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<div class="center">*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 9840 ***</div>

    <h1>
      VIVIAN GREY
    </h1>
    <h2>
      By The Earl Of Beaconsfield, Benjamin Disraeli
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br ><br >
    </p>
    <h3>
      The English Comédie Humaine <br ><br > Second Series
    </h3>
    <p>
      <a id="linkimage-0001">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="Frontispiece " style="height: 550px"><br >
    </div>
    <p>
      <a id="linkimage-0002">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="Titlepage " style="height: 550px"><br >
    </div>
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <hr >
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <h2>
      PUBLISHER&rsquo;S NOTE.
    </h2>
    <p>
      As a novelist, Benjamin Disraeli belongs to the early part of the
      nineteenth century. &ldquo;Vivian Grey&rdquo; (1826-27) and &ldquo;Sybil&rdquo; (1845) mark the
      beginning and the end of his truly creative period; for the two
      productions of his latest years, &ldquo;Lothair&rdquo; (1870) and &ldquo;Endymion&rdquo; (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&mdash;a fact which his prominence as a statesman during the
      last decade of his life, as well as the vogue of &ldquo;Lothair&rdquo; and &ldquo;Endymion,&rdquo;
       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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Disraeli was barely twenty-one when he published &ldquo;Vivian Grey,&rdquo; his first
      work of fiction; and the young author was at once hailed as a master of
      his art by an almost unanimous press.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this, as in his subsequent books, it was not so much Disraeli&rsquo;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
      &ldquo;Vivian Grey&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;Vivian
      Grey,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s fine imagination and vivid
      descriptive powers.
    </p>
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <hr >
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <span style="font-size: larger"><b>CONTENTS</b></span>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <span style="font-size: larger"><b>VIVIAN GREY</b></span> </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> BOOK I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> BOOK II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER X </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> BOOK III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> BOOK IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> BOOK V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER X </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER XI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER XII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER XV </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> BOOK VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> BOOK VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0067"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0068"> CHAPTER V </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0069"> CHAPTER VI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0070"> CHAPTER VII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0071"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0072"> CHAPTER IX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0073"> CHAPTER X </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0074"> CHAPTER XI </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0075"> CHAPTER XII </a>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br >
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> BOOK VIII </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0076"> CHAPTER I </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0077"> CHAPTER II </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0078"> CHAPTER III </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2HCH0079"> CHAPTER IV </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <hr >
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p>
        <b>List of Illustrations</b>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#linkimage-0001"> Frontispiece </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#linkimage-0002"> Titlepage </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#linkimage-0003"> Small Silver Box </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#linkimage-0004"> Is there anything you want, sir? </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#linkimage-0005"> Dark Thought </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br > <br >
    </p>
    <hr >
    <p>
      <br > <br > <br > <br >
    </p>
    <hr >
    <p>
      <br > <br > <a id="link2H_4_0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      VIVIAN GREY
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2H_4_0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK I
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am told, my dear,&rdquo; observed Mrs. Grey, one day after dinner to her
      husband, &ldquo;I am told, my dear, that Dr. Flummery&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And quite right in the child, my dear. Pictorial alphabet! pictorial
      fool&rsquo;s head!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what do you say to Flummery&rsquo;s, Horace?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear, do what you like. I never trouble myself, you know, about these
      matters;&rdquo; and Mr. Grey refreshed himself, after this domestic attack, with
      a glass of claret.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s child; Mr. Grey&rsquo;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 &ldquo;that
      the urchin would never scribble.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t go to school, mamma,&rdquo; bawled Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you must, my love,&rdquo; answered Mrs. Grey; &ldquo;all good boys go to school;&rdquo;
       and in the plenitude of a mother&rsquo;s love she tried to make her offspring&rsquo;s
      hair curl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I won&rsquo;t have my hair curl, mamma; the boys will laugh at me,&rdquo; rebawled
      the beauty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now who could have told the child that?&rdquo; monologised mamma, with all a
      mamma&rsquo;s admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Charles Appleyard told me so; his hair curled, and the boys called him
      girl. Papa! give me some more claret; I won&rsquo;t go to school.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s London mansion was filled with all sorts of portmanteaus,
      trunks, and travelling cases, directed in a boy&rsquo;s sprawling hand to
      &ldquo;Vivian Grey, Esquire, at the Reverend Everard Dallas, Burnsley Vicarage,
      Hants.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;God bless you, my boy! write to your mother soon, and remember your
      Journal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      The rumour of the arrival of &ldquo;a new fellow&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A dandy, by Jove!&rdquo; whispered St. Leger Smith. &ldquo;What a knowing set out!&rdquo;
       squeaked Johnson secundus. &ldquo;Mammy-sick!&rdquo; growled Barlow primus. This last
      exclamation was, however, a scandalous libel, for certainly no being ever
      stood in a pedagogue&rsquo;s presence with more perfect sang froid, and with a
      bolder front, than did, at this moment, Vivian Grey.
    </p>
    <p>
      One principle in Mr. Dallas&rsquo;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 &ldquo;the arrival.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;so dashing! so devilish
      good-tempered! so completely up to everything!&rdquo; The magnates of the land
      were certainly rather jealous of his success, but their very sneers bore
      witness to his popularity. &ldquo;Cursed puppy,&rdquo; whispered St. Leger Smith.
      &ldquo;Thinks himself knowing,&rdquo; squeaked Johnson secundus. &ldquo;Thinks himself
      witty,&rdquo; growled Barlow primus.
    </p>
    <p>
      Notwithstanding this cabal, days rolled on at Burnsley Vicarage only to
      witness the increase of Vivian&rsquo;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&rsquo;s English verses and Vivian Grey&rsquo;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&rsquo;
      albums; while the whole school were scribbling embryo prize-poems, epics
      of twenty lines on &ldquo;the Ruins of Paestum&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Temple of Minerva;&rdquo;
       &ldquo;Agrigentum,&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Cascade of Terni.&rdquo; Vivian&rsquo;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 &ldquo;good
      Latin&rdquo; and &ldquo;Attic Greek&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s the rub!
      Bitter thought! that gratitude should cease the moment we become men.
    </p>
    <p>
      And sure I am that Vivian Grey was loved as ardently and as faithfully as
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Twelve weeks more,&rdquo; said Augustus Etherege; &ldquo;twelve weeks more, and we
      are free! The glorious day should be celebrated.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A feast, a feast!&rdquo; exclaimed Poynings.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A feast is but the work of a night,&rdquo; said Vivian Grey; &ldquo;something more
      stirring for me! What say you to private theatricals?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;supposed they must give it up;&rdquo; 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. &ldquo;Well, then, we&rsquo;ll do it without asking him,&rdquo; said
      Vivian; &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No! no!&rdquo; said Vivian, tired at these various and varying proposals, &ldquo;this
      will never do. Out upon Tragedies; let&rsquo;s have a Comedy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A Comedy! a Comedy! oh! how delightful!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      After an immense number of propositions, and an equal number of
      repetitions, Dr. Hoadley&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;out of school hours.&rdquo; The consequence was, that certain powers
      were necessarily delegated to a certain set of beings called USHERS.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
      Thucydides under his arm, the respected Dominie stopped, and thus
      harangued: &ldquo;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:&rdquo; and so
      saying, the Dominie withdrew.
    </p>
    <p>
      All eyes were immediately fixed on Vivian, and the faces of the Classics
      were triumphant with smiles; those of the manager&rsquo;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. &ldquo;No stranger!&rdquo; shouted St. Leger Smith; &ldquo;no
      stranger!&rdquo; vociferated a prepared gang. Vivian&rsquo;s friends were silent, for
      they hesitated to accept for their leader the insulting title. Those who
      were neither Vivian&rsquo;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: &ldquo;Down with the manager!&rdquo; he cried.
      His satellites chorussed. But now Vivian rushed forward. &ldquo;Mr. Smith, I
      thank you for being so definite; take that!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s for nothing!
    </p>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;Go it, Ranger! go it, Ranger!&rdquo; halloed the Greyites; &ldquo;No
      stranger! no stranger!&rdquo; eagerly bawled the more numerous party. &ldquo;Smith&rsquo;s
      floored, by Jove!&rdquo; exclaimed Poynings, who was Grey&rsquo;s second. &ldquo;At it
      again! at it again!&rdquo; exclaimed all. And now, when Smith must certainly
      have given in, suddenly stepped forward Mr. Mallett, accompanied by&mdash;Dallas!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How, Mr. Grey! No answer, sir; I understand that you have always an
      answer ready. I do not quote Scripture lightly, Mr. Grey; but &lsquo;Take heed
      that you offend not, even with your tongue.&rsquo; Now, sir, to your room.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A horrible row, Grey,&rdquo; said the latter. &ldquo;After you went, the Doctor
      harangued the whole school, and swears you have seduced and ruined us all;
      everything was happiness until you came, &amp;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 &lsquo;The Stranger;&rsquo; as for myself
      and Etherege, we shall leave in a few weeks, and it does not signify to
      us; but what the devil you&rsquo;re to do next half, by Jove, I can&rsquo;t say. If I
      were you, I would not return.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0005">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;How d&rsquo;ye do, Grey? How d&rsquo;ye do, Grey?&rdquo;
       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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We can make room for you at the fire, Grey,&rdquo; said Theophilus
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thank you, I am not cold.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose you know that Poynings and Etherege don&rsquo;t come back, Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Everybody knew that last half:&rdquo; and so he walked on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey, Grey!&rdquo; halloed King, &ldquo;don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Days, the heavy first days of the half, rolled on, and all the citizens of
      the little commonwealth had returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a dull half this will be!&rdquo; said Eardley; &ldquo;how one misses Grey&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Eardley! Eardley! there is Grey walking round playing fields with
      Mallett!&rdquo; halloed a sawney who was killing the half-holiday by looking out
      of the window.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The devil! I say, Matthews, whose flute is that? It is a devilish
      handsome one!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It&rsquo;s Grey&rsquo;s! I clean it for him,&rdquo; squeaked a little boy. &ldquo;He gives me
      sixpence a week!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, you sneak!&rdquo; said one.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cut him over!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Roast him!&rdquo; cried a third.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To whom are you going to take the flute?&rdquo; asked a fourth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To Mallett,&rdquo; squeaked the little fellow. &ldquo;Grey lends his flute to Mallett
      every day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey lends his flute to Mallett! The deuce he does! So Grey and Mallett
      are going to crony!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A wild exclamation burst forth from the little party; and away each of
      them ran, to spread in all directions the astounding intelligence.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s life, and acquainted with all the workings of a school-boy&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&mdash;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: &ldquo;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.&rdquo; Vivian Grey
      smiled, while the horrid cries of Mallett indicated that the boys were
      &ldquo;roasting&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;course of study.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s boudoir with lexicons and slippers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivian, my dear,&rdquo; said his father to him one day, &ldquo;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 &lsquo;The Commerce of Carthage&rsquo; stuck in my
      large paper copy of &lsquo;Dibdin&rsquo;s Decameron,&rsquo; and an &lsquo;Essay on the Metaphysics
      of Music&rsquo; (pray, my dear fellow, beware of magazine scribbling) cracking
      the back of Montfaucon&rsquo;s &lsquo;Monarchie.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian apologised, promised, protested, and finally sat down &ldquo;TO READ.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Determined to spare no exertions, and to neglect no means, by which he
      might enter into the very penetralia of his mighty master&rsquo;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 &ldquo;best
      editions.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Grey stared at his son, and laughed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 &lsquo;withdrawn the sacred veil, which
      covers from profane eyes the luminous spectacles?&rsquo; 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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir! you are pleased to be amusing this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0007">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;not to visit,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0008">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      We must endeavour to trace, if possible, more accurately the workings of
      Vivian Grey&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Such was the general tenor of Vivian&rsquo;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 &ldquo;Noble Mind&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been often struck by the ancient tales of Jupiter&rsquo;s visits to the
      earth. In these fanciful adventures, the god bore no indication of the
      Thunderer&rsquo;s glory; but was a man of low estate, a herdsman, a hind, often
      even an animal. A mighty spirit has in Tradition, Time&rsquo;s great moralist,
      perused &lsquo;the wisdom of the ancients.&rsquo; Even in the same spirit, I would
      explain Jove&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 château? 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?&rdquo; He laughed an answer of bitterest derision.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivian,&rdquo; said Mr. Grey, &ldquo;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 &lsquo;Memnon, or a youth too forward.&rsquo; I hope you are
      not going to be one of those sons of Aurora, &lsquo;who, puffed up with the
      glittering show of vanity and ostentation, attempt actions above their
      strength.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s, where I have promised to look in, to see the Mazarin Bible, and
      we will talk this affair over as we go along.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s the phrase). Self is the only person whom we
      know nothing about.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo; time, perhaps, or less, the fever will have subsided, and in ten
      years&rsquo; time, or less, your intellect will be matured. Now, 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?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t blame me, you know, if afterwards you repent it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;Ah! my dear
      Vivian,&rdquo; said Mr. Grey, &ldquo;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, &lsquo;He that maketh haste
      to be rich shall not be innocent.&rsquo; Let us step into Clarke&rsquo;s and take an
      ice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK II
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0010">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      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 Roué, and was shipped to the Colonies.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s consequence were
      shorn; but the Marquess&rsquo;s secret applications at the Treasury were no
      longer listened to, and pert under-secretaries settled their cravats, and
      whispered &ldquo;that the Carabas interest was gone by.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was the distinguished individual who graced, one day at the latter
      end of the season of 18&mdash;, 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s vote for a future
      St. Andrew&rsquo;s day.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The guests were not numerous. A regius professor of Greek; an officer just
      escaped from Sockatoo; a man of science, and two M.P.&lsquo;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 &ldquo;Clarence Devonshire,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;committing&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;pets&rdquo; of Mrs.
      Grey.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;his intimate friend, the Soudan,&rdquo; and about the chain
      armour of the Sockatoo cuirassiers; and one of the M.P.&lsquo;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 &amp;c., &amp;c., &amp;c. In short, all had said their say.
      There was a dead pause, and Mrs. Grey looked at her husband, and rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;At Home.&rdquo; The novelist was silent,
      for he was studying a scene; and the poet was absent, for he was musing a
      sonnet.
    </p>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;In my opinion,&rdquo; said Mr. Vivian
      Grey, as he sat lounging in his father&rsquo;s vacated seat, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;Exactly what I meant!&rdquo; and his
      opponents, full of wine and quite puzzled, gave in.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;Vivian, my dear,
      can you tell me in what work of Bolingbroke I can find the eloquent
      passage you have just quoted?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ask Mr. Hargrave, sir,&rdquo; replied the son, with perfect coolness; then,
      turning to the member, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Coffee was announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I must be gone,&rdquo; said the fascinated noble; &ldquo;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&rsquo;t forget to call on me; good evening! and Mr. Vivian Grey! Mr. Vivian
      Grey!&rdquo; said his lordship, returning, &ldquo;you will not forget the receipt you
      promised me for making tomahawk punch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly not, my Lord,&rdquo; said the young man; &ldquo;only it must be invented
      first,&rdquo; thought Vivian, as he took up his light to retire. &ldquo;But never
      mind, never mind;
    </p>
<pre>
     Chapeau bas! chapeau bas!
     Glorie au Marquis de Carabas!!&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0011">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      A few days after the dinner at Mr. Grey&rsquo;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&rsquo;s accounts, and a few letters from some grumbling
      tenants, Mr. Vivian Grey was announced.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear I am intruding on your Lordship, but I really could not refrain
      from bringing you the receipt I promised.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most happy to see ye, most happy to see ye.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is exactly the correct receipt, my Lord. TO EVERY TWO BOTTLES OF
      STILL CHAMPAGNE, ONE PINT OF CURAÇAO.&rdquo; The Peer&rsquo;s eyes glistened, and his
      companion proceeded; &ldquo;ONE PINT OF CURAÇAO; CATCH THE AROMA OF A POUND OF
      GREEN TEA, AND DASH THE WHOLE WITH GLENLIVET.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Splendid!&rdquo; ejaculated the Marquess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s chêf&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;First-rate! Laporte <i>is</i> a genius.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my Lord! I shall be most happy to superintend the first concoction
      for you; and remember particularly,&rdquo; said Vivian, rising, &ldquo;remember it
      must be iced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, my dear fellow; but pray don&rsquo;t think of going yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am very sorry, my Lord; but such a pressure of engagements; your
      Lordship&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why this moment especially, Mr. Vivian Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord! I am perfectly aware of your Lordship&rsquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; Splendid peroration!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord!&rdquo; carelessly remarked Vivian, &ldquo;I thought it was a mere on
      dit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thought what, my dear sir? you really quite perplex me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean to say, my Lord; I, I thought it was impossible the overtures had
      been made.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Overtures, Mr. Vivian Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, my Lord! Overtures; has not your Lordship seen the <i>Post</i>. But
      I knew it was impossible; I said so, I&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Said what, Mr. Vivian Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Said that the whole paragraph was unfounded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Paragraph! what paragraph?&rdquo; and his Lordship rose, and rang the library
      bell with vehemence: &ldquo;Sadler, bring me the <i>Morning Post</i>.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s hands, exclaimed, &ldquo;There, my
      Lord! there, that will explain all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Lordship read:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;; and Mr. Charlatan Gas
      the&mdash;. 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Utterly untrue,&rdquo; whispered the Peer, with an agitated voice, and with a
      countenance which, for a moment, seemed intellectual.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But why Mr. Vivian Grey should deem the fact of such overtures having
      been made &lsquo;impossible,&rsquo; I confess, astonishes me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Impossible, my Lord!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, Mr. Grey, impossible, that was your word.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord! what should I know about these matters?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay, Mr. Grey, something must have been floating in your mind: why
      impossible, why impossible? Did your father think so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s happiest efforts; but it was not the happiness of the likeness,
      or the beauty of the painting, which now attracted his Lordship&rsquo;s
      attention; he thought only of the costume in which he appeared in that
      portrait: the court dress of a Cabinet Minister. &ldquo;Impossible, Mr. Grey,
      you must confess, is a very peculiar word,&rdquo; reiterated his Lordship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hah!&rdquo; and the Marquess nearly started from his seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, my Lord, I am a young, an inexperienced young man, ignorant of the
      world&rsquo;s ways; doubtless I was wrong, but I have much to learn,&rdquo; and his
      voice faltered; &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is power a thing so easily to be despised, young man?&rdquo; asked the
      Marquess. His eye rested on a vote of thanks from the &ldquo;Merchants and
      Bankers of London to the Right Honourable Sydney Lorraine, President,
      &amp;c., &amp;c., &amp;c.,&rdquo; which, splendidly emblazoned, and gilt, and
      framed, and glazed, was suspended opposite the President&rsquo;s portrait.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no! my Lord, you mistake me,&rdquo; eagerly burst forth Vivian. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Peer sat in a musing mood, playing the Devil&rsquo;s tattoo on the library
      table; at last he raised his eyes, and said in a low whisper, &ldquo;Are you so
      certain that I can command all and everything?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s valuable time, and displayed too much of my own
      ignorance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir! I am not aware that I was smiling.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! your Lordship is so very kind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The many, my Lord, are not always right.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was a dead silence, which at length the Marquess broke. &ldquo;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.&rdquo; O, ambition! art thou the
      parent of truth?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! my Lord!&rdquo; eagerly rejoined Vivian, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say you so, my merry man, and how?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, my Lord: but, but, I feel that I am trespassing on your Lordship&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Marquess,&rdquo; exclaimed her Ladyship, and a favourite green parrot,
      which came flying in after its accustomed perch, her Ladyship&rsquo;s left
      shoulder, shrieked at the same time in concert, &ldquo;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. &lsquo;I really do think she
      is a leetle better&rsquo; and Miss Graves said, &lsquo;Yes, my Lady, I hope she is;
      &lsquo;when just as we flattered ourselves that the dear little creature was
      enjoying a quiet sleep, Miss Graves called out, &lsquo;Oh, my Lady! my Lady!
      Julie&rsquo;s in a fit!&rsquo; and when I turned round she was lying on her back,
      kicking, with her eyes shut.&rsquo; And here the Marchioness detected Mr. Grey,
      and gave him as sublime a stare as might be expected from a lady patroness
      of Almack&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Marchioness, Mr. Vivian Grey, my love, I assure you we are engaged in
      a most important, a most&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;the warm bath,&rdquo; and then lectured, with
      equal rapidity and erudition, on dogs, and their diseases in general.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marchioness retired, &ldquo;easier in her mind about Julie than she had been
      for some days,&rdquo; as Vivian assured her &ldquo;that it was not apoplexy, but only
      the first symptom of an epidemic.&rdquo; And as she retired, she murmured her
      gratitude gracefully to Julie&rsquo;s young physician.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said his Lordship, endeavouring to recover his dignity,
      &ldquo;we were discussing the public sentiments you know on a certain point,
      when this unfortunate interruption&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had not much difficulty in collecting his ideas, and he proceeded,
      not as displeased as his Lordship with the domestic scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess breathed aloud, &ldquo;They say so, do they?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend,&rdquo; said the agitated Peer, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s phrase. I only hesitated as to the existence of the
      inclination on the part of your Lordship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You cannot doubt it now,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Vivian, and he drew his chair close to the Marquess, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s name,&rdquo;
       said Vivian, whispering most earnestly in the Marquess&rsquo;s ear, and laying
      his hand upon his Lordship&rsquo;s arm; &ldquo;give me your Lordship&rsquo;s name, and your
      Lordship&rsquo;s influence, and I will take upon myself the whole organisation
      of the Carabas party.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Carabas party! Ah! we must think more of this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess&rsquo;s eyes smiled with triumph, as he shook Vivian cordially by
      the hand, and begged him to call upon him on the morrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s
      remaining in high favour.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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, Château Desir, at
      which splendid place Vivian was to pass the summer.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;Vivian Grey was the most astonishingly clever
      and prodigiously accomplished fellow that ever breathed;&rdquo; and, as the
      Marquess always added, &ldquo;resembled himself very much when he was young.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;Who is to be my enemy
      to-morrow?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      How shall we describe Château 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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 Château Desir endeavoured to find some consolation for
      the loss of his beautiful villa on the banks of the Adige.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Château, had been recently introduced into England by Hans
      Holbein and John of Padua.
    </p>
    <p>
      How wild and fanciful are those ancient arabesques! Here at Château 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 &ldquo;Temptation of St. Anthony;&rdquo; and now a mournful,
      mystic, bearded countenance, which might have flitted in the back scene of
      a &ldquo;Witches&rsquo; Sabbath.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Around the Castle were extensive pleasure-grounds, which realised the
      romance of the &ldquo;Gardens of Verulam.&rdquo; 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 berçeau 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O fair scene!&rdquo; thought Vivian Grey, as he approached, on a fine summer&rsquo;s
      afternoon, the splendid Château, &ldquo;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?&rdquo; And here
      he gained the garden-gate: so he stopped his soliloquy, and gave his horse
      to his groom.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Marquess had preceded Vivian in his arrival about three or four days,
      and of course, to use the common phrase, the establishment &ldquo;was quite
      settled.&rdquo; 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 Château. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Such was the salutation of the Marquess; and Vivian accordingly retired to
      arrange his toilet.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Felix Lorraine, Mr. Vivian Grey,&rdquo; said the Marquess, as a lady
      entered the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Honourable Felix Lorraine we have before described as a roué. 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 &ldquo;too bad,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s, who, in due time, to the horror of the Marquess,
      landed in England, and claimed the protection of her &ldquo;beloved husband&rsquo;s
      family.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s roof, and not only had never quitted it, but now made the
      greatest favour of her staying.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo; champagne was excellent; and so, at last, the
      floodgates of his speech burst, and talk he did. He complimented her
      Ladyship&rsquo;s poodle, quoted German to Mrs. Felix Lorraine, and taught the
      Marquess to eat cabinet pudding with Curaçao 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&rsquo; 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 &ldquo;from the sunset we should
      have a fine day to-morrow,&rdquo; fell back in his easy-chair, and snored.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Felix Lorraine looked at her noble relatives, and shrugged up her
      shoulders with an air which baffleth all description. &ldquo;Mr. Grey, I
      congratulate you on this hospitable reception; you see we treat you quite
      en famille. Come! &lsquo;tis a fine evening; you have seen as yet but little of
      Château Desir: we may as well enjoy the fine air on the terrace.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0015">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must know, Mr. Grey, that this is my favourite walk, and I therefore
      expect that it will be yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It cannot indeed fail to be such, the favourite as it alike is of nature
      and Mrs. Felix Lorraine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On my word, a very pretty sentence! And who taught you, young sir, to
      bandy words so fairly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never can open my mouth, except in the presence of a woman,&rdquo; observed
      Vivian, with impudent mendacity; and he looked interesting and innocent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! And what do you know about such wicked work as talking to women?&rdquo;
       and here Mrs. Felix Lorraine imitated Vivian&rsquo;s sentimental voice. &ldquo;Do you
      know,&rdquo; she continued, &ldquo;I feel quite happy that you have come down here; I
      begin to think that we shall be great friends.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing appears to me more evident,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How delicious is friendship!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Felix Lorraine; &ldquo;delightful
      sentiment, that prevents life from being a curse! Have you a friend, Mr.
      Vivian Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before I answer that question, I should like to know what meaning Mrs.
      Felix Lorraine attaches to that important monosyllable, friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rdquo; (and here her voice sunk), &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Old!&rdquo; said Vivian, in a proper tone of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Old! ay old; how old do you think I am?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may have seen twenty summers,&rdquo; gallantly conjectured Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady looked pleased, and almost insinuated that she had seen one or
      two more.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A clever woman,&rdquo; thought Vivian, &ldquo;but vain; I hardly know what to think
      of her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, I fear you find me in bad spirits to-day; but alas! I&mdash;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.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dearest madam! it is impossible that I can have but one sentiment with
      regard to you, that of&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of what, Mr. Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of solicitude for your welfare.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s indifference was the sorrowful
      theme of her lamentations; and she ended by asking Mr. Vivian Grey&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why should I mention it here, and to whom? The Marquess is the best
      of men, but&mdash;&rdquo; and here she looked up in Vivian&rsquo;s face, and spoke
      volumes; &ldquo;and the Marchioness is the most amiable of women: at least, I
      suppose her lap-dog thinks so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The advice of Vivian was concise. He sent the husband to the devil in two
      seconds, and insisted upon the wife&rsquo;s not thinking of him for another
      moment; and then the lady dried her eyes, and promised to do her best.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, &ldquo;I must talk about your own affairs.
      I think your plan excellent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Plan, madam!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian did think it a very pretty hand, and he performed due courtesies in
      a becoming style.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, good even to you,&rdquo; said the lady; &ldquo;this little gate leads to my
      apartments. You will have no difficulty in finding your way back.&rdquo; So
      saying, she disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The first week at Château Desir passed pleasantly enough. Vivian&rsquo;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 &ldquo;what side was to be taken on the great questions?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      We said the first week at Château Desir passed pleasantly enough; and so
      it did, for Vivian&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0017">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The second week of Vivian&rsquo;s visit had come round, and the flag waved
      proudly on the proud tower of Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      To all these distinguished personages Vivian was introduced by the
      Marquess as &ldquo;a monstrous clever young man, and his Lordship&rsquo;s most
      particular friend,&rdquo; and then the noble Carabas left the game in his young
      friend&rsquo;s hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      And right well Vivian did his duty. In a week&rsquo;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&rsquo;s pony phaeton, he
      entrusted her, &ldquo;in confidence,&rdquo; with some ideas of his own about
      martingales, a subject which he assured her Ladyship &ldquo;had been the object
      of his mature consideration.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0018">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;whether they
      should ride together.&rdquo; The young heir-apparent looked stiff and assented.
      He arrived again at Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of course, you except sporting for yourself, shooting especially, I
      suppose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shooting, oh! ah! there is such a thing. No, I am no shot; not that I
      have not in 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, &lsquo;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&rsquo;t you agree with Tom Moore, Miss Manvers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 &lsquo;Lalla Rookh&rsquo;
      <i>Tom</i> Moore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, what was it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s face!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Monsieur Denon did take a portrait of Mr. Rogers as Cupid, I
      believe?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, madam, &lsquo;no scandal about Queen Elizabeth.&rsquo; Mr. Rogers is one of the
      most elegant-minded men in the country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay! do not lecture me with such a laughing face, or else your moral will
      be utterly thrown away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! you have Retsch&rsquo;s &lsquo;Faust&rsquo; there. I did not expect on a drawing-room
      table at Château 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&rsquo;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 &lsquo;Lake Waterloo.&rsquo; Clapperton arrived a few days
      after him; and the pool was immediately re-baptized &lsquo;Lake Trafalgar.&rsquo;
      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, &lsquo;The United Service Lake.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That would have been happy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How beautiful Margaret is,&rdquo; said Vivian, rising from his ottoman, and
      seating himself on the sofa by the lady. &ldquo;I always think that this is the
      only Personification where Art has not rendered Innocence insipid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How can you refine so, when the thermometer is at 100°! Pray, tell me
      some more stories.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; said Vivian, turning over a bundle of Stewart Newton&rsquo;s
      beauties, languishing, and lithographed. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! I am an admirer of Newton&rsquo;s paintings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, not the least! Mamma does not visit that way. What are they?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, very powerful people! though &lsquo;Mamma does not visit that way.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By-the-bye, who is the author of Tremaine?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, I wish you could get me an autograph of Mr. Washington Irving;
      I want it for a particular friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me a pen and ink; I will write you one immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ridiculous!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There! now you have made me blot Faustus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment the room-door suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who was that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mephistopheles, or Mrs. Felix Lorraine; one or the other, perhaps both.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you think of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, Miss Manvers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! I think her a very amusing woman, a very clever woman a very&mdash;but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I cannot exactly make her out.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s autograph
      for you; read it; is it not quite in character? Shall I write any more?
      One of Sir Walter&rsquo;s, or Mr. Southey&rsquo;s, or Mr. Milman&rsquo;s or Mr. Disraeli&rsquo;s?
      or shall I sprawl a Byron?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really cannot sanction such unprincipled conduct. You may make me one
      of Sir Walter&rsquo;s, however.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor Washington!&rdquo; said Vivian, writing. &ldquo;I knew him well. He always slept
      at dinner. One day, as he was dining at Mr. Hallam&rsquo;s, they took him, when
      asleep, to Lady Jersey&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think there is nothing more pleasant than talking over the season, in
      the country, in August.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 &lsquo;the
      receipt for that white stuff,&rsquo; pointing to his Roman punch. I, who am a
      great man for receipts, gave it her immediately: &lsquo;One hod of mortar to one
      bottle of Noyau.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And did she thank you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what was the card?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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, &lsquo;between
      Mesopotamia and Russell Square.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray, Mr. Grey, is it true that all the houses in Russell Square are
      tenantless?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite true; the Marquess of Tavistock has given up the county in
      consequence. A perfect shame, is it not? Let us write it up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An admirable plan! but we will take the houses first, at a pepper-corn
      rent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a pity, Miss Manvers, the fashion has gone out of selling oneself to
      the devil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good gracious, Mr. Grey!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really cannot listen to such nonsense one moment longer. What would you
      have if Belial were here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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. Commençons: Spirit! I will have a fair castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will have a palace in town.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady bowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will have a fair wife. Why, Miss Manvers, you forget to bow!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really beg your pardon!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, this is a novel way of making an offer, and, I hope, a successful
      one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Julia, my dear,&rdquo; cried a voice in the veranda, &ldquo;Julia, my dear, I want
      you to walk with me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say you are engaged with the Marchioness,&rdquo; whispered Vivian, with a low
      but distinct&mdash;voice; his eyes fixed on the table, and his lips not
      appearing to move.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mamma, I am&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want you immediately and particularly, Julia,&rdquo; cried Lady Louisa, in an
      earnest voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am coming, I am coming. You see I must go.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0019">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      prospects, still, in the present case, the niece of my friend, my patron,
      high family, perfectly unexceptionable, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. Such blue
      eyes! upon my honour, this must be an exception to the general rule,&rdquo; Here
      a light step attracted his attention, and, on turning round, he found Mrs.
      Felix Lorraine at his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! you are here, Mr. Grey, acting the solitaire in the park! I want your
      opinion about a passage in &lsquo;Herman and Dorothea.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s timber, by carving a certain person&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 Château Desir that very day, but particularly Mrs. Felix Lorraine and
      Mr. Vivian Grey. The sudden departure was accounted for by the arrival of
      &ldquo;unexpected,&rdquo; &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. There was no hope; the green
      post-chariot was at the door, a feeble promise of a speedy return; Julia&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0020">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
    <p>
      The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances was quite
      dispelled when the Marquess entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Carabas,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;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?&rdquo; gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: &ldquo;but who do you
      think is coming besides?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who, who?&rdquo; exclaimed all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, you shall guess,&rdquo; said the Peer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Duke of Waterloo?&rdquo; guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Prince Hungary?&rdquo; asked her sister Laura.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it a gentleman?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no, you are all wrong, and all very stupid. It is Mrs. Million.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, how delightful!&rdquo; said Cynthia.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, how annoying!&rdquo; said the Marchioness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You need not look so agitated, my love,&rdquo; said the Marquess; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the Hall, Marquess?&rdquo; asked Cynthia
      Courtown.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his melancholy
      by a gallop.
    </p>
    <p>
      Returning home, he intended to look in at a pretty farm-house, where lived
      one John Conyers, a great friend of Vivian&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why are you crying so, my boy?&rdquo; asked Vivian of a little Conyers, who was
      sobbing bitterly at the floor. He was answered only with desperate sobs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, &lsquo;tis your honour,&rdquo; said a decent-looking woman, who came out of the
      house; &ldquo;I thought they had come back again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come back again! why, what is the matter, dame?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! your honour, we&rsquo;re in sad distress; there&rsquo;s been a seizure this
      morning, and I&rsquo;m mortal fear&rsquo;d the good man&rsquo;s beside himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! your honour, we a&rsquo;nt his Lordship&rsquo;s tenants no longer; there&rsquo;s been a
      change for Purley Mill, and now we&rsquo;re Lord Mounteney&rsquo;s people. John
      Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick
      always gave time: Lord Mounteney&rsquo;s gem&rsquo;man says the system&rsquo;s bad, and so
      he&rsquo;ll put an end to it; and so all&rsquo;s gone, your honour; all&rsquo;s gone, and
      I&rsquo;m mortal fear&rsquo;d the good man&rsquo;s beside himself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who is Lord Mounteney&rsquo;s man of business?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Stapylton Toad,&rdquo; sobbed the good dame.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here, boy, leave off crying, and hold my horse; keep your hold tight, but
      give him rein, he&rsquo;ll be quiet enough then. I will see honest John, dame.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I&rsquo;m sure your honour&rsquo;s very kind, but I&rsquo;m mortal fear&rsquo;d the good man&rsquo;s
      beside himself, and he&rsquo;s apt to do very violent things when the fits on
      him. He hasn&rsquo;t been so bad since young Barton behaved so wickedly to his
      sister.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind! there is nothing like a friend&rsquo;s face in the hour of sorrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wouldn&rsquo;t advise your honour,&rdquo; said the good dame. &ldquo;It&rsquo;s an awful hour
      when the fit&rsquo;s on him; he knows not friend or foe, and scarcely knows me,
      your honour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind, I&rsquo;ll see him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! pray beware, your honour,&rdquo; earnestly whispered the poor dame, as she
      entered the cottage with the visitor.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Conyers!&rdquo; exclaimed Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no answer, nor did the miserable man appear in the slightest
      degree to be sensible of Vivian&rsquo;s presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My good John!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s face was hid.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;John Conyers, it is your friend, Mr. Vivian Grey, who is here,&rdquo; said
      Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey!&rdquo; moaned the husbandman; &ldquo;Grey! who is he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your friend, John Conyers. Do you quite forget me?&rdquo; said Vivian
      advancing, and with a tone which Vivian Grey could alone assume.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think I have seen you, and you were kind,&rdquo; and the face was again hid.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And always will be kind, John. I have come to comfort you. I thought that
      a friend&rsquo;s voice would do you good. Come, cheer up, my man!&rdquo; and Vivian
      dared to touch him. His hand was not repulsed. &ldquo;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,&rdquo; and he took the husbandman&rsquo;s sturdy hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do remember you,&rdquo; he faintly cried. &ldquo;You were always very kind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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:&rdquo; and Vivian
      beckoned to the wife to open the closed shutter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Conyers stared around him, but his eye rested only on bare walls, and the
      big tear coursed down his hardy cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, never mind, man,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;we will soon have chairs and tables
      again. And as for the rent, think no more about that at present.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s knee.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The fit is over,&rdquo; whispered the wife. &ldquo;There, there, there&rsquo;s a man, all
      is now well;&rdquo; and Vivian left him resting on his wife&rsquo;s bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t
      forget some ale;&rdquo; so saying, Vivian flung the urchin a sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, dame, for Heaven&rsquo;s sake, light the fire. As for the rent, John,
      do not waste this trifle on that,&rdquo; whispered Vivian, slipping his purse
      into his hand, &ldquo;for I will see Stapylton Toad, and get time. Why, woman,
      you&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s a good
      boy. And so white-footed Moll is past all recovery? Well, she was a pretty
      creature! There, that will do famously,&rdquo; said Vivian, fanning the flame
      with his hat. &ldquo;See, it mounts well! And now, God bless you all! for I am
      an hour too late, and must scamper for my very life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0021">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
    <p>
      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,
      &ldquo;in better taste.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;that
      her will was his conduct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The whole suite of apartments were thrown open, and were crowded with
      guests. Mrs. Million entered; she was leaning on the Marquess&rsquo; 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, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;went
      the circuit,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 Château Desir, more blooming than ever! Good Mr.
      Stapylton Toad, so that little change was effected: My Lord Devildrain,
      this is a pleasure indeed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Ernest Clay,&rdquo; said Mr. Buckhurst Stanhope, &ldquo;I thought Alhambra wore
      a turban; I am quite disappointed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not in the country. Stanhope; here he only sits cross-legged on an
      ottoman, and carves his venison with an ataghan.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I am glad he does not wear a turban; that would be bad taste, I
      think,&rdquo; said Fool Stanhope. &ldquo;Have you read his poem?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; said Fool Stanhope; &ldquo;I must get it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Puff! I am quite glad to find you here,&rdquo; said Mr. Cayenne, a
      celebrated reviewer, to Mr. Partenopex Puff, a small author and smaller
      wit. &ldquo;Have you seen Middle Ages lately?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not very lately,&rdquo; drawled Mr. Partenopex, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, indeed! talking of the London, is Foaming Fudge to come in for
      Cloudland?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Bench, spout at a tavern, speak in
      the House, and fight a duel; and that he found time for everything but the
      last.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Excellent!&rdquo; laughed Mr. Cayenne.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw you in the last number,&rdquo; said Cayenne. &ldquo;From the quotations from
      your own works, I imagine the review of your own book was by yourself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you think Booby said?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Puff, allow me to introduce you to Lord Alhambra,&rdquo; said Ernest Clay,
      by which means Mr. Puff&rsquo;s servant&rsquo;s last good thing was lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Clay, are you an archer?&rdquo; asked Cynthia Courtown.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, fair Dian; but I can act Endymion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean. Go away.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Aubrey Vere, welcome to &mdash;&mdash;shire. Have you seen Prima Donna?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; is he here? How did you like his last song in the Age?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His last song! Pooh! pooh! he only supplies the scandal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Groves,&rdquo; said Sir Hanway Etherington, &ldquo;have you seen the newspaper this
      morning? Baron Crupper has tried fifteen men for horse-stealing at York,
      and acquitted every one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well then, Sir Hanway, I think his Lordship&rsquo;s remarkable wrong; for when
      a man gets a horse to suit him, if he loses it, &lsquo;tisn&rsquo;t so easy to suit
      himself again. That&rsquo;s the ground I stand upon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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,
      &ldquo;takes precedence of all Archduchesses, Grand Duchesses, Duchesses,
      Princesses, Landgravines, Margravines, Palsgravines, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0022">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      In their passage to the Hall, the Marquess and Mrs. Million met Vivian
      Grey, booted and spurred, and covered with mud.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Mrs. Million&mdash;Mr. Vivian Grey. How is this, my dear fellow? you
      will be too late.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Immense honour!&rdquo; said Vivian, bowing to the ground to the lady. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is that, Marquess?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Million.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is Mr. Vivian Grey, the most monstrous clever young man, and nicest
      fellow I know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He does, indeed, seem, a very nice young man,&rdquo; said Mrs. Million.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;in remarkable good taste.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In process of time, Mr. Vivian Grey made his entrance. There were a few
      vacant seats at the bottom of the table, &ldquo;luckily for him,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beautiful Cynthia,&rdquo; said Vivian Grey, softly and sweetly whispering in
      Miss Courtown&rsquo;s ear, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; There is nothing like giving a romp
      credit for a little boldness. To keep up her character she will out-herod
      Herod.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; said
      the hoyden, turning round to a set of surrounding servants, &ldquo;push this
      form down and put a chair between.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The men obeyed. All who sat lower in the table on Miss Cynthia Courtown&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now that is what I call a sensible arrangement; what could go off
      better?&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You may think so, sir,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s quarrel, merely for
      the sake of conversation. &ldquo;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;&rdquo; and here Boreall looked as if he had done his duty,
      in giving a young man a proper reproof.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian glanced a look of annihilation. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Boreall was one of those unfortunate men who always take things to the
      letter: he consequently looked amazed, and exclaimed, &ldquo;Two deaths, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whom are we among, bright Cynthia?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! an odd set,&rdquo; said the lady, looking dignified; &ldquo;but you know we can
      be exclusive.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Doctor and Toady are lower down.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where is Mrs. Felix Lorraine?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;At the opposite table, with Ernest Clay.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! there is Alhambra, next to Dormer Stanhope. Lord Alhambra, I am quite
      rejoiced to see you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! Mr. Grey, I am quite rejoiced to see you. How is your father?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Extremely well; he is at Paris; I heard from him yesterday. Do you ever
      see the Weimar Literary Gazette, my Lord?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; why?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is an admirable review of your poem in the last number I have
      received.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young nobleman looked agitated. &ldquo;I think, by the style,&rdquo; continued
      Vivian, &ldquo;that it is by Goëthe. It is really delightful to see the oldest
      poet in Europe dilating on the brilliancy of a new star on the poetical
      horizon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was uttered with a perfectly grave voice, and now the young nobleman
      blushed. &ldquo;Who is <i>Gewter</i>?&rdquo; asked Mr. Boreall, who possessed such a
      thirst for knowledge that he never allowed an opportunity to escape him of
      displaying his ignorance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A celebrated German writer,&rdquo; lisped the modest Miss Macdonald.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never heard his name,&rdquo; persevered the indefatigable Boreall; &ldquo;how do
      you spell it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;GOETHE,&rdquo; re-lisped modesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! <i>Goty</i>!&rdquo; exclaimed the querist. &ldquo;I know him well: he wrote the
      Sorrows of Werter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did he indeed, sir?&rdquo; asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring
      face.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! don&rsquo;t you know that?&rdquo; said Boreall, &ldquo;and poor stuff it is!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord Alhambra! I will take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the
      Marquess&rsquo; wines are in the state they should be:
    </p>
<pre>
     The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced,
     For Christian men the various wines were <i>iced</i>.
</pre>
    <p>
      I always think that those are two of the best lines in your Lordship&rsquo;s
      poem,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Flat! flat!&rdquo; said Vivian, as he dwelt upon the flavour of the Rhine&rsquo;s
      glory. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O, Vivian! why did not you come and speak to me?&rdquo; exclaimed a lady who
      was sitting at the side opposite Vivian, but higher in the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! adorable Lady Julia! and so you were done on the grey filly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Done!&rdquo; said the sporting beauty with pouting lips; &ldquo;but it is a long
      story, and I will tell it you another time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! do. How is Sir Peter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! he has had a fit or two, since you saw him last.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor old gentleman! let us drink his health. Do you know Lady Julia
      Knighton?&rdquo; asked Vivian of his neighbour. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Knock out the painted glass!&rdquo; said Mr. Boreall; &ldquo;well, I must confess, I
      cannot agree with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I have the honour of taking a glass of champagne with you, Mr. Grey?&rdquo;
       said Boreall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, indeed!&rdquo; muttered Vivian: &ldquo;Sir, I never drink anything but
      brandy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Allow me to give <i>you</i> some champagne, Miss,&rdquo; resumed Boreall, as he
      attacked the modest Miss Macdonald: &ldquo;champagne, you know,&rdquo; continued he,
      with a smile of agonising courtesy, &ldquo;is quite the lady&rsquo;s wine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cynthia Courtown,&rdquo; whispered Vivian with a sepulchral voice, &ldquo;&lsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baker!&rdquo; said Vivian, turning to a servant, &ldquo;go and inquire if Mr.
      Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;move up,&rdquo; and Vivian found
      himself opposite his friend, Mr. Hargrave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! Mr. Hargrave, how d&rsquo;ye do? What do you think of the Secretary&rsquo;s state
      paper?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Metternich Scribe, Mr. Vivian Grey!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s supper after the Opera, or vowed &ldquo;that Richmond Terrace was a
      most convenient situation for official men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have had it with us some time before the public received it,&rdquo; said the
      future under-secretary, with a look at once condescending and conceited.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; said Vivian: &ldquo;well, it does your office credit. It is a
      singular thing that Canning and Croker are the only official men who can
      write grammar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;Mr. Leverton,&rdquo; said he, accosting a flourishing grazier, &ldquo;I
      have received a letter from my friend, M. De Noé. He is desirous of
      purchasing some Leicestershires for his estate in Burgundy. Pray, may I
      take the liberty of introducing his agent to you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Leverton was delighted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      We will condense, for the benefit of the reader, the information of Mr.
      Leverton.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stapylton Toad had not the honour of being acquainted with his father&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
      partner, became his master&rsquo;s rival.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s new private portal, splendid with a brass knocker and patent
      varnish. And now his brother attorneys began to wonder &ldquo;how Toad got on!
      and who Toad&rsquo;s clients were!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;the
      profession&rdquo; wondered still more, and significant looks were interchanged
      by &ldquo;the respectable houses:&rdquo; and flourishing practitioners in the City
      shrugged up their shoulders, and talked mysteriously of &ldquo;money business,&rdquo;
       and &ldquo;some odd work in annuities.&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;had got out of difficulties.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      About this time Mr. Toad became acquainted with Lord Mounteney, a nobleman
      in great distress, with fifty thousand per annum. His Lordship &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The arrangement of the Mounteney property was the crowning stroke of Mr.
      Stapylton Toad&rsquo;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&rsquo;s country residence, in spite of its
      double lodges and patent park paling, was not, to Mr. Toad, a very
      expensive purchase; for he &ldquo;took it off the hands&rdquo; of a distressed client
      who wanted an immediate supply, &ldquo;merely to convenience him,&rdquo; and,
      consequently, became the purchaser at about half its real value.
      &ldquo;Attorneys,&rdquo; as Bustle the auctioneer says, &ldquo;have <i>such</i>
      opportunities!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Toad&rsquo;s career in the House was as correct as his conduct out of it.
      After ten years&rsquo; 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&rsquo;s brother for the county. At this general
      election, also, Stapylton Toad&rsquo;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 &ldquo;a first-rate
      parliamentary business;&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stapylton, like the rest of mankind, had his weak points. The late
      Marquess of Almack&rsquo;s was wont to manage him very happily, and Toad was
      always introducing that minister&rsquo;s opinion of his importance. &ldquo;&lsquo;My time is
      quite at your service, General,&rsquo; although the poor dear Marquess used to
      say, &lsquo;Mr. Stapylton Toad, your time is mine.&rsquo; He knew the business I had
      to get through!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You see, my Lord,&rdquo; Stapylton would say, pointing to a dark, dingy picture
      of a gentleman in a rich court dress, &ldquo;you see, my Lord, it is not in a
      very good light, and it certainly is a very dark picture, by Hudson; all
      Hudson&rsquo;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&rsquo;s a dark picture, certainly it is dark; all
      Hudson&rsquo;s pictures were.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0023">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s ideas upon this important subject had, of course,
      been adopted after studying Mr. Toad&rsquo;s &ldquo;most luminous and convincing
      pamphlet,&rdquo; still there were a few minor points on which Vivian &ldquo;was
      obliged to confess&rdquo; that &ldquo;he did not exactly see his way.&rdquo; Mr. Toad was
      astonished, but argumentative, and, of course, in due time, had made a
      convert of his companion; &ldquo;a young man,&rdquo; as he afterwards remarked to Lord
      Mounteney, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; If you
      wish to win a man&rsquo;s heart, allow him to confute you.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think, Mr. Grey, you must admit that my definition of labour is the
      correct one?&rdquo; said Mr. Toad, looking earnestly in Vivian&rsquo;s face, his
      finger just presuming to feel a button.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That exertion of mind or body which is not the involuntary effect of the
      influence of natural sensations,&rdquo; slowly repeated Vivian, as if his whole
      soul was concentrated in each monosyllable. &ldquo;Y-e-s, Mr. Toad, I do admit
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then, my dear sir, the rest follows of course,&rdquo; triumphantly exclaimed
      the member; &ldquo;don&rsquo;t you see it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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,&rdquo; said Vivian, in a musing mood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, my dear sir, I am surprised that you don&rsquo;t see that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, Mr. Toad,&rdquo; eagerly exclaimed Vivian; &ldquo;I see my error. I
      misconceived your meaning: you are right, sir; your definition is
      correct.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was confident that I should convince you, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      table, the late Marquess of Almack&rsquo;s&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the ablest men, Mr. Toad, after all, that this country ever
      produced.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, poor dear man!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I remember his observing to a friend of mine, who was at that time
      desirous of getting into the House: &lsquo;Hargrave,&rsquo; said his Lordship, &lsquo;if you
      want any information upon points of practical politics;&rsquo; that was his
      phrase; you remember, Mr. Toad, that his Lordship was peculiar in his
      phrases?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! yes, poor dear man; but you were observing, Mr. Grey&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, ay! &lsquo;If you want any information,&rsquo; said his Lordship, &lsquo;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;&rsquo; you know you were in for Mounteney then, Mr. Toad.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was, and accepted the Chilterns to make room for Augustus Clay, Ernest
      Clay&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, and much more, which I scarcely can remember;&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;how delightful it
      would be to write a pamphlet together&rdquo; 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, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.; and then, when
      Vivian had led Mr. Toad to deliver a splendid and patriotic oration on
      this point, he &ldquo;just remembered (quite apropos to the sentiments which Mr.
      Toad had just delivered, and which, he did not hesitate to say, &lsquo;did equal
      honour to his head and heart&rsquo;) that there was a little point, which, if it
      was not trespassing too much on Mr. Toad&rsquo;s attention, he would just submit
      to him;&rdquo; and then he mentioned poor John Conyers&rsquo; case, although &ldquo;he felt
      convinced, from Mr. Toad&rsquo;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,&rdquo; &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      What could Stapylton Toad do but, after a little amiable grumbling about
      &ldquo;bad system and bad precedent,&rdquo; promise everything that Vivian Grey
      required?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Vivian Grey,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, &ldquo;I cannot understand why you
      have been talking to Mr. Toad so long. Will you waltz?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s escape from Mrs. Felix, for he had not left
      Mr. Stapylton Toad with any intention of waltzing.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;making an impression.&rdquo; This important person was Sir
      Christopher Mowbray, who, upon the lecturer presuming to inform him &ldquo;what
      rent was,&rdquo; damned himself several times from sheer astonishment at the
      impudence of the fellow. I don&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sir Christopher Mowbray is member for the county of &mdash;&mdash;; 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 plucky 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 &ldquo;the Baronet is not up to the nineteenth
      century;&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s. The truth is, the good Baronet
      had no idea of &ldquo;liberal principles,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;the present perilous state of the country,&rdquo; and
      watches with great interest all &ldquo;the plans and plots&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;a hoax;&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;No! no! no! that won&rsquo;t do.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Lord,&rdquo; said Vivian, addressing the Marquess, who was still by the
      side of Mrs. Million, &ldquo;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 Château 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,&rdquo; said Vivian, with a serious voice, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess, who was always &ldquo;keeping up county influence,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s conversation no disagreeable
      relief to the pompous prosiness of his predecessor.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now, having succeeded in commanding Mrs. Million&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s character.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How beautiful the old Hall looked to-day! It is a scene which can only be
      met with in ancient families.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! there is nothing like old families!&rdquo; remarked Mrs. Million, with all
      the awkward feelings of a parvenue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly not,&rdquo; said Mrs. Million.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 their equals. But to be
      noble among nobles, where is the pre-eminence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where indeed?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And thus, in the highest circles,&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! love in a cottage, I suppose,&rdquo; interrupted Mrs. Million.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Neither love in a cottage, nor science in a cell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! pray tell me what it is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What it is? Oh! Lord Mayor of London, I suppose; that is the only
      situation which answers to my oracular description.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then you have been joking all this time!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must hear everything before I give an opinion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When, therefore, my mind was formed, I would wish to become the
      proprietor of a princely fortune.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; eagerly exclaimed Mrs. Million.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; thought Mrs. Million, &ldquo;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!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian remained in his seat for some time after the departure of his
      companion. &ldquo;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? Methinks I should make a pretty page, and hand a
      chased goblet as gracefully as any monkey that ever bent his knee in a
      lady&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment Vivian&rsquo;s arm was locked in that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; asked Vivian&rsquo;s companion, with a significant
      look.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0024">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is your Common-place Toadey, who merely echoes its feeder&rsquo;s
      common-place observations. There is your Playing-up Toadey, who,
      unconscious to its feeder, is always playing up to its feeder&rsquo;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&mdash;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 &ldquo;the spirit of freedom;&rdquo; when, like
      Curran&rsquo;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. &lsquo;Tis a beautiful scene,
      and ten thousand times more piquant than the humours of a Servants&rsquo; Hall,
      or the most grotesque and glorious moments of high life below stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear Miss Graves,&rdquo; said Miss Gusset, &ldquo;you can&rsquo;t imagine how terrified I
      was at that horrible green parrot flying upon my head! I declare it pulled
      out three locks of hair.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 Château, for
      the Prince could only send his carriage with it as far as Toadcaster.
      Luckily my Lady&rsquo;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&rsquo;s hearse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly you would, madame; your nerves are very delicate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! I, for my part, never could see much use in giving up to one&rsquo;s
      feelings. It is all very well for commoners,&rdquo; rather rudely exclaimed the
      Marchioness&rsquo; Toadey; &ldquo;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&rsquo;s; my Lord took his seat in the House; and I
      looked in at Lady Doubtful&rsquo;s where we do not visit, but where the
      Marchioness wishes to be civil.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We do not visit Lady Doubtful either,&rdquo; replied Miss Gusset: &ldquo;she had not
      a card for our fête champètre. I was so sorry you were not in town. It was
      so delightful!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, madam. The pines were most admirable. There are few people for
      whom I entertain a higher esteem, than Mr. Gunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Marchioness seems very fond of her parrot, Miss Graves; but she is a
      sweet woman!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, a dear, amiable creature! but I cannot think how she can bear the
      eternal screaming of that noisy bird.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor I, indeed. Well, thank goodness, Mrs. Million has no pets; eh! Dr.
      Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Toadey&rsquo;s Toadey bowed assent as usual. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; rejoined Miss Graves,
      &ldquo;that is rather a fault of the dear Marchioness, a little want of
      consideration for another&rsquo;s feelings; but she means nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s doing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is this Mr. Grey, Miss Graves?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very disagreeable, I am sure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s a favourite colour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear Miss Graves, you are always so insinuating. What can Miss Graves
      mean; eh! Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A Lord Burleigh shake of the head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cynthia Courtown seems as lively as ever,&rdquo; said Miss Gusset.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, lively enough; but I wish her manner was less brusque.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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, &lsquo;Beg pardon, never saw you!&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder what Lord Alhambra sees in that girl?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! those forward misses always take the men.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Miss Graves, &ldquo;I have no notion that it will come to anything;
      I am sure, I, for one, hope not,&rdquo; added she, with all a Toadey&rsquo;s venom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Marquess seems to keep a remarkably good table,&rdquo; said the physician.
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, that was Vivian Grey again,&rdquo; said Miss Graves, very indignantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So you have got the Beaconsfields here, Miss Graves! nice, unaffected,
      quiet people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, very quiet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you say, Miss Graves, very quiet, but a little heavy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, heavy enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you had but seen the quantity of pineapples that boy Dormer Stanhope
      devoured at our fête champètre! but I have the comfort of knowing that
      they made him very ill; eh! Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! he learnt that from his uncle,&rdquo; said Miss Graves; &ldquo;it is quite
      disgusting to see how that Vivian Grey encourages him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What an elegant, accomplished woman Mrs. Felix Lorraine seems to be, Miss
      Graves! I suppose the Marchioness is very fond of her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O&mdash;h!&rdquo; drawled out Miss Gusset with a very significant tone. &ldquo;I
      suppose she is one of your playing-up ladies. I think you told me she was
      only on a visit here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s all.
      At any rate, it is pretty evident that Mr. Lorraine has had enough of his
      bargain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite evident, I think; eh! Dr. Sly? Those German women never make good
      English wives,&rdquo; continued Miss Gusset, with all a Toadey&rsquo;s patriotism.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, indeed, it is quite enough to make one sick; eh! Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The doctor shook his head mournfully, remembering the haunch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They say Ernest Clay is in sad difficulties, Miss Gusset.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady&rsquo;s features immediately assumed the expression which befitted the
      approaching interview, and in a moment Miss Graves and the physician were
      left alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very amiable young woman Miss Gusset appears to be, Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! the most amiable being in the world; I owe her the greatest
      obligations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So gentle in her manners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O yes, so gentle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So considerate for everybody.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes! so considerate,&rdquo; echoed the Aberdeen M.D.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what, Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;but I mean nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s about Julie to-day was, to say the least, very odd.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! do you know, Dr. Sly, between ourselves, that was exactly my
      impression; and she is then very, very&mdash;I do not exactly mean to say
      meddling or inquisitive; but&mdash;but you understand me, Dr. Sly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Ah! Miss Graves! if all ladies were like you! O&mdash;h!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Dr. Sly!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0025">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo; gentleman sat in an
      ante-chamber, in case human aid might be necessary, and everything, as his
      Lordship averred, was &ldquo;on the same system as the Cabinet Dinners.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 <i>dinner</i>, an appointment is made for the
      transaction of the <i>business</i> 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      There certainly was every appearance that &ldquo;the great business,&rdquo; as the
      Marquess styled it, would not be very much advanced by the cabinet dinner
      at Château Desir. For, in the first place, the table was laden &ldquo;with every
      delicacy of the season,&rdquo; 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&rsquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      But here they were all assembled; receding was impossible; and so the
      Marquess took a glass of claret, and felt more courageous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lords and Gentlemen,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
       (Here the claret passed.) &ldquo;The present state of parties,&rdquo; the Marquess
      continued, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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. &lsquo;Forty country gentlemen,
      if they choose, might repeal every tax in the Budget.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A great deal of &ldquo;desultory conversation,&rdquo; 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,
      &ldquo;Didn&rsquo;t I tell you he was a monstrous clever fellow?&rdquo; and the whole
      business seemed settled. Lord Courtown gave in a bumper, <i>&ldquo;Mr. Vivian
      Grey, and success to his maiden speech!&rdquo;</i> and Vivian replied by
      proposing <i>&ldquo;The New Union!&rdquo;</i> At last, Sir Berdmore, the coolest of
      them all, raised his voice: &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s abilities, would certainly
      support him to the utmost.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He can do anything,&rdquo; said the Marquess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a surprising clever man!&rdquo; said Lord Courtown.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a surprising clever man!&rdquo; echoed Lord Beaconsfield.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, my Lords,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;your good opinion deserves my gratitude,
      but these important matters do indeed require a moment&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Noble!&rdquo; said the Marquess.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gentlemen!&rdquo; exclaimed the Marquess, &ldquo;Gentlemen! there is a man who could
      do our bidding,&rdquo; The eyes of every guest were fixed on the haranguing
      host.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gentlemen, fill your glasses, I give you our leader, Mr. Frederick
      Cleveland!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cleveland&rdquo;&rsquo; every one exclaimed. A glass of claret fell from Lord
      Courtown&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cleveland!&rdquo; exclaimed the guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should as soon have expected you to have given us Lucifer!&rdquo; said Lord
      Courtown.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or the present Secretary!&rdquo; said Lord Beaconsfield.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Or yourself,&rdquo; said Sir Berdmore.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
       demanded the Marquess with a rather fierce air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We do not deny Mr. Cleveland&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess looked somewhat blank.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s health at
      this very board.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess said, &ldquo;Bravo,&rdquo; the rest smiled, and rose from the table in
      some confusion. Little more was said on the &ldquo;great business.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s offer and engagement. &ldquo;This is a
      grave business,&rdquo; he said: &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What have I done?&rdquo; thought Vivian; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian accordingly proceeded along the balcony, which extended down one
      whole side of the Château. 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 &ldquo;how the devil he got
      there!&rdquo;
     </p>
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      <a id="link2H_4_0030">
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK III
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0026">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 ornée
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      After having been closeted with Lord Carabas for a considerable time the
      morning after the cabinet dinner, Vivian left Château Desir.
    </p>
    <p>
      He travelled night and day, until he arrived in the vicinity of Mr.
      Cleveland&rsquo;s abode. What was he to do now? After some deliberation, he
      despatched a note to Mr. Cleveland, informing him &ldquo;that he (Mr. Grey) was
      the bearer to Mr. Cleveland of a &lsquo;communication of importance.&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The note produced the desired effect, and an appointment was made for Mr.
      Grey to call at Kenrich Lodge on the following morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian, as he entered the room, took a rapid glance at its master. Mr.
      Cleveland was tall and distinguished, with a face 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not know whether I have the honour of addressing the son of Mr.
      Horace Grey?&rdquo; said Mr. Cleveland, with a frowning countenance, which was
      intended to be courteous.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have that honour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 &lsquo;of
      importance.&rsquo;&rdquo; 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, &ldquo;Who is this
      yonker who is trespassing upon my retirement?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had, unbidden, seated himself by the side of Mr. Cleveland&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sir!&rdquo; continued the Newfoundland&rsquo;s master, &ldquo;the nature of your
      communication? I am fond of coming to the point.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Now this was precisely the thing which Vivian had determined not to do;
      and so he diplomatised, in order to gain time. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sir!&rdquo; said that gentleman, with a somewhat disappointed air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As to the purport or nature of the communication it is,&rdquo; said Vivian,
      with one of his sweetest cadences and looking up to Mr. Cleveland&rsquo;s face
      with an eye expressive of all kindness, &ldquo;it is of a political nature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sir!&rdquo; again exclaimed Cleveland, looking very anxious, and moving
      restlessly on his library chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, what am I to understand?&rdquo; interrupted Mr. Cleveland, who began
      to suspect that the envoy was no greenhorn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And now Vivian, having succeeded in exciting Cleveland&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certain Noblemen and Gentlemen of eminence and influence, hitherto
      considered as props of the &mdash;&mdash; 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.&rdquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord Courtown is a distinguished member of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Courtown, Courtown; powerful enough: but surely the good Viscount&rsquo;s skull
      is not exactly the head for the chief of a cabal?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is my Lord Beaconsfield.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Powerful, too; but a dolt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; thought Vivian, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Marquess of Carabas!&rdquo; almost shrieked Mr. Cleveland, as he 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. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He himself proposed it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 calls 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Cleveland,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
      &ldquo;Come, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s luggage. Even we cottagers have a bed for
      a friend, Mr. Grey: come, and I will introduce you to my wife.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0027">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s disposition and situation than if they had been acquainted for
      as many years; in short.
    </p>
<pre>
     They talked with open heart and tongue,
     Affectionate and true,
     A pair of friends.
</pre>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0028">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is Mr. Cleveland handsome?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine of Vivian,
      immediately on his return, &ldquo;and what colour are his eyes?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upon my honour, I have not the least recollection of ever looking at
      them; but I believe he is not blind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How foolish you are! now tell me, pray, <i>point de moquerie</i>,
      is he amusing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What does Mrs. Felix Lorraine mean by amusing?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! you always tease me with your definitions; go away. I will quarrel
      with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By-the-bye, Mrs. Felix Lorraine, how is Colonel Delmington?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;how he liked his ride?&rdquo; and
      invariably took wine with him. As for the rest of the day, he had
      particularly requested his faithful counsellor, Mrs. Felix Lorraine, &ldquo;for
      God&rsquo;s sake to take this man off his shoulders;&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Cleveland had now been ten days at Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Château with
      their presence were out, as he conceived, on a picnic excursion to the
      Elfin&rsquo;s Well, a beautiful spot about ten miles off; and among the
      adventurers were, as he imagined, Mrs. Felix Lorraine and Mr. Cleveland.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0029">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      And now Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very few days had passed ere Vivian was exceedingly struck at the decided
      change which suddenly took place in his Lordship&rsquo;s general demeanour
      towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess grew reserved and uncommunicative, scarcely mentioning &ldquo;the
      great business&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her Ladyship&rsquo;s eyes glistened with admiration.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have told Caumont to send it me down immediately, and I shall then have
      the pleasure of presenting it to your Ladyship.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Her Ladyship&rsquo;s eyes sparkled with delight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think,&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;I shall take a ride to-day. By-the-bye, how
      is the Marquess? he seems in low spirits lately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Mr. Grey! I do not know what you have done to him,&rdquo; said her
      Ladyship, settling at least a dozen bracelets; &ldquo;but, but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He thinks; he thinks.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thinks what, dear lady?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That you have entered into a combination, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Entered into a combination!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, that is excellent, and what else does he think?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He thinks you talk too loud,&rdquo; said the Marchioness, still working at her
      bracelets.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Felix Lorraine, I am your most obedient slave,&rdquo; said Vivian Grey, as
      he met that lady on the landing-place. &ldquo;I can see no reason why I should
      not drive you this bright day to the Elfin&rsquo;s Well; we have long had an
      engagement to go there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady smiled a gracious assent: the pony phaeton was immediately
      ordered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One does. O, Mrs. Felix!&rdquo; exclaimed Vivian, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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,&rdquo; added the
      lady in a serious tone. &ldquo;The Rodensteins are a singular family. My mother
      was a Rodenstein. Do you think this beautiful?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very, very beautiful!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis Max, Max Rodenstein,&rdquo; said the lady, with a faltering voice. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian looked at his companion with a somewhat astonished air, but Mrs.
      Felix Lorraine&rsquo;s countenance was as little indicative of jesting as that
      of the young student whose miniature rested on her bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you say <i>not</i> the production of a mortal hand, Mrs. Felix
      Lorraine?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A sneer! O lady-love, do I ever sneer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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: &lsquo;Painted last night. Now, lady, thou hast
      thy wish.&rsquo; My aunt sank into the Baron&rsquo;s arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In silence and in trembling the wonderful portrait was suspended over the
      fireplace of my aunt&rsquo;s favourite apartment. The next day they received
      letters from Max. He was quite well, but mentioned nothing of the
      mysterious painting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Three months afterwards, as a lady was sitting alone in the Baroness&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who was this wonderful lady, the witness of this wonderful incident?&rdquo;
       asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That lady was myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      There was something so singular in the tone of Mrs. Felix Lorraine&rsquo;s
      voice, and so peculiar in the expression of her countenance, as she
      uttered these words, that the jest died on Vivian&rsquo;s tongue; and, for want
      of something better to do, he lashed the little ponies, which were already
      scampering at their full speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The road to the Elfin&rsquo;s Well ran through the wildest parts of the park;
      and after an hour and a half&rsquo;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, delightful!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You really think so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Mrs. Lorraine, does it appear to you to be the most prudent course
      of action which could have been conceived?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You agree with me, then, that there is, if not cause for regret at this
      engagement, at least for reflection on its probable consequences?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I quite agree with you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know you do. I have had some conversation with the Marquess upon this
      subject this very morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; eagerly exclaimed the lady, and she looked pale and breathed
      short.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay; and he tells me you have made some very sensible observations on the
      subject. &lsquo;Tis pity they were not made before Mr. Cleveland left; the
      mischief might then have been prevented.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I certainly have made some observations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And very kind of you. What a blessing for the Marquess to have such a
      friend!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I spoke to him,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix, with a more assured tone, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, no doubt; but how came you, lady fair, to imagine that <i>I</i> was
      also a person to be dreaded by his Lordship; <i>I</i>, Vivian Grey!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did I say <i>you</i>?&rdquo; asked the lady, pale as death.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo; mind against
      one who never did aught to you but what was kind and honourable?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been imprudent; I confess it; I have spoken somewhat loosely.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, listen to me once more,&rdquo; and Vivian grasped her hand. &ldquo;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&mdash;kneeling
      at his feet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Felix Lorraine shrieked and fainted. A sprinkling from the fairy
      stream soon recovered her. &ldquo;Spare me! spare me!&rdquo; she faintly cried: &ldquo;say
      nothing of what you have seen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Well be blotted out of our memories.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me mix it for you,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix; &ldquo;do you like sugar?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="linkimage-0003">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/small_box.jpg" alt="Small Silver Box " style="height: 550px"><br >
    </div>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here, drink, drink while it is effervescent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot drink,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;I am not thirsty; I am too hot; I am
      anything&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How foolish you are! It will be quite spoiled.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no; the dog shall have it. Here, Fidele, you look thirsty enough;
      come here&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, I do not mix tumblers for dogs,&rdquo; said the lady, rather
      agitated: &ldquo;if you will not take it,&rdquo; and she held it once more before him,
      &ldquo;here it goes for ever.&rdquo; So saying she emptied the tumbler into a large
      globe of glass, in which some gold and silver fish were swimming their
      endless rounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0030">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; He flung himself upon his bed, and felt for a
      moment as if he had quaffed the poisoned draught so lately offered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s conduct towards you shall have no precedent in human nature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Vivian re-entered the drawing-room he met a servant carrying in the
      globe of gold and silver fishes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What, still in your pelisse, Mrs. Lorraine!&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;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 recherché in frills and fans and flounces.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! by-the-bye,&rdquo; continued her companion, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What does he say?&rdquo; was the quick question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! what does he say?&rdquo; drawled out Vivian; and he yawned, and was most
      provokingly uncommunicative.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, come, Mr. Grey, do tell me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! tell you, certainly. Come, let us walk together in the conservatory:&rdquo;
       so saying, he took the lady by the hand, and they left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now for the letter, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, now for the letter;&rdquo; and Vivian slowly drew an epistle from his
      pocket, and therefrom read some exceedingly sweet passages, which made
      Mrs. Felix Lorraine&rsquo;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! &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Colonel Delmington is a vain, empty-headed fool. Do not think of him, my
      dear Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix, with a countenance beaming with smiles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, do not believe so, my dear Vivian; believe me, as I ever shall be,
      your friend, your&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will, I will, my dear, my own Amalia!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0031">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;the boy Endymion&rdquo; and &ldquo;thy silver bow.&rdquo; 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 Diana, 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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;er the waves who has witnessed the wide Atlantic sleeping under thy
      silver beam?
    </p>
    <p>
      Shine on, shine on! they say thou art Earth&rsquo;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&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s all-perfect theory! and fare you
      well, sweet world, and you, my merry masters, whom, perhaps, I have
      studied somewhat too cunningly: <i>nosce teipsum</i> shall be my motto. I
      will doff my travelling cap, and on with the monk&rsquo;s cowl.
    </p>
    <p>
      There are mysterious moments in some men&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was past midnight, and Vivian was at a considerable distance from the
      Château. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lorraine immediately started and stared wildly around her, and when
      her eye caught Vivian&rsquo;s there was a sound in her throat something like the
      death-rattle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; she eagerly asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A friend, and Vivian Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How came you here?&rdquo; and she rushed forward and wildly seized his hand,
      and then she muttered to herself, &ldquo;&lsquo;tis flesh.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s arm, and buried her face in her own hands. Vivian was
      retiring, when she again looked up. &ldquo;Where are you going?&rdquo; she asked, with
      a quick voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To sleep, as I would advise all: &lsquo;tis much past midnight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You say not the truth. The brightness of your eye belies the sentence of
      your tongue. You are not for sleep.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pardon me, dear Mrs. Lorraine; I really have been yawning for the last
      hour,&rdquo; said Vivian, and he moved on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      witnesses. Keep your voice for those who can credit man&rsquo;s words. You will
      go, then? What! are you afraid of a woman, because &lsquo;tis past midnight,&rsquo;
      and you are in an old gallery?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fear, Mrs. Lorraine, is not a word in my vocabulary.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; and she led Vivian to the window: &ldquo;what see you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see Nature at rest, Mrs. Lorraine; and I would fain follow the example
      of beasts, birds, and fishes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beautiful! most beautiful!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For poets, lady; for philosophers; for all those superior spirits who
      require some relaxation from the world&rsquo;s toils; spirits who only commingle
      with humanity on the condition that they may sometimes commune with
      Nature.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Superior spirits! say you?&rdquo; and here they paced the gallery. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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
      Amalia Lorraine, why may there not be spirits proportionately superior to
      our own?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will misunderstand me, then, you wilful boy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; And here she grasped Vivian with a
      feverish hand. &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 <small>YOURSELF</small>. And truly, when I do gaze upon your
      radiant eyes,&rdquo; and here the lady&rsquo;s tone became more
      terrestrial; &ldquo;and truly, when I do look upon your luxuriant
      curls,&rdquo; and here the lady&rsquo;s small white hand played like
      lightning through Vivian&rsquo;s dark hair; &ldquo;and truly, when I do
      remember the beauty of your all-perfect form, I cannot deem your
      self-worship a false idolatry,&rdquo; and here the lady&rsquo;s arms were
      locked round Vivian&rsquo;s neck, and her head rested on his bosom.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Amalia! it would be far better for you to rest here than to think of
      that of which the knowledge is vanity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vanity!&rdquo; 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: &ldquo;Vanity! Oh! if you
      knew but what I know, oh! if you had but seen what I have seen;&rdquo; and here
      her voice failed her, and she stood motionless in the moonshine, with
      averted head and outstretched arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Amalia! this is madness; for Heaven&rsquo;s sake calm yourself!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Calm myself! Yes, it is madness; very, very madness! &lsquo;tis the madness of
      the fascinated bird; &lsquo;tis the madness of the murderer who is voluntarily
      broken on the wheel; &lsquo;tis the madness of the fawn that gazes with
      adoration on the lurid glare of the anaconda&rsquo;s eye; &lsquo;tis the madness of
      woman who flies to the arms of her Fate;&rdquo; and here she sprang like a
      tigress round Vivian&rsquo;s neck, her long light hair bursting from its bands,
      and clustering down her shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;See there, see there!&rdquo; the lady cried, and then she unlocked her arms.
      &ldquo;What would you give, Vivian Grey, to read that star?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I more interested in that star, Amalia, than in any other of the
      bright host?&rdquo; asked Vivian with a serious tone, for he thought it
      necessary to humour his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you not? is it not the star of your destiny?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you learned in all the learning of the Chaldeans, too?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no, no, no!&rdquo; slowly murmured Mrs. Lorraine, and then she started: but
      Vivian seized her arms, and prevented her from again clasping his neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must keep these pretty hands close prisoners,&rdquo; he said, smiling,
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
       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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It shines, it shines, it shines, Vivian!&rdquo; she softly whispered; &ldquo;glory to
      thee and woe to me! Nay, you need not hold my hands; I will not harm you.
