemed all its
various beauties! My young travelling companion is enthusiastic about
this gem of Germany. He is one of your Ladyship's countrymen. Might I
take the liberty of presenting to you Mr. Grey?"

Lady Madeleine, as if it could now no longer be postponed, introduced to
the two gentlemen her brother, Mr. St. George. This gentleman, who,
during the whole previous conversation, had kept his head in a
horizontal position, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and
apparently unconscious that any one was conversing with his sister,
because, according to the English custom, he was not introduced, now
suddenly turned around, and welcomed his acquaintance with cordiality.

"Mr. Grey," asked her Ladyship, "are you of Dorsetshire?"

"My mother is a Dorsetshire woman; her family name is Vivian, which name
I also bear."

"Then I think we are longer acquainted than we have been introduced. I
met your father at Sir Hargrave Vivian's last Christmas. He spoke of you
in those terms that make me glad that I have met his son. You have been
long from England, I think?"

"Nearly a year and a half."

"The Baron had resigned his place by Lady Madeleine, and was already in
close conversation with Mr. St. George, from whose arm Lady Madeleine's
was disengaged. No one acted the part of Asmodeus with greater spirit
than his Excellency; and the secret history of every person whose secret
history could be amusing delighted Mr. St. George.

"There," said the Baron, "goes the son of an unknown father; his mother
followed the camp, and her offspring was early initiated in the
mysteries of military petty larceny. As he grew up he became the most
skilful plunderer that ever rifled the dying of both sides. Before he
was twenty he followed the army as a petty chapman, and amassed an
excellent fortune by re-acquiring after a battle the very goods and
trinkets which he had sold at an immense price before it. Such a wretch
could do nothing but prosper, and in due tune the sutler's brat became a
commissary-general. He made millions in a period of general starvation,
and cleared at least a hundred thousand dollars by embezzling the shoe
leather during a retreat. He is now a baron, covered with orders, and
his daughters are married to some of our first nobles. There goes a
Polish Count who is one of the greatest gamblers in Christendom. In the
same season he lost to a Russian general, at one game of chess, his
chief castle and sixteen thousand acres of woodland; and recovered
himself on another game, on which he won of a Turkish Pasha one hundred
and eighty thousand leopard skins. The Turk, who was a man of strict
honour, paid the Count by embezzling the tribute in kind of the province
he governed; and as on quarter-day he could not, of course, make up his
accounts with the Divan, he joined the Greeks."

While the Baron was entertaining Mr. St. George, the conversation
between Lady Madeleine and Vivian proceeded.

"Your father expressed great disappointment to me at his being prevented
paying you a visit. Do you not long to see him?"

"More than I can express. Did you think him in good spirits?"

"Generally so: as cheerful as all fathers can be without their only
son."

"Did he complain, then, of my absence?"

"He regretted it."

"I linger in Germany with the hope of seeing him; otherwise I should
have now been much further south. Do you find Sir Hargrave as amusing
as ever?"

"When is he otherwise than the most delightful of old men? Sir Hargrave
is one of my great favourites. I should like to persuade you to return
and see them all. Cannot you fancy Chester Grange very beautiful now?
Albert!" said her Ladyship, turning to her brother, "what is the number
of our apartments? Mr. Grey, the sun has now disappeared, and I fear the
night air among these mountains. We have hardly yet summer nights,
though we certainly have summer days. We shall be happy to see you at
our rooms." So saying, bowing very cordially to Vivian and coldly to the
Baron, Lady Madeleine left the gardens.

"There goes the most delightful woman in the world," said the Baron;
"how fortunate that you know her! for really, as you might have
observed, I have no great claims on her indulgent notice. I was
certainly very wild in England; but then young men, you know, Grey! and
I did not leave a card, or call, before I went; and the English are
very stiff and precise about those things; and the Trevors had been very
kind to me. I think we had better take a little coffee now; and then, if
you like, we will just stroll into the REDOUTE."

In a brilliantly-illuminated saloon, adorned with Corinthian columns and
casts from some of the most famous antique statues, assembled, between
nine and ten o'clock in the evening, many of the visitors at Ems. On
each side of the room was placed a long narrow table, one of which was
covered with green baize, and unattended; while the variously-coloured
leathern surface of the other was closely surrounded by an interested
crowd. Behind this table stood two individuals of different appearance.
The first was a short, thick man, whose only business was dealing
certain portions of playing cards with quick succession one after the
other: and as the fate of the table was decided by this process, did his
companion, a very tall, thin man, throw various pieces of money upon
certain stakes, which were deposited by the bystanders on different
parts of the table; or, which was much oftener the case, with a silver
rake with a long ebony handle, sweep into a large inclosure near him the
scattered sums. This inclosure was called the Bank, and the mysterious
ceremony in which these persons were assisting was the celebrated game
of rouge-et-noir. A deep silence was strictly preserved by those who
immediately surrounded the table; no voice was heard save that of the
little, short, stout dealer, when, without an expression of the least
interest, he seemed mechanically to announce the fate of the different
colours. No other sound was heard, except the jingle of the dollars and
Napoleons, and the ominous rake of the tall, thin banker. The
countenances of those who were hazarding their money were grave and
gloomy: their eyes were fixed, their brows contracted, and their lips
projected; and yet there was an evident effort visible to show that they
were both easy and unconcerned. Each player held in his hand a small
piece of pasteboard, on which, with a steel pricker, he marked, the run
of the cards, in order, from his observations, to regulate his own play.
The rouge-et-noir player imagines that chance is not capricious. Those
who were not interested in the game promenaded in two lines within the
tables, or, seated in recesses between the pillars, formed small parties
for conversation.

"I suppose we must throw away a dollar or two," said the Baron, as he
walked up to the table.

"My dear De Konigstein, one pinch!"

"Ah! Marquess, what fortune to-night?"

"Bad! I have lost my Napoleon: I never risk further. There is that
cursed crusty old De Trumpet son, persisting, as usual, in his run of
bad luck; because he never will give in. Trust me, my dear De
Konigstein, it will end in his ruin; and then, if there be a sale of his
effects, I shall, perhaps, get his snuff-box; a-a-h!"

"Come, shall I throw down a couple of Napoleons on joint account. I do
not care much for play myself; but I suppose, at Ems, we must make up
our minds to lose a few Louis. Here! now, for the red; joint
account, mind!"

"Done."

"There's the Grand Duke! Let us go and make our bow; we need, not stick
at the table as if our whole soul were staked with our crown-pieces," So
saying, the gentlemen walked up to the top of the room.

"Why, Grey! Surely no, it cannot be, and yet it is. De Boeffleurs, how
d'ye do?" said the Baron, with a face beaming with joy and a hearty
shake of the hand. "My dear fellow, how did you manage to get off so
soon? I thought you were not to be here for a fortnight: we only arrived
ourselves to-day."

"Yes; but I have made an arrangement which I did not anticipate; and so
I posted after you at once. Whom do you think I have brought with me?"

"Who?"

"Salvinski."

"Ah! And the Count?"

"Follows immediately. I expect him to-morrow or next day. Salvinski is
talking to the Grand Duke; and see, he beckons to me. I suppose I am
going to be presented."

The Chevalier moved forward, followed by the Baron and Vivian.

"Any friend of Prince Salvinski I shall always have great pleasure in
having presented to me. Chevalier, I feel great pleasure in having you
presented to me. Chevalier, you ought to be proud of the name of
Frenchman. Chevalier, the French are a great nation. Chevalier, I have
the highest respect for the French nation."

"The most subtile diplomatist," thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind
his own introduction, "would be puzzled to decide to which interest his
Imperial Highness leans."

The Grand Duke now entered into conversation with the Prince, and most
of the circle who surrounded him. As his Imperial Highness was
addressing Vivian, the Baron let slip our hero's arm, and, taking that
of the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, began walking up and down the room with
him, and was soon engaged in animated conversation. In a few minutes the
Grand Duke, bowing to his circle, made a move, and regained the side of
a Saxon lady, from whose interesting company he had been disturbed by
the arrival of Prince Salvinski; an individual of whose long stories and
dull romances the Grand Duke had, from experience, a particular dread:
but his Highness was always very courteous to the Poles.