      I cannot: &lsquo;tis no use. O Vivian! when we first met, how little did I know
      to whom I pledged myself!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O Vivian! you speak with a sweet voice, but with a sceptic&rsquo;s spirit. You
      know not what I know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tell me, then, my Amalia; let me share your secrets, provided they be
      your sorrows.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Almost within this hour, and in this park, there has happened that which&mdash;&rdquo;
       and here her voice died, and she looked fearfully round her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, fear not; no one can harm you here, no one shall harm you. Rest upon
      me, and tell me all thy grief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dare not, I cannot tell you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, thou shalt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot speak; your eye scares me. Are you mocking me? I cannot speak if
      you look so at me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not look on you; I will gaze on yonder star. Now speak on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 a second, and as it passed it mocked me.&rdquo; Here Mrs. Lorraine
      writhed in Vivian&rsquo;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&rsquo;s arms, and it was only
      with the exertions of his whole strength that he could retain her.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Amalia, this, this was nothing; your own figure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, not my own; it was yours!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Uttering a piercing shriek, which echoed through the winding gallery, she
      swooned.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0032">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&mdash;.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you hear the shriek last night, Mr. Grey?&rdquo; asked the Marchioness, as
      Vivian entered the breakfast-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes! Mr. Grey, did you hear the shriek?&rdquo; asked Miss Graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who did not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What could it be?&rdquo; said the Marchioness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What could it be?&rdquo; said Miss Graves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What should it be; a cat in a gutter, or a sick cow, or a toad dying to
      be devoured, Miss Graves?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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 book,
      probably the twentieth or twenty-fifth, when the plot begins to wear
      threadbare, and we can afford a digression. I may give a chapter on
      Domestic Tactics.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Marchioness,&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;see there: I have kept my
      promise, there is your bracelet. How is Julie to-day?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor dear, I hope she is better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! yes, poor Julie. I think she is better.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not know that, Miss Graves,&rdquo; said her Ladyship, somewhat tartly, not
      at all approving of a toadey thinking. &ldquo;I am afraid that scream last night
      must have disturbed her. O dear, Mr. Grey, I am afraid she will be ill
      again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Miss Graves looked mournful, and lifted up her eyes and hands to Heaven,
      but did not dare to speak this time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought she looked a little heavy about the eyes this morning,&rdquo; said
      the Marchioness, apparently very agitated; &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder, indeed,&rdquo; said Miss Graves; &ldquo;I never could see anything in a
      ruin.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O, Mr. Grey!&rdquo; continued the Marchioness, &ldquo;I really am afraid Julie is
      going to be very ill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let Miss Graves pull her tail and give her a little mustard seed: she
      will be better tomorrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Remember that, Miss Graves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! y-e-s, my Lady!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Felix,&rdquo; said the Marchioness, as that lady entered the room, &ldquo;you
      are late to-day; I always reckon upon you as a supporter of an early
      breakfast at Desir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have been half round the park.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did you hear the scream, Mrs. Felix?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know what it was, Marchioness?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No: do you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the new Americans? O the naughty thing; and has it broken the new
      fancy wirework?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray, will your Ladyship have the goodness to inform me what bird this
      is?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marchioness looked astounded at any one presuming to ask her a
      question; and then she drawled, &ldquo;Mr. Grey, you know everything; tell this
      gentleman what some bird is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! we were talking of some South American bird given to the Marchioness
      by the famous Captain Tropic; you know him, perhaps; Bolivar&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Chowchowtow!&rdquo; said Mr. Mackaw; &ldquo;I don&rsquo;t know it by that name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not you? I dare say we shall find an account of it in Spix, however,&rdquo;
       said Vivian, rising, and taking a volume from the book-case; &ldquo;ay! here it
      is; I will read it to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;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.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What an extraordinary bird! Is that the bird you meant, Mrs. Felix
      Lorraine?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;at the Royal,&rdquo; and get patronised by the blues, the Lavoisiers of
      May Fair!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;t remember the passage, most
      singular bird! Chowchowtow! don&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Mackaw!&rdquo; thought Vivian. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 Sèvre saucer for
      Julie; and then, as usual, looked to Vivian for assistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, you know everything; tell Mr. Mackaw about a bird.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there any point on which you differ from Spix in his account of the
      Chowchowtow, Mr. Mackaw?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir, I don&rsquo;t follow him at all. Dr. Spix is a most excellent man,
      a most accurate traveller, quite a name; but, to be sure, I&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, then, Mr. Mackaw,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;that was the bird which screamed
      last night!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes! oh, yes! Mr. Mackaw,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Carabas!&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;it is found out. It is Mr. Mackaw&rsquo;s
      particular friend, his family physician, whom he always travels with, that
      awoke us all last night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is he a foreigner?&rdquo; asked the Marchioness, looking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Mr. Grey, impossible! the Doctor never screams.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell you he never screams,&rdquo; reiterated the man of science; &ldquo;I tell you
      he can&rsquo;t scream; he&rsquo;s muzzled.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, then, it must have been the Chowchowtow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, I think it must have been the Chowchowtow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should very much like to hear Spix&rsquo;s description again,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Mackaw, &ldquo;only I fear it is troubling you too much, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Read it yourself, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Vivian, putting the book into his
      hand, which was the third volume of Tremaine.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Château in the South of France.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before Mr. Mackaw could gain the power of speech the door opened, and
      entered, who? Dr. Francia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Mackaw&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      The household of Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the ladies screamed; and then Mrs. Felix Lorraine admired the Doctor&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Che, che, che, che!&rdquo; said the ornithologist, who did not like the
      symptoms at all: &ldquo;Che, che, che, che, don&rsquo;t be frightened, ladies! you see
      he&rsquo;s muzzled; che, che, che, che, now, my dear doctor, now, now, now,
      Franky, Franky, Franky, now go away, go away, that&rsquo;s a dear doctor, che,
      che, che, che!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 Sèvre
      china is in a thousand pieces, the muzzle is torn off and thrown at Miss
      Graves; Mackaw&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0033">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      THE HONOURABLE CYNTHIA COURTOWN TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Alburies, Oct. 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;DEAR GREY,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 Grandgoût
      arrived here last week, with a most delicious party; all the men who write
      &lsquo;John Bull.&rsquo; 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
      &lsquo;John Bull.&rsquo; 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 <i>was</i> 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 &lsquo;rather yellow, rather
      yellow,&rsquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I like the Marquess of Grandgoût so much! I hope he will be elevated in
      the peerage: he looks as if he wanted it so! Poor dear man!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Prima Donnas are at Cheltenham, looking most respectable. Do you ever
      see the &lsquo;Age&rsquo;? 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?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yours ever,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;CYNTHIA COURTOWN.&rdquo; ERNEST CLAY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;October, 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;DEAR GREY,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 &lsquo;seen the Antiquary in manuscript.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I dined the other day at old Premium&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 <i>bonâ fide</i>
      evidence of &lsquo;the officers being there.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s. And then
      the perpetual babble about &lsquo;rising states,&rsquo; and &lsquo;new loans,&rsquo; and
      &lsquo;enlightened views,&rsquo; and &lsquo;juncture of the two oceans,&rsquo; and &lsquo;liberal
      principles,&rsquo; and &lsquo;steamboats to Mexico,&rsquo; 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&rsquo;s looked full of some great plan, as if the fate of empires
      was 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 &lsquo;making way.&rsquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&rsquo;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. &lsquo;Farewell
      Philosophy!&rsquo; thought I; &lsquo;Puppyism for ever!&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s private secretary was equally
      tenacious as to the agent&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 wrong
      in my suspicions of his celebrity; for, as Miss Premium, whom I sat next
      to, whispered, &lsquo;he was quite a lion.&rsquo; 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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yours faithfully,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;ERNEST CLAY.&rdquo; HARGRAVE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;October, 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;DEAR VIVIAN,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You ought not to expect a letter from me. I cannot conceive why you do
      not occasionally answer your correspondents&rsquo; letters, if correspondents
      they may be called. It is really a most unreasonable habit of yours; any
      one but myself would quarrel with you.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s fees and briefs like a twopenny postman, only without
      pay. Well! &lsquo;tis six o&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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 <i>posse comitatus</i> are starting to
      meet my Lord the King&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I must leave off this nonsense, and attend to his Lordship&rsquo;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 &mdash;&mdash;n.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am quite delighted with Mr. Justice St. Prose. He is at this moment in
      a most entertaining passion, preparatory to a &lsquo;conscientious&rsquo; 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&rsquo;s Justice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Gentlemen of the Jury,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;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&rsquo;s a little girl being tried for her life, and the judge
      can&rsquo;t hear a word that&rsquo;s said. Bring me my black cap, and I&rsquo;ll condemn her
      to death instantly.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;You can&rsquo;t, my Lord.&rsquo; shrieks the infant sinner; &lsquo;it&rsquo;s only for petty
      larceny!&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have just got an invite from the Kearneys. Congratulate me.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dear Vivian, yours faithfully,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;HARGRAVE GREY.&rdquo; LADY SCROPE TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ormsby Park, Oct. 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;MY DEAR VIVIAN,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;Egville.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s excessive
      amiability?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Both the young Mounteneys are with their regiment, but Aubrey Vere is
      coming to us, and I have half a promise from&mdash;; 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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;HARRIETTE SCROPE.&rdquo; HORACE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Paris, Oct. 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;MY DEAR VIVIAN,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have received yours of the 9th, and have read it with mixed feelings of
      astonishment and sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 can 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are now inspecting one of the worst portions of society in what is
      called the great world (St. Giles&rsquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 <i>salmi</i> of woodcocks, <i>à la Lucullus</i>,
      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&rsquo;s new volume from Treüttel
      and Wurtz, and continue to make notes as you read it. Give my compliments
      to the Marquess, and believe me,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your affectionate father,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;HORACE GREY.&rdquo; <a id="link2HCH0034">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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 Château 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 Château Desir with their presence
      for two days; only two days, making the Marquess&rsquo;s mansion a convenient
      resting-place in one of their princely progresses to one of their princely
      castles.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2H_4_0040">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0035">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      The important hour drew nigh. Christmas was to be passed by the Carabas
      family, the Beaconsfields, the Scropes, and the Clevelands at Lord
      Courtown&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Extremely well. She goes down to Buckhurst Lodge with Lady Carabas. Is
      not that Lord Lowersdale?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And he doubtless finds a very able counsellor in Monsieur le Sécrétaire?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can you name a better one?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You rather patronise Vivida, I think, Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Patronise him! he is my political pet!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet Kerrison tells me you reviewed the Suffolk papers in the
      Edinburgh.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So I did; what of that? I defended them in Blackwood.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This, then, is the usual method of you literary gentlemen. Thank God! I
      never could write a line.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;York House rises proudly; if York House be its name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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
      &lsquo;six millions of hereditary bondsmen;&rsquo; and yet, with not only the
      Marchese, but even Courtown and Beaconsfield committed, it is, to say the
      least, a very delicate business.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Does old Gifford still live at Pimlico, Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Still.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a splendid fellow, after all.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, a mind of great powers, but bigoted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, Canning! I love the man: but as you say, Cleveland, ministers have
      short memories, and Canning&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, yes! curse your East India sugar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be sure; slavery and sweetmeats forever!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 &lsquo;the divine Author of our
      faith,&rsquo; and an éloge of equal length on the Génie du Christianisme, in a
      style worthy of Chateaubriand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;Eremita.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know, by any chance, whether Southey&rsquo;s Vindiciae is out yet? I
      wanted to look it over during the holidays.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not out, though it has been advertised some time; but what do you
      expect?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, it is an interesting controversy, as controversies go. Not exactly
      Milton and Salmasius; but fair enough.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But Southey, after all, is a man of splendid talents.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Doubtless; the most philosophical of bigots, and the most poetical of
      prose writers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Apropos to the Catholic Question, there goes Colonial Bother&rsquo;em trying to
      look like Prince Metternich; a decided failure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What can keep him in town?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Writing letters, I suppose, Heaven preserve me from receiving any of
      them!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it true, then, that his letters are of the awful length that is
      whispered?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you seen his quarto volume: &lsquo;The Cure for the Catholic Question?&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you have it, lend it to me. What kind of thing is it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, that is the usual advice. Is there nothing more characteristic of
      the writer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What think you of a proposition of making Jockey of Norfolk Patriarch of
      England, and of an ascertained <i>credo</i> for our Catholic
      fellow-subjects? Ingenious, is not it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you seen Puff&rsquo;s new volume of Ariosto?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you think the time ever existed, Cleveland?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Animal
      Biography!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes! and the impertinence of dedicating such a work to the Officers of
      His Majesty&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s wit is very like this man&rsquo;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 &lsquo;seeing the point,&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, come! Mr. Puff is a worthy gentleman. Let him cease to dusk the
      radiancy of Ariosto&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our literature, I think, is at a low ebb.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo; 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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A fall in stocks! and halt to &lsquo;the spread of knowledge!&rsquo; and &lsquo;the
      progress of liberal principles&rsquo; is like that of a man too late for
      post-horses. A fall in stocks! and where are your London Universities, and
      your Mechanics&rsquo; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And you imagine literature is equally affected, Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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. &lsquo;Scribble, scribble, scribble&rsquo; as the Duke
      of Cumberland said to Gibbon, should be the motto of the mighty
      &lsquo;nineteenth century.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Southey, I think, Grey, is an exception.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We certainly want a master-spirit to set us right, Grey. We want Byron.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If one thing were more characteristic of Byron&rsquo;s mind than another, it
      was his strong, shrewd, common sense; his pure, unalloyed sagacity.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You knew him, I think, Cleveland?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Slovenly?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How odd! And did you converse much with him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who, by-the-bye, is a great man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Assuredly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your acquaintance with Byron must have been one of the gratifying
      incidents of your life, Cleveland?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly; I may say with Friar Martin, in Goetz of Berlichingen, &lsquo;The
      sight of him touched my heart. It is a pleasure to have seen a great
      man.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hobhouse was a faithful friend to him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hyde Park is greatly changed since I was a dandy, Vivian. Pray, do the
      Misses Otranto still live in that house?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes; blooming as ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivida Vis, think you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe so, and lives there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I knew him in Germany; a singular man, and not understood. Perhaps he
      does not understand himself. I see our horses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Grey, how does Lady Julia like the bay mare?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very much, indeed; but she wants to know what you have done about the
      chestnut.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      daughter, his last resource, and now, of course, it is all up with him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was at College with his brother, Augustus Clay. He is a nephew of Lord
      Mounteney&rsquo;s, is he not?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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<i>ville</i>; 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 roués 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0036">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      These conversations play the very deuce with one&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      But we must get on.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;such a fascinating sister in law.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Vivian,&rdquo; said Mrs. Lorraine, to that young gentleman, the day
      previous to his departure from Buckhurst Lodge, &ldquo;you are going to leave me
      behind you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It does, indeed, Vivian; and I assure you that there is no person
      awaiting it with intenser interest than myself. I little thought,&rdquo; she
      added, in a low but distinct voice, &ldquo;I little thought, when I first
      reached England, that I should ever again be interested in anything in
      this world.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was silent, for he had nothing to say.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivian!&rdquo; very briskly resumed Mrs. Lorraine, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You flatter me exceedingly; suppose you give me a few lessons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you must leave off some of your wicked tricks, Vivian! You must not
      improvise parliamentary papers!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Improvise papers, Mrs. Lorraine! What can you mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! nothing. I never mean anything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you must have had some meaning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some meaning! Yes, I dare say I had; I meant; I meant; do you think it
      will rain to-day?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Every prospect of a hard frost. I never knew before that I was an
      improvisatore.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nor I. Have you heard from papa lately? I suppose he is quite in spirits
      at your success?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father is a man who seldom gives way to any elation of mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah, indeed! a philosopher, I have no doubt, like his son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no claims to the title of philosopher, although I have had the
      advantage of studying in the school of Mrs. Felix Lorraine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The boy &lsquo;means nothing; he never means anything.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Vivian! we are going to part. Do not let us quarrel the last day.
      There, there is a sprig of myrtle for you!
    </p>
<pre>
     What! not accept my foolish flower?
       Nay, then, I am indeed unblest!
</pre>
    <p>
      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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How agreeable you are! I love compliments!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Was what, madam?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall choose the word, Vivian.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say, then, my friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0037">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the urgent business of this morning?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! I have seen Bromley.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hah!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my Lord, I trust that will not be wanting.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord, I do trust that it was a meeting which neither of us will live
      to repent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Exceedingly useful knowledge; but I do not exactly understand the
      particular purport of your Lordship&rsquo;s last observation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not, eh?&rdquo; asked the Peer; and he fixed his eyes as earnestly and
      expressively as he possibly could upon his young companion. &ldquo;Well, I
      thought not. I was positive it was not true,&rdquo; continued the Marquess in a
      murmur.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What, my Lord?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! nothing, nothing; people talk at random, at random, at random. I feel
      confident you quite agree with me; eh! Vivian?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really, my Lord, I fear I am unusually dull this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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,&rdquo; added the Marquess, in a whisper, &ldquo;is not to
      have everything his own way; eh! Vivian?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, oh!&rdquo; thought Vivian; &ldquo;this, then, is the result of that admirable
      creature, Miss Felix Lorraine, staying a week with her dear friend, Lady
      Courtown.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord, it would be singular if, in the Carabas party, the Carabas
      interest was not the predominant one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! my dear Marquess, we must think alike on this, as on all points.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be sure, my Lord; explicitness and decision will soon arrange any
      désagrémens.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly; the science of political gastronomy has never been
      sufficiently studied.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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. &lsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here entered Mr. Sadler with the letters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; and here the Marquess shook his head very pompously,
      and at the same time tapped very significantly on his left temple. &ldquo;Hah!
      what, what is all this? Here, read it, read it, man; I have no head
      to-day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;nevertheless obliged to
      act with decision, regretted the necessity,&rdquo; &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.
      In short, Lord Courtown had deserted, and recalled his pledge as to the
      official appointment promised to Mr. Cleveland, &ldquo;because that promise was
      made while he was the victim of delusions created by the representations
      of Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What can all this mean, my Lord?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Marquess swore a fearful oath, and threw another letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is from Lord Beaconsfield, my Lord,&rdquo; said Vivian, with a face pallid
      as death, &ldquo;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 &mdash;&mdash;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The face of the Marquess, who was treacherous as the wind, seemed already
      to indicate &ldquo;Adieu! Mr. Vivian Grey!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s
      florid countenance turned as pale as that of his companion. The
      perspiration stole down in heavy drops. He gasped for breath!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good God! my Lord, what is the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The matter!&rdquo; howled the Marquess, &ldquo;the matter! That I have been a vain,
      weak, miserable fool!&rdquo; and then there was another oath, and he flung the
      letter to the other side of the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the official congé of the Most Noble Sydney Marquess of Carabas.
      His Majesty had no longer any occasion for his services. His successor was
      Lord Courtown!
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;monstrous clever&rdquo;
       young friend; of whose character he had so often boasted that his own was
      the prototype, but who was now an adventurer, a swindler, a scoundrel, a
      liar, a base, deluding, flattering, fawning villain, &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c.
      &amp;c,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0038">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      He stopped one moment on the landing-place, ere he was about to leave the
      house for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis all over! and so, Vivian Grey, your game is up! and to die, too,
      like a dog! a woman&rsquo;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! &lsquo;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,&rdquo; said he to a
      female attendant that passed, &ldquo;is your mistress at home?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She is, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis well,&rdquo; said Vivian, and he sprang upstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Health to the lady of our love!&rdquo; said Vivian Grey, as he entered the
      elegant boudoir of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;News! no; what news?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis a sad tale,&rdquo; said Vivian, with a melancholy voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, good morning! I am off for a black crape, or a Barcelona
      kerchief. Mrs. Cleveland is dead.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dead!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dead! She died last night, suddenly. Is it not horrible?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shocking!&rdquo; exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine, with a mournful voice and an eye
      dancing with joy. &ldquo;Why, Mr. Grey, I do declare you are weeping.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not for the departed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, Vivian! for Heaven&rsquo;s sake, what is the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Mrs. Lorraine!&rdquo; but here the speaker&rsquo;s voice was choked with
      grief, and he could not proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray compose yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can I speak with you half an hour, undisturbed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By all means. I will ring for Jacinte. Jacinte! mind I am not at home to
      anyone. Well, what is the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O! madam, I must pray your patience; I wish you to shrive a penitent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good God! Mr. Grey! for Heaven&rsquo;s sake be explicit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For Heaven&rsquo;s sake, for your sake, for my soul&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will promise anything. Pray, pray proceed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivian,&rdquo; said Mrs. Lorraine, &ldquo;have you seen the Marquess yet?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; he sobbed; &ldquo;I am going to him, but I am in no humour for
      business this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; She led him to a chair, and then, after
      stifling his sobs, with a broken voice he proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! speak, speak! compensate for all you have done by your present
      frankness; be brief, be brief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will be brief,&rdquo; said Vivian, with earnestness: &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;;
      nay, do not stop me; I have more to tell.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Felix Lorraine, with compressed lips and looks of horrible
      earnestness, gazed in silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s rival&mdash;&rdquo; He stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, yes, yes,&rdquo; said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, in a low whisper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lorraine clasped her hands, and moved restlessly on her seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay! do not stop me; let me tell all. &lsquo;Cleveland,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;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 &mdash;&mdash; poison.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And did you say this?&rdquo; shrieked the woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Even these were my words.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then may all evil blast you!&rdquo; She threw herself on the sofa; her voice
      was choked with the convulsions of her passion, and she writhed in fearful
      agony.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      She slowly recovered, and, with a broken voice, poured forth her sacred
      absolution to the relieved penitent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s malice; and may the slow moving
      finger of scorn point where&rsquo;er you go at the ruined Charlatan!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hah, hah! is it so? Think you that Vivian Grey would fall by a woman&rsquo;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
      &lsquo;the Charlatan&rsquo; will be a Senator.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The shifting expression of Mrs. Lorraine&rsquo;s countenance, while Vivian was
      speaking, would have baffled the most cunning painter. Her complexion was
      capricious as the chameleon&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s information struck upon his senses.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So, poor Cleveland!&rdquo; thought Vivian; &ldquo;then he knows all!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the gentleman&rsquo;s ill, I think,&rdquo; said an honest Irishman; and, in the
      fulness of his charity, he placed Vivian on a door-step.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So it seems,&rdquo; said a genteel passenger in black; and he snatched, with
      great sang-froid, Vivian&rsquo;s watch. &ldquo;Stop thief!&rdquo; hallooed the Hibernian.
      Paddy was tripped up. There was a row, in the midst of which Vivian Grey
      crawled to an hotel.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0039">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      In half an hour Vivian was at Mr. Cleveland&rsquo;s door.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My master is at the Marquess of Carabas&rsquo;, sir; he will not return, but is
      going immediately to Richmond, where Mrs. Cleveland is staying.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian immediately wrote to Mr. Cleveland. &ldquo;If your master have left the
      Marquess&rsquo;, let this be forwarded to him at Richmond immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;CLEVELAND!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;VIVIAN GREY.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian left Mr. Cleveland&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was night when he paced down&mdash;. 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, &ldquo;which never could be forgotten!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A desperate feeling actuated him, and he entered the Club-house. He walked
      into the great saloon and met some fifty &ldquo;most particular friends,&rdquo; all of
      whom asked him &ldquo;how the Marquess did,&rdquo; or &ldquo;have you seen Cleveland?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was standing with his back to the fire. There were only two other
      persons in the room; one was a friend of Cleveland&rsquo;s, and the other an
      acquaintance of Vivian&rsquo;s. The latter was writing at the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian saw Cleveland he would have retired, but he was bid to &ldquo;come
      in&rdquo; in a voice of thunder.
    </p>
    <p>
      As he entered he instantly perceived that Cleveland was under the
      influence of wine. When in this situation, unlike other men, Mr.
      Cleveland&rsquo;s conduct was not distinguished by any of the little
      improprieties of behaviour by which a man is always known by his friends
      &ldquo;to be very drunk.&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Away!&rdquo; exclaimed Cleveland, in a furious tone; &ldquo;I have no friendship for
      traitors.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The two gentlemen stared, and the pen of the writer stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cleveland!&rdquo; said Vivian, in an earnest whisper, as he came up close to
      him; &ldquo;for God&rsquo;s sake contain yourself. I have written you a letter which
      explains all; but&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Out! out upon you. Out upon your honied words and your soft phrases! I
      have been their dupe too long;&rdquo; and he struck Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir John Poynings!&rdquo; said Vivian, with a quivering lip, turning to the
      gentleman who was writing at the table, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Castleton,&rdquo; said Sir John, giving his card, &ldquo;Mr. Grey will accompany
      me to my rooms in Pall Mall; it is now ten o&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      About eleven o&rsquo;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 &mdash;&mdash; Common, about six miles from town.
    </p>
    <p>
      Poynings wrote to a professional friend to be on the ground at half-past
      seven, and then he and Vivian retired.
    </p>
    <p>
      Did you ever fight a duel? No? nor send a challenge either? Well! you are
      fresh, indeed! &lsquo;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&rsquo;s apartments, pacing his drawing-room with a quivering lip and
      uncertain step. At length he enters with an answer; and while he 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a fine February morning. Sir John drove Vivian to the ground in his
      cabriolet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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 &lsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Sir John; no fear of Cleveland&rsquo;s dying,&rdquo; said Vivian, with a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What? You mean to fire in the air, and all that sort of thing?
      Sentimental, but slip-slop!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The ground is measured, all is arranged. Cleveland, a splendid shot, fired
      first. He grazed Vivian&rsquo;s elbow. Vivian fired in the air. The seconds
      interfered. Cleveland was implacable, and, &ldquo;in the most irregular manner,&rdquo;
       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&rsquo;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 &ldquo;made no sign;&rdquo; he stared wildly, and then
      closed his eyes for ever!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0040">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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? &ldquo;It must be so,&rdquo;
       thought Vivian; and he jumped up in his bed and stared wildly around him.
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; 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; &ldquo;It is true! it is true!
      Murder! murder!&rdquo; He foamed at the mouth, and sank exhausted on his pillow.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the human mind can master many sorrows, and, after a desperate relapse
      and another miraculous rally, Vivian Grey rose from his bed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My father, I fear that I shall live!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hope, rather, my beloved.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! why should I hope?&rdquo; and the sufferer&rsquo;s head sank upon his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not give way, my son; all will yet be well, and we shall all yet be
      happy,&rdquo; said the father, with streaming eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Happy! oh, not in this world, my father!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vivian, my dearest, your mother visited you this morning, but you were
      asleep. She was quite happy to find you slumbering so calmly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s cure.
      O, my father! why did I leave thee?&rdquo; and he seized Mr. Grey&rsquo;s hand with
      convulsive grasp.
    </p>
    <p>
      Time flew on, even in this house of sorrow. &ldquo;My boy,&rdquo; said Mr. Grey to his
      son one day, &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK V
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0041">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      Red Moselle! fierce is the swell of thy spreading course; but why do thy
      broad waters blush when they meet the Rhine?
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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?
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      But we are to speak of one who had retired from the world before his time.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0042">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;the Roman Emperor,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Frankfort!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are mere citizens here!&rdquo; continued the Baron, taking a long pinch of
      snuff, &ldquo;mere citizens! Do you snuff?&rdquo; and here he extended to Vivian a
      gold box, covered with the portrait of a crowned head, surrounded with
      diamonds. &ldquo;A present from the King of Sardinia, when I negotiated the
      marriage of the Duke of &mdash;&mdash; and his niece, and settled the
      long-agitated controversy about the right of anchovy fishing on the left
      shore of the Mediterranean.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But the women,&rdquo; continued the Baron, &ldquo;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 &lsquo;the fine arts;&rsquo;
      their awful collections of &lsquo;the Dutch school:&rsquo; 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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Highness has been a great traveller?&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Mountains.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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, &ldquo;Can any gentleman inform me what chance
      there is of the Signora coming?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No news to-day,&rdquo; said the Baron, with a mournful look; &ldquo;I am almost in
      despair. What do you think of the last notes that have been interchanged?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very little chance,&rdquo; said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, shaking his head.
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly!&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;we are sure then to have the best singers,
      and be in the Gazette the same season.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Which is much better, I think, Von Konigstein, than paying our bills and
      receiving no pleasure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; continued the Baron, &ldquo;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&rsquo;s friend, the
      Russian Envoy, Baron Squallonoff, and who was it that first arranged about
      the extra chariot?&rdquo; and here the representative of a first-rate German
      Power looked very much like a resigned patriot, who feels that he deserves
      a ribbon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No doubt of it, my dear Von Konigstein,&rdquo; echoed the French Chargé
      d&rsquo;Affaires, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the grand point of difference at present?&rdquo; asked the Austrian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A terrific one,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;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&rsquo;s country castle; his lady&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She ought to have signed and sealed at Darmstadt,&rdquo; said the Count, very
      indignantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be sure! they should have closed upon her caprice, and taken her when
      she was in the fancy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Talking of Opera girls,&rdquo; commenced the Polish Prince, &ldquo;I remember the
      Countess Katszinski&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Highness has nothing upon your plate,&rdquo; quickly retorted the Baron,
      who was in no humour for a story.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing more, I thank you,&rdquo; continued the Prince: &ldquo;as I was saying, I
      remember the Countess Katszinski&mdash;&rdquo; but just at this moment the door
      opened, and Ernstorff entered and handed a despatch to the Baron,
      recommending it to his Excellency&rsquo;s particular attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Business, I suppose,&rdquo; said the Plenipotentiary; &ldquo;it may wait till
      to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From M. Clarionet, your Excellency.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From M. Clarionet!&rdquo; eagerly exclaimed the Baron, and tore open the
      epistle. &ldquo;Gentlemen! congratulate me, congratulate yourselves,
      congratulate Frankfort;&rdquo; and the diplomatist, overcome, leant back in his
      chair. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most genuine!&rdquo; exclaimed the Chevalier, who hated German music with all
      his heart, and was now humming an air from La Dame Blanche.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0043">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were I to tell that broad-faced Herr,&rdquo; continued the conjuror, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here the crowd laughed out; for we are always glad when there is any talk
      of another&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; continued the conjuror, &ldquo;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;&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see but one box,&rdquo; growled the soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is because thou hast only one eye, friend; open the other, and thou
      shalt see two,&rdquo; said the conjuror, in a slow, malicious tone, with his
      neck extended, and his hand with the hateful box outstretched in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, I&rsquo;ll soon stop thy prate,
      chitterling!&rdquo; bellowed the enraged Bohemian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Murder! the protection of the free city against the Emperor of Austria,
      the King of Bohemia, Hungary, and Lombardy!&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;Murder!&rdquo; and invoke the privileges of the free city of
      Frankfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Keep thy pence, friend,&rdquo; said the conjuror; &ldquo;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!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, thou art an impudent varlet!&rdquo; growled
      the Austrian soldier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are losing your temper again,&rdquo; retorted the glutton, with his mouth
      full; &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, by our black Lady of Altoting, this is too much!&rdquo; and the soldier
      sprang at the conjuror.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold him!&rdquo; cried Vivian Grey; for the mob, frightened at the soldier,
      gave way.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is a gentle&rsquo;s voice under a dark cloak!&rdquo; cried the conjuror; &ldquo;but I
      want no assistance;&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s gigantic neck; placing his forefingers behind each
      of the soldier&rsquo;s ears, he threatened to slit them immediately if he were
      not quiet. The serjeant&rsquo;s companion, of course, came to his rescue, but
      Vivian engaged him, and attempted to arrange matters. &ldquo;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!&rdquo; said he to the soldiers,
      &ldquo;we had better be off; men so important as you and I should not be
      spectators of these mummeries.&rdquo; The Austrians, who understood Vivian&rsquo;s
      compliment literally, were not sorry to make a dignified retreat;
      particularly as the mob, encouraged by Vivian&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0044">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This Moselle is very thin,&rdquo; observed the judge, shaking his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very fair table-wine, I think&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very good wine, I think,&rdquo; swore the Prussian, taking the bottle. With the
      officer there was certainly no chance.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Waiter, a bottle of Rudesheimer!&rdquo; bellowed the judge; &ldquo;and if any
      gentleman or gentlemen would like to join me, they may,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;bah!&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope your Lordships have had a pleasant voyage,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      your knot?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you choose a card?&rdquo; asked the magician of the judge, with a most
      humble look.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not one of those who can be amused by tricks that his grandfather
      knew.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grandfather!&rdquo; shrieked Essper; &ldquo;what a wonderful grandfather yours must
      have been! All my tricks are fresh from Fairyland this morning.
      Grandfather, indeed! Pray, is this your grandfather?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; said Essper, turning round to our two travellers with
      affected surprise, although he had observed them the whole time. &ldquo;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.&rdquo; So saying, he threw over Vivian&rsquo;s neck a neat chain, or cord, of
      curiously-worked leather.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who the devil is this, Grey?&rdquo; asked the Baron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who the devil is this?&rdquo; said Essper George. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor Ernstorff!&rdquo; said the Baron, laughing. &ldquo;Yes; <i>he</i> certainly gets
      paid. Here, you are a clever varlet; fill your glass.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; no wine. Don&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here the Baron laughed again, and, as he bore his impertinence, Essper
      George immediately became polite.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Does your Highness go to Ems?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We hardly know, my friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And how do you get there, Essper?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Those are subjects on which I never speak,&rdquo; answered the conjuror, with a
      solemn air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But have you all your stock-in-trade with you, my good fellow? Where is
      the Mystery?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By Jove! you are a merry, impudent fellow,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;and if you
      like to get up behind my britzska, you may.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0045">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;Princely Bathing House,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;eatables and drinkables&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;hôte. 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And how like you the baths of Ems?&rdquo; the Baron asked of Vivian, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      This party, having passed Vivian, proceeded to the top of the room, where
      places had been kept for them. Vivian&rsquo;s eye watched them till they were
      lost among surrounding visitors: their peculiar loveliness could not
      deceive him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;English, no doubt,&rdquo; observed he to the Baron; &ldquo;who can they be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not the least idea; that is, I do not exactly know. I think they
      are English,&rdquo; answered the Baron, in so confused a manner that Vivian
      rather stared. After musing a moment, the Baron recovered himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the gentleman?&rdquo; asked Vivian: &ldquo;is the gentleman Mr. Trevor?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; Trevor, poor Trevor, is dead, I think; is, I am sure, dead. That, I
      am confident, is not he. He was of the &mdash;&mdash; 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the young lady with her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;hôte 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0046">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An Englishman, I believe?&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s. &ldquo;An
      Englishman, I believe; pray, sir, will you inform me whether the household
      troops in England wear the Marboeuf cuirass?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir!&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I regret to say, Colonel, that the question is one that I cannot decide.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir, I wish you good morning,&rdquo; said the Colonel, very drily; and, staring
      keenly at Vivian, he walked away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is good enough to fight, I suppose,&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment Lady Madeleine Trevor, leaning on the arm of the same
      gentleman, passed, and the Baron bowed. The bow was coldly returned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know her Ladyship, then! well!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did know her,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear friend, De Konigstein, one pinch! one pinch!&rdquo; chirped out a
      little old odd-looking man, with a poudré 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Marquis, I am most happy to see you; will you try the
      boulangero?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With pleasure! A-a-h! what a box! a Louis-Quatorze, I think?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no! by no means so old.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pardon me, my dear De Konigstein; I think a Louis-Quatorze.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I bought it in Sicily.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A-a-h!&rdquo; slowly exclaimed the little man, shaking his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, good afternoon,&rdquo; said the Baron, passing on.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear De Konigstein, one pinch; you have often said you have a
      particular regard for me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Marquis!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A-a-h! I thought so; you have often said you would serve me, if
      possible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Marquis, be brief.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A-a-h! I will. There&rsquo;s a cursed crusty old Prussian officer here; one
      Colonel de Trumpetson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what can I do? you are surely not going to fight him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A-a-h! no, no; I wish you to speak to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He takes snuff.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is that to me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has got a box.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a Louis-Quatorze; could not you get it for me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good morning to you,&rdquo; said the Baron, pulling on Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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
      Tabatière 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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here Lady Madeleine passed again, and this time the Baron&rsquo;s eyes were
      fixed on the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baron,&rdquo; said his Highness, &ldquo;why have I not seen you at the New House?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have but this moment arrived, may it please your Imperial Highness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your companion,&rdquo; continued the Grand Duke, pointing very graciously to
      Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My intimate friend, my fellow-traveller, and an Englishman. May I have
      the honour of presenting Mr. Grey to your Imperial Highness?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what news from Berlin, Baron? let us move on,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;s side, with a
      gentle laugh, and a mock shake of the head, and a &ldquo;Eh! Von Konigstein,
      you&rsquo;re too bad!&rdquo; Here Lady Madeleine Trevor passed again, and the Grand
      Duke&rsquo;s hat nearly touched the ground. He received a most gracious bow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have the honour of a slight acquaintance with her,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;I
      had the pleasure of knowing her in England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! Fortunate mortal! I see she has stopped, talking to some
      stranger. Let us turn and join her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke and the two friends accordingly turned, and of course the
      silent gentlemen in the rear followed with due precision.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Madeleine!&rdquo; said the Grand Duke, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not forgotten Baron von Konigstein,&rdquo; said her ladyship, with a
      serious air. &ldquo;May I ask his Highness how he prospered in his negotiation
      with the Austrian troop?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perfectly successful! Inspired by your Ladyship&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not in the least.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I flatter myself that Miss Fane feels herself better?&rdquo; asked the
      Grand Duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid Lady Madeleine must have almost mistaken me for a taciturn
      lord chamberlain,&rdquo; said the Baron, occupying immediately the Grand Duke&rsquo;s
      vacated side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baron von Konigstein must be very changed if silence be imputed to him as
      a fault,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Some strange thoughts occurred to Vivian while this conversation was
      taking place. &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you been long at Ems?&rdquo; inquired the Baron, with an air of great
      deference.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The lady who was with your party at dinner is, I fear, your invalid. She
      certainly does not look like one. I think,&rdquo; said the Baron, with an
      effort, &ldquo;I think that her face is not unknown to me. It is difficult, even
      after so many years, to mistake Miss&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fane,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, firmly; for it seemed that the Baron required
      a little assistance at the end of his sentence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ems,&rdquo; returned his Excellency, with great rapidity of utterance, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must indeed be changed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s countrymen. Might I take the liberty
      of presenting to you Mr. Grey?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey,&rdquo; asked her Ladyship, &ldquo;are you of Dorsetshire?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My mother is a Dorsetshire woman; her family name is Vivian, which name I
      also bear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then I think we are longer acquainted than we have been introduced. I met
      your father at Sir Hargrave Vivian&rsquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nearly a year and a half.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Baron had resigned his place by Lady Madeleine, and was already in
      close conversation with Mr. St. George, from whose arm Lady Madeleine&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; said the Baron, &ldquo;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 time the sutler&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While the Baron was entertaining Mr. St. George, the conversation between
      Lady Madeleine and Vivian proceeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your father expressed great disappointment to me at his being prevented
      paying you a visit. Do you not long to see him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;More than I can express. Did you think him in good spirits?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Generally so: as cheerful as all fathers can be without their only son.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did he complain, then, of my absence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He regretted it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
       said her Ladyship, turning to her brother, &ldquo;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.&rdquo; So
      saying, bowing very cordially to Vivian and coldly to the Baron, Lady
      Madeleine left the gardens.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There goes the most delightful woman in the world,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose we must throw away a dollar or two,&rdquo; said the Baron, as he
      walked up to the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear De Konigstein, one pinch!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! Marquess, what fortune to-night?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bad! I have lost my Napoleon: I never risk further. There is that cursed
      crusty old De Trumpetson, 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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Done.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There&rsquo;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,&rdquo; So
      saying, the gentlemen walked up to the top of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Grey! Surely no, it cannot be, and yet it is. De Boeffleurs, how
      d&rsquo;ye do?&rdquo; said the Baron, with a face beaming with joy and a hearty shake
      of the hand. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Salvinski.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! And the Count?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Chevalier moved forward, followed by the Baron and Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The most subtile diplomatist,&rdquo; thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind his
      own introduction, &ldquo;would be puzzled to decide to which interest his
      Imperial Highness leans.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; So saying, the Baron reached the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is your Excellency&rsquo;s stake! that is your Excellency&rsquo;s stake!&rdquo;
       exclaimed many voices as he came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the matter, my friends?&rdquo; asked the Baron, calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There has been a run on the red! there has been a run on the red! and
      your Excellency&rsquo;s stake has doubled each time. It has been 4, 8, 16, 32,
      64, 128, 256, and now it is 512!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement of the moment. He
      looked at the Baron, whose countenance, however, was unmoved.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It seems,&rdquo; said he, coolly, &ldquo;we are in luck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The stake, then, is not all your own?&rdquo; eagerly asked the little man in
      spectacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; part of it is yours, sir,&rdquo; answered the Baron, drily.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going; to deal,&rdquo; said the short, thick man behind. &ldquo;Is the board
      cleared?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Excellency, then, allows the stake to remain?&rdquo; inquired the tall,
      thin banker, with affected nonchalance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! certainly,&rdquo; said the Baron, with real nonchalance.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Three, eight, fourteen, twenty-four, thirty-four. Rouge 34&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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. &ldquo;Ten, twenty (here the countenance of the
      banker brightened), twenty-two, twenty-five, twenty-eight, thirty-one;
      noir 31. The bank&rsquo;s broke: no more play tonight. The roulette table opens
      immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Put these five hundred and twelve Napoleons into a bag,&rdquo; said the Baron,
      &ldquo;Grey, this is your share. With regard to the other half, Mr. Hermann,
      what bills have you got?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Two on Gogel of Frankfort for two hundred and fifty each, and these
      twelve Napoleons will make it right,&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0047">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the following morning, Vivian met with his friend Essper George, behind
      a small stall in the Bazaar.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; added
      Vivian, with no pleased air.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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,&rdquo; continued
      Essper George, with a look of mock solemnity. &ldquo;I really think you have but
      a faint appetite for good fortune. They deserve her most who value her
      least.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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,&rdquo; said Vivian, looking round the various stalls.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have a patron here who has never deceived, and who will never desert
      me; I want no other; and that&rsquo;s myself. Now here comes a party: could you
      just tell me the name of that tall lady now?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I tell you it is Lady Madeleine Trevor, what will it profit you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, smiling, &ldquo;is this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The celebrated Essper George, just&mdash;&rdquo; again commenced the conjuror;
      but Vivian prevented the repetition.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;More honest than moonlight, gracious lady, for that deceives every one;
      and less honest than self-praise, for that deceives no one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend, you have a ready wit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My wit is like a bustling servant, gracious lady; always ready when not
      wanted, and never present at a pinch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, I must have a pair of your chamois bracelets. How sell you them?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I sell nothing; all here is gratis to beauty, virtue, and nobility: and
      these are my only customers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks will not supply a stock-in-trade though, Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope I may be allowed to ask after Miss Fane,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By-the-bye,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not play, then, much?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think Baron von Konigstein was your partner in the exploit?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He was; and apparently as little pleased at the issue as myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! Have you known the Baron long?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I learnt the sad history from one who, while he spoke the truth, spoke of
      the living sufferer in terms of the fondest affection.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A father!&rdquo; said Vivian, agitated, &ldquo;a father can hardly be expected to be
      impartial.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;but I feel I am trespassing
      beyond all bounds in touching on these subjects.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You would scarcely imagine, Mr. Grey, that we are travelling for my
      cousin&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are willing to adopt any reasoning that gives us hope, but her mother
      died of consumption.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0048">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Some new guests!&rdquo; said Miss Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must be the singular party that we watched this morning in the
      bazaar,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These carriages, then, belong to him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not exactly,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      In an hour&rsquo;s time, the party again met at dinner in the saloon. By the
      joint exertions of Ernstorff and Mr. St. George&rsquo;s servants, the Baron,
      Vivian, and the Chevalier de Boeffleurs were now seated next to the party
      of Lady Madeleine Trevor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My horses fortunately arrived from Frankfort this morning,&rdquo; said the
      Baron. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have not. The expedition has been one of those plans often arranged
      and never executed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish the plan were practicable,&rdquo; said Mr. St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a difficulty,&rdquo; said Mr. St. George. &ldquo;Madeleine, we only wait your
      consent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, I hold the whole party present engaged to follow my standard,
      whenever I have permission from authority to unfold it,&rdquo; said the Baron,
      bowing to Lady Madeleine: &ldquo;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.&rdquo; The Baron&rsquo;s eye caught Lady Madeleine&rsquo;s as
      he uttered this, and something like a smile, rather of pity than derision,
      lighted up her face.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Vivian turned round to give some directions to an attendant, and to
      his annoyance found Essper George standing behind his chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="linkimage-0004">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="Frontispiece " style="height: 550px"><br >
    </div>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is there anything you want, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who ordered you here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My duty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In what capacity do you attend?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As your servant, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I insist upon your leaving the room directly.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! my friend, Essper George,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;are you there? What
      is the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This, then, is Essper George!&rdquo; said Violet Fane. &ldquo;What kind of being can
      he possibly be? What indeed is the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am merely discharging a servant at a moment&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you want, Essper?&rdquo; said Miss Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Merely to see whether your walk this morning had done your appetites any
      good,&rdquo; answered Essper, looking disconsolate; &ldquo;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,&rdquo;
       continued he, bowing very low to Ernstorff, who, standing stiff behind his
      master&rsquo;s chair, seemed utterly unaware that any other person in the room
      could experience a necessity; &ldquo;still I can change a plate or hand the wine
      without cracking the first, or drinking the second.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And very good qualities, too!&rdquo; said Miss Fane. &ldquo;Come, Essper, you shall
      put your accomplishments into practice immediately; change my plate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There has been a great addition to the visitors to-day, I see,&rdquo; said Mr.
      St. George. &ldquo;Who are the new comers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will tell you all about them,&rdquo; said the Baron. &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What pleasure can such people find in travelling?&rdquo; wondered Mr. St.
      George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As much pleasure and more profit than half the young men of the present
      day,&rdquo; replied a middle-aged English gentleman, who was a kinsman of the
      St. Georges, and called them cousins. &ldquo;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 &lsquo;especially to be
      seen and observed, the Courts of Princes.&rsquo; You all travel now, it appears,
      to look at mountains and catch cold in spouting trash on lakes by
      moonlight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, my dear sir!&rdquo; said the Baron, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So does everything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not you think that a communion with nature is calculated to elevate
      the soul,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;to&mdash;?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So is reading your Bible. A man&rsquo;s soul should always be elevated. If not,
      he might look at mountains for ever, but I should not trust him a jot
      more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, sir,&rdquo; continued the Baron, with unusual warmth, &ldquo;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 &mdash;&mdash;, 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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Day broke over the city and found him still pacing the Chiaja; he did not
      return to the Cardinal&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;expected&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0049">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you want anything, sir?&rdquo; asked Essper, with a submissive air.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian stared at him for a moment, and then ordered him to come in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;Hôtel. Now, sir, what do you
      want?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Essper was silent, and stood with his hands crossed on his breast, and his
      eyes fixed on the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you do not want anything, quit the room immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here the singular being began to weep.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Poor fellow!&rdquo; thought Vivian, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is your wish, Essper?&rdquo; continued Vivian, in a kinder tone. &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; sobbed Essper; &ldquo;I wish to be your servant:&rdquo; here he hid his face in
      his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s
      green livery and sword, have they not turned your brain, Essper?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no, no! I am tired of living alone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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 &ldquo;patronised&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      These gentlemen, as well as the Baron, Vivian, and Mr. St. George, were to
      dine this day at the New House.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0050">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s exhilarating presence. Mr. St. George had never met Vivian&rsquo;s
      advances with cordiality, and he now treated him with studied coldness.
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s venture at the
      Redoute; but Mr. St. George&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      For the first fortnight the Baron&rsquo;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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine one evening, as she was about to leave the
      gardens, &ldquo;we shall be happy to see you to-night, if you are not engaged.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear that I am engaged,&rdquo; said Vivian; for the receipt of some letters
      from England made him little inclined to enter into society.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no! you cannot be,&rdquo; said Miss Fane: &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian smiled at Miss Fane&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s Castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must look forward to Italy with great interest, Miss Fane?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The greatest! I shall not, however, forget the Rhine, even among the
      Apennines.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our intended fellow-travellers, Lord Mounteney and his family, are
      already at Milan,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine to Vivian; &ldquo;we were to have joined
      their party. Lady Mounteney is a Trevor.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mounteney in England, at Sir
      Berdmore Scrope&rsquo;s: do you know him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Slightly. The Mounteneys pass the winter at Rome, where I hope we shall
      join them. Do you know the family intimately?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Ernest Clay, a nephew of his Lordship&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madeleine, you have never read me Caroline Mounteney&rsquo;s letter, as you
      promised,&rdquo; said Miss Fane; &ldquo;I suppose full of raptures; &lsquo;the Alps and
      Apennines, the Pyrenaean and the River Po?&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the immortal works of Vigano, I suppose,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; said Violet, &ldquo;I do not like Othello to be profaned. It is not
      for operas and ballets. We require the thrilling words.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is very true; yet Pasta&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think the history of Desdemona is the most affecting of all tales,&rdquo;
       said Miss Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The violent death of a woman, young, lovely, and innocent, is assuredly
      the most terrible of tragedies,&rdquo; observed Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have often asked myself,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For my part,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;there is something fearful in the idea of
      sudden death.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very fearful,&rdquo; muttered Vivian, &ldquo;in some cases;&rdquo; for he thought of one
      whom he had sent to his great account before his time.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Violet, my dear!&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;have you finished your drawing of
      the Bingenloch?&rdquo; But Miss Fane would not leave the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Violet, my dear.&rdquo; said her Ladyship, &ldquo;let us talk no more of death. You
      have been silent a fortnight. I think to-night you may sing.&rdquo; Miss Fane
      rose and sat down to the instrument.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a lively air, calculated to drive away all melancholy feelings, and
      cherishing sunny views of human life. But Rossini&rsquo;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&rsquo;s
      prophetic symphonies.
    </p>
    <p>
      O Music! miraculous art, that makes a poet&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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!
    </p>
    <p>
      Then thou canst speak to the secrets of a man&rsquo;s heart as if by
      inspiration. Strike the lyre! Lo! our early love, our treasured hate, our
      withered joy, our flattering hope!
    </p>
    <p>
      And, lastly, by thy mysterious melodies thou canst recall man from all
      thought of this world and of himself, bringing back to his soul&rsquo;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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0051">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the evening of the next day there was to be a grand fête 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 fête, 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length she said suddenly, &ldquo;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,&rdquo; she added with a
      tremulous voice. &ldquo;May I speak with freedom?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With the most perfect unreserve and confidence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are aware that Ems is not the first place at which I have met Baron
      von Konigstein.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not ignorant that he has been in England.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It cannot have escaped you that I acknowledged his acquaintance with
      reluctance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should judge, with the greatest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust there is no cause either for your sorrow or your fear; but much,
      much cause for my gratitude.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Madeleine,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, yes!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop!&rdquo; 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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo; Lady
      Madeleine paused one moment, and then resumed with a firm voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Upwards of six years have now passed since Baron von Konigstein was
      appointed Minister to London from the Court of &mdash;&mdash;. 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&rsquo;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,&rdquo; continued her Ladyship,
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
       Here Lady Madeleine&rsquo;s voice died away, but with a struggle she again spoke
      firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Mr. St. George,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;knowing all this, which surely he must
      have done; how came he to tolerate, for an instant, the advances of such a
      man?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My brother,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;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&rsquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Miss Fane,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;she must know all?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;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,&rdquo; continued Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0052">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The company at the Grand Duke&rsquo;s fête 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!
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; continued his Highness,
      inclining his head round to one of his aides-de-camp, &ldquo;Cravatischeff! a
      very fine woman is Madame von Furstenburg. There are few women whom I more
      admire than Madame von Furstenburg.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      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&rsquo;s side,
      introducing to her, in the course of the evening, his own and Mr. St.
      George&rsquo;s particular friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzloom. Among many smiling
      faces Vivian Grey&rsquo;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&rsquo;s reflection convinced him of the folly of his conduct, and he made
      a struggle to be very civil. In five minutes&rsquo; time he had involuntarily
      insulted the Baron, who stared at his friend, and evidently did not
      comprehend him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey,&rdquo; said his Excellency, very quietly, &ldquo;you are not in a good humour
      tonight. What is the matter? This is not at all a temper to come to a fête
      in. What! won&rsquo;t Miss Fane dance with you?&rsquo;&rdquo; asked the Baron, with an
      arched smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder what can induce your Excellency to talk such nonsense!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Excellency! by Jove, that&rsquo;s good! What the deuce is the matter with
      the man? It is Miss Fane, then, eh?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baron von Konigstein, I wish you to understand&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why not? You have no engagement with Lady Madeleine I know, for St.
      George has agreed to come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;St. George is positively coming?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh yes&rsquo; positively; do not be afraid of his gaining ground on the little
      Violet in your absence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, my dear Von Konigstein, I will come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;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!&rdquo; So
      saying, the Baron glided off.
    </p>
    <p>
      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.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A most interesting sight, Lady Madeleine!&rdquo; said Mr. Fitzloom, as he
      offered her his arm, and advised their instant presence as patrons of the
      &ldquo;Fête du Village,&rdquo; for such Baron von Konigstein had most happily termed
      it. &ldquo;A delightful man, that Baron von Konigstein, and says such delightful
      things! Fête du Village! how very good!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is Miss Fitzloom, then, whom my brother is waltzing with?&rdquo; asked
      Lady Madeleine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not exactly, my Lady,&rdquo; said Mr. Fitzloom, &ldquo;not exactly <i>Miss</i>
      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.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us walk,&rdquo; said Miss Fane to Vivian, for she was now leaning upon his
      arm; &ldquo;the evening is deliriously soft, but even with the protection of a
      cashmere I scarcely dare venture to stand still. Lady Madeleine seems very
      much engaged at present. What amusing people these Fitzlooms are!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Fitzloom; I have not heard her voice yet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; Mrs. Fitzloom does not talk. Albert says she makes it a rule never to
      speak in the presence of a stranger. She deals plenteously, however, at
      home in domestic apophthegms. If you could but hear him imitating them
      all! Whenever she does speak, she finishes all her sentences by confessing
      that she is conscious of her own deficiencies, but that she has taken care
      to give her daughters the very best education. They are what Albert calls
      fine girls, and I am glad he has made friends with them; for, after all,
      he must find it rather dull here. By-the-bye, Mr. Grey, I am afraid that
      you cannot find this evening very amusing, the absence of a favourite
      pursuit always makes a sensible void, and these walls must remind you of
      more piquant pleasures than waltzing with fine London ladies, or
      promenading up a dull terrace with an invalid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I assure you that you are quite misinformed as to the mode in which I
      generally pass my evenings.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope I am!&rdquo; said Miss Fane, in rather a serious tone. &ldquo;I wish I could
      also he mistaken in my suspicions of the mode in which Albert spends his
      time. He is sadly changed. For the first month that we were here he seemed
      to prefer nothing in the world to our society, and now&mdash;I was nearly
      saying that we had not seen him for one single evening these three weeks.
      I cannot understand what you find at this house of such absorbing
      interest. Although I know you think I am much mistaken in my suspicions,
      still I feel very anxious. I spoke to Albert to-day; but he scarcely
      answered me; or said that which it was a pleasure for me to forget.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. St. George should feel highly gratified in having excited such an
      interest in the mind of Miss Fane.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He should not feel more gratified than all who are my friends; for all
      who are such I must ever experience the liveliest interest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How happy must those be who feel that they have a right to count Miss
      Fane among their friends!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have the pleasure then, I assure you, of making many happy, and among
      them, Mr. Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was surprised that he did not utter some complimentary answer; but
      he knew not why, the words would not come; and instead of speaking, he was
      thinking of what had been spoken.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How brilliant are these gardens!&rdquo; said Vivian, looking at the sky.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very brilliant!&rdquo; said Miss Fane, looking on the ground. Conversation
      seemed nearly extinct, and yet neither offered to turn back.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good heavens! you are ill,&rdquo; exclaimed Vivian, when, on accidentally
      turning to his companion, he found she was in tears. &ldquo;Shall we go back, or
      will you wait here? Can I fetch anything? I fear you are very ill!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, not very ill, but very foolish; let us walk on,&rdquo; and, sighing, she
      seemed suddenly to recover.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am ashamed of this foolishness; what can you think? But I am so
      agitated, so nervous. I hope you will forget&mdash;I hope&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps the air has suddenly affected you; shall we go in? Nothing has
      been said, nothing happened; no one has dared to say or do anything to
      annoy you? Speak, dear Miss Fane, the, the&mdash;&rdquo; the words died on
      Vivian&rsquo;s lips, yet a power he could not withstand urged him to speak,
      &ldquo;the, the, the Baron?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; almost shrieked Miss Fane. &ldquo;Stop one second; an effort, and I must
      be well; nothing has happened, and no one has done or said anything; but
      it is of something that should be said, of something that should be done,
      that I was thinking, and it overcame me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Miss Fane,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;if there be anything which I can do or devise,
      any possible way that I can exert myself in your service, speak with the
      most perfect confidence; do not fear that your motives will be
      misconceived, that your purpose will be misinterpreted, that your
      confidence will be misunderstood. You are addressing one who would lay
      down his life for you, who is willing to perform all your commands, and
      forget them when performed. I beseech you to trust me; believe me, that
      you shall not repent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She answered not, but holding down her head, covered her face with her
      small white hand; her lovely face which was crimsoned with her flashing
      blood. They were now at the end of the terrace; to return was impossible.
      If they remained stationary, they must be perceived and joined. What was
      to be done? He led her down a retired walk still farther from the house.
      As they proceeded in silence, the bursts of the music and the loud
      laughter of the joyous guests became fainter and fainter, till at last the
      sounds died away into echo, and echo into silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      A thousand thoughts dashed through Vivian&rsquo;s mind in rapid succession; but
      a painful one, a most painful one to him, to any man, always remained the
      last. His companion would not speak; yet to allow her to return home
      without freeing her mind of the fearful burden which evidently overwhelmed
      it, was impossible. At length he broke a silence which seemed to have
      lasted an age.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not believe that I am taking advantage of an agitating moment to
      extract from you a confidence which you may repent. I feel assured that I
      am right in supposing that you have contemplated in a calmer moment the
      possibility of my being of service to you; that, in short, there is
      something in which you require my assistance, my co-operation; an
      assistance, a co-operation, which, if it produce any benefit to you, will
      make me at length feel that I have not lived in vain. No feeling of false
      delicacy shall prevent me from assisting you in giving utterance to
      thoughts which you have owned it is absolutely necessary should be
      expressed. Remember that you have allowed me to believe that we are
      friends; do not prove by your silence that we are friends only in name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am overwhelmed; I cannot speak. My face burns with shame; I have
      miscalculated my strength of mind, perhaps my physical strength; what,
      what must you think of me?&rdquo; She spoke in a low and smothered voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Think of you! everything which the most devoted respect dare think of an
      object which it reverences. Do not believe that I am one who would presume
      an instant on my position, because I have accidentally witnessed a young
      and lovely woman betrayed into a display of feeling which the artificial
      forms of cold society cannot contemplate, and dare to ridicule. You are
      speaking to one who also has felt; who, though a man, has wept; who can
      comprehend sorrow; who can understand the most secret sensations of an
      agitated spirit. Dare to trust me. Be convinced that hereafter, neither by
      word nor look, hint nor sign, on my part, shall you feel, save by your own
      wish, that you have appeared to Vivian Grey in any other light than in the
      saloons we have just quitted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Generous man, I dare trust anything to you that I dare trust to human
      being; but&mdash;&rdquo; here her voice died away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a painful thing for me to attempt to guess your thoughts; but if it
      be of Mr. St. George that you are thinking, have no fear respecting him;
      have no fear about his present situation. Trust to me that there shall be
      no anxiety for his future one. I will be his unknown guardian, his unseen
      friend; the promoter of your wishes, the protector of your&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, with firmness, and looking quickly up, as if her
      mind were relieved by discovering that all this time Vivian had never
      imagined she was thinking of him. &ldquo;No, no, you are mistaken; it is not of
      Mr. St. George, of Mr. St. George only, that I am thinking. I am much
      better now; I shall be able in an instant to speak; be able, I trust, to
      forget how foolish, how very foolish I have been.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us walk on,&rdquo; continued Miss Fane, &ldquo;let us walk on; we can easily
      account for our absence if it be remarked; and it is better that it should
      be all over. I feel quite well, and shall be able to speak quite firmly
      now.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do not hurry; there is no fear of our absence being remarked, Lady
      Madeleine is so surrounded.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;After what has passed, it seems ridiculous in me to apologise, as I had
      intended, for speaking to you on a graver subject than what has generally
      formed the point of conversation between us. I feared that you might
      misunderstand the motives which have dictated my conduct. I have attempted
      not to appear agitated, and I have been overcome. I trust that you will
      not be offended if I recur to the subject of the New House. Do not believe
      that I ever would have allowed my fears, my girlish fears, so to have
      overcome my discretion; so to have overcome, indeed, all propriety of
      conduct on my part; as to have induced me to have sought an interview with
      you, to moralise to you about your mode of life. No, no; it is not of this
      that I wish to speak, or rather that I will speak. I will hope, I will
      pray, that Albert and yourself have never found in that which you have
      followed as an amusement, the source, the origin, the cause of a single
      unhappy or even anxious moment; Mr. Grey, I will believe all this.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dearest Miss Fane, believe it with confidence. Of St. George, I can with
      sincerity aver, that it is my firm opinion, that, far from being involved,
      his fortune is not in the slightest degree injured. Believe me, I will not
      attempt to quiet you now, as I would have done at any other time, by
      telling you that you magnify your fears, and allow your feelings to
      exaggerate the danger which exists. There has been danger. There is
      danger; play, high play, has been and is pursued at this New House, but
      Mr. St. George has never been a loser; and if the exertions of man can
      avail, never shall, at least unfairly. As to the other individual, whom
      you have honoured by the interest which you have professed in his welfare,
      no one can more thoroughly detest any practice which exists in this world
      than he does the gaming-table.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! you have made me so happy! I feel so persuaded that you have not
      deceived me! the tones of your voice, your manner, your expression,
      convince me that you have been sincere, and that I am happy, at least for
      the present.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;For ever, I trust, Miss Fane.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let me now prevent future misery. Let me speak about that which has long
      dwelt on my mind like a nightmare, about that which I did fear it was
      almost too late to speak. Not of your pursuit, not even of that fatal
      pursuit, do I now think, but of your companion in this amusement, in all
      amusements! it is he, he whom I dread, whom I look upon with horror, even
      to him, I cannot say, with hatred!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Baron?&rdquo; said Vivian, calmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot name him. Dread him, fear him, avoid him! it is he that I mean,
      he of whom I thought that you were the victim. You must have been
      surprised, you must have wondered at our conduct towards him. Oh! when
      Lady Madeleine turned from him with coolness, when she answered him in
      tones which to you might have appeared harsh, she behaved to him, in
      comparison to what is his due, and what we sometimes feel to be our duty,
      with affection, actually with affection and regard. No human being can
      know what horror is, until he looks upon a fellow-creature with the eyes
      that I look upon that man.&rdquo; She leant upon Vivian&rsquo;s arm with her whole
      weight, and even then he thought she must have sunk; neither spoke. How
      solemn is the silence of sorrow!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am overcome,&rdquo; continued Miss Fane; &ldquo;the remembrance of what he has done
      overwhelms me. I cannot speak it; the recollection is death; yet you must
      know it. That you might know it, I have before attempted. I wished to have
      spared myself the torture which I now endure. You must know it. I will
      write; ay! that will do. I will write: I cannot speak now; it is
      impossible; but beware of him; you are so young.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have no words now to thank you, dear Miss Fane, for this. Had I been
      the victim of Von Konigstein, I should have been repaid for all my misery
      by feeling that you regretted its infliction; but I trust that I am in no
      danger: though young, I fear that I am one who must not count his time by
      calendars. &lsquo;An aged interpreter, though young in days.&rsquo; Would that I could
      be deceived! Fear not for your cousin. Trust to one whom you have made
      think better of this world, and of his fellow-creatures.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The sound of approaching footsteps, and the light laugh of pleasure, told
      of some who were wandering like themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We had better return,&rdquo; said Miss Fane; &ldquo;I fear that Lady Madeleine will
      observe that I look unwell. Some one approaches! No, they pass only the
      top of the walk.&rdquo; It was Mr. St. George and Aurelia Fitzloom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Quick flew the brilliant hours; and soon the dance was over, and the music
      mute.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was late when Vivian retired. As he opened his door he was surprised to
      find lights in his chamber. The figure of a man appeared seated at the
      table. It moved; it was Essper George.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0053">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The reader will remember that Vivian had agreed to dine, on the day after
      the fête, with the Baron, in his private apartments. This was an
      arrangement which, in fact, the custom of the house did not permit; but
      the irregularities of great men who are attended by chasseurs are
      occasionally winked at by a supple maître d&rsquo;hôtel. Vivian had reasons for
      not regretting his acceptance of the invitation; and he never shook hands
      with the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, apparently, with greater cordiality,
      than on the day on which he met him at dinner at the Baron von
      Konigstein&rsquo;s. Mr. St. George had not arrived.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Past five!&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;riding out, I suppose, with the Fitzlooms.
      Aurelia is certainly a fine girl; but I should think that Lady Madeleine
      would hardly approve the connection. The St. Georges have blood in their
      veins; and would, I suppose, as soon think of marrying a Fitzloom as we
      Germans should of marrying a woman without a <i>von</i> before her name.
      We are quite alone, Grey, only the Chevalier and St. George. I had an idea
      of asking Salvinski, but he is such a regular steam-engine, and began such
      a long story last night about his interview with the King of Ashantee,
      that the bare possibility of his taking it into his head to finish it
      to-day frightened me. You were away early from the Grand Duke&rsquo;s last
      night. The business went off well.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very well, indeed!&rdquo; said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs; completing by this
      speech the first dozen of words which he had uttered since his stay at
      Ems.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think that last night Lady Madeleine Trevor looked perfectly
      magnificent; and a certain lady, too, Grey, eh? Here is St. George. My
      dear fellow, how are you? Has the fair Aurelia recovered from the last
      night&rsquo;s fatigues? Now, Ernstorff, dinner as soon as possible.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Baron made up to-day, certainly, for the silence of his friend the
      Chevalier. He outdid himself. Story after story, adventure after
      adventure, followed each other with exciting haste. In fact, the Baron
      never ceased talking the whole dinner, except when he refreshed himself
      with wine, which he drank copiously. A nice observer would, perhaps, have
      considered the Baron&rsquo;s high spirits artificial, and his conversation an
      effort. Yet his temper, though lively, was generally equable; and his
      ideas, which always appeared to occur easily, were usually thrown out in
      fluent phraseology. The dinner was long, and a great deal of wine was
      drunk: more than most of the parties present for a long time had been
      accustomed to. About eight o&rsquo;clock the Chevalier proposed going to the
      Redoute, but the Baron objected.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us have an evening altogether: surely we have had enough of the
      Redoute. In my opinion one of the advantages of the fête is, that there is
      no New House to-night. Conversation is a novelty. On a moderate
      calculation I must have told you to-day at least fifty original anecdotes.
      I have done my duty. It is the Chevalier&rsquo;s turn now. Come, de Boeffleurs,
      a choice one!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I remember a story Prince Salvinski once told me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no, that is too bad; none of that Polish bear&rsquo;s romances; if we have
      his stories, we may as well have his company.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But it is a very curious story,&rdquo; continued the Chevalier, with a little
      animation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! so is every story, according to the storier.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think, Von Konigstein, you imagine no one can tell a story but
      yourself,&rdquo; said De Boeffleurs, actually indignant. Vivian had never heard
      him speak so much before, and really began to believe that he was not
      quite an automaton.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us have it!&rdquo; said St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a story told of a Polish nobleman, a Count somebody: I never can
      remember their crack-jaw names. Well! the point is this,&rdquo; said the silent
      little Chevalier, who, apparently, already repented of the boldness of his
      offer, and, misdoubting his powers, wished to begin with the end of his
      tale: &ldquo;the point is this, he was playing one day at ecarté with the
      Governor of Wilna; the stake was trifling, but he had a bet, you see, with
      the Governor of a thousand roubles; a bet with the Governor&rsquo;s secretary,
      never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty, you see; then, he went
      on the turn-up with the Commandant&rsquo;s wife; and took the pips on the trumps
      with the Archbishop of Warsaw. To understand the point of the story, you
      see, you must have a distinct conception how the game stood. You see, St.
      George, there was the bet with the Governor, one thousand roubles; the
      Governor&rsquo;s secretary, never mind the amount, say two hundred and fifty;
      turn-up with the Commandant&rsquo;s lady, and the pips with the Archbishop of
      Warsaw. Proposed three times, one for the king, the Governor drew ace; the
      Governor was already three and the ten. When the Governor scored king, the
      Archbishop gave the odds, drew knave queen one hand. The count offered to
      propose fourth time. Governor refused. King to six, ace fell to knave,
      queen cleared on. Governor lost, besides bets with the whole état-major;
      the Secretary gave his bill; the Commandant&rsquo;s lady pawned her jewels; and
      the Archbishop was done on the pips!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By Jove, what a Salvinski!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How many trumps had the Governor?&rdquo; asked St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Three,&rdquo; said the Chevalier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then it is impossible: I do not believe the story; it could not be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I beg your pardon,&rdquo; said the Chevalier; &ldquo;you see the Governor had&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By Jove, don&rsquo;t let us have it all over again!&rdquo; said the Baron. &ldquo;Well! if
      this be your model for an after-dinner anecdote, which ought to be as
      piquant as an anchovy toast, I will never complain of your silence in
      future.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The story is a true story,&rdquo; said the Chevalier; &ldquo;have you got a pack of
      cards, Von Konigstein? I will show it you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is not such a thing in the room,&rdquo; said the Baron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I never heard of a room without a pack of cards before,&rdquo; said the
      Chevalier; &ldquo;I will send for one to my own apartments.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perhaps Ernstorff has got a pack. Here, Ernstorff, have you got a pack of
      cards? That&rsquo;s well; bring it immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The cards were brought, and the Chevalier began to fight his battle over
      again; but could not satisfy Mr. St. George. &ldquo;You see, there was the bet
      with the Governor, and the pips, as I said before, with the Archbishop of
      Warsaw.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear De Boeffleurs, let&rsquo;s no more of this. If you like to have a game
      of ecarté with St. George, well and good; but as for quarrelling the whole
      evening about some blundering lie of Salvinski&rsquo;s, it really is too much.
      You two can play, and I can talk to Don Vivian, who, by-the-bye, is rather
      of the rueful countenance to-night. Why, my dear fellow, I have not heard
      your voice this evening: frightened by the fate of the Archbishop of
      Warsaw, I suppose?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ecarté is so devilish dull,&rdquo; said St. George; &ldquo;and it is such a trouble
      to deal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will deal for both, if you like,&rdquo; said De Boeffleurs; &ldquo;I am used to
      dealing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! no, I won&rsquo;t play ecarté; let us have something in which we can all
      join.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rouge-et-noir,&rdquo; suggested the Chevalier, in a careless tone, as if he had
      no taste for the amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is not enough, is there?&rdquo; asked St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! two are enough, you know; one deals, much more four.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t care; rouge-et-noir then, let us have rouge-et-noir. Von
      Konigstein, what say you to rouge-et-noir? De Boeffleurs says we can play
      it here very well. Come, Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! rouge-et-noir, rouge-et-noir,&rdquo; said the Baron; &ldquo;have not you both had
      rouge-et-noir enough? Am I not to be allowed one holiday? Well, anything
      to please you; so rouge-et-noir, if it must be so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If all wish it, I have no objection,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, let us sit down; Ernstorff has, I dare say, another pack of
      cards, and St. George will be dealer; I know he likes that ceremony.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no; I appoint the Chevalier.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said De Boeffleurs, &ldquo;the plan will be for two to bank against
      the table; the table to play on the same colour by joint agreement. You
      can join me, Von Konigstein, and pay or receive with me, from Mr. St.
      George and Grey.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will bank with you, if you like, Chevalier,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! certainly; that is if you like. But perhaps the Baron is more used to
      banking; you perhaps don&rsquo;t understand it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Perfectly; it appears to me to be very simple.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, don&rsquo;t you bank, Grey,&rdquo; said St. George. &ldquo;I want you to play with me
      against the Chevalier and the Baron; I like your luck.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Luck is very capricious, remember.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no, I like your luck; don&rsquo;t bank.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be it so.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Playing commenced. An hour elapsed, and the situation of none of the
      parties was materially different from what it had been when they began the
      game. Vivian proposed leaving off; but Mr. St. George avowed that he felt
      very fortunate, and that he had a presentiment that he should win. Another
      hour elapsed, and he had lost considerably. Eleven o&rsquo;clock: Vivian&rsquo;s luck
      had also deserted him. Mr. St. George was losing desperately. Midnight:
      Vivian had lost back half his gains on the season. St. George still more
      desperate, all his coolness had deserted him. He had persisted obstinately
      against a run on the red; then floundered and got entangled in a seesaw,
      which alone cost him a thousand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ernstorff now brought in refreshments; and for a moment they ceased
      playing. The Baron opened a bottle of champagne; and St. George and the
      Chevalier were stretching their legs and composing their minds in very
      different ways, the first in walking rapidly up and down the room, and the
      other by lying very quietly at his full length on the sofa; Vivian was
      employed in building houses with the cards.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey,&rdquo; said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, &ldquo;I cannot imagine why you do not
      for a moment try to forget the cards: that is the only way to win. Never
      sit musing over the table.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But Grey was not to be persuaded to give up building his pagoda: which,
      now many stories high, like a more celebrated but scarcely more
      substantial structure, fell with a crash. Vivian collected the scattered
      cards into two divisions.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now!&rdquo; said the Baron, seating himself, &ldquo;for St. George&rsquo;s revenge.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Chevalier and the greatest sufferer took their places.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is Ernstorff coming in again, Baron?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No! I think not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let us be sure; it is disagreeable to be disturbed at this time of
      night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lock the door, then,&rdquo; said St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A very good plan,&rdquo; said Vivian; and he locked it accordingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Vivian, rising from the table, and putting both
      packs of cards into his pocket; &ldquo;now, gentlemen, I have another game to
      play.&rdquo; The Chevalier started on his chair, the Baron turned pale, but both
      were silent. &ldquo;Mr. St. George,&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;I think that you owe the
      Chevalier de Boeffleurs about four thousand Napoleons, and to Baron von
      Konigstein something more than half that sum. I have to inform you that it
      is unnecessary for you to satisfy the claims of either of these gentlemen,
      which are founded neither in law nor in honour.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, what am I to understand?&rdquo; asked the quiet Chevalier de
      Boeffleurs, with the air of a wolf and the voice of a lion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Understand, sir!&rdquo; answered Vivian, sternly, &ldquo;that I am not one who will
      be bullied by a blackleg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Grey! good God! what do you mean?&rdquo; asked the Baron.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That which it is my duty, not my pleasure, to explain, Baron von
      Konigstein.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you mean to insinuate,&rdquo; burst forth the Chevalier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I mean to insinuate nothing. I leave insinuations and innuendoes to
      chevaliers d&rsquo;industrie. I mean to prove everything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. St. George did not speak, but seemed as utterly astounded and
      overwhelmed as Baron von Konigstein himself, who, with his arm leaning on
      the table, his hands clasped, and the forefinger of his right hand playing
      convulsively on his left, was pale as death, and did not even breathe.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;I shall not detain you long, though I have much
      to say that is to the purpose. I am perfectly cool, and, believe me,
      perfectly resolute. Let me recommend to you all the same temperament; it
      may be better for you. Rest assured, that if you flatter yourselves that I
      am one to be pigeoned and then bullied, you are mistaken. In one word, I
      am aware of everything that has been arranged for the reception of Mr. St.
      George and myself this evening. Your marked cards are in my pocket, and
      can only be obtained by you with my life. Here are two of us against two;
      we are equally matched in number, and I, gentlemen, am armed. If I were
      not, you would not dare to go to extremities. Is it not, then, the wisest
      course to be temperate, my friends?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is some vile conspiracy of your own, fellow,&rdquo; said De Boeffleurs:
      &ldquo;marked cards, indeed! a pretty tale, forsooth! The Ministers of a
      first-rate Power playing with marked cards! The story will gain credit,
      and on the faith of whom? An adventurer that no one knows, who, having
      failed this night in his usual tricks, and lost money which he cannot pay,
      takes advantage of the marked cards, which he has not succeeded in
      introducing, and pretends, forsooth, that they are those which he has
      stolen from our table; our own cards being, previously to his accusation,
      concealed in a secret pocket.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The impudence of the fellow staggered even Vivian. As for Mr. St. George,
      he stared like a wild man. Before Vivian could answer him the Baron had
      broken silence. It was with the greatest effort that he seemed to dig his
      words out of his breast.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no; this is too much! It is all over! I am lost; but I will not add
      crime to crime. Your courage and your fortune have saved you, Mr. Grey,
      and your friend from the designs of villains. And you! wretch,&rdquo; said he,
      turning to De Boeffleurs, &ldquo;sleep now in peace; at length you have undone
      me.&rdquo; He leant on the table, and buried his face in his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Chicken-hearted fool!&rdquo; said the Chevalier; &ldquo;is this the end of all your
      promises and all your pledges? But remember, sir! remember. I have no
      taste for scenes. Good night, gentlemen. Baron, I expect to hear from
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, sir!&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;no one leaves this room without my permission.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am at your service, sir, when you please,&rdquo; said the Chevalier.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is not my intention to detain you long, sir; far from it. I have every
      inclination to assist you in your last exit from this room; had I time, it
      should not be by the door. As it is, go! in the devil&rsquo;s name.&rdquo; So saying
      he hurled the adventurous Frenchman half down the corridor.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baron von Konigstein,&rdquo; said Vivian, turning to the Baron, &ldquo;you have
      proved yourself, by your conduct this evening, to be a better man than I
      imagined you. I confess that I thought you had been too much accustomed to
      such scenes to be sensible of the horror of detection.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; said the Baron, with emphasis, with energy. The firm voice and
      manner in which he pronounced this single word wonderfully contrasted with
      his delivery when he had last spoke; but his voice immediately died away.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis all over! I have no wish to excite your pity, gentlemen, or to gain
      your silence, by practising upon your feelings. Be silent. I am not the
      less ruined, not the less disgraced, not the less utterly undone. Be
      silent; my honour, all the same, in four-and-twenty hours, has gone for
      ever. I have no motive, then, to deceive you. You must believe what I
      speak; even what <i>I</i> speak, the most degraded of men. I say again, <i>never</i>,
      never, never, never, never was my honour before sullied, though guilty of
      a thousand follies. You see before you, gentlemen, the unhappy victim of
      circumstances; of circumstances which he has in vain struggled to control,
      to which he has at length fallen a victim. I am not pretending, for a
      moment, that my crimes are to be accounted for by an inexorable fate, and
      not to be expiated by my everlasting misery. No, no! I have been too weak
      to be virtuous: but I have been tried, tried most bitterly. I am the most
      unfortunate of men; I was not born to be a villain. Four years have passed
      since I was banished from the country in which I was honoured, my
      prospects in life blasted, my peace of mind destroyed; and all because a
      crime was committed of any participation in which I am as innocent as
      yourselves. Driven in despair to wander, I tried, in the wild dissipation
      of Naples, to forget my existence and my misery. I found my fate in the
      person of this vile Frenchman, who never since has quitted me. Even after
      two years of madness in that fatal place, my natural disposition rallied;
      I struggled to save myself; I quitted it. I was already involved to De
      Boeffleurs; I became still more so, in gaining from him the means of
      satisfying all claims against me. Alas! I found I had sold myself to a
      devil, a very devil, with a heart like an adder&rsquo;s. Incapable of a stray
      generous sensation, he has looked upon mankind during his whole life with
      the eyes of a bully of a gaming-house. I still struggled to free myself
      from this man; and I indemnified him for his advances by procuring him a
      place in the mission to which, with the greatest difficulty and
      perseverance, I had at length obtained my appointment. In public life I
      yet hoped to forget my private misery. At Frankfort I felt that, though
      not happy, I might be calm. I determined never again even to run the risk
      of enduring the slavery of debt. I foreswore, with the most solemn oaths,
      the gaming table; and had it not been for the perpetual sight of De
      Boeffleurs, I might, perhaps, have felt at ease; though the remembrance of
      my blighted prospects, the eternal feeling that I experienced of being
      born for nobler ends, was quite sufficient perpetually to embitter my
      existence. The second year of my Frankfort appointment I was tempted to
      this unhappy place. The unexpected sight of faces which I had known in
      England, though they called up the most painful associations, strengthened
      me, nevertheless, in my resolution to be virtuous. My unexpected fortune
      at the Redoute, the first night, made me forget all my resolves, and has
      led to all this misery. I make my sad tale brief. I got involved at the
      New House: De Boeffleurs once more assisted me, though his terms were most
      severe. Yet, yet again, I was mad enough, vile enough, to risk what I did
      not possess. I lost to Prince Salvinski and a Russian gentleman a
      considerable sum on the night before the fête. It is often the custom at
      the New House, as you know, among men who are acquainted, to pay and
      receive all losses which are considerable on the next night of meeting.
      The fête gave me breathing time: it was not necessary to redeem my pledge
      till the fourth night. I rushed to De Boeffleurs; he refused to assist me,
      alleging his own losses and his previous advance. What was to be done? No
      possibility of making any arrangement with Salvinski. Had he won of me as
      others have done, an arrangement, though painful, would perhaps have been
      possible; but, by a singular fate, whenever I have chanced to be
      successful, it is of this man that I have won. De Boeffleurs, then, was
      the only chance. He was inexorable. I prayed to him; I promised him
      everything; I offered him any terms; in vain! At length, when he had
      worked me up to the last point of despair, he whispered hope. I listened;
      let me be quick! why finish? You know I fell!&rdquo; The Baron again covered his
      face, and appeared perfectly overwhelmed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By God! it is too horrible,&rdquo; said St. George. &ldquo;Grey, let us do something
      for him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear St. George,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;be calm. You are taken by surprise. I
      was prepared for all this. Believe me, it is better for you to leave us. I
      recommend you to retire, and meet me in the morning. Breakfast with me at
      eight; we can then arrange everything.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian&rsquo;s conduct had been so decisive, and evidently so well matured, that
      St. George felt that, in the present case, it was for him only to obey,
      and he retired with wonder still expressed on his countenance; for he had
      not yet, in the slightest degree, recovered from the first surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Baron von Konigstein,&rdquo; said Vivian to the unhappy man, &ldquo;we are alone. Mr.
      St. George has left the room: you are freed from the painful presence of
      the cousin of Captain Fane.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You know all, then!&rdquo; exclaimed the Baron quickly, looking up, &ldquo;or you
      have read my secret thoughts. How wonderful! at that very moment I was
      thinking of my friend. Would I had died with him! You know all, then; and
      now you must believe me guilty. Yet, at this moment of annihilating
      sorrow, when I can gain nothing by deceit, I swear; and if I swear
      falsely, may I fall down a livid corpse at your feet; I swear that I was
      guiltless of the crime for which I suffered, guiltless as yourself. What
      may be my fate I know not. Probably a few hours, and all will be over.
      Yet, before we part, sir, it would be a relief; you would be doing a
      generous service to a dying man, to bear a message from me to one with
      whom you are acquainted; to one whom I cannot now name.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lady Madeleine Trevor?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again you have read my thoughts! Lady Madeleine! Is it she who told you
      of my early history?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All that I know is known to many.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must speak! If you have time, if you can listen for half an hour to a
      miserable being, it would be a consolation to me. I should die with ease
      if I thought that Lady Madeleine could believe me innocent of that first
      great offence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Excellency may address anything to me, if it be your wish, even at
      this hour of the night. It may be better; after what has passed, we
      neither of us can sleep, and this business must be arranged at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My object is, that Lady Madeleine should receive from me at this moment,
      at a time when I can have no interest to deceive, an account of the
      particulars of her cousin&rsquo;s and my friend&rsquo;s death. I sent it written after
      the horrid event; but she was ill, and Trevor, who was very bitter against
      me, returned the letters unopened. For four years I have never travelled
      without these rejected letters; this year I have them not. But you could
      convey to Lady Madeleine my story as now given to you; to you at this
      terrible moment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Speak on!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must say one word of my connection with the family to enable you fully
      to understand the horrid event, of which, if, as I believe, you only know
      what all know, you can form but a most imperfect conception. When I was
      Minister at the Court of London I became acquainted; became, indeed,
      intimate, with Mr. Trevor, then in office, the husband of Lady Madeleine.
      She was just married. Of myself at that time, I may say that, though
      depraved, I was not heartless, and that there were moments when I panted
      to be excellent. Lady Madeleine and myself became friends; she found in me
      a companion who not only respected her talents and delighted in her
      conversation, but one who in return was capable of instructing, and was
      overjoyed to amuse her. I loved her; but when I loved her I ceased to be a
      libertine. At first I thought that nothing in the world could have tempted
      me to have allowed her for an instant to imagine that I dared to look upon
      her in any other light than as a friend; but the negligence, the coldness
      of Trevor, the overpowering mastery of my own passions, drove me one day
      past the line, and I wrote that which I dared not utter. It never entered
      into my mind for an instant to insult such a woman with the commonplace
      sophistry of a ribald. No! I loved her with all my spirit&rsquo;s strength. I
      would have sacrificed all my views in life, my ambition, my family, my
      fortune, my country, to have gained her; and I told her this in terms of
      respectful adoration. I worshipped the divinity, even while I attempted to
      profane the altar. When I had sent this letter I was in despair.
      Conviction of the insanity of my conduct flashed across my mind. I
      expected never to see her again. There came an answer; I opened it with
      the greatest agitation; to my surprise, an appointment. Why trouble you
      with a detail of my feelings, my mad hope, my dark despair! The moment for
      the interview arrived. I was received neither with affection nor anger. In
      sorrow she spoke. I listened in despair. I was more madly in love with her
      than ever. That very love made me give her such evidences of a contrite
      spirit that I was pardoned. I rose with a resolution to be virtuous, with
      a determination to be her friend: then I made the fatal promise which you
      know of, to be doubly the friend of a man whose friend I already was. It
      was then that I pledged myself to Lady Madeleine to be the guardian spirit
      of her cousin.&rdquo; Here the Baron, overpowered by his emotions, leant back in
      his chair, and ceased to speak. In a few minutes he resumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did my duty; by all that&rsquo;s sacred, I did my duty! Night and day I was
      with young Fane. A hundred times he was on the brink of ruin; a hundred
      times I saved him. One day, one never-to-be-forgotten day, one most dark
      and damnable day, I called on him, and found him on the point of joining a
      coterie of desperate character. I remonstrated with him, I entreated, I
      supplicated him not to go, in vain. At last he agreed to forego his
      engagement on condition that I dined with him. There were important
      reasons that day for my not staying with him; yet every consideration
      vanished when I thought of her for whom I was exerting myself. He was
      frantic this day; and, imagining that there was no chance of his leaving
      his home, I did not refuse to drink freely, to drink deeply. My doing so
      was the only way to keep him at home. As we were passing down Pall Mall we
      met two foreigners of distinction and a noble of your country; they were
      men of whom we both knew little. I had myself introduced Fane to the
      foreigners a few days before, being aware that they were men of high rank.
      After some conversation they asked us to join them at supper at the house
      of their English friend. I declined; but nothing could induce Fane to
      refuse them, and I finally accompanied them. Play was introduced after
      supper: I made an ineffectual struggle to get Fane home, but I was too
      full of wine to be energetic. After losing a small sum I got up from the
      table, and, staggering to a sofa, fell fast asleep. Even as I passed
      Fane&rsquo;s chair in this condition, my master thought was evident, and I
      pulled him by the shoulder: all was useless; I woke to madness!&rdquo; It was
      terrible to witness the anguish of Von Konigstein.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Could you not clear yourself?&rdquo; asked Vivian, for he felt it necessary to
      speak.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Clear myself! Everything told against me. The villains were my friends,
      not the sufferer&rsquo;s; I was not injured. My dining with him was part of the
      conspiracy; he was intoxicated previous to his ruin. Conscious of my
      innocence, quite desperate, but confiding in my character, I accused the
      guilty trio; they recriminated and answered, and without clearing
      themselves convinced the public that I was their dissatisfied and
      disappointed tool. I can speak no more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It is awful to witness sudden death; but, oh! how much more awful it is to
      witness in a moment the moral fall of a fellow-creature! How tremendous is
      the quick succession of mastering passions! The firm, the terrifically
      firm, the madly resolute denial of guilt; that eagerness of protestation
      which is a sure sign of crime, then the agonising suspense before the
      threatened proof is produced, the hell of detection, the audible anguish
      of sorrow, the curses of remorse, the silence of despair! Few of us,
      unfortunately, have passed through life without having beheld some
      instance of this instantaneous degradation of human nature. But, oh! how
      terrible is it when the confessed criminal has been but a moment before
      our friend! What a contrast to the laugh of joyous companionship is the
      quivering tear of an agonised frame! how terrible to be prayed to by those
      whose wishes a moment before we lived only to anticipate!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Von Konigstein,&rdquo; said Vivian, after a long silence, &ldquo;I feel for you. Had
      I known this I would have spared both you and myself this night of misery;
      I would have prevented you from looking back to this day with remorse. You
      have suffered for that of which you were not guilty; you shall not suffer
      now for what has passed. Much would I give to see you freed from that
      wretched knave, whose vile career I was very nearly tempted this evening
      to have terminated for ever. I shall make the communication you desire,
      and I will endeavour that it shall be credited; as to the transactions of
      this evening, the knowledge of them can never transpire to the world. It
      is the interest of De Boeffleurs to be silent; if he speak no one will
      credit the tale of such a creature, who, if he speak truth, must proclaim
      his own infamy. And now for the immediate calls upon your honour; in what
      sum are you indebted to Prince Salvinski and his friend?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thousands! two, three thousand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall then have an opportunity of ridding myself of that the
      acquisition of which, to me, has been matter of great sorrow. Your honour
      is saved. I will discharge the claims of Salvinski and his friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Impossible! I cannot allow&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop; in this business I must command. Surely there can be no feelings of
      delicacy between us two now. If I gave you the treasures of the Indies you
      would not be under so great an obligation to me as you are already: I say
      this with pain. I recommend you to leave Ems to-morrow; public business
      will easily account for your sudden departure. And now, your character is
      yet safe, you are yet in the prime of life, you have vindicated yourself
      from that which has preyed upon your mind for years; cease to accuse your
      fate!&rdquo; Vivian was about to leave the room when the Baron started from his
      seat and seized his hand. He would have spoken, but the words died upon
      his lips, and before he could recover himself Vivian had retired.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0054">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV
    </h2>
    <p>
      The sudden departure of Baron von Konigstein from the Baths excited great
      surprise and sorrow; all wondered at the cause, and all regretted the
      effect. The Grand Duke missed his good stories, the rouge-et-noir table
      his constant presence, and Monsieur le Restaurateur gave up, in
      consequence, an embryo idea of a fête and fireworks for his own benefit,
      which agreeable plan he had trusted that, with his Excellency&rsquo;s generous
      co-operation as patron, he should have had no difficulty in carrying into
      execution. But no one was more surprised, and more regretted the absence
      of his Excellency, than his friend Mr. Fitzloom. What could be the reason?
      Public business, of course; indeed he had learnt as much, confidentially,
      from Cracowsky. He tried Mr. Grey, but could elicit nothing satisfactory;
      he pumped Mr. St. George, but produced only the waters of oblivion: Mr.
      St. George was gifted, when it suited his purpose, with a most convenient
      want of memory. There must be something in the wind, perhaps a war. Was
      the independence of Greece about to be acknowledged, or the dependence of
      Spain about to be terminated? What first-rate Power had marched a million
      of soldiers into the land of a weak neighbour, on the mere pretence of
      exercising the military? What patriots had had the proud satisfaction of
      establishing a constitutional government without bloodshed, to be set
      aside in the course of the next month in the same manner? Had a conspiracy
      for establishing a republic in Russia been frustrated by the timely
      information of the intended first Consuls? Were the Janissaries learning
      mathematics, or had Lord Cochrane taken Constantinople in the James Watt
      steampacket? One of these many events must have happened; but which? At
      length Fitzloom decided on a general war. England must interfere either to
      defeat the ambition of France, or to curb the rapacity of Russia, or to
      check the arrogance of Austria, or to regenerate Spain, or to redeem
      Greece, or to protect Portugal, or to shield the Brazils, or to uphold the
      Bible Societies, or to consolidate the Greek Church, or to monopolise the
      commerce of Mexico, or to disseminate the principles of free trade, or to
      keep up her high character, or to keep up the price of corn. England must
      interfere. In spite of his conviction, however, Fitzloom did not alter the
      arrangements of his tour; he still intended to travel for two years. All
      he did was to send immediate orders to his broker in England to sell two
      millions of consols. The sale was of course effected, the example
      followed, stocks fell ten per cent., the exchange turned, money became
      scarce. The public funds of all Europe experienced a great decline, smash
      went the country banks, consequent runs on the London, a dozen Baronets
      failed in one morning, Portland Place deserted, the cause of infant
      Liberty at a terrific discount, the Greek loan disappeared like a vapour
      in a storm, all the new American States refused to pay their dividends,
      manufactories deserted, the revenue in a decline, the country in despair,
      Orders in Council, meetings of Parliament, change of Ministry, and new
      loan! Such were the terrific consequences of a diplomatist turning
      blackleg! The secret history of the late distress is a lesson to all
      modern statesmen. Rest assured that in politics, however tremendous the
      effects, the causes are often as trifling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian found his reception by the Trevor party, the morning after the
      memorable night, a sufficient reward for all his anxiety and exertion. St.
      George, a generous, open-hearted young man, full of gratitude to Vivian,
      and regretting his previous want of cordiality towards him, now delighted
      in doing full justice to his coolness, courage, and ability. Lady
      Madeleine said a great deal in the most graceful and impressive manner;
      but Miss Fane scarcely spoke. Vivian, however, read in her eyes her
      approbation and her gratitude.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, how came you to discover the whole plot, Mr. Grey?&rdquo; asked Lady
      Madeleine, &ldquo;for we have not yet heard. Was it at the table?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;They would hardly have had recourse to such clumsy instruments as would
      have given us the chance of detecting the conspiracy by casual
      observation. No, no; we owe our preservation and our gratitude to one whom
      we must hereafter count among our friends. I was prepared, as I told you,
      for everything; and though I had seen similar cards to those with which
      they played only a few hours before, it was with difficulty that I
      satisfied myself at the table that the cards we lost by were prepared, so
      wonderful is the contrivance!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But who is the unknown friend?&rdquo; said Miss Fane, with great eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must have the pleasure of keeping you all in suspense,&rdquo; said Vivian:
      &ldquo;cannot any of you guess?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None, none, none!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What say you, then, to&mdash;Essper George?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it possible?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is the fact that he, and he alone, is our preserver. Soon after my
      arrival at this place this singular being was seized with the
      unaccountable fancy of becoming my servant. You all remember his
      unexpected appearance one day in the saloon. In the evening of the same
      day, I found him sleeping at the door of my room; and, thinking it high
      time that he should be taught more discretion, I spoke to him very
      seriously the next morning respecting his troublesome and eccentric
      conduct. It was then that I learnt his wish. I objected, of course, to
      engaging a servant of whose previous character I was ignorant, and of
      which I could not be informed, and one whose peculiar habits would render
      both himself and his master notorious. While I declined his services, I
      also advised him most warmly to give up all idea of deserting his present
      mode of life, for which I thought him extremely well suited. The
      consequence of my lecture was, what you all perceived with surprise, a
      great change in Essper&rsquo;s character. He became serious, reserved, and
      retiring, and commenced his career as a respectable character by throwing
      off his quaint costume. In a short time, by dint of making a few bad
      bargains, he ingratiated himself with Ernstorff, Von Konigstein&rsquo;s pompous
      chasseur. His object in forming this connection was to gain an opportunity
      of becoming acquainted with the duties of a gentleman&rsquo;s servant, and in
      this he has succeeded. About a week since, he purchased from Ernstorff a
      large quantity of cast-off apparel of the Baron&rsquo;s, and other perquisites
      of a great man&rsquo;s valet; among these were some playing cards which had been
      borrowed one evening in great haste from the servant of that rascal De
      Boeffleurs, and never returned. On accidentally examining these cards,
      Essper detected they were marked. The system on which the marks are formed
      and understood is so simple and novel, that it was long before I could
      bring myself to believe that his suspicions were founded even on a
      probability. At length, however, he convinced me. It is at Vienna, he
      tells me, that he has met with these cards before. The marks are all on
      the rim of the cards; and an experienced dealer, that is to say, a
      blackleg, can with these marks produce any results and combinations which
      may suit his purpose. Essper tells me that De Boeffleurs is even more
      skilled in sleight-of-hand than himself. From Ernstorff, Essper learnt on
      the day of the fête that Mr. St. George was to dine with the Chevalier at
      the Baron&rsquo;s apartments on the morrow, and that there was a chance that I
      should join them. He suspected that villany was in the wind, and when I
      retired to my room at a late hour on the night of the fête, I there met
      him, and it was then that he revealed to me everything which I have told
      you. Am I not right, then, in calling him our preserver?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What can be done for him?&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His only wish is already granted; he is my servant. That he will serve me
      diligently and faithfully I have no doubt. I only wish that he would
      accept or could appreciate a more worthy reward.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can man be more amply rewarded,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;than by choosing his
      own remuneration? I think he has shown in his request his accustomed
      talent. I must go and see him this moment.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Say nothing of what has passed; he is prepared for silence from all
      parties.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A week, a happy week, passed over, and few minutes of the day found Vivian
      absent from the side of Violet Fane; and now he thought again of England,
      of his return to that country under very different circumstances to what
      he had ever contemplated. Soon, very soon, he trusted to write to his
      father, to announce to him the revolution in his wishes, the consummation
      of his hopes. Soon, very soon, he trusted that he should hail his native
      cliffs, a reclaimed wanderer, with a matured mind and a contented spirit,
      his sorrows forgotten, his misanthropy laid aside.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0055">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was about a week after the departure of the Baron that two young
      Englishmen, who had been college friends of Mr. St. George, arrived at the
      Baths. These were Mr. Anthony St. Leger and Mr. Adolphus St. John. In the
      academic shades of Christchurch these three gentlemen had been known as
      &ldquo;All Saints.&rdquo; Among their youthful companions they bore the more martial
      style of &ldquo;The Three Champions,&rdquo; St. George, St. John, and St. Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      St. John and St. Anthony had just completed the grand tour, and, after
      passing the Easter at Rome, had returned through the Tyrol from Italy.
      Since then they had travelled over most parts of Germany; and now, in the
      beginning of July, found themselves at the Baths of Ems. Two years&rsquo; travel
      had not produced any very beneficial effect on either of these sainted
      personages. They had gained, by visiting the capitals of all Europe, only
      a due acquaintance with the follies of each; and the only difference that
      could be observed in their conduct on their return was, that their
      affectation was rather more fantastical, and therefore more amusing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Corpo di Bacco, my champion! who ever thought of meeting thee thou holy
      saint! By the eyebrow of Venus, my spirit rejoiceth!&rdquo; exclaimed St.
      Anthony, whose peculiar affectation was an adoption in English of the
      Italian oaths.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is the sweetest spot, St. Anthony, that we have found since we left
      Paradiso; that is, St. George, in the vulgar, since we quitted Italia.
      &lsquo;Italia! O Italia!&rsquo; I forget the rest; probably you remember it.
      Certainly, a most sweet spot this, quite a Gaspar!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Art was the peculiar affectation of St. John; he was, indeed, quite a
      patron of the Belle Arti, had scattered his orders through the studios of
      most of the celebrated sculptors of Italy, and spoke on all subjects and
      all things only with a view to their capability of forming material for
      the painter. According to the school of which Mr. St. John was a disciple,
      the only use of the human passions is, that they produce situations for
      the historical painter; and nature, according to these votaries of the
      [Greek: to kalon], is only to be valued as affording hints for the more
      perfect conceptions of a Claude or a Salvator.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the girdle of Venus, a devilish fine woman!&rdquo; exclaimed St. Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A splendid bit!&rdquo; ejaculated St. John; &ldquo;touched in with freedom, a grand
      tournure, great gout in the swell of the neck. What a study for Retsch!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the name of the Graces, who is it, mio Santo?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay! name la bellissima Signora.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The &lsquo;fine bit,&rsquo; St. John, is my sister.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The devil!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Diavolo!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Will you introduce us, most holy man?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This request from both, simultaneously arranging their mustachios.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two saints were accordingly, in due time, introduced; but finding the
      attention of Miss Fane always engrossed, and receiving some not very
      encouraging responses from Lady Madeleine, they voted her ladyship
      cursedly satirical; and passing a general censure on the annoying coldness
      of Englishwomen, they were in four-and-twenty hours attached to the suite
      of the Miss Fitzlooms, to whom they were introduced by St. George as his
      particular friends, and were received with the most flattering
      consideration.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the aspect of Diana! fine girls,&rdquo; swore St. Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly most gorgeous colouring! quite Venetian! Aurelia is a perfect
      Giorgione!&rdquo; said St. John.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Madeleine,&rdquo; said St. George, one morning, to his sister, &ldquo;have you any
      objection to make up a party with the Fitzlooms to pass a day at Nassau?
      You know we have often talked of it; and as Violet is so well now, and the
      weather so delightful, there surely can be no objection. The Fitzlooms are
      very agreeable people; and though you do not admire the Santi, still, upon
      my word, when you know them a little more, you will find them very
      pleasant fellows, and they are extremely good-natured; and just the
      fellows for such a party. Do not refuse me. I have set my mind upon your
      joining the party. Pray nod assent; thank you. Now I must go and arrange
      everything. Let us see: there are seven Fitzlooms; for we cannot count on
      less than two boys; yourself, Grey, Violet, and myself, four; the Santi;
      quite enough, a most delightful party. Half a dozen servants and as many
      donkeys will manage the provisions. Then three light carriages will take
      us all. &lsquo;By the wand of Mercury!&rsquo; as St. Anthony would vow, admirably
      planned!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the breath of Zephyr! a most lovely day, Miss Fane,&rdquo; said St. Anthony,
      on the morning of the intended excursion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite a Claude!&rdquo; said St. John.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Almost as beautiful as an Italian winter day, Mr. St. Leger?&rdquo; asked Miss
      Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hardly!&rdquo; said St. Anthony, with a serious air; for he imagined the
      question to be quite genuine.
    </p>
    <p>
      The carriages are at the door; into the first ascended Mrs. Fitzloom, two
      daughters, and the travelling saints. The second bore Lady Madeleine, Mr.
      Fitzloom, and his two sons; the third division was formed of Mr. St.
      George and Aurelia Fitzloom, Miss Fane and Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      Away, away, rolled the carriages; the day was beautiful, the sky was
      without a cloud, and a mild breeze prevented the heat of the sun from
      being overpowering. All were in high spirits; for St. George had made a
      capital master of the ceremonies, and had arranged the company in the
      carriages to their mutual satisfaction. St. Anthony swore, by the soul of
      Psyche! that Augusta Fitzloom was an angel; and St. John was in equal
      raptures with Araminta, who had an expression about the eyes which
      reminded him, of Titian&rsquo;s Flora. Mrs. Fitzloom&rsquo;s natural silence did not
      disturb the uninterrupted jargon of the Santi, whose foppery elicited loud
      and continued approbation from the fair sisters. The mother sat admiring
      these sprigs of noble trees. The young Fitzlooms, in crimson cravats,
      conversed with Lady Madeleine with a delightful military air; and their
      happy parent, as he gazed upon them with satisfied affection, internally
      promised them both a commission in a crack regiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The road from Ems to Nassau winds along the banks of the Lahn, through two
      leagues of delightful scenery; at the end of which, springing up from the
      peak of a bold and richly-wooded mountain, the lofty tower of the ancient
      castle of Nassau meets your view. Winding walks round the sides of the
      mountain lead through all the varieties of sylvan scenery, and command in
      all points magnificent views of the surrounding country. These finally
      bring you to the old castle, whose spacious chambers, though now choked up
      with masses of grey ruin or covered with underwood, still bear witness to
      the might of their former lord! the powerful Baron whose sword gained for
      his posterity a throne.
    </p>
    <p>
      All seemed happy; none happier than Violet Fane. Never did she look so
      beautiful as to-day, never was she so animated, never had she boasted that
      her pulse beat more melodious music, or her lively blood danced a more
      healthful measure. After examining all the antique chambers of the castle,
      and discovering, as they flattered themselves, secret passages, and dark
      dungeons, and hidden doors, they left this interesting relic of the middle
      ages; and soon, by a gradual descent through delightful shrubberies, they
      again found themselves at the bottom of the valley. Here they visited the
      modern château of Baron von Stein, one of the most enlightened and able
      politicians that Germany has ever produced. As Minister of Prussia, he
      commenced those reforms which the illustrious Hardenberg perfected. For
      upwards of five centuries the family of Stein have retained their
      territorial possessions in the valley of the Lahn. Their family castle, at
      present a ruin, and formerly a fief of the House of Nassau, is now only a
      picturesque object in the pleasure-grounds of the present lord.
    </p>
    <p>
      The noon had passed some hours before the delighted wanderers complained
      of fatigue, and by that time they found themselves in a pleasant green
      glade on the skirts of the forest of Nassau. It was nearly environed by
      mountains, covered with hanging woods, which shaded the beautiful valley,
      and gave it the appearance of a sylvan amphitheatre. From a rocky cleft in
      these green mountains a torrent, dashing down with impetuous force, and
      whose fall was almost concealed by the cloud of spray which it excited,
      gave birth to a small and gentle river, whose banks were fringed with
      beautiful trees, which prevented the sun&rsquo;s darts from piercing its
      coldness, by bowing their fair heads over its waters. From their extending
      branches Nature&rsquo;s choristers sent forth many a lovely lay
    </p>
<pre>
     Of God&rsquo;s high praise, and of their loves&rsquo; sweet teen.
</pre>
    <p>
      Near the banks of this river, the servants, under the active direction of
      Essper George, had prepared a banquet for the party. The cloth had been
      laid on a raised work of wood and turf, and rustic seats of the same
      material surrounded the picturesque table. It glowed with materials, and
      with colours to which Veronese alone could have done justice: pasties, and
      birds, and venison, and groups of fish, gleamy with prismatic hues, while
      amid pyramids of fruit rose goblets of fantastic glass, worthy of the
      famous wines they were to receive.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;I never will be a member of an adventurous party
      like the present, of which Albert is not manager.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I must not take the whole credit upon myself, Violet; St. John is butler,
      and St. Leger my vice-chamberlain.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, I cannot praise Mr. St. John till I have tasted the malvoisie which
      he has promised; but as for the other part of the entertainment, Mr. St.
      Leger, I am sure this is a temptation which it would be a sin, even in St.
      Anthony, to withstand.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the body of Bacchus, very good!&rdquo; swore Mr. St. Leger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;These mountains,&rdquo; said Mr. St. John, &ldquo;remind me of one of Gaspar&rsquo;s cool
      valleys. The party, indeed, give it a different character, quite a
      Watteau!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, Mrs. Fitzloom,&rdquo; said St. George, who was in his element, &ldquo;let me
      recommend a little of this pike! Lady Madeleine, I have sent you some
      lamb. Miss Fitzloom, I hope St. Anthony is taking care of you. Wrightson,
      plates to Mr. St. Leger. Holy man, and much beloved! send Araminta some
      chicken. Grey has helped you, Violet? Aurelia, this is for you. William
      Pitt Fitzloom, I leave you to yourself. George Canning Fitzloom, take care
      of the ladies near you. Essper George! Where is Essper? St. John, who is
      your deputy in the wine department? Wrightson! bring those long green
      bottles out of the river, and put the champagne underneath the willow.
      Will your Ladyship take some light claret? Mrs. Fitzloom, you must use
      your tumbler; nothing but tumblers allowed, by Miss Fane&rsquo;s particular
      request!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;St. George, thou holy man!&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;methinks you are very
      impertinent. You shall not be my patron saint if you say such words.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      For the next hour there was nothing heard save the calling of servants,
      the rattling of knives and forks, the drawing of corks, and continued
      bursts of laughter, which were not occasioned by any brilliant
      observations, either of the Saints, or any other persons, but merely the
      result of an exuberance of spirits on the part of every one present.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Aurelia,&rdquo; said Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;do you prefer our present mode of
      life to feasting in an old hall, covered with banners and battered
      shields, and surrounded by mysterious corridors and dark dungeons?&rdquo;
       Aurelia was so flattered by the notice of Lady Madeleine, that she made
      her no answer; probably because she was intent on a plover&rsquo;s egg.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think we might all retire to this valley,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;and revive
      the feudal times with great success. Albert might take us to Nassau
      Castle, and you, Mr. Fitzloom, might re-fortify the old tower of Stein.
      With two sons, however, who are about to enter the Guards, I am afraid we
      must be your vassals. Then what should we do? We could not have wood
      parties every day; I suppose we should get tired of each other. No! that
      does seem impossible; do not you all think so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Omnes, &ldquo;Impossible!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We must, however, have some regular pursuit, some cause of constant
      excitement, some perpetual source of new emotions. New ideas, of course,
      we must give up; there would be no going to London for the season, for new
      opinions to astound country cousins on our return. Some pursuit must be
      invented; we all must have something to do. I have it! Albert shall be a
      tyrant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am very much obliged to you, Violet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes! a cruel, unprincipled, vindictive, remorseless tyrant, with a long
      black beard, I cannot tell how long, about twenty thousand times longer
      than Mr. St. Leger&rsquo;s mustachios.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the beard of Jove!&rdquo; swore St. Anthony, as he almost started from his
      seat, and arranged with his thumb and forefinger the delicate Albanian
      tuft of his upper lip, &ldquo;by the beard of Jove, Miss Fane, I am obliged to
      you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; continued Violet, &ldquo;Albert being a tyrant, Lady Madeleine
      must be an unhappy, ill-used, persecuted woman, living on black bread and
      green water, in an unknown dungeon. My part shall be to discover her
      imprisonment. Sounds of strange music attract my attention to a part of
      the castle which I have not before frequented. There I shall distinctly
      hear a female voice chaunting the &lsquo;Bridesmaids&rsquo; Chorus,&rsquo; with Erard&rsquo;s
      double pedal accompaniment. By the aid of the confessors of the two
      families, two drinking, rattling, impertinent, most corrupt, and most
      amusing friars, to wit, our sainted friends&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here both Mr. St. Leger and Mr. St. John bowed low to Miss Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A most lively personage is Miss Fane,&rdquo; whispered St. Anthony to his
      neighbour, Miss Fitzloom, &ldquo;great style!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most amusing, delightful girl, great style! rather a display today, I
      think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, decidedly! and devilish personal too; some people wouldn&rsquo;t like it. I
      have no doubt she will say something about you next.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, I shall be very surprised, indeed, if she does! It may be very well
      to you, but Miss Fane must be aware&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before this pompous sentence could be finished an incident occurred which
      prevented Miss Fane from proceeding with her allotment of characters, and
      rendered unnecessary the threatened indignation of Miss Fitzloom.
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Fane, as we mentioned, suddenly ceased speaking; the eyes of all were
      turned in the direction in which she was gazing as if she had seen a
      ghost.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What are you looking up at, Violet?&rdquo; asked St. George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Did not you see anything? did not any of you see anything?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None, none!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey, surely you must have seen it!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I saw nothing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It could not be fancy; impossible. I saw it distinctly. I cannot be in a
      dream. See there! again, on that topmost branch. It moves!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Some odd shrill sounds, uttered in the voice of a Pulcinello, attracted
      the notice of them all; and lo! high in the air, behind a lofty chestnut
      tree, the figure of a Pulcinello did appear, hopping and vaulting in the
      unsubstantial air. Now it sent forth another shrill, piercing sound, and
      now, with both its hands, it patted and complacently stroked its ample
      paunch; dancing all the time with unremitting activity, and wagging its
      queer head at the astounded guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who, what can it be?&rdquo; cried all. The Misses Fitzloom shrieked, and the
      Santi seemed quite puzzled.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who, what can it be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ere time could be given for any one to hazard a conjecture, the figure had
      advanced from behind the trees, and had spanned in an instant the festal
      board, with two enormous stilts, on which they now perceived it was
      mounted. The Misses Fitzloom shrieked again. The figure imitated their
      cries in his queer voice, and gradually raising one enormous stilt up into
      the air, stood only on one support, which was planted behind the lovely
      Araminta.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O! inimitable Essper George!&rdquo; exclaimed Violet Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Signor Punch commenced a song, which he executed in the tone peculiar
      to his character, and in a style which drew applauses from all; and then,
      with a hop, step, and a jump, he was again behind the chestnut-tree. In a
      moment he advanced without his stilts towards the table. Here, on the
      turf, he again commenced his antics; kicking his nose with his right foot,
      and his hump with his left one; executing splendid somersets, and cutting
      every species of caper, and never ceasing for a moment from performing all
      his movements to the inspiring music of his own melodious voice. At last,
      jumping up very high in the air, he fell as if all his joints were
      loosened, and the Misses Fitzloom, imagining that his bones were really
      broken, shrieked again. But now Essper began the wonderful performance of
      a dead body possessed by a devil, and in a minute his shattered corpse,
      apparently without the assistance of any of its members, began to jump and
      move about the ground with miraculous rapidity. At length it disappeared
      behind the chestnut-tree.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really think,&rdquo; said Mr. St. George, &ldquo;it is the most agreeable day I
      ever passed in all my life.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Decidedly!&rdquo; said St. Anthony. &ldquo;St. John, you remember our party to
      Paestum with Lady Calabria M&rsquo;Crater and the Marquis of Agrigentum. It was
      nothing to this! Nothing! Do you know I thought that rather dull.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, too elaborate; too highly finished; nothing of the pittore
      improvisatore. A party of this kind should be more sketchy in its style;
      the outline more free, and less detail.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Essper is coming out to-day,&rdquo; said Vivian to Miss Fane, &ldquo;after a long,
      and, I venture to say, painful forbearance. However, I hope you will
      excuse him. It seems to amuse us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think it is delightful. See! here he comes again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He now appeared in his original costume; the one in which Vivian first met
      him at the fair. Bowing, he threw his hand carelessly over his mandolin,
      and having tried the melody of its strings, sang with great taste, and a
      sweet voice; sweeter from its contrast with its previous shrill tones; a
      very pretty romance. All applauded him very warmly, and no one more so
      than Miss Fane.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! inimitable Essper George, how can we sufficiently thank you! How well
      he plays! and his voice is quite beautiful. Oh! could not we dance? would
      not it be delightful? and he could play on his guitar. Think of the
      delicious turf!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Omnes, &ldquo;Delightful! delightful!&rdquo; They rose from the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Violet, my dear,&rdquo; asked Lady Madeleine, &ldquo;what are you going to do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the toe of Terpsichore!&rdquo; as Mr. St. Leger would say, &ldquo;I am going to
      dance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But remember, to-day you have done so much! let us be moderate; though
      you feel so much better, still think what a change to-day has been from
      your usual habits!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, dearest Lady Madeleine, think of dancing on the turf, and I feel so
      well!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the Graces! I am for the waltz,&rdquo; said St. Anthony.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It has certainly a very free touch to recommend it,&rdquo; said St. John.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no,&rdquo; said Violet; &ldquo;let us all join in a country dance.&rdquo; But the
      Misses Fitzloom preferred a quadrille.
    </p>
    <p>
      The quadrille was soon formed: Violet made up for not dancing with Vivian
      at the Grand Duke&rsquo;s. She was most animated, and kept up a successful
      rivalry with Mr. St. Leger, who evidently prided himself, as Mr. Fitzloom
      observed, &ldquo;on his light fantastic toe.&rdquo; Now he pirouetted like Paul, and
      now he attitudinised like Albert; and now Miss Fane eclipsed all his
      exertions by her inimitable imitations of Ronzi Vestris&rsquo; rushing and
      arrowy manner. St. Anthony, in despair, but quite delighted, revealed a
      secret which had been taught him by a Spanish dancer at Milan; but then
      Miss Fane vanquished him for ever with the pas de Zephyr of the exquisite
      Fanny Bias.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day was fast declining when the carriages arrived; the young people
      were in no humour to return; and as, when they had once entered the
      carriage, the day seemed finished for ever, they proposed walking part of
      the way home. Lady Madeleine made little objection to Violet joining the
      party, as after the exertion that Miss Fane had been making, a drive in an
      open carriage might be dangerous: and yet the walk was too long, but all
      agreed that it would be impossible to shorten it; and, as Violet declared
      that she was not in the least fatigued, the lesser evil was therefore
      chosen. The carriages rolled off; at about halfway from Ems, the two empty
      ones were to wait for the walking party. Lady Madeleine smiled with fond
      affection, as she waved her hand to Violet the moment before she was out
      of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said St. George, &ldquo;good people all, instead of returning by the
      same road, it strikes me, that there must be a way through this little
      wood; you see there is an excellent path. Before the sun is set we shall
      have got through it, and it will bring us out, I have no doubt, by the old
      cottage which you observed, Grey, when we came along. I saw a gate and
      path there; just where we first got sight of Nassau Castle; there can be
      no doubt about it. You see it is a regular right-angle, and besides
      varying the walk, we shall at least gain a quarter of an hour, which,
      after all, as we have to walk nearly three miles, is an object. It is
      quite clear, if I have a head for anything, it is for finding my way.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you have a head for everything,&rdquo; said Aurelia Fitzloom, in a soft
      sentimental whisper; &ldquo;I am sure we owe all our happiness to-day to you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If I have a head for everything, I have a heart only for one person!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As every one wished to be convinced, no one offered any argument in
      opposition to Mr. St. George&rsquo;s view of the case; and some were already in
      the wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Albert,&rdquo; said Miss Fane, &ldquo;I do not like walking in the wood so late; pray
      come back.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, nonsense, Violet! come. If you do not like to come, you can walk by
      the road; you will meet us round by the gate, it is only five minutes&rsquo;
      walk.&rdquo; Ere he had finished speaking, the rest were in the wood, and some
      had advanced. Vivian strongly recommended Violet not to join them; he was
      sure that Lady Madeleine would not approve of it; he was sure that it was
      very dangerous, extremely; and, by-the-bye, while he was talking, which
      way had they gone? he did not see them. He halloed; all answered, and a
      thousand echoes besides. &ldquo;We certainly had better go by the road, we shall
      lose our way if we try to follow them; nothing is so puzzling as walking
      in woods; we had much better keep to the road.&rdquo; So by the road they went.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun had already sunk behind the mountains, whose undulating forms were
      thrown into dark shadow against the crimson sky. The thin crescent of the
      new moon floated over the eastern hills, whose deep woods glowed with the
      rosy glories of twilight. Over the peak of a purple mountain glittered the
      solitary star of evening. As the sun dropped, universal silence seemed to
      pervade the whole face of nature. The voice of the birds was still; the
      breeze, which had refreshed them during the day, died away, as if its
      office were now completed; and none of the dark sounds and sights of
      hideous Night yet dared to triumph over the death of Day. Unseen were the
      circling wings of the bat; unheard the screech of the waking owl; silent
      the drowsy hum of the shade-born beetle! What heart has not acknowledged
      the influence of this hour, the sweet and soothing hour of twilight! the
      hour of love, the hour of adoration, the hour of rest! when we think of
      those we love, only to regret that we have not loved more dearly; when we
      remember our enemies only to forgive them!
    </p>
    <p>
      And Vivian and his beautiful companion owned the magic of this hour, as
      all must do, by silence. No word was spoken, yet is silence sometimes a
      language. They gazed, and gazed again, and their full spirits held due
      communion with the starlit sky, and the mountains and the woods, and the
      soft shadows of the increasing moon. Oh! who can describe what the
      o&rsquo;ercharged spirit feels at this sacred hour, when we almost lose the
      consciousness of existence, and our souls seem to struggle to pierce
      futurity! In the forest of the mysterious Odenwald, in the solitudes of
      the Bergstrasse, had Vivian at this hour often found consolation for a
      bruised spirit, often in adoring nature had forgotten man. But now, when
      he had never felt nature&rsquo;s influence more powerful; when he had never
      forgotten man and man&rsquo;s world more thoroughly; when he was experiencing
      emotions, which, though undefinable, he felt to be new; he started when he
      remembered that all this was in the presence of a human being! Was it
      Hesperus he gazed upon, or something else that glanced brighter than an
      Evening star? Even as he thought that his gaze was fixed on the
      countenance of nature, he found that his eyes rested on the face of
      nature&rsquo;s loveliest daughter!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Violet! dearest Violet!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As in some delicious dream the sleeper is awakened from his bliss by the
      sound of his own rapturous voice, so was Vivian roused by these words from
      his reverie, and called back to the world which he had forgotten. But ere
      a moment had passed, he was pouring forth in a rapid voice, and incoherent
      manner, such words as men speak only once. He spoke of his early follies,
      his misfortunes, his misery; of his matured views, his settled principles,
      his plans, his prospects, his hopes, his happiness, his bliss; and when he
      had ceased, he listened, in his turn, to some small still words, which
      made him the happiest of human beings. He bent down, he kissed the soft
      silken cheek which now he could call his own. Her hand was in his; her
      head sank upon his breast. Suddenly she clung to him with a strong grasp.
      &ldquo;Violet! my own, my dearest; you are overcome. I have been rash, I have
      been imprudent. Speak, speak, my beloved! say, you are not ill!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She spoke not, but clung to him with a fearful strength, her head still
      upon his breast, her full eyes closed. Alarmed, he raised her off the
      ground, and bore her to the river-side. Water might revive her. But when
      he tried to lay her a moment on the bank, she clung to him gasping, as a
      sinking person clings to a stout swimmer. He leant over her; he did not
      attempt to disengage her arms; and, by degrees, by very slow degrees, her
      grasp loosened. At last her arms gave way and fell by his side, and her
      eyes partly opened.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thank God! Violet, my own, my beloved, say you are better!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      She answered not, evidently she did not know him, evidently she did not
      see him. A film was on her sight, and her eye was glassy. He rushed to the
      water-side, and in a moment he had sprinkled her temples, now covered with
      a cold dew. Her pulse beat not, her circulation seemed suspended. He
      rubbed the palms of her hands, he covered her delicate feet with his coat;
      and then rushing up the bank into the road, he shouted with frantic cries
      on all sides. No one came, no one was near. Again, with a cry of fearful
      anguish, he shouted as if an hyaena were feeding on his vitals. No sound;
      no answer. The nearest cottage was above a mile off. He dared not leave
      her. Again he rushed down to the water-side. Her eyes were still open,
      still fixed. Her mouth also was no longer closed. Her hand was stiff, her
      heart had ceased to beat. He tried with the warmth of his own body to
      revive her. He shouted, he wept, he prayed. All, all in vain. Again he was
      in the road, again shouting like an insane being. There was a sound. Hark!
      It was but the screech of an owl!
    </p>
    <p>
      Once more at the river-side, once more bending over her with starting
      eyes, once more the attentive ear listening for the soundless breath. No
      sound! not even a sigh! Oh! what would he have given for her shriek of
      anguish! No change had occurred in her position, but the lower part of her
      face had fallen; and there was a general appearance which struck him with
      awe. Her body was quite cold, her limbs stiffened. He gazed, and gazed,
      and gazed. He bent over her with stupor rather than grief stamped on his
      features. It was very slowly that the dark thought came over his mind,
      very slowly that the horrible truth seized upon his soul. He gave a loud
      shriek, and fell on the lifeless body of VIOLET FANE!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="linkimage-0005">
      <!-- IMG --></a>
    </p>
    <div class="fig" style="width:80%;">
      <img src="images/dark_thought.jpg" alt="Dark Thought " style="height: 550px"><br >
    </div>
    <p>
      <a id="link2H_4_0063">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0056">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      The green and bowery summer had passed away. It was midnight when two
      horsemen pulled up their steeds beneath a wide oak; which, with other
      lofty trees, skirted the side of a winding road in an extensive forest in
      the south of Germany.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By heavens!&rdquo; said one, who apparently was the master, &ldquo;we must even lay
      our cloaks, I think, under this oak; for the road winds again, and
      assuredly cannot lead now to our village.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A starlit sky in autumn can scarcely be the fittest curtain for one so
      weak as you, sir; I should recommend travelling on, if we keep on our
      horses&rsquo; backs till dawn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But if we are travelling in a directly contrary way to our voiturier,
      honest as we may suppose him to be, if he find in the morning no paymaster
      for his job, he may with justice make free with our baggage. And I shall
      be unusually mistaken if the road we are now pursuing does not lead back
      to the city.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;City, town, or village, you must sleep under no forest tree, sir. Let us
      ride on. It will be hard if we do not find some huntsman&rsquo;s or ranger&rsquo;s
      cottage; and for aught we know a neat snug village, or some comfortable
      old manor-house, which has been in the family for two centuries; and
      where, with God&rsquo;s blessing, they may chance to have wine as old as the
      bricks. I know not how you may feel, sir, but a ten hours&rsquo; ride when I was
      only prepared for half the time, and that, too, in an autumn night, makes
      me somewhat desirous of renewing my acquaintance with the kitchen-fire.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could join you in a glass of hock and a slice of venison, I confess, my
      good fellow; but in a nocturnal ride I am no longer your match. However,
      if you think it best, we will prick on our steeds for another hour. If it
      be only for them, I am sure we must soon stop.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay! do, sir; and put your cloak well round you; all is for the best. You
      are not, I guess, a Sabbath-born child?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That am I not, but how would that make our plight worse than it is?
      Should we be farther off supper?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nearer, perhaps, than you imagine; for we should then have a chance of
      sharing the spoils of the Spirit Hunter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! Essper, is it so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly yes, sir; and were either of us a Sabbath-born child, by holy
      cross! I would not give much for our chance of a down bed this night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here a great horned owl flew across the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were I in the north,&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;I would sing an Ave Mary against the
      STUT OZEL.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What call you that?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Tis the great bird, sir; the great horned owl, that always flies before
      the Wild Hunter. And truly, sir, I have passed through many forests in my
      time, but never yet saw I one where I should sooner expect to hear a
      midnight bugle. If you will allow me, sir, I will ride by your side. Thank
      God, at least, it is not the Walpurgis night!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish to Heaven it were!&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;and that we were on the Brocken.
      It must be highly amusing!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush! hush! it is lucky we are not in the Hartz; but we know not where we
      are, nor who at this moment may be behind us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      And here Essper began pouring forth a liturgy of his own, half Catholic
      and half Calvinistic, quite in character with the creed of the country
      through which they were travelling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My horse has stumbled,&rdquo; continued Essper, &ldquo;and yours, sir, is he not
      shying? There is a confounded cloud over the moon, but I have no sight in
      the dark if that mass before you be not a devil&rsquo;s-stone. The Lord have
      mercy upon our sinful souls!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Peace! Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian, who was surprised to find him really
      alarmed; &ldquo;I see nothing but a block of granite, no uncommon sight in a
      German forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a devil-stone, I tell you, sir; there has been some church here,
      which he has knocked down in the night. Look! is it the moss-people that I
      see! As sure as I am a hungry sinner, the Wild One is out a-hunting
      to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;More luck for us, if we meet him. His dogs, as you say, may gain us a
      supper. I think our wisest course will be to join the cry.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush! hush! you would not talk so if you knew what your share of the
      spoils might be. Ay! if you did, sir, your cheek would be paler, and your
      very teeth would chatter. I knew one man who was travelling in the forest,
      just as we are now; it was about this time; and he believed in the Wild
      Huntsman about as much as you, that is, he liked to talk of the Spirit,
      merely to have the opportunity of denying that he believed in him; which
      showed, as I used to say, that his mind was often thinking of it. He was a
      merry knave, and as firm a hand for a boar-spear as ever I met with, and I
      have met many. We used to call him, before the accident, Left-handed Hans,
      but they call him now, sir, the Child-Hunter. Oh! it is a very awful tale,
      and I would sooner tell it in blazing hall than in free forest. You did
      not hear any sound to the left, did you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nothing but the wind, Essper; on with your tale, my man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a very awful tale, sir, but I will make short work of it. You see,
      sir, it was a night just like this; the moon was generally hid, but the
      stars prevented it from ever being pitch dark. And so, sir, he was
      travelling alone; he had been up to the castle of the baron, his master;
      you see, sir, he was head-ranger to his lordship, and he always returned
      home through the forest. What he was thinking of, I cannot say, but most
      likely of no good; when all on a sudden he heard the baying of hounds in
      the distance. Now directly he heard it; I have heard him tell the story a
      thousand times; directly he heard it, it struck him that it must be the
      Spirit Huntsman; and though there were many ways to account for the
      hounds, still he never for a moment doubted that they were the hell-dogs.
      The sounds came nearer and nearer. Now I tell you this, because if ever,
      which the Holy Virgin forbid! if ever you meet the Wild Huntsman, you will
      know how to act: conduct yourself always with propriety, make no noise,
      but behave like a gentleman, and don&rsquo;t put the dogs off the scent; stand
      aside, and let him pass. Don&rsquo;t talk; he has no time to lose; for if he
      hunt after daybreak, a night&rsquo;s sport is forfeited for every star left in
      the morning sky. So, sir, you see nothing puts him in a greater passion
      than to lose his time in answering impertinent questions. Well, sir,
      Left-handed Hans stood by the road-side. The baying of the dogs was so
      distinct, that he felt that in a moment the Wild One would be up: his
      horse shivered like a sallow in a storm. He heard the tramp of the
      Spirit-steed: they came in sight. As the tall figure of the Huntsman
      passed; I cannot tell you what it was; it might have been; Lord, forgive
      me for thinking what it might have been! but a voice from behind Hans, a
      voice so like his own, that for a moment he fancied that he had himself
      spoken, although he was conscious that his lips had been firmly closed the
      whole time; a voice from the road-side, just behind poor Hans, mind, said,
      &lsquo;Good sport, Sir Huntsman, &lsquo;tis an odd light to track a stag!&rsquo; The poor
      man, sir, was all of an ague; but how much greater was his horror when the
      tall huntsman stopped! He thought that he was going to be eaten up on the
      spot, at least: not at all. &lsquo;My friend!&rsquo; said the Wild One, in the kindest
      voice imaginable; &lsquo;my friend, would you like to give your horse a
      breathing with us?&rsquo; Poor Hans was so alarmed that it never entered into
      his head for a single moment to refuse the invitation, and instantly he
      was galloping by the side of the Wild Huntsman. Away they flew! away!
      away! away! over bog, and over mere; over ditch, and over hedge; away!
      away! away! and the Ranger&rsquo;s horse never failed, but kept by the side of
      the Wild Spirit without the least distress; and yet it is very singular
      that Hans was about to sell this very beast only a day before, for a
      matter of five crowns: you see, he only kept it just to pick his way at
      night from the castle to his own cottage. Well, it is very odd, but Hans
      soon lost all fear, for the sport was so fine and he had such a keen
      relish for the work, that, far from being alarmed, he thought himself one
      of the luckiest knaves alive. But the oddest thing all this time was, that
      Hans never caught sight for one moment of either buck or boar, although he
      saw by the dogs&rsquo; noses that there was something keen in the wind, and
      although he felt that if the hunted beast were like any that he had
      himself ever followed before, it must have been run down with such dogs,
      quicker than a priest could say a paternoster. At last, for he had grown
      quite bold, says Hans to the Wild Huntsman, &lsquo;The beasts run quick o&rsquo;
      nights, sir, I think; it has been a long time, I ween, ere I scampered so
      far, and saw so little!&rsquo; Do you know that the old gentleman was not the
      least affronted, but said, in the pleasantest voice imaginable, &lsquo;A true
      huntsman should be patient, Hans; you will see the game quick enough; look
      forward, man! what see you?&rsquo; And sure enough, your Highness, he did look
      forward. It was near the skirts of the forest, there was a green glade
      before them, and very few trees, and therefore he could see far a-head.
      The moon was shining very bright, and sure enough, what did he see?
      Running as fleet over the turf as a rabbit, was a child. The little figure
      was quite black in the moonlight, and Hans could not catch its face: in a
      moment the hell-dogs were on it. Hans quivered like a windy reed, and the
      Wild One laughed till the very woods echoed. &lsquo;How like you hunting
      moss-men?&rsquo; asked the Spirit. Now when Hans found it was only a moss-man,
      he took heart again, and said in a shaking voice, that &lsquo;It is rare good
      sport in good company;&rsquo; and then the Spirit jumped off his horse, and
      said, &lsquo;Now, Hans, you must watch me well, for I am little used to bag
      game.&rsquo; He said this with a proudish air, as much as to hint, that had he
      not expected Hans he would not have rode out this evening without his
      groom. So the Wild One jumped on his horse again, and put the bag before
      him. It was nearly morning when Hans found himself at the door of his own
      cottage; and, bowing very respectfully to the Spirit Hunter, he thanked
      him for the sport, and begged his share of the night&rsquo;s spoil. This was all
      in joke, but Hans had heard that &lsquo;talk to the devil, and fear the last
      word;&rsquo; and so he was determined, now that they were about to part, not to
      appear to tremble, but to carry it off with a jest. &lsquo;Truly, Hans,&rsquo; said
      the Huntsman, &lsquo;thou art a bold lad, and to encourage thee to speak to wild
      huntsmen again, I have a mind to give thee for thy pains the whole spoil.
      Take the bag, knave, a moss-man is good eating; had I time I would give
      thee a receipt for sauce;&rsquo; and, so saying, the Spirit rode off, laughing
      very heartily. Well, sir, Hans was so anxious to examine the contents of
      the bag, and see what kind of thing a moss-man really was, for he had only
      caught a glimpse of him in the chase, that instead of going to bed
      immediately, and saying his prayers, as he should have done, he lighted a
      lamp and undid the string; and what think you he took out of the bag? As
      sure as I am a born sinner, his own child!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis a wonderful tale,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;and did the unfortunate man tell
      you this himself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Often and often. I knew Left-handed Hans well. He was ranger, as I said,
      to a great lord; and was quite a favourite, you see. For some reason or
      other he got out of favour. Some said that the Baron had found him out
      a-poaching; and that he used to ride his master&rsquo;s horses a-night. Whether
      this be true or not, who can say? But, howsoever, Hans went to ruin; and
      instead of being a flourishing active lad, he was turned out, and went
      a-begging all through Saxony; and he always told this story as the real
      history of his misfortunes. Some say he is not as strong in his head as he
      used to be. However, why should we say it is not a true tale? What is
      that?&rdquo; almost shrieked Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian listened, and heard distinctly the distant baying of hounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis he!&rdquo; said Essper; &ldquo;now don&rsquo;t speak, sir, don&rsquo;t speak! and if the
      devil make me join him, as may be the case, for I am but a cock-brained
      thing, particularly at midnight, don&rsquo;t be running after me from any
      foolish feeling, but take care of yourself, and don&rsquo;t be chattering. To
      think you should come to this, my precious young master!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Cease your blubbering! Do you think that I am to be frightened by the
      idiot tales of a parcel of old women, and the lies of a gang of detected
      poachers? Come, sir, ride on. We are, most probably, near some huntsman&rsquo;s
      cottage. That distant baying is the sweetest music I have heard a long
      while.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t be rash, sir; don&rsquo;t be rash. If you were to give me fifty crowns
      now, I could not remember a single line of a single prayer. Ave Maria! it
      always is so when I most want it. Paternoster! and whenever I have need to
      remember a song, sure enough I am always thinking of a prayer. &lsquo;Unser
      vater, der du bist im himmel, sanctificado se el tu nombra; il tuo regno
      venga.&rsquo;&rdquo; Here Essper George was proceeding with a scrap of modern Greek,
      when the horsemen suddenly came upon one of those broad green vistas which
      we often see in forests, and which are generally cut, either for the
      convenience of hunting, or carting wood. It opened on the left side of the
      road; and at the bottom of it, though apparently at a great distance, a
      light was visible.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So much for your Wild Huntsman, friend Essper! I shall be much
      disappointed if here are not quarters for the night. And see! the moon
      comes out, a good omen!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After ten minutes&rsquo; canter over the noiseless turf, the travellers found
      themselves before a large and many-windowed mansion. The building formed
      the farthest side of a quadrangle, which you entered through an ancient
      and massy gate; on each side of which was a small building, of course the
      lodges. Essper soon found that the gate was closely fastened; and though
      he knocked often and loudly, it was with no effect. That the inhabitants
      of the mansion had not yet retired was certain, for lights were moving in
      the great house; and one of the lodges was not only very brilliantly
      illuminated, but full, as Vivian was soon convinced, of clamorous if not
      jovial guests.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, by the soul of my unknown father!&rdquo; said the enraged Essper, &ldquo;I will
      make these saucy porters learn their duty&mdash;What ho! there; what ho!
      within; within!&rdquo; But the only answer he received was the loud reiteration
      of a rude and roaring chorus, which, as it was now more distinctly and
      audibly enunciated, evidently for the purpose of enraging the travellers,
      they detected to be something to the following effect:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre>
     Then a prayer to St. Peter, a prayer to St. Paul!
     A prayer to St. Jerome, a prayer to them all!
     A prayer to each one of the saintly stock,
     But devotion alone, devotion to Hock!
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A right good burden&rsquo;&rdquo; said Essper. The very words had made him recover
      his temper, and ten thousand times more desirous of gaining admittance. He
      was off his horse in a moment, and scrambling up the wall with the aid of
      the iron stanchions, he clambered up to the window. The sudden appearance
      of his figure startled the inmates of the lodge, and one of them soon
      staggered to the gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What want you, ye noisy and disturbing varlets? what want you, ye most
      unhallowed rogues, at such a place, and at such an hour? If you be
      thieves, look at our bars (here a hiccup). If you be poachers, our master
      is engaged, and ye may slay all the game in the forest (another hiccup);
      but if ye be good men and true&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are!&rdquo; halloed Essper, eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are!&rdquo; said the porter, in a tone of great surprise; &ldquo;then you ought
      to be ashamed of yourselves for disturbing holy men at their devotions!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is this the way,&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;to behave, ye shameless rascals, to a
      noble and mighty Prince, who happens to have lost his way in your
      abominable forest, but who, though he has parted with his suite, has still
      in his pocket a purse full of ducats? Would ye have him robbed by any
      others but yourselves? Is this the way you behave to a Prince of the Holy
      Roman Empire, a Knight of the Golden Fleece, and a most particular friend
      of your own master? Is this the way to behave to his secretary, who is one
      of the merriest fellows living, can sing a jolly song with any of you, and
      so bedevil a bottle of Geisenheim with lemons and brandy that for the soul
      of ye you wouldn&rsquo;t know it from the greenest Tokay? Out, out on ye! you
      know not what you have lost!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ere Essper had finished more than one stout bolt had been drawn, and the
      great key had already entered the stouter lock.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most honourable sirs!&rdquo; hiccuped the porter, &ldquo;in our Lady&rsquo;s name enter. I
      had forgot myself, for in these autumn nights it is necessary to
      anticipate the cold with a glass of cheering liquor; and, God forgive me!
      if I did not mistake your most mighty Highnesses for a couple of forest
      rovers, or small poachers at least. Thin entertainment here, kind sir
      (here the last bolt was withdrawn); a glass of indifferent liquor and a
      prayer-book. I pass the time chiefly these cold nights with a few
      holy-minded friends at our devotions. You heard us at our prayers,
      honourable lords!
    </p>
<pre>
     &ldquo;A prayer to St. Peter, a prayer to St. Paul!
     A prayer to St. Jerome, a prayer to them all!&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      Here the devout porter most reverently crossed himself.
    </p>
<pre>
     &ldquo;A prayer to each one of the saintly stock,
     But devotion alone, devotion to Hock!&rdquo;
 </pre>
    <p>
      added Essper George; &ldquo;you forget the best part of the burden, my honest
      friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said the porter, with an arch smile, as he opened the lodge door; &ldquo;I
      am glad to find that your honourable Excellencies have a taste for hymns!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The porter led them into a room, at a round table in which about
      half-a-dozen individuals were busily engaged in discussing the merits of
      various agreeable liquors. There was an attempt to get up a show of polite
      hospitality to Vivian as he entered, but the man who offered him his chair
      fell to the ground in an unsuccessful struggle to be courteous; and
      another one, who had filled a large glass for the guest on his entrance,
      offered him, after a preliminary speech of incoherent compliments, the
      empty bottle by mistake. The porter and his friends, although they were
      all drunk, had sense enough to feel that the presence of a Prince of the
      Holy Roman Empire, a Chevalier of the Golden Fleece, and the particular
      friend of their master, was not exactly a fit companion for themselves,
      and was rather a check on the gay freedom of equal companionship; and so,
      although the exertion was not a little troublesome, the guardian of the
      gate reeled out of the room to inform his honoured lord of the sudden
      arrival of a stranger of distinction, Essper George immediately took his
      place, and ere the master of the lodge had returned the noble secretary
      had not only given a choice toast, sung a choice song, and been hailed by
      the grateful plaudits of all present, but had proceeded in his attempt to
      fulfil the pledge which he had given at the gate to the very letter by
      calling out lustily for a bottle of Geisenheim, lemons, brandy, and a
      bowl.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Fairly and softly, my little son of Bacchus,&rdquo; said the porter as he
      re-entered, &ldquo;fairly and softly, and then thou shalt want nothing; but
      remember I have to perform my duties unto the noble Lord my master, and
      also to the noble Prince your master. If thou wilt follow me,&rdquo; continued
      the porter, reeling as he bowed with the greatest consideration to Vivian;
      &ldquo;if thou wilt follow me, most high and mighty sir, my master will be right
      glad to have the honour of drinking your health. And as for you, my
      friends, fairly and softly say I again. We will talk of the Geisenheim
      anon. Am I to be absent from the first brewing? No, no! fairly and softly;
      you can drink my health when I am absent in cold liquor, and say those
      things which you could not well say before my face. But mind, my most
      righteous and well-beloved, I will have no flattery. Flattery is the
      destruction of all good fellowship; it is like a qualmish liqueur in the
      midst of a bottle of wine. Speak your minds, say any little thing that
      comes first, as thus, &lsquo;Well, for Hunsdrich, the porter, I must declare
      that I never heard evil word against him;&rsquo; or thus, &lsquo;A very good leg has
      Hunsdrich the porter, and a tight-made lad altogether; no enemy with the
      girls, I warrant me;&rsquo; or thus, &lsquo;Well, for a good-hearted, good-looking,
      stout-drinking, virtuous, honourable, handsome, generous, sharp-witted
      knave, commend me to Hunsdrich the porter;&rsquo; but not a word more, my
      friends, not a word more, no flattery&mdash;Now, sir, I beg your pardon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The porter led the way through a cloistered walk, until they arrived at
      the door of the great mansion, to which they ascended by a lofty flight of
      steps; it opened into a large octagonal hail, the sides of which were
      covered with fowling-pieces, stags&rsquo; heads, couteaux de chasse,
      boar-spears, and huge fishing-nets. Passing through this hall, they
      ascended a noble stair-case, on the first landing-place of which was a
      door, which Vivian&rsquo;s conductor opened, and ushering him into a large and
      well-lighted chamber, withdrew. From the centre of this room descended a
      magnificently cut chandelier, which threw a graceful light upon a
      sumptuous banquet table, at which were seated eight very singular-looking
      personages. All of them wore hunting-dresses of various shades of
      straw-coloured cloth, with the exception of one, who sat on the left hand
      of the master of the feast, and the colour of whose costume was a rich
      crimson purple. From the top to the bottom of the table extended a double
      file of wine-glasses and goblets, of all sizes and all colours. There you
      might see brilliant relics of that ancient ruby-glass the vivid tints of
      which seem lost to us for ever. Next to these were marshalled goblets of
      Venetian manufacture, of a cloudy, creamy white; then came the huge hock
      glass of some ancient Primate of Mentz, nearly a yard high, towering above
      its companions, as the church, its former master, predominated over the
      simple laymen of the middle ages. Why should we forget a set of most
      curious and antique drinking-cups of painted glass, on whose rare surfaces
      were emblazoned the Kaiser and ten electors of the old Empire?
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian bowed to the party and stood in silence, while they stared a
      scrutinising examination. At length the master of the feast spoke. He was
      a very stout man, with a prodigious paunch, which his tightened dress set
      off to great advantage. His face, and particularly his forehead, were of
      great breadth. His eyes were set far apart. His long ears hung down almost
      to his shoulders; yet singular as he was, not only in these, but in many
      other respects, everything was forgotten when your eyes lighted on his
      nose. It was the most prodigious nose that Vivian ever remembered not only
      seeing, but hearing or even reading of. It fact, it was too monstrous for
      a dream. This mighty nose seemed to hang almost to its owner&rsquo;s chest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Be seated,&rdquo; said this personage, in no unpleasing voice, and he pointed
      to the chair opposite to him. Vivian took the vacated seat of the
      Vice-President, who moved himself to the right. &ldquo;Be seated, and whoever
      you may be, welcome! If our words be few, think not that our welcome is
      scant. We are not much given to speech, holding it for a principle that if
      a man&rsquo;s mouth be open, it should be for the purpose of receiving that
      which cheers a man&rsquo;s spirit; not of giving vent to idle words, which, so
      far as we have observed, produce no other effect save filling the world
      with crude and unprofitable fantasies, and distracting our attention when
      we are on the point of catching those flavours which alone make the world
      endurable. Therefore, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome, Sir
      Stranger, from us, and from all: and first from us, the Grand Duke of
      Johannisberger.&rdquo; Here his Highness rose, and pulled out a large ruby
      tumbler from the file. Each of those present did the same, without,
      however, rising, and the late Vice-President, who sat next to Vivian,
      invited him to follow their example.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke of Johannisberger brought forward, from beneath the table,
      an ancient and exquisite bottle of that choice liquor from which he took
      his exhilarating title. The cork was drawn, and the bottle circulated with
      rapidity; and in three minutes the ruby glasses were filled and emptied,
      and the Grand Duke&rsquo;s health quaffed by all present.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger,&rdquo; continued the Grand Duke, &ldquo;briefly, but heartily,
      welcome! welcome from us and welcome from all; and first from us, and now
      from the Archduke of Hockheimer!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Archduke of Hockheimer was a thin, sinewy man, with long, carroty
      hair, eyelashes of the same colour, but of a remarkable length; and
      mustachios, which, though very thin, were so long that they met under his
      chin. Vivian could not refrain from noticing the extreme length,
      whiteness, and apparent sharpness of his teeth. The Archduke did not
      speak, but, leaning under the table, soon produced a bottle of Hockheimer.
      He then took from the file one of the Venetian glasses of clouded white.
      All followed his example; the bottle was sent round, his health was
      pledged, and the Grand Duke of Johannisberger again spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Elector of
      Steinberg!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Elector of Steinberg was a short, but very broad-backed, strong-built
      man. Though his head was large, his features were small, and appeared
      smaller from the immense quantity of coarse, shaggy, brown hair which grew
      over almost every part of his face and fell down upon his shoulders. The
      Elector was as silent as his predecessor, and quickly produced a bottle of
      Steinberg. The curious drinking cups of painted glass were immediately
      withdrawn from the file, the bottle was sent round, the Elector&rsquo;s health
      was pledged, and the Grand Duke of Johannisberger again spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Margrave of
      Rudesheimer!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Margrave of Rudesheimer was a slender man of elegant appearance. As
      Vivian watched the glance of his speaking eye, and the half-satirical and
      half-jovial smile which played upon his features, he hardly expected that
      he would be as silent as his predecessors. But the Margrave spoke no word.
      He gave a kind of shout of savage exultation as he smacked his lips after
      dashing off his glass of Rudesheimer; and scarcely noticing the
      salutations of those who drank his health, he threw himself back in his
      chair, and listened seemingly with a smile of derision, while the Grand
      Duke of Johannisberger again spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Landgrave of
      Grafenberg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Landgrave of Grafenberg was a rude, awkward-looking person, who, when
      he rose from his seat, stared like an idiot, and seemed utterly ignorant
      of what he ought to do. But his quick companion, the Margrave of
      Rudesheimer, soon thrust a bottle of Grafenberg into the Landgrave&rsquo;s hand,
      and with some trouble and bustle the Landgrave extracted the cork; and
      then helping himself sat down, forgetting either to salute, or to return
      the salutations of those present.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Palsgrave of
      Geisenheim!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Palsgrave of Geisenheim was a dwarf in spectacles. He drew the cork
      from his bottle like lightning, and mouthed at his companions even while
      he bowed to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Count of
      Markbrunnen!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Count of Markbrunnen was a sullen-looking personage, with lips
      protruding nearly three inches beyond his nose. From each side of his
      upper jaw projected a large tooth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks to Heaven!&rdquo; said Vivian, as the Grand Duke again spoke; &ldquo;thanks to
      Heaven, here is our last man!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Again, Sir Stranger, briefly, but heartily, welcome! Welcome from us, and
      welcome from all; and first from us, and now from the Baron of
      Asmanshausen!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Baron of Asmanshausen sat on the left hand of the Grand Duke of
      Johannisberger, and was dressed, as we have before said, in an unique
      costume of crimson purple. The Baron stood, without his boots, about six
      feet eight. He was a sleek man, with a head not bigger than a child&rsquo;s, and
      a pair of small, black, beady eyes, of singular brilliancy. The Baron
      introduced a bottle of the only red wine that the Rhine boasts; but which,
      for its fragrant and fruity flavour and its brilliant tint, is perhaps not
      inferior to the sunset glow of Burgundy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; continued the Grand Duke, &ldquo;having introduced you to all
      present, sir, we will begin drinking.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had submitted to the introductory ceremonies with the good grace
      which becomes a man of the world; but the coolness of this last
      observation recalled our hero&rsquo;s wandering senses; and, at the same time,
      alarmed at discovering that eight bottles of wine had been discussed by
      the party merely as preliminary, and emboldened by the contents of one
      bottle which had fallen to his own share, he had the courage to confront
      the Grand Duke of Johannisberger in his own castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your wine, most noble Lord, stands in no need of my commendation; but as
      I must mention it, let it not be said that I ever mentioned it without
      praise. After a ten hours&rsquo; ride, its flavour is as grateful to the palate
      as its strength is refreshing to the heart; but though old Hock, in homely
      phrase, is styled meat and drink, I confess to you that, at this moment, I
      stand in need of even more solid sustenance than the juice of the sunny
      hill.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A traitor!&rdquo; shrieked all present, each with his right arm stretched out,
      glass in hand; &ldquo;a traitor!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No traitor,&rdquo; answered Vivian, &ldquo;noble and right thirsty lords, but one of
      the most hungry mortals that ever yet famished.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The only answer that he received for some time was a loud and ill-boding
      murmur. The long whisker of the Archduke of Hockheimer curled with renewed
      rage; audible, though suppressed, was the growl of the hairy Elector of
      Steinberg; fearful the corporeal involutions of the tall Baron of
      Asmanshausen; and savagely sounded the wild laugh of the bright-eyed
      Margrave of Rudesheimer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Silence, my Lords!&rdquo; said the Grand Duke. &ldquo;Forget we that ignorance is the
      stranger&rsquo;s portion, and that no treason can exist among those who are not
      our sworn subjects? Pity we rather the degeneracy of this bold-spoken
      youth, and in the plenitude of our mercy let us pardon his demand! Know
      ye, unknown knight, that you are in the presence of an august society who
      are here met at one of their accustomed convocations, whereof the purport
      is the frequent quaffing of those most glorious liquors of which the
      sacred Rhine is the great father. We profess to find a perfect commentary
      on the Pindaric laud of the strongest element in the circumstance of the
      banks of a river being the locality where the juice of the grape is most
      delicious, and holding, therefore, that water is strongest because, in a
      manner, it giveth birth to wine, we also hold it as a sacred element, and
      consequently most religiously refrain from refreshing our bodies with that
      sanctified and most undrinkable fluid. Know ye that we are the children of
      the Rhine, the conservators of his flavours, profound in the learning of
      his exquisite aroma, and deep students in the mysteries of his
      inexplicable näre. Professing not to be immortal, we find in the exercise
      of the chase a noble means to preserve that health which is necessary for
      the performance of the ceremonies to which we are pledged. At to-morrow&rsquo;s
      dawn our bugle sounds, and thou, stranger, may engage the wild boar at our
      side; at to-morrow&rsquo;s noon the castle bell will toll, and thou, stranger,
      may eat of the beast which thou hast conquered; but to feed after
      midnight, to destroy the power of catching the delicate flavour, to
      annihilate the faculty of detecting the undefinable näre, is heresy, most
      rank and damnable heresy! Therefore at this hour soundeth no plate or
      platter, jingleth no knife or culinary instrument, in the PALACE OF THE
      WINES. Yet, in consideration of thy youth, and that on the whole thou hast
      tasted thy liquor like a proper man, from which we augur the best
      expectations of the manner in which thou wilt drink it, we feel confident
      that our brothers of the goblet will permit us to grant thee the
      substantial solace of a single shoeing horn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let it be a Dutch herring, then,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;and as you have souls to
      be saved grant me one slice of bread.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It cannot be,&rdquo; said the Grand Duke; &ldquo;but as we are willing to be
      indulgent to bold hearts, verily, we will wink at the profanation of a
      single toast; but you must order an anchovy one, and give secret
      instructions to the waiting-man to forget the fish. It must be counted as
      a second shoeing horn, and you will forfeit for the last a bottle of
      Markbrunnen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, illustrious brothers,&rdquo; continued the Grand Duke, &ldquo;let us drink
      1726.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All present gave a single cheer, in which Vivian was obliged to join, and
      they honoured with a glass of the very year the memory of a celebrated
      vintage.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;1748!&rdquo; said the Grand Duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two cheers and the same ceremony.
    </p>
    <p>
      1766 and 1779 were honoured in the same manner, but when the next toast
      was drank, Vivian almost observed in the countenances of the Grand Duke
      and his friends the signs of incipient insanity.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;1783!&rdquo; hallooed the Grand Duke in a tone of the most triumphant
      exultation, and his mighty proboscis, as it snuffed the air, almost caused
      a whirlwind round the room. Hockheimer gave a roar, Steinberg a growl,
      Rudesheimer a wild laugh, Markbrunnen, a loud grunt, Grafenberg a bray,
      Asmanshausen&rsquo;s long body moved to and fro with wonderful agitation, and
      little Geisenheim&rsquo;s bright eyes glistened through their glasses as if they
      were on fire. How ludicrous is the incipient inebriety of a man who wears
      spectacles!
    </p>
    <p>
      Thanks to an excellent constitution, which recent misery, however, had
      somewhat shattered, Vivian bore up against all these attacks; and when
      they had got down to 1802, from the excellency of his digestion and the
      inimitable skill with which he emptied many of the latter glasses under
      the table, he was, perhaps, in better condition than any one in the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now rose the idiot Grafenberg; Rudesheimer all the time, with a
      malicious smile, faintly pulling him down by the skirt of his coat, as if
      he were desirous of preventing an exposure which his own advice had
      brought about. He had been persuading Grafenberg the whole evening to make
      a speech.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord Duke,&rdquo; brayed the jackass; and then he stopped dead, and looked
      round the room with an unmeaning stare.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hear, hear, hear!&rdquo; was the general cry; but Grafenberg seemed astounded
      at any one being desirous of hearing his voice, or for a moment seriously
      entertaining the idea that he could have anything to say; and so he stared
      again, and again, and again, till at last Rudesheimer, by dint of kicking
      his shins under the table, the Margrave the whole time seeming perfectly
      motionless, at length extracted a sentence from the asinine Landgrave.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord Duke!&rdquo; again commenced Grafenberg, and again he stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go on!&rdquo; shouted all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord Duke! Rudesheimer is treading on my toes!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here little Geisenheim gave a loud laugh of derision, in which all joined
      except surly Markbrunnen, whose lips protruded an extra inch beyond their
      usual length when he found that all were laughing at his friend. The Grand
      Duke at last procured silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shame! shame! mighty Princes! Shame! shame! noble Lords! Is it with this
      irreverent glee, these scurvy flouts, and indecorous mockery, that you
      would have this stranger believe that we celebrate the ceremonies of our
      Father Rhine? Shame, I say; and silence! It is time that we should prove
      to him that we are not merely a boisterous and unruly party of swilling
      varlets, who leave their brains in their cups. It is time that we should
      do something to prove that we are capable of better and worthier things.
      What ho! my Lord of Geisenheim! shall I speak twice to the guardian of the
      horn of the Fairy King?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The little dwarf instantly jumped from his seat and proceeded to the end
      of the room, where, after having bowed three times with great reverence
      before a small black cabinet made of vine wood, he opened it with a golden
      key, and then with great pomp and ceremony bore its contents to the Grand
      Duke. That chieftain took from the little dwarf the horn of a gigantic and
      antediluvian elk. The cunning hand of an ancient German artificer had
      formed this curious relic into a drinking-cup. It was exquisitely
      polished, and cased in the interior with silver. On the outside the only
      ornaments were three richly-chased silver rings, which were placed nearly
      at equal distances. When the Grand Duke had carefully examined this most
      precious horn, he held it up with great reverence to all present, and a
      party of devout Catholics could not have paid greater homage to the
      elevated Host than did the various guests to the horn of the Fairy King.
      Even the satanic smile on Rudesheimer&rsquo;s countenance was for a moment
      subdued, and all bowed. The Grand Duke then delivered the mighty cup to
      his neighbour, the Archduke of Hockheimer, who held it with both hands
      until his Royal Highness had emptied into it, with great care, three
      bottles of Johannisberger. All rose: the Grand Duke took the goblet in one
      hand, and with the other he dexterously put aside his most inconvenient
      and enormous nose. Dead silence prevailed, save the roar of the liquor as
      it rushed down the Grand Duke&rsquo;s throat, and resounded through the chamber
      like the distant dash of a waterfall. In three minutes the Chairman had
      completed his task, the horn had quitted his mouth, his nose had again
      resumed its usual situation, and as he handed the cup to the Archduke,
      Vivian thought that a material change had taken place in his countenance
      since he had quaffed his last draught. His eyes seemed more apart; his
      ears seemed broader and longer; and his nose visibly lengthened. The
      Archduke, before he commenced his draught, ascertained with great
      scrupulosity that his predecessor had taken his fair share by draining the
      horn as far as the first ring; and then he poured off with great rapidity
      his own portion. But though, in performing the same task, he was quicker
      than the master of the party, the draught not only apparently, but
      audibly, produced upon him a much more decided effect than it had on the
      Grand Duke; for when the second ring was drained the Archduke gave a loud
      roar of exultation, and stood up for some time from his seat, with his
      hands resting on the table, over which he leant, as if he were about to
      spring upon his opposite neighbour. The cup was now handed across the
      table to the Baron of Asmanshausen. His Lordship performed his task with
      ease; but as he withdrew the horn from his mouth, all present, except
      Vivian, gave a loud cry of &ldquo;Supernaculum!&rdquo; The Baron smiled with great
      contempt, as he tossed, with a careless hand, the great horn upside
      downwards, and was unable to shed upon his nail even the one excusable
      pearl. He handed the refilled horn to the Elector of Steinberg, who drank
      his portion with a growl; but afterwards seemed so pleased with the
      facility of his execution that, instead of delivering it to the next
      bibber, the Palsgrave of Markbrunnen, he commenced some clumsy attempts at
      a dance of triumph, in which he certainly would have proceeded, had not
      the loud grunts of the surly and thick-lipped Markbrunnen occasioned the
      interference of the President. Supernaculum now fell to the Margrave of
      Rudesheimer, who gave a loud and long-continued laugh as the dwarf of
      Geisenheim filled the horn for the third time.