"Grey, I have despatched De Boeffleurs to the house, to instruct his
servant and Ernstorff to do the impossible, in order that our rooms may
be all together. You will be delighted with De Boeffleurs when you know
him, and I expect you to be great friends. By-the-bye, his unexpected
arrival has quite made us forget our venture at rouge-et-noir. Of course
we are too late now for anything; even if we had been fortunate, our
stake, remaining on the table, is, of course, lost: we may as well,
however, walk up." So saying, the Baron reached the table.

"That is your Excellency's stake! that is your Excellency's stake!"
exclaimed many voices as he came up.

"What is the matter, my friends?" asked the Baron, calmly.

"There has been a run on the red! there has been a run on the red! and
your Excellency's stake has doubled each time. It has been 4, 8, 16, 32,
64, 128, 256, and now it is 512!" quickly rattled a little thin man in
spectacles, pointing at the same time to his unparalleled line of
punctures. This was one of those officious, noisy little men who are
always ready to give you unasked information, and who are never so happy
as when they are watching over the interest of some stranger, who never
thanks them for their unnecessary solicitude.

Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement of the moment.
He looked at the Baron, whose countenance, however, was unmoved.

"It seems," said he, coolly, "we are in luck."

"The stake, then, is not all your own?" eagerly asked the little man in
spectacles.

"No; part of it is yours, sir," answered the Baron, drily.

"I am going; to deal," said the short, thick man behind. "Is the board
cleared?"

"Your Excellency, then, allows the stake to remain?" inquired the tall,
thin banker, with affected nonchalance.

"Oh! certainly," said the Baron, with real nonchalance.

"Three, eight, fourteen, twenty-four, thirty-four. Rouge 34--"

All crowded nearer; the table was surrounded five or six deep, for the
wonderful run of luck had got wind, and nearly the whole room were round
the table. Indeed, the Grand Duke and Saxon lady, and of course the
silent suite, were left alone at the upper part of the room. The tall
banker did not conceal his agitation. Even the short, stout dealer
ceased to be a machine. All looked anxious except the Baron. Vivian
looked at the table; his Excellency watched, with a keen eye, the little
dealer. No one even breathed as the cards descended. "Ten, twenty (here
the countenance of the banker brightened), twenty-two, twenty-five,
twenty-eight, thirty-one; noir 31. The bank's broke: no more play
tonight. The roulette table opens immediately."

In spite of the great interest which had been excited, nearly the whole
crowd, without waiting to congratulate the Baron, rushed to the opposite
side of the room, in order to secure places at the roulette fable.

"Put these five hundred and twelve Napoleons into a bag," said the
Baron, "Grey, this is your share. With regard to the other half, Mr.
Hermann, what bills have you got?"

"Two on Gogel of Frankfort for two hundred and fifty each, and these
twelve Napoleons will make it right," said the tall banker, as he opened
a large black pocket-book, from which he took out two small bits of
paper. The Baron examined them, and after having seen them endorsed, put
them into his pocket, not forgetting the twelve Napoleons; and then
taking Vivian's arm, and regretting extremely that he should have the
trouble of carrying such a weight, he wished Mr. Hermann a very good
night and success at his roulette, and walked with his companion quietly
home. Thus passed a day at Ems!




CHAPTER VII


On the following morning, Vivian met with his friend Essper George,
behind a small stall in the Bazaar.

"Well, my Lord, what do you wish? Here are Eau de Cologne, violet soap,
and watch-ribbons; a smelling bottle of Ems crystal; a snuff-box of
fig-tree wood. Name your price: the least trifle that can be given by a
man who breaks a bank must be more than my whole stock-in-trade
is worth.

"I have not paid you yet, Essper, for my glass chain. There is your
share of my winnings, the fame of which, it seems, has reached even
you!" added Vivian, with no pleased air.

"I thank you, sir, for the Nap; but I hope I have not offended by
alluding to a certain event, which shall be passed over in silence,"
continued Essper George, with a look of mock solemnity. "I really think
you have but a faint appetite for good fortune. They deserve her most
who value her least."

"Have you any patrons at Ems, Essper, that have induced you to fix on
this place in particular for your speculations? Here, I should think,
you have many active rivals," said Vivian, looking round the
various stalls.

"I have a patron here who has never deceived, and who will never desert
me; I want no other; and that's myself. Now here comes a party: could
you just tell me the name of that tall lady now?"

"If I tell you it is Lady Madeleine Trevor, what will it profit you?"

Before Vivian could well finish his sentence Essper had drawn out a long
horn from beneath his small counter, and sounded a blast which echoed
through the arched passages. The attention of every one was excited, and
no part of the following speech was lost:--

"The celebrated Essper George, fresh from Fairyland, dealer in pomatum
and all sorts of perfumery, watches, crosses, Ems crystal, coloured
prints, Dutch toys, Dresden china, Venetian chains, Neapolitan coral,
French crackers, chamois bracelets, tame poodles, and Cherokee
corkscrews, mender of mandolins and all other musical instruments, to
Lady Madeleine Trevor, has just arrived at Ems, where he only intends to
stay two or three days, and a few more weeks besides. Now, gracious
lady, what do you wish?"

"And who," said Lady Madeleine, smiling, "is this?"

"The celebrated Essper George, just--" again commenced the conjuror; but
Vivian prevented the repetition.

"He is an odd knave. Lady Madeleine, that I have met with before, at
other places, I believe I may add an honest one. What say you, Essper?"

"More honest than moonlight, gracious lady, for that deceives every one;
and less honest than self-praise, for that deceives no one."

"My friend, you have a ready wit."

"My wit is like a bustling servant, gracious lady; always ready when not
wanted, and never present at a pinch."

"Come, I must have a pair of your chamois bracelets. How sell you them?"

"I sell nothing; all here is gratis to beauty, virtue, and nobility: and
these are my only customers."

"Thanks will not supply a stock-in-trade though, Essper," said Vivian.

"Very true! but my customers are apt to leave some slight testimonies
behind them of the obligations which they are under to me; and these, at
the same time, are the prop of my estate and the proof of their
discretion. But who comes here?" said Essper, drawing out his horn. The
sight of this instrument reminded Lady Madeleine how greatly the effect
of music is heightened by distance, and she made a speedy retreat,
yielding her place to a family procession of a striking character.

Three daughters abreast, flanked by two elder sons, formed the first
file. The father, a portly, prosperous-looking man, followed, with his
lady on his arm. Then came two nursery maids, with three children,
between the tender ages of five and six. The second division of the
grand army, consisting of three younger sons, immediately followed. This
was commanded by a tutor. A governess and two young daughters then
advanced; and then came the extreme rear, the sutlers of the camp, in
the persons of two footmen in rich liveries, who each bore a basket on
his arm, filled with various fancy articles, which had been all
purchased during the promenade of this nation through only part of
the bazaar.

The trumpet of Essper George produced a due effect upon the great party.
The commander-in-chief stopped at his little stall, and, as if this were
the signal for general attack and plunder, the files were immediately
broken up. Each individual dashed at his prey, and the only ones who
struggled to maintain a semblance of discipline were the nursery maids,
the tutor, and the governess, who experienced the greatest difficulty in
suppressing the early taste which the detachment of light infantry
indicated for booty. But Essper George was in his element: he joked, he
assisted, he exhibited, he explained; tapped the cheeks of the children
and complimented the elder ones; and finally, having parted at a
prodigious profit, with nearly his whole, stock, paid himself out of a
large and heavy purse, which the portly father, in his utter inability
to comprehend the complicated accounts and the debased currency, with
great frankness deposited in the hands of the master of the stall,
desiring him to settle his own claims.

"I hope I may be allowed to ask after Miss Fane," said Vivian.

"She continues better; we are now about to join her in the Limewalk. If
you will join our morning stroll, it will give us much pleasure."

Nothing in the world could give Vivian greater pleasure; he felt himself
impelled to the side of Lady Madeleine; and only regretted his
acquaintance with the Baron because he felt conscious that there was
some secret cause which prevented that intimacy from existing between
his Excellency and the Trevor party which his talents and his position
would otherwise have easily produced.