    </p>
    <p>
      While this ceremony was going on, a thousand plans had occurred to Vivian
      for his escape; but all, on second thoughts, proved impracticable. With
      agony he had observed that supernaculum was his miserable lot. Could he
      but have foisted it on the idiot Grafenberg, he might, by his own
      impudence and the other&rsquo;s stupidity, have escaped. But he could not
      flatter himself that he should be successful in bringing about this end,
      for he observed with dismay that the malicious Rudesheimer had not for a
      moment ceased watching him with a keen and exulting glance. Geisenheim
      performed his task; and ere Vivian could ask for the goblet, Rudesheimer,
      with a fell laugh, had handed it to Grafenberg. The greedy ass drank his
      portion with ease, and indeed drank far beyond his limit. The cup was in
      Vivian&rsquo;s hand, Rudesheimer was roaring supernaculum louder than all;
      Vivian saw that the covetous Grafenberg had providentially rendered his
      task comparatively light; but even as it was, he trembled at the idea of
      drinking at a single draught more than a pint of most vigorous and
      powerful wine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Lord Duke,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;you and your companions forget that I am
      little used to these ceremonies; that I am yet uninitiated in the
      mysteries of the näre. I have endeavoured to prove myself no
      chicken-hearted water-drinking craven, and I have more wine within me at
      this moment than any man yet bore without dinner. I think, therefore, that
      I have some grounds for requesting indulgence, and I have no doubt that
      the good sense of yourself and your friends&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Ere Vivian could finish, he almost fancied that a well-stocked menagerie
      had been suddenly emptied in the room. Such roaring, and such growling,
      and such hissing, could only have been exceeded on some grand feast day in
      the recesses of a Brazilian forest. Asmanshausen looked as fierce as a boa
      constrictor before dinner. The proboscis of the Grand Duke heaved to and
      fro like the trunk of an enraged elephant. Hockheimer glared like a Bengal
      tiger about to spring upon its prey. Steinberg growled like a Baltic bear.
      In Markbrunnen Vivian recognised the wild boar he had himself often
      hunted. Grafenberg brayed like a jackass, and Geisenheim chattered like an
      ape. But all was forgotten and unnoticed when Vivian heard the fell and
      frantic shouts of the laughing hyaena, the Margrave of Rudesheimer!
      Vivian, in despair, dashed the horn of Oberon to his mouth. One pull, a
      gasp, another desperate draught; it was done! and followed by a
      supernaculum almost superior to the exulting Asmanshausen&rsquo;s.
    </p>
    <p>
      A loud shout hailed the exploit, and when the shout had subsided into
      silence the voice of the Grand Duke of Johannisberger was again heard:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Noble Lords and Princes! I congratulate you on the acquisition of a
      congenial co-mate, and the accession to our society of one who, I now
      venture to say, will never disgrace the glorious foundation; but who, on
      the contrary, with heaven&rsquo;s blessing and the aid of his own good palate,
      will, it is hoped, add to our present knowledge of flavours by the
      detection of new ones, and by illustrations drawn from frequent study and
      constant observation of the mysterious näre. In consideration of his long
      journey and his noble achievement, I do propose that we drink but very
      lightly to-night, and meet by two hours after to-morrow&rsquo;s dawn, under the
      moss-man&rsquo;s oak. Nevertheless, before we part, for the refreshment of our
      own good bodies, and by way of reward and act of courtesy unto this noble
      and accomplished stranger, let us pledge him in some foreign grape of
      fame, to which he may perhaps be more accustomed than unto the
      ever-preferable juices of our Father Rhine.&rdquo; Here the Grand Duke nodded to
      little Geisenheim, who in a moment was at his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in vain that Vivian remonstrated, excused himself from joining, or
      assured them that their conduct had already been so peculiarly courteous,
      that any further attention was at present unnecessary. A curiously cut
      glass, which on a moderate calculation Vivian reckoned would hold at least
      three pints, was placed before each guest; and a basket, containing nine
      bottles of sparkling champagne, première qualité, was set before his
      Highness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are no bigots, noble stranger,&rdquo; said the Grand Duke, as he took one of
      the bottles, and scrutinised the cork with a very keen eye; &ldquo;we are no
      bigots, and there are moments when we drink Champagne, nor is Burgundy
      forgotten, nor the soft Bourdeaux, nor the glowing grape of the sunny
      Rhone!&rdquo; His Highness held the bottle at an oblique angle with the
      chandelier. The wire is loosened, whirr! The exploded cork whizzed through
      the air, extinguished one of the burners of the chandelier, and brought
      the cut drop which was suspended under it rattling down among the glasses
      on the table. The President poured the foaming fluid into his great
      goblet, and bowing to all around, fastened on its contents with as much
      eagerness as Arabs hasten to a fountain.
    </p>
    <p>
      The same operation was performed as regularly and as skilfully by all
      except Vivian. Eight burners were extinguished; eight diamond drops had
      fallen clattering on the table; eight human beings had finished a
      miraculous carouse, by each drinking off a bottle of sparkling champagne.
      It was Vivian&rsquo;s turn. All eyes were fixed on him with the most perfect
      attention. He was now, indeed, quite desperate; for had he been able to
      execute a trick which long practice alone could have enabled any man to
      perform, he felt conscious that it was quite out of his power to taste a
      single drop of the contents of his bottle. However, he loosened his wire
      and held the bottle at an angle with the chandelier; but the cork flew
      quite wild, and struck with great force the mighty nose of Johannisberger.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A forfeit!&rdquo; cried all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Treason, and a forfeit!&rdquo; cried the Margrave of Rudesheimer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A forfeit is sufficient punishment,&rdquo; said the President; who, however,
      still felt the smarting effect of the assault on his proboscis. &ldquo;You must
      drink Oberon&rsquo;s horn full of champagne,&rdquo; he continued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never!&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;Enough of this. I have already conformed in a
      degree which may injuriously affect my health with your barbarous humours;
      but there is moderation even in excess. And so, if you please, my Lord,
      your servant may show me to my apartment, or I shall again mount my
      horse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall not leave this room,&rdquo; said the President, with great firmness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who shall prevent me?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will, all will!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, by heavens! a more insolent and inhospitable old ruffian did I never
      meet. By the wine you worship, if one of you dare touch me, you shall rue
      it all your born days; and as for you, sir, if you advance one step
      towards me, I will take that sausage of a nose of yours and hurl you half
      round your own castle!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Treason!&rdquo; shouted all, and looked to the chair.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Treason!&rdquo; said enraged majesty. The allusion to the nose had done away
      with all the constitutional doubts which had been sported so moderately at
      the commencement of the evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Treason!&rdquo; howled the President: &ldquo;instant punishment!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What punishment?&rdquo; asked Asmanshausen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Drown him in the new butt of Moselle,&rdquo; recommended Rudesheimer. The
      suggestion was immediately adopted. Every one rose: the little Geisenheim
      already had hold of Vivian&rsquo;s shoulder; and Grafenberg, instigated by the
      cowardly but malicious Rudesheimer, was about to seize him by the neck.
      Vivian took the dwarf and hurled him at the chandelier, in whose brazen
      chains the little being got entangled, and there remained. An unexpected
      cross-buttocker floored the incautious and unscientific Grafenberg; and
      following up these advantages, Vivian laid open the skull of his prime
      enemy, the retreating Margrave of Rudesheimer, with the assistance of the
      horn of Oberon; which flew from his hand to the other end of the room,
      from the force with which it rebounded from the cranium of the enemy. All
      the rest were now on the advance; but giving a vigorous and unexpected
      push to the table, the Johannisberger and Asmanshausen were thrown over,
      and the nose of the former got entangled with the awkward windings of the
      Fairy King&rsquo;s horn. Taking advantage of this move, Vivian rushed to the
      door. He escaped, but had not time to secure the lock against the enemy,
      for the stout Elector of Steinberg was too quick for him. He dashed down
      the stairs with extraordinary agility; but just as he had gained the large
      octagonal hall, the whole of his late boon companions, with the exception
      of the dwarf of Geisenheim, who was left in the chandelier, were visible
      in full chase. Escape was impossible, and so Vivian, followed by the seven
      nobles, headed by their President, described with all possible rapidity a
      circle round the hall. He gave himself up for lost; but, luckily, for him,
      it never occurred to one of his pursuers to do anything but follow their
      leader; and as, therefore, they never dodged Vivian, and as, also, he was
      a much fleeter runner than the fat President, whose pace, of course,
      regulated the progress of his followers, the party might have gone on at
      this rate until all of them had dropped from fatigue, had not the
      occurrence of a ludicrous incident prevented this consummation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The hall door was suddenly dashed open, and Essper George rushed in,
      followed in full chase by Hunsdrich and the guests of the lodge, who were
      the servants of Vivian&rsquo;s pursuers. Essper darted in between Rudesheimer
      and Markbrunnen, and Hunsdrich and his friends following the same tactics
      as their lords and masters, without making any attempt to surround and hem
      in the object of their pursuit, merely followed him in order, describing,
      but in a contrary direction, a lesser circle within the eternal round of
      the first party. It was only proper for the servants to give their masters
      the wall. In spite of their very disagreeable and dangerous situation, it
      was with difficulty that Vivian refrained from laughter, as he met Essper
      regularly every half minute at the foot of the great staircase. Suddenly,
      as Essper passed, he took Vivian by the waist, and with a single jerk
      placed him on the stairs; and then, with a dexterous dodge, he brought
      Hunsdrich the porter and the Grand Duke in full contact.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have got you at last,&rdquo; said Hunsdrich, seizing hold of his Grace of
      Johannisberger by the ears, and mistaking him for Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have got you at last,&rdquo; said his master, grappling, as he supposed, with
      Vivian. Both struggled; their followers pushed on with impetuous force,
      the battle was general, the overthrow universal. In a moment all were on
      the ground; and if any less inebriated or more active individual attempted
      to rise, Essper immediately brought him down with a boar-spear.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Give me that large fishing-net,&rdquo; said Essper to Vivian; &ldquo;quick, quick.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian pulled down a large coarse net, which covered nearly five sides of
      the room. It was immediately unfolded, and spread over the fallen crew. To
      fasten it down with half a dozen boar-spears, which they drove into the
      floor, was the work of a moment. Essper had one pull at the proboscis of
      the Grand Duke of Johannisberger before he hurried Vivian away; and in ten
      minutes they were again on their horses&rsquo; backs and galloping through the
      star-lit wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0057">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      It is the hour before the labouring bee has left his golden hive; not yet
      the blooming day buds in the blushing East; not yet has the victorious
      Lucifer chased from the early sky the fainting splendour of the stars of
      night. All is silent, save the light breath of morn waking the slumbering
      leaves. Even now a golden streak breaks over the grey mountains. Hark to
      shrill chanticleer! As the cock crows the owl ceases. Hark to shrill
      chanticleer&rsquo;s feathered rival! The mountain lark springs from the sullen
      earth, and welcomes with his hymn the coming day. The golden streak has
      expanded into a crimson crescent, and rays of living fire flame over the
      rose-enamelled East. Man rises sooner than the sun, and already sound the
      whistle of the ploughman, the song of the mower, and the forge of the
      smith; and hark to the bugle of the hunter, and the baying of his
      deep-mouthed hound. The sun is up, the generating sun! and temple, and
      tower, and tree, the massy wood, and the broad field, and the distant
      hill, burst into sudden light; quickly upcurled is the dusky mist from the
      shining river; quickly is the cold dew drunk from the raised heads of the
      drooping flowers!
    </p>
    <p>
      A canter by a somewhat clearer light than the one which had so
      unfortunately guided himself and his companion to the Palace of the Wines
      soon carried them again to the skirts of the forest, and at this minute
      they are emerging on the plain from yonder dark wood.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By heavens! Essper, I cannot reach the town this morning. Was ever
      anything more unfortunate. A curse on those drunken fools. What with no
      rest and no solid refreshment, and the rivers of hock that are flowing
      within me, and the infernal exertion of running round that vile hall, I
      feel fairly exhausted, and could at this moment fall from my saddle. See
      you no habitation, my good fellow, where there might be a chance of a
      breakfast and a few hours&rsquo; rest? We are now well out of the forest. Oh!
      surely there is smoke from behind those pines; some good wife, I trust, is
      by her chimney corner.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If my sense be not destroyed by the fumes of that mulled Geisenheim,
      which still haunts me, I could swear that the smoke is the soul of a
      burning weed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A truce to your jokes, good Essper; I really am very ill. A year ago I
      could have laughed at our misfortunes, but now it is very different; and,
      by heavens, I must have breakfast! so stir, exert yourself, and, although
      I die for it, let us canter up to the smoke.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, dear master, I will ride on before. Do you follow gently, and if
      there be a pigeon in the pot in all Germany. I swear by the patron saint
      of every village for fifty miles round, provided they be not heretics,
      that you shall taste of its breast-bone this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The smoke did issue from a chimney, but the door of the cottage was shut.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hilloa, within!&rdquo; shouted Essper; &ldquo;who shuts the sun out on a September
      morning?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The door was at length slowly opened, and a most ill-favoured and
      inhospitable-looking dame demanded, in a sullen voice, &ldquo;What&rsquo;s your will?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You pretty creature!&rdquo; said Essper, who was still a little tipsy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The door would have been shut in his face had not he darted into the house
      before the woman was aware.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly, a neat and pleasant dwelling! and you would have no objection, I
      guess, to give a handsome young gentleman some little sop of something
      just to remind him, you know, that it isn&rsquo;t dinner-time.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We give no sops here: what do you take us for? and so, my handsome young
      gentleman, be off, or I shall call the good man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, I am not the handsome young gentleman; that is my master! who, if he
      were not half-starved to death, would fall in love with you at first
      sight.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your master; is he in the carriage?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Carriage! no; on horseback.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Travellers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be sure, dear dame; travellers true.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Travellers true, without luggage, and at this time of morn! Methinks, by
      your looks, queer fellows, that you are travellers whom it may be wise for
      an honest woman not to meet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! some people have an objection, then, to a forty kreüzer piece on a
      sunny morning?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Essper, in a careless manner, tossed a broad piece in the air,
      and made it ring on a fellow coin, as he caught it in the palm of his hand
      when it descended.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is that your master?&rdquo; asked the woman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay, is it! and the prettiest piece of flesh I have seen this month,
      except yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! if the gentleman likes bread he can sit down here,&rdquo; said the woman,
      pointing to a bench, and throwing a sour black loaf upon the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, sir!&rdquo; said Essper, wiping the bench with great care, &ldquo;lie you here
      and rest yourself. I have known a marshal sleep upon a harder sofa.
      Breakfast will be ready immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If you cannot eat what you have, you may ride where you can find better
      cheer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is bread for a traveller&rsquo;s breakfast? But I daresay my lord will be
      contented; young men are so easily pleased when there is a pretty girl in
      the case; you know that, you wench! you do, you little hussy; you are
      taking advantage of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Something like a smile lit up the face of the sullen woman when she said.
      &ldquo;There may be an egg in the house, but I don&rsquo;t know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you will soon, you dear creature! What a pretty foot!&rdquo; bawled Essper
      after her, as she left the room. &ldquo;Now confound this hag; if there be not
      meat about this house may I keep my mouth shut at our next dinner. What&rsquo;s
      that in the corner? a boar&rsquo;s tusk! Ay, ay! a huntsman&rsquo;s cottage; and when
      lived a huntsman on black bread before! Oh! bless your bright eyes for
      these eggs, and this basin of new milk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Essper took them out of her hand and placed them before Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was saying to myself, my pretty girl, when you were out of the room,
      &lsquo;Essper George, good cheer, say thy prayers, and never despair; come what
      may, you will fall among friends at last, and how do you know that your
      dream mayn&rsquo;t come true after all? Didn&rsquo;t you dream that you breakfasted in
      the month of September with a genteel young woman with gold ear-rings? and
      is not she standing before you now? and did not she do everything in the
      world to make you comfortable? Did not she give you milk and eggs, and
      when you complained that you and meat had been but slack friends of late,
      did not she open her own closet, and give you as fine a piece of hunting
      beef as was ever set before a Jagd Junker?&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you will turn me into an innkeeper&rsquo;s wife at last,&rdquo; said the
      dame, her stern features relaxing into a smile; and while she spoke she
      advanced to the great closet, Essper George following her, walking on his
      toes, lolling out his enormous tongue, and stroking his mock paunch. As
      she opened it he jumped upon a chair and had examined every shelf in less
      time than a pistol could flush. &ldquo;White bread! fit for a countess; salt!
      worthy of Poland; boar&rsquo;s head!! no better at Troyes; and hunting beef!!!
      my dream is true!&rdquo; and he bore in triumph to Vivian, who was nearly
      asleep, the ample round of salt and pickled beef well stuffed with all
      kinds of savoury herbs.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was nearly an hour before noon ere the travellers had remounted. Their
      road again entered the forest which they had been skirting for the last
      two days. The huntsmen were abroad; and the fine weather, his good meal
      and seasonable rest, and the inspiriting sounds of the bugle made Vivian
      feel recovered from his late fatigues.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That must be a true-hearted huntsman, Essper, by the sound of his bugle.
      I never heard one played with more spirit. Hark! how fine it dies away hi
      the wood; fainter and fainter, yet how clear! It must be now half a mile
      distant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hear nothing so wonderful,&rdquo; said Essper, putting the two middle fingers
      of his right hand before his mouth and sounding a note so clear and
      beautiful, so exactly imitative of the fall which Vivian had noticed and
      admired, that for a moment he imagined that the huntsman was at his elbow.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thou art a cunning knave! do it again.&rdquo; This time Essper made the very
      wood echo. In a few minutes a horseman galloped up; he was as spruce a
      cavalier as ever pricked gay steed on the pliant grass. He was dressed in
      a green military uniform, and a gilt bugle hung by his side; his spear
      told them that he was hunting the wild boar. When he saw Vivian and Essper
      he suddenly pulled up his horse and seemed astonished.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought that his Highness had been here,&rdquo; said the huntsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one has passed us, sir,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could have sworn that his bugle sounded from this very spot,&rdquo; said the
      huntsman. &ldquo;My ear seldom deceives me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We heard a bugle to the right, sir,&rdquo; said Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thanks, my friend,&rdquo; and the huntsman was about to gallop off.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May I ask the name of his Highness?&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;We are strangers in
      this country.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That may certainly account for your ignorance,&rdquo; said the huntsman; &ldquo;but
      no one who lives in this land can be unacquainted with his Serene Highness
      the Prince of Little Lilliput, my illustrious master. I have the honour,&rdquo;
       continued the huntsman, &ldquo;of being Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse
      to his Serene Highness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis an office of great dignity,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;and one that I have no
      doubt you admirably perform; I will not stop you, sir, to admire your
      horse.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The huntsman bowed courteously and galloped off.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You see, sir,&rdquo; said Essper George, &ldquo;that my bugle has deceived even the
      Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse of his Serene Highness the Prince
      of Little Lilliput himself;&rdquo; so saying, Essper again sounded his
      instrument.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A joke may be carried too far, my good fellow,&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;A true
      huntsman like myself must not spoil a brother&rsquo;s sport, so silence your
      bugle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Now again galloped up the Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse of his
      Serene Highness the Prince of Little Lilliput. He pulled up his horse
      again apparently as much astounded as ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought that his Highness had been here.&rdquo; said the huntsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No one has passed us,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We heard a bugle to the right,&rdquo; said Essper George.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid his Serene Highness must be in distress. The whole suite are
      off the scent. It must have been his bugle, for the regulations of this
      forest are so strict that no one dare sound a blast but his Serene
      Highness.&rdquo; Away galloped the huntsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Next time I must give you up, Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One more blast, good master!&rdquo; begged Essper, in a supplicating voice.
      &ldquo;This time to the left; the confusion will be then complete.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I command you not,&rdquo; and so they rode on in silence. But it was one of
      those days when Essper could neither be silent nor subdued. Greatly
      annoyed at not being permitted to play his bugle, he amused himself
      imitating the peculiar sound of every animal that he met; a young fawn and
      various birds already followed him, and even a squirrel had perched on his
      horse&rsquo;s neck. And now they came to a small farmhouse, which was situated
      in the forest: the yard here offered great amusement to Essper. He
      neighed, and half a dozen horses&rsquo; heads immediately appeared over the
      hedge; another neigh, and they were following him in the road. A dog
      rushed out to seize the dangerous stranger and recover his charge, but
      Essper gave an amicable bark, and in a second the dog was jumping by his
      side and engaged in earnest and friendly conversation. A loud and
      continued grunt soon brought out the pigs, and meeting three or four cows
      returning home, a few lowing sounds soon seduced them from keeping their
      appointment with the dairymaid. A stupid jackass, who stared with
      astonishment at the procession, was saluted with a lusty bray, which
      immediately induced him to swell the ranks; and, as Essper passed the
      poultry-yard, he so deceitfully informed its inhabitants that they were
      about to be fed, that broods of ducks and chickens were immediately after
      him. The careful hens were terribly alarmed at the danger which their
      offspring incurred from the heels and hoofs of the quadrupeds; but while
      they were in doubt and despair a whole flock of stately geese issued in
      solemn pomp from another gate of the farmyard, and commenced a cackling
      conversation with the delighted Essper. So contagious is the force of
      example, and so great was the confidence which the hens placed in these
      pompous geese, who were not the first fools whose solemn air has deceived
      a few old females, that as soon as they perceived them in the train of the
      horseman they also trotted up to pay their respects at his levée.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was not a moment for mirth; for rushing down the road with awful
      strides appeared two sturdy and enraged husbandmen, one armed with a pike
      and the other with a pitchfork, and accompanied by a frantic female, who
      never for a moment ceased hallooing &ldquo;Murder, rape, and fire!&rdquo; everything
      but &ldquo;theft.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, Essper, here&rsquo;s a pretty scrape!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, you rascals!&rdquo; hallooed Adolph, the herdsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, you gang of thieves!&rdquo; hallooed Wilhelm, the ploughman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, you bloody murderers!&rdquo; shrieked Phillippa, the indignant mistress
      of the dairy and the poultry-yard.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, you villains!&rdquo; hallooed all three. The villains certainly made no
      attempt to escape, and in half a second the enraged household of the
      forest farmer would have seized on Essper George; but just at this crisis
      he uttered loud sounds in the respective language of every bird and beast
      about him, and suddenly they all turned round and counter-marched. Away
      rushed the terrified Adolph, the herdsman, while one of his own cows was
      on his back. Still quicker scampered off the scared Wilhelm, the
      ploughman, while one of his own steeds kicked him in his rear. Quicker
      than all these, shouting, screaming, shrieking, dashed back the unhappy
      mistress of the hen-roost, with all her subjects crowding about her; some
      on her elbow, some on her head, her lace cap destroyed, her whole dress
      disordered. The movements of the crowd were so quick that they were soon
      out of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A trophy!&rdquo; called out Essper, as he jumped off his horse and picked up
      the pike of Adolph, the herdsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A boar-spear, or I am no huntsman,&rdquo; said Vivian: &ldquo;give it me a moment!&rdquo;
       He threw it up into the air, caught it with ease, poised it with the
      practiced skill of one well used to handle the weapon, and with the same
      delight imprinted on his countenance as greets the sight of an old friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This forest, Essper, and this spear, make me remember days when I was
      vain enough to think that I had been sufficiently visited with sorrow. Ah!
      little did I then know of human misery, although I imagined I had suffered
      so much!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, the sounds of a man in distress were heard from the right
      side of the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who calls?&rdquo; cried Essper. A shout was the only answer. There was no path,
      but the underwood was low, and Vivian took his horse, an old forester,
      across it with ease. Essper&rsquo;s jibbed; Vivian found himself in a small
      green glade of about thirty feet square. It was thickly surrounded with
      lofty trees, save at the point where he had entered; and at the farthest
      corner of it, near some grey rocks, a huntsman was engaged in a desperate
      contest with a wild boar.
    </p>
    <p>
      The huntsman was on his right knee, and held his spear with both hands at
      the furious beast. It was an animal of extraordinary size and power. Its
      eyes glittered like fire. On the turf to its right a small grey mastiff,
      of powerful make, lay on its back, bleeding profusely, with its body
      ripped open. Another dog, a fawn-coloured bitch, had seized on the left
      ear of the beast; but the under tusk of the boar, which was nearly a foot
      long, had penetrated the courageous dog, and the poor creature writhed in
      agony, even while it attempted to wreak its revenge upon its enemy. The
      huntsman was nearly exhausted. Had it not been for the courage of the
      fawn-coloured dog, which, clinging to the boar, prevented it making a full
      dash at the man, he must have been gored. Vivian was off his horse in a
      minute, which, frightened at the sight of the wild boar, dashed again over
      the hedge.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Keep firm, sir!&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;do not move. I will amuse him behind, and make
      him turn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A graze of Vivian&rsquo;s spear on its back, though it did not materially injure
      the beast, for there the boar is nearly in vulnerable, annoyed it; and
      dashing off the fawn-coloured dog with great force, it turned on its new
      assailant. Now there are only two places in which the wild boar can be
      assailed with any effect; and these are just between the eyes and between
      the shoulders. Great caution, however, is necessary in aiming these blows,
      for the boar is very adroit in transfixing the weapon on his snout or his
      tusks; and if once you miss, particularly if you are not assisted by dogs,
      which Vivian was not, &lsquo;tis all over with you; for the enraged animal
      rushes in like lightning, and gored you must be.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Vivian was fresh and cool. The animal suddenly stood still and eyed
      its new enemy. Vivian was quiet, for he had no objection to give the beast
      an opportunity of retreating to its den. But retreat was not its object;
      it suddenly darted at the huntsman, who, however, was not off his guard,
      though unable, from a slight wound in his knee, to rise. Vivian again
      annoyed the boar at the rear, and the animal soon returned to him. He made
      a feint, as if he were about to strike his pike between its eyes. The
      boar, not feeling a wound which had not been inflicted, and very
      irritated, rushed at him, and he buried his spear a foot deep between its
      shoulders. The beast made one fearful struggle, and then fell down quite
      dead. The fawn-coloured bitch, though terribly wounded, gave a loud bark;
      and even the other dog, which Vivian thought had been long dead, testified
      its triumphant joy by an almost inarticulate groan. As soon as he was
      convinced that the boar was really dead, Vivian hastened to the huntsman,
      and expressed his hope that he was not seriously hurt.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A trifle, which our surgeon, who is used to these affairs, will quickly
      cure. Sir! we owe you our life!&rdquo; said the huntsman, with great dignity, as
      Vivian assisted him in rising from the ground. He was a tall man, of
      distinguished appearance; but his dress, which was the usual hunting
      costume of a German nobleman, did not indicate his quality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir, we owe you our life!&rdquo; repeated the stranger; &ldquo;five minutes more, and
      our son must have reigned in Little Lilliput.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have the honour, then, of addressing your Serene Highness. Far from
      being indebted to me, I feel that I ought to apologise for having so
      unceremoniously joined your sport.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense, man! We have killed in our time too many of these gentry to be
      ashamed of owning that, had it not been for you, one of them would at last
      have revenged the species. But many as are the boars that we have killed
      or eaten, we never saw a more furious or powerful animal than the present.
      Why, sir, you must be one of the best hands at the spear in all
      Christendom!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indifferently good, your Highness: your Highness forgets that the animal
      was already exhausted by your assault.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, there is something in that; but it was neatly done, man; it was
      neatly done. You are fond of the sport, we think?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have had some practice, but illness has so weakened me that I have
      given up the forest.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pity! and on a second examination we observe that you are no hunter. This
      coat is not for the free forest; but how came you by the pike?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am travelling to the next post town, to which I have sent on my
      luggage. I am getting fast to the south; and as for this pike, my servant
      got it this morning from some peasant in a brawl, and was showing it to me
      when I heard your Highness call. I really think now that Providence must
      have sent it. I certainly could not have done you much service with my
      riding whip. Hilloa! Essper, where are you?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here, noble sir! here, here. Why, what have you got there? The horses
      have jibbed, and will not stir. I can stay no longer: they may go to the
      devil!&rdquo; So saying, Vivian&rsquo;s valet dashed over the underwood, and leaped at
      the foot of the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In God&rsquo;s name, is this thy servant?&rdquo; asked his Highness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In good faith am I,&rdquo; said Essper; &ldquo;his valet, his cook, and his
      secretary, all in one; and also his Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la
      Chasse, as a puppy with a bugle horn told me this morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A merry knave!&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;and talking of a puppy with a bugle
      horn reminds us how unaccountably we have been deserted to-day by a suite
      that never yet were wanting. We are indeed astonished. Our bugle, we fear,
      has turned traitor.&rdquo; So saying, the Prince executed a blast with great
      skill, which Vivian immediately recognised as the one which Essper George
      had imitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, my good friend,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;we cannot hear of your
      passing through our land without visiting our good castle. We would that
      we could better testify the obligation that we feel under to you in any
      other way than by the offer of an hospitality which all gentlemen, by
      right, can command. But your presence would, indeed, give us sincere
      pleasure. You must not refuse us. Your looks, as well as your prowess,
      prove your blood; and we are quite sure no cloth-merchant&rsquo;s order will
      suffer by your not hurrying to your proposed point of destination. We are
      not wrong, we think, though your accent is good, in supposing that we are
      conversing with an English gentleman. But here they come.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As he spoke, three or four horsemen, at the head of whom was the young
      huntsman whom the travellers had met in the morning, sprang into the
      glade.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Arnelm!&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;when before was the Jagd Junker&rsquo;s ear so
      bad that he could not discover his master&rsquo;s bugle, even though the wind
      were against him?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth, your Highness, we have heard bugles enough this morning. Who is
      violating the forests laws we know not; but that another bugle is
      sounding, and played; St. Hubert forgive me for saying so; with as great
      skill as your Highness&rsquo;, is certain. Myself, Von Neuwied, and Lintz have
      been galloping over the whole forest. The rest, I doubt not, will be up
      directly.&rdquo; The Jagd Junker blew his own bugle.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the course of five minutes, about twenty other horsemen, all dressed in
      the same uniform, had arrived; all complaining of their wild chases after
      the Prince in every other part of the forest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must be the Wild Huntsman himself!&rdquo; swore an old hand. This solution
      of the mystery satisfied all.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;whoever it may be, had it not been for the
      timely presence of this gentleman, you must have changed your green
      jackets for mourning coats, and our bugle would have sounded no more in
      the forest of our fathers. Here, Arnelm! cut up the beast, and remember
      that the left shoulder is the quarter of honour, and belongs to this
      stranger, not less honoured because unknown.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      All present took off their caps and bowed to Vivian, who took this
      opportunity of informing the Prince who he was.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; continued his Highness, &ldquo;Mr. Grey will accompany us to our
      castle; nay, sir, we can take no refusal. We will send on to the town for
      your luggage. Arnelm, do you look to this! And, honest friend,&rdquo; said the
      Prince, turning to Essper George, &ldquo;we commend you to the special care of
      our friend Von Neuwied; and so, gentlemen, with stout hearts and spurs to
      your steeds, to the castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0058">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      The cavalcade proceeded for some time at a brisk but irregular pace, until
      they arrived at a less wild and wooded part of the forest. The Prince of
      Little Lilliput reined in his steed as he entered a broad avenue of purple
      beeches, at the end of which, though at a considerable distance, Vivian
      perceived the towers and turrets of a Gothic edifice glittering in the
      sunshine.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Welcome to Turriparva!&rdquo; said his Highness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I assure your Highness,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;that I view with no unpleasant
      feeling the prospect of a reception in any civilised mansion; for to say
      the truth, for the last eight-and-forty hours Fortune has not favoured me
      either in my researches after a bed, or that which some think still more
      important than repose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Is it so?&rdquo; said the Prince. &ldquo;Why, we should have thought by your home
      thrust this morning that you were as fresh as the early lark. In good
      faith, it was a pretty stroke! And whence come you, then, good sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Know you a most insane and drunken idiot who styles himself the Grand
      Duke of Johannisberger?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no!&rdquo; said the Prince, staring in Vivian&rsquo;s face earnestly, and then
      laughing. &ldquo;And you have actually fallen among that mad crew. A most
      excellent adventure! Arnelm! why, man, where art thou? Ride up! Behold in
      the person of this gentleman a new victim to the overwhelming hospitality
      of our Uncle of the Wines. And did they confer a title on you on the spot?
      Say, art thou Elector, or Palsgrave, or Baron; or, failing in thy devoirs,
      as once did our good cousin Arnelm, confess that thou wert ordained with
      becoming reverence the Archprimate of Puddledrink. Eh! Arnelm, is not that
      the style thou bearest at the Palace of the Wines?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So it would seem, your Highness. I think the title was conferred on me
      the same night that your Highness mistook the Grand Duke&rsquo;s proboscis for
      Oberon&rsquo;s horn, and committed treason not yet pardoned.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good! good! thou hast us there. Truly a good memory is often as ready a
      friend as a sharp wit. Wit is not thy strong point, friend Arnelm; and yet
      it is strange that in the sharp encounter of ready tongues and idle
      logomachies thou hast sometimes the advantage. But, nevertheless, rest
      assured, good cousin Arnelm, that wit is not thy strong point.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is well for me that all are not of the same opinion as your Serene
      Highness,&rdquo; said the young Jagd Junker, somewhat nettled; for he prided
      himself on his repartees.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince was much diverted with Vivian&rsquo;s account of his last night&rsquo;s
      adventure; and our hero learnt from his Highness that his late host was no
      less a personage than the cousin of the Prince of Little Lilliput, an old
      German Baron, who passed his time, with some neighbours of congenial
      temperament, in hunting the wild boar in the morning, and speculating on
      the flavours of the fine Rhenish wines during the rest of the day. &ldquo;He and
      his companions,&rdquo; continued the Prince, &ldquo;will enable you to form some idea
      of the German nobility half a century ago. The debauch of last night was
      the usual carouse which crowned the exploits of each day when we were a
      boy. The revolution has rendered all these customs obsolete. Would that it
      had not sent some other things equally out of fashion!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment the Prince sounded his bugle, and the gates of the castle,
      which were not more than twenty yards distant, were immediately thrown
      open. The whole cavalcade set spurs to their steeds, and dashed at full
      gallop over the hollow-sounding drawbridge into the courtyard of the
      castle. A crowd of serving-men, in green liveries, instantly appeared, and
      Arnelm and Von Neuwied, jumping from their saddles, respectively held the
      stirrup and the bridle of the Prince as he dismounted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where is Master Rodolph?&rdquo; asked his Highness, with a loud voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So please your Serene Highness, I am here!&rdquo; answered a very thin treble;
      and, bustling through the surrounding crowd, came forward the owner of the
      voice. Master Rodolph was not much above five feet high, but he was nearly
      as broad as he was long. Though more than middle-aged, an almost infantile
      smile played upon his broad fair face, to which his small turn-up nose,
      large green goggle-eyes, and unmeaning mouth gave no expression. His long
      hair hung over his shoulders, the flaxen locks in some places maturing
      into grey. In compliance with the taste of his master, this most
      unsportsman-like-looking steward was clad in a green jerkin, on the right
      arm of which was embroidered a giant&rsquo;s head, the crest of the Little
      Lilliputs.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly, Rodolph, we have received some scratch in the chase to-day, and
      need your assistance. The best of surgeons, we assure you, Mr. Grey, if
      you require one: and look you that the blue chamber be prepared for this
      gentleman; and we shall have need of our cabinet this evening. See that
      all this be done, and inform Prince Maximilian that we would speak with
      him. And look you, Master Rodolph, there is one in this company; what call
      you your servant&rsquo;s name, sir? Essper George! &lsquo;tis well: look you, Rodolph,
      see that our friend Essper George be well provided for. We know that we
      can trust him to your good care. And now, gentlemen, at sunset we meet in
      the Giants&rsquo; Hall.&rdquo; So saying, his Highness bowed to the party; and taking
      Vivian by the arm, and followed by Arnelm and Von Neuwied, he ascended a
      stair case which opened into the court, and then mounted into a covered
      gallery which ran round the whole building. The interior wall of the
      gallery was alternately ornamented with stags&rsquo; heads or other trophies of
      the chase, and coats of arms blazoned in stucco. The Prince did the
      honours of the castle to Vivian with great courtesy. The armoury and the
      hall, the knights chamber, and even the donjon-keep, were all examined;
      and when Vivian had sufficiently admired the antiquity of the structure
      and the beauty of the situation, the Prince, having proceeded down a long
      corridor, opened the door into a small chamber, which he introduced to
      Vivian as his cabinet. The furniture of this room was rather quaint, and
      not unpleasing. The wainscot and ceiling were painted alike, of a light
      green colour, and were richly carved and gilt. The walls were hung with
      green velvet, of which material were also the chairs, and a sofa, which
      was placed under a large and curiously-cut looking glass. The lower panes
      of the windows of this room were of stained glass, of vivid tints; but the
      upper panes were untinged, in order that the light should not be disturbed
      which fell through them upon two magnificent pictures; one a
      hunting-piece, by Schneiders, and the other a portrait of an armed
      chieftain on horseback, by Lucas Cranach.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now the door opened, and Master Rodolph entered, carrying in his hand
      a white wand, and bowing very reverently as he ushered in servants bearing
      a cold collation. As he entered, it was with difficulty that he could
      settle his countenance into the due and requisite degree of gravity; and
      so often was the fat steward on the point of bursting into laughter, as he
      arranged the setting out of the refreshments on the table, that the
      Prince, with whom he was at the same time both a favourite and a butt, at
      last noticed his unusual and unmanageable risibility.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Rodolph, what ails thee? Hast thou just discovered the point of some
      good saying of yesterday?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The steward could now contain his laughter no longer, and he gave vent to
      his emotion in a most treble &ldquo;He! he! he!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Speak, man, in the name of St. Hubert, and on the word of as stout a
      huntsman as ever yet crossed horse. Speak, we say; what ails thee?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He! he! he! in truth, a most comical knave! I beg your Serene Highness
      ten thousand most humble pardons, but, in truth, a more comical knave did
      I never see. How call you him? Essper George, I think; he! he! he! In
      truth, your Highness was right when you styled him a merry knave; in
      truth, a most comical knave; he! he! a very funny knave! He says, your
      Highness, that I am like a snake in a consumption! he! he! he! In truth, a
      most comical knave!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Rodolph, so long as you do not quarrel with his jokes, they shall
      pass as true wit. But why comes not our son? Have you bidden the Prince
      Maximilian to our presence?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth have I, your Highness; but he was engaged at the moment with Mr.
      Sievers, and therefore he could not immediately attend my bidding.
      Nevertheless, he bade me deliver to your Serene Highness his dutiful
      affection, saying that he would soon have the honour of bending his knee
      unto your Serene Highness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He never said any such nonsense. At least, if he did, he must be changed
      since last we hunted.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth, your Highness, I cannot aver, upon my conscience as a faithful
      steward, that such were the precise words and exact phraseology of his
      Highness the Prince Maximilian. But in the time of the good Prince, your
      father, whose memory be ever blessed, such were the words and style of
      message which I was schooled and instructed by Mr. von Lexicon, your
      Serene Highness&rsquo; most honoured tutor, to bear unto the good Prince your
      father, whose memory be ever blessed, when I had the great fortune of
      being your Serene Highness&rsquo; most particular page, and it fell to my lot to
      have the pleasant duty of informing the good Prince your father, whose
      memory be ever blessed&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Enough! but Sievers is not Von Lexicon, and Maximilian, we trust, is&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Papa! papa! dearest papa!&rdquo; shouted a young lad, as he dashed open the
      door, and, rushing into the room, threw his arms round the Prince&rsquo;s neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My darling!&rdquo; said the father, forgetting at this moment of genuine
      feeling the pompous plural in which he had hitherto spoken of himself. The
      Prince fondly kissed his child. The boy was about ten years of age,
      exquisitely handsome. Courage, not audacity, was imprinted on his noble
      features.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Papa! may I hunt with you to-morrow?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What says Mr. Sievers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! Mr. Sievers says I am excellent; I assure you, upon my honour, he
      does, I heard you come home; but though I was dying to see you, I would
      not run out till I had finished my Roman History. I say, papa! what a
      grand fellow Brutus was; what a grand thing it is to be a patriot! I
      intend to be a patriot myself, and to kill the Grand Duke of Reisenburg.
      Who is that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend, Max, Mr. Grey. Speak to him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am happy to see you at Turriparva, sir,&rdquo; said the boy, bowing to Vivian
      with dignity. &ldquo;Have you been hunting with his Highness this morning?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can hardly say I have.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Max, I have received a slight wound to-day. Do not look alarmed; it is
      slight. I only mention it because, had it not been for this gentleman, it
      is very probable you would never have seen your father again. He has saved
      my life!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Saved your life! saved my papa&rsquo;s life!&rdquo; said the young Prince, seizing
      Vivian&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;Oh! sir, what can I do for you? Mr. Sievers!&rdquo; said the
      boy, with eagerness, to a gentleman who entered the room; &ldquo;Mr. Sievers!
      here is a young lord who has saved papa&rsquo;s life!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Sievers was a tall, thin man, about forty, with a clear sallow
      complexion, a high forehead, on which a few wrinkles were visible, bright
      keen eyes, and a quantity of grey curling hair, which was combed back off
      his forehead, and fell down over his shoulders. He was introduced to
      Vivian as the Prince&rsquo;s particular friend; and then he listened, apparently
      with interest, to his Highness&rsquo; narrative of the morning&rsquo;s adventure, his
      danger, and his rescue. Young Maximilian never took his large, dark-blue
      eyes off his father while he was speaking, and when he had finished the
      boy rushed to Vivian and threw his arms round his neck. Vivian was
      delighted with the affection of the child, who whispered to him in a low
      voice, &ldquo;I know what you are!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What, my young friend?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! I know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But tell me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You thought I should not find out: you are a patriot!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope I am,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;but travelling in a foreign country is hardly
      a proof of it. Perhaps you do not know that I am an Englishman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An Englishman!&rdquo; said the child, with an air of great disappointment. &ldquo;I
      thought you were a patriot! I am one. Do you know I will tell you a
      secret. You must promise not to tell, though. Promise, upon your word!
      Well, then,&rdquo; said the urchin, whispering with great energy in Vivian&rsquo;s ear
      through his hollow fist, &ldquo;I hate the Grand Duke of Reisenburg, and I mean
      to stab him to the heart.&rdquo; So saying, the little Prince grated his teeth
      with an expression of bitter detestation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What the deuce is the matter with the child!&rdquo; thought Vivian; but at this
      moment his conversation with him was interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I to believe this young gentleman, my dear Sievers,&rdquo; asked the Prince,
      &ldquo;when he tells me that his conduct has met your approbation?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your son, Prince,&rdquo; answered Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;can only speak truth. His
      excellence is proved by my praising him to his face.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The young Maximilian, when Mr. Sievers had ceased speaking, stood
      blushing, with his eyes fixed on the ground; and the delighted parent,
      catching his child up in his arms, embraced him with unaffected fondness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now, all this time Master Rodolph is waiting for his patient. By St.
      Hubert, you can none of you think me very ill! Your pardon, Mr. Grey, for
      leaving you. My friend Sievers will, I am sure, be delighted to make you
      feel at ease at Turriparva. Max, come with me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian found in Mr. Sievers an interesting companion; nothing of the
      pedant and much of the philosopher. Their conversation was of course
      chiefly on topics of local interest, anecdotes of the castle and the
      country, of Vivian&rsquo;s friends, the drunken Johannisberger and his crew, and
      such matters; but there was a keenness of satire in some of Mr. Sievers&rsquo;
      observations which was highly amusing, and enough passed to make Vivian
      desire opportunities of conversing with him at greater length, and on
      subjects of greater interest. They were at present disturbed by Essper
      George entering the room to inform Vivian that his luggage had arrived
      from the village, and that the blue chamber was now prepared for his
      presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We shall meet, I suppose, in the hall, Mr. Sievers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No; I shall not dine there. If you remain at Turriparva, which I trust
      you will. I shall be happy to see you in my room. If it have no other
      inducement to gain it the honour of your visit, it has here, at least, the
      recommendation of singularity; there is, at any rate, no other chamber
      like it in this good castle.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The business of the toilet is sooner performed for a hunting party in a
      German forest than for a state dinner at Château Desir, and Vivian was
      ready before he was summoned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His Serene Highness has commenced his progress towards the hall.&rdquo;
       announced Essper George to Vivian in a treble voice, and bowing with
      ceremony as he offered to lead the way with a white wand waving in his
      right hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall attend his Highness,&rdquo; said his master; &ldquo;but before I do, if that
      white wand be not immediately laid aside it will be broken about your
      back.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Broken about my back! what, the wand of office, sir, of your steward!
      Master Rodolph says that, in truth, a steward is but half himself who hath
      not his wand: methinks when his rod of office is wanting, his Highness of
      Lilliput&rsquo;s steward is but unequally divided. In truth, he is stout enough
      to be Aaron&rsquo;s wand that swallowed up all the rest. But has your nobleness
      any serious objection to my carrying a wand? It gives such an air!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Giants&rsquo; Hall was a Gothic chamber of imposing appearance; the oaken
      rafters of the curiously-carved roof rested on the grim heads of gigantic
      figures of the same material. These statues extended the length of the
      hall on each side; they were elaborately sculptured and highly polished,
      and each one held in its outstretched arm a blazing and aromatic torch.
      Above them, small windows of painted glass admitted a light which was no
      longer necessary at the banquet to which we are now about to introduce the
      reader. Over the great entrance doors was a gallery, from which a band of
      trumpeters, arrayed in ample robes of flowing scarlet, sent forth many a
      festive and martial strain. More than fifty individuals, all wearing
      hunting dresses of green cloth on which the giant&rsquo;s head was carefully
      emblazoned, were already seated in the hall when Vivian entered: he was
      conducted to the upper part of the chamber, and a seat was allotted him on
      the left hand of the Prince. His Highness had not arrived, but a chair of
      state, placed under a crimson canopy, denoted the style of its absent
      owner; and a stool, covered with velvet of the same regal colour, and
      glistening with gold lace, announced that the presence of Prince
      Maximilian was expected. While Vivian was musing in astonishment at the
      evident affectation of royal pomp which pervaded the whole establishment
      of the Prince of Little Lilliput, the trumpeters in the gallery suddenly
      commenced a triumphant flourish. All rose as the princely procession
      entered the hall: first came Master Rodolph twirling his white wand with
      the practised pride of a drum-major, and looking as pompous as a
      turkey-cock in a storm; six footmen in splendid liveries, two by two,
      immediately followed him. A page heralded the Prince Maximilian, and then
      came the Serene father; the Jagd Junker, and four or five other gentlemen
      of the court, formed the suite.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Highness ascended the throne, Prince Maximilian was on his right, and
      Vivian had the high honour of the left hand; the Jagd Junker seated
      himself next to our hero. The table was profusely covered, chiefly with
      the sports of the forest, and the celebrated wild boar was not forgotten.
      Few minutes had elapsed ere Vivian perceived that his Highness was always
      served on bended knee; surprised at this custom, which even the mightiest
      and most despotic monarchs seldom exact, and still more surprised at the
      contrast which all this state afforded to the natural ease and affable
      amiability of the Prince, Vivian ventured to ask his neighbour Arnelm
      whether the banquet of to-day was in celebration of any particular event
      of general or individual interest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By no means,&rdquo; said the Jagd Junker, &ldquo;this is the usual style of the
      Prince&rsquo;s daily meal, except that to-day there is, perhaps, rather less
      state and fewer guests than usual, in consequence of many of our
      fellow-subjects having left us with the purpose of attending a great
      hunting party, which is now holding in the dominions of his Highness&rsquo;
      cousin, the Duke of Micromegas.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      When the more necessary but, as most hold, the less delightful part of
      banqueting was over, and the numerous serving-men had removed the more
      numerous dishes of wild boar, red deer, roebuck, and winged game, a stiff
      Calvinistic-looking personage rose and delivered a long and most grateful
      grace, to which the sturdy huntsmen listened with a due mixture of piety
      and impatience. When his starch reverence, who in his black coat looked
      among the huntsmen very like (as Essper George observed) a blackbird among
      a set of moulting canaries, had finished, an old man, with long snow-white
      hair&mdash;and a beard of the same colour&mdash;rose from his seat, and,
      with a glass in his hand, bowing first to his Highness with great respect
      and then to his companions, with an air of condescension, gave in a stout
      voice, &ldquo;The Prince!&rdquo; A loud shout was immediately raised, and all quaffed
      with rapture the health of a ruler whom evidently they adored. Master
      Rodolph now brought forward an immense silver goblet full of some crafty
      compound, from its odour doubtless delicious. The Prince held the goblet
      by its two massy handles, and then said in a loud voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friends, the Giant&rsquo;s head! and he who sneers at its frown may he rue
      its bristles!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The toast was welcomed with a cry of triumph. When the noise had subsided
      the Jagd Junker rose, and prefacing the intended pledge by a few
      observations as remarkable for the delicacy of their sentiments as the
      elegance of their expression, he gave, pointing to Vivian, &ldquo;The Guest! and
      may the Prince never want a stout arm at a strong push!&rdquo; The sentiment was
      again echoed by the lusty voices of all present, and particularly by his
      Highness. As Vivian shortly returned thanks and modestly apologised for
      the German of a foreigner, he could not refrain from remembering the last
      time when he was placed in the same situation; it was when the treacherous
      Lord Courtown had drank success to Mr. Vivian Grey&rsquo;s maiden speech in a
      bumper of claret at the political orgies of Château Desir. Could he really
      be the same individual as the daring youth who then organised the crazy
      councils of those ambitious, imbecile grey-beards? What was he then? What
      had happened since? What was he now? He turned from the comparison with
      feelings of sickening disgust, and it was with difficulty that his
      countenance could assume the due degree of hilarity which befitted the
      present occasion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Truly, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;your German would pass current at
      Weimar. Arnelm, good cousin Arnelm, we must trouble thy affectionate duty
      to marshal and regulate the drinking devoirs of our kind subjects
      to-night; for by the advice of our trusty surgeon, Master Rodolph, of much
      fame, we shall refrain this night from our accustomed potations, and
      betake ourselves to the solitude of our cabinet; a solitude in good sooth,
      unless we can persuade you to accompany us, kind sir,&rdquo; said the Prince,
      turning to Mr. Grey. &ldquo;Methinks eight-and-forty hours without rest, and a
      good part spent in the mad walls of our cousin of Johannisberger, are
      hardly the best preparatives for a drinking bout; unless, after Oberon&rsquo;s
      horn, ye may fairly be considered to be in practice. Nevertheless, I
      advise the cabinet and a cup of Rodolph&rsquo;s coffee. What sayest thou?&rdquo;
       Vivian acceded to the Prince&rsquo;s proposition with eagerness; and accompanied
      by Prince Maximilian, and preceded by the little steward, who, surrounded
      by his serving-men, very much resembled a planet eclipsed by his
      satellites, they left the hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis almost a pity to shut out the moon on such a night,&rdquo; said the
      Prince, as he drew a large green velvet curtain from the windows of the
      cabinet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Tis a magnificent night!&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;how fine the effect of the light
      is upon the picture of the warrior. The horse seems quite living, and its
      fierce rider actually frowns upon us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He may well frown,&rdquo; said the Prince of Little Lilliput, in a voice of
      deep melancholy; and he hastily redrew the curtain. In a moment he started
      from the chair on which he had just seated himself, and again admitted the
      moonlight. &ldquo;Am I really afraid of an old picture? No, no; it has not yet
      come to that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was uttered in a distinct voice, and of course excited the
      astonishment of Vivian, who, however, had too much discretion to evince
      his surprise, or to take any measure by which his curiosity might be
      satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      His companion seemed instantly conscious of the seeming singularity of his
      expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are surprised at my words, good sir,&rdquo; said his Highness, as he paced
      very rapidly up and down the small chamber; &ldquo;you are surprised at my
      words; but, sir, my ancestor&rsquo;s brow was guarded by a diadem!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Which was then well won, Prince, and is now worthily worn.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By whom? where? how?&rdquo; asked the Prince, in a rapid voice. &ldquo;Maximilian,&rdquo;
       continued his Highness, in a more subdued tone; &ldquo;Maximilian, my own love,
      leave us; go to Mr. Sievers. God bless you, my only boy. Good night!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good night, dearest papa, and down with the Grand Duke of Reisenburg!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He echoes the foolish zeal of my fond followers,&rdquo; said the Prince, as his
      son left the room. &ldquo;The idle parade to which their illegal loyalty still
      clings; my own manners, the relics of former days; habits will not change
      like stations; all these have deceived you, sir. You have mistaken me for
      a monarch; I should be one. A curse light on me the hour I can mention it
      without a burning blush. Oh, shame! shame on the blood of my father&rsquo;s son!
      Can my mouth own that I once was one? Yes, sir! you see before you the
      most injured, the least enviable of human beings. I am a mediatised
      Prince!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had resided too long in Germany to be ignorant of the meaning of
      this title, with which, perhaps, few of our readers may be acquainted. A
      mediatised Prince is an unhappy victim of those Congresses which, among
      other good and evil, purged with great effect the ancient German political
      system. By the regulations then determined on, that country was freed at
      one fell swoop from the vexatious and harassing dominion of the various
      petty Princes who exercised absolute sovereignties over little nations of
      fifty thousand souls. These independent sovereigns became subjects; and
      either swelled, by their mediatisation, the territories of some already
      powerful potentate, or transmuted into a state of importance some more
      fortunate petty ruler than themselves, whose independence, through the
      exertions of political intrigue or family influence, had been preserved
      inviolate. In most instances, the concurrence of these little rulers in
      their worldly degradation was obtained by a lavish grant of official
      emoluments or increase of territorial possessions; and the mediatised
      Prince, instead of being an impoverished and uninfluential sovereign,
      became a wealthy and powerful subject. But so dominant in the heart of man
      is the love of independent dominion, that even with these temptations few
      of the petty princes could have been induced to have parted with their
      cherished sceptres, had they not been conscious that, in case of
      contumacy, the resolutions of a Diet would have been enforced by the
      armies of an emperor. As it is, few of them have yet given up the outward
      and visible signs of regal sway. The throne is still preserved and the
      tiara still revered. They seldom frequent the courts of their sovereigns,
      and scarcely condescend to notice the attentions of their fellow nobility.
      Most of them expend their increased revenues in maintaining the splendour
      of their little courts at their ancient capitals, or in swelling the ranks
      of their retainers at their solitary forest castles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince of Little Lilliput was the first mediatised sovereign that
      Vivian had ever met. At another time, and under other circumstances, he
      might have smiled at the idle parade and useless pomp which he had this
      day witnessed, or moralised on that weakness of human nature which seemed
      to consider the inconvenient appendages of a throne as the great end for
      which power was to be coveted; but at the present moment he only saw a
      kind and, as he believed, estimable individual disquieted and distressed.
      It was painful to witness the agitation of the Prince, and Vivian felt it
      necessary to make some observations, which, from his manner, expressed
      more than they meant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir,&rdquo; said his Highness, &ldquo;your sympathy consoles me. Do not imagine that
      I can misunderstand it; it does you honour. You add by this to the many
      favours you have already conferred on me by saving my life and accepting
      my hospitality. I sincerely hope that your departure hence will be
      postponed to the last possible moment. Your conversation and your company
      have made me pass a more cheerful day than I am accustomed to. All here
      love me; but, with the exception of Sievers, I have no companion; and
      although I esteem his principles and his talents, there is no congeniality
      in our tastes, or in our tempers. As for the rest, a more devoted band
      cannot be conceived; but they think only of one thing, the lost dignity of
      their ruler; and although this concentration of their thoughts on one
      subject may gratify my pride, it does not elevate my spirit. But this is a
      subject on which in future we will not converse. One of the curses of my
      unhappy lot is, that a thousand circumstances daily occur which prevent me
      forgetting it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince rose from the table, and pressing with his right hand on part
      of the wall, the door of a small closet sprung open; the interior was
      lined with crimson velvet. He took out of it a cushion of the same regal
      material, on which reposed, in solitary magnificence, a golden coronet of
      antique workmanship.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The crown of my fathers,&rdquo; said his Highness, as he placed the treasure
      with great reverence on the table, &ldquo;won by fifty battles and lost without
      a blow! Yet in my youth I was deemed no dastard; and I have shed more
      blood for my country in one day than he who claims to be my suzerain in
      the whole of his long career of undeserved prosperity. Ay, this is the
      curse; the ancestor of my present sovereign was that warrior&rsquo;s serf!&rdquo; The
      Prince pointed to the grim chieftain, whose stout helmet Vivian now
      perceived was encircled by a crown similar to the one which was now lying
      before him. &ldquo;Had I been the subject, had I been obliged to acknowledge the
      sway of a Caesar, I might have endured it with resignation. Had I been
      forced to yield to the legions of an Emperor, a noble resistance might
      have consoled me for the clanking of my chains. But to sink without a
      struggle, the victim of political intrigue; to become the bondsman of one
      who was my father&rsquo;s slave; for such was Reisenburg, even in my own
      remembrance, our unsuccessful rival; this was too had. It rankles in my
      heart, and unless I can be revenged I shall sink under it. To have lost my
      dominions would have been nothing. But revenge I will have! It is yet in
      my power to gain for an enslaved people the liberty I have myself lost.
      Yes! the enlightened spirit of the age shall yet shake the quavering
      councils of the Reisenburg cabal. I will, in truth I have already seconded
      the just, the unanswerable demands of an oppressed and insulted people,
      and, ere six months are over, I trust to see the convocation of a free and
      representative council in the capital of the petty monarch to whom I have
      been betrayed. The chief of Reisenburg has, in his eagerness to gain his
      grand ducal crown, somewhat overstepped the mark.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Besides myself, there are no less than three other powerful princes whose
      dominions have been devoted to the formation of his servile duchy. We are
      all animated by the same spirit, all intent upon the same end. We have all
      used, and are using, our influence as powerful nobles to gain for our
      fellow-subjects their withheld rights; rights which belong to them as men,
      not merely as Germans. Within this week I have forwarded to the Residence
      a memorial subscribed by myself, my relatives, the other princes, and a
      powerful body of discontented nobles, requesting the immediate grant of a
      constitution similar to those of Wirtemburg and Bavaria. My companions in
      misfortune are inspirited by my joining them. Had I been wise I should
      have joined them sooner; but until this moment I have been the dupe of the
      artful conduct of an unprincipled Minister. My eyes, however, are now
      open. The Grand Duke and his crafty counsellor, whose name shall not
      profane my lips, already tremble. Part of the people, emboldened by our
      representations, have already refused to answer an unconstitutional
      taxation. I have no doubt that he must yield. Whatever may be the
      inclination of the Courts of Vienna or St. Petersburg, rest assured that
      the liberty of Germany will meet with no opponent except political
      intrigue; and that Metternich is too well acquainted with the spirit which
      is now only slumbering in the bosom of the German nation to run the
      slightest risk of exciting it by the presence of foreign legions. No, no!
      that mode of treatment may do very well for Naples, or Poland, or Spain;
      but the moment that a Croat or a Cossack shall encamp upon the Rhine or
      the Elbe, for the purpose of supporting the unadulterated tyranny of their
      new-fangled Grand Dukes, that moment Germany becomes a great and united
      nation. The greatest enemy of the prosperity of Germany is the natural
      disposition of her sons; but that disposition, while it does now, and may
      for ever, hinder us from being a great people, will at the same time
      infallibly prevent us from ever becoming a degraded one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment, this moment of pleasing anticipation of public virtue and
      private revenge, Master Rodolph entered, and prevented Vivian from gaining
      any details of the history of his host. The little round steward informed
      his master that a horseman had just arrived, bearing for his Highness a
      despatch of importance, which he insisted upon delivering into the
      Prince&rsquo;s own hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whence comes he?&rdquo; asked his Highness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth, your Serene Highness, that were hard to say, inasmuch as the
      messenger refuses to inform us.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Admit him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A man whose jaded looks proved that he had travelled far that day was soon
      ushered into the room, and, bowing to the Prince, delivered to him in
      silence a letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From whom comes this?&rdquo; asked the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will itself inform your Highness,&rdquo; was the only answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My friend, you are a trusty messenger, and have been well trained.
      Rodolph, look that this gentleman be well lodged and attended.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thank your Highness,&rdquo; said the messenger, &ldquo;but I do not tarry here. I
      wait no answer, and my only purpose in seeing you was to perform my
      commission to the letter, by delivering this paper into your own hands.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As you please, sir; you must be the best judge of your own time; but we
      like not strangers to leave our gates while our drawbridge is yet echoing
      with their entrance steps.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince and Vivian were again alone. Astonishment and agitation were
      visible on his Highness&rsquo; countenance as he threw his eye over the letter.
      At length he folded it up, put it into his breast-pocket and tried to
      resume conversation; but the effort was both evident and unsuccessful. In
      another moment the letter was again taken out, and again read with not
      less emotion than accompanied its first perusal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear I have wearied you, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said his Highness; &ldquo;it was
      inconsiderate in me not to remember that you require repose.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was not sorry to have an opportunity of retiring, so he quickly
      took the hint, and wished his Highness agreeable dreams.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0059">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      No one but an adventurous traveller can know the luxury of sleep. There is
      not a greater fallacy in the world than the common creed that sweet sleep
      is labour&rsquo;s guerdon. Mere regular, corporeal labour may certainly procure
      us a good, sound, refreshing slumber, disturbed often by the consciousness
      of the monotonous duties of the morrow; but how sleep the other great
      labourers of this laborious world? Where is the sweet sleep of the
      politician? After hours of fatigue in his office and hours of exhaustion
      in the House, he gains his pillow; and a brief, feverish night, disturbed
      by the triumph of a cheer and the horrors of a reply. Where is the sweet
      sleep of the poet? We all know how harassing are the common dreams which
      are made up of incoherent images of our daily life, in which the actors
      are individuals that we know, and whose conduct generally appears to be
      regulated by principles which we can comprehend. How much more enervating
      and destroying must be the slumber of that man who dreams of an imaginary
      world! waking, with a heated and excited spirit, to mourn over some
      impressive incident of the night, which is nevertheless forgotten, or to
      collect some inexplicable plot which has been revealed in sleep, and has
      fled from the memory as the eyelids have opened. Where is the sweet sleep
      of the artist? of the lawyer? Where, indeed, of any human being to whom
      to-morrow brings its necessary duties? Sleep is the enemy of Care, and
      Care is the constant companion of regular labour, mental or bodily.
    </p>
    <p>
      But your traveller, your adventurous traveller, careless of the future,
      reckless of the past, with a mind interested by the world, from the
      immense and various character which that world presents to him, and not by
      his own stake in any petty or particular contingency; wearied by
      delightful fatigue, daily occasioned by varying means and from varying
      causes; with the consciousness that no prudence can regulate the fortunes
      of the morrow, and with no curiosity to discover what those fortunes may
      be, from a conviction that it is utterly impossible to ascertain them;
      perfectly easy whether he lie in a mountain-hut, or a royal palace; and
      reckless alike of the terrors and chances of storm and bandits, seeing
      that he has a fair chance of meeting both with security and enjoyment;
      this is the fellow who, throwing himself upon a down couch or his mule&rsquo;s
      pack-saddle, with equal eagerness and equal sangfroid, sinks into a
      repose, in which he is never reminded by the remembrance of an appointment
      or an engagement for the next day, a duel, a marriage, or a dinner, the
      three perils of man, that he has the misfortune of being mortal; and wakes
      not to combat care, but only to feel that he is fresher and more vigorous
      than he was the night before; and that, come what come may, he is, at any
      rate, sure this day of seeing different faces, and of improvising his
      unpremeditated part upon a different scene.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have now both philosophically accounted and politely apologised for the
      loud and unfashionable snore which sounded in the blue chamber about five
      minutes after Vivian Grey had entered that most comfortable apartment. In
      about twelve hours&rsquo; time he was scolding Essper George for having presumed
      to wake him so early, quite unconscious that he had enjoyed anything more
      than a twenty minutes&rsquo; doze.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I should not have come in, sir, only they are all out. They were off by
      six o&rsquo;clock this morning, sir; most part at least. The Prince has gone; I
      do not know whether he went with them, but Master Rodolph has given me&mdash;I
      breakfasted with Master Rodolph. Holy Virgin! what quarters we have got
      into!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To the point; what of the Prince?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His Highness has left the castle, and desired Master Rodolph; if your
      Grace had only seen Master Rodolph tipsy last night; he rolled about like
      a turbot in a tornado.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What of the Prince?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Prince desired this letter to be given to you, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian read the note, which supposed that, of course, he would not wish to
      join the chase this morning, and regretted that the writer was obliged to
      ride out for a few hours to visit a neighbouring nobleman, but requested
      the pleasure of his guest&rsquo;s company at a private dinner in the cabinet on
      his return.
    </p>
    <p>
      After breakfast Vivian called on Mr. Sievers. He found that gentleman
      busied in his library.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You never hunt, I suppose, Mr. Sievers?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never. His Highness, I apprehend, is out this morning; the beautiful
      weather continues; surely we never had such a season. As for myself, I
      almost have given up my indoor pursuits. The sun is not the light of
      study. Let us take our caps and have a stroll.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The gentlemen accordingly left the library, and proceeding through a
      different gate to that by which Vivian had entered the castle, they came
      upon a part of the forest in which the timber and brushwood had been in a
      great measure cleared away; large clumps of trees being left standing on
      an artificial lawn, and newly-made roads winding about in pleasing
      irregularity until they were all finally lost in the encircling woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think you told me,&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;that you had been long in
      Germany. What course do you think of taking from here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Straight to Vienna.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! a delightful place. If, as I suppose to be the case, you are fond of
      dissipation and luxury, Vienna is to be preferred to any city with which I
      am acquainted. And intellectual companions are not wanting there, as some
      have said. There are one or two houses in which the literary soirées will
      yield to few in Europe; and I prefer them to most, because there is less
      pretension and more ease. The Archduke John is a man of considerable
      talents, and of more considerable acquirements. An excellent geologist!
      Are you fond of geology?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not in the least acquainted with the science.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Naturally so; at your age, if, in fact, we study at all, we are fond of
      fancying ourselves moral philosophers, and our study is mankind. Trust me,
      my dear sir, it is a branch of research soon exhausted; and in a few years
      you will be very glad, for want of something else to do, to meditate upon
      stones. See now,&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers, picking up a stone, &ldquo;to what
      associations does this little piece of quartz give rise! I am already an
      antediluvian, and instead of a stag bounding by that wood I witness the
      moving mass of a mammoth. I live in other worlds, which, at the same time,
      I have the advantage of comparing with the present. Geology is indeed a
      magnificent study! What excites more the imagination? What exercises more
      the reason? Can you conceive anything sublimer than the gigantic shadows
      and the grim wreck of an antediluvian world? Can you devise any plan which
      will more brace our powers, and develop our mental energies, than the
      formation of a perfect chain of inductive reasoning to account for these
      phenomena? What is the boasted communion which the vain poet holds with
      nature compared with conversation which the geologist perpetually carries
      on with the elemental world? Gazing on the strata of the earth, he reads
      the fate of his species. In the undulations of the mountains is revealed
      to him the history of the past; and in the strength of rivers and the
      powers of the air he discovers the fortunes of the future. To him, indeed,
      that future, as well as the past and the present, are alike matter for
      meditation: for the geologist is the most satisfactory of antiquarians,
      the most interesting of philosophers, and the most inspired of prophets;
      demonstrating that which has past by discovery, that which is occurring by
      observation, and that which is to come by induction. When you go to Vienna
      I will give you a letter to Frederic Schlegel; we were fellow-students,
      and are friends, though for various reasons we do not at present meet;
      nevertheless a letter from me will command respect. I will recommend you,
      however, before you go on to Vienna, to visit Reisenburg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! from the Prince&rsquo;s account, I should have thought that there was
      little to interest me there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His Highness is not an impartial judge. You are probably acquainted with
      the disagreeable manner in which he is connected with that Court. Far from
      his opinion being correct, I should say there are few places in Germany
      more worthy of a visit than the little Court near us; and above all things
      my advice is that you should not pass it over.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am inclined to follow it. You are right in supposing that I am not
      ignorant that His Highness has the misfortune of being a mediatised
      Prince; but what is the exact story about him? I have heard some odd
      rumours, some&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a curious story, but I am afraid you will find it rather long.
      Nevertheless, if you really visit Reisenburg, it may be of use to you to
      know something of the singular characters you will meet there. In the
      first place, you say you know that Little Lilliput is a mediatised Prince,
      and, of course, are precisely aware what that title means. About fifty
      years ago, the rival of the illustrious family in whose chief castle we
      are both of us now residing was the Margrave of Reisenburg, another petty
      Prince with territories not so extensive as those of our friend, and with
      a population more limited: perhaps fifty thousand souls, half of whom were
      drunken cousins. The old Margrave of Reisenburg, who then reigned, was a
      perfect specimen of the old-fashioned German Prince: he did nothing but
      hunt and drink and think of the quarterings of his immaculate shield, all
      duly acquired from some Vandal ancestor as barbarous as himself. His
      little Margraviate was misgoverned enough for a great empire. Half of his
      nation, who were his real people, were always starving, and were unable to
      find crown pieces to maintain the extravagant expenditure of the other
      moiety, the cousins; who, out of gratitude to their fellow-subjects for
      their generous support, harassed them with every species of excess.
      Complaints were of course made to the Margrave, and loud cries for justice
      resounded at the palace gates. This Prince was an impartial chief
      magistrate; he prided himself upon his &ldquo;invariable&rdquo; principles of justice,
      and he allowed nothing to influence his decisions. His plan for arranging
      all differences had the merit of being brief; and if brevity be the soul
      of wit, it certainly was most unreasonable in his subjects to consider his
      judgments no joke. He always counted the quarterings in the shields of the
      respective parties, and decided accordingly. Imagine the speedy redress
      gained by a muddy-veined peasant against one of the cousins; who, of
      course, had as many quarterings as the Margrave himself. The defendant was
      regularly acquitted. At length, a man&rsquo;s house having been burnt down out
      of mere joke in the night, the owner had the temerity in the morning to
      accuse one of the privileged, and to produce, at the same tune, a shield,
      with exactly one more quartering than the reigning shield itself
      contained. The Margrave was astounded, the people in raptures, and the
      cousins in despair. The complainant&rsquo;s shield was examined and counted, and
      not a flaw discovered. What a dilemma! The chief magistrate consulted with
      the numerous branches of his family, and the next morning the
      complainant&rsquo;s head was struck off for high treason, for daring to have one
      more quartering than his monarch!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In this way they passed their time about fifty years since in Reisenburg;
      occasionally, for the sake of variety, declaring war against the
      inhabitants of Little Lilliput, who, to say the truth, in their habits and
      pursuits did not materially differ from their neighbours. The Margrave had
      one son, the present Grand Duke. A due reverence of the great family
      shield, and a full acquaintance with the invariable principles of justice,
      were early instilled into him; and the royal stripling made such rapid
      progress, under the tuition of his amiable parent, that he soon became
      highly popular with all his relations. At length his popularity became
      troublesome to his father; and so the old Margrave sent for his son one
      morning and informed him that he had dreamed the preceding night that the
      air of Reisenburg was peculiarly unwholesome for young persons, and
      therefore he begged him to get out of his dominions as soon as possible.
      The young Prince had no objection to see something of the world. He flew
      to a relative whom he had never before visited. This nobleman was one of
      those individuals who anticipate their age, which, by-the-bye, Mr. Grey,
      none but noblemen should do; for he who anticipates his century is
      generally persecuted when living, and is always pilfered when dead.
      Howbeit, this relation was a philosopher; all about him thought him mad;
      he, in return, thought all about him fools. He sent the Prince to an
      University, and gave him for a tutor a young man about ten years older
      than his pupil. This person&rsquo;s name was Beckendorff. You will hear more of
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About three years after the sudden departure of the young Prince, the old
      Margrave his father and the then reigning Prince of Little Lilliput shot
      each other through the head in a drunken brawl, after a dinner given in
      honour of a proclamation of peace between the two countries. The cousins
      were not much grieved, as they anticipated a fit successor in their former
      favourite. Splendid preparations were made for the reception of the
      inheritor of the family shield, and all Reisenburg was poured out to
      witness the triumphant entrance of their future monarch. At last two
      horsemen in plain dresses, and on indifferent steeds, rode up to the
      palace gates, dismounted, and without making any enquiry ordered the
      attendance of some of the chief nobility in the presence chamber. One of
      them, a young man, without any preparatory explanation, introduced the
      Reisenburg chieftains to his companion as his Prime Minister, and
      commanded them immediately to deliver up their portefeuilles and golden
      keys to Mr. Beckendorff. The nobles were in dismay, and so astounded that
      they made no resistance, though the next morning they started in their
      beds when they remembered that they had delivered their insignia of office
      to a man without a von before his name. They were soon, however, roused
      from their sorrow and their stupor, by receiving a peremptory order to
      quit the palace: and as they retired from the walls which they had long
      considered as their own, they had the mortification of meeting crowds of
      the common people, their slaves and their victims, hurrying with joyful
      countenances and triumphant looks to the palace of their Prince, in
      consequence of an energetic proclamation for the redress of grievances,
      and an earnest promise to decide cases in future without examining the
      quarterings of the parties, in a week&rsquo;s time the cousins were all adrift.
      At length they conspired, but the conspiracy was tardy, they found their
      former servants armed, and they joined in an unequal struggle; for their
      opponents were alike animated with hopes of the future and with revenge
      for the past. The cousins got well beat, and this was not the worst; for
      Beckendorff took advantage of this unsuccessful treason, which he had
      himself fomented, and forfeited all their estates; destroying in one hour
      the system which had palsied, for so many years, the energies of his
      master&rsquo;s subjects. In time many of the chief nobility were restored to
      their honours and estates; but the power with which they were again
      invested was greatly modified, and the privileges of the Commons greatly
      increased. At this moment the French Revolution broke out. The French
      crossed the Rhine and carried all before them; and the Prince of Little
      Lilliput, among other true Germans, made a bold but fruitless resistance.
      The Margrave of Reisenburg, on the contrary, received the enemy with open
      arms; he raised a larger body of troops than his due contingent, and
      exerted himself in every manner to second the views of the Great Nation.
      In return for his services he was presented with the conquered
      principality of Little Lilliput and some other adjoining lands; and the
      Margraviate of Reisenburg, with an increased territory and population, and
      governed with consummate wisdom, began to be considered the most
      flourishing of the petty states in the quarter of the empire to which it
      belonged. On the contrary, our princely and patriotic friend, mortified by
      the degenerate condition of his country and the prosperity of his rival
      house, quitted Little Lilliput, and became one of those emigrant princes
      who abounded during the first years of the Revolution in the northern
      courts of Europe. Napoleon soon appeared upon the stage; and vanquished
      Austria, with the French dictating at the gates of her capital, was no
      longer in a condition to support the dignity of the Empire. The policy of
      the Margrave of Reisenburg was as little patriotic and quite as consistent
      as before. Beckendorff became the constant and favoured counsellor of the
      French Emperor. It was chiefly by his exertions that the celebrated
      Confederation of the Rhine was carried into effect. The institution of
      this body excited among many Germans, at the time, loud expressions of
      indignation; but I believe few impartial and judicious men now look upon
      that league as any other than one in the formation of which consummate
      statesmanship was exhibited. In fact, it prevented the subjugation of
      Germany to France, and by flattering the pride of Napoleon saved the
      decomposition of our Empire. But how this might be it is not at present
      necessary for us to enquire. Certain it was, that the pupil of Beckendorff
      was amply repaid for the advice and exertions of his master and his
      Minister; and when Napoleon fell the brows of the former Margrave were
      encircled with a grand ducal crown, and his duchy, while it contained
      upwards of a million and a half of inhabitants, numbered in its limits
      some of the most celebrated cities in Germany and many of Germany&rsquo;s most
      flourishing provinces. But Napoleon fell. The Prince of Little Lilliput
      and his companions in patriotism and misfortune returned from their exile
      panting with hope and vengeance. A Congress was held to settle the affairs
      of agitated Germany. Where was the Grand Duke of Reisenburg? His
      hard-earned crown tottered on his head. Where was his crafty Minister, the
      supporter of revolutionary France, the friend of its Imperial enslaver,
      the constant enemy of the House of Austria? At the very Congress which,
      according to the expectations of the exiled Princes, was to restore them
      to their own dominions, and to reward their patriotic loyalty with the
      territories of their revolutionary brethren; yes! at this very Congress
      was Beckendorff; not as a suppliant, not as a victim, but seated at the
      right hand of Metternich, and watching, with parental affection, the first
      interesting and infantile movements of that most prosperous of political
      bantlings, the Holy Alliance. You may well imagine that the Military Grand
      Duke had a much better chance in political negotiation than the emigrant
      Prince. In addition to this, the Grand Duke of Reisenburg had married,
      during the war, a Princess of a powerful House; and the allied Sovereigns
      were eager to gain the future aid and constant co-operation of a mind like
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s. The Prince of Little Lilliput, the patriot, was rewarded
      for his conduct by being restored to his forfeited possessions: and the
      next day he became the subject of his former enemy, the Grand Duke of
      Reisenburg, the traitor. What think you of Monsieur Beckendorff?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of the most interesting characters I have long heard of. But his
      pupil appears to be a man of mind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You shall hear. I should, however, first mention that while Beckendorff
      has not scrupled to resort to any measures or adopt any opinions in order
      to further the interests of his monarch and his country, he has in every
      manner shown that personal aggrandisement has never been his object. He
      lives in retirement, scarcely with an attendant, and his moderate official
      stipend amply supports his more moderate expenditure. The subjects of the
      Grand Duke may well be grateful that they have a Minister without
      relations and without favourites. The Grand Duke is, unquestionably, a man
      of talents; but at the same time, perhaps, one of the most weak-minded men
      that ever breathed. He was fortunate in meeting with Beckendorff early in
      life; and as the influence of the Minister has not for a moment ceased
      over the mind of the monarch, to the world the Grand Duke of Reisenburg
      has always appeared to be an individual of a strong mind and consistent
      conduct. But when you have lived as much and as intimately in his Court as
      I have done, you will find how easily the world may be deceived. Since the
      close connection which now exists between Reisenburg and Austria took
      place, Beckendorff has, in a great degree, revived the ancient privileges
      of blood and birth. A Minister who has sprung from the people will always
      conciliate the aristocracy. Having no family influence of his own, he
      endeavours to gain the influence of others: and it often happens that
      merit is never less considered than when merit has made the Minister. A
      curious instance of this occurs in a neighbouring state. There the
      Premier, decidedly a man of great talents, is of as humble an origin as
      Beckendorff. With no family to uphold him, he supports himself by a lavish
      division of all the places and patronage of the State among the nobles. If
      the younger son or brother of a peer dare to sully his oratorical
      virginity by a chance observation in the Lower Chamber, the Minister,
      himself a real orator, immediately rises to congratulate, in pompous
      phrase, the House and the country on the splendid display which has made
      this night memorable, and on the decided advantages which must accrue both
      to their own resolutions and the national interests from the future
      participation of his noble friend in their deliberations. All about him
      are young nobles, quite unfit for the discharge of their respective
      duties. His private secretary is unable to coin a sentence, almost to
      direct a letter; but he is noble! The secondary officials cannot be
      trusted even in the least critical conjunctures; but they are noble! And
      the Prime Minister of a powerful empire is forced to rise early and be up
      late; not to meditate on the present fortunes or future destinies of his
      country, but by his personal exertions to compensate for the inefficiency
      and expiate the blunders of his underlings, whom his unfortunate want of
      blood has forced him to overwhelm with praises which they do not deserve,
      and duties which they cannot discharge. I do not wish you to infer that
      the policy of Beckendorff has been actuated by the feelings which
      influence the Minister whom I have noticed, from whose conduct in this
      very respect his own materially differs. On the contrary, his connection
      with Austria is, in all probability, the primary great cause. However this
      may be, certain it is that all offices about the Court and connected with
      the army (and I need not remind you that at a small German Court these
      situations are often the most important in the State) can only be filled
      by the nobility; nor can any person who has the misfortune of not
      inheriting the magical monosyllable <i>von</i> before his name, the
      shibboleth of nobility and the symbol of territorial pride, violate by
      their unhallowed presence the sanctity of Court dinners, or the as sacred
      ceremonies of a noble fête. But while a monopoly of those offices which
      for their due performance require only a showy exterior or a schooled
      address is granted to the nobles, all those State charges which require
      the exercise of intellect are now chiefly filled by the bourgeoisie. At
      the same time, however, that both our Secretaries of State, many of our
      Privy Councillors, war Councillors, forest Councillors, and finance
      Councillors, are to be reckoned among the second class, still not one of
      these exalted individuals, who from their situations are necessarily in
      constant personal communication with the Sovereign, ever see that
      Sovereign except in his Cabinet and his Council-Chamber. Beckendorff
      himself, the Premier, is the son of a peasant; and of course not noble.
      Nobility, which has been proffered him, not only by his own monarch, but
      by most of the sovereigns of Europe, he has invariably refused; and
      consequently never appears at Court. The truth is, that, from disposition,
      he is little inclined to mix with men; and he has taken advantage of his
      want of an escutcheon completely to exempt himself from all those duties
      of etiquette which his exalted situation would otherwise have imposed upon
      him. None can complain of the haughtiness of the nobles when, ostensibly,
      the Minister himself is not exempted from their exclusive regulations. If
      you go to Reisenburg, you will not therefore see Beckendorff, who lives,
      as I have mentioned, in solitude, about thirty miles from the capital;
      communicating only with his Royal master, the foreign Ministers, and one
      or two official characters of his own country. I was myself an inmate of
      the Court for upwards of two years. During that time I never saw the
      Minister; and, with the exception of some members of the royal family and
      the characters I have mentioned, I never knew one person who had even
      caught a glimpse of the individual who may indeed be said to be regulating
      their destinies.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is at the Court, then,&rdquo; continued Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;when he is no longer
      under the control of Beckendorff, and in those minor points which are not
      subjected to the management or influenced by the mind of the Minister,
      that the true character of the Grand Duke is to be detected. Indeed it may
      really be said, that the weakness of his mind has been the origin of his
      fortune. In his early youth his pliant temper adapted itself without a
      struggle to the barbarous customs and the brutal conduct of his father&rsquo;s
      Court; that same pliancy of temper prevented him opposing with bigoted
      obstinacy the exertions of his relation to educate and civilise him; that
      same pliancy of temper allowed him to become the ready and the
      enthusiastic disciple of Beckendorff. Had the pupil, when he ascended the
      throne, left his master behind him, it is very probable that his natural
      feelings would have led him to oppose the French; and at this moment,
      instead of being the first of the second rate powers of Germany, the Grand
      Duke of Reisenburg might himself have been an mediatised Prince. As it
      was, the same pliancy of temper which I have noticed enabled him to
      receive Napoleon, when an Emperor, with outstretched arms; and at this
      moment does not prevent him from receiving, with equal rapture, the
      Imperial Archduchess, who will soon be on her road from Vienna to espouse
      his son; for, to crown his career, Beckendorff has successfully negotiated
      a marriage between a daughter of the House of Austria and the Crown Prince
      of Reisenburg. It is generally believed that the next step of the Diet
      will be to transmute the father&rsquo;s Grand Ducal coronet into a Regal crown;
      and perhaps, my good sir, before you reach Vienna, you may have the
      supreme honour of being presented to his Majesty the King of Reisenburg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But when you talk only of the pupil&rsquo;s pliancy of temper, am I to suppose
      that in mentioning his talents you were speaking ironically?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By no means! The Grand Duke is a scholar; a man of refined taste, a
      patron of the fine arts, a lover of literature, a promoter of science, and
      what the world would call a philosopher. His judgment is sound, and
      generally correct, his powers of discrimination acute, and his knowledge
      of mankind greater than that of most sovereigns; but with all these
      advantages he is cursed with such a wavering and indecisive temper, that
      when, which is usually the case, he has come to a right conclusion, he can
      never prevail upon himself to carry his theory into practice; and with all
      his acuteness, his discernment, and his knowledge of the world, his mind
      is always ready to receive any impression from the person who last
      addresses him, though he himself be fully aware of the inferiority of his
      adviser&rsquo;s intellect to his own, or the imperfection of that adviser&rsquo;s
      knowledge. Never for a moment out of the sight of Beckendorff, the royal
      pupil has made an admirable political puppet, since his talents have
      always enabled him to understand the part which the Minister had forced
      him to perform. Thus the world has given the Grand Duke credit, not only
      for the possession of great talents, but almost for as much firmness of
      mind and decision of character as his Minister. But since his
      long-agitated career has become calm and tranquil, and Beckendorff, like a
      guardian spirit, has ceased to be ever at his elbow, the character of the
      Grand Duke of Reisenburg begins to be understood. His Court has been, and
      still is, frequented by all the men of genius in Germany, who are admitted
      without scruple, even if they be not noble. But the astonishing thing is,
      that the Grand Duke is always surrounded by every species of political and
      philosophical quack that you can imagine. Discussions on a free press, on
      the reformation of the criminal code, on the abolition of commercial
      duties, and such like interminable topics, are perpetually resounding
      within the palace of this arbitrary Prince; and the people, fired by the
      representations of the literary and political journals with which
      Reisenburg abounds, and whose bold speculations on all subjects elude the
      vigilance of the censor, by being skilfully amalgamated with a lavish
      praise of the royal character, are perpetually flattered with the speedy
      hope of becoming freemen. Suddenly, when all are expecting the grant of a
      charter or the institution of Chambers, Mr. Beckendorff rides up from his
      retreat to the Residence, and the next day the whole crowd of philosophers
      are swept from the royal presence, and the censorship of the press becomes
      so severe, that for a moment you would fancy that Reisenburg, instead of
      being, as it boasts itself, the modern Athens, had more right to the title
      of the modern Boeotia. The people, who enjoy an impartial administration
      of equal laws, who have flourished, and are flourishing, under the wise
      and moderate rule of their new monarch, have in fact no inclination to
      exert themselves for the attainment of constitutional liberty in any other
      way than by their voices. Their barbarous apathy astounds the
      philosophers; who, in despair, when the people tell them that they are
      happy and contented, artfully remind them that their happiness depends on
      the will of a single man; and that, though the present character of the
      monarch may guarantee present felicity, still they should think of their
      children, and not less exert themselves for the insurance of the future.
      These representations, as constantly reiterated as the present system will
      allow, have at length produced an effect; and political causes of a
      peculiar nature, combining their influence with these philosophical
      exertions, have of late frequently frightened the Grand Duke, who, in
      despair, would perhaps grant a constitution if Beckendorff would allow
      him. But the Minister is conscious that the people would not be happier,
      and do not in fact require one: he looks with a jealous and an evil eye on
      the charlatanism of all kinds which is now so prevalent at Court: he
      knows, from the characters of many of these philosophers and patriots,
      that their private interest is generally the secret spring of their public
      virtue; that if the Grand Duke, moved by their entreaties, or seduced by
      their flattery, were to yield a little, he would soon be obliged to grant
      all to their demands and their threats; and finally, Beckendorff has, of
      late years, so completely interwoven the policy of Reisenburg with that of
      Austria, that he feels that the rock on which he has determined to found
      the greatness of his country must be quitted for ever if he yield one jot
      to the caprice or the weakness of his monarch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But Beckendorff,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;why can he not crush in the bud the
      noxious plant which he so much dreads? Why does the press speak in the
      least to the people? Why is the Grand Duke surrounded by any others except
      pompous Grand Marshals and empty-headed Lord Chamberlains? I am surprised
      at this indifference, this want of energy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir, there are reasons for all things. Rest assured that
      Beckendorff is not a man to act incautiously or weakly. The Grand Duchess,
      the mother of the Crown Prince, has been long dead. Beckendorff, who, as a
      man, has the greatest contempt for women; as a statesman, looks to them as
      the most precious of political instruments; it was his wish to have
      married the Grand Duke to the young Princess who is now destined for his
      son, but for once in his life he failed in influencing his pupil. The
      truth was, and it is to this cause that we must trace the present
      disorganised state of the Court, and indeed of the Duchy, that the Grand
      Duke had secretly married a lady to whom he had long been attached. This
      lady was a Countess, and his subject; and, as it was impossible by the
      laws of the kingdom that any one but a member of the reigning family could
      be allowed to share the throne, his Royal Highness had recourse to a plan
      which is not uncommon in this country, and espoused the lady with his left
      hand. The ceremony, which we call here a morganatic marriage, you have,
      probably, heard of before. The favoured female is, to all intents and
      purposes, the wife of the monarch, and shares everything except his
      throne. She presides at Court, but neither she nor her children assume the
      style of majesty, although in some instances the latter have been created
      princes, and acknowledged as heirs apparent when there has been a default
      in the lineal royal issue. The lady of whom we are speaking, according to
      the usual custom, has assumed a name derivative from that of her royal
      husband; and as the Grand Duke&rsquo;s name is Charles, she is styled Madame
      Carolina.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what kind of lady is Madame Carolina?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Philosophical! piquant! Parisian! a genius, according to her friends; who,
      as in fact she is a Queen, are of course the whole world. Though a German
      by family, she is a Frenchwoman by birth. Educated in the spiritual
      saloons of the French metropolis, she has early imbibed superb ideas of
      the perfectibility of man, and of the &ldquo;science&rdquo; of conversation, on both
      which subjects you will not be long at Court ere you hear her descant;
      demonstrating by the brilliancy of her ideas the possibility of the one,
      and by the fluency of her language her acquaintance with the other. She is
      much younger than her husband, and, though not exactly a model for
      Phidias, a fascinating woman. Variety is the talisman by which she
      commands all hearts and gained her monarch&rsquo;s. She is only consistent in
      being delightful; but, though changeable, she is not capricious. Each day
      displays a new accomplishment as regularly as it does a new costume; but
      as the acquirement seems only valued by its possessor as it may delight
      others, so the dress seems worn, not so much to gratify her own vanity as
      to please her friends&rsquo; tastes. Genius is her idol; and with her genius is
      found in everything. She speaks in equal raptures of an opera dancer and
      an epic poet. Her ambition is to converse on all subjects; and by a
      judicious management of a great mass of miscellaneous reading, and by
      indefatigable exertions to render herself mistress of the prominent points
      of the topics of the day, she appears to converse on all subjects with
      ability. She takes the liveliest interest in the progress of mind, in all
      quarters of the globe; and imagines that she should, at the same time,
      immortalise herself and benefit her species, could she only establish a
      Quarterly Review in Ashantee and a scientific Gazette at Timbuctoo.
      Notwithstanding her sudden elevation, no one has ever accused her of
      arrogance, or pride, or ostentation. Her liberal principles and her
      enlightened views are acknowledged by all. She advocates equality in her
      circle of privileged nobles, and is enthusiastic on the rights of man in a
      country where justice is a favour. Her boast is to be surrounded by men of
      genius, and her delight to correspond with the most celebrated persons of
      all countries. She is herself a literary character of no mean celebrity.
      Few months have elapsed since enraptured Reisenburg hailed from her
      glowing pen two neat octavos, bearing the title of &lsquo;Memoirs of the Court
      of Charlemagne,&rsquo; which give an interesting and accurate picture of the
      age, and delight the modern public with vivid descriptions of the cookery,
      costume, and conversation of the eighth century. You smile, my friend, at
      Madame Carolina&rsquo;s production. Do not you agree with me that it requires no
      mean talent to convey a picture of the bustle of a levée during the middle
      ages? Conceive Sir Oliver looking in at his club! and fancy the small talk
      of Roland during a morning visit! Yet even the fame of this work is to be
      eclipsed by Madame&rsquo;s forthcoming quarto of &lsquo;Haroun al Raschid and his
      Times.&rsquo; This, it is whispered, is to be a chef-d&rsquo;oeuvre, enriched by a
      chronological arrangement, by a celebrated oriental scholar, of all the
      anecdotes in the Arabian Nights relating to the Caliph. It is, of course,
      the sun of Madame&rsquo;s patronage that has hatched into noxious life the swarm
      of sciolists who now infest the Court, and who are sapping the husband&rsquo;s
      political power while they are establishing the wife&rsquo;s literary
      reputation. So much for Madame Carolina! I need hardly add that during
      your short stay at Court you will be delighted with her. If ever you know
      her as well as I do, you will find her vain, superficial, heartless; her
      sentiment a system, her enthusiasm exaggeration, and her genius merely a
      clever adoption of the profundity of others.&rdquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Beckendorff and the lady are not friendly?&rdquo; asked Vivian, who was
      delighted with his communicative companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beckendorff&rsquo;s is a mind that such a woman cannot comprehend. He treats
      her with contempt, and, if possible, views her with hatred, for he
      considers that she has degraded the character of his pupil; while she, on
      the contrary, wonders by what magic spell he exercises such influence over
      the conduct of her husband. At first Beckendorff treated her and her
      circle of illuminati with contemptuous silence; but in politics nothing is
      contemptible. The Minister, knowing that the people were prosperous and
      happy, cared little for projected constitutions, and less for metaphysical
      abstractions; but some circumstances have lately occurred which, I
      imagine, have convinced him that for once he has miscalculated. After the
      arrangement of the German States, when the Princes were first mediatised,
      an attempt was made, by means of a threatening league, to obtain for these
      political victims a very ample share of the power and patronage of the new
      State of Reisenburg. This plan failed from the lukewarmness and indecision
      of our good friend of Little Lilliput, who, between ourselves, was
      prevented from joining the alliance by the intrigues of Beckendorff.
      Beckendorff secretly took measures that the Prince should be promised
      that, in case of his keeping backward, he should obtain more than would
      fall to his lot by leading the van. The Prince of Little Lilliput and his
      peculiar friends accordingly were quiet, and the attempt of the other
      chieftains failed. It was then that his Highness found that he had been
      duped. Beckendorff would not acknowledge the authority, and, of course,
      did not redeem the pledge, of his agent. The effect that this affair
      produced upon the Prince&rsquo;s mind you can conceive. Since then he has never
      frequented Reisenburg, but constantly resided either at his former
      capital, now a provincial town of the Grand Duchy, or at this castle;
      viewed, you may suppose, with no very cordial feeling by his companions in
      misfortune. But the thirst of revenge will inscribe the bitterest enemies
      in the same muster-roll; and the Princes, incited by the bold carriage of
      Madame Carolina&rsquo;s philosophical protégés, and induced to believe that
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s power is on the wane, have again made overtures to our
      friend, without whose powerful assistance they feel that they have but
      little chance of success. Observe how much more men&rsquo;s conduct is
      influenced by circumstances than principles! When these persons leagued
      together before it was with the avowed intention of obtaining a share of
      the power and patronage of the State: the great body of the people, of
      course, did not sympathise in that which, after all, to them was a party
      quarrel, and by the joint exertions of open force and secret intrigue the
      Court triumphed. But now these same individuals come forward, not as
      indignant Princes demanding a share of the envied tyranny, but as ardent
      patriots advocating a people&rsquo;s rights. The public, though I believe that
      in fact they will make no bodily exertion to acquire a constitutional
      freedom the absence of which they can only abstractedly feel, have no
      objection to attain that which they are assured will not injure their
      situation, provided it be by the risk and exertions of others. So far,
      therefore, as clamour can support the Princes, they have the people on
      their side; and as upwards of three hundred thousand of the Grand Ducal
      subjects are still living on their estates, and still consider themselves
      as their serfs, they trust that some excesses from this great body may
      incite the rest of the people to similar outrages. The natural disposition
      of mankind to imitation, particularly when the act to be imitated is
      popular, deserves attention. The Court is divided; for the exertions of
      Madame and the bewitching influence of Fashion have turned the heads even
      of greybeards: and to give you only one instance, his Excellency the Grand
      Marshal, protégé of the House of Austria, and a favourite of Metternich,
      the very person to whose interests, and as a reward for whose services,
      our princely friend was sacrificed by the Minister, has now himself become
      a pupil in the school of modern philosophy, and drivels out, with equal
      ignorance and fervour, enlightened notions on the most obscure subjects.
      In the midst of all this confusion, the Grand Duke is timorous, dubious,
      and uncertain. Beckendorff has a difficult game to play; he may fall at
      last. Such, my dear sir, are the tremendous consequences of a weak Prince
      marrying a blue-stocking!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And the Crown Prince, Mr. Sievers, how does he conduct himself at this
      interesting moment? or is his mind so completely engrossed by the
      anticipation of his Imperial alliance that he has no thought for anything
      but his approaching bride.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Crown Prince, my dear sir, is neither thinking of his bride nor of
      anything else: he is a hunch-backed idiot. Of his deformity I have myself
      been a witness; and though it is difficult to give an opinion of the
      intellect of a being with whom you have never interchanged a syllable,
      nevertheless his countenance does not contradict the common creed. I say
      the common creed, Mr. Grey, for there are moments when the Crown Prince of
      Reisenburg is spoken of by his future subjects in a very different manner.
      Whenever any unpopular act is committed, or any unpopular plan suggested
      by the Court or the Grand Duke, then whispers are immediately afloat that
      a future Brutus must be looked for in their Prince; then it is generally
      understood that his idiocy is only assumed; and what woman does not
      detect, in the glimmerings of his lack-lustre eye, the vivid sparks of
      suppressed genius! In a short time the cloud blows over the Court,
      dissatisfaction disappears, and the moment that the monarch is again
      popular the unfortunate Crown Prince again becomes the uninfluential
      object of pity or derision. All immediately forget that his idiocy is only
      assumed; and what woman ever ceases from deploring the unhappy lot of the
      future wife of their impuissant Prince! Such, my dear sir, is the way of
      mankind! At the first glance it would appear, that in this world,
      monarchs, on the whole, have it pretty well their own way; but reflection
      will soon enable us not to envy their situations; and speaking as a
      father, which unfortunately I am not, should I not view with disgust that
      lot in life which necessarily makes my son my enemy? The Crown Prince of
      all countries is only a puppet in the hands of the people, to be played
      against his own father.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0060">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Prince returned home at a late hour, and immediately enquired for
      Vivian. During dinner, which he hastily despatched, it did not escape our
      hero&rsquo;s attention that his Highness was unusually silent, and, indeed,
      agitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When we have finished our meal, my good friend,&rdquo; at length said the
      Prince, &ldquo;I very much wish to consult with you on a most important
      business.&rdquo; Since the explanation of last night, the Prince, in private
      conversation, had dropped his regal plural.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am ready at once,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You will think it strange, Mr. Grey, when you become acquainted with the
      nature of my communication; you will justly consider it most strange, most
      singular, that I should choose for a confidant and a counsellor in an
      important business a gentleman with whom I have been acquainted so short a
      time as yourself. But, sir, I have well weighed, at least I have
      endeavoured well to weigh, all the circumstances and contingencies which
      such a confidence would involve; and the result of my reflection is, that
      I will look to you as a friend and adviser, feeling assured that, both
      from your situation and your disposition, no temptation exists which can
      induce you to betray or to deceive me.&rdquo; Though the Prince said this with
      an appearance of perfect sincerity, he stopped and looked earnest in his
      guest&rsquo;s face, as if he would read his secret thoughts, or were desirous of
      now giving him an opportunity of answering.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So far as the certainty of your confidence being respected,&rdquo; answered
      Vivian, &ldquo;I trust your Highness may communicate to me with the most assured
      spirit. But while my ignorance of men and affairs in this country will
      ensure you from any treachery on my part, I very much fear that it will
      also preclude me from affording you any advantageous advice or
      assistance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On that head,&rdquo; replied the Prince, &ldquo;I am, of course, the best judge. The
      friend whom I need is a man not ignorant of the world, with a cool head
      and an impartial mind. Though young, you have said and told me enough to
      prove that you are not unacquainted with mankind. Of your courage I have
      already had a convincing proof. In the business in which I require your
      assistance freedom from national prejudices will materially increase the
      value of your advice; and, therefore, I am far from being unwilling to
      consult a person ignorant, according to your own phrase, of men and
      affairs in this country. Moreover, your education as an Englishman has
      early led you to exercise your mind on political subjects; and it is in a
      political business that I require your aid.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I fated always to be the dry nurse of an embryo faction!&rdquo; thought
      Vivian; and he watched earnestly the countenance of the Prince. In a
      moment he expected to be invited to become a counsellor of the leagued
      Princes. Either the lamp was burning dim, or the blazing wood fire had
      suddenly died away, or a mist was over Vivian&rsquo;s eyes; but for a moment he
      almost imagined that he was sitting opposite his old friend the Marquis of
      Carabas. The Prince&rsquo;s phrase had given rise to a thousand agonising
      associations: in an instant Vivian had worked up his mind to a pitch of
      nervous excitement.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Political business?&rdquo; said Vivian, in an agitated voice. &ldquo;You could not
      address a more unfortunate person. I have seen, Prince, too much of
      politics ever to wish to meddle with them again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are too quick, my good friend,&rdquo; continued his Highness. &ldquo;I may wish
      to consult you on political business, and yet have no intention of
      engaging you in politics, which, indeed, is quite a ridiculous idea. But I
      see that I was right in supposing that these subjects have engaged your
      attention.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have seen, in a short time, something of the political world,&rdquo; answered
      Vivian, who was almost ashamed of his previous emotion; &ldquo;and I thank
      Heaven daily that I have no chance of again having any connection with
      it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well! that as it may be. Nevertheless, your experience is only
      another inducement to me to request your assistance. Do not fear that I
      wish to embroil you in politics; but I hope you will not refuse, although
      almost a stranger, to add to the great obligations which I am already
      under to you, and give me the benefit of your opinion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Highness may speak with perfect unreserve, and reckon upon my
      delivering my genuine sentiments.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have not forgotten, I venture to believe,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;our
      short conversation of last night!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was of too interesting a nature easily to escape my memory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Before I can consult you on the subject which at present interests me, it
      is necessary that I should make you a little acquainted with the present
      state of public affairs here, and the characters of the principal
      individuals who control them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So far as an account of the present state of political parties, the
      history of the Grand Duke&rsquo;s career, and that of his Minister, Mr.
      Beckendorff, and their reputed characters, will form part of your
      Highness&rsquo;s narrative, by so much may its length be curtailed and your
      trouble lessened; for I have at different times picked up, in casual
      conversation, a great deal of information on these topics. Indeed, you may
      address me, in this respect, as you would any German gentleman who, not
      being himself personally interested in public life, is, of course, not
      acquainted with its most secret details.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not reckon on this,&rdquo; said the Prince, in a cheerful voice. &ldquo;This is
      a great advantage, and another reason that I should no longer hesitate to
      develop to you a certain affair which now occupies my mind. To be short,&rdquo;
       continued the Prince, &ldquo;it is of the letter which I so mysteriously
      received last night, and which, as you must have remarked, very much
      agitated me; it is on this letter that I wish to consult you. Bearing in
      mind the exact position, the avowed and public position, in which I stand,
      as connected with the Court, and having a due acquaintance, which you
      state you have, with the character of Mr. Beckendorff, what think you of
      this letter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, the Prince leant over the table, and handed to Vivian the
      following epistle:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;TO HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF LITTLE LILLIPUT.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am commanded by his Royal Highness to inform your Highness that his
      Royal Highness has considered the request which was signed by your
      Highness and other noblemen, and presented by you to his Royal Highness in
      a private interview. His Royal Highness commands me to state that that
      request will receive his most attentive consideration. At the same time,
      his Royal Highness also commands me to observe that, in bringing about the
      completion of a result desired by all parties, it is difficult to carry on
      the necessary communications merely by written documents; and his Royal
      Highness has therefore commanded me to submit to your Highness the
      advisability of taking some steps in order to further the possibility of
      the occurrence of an oral interchange of the sentiments of the respective
      parties. Being aware, from the position which your Highness has thought
      proper at present to maintain, and from other causes which are of too
      delicate a nature to be noticed in any other way except by allusion, that
      your Highness may feel difficulty in personally communicating with his
      Royal Highness without consulting the wishes and opinions of the other
      Princes; a process to which, it must be evident to your Highness, his
      Royal Highness feels it impossible to submit; and, at the same time,
      desirous of forwarding the progress of those views which his Royal
      Highness and your Highness may conjunctively consider calculated to
      advance the well-being of the State, I have to submit to your Highness the
      propriety of considering the propositions contained in the enclosed paper;
      which, if your Highness keep unconnected with this communication, the
      purport of this letter will be confined to your Highness.
    </p>
    <p>
      PROPOSITIONS.
    </p>
    <p>
      &lsquo;1st. That an interview shall take place between your Highness and myself,
      the object of which shall be the consideration of measures by which, when
      adopted, the various interests now in agitation shall respectively be
      regarded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &lsquo;2nd. That this interview shall be secret; your Highness be incognito.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your Highness be disposed to accede to the first proposition, I beg to
      submit to you that, from the nature of my residence, its situation, and
      other causes, there will be no fear that any suspicion of the fact of Mr.
      von Philipson acceding to the two propositions will gain notoriety. This
      letter will be delivered into your own hands. If Mr. von Philipson
      determine on acceding to these propositions, he is most probably aware of
      the general locality in which my residence is situated; and proper
      measures will be taken that, if Mr. von Philipson honour me with a visit,
      he shall not be under the necessity of attracting attention by inquiring
      the way to my house. It is wished that the fact of the second proposition
      being acceded to should only be known to Mr. von Philipson and myself, but
      if to be perfectly unattended be considered as an insuperable objection, I
      consent to his being accompanied by a single friend. I shall be alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;BECKENDORFF.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said the Prince, as Vivian finished the letter.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The best person,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;to decide upon your Highness consenting
      to this interview is yourself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is not the point on which I wish to have the benefit of your
      opinion; for I have already consented. I rode over this morning to my
      cousin, the Duke of Micromegas, and despatched from his residence a trusty
      messenger to Beckendorff. I have agreed to meet him, and to-morrow; but on
      the express terms that I should not be unattended. Now then,&rdquo; continued
      the Prince, with great energy; &ldquo;now then, will you be my companion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I!&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes; you, my good friend! you. I should consider myself as safe if I were
      sleeping in a burning house as I should be were I with Beckendorff alone.
      Although this is not the first time that we have communicated, I have
      never yet seen him; and I am fully aware that, if the approaching
      interview were known to my friends, they would consider it high time that
      my son reigned in my stead. But I am resolved to be firm, to be
      inflexible. My course is plain. I am not to be again duped by him, which,&rdquo;
       continued the Prince, much confused, &ldquo;I will not conceal that I have been
      once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But I!&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;I; what good can I possibly do? It appears to me
      that, if Beckendorff is to be dreaded as you describe, the presence or the
      attendance of no friend can possibly save you from his crafty plans. But
      surely, if any one attend you, why not be accompanied by a person whom you
      have known long, and who knows you well; on whom you can confidently rely,
      and who may be aware, from a thousand signs and circumstances which will
      never attract my attention, at what particular and pressing moments you
      may require prompt and energetic assistance. Such is the companion you
      want; and surely such an one you may find in Arnelm, Von Neuwied&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Arnelm! Von Neuwied!&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;the best hands at sounding a
      bugle or spearing a boar in all Reisenburg! Excellent men, forsooth! to
      guard their master from the diplomatic deceits of the wily Beckendorff!
      Moreover, were they to have even the slightest suspicion of my intended
      movement, they would commit rank treason out of pure loyalty, and lock me
      up in my own cabinet! No, no! they will never do: I want a companion of
      experience and knowledge of the world, with whom I may converse with some
      prospect of finding my wavering firmness strengthened, or my misled
      judgment rightly guided, or my puzzled brain cleared; modes of assistance
      to which the worthy Jagd Junker is but little accustomed, however quickly
      he might hasten to my side in a combat or the chase.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If these, then, will not do, surely there is one man in this castle who,
      although he may not be a match for Beckendorff, can be foiled by few
      others. Mr. Sievers?&rdquo; said Vivian, with an inquiring eye.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sievers!&rdquo; exclaimed the Prince, with great eagerness; &ldquo;the very man!
      firm, experienced, and sharp-witted; well schooled in political learning,
      in case I required his assistance in arranging the terms of the intended
      Charter or the plan of the intended Chambers; for these, of course, are
      the points on which Beckendorff wishes to consult. But one thing I am
      determined on: I positively pledge myself to nothing while under
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s roof. He doubtless anticipates, by my visit, to grant the
      liberties of the people on his own terms: perhaps Mr. Beckendorff, for
      once in his life, may be mistaken. I am not to be deceived twice; and I am
      determined not to yield the point of the Treasury being under the control
      of the Senate. That is the part of the harness which galls; and to
      preserve themselves from this rather inconvenient regulation, without
      question, my good friend Beckendorff has hit upon this plan.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then Mr. Sievers will accompany you?&rdquo; asked Vivian, calling the Prince&rsquo;s
      attention to the point of consultation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The very man for it, my dear friend! but although Beckendorff, most
      probably respecting my presence, and taking into consideration the
      circumstances under which we meet, would refrain from consigning Sievers
      to a dungeon; still, although the Minister invites this interview, and
      although I have no single inducement to conciliate him, yet it would
      scarcely be correct, scarcely dignified on my part, to prove, by the
      presence of my companion, that I had for a length of time harboured an
      individual who, by Beckendorff&rsquo;s own exertions, was banished from the
      Grand Duchy. It would look too much like a bravado.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;is it so? And pray of what was Mr. Sievers guilty?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Of high treason against one who was not his sovereign.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How is that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sievers, who is a man of considerable talents, was for a long time a
      professor in one of our great Universities. The publication of many able
      works procured him a reputation which induced Madame Carolina to use every
      exertion to gain his attendance at Court; and a courtier in time the
      professor became. At Reisenburg Mr. Sievers was the great authority on all
      subjects: philosophical, literary, and political. In fact, he was the
      fashion; and, at the head of the great literary journal which is there
      published, he terrified admiring Germany with his profound and piquant
      critiques. Unfortunately, like some men as good, he was unaware that
      Reisenburg was not an independent state; and so, on the occasion of
      Austria attacking Naples, Mr. Sievers took the opportunity of attacking
      Austria. His article, eloquent, luminous, profound, revealed the dark
      colours of the Austrian policy, as an artist&rsquo;s lamp brings out the murky
      tints of a Spagnoletto. Every one admired Sievers&rsquo; bitter sarcasms,
      enlightened views, and indignant eloquence. Madame Carolina crowned him
      with laurel in the midst of her coterie, and it is said that the Grand
      Duke sent him a snuff-box. In a short time the article reached Vienna, and
      in a still shorter time Mr. Beckendorff reached the Residence, and
      insisted on the author being immediately given up to the Austrian
      Government. Madame Carolina was in despair, the Grand Duke in doubt, and
      Beckendorff threatened to resign if the order were not signed. A kind
      friend, perhaps his Royal Highness himself, gave Sievers timely notice,
      and by rapid flight he reached my castle, and demanded my hospitality. He
      has lived here ever since, and has done me a thousand services, not the
      least of which is the education which he has given my son, my glorious
      Maximilian.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And Beckendorff,&rdquo; asked Vivian; &ldquo;has he always been aware that Sievers
      was concealed here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That I cannot answer: had he been, it is not improbable that he would
      have winked at it; since it never has been his policy unnecessarily to
      annoy a mediatised Prince, or without great occasion to let us feel that
      our independence is gone; I will not, with such a son as I have, say, for
      ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Sievers of course, then, cannot visit Beckendorff,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is clear,&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;and I therefore trust that now you will
      no longer refuse my first request.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was impossible for Vivian to deny the Prince any longer; and indeed he
      had no objection (as his Highness could not be better attended) to seize
      the singular and unexpected opportunity which now offered itself of
      becoming acquainted with an individual respecting whom his curiosity was
      much excited. It was a late hour ere the Prince and his friend retired,
      having arranged everything for the morrow&rsquo;s journey, and conversed on the
      probable subjects of the approaching interview at great length.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0061">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the following morning, before sunrise, the Prince&rsquo;s valet roused Vivian
      from his slumbers. According to the appointment of the preceding evening,
      Vivian repaired in due time to a certain spot in the park. The Prince
      reached it at the same moment. A mounted groom, leading two English horses
      of showy appearance, and each having a travelling case strapped on the
      back of its saddle, awaited them. His Highness mounted one of the steeds
      with skilful celerity, although Arnelm and Von Neuwied were not there to
      do honour to his bridle and his stirrup.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must give me an impartial opinion of your courser, my dear friend,&rdquo;
       said the Prince to Vivian; &ldquo;for if you deem it worthy of being bestridden
      by you, my son requests that you will do him the honour of accepting it.
      If so, call it Max; and provided it be as thoroughbred as the donor, you
      need not change it for Bucephalus.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not unworthy of the son of Ammon!&rdquo; said Vivian, as he touched the
      spirited animal with the spur, and proved its fiery action on the
      springing turf.
    </p>
    <p>
      A man never feels so proud or so sanguine as when he is bounding on the
      back of a fine horse. Cares fly with the first curvet, and the very sight
      of a spur is enough to prevent one committing suicide.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian and his companion had proceeded about five miles, the Prince
      pulled up, and giving a sealed letter to the groom, he desired him to
      leave them. The Prince and Vivian amused themselves by endeavouring to
      form some conception of the person, manners, and habits of the remarkable
      man to whom they were on the point of paying so interesting a visit.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I expect,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;to be received with folded arms, and a brow
      lowering with the overwhelming weight of a brain meditating for the
      control of millions. His letter has prepared us for the mysterious, but
      not very amusing, style of his conversation. He will be perpetually on his
      guard not to commit himself; and although public business, and the receipt
      of papers, by calling him away, will occasionally give us an opportunity
      of being alone, still I regret that I did not put up in my case some
      interesting volume, which would have allowed me to feel less tedious those
      hours during which you will necessarily be employed with him in private
      consultation.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After a ride of five hours, the horsemen arrived at a small village.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Thus far I think I have well piloted you,&rdquo; said the Prince: &ldquo;but I
      confess my knowledge here ceases; and though I shall disobey the
      diplomatic instructions of the great man, I must even ask some old woman
      the way to Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      While they were hesitating as to whom they should address, an equestrian,
      who had already passed them on the road, though at some distance, came up,
      and inquired, in a voice which Vivian recognised as that of the messenger
      who had brought Beckendorff&rsquo;s letter to Turriparva, whether he had the
      honour of addressing Mr. von Philipson. Neither of the gentlemen answered,
      for Vivian of course expected the Prince to reply; and his Highness was,
      as yet, so unused to his incognito, that he had actually forgotten his own
      name. But it was evident that the demandant had questioned rather from
      system than by way of security, and he waited patiently until the Prince
      had collected his senses and assumed sufficient gravity of countenance to
      inform the horseman that he was the person in question. &ldquo;What, sir, is
      your pleasure?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am instructed to ride on before you, sir, that you may not mistake your
      way;&rdquo; and without waiting for an answer the laconic messenger turned his
      steed&rsquo;s head and trotted off.
    </p>
    <p>
      The travellers soon left the high road and turned up a wild turf path, not
      only inaccessible to carriages, but even requiring great attention from
      horsemen. After much winding and some floundering, they arrived at a light
      gate, which apparently opened into a shrubbery.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will take your horses here, gentlemen,&rdquo; said the guide; and getting off
      his horse, he opened the gate. &ldquo;Follow this path, and you can meet with no
      difficulty.&rdquo; The Prince and Vivian accordingly dismounted, and the guide
      immediately gave a loud shrill whistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The path ran, for a short way, through the shrubbery, which evidently was
      a belt encircling the grounds. From this the Prince and Vivian emerged
      upon a lawn, which formed on the farthest side a terrace, by gradually
      sloping down to the margin of the river. It was enclosed on the other
      side, and white pheasants were feeding in its centre. Following the path
      which skirted the lawn, they arrived at a second gate, which opened into a
      garden, in which no signs of the taste at present existing in Germany for
      the English system of picturesque pleasure-grounds were at all visible.
      The walk was bounded on both sides by tall borders, or rather hedges, of
      box, cut into the shape of battlements; the sameness of these turrets
      being occasionally varied by the immovable form of some trusty warder,
      carved out of yew or laurel. Raised terraces and arched walks, aloes and
      orange trees mounted on sculptured pedestals, columns of cypress and
      pyramids of bay, whose dark foliage strikingly contrasted with the marble
      statues, and the white vases shining in the sun, rose in all directions in
      methodical confusion. The sound of a fountain was not wanting, and large
      beds of beautiful flowers abounded. Proceeding through a lofty berçeau,
      occasional openings in whose curving walks allowed effective glimpses of a
      bust or a statue, the companions at length came in sight of the house. It
      was a long, uneven, low building, evidently of ancient architecture.
      Numerous stacks of tall and fantastically-shaped chimneys rose over three
      thick and heavy gables, which reached down farther than the middle of the
      elevation, forming three compartments, one of them including a large and
      modern bow window, over which clustered in profusion the sweet and glowing
      blossoms of the clematis and the pomegranate. Indeed, the whole front of
      the house was so completely covered with a rich scarlet-creeper, that it
      was difficult to ascertain of what materials it was built. As Vivian was
      admiring a white peacock, which, attracted by their approach, had taken
      the opportunity of unfurling its wheeling train, a man came forward from
      the bow window.
    </p>
    <p>
      In height he was about five feet eight, and of a spare but
      well-proportioned figure. He had little hair, which was powdered, and
      dressed in a manner to render more remarkable the elevation of his conical
      and polished forehead. His long piercing black eyes were almost closed,
      from the fullness of their upper lids. His cheek was sallow, his nose
      aquiline, his mouth compressed. His ears, which were uncovered, were so
      small that it would be wrong to pass them over unnoticed; as, indeed, were
      his hands and feet, in form quite feminine. He was dressed in a coat and
      waistcoat of black velvet, the latter part of his costume reaching to his
      thighs; and in a button-hole of his coat was a large bunch of tube-rose.
      The broad collar of his exquisitely plaited shirt, though tied round with
      a wide black ribbon, did not conceal a neck which agreed well with his
      beardless chin, and would not have misbecome a woman. In England we should
      have called his breeches buckskin. They were of a pale yellow leather, and
      suited his large and spur-armed cavalry boots, which fitted closely to the
      legs they covered, reaching over the knees of the wearer. A ribbon round
      his neck, tucked into his waistcoat pocket, was attached to a small French
      watch. He swung in his right hand the bow of a violin; and in the other,
      the little finger of which was nearly hid by a large antique ring, he held
      a white handkerchief strongly perfumed with violets. Notwithstanding the
      many feminine characteristics which I have noticed, either from the
      expression of the eyes or the formation of the mouth, the countenance of
      this individual generally conveyed an impression of firmness and energy.
      This description will not be considered ridiculously minute by those who
      have never had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the person of so
      celebrated a gentleman as MR. BECKENDORFF.
    </p>
    <p>
      He advanced to the Prince with an air which seemed to proclaim that, as
      his person could not be mistaken, the ceremony of introduction was
      unnecessary. Bowing in a ceremonious and courtly manner to his Highness,
      Mr. Beckendorff, in a weak but not unpleasing voice, said that he was
      &ldquo;honoured by the presence of Mr. von Philipson.&rdquo; The Prince answered his
      salutation in a manner equally ceremonious and equally courtly; for having
      no mean opinion of his own diplomatic abilities, his Highness determined
      that neither by an excess of coldness nor cordiality on his part should
      the Minister gather the slightest indication of the temper in which he had
      attended the interview. You see that even the bow of a diplomatist is a
      serious business!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff,&rdquo; said his Highness, &ldquo;my letter doubtless informed you
      that I should avail myself of your permission to be accompanied. Let me
      have the honour of presenting to you my friend Mr. Grey, an English
      gentleman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As the Prince spoke, Beckendorff stood with his arms crossed behind him,
      and his chin resting upon his chest, but his eyes at the same time so
      raised as to look his Highness full in the face. Vivian was so struck by
      his posture and the expression of his countenance, that he nearly omitted
      to bow when he was presented. As his name was mentioned, the Minister gave
      him a sharp, sidelong glance, and moving his head slightly, invited his
      guests to enter the house. The gentlemen accordingly complied with his
      request. Passing through the bow window, they found themselves in a
      well-sized room, the sides of which were covered with shelves filled with
      richly-bound books. There was nothing in the room which gave the slightest
      indication that the master of the library was any other than a private
      gentleman. Not a book, not a chair was out of its place. A purple inkstand
      of Sèvre, and a highly-tooled morocco portfolio of the same colour,
      reposed on a marqueterie table, and that was all. No papers, no
      despatches, no red tape, and no red boxes. Over an ancient chimney, lined
      with china tiles, on which were represented grotesque figures, cows
      playing the harp, monkeys acting monarchs, and tall figures all legs,
      flying with rapidity from pursuers who were all head; over this chimney
      were suspended some curious pieces of antique armour, among which an
      Italian dagger, with a chased and jewelled hilt, was the most remarkable
      and the most precious.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, &ldquo;is my library.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What a splendid poignard!&rdquo; said the Prince, who had no taste for books;
      and he immediately walked up to the chimney-piece. Beckendorff followed
      him, and taking down the admired weapon from its resting-place, proceeded
      to lecture on its virtues, its antiquity, and its beauty. Vivian seized
      this opportunity of taking a rapid glance at the contents of the library.
      He anticipated interleaved copies of Machiavel, Vattel, and Montesquieu;
      and the lightest works that he expected to meet with were the lying
      memoirs of some intriguing cardinal or the deluding apology of an exiled
      minister. To his surprise, he found that, without an exception, the
      collection consisted of poetry and romance. Somewhat surprised, Vivian
      looked with a curious eye on the unlettered backs of a row of mighty
      folios on a corner shelf. &ldquo;These,&rdquo; he thought, &ldquo;at least must be royal
      ordinances, and collected state papers.&rdquo; The sense of propriety struggled
      for a moment with the passion of curiosity; but nothing is more difficult
      for the man who loves books than to refrain from examining a volume which
      he fancies may be unknown to him. From the jewelled dagger Beckendorff had
      now got to an enamelled breast-plate. Two to one he should not be
      observed; and so, with a desperate pull, Vivian extracted a volume; it was
      a herbal! He tried another; it was a collection of dried insects!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, &ldquo;I will show you my drawing-room.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He opened a door at the farther end of the library, and introduced them to
      a room of a different character. The sun, which was shining brightly, lent
      additional brilliancy to the rainbow-tinted birds of paradise, the crimson
      maccaws, and the green parroquets that glistened on the Indian paper,
      which covered not only the walls, but also the ceiling of the room. Over
      the fireplace a black frame, projecting from the wall, and mournfully
      contrasting with the general brilliant appearance of the apartment,
      inclosed a picture of a beautiful female; and bending over its frame, and
      indeed partly shadowing the countenance, was the withered branch of a
      tree. A harpsichord and several cases of musical instruments were placed
      in different parts of the room; and suspended by broad black ribbons from
      the wall, on each side of the picture, were a guitar and a tambourine. On
      a sofa of unusual size lay a Cremona; and as Mr. Beckendorff passed the
      instrument he threw by its side the bow, which he had hitherto carried in
      his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We may as well now take something,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, when his guests
      had sufficiently admired the room; &ldquo;my pictures are in my dining-room; let
      us go there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, and armed this time not only with his bow but also with his
      violin, he retraced his steps through the library, and crossing a small
      passage which divided the house into two compartments, he opened the door
      into his dining-room. The moment they entered the room their ears were
      saluted, and indeed their senses ravished, by what appeared to be a
      concert of a thousand birds; yet none of the winged choristers were to be
      seen, and not even a single cage was visible. The room, which was simply
      furnished, appeared at first rather gloomy; for, though lighted by three
      windows, the silk blinds were all drawn.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And now,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, raising the first blind, &ldquo;you shall see
      my pictures. At what do you estimate this Breughel?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The window, which was of stained green glass, gave to the landscape an
      effect similar to that generally produced by the artist mentioned. The
      Prince, who was already puzzled by finding one who at the same time was
      both his host and his enemy so different a character from what he had
      conceived, and who, being by temper superstitious, considered that this
      preliminary false opinion of his was rather a bad omen, did not express
      any great admiration of the gallery of Mr. Beckendorff; but Vivian, who
      had no ambitious hopes or fears to affect his temper, and who was amused
      by the character with whom he had become so unexpectedly acquainted,
      good-naturedly humoured the fantasies of the Minister, and said that he
      preferred his picture to any Breughel he had ever seen.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see you have a fine taste,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, with a serious air,
      but in a courteous tone; &ldquo;you shall see my Claude!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The rich yellow tint of the second window gave to the fanciful garden all
      that was requisite to make it look Italian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you ever been in Italy, sir?&rdquo; asked Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have, Mr. von Philipson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never south of Germany,&rdquo; answered the Prince, who was hungry, and eyed
      with a rapacious glance the capital luncheon which he saw prepared for
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then, when either of you go, you will, of course, not miss the Lago
      Maggiore. Gaze on Isola Bella at sunset, and you will not view so fair a
      scene as this! And now, Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said Beckendorff, &ldquo;do me the
      favour of giving me your opinion of this Honthorst?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Highness would rather have given his opinion of the dish of game which
      still smoked upon the table, but which he was mournfully convinced would
      not smoke long. &ldquo;But,&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;this is the last!&rdquo; and so he admired
      the effect produced by the flaming panes, to which Beckendorff swore that
      no piece ever painted by Gerard Honthorst, for brilliancy of colouring and
      boldness of outline, could be compared. &ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; continued Beckendorff,
      &ldquo;mine are all animated pictures. See that cypress, waving from the breeze
      which is now stirring, and look! look at this crimson peacock! look! Mr.
      von Philipson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am looking, Mr. von&mdash;I beg pardon, Mr. Beckendorff,&rdquo; said the
      Prince, with great dignity, making this slight mistake in the name, either
      from being unused to converse with such low people as had not the nominal
      mark of nobility, or to vent his spleen at being so unnecessarily kept
      from the refreshment which he so much required.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said Beckendorff, suddenly turning round, &ldquo;all my
      fruits and all my vegetables are from my own garden. Let us sit down and
      help ourselves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The only substantial food at table was a great dish of game. The
      vegetables and the fruits were numerous and superb; and there really
      appeared to be a fair prospect of the Prince of Little Lilliput making as
      good a luncheon as if the whole had been conducted under the auspices of
      Master Rodolph himself, had it not been for the melody of the unseen
      vocalists, which, probably excited by the sounds of the knives and plates,
      too evidently increased every moment. But this inconvenience was soon
      removed by Mr. Beckendorff rising and giving three loud knocks on the door
      opposite to the one by which they had entered. Immediate silence ensued.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Clara will change your plate, Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian eagerly looked up, not with the slightest idea that the entrance of
      Clara would prove that the mysterious picture in the drawing-room was a
      portrait, but, it must be confessed, with a little curiosity to view the
      first specimen of the sex who lived under the roof of Mr. Beckendorff.
      Clara was a hale old woman, with rather an acid expression of countenance,
      prim in her appearance, and evidently precise in her manners. She placed a
      bottle and two wine-glasses with long, thin stems on the table; and having
      removed the game and changed the plates, she disappeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray what wine is this, Mr. Beckendorff?&rdquo; eagerly asked the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really don&rsquo;t know. I never drink wine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not know! I never tasted such Tokay in my life!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Probably,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff; &ldquo;I think it was a present from the
      Emperor. I have never tasted it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear sir, take a glass!&rdquo; said the Prince, his naturally jovial temper
      having made him completely forget whom he was addressing, and the business
      he had come upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never drink wine; I am glad you like it; I have no doubt Clara has
      more.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, no, no! we must be moderate,&rdquo; said the Prince, who, though a great
      admirer of a good luncheon, had also a due respect for a good dinner, and
      consequently had no idea, at this awkward hour in the day, of preventing
      himself from properly appreciating the future banquet. Moreover, his
      Highness, taking into consideration the manner in which the game had been
      dressed, and the marks of refinement and good taste which seemed to
      pervade every part of the establishment of Mr. Beckendorff, did not
      imagine that he was much presuming when he conjectured that there was a
      fair chance of his dinner being something superior.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sudden arrival and appearance of some new and unexpected guests
      through the mysterious portal on which Mr. Beckendorff by his three knocks
      had previously produced such a tranquillising effect, and which he had now
      himself opened, explained the character of the apartment, which, from its
      unceasing melody, had so much excited the curiosity of his guests. These
      new visitors were a crowd of piping bullfinches, Virginia nightingales,
      trained canaries, Java sparrows, and Indian lorys; which, freed from their
      cages of golden wire by their fond master, had fled, as was their custom,
      from his superb aviary to pay their respects and compliments at his daily
      levée.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am glad to see that you like birds, sir,&rdquo; said Beckendorff to Vivian;
      for our hero, good-naturedly humouring the tastes of his host, was
      impartially dividing the luxuries of a peach among a crowd of gaudy and
      greedy little sparrows. &ldquo;You shall see my favourites,&rdquo; continued
      Beckendorff; and tapping rather loudly on the table, he held out the
      forefinger of each hand. Two bullfinches recognised the signal, and
      immediately hastened to their perch.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear!&rdquo; trilled out one little songster, and it raised its speaking
      eyes to its delighted master.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My love!&rdquo; warbled the other, marking its affection by looks equally
      personal.
    </p>
    <p>
      As these monosyllables were repeated, Beckendorff, with sparkling eyes,
      triumphantly looked round at Vivian, as if the frequent reiteration were a
      proof of the sincerity of the affection of these singular friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length, to the Prince&rsquo;s relief, Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s feathered friends,
      having finished their dessert, were sent back to their cages, with a
      strict injunction not to trouble their master at present with their
      voices, an injunction which was obeyed to the letter; and when the door
      was closed few persons could have been persuaded that the next room was an
      aviary.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am proud of my peaches, Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said Beckendorff,
      recommending the fruit to his guest&rsquo;s attention, then rising from the
      table, he threw himself on the sofa, and began humming a tune in a low
      voice. Presently he took up his Cremona, and, using the violin as a
      guitar, accompanied himself in a beautiful air, but not in a more audible
      tone. While Mr. Beckendorff was singing he seemed unconscious that any
      person was in the room; and the Prince, who was not very fond of music,
      certainly gave him no hint, either by his approbation or his attention,
      that he was listened to. Vivian, however, like most unhappy men, loved
      music; and actuated by this feeling, and the interest which he began to
      take in the character of Mr. Beckendorff, he could not, when that
      gentleman had finished his air, refrain from very sincerely saying
      &ldquo;encore!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Beckendorff started and looked round, as if he were for the first moment
      aware that any being had heard him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Encore!&rdquo; said he, with a kind sneer: &ldquo;who ever could sing or play the
      same thing twice! Are you fond of music, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very much so, indeed. I fancied I recognised that air. You are an admirer
      I imagine, of Mozart?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never heard of him; I know nothing of those gentry. But if you really
      like music, I will play you something worth listening to.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff began a beautiful air very adagio, gradually increasing
      the time in a kind of variation, till at last his execution became so
      rapid that Vivian, surprised at the mere mechanical action, rose from his
      chair in order better to examine the player&rsquo;s management and motion of his
      bow. Exquisite as were the tones, enchanting as were the originality of
      his variations and the perfect harmony of his composition, it was
      nevertheless extremely difficult to resist smiling at the contortions of
      his face and figure. Now, his body bending to the strain, he was at one
      moment with his violin raised in the air, and the next instant with the
      lower nut almost resting upon his foot. At length, by well-proportioned
      degrees, the air died away into the original soft cadence; and the player,
      becoming completely entranced in his own performance, finished by sinking
      back on the sofa, with his bow and violin raised over his head. Vivian
      would not disturb him by his applause. An instant after, Mr. Beckendorff,
      throwing down the instrument, rushed through an open window into the
      garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as Beckendorff was out of sight, Vivian looked at the Prince; and
      his Highness, elevating his eyebrows, screwing up his mouth, and shrugging
      his shoulders, altogether presented a comical picture of a puzzled man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my dear friend,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;this is rather different from what we
      expected.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very different; but much more amusing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Humph!&rdquo; said the Prince, slowly; &ldquo;I do not think it exactly requires a
      ghost to tell us that Mr. Beckendorff is not in the habit of going to
      court. I do not know how he is accustomed to conduct himself when he is
      honoured by a visit from the Grand Duke; but I am quite sure that, as
      regards his treatment of myself, to say the least, the incognito is well
      observed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said the gentleman of whom they were speaking,
      putting his head in at the window, &ldquo;you shall see my blue passion-flower.
      We will take a walk round the garden.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince gave Vivian a look which seemed to suppose they must go, and
      accordingly they stepped into the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not see my garden in its glory,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, stopping
      before the bow window of the library. &ldquo;This spot is my strong point; had
      you been here earlier in the year, you might have admired with me my
      invaluable crescents of tulips; such colours! such brilliancy! so defined!
      And last year I had three king-tulips; their elegantly-formed, creamy cups
      I have never seen equalled. And then my double variegated ranunculuses; my
      hyacinths of fifty bells, in every tint, single and double; and my
      favourite stands of auriculas, so large and powdered that the colour of
      the velvet leaves was scarcely discoverable! The blue passion-flower is,
      however, now beautiful. You see that summer-house, sir,&rdquo; continued he,
      turning to Vivian; &ldquo;the top is my observatory. You will sleep in that
      pavilion to-night, so you had better take notice how the walk winds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The passion-flower was trained against the summer-house in question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff; and he stood admiring with outstretched
      arms; &ldquo;the latter days of its beauty, for the autumn frosts will soon stop
      its flower. Pray, Mr. von Philipson, are you a botanist?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;I am a great admirer of flowers, but I cannot
      exactly say that&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! no botanist. The flower of this beautiful plant continues only one
      day, but there is a constant succession from July to the end of the
      autumn; and if this fine weather continue&mdash;Pray, sir, how is the
      wind?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I really cannot say,&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;but I think the wind is either&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Do you know, sir?&rdquo; continued Beckendorff to Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think, sir, that it is&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Westerly. Well! If this weather continue, the succession may still last
      another month. You will be interested to know, Mr. von Philipson, that the
      flower comes out at the same joint with the leaf, on a peduncle nearly
      three inches long; round the centre of it are two radiating crowns; look,
      look, sir! the inner inclining towards the centre column; now examine this
      well, and I will be with you in a moment.&rdquo; So saying, Mr. Beckendorff,
      running down the walk, jumped over the railing, and in a moment was
      coursing across the lawn, towards the river, in a chase after a
      dragon-fly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff was soon out of sight, and after lingering half-an-hour in
      the vicinity of the blue passion-flower, the Prince proposed to Vivian
      that they should quit the spot. &ldquo;So far as I can observe,&rdquo; continued his
      Highness, &ldquo;we might as well quit the house. No wonder that Beckendorff&rsquo;s
      power is on the wane, for he appears to me to be growing childish. Surely
      he could not always have been this frivolous creature!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am really so astonished,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;that it is quite out of my
      power to assist your Highness in any supposition. But I should recommend
      you not to be too hasty in your movements. Take care that staying here
      does not affect the position which you have taken up, or retard the
      progress of any measures on which you have determined, and you are safe.
      What will it injure you if, with the chance of achieving the great and
      patriotic purpose to which you have devoted your powers and energies, you
      are subjected for a few hours to the caprices, or even rudeness, of any
      man whatever? If Beckendorff be the character which the world gives him
      credit to be, I do not think he can imagine that you are to be deceived
      twice; and if he do imagine so, we are convinced that he will be
      disappointed. If, as you have supposed, not only his power is on the wane,
      but his intellect also, four-and-twenty hours will convince us of the
      fact; for in less than that time your Highness will necessarily have
      conversation of a more important nature with him. I recommend, therefore,
      that we continue here to-day, although,&rdquo; added Vivian, smiling, &ldquo;I have to
      sleep in his observatory.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After walking in the gardens about an hour, the Prince and Vivian again
      went into the house, imagining that Beckendorff might have returned by
      another entrance; but he was not there. The Prince was much annoyed; and
      Vivian, to amuse himself, had recourse to the library. After re-examining
      the armour, looking at the garden through the painted windows,
      conjecturing who might be the original of the mysterious picture and what
      could be the meaning of the withered branch, the Prince was fairly worn
      out. The precise dinner hour he did not know; and notwithstanding repeated
      exertions, he had hitherto been unable to find the blooming Clara. He
      could not flatter himself, however, that there were less than two hours to
      kill before the great event took place; and so, heartily wishing himself
      back again at Turriparva, he prevailed upon Vivian to throw aside his book
      and take another walk.
    </p>
    <p>
      This time they extended their distance, stretched out as far as the river,
      and explored the adjoining woods; but of Mr. Beckendorff they saw and
      heard nothing. At length they again returned: it was getting dusk. They
      found the bow window of the library closed. They again entered the
      dining-room, and, to their surprise, found no preparations for dinner.
      This time the Prince was more fortunate in his exertions to procure an
      interview with Madam Clara, for that lady almost immediately entered the
      room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray, my good madam,&rdquo; inquired the Prince, &ldquo;has your master returned?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff is in the library, sir,&rdquo; said the old lady, pompously.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! we do not dine in this room, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Dine, sir!&rdquo; said the good dame, forgetting her pomposity in her
      astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, dine,&rdquo; said the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I to understand, then, that we are to have no dinner?&rdquo; asked his
      Highness, angry and agitated.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal, sir; but I am
      sure that if you and your friend are hungry, sir, I hope there is never a
      want in this house.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My good lady, I am hungry, very hungry, indeed; and if your master, I
      mean Mr. von, that is Mr. Beckendorff, has such a bad appetite that he can
      satisfy himself with picking, once a day, the breast of a pheasant; why,
      if he expect his friends to be willing or even able to live on such fare,
      the least that I can say is, that he is much mistaken; and so, therefore,
      my good friend Grey, I think we had better order our horses and be off.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No occasion for that, I hope,&rdquo; said Mrs. Clara, rather alarmed at the
      Prince&rsquo;s passion; &ldquo;no want, I trust, ever here, sir; and I make no doubt
      you will have dinner as soon as possible; and so, sir, I hope you will not
      be hasty.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hasty! I have no wish to be hasty; but as for disarranging the whole
      economy of the house, and getting up an extemporaneous meal for me, I
      cannot think of it. Mr. Beckendorff may live as he likes, and if I stay
      here I am contented to live as he does. I do not wish him to change his
      habits for me, and I shall take care that, after today, there will be no
      necessity for his doing so. However, absolute hunger can make no
      compliments; and therefore I will thank you, my good madam, to let me and
      my friend have the remains of that cold game, if they be still in
      existence, on which we lunched, or, as you term it, took our noon meal,
      this morning; and which, if it were your own cooking, Mrs. Clara, I assure
      you, as I observed to my friend at the time, did you infinite credit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince, although his gentlemanlike feelings had, in spite of his
      hunger, dictated a deprecation of Mrs. Clara&rsquo;s making a dinner merely for
      himself, still thought that a seasonable and deserved compliment to the
      lady might assist in bringing about a result which, notwithstanding his
      politeness, he much desired; and that was the production of another
      specimen of her culinary accomplishments. Having behaved, as he
      considered, with moderation and dignified civility, he was, it must be
      confessed, rather astounded when Mrs. Clara, duly acknowledging his
      compliment by her curtsey, was sorry to inform him that she dared give no
      refreshment in this house without Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s special order.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Special order! Why! surely your master will not grudge me the cold leg of
      a pheasant?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff is not in the habit of grudging anything,&rdquo; answered the
      housekeeper, with offended majesty.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then why should he object?&rdquo; asked the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff is the best judge, sir, of the propriety of his own
      regulations.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well!&rdquo; said Vivian, more interested for his friend than himself,
      &ldquo;there is no difficulty in asking Mr. Beckendorff?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;None in the least, sir,&rdquo; answered the housekeeper, &ldquo;when he is awake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Awake!&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;why! is he asleep now?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, sir, in the library.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And how long will he be asleep?&rdquo; asked the Prince, with eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is uncertain; he may be asleep for hours, he may wake in five minutes;
      all I can do is to watch.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, surely in a case like the present, you can wake your master?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I could not wake Mr. Beckendorff, sir, if the house were on fire. No one
      can enter the room when he is asleep.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then how can you possibly know when he is awake?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall hear his violin immediately, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, well! I suppose it must be so. I wish we were in Turriparva; that
      is all I know. Men of my station have no business to be paying visits to
      the sons of the Lord knows who! peasants, shopkeepers, and pedagogues!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As a fire was blazing in the dining-room, which Mrs. Clara informed them
      Mr. Beckendorff never omitted having every night in the year, the Prince
      and his friend imagined that they were to remain there, and they
      consequently did not attempt to disturb the slumbers of their host.
      Resting his feet on the hobs, his Highness, for the fiftieth time,
      declared that he wished he had never left Turriparva; and just when Vivian
      was on the point of giving up in despair the hope of consoling him, Mrs.
      Clara entered and proceeded to lay the cloth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your master is awake, then?&rdquo; asked the Prince, very quickly.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff has been long awake, sir! and dinner will be ready
      immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Highness&rsquo; countenance brightened; and in a short time the supper
      appearing, the Prince, again fascinated by Mrs. Clara&rsquo;s cookery and Mr.
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s wine, forgot his chagrin, and regained his temper.
    </p>
    <p>
      In about a couple of hours Mr. Beckendorff entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope that Clara has given you wine you like, Mr. von Philipson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The same bin, I will answer for that.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff had his violin in his hand, but his dress was much
      changed. His great boots being pulled off, exhibited the white silk
      stockings which he invariably wore. His coat had given place to the easier
      covering of a brocade dressing-gown. He drew a chair round the fire,
      between the Prince and Vivian. It was a late hour, and the room was only
      lighted by the glimmering coals, for the flames had long died away. Mr.
      Beckendorff sat for some time without speaking, gazing earnestly on the
      decaying embers. Indeed, before many minutes had elapsed, complete silence
      prevailed; for both the endeavours of the Prince and of Vivian to promote
      conversation had been unsuccessful. At length the master of the house
      turned round to the Prince, and pointing to a particular mass of coal,
      said, &ldquo;I think, Mr. von Philipson, that is the completest elephant I ever
      saw. We will ring the bell for some coals, and then have a game of whist.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince was so surprised by Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s remark that he was not
      sufficiently struck by the strangeness of his proposition, and it was only
      when he heard Vivian professing his ignorance of the game that it occurred
      to him that to play at whist was hardly the object for which he had
      travelled from Turriparva.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An Englishman not know whist!&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff:
      &ldquo;ridiculous! You do know it. Let us play! Mr. von Philipson, I know, has
      no objection.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, my good sir,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;although previous to conversation I
      may have no objection to join in a little amusement, still it appears to
      me that it has escaped your memory that whist is a game which requires the
      co-operation of four persons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all! I take dummy! I am not sure it is not the finest way of
      playing the game.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The table was arranged, the lights brought, the cards produced, and the
      Prince of Little Lilliput, greatly to his surprise, found himself playing
      whist with Mr. Beckendorff. Nothing could be more dull. The Minister would
      neither bet nor stake, and the immense interest which he took in every
      card that was played ludicrously contrasted with the rather sullen looks
      of the Prince and the very sleepy ones of Vivian. Whenever Mr. Beckendorff
      played for dummy he always looked with the most searching eye into the
      next adversary&rsquo;s face, as if he would read his cards in his features. The
      first rubber lasted an hour and a half, three long games, which Mr.
      Beckendorff, to his triumph, hardly won. In the first game of the second
      rubber Vivian blundered; in the second he revoked; and in the third,
      having neglected to play, and being loudly called upon, and rated both by
      his partner and Mr. Beckendorff, he was found to be asleep. Beckendorff
      threw down his hand with a loud dash, which roused Vivian from his
      slumber. He apologised for his drowsiness; but said that he was so sleepy
      that he must retire. The Prince, who longed to be with Beckendorff alone,
      winked approbation of his intention.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said Beckendorff, &ldquo;you spoiled the rubber. I shall ring for Clara.
      Why you all are so fond of going to bed I cannot understand. I have not
      been to bed these thirty years.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian made his escape; and Beckendorff, pitying his degeneracy, proposed
      to the Prince, in a tone which seemed to anticipate that the offer would
      meet with instantaneous acceptation, double dummy. This, however, was too
      much.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No more cards, sir, I thank you,&rdquo; said the Prince; &ldquo;if, however, you have
      a mind for an hour&rsquo;s conversation, I am quite at your service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am obliged to you; I never talk. Good night, Mr. von Philipson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff left the room. His Highness could contain himself no
      longer. He rang the bell.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray, Mrs. Clara,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;where are my horses?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff will have no quadrupeds within a mile of the house,
      except Owlface.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do you mean? Let me see the man-servant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The household consists only of myself, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why! where is my luggage, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That has been brought up, sir; it is in your room.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I tell you I must have my horses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is quite impossible to-night, sir. I think, sir, you had better
      retire. Mr. Beckendorff may not be home again these six hours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! is your master gone out?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, sir, he is just gone out to take his ride.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why! where is his horse kept, then?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is Owlface, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Owlface, indeed! What! is your master in the habit of riding out at
      night?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff rides out, sir, just when it happens to suit him.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is very odd I cannot ride out when it happens to suit me! However, I
      will be off to-morrow; and so, if you please, show me my bed-room at
      once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your room is the library, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The library! Why, there is no bed in the library.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We have no beds, sir; but the sofa is made up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No beds! Well! it is only for one night. You are all mad, and I am as mad
      as you for coming here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0062">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The morning sun peeping through the window of the little summer-house
      roused its inmate at an early hour; and finding no signs of Mr.
      Beckendorff and his guest having yet risen from their slumbers, Vivian
      took the opportunity of strolling about the gardens and the grounds.
      Directing his way along the margin of the river, he soon left the lawn and
      entered some beautiful meadows, whose dewy verdure glistened in the
      brightening beams of the early sun. Crossing these, and passing through a
      gate, he found himself in a rural road, whose lofty hedge-rows, rich with
      all the varieties of wild fruit and flower, and animated with the cheering
      presence of the busy birds chirping from every bough and spray, altogether
      presented a scene which reminded him of the soft beauties of his own
      country. With some men, to remember is to be sad; and unfortunately for
      Vivian Grey, there were few objects which with him did not give rise to
      associations of a painful nature. The strange occurrences of the last few
      days had recalled, if not revived, the feelings of his boyhood. His early
      career flitted across his mind. He would have stifled the remembrance with
      a sigh, but man Is the slave of Memory. For a moment he mused over Power;
      but then he, shuddering, shrank from the wearing anxiety, the consuming
      care, the eternal vigilance, the constant contrivance, the agonising
      suspense, the distracting vicissitudes of his past career. Alas! it is our
      nature to sicken, from our birth, after some object of unattainable
      felicity, to struggle through the freshest years of our life in an insane
      pursuit after some indefinite good, which does not even exist! But sure
      and quick is the dark hour which cools our doting frenzy in the frigid
      waves of the ocean of oblivion! We dream of immortality until we die.
      Ambition! at thy proud and fatal altar we whisper the secrets of our
      mighty thoughts, and breathe the aspirations of our inexpressible desires.
      A clouded flame licks up the offering of our ruined souls, and the
      sacrifice vanishes in the sable smoke of Death.
    </p>
    <p>
      But where are his thoughts wandering? Had he forgotten that day of darkest
      despair? There had that happened to him which had happened to no other
      man. He was roused from his reverie by the sound of a trotting horse. He
      looked up, but the winding road prevented him at first from seeing the
      steed which evidently was approaching. The sound came nearer and nearer;
      and at length, turning a corner, Mr. Beckendorff came in sight. He was
      mounted on a strong-built, rough, and ugly pony, with an obstinate mane,
      which, defying the exertion&rsquo;s of the groom, fell in equal divisions on
      both sides of its bottle neck, and a large white face, which, combined
      with its blinking vision, had earned for it the euphonious title of
      Owlface. Both master and steed must have travelled hard and far, for both
      were covered with dust and mud from top to toe, from mane to hoof. Mr.
      Beckendorff seemed surprised at meeting Vivian, and pulled up his pony as
      he reached him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An early riser, I see, sir. Where is Mr. von Philipson?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have not yet seen him, and imagined that both he and yourself had not
      yet risen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hum! how many hours is it to noon?&rdquo; asked Mr. Beckendorff, who always
      spoke astronomically.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;More than four, I imagine.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray do you prefer the country about here to Turriparva?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Both, I think, are beautiful.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You live at Turriparva?&rdquo; asked Mr. Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;As a guest,&rdquo; answered Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Has it been a fine summer at Turriparva?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I believe everywhere.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid Mr. von Philipson finds it rather dull here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am not aware of it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He seems a ve-ry&mdash;?&rdquo; said Beckendorff, looking keenly in his
      companion&rsquo;s face. But Vivian did not supply the desired phrase; and so the
      Minister was forced to finish the sentence himself, &ldquo;a very gentlemanlike
      sort of man?&rdquo; A low bow was the only response.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust, sir, I may indulge the hope,&rdquo; continued Mr. Beckendorff, &ldquo;that
      you will honour me with your company another day.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are exceedingly obliging!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson is fond, I think, of a country life?&rdquo; said Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Most men are.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose he has no innate objection to live occasionally in a city?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Few have.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You probably have known him long?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not long enough to wish our acquaintance at an end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hum!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      They proceeded in silence for some moments, and then Beckendorff again
      turned round, and this time with a direct question.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wonder if Mr. Von Philipson can make it convenient to honour me with
      his company another day. Can you tell me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think the best person to inform you of that would be his Highness
      himself,&rdquo; said Vivian, using his friend&rsquo;s title purposely to show Mr.
      Beckendorff how ridiculous he considered his present use of the incognito.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think so, sir, do you?&rdquo; answered Beckendorff, sarcastically.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had now arrived at the gate by which Vivian had reached the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your course, sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, &ldquo;lies that way. I see, like
      myself, you are no great talker. We shall meet at breakfast.&rdquo; So saying,
      the Minister set spurs to his pony, and was soon out of sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian reached the house, he found the bow window of the library
      thrown open, and as he approached he saw Mr. Beckendorff enter the room
      and bow to the prince. His Highness had passed a good night in spite of
      not sleeping in a bed, and he was at this moment commencing a delicious
      breakfast. His ill-humour had consequently vanished. He had made up his
      mind that Beckendorff was mad; and although he had given up all the secret
      and flattering hopes which he had dared to entertain when the interview
      was first arranged, he nevertheless did not regret his visit, which on the
      whole had been amusing, and had made him acquainted with the person and
      habits, and, as he believed, the intellectual powers of a man with whom,
      most probably, he should soon be engaged in open hostility. Vivian took
      his seat at the breakfast, table, and Beckendorff stood conversing with
      them with his back to the fireplace, and occasionally, during the pauses
      of conversation, pulling the strings of his violin with his fingers. It
      did not escape Vivian&rsquo;s observation that the Minister was particularly
      courteous and even attentive to the Prince; and that he endeavoured by his
      quick and more communicative answers, and occasionally by a stray
      observation, to encourage the good humour visible on the cheerful
      countenance of his guest.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you been long up, Mr. Beckendorff?&rdquo; asked the Prince; for his host
      had resumed his dressing-gown and slippers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I generally see the sun rise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And yet you retire late! out riding last night, I understand?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never go to bed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; said the Prince. &ldquo;Well, for my part, without my regular rest I
      am nothing. Have you breakfasted, Mr. Beckendorff?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Clara will bring my breakfast immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The dame accordingly soon appeared, bearing a tray with a basin of boiling
      water and one large thick biscuit. This Mr. Beckendorff, having well
      soaked in the hot fluid, eagerly devoured; and then taking up his violin,
      amused himself until his guests had finished their breakfast.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian had ended his meal he left the Prince and Beckendorff alone,
      determined that his presence should not be the occasion of the Minister
      any longer retarding the commencement of business. The Prince, who by a
      private glance had been prepared for his departure, immediately took the
      opportunity of asking Mr. Beckendorff, in a decisive tone, whether he
      might flatter himself that he could command his present attention to a
      subject of importance. Mr. Beckendorff said that he was always at Mr. von
      Philipson&rsquo;s service; and drawing a chair opposite him, the Prince and Mr.
      Beckendorff now sat on each side of the fireplace.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hem!&rdquo; said the Prince, clearing his throat; and he looked at Mr.
      Beckendorff, who sat with his heels close together, his toes out square,
      his hands resting on his knees, which, as well as his elbows, were turned
      out, his shoulders bent, his head reclined, and his eyes glancing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hem!&rdquo; said the Prince of Little Lilliput. &ldquo;In compliance, Mr.
      Beckendorff, with your wish, developed in the communication received by me
      on the&mdash;inst., I assented in my answer to the arrangement then
      proposed; the object of which was, to use your own words, to facilitate
      the occurrence of an oral interchange of the sentiments of various parties
      interested in certain proceedings, by which interchange it was anticipated
      that the mutual interests might be respectively considered and finally
      arranged. Prior, Mr. Beckendorff, to either of us going into any detail
      upon those points of probable discussion, which will, in all likelihood,
      form the fundamental features of this interview, I wish to recall your
      attention to the paper which I had the honour of presenting to his Royal
      Highness, and which is alluded to in your communication of the&mdash;last.
      The principal heads of that document I have brought with me, abridged in
      this paper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Here the Prince handed to Mr. Beckendorff a MS. pamphlet, consisting of
      several sheets closely written. The Minister bowed very graciously as he
      took it from his Highness&rsquo; hand, and then, without even looking at it,
      laid it on the table.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You, sir, I perceive,&rdquo; continued the Prince, &ldquo;are acquainted with its
      contents; and it will therefore be unnecessary for me at present to
      expatiate upon their individual expediency, or to argue for their
      particular adoption. And, sir, when we observe the progress of the human
      mind, when we take into consideration the quick march of intellect, and
      the wide expansion of enlightened views and liberal principles; when we
      take a bird&rsquo;s-eye view of the history of man from the earliest ages to the
      present moment, I feel that it would be folly in me to conceive for an
      instant that the measures developed and recommended in that paper will not
      finally receive the approbation of his Royal Highness. As to the exact
      origin of slavery, Mr. Beckendorff, I confess that I am not, at this
      moment, prepared distinctly to speak. That the Divine Author of our
      religion was its decided enemy, I am informed, is clear. That the slavery
      of ancient times was the origin of the feudal service of a more modern
      period, is a point on which men of learning have not precisely made up
      their minds. With regard to the exact state of the ancient German people,
      Tacitus affords us a great deal of most interesting information. Whether
      or not, certain passages which I have brought with me marked in the
      Germania are incontestable evidences that our ancestors enjoyed or
      understood the practice of a wise and well-regulated representative
      system, is a point on which I shall be happy to receive the opinion of so
      distinguished a statesman as Mr. Beckendorff. In stepping forward, as I
      have felt it my duty to do, as the advocate of popular rights and national
      privileges, I am desirous to prove that I have not become the votary of
      innovation and the professor of revolutionary doctrines. The passages of
      the Roman author in question, and an ancient charter of the Emperor
      Charlemagne, are, I consider, decisive and sufficient precedents for the
      measures which I have thought proper to sanction by my approval, and to
      support by my influence. A minister, Mr. Beckendorff, must take care that
      in the great race of politics the minds of his countrymen do not leave his
      own behind them. We must never forget the powers and capabilities of man.