"By-the-bye," said Lady Madeleine, "I do not know whether I may be
allowed to congratulate you upon your brilliant success at the Redoute
last night. It is fortunate that all have not to regret your arrival at
Ems so much as poor Mr. Hermann."

"The run was extraordinary. I am only sorry that the goddess should have
showered her favours on one who neither deserves nor desires them; for I
have no wish to be rich; and as I never lost by her caprices, it is
hardly fair that I should gain by them."

"You do not play, then, much?"

"I never played in my life till last night. Gambling has never been one
of my follies, although my catalogue of errors is fuller, perhaps, than
most men's."

"I think Baron von Konigstein was your partner in the exploit?"

"He was; and apparently as little pleased at the issue as myself."

"Indeed! Have you known the Baron long?"

"We are only friends of a week. I have been living, ever since I was in
Germany, a very retired life. A circumstance of a most painful nature
drove me from England; a circumstance of which I can hardly flatter
myself, and can hardly wish, that you should be ignorant."

"I learnt the sad history from one who, while he spoke the truth, spoke
of the living sufferer in terms of the fondest affection."

"A father!" said Vivian, agitated, "a father can hardly be expected to
be impartial."

"Such a father as yours may, I only wish that he was with us now, to
assist me in bringing about what he must greatly desire, your return
to England."

"It cannot be. I look back to the last year which I spent in that
country with feelings of such disgust, I look forward to a return to
that country with feelings of such repugnance that--but I feel I am
trespassing beyond all bounds in touching on these subjects."

"I promised your father that in case we met, I would seek your society.
I have suffered too much myself not to understand how dangerous and how
deceitful is the excess of grief. You have allowed yourself to be
overcome by that which Providence intended as a lesson of instruction,
not as a sentence of despair. In your solitude you have increased the
shadow of those fantasies of a heated brain, which converse with the
pure sunshine of the world would have enabled you to dispel."

"The pure sunshine of the world, Lady Madeleine! would that it had ever
lighted me! My youth flourished in the unwholesome sultriness of a
blighted atmosphere, which I mistook for the resplendent brilliancy of a
summer day. How deceived I was, you may judge, not certainly from
finding me here; but I am here because I have ceased to suffer, only in
having ceased to hope."

"You have ceased to hope, because hope and consolation are not the
companions of solitude, which are of a darker nature. Hope and
consolation spring from the social affections. Converse with the world
will do more for you than all the arguments of philosophers. I hope yet
to find you a believer in the existence of that good which we all
worship and all pursue. Happiness comes when we least expect it, and to
those who strive least to obtain it; as you were fortunate yesterday at
the Redoute, when you played without an idea of winning."

They were in the Limewalk: gay sounds greeted them, and Miss Fane came
forward from a light-hearted band to welcome her cousin. She had to
propose a walk to the New Spring, which she was prepared for Lady
Madeleine to resist on the ground of her cousin's health. But Miss Fane
combated all the objections with airy merriment, and with a bright
resource that never flagged. As she bent her head slightly to Vivian,
ere she hastened back to her companions to announce the success of her
mission, it seemed to him that he had never beheld so animated and
beaming a countenance, or glanced upon a form of such ineffable and
sparkling grace.

"You would scarcely imagine, Mr. Grey, that we are travelling for my
cousin's health, nor do her physicians, indeed, give us any cause for
serious uneasiness; yet I cannot help feeling at times great anxiety.
Her flushed cheek and the alarming languor which succeeds any excitement
make me fear her complaint may be more deeply seated than they are
willing to acknowledge."

"They were saying the other day that the extraordinary heat of this
season must end in an earthquake, or some great convulsion of nature.
That would bring languor."

"We are willing to adopt any reasoning that gives us hope, but her
mother died of consumption."




CHAPTER VIII


When the walking party returned home they found a crowd of idle servants
assembled opposite the house, round a group of equipages, consisting of
two enormous crimson carriages, a britzska, and a large caravan, on all
which vehicles the same coat of arms was ostentatiously blazoned.

"Some new guests!" said Miss Fane.

"It must be the singular party that we watched this morning in the
bazaar," said Lady Madeleine. "Violet! I have such a curious character
to introduce you to, a particular friend of Mr. Grey, who wishes very
much to have the honour of your acquaintance, MR. ESSPER GEORGE."

"These carriages, then, belong to him?"

"Not exactly," said Vivian.

In an hour's time, the party again met at dinner in the saloon. By the
joint exertions of Ernstorff and Mr. St. George's servants, the Baron,
Vivian, and the Chevalier de Boeffleurs were now seated next to the
party of Lady Madeleine Trevor.

"My horses fortunately arrived from Frankfort this morning," said the
Baron. "Mr. St. George and myself have been taking a ride very far up
the valley. Has your Ladyship yet been to the Castle of Nassau?"

"We have not. The expedition has been one of those plans often arranged
and never executed."

"You should go. The ruin is one of the finest in Germany. An expedition
to Nassau Castle would be a capital foundation for a pic-nic. Conceive a
beautiful valley, discovered by a knight, in the middle ages, following
the track of a stag. How romantic! The very incident vouches for its
sweet seclusion. Cannot you imagine the wooded mountains, the old grey
ruin, the sound of the unseen river? What more should we want, except
agreeable company, fine music, and the best provisions, to fancy
ourselves in Paradise?"

"I wish the plan were practicable," said Mr. St. George.

"I take the whole arrangement upon myself; there is not a difficulty.
The ladies shall go on donkeys, or we might make a water excursion of it
part of the way, and the donkeys can meet us at the pass near Stein, and
then the gentlemen may walk; and if you fear the water at night, why
then the carriages may come round: and if your own be too heavy for
mountain roads, my britzska is always at your command. You see there is
not a difficulty."

"Not a difficulty," said Mr. St. George. "Madeleine, we only wait your
consent."

"I think we had better put off the execution of our plan till June is a
little more advanced. We must have a fine summer night for Violet."

"Well, then, I hold the whole party present engaged to follow my
standard, whenever I have permission from authority to unfold it," said
the Baron, bowing to Lady Madeleine: "and lest, on cool reflection, I
shall not possess influence enough to procure the appointment, I shall,
like a skilful orator, take advantage of your feelings, which gratitude
for this excellent plan must have already enlisted in my favour, and
propose myself as Master of the Ceremonies." The Baron's eye caught Lady
Madeleine's as he uttered this, and something like a smile, rather of
pity than derision, lighted up her face.

Here Vivian turned round to give some directions to an attendant, and to
his annoyance found Essper George standing behind his chair.

"Is there anything you want, sir?"

"Who ordered you here?"

"My duty."

"In what capacity do you attend?"

"As your servant, sir."

"I insist upon your leaving the room directly."

"Ah! my friend, Essper George," said Lady Madeleine, "are you there?
What is the matter?"

"This, then, is Essper George!" said Violet Fane. "What kind of being
can he possibly be? What indeed is the matter?"

"I am merely discharging a servant at a moment's warning, Miss Fane; and
if you wish to engage his constant attendance upon yourself, I have no
objection to give him a character for the occasion."

"What do you want, Essper?" said Miss Fane.

"Merely to see whether your walk this morning had done your appetites
any good," answered Essper, looking disconsolate; "and so I thought
I might make myself useful at the same time. And though I do not bring
on the soup in a cocked hat, and carve the venison with a
couteau-de-chasse," continued he, bowing very low to Ernstorff, who,
standing stiff behind his master's chair, seemed utterly unaware that
any other person in the room could experience a necessity; "still I can
change a plate or hand the wine without cracking the first, or drinking
the second."

"And very good qualities, too!" said Miss Fane. "Come, Essper, you shall
put your accomplishments into practice immediately; change my plate."

This Essper did with dexterity and quiet, displaying at the same time a
small white hand, on the back of which was marked a comet and three
daggers. As he had the discretion not to open his mouth, and performed
all his duties with skill, his intrusion in a few minutes was not only
pardoned but forgotten.

"There has been a great addition to the visitors to-day, I see," said
Mr. St. George. "Who are the new comers?"