      On this very spot, perhaps, some centuries ago, savages clothed in skins
      were committing cannibalism in a forest. We must not forget, I repeat,
      that it is the business to those to whom Providence has allotted the
      responsible possession of power and influence (that it is their duty, our
      duty, Mr. Beckendorff), to become guardians of our weaker
      fellow-creatures; that all power is a trust; that we are accountable for
      its exercise; that from the people, and for the people, all springs, and
      all must exist; and that, unless we conduct ourselves with the requisite
      wisdom, prudence, and propriety, the whole system of society will be
      disorganised; and this country, in particular, will fall a victim to that
      system of corruption and misgovernment which has already occasioned the
      destruction of the great kingdoms mentioned in the Bible, and many other
      states besides, Greece, Rome, Carthage, &amp;c.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Thus ended the peroration of an harangue consisting of an incoherent
      arrangement of imperfectly-remembered facts and misunderstood principles;
      all gleaned by his Highness from the enlightening articles of the
      Reisenburg journals. Like Brutus, the Prince of Little Lilliput paused for
      a reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said his companion, when his Highness had finished,
      &ldquo;you speak like a man of sense.&rdquo; Having given this answer, Mr. Beckendorff
      rose from his seat and walked straight out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Prince at first took the answer for a compliment; but Mr. Beckendorff
      not returning, he began to have a faint idea that he was neglected. In
      this uncertainty he rang the bell for his friend Clara.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mrs. Clara! where is your master?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Just gone out, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How do you mean?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has gone out with his gun, sir.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are quite sure he has&mdash;gone out?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Quite sure, sir. I took him his coat and boots myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am to understand, then, that your master has gone out?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, sir; Mr. Beckendorff has gone out. He will be home for his noon
      meal.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is enough! Grey!&rsquo; called out the indignant Prince, darting into the
      garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, my dear Prince,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;what can possibly be the matter?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The matter! Insanity can be the only excuse; insanity can alone account
      for his preposterous conduct. We have seen enough of him. The repetition
      of absurdity is only wearisome. Pray assist me in getting our horses
      immediately.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Certainly, if you wish it; but remember you brought me here as your
      friend and counsellor. As I have accepted the trust, I cannot help being
      sensible of the responsibility. Before, therefore, you finally resolve
      upon departure, pray let me be fully acquainted with the circumstances
      which have impelled you to this sudden resolution.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Willingly, my good friend, could I only command my temper; and yet to
      fall into a passion with a madman is almost a mark of madness. But his
      manner and his conduct are so provoking and so puzzling, that I cannot
      altogether repress my irritability. And that ridiculous incognito! Why I
      sometimes begin to think that I really am Mr. von Philipson! An incognito
      forsooth! for what? to deceive whom? His household apparently only
      consists of two persons, one of whom has visited me in my own castle; and
      the other is a cross old hag, who would not be able to comprehend my rank
      if she were aware of it. But to the point! When you left the room I was
      determined to be trifled with no longer, and I asked him, in a firm voice
      and very marked manner, whether I might command his immediate attention to
      important business. He professed to be at my service. I opened the affair
      by taking a cursory, yet definite, review of the principles in which my
      political conduct had originated, and on which it was founded. I flattered
      myself that I had produced an impression. Sometimes we are in a better cue
      for these expositions than at others, and to-day I was really unusually
      felicitous. My memory never deserted. I was at the same time luminous and
      profound; and while I was guided by the philosophical spirit of the
      present day, I showed, by my various reading, that I respected the
      experience of antiquity. In short, I was satisfied with myself; and with
      the exception of one single point about the origin of slavery, which
      unfortunately got entangled with the feudal system, I could not have got
      on better had Sievers himself been at my side. Nor did I spare Mr.
      Beckendorff; but, on the contrary, I said a few things which, had he been
      in his senses, must, I imagine, have gone home. Do you know I finished by
      drawing his own character, and showing the inevitable effects of his
      ruinous policy: and what do you think he did?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Left you in a passion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all. He seemed much struck by what I had said, and apparently
      understood it. I have heard that in some species of insanity the patient
      is perfectly able to comprehend everything addressed to him, though at
      that point his sanity ceases, and he is unable to answer or to act. This
      must be Beckendorff&rsquo;s case; for no sooner had I finished than he rose up
      immediately, and, saying that I spoke like a man of sense, abruptly
      quitted the room. The housekeeper says he will not be at home again till
      that infernal ceremony takes place called the noon meal. Now, do you not
      advise me to be off as soon as possible?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It will require some deliberation. Pray did you not speak to him last
      night?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! I forgot that I had not been able to speak to you since then. Well!
      last night, what do you think he did? When you were gone, he had the
      insolence to congratulate me on the opportunity then afforded of playing
      double dummy; and when I declined his proposition, but said that if he
      wished to have an hour&rsquo;s conversation I was at his service, he coolly told
      me that he never talked, and bade me good night! Did you ever know such a
      madman? He never goes to bed. I only had a sofa. How the deuce did you
      sleep?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well and safely, considering that I was in a summer-house without lock or
      bolt.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! I need not ask you now as to your opinion of our immediately
      getting off. We shall have, however, some trouble about our horses, for he
      will not allow a quadruped near the house, except some monster of an
      animal that he rides himself; and, by St. Hubert! I cannot find out where
      our steeds are. What shall we do?&rdquo; But Vivian did not answer. &ldquo;What are
      you thinking of?&rdquo; continued his Highness. &ldquo;Why don&rsquo;t you answer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Highness must not go,&rdquo; said Vivian, shaking his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not go! Why so?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Depend upon it you are wrong about Beckendorff. That he is a humorist
      there is no doubt; but it appears to me to be equally clear that his queer
      habits and singular mode of life are not of late adoption. What he is now
      he must have been these ten, perhaps these twenty years, perhaps more; of
      this there are a thousand proofs about us. As to the overpowering cause
      which has made him the character he appears at present, it is needless for
      us to inquire; probably some incident in his private life in all
      likelihood connected with the mysterious picture. Let us be satisfied with
      the effect. If the case be as I state it in his private life and habits,
      Beckendorff must have been equally incomprehensible and equally singular
      at the very time that, in his public capacity, he was producing such
      brilliant results as at the present moment. Now then, can we believe him
      to be insane? I anticipate your objections. I know you will enlarge upon
      the evident absurdity of his inviting his political opponent to his house
      for a grave consultation on the most important affairs, and then treating
      him as he has done you, when it must be clear to him that you cannot be
      again duped, and when he must feel that, were he to amuse you for as many
      weeks as he has days, your plans and your position would not be
      injuriously affected. Be it so; probably a humorist like Beckendorff
      cannot, even in the most critical moment, altogether restrain the bent of
      his capricious inclinations. However, my dear Prince, I will lay no stress
      upon this point. My opinion, indeed my conviction, is that Beckendorff
      acts from design. I have considered his conduct well, and I have observed
      all that you have seen, and more than you have seen, and keenly; depend
      upon it that since you assented to the interview Beckendorff has been
      obliged to shift his intended position for negotiation; some of the
      machinery has gone wrong. Fearful, if he had postponed your visit, you
      should imagine that he was only again amusing you, and consequently would
      listen to no future overtures, he has allowed you to attend a conference
      for which he is not prepared. That he is making desperate exertions to
      bring the business to a point is my firm opinion; and you would perhaps
      agree with me were you as convinced as I am that, since we parted last
      night, our host has been to Reisenburg and back again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To Reisenburg and back again!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay! I rose this morning at an early hour, and imagining that both you and
      Beckendorff had not yet made your appearance, I escaped from the grounds,
      intending to explore part of the surrounding country. In my stroll I came
      to a narrow winding road, which I am convinced lies in the direction
      towards Reisenburg; there, for some reason or other, I loitered more than
      an hour, and very probably should have been too late for breakfast had not
      I been recalled to myself by the approach of a horseman. It was
      Beckendorff, covered with dust and mud; his horse had been evidently hard
      ridden. I did not think much of it at the time, because I supposed he
      might have been out for three or four hours and hard worked, but I
      nevertheless was struck by his appearance; and when you mentioned that he
      went out riding at a late hour last night, it immediately occurred to me
      that had he come home at one or two o&rsquo;clock it was not very probable that
      he would have gone out again at four or five. I have no doubt that my
      conjecture is correct; Beckendorff has been to Reisenburg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have placed this business in a new and important light,&rdquo; said the
      Prince, his expiring hopes reviving; &ldquo;what then do you advise me to do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To be quiet. If your own view of the case be right, you can act as well
      to-morrow or the next day as this moment; on the contrary, if mine be the
      correct one, a moment may enable Beckendorff himself to bring affairs to a
      crisis. In either case I should recommend you to be silent, and in no
      manner to allude any more to the object of your visit. If you speak you
      only give opportunities to Beckendorff of ascertaining your opinions and
      your inclinations; and your silence, after such frequent attempts on your
      side to promote discussion upon business, will soon be discovered by him
      to be systematic. This will not decrease his opinion of your sagacity and
      firmness. The first principle of negotiation is to make your adversary
      respect you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After long consultation the Prince determined to follow Vivian&rsquo;s advice;
      and so firmly did he adhere to his purpose that when he met Mr.
      Beckendorff at the noon meal, he asked him, with a very unembarrassed
      voice and manner, &ldquo;what sport he had had in the morning.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The noon meal again consisted of a single dish, as exquisitely dressed,
      however, as the preceding one. It was a haunch of venison.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is my dinner, gentlemen,&rdquo; said Beckendorff; &ldquo;let it be your
      luncheon. I have ordered your dinner at sunset.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After having eaten a slice of the haunch, Mr. Beckendorff rose from the
      table and said, &ldquo;We will have our wine in the drawing-room, Mr. von
      Philipson, and then you will not be disturbed by my birds.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the drawing-room, therefore, his two guests soon adjourned; they found
      him busily employed with his pencil. The Prince thought it must be a
      chart, or a fortification at least, and was rather surprised when Mr.
      Beckendorff asked him the magnitude of Mirac in Boötes; and the Prince
      confessing his utter ignorance of the subject, the Minister threw aside
      his unfinished planisphere and drew his chair to them at the table. It was
      with satisfaction that his Highness perceived a bottle of his favourite
      Tokay; and with no little astonishment he observed that to-day there were
      three wine glasses placed before them. They were of peculiar beauty, and
      almost worthy, for their elegant shapes and great antiquity, of being
      included in the collection of the Grand Duke of Johannisberger.
    </p>
    <p>
      After exhausting their bottle, in which they were assisted to the extent
      of one glass by their host, who drank Mr. von Philipson&rsquo;s health with
      cordiality, they assented to Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s proposition of visiting his
      fruitery.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Prince&rsquo;s great relief, dinner-time soon arrived; and having
      employed a couple of hours on that meal very satisfactorily, he and Vivian
      adjourned to the drawing-room, having previously pledged their honour to
      each other that nothing should again induce them to play dummy whist.
      Their resolutions and their promises were needless. Mr. Beckendorff, who
      was sitting opposite the fire when they came into the room, neither by
      word nor motion acknowledged that he was aware of their entrance. Vivian
      found refuge in a book; and the Prince, after having examined and
      re-examined the brilliant birds that figured on the drawing-room paper,
      fell asleep upon the sofa. Mr. Beckendorff took down the guitar, and
      accompanied himself in a low voice for some time; then he suddenly ceased,
      and stretching out his legs, and supporting his thumbs in the armholes of
      his waistcoat, he leant back in his chair and remained motionless, with
      his eyes fixed upon the picture. Vivian, in turn, gazed upon this singular
      being and the fair pictured form which he seemed to idolise. Was he, too,
      unhappy? Had he, too, been bereft in the hour of his proud and perfect
      joy? Had he, too, lost a virgin bride? His agony overcame him, the book
      fell from his hand, and he sighed aloud! Mr. Beckendorff started, and the
      Prince awoke. Vivian, confounded, and unable to overpower his emotions,
      uttered some hasty words, explanatory, apologetical, and contradictory,
      and retired. In his walk to the summer-house a man passed him. In spite of
      a great cloak, Vivian recognised him as their messenger and guide; and his
      ample mantle did not conceal his riding boots and the spurs which
      glistened in the moonlight.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was an hour past midnight when the door of the summer-house softly
      opened and Mr. Beckendorff entered. He started when he found Vivian still
      undressed, and pacing up and down the little chamber. The young man made
      an effort, when he witnessed an intruder, to compose a countenance whose
      agitation could not be concealed.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What, are you up again?&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff. &ldquo;Are you ill?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Would I were as well in mind as in body! I have not yet been to rest. We
      cannot command our feelings at all moments, sir; and at this, especially,
      I felt that I had a right to count upon being alone.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I exceedingly regret that I have disturbed you,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff, in
      a kind voice, and in a manner which responded to the sympathy of his tone.
      &ldquo;I thought that you had been long asleep. There is a star which I cannot
      exactly make out. I fancy it must be a comet, and so I ran to the
      observatory; but let me not disturb you;&rdquo; and Mr. Beckendorff was
      retiring.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do not disturb me, sir. I cannot sleep: pray ascend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Never mind the star. But if you really have no inclination to sleep, let
      us sit down and have a little conversation; or perhaps we had better take
      a stroll. It is a warm night.&rdquo; As he spoke, Mr. Beckendorff gently put his
      arm within Vivian&rsquo;s, and led him down the steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you an astronomer, sir?&rdquo; asked Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can tell the Great Bear from the Little Dog; but I confess that I look
      upon the stars rather in a poetical than a scientific spirit.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hum! I confess I do not.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There are moments,&rdquo; continued Vivian, &ldquo;when I cannot refrain from
      believing that these mysterious luminaries have more influence over our
      fortunes than modern times are disposed to believe. I feel that I am
      getting less sceptical, perhaps I should say more credulous, every day;
      but sorrow makes us superstitious.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I discard all such fantasies,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff; &ldquo;they only tend to
      enervate our mental energies and paralyse all human exertion. It is the
      belief in these, and a thousand other deceits I could mention, which teach
      man that he is not the master of his own mind, but the ordained victim or
      the chance sport of circumstances, that makes millions pass through life
      unimpressive as shadows, and has gained for this existence the stigma of a
      vanity which it does not deserve.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish that I could think as you do,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;but the experience of
      my life forbids me. Within only these last two years my career has, in so
      many instances, indicated that I am not the master of my own conduct; that
      no longer able to resist the conviction which is hourly impressed on me, I
      recognise in every contingency the preordination of my fate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A delusion of the brain!&rdquo; said Beckendorff, quickly. &ldquo;Fate, Destiny,
      Chance, particular and special Providence; idle words! Dismiss them all,
      sir! A man&rsquo;s fate is his own temper; and according to that will be his
      opinion as to the particular manner in which the course of events is
      regulated. A consistent man believes in Destiny, a capricious man in
      Chance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, sir, what is a man&rsquo;s temper? It may be changed every hour. I started
      in life with very different feelings from those which I profess at this
      moment. With great deference to you, I imagine that you mistake the effect
      for the cause; for surely temper is not the origin, but the result of
      those circumstances of which we are all the creatures.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir, I deny it. Man is not the creature of circumstances. Circumstances
      are the creatures of men. We are free agents, and man is more powerful
      than matter. I recognise no intervening influence between that of the
      established course of nature and my own mind. Truth may be distorted, may
      be stifled, be suppressed. The invention of cunning deceits may, and in
      most instances does, prevent man from exercising his own powers. They have
      made him responsible to a realm of shadows, and a suitor in a court of
      shades. He is ever dreading authority which does not exist, and fearing
      the occurrence of penalties which there are none to enforce. But the mind
      that dares to extricate itself from these vulgar prejudices, that proves
      its loyalty to its Creator by devoting all its adoration to His glory;
      such a spirit as this becomes a master-mind, and that master-mind will
      invariably find that circumstances are its slaves.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff, yours is a bold philosophy, of which I myself was once a
      votary. How successful in my service you may judge by finding me a
      wanderer.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir! your present age is the age of error: your whole system is founded
      on a fallacy: you believe that a man&rsquo;s temper can change. I deny it. If
      you have ever seriously entertained the views which I profess; if, as you
      lead me to suppose, you have dared to act upon them, and failed; sooner or
      later, whatever may be your present conviction and your present feelings,
      you will recur to your original wishes and your original pursuits. With a
      mind experienced and matured, you may in all probability be successful;
      and then I suppose, stretching your legs in your easy-chair, you will at
      the same moment be convinced of your own genius, and recognise your own
      Destiny!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With regard to myself, Mr. Beckendorff, I am convinced of the
      erroneousness of your views. It is my opinion that no one who has dared to
      think can look upon this world in any other than a mournful spirit. Young
      as I am, nearly two years have elapsed since, disgusted with the world of
      politics, I retired to a foreign solitude. At length, with passions
      subdued, and, as I flatter myself, with a mind matured, convinced of the
      vanity of all human affairs, I felt emboldened once more partially to
      mingle with my species. Bitter as my lot had been, I had discovered the
      origin of my misery in my own unbridled passions; and, tranquil and
      subdued, I now trusted to pass through life as certain of no fresh sorrows
      as I was of no fresh joys. And yet, sir, I am at this moment sinking under
      the infliction of unparalleled misery; misery which I feel I have a right
      to believe was undeserved. But why expatiate to a stranger on sorrow which
      must be secret? I deliver myself up to my remorseless Fate.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is grief?&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff; &ldquo;if it be excited by the fear of
      some contingency, instead of grieving, a man should exert his energies and
      prevent its occurrence. If, on the contrary, it be caused by an event,
      that which has been occasioned by anything human, by the co-operation of
      human circumstances, can be, and invariably is, removed by the same means.
      Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of Grief the blunder of a
      life. Mix in the world, and in a month&rsquo;s time you will speak to me very
      differently. A young man, you meet with disappointment; in spite of all
      your exalted notions of your own powers, you immediately sink under it. If
      your belief of your powers were sincere, you should have proved it by the
      manner in which you have struggled against adversity, not merely by the
      mode in which you laboured for advancement. The latter is but a very
      inferior merit. If, in fact, you wish to succeed, success, I repeat, is at
      your command. You talk to me of your experience; and do you think that my
      sentiments are the crude opinions of an unpractised man? Sir! I am not
      fond of conversing with any person, and therefore far from being inclined
      to maintain an argument in a spirit of insincerity merely for the sake of
      a victory of words. Mark what I say: it is truth. No Minister ever yet
      fell but from his own inefficiency. If his downfall be occasioned, as it
      generally is, by the intrigues of one of his own creatures, his downfall
      is merited for having been the dupe of a tool which in all probability he
      should never have employed. If he fall through the open attacks of his
      political opponents, his downfall is equally deserved for having
      occasioned by his impolicy the formation of a party, for having allowed it
      to be formed, or for not having crushed it when formed. No conjecture can
      possibly occur, however fearful, however tremendous it may appear, from
      which a man, by his own energy, may not extricate himself, as a mariner by
      the rattling of his cannon can dissipate the impending water-spout!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0063">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was on the third day of the visit to Mr. Beckendorff, just as that
      gentleman was composing his mind after his noon meal with his favourite
      Cremona, and in a moment of rapture raising his instrument high in the
      air, that the door was suddenly dashed open, and Essper George rushed into
      the room. The intruder, the moment that his eye caught Vivian, flew to his
      master, and, seizing him by the arm, commenced and continued a loud shout
      of exultation, accompanying his scream the whole time by a kind of quick
      dance, which, though not quite as clamorous as the Pyrrhic, nevertheless
      completely drowned the scientific harmony of Mr. Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      So astounded were the three gentlemen by this unexpected entrance, that
      some moments elapsed ere either of them found words at his command. At
      length the master of the house spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson, I beg the favour of being informed who this person
      is?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince did not answer, but looked at Vivian in great distress; and
      just as our hero was about to give Mr. Beckendorff the requisite
      information, Essper George, taking up the parable himself, seized the
      opportunity of explaining the mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who am I? who are you? I am an honest man, and no traitor; and if all
      were the same, why, then, there would be no rogues in Reisenburg. Who am
      I? A man. There&rsquo;s an arm! there&rsquo;s a leg! Can you see through a wood by
      twilight? If so, yours is a better eye than mine. Can you eat an unskinned
      hare, or dine on the haunch of a bounding stag? If so, your teeth are
      sharper than mine. Can you hear a robber&rsquo;s footstep when he&rsquo;s kneeling
      before murder? or can you listen to the snow falling on Midsummer&rsquo;s day?
      If so, your ears are finer than mine. Can you run with a chamois? can you
      wrestle with a bear? can you swim with an otter? If so, I&rsquo;m your match.
      How many cities have you seen? how many knaves have you gulled? Which is
      dearest, bread or justice? Why do men pay more for the protection of life
      than life itself? Is cheatery a staple at Constantinople, as it is at
      Vienna? and what&rsquo;s the difference between a Baltic merchant and a Greek
      pirate? Tell me all this, and I will tell you who went in mourning in the
      moon at the death of the last comet. Who am I, indeed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The embarrassment of the Prince and Vivian while Essper George addressed
      to Mr. Beckendorff these choice queries was indescribable. Once Vivian
      tried to check him, but in vain. He did not repeat his attempt, for he was
      sufficiently employed in restraining his own agitation and keeping his own
      countenance; for in spite of the mortification and anger that Essper&rsquo;s
      appearance had excited in him, still an unfortunate but innate taste for
      the ludicrous did not allow him to be perfectly insensible to the humour
      of the scene. Mr. Beckendorff listened quietly till Essper had finished;
      he then rose.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. von Philipson,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;as a personal favour to yourself, and to my
      own great inconvenience, I consented that in this interview you should be
      attended by a friend. I did not reckon upon your servant, and it is
      impossible that I can tolerate his presence for a moment. You know how I
      live, and that my sole attendant is a female. I allow no male servants
      within this house. Even when his Royal Highness honours me with his
      presence he is unattended. I desire that I am immediately released from
      the presence of this buffoon.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      So saying, Mr. Beckendorff left the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who are you?&rdquo; said Essper, following him, with his back bent, his head on
      his chest, and his eyes glancing. The imitation was perfect.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;your conduct is inexcusable, the mischief that you
      have done irreparable, and your punishment shall be severe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Severe! Why, what day did my master sell his gratitude for a silver
      groschen! Is this the return for finding you out, and saving you from a
      thousand times more desperate gang than that Baron at Ems! Severe indeed
      will be your lot when you are in a dungeon in Reisenburg Castle, with
      black bread for roast venison and sour water for Rhenish!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, what are you talking about?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Talking about! About treason, and arch traitors, and an old scoundrel who
      lives in a lone lane, and dares not look you straight in the face. Why,
      his very blink is enough to hang him without trial!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Essper, cease immediately this rhodomontade, and then in distinct terms
      inform his Highness and myself of the causes of this unparalleled
      intrusion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The impressiveness of Vivian&rsquo;s manner produced a proper effect; and except
      that he spoke somewhat affectedly slow and ridiculously precise, Essper
      George delivered himself with great clearness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You see, sir, you never let me know that you were going to leave, and so
      when I found that you did not come back, I made bold to speak to Mr.
      Arnelm when he came home from hunting; but I could not get enough breath
      out of him to stop a ladybird on a rose-leaf. I did not much like it, your
      honour, for I was among strangers, and so were you, you know. Well, then,
      I went to Master Rodolph: he was very kind to me, and seeing me in low
      spirits, and thinking me, I suppose, in love, or in debt, or that I had
      done some piece of mischief, or had something or other preying on my mind,
      he comes to me, and says, &lsquo;Essper,&rsquo; said he; you remember Master Rodolph&rsquo;s
      voice, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To the point. Never let me hear Master Rodolph&rsquo;s name again.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, sir! Well, well! he said to me, &lsquo;Come and dine with me in my room;&rsquo;
      says I, &lsquo;I will.&rsquo; A good offer should never be refused, unless we have a
      better one at the same time. Whereupon, after dinner, Master Rodolph said
      to me, &lsquo;We will have a bottle of Burgundy for a treat.&rsquo; You see, sir, we
      were rather sick of the Rhenish. Well, sir, we were free with the wine;
      and Master Rodolph, who is never easy except when he knows everything,
      must be trying, you see, to get out of me what it was that made me so down
      in the mouth. I, seeing this, thought I would put off the secret to
      another bottle; which being produced, I did not conceal from him any
      longer what was making me so low. &lsquo;Rodolph,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;I do not like my
      young master going out in this odd way: he is of a temper to get into
      scrapes, and I should like very much to know what he and the Prince
      (saving your Highness&rsquo; presence) are after. They have been shut up in that
      cabinet these two nights, and though I walked by the door pretty often,
      devil a bit of a word ever came through the key-hole; and so you see,
      Rodolph,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;it requires a bottle or two of Burgundy to keep my
      spirits up.&rsquo; Well, your Highness, strange to say, no sooner had I spoken
      than Master Rodolph put his head across the little table; we dined at the
      little table on the right hand of the room as you enter&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Go on.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am going on. Well! he put his head across the little table, and said to
      me in a low whisper, cocking his odd-looking eye at the same time, &lsquo;I tell
      you what, Essper, you are a deuced sharp fellow!&rsquo; and so, giving a shake
      of his head and another wink of his eye, he was quiet. I smelt a rat, but
      I did not begin to pump directly; but after the third bottle, &lsquo;Rodolph,&rsquo;
      said I, &lsquo;with regard to your last observation (for we had not spoken
      lately, Burgundy being too fat a wine for talking), we are both of us
      sharp fellows. I dare say, now, you and I are thinking of the same thing.&rsquo;
      &lsquo;No doubt of it,&rsquo; said Rodolph. And so, sir, he agreed to tell me what he
      was thinking of, on condition that I should be equally frank afterwards.
      Well, then, he told me that there were sad goings on at Turriparva.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The deuce!&rdquo; said the Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Let him tell his story,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sad goings on at Turriparva! He wished that his Highness would hunt more
      and attend less to politics; and then he told me, quite confidentially,
      that his Highness the Prince, and Heaven knows how many other Princes
      besides, had leagued together, and were going to dethrone the Grand Duke,
      and that his master was to be made King, and he, Master Rodolph, Prime
      Minister. Hearing all this, and duly allowing for a tale over a bottle, I
      made no doubt, as I find to be the case, that you, good master, were about
      to be led into some mischief; and as I know that conspiracies are always
      unsuccessful, I have done my best to save my master; and I beseech you,
      upon my knees, to get out of the scrape as soon as you possibly can.&rdquo; Here
      Essper George threw himself at Vivian&rsquo;s feet, and entreated him to quit
      the house immediately.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Was ever anything so absurd and so mischievous!&rdquo; ejaculated the Prince;
      and then he conversed with Vivian for some time in a whisper. &ldquo;Essper,&rdquo; at
      length Vivian said, &ldquo;you have committed one of the most perfect and most
      injurious blunders that you could possibly perpetrate. The mischief which
      may result from your imprudent conduct is incalculable. How long is it
      since you have thought proper to regulate your conduct on the absurd
      falsehoods of a drunken steward? His Highness and myself wish to consult
      in private; but on no account leave the house. Now mind me; if you leave
      this house without my permission, you forfeit the little chance which
      remains of being retained in my service.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where am I to go, sir?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stay in the passage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Suppose&rdquo; (here he imitated Beckendorff) &ldquo;comes to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then open the door and come into this room.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the Prince, when the door was at length shut, &ldquo;one thing is
      quite clear. He does not know who Beckendorff is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;So far satisfactory; but I feel the force of your Highness&rsquo; observations.
      It is a most puzzling case. To send him back to Turriparva would be
      madness: the whole affair would be immediately revealed over another
      bottle of Burgundy with Master Rodolph; in fact, your Highness&rsquo; visit
      would be a secret to no one in the country, your host would be soon
      discovered, and the evil consequences are incalculable. I know no one to
      send him to at Reisenburg; and if I did, it appears to me that the same
      objections equally apply to his proceeding to that city as to his
      returning to Turriparva. What is to be done? Surely some demon must have
      inspired him. We cannot now request Beckendorff to allow him to stay here;
      and if we did, I am convinced, from his tone and manner, that nothing
      could induce him to comply with our wish. The only course to be pursued is
      certainly an annoying one; but, so far as I can judge, it is the only mode
      by which very serious mischief can be prevented. Let me proceed forthwith
      to Reisenburg with Essper. Placed immediately under my eye, and solemnly
      adjured by me to silence, I think I can answer, particularly when I give
      him a gentle hint of the station of Beckendorff, for his preserving the
      confidence with which it will now be our policy partially to entrust him.
      It is, to say the least, awkward and distressing to leave you alone; but
      what is to be done? It does not appear that I can now be of any material
      service to you. I have assisted you as much as, and more than, we could
      reasonably have supposed it would have been in my power to have done, by
      throwing some light upon the character and situation of Beckendorff. With
      the clue to his conduct which my chance meeting with him yesterday morning
      has afforded us, the only point for your Highness to determine is as to
      the length of time you will resolve to wait for his communication. As to
      your final agreement together, with your Highness&rsquo; settled views and
      decided purpose, all the difficulty of negotiation will be on his side.
      Whatever, my dear Prince,&rdquo; continued Vivian, with a significant voice and
      marked emphasis, &ldquo;whatever, my dear Prince, may be your secret wishes, be
      assured that to attain them in your present negotiation you have only to
      be firm. Let nothing divert you from your purpose, and the termination of
      this interview must be gratifying to you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince of Little Lilliput was very disinclined to part with his shrewd
      counsellor, who had already done him considerable service, and he strongly
      opposed Vivian&rsquo;s proposition. His opposition, however, like that of most
      other persons, was unaccompanied by any suggestion of his own. And as both
      agreed that something must be done, it of course ended in the Prince being
      of opinion that Vivian&rsquo;s advice must be followed. The Prince was really
      much affected by this sudden and unexpected parting with one for whom,
      though he had known him so short a time, he began to entertain a sincere
      regard. &ldquo;I owe you my life,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;and perhaps more than my
      life; and here we are about suddenly to part, never to meet again. I wish
      I could get you to make Turriparva your home. You should have your own
      suite of rooms, your own horses, your own servants, and never feel for an
      instant that you were not master of all around you. In truth,&rdquo; continued
      the Prince, with great earnestness, &ldquo;I wish, my dear friend, you would
      really think seriously of this. You know you could visit Vienna, and even
      Italy, and yet return to me. Max would be delighted to see you: he loves
      you already; and Sievers and his library would be at your command. Agree
      to my proposition, dear friend.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot express to your Highness how sensible I am of your kindness.
      Your friendship I sincerely value and shall never forget; but I am too
      unhappy and unlucky a being to burden any one with my constant presence.
      Adieu! or will you go with me to Beckendorff?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, go with you by all means! But,&rdquo; said the Prince, taking a ruby ring
      of great antiquity off his finger, &ldquo;I should feel happy if you would wear
      this for my sake.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Prince was so much affected at the thoughts of parting with Vivian
      that he could scarcely speak. Vivian accepted the ring with a cordiality
      which the kind-hearted donor deserved; and yet our hero unfortunately had
      had rather too much experience of the world not to be aware that, most
      probably, in less than another week, his affectionate friend would not be
      able to recall his name under an hour&rsquo;s recollection. Such are friends!
      The moment that we are not at their side we are neglected, and the moment
      that we die we are forgotten!
    </p>
    <p>
      They found Mr. Beckendorff in his library. In apprising Mr. Beckendorff of
      his intention of immediately quitting his roof, Vivian did not omit to
      state the cause of his sudden departure. These not only accounted for the
      abruptness of his movement, but also gave Beckendorff an opportunity of
      preventing its necessity, by allowing Essper to remain. But the
      opportunity was not seized by Mr. Beckendorff. The truth was, that
      gentleman had a particular wish to see Vivian out of his house. In
      allowing the Prince of Little Lilliput to be attended during the interview
      by a friend, Beckendorff had prepared himself for the reception of some
      brawny Jagd Junker, or some thick-headed chamberlain, who he reckoned
      would act rather as an incumbrance than an aid to his opponent. It was
      with great mortification therefore, that he found him accompanied by a
      shrewd, experienced, wary, and educated Englishman. A man like Beckendorff
      soon discovered that Vivian Grey&rsquo;s was no common mind. His conversation
      with him of the last night had given him some notion of his powers, and
      the moment that Beckendorff saw Essper George enter the house he
      determined that he should be the cause of Vivian leaving it. There was
      also another and weighty reason for Mr. Beckendorff desiring that the
      Prince of Little Lilliput should at this moment be left to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey will ride on to Reisenburg immediately,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;and,
      my dear friend, you may depend upon having your luggage by the day after
      to-morrow. I shall be at Turriparva early to-morrow, and it will be my
      first care.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This was said in a loud voice, and both gentlemen watched Mr.
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s countenance as the information was given; but no emotion was
      visible.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sir, good morning to you,&rdquo; said Mr. Beckendorff; &ldquo;I am sorry you
      are going. Had I known it sooner I would have given you a letter. Mr. von
      Philipson,&rdquo; said Beckendorff, &ldquo;do me the favour of looking over that
      paper.&rdquo; So saying, Mr. Beckendorff put some official report into the
      Prince&rsquo;s hand; and while his Highness&rsquo; attention was attracted by this
      sudden request, Mr. Beckendorff laid his finger on Vivian&rsquo;s arm, and said
      in a lower tone, &ldquo;I shall take care that you find a powerful friend at
      Reisenburg!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2H_4_0072">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0064">
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      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      As Vivian left the room Mr. Beckendorff was seized with an unusual desire
      to converse with the Prince of Little Lilliput, and his Highness was
      consequently debarred the consolation of walking with his friend as far as
      the horses. At the little gate Vivian and Essper encountered the only male
      attendant who was allowed to approach the house of Mr. Beckendorff. As
      Vivian quietly walked his horse up the rough turf road, he could not
      refrain from recurring to his conversation of the previous night; and when
      he called to mind the adventures of the last six days, he had new cause to
      wonder at, and perhaps to lament over, his singular fate. In that short
      time he had saved the life of a powerful Prince, and being immediately
      signalled out, without any exertion on his part, as the object of that
      Prince&rsquo;s friendship, the moment he arrives at his castle, by a wonderful
      contingency, he becomes the depositary of state secrets, and assists in a
      consultation of importance with one of the most powerful Ministers in
      Europe. And now the object of so much friendship, confidence, and honour,
      he is suddenly on the road to the capital of the State of which his late
      host is the Prime Minister and his friend the chief subject, without even
      the convenience of a common letter of introduction; and with little
      prospect of viewing, with even the usual advantages of a common traveller,
      one of the most interesting of European Courts.
    </p>
    <p>
      When he had proceeded about halfway up the turf lane he found a private
      road to his right, which, with that spirit of adventure for which
      Englishmen are celebrated, he immediately resolved must not only lead to
      Reisenburg, but also carry him to that city much sooner than the regular
      high road. He had not advanced far up this road before he came to the gate
      at which he had parted with Beckendorff on the morning that gentleman had
      roused him so unexpectedly from, his reverie in a green lane. He was
      surprised to find a horseman dismounting at the gate. Struck by this
      singular circumstance, the appearance of the stranger was not unnoticed.
      He was a tall and well proportioned man, and as the traveller passed he
      stared Vivian so fully in the face that our hero did not fail to remark
      his handsome countenance, the expression of which, however, was rather
      vacant and unpleasing. He was dressed in a riding-coat exactly similar to
      the one always worn by Beckendorff&rsquo;s messenger, and had Vivian not seen
      him so distinctly he would have mistaken him for that person. The stranger
      was rather indifferently mounted, and carried his cloak and a small
      portmanteau at the back of his saddle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose it is the butler,&rdquo; said Essper George, who now spoke for the
      first time since his dismissal from the room. Vivian did not answer him;
      not because he entertained any angry feeling on account of his exceedingly
      unpleasant visit. By no means: it was impossible for a man like Vivian
      Grey to cherish an irritated feeling for a second. But he did not exchange
      a syllable with Essper George, merely because he was not in the humour to
      speak. He could not refrain from musing on the singular events of the last
      few days; and, above all, the character of Beckendorff particularly
      engrossed his meditation. Their conversation of the preceding night
      excited in his mind new feelings of wonder, and revived emotions which he
      thought were dead or everlastingly dormant. Apparently, the philosophy on
      which Beckendorff had regulated his career, and by which he had arrived at
      his pitch of greatness, was exactly the same with which he himself, Vivian
      Grey, had started in life; which he had found so fatal in its
      consequences; which he believed to be so vain in its principles. How was
      this? What radical error had he committed? It required little
      consideration. Thirty, and more than thirty, years had passed over the
      head of Beckendorff ere the world felt his power, or indeed was conscious
      of his existence. A deep student, not only of man in detail, but of man in
      groups; not only of individuals, but of nations; Beckendorff had hived up
      his ample knowledge of all subjects which could interest his
      fellow-creatures, and when that opportunity which in this world occurs to
      all men occurred to Beckendorff he was prepared. With acquirements equal
      to his genius, Beckendorff depended only upon himself, and succeeded.
      Vivian Grey, with a mind inferior to no man&rsquo;s, dashed on the stage, in
      years a boy, though in feelings a man. Brilliant as might have been his
      genius, his acquirements necessarily were insufficient. He could not
      depend only upon himself; a consequent necessity arose to have recourse to
      the assistance of others; to inspire them with feelings which they could
      not share; and humour and manage the petty weaknesses which he himself
      could not experience. His colleagues were, at the same time, to work for
      the gratification of their own private interests, the most palpable of all
      abstract things; and to carry into execution a great purpose, which their
      feeble minds, interested only by the first point, cared not to comprehend.
      The unnatural combination failed, and its originator fell. To believe that
      he could recur again to the hopes, the feelings, the pursuits of his
      boyhood, he felt to be the vainest of delusions. It was the expectation of
      a man like Beckendorff, whose career, though difficult, though hazardous,
      had been uniformly successful; of a man who mistook cares for grief, and
      anxiety for sorrow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The travellers entered the city at sunset. Proceeding through an ancient
      and unseemly town, full of long, narrow, and ill-paved streets, and black
      unevenly built houses, they ascended the hill, on the top of which was
      situated the new and Residence town of Reisenburg. The proud palace, the
      white squares, the architectural streets, the new churches, the elegant
      opera house, the splendid hotels, and the gay public gardens, full of
      busts, vases, and statues, and surrounded by an iron railing cast out of
      the cannon taken from both sides during the war by the Reisenburg troops,
      and now formed into pikes and fasces, glittering with gilded heads: all
      these, shining in the setting sun, produced an effect which, at any time
      and in any place, would have been beautiful and striking; but on the
      present occasion were still more so, from the remarkable contrast they
      afforded to the ancient, gloomy, and filthy town through which Vivian had
      just passed, and where, from the lowness of its situation, the sun had
      already set. There was as much difference between the old and new town of
      Reisenburg as between the old barbarous Margrave and the new and noble
      Grand Duke.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the second day after his arrival at Reisenburg, Vivian received the
      following letter from the Prince of Little Lilliput. His luggage did not
      accompany the epistle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My Dear Friend,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By the time you have received this I shall have returned to Turriparva.
      My visit to a certain gentleman was prolonged for one day. I never can
      convey to you by words the sense I entertain of the value of your
      friendship and of your services; I trust that time will afford me
      opportunities of testifying it by my actions. I return home by the same
      road by which we came; you remember how excellent the road was, as indeed
      are all the roads in Reisenburg; that must be confessed by all. I fear
      that the most partial admirers of the old régime cannot say as much for
      the convenience of travelling in the time of our fathers. Good roads are
      most excellent things, and one of the first marks of civilisation and
      prosperity. The Emperor Napoleon, who, it must be confessed, had, after
      all, no common mind, was celebrated for his roads. You have doubtless
      admired the Route Napoleon on the Rhine, and if you travel into Italy I am
      informed that you will be equally, and even more, struck by the passage
      over the Simplon and the other Italian roads. Reisenburg has certainly
      kept pace with the spirit of the time; nobody can deny that; and I confess
      to you that the more I consider the subject it appears to me that the
      happiness, prosperity, and content of a state are the best evidences of
      the wisdom and beneficent rule of a government. Many things are very
      excellent in theory, which are quite the reverse in practice, and even
      ludicrous. And while we should do our most to promote the cause and uphold
      the interests of rational liberty, still, at the same time, we should ever
      be on our guard against the crude ideas and revolutionary systems of those
      who are quite inexperienced in that sort of particular knowledge which is
      necessary for all statesmen. Nothing is so easy as to make things look
      fine on paper; we should never forget that there is a great difference
      between high-sounding generalities and laborious details. Is it reasonable
      to expect that men who have passed their lives dreaming in colleges and
      old musty studies should be at all calculated to take the head of affairs,
      or know what measures those at the head of affairs ought to adopt? I think
      not. A certain personage, who by-the-bye is one of the most clear-headed
      and most perfect men of business that I ever had the pleasure of being
      acquainted with; a real practical man, in short; he tells me that
      Professor Skyrocket, whom you will most likely see at Reisenburg, wrote an
      article in the Military Quarterly Review, which is published there, on the
      probable expenses of a war between Austria and Prussia, and forgot the
      commissariat altogether. Did you ever know anything so ridiculous? What
      business have such fellows to meddle with affairs of state? They should
      certainly be put down: that, I think, none can deny. A liberal spirit in
      government is certainly a most excellent thing; but we must always
      remember that liberty may degenerate into licentiousness. Liberty is
      certainly an excellent thing, that all admit; but, as a certain person
      very well observed, so is physic, and yet it is not to be given at all
      times, but only when the frame is in a state to require it. People may be
      as unprepared for a wise and discreet use of liberty, as a vulgar person
      may be for the management of a great estate unexpectedly inherited: there
      is a great deal in this, and, in my opinion, there are cases in which to
      force liberty down a people&rsquo;s throat is presenting them, not with a
      blessing, but a curse. I shall send your luggage on immediately; it is
      very probable that I may be in town at the end of the week, for a short
      time. I wish much to see and to consult you, and therefore hope that you
      will not leave Reisenburg before you see
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your faithful and obliged friend,
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;LITTLE LILLIPUT.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Two days after the receipt of this letter Essper George ran into the room
      with a much less solemn physiognomy than he had thought proper to assume
      since his master&rsquo;s arrival at Reisenburg.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Lord, sir; whom do you think I have just met?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Whom?&rdquo; asked Vivian, with eagerness, for, as is always the case when such
      questions are asked us, he was thinking of every person in the world
      except the right one. &ldquo;It might be&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To think that I should see him!&rdquo; continued Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a man, then,&rdquo; thought Vivian; &ldquo;who is it at once, Essper?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I thought you would not guess, sir! It will quite cure you to hear it;
      Master Rodolph!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Master Rodolph!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay! and there&rsquo;s great news in the wind.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Which of course you have confidentially extracted from him. Pray let us
      have it.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Prince of Little Lilliput is coming to Reisenburg,&rdquo; said Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! I had some idea of that before,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! then, you know it all, sir, I suppose,&rdquo; said Essper, with a look of
      great disappointment.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know nothing more than I have mentioned,&rdquo; said his master.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! do you not know, sir, that the Prince has come over; that he is
      going to live at Court; and be, Heaven knows what! That he is to carry a
      staff every day before the Grand Duke at dinner; does not my master know
      that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I know nothing of all this; and so tell me in plain German what the case
      is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; continued Essper, &ldquo;I suppose you do not know that his
      Highness the Prince is to be his Excellency the Grand Marshal, that
      unfortunate but principal officer of state having received his dismissal
      yesterday. They are coming up immediately. Not a moment is to be lost,
      which seems to me very odd. Master Rodolph is arranging everything; and he
      has this morning purchased from his master&rsquo;s predecessor his palace,
      furniture, wines, and pictures; in short, his whole establishment: the
      late Grand Marshal consoling himself for his loss of office, and revenging
      himself on his successor, by selling him his property at a hundred per
      cent. profit. However, Master Rodolph seems quite contented with his
      bargain; and your luggage is come, sir. His Highness, the Prince, will be
      in town at the end of the week; and all the men are to be put in new
      livery. Mr. Arnelm is to be his Highness&rsquo; chamberlain, and Von Neuwied
      master of the horse. So you see, sir, you were right; and that old puss in
      boots was no traitor, after all. Upon my soul, I did not much believe you,
      sir, until I heard all this good news.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0065">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      About a week after his arrival at Reisenburg, as Vivian was at breakfast,
      the door opened, and Mr. Sievers entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I did not think that our next meeting would be in this city,&rdquo; said Mr.
      Sievers, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;His Highness, of course, informed me of your arrival,&rdquo; said Vivian, as he
      greeted him cordially.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You, I understand, are the diplomatist whom I am to thank for finding
      myself again at Reisenburg. Let me, at the same time, express my gratitude
      for your kind offices to me, and congratulate you on the brilliancy of
      your talents for negotiation. Little did I think, when I was giving you,
      the other day, an account of Mr. Beckendorff, that the information would
      have been of such service to you.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid you have nothing to thank me for; though, certainly, had the
      office of arranging the terms between the parties devolved on me, my first
      thoughts would have been for a gentleman for whom I have so much regard
      and respect as Mr. Sievers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir! I feel honoured: you already speak like a finished courtier. Pray,
      what is to be your office?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I fear Mr. Beckendorff will not resign in my favour; and my ambition is
      so exalted that I cannot condescend to take anything under the
      Premiership.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are not to be tempted by a Grand Marshalship!&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers. &ldquo;You
      hardly expected, when you were at Turriparva, to witness such a rapid
      termination of the patriotism of our good friend. I think you said you
      have seen him since your arrival: the interview must have been piquant!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all. I immediately congratulated him on the judicious arrangements
      which had been concluded; and, to relieve his awkwardness, took some
      credit to myself for having partially assisted in bringing about the
      result. The subject was not again mentioned, and I dare say never will
      be.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is a curious business,&rdquo; said Sievers. &ldquo;The Prince is a man who, rather
      than have given me up to the Grand Duke; me, with whom he was not
      connected, and who, of my own accord, sought his hospitality; sooner, I
      repeat, than have delivered me up, he would have had his castle razed to
      the ground and fifty swords through his heart; and yet, without the
      slightest compunction, has this same man deserted, with the greatest
      coolness, the party of which, ten days ago, he was the zealous leader. How
      can you account for this, except it be, as I have long suspected, that in
      politics there positively is no feeling of honour? Every one is conscious
      that not only himself, but his colleagues and his rivals, are working for
      their own private purpose; and that however a party may apparently be
      assisting in bringing about a result of common benefit, that nevertheless,
      and in fact, each is conscious that he is the tool of another. With such
      an understanding, treason is an expected affair; and the only point to
      consider is, who shall be so unfortunate as to be the deserted, instead of
      the deserter. It is only fair to his Highness to state that Beckendorff
      gave him incontestable evidence that he had had a private interview with
      every one of the mediatised Princes. They were the dupes of the wily
      Minister. In these negotiations he became acquainted with their plans and
      characters, and could estimate the probability of their success. The
      golden bribe, which was in turn dandled before the eyes of all, had been
      always reserved for the most powerful, our friend. His secession and the
      consequent desertion of his relatives destroy the party for ever; while,
      at the same time, that party have not even the consolation of a good
      conscience to uphold them in their adversity; but feel that in case of
      their clamour, or of any attempt to stir up the people by their hollow
      patriotism, it is in the power of the Minister to expose and crush them
      for ever.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;All this,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;makes me the more rejoice that our friend has
      got out of their clutches; he will make an excellent Grand Marshal; and
      you must not forget, my dear sir, that he did not forget you. To tell you
      the truth, although I did not flatter myself that I should benefit during
      my stay at Reisenburg by his influence, I am not the least surprised at
      the termination of our visit to Mr. Beckendorff. I have seen too many of
      these affairs not to have been quite aware, the whole time, that it would
      require very little trouble, and very few sacrifices on the part of Mr.
      Beckendorff, to quash the whole cabal. By-the-bye, our visit to him was
      highly amusing; he is a singular man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He has had, nevertheless,&rdquo; said Sievers, &ldquo;a difficult part to play. Had
      it not been for you, the Prince would have perhaps imagined that he was
      only trifling with him again, and terminated the interview abruptly and in
      disgust. Having brought the Grand Duke to terms, and having arranged the
      interview, Beckendorff of course imagined that all was finished. The very
      day that you arrived at his house he had received despatches from his
      Royal Highness, recalling his promise, and revoking Beckendorff&rsquo;s
      authority to use his unlimited discretion in this business. The difficulty
      then was to avoid discussion with the Prince, with whom he was not
      prepared to negotiate; and, at the same time, without letting his Highness
      out of his sight, to induce the Grand Duke to resume his old view of the
      case. The first night that you were there Beckendorff rode up to
      Reisenburg, saw the Grand Duke, was refused, through the intrigues of
      Madame Carolina, the requested authority, and resigned his power. When he
      was a mile on his return, he was summoned back to the palace; and his
      Royal Highness asked, as a favour from his tutor, four-and-twenty hours&rsquo;
      consideration. This Beckendorff granted, on the condition that, in case
      the Grand Duke assented to the terms proposed, his Royal Highness should
      himself be the bearer of the proposition; and that there should be no more
      written promises to recall, and no more written authorities to revoke. The
      terms were hard, but Beckendorff was inflexible. On the second night of
      your visit a messenger arrived with a despatch, advising Beckendorff of
      the intended arrival of his Royal Highness on the next morning. The
      ludicrous intrusion of your amusing servant prevented you from being
      present at the great interview, in which I understand Beckendorff for the
      moment laid aside all his caprices. Our friend acted with great firmness
      and energy. He would not be satisfied even with the personal pledge and
      written promise of the Grand Duke, but demanded that he should receive the
      seals of office within a week; so that, had the Court not been sincere,
      his situation with his former party would not have been injured. It is
      astonishing how very acute even a dull man is when his own interests are
      at stake. Had his Highness been the agent of another person, he would
      probably have committed many blunders, have made disadvantageous terms, or
      perhaps have been thoroughly duped. Self-interest is the finest
      eye-water.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And what says Madame Carolina to all this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! according to custom, she has changed already, and thinks the whole
      business admirably arranged. His Highness is her grand favourite, and my
      little pupil Max her pet. I think, however, on the whole, the boy is
      fondest of the Grand Duke, whom, if you remember, he was always informing
      you in confidence that he intended to assassinate. And as for your
      obedient servant,&rdquo; said Sievers, bowing, &ldquo;here am I once more the
      Aristarchus of her coterie. Her friends, by-the-bye, view the accession of
      the Prince with no pleased eyes; and, anticipating that his juncture with
      the Minister is only a prelude to their final dispersion, they are
      compensating for the approaching termination of their career by unusual
      violence and fresh fervour, stinging like mosquitoes before a storm,
      conscious of their impending destruction from the clearance of the
      atmosphere. As for myself, I have nothing more to do with them. Liberty
      and philosophy are fine words; but until I find men are prepared to
      cultivate them both in a wiser spirit I shall remain quiet. I have no idea
      of being banished and imprisoned because a parcel of knaves are making a
      vile use of the truths which I disseminate. In my opinion, philosophers
      have said enough; now let men act. But all this time I have forgotten to
      ask you how you like Reisenburg.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I can hardly say; with the exception of yesterday, when I rode Max round
      the ramparts, I have not been once out of the hotel. But to-day I feel so
      well that, if you are disposed for a lounge, I should like it above all
      things.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am quite at your service; but I must not forget that I am the bearer of
      a missive to you from his Excellency the Grand Marshal. You are invited to
      join the court dinner to-day, and be presented&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really, my dear sir, an invalid&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well! if you do not like it, you must make your excuses to him; but it
      really is the pleasantest way of commencing your acquaintance at Court,
      and only allowed to distingués; among which, as you are the friend of the
      new Grand Marshal, you are of course considered. No one is petted so much
      as a political apostate, except, perhaps, a religious one; so at present
      we are all in high feather. You had better dine at the palace to-day.
      Everything quite easy; and, by an agreeable relaxation of state, neither
      swords, bags, nor trains are necessary. Have you seen the palace? I
      suppose not. We will look at it, and then call on the Prince.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The gentlemen accordingly left the hotel; and proceeding down the
      principal street of the New Town, they came into a large square, or Place
      d&rsquo;Armes. A couple of regiments of infantry were exercising in it.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A specimen of our standing army,&rdquo; said Sievers. &ldquo;In the war time, this
      little State brought thirty thousand highly-disciplined and well-appointed
      troops into the field. This efficient contingent was, at the same time,
      the origin of our national prosperity and our national debt. For we have a
      national debt, sir! I assure you we are proud of it, and consider it the
      most decided sign of being a great people. Our force in times of peace is,
      of course, much reduced. We have, however, still eight thousand men, who
      are perfectly unnecessary. The most curious thing is, that, to keep up the
      patronage of the Court and please the nobility, though we have cut down
      our army two-thirds, we have never reduced the number of our generals; and
      so, at this moment, among our eight thousand men, we count about forty
      general officers, being one to every two hundred privates. We have,
      however, which perhaps you would not suspect, one military genius among
      our multitude of heroes. The Count von Sohnspeer is worthy of being one of
      Napoleon&rsquo;s marshals. Who he is no one exactly knows; some say an
      illegitimate son of Beckendorff. Certain it is that he owes his nobility
      to his sword; and as certain it is that he is to be counted among the very
      few who share the Minister&rsquo;s confidence. Von Sohnspeer has certainly
      performed a thousand brilliant exploits; yet, in my opinion, the not least
      splendid day of his life was that of the battle of Leipsic. He was on the
      side of the French, and fought against the Allies with desperate fury.
      When he saw that all was over, and the Allies triumphant, calling out
      &lsquo;Germany for ever!&rsquo; he dashed against his former friends, and captured
      from the flying Gauls a hundred pieces of cannon. He hastened to the tent
      of the Emperors with his blood-red sword in his hand, and at the same time
      congratulated them on the triumph of their cause, and presented them with
      his hard-earned trophies. The manoeuvre was perfectly successful; and the
      troops of Reisenburg, complimented as true Germans, were pitied for their
      former unhappy fate in being forced to fight against their fatherland, and
      were immediately enrolled in the allied army; as such, they received a due
      share of all the plunder. He is a grand genius, young Master von
      Sohnspeer?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Decidedly! Worthy of being a companion of the fighting bastards of the
      middle ages. This is a fine square.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very grand indeed! Precedents for some of the architectural combinations
      could hardly be found at Athens or Rome; nevertheless the general effect
      is magnificent. Do you admire this plan of making every elevation of an
      order consonant with the purpose of the building? See, for instance, on
      the opposite side of the square is the palace. The Corinthian order, which
      is evident in all its details, suits well the character of the structure.
      It accords with royal pomp and elegance, with fêtes and banquets, and
      interior magnificence. On the other hand, what a happy contrast is
      afforded to this gorgeous structure by the severe simplicity of this
      Tuscan Palace of Justice. The School of Arts, in the farthest corner of
      the square, is properly entered through an Ionic portico. Let us go into
      the palace. Here not only does our monarch reside, but (an arrangement
      which I much admire) here are deposited, in a gallery worthy of the
      treasures it contains, our superb collection of pictures. They are the
      private property of his Royal Highness; but, as is usually the case under
      despotic Princes, the people, equally his property, are flattered by the
      collection being styled the &lsquo;Public Gallery.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The hour of the court dinner at Reisenburg was two o&rsquo;clock, about which
      time, in England, a man first remembers the fatal necessity of shaving;
      though, by-the-bye, this allusion is not a very happy one, for in this
      country shaving is a ceremony at present somewhat obsolete. At two
      o&rsquo;clock, however, our hero, accompanying the Grand Marshal and Mr.
      Sievers, reached the palace. In the saloon were assembled various guests,
      chiefly attached to the Court. Immediately after the arrival of our party,
      the Grand Duke and Madame Carolina, followed by their chamberlains and
      ladies in waiting, entered. The little Prince Maximilian strutted in
      between his Royal Highness and his fair Consort, having hold of a hand of
      each. The urchin was much changed in appearance since Vivian first saw
      him; he was dressed in the complete uniform of a captain of the Royal
      Guards, having been presented with a commission on the day of his arrival
      at Court. A brilliant star glittered on his scarlet coat, and paled the
      splendour of his golden epaulettes. The duties, however, of the princely
      captain were at present confined to the pleasing exertion of carrying the
      bon-bon box of Madame Carolina, the contents of which were chiefly
      reserved for his own gratification. In the Grand Duke Vivian was not
      surprised to recognise the horseman whom he had met in the private road on
      the morning of his departure from Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s; his conversation with
      Sievers had prepared him for this. Madame Carolina was in appearance
      Parisian of the highest order: that is to say, an exquisite figure and an
      indescribable tournure, an invisible foot, a countenance full of esprit
      and intelligence, without a single regular feature, and large and very
      bright black eyes. Madame&rsquo;s hair was of the same colour, and arranged in
      the most effective manner. Her cashmere would have graced the Feast of
      Roses, and so engrossed your attention that it was long before you
      observed the rest of her costume, in which, however, traces of a creative
      genius were immediately visible; in short, Madame Carolina was not
      fashionable, but fashion herself. In a subsequent chapter, at a ball which
      we have in preparation, we will make up for this brief notice of her
      costume by publishing her court dress. For the sake of our fair readers,
      however, we will not pass over the ornament in her hair. The comb which
      supported her elaborate curls was invisible, except at each end, whence it
      threw out a large Psyche&rsquo;s wing of golden web, the eyes of which were
      formed of rubies encircled with turquoises.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Royal party made a progress round the circle. Madame Carolina first
      presented her delicate and faintly-rouged cheek to the hump-backed Crown
      Prince, who scarcely raised his eyes from the ground as he performed the
      accustomed courtesy. One or two Royal relatives, who were on a visit at
      the palace, were honoured by the same compliment. The Grand Duke bowed
      graciously and gracefully to every individual; and his lady accompanied
      the bow by a speech, which was at the same time personal and piquant. The
      first great duty of a monarch is to know how to bow skilfully! nothing is
      more difficult, and nothing more important. A Royal bow may often quell a
      rebellion, and sometimes crush a conspiracy. It should at the same time be
      both general and individual; equally addressed to the company assembled,
      and to every single person in the assembly. Our own sovereign bows to
      perfection. His bow is eloquent, and will always render an oration on his
      part unnecessary; which is a great point, for harangues are not regal.
      Nothing is more undignified than to make a speech. It is from the first an
      acknowledgment that you are under the necessity of explaining, or
      conciliating, or convincing, or confuting; in short, that you are not
      omnipotent, but opposed.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bow of the Grand Duke of Reisenburg was a first-rate bow, and always
      produced a great sensation with the people, particularly if it were
      followed up by a proclamation for a public fête or fireworks; then his
      Royal Highness&rsquo; popularity was at its height. But Madame Carolina, after
      having by a few magic sentences persuaded the whole room that she took a
      peculiar interest in the happiness of every individual present, has
      reached Vivian, who stood next to his friend the Grand Marshal. He was
      presented by that great officer, and received most graciously. For a
      moment the room thought that his Royal Highness was about to speak; but he
      only smiled. Madame Carolina, however, said a great deal; and stood not
      less than sixty seconds complimenting the English nation, and particularly
      the specimen of that celebrated people who now had the honour of being
      presented to her. No one spoke more in a given time than Madame Carolina;
      and as, while the eloquent words fell from her deep red lips, her bright
      eyes were invariably fixed on those of the person she addressed, what she
      did say, as invariably, was very effective. Vivian had only time to give a
      nod of recognition to his friend Max, for the company, arm-in-arm, now
      formed into a procession to the dining saloon. Vivian was parted from the
      Grand Marshal, who, as the highest officer of state present, followed
      immediately after the Grand Duke. Our hero&rsquo;s companion was Mr. Sievers.
      Although it was not a state dinner, the party, from being swelled by the
      suites of the royal visitors, was numerous; and as the Court occupied the
      centre of the table, Vivian was too distant to listen to the conversation
      of Madame, who, however, he well perceived, from the animation of her
      countenance, was delighted and delighting. The Grand Duke spoke little,
      but listened, like a lover of three days, to the accents of his
      accomplished consort. The arrangement of a German dinner promotes
      conversation. The numerous dishes are at once placed upon the table; and
      when the curious eye has well examined their contents, the whole dinner,
      untouched, disappears. Although this circumstance is rather alarming to a
      novice, his terror soon gives place to self-congratulation when he finds
      the banquet re-appear, each dish completely carved and cut up.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not being Sunday,&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;there is no opera to-night. We are
      to meet again, I believe, at the palace, in a few hours, at Madame
      Carolina&rsquo;s soirée. In the meantime, you had better accompany his
      Excellency to the public gardens; that is the fashionable drive. I shall
      go home and smoke a pipe.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The circle of the public gardens of Reisenburg exhibited exactly, although
      upon a smaller scale, the same fashions and the same frivolities, the same
      characters and the same affectations, as the Hyde Park of London, or the
      Champs Elysées of Paris, the Prater of Vienna, the Corso of Rome or Milan,
      or the Cascine of Florence. There was the female leader of ton, hated by
      her own sex and adored by the other, and ruling both; ruling both by the
      same principle of action, and by the influence of the same quality which
      creates the arbitress of fashion in all countries, by courage to break
      through the conventional customs of an artificial class, and by talents to
      ridicule all those who dare follow her innovating example; attracting
      universal notice by her own singularity, and at the same time conciliating
      the support of those from whom she dares to differ, by employing her
      influence in preventing others from violating their laws. The arbitress of
      fashion is one who is allowed to be singular, in order that she may
      suppress singularity; she is exempted from all laws; but, by receiving the
      dictatorship, she ensures the despotism. Then there was that mysterious
      being whose influence is perhaps even more surprising than the dominion of
      the female despot of manners, for she wields a power which can be analysed
      and comprehended; I mean the male authority in coats, cravats, and
      chargers; who, without fortune and without rank, and sometimes merely
      through the bold obtrusion of a fantastic taste, becomes the glass of
      fashion in which even royal dukes and the most aristocratic nobles hasten
      to adjust themselves, and the mould by which the ingenious youth of a
      whole nation is enthusiastically formed. There is a Brummell in every
      country.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian, who, after a round or two with the Grand Marshal, had mounted Max,
      was presented by the young Count von Bernstorff, the son of the Grand
      Chamberlain, to whose care he had been specially commended by the Prince,
      to the lovely Countess von S&mdash;&mdash;. The examination of this high
      authority was rigid and her report satisfactory. When Vivian quitted the
      side of her britzska half a dozen dandies immediately rode up to learn the
      result, and, on being informed, they simultaneously cantered up to young
      von Bernstorff, and requested to have the honour of being introduced to
      his highly-interesting friend. All these exquisites wore white hats lined
      with crimson, in consequence of the head of the all-influential Emilius
      von Aslingen having, on the preceding day, been kept sacred from the
      profaning air by that most tasteful covering. The young lords were loud in
      their commendations of this latest evidence of von Aslingen&rsquo;s happy
      genius, and rallied with unmerciful spirit the unfortunate von Bernstorff
      for not having yet mounted the all-perfect chapeau. Like all von
      Aslingen&rsquo;s introductions, it was as remarkable for good taste as for
      striking singularity; they had no doubt it would have a great run, exactly
      the style of thing for a hot autumn, and it suited so admirably with the
      claret-coloured riding coat which Madame considered von Aslingen&rsquo;s
      chef-d&rsquo;oeuvre. Inimitable von Aslingen! As they were in these raptures, to
      Vivian&rsquo;s delight and to their dismay, the object of their admiration
      appeared. Our hero was, of course, anxious to see so interesting a
      character; but he could scarcely believe that he, in fact, beheld the
      ingenious introducer of white and crimson hats, and the still happier
      inventor of those chef-d&rsquo;oeuvres, claret-coloured riding coats, when his
      attention was directed to a horseman who wore a peculiarly high heavy
      black hat and a frogged and furred frock, buttoned up, although it was a
      most sultry day, to his very nose. How singular is the slavery of fashion!
      Notwithstanding their mortification, the unexpected costume of von
      Aslingen appeared only to increase the young lords&rsquo; admiration of his
      character and accomplishments; and instead of feeling that he was an
      insolent pretender, whose fame originated in his insulting their tastes,
      and existed only by their sufferance, all cantered away with the
      determination of wearing on the next day, even if it were to cost them
      each a calenture, furs enough to keep a man warm during a winter party at
      St. Petersburg, not that winter parties ever take place there; on the
      contrary, before the winter sets in, the Court moves on to Moscow, which,
      from its situation and its climate, will always, in fact, continue the
      real capital of Russia.
    </p>
    <p>
      The royal carriage, drawn by six horses and backed by three men servants,
      who would not have disgraced the fairy equipage of Cinderella, has now
      left the gardens.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0066">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      Madame Carolina held her soirée in her own private apartments, the Grand
      Duke himself appearing in the capacity of a visitor. The company was
      numerous and brilliant. His Royal Highness, surrounded by a select circle,
      dignified one corner of the saloon; Madame Carolina at the other end of
      the room, in the midst of poets, philosophers, and politicians, in turn
      decided upon the most interesting and important topics of poetry,
      philosophy, and politics. Boston, and Zwicken, and whist interested some,
      and puzzles and other ingenious games others. A few were above conversing,
      or gambling, or guessing; superior intelligences, who would neither be
      interested nor amused, among these Emilius von Aslingen was most
      prominent. He leant against a door in full uniform, with his vacant eyes
      fixed on no object. The others were only awkward copies of an easy
      original; and among these, stiff or stretching, lounging on a
      chaise-lounge, or posted against the wall, Vivian&rsquo;s quick eye recognised
      more than one of the unhappy votaries of white hats lined with crimson.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian made his bow to the Grand Duke he was surprised by his Royal
      Highness coming forward a few steps from the surrounding circle and
      extending to him his hand. His Royal Highness continued conversing with
      him for upwards of a quarter of an hour; expressed the great pleasure he
      felt at seeing at his Court a gentleman of whose abilities he had the
      highest opinion; and, after a variety of agreeable compliments
      (compliments are doubly agreeable from crowned heads), the Grand Duke
      retired to a game of Boston with his royal visitors. Vivian&rsquo;s reception
      made a sensation through the room. Various rumours were immediately
      afloat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who can he be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you know? Oh! most curious story. Killed a boar as big as a
      bonasus, which was ravaging half Reisenburg, and saved the lives of his
      Excellency the Grand Marshal and his whole suite.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is that about the Grand Marshal and a boar as big as a bonasus?
      Quite wrong; natural son of Beckendorff; know it for a fact. Don&rsquo;t you see
      he is being introduced to von Sohnspeer! brothers, you know, managed the
      whole business about the leagued Princes; not a son of Beckendorff, only a
      particular friend; the son of the late General&mdash;, I forget his name
      exactly. Killed at Leipsic, you know; that famous general; what was his
      name? that very famous general; don&rsquo;t you remember? Never mind; well! he
      is his son; father particular friend of Beckendorff; college friend;
      brought up the orphan; very handsome of him! They say he does handsome
      things sometimes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! well, I&rsquo;ve heard so too; and so this young man is to be the new
      under-secretary! very much approved by the Countess von S&mdash;&mdash;.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, it can&rsquo;t be! your story is quite wrong. He is an Englishman.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An Englishman! no!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes he is. I had it from Madame; high rank incog.; going to Vienna;
      secret mission.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Something to do with Greece, of course; independence recognised?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! certainly; pay a tribute to the Porte, and governed by a hospodar.
      Admirable arrangement! have to support their own government and a foreign
      one besides!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      It was with pleasure that Vivian at length observed Mr. Sievers enter the
      room, and extricating himself from the enlightened and enthusiastic crowd
      who were disserting round the tribunal of Madame, he hastened to his
      amusing friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! my dear sir, how glad I am to see you! I have, since we met last,
      been introduced to your fashionable ruler, and some of her most
      fashionable slaves. I have been honoured by a long conversation with his
      Royal Highness, and have listened to some of the most eloquent of the
      Carolina coterie. What a Babel! there all are, at the same time, talkers
      and listeners. To what a pitch of perfection may the &lsquo;science&rsquo; of
      conversation be carried! My mind teems with original ideas, to which I can
      annex no definite meaning. What a variety of contradictory theories, which
      are all apparently sound! I begin to suspect that there is a great
      difference between reasoning and reason!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your suspicion is well founded, my dear sir,&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers; &ldquo;and I
      know no circumstance which would sooner prove it than listening for a few
      minutes to this little man in a snuff-coloured coat near me. But I will
      save you from so terrible a demonstration. He has been endeavouring to
      catch my eye these last ten minutes, and I have as studiously avoided
      seeing him. Let us move.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Willingly; who may this fear-inspiring monster be?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A philosopher,&rdquo; said Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;as most of us call ourselves here;
      that is to say, his profession is to observe the course of Nature; and if
      by chance he can discover any slight deviation of the good dame from the
      path which our ignorance has marked out as her only track, he claps his
      hands, cries [Greek: euraeka]! and is dubbed &lsquo;illustrious&rsquo; on the spot.
      Such is the world&rsquo;s reward for a great discovery, which generally, in a
      twelvemonth&rsquo;s time, is found out to be a blunder of the philosopher, and
      not an eccentricity of Nature. I am not underrating those great men who,
      by deep study, or rather by some mysterious inspiration, have produced
      combinations and effected results which have materially assisted the
      progress of civilisation and the security of our happiness. No, no! to
      them be due adoration. Would that the reverence of posterity could be some
      consolation to these great spirits for neglect and persecution when they
      lived! I have invariably observed of great natural philosophers, that if
      they lived in former ages they were persecuted as magicians, and in
      periods which profess to be more enlightened they have always been
      ridiculed as quacks. The succeeding century the real quack arises. He
      adopts and develops the suppressed, and despised, and forgotten discovery
      of his unfortunate predecessor! and Fame trumpets this resurrection-man of
      science with as loud a blast of rapture as if, instead of being merely the
      accidental animator of the corpse, he were the cunning artist himself who
      had devised and executed the miraculous machinery which the other had only
      wound up.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But in this country,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;surely you have no reason to complain
      of the want of moral philosophers, or of the respect paid to them. The
      country of Kant&mdash;, of &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes, yes! we have plenty of metaphysicians, if you mean them. Watch that
      lively-looking gentleman, who is stuffing kalte schale so voraciously in
      the corner. The leader of the Idealists, a pupil of the celebrated Fichte!
      To gain an idea of his character, know that he out-Herods his master; and
      Fichte is to Kant what Kant is to the unenlightened vulgar. You can now
      form a slight conception of the spiritual nature of our friend who is
      stuffing kalte schale. The first principle of his school is to reject all
      expressions which incline in the slightest degree to substantiality.
      Existence is, in his opinion, a word too absolute. Being, principle,
      essence, are terms scarcely sufficiently ethereal even to indicate the
      subtile shadowings of his opinions. Some say that he dreads the contact of
      all real things, and that he makes it the study of his life to avoid them.
      Matter is his great enemy. When you converse with him you lose all
      consciousness of this world. My dear sir,&rdquo; continued Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;observe
      how exquisitely Nature revenges herself upon these capricious and
      fantastic children. Believe me, Nature is the most brilliant of wits; and
      that no repartees that were ever inspired by hate, or wine, or beauty,
      ever equalled the calm effects of her indomitable power upon those who are
      rejecting her authority. You understand me? Methinks that the best answer
      to the idealism of M. Fichte is to see his pupil devouring kalte schale!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And this is really one of your great lights?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Verily! His works are the most famous and the most unreadable in all
      Germany. Surely you have heard of his &lsquo;Treatise on Man?&rsquo; A treatise on a
      subject in which everyone is interested, written in a style which no one
      can understand.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think, then,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;that posterity may rank the German
      metaphysicians with the later Platonists?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hardly know; they are a body of men not less acute, but I doubt whether
      they will be as celebrated. In this age of print, notoriety is more
      attainable than in the age of manuscript; but lasting fame certainly is
      not. That tall thin man in black that just bowed to me is the editor of
      one of our great Reisenburg reviews. The journal he edits is one of the
      most successful periodical publications ever set afloat. Among its
      contributors, may assuredly be classed many men of eminent talents; yet to
      their abilities the surprising success and influence of this work is
      scarcely to be ascribed. It is the result rather of the consistent spirit
      which has always inspired its masterly critiques. One principle has ever
      regulated its management; it is a simple rule, but an effective one: every
      author is reviewed by his personal enemy. You may imagine the point of the
      critique; but you would hardly credit, if I were to inform you, the
      circulation of the review. You will tell me that you are not surprised,
      and talk of the natural appetite of our species for malice and slander. Be
      not too quick. The rival of this review, both in influence and in sale, is
      conducted on as simple a principle, but not a similar one. In this journal
      every author is reviewed by his personal friend; of course, perfect
      panegyric. Each number is flattering as a lover&rsquo;s tale; every article an
      eloge. What say you to this? These are the influential literary and
      political journals of Reisenburg. There was yet another; it was edited by
      an eloquent scholar; all its contributors were, at the same time,
      brilliant and profound. It numbered among its writers some of the most
      celebrated names in Germany; its critiques and articles were as impartial
      as they were able, as sincere as they were sound; it never paid the
      expense of the first number. As philanthropists and admirers of our
      species, my dear sir, these are gratifying results; they satisfactorily
      demonstrate that mankind have no innate desire for scandal, calumny, and
      backbiting; it only proves that they have an innate desire to be gulled
      and deceived.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who is that?&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That is von Chronicle, our great historical novelist. When I first came
      to Reisenburg, now eight years ago, the popular writer of fiction was a
      man, the most probable of whose numerous romances was one in which the
      hero sold his shadow to a demon over the dice-box; then married an unknown
      woman in a churchyard; afterwards wedded a river nymph; and, having
      committed bigamy, finally stabbed himself, to enable his first wife to
      marry his own father. He and his works are quite obsolete; and the star of
      his genius, with those of many others, has paled before the superior
      brilliancy of that literary comet, Mr. von Chronicle. According to von
      Chronicle, we have all, for a long time, been under a mistake. We have
      ever considered that the first point to be studied in novel writing is
      character: miserable error! It is costume. Variety of incident, novelty,
      and nice discrimination of character; interest of story, and all those
      points which we have hitherto looked upon as necessary qualities of a fine
      novel, vanish before the superior attractions of variety of dresses,
      exquisite descriptions of the cloak of a signer, or the trunk-hose of a
      serving man.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Amuse yourself while you are at Reisenburg by turning over some volumes
      which every one is reading; von Chronicle&rsquo;s last great historical novel.
      The subject is a magnificent one, Rienzi; yet it is strange that the hero
      only appears in the first and the last scenes. You look astonished. Ah! I
      see you are not a great historical novelist. You forget the effect which
      is produced by the contrast of the costume of Master Nicholas, the notary
      in the quarter of the Jews, and that of Rienzi, the tribune, in his robe
      of purple, at his coronation in the Capitol. Conceive the effect, the
      contrast. With that coronation von Chronicle&rsquo;s novel terminates; for, as
      he well observes, after that, what is there in the career of Rienzi which
      would afford matter for the novelist? Nothing! All that afterwards occurs
      is a mere contest of passions and a development of character; but where is
      a procession, a triumph, or a marriage?
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;One of von Chronicle&rsquo;s great characters in this novel is a Cardinal. It
      was only last night that I was fortunate enough to have the beauties of
      the work pointed out to me by the author himself. He entreated, and gained
      my permission to read to me what he himself considered &lsquo;the great scene.&rsquo;
      I settled myself in my chair, took out my handkerchief, and prepared my
      mind for the worst. While I was anticipating the terrors of a heroine he
      introduced me to his Cardinal. Thirty pages were devoted to the
      description of the prelate&rsquo;s costume. Although clothed in purple, still,
      by a skilful adjustment of the drapery, von Chronicle managed to bring in
      six other petticoats. I thought this beginning would never finish, but to
      my surprise, when he had got to the seventh petticoat, he shut his book,
      and leaning over the table, asked me what I thought of his &lsquo;great scene.&rsquo;
      &lsquo;My friend,&rsquo; said I, &lsquo;you are not only the greatest historical novelist
      that ever lived, but that ever will live.&rsquo;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I shall certainly get Rienzi,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;it seems to me to be an
      original work.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Von Chronicle tells me that he looks upon it as his masterpiece, and that
      it may be considered as the highest point of perfection to which his
      system of novel-writing can be carried. Not a single name is given in the
      work, down even to the rabble, for which he has not contemporary
      authority; but what he is particularly proud of are his oaths. Nothing, he
      tells me, has cost him more trouble than the management of the swearing:
      and the Romans, you know, are a most profane nation. The great difficulty
      to be avoided was using the ejaculations of two different ages. The
      &lsquo;sblood&rsquo; of the sixteenth century must not be confounded with the &lsquo;zounds&rsquo;
      of the seventeenth. Enough of von Chronicle! The most amusing thing,&rdquo;
       continued Mr. Sievers, &ldquo;is to contrast this mode of writing works of
      fiction with the prevalent and fashionable method of writing works of
      history. Contrast the &lsquo;Rienzi&rsquo; of von Chronicle with the &lsquo;Haroun Al
      Raschid&rsquo; of Madame Carolina. Here we write novels like history, and
      history like novels: all our facts are fancy, and all our imagination
      reality.&rdquo; So saying, Mr. Sievers rose, and, wishing Vivian good night,
      quitted the room. He was one of those prudent geniuses who always leave
      off with a point.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Sievers had not left Vivian more than a minute when the little Prince
      Maximilian came up and bowed to him in a condescending manner. Our hero,
      who had not yet had an opportunity of speaking with him, thanked him
      cordially for his handsome present, and asked him how he liked the Court.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, delightful! I pass all my time with the Grand Duke and Madame:&rdquo; and
      here the young apostate settled his military stock and arranged the girdle
      of his sword. &ldquo;Madame Carolina,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;has commanded me to inform
      you that she desires the pleasure of your attendance.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The summons was immediately obeyed, and Vivian had the honour of a long
      conversation with the interesting Consort of the Grand Duke. He was, for a
      considerable time, complimented by her enthusiastic panegyric of England,
      her original ideas of the character and genius of Lord Byron, her
      veneration for Sir Humphry Davy, and her admiration of Sir Walter Scott.
      Not remiss was Vivian in paying, in his happiest manner, due compliments
      to the fair and royal authoress of the Court of Charlemagne. While she
      spoke his native tongue, he admired her accurate English; and while she
      professed to have derived her imperfect knowledge of his perfect language
      from a study of its best authors, she avowed her belief of the
      impossibility of ever speaking it correctly without the assistance of a
      native. Conversation became more interesting.
    </p>
    <p>
      When Vivian left the palace he was not unmindful of an engagement to
      return there the next day, to give a first lesson in English pronunciation
      to Madame Carolina.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0067">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      Vivian duly kept his appointment with Madame Carolina. The chamberlain
      ushered him into a library, where Madame Carolina was seated at a large
      table covered with books and manuscripts. Her costume and her countenance
      were equally engaging. Fascination was alike in her smile, and her sash,
      her bow, and her buckle. What a delightful pupil to perfect in English
      pronunciation! Madame pointed, with a pride pleasing to Vivian&rsquo;s feelings
      as an Englishman, to her shelves, graced with the most eminent of English
      writers. Madame Carolina was not like one of those admirers of English
      literature whom you often meet on the Continent: people who think that
      Beattie&rsquo;s Minstrel is our most modern and fashionable poem; that the Night
      Thoughts is the masterpiece of our literature; and that Richardson is our
      only novelist. Oh, no! Madame Carolina would not have disgraced May Fair.