"I will tell you all about them," said the Baron. "This family is one of
those whose existence astounds the Continent much more than any of your
mighty dukes and earls, whose fortunes, though colossal, can be
conceived, and whose rank is understood. Mr. Fitzloom is a very
different personage, for thirty years ago he was a journeyman cotton
spinner. Some miraculous invention in machinery entitled him to a
patent, which has made him one of the great proprietors of England. He
has lately been returned a member for a manufacturing town, and he
intends to get over the first two years of his parliamentary career by
successively monopolising the accommodation of all the principal cities
of France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, and by raising the price of
provisions and post-horses through a track of five thousand miles. My
information is authentic, for I had a casual acquaintance with him in
England. There was some talk of a contract for supplying our army from
England, and I saw Fitzloom often on the subject. I have spoken to him
to-day. This is by no means the first of the species that we have had in
Germany. I can assure you that the plain traveller feels seriously the
inconvenience of following such a caravan; their money flows with such
unwise prodigality that real liberality ceases to be valued; and many of
your nobility have complained to me that in their travels they are now
often expostulated with on account of their parsimony, and taunted with
the mistaken extravagance of a stocking-maker or a porter-brewer."

"What pleasure can such people find in travelling?" wondered Mr. St.
George.

"As much pleasure and more profit than half the young men of the present
day," replied a middle-aged English gentleman, who was a kinsman of the
St. Georges, and called them cousins. "In my time travelling was
undertaken on a very different system to what it is now. The English
youth then travelled to frequent, what Lord Bacon says are 'especially
to be seen and observed, the Courts of Princes.' You all travel now, it
appears, to look at mountains and catch cold in spouting trash on lakes
by moonlight."

"But, my dear sir!" said the Baron, "although I grant you that the
principal advantages of travel must be the opportunity which it affords
us of becoming acquainted with human nature, knowledge, of course,
chiefly gained where human beings most congregate, great cities, and, as
you say, the Courts of Princes; still, one of its great benefits is,
that it enlarges a man's experiences, not only of his fellow-creatures
in particular, but of nature in general. Many men pass through life
without seeing a sunrise: a traveller cannot. If human experience be
gained by seeing men in their undress, not only when they are conscious
of the presence of others, natural experience is only to be acquired by
studying nature at all periods, not merely when man is busy and the
beasts asleep."

"But what is the use of this deep experience of nature? Men are born to
converse with men, not with stocks and stones. He who has studied Le
Sage will be more happy and more successful in this world than the man
who muses over Rousseau."

"I agree with you. I have no wish to make man an anchorite. But as to
the benefit of a thorough experience of nature, it appears to me to be
evident. It increases our stock of ideas."

"So does everything."

"But it does more than this. It calls into being new emotions, it gives
rise to new and beautiful associations; it creates that salutary state
of mental excitement which renders our ideas more lucid and our
conclusions more sound. Can we too much esteem a study which at the same
time stimulates imagination and corrects the judgment?"

"Do not you think that a communion with nature is calculated to elevate
the soul," said Lady Madeleine, "to--?"

"So is reading your Bible. A man's soul should always be elevated. If
not, he might look at mountains for ever, but I should not trust him a
jot more."

"But, sir," continued the Baron, with unusual warmth, "I am clear that
there are cases in which the influence of nature has worked what you
profess to treat as an impossibility or a miracle. I am myself
acquainted with an instance of a peculiar character. A few years ago, a
gentleman of high rank found himself exposed to the unhappy suspicion of
being connected with some dishonourable transactions which took place in
the highest circles of England. Unable to find any specific charge which
he could meet, he added one to the numerous catalogue of those
unfortunate beings who have sunk in society, the victims of a surmise.
He quitted England, and, disgusted with the world, became the
profligate which he had been falsely believed to be. At the house of
Cardinal ----, at Naples, celebrated for its revels, this gentleman
became a constant guest. He entered with a mad eagerness into every
species of dissipation, although none gave him pleasure, and his
fortune, his health, and the powers of his mind were all fast vanishing.
One night of frantic dissipation a mock election of Master of the Sports
was proposed, and the hero of my tale had the splendid gratification of
being chosen by unanimous consent to this new office. About two o'clock
of the same night he left the palace of the Cardinal, with an intention
of returning; his way on his return led by the Chiaja. It was one of
those nights which we witness only in the south. The blue and brilliant
sea was sleeping beneath a cloudless sky; and the moon not only shed her
light over the orange and lemon trees, which, springing from their green
banks of myrtle, hung over the water, but added fresh lustre to the
white domes and glittering towers of the city, and flooded Vesuvius and
the distant coast with light as far even as Capua. The individual of
whom I am speaking had passed this spot on many nights when the moon was
not less bright, the waves not less silent, and the orange trees not
less sweet; but to-night something irresistible impelled him to stop.
What a contrast to the artificial light and heat and splendour of the
palace to which he was returning! He mused in silence. Would it not be
wiser to forget the world's injustice in gazing on a moonlit ocean than
in discovering in the illumined halls of Naples the baseness of the
crowd which forms the world's power? To enjoy the refreshing luxury of a
fanning breeze which now arose he turned and gazed on the other side of
the bay; upon his right stretched out the promontory of Pausilippo;
there were the shores of Baiae. But it was not only the loveliness of
the land which now overcame his spirit; he thought of those whose fame
had made us forget even the beauty of these shores in associations of a
higher character and a more exalted nature. He remembered the time when
it was his only wish to be numbered among them. How had his early hopes
been fulfilled! What just account had he rendered to himself and to his
country; that country that had expected so much, that self that had
aspired even to more!

"Day broke over the city and found him still pacing the Chiaja; he did
not return to the Cardinal's palace, and in two days he had left Naples.
I can myself, from personal experience, aver that this individual is
now a useful and honourable member of society. The world speaks of him
in more flattering terms."

The Baron spoke with energy and animation. Miss Fane, who had been
silent, and who certainly had not encouraged by any apparent interest
the previous conversation of the Baron, listened to this anecdote with
eager attention; but the effect it produced upon Lady Madeleine Trevor
was remarkable.

Soon after this the party broke up. The promenade followed; the Grand
Duke, his compliments, and courtiers; then came the Redoute. Mr. Hermann
bowed low as the gentlemen walked up to the table. The Baron whispered
Vivian that it was "expected" that they should play, and give the tables
a chance of winning back their money. Vivian staked with the
carelessness of one who wishes to lose; as is often the case under such
circumstances, he again left the Redoute a considerable winner. He
parted with the Baron at his Excellency's door and proceeded to the
next, which was his own. Here he stumbled over something at the doorway
which appeared like a large bundle; he bent down with his light to
examine it, and found Essper George lying on his back with his eyes
half-open. It was some moments before Vivian perceived he was asleep;
stepping gently over him, he entered his apartment.




CHAPTER IX


When Vivian rose in the morning a gentle tap at his door announced the
presence of an early visitor, who, being desired to enter, appeared in
the person of Essper George.

"Do you want anything, sir?" asked Essper, with a submissive air.

Vivian stared at him for a moment, and then ordered him to come in.

"I had forgotten, Essper, until this moment, that on returning to my
room last night I found you sleeping at my door. This also reminds me of
your conduct in the saloon yesterday; and as I wish to prevent the
repetition of such improprieties, I shall take this opportunity of
informing you, once for all, that if you do not in future conduct
yourself with more discretion, I must apply to the Maitre d'Hotel. Now,
sir, what do you want?"

Essper was silent, and stood with his hands crossed on his breast, and
his eyes fixed on the ground.

"If you do not want anything, quit the room immediately."

Here the singular being began to weep.

"Poor fellow!" thought Vivian, "I fear, with all thy wit and pleasantry,
thou art, after all, but one of those capriccios which Nature sometimes
indulges in, merely to show how superior is her accustomed order to
eccentricities, even accompanied with rare powers."

"What is your wish, Essper?" continued Vivian, in a kinder tone. "If
there be any service that I can do you, you will not find me backward.
Are you in trouble? you surely are not in want?"

"No!" sobbed Essper; "I wish to be your servant:" here he hid his face
in his hands.

"My servant! why surely it is not very wise to seek dependence upon any
man. I am afraid that you have been keeping company too much with the
lackeys that are always loitering about these bathing-places,
Ernstorff's green livery and sword, have they not turned your
brain, Essper?"

"No, no, no! I am tired of living alone."

"But remember, to be a servant, you must be a person of regular habits
and certain reputation. I have myself a good opinion of you, but I have
myself seen very little of you, though more than any one here, and I am
a person of a peculiar turn of mind. Perhaps there is not another
individual in this house who would even allude to the possibility of
engaging a servant without a character."

"Does the ship ask the wind for a character when he bears her over the
sea without hire and without reward? and shall you require a character
from me when I request to serve you without wages and without pay?"

"Such an engagement, Essper, it would be impossible for me to enter
into, even if I had need of your services, which at present I have not.
But I tell you frankly that I see no chance of your suiting me. I should
require an attendant of steady habits and experience; not one whose very
appearance would attract attention when I wish to be unobserved, and
acquire a notoriety for the master which he detests. I warmly advise you
to give up all idea of entering into a state of life for which you are
not in the least suited. Believe me, your stall will be a better friend
than a master. Now leave me."

Essper remained one moment with his eyes still fixed on the ground; then
walking very rapidly up to Vivian, he dropped on his knee, kissed his
hand, and disappeared.

Mr. St. George breakfasted with the Baron, and the gentlemen called on
Lady Madeleine early in the morning to propose a drive to Stein Castle;
but she excused herself, and Vivian following her example, the Baron and
Mr. St. George "patronised" the Fitzlooms, because there was nothing
else to do. Vivian again joined the ladies in their morning walk, but
Miss Fane was not in her usual high spirits. She complained more than
once of her cousin's absence; and this, connected with some other
circumstances, gave Vivian the first impression that her feelings
towards Mr. St. George were not merely those of a relation. As to the
Chevalier de Boeffleurs, Vivian soon found that it was utterly
impossible to be on intimate terms with a being without an idea. The
Chevalier was certainly not a very fit representative of the gay,
gallant, mercurial Frenchman: he rose very late, and employed the whole
of the morning in reading the French journals and playing billiards
alternately with Prince Salvinski and Count von Altenburgh.

These gentlemen, as well as the Baron, Vivian, and Mr. St. George, were
to dine this day at the New House.

They found assembled at the appointed hour a party of about thirty
individuals. The dinner was sumptuous, the wines superb. At the end of
the banquet the company adjourned to another room, where play was
proposed and immediately commenced. His Imperial Highness did not join
in the game, but, seated in a corner of the apartment, was surrounded by
his aides-de-camp, whose business was to bring their master constant
accounts of the fortunes of the table and the fate of his bets. His
Highness did not stake.

Vivian soon found that the game was played on a very different scale at
the New House to what it was at the Redoute. He spoke most decidedly to
the Baron of his detestation of gambling, and expressed his
unwillingness to play; but the Baron, although he agreed with him in his
sentiments, advised him to conform for the evening to the universal
custom. As he could afford to lose, he consented, and staked boldly.
This night very considerable sums were lost and won; but none returned
home greater winners than Mr. St. George and Vivian Grey.




CHAPTER X


The first few days of an acquaintance with a new scene of life and with
new characters generally appear to pass very slowly; not certainly from
the weariness which they induce, but rather from the keen attention
which every little circumstance commands. When the novelty has worn off,
when we have discovered that the new characters differ little from all
others we have met before, and that the scene they inhabit is only
another variety of the great order we have so often observed, we relapse
into our ancient habits of inattention; we think more of ourselves, and
less of those we meet; and musing our moments away in reverie, or in a
vain attempt to cheat the coming day of the monotony of the present one,
we begin to find that the various-vested hours have bounded and are
bounding away in a course at once imperceptible, uninteresting, and
unprofitable. Then it is that, terrified at our nearer approach to the
great river whose dark windings it seems the business of all to forget,
we start from our stupor to mourn over the rapidity of that collective
sum of past-time, every individual hour of which we have in turn
execrated for its sluggishness.

Vivian had now been three weeks at Ems, and the presence of Lady
Madeleine Trevor and her cousin alone induced him to remain. Whatever
the mystery existing between Lady Madeleine and the Baron, his efforts
to attach himself to her party had been successful. The great intimacy
subsisting between the Baron and her brother materially assisted in
bringing about this result. For the first fortnight the Baron was Lady
Madeleine's constant attendant in the evening promenade, and sometimes
in the morning walk; and though there were few persons whose
companionship could be preferred to that of Baron von Konigstein, still
Vivian sometimes regretted that his friend and Mr. St. George had not
continued their rides. The presence of the Baron seemed always to have
an unfavourable influence upon the spirits of Miss Fane, and the absurd
and evident jealousy of Mr. St. George prevented Vivian from finding in
her agreeable conversation some consolation for the loss of the sole
enjoyment of Lady Madeleine's exhilarating presence. Mr. St. George had
never met Vivian's advances with cordiality, and he now treated him with
studied coldness.

The visits of the gentlemen to the New House had been frequent. The
saloon of the Grand Duke was open every evening, and in spite of his
great distaste for the fatal amusement which was there invariably
pursued, Vivian found it impossible to decline frequently attending
without subjecting his motives to painful misconception. His
extraordinary fortune did not desert him, and rendered his attendance
still more a duty. The Baron was not so successful as on his first
evening's venture at the Redoute; but Mr. St. George's star remained
favourable. Of Essper Vivian had seen little. In passing through the
bazaar one morning, which he seldom did, he found, to his surprise, that
the former conjuror had doffed his quaint costume, and was now attired
in the usual garb of men of his condition of life. As Essper was busily
employed at the moment, Vivian did not stop to speak to him; but he
received a respectful bow. Once or twice, also, he had met Essper in the
Baron's apartments; and he seemed to have become a very great favourite
with the servants of his Excellency and the Chevalier de Boeffleurs,
particularly with his former butt, Ernstorff, to whom he now behaved
with great deference.

For the first fortnight the Baron's attendance on Lady Madeleine was
constant. After this time he began to slacken in his attentions. He
first disappeared from the morning walks, and yet he did not ride; he
then ceased from joining the party at Lady Madeleine's apartments in the
evening, and never omitted increasing the circle at the New House for a
single night. The whole of the fourth week the Baron dined with his
Imperial Highness. Although the invitation had been extended to all the
gentlemen from the first, it had been agreed that it was not to be
accepted, in order that the ladies should not find their party in the
saloon less numerous or less agreeable. The Baron was the first to break
through a rule which he had himself proposed, and Mr. St. George and the
Chevalier de Boeffleurs soon followed his example.

"Mr. Grey," said Lady Madeleine one evening, as she was about to leave
the gardens, "we shall be happy to see you to-night, if you are
not engaged."

"I fear that I am engaged," said Vivian; for the receipt of some letters
from England made him little inclined to enter into society.

"Oh, no! you cannot be," said Miss Fane: "pray come! I know you only
want to go to that terrible New House. I wonder what Albert can find to
amuse him there; I fear no good. Men never congregate together for any
beneficial purpose. I am sure, with all his gastronomical affectations,
he would not, if all were right, prefer the most exquisite dinner in the
world to our society. As it is, we scarcely see him a moment. I think
that, you are the only one who has not deserted the saloon. For once,
give up the New House."

Vivian smiled at Miss Fane's warmth, and could not persist in his
refusal, although she did dilate most provokingly on the absence of her
cousin. He therefore soon joined them.

"Lady Madeleine is assisting me in a most important work, Mr. Grey. I am
making drawings of the Valley of the Rhine. I know that you are
acquainted with the scenery; you can, perhaps, assist me with your
advice about this view of old Hatto's Castle."

Vivian was so completely master of every spot in the Rhineland that he
had no difficulty in suggesting the necessary alterations. The drawings
were vivid representations of the scenery which they professed to
depict, and Vivian forgot his melancholy as he attracted the attention
of the fair artist to points of interest unknown or unnoticed by the
guide-books and the diaries.

"You must look forward to Italy with great interest, Miss Fane?"

"The greatest! I shall not, however, forget the Rhine, even among the
Apennines."

"Our intended fellow-travellers, Lord Mounteney and his family, are
already at Milan," said Lady Madeleine to Vivian; "we were to have
joined their party. Lady Mounteney is a Trevor."

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mounteney in England, at Sir
Berdmore Scrope's: do you know him?"

"Slightly. The Mounteneys pass the winter at Rome, where I hope we shall
join them. Do you know the family intimately?"