      She knew Childe Harold by rote, and had even peeped into Don Juan. Her
      admiration of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews was great and similar.
      To a Continental liberal, indeed, even the Toryism of the Quarterly is
      philosophy; and not an Under-Secretary ever yet massacred a radical
      innovator without giving loose to some sentiments and sentences which are
      considered rank treason in the meridian of Vienna.
    </p>
    <p>
      After some conversation, in which Madame evinced eagerness to gain details
      about the persons and manners of our most eminent literary characters, she
      naturally began to speak of the literary productions of other countries;
      and in short, ere an hour was passed, Vivian Grey, instead of giving a
      lesson in English pronunciation to the Consort of the Grand Duke of
      Reisenburg, found himself listening, in an easy-chair, and with folded
      arms, to a long treatise by that lady de l&rsquo;Esprit de Conversation. It was
      a most brilliant dissertation. Her kindness in reading it to him was most
      particular; nevertheless, for unexpected blessings we are not always
      sufficiently grateful.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another hour was consumed by the treatise. How she refined! what
      unexpected distinctions! what exquisite discrimination of national
      character! what skilful eulogium of her own! Nothing could be more
      splendid than her elaborate character of a repartee; it would have
      sufficed for an epic poem. At length Madame Carolina ceased de l&rsquo;Esprit de
      Conversation, and Vivian was successful in concealing his weariness and in
      testifying his admiration. &ldquo;The evil is over,&rdquo; thought he; &ldquo;I may as well
      gain credit for my good taste.&rdquo; The lesson in English pronunciation,
      however, was not yet terminated. Madame was charmed with our hero&rsquo;s
      uncommon discrimination and extraordinary talents. He was the most skilful
      and the most agreeable critic with whom she had ever been acquainted. How
      invaluable must the opinion of such a person be to her on her great work!
      No one had yet seen a line of it; but there are moments when we are
      irresistibly impelled to seek a confidant; that confidant was before her.
      The morocco case was unlocked, and the manuscript of Haroun Al Raschid
      revealed to the enraptured eye of Vivian Grey.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I flatter myself,&rdquo; said Madame Carolina, &ldquo;that this work will create a
      great sensation; not only in Germany. It abounds, I think, with
      interesting story, engaging incidents, and animated and effective
      descriptions. I have not, of course, been able to obtain any new matter
      respecting his Sublimity the Caliph. Between ourselves, I do not think
      this very important. So far as I have observed, we have matter enough in
      this world on every possible subject already. It is manner in which the
      literature of all nations is deficient. It appears to me that the great
      point for persons of genius now to direct their attention to is the
      expansion of matter. This I conceive to be the great secret; and this must
      be effected by the art of picturesque writing. For instance, my dear Mr.
      Grey, I will open the Arabian Nights&rsquo; Entertainments, merely for an
      exemplification, at the one hundred and eighty-fifth night; good! Let us
      attend to the following passage:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;In the reign of the Caliph Haroun Al Raschid, there was at Bagdad a
      druggist, called Alboussan Ebn Thaher, a very rich, handsome man. He had
      more wit and politeness than people of his profession ordinarily have. His
      integrity, sincerity, and jovial humour made him beloved and sought after
      by all sorts of people. The Caliph, who knew his merit, had entire
      confidence in him. He had so great an esteem for him that he entrusted him
      with the care to provide his favourite ladies with all the things they
      stood in need of. He chose for them their clothes, furniture, and jewels,
      with admirable taste. His good qualities and the favour of the Caliph made
      the sons of Emirs and other officers of the first rank be always about
      him. His house was the rendezvous of all the nobility of the Court.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What capabilities lurk in this dry passage!&rdquo; exclaimed Madame Carolina;
      &ldquo;I touch it with my pen, and transform it into a chapter. It shall be one
      of those that I will read to you. The description of Alboussan alone
      demands ten pages. There is no doubt that his countenance was oriental.
      The tale says that he was handsome: I paint him with his eastern eye, his
      thin arched brow, his fragrant beard, his graceful mustachio. The tale
      says he was rich: I have authorities for the costume of men of his dignity
      in contemporary writers. In my history he appears in an upper garment of
      green velvet, and loose trousers of pink satin; a jewelled dagger lies in
      his golden girdle; his slippers are of the richest embroidery; and he
      never omits the bath of roses daily. On this system, which in my opinion
      elicits truth, for by it you are enabled to form a conception of the
      manners of the age; on this system I proceed throughout the paragraph.
      Conceive my account of his house being the &lsquo;rendezvous of all the nobility
      of the Court.&rsquo; What a brilliant scene! what variety of dress and
      character! what splendour! what luxury! what magnificence! Imagine the
      detail of the banquet; which, by the bye, gives me an opportunity of
      inserting, after the manner of your own Gibbon, &lsquo;a dissertation on
      sherbet.&rsquo; What think you of the art of picturesque writing?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Admirable!&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;von Chronicle himself&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How can you mention the name of that odious man!&rdquo; almost shrieked Madame
      Carolina, forgetting the dignity of her semi-regal character in the
      jealous feelings of the author. &ldquo;How can you mention him! A scribbler
      without a spark, not only of genius, but even of common invention. A
      miserable fellow, who seems to do nothing but clothe and amplify, in his
      own fantastic style, the details of a parcel of old chronicles!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Madame&rsquo;s indignation reminded Vivian of a true but rather vulgar proverb
      of his own country; and he extricated himself from his very awkward
      situation with a dexterity worthy of his former years.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Von Chronicle himself,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;von Chronicle himself, as I was
      going to observe, will be the most mortified of all on the appearance of
      your work. He cannot be so blinded by self-conceit as to fail to observe
      that your history is a thousand times more interesting than his fiction.
      Ah! Madame, if you can thus spread enchantment over the hitherto weary
      page of history, what must be your work of imagination!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0068">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V
    </h2>
    <p>
      Vivian met Emilius von Aslingen in his ride through the gardens. As that
      distinguished personage at present patronised the English nation, and
      astounded the Reisenburg natives by driving an English mail, riding
      English horses, and ruling English grooms, he deigned to be exceedingly
      courteous to our hero, whom he had publicly declared at the soirée of the
      preceding night to be &ldquo;very good style.&rdquo; Such a character from such a man
      raised Vivian even more in the estimation of the Reisenburg world than his
      flattering reception by the Grand Duke and his cordial greeting by Madame
      Carolina.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Shall you be at the Grand Marshal&rsquo;s to-night?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! that is the new man, the man who was mediatised, is not it?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Prince of Little Lilliput.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; drawled out Mr. von Aslingen. &ldquo;I shall go if I have courage enough;
      but they say his servants wear skins, and he has got a tail.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The ball-room was splendidly illuminated. The whole of the Royal Family
      was present, and did honour to their new officer of state; his Royal
      Highness all smiles, and his Consort all diamonds. Stars and uniforms,
      ribbons and orders, abounded. The diplomatic body wore the dresses of
      their respective Courts. Emilius von Aslingen, having given out in the
      morning that he should appear as a captain in the Royal Guards, the young
      lords and fops of fashion were consequently ultra military. They were not
      a little annoyed when, late in the evening, their model lounged in,
      wearing the rich scarlet uniform of a Knight of Malta, of which
      newly-revived order von Aslingen, who had served half a campaign against
      the Turks, was a member.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Royal Family had arrived only a few minutes: dancing had not yet
      commenced. Vivian was at the top of the room, honoured by the notice of
      Madame Carolina, who complained of his yesterday&rsquo;s absence from the
      palace. Suddenly the universal hum and buzz which are always sounding in a
      crowded room were stilled; and all present, arrested in their conversation
      and pursuits, stood with their heads turned towards the great door.
      Thither also Vivian looked, and, wonderstruck, beheld&mdash;Mr.
      Beckendorff. His singular appearance, for, with the exception of his
      cavalry boots, he presented the same figure as when he first came forward
      to receive the Prince of Little Lilliput and Vivian on the lawn,
      immediately attracted universal attention; but in this crowded room there
      were few who, either from actual experience or accurate information, were
      not ignorant that this personage was the Prime Minister. The report spread
      like wildfire. Even the etiquette of a German ball-room, honoured as it
      was by the presence of the Court, was no restraint to the curiosity and
      wonder of all present. Yes! even Emilius von Aslingen raised his glass to
      his eye. But great as was Vivian&rsquo;s astonishment, it was not only
      occasioned by this unexpected appearance of his former host. Mr.
      Beckendorff was not alone: a woman was leaning on his left arm. A quick
      glance in a moment convinced Vivian that she was not the original of the
      mysterious picture. The companion of Beckendorff was very young. Her full
      voluptuous growth gave you, for a moment, the impression that she was
      somewhat low in stature; but it was only for a moment, for the lady was by
      no means short. Her beauty it is impossible to describe. It was of a kind
      that baffles all phrases, nor have I a single simile at command to make it
      more clearer more confused. Her luxurious form, her blonde complexion, her
      silken hair, would have all become the languishing Sultana; but then her
      eyes, they banished all idea of the Seraglio, and were the most decidedly
      European, though the most brilliant that ever glanced; eagles might have
      proved their young at them. To a countenance which otherwise would have
      been calm, and perhaps pensive, they gave an expression of extreme
      vivacity and unusual animation, and perhaps of restlessness and arrogance:
      it might have been courage. The lady was dressed in the costume of a
      Chanoinesse of a Couvent des dames nobles; an institution to which
      Protestant and Catholic ladles are alike admitted. The orange-coloured
      cordon of her canonry was slung gracefully over her plain black silk
      dress, and a diamond cross hung below her waist.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff and his fair companion were instantly welcomed by the
      Grand Marshal; and Arnelm and half-a-dozen Chamberlains, all in new
      uniforms, and extremely agitated, did their utmost, by their exertions in
      clearing the way, to prevent the Prime Minister of Reisenburg from paying
      his respects to his Sovereign. At length, however, Mr. Beckendorff reached
      the top of the room, and presented the young lady to his Royal Highness,
      and also to Madame Carolina. Vivian had retired on their approach, and now
      found himself among a set of young officers, idolators of von Aslingen,
      and of white hats lined with crimson. &ldquo;Who can she be?&rdquo; was the universal
      question. Though all by the query acknowledged their ignorance, yet it is
      singular that, at the same time, every one was prepared with a response to
      it. Such are the sources of accurate information!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And that is Beckendorff, is it?&rdquo; exclaimed the young Count of Eberstein;
      &ldquo;and his daughter, of course! Well; there is nothing like being a plebeian
      and a Prime Minister! I suppose Beckendorff will bring an anonymous friend
      to Court next.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;She cannot be his daughter,&rdquo; said Bernstorff. &ldquo;To be a Chanoinesse of
      that order, remember, she must be noble.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Then she must be his niece,&rdquo; answered the young Count of Eberstein. &ldquo;I
      think I do remember some confused story about a sister of Beckendorff who
      ran away with some Wirtemberg Baron. What was that story, Gernsbach?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No, it was not his sister,&rdquo; said the Baron of Gernsbach; &ldquo;it was his
      aunt, I think.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beckendorff&rsquo;s aunt; what an idea! As if he ever had an aunt! Men of his
      calibre make themselves out of mud. They have no relations. Well, never
      mind; there was some story, I am sure, about some woman or other. Depend
      upon it that this girl is the child of that woman, whether she be aunt,
      niece, or daughter. I shall go and tell every one that I know the whole
      business; this girl is the daughter of some woman or other.&rdquo; So saying,
      away walked the young Count of Eberstein, to disseminate in all directions
      the important conclusion to which his logical head had allowed him to
      arrive.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Von Weinbren,&rdquo; said the Baron of Gernsbach, &ldquo;how can you account for this
      mysterious appearance of the Premier?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! when men are on the decline they do desperate things. I suppose it is
      to please the renegado.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush! there&rsquo;s the Englishman behind you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;On dit, another child of Beckendorff.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh no! secret mission.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! indeed.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Here comes von Aslingen! Well, great Emilius! how solve you this
      mystery?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What mystery? Is there one?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I allude to this wonderful appearance of Beckendorff.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beckendorff! what a name! Who is he?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nonsense! the Premier.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have seen him, of course; he is here. Have you just come in?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Beckendorff here!&rdquo; said von Aslingen, in a tone of affected horror; &ldquo;I
      did not know that the fellow was to be visited. It is all over with
      Reisenburg. I shall go to Vienna to-morrow.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      But hark! the sprightly music calls to the dance; and first the stately
      Polonaise, in easy gradation between walking and dancing. To the surprise
      of the whole room and the indignation of main of the high nobles, the
      Crown Prince of Reisenburg led off the Polonaise with the unknown fair
      one. Such an attention to Beckendorff was a distressing proof of present
      power and favour. The Polonaise is a dignified promenade, with which
      German balls invariably commence. The cavaliers, with an air of studied
      grace, offer their right hands to their fair partners; and the whole
      party, in a long file, accurately follow the leading couple through all
      their scientific evolutions, as they wind through every part of the room.
      Waltzes in sets speedily followed the Polonaise; and the unknown, who was
      now an object of universal attention, danced with Count von Sohnspeer,
      another of Beckendorff&rsquo;s numerous progeny, if the reader remember. How
      scurvily are poor single gentlemen who live alone treated by the candid
      tongues of their fellow-creatures! The commander-in-chief of the
      Reisenburg troops was certainly a partner of a different complexion from
      the young lady&rsquo;s previous one. The crown Prince had undertaken his duty
      with reluctance, and had performed it without grace; not a single word had
      he exchanged with his partner during the promenade, and his genuine
      listlessness was even more offensive than affected apathy. Von Sohnspeer,
      on the contrary, danced in the true Vienna style, and whirled like a
      Dervish. All our good English prejudices against the soft, the swimming,
      the sentimental, melting, undulating, dangerous waltz would quickly
      disappear, if we only executed the dreaded manoeuvres in the true Austrian
      style. One might as soon expect our daughters to get sentimental in a
      swing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian did not choose to presume upon his late acquaintance with Mr.
      Beckendorff, as it had not been sought by that gentleman, and he
      consequently did not pay his respects to the Minister. Mr. Beckendorff
      continued at the top of the room, standing between the State chairs of his
      Royal Highness and Madame Carolina, and occasionally addressing an
      observation to his Sovereign and answering one of the lady&rsquo;s. Had Mr.
      Beckendorff been in the habit of attending balls nightly he could not have
      exhibited more perfect nonchalance. There he stood, with his arms crossed
      behind him, his chin resting on his breast, and his raised eyes glancing!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear Prince,&rdquo; said Vivian to the Grand Marshal, &ldquo;you are just the
      person I wanted to speak to. How came you to invite Beckendorff, and how
      came he to accept the invitation?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said his Highness, shrugging his shoulders, &ldquo;wonders
      will never cease. I never invited him; I should just as soon have thought
      of inviting old Johannisberger.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Were you not aware, then, of his intention?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not in the least! you should rather say attention; for, I assure you, I
      consider it a most particular one. It is quite astonishing, my dear
      friend, how I mistook that man&rsquo;s character. He really is one of the most
      gentlemanlike, polite, and excellent persons I know; no more mad than you
      are! And as for his power being on the decline, we know the nonsense of
      that!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Better than most persons, I suspect. Sievers, of course, is not here?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No! you have heard about him, I suppose?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Heard! heard what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not heard! well, he told me yesterday, and said he was going to call upon
      you directly to let you know.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Know what?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is a very sensible man, Sievers; and I am very glad at last that he is
      likely to succeed in the world. All men have their little imprudences, and
      he was a little too hot once. What of that? He has come to his senses, so
      have I; and I hope you will never lose yours.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, pray, my dear Prince, tell me what has happened to Sievers.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;He is going to Vienna immediately, and will be very useful there, I have
      no doubt. He has got a good place, and I am sure he will do his duty. They
      cannot have an abler man.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Vienna! that is the last city in the world in which I should expect to
      find Mr. Sievers. What place can he have? and what services can he perform
      there?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Many! he is to be Editor of the Austrian Observer, and Censor of the
      Austrian Press. I thought he would do well at last. All men have their
      imprudent day. I had. I cannot stop now. I must go and speak to the
      Countess von S&mdash;&mdash;.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Vivian was doubting whether he should most grieve or laugh at this
      singular termination of Mr. Sievers&rsquo; career, his arm was suddenly touched,
      and on turning round he found it was by Mr. Beckendorff.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is another strong argument, sir,&rdquo; said the Minister, without any of
      the usual phrases of recognition; &ldquo;there is another strong argument
      against your doctrine of Destiny.&rdquo; And then Mr. Beckendorff, taking Vivian
      by the arm, began walking up and down part of the saloon with him; and in
      a few minutes, quite forgetting the scene of the discussion, he was
      involved in metaphysics. This incident created another great sensation,
      and whispers of &ldquo;secret mission, Secretary of State, decidedly a son,&rdquo;
       &amp;c. &amp;c. &amp;c. were in an instant afloat in all parts of the
      room.
    </p>
    <p>
      The approach of his Royal Highness extricated Vivian from an argument
      which was as profound as it was interminable; and as Mr. Beckendorff
      retired with the Grand Duke into a recess in the ball-room, Vivian was
      requested by von Neuwied to attend his Excellency the Grand Marshal.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My dear friend,&rdquo; said the Prince, &ldquo;I saw you talking with a certain
      person, I did not say anything to you when I passed you before; but, to
      tell you the truth now, I was a little annoyed that he had not spoken to
      you. I knew you were as proud as Lucifer, and would not salute him
      yourself; and between ourselves I had no great wish you should, for, not
      to conceal it, he did not even mention your name. But the reason of this
      is now quite evident, and you must confess he is remarkably courteous. You
      know, if you remember, we thought that incognito was a little affected;
      rather annoying, if you recollect. I remember in the green lane you gave
      him a gentle cut about it. It was spirited, and I dare say did good. Well!
      what I was going to say about that is this; I dare say now, after all,&rdquo;
       continued his Excellency, with a knowing look, &ldquo;a certain person had very
      good reasons for that; not that he ever told them to me, nor that I have
      the slightest idea of them; but when a person is really so exceedingly
      polite and attentive I always think he would never do anything
      disagreeable without a cause; and it was exceedingly disagreeable, if you
      remember, my dear friend. I never knew to whom he was speaking. Von
      Philipson indeed! Well! we did not think, the day we were floundering down
      that turf road, that it would end in this. Rather a more brilliant scene
      than the Giants&rsquo; Hall at Turriparva, I think, eh? But all men have their
      imprudent days; the best way is to forget them. There was poor Sievers;
      who ever did more imprudent things than he? and now it is likely he will
      do very well in the world, eh? What I want of you, my dear friend, is
      this. There is that girl who came with Beckendorff; who the deuce she is,
      I don&rsquo;t know: let us hope the best! We must pay her every attention. I
      dare say she is his daughter. You have not forgotten the portrait. Well!
      we all were gay once. All men have their imprudent day; why should not
      Beckendorff? Speaks rather in his favour, I think. Well, this girl; his
      Royal Highness very kindly made the Crown Prince walk the Polonaise with
      her; very kind of him, and very proper. What attention can be too great
      for the daughter or friend of such a man! a man who, in two words, may be
      said to have made Reisenburg. For what was Reisenburg before Beckendorff?
      Ah! what? Perhaps we were happier then, after all; and then there was no
      Royal Highness to bow to; no person to be condescending, except ourselves.
      But never mind! we will forget. After all, this life has its charms. What
      a brilliant scene! but this girl, every attention should be paid her. The
      Crown Prince was so kind as to walk the Polonaise with her. And von
      Sohnspeer; he is a brute, to be sure; but then he is a Field Marshal. Now,
      I think, considering what has taken place between Beckendorff and
      yourself, and the very distinguished manner in which he recognised you; I
      think, that after all this, and considering everything, the etiquette is
      for you, particularly as you are a foreigner, and my personal friend;
      indeed, my most particular friend, for in fact I owe everything to you, my
      life, and more than my life; I think, I repeat, considering all this, that
      the least you can do is to ask her to dance with you; and I, as the host,
      will introduce you. I am sorry, my dear friend,&rdquo; continued his Excellency,
      with a look of great regret, &ldquo;to introduce you to&mdash;; but we will not
      speak about it. We have no right to complain of Mr. Beckendorff. No person
      could possibly behave to us in a manner more gentlemanlike.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      After an introductory speech in his Excellency&rsquo;s happiest manner, and in
      which an eulogium of Vivian and a compliment to the fair unknown got
      almost as completely entangled as the origin of slavery and the history of
      the feudal system in his more celebrated harangue, Vivian found himself
      waltzing with the anonymous beauty. The Grand Marshal, during the process
      of introduction, had given the young lady every opportunity of declaring
      her name; but every opportunity was thrown away. &ldquo;She must be incog.,&rdquo;
       whispered his Excellency; &ldquo;Miss von Philipson, I suppose?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was not a little desirous of discovering the nature of the
      relationship or connection between Beckendorff and his partner. The rapid
      waltz allowed no pause for conversation; but after the dance Vivian seated
      himself at her side, with the determination of not quickly deserting it
      The lady did not even allow him the satisfaction of commencing the
      conversation; for no sooner was she seated than she begged to know who the
      person was with whom she had previously waltzed. The history of Count von
      Sohnspeer amused her; and no sooner had Vivian finished his anecdote than
      the lady said, &ldquo;Ah! so: you are an amusing person. Now tell me the history
      of everybody in the room.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Really,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;I fear I shall forfeit my reputation of being
      amusing very speedily, for I am almost as great a stranger at this Court
      as you appear to be yourself. Count von Sohnspeer is too celebrated a
      personage at Reisenburg to have allowed even me to be long ignorant of his
      history; and as for the rest, as far as I can judge, they are most of them
      as obscure as myself, and not nearly as interesting as you are!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you an Englishman?&rdquo; asked the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I supposed so, both from your travelling and your appearance: I think the
      English countenance very peculiar.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! we do not flatter ourselves so at home.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes! it is peculiar.&rdquo; said the lady, in a tone which seemed to imply that
      contradiction was unusual; &ldquo;and I think that you are all handsome! I
      admire the English, which in this part of the world is singular: the
      South, you know, is generally francisé.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am aware of that,&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;There, for instance,&rdquo; pointing to a
      pompous-looking personage who at that moment strutted by; &ldquo;there, for
      instance, is the most francisé person in all Reisenburg! that is our Grand
      Chamberlain. He considers himself a felicitous copy of Louis the
      Fourteenth! He allows nothing in his opinions and phrases but what is
      orthodox. As it generally happens in such cases, his orthodoxy is rather
      obsolete.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who is that Knight of Malta?&rdquo; asked the lady.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The most powerful individual in the room,&rdquo; answered Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Who can he be?&rdquo; asked the lady, with eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Behold him, and tremble!&rdquo; rejoined Vivian: &ldquo;for with him it rests to
      decide whether you are civilised or a savage; whether you are to be
      abhorred or admired: idolised or despised. Nay, do not be alarmed! there
      are a few heretics, even in Reisenburg, who, like myself, value from
      conviction, and not from fashion, and who will be ever ready, in spite of
      a von Aslingen anathema, to evince our admiration where it is due.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady pleaded fatigue as an excuse for not again dancing; and Vivian
      did not quit her side. Her lively remarks, piquant observations, and
      singular questions highly amused him; and he was flattered by the evident
      gratification which his conversation afforded her. It was chiefly of the
      principal members of the Court that she spoke: she was delighted with
      Vivian&rsquo;s glowing character of Madame Carolina, whom she said she had this
      evening seen for the first time. Who this unknown could be was a question
      which often occurred to him; and the singularity of a man like Beckendorff
      suddenly breaking through his habits and outraging the whole system of his
      existence, to please a daughter, or niece, or female cousin, did not fail
      to strike him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have the honour of being acquainted with Mr. Beckendorff,&rdquo; said Vivian.
      This was the first time that the Minister&rsquo;s name had been mentioned.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I perceived you talking with him,&rdquo; was the answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are staying, I suppose, at Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at present.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You have, of course, been at his retreat; delightful place!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you an ornithologist?&rdquo; asked Vivian, smiling.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not at all scientific; but I, of course, can now tell a lory from a Java
      sparrow, and a bullfinch from a canary. The first day I was there, I never
      shall forget the surprise I experienced, when, after the noon meal being
      finished, the aviary door was opened. After that I always let the
      creatures out myself; and one day I opened all the cages at once. If you
      could but have witnessed the scene! I am sure you would have been quite
      delighted with it. As for poor Mr. Beckendorff, I thought even he would
      have gone out of his mind; and when I brought in the white peacock he
      actually left the room in despair. Pray how do you like Madame Clara and
      Owlface too? Which do you think the most beautiful? I am no great
      favourite with the old lady. Indeed, it was very kind of Mr. Beckendorff
      to bear with everything as he did: I am sure he is not much used to lady
      visitors.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I trust that your visit to him will not be very short?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My stay at Reisenburg will not be very long,&rdquo; said the young lady, with
      rather a grave countenance, &ldquo;Have you been here any time?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;About a fortnight; it was a mere chance my coming at all. I was going on
      straight to Vienna.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To Vienna, indeed! Well, I am glad you did not miss Reisenburg; you must
      not quit it now. You know that this is not the Vienna season?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am aware of it; but I am such a restless person that I never regulate
      my movements by those of other people.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But surely you find Reisenburg agreeable?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very much so; but I am a confirmed wanderer.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why are you?&rdquo; asked the lady, with great naïveté.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian looked grave; and the lady, as if she were sensible of having
      unintentionally occasioned him a painful recollection, again expressed her
      wish that he should not immediately quit the Court, and trusted that
      circumstances would not prevent him from acceding to her desire.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It does not even depend upon circumstances,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;the whim of
      the moment is my only principle of action, and therefore I may be off
      to-night, or be here a month hence.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh! pray stay then,&rdquo; said his companion eagerly; &ldquo;I expect you to stay
      now. If you could only have an idea what a relief conversing with you is,
      after having been dragged by the Crown Prince and whirled by that von
      Sohnspeer! Heigho! I could almost sigh at the very remembrance of that
      doleful Polonaise.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The lady ended with a faint laugh a sentence which apparently had been
      commenced in no light vein. She did not cease speaking, but continued to
      request Vivian to remain at Reisenburg at least as long as herself. Her
      frequent requests were perfectly unnecessary, for the promise had been
      pledged at the first hint of her wish; but this was not the only time
      during the evening that Vivian had remarked that his interesting companion
      occasionally talked without apparently being sensible that she was
      conversing.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Count of Eberstein, who, to use his own phrase, was &ldquo;sadly
      involved,&rdquo; and consequently desirous of being appointed a forest
      Councillor, thought that he should secure his appointment by condescending
      to notice the person whom he delicately styled &ldquo;the Minister&rsquo;s female
      relative.&rdquo; To his great mortification and surprise, the honour was
      declined; and &ldquo;the female relative,&rdquo; being unwilling to dance again, but
      perhaps feeling it necessary to break off her conversation with her late
      partner, it having already lasted an unusual time, highly gratified his
      Excellency the Grand Marshal by declaring that she would dance with Prince
      Maximilian. &ldquo;This, to say the least, was very attentive of Miss von
      Philipson.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Little Max, who had just tact enough to discover that to be the partner of
      the fair incognita was the place of honour of the evening, now considered
      himself by much the most important personage in the room. In fact, he was
      only second to Emilius von Aslingen. The evident contest which was ever
      taking place between his natural feelings as a boy and his acquired habits
      as a courtier made him an amusing companion. He talked of the Gardens and
      the Opera in a style not unworthy of the young Count of Eberstein. He
      thought that Madame Carolina was as charming as usual to-night; but, on
      the contrary, that the Countess von S&mdash;&mdash; was looking rather
      ill, and this put him in mind of her ladyship&rsquo;s new equipage; and then,
      apropos to equipages, what did his companion think of the new fashion of
      the Hungarian harness? His lively and kind companion encouraged the boy&rsquo;s
      tattle; and, emboldened by her good nature, he soon forgot his artificial
      speeches, and was quickly rattling on about Turriparva, and his horses,
      and his dogs, and his park, and his guns, and his grooms. Soon after the
      waltz, the lady, taking the arm of the young Prince, walked up to Mr.
      Beckendorff. He received her with great attention, and led her to Madame
      Carolina, who rose, seated Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s &ldquo;female relative&rdquo; by her
      side, and evidently said something extremely agreeable.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0069">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI
    </h2>
    <p>
      Vivian had promised Madame Carolina a second English lesson on the day
      after the Grand Marshal&rsquo;s fete. The progress which the lady had made, and
      the talent which the gentleman had evinced during the first, had rendered
      Madame the most enthusiastic of pupils, and Vivian, in her estimation, the
      ablest of instructors. Madame Carolina&rsquo;s passion was patronage: to
      discover concealed merit, to encourage neglected genius, to reveal the
      mysteries of the world to a novice in mankind, or, in short, to make
      herself very agreeable to any one whom she fancied to be very interesting,
      was the great business and the great delight of her existence. No sooner
      had her eyes lighted on Vivian Grey than she determined to patronise. His
      country, his appearance, the romantic manner in which he had become
      connected with the Court, all pleased her lively imagination. She was
      intuitively acquainted with his whole history, and in an instant he was
      the hero of a romance, of which the presence of the principal character
      compensated, we may suppose, for the somewhat indefinite details. His
      taste and literary acquirements completed the spell by which Madame
      Carolina was willingly enchanted. A low Dutch professor, whose luminous
      genius rendered unnecessary the ceremony of shaving; and a dumb dwarf, in
      whose interesting appearance was forgotten its perfect idiocy, prosy
      improvisatore, and a South American savage, were all superseded by the
      appearance of Vivian Grey.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Madame Carolina was, in fact, a charming woman, our hero had no
      objection to humour her harmless foibles; and not contented with making
      notes in an interleaved copy of her Charlemagne, he even promised to read
      Haroun Al Raschid in manuscript. The consequence of his courtesy and the
      reward of his taste was unbounded favour. Apartments in the palace were
      offered him, and declined; and when Madame Carolina had become acquainted
      with sufficient of his real history to know that, on his part, neither
      wish nor necessity existed to return immediately to his own country, she
      tempted him to remain at Reisenburg by an offer of a place at Court; and
      doubtless, had he been willing, Vivian might in time have become a Lord
      Chamberlain, or perhaps even a Field Marshal.
    </p>
    <p>
      On entering the room the morning in question he found Madame Carolina
      writing. At the end of the apartment a lady ceased, on his appearance,
      humming an air to which she was dancing, and at the same time imitating
      castanets. Madame received Vivian with expressions of delight, saying
      also, in a peculiar and confidential manner, that she was just sealing up
      a packet for him, the preface of Haroun; and then she presented him to
      &ldquo;the Baroness!&rdquo; The lady who was lately dancing came forward. It was his
      unknown partner of the preceding night. &ldquo;The Baroness&rdquo; extended her hand
      to Vivian, and unaffectedly expressed her great pleasure at seeing him
      again. Vivian trusted that she was not fatigued by the fête, and asked
      after Mr. Beckendorff. Madame Carolina was busily engaged at the moment in
      duly securing the precious preface. The Baroness said that Mr. Beckendorff
      had returned home, but that Madame Carolina had kindly insisted upon her
      staying at the palace. She was not the least wearied. Last night had been
      one of the most agreeable she had ever spent; at least she supposed she
      ought to say so: for if she had experienced a tedious or mournful feeling
      for a moment, it was hardly for what was then passing so much as for&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pray, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; said Madame Carolina, interrupting them, &ldquo;have you heard
      about our new ballet?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I do not think you have ever been to our Opera. To-morrow is Opera night,
      and you must not be again away. We pride ourselves here very much upon our
      Opera.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We estimate it even in England,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;as possessing perhaps the
      most perfect orchestra now organised.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The orchestra is perfect. His Royal Highness is such an excellent
      musician, and he has spared no trouble or expense in forming it: he has
      always superintended it himself. But I confess I admire our ballet
      department still more. I expect you to be delighted with it. You will
      perhaps be gratified to know that the subject of our new splendid ballet,
      which is to be produced to-morrow, is from a great work of your
      illustrious poet, my Lord Byron.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;From which?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Corsair. Ah! what a sublime work! what passion! what energy! what
      knowledge of feminine feeling! what contrast of character! what
      sentiments! what situations! I wish this were Opera night; Gulnare! my
      favourite character; beautiful! How do you think they will dress her?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Are you an admirer of our Byron?&rdquo; asked Vivian, of the Baroness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think he is a very handsome man. I once saw him at the carnival at
      Venice.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But his works; his grand works! ma chère petite,&rdquo; said Madame Carolina,
      in her sweetest tone: &ldquo;you have read his works?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not a line,&rdquo; answered the Baroness, with great naïveté; &ldquo;I never saw
      them.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Pauvre enfant!&rdquo; said Madame Carolina; &ldquo;I will employ you, then, while you
      are here.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I never read,&rdquo; said the Baroness; &ldquo;I cannot bear it. I like poetry and
      romances, but I like somebody to read to me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Very just,&rdquo; said Madame Carolina; &ldquo;we can judge with greater accuracy of
      the merit of a composition when it reaches our mind merely through the
      medium of the human voice. The soul is an essence, invisible and
      indivisible. In this respect the voice of man resembles the principle of
      his existence; since few will deny, though there are some materialists who
      will deny everything, that the human voice is both impalpable and audible
      only in one place at the same time. Hence, I ask, is it illogical to infer
      its indivisibility? The soul and the voice, then, are similar in two great
      attributes: there is a secret harmony in their spiritual construction. In
      the early ages of mankind a beautiful tradition was afloat that the soul
      and the voice were one and the same. We may perhaps recognise in this
      fanciful belief the effect of the fascinating and imaginative philosophy
      of the East; that mysterious portion of the globe,&rdquo; continued Madame
      Carolina, &ldquo;from which we should frankly confess that we derive everything;
      for the South is but the pupil of the East, through the mediation of
      Egypt. Of this opinion,&rdquo; said Madame with fervour, &ldquo;I have no doubt: of
      this opinion,&rdquo; continued the lady with enthusiasm, &ldquo;I have boldly avowed
      myself a votary in a dissertation appended to the second volume of Haroun:
      for this opinion I would die at the stake! Oh, lovely East! why was I not
      oriental! Land where the voice of the nightingale is never mute! Land of
      the cedar and the citron, the turtle and the myrtle, of ever-blooming
      flowers and ever-shining skies! Illustrious East! Cradle of Philosophy! My
      dearest Baroness, why do not you feel as I do? From the East we obtain
      everything!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo; said the Baroness, with simplicity; &ldquo;I thought we only got
      shawls.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This puzzling answer was only noticed by Vivian; for the truth is, Madame
      Carolina was one of those individuals who never attend to any person&rsquo;s
      answers. Always thinking of herself, she only asked questions that she
      herself might supply the responses. And now having made, as she flattered
      herself, a splendid display to her favourite critic, she began to consider
      what had given rise to her oration. Lord Byron and the ballet again
      occurred to her; and as the Baroness, at least, was not unwilling to
      listen, and as she herself had no manuscript of her own which she
      particularly wished to be perused, she proposed that Vivian should read to
      them part of the Corsair, and in the original tongue. Madame Carolina
      opened the volume at the first prison scene between Gulnare and Conrad. It
      was her favourite. Vivian read with care and feeling. Madame was in
      raptures, and the Baroness, although she did not understand a single
      syllable, seemed almost equally delighted. At length Vivian came to this
      passage:
    </p>
<pre>
     My love stern Seyd&rsquo;s! Oh, no, no, not my love!
     Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once strove
     To meet his passion; but it would not be.
     I felt, I feel, love dwells with, with the free.
     I am a slave, a favour&rsquo;d slave at best,
     To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
     Oft must my soul the question undergo,
     Of, &ldquo;Dost thou love?&rdquo; and burn to answer, &ldquo;No!&rdquo;
      Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain,
     And struggle not to feel averse in vain;
     But harder still the heart&rsquo;s recoil to bear,
     And hide from one, perhaps another there;
     He takes the hand I give not nor withhold,
     Its pulse nor checked nor quickened, calmly cold:
     And when resign&rsquo;d, it drops a lifeless weight
     From one I never loved enough to hate.
     No warmth these lips return by his imprest,
     And chill&rsquo;d remembrance shudders o&rsquo;er the rest.
     Yes, had I ever prov&rsquo;d that passion&rsquo;s zeal,
     The change to hatred were at least to feel:
     But still, he goes unmourn&rsquo;d, returns unsought,
     And oft when present, absent from my thought.
     Or when reflection comes, and come it must,
     I fear that henceforth &lsquo;twill but bring disgust:
     I am his slave; but, in despite of pride,
     &lsquo;Twere worse than bondage to become his bride.
</pre>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Superb!&rdquo; said Madame, in a voice of enthusiasm; &ldquo;how true! what passion!
      what energy! what sentiments! what knowledge of feminine feeling! Read it
      again, I pray: it is my favourite passage.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is this passage about?&rdquo; asked the Baroness, with some anxiety; &ldquo;tell
      me.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have a French translation, ma mignonne,&rdquo; said Madame; &ldquo;you shall have
      it afterwards.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No! I detest reading,&rdquo; said the young lady, with an imperious air;
      &ldquo;translate it to me at once.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are rather a self-willed beauty!&rdquo; thought Vivian; &ldquo;but your eyes are
      so brilliant that nothing must be refused you!&rdquo; and so he translated it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On its conclusion Madame was again in raptures. The Baroness was not less
      affected, but she said nothing. She appeared agitated; she changed colour,
      raised her beautiful eyes with an expression of sorrow, looked at Vivian
      earnestly, and then walked to the other end of the room. In a few moments
      she returned to her seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I wish you would tell me the story,&rdquo; she said, with earnestness.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have a French translation, ma belle!&rdquo; said Madame Carolina; &ldquo;at present
      I wish to trouble Mr. Grey with a few questions.&rdquo; Madame Carolina led
      Vivian into a recess.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am sorry we are troubled with this sweet little savage; but I think she
      has talent, though evidently quite uneducated. We must do what we can for
      her. Her ignorance of all breeding is amusing, but then I think she has a
      natural elegance. We shall soon polish her. His Royal Highness is so
      anxious that every attention should be paid to her. Beckendorff, you know,
      is a man of the greatest genius.&rdquo; (Madame Carolina had lowered her tone
      about the Minister since the Prince of Little Lilliput&rsquo;s apostasy.) &ldquo;The
      country is greatly indebted to him. This, between ourselves, is his
      daughter. At least I have no doubt of it. Beckendorff was once married, to
      a lady of great rank, died early, beautiful woman, very interesting! His
      Royal Highness had a great regard for her. The Premier, in his
      bereavement, turned humorist, and has brought up this lovely girl in the
      oddest possible manner; nobody knows where. Now that he finds it necessary
      to bring her forward, he, of course, is quite at a loss. His Royal
      Highness has applied to me. There was a little coldness before between the
      Minister and myself. It is now quite removed. I must do what I can for her
      I think she must marry von Sohnspeer, who is no more Beckendorff&rsquo;s son
      than you are: or young Eberstein, or young Bernstorff, or young Gernsbach.
      We must do something for her. I offered her last night to Emilius von
      Aslingen; but he said that, unfortunately, he was just importing a savage
      or two of his own from the Brazils, and consequently was not in want of
      her.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A chamberlain now entered, to announce the speedy arrival of his Royal
      Highness. The Baroness, without ceremony, expressed her great regret that
      he was coming, as now she should not hear the wished-for story. Madame
      Carolina reproved her, and the reproof was endured rather than submitted
      to.
    </p>
    <p>
      His Royal Highness entered, and was accompanied by the Crown Prince. He
      greeted the young lady with great kindness; and even the Crown Prince,
      inspired by his father&rsquo;s unusual warmth, made a shuffling kind of bow and
      a stuttering kind of speech. Vivian was about to retire on the entrance of
      the Grand Duke, but Madame Carolina prevented him from going, and his
      Royal Highness, turning round, very graciously seconded her desire, and
      added that Mr. Grey was the very gentleman with whom he was desirous of
      meeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am anxious,&rdquo; said he to Vivian, in rather a low tone, &ldquo;to make
      Reisenburg agreeable to Mr. Beckendorff&rsquo;s fair friend. As you are one of
      the few who are honoured by his intimacy, and are familiar with some of
      our state secrets,&rdquo; added the Grand Duke with a smile, &ldquo;I am sure it will
      give you pleasure to assist me in the execution of my wishes.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His Royal Highness proposed that the ladies should ride; and he himself,
      with the Crown Prince and Mr. Grey, would attend them. Madame Carolina
      expressed her willingness; but the Baroness, like all forward girls unused
      to the world, suddenly grew at the same time both timid and disobliging.
      She looked sullen and discontented, and coolly said that she did not feel
      in the humour to ride for at least these two hours. To Vivian&rsquo;s surprise,
      even the Grand Duke humoured her fancy, and declared that he should then
      be happy to attend them after the Court dinner. Until that time Vivian was
      amused by Madame, and the Grand Duke exclusively devoted himself to the
      Baroness. His Royal Highness was in his happiest mood, and his winning
      manners and elegant conversation soon chased away the cloud which, for a
      moment, had settled on the young lady&rsquo;s fair brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0070">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke of Reisenburg was an enthusiastic lover of music, and his
      people were consequently music mad. The whole city were fiddling day and
      night, or blowing trumpets, oboes, and bassoons. Sunday, however, was the
      most harmonious day in the week. The Opera amused the Court and the
      wealthiest citizens, and few private houses could not boast their family
      concert or small party of performers. In the tea-gardens, of which there
      were many in the suburbs of the city, bearing the euphonious, romantic,
      and fashionable titles of Tivoli, Arcadia, and Vauxhall, a strong and
      amateur orchestra was never wanting. Strolling through the city on a
      Sunday afternoon, many a pleasing picture of innocent domestic enjoyment
      might be observed. In the arbour of a garden a very stout man, with a
      fair, broad, good-natured, solid German face, may be seen perspiring under
      the scientific exertion of the French horn; himself wisely disembarrassed
      of the needless incumbrance of his pea-green coat and showy waistcoat,
      which lay neatly folded by his side; while his large and sleepy blue eyes
      actually gleam with enthusiasm. His daughter, a soft and delicate girl,
      touches the light guitar: catching the notes of the music from the opened
      opera, which is placed before the father on a massy music-stand. Her voice
      joins in melody with her mother, who, like all German mothers, seems only
      her daughter&rsquo;s self, subdued by an additional twenty years. The bow of one
      violin is handled with the air of a master by an elder brother; while a
      younger one, an university student, grows sentimental over the flute. The
      same instrument is also played by a tall and tender-looking young man in
      black, who stands behind the parents, next to the daughter, and
      occasionally looks off his music-book to gaze on his young mistress&rsquo;s
      eyes. He is a clerk in a public office; and on next Michaelmas day, if he
      succeed, as he hopes, in gaining a small addition to his salary, he will
      be still more entitled to join in the Sunday family concert. Such is one
      of the numerous groups, the sight of which must, assuredly, give pleasure
      to every man who delights in seeing his fellow-creatures refreshed after
      their weekly labours by such calm and rational enjoyment. We would gladly
      linger among such scenes; and, moreover, the humours of a guinguette are
      not unworthy of our attention: but we must introduce the reader to a more
      important party.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Court chapel and the Court dinner are over. We are in the Opera-house
      of Reisenburg; and, of course, rise as the Royal party enters. The house,
      which is of moderate size, was fitted up with splendour: we hardly know
      whether we should say with great taste; for, although not merely the
      scenery, but indeed every part of the house, was painted by eminent
      artists, the style of the ornaments was rather patriotic than tasteful.
      The house had been built immediately after the war, at a period when
      Reisenburg, flushed with the success of its thirty thousand men, imagined
      itself to be a great military nation. Trophies, standards, cannon, eagles,
      consequently appeared in every corner of the Opera-house; and quite
      superseded lyres, and timbrels, and tragic daggers, and comic masks. The
      royal box was constructed in the form of a tent, and held nearly fifty
      persons. It was exactly in the centre of the house, its floor over the
      back of the pit, and its roof reaching to the top of the second circle;
      its crimson hangings were restrained by ropes of gold, and the whole was
      surmounted by a large and radiant crown. The house was merely lighted by a
      chandelier from the centre.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Opera for the evening was Rossini&rsquo;s Otello. As soon as the Grand Duke
      entered the overture commenced, his Royal Highness coming forward to the
      front of the box and himself directing the musicians, keeping time
      earnestly with his right hand, in which was a long black opera-glass. This
      he occasionally used, but merely to look at the orchestra, not, assuredly,
      to detect a negligent or inefficient performer; for in the schooled
      orchestra of Reisenburg it would have been impossible even for the eagle
      eye of his Royal Highness, assisted as it was by his long black
      opera-glass, or for his fine ear, matured as it was by the most complete
      study, to discover there either inattention or feebleness. The house was
      perfectly silent; for when the Monarch directs the orchestra the world
      goes to the Opera to listen. Perfect silence at Reisenburg, then, was
      etiquette and the fashion. Between the acts of the Opera, however, the
      Ballet was performed; and then everybody might talk, and laugh, and remark
      as much as they chose.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke prided himself as much upon the accuracy of his scenery and
      dresses and decorations as upon the exquisite skill of his performers. In
      truth, an Opera at Reisenburg was a spectacle which could not fail to be
      interesting to a man of taste. When the curtain drew up the first scene
      presented a view of old Brabantio&rsquo;s house. It was accurately copied from
      one of the sumptuous structures of Scamozzi, or Sansovino, or Palladio,
      which adorn the Grand Canal of Venice. In the distance rose the domes of
      St. Mark and the lofty Campanile. Vivian could not fail to be delighted
      with this beautiful work of art, for such indeed it should be styled. He
      was more surprised, however, but not less pleased, on the entrance of
      Othello himself. In England we are accustomed to deck this adventurous
      Moor in the costume of his native country; but is this correct? The Grand
      Duke of Reisenburg thought not. Othello was an adventurer; at an early age
      he entered, as many foreigners did, into the service of Venice. In that
      service be rose to the highest dignities, became General of her armies and
      of her fleets, and finally the Viceroy of her favourite kingdom. Is it
      natural to suppose that such a man should have retained, during his
      successful career, the manners and dress of his original country? Ought we
      not rather to admit that, had he done so his career would, in fact, not
      have been successful? In all probability, he imitated to affectation the
      manners of the country which he had adopted. It is not probable that in
      such or in any age the turbaned Moor would have been treated with great
      deference by the common Christian soldier of Venice; or, indeed, that the
      scandal of a heathen leading the armies of one of the most powerful of
      European States would have been tolerated for an instant by indignant
      Christendom. If Shylock even, the Jew merchant, confined to his quarter,
      and herding with his own sect, were bearded on the Rialto, in what spirit
      would the Venetians have witnessed their doge and nobles, whom they ranked
      above kings, holding equal converse, and loading with the most splendid
      honours of the Republic a follower of Mahound? Such were the sentiments of
      the Grand Duke of Reisenburg on this subject, a subject interesting to
      Englishmen; and I confess I think that they are worthy of attention. In
      accordance with his opinions, the actor who performed Othello appeared in
      the full dress of a Venetian magnifico of the middle ages; a fit companion
      for Cornaro, or Grimani, or Barberigo, or Foscari.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first act of the Opera was finished. The Baroness expressed to Vivian
      her great delight at its being over, as she was extremely desirous of
      learning the story of the ballet, which she had not yet been able to
      acquire. His translation of yesterday had greatly interested her. Vivian
      shortly gave her the outline of the story of Conrad. She listened with
      much attention, but made no remark.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ballet at Reisenburg was not merely a vehicle for the display of
      dancing. It professed by gesture and action, aided by music, to influence
      the minds of the spectators not less than the regular drama. Of this
      exhibition dancing was a casual ornament, as it is of life. It took place
      therefore only on fitting occasions, and grew out, in a natural manner,
      from some event in the history represented. For instance, suppose the
      story of Othello the subject of the ballet. The dancing, in all
      probability, would be introduced at a grand entertainment given in
      celebration of the Moor&rsquo;s arrival at Cyprus. All this would be in
      character. Our feelings would not be outraged by a husband chassezing
      forward to murder his wife, or by seeing the pillow pressed over the
      innocent Desdemona by the impulse of a pirouette. In most cases,
      therefore, the chief performers in this species of spectacle are not even
      dancers. This, however, may not always be the case. If Diana be the
      heroine, poetical probability will not be offended by the goddess joining
      in the chaste dance with her huntress nymphs; and were the Baiadere of
      Goethe made the subject of a ballet, the Indian dancing girl would
      naturally be the heroine both of the drama and the poem. There are few
      performances more affecting than the serious pantomime of a master. In
      some of the most interesting situations it is in fact even more natural
      than the oral drama, logically it is more perfect; for the soliloquy is
      actually thought before us, and the magic of the representation not
      destroyed by the sound of the human voice at a moment when we all know man
      never speaks.
    </p>
    <p>
      The curtain again rises. Sounds of revelry and triumph are heard from the
      Pirate Isle. They celebrate recent success. Various groups, accurately
      attired in the costume of the Greek islands, are seated on the rocky
      foreground. On the left rises Medora&rsquo;s tower, on a craggy steep; and on
      the right gleams the blue Aegean. A procession of women enters. It heralds
      the presence of Conrad and Medora; they honour the festivity of their rude
      subjects. The pirates and the women join in the national dance; and
      afterwards eight warriors, completely armed, move in a warlike measure,
      keeping time to the music with their bucklers and clattering sabres.
      Suddenly the dance ceases; a sail is in sight. The nearest pirates rush to
      the strand, and assist the disembarkation of their welcome comrades. The
      commander of the vessel comes forward with an agitated step and gloomy
      countenance. He kneels to Conrad and delivers him a scroll, which the
      chieftain reads with suppressed agitation. In a moment the faithful Juan
      is at his side, the contents of the scroll revealed, the dance broken up,
      and preparations made to sail in an hour&rsquo;s time to the city of the Pacha.
      The stage is cleared, and Conrad and Medora are alone. The mysterious
      leader is wrapt in the deepest abstraction. He stands with folded arms,
      and eyes fixed on the yellow sand. A gentle pressure on his arm calls him
      back to recollection; he starts, and turns to the intruder with a gloomy
      brow. He sees Medora, and his frown sinks into a sad smile. &ldquo;And must we
      part again! this hour, this very hour; it cannot be!&rdquo; She clings to him
      with agony, and kneels to him with adoration. No hope, no hope! a quick
      return promised with an air of foreboding fate. His stern arm encircles
      her waist. He chases the heavy tear from her fair cheek, and while he bids
      her be glad in his absence with her handmaids peals the sad thunder of the
      signal gun. She throws herself upon him. The frantic quickness of her
      motion strikingly contrasts with the former stupor of her appearance. She
      will not part. Her face is buried in his breast; her long fair hair floats
      over his shoulders. He is almost unnerved; but at this moment the ship
      sails on; the crew and their afflicted wives enter; the page brings to
      Lord Conrad his cloak, his carbine, and his bugle. He tears himself from
      her embrace, and without daring to look behind him bounds over the rocks,
      and is in the ship. The vessel moves, the wives of the pirates continue on
      the beach, waving their scarfs to their desolate husbands. In the
      foreground Medora, motionless, stands rooted to the strand, and might have
      inspired Phidias with a personification of Despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a hall of unparalleled splendour stern Seyd reclines on innumerable
      pillows, placed on a carpet of golden cloth. His bearded chiefs are ranged
      around. The chambers are brilliantly illuminated, and an opening at the
      farther end of the apartments exhibits a portion of the shining city and
      the glittering galleys. Gulnare, covered with a silver veil, which reaches
      even to her feet, is ushered into the presence of the Pacha. Even the
      haughty Seyd rises to honour his beautiful favourite. He draws the
      precious veil from her blushing features and places her on his right hand.
      The dancing girls now appear, and then are introduced the principal
      artists. Now takes place the scientific part of the ballet; and here might
      Bias, or Noblet, or Ronzi Vestris, or her graceful husband, or the
      classical Albert, or the bounding Paul, vault without stint, and
      attitudinise without restraint, and not in the least impair the effect of
      the tragic tale. The Dervise, of course, appears; the galleys, of course,
      are fired; and Seyd, of course, retreats. A change in the scenery gives us
      the blazing Harem, the rescue of its inmates, the deliverance of Gulnare,
      the capture of Conrad.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is the prison scene. On a mat, covered with irons, lies the forlorn
      Conrad. The flitting flame of a solitary lamp hardly reveals the heavy
      bars of the huge grate that forms the entrance to its cell. For some
      minutes nothing stirs. The mind of the spectator is allowed to become
      fully aware of the hopeless misery of the hero. His career is ended,
      secure is his dungeon, trusty his guards, overpowering his chains.
      To-morrow he wakes to be impaled. A gentle noise, so gentle that the
      spectator almost deems it unintentional, is now heard. A white figure
      appears behind the dusky gate; is it a guard or a torturer? The gate
      softly opens, and a female comes forward. Gulnare was represented by a
      girl with the body of a Peri and the soul of a poetess. The Harem Queen
      advances with an agitated step; she holds in her left hand a lamp, and in
      the girdle of her light dress is a dagger. She reaches with a soundless
      step the captive. He is asleep! Ay! he sleeps, while thousands are weeping
      over his ravage or his ruin; and she, in restlessness, is wandering here!
      A thousand thoughts are seen coursing over her flushed brow; she looks to
      the audience, and her dark eye asks why this Corsair is so dear to her.
      She turns again, and raises the lamp with her long white arm, that the
      light may fall on the captive&rsquo;s countenance. She gazes, without moving, on
      the sleeper, touches the dagger with a slow and tremulous hand, and starts
      from the contact with terror. She again touches it; it is drawn from her
      vest; it falls to the ground. He wakes; he stares with wonder; he sees a
      female not less fair than Medora. Confused, she tells him her station; she
      tells him that her pity is as certain as his doom. He avows his readiness
      to die; he appears undaunted, he thinks of Medora, he buries his face in
      his hands. She grows pale as he avows he loves&mdash;another. She cannot
      conceal her own passion. He, wondering, confesses that he supposed her
      love was his enemy&rsquo;s, was Seyd&rsquo;s. Gulnare shudders at the name; she draws
      herself up to her full stature, she smiles in bitterness:
    </p>
<pre>
     My love stern Seyd&rsquo;s! Oh, no, no, not my love!
</pre>
    <p>
      The acting was perfect. The house burst into unusual shouts of admiration.
      Madame Carolina applauded with her little finger on her fan. The Grand
      Duke himself gave the signal for applause. Vivian never felt before that
      words were useless. His hand was suddenly pressed. He turned round; it was
      the Baroness. She was leaning back in her chair; and though she did her
      utmost to conceal her agitated countenance, a tear coursed down her cheek
      big as the miserable Medora&rsquo;s!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0071">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the evening of the Opera arrived at Court part of the suite of the
      young Archduchess, the betrothed of the Crown Prince of Reisenburg. These
      consisted of an old grey-headed General, who had taught her Imperial
      Highness the manual exercise; and her tutor and confessor, an ancient and
      toothless Bishop. Their youthful mistress was to follow them in a few
      days; and this arrival of such a distinguished portion of her suite was
      the signal for the commencement of a long series of sumptuous festivities.
      After interchanging a number of compliments and a few snuff-boxes, the new
      guests were invited by his Royal Highness to attend a Review, which was to
      take place the next morning, of five thousand troops and fifty Generals.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Reisenburg army was the best appointed in Europe. Never were men seen
      with breasts more plumply padded, mustachios better trained, or such
      spotless gaiters. The Grand Duke himself was a military genius, and had
      invented a new cut for the collars of the Cavalry. His Royal Highness was
      particularly desirous of astonishing the old grey-headed governor of his
      future daughter by the skilful evolutions and imposing appearance of his
      legions. The affair was to be of the most refined nature, and the whole
      was to be concluded by a mock battle, in which the spectators were to be
      treated by a display of the most exquisite evolutions and complicated
      movements which human beings ever yet invented to destroy others or to
      escape destruction. Field Marshal Count von Sohnspeer, the
      Commander-in-Chief of all the Forces of his Royal Highness the Grand Duke
      of Reisenburg, condescended, at the particular request of his Sovereign,
      to conduct the whole affair himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first it was rather difficult to distinguish between the army and the
      staff; for Darius, in the Straits of Issus, was not more sumptuously and
      numerously attended than Count von Sohnspeer. Wherever he moved he was
      followed by a train of waving plumes and radiant epaulettes, and foaming
      chargers and shining steel. In fact, he looked like a large military
      comet. Had the fate of Reisenburg depended on the result of the day, the
      Field Marshal, and his Generals, and Aides-de-camp, and Orderlies, could
      not have looked more agitated and more in earnest. Von Sohnspeer had not
      less than four horses in the field, on every one of which he seemed to
      appear in the space of five minutes. Now he was dashing along the line of
      the Lancers on a black charger, and now round the column of the
      Cuirassiers on a white one. He exhorted the Tirailleurs on a chestnut, and
      added fresh courage to the ardour of the Artillery on a bay.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a splendid day. The bands of the respective regiments played
      triumphant tunes as each marched on the field. The gradual arrival of the
      troops was picturesque. Distant music was heard, and a corps of Infantry
      soon made its appearance. A light bugle sounded, and a body of Tirailleurs
      issued from the shade of a neighbouring wood. The kettle-drums and
      clarions heralded the presence of a troop of Cavalry; and an advanced
      guard of Light Horse told that the Artillery were about to follow. The
      arms and standards of the troops shone in the sun; military music sounded
      in all parts of the field; unceasing was the bellow of the martial drum
      and the blast of the blood-stirring trumpet. Clouds of dust ever and anon
      excited in the distance denoted the arrival of a regiment of Cavalry. Even
      now one approaches; it is the Red Lancers. How gracefully their Colonel,
      the young Count of Eberstein, bounds on his barb! Has Theseus turned
      Centaur? His spur and bridle seem rather the emblems of sovereignty than
      the instruments of government: he neither chastises nor directs. The rider
      moves without motion, and the horse judges without guidance. It would seem
      that the man had borrowed the beast&rsquo;s body, and the beast the man&rsquo;s mind.
      His regiment has formed upon the field, their stout lances erected like a
      young and leafless grove; but although now in line, it is with difficulty
      that they can subject the spirit of their warlike steeds. The trumpet has
      caught the ear of the horses; they stand with open nostrils, already
      breathing war ere they can see an enemy; and now dashing up one leg, and
      now the other, they seem to complain of Nature that she has made them of
      anything earthly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The troops have all arrived; there is an unusual bustle in the field. Von
      Sohnspeer is again changing his horse, giving directions while he is
      mounting to at least a dozen Aides-de-camp. Orderlies are scampering over
      every part of the field. Another flag, quite new, and of large size, is
      unfurled by the Field-Marshal&rsquo;s pavilion. A signal gun! the music in the
      whole field is hushed: a short silence of agitating suspense, another gun,
      and another! All the bands of all the regiments burst forth at the same
      moment into the national air: the Court dash into the field!
    </p>
    <p>
      Madame Carolina, the Baroness, the Countess von S&mdash;&mdash;, and some
      other ladies, wore habits of the uniform of the Royal Guards. Both Madame
      and the Baroness were perfect horsewomen; and the excited spirits of Mr.
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s female relative, both during her ride and her dashing run
      over the field, amidst the firing of cannon and the crash of drums and
      trumpets, strikingly contrasted with her agitation and depression of the
      preceding night.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your Excellency loves the tented field, I think!&rdquo; said Vivian, who was at
      her side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I love war! it is a diversion for kings!&rdquo; was the answer. &ldquo;How fine the
      breast-plates and helmets of those Cuirassiers glisten in the sun!&rdquo;
       continued the lady. &ldquo;Do you see von Sohnspeer? I wonder if the Crown
      Prince be with him!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I think he is.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Indeed! Ah! can he interest himself in anything? He seemed Apathy itself
      at the Opera last night. I never saw him smile, or move, and have scarcely
      heard his voice! but if he love war, if he be a soldier, if he be thinking
      of other things than a pantomime and a ball, &lsquo;tis well! very well for his
      country! Perhaps he is a hero?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment the Crown Prince, who was of von Sohnspeer&rsquo;s staff, slowly
      rode up to the Royal party.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Rudolph!&rdquo; said the Grand Duke, &ldquo;do you head your regiment to-day?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; was the muttered answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke moved his horse to his son, and spoke to him in a low tone,
      evidently with earnestness. Apparently he was expostulating with him; but
      the effect of the royal exhortation was only to render the Prince&rsquo;s brow
      more gloomy, and the expression of his withered features more sullen and
      more sad. The Baroness watched the father and son as they were conversing
      with keen attention. When the Crown Prince, in violation of his father&rsquo;s
      wishes, fell into the party, and allowed his regiment to be headed by the
      Lieutenant-colonel, the young lady raised her lustrous eyes to heaven with
      that same expression of sorrow or resignation which had so much interested
      Vivian on the morning that he had translated to her the moving passage in
      the Corsair.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the field is nearly cleared, and the mimic war has commenced. On the
      right appears a large body of Cavalry, consisting of Cuirassiers and
      Dragoons. A vanguard of Light Cavalry and Lancers, under the command of
      the Count of Eberstein, is ordered out, from this body, to harass the
      enemy, a strong body of Infantry supposed to be advancing. Several
      squadrons of Light Horse immediately spring forward; they form themselves
      into line, they wheel into column, and endeavour, by well-directed
      manoeuvres, to outflank the strong wing of the advancing enemy. After
      succeeding in executing all that was committed to them, and after having
      skirmished in the van of their own army, so as to give time for all
      necessary dispositions of the line of battle, the vanguard suddenly
      retreats between the brigades of the Cavalry of the line; the prepared
      battery of cannon is unmasked; and a tremendous concentric fire opened on
      the line of the advancing foe. Taking advantage of the confusion created
      by this unexpected salute of his artillery, von Sohnspeer, who commands
      the Cavalry, gives the word to &ldquo;Charge!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The whole body of Cavalry immediately charge in masses; the extended line
      of the enemy is as immediately broken. But the Infantry, who are commanded
      by one of the royal relatives and visitors, the Prince of Pike and
      Powdren, dexterously form into squares, and commence a masterly retreat in
      square battalions. At length they take up a more favourable position than
      the former one. They are again galled by the Artillery, who have
      proportionately advanced, and again charged by the Cavalry in their huge
      masses. And now the squares of Infantry partially give way. They admit the
      Cavalry, but the exulting Horse find, to their dismay, that the enemy are
      not routed, but that there are yet inner squares formed at salient angles.
      The Cavalry for a moment retire, but it is only to give opportunity to
      their Artillery to rake the obstinate foes. The execution of the battery
      is fearful. Headed by their Commander, the whole body of Cuirassiers and
      Dragoons again charge with renewed energy and concentrated force. The
      Infantry are thrown into the greatest confusion, and commence a rout,
      increased and rendered irremediable by the Lancers and Hussars, the former
      vanguard, who now, seizing on the favourable moment, again rush forward,
      increasing the effect of the charge of the whole army, overtaking the
      fugitives with their lances, and securing the prisoners.
    </p>
    <p>
      The victorious von Sohnspeer, followed by his staff, now galloped up to
      receive the congratulations of his Sovereign.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Where are your prisoners, Field Marshal?&rdquo; asked his Royal Highness, with
      a flattering smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What is the ransom of our unfortunate guest?&rdquo; asked Madame Carolina.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I hope we shall have another affair,&rdquo; said the Baroness, with a flushed
      face and glowing eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the Commander-in-Chief must not tarry to bandy compliments. He is
      again wanted in the field. The whole troops have formed in line. Some most
      scientific evolutions are now executed. With them we will not weary the
      reader, nor dilate on the comparative advantages of forming en
      cremaillière and en echiquier; nor upon the duties of tirailleurs, nor
      upon concentric fires and eccentric movements, nor upon deploying, nor
      upon enfilading, nor upon oblique fronts, nor upon échellons. The day
      finished by the whole of the troops again forming in line and passing in
      order before the Commander-in-Chief, to give him an opportunity of
      observing their discipline and inspecting their equipments.
    </p>
    <p>
      The review being finished, Count von Sohnspeer and his staff joined the
      royal party; and after walking their horses round the field, they
      proceeded to his pavilion, where refreshments were prepared for them. The
      Field Marshal, flattered by the interest which the young Baroness had
      taken in the business of the day, and the acquaintance which she evidently
      possessed of the more obvious details of military tactics, was inclined to
      be particularly courteous to her; but the object of his admiration did not
      encourage attentions by which half the ladies of the Court would have
      thought themselves as highly honoured as by those of the Grand Duke
      himself; so powerful a person was the Field Marshal, and so little
      inclined by temper to cultivate the graces of the fair sex!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In the tent keep by my side,&rdquo; said the Baroness to Vivian. &ldquo;Although I am
      fond of heroes, von Sohnspeer is not to my taste. I know not why I flatter
      you so by my notice, for I suppose, like all Englishmen, you are not a
      soldier? I thought so. Never mind! you ride well enough for a field
      marshal. I really think I could give you a commission without much
      stickling of my conscience. No, no! I should like you nearer me. I have a
      good mind to make you my master of the horse; that is to say, when I am
      entitled to have one.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Vivian acknowledged the young Baroness&rsquo; compliment by becoming emotion,
      and vowed that an office near her person would be the consummation of all
      his wishes, his eye caught the lady&rsquo;s: she blushed deeply, looked down
      upon her horse&rsquo;s neck, and then turned away her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      Von Sohnspeer&rsquo;s pavilion excellently became the successful leader of the
      army of Reisenburg. Trophies taken from all sides decked its interior. The
      black eagle of Austria formed part of its roof, and the brazen eagle of
      Gaul supported part of the side. The grey-headed General looked rather
      grim when he saw a flag belonging to a troop which perhaps he had himself
      once commanded. He vented his indignation to the toothless Bishop, who
      crossed his breast with his fingers, covered with diamonds, and preached
      temperance and moderation in inarticulate sounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the collation the conversation was principally military. Madame
      Carolina, who was entirely ignorant of the subject of discourse, enchanted
      all the officers present by appearing to be the most interested person in
      the tent. Nothing could exceed the elegance of her eulogium of &ldquo;petit
      guerre.&rdquo; The old grey General talked much about the &ldquo;good old times,&rdquo; by
      which he meant the thirty years of plunder, bloodshed, and destruction,
      which were occasioned by the French Revolution. He gloated on the
      recollections of horror, which he feared would never occur again. The
      Archduke Charles and Prince Schwartzenburg were the gods of his idolatry,
      and Nadasti&rsquo;s hussars and Wurmser&rsquo;s dragoons the inferior divinities of
      his bloody heaven. One evolution of the morning, a discovery made by von
      Sohnspeer himself, in the deploying of cavalry, created a great sensation;
      and it was settled that it would have been of great use to Desaix and
      Clairfait in the Netherlands affair of some eight-and-twenty years ago,
      and was not equalled even by Seidlitz&rsquo; cavalry in the affair with the
      Russians at Zorndorff. In short, every &ldquo;affair&rdquo; of any character during
      the late war was fought over again in the tent of Field Marshal von
      Sohnspeer. At length from the Archduke Charles and Prince Schwartzenburg,
      the old grey-headed General got to Polybius and Monsieur Folard; and the
      Grand Duke now thinking that the &ldquo;affair&rdquo; was taking too serious a turn,
      broke up the party. Madame Carolina and most of the ladies used their
      carriages on their return. They were nearly fifteen miles from the city;
      but the Baroness, in spite of the most earnest solicitations, would
      remount her charger.
    </p>
    <p>
      They cantered home, the Baroness in unusual spirits, Vivian thinking very
      much of his fair companion. Her character puzzled him. That she was not
      the lovely simpleton that Madame Carolina believed her to be, he had
      little doubt. Some people have great knowledge of society and little of
      mankind. Madame Carolina was one of these. She viewed her species through
      only one medium. That the Baroness was a woman of acute feeling, Vivian
      could not doubt. Her conduct at the Opera, which had escaped every one&rsquo;s
      attention, made this evident. That she had seen more of the world than her
      previous conversation had given him to believe, was equally clear by her
      conduct and conversation this morning. He determined to become more
      acquainted with her character. Her evident partiality to his company would
      not render the execution of his purpose very difficult. At any rate, if he
      discovered nothing, it was something to do: it would at least amuse him.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the evening he joined a large party at the palace. He looked
      immediately for the Baroness. She was surrounded by the dandies. Their
      attentions she treated with contempt, and ridiculed their compliments
      without mercy. Without obtruding himself on her notice, Vivian joined her
      circle, and witnessed her demolition of the young Count of Eberstein with
      great amusement. Emilius von Aslingen was not there; for having made the
      interesting savage the fashion, she was no longer worthy of his attention,
      and consequently deserted. The young lady soon observed Vivian; and
      saying, without the least embarrassment, that she was delighted to see
      him, she begged him to share her chaise-longue. Her envious levée
      witnessed the preference with dismay; and as the object of their attention
      did not now notice their remarks, even by her expressed contempt, one by
      one fell away. Vivian and the Baroness were left alone, and conversed much
      together. The lady displayed, on every subject, engaging ignorance, and
      requested information on obvious topics with artless naïveté. Vivian was
      convinced that her ignorance was not affected, and equally sure that it
      could not arise from imbecility of intellect; for while she surprised him
      by her crude questions, and her want of acquaintance with all those topics
      which generally form the staple of conversation, she equally amused him
      with her poignant wit, and the imperious and energetic manner in which she
      instantly expected satisfactory information on every possible subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0072">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX
    </h2>
    <p>
      On the day after the review a fancy-dress ball was to be given at Court.
      It was to be an entertainment of a peculiar nature. The lively genius of
      Madame Carolina, wearied of the commonplace effect generally produced by
      this species of amusement, in which usually a stray Turk and a wandering
      Pole looked sedate and singular among crowds of Spanish girls, Swiss
      peasants, and gentlemen in uniforms, had invented something novel. Her
      idea was ingenious. To use her own sublime phrase, she determined that the
      party should represent &ldquo;an age!&rdquo; Great difficulty was experienced in
      fixing upon the century which was to be honoured. At first a poetical idea
      was started of having something primeval, perhaps antediluvian; but Noah,
      or even Father Abraham, were thought characters hardly sufficiently
      romantic for a fancy-dress ball, and consequently the earliest
      postdiluvian ages were soon under consideration. Nimrod, or Sardanapalus,
      were distinguished personages, and might be well represented by the Master
      of the Staghounds, or the Master of the Revels; but then the want of an
      interesting lady-character was a great objection. Semiramis, though not
      without style in her own way, was not sufficiently Parisian for Madame
      Carolina. New ages were proposed and new objections started; and so the
      &ldquo;Committee of Selection,&rdquo; which consisted of Madame herself, the Countess
      von S&mdash;&mdash;, and a few other dames of fashion, gradually slided
      through the four great empires. Athens was not aristocratic enough, and
      then the women were nothing. In spite of her admiration of the character
      of Aspasia, Madame Carolina somewhat doubted the possibility of persuading
      the ladies of the Court of Reisenburg to appear in the characters of
      [Greek: hetairai]. Rome presented great capabilities, and greater
      difficulties. Finding themselves, after many days&rsquo; sitting and study,
      still very far from coming to a decision, Madame called in the aid of the
      Grand Duke, who proposed &ldquo;something national.&rdquo; The proposition was
      plausible; but, according to Madame Carolina, Germany, until her own time,
      had been only a land of barbarism and barbarians; and therefore in such a
      country, in a national point of view, what could there be interesting? The
      middle ages, as they are usually styled, in spite of the Emperor
      Charlemagne, &ldquo;that oasis in the desert of barbarism,&rdquo; to use her own
      eloquent and original image, were her particular aversion. &ldquo;The age of
      chivalry is past!&rdquo; was as constant an exclamation of Madame Carolina as it
      was of Mr. Burke. &ldquo;The age of chivalry is past; and very fortunate that it
      is. What resources could they have had in the age of chivalry? an age
      without either moral or experimental philosophy; an age in which they were
      equally ignorant of the doctrine of association of ideas, and of the
      doctrine of electricity; and when they were as devoid of a knowledge of
      the Incalculable powers of the human mind as of the incalculable powers of
      steam!&rdquo; Had Madame Carolina been the consort of an Italian grand duke,
      selection would not be difficult; and, to inquire no farther, the court of
      the Medici alone would afford them everything they wanted. But Germany
      never had any character, and never produced nor had been the resort of
      illustrious men and interesting persons. What was to be done? The age of
      Frederick the Great was the only thing; and then that was so recent, and
      would offend the Austrians: it could not be thought of.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, when the &ldquo;Committee of Selection&rdquo; was almost in despair, some one
      proposed a period which not only would be German, not only would
      compliment the House of Austria, but, what was of still greater
      importance, would allow of every contemporary character of interest of
      every nation, the age of Charles the Fifth! The suggestion was received
      with enthusiasm, and adopted on the spot. &ldquo;The Committee of Selection&rdquo; was
      immediately dissolved, and its members as immediately formed themselves
      into a &ldquo;Committee of Arrangement.&rdquo; Lists of all the persons of any fame,
      distinction, or notoriety, who had lived either in the empire of Germany,
      the kingdoms of Spain, Portugal, France, or England, the Italian States,
      the Netherlands, the American, and, in short, in every country in the
      known world, were immediately formed. Von Chronicle, rewarded for his last
      historical novel by a ribbon and the title of Baron, was appointed
      secretary to the &ldquo;Committee of Costume.&rdquo; All guests who received a card
      invitation were desired, on or before a certain day, to send in the title
      of their adopted character and a sketch of their intended dress, that
      their plans might receive the sanction of the ladies of the &ldquo;Committee of
      Arrangement,&rdquo; and their dresses the approbation of the secretary of
      costume. By this method the chance and inconvenience of two persons
      selecting and appearing in the same character were destroyed and
      prevented. After exciting the usual jealousies, intrigues,
      dissatisfaction, and ill-blood, by the influence and imperturbable temper
      of Madame Carolina, everything was arranged; Emilius von Aslingen being
      the only person who set both the Committees of Arrangement and Costume at
      defiance, and treated the repeated applications of their respected
      secretary with contemptuous silence. The indignant Baron von Chronicle
      entreated the strong interference of the &ldquo;Committee of Arrangement,&rdquo; but
      Emilius von Aslingen was too powerful an individual to be treated by
      others as he treated them. Had the fancy-dress ball of the Sovereign been
      attended by all his subjects, with the exception of this Captain in his
      Guards, the whole affair might have been a failure; would have been dark
      in spite of the glare of ten thousand lamps and the glories of all the
      jewels of his state; would have been dull, although each guest were
      wittier than Pasquin himself; and very vulgar, although attended by lords
      of as many quarterings as the ancient shield of his own antediluvian
      house! All, therefore, that the ladies of the &ldquo;Committee of Arrangement&rdquo;
       could do, was to enclose to the rebellious von Aslingen a list of the
      expected characters, and a resolution passed in consequence of his
      contumacy, that no person or persons was, or were, to appear as either or
      any of these characters, unless he, or they, could produce a ticket, or
      tickets, granted by a member of the &ldquo;Committee of Arrangement,&rdquo; and
      countersigned by the secretary of the &ldquo;Committee of Costume.&rdquo; At the same
      time that these vigorous measures were resolved on, no persons spoke of
      Emilius von Aslingen&rsquo;s rebellious conduct in terms of greater admiration
      than the ladies of the Committee themselves. If possible, he in
      consequence became even a more influential and popular personage than
      before, and his conduct procured him almost the adoration of persons who,
      had they dared to imitate him, would have been instantly crushed, and
      would have been banished society principally by the exertions of the very
      individual whom they had the presumption to mimic.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the gardens of the palace was a spacious amphitheatre, cut out in green
      seats, for the spectators of the plays which, during the summer months,
      were sometimes performed there by the Court. There was a stage in the same
      taste, with rows of trees for side-scenes, and a great number of arbours
      and summer-rooms, surrounded by lofty hedges of laurel, for the actors to
      retire and dress in. Connected with this &ldquo;rural Theatre,&rdquo; for such was its
      title, were many labyrinths, and groves, and arched walks, in the same
      style. More than twelve large fountains were in the immediate vicinity of
      this theatre. At the end of one walk a sea-horse spouted its element
      through its nostrils; and in another, Neptune turned an Ocean out of a
      vase. Seated on a rock, Arcadia&rsquo;s half-goat god, the deity of silly sheep
      and silly poets, sent forth trickling streams through his rustic pipes;
      and in the centre of a green grove, an enamoured Salmacis, bathing in a
      pellucid basin, seemed watching for her Hermaphrodite.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in this rural theatre and its fanciful confines that Madame
      Carolina and her councillors resolved that their magic should, for a
      night, not only stop the course of time, but recall past centuries. It was
      certainly rather late in the year for choosing such a spot for the scene
      of their enchantment; but the season, as we have often had occasion to
      remark in the course of these volumes, was singularly fine; and indeed at
      this moment the nights were as warm, and as clear from mist and dew, as
      they are during an Italian midsummer.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it is eight o&rsquo;clock; we are already rather late. Is that a figure by
      Holbein, just started out of the canvas, that I am about to meet? Stand
      aside! It is a page of the Emperor Charles the Fifth! The Court is on its
      way to the theatre. The theatre and the gardens are brilliantly
      illuminated. The effect of the thousands of coloured lamps, in all parts
      of the foliage, is very beautiful. The moon is up, and a million stars! If
      it be not quite as light as day, it is just light enough for pleasure. You
      could not perhaps endorse a bill of exchange, or engross a parchment, by
      this light; but then it is just the light to read a love-letter by, and do
      a thousand other things besides.
    </p>
    <p>
      All hail to the Emperor! we would give his costume, were it not rather too
      much in the style of the von Chronicles. Reader! you have seen a portrait
      of Charles by Holbein: very well; what need is there of a description? No
      lack was there in this gay scene of massy chains and curious collars, nor
      of cloth of gold, nor of cloth of silver! No lack was there of trembling
      plumes and costly hose! No lack was there of crimson velvet, and russet
      velvet, and tawny velvet, and purple velvet, and plunket velvet, and of
      scarlet cloth, and green taffeta, and cloth of silk embroidered! No lack
      was there of garments of estate, and of quaint chemews, nor of short
      crimson cloaks, covered with pearls and precious stones! No lack was there
      of party-coloured splendour, of purple velvet embroidered with white, and
      white satin dresses embroidered with black! No lack was there of splendid
      koyfes of damask, or kerchiefs of fine Cyprus; nor of points of Venice
      silver of ducat fineness, nor of garlands of friars&rsquo; knots, nor of
      coloured satins, nor of bleeding hearts embroidered on the bravery of
      dolorous lovers, nor of quaint sentences of wailing gallantry! But for the
      details, are they not to be found in those much-neglected and
      much-plundered persons, the old chroniclers? and will they not
      sufficiently appear in the most inventive portion of the next great
      historical novel?