"Mr. Ernest Clay, a nephew of his Lordship's, I have seen a great deal
of; I suppose, according to the adopted phraseology, I ought to describe
him as my friend, although I am ignorant where he is at present; and
although, unless he is himself extremely altered, there scarcely can be
two persons who now more differ in their pursuits and tempers than
ourselves."

"Ernest Clay! is he a friend of yours? He is at Munich, attached to the
Legation. I see you smile at the idea of Ernest Clay drawing up a
protocol!"

"Madeleine, you have never read me Caroline Mounteney's letter, as you
promised," said Miss Fane; "I suppose full of raptures; 'the Alps and
Apennines, the Pyrenaean and the River Po?'"

"By no means; the whole letter is filled with an account of the ballet
at La Scala, which, according to Caroline, is a thousand times more
interesting than Mont Blanc or the Simplon."

"One of the immortal works of Vigano, I suppose," said Vivian; "he has
raised the ballet of action to an equality with tragedy. I have heard my
father mention the splendid effect of his Vestale and his Otello."

"And yet," said Violet, "I do not like Othello to be profaned. It is not
for operas and ballets. We require the thrilling words."

"It is very true; yet Pasta's acting in the opera was a grand
performance; and I have myself seldom witnessed a more masterly effect
produced by any actor in the world than I did a fortnight ago, at the
Opera at Darmstadt, by Wild in Othello."

"I think the history of Desdemona is the most affecting of all tales,"
said Miss Fane.

"The violent death of a woman, young, lovely, and innocent, is assuredly
the most terrible of tragedies," observed Vivian.

"I have often asked myself," said Miss Fane, "which is the most terrible
destiny for the young to endure: to meet death after a life of anxiety
and suffering, or suddenly to be cut off in the enjoyment of all things
that make life delightful."

"For my part," said Vivian, "in the last instance, I think that death
can scarcely be considered an evil. How infinitely is such a destiny to
be preferred to that long apprenticeship of sorrow, at the end of which
we are generally as unwilling to die as at the commencement!"

"And yet," said Miss Fane, "there is something fearful in the idea of
sudden death."

"Very fearful," muttered Vivian, "in some cases;" for he thought of one
whom he had sent to his great account before his time.

"Violet, my dear!" said Lady Madeleine, "have you finished your drawing
of the Bingenloch?" But Miss Fane would not leave the subject.

"Very fearful in all cases, Mr. Grey. How few of us are prepared to
leave this world without warning! And if from youth, or sex, or natural
disposition, a few may chance to be better fitted for the great change
than their companions, still I always think that in those cases in which
we view our fellow-creatures suddenly departing from this world,
apparently without a bodily or mental pang, there must be a moment of
suffering which none of us can understand; a terrible consciousness of
meeting death in the very flush of life; a moment of suffering which,
from its intense and novel character, may appear an eternity of anguish.
I have always looked upon such an end as the most fearful of
dispensations."

"Violet, my dear." said her Ladyship, "let us talk no more of death. You
have been silent a fortnight. I think to-night you may sing." Miss Fane
rose and sat down to the instrument.

It was a lively air, calculated to drive away all melancholy feelings,
and cherishing sunny views of human life. But Rossini's Muse did not
smile to-night upon her who invoked its gay spirit; and ere Lady
Madeleine could interfere Violet Fane had found more congenial emotions
in one of Weber's prophetic symphonies.

O Music! miraculous art, that makes a poet's skill a jest, revealing to
the soul inexpressible feelings by the aid of inexplicable sounds! A
blast of thy trumpet, and millions rush forward to die; a peal of thy
organ, and uncounted nations sink down to pray. Mighty is thy
threefold power!

First, thou canst call up all elemental sounds, and scenes, and
subjects, with the definiteness of reality. Strike the lyre! Lo! the
voice of the winds, the flash of the lightning, the swell of the wave,
the solitude of the valley!

Then thou canst speak to the secrets of a man's heart as if by
inspiration. Strike the lyre! Lo! our early love, our treasured hate,
our withered joy, our flattering hope!

And, lastly, by thy mysterious melodies thou canst recall man from all
thought of this world and of himself, bringing back to his soul's memory
dark but delightful recollections of the glorious heritage which he has
lost, but which he may win again. Strike the lyre! Lo! Paradise, with
its palaces of inconceivable splendour and its gates of
unimaginable glory!

When Vivian left the apartment of Lady Madeleine he felt no inclination
to sleep, and, instead of retiring to rest, he bent his steps towards
the gardens. It was a rich summer night; the air, recovered from the
sun's scorching rays, was cool, not chilling. The moon was still behind
the mountains; but the dark blue heavens were studded with innumerable
stars, whose tremulous light quivered on the face of the river. All
human sounds had ceased to agitate; and the note of the nightingale and
the rush of the waters banished monotony without disturbing reflection.
But not for reflection had Vivian Grey deserted his chamber: his heart
was full, but of indefinable sensations, and, forgetting the world in
the intenseness of his emotions, he felt too much to think.

How long he had been pacing by the side of the river he knew not, when
he was awakened from his reverie by the sound of voices. He looked up,
and saw lights moving at a distance. The party at the New House had just
broke up. He stopped beneath a branching elm-tree for a moment, that the
sound of his steps might not attract their attention, and at this very
instant the garden gate opened and closed with great violence. The
figure of a man approached. As he passed Vivian the moon rose up from
above the brow of the mountain, and lit up the countenance of the Baron.
Despair was stamped on his distracted features.




CHAPTER XI


On the evening of the next day there was to be a grand fete given at the
New House by his Imperial Highness. The ladies would treasure their
energies for the impending ball, and the morning was to pass without an
excursion. Only Lady Madeleine, whom Vivian met taking her usual early
promenade in the gardens, seemed inclined to prolong it, and even
invited him to be her companion. She talked of the fete, and she
expressed a hope that Vivian would accompany their party; but her air
was not festive, she seemed abstracted and disturbed, and her voice more
than once broke off abruptly at the commencement of a sentence which it
seemed she had not courage to finish.

At length she said suddenly, "Mr. Grey, I cannot conceal any longer that
I am thinking of a very different subject from the ball. As you form
part of my thoughts, I shall not hesitate to disburthen my mind to you.
I wish not to keep you in suspense. It is of the mode of life which I
see my brother, which I see you, pursuing here that I wish to speak,"
she added with a tremulous voice. "May I speak with freedom?"

"With the most perfect unreserve and confidence."

"You are aware that Ems is not the first place at which I have met
Baron von Konigstein."

"I am not ignorant that he has been in England."

"It cannot have escaped you that I acknowledged his acquaintance with
reluctance."

"I should judge, with the greatest."

"And yet it was with still more reluctance that I prevailed upon myself
to believe you were his friend. I experienced great relief when you told
me how short and accidental had been your acquaintance. I have
experienced great pain in witnessing to what that acquaintance has led;
and it is with extreme sorrow for my own weakness, in not having had
courage to speak to you before, and with a hope of yet benefiting you,
that I have been induced to speak to you now."

"I trust there is no cause either for your sorrow or your fear; but
much, much cause for my gratitude."

"I have observed the constant attendance of yourself and my brother at
the New House with the utmost anxiety. I have seen too much not to be
aware of the danger which young men, and young men of honour, must
always experience at such places. Alas! I have seen too much of Baron
von Konigstein not to know that at such places especially his
acquaintance is fatal. The evident depression of your spirits yesterday
determined me on a step which I have for the last few days been
considering. I can learn nothing from my brother. I fear that I am even
now too late; but I trust that, whatever may be your situation, you will
remember, Mr. Grey, that you have friends; that you will decide on
nothing rash."

"Lady Madeleine," said Vivian, "I will not presume to express the
gratitude which your generous conduct allows me to feel. This moment
repays me for a year of agony. I affect not to misunderstand your
meaning. My opinion, my detestation of the gaming table, has always
been, and must always be, the same. I do assure you this, and all
things, upon my honour. Far from being involved, my cheek burns while I
confess that I am master of a considerable sum acquired by this
unhallowed practice. You are aware of the singular fortune which awaited
my first evening at Ems; that fortune was continued at the New House the
very first day I dined there, and when, unexpectedly, I was forced to
play. That fatal fortune has rendered my attendance at the New House
necessary. I found it impossible to keep away without subjecting myself
to painful observations. My depression of yesterday was occasioned by
the receipt of letters from England. I am ashamed of having spoken so
much about myself, and so little about those for whom you are more
interested. So far as I can judge, you have no cause, at present, for
any uneasiness with regard to Mr. St. George. You may, perhaps, have
observed that we are not very intimate, and therefore I cannot speak
with any precision as to the state of his fortunes; but I have reason to
believe that they are by no means unfavourable. And as for the
Baron--"

"Yes, yes!"

"I hardly know what I am to infer from your observations respecting him.
I certainly should infer something extremely bad, were not I conscious
that, after the experience of five weeks, I, for one, have nothing to
complain of him. The Baron, certainly, is fond of play; plays high,
indeed. He has not had equal fortune at the New House as at the Redoute;
at least I imagine so, for he has given me no cause to believe, in any
way, that he is a loser."

"If you could only understand the relief I feel at this moment, I am
sure you would not wonder that I prevailed upon myself to speak to you.
It may still be in my power, however, to prevent evil."

"Yes, certainly! I think the best course now would be to speak to me
frankly respecting Von Konigstein; and, if you are aware of anything
which has passed in England of a nature--"

"Stop!" said Lady Madeleine, agitated. Vivian was silent, and some
moments elapsed before his companion again spoke. When she did her eyes
were fixed on the ground, and her tones were low; but her voice was calm
and steady.

"I am going to accept, Mr. Grey, the confidence which you have proffered
me; but I do not affect to conceal that I speak, even now, with
reluctance; an effort, and it will soon be over. It is for the best."
Lady Madeleine paused one moment, and then resumed with a firm voice:

"Upwards of six years have now passed since Baron von Konigstein was
appointed Minister to London from the Court of ----. Although apparently
young for such an important mission, he had already distinguished
himself as a diplomatist; and with all the advantages of brilliant
talents, various accomplishments, rank, reputation, person, and a
fascinating address, I need not tell you that he immediately became of
consideration, even in the highest circles. Mr. Trevor, I was then just
married, was at this period in office, and was constantly in personal
communication with the Baron. They became intimate, and he was our
constant guest. He had the reputation of being a man of pleasure. He was
one for whose indiscretions there might be some excuse; nor had anything
ever transpired which could induce us to believe that Baron von
Konigstein could be guilty of anything but an indiscretion. At this
period a relation and former ward of Mr. Trevor's, a young man of
considerable fortune, and one whom we all fondly loved, resided in our
family. We considered him as our brother. With this individual Baron von
Konigstein formed a strong friendship; they were seldom apart. Our
relation was not exempted from the failings of young men. He led a
dissipated life; but he was very young; and as, unlike most relations,
we never allowed any conduct on his part to banish him from our society,
we trusted that the contrast which his own family afforded to his usual
companions would in time render his habits less irregular. We had now
known Baron von Konigstein for upwards of a year and a half, intimately.
Nothing had transpired during this period to induce Mr. Trevor to alter
the opinion which he had entertained of him from the first; he believed
him to be a man of honour, and, in spite of a few imprudences, of
principle. Whatever might have been my own opinion of him at this
period, I had no reason to doubt the natural goodness of his
disposition; and though I could not hope that he was one who would
assist us in our plans for the reformation of Augustus, I still was not
sorry to believe, that in the Baron he would at least find a companion
very different from the unprincipled and selfish beings by whom he was
too often surrounded. Something occurred at this time which placed Baron
von Konigstein, according to his own declaration, under lasting
obligations to myself. In the warmth of his heart he asked if there was
any real and important service which he could do me. I took advantage of
the moment to speak to him about our young friend; I detailed to him all
our anxieties; he anticipated all my wishes, and promised to watch over
him, to be his guardian, his friend, his real friend. Mr. Grey,"
continued her Ladyship, "I struggle to restrain my feelings; but the
recollections of this period of my life are so painful that for a
moment I must stop to recover myself."

For a few minutes they walked on in silence. Vivian did not speak; and
when his companion resumed her tale, he, unconsciously, pressed her arm.

"I try to be brief. About three months after the Baron had given me the
pledge which I mentioned, Mr. Trevor was called up at an early hour one
morning with the intelligence that his late ward was supposed to be at
the point of death at a neighbouring hotel. He instantly repaired to
him, and on the way the fatal truth was broken to him: our friend had
committed suicide! He had been playing all night with one whom I cannot
now name." Here Lady Madeleine's voice died away, but with a struggle
she again spoke firmly.

"I mean with the Baron, some foreigners also, and an Englishman, all
intimate friends of Von Konigstein, and scarcely known to the deceased.
Our friend had been the only sufferer; he had lost his whole fortune,
and more than his fortune: and, with a heart full of despair and
remorse, had, with his own hand, terminated his life. The whole
circumstances were so suspicious that they attracted public attention,
and Mr. Trevor spared no exertion to bring the offenders to justice. The
Baron had the hardihood to call upon us the next day; of course, in
vain. He wrote violent letters, protesting his innocence; that he was
asleep during most of the night, and accusing the others who were
present of a conspiracy. The unhappy business now attracted very general
interest. Its consequence on me was an alarming illness of a most
unfortunate kind; I was therefore prevented from interfering, or,
indeed, knowing anything that took place; but my husband informed me
that the Baron was involved in a public correspondence; that the accused
parties recriminated, and that finally he was convinced that Von
Konigstein, if there were any difference, was, if possible, the most
guilty. However this might be, he soon obtained his recall from his own
Government. He wrote to us both before he left England; but I was too
ill to hear of his letters, until Mr. Trevor informed me that he had
returned them unopened. And now, I must give utterance to that which as
yet has always died upon my lips, the unhappy victim was the brother of
Miss Fane!"

"And Mr. St. George," said Vivian, "knowing all this, which surely he
must have done; how came he to tolerate, for an instant, the advances of
such a man?"

"My brother," said Lady Madeleine, "is a very good young man, with a
kind heart and warm feelings; but my brother has not much knowledge of
the world, and he is too honourable himself ever to believe that what he
calls a gentleman can be dishonest. My brother was not in England when
the unhappy event took place, and of course the various circumstances
have not made the same impression upon him as upon us. He has heard of
the affair only from me; and young men too often imagine that women are
apt to exaggerate in matters of this nature, which, of course, few of us
can understand. The Baron had not the good feeling, or perhaps had not
the power, connected as he was with the Grand Duke, to affect ignorance
of our former acquaintance, or to avoid a second one. I was obliged
formally to present him to my brother. I was quite perplexed how to act.
I thought of writing to him the next morning, impressing upon him the
utter impossibility of our acquaintance being renewed: but this
proceeding involved a thousand difficulties. How was a man of his
distinction, a man, who not only from his rank, but from his
disposition, is always a remarkable and a remarked character, wherever
he may be; how could he account to the Grand Duke, and to his numerous
friends, for his not associating with a party with whom he was
perpetually in contact. Explanations, and worse, must have been the
consequence. I could hardly expect him to leave Ems; it was, perhaps,
out of his power: and for Miss Fane to leave Ems at this moment was most
strenuously prohibited by her physician. While I was doubtful and
deliberating, the conduct of Baron von Konigstein himself prevented me
from taking any step whatever. Feeling all the awkwardness of his
situation, he seized, with eagerness, the opportunity of becoming
intimate with a member of the family whom he had not before known. His
amusing conversation, and insinuating address, immediately enlisted the
feelings of my brother in his favour. You know yourself that the very
morning after their introduction they were riding together. As they
became more intimate, the Baron boldly spoke to Albert, in confidence,
of his acquaintance with us in England, and of the unhappy circumstances
which led to its termination. Albert was deceived by this seeming
courage and candour. He has become the Baron's friend, and has adopted
his version of the unhappy story; and as the Baron has had too much
delicacy to allude to the affair in a defence of himself to me, he
calculated that the representations of Albert, who, he was conscious,
would not preserve the confidence which he has always intended him to
betray, would assist in producing in my mind an impression in his
favour. The Neapolitan story which he told the other day at dinner was
of himself. I confess to you, that though I have not for a moment
doubted his guilt, still I was weak enough to consider that his desire
to become reconciled to me was at least an evidence of a repentant
heart; and the Neapolitan story deceived me. Actuated by these feelings,
and acting as I thought wisest under existing circumstances, I ceased to
discourage his advances. Your acquaintance, which we all desired to
cultivate, was perhaps another reason for enduring his presence. His
subsequent conduct has undeceived me: I am convinced now, not only of
his former guilt, but also that he is not changed; and that, with his
accustomed talent, he has been acting a part which for some reason or
other he has no longer any object in maintaining."

"And Miss Fane," said Vivian, "she must know all?"

"She knows nothing in detail; she was so young at the time that we had
no difficulty in keeping the particular circumstances of her brother's
death, and the sensation which it excited, a secret from her. As she
grew up, I have thought it proper that the mode of his death should no
longer be concealed from her; and she has learnt from some incautious
observations of Albert, enough to make her look upon the Baron with
terror. It is for Violet," continued Lady Madeleine, "that I have the
severest apprehensions. For the last fortnight her anxiety for her
cousin has produced an excitement, which I look upon with more dread
than anything that can happen to her. She has entreated me to speak to
Albert, and also to you. The last few days she has become more easy and
serene. She accompanies us to-night; the weather is so beautiful that
the night air is scarcely to be feared; and a gay scene will have a
favourable influence upon her spirits. Your depression last night did
not, however, escape her notice. Once more let me say how I rejoice at
hearing what you have told me. I unhesitatingly believe all that you
have said. Watch Albert. I have no fear for yourself."




CHAPTER XII


The company at the Grand Duke's fete was most select; that is to say, it
consisted of everybody who was then at the Baths: those who had been
presented to his Highness having the privilege of introducing any number
of their friends; and those who had no friend to introduce them
purchasing tickets at an enormous price from Cracowsky, the wily Polish
Intendant. The entertainment was imperial; no expense and no exertion
were spared to make the hired lodging-house look like an hereditary
palace; and for a week previous to the great evening the whole of the
neighbouring town of Wiesbaden, the little capital of the duchy, had
been put under contribution. What a harvest for Cracowsky! What a
commission from the restaurateur for supplying the refreshments! What a
percentage on hired mirrors and dingy hangings!

The Grand Duke, covered with orders, received every one with the
greatest condescension, and made to each of his guests a most flattering
speech. His suite, in new uniforms, simultaneously bowed directly the
flattering speech was finished.

"Madame von Furstenburg, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My
greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Madame von
Furstenburg, I trust that your amiable and delightful family are quite
well. [The party passed on.] Cravatischeff!" continued his Highness,
inclining his head round to one of his aides-de-camp, "Cravatischeff! a
very fine woman is Madame von Furstenburg. There are few women whom I
more admire than Madame von Furstenburg.

"Prince Salvinski, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My
greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Poland honours no
one more than Prince Salvinski. Cravatischeff! a remarkable bore is
Prince Salvinski. There are few men of whom I have a greater terror than
Prince Salvinski.

"Baron von Konigstein, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My
greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Baron von
Konigstein, I have not yet forgotten the story of the fair Venetian.
Cravatischeff! an uncommonly pleasant fellow is Baron von Konigstein.
There are few men whose company I more enjoy than Baron von
Konigstein's.

"Count von Altenburgh, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My
greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. You will not forget
to give me your opinion of my Austrian troop. Cravatischeff! a very good
billiard player is Count von Altenburgh. There are few men whose play I
would sooner bet upon than Count von Altenburgh's.

"Lady Madeleine Trevor, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My
greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Miss Fane, your
servant; Mr. St. George, Mr. Grey. Cravatischeff! a most splendid woman
is Lady Madeleine Trevor. There is no woman whom I more admire than Lady
Madeleine Trevor! and Cravatischeff! Miss Fane, too! a remarkably fine
girl is Miss Fane."

The great saloon of the New House afforded excellent accommodation for
the dancers. It opened on the gardens, which, though not very large,
were tastefully laid out, and were this evening brilliantly illuminated.
In the smaller saloon the Austrian troop amused those who were not
fascinated by waltz or quadrille with acting proverbs: the regular
dramatic performance was thought too heavy a business for the evening.
There was sufficient amusement for all; and those who did not dance, and
to whom proverbs were no novelty, walked and talked, stared at others,
and were themselves stared at; and this, perhaps, was the greatest
amusement of all. Baron von Konigstein did certainly to-night look
neither like an unsuccessful gamester nor a designing villain. Among
many who were really amusing he was the most so, and, apparently without
the least consciousness of it, attracted the admiration of all. To the
Trevor party he had attached himself immediately, and was constantly at
Lady Madeleine's side, introducing to her, in the course of the evening,
his own and Mr. St. George's particular friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzloom.
Among many smiling faces Vivian Grey's was clouded; the presence of the
Baron annoyed him. When they first met he was conscious that he was
stiff and cool. One moment's reflection convinced him of the folly of
his conduct, and he made a struggle to be very civil. In five minutes'
time he had involuntarily insulted the Baron, who stared at his friend,
and evidently did not comprehend him.

"Grey," said his Excellency, very quietly, "you are not in a good
humour tonight. What is the matter? This is not at all a temper to come
to a fete in. What! won't Miss Fane dance with you?'" asked the Baron,
with an arched smile.

"I wonder wind can induce your Excellency to talk such nonsense!"

"Your Excellency! by Jove, that's good! What the deuce is the matter
with the man? It is Miss Fane, then, eh?"

"Baron von Konigstein, I wish you to understand--"

"My dear fellow, I never could understand anything. I think you have
insulted me in a most disgraceful manner, and I positively must call you
out, unless you promise to dine at my rooms with me to-morrow, to meet
De Boeffleurs."

"I cannot."

"Why not? You have no engagement with Lady Madeleine I know, for St.
George has agreed to come."

"Yes?"

"De Boeffleurs leaves Ems next week. It is sooner than he expected, and
I wish to have a quiet evening together before he goes. I should be very
vexed if you were not there. We have scarcely been enough together
lately. What with the New House in the evening, and riding parties in
the morning, and those Fitzloom girls, with whom St. George is playing a
most foolish game, he will be taken in now, if he is not on his guard;
we really never meet, at: least not in a quiet friendly way; and so now,
will you come?"

"St. George is positively coming?"

"Oh yes' positively; do not be afraid of his gaining ground on the
little Violet in your absence."

"Well, then, my dear Von Konigstein, I will come."

"Well, that is yourself again. It made me quite unhappy to see you look
so sour and melancholy; one would have thought that I was some bore,
Salvinski at, least, by the way you spoke to me. Well, mind you come; it
is a promise, good. I must go and say just one word to the lovely little
Saxon girl; by-the-bye, Grey, one word before I am off. List to a
friend; you are on the wrong scent about Miss Fane; St. George, I think,
has no chance there, and now no wish to succeed. The game is your own,
if you like; trust my word, she is an angel. The good powers prosper
you!" So saying, the Baron glided off.

Mr. St. George had danced With Miss Fane the only quadrille in which
Lady Madeleine allowed her to join. He was now waltzing with Aurelia
Fitzloom, and was at the head of a band of adventurous votaries of
Terpsichore; who, wearied with the commonplace convenience of a saloon,
had ventured to invoke the Muse on the lawn.

"A most interesting sight, Lady Madeleine!" said Mr. Fitzloom, as he
offered her his arm, and advised their instant presence as patrons of
the "Fete du Village," for such Baron von Konigstein had most happily
termed it. "A delightful man, that Baron von Konigstein, and says such
delightful things! Fete du Village! how very good!"

"That is Miss Fitzloom, then, whom my brother is waltzing with?" asked
Lady Madeleine.

"Not exactly, my Lady," said Mr. Fitzloom, "not exactly _Miss_ Fitzloom,
rather Miss Aurelia Fitzloom, my third daughter; our third eldest, as
Mrs. Fitzloom sometimes says; for really it is necessary to distinguish,
with such a family as ours, you know."

"Let us walk," said Miss Fane to Vivian, for she was now leaning upon
his arm; "the evenin