    </p>
    <p>
      The Grand Duke looked the Emperor. Our friend the Grand Marshal was
      Francis the First; and Arnelm and von Neuwied figured as the Marshal of
      Montmorency and the Marshal Lautrec. The old toothless Bishop did justice
      to Clement the Seventh; and his companion, the ancient General, looked
      grim as Pompeo Colonna. A prince of the House of Nassau, one of the royal
      visitors, represented his adventurous ancestor the Prince of Orange. Von
      Sohnspeer was that haughty and accomplished rebel, the Constable of
      Bourbon. The young Baron Gernsbach was worthy of the seraglio, as he
      stalked along as Solyman the Magnificent, with all the family jewels
      belonging to his dowager mother shining in his superb turban. Our friend
      the Count of Eberstein personified chivalry, in the person of Bayard. The
      younger Bernstorff, the intimate friend of Gernsbach, attended his
      sumptuous sovereign as that Turkish Paul Jones, Barbarossa. An Italian
      Prince was Andrew Doria. The Grand Chamberlain, our francisé acquaintance,
      and who affected a love of literature, was the Protestant Elector of
      Saxony. His train consisted of the principal litterateurs of Reisenburg.
      The Editor of the &ldquo;Attack-all Review,&rdquo; who originally had been a Catholic,
      but who had been skilfully converted some years ago, when he thought
      Catholicism was on the decline, was Martin Luther, an individual whom,
      both in his apostasy and fierceness, he much and only resembled. On the
      contrary, the editor of the &ldquo;Praise-all Review&rdquo; appeared as the mild and
      meek Melanchthon. Mr. Sievers, not yet at Vienna, was Erasmus. Ariosto,
      Guicciardini, Ronsard, Rabelais, Machiavel, Pietro Aretino, Garcilasso de
      la Vega. Sannazaro, and Paracelsus, afforded names to many nameless
      critics. Two Generals, brothers, appeared as Cortes and Pizarro. The noble
      Director of the Gallery was Albert Durer, and his deputy Hans Holbein. The
      Court painter, a wretched mimic of the modern French School, did justice
      to the character of Correggio; and an indifferent sculptor looked sublime
      as Michel Angelo.
    </p>
    <p>
      Von Chronicle had persuaded the Prince of Pike and Powdren, one of his
      warmest admirers, to appear as Henry the Eighth of England. His Highness
      was one of those true North German patriots who think their own country a
      very garden of Eden, and verily believe that original sin is to be finally
      put an end to in a large sandy plain between Berlin and Hanover. The
      Prince of Pike and Powdren passed his whole life in patriotically sighing
      for the concentration of all Germany into one great nation, and in
      secretly trusting that, if ever the consummation took place, the North
      would be rewarded for their condescending union by a monopoly of all the
      privileges of the Empire. Such a character was of course extremely
      desirous of figuring to-night in a style peculiarly national. The
      persuasions of von Chronicle, however, prevailed, and induced his Highness
      of Pike and Powdren to dismiss his idea of appearing as the ancient
      Arminius, although it was with great regret that the Prince gave up his
      plan of personating his favourite hero, with hair down to his middle and
      skins up to his chin. Nothing would content von Chronicle but that his
      kind patron should represent a crowned head: anything else was beneath
      him. The patriotism of the Prince disappeared before the flattery of the
      novelist, like the bloom of a plum before the breath of a boy, when he
      polishes the powdered fruit ere he devours it. No sooner had his Highness
      agreed to be changed into bluff Harry than the secret purpose of his
      adviser was immediately detected. No Court confessor, seduced by the
      vision of a red hat, ever betrayed the secrets of his sovereign with
      greater fervour than did von Chronicle labour for the Cardinal&rsquo;s costume,
      which was the consequence of the Prince of Pike and Powdren undertaking
      the English monarch. To-night, proud as was the part of the Prince as
      regal Harry, his strut was a shamble compared with the imperious stalk of
      von Chronicle as the arrogant and ambitious Wolsey. The Cardinal in Rienzi
      was nothing to him; for to-night Wolsey had as many pages as the other had
      petticoats!
    </p>
    <p>
      But, most ungallant of scribblers! Place aux dames! Surely Madame
      Carolina, as the beautiful and accomplished Margaret of Navarre, might
      well command, even without a mandate, your homage and your admiration! The
      lovely Queen seemed the very goddess of smiles and repartee; young Max, as
      her page, carried at her side a painted volume of her own poetry. The arm
      of the favourite sister of Francis, who it will be remembered once
      fascinated even the Emperor, was linked in that of Caesar&rsquo;s natural
      daughter, her beautiful namesake, the bright-eyed Margaret of Austria.
      Conversing with these royal dames, and indeed apparently in attendance
      upon them, was a young gallant of courtly bearing, and attired in a
      fantastic dress. It is Clement Marot, &ldquo;the Poet of Princes and the Prince
      of Poets,&rdquo; as he was styled by his own admiring age; he offers to the
      critical inspection of the nimble-witted Navarre a few lines in
      celebration of her beauty and the night&rsquo;s festivity; one of those short
      Marotique poems once so celebrated; perhaps a page culled from those gay
      and airy psalms which, with characteristic gallantry, he dedicated &ldquo;to the
      Dames of France!&rdquo; Observe well the fashionable bard! Marot was a true
      poet, and in his day not merely read by queens and honoured by courtiers:
      observe him well; for the character is supported by our Vivian Grey. It
      was with great difficulty that Madame Carolina had found a character for
      her favourite, for the lists were all filled before his arrival at
      Reisenburg. She at first wished him to appear as some celebrated
      Englishman of the time, but no character of sufficient importance could be
      discovered. All our countrymen in contact or connection with the Emperor
      Charles were churchmen and civilians; and Sir Nicholas Carew and the other
      fops of the reign of Henry the Eighth, who, after the visit to Paris, were
      even more ridiculously francisé than the Grand Chamberlain of Reisenburg
      himself, were not, after mature deliberation, considered entitled to the
      honour of being ranked in Madame Carolina&rsquo;s age of Charles the Fifth.
    </p>
    <p>
      But who is this, surrounded by her ladies and her chamberlains and her
      secretaries? Four pages in dresses of cloth of gold, and each the son of a
      prince of the French blood, support her train; a crown encircles locks
      grey as much from thought as from time, but which require no show of
      loyalty to prove that they belong to a mother of princes; that ample
      forehead, aquiline nose, and the keen glance of her piercing eye denote
      the Queen as much as the regality of her gait and her numerous and
      splendid train. The young Queen of Navarre hastens to proffer her duty to
      the mother of Francis, the celebrated Louise of Savoy; and exquisitely did
      the young and lovely Countess of S&mdash;&mdash; personate the most
      celebrated of female diplomatists.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have forgotten one character; the repeated commands of his father and
      the constant entreaties of Madame Carolina had at length prevailed upon
      the Crown Prince to shuffle himself into a fancy dress. No sooner had he
      gratified them by his hard-wrung consent than Baron von Chronicle called
      upon him with drawings of the costume of the Prince of Asturias,
      afterwards Philip the Second of Spain. If we for a moment forgot so
      important a personage as the future Grand Duke, it must have been because
      he supported his character so ably that no one for an instant believed
      that it was an assumed one; standing near the side scenes of the
      amphitheatre, with his gloomy brow, sad eye, protruding under-lip, and
      arms hanging straight by his sides, he looked a bigot without hope, and a
      tyrant without purpose.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first hour is over, and the guests are all assembled. As yet they
      content themselves with promenading round the amphitheatre; for before
      they can think of dance or stroll, each of them must be duly acquainted
      with the other&rsquo;s dress. It was a most splendid scene. The Queen of Navarre
      has now been presented to the Emperor, and, leaning on his arm, they head
      the promenade. The Emperor had given the hand of Margaret of Austria to
      his legitimate son; but the Crown Prince, though he continued in silence
      by the side of the young Baroness, soon resigned a hand which did not
      struggle to retain his. Clement Marot was about to fall back into a less
      conspicuous part of the procession; but the Grand Duke, witnessing the
      regret of his loved Consort, condescendingly said, &ldquo;We cannot afford to
      lose our poet;&rdquo; and so Vivian found himself walking behind Madame
      Carolina, and on the left side of the young Baroness. Louise of Savoy
      followed with her son, the King of France; most of the ladies of the
      Court, and a crowd of officers, among them Montmorency and De Lautrec,
      after their Majesties. The King of England moves by; his state unnoticed
      in the superior magnificence of Wolsey. Pompeo Colonna apologises to Pope
      Clement for having besieged his holiness in the Castle of St. Angelo. The
      Elector of Saxony and the Prince of Orange follow. Solyman the Magnificent
      is attended by his Admiral; and Bayard&rsquo;s pure spirit almost quivers at the
      whispered treason of the Constable of Bourbon. Luther and Melanchthon,
      Erasmus and Rabelais, Cortez and Pizarro, Correggio and Michael Angelo,
      and a long train of dames and dons of all nations, succeed; so long that
      the amphitheatre cannot hold them, and the procession, that they may walk
      over the stage, makes a short progress through an adjoining summer-room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as the Emperor and the fair Queen are in the middle of the stage, a
      wounded warrior with a face pale as an eclipsed moon, a helmet on which is
      painted the sign of his sacred order, a black mantle thrown over his left
      shoulder, but not concealing his armour, a sword in his right hand and an
      outstretched crucifix in his left, rushes on the scene. The procession
      suddenly halts; all recognise Emilius von Aslingen! and Madame Carolina
      blushes through her rouge when she perceives that so celebrated, &ldquo;so
      interesting a character&rdquo; as Ignatius Loyola, the Founder of the Jesuits,
      has not been included in the all-comprehensive lists of her committee.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0073">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X
    </h2>
    <p>
      Henry of England led the Polonaise with Louise of Savoy; Margaret of
      Austria would not join in it: waltzing quickly followed. The Emperor
      seldom left the side of the Queen of Navarre, and often conversed with her
      Majesty&rsquo;s poet. The Prince of Asturias hovered for a moment round his
      father&rsquo;s daughter, as if he were summoning resolution to ask her to waltz.
      Once, indeed, he opened his mouth; could it have been to speak? But the
      young Margaret gave no encouragement to this unusual exertion; and Philip
      of Asturias, looking, if possible, more sad and sombre than before,
      skulked away. The Crown Prince left the gardens, and now a smile lit up
      every face, except that of the young Baroness. The gracious Grand Duke,
      unwilling to see a gloomy countenance anywhere to-night, turned to Vivian,
      who was speaking to Madame Carolina, and said, &ldquo;Gentle poet, would that
      thou hadst some chanson or courtly compliment to chase the cloud which
      hovers on the brow of our much-loved daughter of Austria! Your popularity,
      sir,&rdquo; continued the Grand Duke, dropping his mock heroic vein and speaking
      in a much lower tone, &ldquo;your popularity, sir, among the ladies of the
      Court, cannot be increased by any panegyric of mine; nor am I insensible,
      believe me, to the assiduity and skill with which you have complied with
      my wishes in making our Court agreeable to the relative of a man to whom
      we owe so much as Mr. Beckendorff. I am informed, Mr. Grey,&rdquo; continued his
      Royal Highness, &ldquo;that you have no intention of very speedily returning to
      your country; I wish that I could count you among my peculiar attendants.
      If you have an objection to live in the palace without performing your
      quota of duty to the State, we shall have no difficulty in finding you an
      office, and clothing you in our official costume. Think of this!&rdquo; So
      saying, with a gracious smile, his Royal Highness, leading Madame
      Carolina, commenced a walk round the gardens.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Baroness did not follow them. Solyman the Magnificent, and
      Bayard the irreproachable, and Barbarossa the pirate, and Bourbon the
      rebel, immediately surrounded her. Few persons were higher ton than the
      Turkish Emperor and his Admiral; few persons talked more agreeable
      nonsense than the Knight sans peur et sans reproche; no person was more
      important than the warlike Constable; but their attention, their
      amusement, and their homage were to-night thrown away on the object of
      their observance. The Baroness listened to them without interest, and
      answered them with brevity. She did not even condescend, as she had done
      before, to enter into a war of words, to mortify their vanity or exercise
      their wit. She treated them neither with contempt nor courtesy. If no
      smile welcomed their remarks, at least her silence was not scornful, and
      the most shallow-headed prater that fluttered around her felt that he was
      received with dignity and not with disdain. Awed by her conduct, not one
      of them dared to be flippant, and every one of them soon became dull. The
      ornaments of the Court of Reisenburg, the arbiters of ton and the lords of
      taste, stared with astonishment at each other when they found, to their
      mutual surprise, that at one moment, in such a select party, universal
      silence pervaded. In this state of affairs, every one felt that his
      dignity required his speedy disappearance from the lady&rsquo;s presence. The
      Orientals, taking advantage of Bourbon&rsquo;s returning once more to the charge
      with an often unanswered remark, coolly walked away: the Chevalier made an
      adroit and honourable retreat by joining a passing party; and the
      Constable was the only one who, being left in solitude and silence, was
      finally obliged to make a formal bow and retire discomforted from the side
      of the only woman with whom he had ever condescended to fall in love.
      Leaning against the trunk of a tree at some little distance, Vivian Grey
      watched the formation and dissolution of the young Baroness&rsquo; levée with
      lively interest. His eyes met the lady&rsquo;s as she raised them from the
      ground on von Sohnspeer quitting her. She immediately beckoned to Vivian,
      but without her usual smile. He was directly at her side, but she did not
      speak. At last he said, &ldquo;This is a most brilliant scene!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You think so, do you?&rdquo; answered the lady, in a tone and manner which
      almost made Vivian believe, for a moment, that his friend Mr. Beckendorff
      was at his side.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Decidedly his daughter!&rdquo; thought he.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are not gay to-night?&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why should I be?&rdquo; said the lady, in a manner which would have made Vivian
      imagine that his presence was as disagreeable to her as that of Count von
      Sohnspeer, had not the lady herself invited his company.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I suppose the scene is very brilliant,&rdquo; continued the Baroness, after a
      few moments&rsquo; silence. &ldquo;At least all here seem to think so, except two
      persons.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who are they?&rdquo; asked Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Myself and&mdash;the Crown Prince. I am almost sorry that I did not dance
      with him. There seems a wonderful similarity in our dispositions.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You are pleased to be severe to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And who shall complain when the first person that I satirize is myself?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is most considerate in you,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;to undertake such an
      office; for it is one which you yourself are alone capable of fulfilling.
      The only person that can ever satirize your Excellency is yourself; and I
      think even then that, in spite of your candour, your self-examination must
      please us with a self-panegyric.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, a truce to compliments: at least let me hear better things from you.
      I cannot any longer endure the glare of these lamps and dresses! your arm!
      Let us walk for a few minutes in the more retired and cooler parts of the
      gardens.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Baroness and Vivian left the amphitheatre by a different path to that
      by which the Grand Duke and Madame Carolina had quitted it. They found the
      walks quite solitary; for the royal party, which was small, contained the
      only persons who had yet left the stage.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian and his companions strolled about for some time, conversing on
      subjects of casual interest. The Baroness, though no longer absent, either
      in her manner or her conversation, seemed depressed; and Vivian, while he
      flattered himself that he was more entertaining than usual, felt, to his
      mortification, that the lady was not entertained.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I am afraid you find it dull here,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;shall we return?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Oh, no; do not let us return! We have so short a time to be together that
      we must not allow even one hour to be dull.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Vivian was about to reply, he heard the joyous voice of young
      Maximilian; it sounded very near. The royal party was approaching. The
      Baroness expressed her earnest desire to avoid it; and as to advance or to
      retreat, in these labyrinthine walks, was almost equally hazardous, they
      retired into one of those green recesses which we have before mentioned;
      indeed it was the very evergreen grove in the centre of which the Nymph of
      the Fountain watched for her loved Carian youth. A shower of moonlight
      fell on the marble statue, and showed the Nymph in an attitude of
      consummate skill: her modesty struggling with her desire, and herself
      crouching in her hitherto pure waters, while her anxious ear listens for
      the bounding step of the regardless huntsman.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The air is cooler here,&rdquo; said the Baroness, &ldquo;or the sound of the falling
      water is peculiarly refreshing to my senses. They have passed. I rejoice
      that we did not return; I do not think that I could have remained among
      those lamps another moment. How singular, actually to view with aversion a
      scene which appears to enchant all!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A scene which I should have thought would have been particularly charming
      to you,&rdquo; said Vivian; &ldquo;you are dispirited tonight!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Am I?&rdquo; said the Baroness. &ldquo;I ought not to be; not to be more dispirited
      than I ever am. To-night I expected pleasure; nothing has happened which I
      did not expect, and everything which I did. And yet I am sad! Do you think
      that happiness can ever be sad? I think it must be so. But whether I am
      sorrowful or happy I can hardly tell; for it is only within these few days
      that I have known either grief or joy.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It must be counted an eventful period in your existence which reckons in
      its brief hours a first acquaintance with such passions!&rdquo; said Vivian,
      with a searching eye and an inquiring voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Yes; an eventful period, certainly an eventful period,&rdquo; answered the
      Baroness, with a thoughtful air and in measured words.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot bear to see a cloud upon that brow!&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;Have you
      forgotten how much was to be done to-night? How eagerly you looked forward
      to its arrival? How bitterly we were to regret the termination of the
      mimic empire?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I have forgotten nothing; would that I had! I will not look grave. I will
      be gay; and yet, when I remember how soon other mockery besides this
      splendid pageant must be terminated, why should I look gay? Why may I not
      weep?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, if we are to moralise on worldly felicity, I fear that instead of
      inspiriting you, which is my wish, I shall prove but a too congenial
      companion. But such a theme is not for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And why should it be for one who, though he lecture me with such gravity
      and gracefulness, can scarcely be entitled to play the part of Mentor by
      the weight of years?&rdquo; said the Baroness, with a smile: &ldquo;for one who, I
      trust, who I should think, as little deserved, and was as little inured
      to, sorrow as myself!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To find that you have cause to grieve,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;and to learn from
      you, at the same time, your opinion of my own lot, prove what I have too
      often had the sad opportunity of observing, that the face of man is
      scarcely more genuine and less deceitful than these masquerade dresses
      which we now wear.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But you are not unhappy?&rdquo; asked the Baroness with a quick voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Not now,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      His companion seated herself on the marble balustrade which surrounded the
      fountain: she did not immediately speak again, and Vivian was silent, for
      he was watching her motionless countenance as her large brilliant eyes
      gazed with earnestness on the falling water sparkling in the moonlight.
      Surely it was not the mysterious portrait at Beckendorff&rsquo;s that he beheld!
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned. She exclaimed in an agitated voice, &ldquo;O friend! too lately
      found, why have we met to part?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;To part, dearest!&rdquo; said he, in a low and rapid voice, and he gently took
      her hand; &ldquo;to part! and why should we part? why&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ask not; your question is agony!&rdquo; She tried to withdraw her hand, he
      pressed it with renewed energy, it remained in his, she turned away her
      head, and both were silent.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O! lady,&rdquo; said Vivian, as he knelt at her side, &ldquo;why are we not happy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      His arm is round her waist, gently he bends his head, their speaking eyes
      meet, and their trembling lips cling into a kiss!
    </p>
    <p>
      A seal of love and purity and faith! and the chaste moon need not have
      blushed as she lit up the countenances of the lovers.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O! lady, why are we not happy?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;We are, we are: is not this happiness, is not this joy, is not this
      bliss? Bliss,&rdquo; she continued, in a low broken voice, &ldquo;to which I have no
      right, no title. Oh! quit, quit my hand! Happiness is not for me!&rdquo; She
      extricated herself from his arm, and sprang upon her feet. Alarm, rather
      than affection, was visible on her agitated features. It seemed to cost
      her a great effort to collect her scattered senses; the effort was made
      with pain, but with success.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; she said, in a hurried and indistinct tone; &ldquo;forgive me! I
      would speak, but cannot, not now at least; we have been long away, too
      long; our absence will be remarked to-night; to-night we must give up to
      the gratification of others, but I will speak. For yours, for my own sake,
      let us, let us go. You know that we are to be very gay to-night, and gay
      we will be. Who shall prevent us? At least the present hour is our own;
      and when the future ones must be so sad, why, why, trifle with this?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0074">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI
    </h2>
    <p>
      The reader is not to suppose that Vivian Grey thought of the young
      Baroness merely in the rapid scenes which we have sketched. There were few
      moments in the day in which her image did not occupy his thoughts, and
      which, indeed, he did not spend in her presence. From the first her
      character had interested him. His accidental but extraordinary
      acquaintance with Beckendorff made him view any individual connected with
      that singular man with a far more curious feeling than could influence the
      young nobles of the Court, who were ignorant of the Minister&rsquo;s personal
      character. There was an evident mystery about the character and situation
      of the Baroness, which well accorded with the eccentric and romantic
      career of the Prime Minister of Reisenburg. Of the precise nature of her
      connection with Beckendorff Vivian was wholly ignorant. The world spoke of
      her as his daughter, and the affirmation of Madame Carolina confirmed the
      world&rsquo;s report. Her name was still unknown to him; and although during the
      few moments that they had enjoyed an opportunity of conversing together
      alone, Vivian had made every exertion of which good breeding, impelled by
      curiosity, is capable, and had devised many little artifices with which a
      schooled address is well acquainted to obtain it, his exertions had
      hitherto been unsuccessful. If there was a mystery, the young lady was
      competent to preserve it; and with all her naïveté, her interesting
      ignorance of the world, and her evidently uncontrollable spirit, no hasty
      word ever fell from her cautious lips which threw any light on the objects
      of his inquiry. Though impetuous, she was never indiscreet, and often
      displayed a caution which was little in accordance with her youth and
      temper. The last night had witnessed the only moment in which her passions
      seemed for a time to have struggled with, and to have overcome, her
      judgment; but it was only for a moment. That display of overpowering
      feeling had cost Vivian a sleepless night; and he is at this instant
      pacing up and down the chamber of his hotel, thinking of that which he had
      imagined could exercise his thoughts no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was beautiful; she loved him; she was unhappy! To be loved by any
      woman is flattering to the feelings of every man, no matter how deeply he
      may have quaffed the bitter goblet of worldly knowledge. The praise of a
      fool is incense to the wisest of us; and though we believe ourselves
      broken-hearted, it still delights us to find that we are loved. The memory
      of Violet Fane was still as fresh, as sweet, to the mind of Vivian Grey as
      when he pressed her blushing cheek for the first and only time. To love
      again, really to love as he had done, he once thought was impossible; he
      thought so still. The character of the Baroness had interested him from
      the first. Her ignorance of mankind, and her perfect acquaintance with the
      polished forms of society; her extreme beauty, her mysterious rank, her
      proud spirit and impetuous feelings; her occasional pensiveness, her
      extreme waywardness, had astonished, perplexed, and enchanted him. But he
      had never felt in love. It never for a moment had entered into his mind
      that his lonely bosom could again be a fit resting-place for one so lovely
      and so young. Scared at the misery which had always followed in his track,
      he would have shuddered ere he again asked a human being to share his sad
      and blighted fortunes. The partiality of the Baroness for his society,
      without flattering his vanity, or giving rise to thoughts more serious
      than how he could most completely enchant for her the passing hour, had
      certainly made the time passed in her presence the least gloomy which he
      had lately experienced. At the same moment that he left the saloon of the
      palace he had supposed that his image quitted her remembrance; and if she
      had again welcomed him with cheerfulness and cordiality, he had felt that
      his reception was owing to not being, perhaps, quite as frivolous as the
      Count of Eberstein, and rather more amusing than the Baron of Gernsbach.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was therefore with the greatest astonishment that, last night, he had
      found that he was loved, loved, too, by this beautiful and haughty girl,
      who had treated the advances of the most distinguished nobles with
      ill-concealed scorn, and who had so presumed upon her dubious relationship
      to the bourgeois Minister that nothing but her own surpassing loveliness
      and her parent&rsquo;s all-engrossing influence could have excused or authorised
      her conduct.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had yielded to the magic of the moment, and had returned the
      feelings apparently no sooner expressed than withdrawn. Had he left the
      gardens of the palace the Baroness&rsquo;s plighted lover he might perhaps have
      deplored his rash engagement, and the sacred image of his first and
      hallowed love might have risen up in judgment against his violated
      affection; but how had he and the interesting stranger parted? He was
      rejected, even while his affection was returned; and while her flattering
      voice told him that he alone could make her happy, she had mournfully
      declared that happiness could not be hers. How was this? Could she be
      another&rsquo;s? Her agitation at the Opera, often the object of his thought,
      quickly occurred to him! It must be so. Ah! another&rsquo;s! and who this rival?
      this proud possessor of a heart which could not beat for him? Madame
      Carolina&rsquo;s declaration that the Baroness must be married off was at this
      moment remembered: her marked observation, that von Sohnspeer was no son
      of Beckendorff&rsquo;s, not forgotten. The Field Marshal, too, was the valued
      friend of the Minister; and it did not fail to occur to Vivian that it was
      not von Sohnspeer&rsquo;s fault that his attendance on the Baroness was not as
      constant as his own. Indeed, the unusual gallantry of the
      Commander-in-Chief had been the subject of many a joke among the young
      lords of the Court, and the reception of his addresses by their unmerciful
      object not unobserved or unspared. But as for poor von Sohnspeer, what
      could be expected, as Emilius von Aslingen observed, &ldquo;from a man whose
      softest compliment was as long, loud, and obscure as a birthday salute!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      No sooner was the affair clear to Vivian, no sooner was he convinced that
      a powerful obstacle existed to the love or union of himself and the
      Baroness, than he began to ask what right the interests of third persons
      had to interfere between the mutual affection of any individuals. He
      thought of her in the moonlight garden, struggling with her pure and
      natural passion. He thought of her exceeding beauty, her exceeding love.
      He beheld this rare and lovely creature in the embrace of von Sohnspeer.
      He turned from the picture in disgust and indignation. She was his. Nature
      had decreed it. She should be the bride of no other man. Sooner than yield
      her up he would beard Beckendorff himself in his own retreat, and run
      every hazard and meet every danger which the ardent imagination of a lover
      could conceive. Was he madly to reject the happiness which Providence, or
      Destiny, or Chance had at length offered him? If the romance of boyhood
      could never be realised, at least with this engaging being for his
      companion, he might pass through his remaining years in calmness and in
      peace. His trials were perhaps over. Alas! this is the last delusion of
      unhappy men!
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian called at the Palace, but the fatigues of the preceding night
      prevented either of the ladies from being visible. In the evening he
      joined a small and select circle. The party, indeed, only consisted of the
      Grand Duke, Madame, their visitors, and the usual attendants, himself, and
      von Sohnspeer. The quiet of the little circle did not more strikingly
      contrast with the noise, and glare, and splendour of the last night than
      did Vivian&rsquo;s subdued reception by the Baroness with her agitated demeanour
      in the garden. She was cordial, but calm. He found it quite impossible to
      gain even one moment&rsquo;s private conversation with her. Madame Carolina
      monopolised his attention, as much to favour the views of the Field
      Marshal as to discuss the comparative merits of Pope as a moralist and a
      poet; and Vivian had the mortification of observing his odious rival, whom
      he now thoroughly detested, discharge without ceasing his royal salutes in
      the impatient ear of Beckendorff&rsquo;s lovely daughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Towards the conclusion of the evening a chamberlain entered the room and
      whispered his mission to the Baroness. She immediately rose and quitted
      the apartment. As the party was breaking up she again entered. Her
      countenance was agitated. Madame Carolina was in the art of being
      overwhelmed with the compliments of the Grand Marshal, and Vivian seized
      the opportunity of reaching the Baroness. After a few hurried sentences
      she dropped her glove. Vivian gave it her. So many persons were round them
      that it was impossible to converse except on the most common topics. The
      glove was again dropped.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see,&rdquo; said the Baroness, with a meaning look, &ldquo;that you are but a
      recreant knight, or else you would not part with a lady&rsquo;s glove so
      easily.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian gave a rapid glance round the room. No one was observing him, and
      the glove was immediately concealed. He hurried home, rushed up the
      staircase of the hotel, ordered lights, locked the door, and with a
      sensation of indescribable anxiety tore the precious glove from his bosom,
      seized, opened, and read the enclosed and following note. It was written
      in pencil, in a hurried hand, and some of the words were repeated:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I leave the Court to-night. He is here himself. No art can postpone my
      departure. Much, much, I wish to see you; to say, to say, to you. He is to
      have an interview with the Grand Duke to-morrow morning. Dare you come to
      his place in his absence? You know the private road. He goes by the high
      road, and calls in his way on a Forest Councillor: it is the white house
      by the barrier; you know it! Watch him to-morrow morning; about nine or
      ten I should think; here, here; and then for heaven&rsquo;s sake let me see you.
      Dare everything! Fail not! Mind, by the private road: beware the other!
      You know the ground. God bless you:
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;SYBILLA&rdquo; <a id="link2HCH0075">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII
    </h2>
    <p>
      Vivian read the note over a thousand times. He could not retire to rest.
      He called Essper George, and gave him all necessary directions for the
      morning. About three o&rsquo;clock Vivian lay down on a sofa, and slept for a
      few hours. He started often in his short and feverish slumber. His dreams
      were unceasing and inexplicable. At first von Sohnspeer was their natural
      hero; but soon the scene shifted. Vivian was at Ems, walking under the
      well-remembered lime-trees, and with the Baroness. Suddenly, although it
      was mid-day, the Sun became large, blood-red, and fell out of the heavens;
      his companion screamed, a man rushed forward with a drawn sword. It was
      the idiot Crown Prince of Reisenburg. Vivian tried to oppose him, but
      without success. The infuriated ruffian sheathed his weapon in the heart
      of the Baroness. Vivian shrieked, and fell upon her body, and, to his
      horror, found himself embracing the cold corpse of Violet Fane!
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian and Essper mounted their horses about seven o&rsquo;clock. At eight they
      had reached a small inn near the Forest Councillor&rsquo;s house, where Vivian
      was to remain until Essper had watched the entrance of the Minister. It
      was a few minutes past nine when Essper returned with the joyful
      intelligence that Owlface and his master had been seen to enter the
      Courtyard. Vivian immediately mounted Max, and telling Essper to keep a
      sharp watch, he set spurs to his horse.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Now, Max, my good steed, each minute is golden; serve thy master well!&rdquo;
       He patted the horse&rsquo;s neck, the animal&rsquo;s erected ears proved how well it
      understood its master&rsquo;s wishes; and taking advantage of the loose bridle,
      which was confidently allowed it, the horse sprang rather than galloped to
      the Minister&rsquo;s residence. Nearly an hour, however, was lost in gaining the
      private road, for Vivian, after the caution in the Baroness&rsquo;s letter, did
      not dare the high road.
    </p>
    <p>
      He is galloping up the winding rural lane, where he met Beckendorff on the
      second morning of his visit. He has reached the little gate, and following
      the example of the Grand Duke, ties Max at the entrance. He dashes over
      the meadows; not following the path, but crossing straight through the
      long dewy grass, he leaps over the light iron railing; he is rushing up
      the walk; he takes a rapid glance, in passing, at the little summer-house;
      the blue passion-flower is still blooming, the house is in sight; a white
      handkerchief is waving from the drawing-room window! He sees it; fresh
      wings are added to its course; he dashes through a bed of flowers,
      frightens the white peacock, darts through the library window, and is in
      the drawing room.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Baroness was there: pale and agitated she stood beneath the mysterious
      picture, with one arm leaning on the old carved mantelpiece. Overcome by
      her emotions, she did not move forward to meet him as he entered; but
      Vivian observed neither her constraint nor her agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sybilla! dearest Sybilla! say you are mine!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He seized her hand. She struggled not to disengage herself; her head sank
      upon her arm, which rested upon his shoulder. Overpowered, she sobbed
      convulsively. He endeavoured to calm her, but her agitation increased; and
      minutes elapsed ere she seemed to be even sensible of his presence. At
      length she became more calm, and apparently making a struggle to compose
      herself, she raised her head and said, &ldquo;This is very weak&mdash;let us
      walk for a moment about the room!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment Vivian was seized by the throat with a strong grasp. He
      turned round; it was Mr. Beckendorff, with a face deadly white, his full
      eyes darting from their sockets like a hungry snake&rsquo;s, and the famous
      Italian dagger in his right hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Villain!&rdquo; said he, in the low voice of fatal passion; &ldquo;Villain, is this
      your Destiny?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian&rsquo;s first thoughts were for the Baroness; and turning his head from
      Beckendorff, he looked with the eye of anxious love to his companion. But,
      instead of fainting, instead of being overwhelmed by this terrible
      interruption, she seemed, on the contrary, to have suddenly regained her
      natural spirit and self-possession. The blood had returned to her hitherto
      pale cheek, and the fire to an eye before dull with weeping. She
      extricated herself immediately from Vivian&rsquo;s encircling arm, and by so
      doing enabled him to have struggled, had it been necessary, more equally
      with the powerful grasp of his assailant.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stand off, sir!&rdquo; said the Baroness, with an air of inexpressible dignity,
      and a voice which even at this crisis seemed to anticipate that it would
      be obeyed. &ldquo;Stand off, sir! stand off, I command you!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Beckendorff for one moment was motionless: he then gave her a look of
      piercing earnestness, threw Vivian, rather than released him, from his
      hold, and flung the dagger with a bitter smile, into the corner of the
      room. &ldquo;Well, madam!&rdquo; said he, in a choking voice, &ldquo;you are obeyed!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Grey,&rdquo; continued the Baroness, &ldquo;I regret that this outrage should
      have been experienced by you because you have dared to serve me. My
      presence should have preserved you from this contumely; but what are we to
      expect from those who pride themselves upon being the sons of slaves! You
      shall hear further from me.&rdquo; So saying, the lady, bowing to Vivian, and
      sweeping by the Minister with a glance of indescribable disdain, quitted
      the apartment. As she was on the point of leaving the room, Vivian was
      standing against the wall, with a pale face and folded arms; Beckendorff,
      with his back to the window, his eyes fixed on the ground; and Vivian, to
      his astonishment, perceived, what escaped the Minister&rsquo;s notice, that
      while the lady bade him adieu with one hand she made rapid signs with the
      other to some unknown person in the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Beckendorff and Vivian were left alone, and the latter was the first
      to break silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff,&rdquo; said he, in a calm voice, &ldquo;considering the
      circumstances under which you have found me in your house this morning, I
      should have known how to excuse and to forget any irritable expressions
      which a moment of ungovernable passion might have inspired. I should have
      passed them over unnoticed. But your unjustifiable behaviour has exceeded
      that line of demarcation which sympathy with human feelings allows even
      men of honour to recognise. You have disgraced both me and yourself by
      giving me a blow. It is, as that lady well styled it, an outrage; an
      outrage which the blood of any other man but yourself could only
      obliterate from my memory; but while I am inclined to be indulgent to your
      exalted station and your peculiar character, I at the same time expect,
      and now wait for, an apology!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;An apology!&rdquo; said Beckendorff, now beginning to stamp up and down the
      room; &ldquo;an apology! Shall it be made to you, sir, or the Archduchess?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Archduchess;&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;Good God! what can you mean! Did I hear
      you right?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I said the Archduchess,&rdquo; answered Beckendorff, with firmness; &ldquo;a Princess
      of the House of Austria, and the pledged wife of his Royal Highness the
      Crown Prince of Reisenburg. Perhaps you may now think that other persons
      have to apologise?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mr. Beckendorff,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;I am overwhelmed; I declare, upon my
      honour&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Stop, sir! you have said too much already&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But, Mr. Beckendorff, surely you will allow me to explain&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sir! there is no need of explanation. I know everything; more than you do
      yourself. You can have nothing to explain to me! and I presume you are now
      fully aware of the impossibility of again speaking to her. It is at
      present within an hour of noon. Before sunset you must be twenty miles
      from the Court; so far you will be attended. Do not answer me; you know my
      power. A remonstrance only, and I write to Vienna: your progress shall be
      stopped throughout the South of Europe. For her sake this business will be
      hushed up. An important and secret mission will be the accredited reason
      of your leaving Reisenburg. This will be confirmed by your official
      attendant, who will be an Envoy&rsquo;s Courier. Farewell!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      As Mr. Beckendorff quitted the room, his confidential servant, the
      messenger of Turriparva, entered, and with the most respectful bow
      informed Vivian that the horses were ready. In about three hours&rsquo; time
      Vivian Grey, followed by the Government messenger, stopped at his hotel.
      The landlord and waiters bowed with increased obsequiousness on seeing him
      so attended, and in a few minutes Reisenburg was ringing with the news
      that his appointment to the Under-Secretaryship of State was now &ldquo;a
      settled thing.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2H_4_0085">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      BOOK VIII
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0076">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I
    </h2>
    <p>
      The landlord of the Grand Hotel of the Four Nations at Reisenburg was
      somewhat consoled for the sudden departure of his distinguished guest by
      selling the plenipotentiary a travelling carriage lately taken for a
      doubtful bill from a gambling Russian General at a large profit. In this
      convenient vehicle, in the course of a couple of hours after his arrival
      in the city, was Mr. Vivian Grey borne through the gate of the Allies.
      Essper George, who had reached the hotel about half an hour after his
      master, followed behind the carriage on his hack, leading Max. The Courier
      cleared the road before, and expedited the arrival of the special Envoy of
      the Grand Duke of Reisenburg at the point of his destination by ordering
      the horses, clearing the barriers, and paying the postilions in advance.
      Vivian had never travelled before with such style and speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our hero covered himself up with his cloak and drew his travelling cap
      over his eyes, though it was one of the hottest days of this singularly
      hot autumn. Entranced in a reverie, the only figure that occurred to his
      mind was the young Archduchess, and the only sounds that dwelt on his ear
      were the words of Beckendorff: but neither to the person of the first nor
      to the voice of the second did he annex any definite idea.
    </p>
    <p>
      After some hours&rsquo; travelling, which to Vivian seemed both an age and a
      minute, he was roused from his stupor by the door of his calèche being
      opened. He shook himself as a man does who has awakened from a benumbing
      and heavy sleep, although his eyes were the whole time wide open. The
      disturbing intruder was his courier, who, bowing, with his hat in hand,
      informed his Excellency that he was now on the frontier of Reisenburg;
      regretting that he was under the necessity of quitting his Excellency, he
      begged to present him with his passport. &ldquo;It is made out for Vienna,&rdquo;
       continued the messenger. &ldquo;A private pass, sir, of the Prime Minister, and
      will entitle you to the greatest consideration.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The carriage was soon again advancing rapidly to the next post-house,
      when, after they had proceeded about half a mile, Essper George calling
      loudly from behind, the drivers suddenly stopped. Just as Vivian, to whose
      tortured mind the rapid movement of the carriage was some relief, for it
      produced an excitement which prevented thought, was about to inquire the
      cause of this stoppage. Essper George rode up to the calèche.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Kind sir!&rdquo; said he, with a peculiar look, &ldquo;I have a packet for you.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;A packet! from whom? speak! give it me!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hush! softly, good master. Here am I about to commit rank treason for
      your sake, and a hasty word is the only reward of my rashness.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay, good Essper, try me not now!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will not, kind sir! but the truth is, I could not give you the packet
      while that double-faced knave was with us, or even while he was in sight.
      &lsquo;In good truth,&rsquo; as Master Rodolph was wont to say&mdash;!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;But of this packet?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Fairly and softly,&rsquo; good sir! as Hunsdrich the porter said when I would
      have drunk the mulled wine, while he was on the cold staircase&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Essper! do you mean to enrage me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;By St. Hubert!&rsquo; as that worthy gentleman the Grand Marshal was in the
      habit of swearing, I&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This is too much; what are the idle sayings of these people to me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, nay, kind sir! they do but show that each of us has his own way of
      telling a story, and that he who would hear a tale must let the teller&rsquo;s
      breath come out of his own nostrils.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, Essper, speak on! Stranger things have happened to me than to be
      reproved by my own servant.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, kind master! say not a bitter word to me because you have slipped
      out of a scrape with your head on your shoulders. The packet is from Mr.
      Beckendorff&rsquo;s daughter.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ah! why did you not give it me before?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why do I give it you now? Because I am a fool; that is why. What! you
      wanted it when that double-faced scoundrel was watching every eyelash of
      yours as it moved from the breath of a fly? a fellow who can see as well
      at the back of his head as from his face. I should like to poke out his
      front eyes, to put him on an equality with the rest of mankind. He it was
      who let the old gentleman know of your visit this morning, and I suspect
      that he has been nearer your limbs of late than you have imagined. Every
      dog has his day, and the oldest pig must look for the knife! The Devil was
      once cheated on Sunday, and I have been too sharp for Puss in boots and
      his mouse-trap! Prowling about the Forest Councillor&rsquo;s house, I saw your
      new servant, sir, gallop in, and his old master soon gallop out. I was off
      as quick as they, but was obliged to leave my horse within two miles of
      the house, and then trust to my legs. I crept through the shrubs like a
      land tortoise; but, of course, too late to warn you. However, I was in for
      the death, and making signs to the young lady, who directly saw that I was
      a friend; bless her! she is as quick as a partridge; I left you to settle
      it with papa, and, after all, did that which I suppose you intended, sir,
      to do yourself; made my way into the young lady&rsquo;s bedchamber.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Hold your tongue, sir! and give me the packet.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There it is, and now we will go on; but we must stay an hour at the next
      post, if your honour pleases not to sleep there; for both Max and my own
      hack have had a sharp day&rsquo;s work.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian tore open the packet. It contained a long letter, written on the
      night of her return to Beckendorff&rsquo;s; she had stayed up the whole night
      writing. It was to have been forwarded to Vivian, in case of their not
      being able to meet. In the enclosure were a few hurried lines, written
      since the catastrophe. They were these: &ldquo;May this safely reach you! Can
      you ever forgive me? The enclosed, you will see, was intended for you, in
      case of our not meeting. It anticipated sorrow; yet what were its
      anticipations to our reality!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The Archduchess&rsquo; letter was evidently written under the influence of
      agitated feelings. We omit it; because, as the mystery of her character is
      now explained, a great portion of her communication would be irrelevant to
      our tale. She spoke of her exalted station as a woman, that station which
      so many women envy, in a spirit of agonising bitterness. A royal princess
      is only the most flattered of state victims. She is a political sacrifice,
      by which enraged Governments are appeased, wavering allies conciliated and
      ancient amities confirmed. Debarred by her rank and her education from
      looking forward to that exchange of equal affection which is the great end
      and charm of female existence, no individual finds more fatally and feels
      more keenly that pomp is not felicity, and splendour not content.
    </p>
    <p>
      Deprived of all those sources of happiness which seem inherent in woman,
      the wife of the Sovereign sometimes seeks in politics and in pleasure a
      means of excitement which may purchase oblivion. But the political queen
      is a rare character; she must possess an intellect of unusual power, and
      her lot must be considered as an exception in the fortunes of female
      royalty. Even the political queen generally closes an agitated career with
      a broken heart. And for the unhappy votary of pleasure, who owns her cold
      duty to a royal husband, we must not forget that even in the most
      dissipated courts the conduct of the queen is expected to be decorous, and
      that the instances are not rare where the wife of the monarch has died on
      the scaffold, or in a dungeon, or in exile, because she dared to be
      indiscreet where all were debauched. But for the great majority of royal
      wives, they exist without a passion; they have nothing to hope, nothing to
      fear, nothing to envy, nothing to want, nothing to confide, nothing to
      hate, and nothing to love. Even their duties, though multitudinous, are
      mechanical, and, while they require much attention, occasion no anxiety.
      Amusement is their moment of great emotion, and for them amusement is
      rare; for amusement is the result of equal companionship. Thus situated,
      they are doomed to become frivolous in their pursuits and formal in their
      manners, and the Court chaplain or the Court confessor is the only person
      who can prove they have a soul, by convincing them that it will be saved.
    </p>
    <p>
      The young Archduchess had assented to the proposition of marriage with the
      Crown Prince of Reisenburg without opposition, as she was convinced that
      requesting her assent was only a courteous form of requiring her
      compliance. There was nothing outrageous to her feelings in marrying a man
      whom she had never seen, because her education, from her tenderest years,
      had daily prepared her for such an event. Moreover, she was aware that, if
      she succeeded in escaping from the offers of the Crown Prince of
      Reisenburg, she would soon be under the necessity of assenting to those of
      some other suitor; and if proximity to her own country, accordance with
      its sentiments and manners, and previous connection with her own house,
      were taken into consideration, an union with the family of Reisenburg was
      even desirable. It was to be preferred, at least, to one which brought
      with it a foreign husband and a foreign clime, a strange language and
      strange customs. The Archduchess, a girl of ardent feelings and lively
      mind, had not, however, agreed to become that all-commanding slave, a
      Queen, without a stipulation. She required that she might be allowed,
      previous to her marriage, to visit her future Court incognita. This
      singular and unparalleled proposition was not easily acceded to: but the
      opposition with which it was received only tended to make the young
      Princess more determined to be gratified in her caprice. Her Imperial
      Highness did not pretend that any end was to be obtained by this unusual
      procedure, and indeed she had no definite purpose in requesting it to be
      permitted. It was originally the mere whim of the moment, and had it not
      been strongly opposed it would not have been strenuously insisted upon. As
      it was, the young Archduchess persisted, threatened, and grew obstinate;
      and the grey-headed negotiators of the marriage, desirous of its speedy
      completion, and not having a more tractable tool ready to supply her
      place, at length yielded to her bold importunity. Great difficulty,
      however, was experienced in carrying her wishes into execution. By what
      means and in what character she was to appear at Court, so as not to
      excite suspicion or occasion discovery, were often discussed, without
      being resolved upon. At length it became necessary to consult Mr.
      Beckendorff. The upper lip of the Prime Minister of Reisenburg curled as
      the Imperial Minister detailed the caprice and contumacy of the Princess,
      and treating with the greatest contempt this girlish whim, Mr. Beckendorff
      ridiculed those by whom it had been humoured with no suppressed derision.
      The consequence of his conduct was an interview with the future Grand
      Duchess, and the consequence of his interview an unexpected undertaking on
      his part to arrange the visit according to her Highness&rsquo;s desires.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Archduchess had not yet seen the Crown Prince; but six miniatures and
      a whole length portrait had prepared her for not meeting an Adonis or a
      Baron Trenck, and that was all; for never had the Correggio of the age of
      Charles the Fifth better substantiated his claims to the office of Court
      painter than by these accurate semblances of his Royal Highness, in which
      his hump was subdued into a Grecian bend, and his lack-lustre eyes seemed
      beaming with tenderness and admiration. His betrothed bride stipulated
      with Mr. Beckendorff that the fact of her visit should be known only to
      himself and the Grand Duke; and before she appeared at Court she had
      received the personal pledge both of himself and his Royal Highness that
      the affair should be kept a complete secret from the Crown Prince.
    </p>
    <p>
      Most probably, on her first introduction to her future husband, all the
      romantic plans of the young Archduchess to excite an involuntary interest
      in his heart vanished; but how this may be, it is needless for us to
      inquire, for that same night introduced another character into her romance
      for whom she was perfectly unprepared, and whose appearance totally
      disorganised its plot.
    </p>
    <p>
      Her inconsiderate, her unjustifiable conduct, in tampering with that
      individual&rsquo;s happiness and affection, was what the young and haughty
      Archduchess deplored in the most energetic, the most feeling, and the most
      humble spirit; and anticipating that after this painful disclosure they
      would never meet again, she declared that for his sake alone she regretted
      what had passed, and praying that he might be happier than herself, she
      supplicated to be forgiven and forgotten.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian read the Archduchess&rsquo;s letter over and over again, and then put it
      in his breast. At first he thought that he had lived to shed another tear;
      but he was mistaken. In a few minutes he found himself quite roused from
      his late overwhelming stupor. Remorse or regret for the past, care or
      caution for the future, seemed at the same moment to have fled from his
      mind. He looked up to Heaven with a wild smile, half of despair and half
      of defiance, it seemed to imply that Fate had now done her worst, and that
      he had at last the satisfaction of knowing himself to be the most
      unfortunate and unhappy being that ever existed. When a man at the same
      time believes in and sneers at his Destiny we may be sure that he
      considers his condition past redemption.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0077">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II
    </h2>
    <p>
      They stopped for an hour at the next post, according to Essper&rsquo;s
      suggestion. Indeed, he proposed resting there for the night, for both men
      and beasts much required repose; but Vivian panted to reach Vienna, to
      which city two days&rsquo; travelling would now carry him. His passions were so
      roused, and his powers of reflection so annihilated, that while he had
      determined to act desperately, he was unable to resolve upon anything
      desperate. Whether, on his arrival at the Austrian capital, he should
      plunge into dissipation or into the Danube was equally uncertain. He had
      some thought of joining the Greeks or Turks, no matter which, probably the
      latter, or perhaps of serving in the Americas. The idea of returning to
      England never once entered his mind: he expected to find letters from his
      father at Vienna, and he almost regretted it; for, in his excessive
      misery, it was painful to be conscious that a being still breathed who was
      his friend.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a fine moonlight night, but the road was mountainous; and in spite
      of all the encouragement of Vivian, and all the consequent exertions of
      the postilion, they were upwards of two hours and a half going these eight
      miles. To get on any farther to-night was quite impossible. Essper&rsquo;s horse
      was fairly knocked up, and even Max visibly distressed. The post-house was
      fortunately an inn. It was not at a village, and, as far as the travellers
      could learn, not near one, and its appearance did not promise very
      pleasing accommodation. Essper, who had scarcely tasted food for nearly
      eighteen hours, was not highly delighted with the prospect before them.
      His anxiety, however, was not merely selfish: he was as desirous that his
      young master should be refreshed by a good night&rsquo;s rest as himself, and
      anticipating that he should have to exercise his skill in making a couch
      for Vivian in the carriage, he proceeded to cross-examine the postmaster
      on the possibility of his accommodating them. The host was a pious-looking
      personage, in a black velvet cap, with a singularly meek and charitable
      expression of countenance. His long black hair was exquisitely braided,
      and he wore round his neck a collar of pewter medals, all of which had
      been recently sprinkled with holy water and blessed under the petticoat of
      the saintly Virgin; for the postmaster had only just returned from a
      pilgrimage to the celebrated shrine of the Black Lady of Altoting.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good friend!&rdquo; said Essper, looking him cunningly in the face, &ldquo;I fear
      that we must order horses on: you can hardly accommodate two?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good friend!&rdquo; answered the innkeeper, and he crossed himself very
      reverently at the same time, &ldquo;it is not for man to fear, but to hope.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;If your beds were as good as your adages,&rdquo; said Essper George, laughing,
      &ldquo;in good truth, as a friend of mine would say, I would sleep here
      to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Prithee, friend,&rdquo; continued the innkeeper, kissing a medal of his collar
      very devoutly, &ldquo;what accommodation dost thou lack?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;in the way of accommodation, little, for two excellent
      beds will content us; but in the way of refreshment, by St. Hubert! as
      another friend of mine would swear, he would be a bold man who would
      engage to be as hungry before his dinner as I shall be after my supper.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Friend!&rdquo; said the innkeeper, &ldquo;Our Lady forbid that thou shouldst leave
      our walls to-night: for the accommodation, we have more than sufficient;
      and as for the refreshment, by Holy Mass! we had a priest tarry here last
      night, and he left his rosary behind. I will comfort my soul, by telling
      my beads over the kitchen-fire, and for every Paternoster my wife shall
      give thee a rasher of kid, and for every Ave a tumbler of Augsburg, which
      Our Lady forget me if I did not myself purchase but yesterday se&rsquo;nnight
      from the pious fathers of the Convent of St. Florian!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I take thee at thy word, honest sir,&rdquo; said Essper. &ldquo;By the Creed! I liked
      thy appearance from the first; nor wilt thou find me unwilling, when my
      voice has taken its supper, to join thee in some pious hymn or holy
      canticle. And now for the beds!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There is the green room, the best bedroom in my house,&rdquo; said the
      Innkeeper. &ldquo;Holy Mary forget me if in that same bed have not stretched
      their legs more valorous generals, more holy prelates, and more
      distinguished councillors of our Lord the Emperor, than in any bed in all
      Austria.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;That, then, for my master, and for myself&mdash;&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;H-u-m!&rdquo; said the host, looking very earnestly in Essper&rsquo;s face; &ldquo;I should
      have thought that thou wert one more anxious after dish and flagon than
      curtain and eider-down!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;By my Mother! I love good cheer,&rdquo; said Essper, earnestly, &ldquo;and want it
      more at this moment than any knave that ever yet starved: but if thou hast
      not a bed to let me stretch my legs on after four-and-twenty hours&rsquo; hard
      riding, by holy Virgin! I will have horses on to Vienna.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Our Black Lady forbid!&rdquo; said the innkeeper, with a quick voice, and with
      rather a dismayed look; &ldquo;said I that thou shouldst not have a bed? St.
      Florian desert me if I and my wife would not sooner sleep in the
      chimney-corner than thou shouldst miss one wink of thy slumbers!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In one word, have you a bed?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have I a bed? Where slept, I should like to know, the Vice-Principal of
      the Convent of Molk on the day before the last holy Ascension? The waters
      were out in the morning; and when will my wife forget what his reverence
      was pleased to say when he took his leave; &lsquo;Good woman!&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;my duty
      calls me; but the weather is cold; and between ourselves, I am used to
      great feasts, and I should have no objection, if I were privileged, to
      stay and to eat again of thy red cabbage and cream!&rsquo; What say you to that?
      Do you think we have got beds now? You shall sleep to-night, sir, like an
      Aulic Councillor!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      This adroit introduction of the red cabbage and cream settled everything;
      when men are wearied and famished they have no inclination to be
      incredulous, and in a few moments Vivian was informed by his servant that
      the promised accommodation was satisfactory; and having locked up the
      carriage, and wheeled it into a small outhouse, he and Essper were ushered
      by their host into a room which, as is usual in small German inns in the
      South, served at the same time both for kitchen and saloon. The fire was
      lit in a platform of brick, raised in the centre of the floor: the sky was
      visible through the chimney, which, although of a great breadth below,
      gradually narrowed to the top. A family of wandering Bohemians, consisting
      of the father and mother and three children, were seated on the platform
      when Vivian entered; the man was playing on a coarse wooden harp, without
      which the Bohemians seldom travel. The music ceased as the new guests came
      into the room, and the Bohemian courteously offered his place at the fire
      to our hero, who, however, declined disturbing the family group. A small
      table and a couple of chairs were placed in a corner of the room by the
      innkeeper&rsquo;s wife, a bustling active dame, who apparently found no
      difficulty in laying the cloth, dusting the furniture, and cooking the
      supper at the same time. At this table Vivian and his servant seated
      themselves; nor, indeed, did the cookery discredit the panegyric of the
      Reverend Vice-Principal of the Convent of Molk.
    </p>
    <p>
      Alike wearied in mind and body, Vivian soon asked for his bed, which,
      though not exactly fitted for an Aulic Councillor, as the good host
      perpetually avowed it to be, nevertheless afforded decent accommodation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Bohemian family retired to the hayloft, and Essper George would have
      followed his master&rsquo;s example, had not the kind mistress of the house
      tempted him to stay behind by the production of a new platter of rashers:
      indeed, he never remembered meeting with such hospitable people as the
      postmaster and his wife. They had evidently taken a fancy to him, and,
      though extremely wearied, the lively little Essper endeavoured, between
      his quick mouthfuls and long draughts, to reward and encourage their
      kindness by many a good story and sharp joke. With all these both mine
      host and his wife were exceedingly amused, seldom containing their
      laughter, and frequently protesting, by the sanctity of various saints,
      that this was the pleasantest night and Essper the pleasantest fellow that
      they had ever met with.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Eat, eat, my friend!&rdquo; said his host; &ldquo;by the Mass! thou hast travelled
      far; and fill thy glass, and pledge with me Our Black Lady of Altoting. By
      Holy Cross! I have hung up this week in her chapel a garland of silk
      roses, and have ordered to be burnt before her shrine three pounds of
      perfumed was tapers! Fill again, fill again! and thou too, good mistress;
      a hard day&rsquo;s work hast thou had; a glass of wine will do thee no harm!
      join me with our new friend! Pledge we together the Holy Fathers of St.
      Florian, my worldly patrons and my spiritual pastors: let us pray that his
      reverence the Sub-Prior may not have his Christmas attack of gout in the
      stomach, and a better health to poor Father Felix! Fill again, fill again!
      this Augsburg is somewhat acid; we will have a bottle of Hungary.
      Mistress, fetch us the bell-glasses, and here to the Reverend
      Vice-Principal of Molk! our good friend: when will my wife forget what he
      said to her on the morning of last holy Ascension! Fill again, fill
      again!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Inspired by the convivial spirit of the pious and jolly postmaster, Essper
      George soon forgot his threatened visit to his bedroom, and ate and drank,
      laughed and joked, as if he were again with his friend, Master Rodolph;
      but wearied Nature at length avenged herself for this unnatural exertion,
      and leaning back in his chair, he was, in the course of an hour, overcome
      by one of those dead and heavy slumbers the effect of the united influence
      of fatigue and intemperance; in short, it was like the midnight sleep of a
      fox-hunter.
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner had our pious votary of the Black Lady of Altoting observed the
      effect of his Hungary wine than, making a well-understood sign to his
      wife, he took up the chair of Essper in his brawny arms, and, preceded by
      Mrs. Postmistress with a lantern, he left the room with his guest.
      Essper&rsquo;s hostess led and lighted the way to an outhouse, which
      occasionally served as a coach-house, a stable, and a lumber-room. It had
      no window, and the lantern afforded the only light which exhibited its
      present contents. In one corner was a donkey tied up, belonging to the
      Bohemian. Under a hayrack was a large child&rsquo;s cradle: it was of a
      remarkable size, having been made for twins. Near it was a low wooden
      sheep-tank, half filled with water, and which had been placed there for
      the refreshment of the dog and his feathered friends, who were roosting in
      the rack.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pious innkeeper very gently lowered to the ground the chair on which
      Essper was soundly sleeping; and then, having crossed himself, he took up
      our friend with great tenderness and solicitude, and dexterously fitted
      him in the huge cradle.
    </p>
    <p>
      About an hour past midnight Essper George awoke. He was lying on his back,
      and very unwell; and on trying to move, found that he was rocking. His
      late adventure was obliterated from his memory; and the strange movement,
      united with his peculiar indisposition, left him no doubt that he was on
      board ship! As is often the case when we are tipsy or nervous, Essper had
      been woke by the fright of falling from some immense height; and finding
      that his legs had no sensation, for they were quite benumbed, he concluded
      that he had fallen down the hatchway, that his legs were broken, and
      himself jammed in between some logs of wood in the hold, and so he began
      to cry lustily to those above to come down to his rescue.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;O, Essper George!&rdquo; thought he, &ldquo;how came you to set foot on salt timber
      again! Had not you had enough of it in the Mediterranean and the Turkish
      seas, that you must be getting aboard this lubberly Dutch galliot! for I
      am sure she&rsquo;s Dutch by being so low in the water. Well, they may talk of a
      sea-life, but for my part, I never saw the use of the Sea. Many a sad
      heart it has caused, and many a sick stomach has it occasioned! The
      boldest sailor climbs on board with a heavy soul, and leaps on land with a
      light spirit. O! thou indifferent ape of Earth! thy houses are of wood and
      thy horses of canvas; thy roads have no landmarks and thy highways no
      inns; thy hills are green without grass and wet without showers! and as
      for food, what art thou, O, bully Ocean! but the stable of horse-fishes,
      the stall of cow-fishes, the sty of hog-fishes, and the kennel of
      dog-fishes! Commend me to a fresh-water dish for meagre days! Sea-weeds
      stewed with chalk may be savoury stuff for a merman; but, for my part,
      give me red cabbage and cream: and as for drink, a man may live in the
      midst of thee his whole life and die for thirst at the end of it! Besides,
      thou blasphemous salt lake, where is thy religion? Where are thy churches,
      thou heretic?&rdquo; So saying Essper made a desperate effort to crawl up the
      hold. His exertion set the cradle rocking with renewed violence; and at
      lust dashing against the sheep-tank, that pastoral piece of furniture was
      overset, and part of its contents poured upon the inmate of the cradle.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Sprung a leak in the hold, by St. Nicholas!&rdquo; bawled out Essper George.
      &ldquo;Caulkers ahoy!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      At this moment three or four fowls, roused by the fall of the tank and the
      consequent shouts of Essper, began fluttering about the rack, and at last
      perched upon the cradle. &ldquo;The live stock got loose&rsquo;&rdquo; shouted Essper, &ldquo;and
      the breeze getting stiffer every instant! Where is the captain? I will see
      him. I am not one of the crew: I belong to the Court! I must have cracked
      my skull when I fell like a lubber down that confounded hatchway! Egad! I
      feel as if I had been asleep, and been dreaming I was at Court.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The sound of heavy footsteps was now over his head. These noises were at
      once an additional proof that he was in the hold, and an additional
      stimulus to his calls to those on deck. In fact, these sounds were
      occasioned by the Bohemians, who always rose before break of day; and
      consequently, in a few minutes, the door of the stable opened, and the
      Bohemian, with a lantern in his hand, entered.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What do you want?&rdquo; cried Essper.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I want my donkey&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You do?&rdquo; said Essper. &ldquo;You&rsquo;re the Purser, I suppose, detected keeping a
      jackass among the poultry! eating all the food of our live stock, and we
      having kid every day. Though both my legs are off, I&rsquo;ll have a fling at
      you!&rdquo; and so saying, Essper, aided by the light of the lantern, scrambled
      out of the cradle, and taking up the sheep-tank, sent it straight at the
      astonished Bohemian&rsquo;s head. The aim was good, and the man fell; more,
      however, from fright than injury. Seizing his lantern, which had fallen
      out of his hand, Essper escaped through the stable door and rushed into
      the house. He found himself in the kitchen. The noise of his entrance
      roused the landlord and his wife, who had been sleeping by the fire;
      since, not having a single bed beside their own, they had given that up to
      Vivian. The countenance of the innkeeper effectually dispelled the clouds
      which had been fast clearing off from Essper&rsquo;s intellect. Giving one wide
      stare, and then rubbing his eyes, the truth lighted upon him, and so he
      sent the Bohemian&rsquo;s lantern at his landlord&rsquo;s head. The postmaster seized
      the poker and the postmistress a faggot, and as the Bohemian, who had now
      recovered himself, had entered in the rear, Essper George stood a fair
      chance of receiving a thorough drubbing, had not his master, roused by the
      suspicious noises and angry sounds which had reached his room, entered the
      kitchen with his pistols.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0078">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III
    </h2>
    <p>
      As it was now morning, Vivian did not again retire to rest, but took
      advantage of the disturbance in the inn to continue his route at an
      earlier hour than he had previously intended.
    </p>
    <p>
      Essper, when he found himself safely mounted, lagged behind a few minutes
      to vent his spleen against the innkeeper&rsquo;s wife.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;May St. Florian confound me, madam!&rdquo; said Essper, addressing himself to
      the lady in the window, &ldquo;if ever I beheld so ugly a witch as yourself!
      Pious friend! thy chaplet of roses was ill bestowed, and thou needest not
      have travelled so far to light thy wax tapers at the shrine of the Black
      Lady at Altoting; for by the beauty of holiness! an image of ebony is
      mother of pearl to that soot-face whom thou callest thy wife. Fare thee
      well! thou couple of saintly sinners! and may the next traveller who
      tarries in the den of thieves qualify thee for canonisation by thy wife&rsquo;s
      admiring pastor, the cabbage-eating Vice-Principal of Molk.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Before the end of an hour they had to ford a rivulet running between two
      high banks. The scenery just here was particularly lovely, and Vivian&rsquo;s
      attention was so engrossed by it that he did not observe the danger which
      he was about to incur.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the left of the road a high range of rocky mountains abruptly descended
      into an open but broken country, and the other side of the road was
      occasionally bounded by low undulating hills, partially covered with dwarf
      woods, not high enough to obstruct the view of the distant horizon. Rocky
      knolls jutted out near the base of the mountains; and on the top of one of
      them, overlooked by a gigantic grey peak, stood an ancient and still
      inhabited feudal castle. Round the base of this insulated rock a rustic
      village peeped above the encircling nutwoods, its rising smoke softening
      the hard features of the naked crag. On the side of the village nearest to
      Vivian a bold sheet of water discharged itself in three separate falls
      between the ravine of a wooded mountain, and flowing round the village as
      a fine broad river, expanded before it reached the foundation of the
      castled rock into a long and deep lake, which was also fed by numerous
      streams, the gulleys only of which were now visible down the steep sides
      of the mountains, their springs having been long dried up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian&rsquo;s view was interrupted by his sudden descent into the bed of the
      rivulet, one of the numerous branches of the mountain torrent, and by a
      crash which as immediately ensued. The spring of his carriage was broken.
      The carriage fell over, but Vivian sustained no injury; and while Essper
      George rode forward to the village for assistance, his master helped the
      postilion to extricate the horses and secure them on the opposite bank.
      They had done all that was in their power some time before Essper
      returned; and Vivian, who had seated himself on some tangled beech-roots,
      was prevented growing impatient by contemplating the enchanting scenery.
      The postilion, on the contrary, who had travelled this road every day of
      his life, and who found no gratification in gazing upon rocks, woods, and
      waterfalls, lit his pipe, and occasionally talked to his horses. So
      essential an attribute of the beautiful is novelty! Essper at length made
      his appearance, attended by five or six peasants, dressed in holiday
      costume, with some fanciful decorations; their broad hats wreathed with
      wild flowers, their short brown jackets covered with buttons and fringe,
      and various coloured ribbons streaming from their knees.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well, sir! the grandson is born the day the grandfather dies! a cloudy
      morning has often a bright sunset&rsquo; and though we are now sticking in a
      ditch, by the aid of St. Florian we may be soon feasting in a castle!
      Come, my merry men, I did not bring you here to show your ribbons; the
      sooner you help us out of this scrape the sooner you will be again dancing
      with the pretty maidens on the green! Lend a hand!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The calèche appeared to be so much shattered that they only ventured to
      put in one horse; and Vivian, leaving his carriage in charge of Essper and
      the postilion, mounted Max, and rode to the village, attended by the
      peasants. He learnt from them on the way that they were celebrating the
      marriage of the daughter of their lord, who, having been informed of the
      accident, had commanded them to go immediately to the gentleman&rsquo;s
      assistance, and then conduct him to the castle.
    </p>
    <p>
      They crossed the river over a light stone bridge of three arches, the
      key-stone of the centre one being decorated with a splendidly sculptured
      shield.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This bridge appears to be very recently built?&rdquo; said Vivian to one of his
      conductors.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It was opened, sir, for the first time yesterday, to admit the bridegroom
      of my young lady, and the foundation stone was laid on the day she was
      born.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I see that your good lord was determined that it should be a solid
      structure.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, sir, it was necessary that the foundation should be strong, because
      three succeeding winters it was washed away by the rush of that mountain
      torrent. Turn this way, if you please, sir, through the village.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was much struck by the appearance of the little settlement as he
      rode through it. It did not consist of more than fifty houses, but they
      were all detached, and each beautifully embowered in trees. The end of the
      village came upon a large rising green, leading up to the only accessible
      side of the castle. It presented a most animated scene, being covered with
      various groups, all intent upon different rustic amusements. An immense
      pole, the stem of a gigantic fir-tree, was fixed nearly in the centre of
      the green, and crowned with a chaplet, the reward of the most active young
      man of the village, whose agility might enable him to display his
      gallantry by presenting it to his mistress, she being allowed to wear it
      during the remainder of the sports. The middle-aged men were proving their
      strength by raising weights; while the elders of the village joined in the
      calmer and more scientific diversion of skittles, which in Austria are
      played with bowls and pins of very great size. Others were dancing; others
      sitting under tents, chattering or taking refreshments. Some were walking
      in pairs, anticipating the speedy celebration of a wedding day happier to
      them, if less gay to others. Even the tenderest infants on this festive
      day seemed conscious of some unusual cause of excitement, and many an
      urchin, throwing himself forward in a vain attempt to catch an elder
      brother or a laughing sister, tried the strength of his leading-strings,
      and rolled over, crowing in the soft grass.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the end of the green a splendid tent was erected, with a large white
      bridal flag waving from its top, embroidered in gold, with a true lover&rsquo;s
      knot. From this pavilion came forth, to welcome the strangers, the lord of
      the village. He was a tall but thin bending figure, with a florid
      benevolent countenance, and a quantity of long white hair. This venerable
      person cordially offered his hand to Vivian, regretted his accident, but
      expressed much pleasure that he had come to partake of their happiness.
      &ldquo;Yesterday,&rdquo; continued he, &ldquo;was my daughter&rsquo;s wedding day, and both myself
      and our humble friends are endeavouring to forget, in this festive scene,
      our approaching loss and separation. If you had come yesterday you would
      have assisted at the opening of my new bridge. Pray what do you think of
      it? But I will show it to you myself, which I assure you will give me
      great pleasure; at present let me introduce you to my family, who will be
      quite happy to see you. It is a pity that you have missed the Regatta; my
      daughter is just going to reward the successful candidate. You see the
      boats upon the lake; the one with the white and purple streamer was the
      conqueror. You will have the pleasure, too, of seeing my son-in-law; I am
      sure you will like him; he quite enjoys our sports. We shall have a fête
      champêtre to-morrow, and a dance on the green to-night.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The old gentleman paused for want of breath, and having stood a moment to
      recover himself, he introduced his new guests to the inmates of the tent:
      first, his maiden sister, a softened facsimile of himself; behind her
      stood his beautiful and blushing daughter, the youthful bride, wearing on
      her head a coronal of white roses, and supported by three bridesmaids, the
      only relief to whose snowy dresses were large bouquets on their left side.
      The bridegroom was at first shaded by the curtain; but as he came forward
      Vivian started when he recognised his Heidelburg friend, Eugene von
      Konigstein!
    </p>
    <p>
      Their mutual delight and astonishment were so great that for an instant
      neither of them could speak; but when the old man learnt from his
      son-in-law that the stranger was his most valued and intimate friend, and
      one to whom he was under great personal obligations, he absolutely
      declared that he would have the wedding, to witness which appeared to him
      the height of human felicity, solemnised over again. The bride blushed,
      the bridesmaids tittered, the joy was universal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian inquired after the Baron. He learnt from Eugene that he had quitted
      Europe about a month, having sailed as Minister to one of the New American
      States. &ldquo;My uncle,&rdquo; continued the young man, &ldquo;was neither well nor in
      spirits before his departure. I cannot understand why he plagues himself
      so about politics; however, I trust he will like his new appointment. You
      found him, I am sure, a delightful companion.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come! you two young gentlemen,&rdquo; said the father-in-law, &ldquo;put off your
      chat till the evening. The business of the day stops, for I see the
      procession coming forward to receive the Regatta prize. Now, my dear!
      where is the scarf? You know what to say? Remember, I particularly wish to
      do honour to the victor! The sight of all these happy faces makes me feel
      quite young again. I declare I think I shall live a hundred years!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The procession advanced. First came a band of young children strewing
      flowers, then followed four stout boys carrying a large purple and white
      banner. The victor, proudly preceding the other candidates, strutted
      forward, with his hat on one side, a light scull decorated with purple and
      white ribbons in his right hand, and his left arm round his wife&rsquo;s waist.
      The wife, a beautiful young woman, to whom were clinging two fat
      flaxen-headed children, was the most interesting figure in the procession.
      Her tight dark bodice set off her round full figure, and her short red
      petticoat displayed her springy foot and ankle. Her neatly braided and
      plaited hair was partly concealed by a silk cap, covered with gold
      spangled gauze, flattened rather at the top, and finished at the back of
      the head with a large bow. This costly head-gear, the highest fashion of
      her class, was presented to the wearer by the bride, and was destined to
      be kept for festivals. After the victor and his wife came six girls and
      six boys, at the side of whom walked a very bustling personage in black,
      who seemed extremely interested about the decorum of the procession. A
      long train of villagers succeeded.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said the old Lord to Vivian, &ldquo;this must be a very gratifying sight
      to you! How fortunate that your carriage broke down just at my castle! I
      think my dear girl is acquitting herself admirably. Ah! Eugene is a happy
      fellow, and I have no doubt that she will be happy too. The young sailor
      receives his honours very properly: they are as nice a family as I know.
      Observe, they are moving off now to make way for the pretty girls and
      boys. That person in black is our Abbé, as benevolent, worthy a creature
      as ever lived! and very clever too: you will see in a minute. Now they are
      going to give us a little bridal chorus, after the old fashion, and it is
      all the Abbé&rsquo;s doing. I understand that there is an elegant allusion to my
      new bridge in it, which I think will please you. Who ever thought that
      bridge would be opened for my girl&rsquo;s wedding? Well! I am glad that it was
      not finished before. But we must be silent&rsquo; You will notice that part
      about the bridge; it is in the fifth verse, I am told, beginning with
      something about Hymen, and ending with something about roses.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      By this time the procession had formed a semicircle before the tent, the
      Abbé standing In the middle, with a paper in his hand, and dividing the
      two hands of choristers. He gave a signal with his cane, and the girls
      commenced:&mdash;
    </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Maidens</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Hours fly! it is Morn; he has left the bed of love! She follows him with a
      strained eye when his figure is no longer seen; she leans her head upon
      her arm. She is faithful to him as the lake to the mountain!
    </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Youths</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Hours fly! it is Noon; fierce is the restless sun! While he labours he
      thinks of her! while he controls others he will obey her! A strong man
      subdued by love is like a vineyard silvered by the moon!
    </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Youths and Maidens</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Hours fly! it is Eve; the soft star lights him to his home; she meets him
      as his shadow falls on the threshold! she smiles, and their child,
      stretching forth its tender hands from its mother&rsquo;s bosom, struggles to
      lisp &ldquo;Father!&rdquo;
     </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Maidens</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Years glide! it is Youth; they sit within a secret bower. Purity is in her
      raptured eyes, Faith in his warm embrace. He must fly! He kisses his
      farewell: the fresh tears are on her cheek! He has gathered a lily with
      the dew upon its leaves!
    </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Youths</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Years glide! it is Manhood. He is in the fierce Camp: he is in the
      deceitful Court. He must mingle sometimes with others, that he may be
      always with her! In the false world, she is to him like a green olive
      among rocks!
    </p>
<pre>
     <i>Chorus of Youths and Maidens</i>
</pre>
    <p>
      Years glide! it is Old Age. They sit beneath a branching elm. As the moon
      rises on the sunset green, their children dance before them! Her hand is
      in his; they look upon their children, and then upon each other!
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The fellow has some fancy,&rdquo; said the old Lord, &ldquo;but given, I think, to
      conceits. I did not exactly catch the passage about the bridge, but I have
      no doubt it was all right.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian was now invited to the pavilion, where refreshments were prepared.
      Here our hero was introduced to many other guests, relations of the
      family, who were on a visit at the castle, and who had been on the lake at
      the moment of his arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;This gentleman,&rdquo; said the old Lord, pointing to Vivian, &ldquo;is my son&rsquo;s
      friend, and I am quite sure that you are all delighted to see him. He
      arrived here accidentally, his carriage having fortunately broken down in
      passing one of the streams. All those rivulets should have bridges built
      over them! I could look at my new bridge for ever. I often ask myself,
      &lsquo;Now, how can such a piece of masonry ever be destroyed?&rsquo; It seems quite
      impossible, does not it? We all know that everything has an end; and yet,
      whenever I look at that bridge, I often think that it can only end when
      all things end.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      In the evening they all waltzed upon the green. The large yellow moon had
      risen, and a more agreeable sight than to witness two or three hundred
      persons so gaily occupied, and in such a scene, is not easy to imagine.
      How beautiful was the stern old castle, softened by the moonlight, the
      illumined lake, the richly-silvered foliage of the woods, and the white
      brilliant cataract!
    </p>
    <p>
      As the castle was quite full of visitors, its hospitable master had lodged
      Vivian for the night at the cottage of one of his favourite tenants.
      Nothing would give greater pleasure to Vivian than this circumstance, nor
      more annoyance to the worthy old gentleman.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cottage belonged to the victor in the Regatta, who himself conducted
      the visitor to his dwelling. Vivian did not press Essper&rsquo;s leaving the
      revellers, so great an acquisition did he seem to their sports! teaching
      them a thousand new games, and playing all manner of antics; but perhaps
      none of his powers surprised them more than the extraordinary facility and
      freedom with which he had acquired and used all their names. The
      cottager&rsquo;s pretty wife had gone home an hour before her husband, to put
      her two fair-haired children to bed and prepare her guest&rsquo;s accommodation
      for the night. Nothing could be more romantic and lovely than the
      situation of the cottage. It stood just on the gentle slope of the
      mountain&rsquo;s base, not a hundred yards from the lower waterfall. It was in
      the middle of a patch of highly-cultivated ground, which bore creditable
      evidence to the industry of its proprietor. Fruit trees, Turkey corn,
      vines, and flax flourished in luxuriance. The dwelling itself was covered
      with myrtle and arbutus, and the tall lemon-plant perfumed the window of
      the sitting-room. The casement of Vivian&rsquo;s chamber opened full on the
      foaming cataract. The distant murmur of the mighty waterfall, the gentle
      sighing of the trees, the soothing influence of the moonlight, and the
      faint sounds occasionally caught of dying revelry, the joyous exclamation
      of some successful candidate in the day&rsquo;s games, the song of some
      returning lover, the plash of an oar in the lake: all combined to produce
      that pensive mood in which we find ourselves involuntarily reviewing the
      history of our life.
    </p>
    <p>
      As Vivian was musing over the last harassing months of his burthensome
      existence he could not help feeling that there was only one person in the
      world on whom his memory could dwell with solace and satisfaction, and
      this person was Lady Madeleine Trevor!
    </p>
    <p>
      It was true that with her he had passed some agonising hours; but he could
      not forget the angelic resignation with which her own affliction had been
      borne, and the soothing converse by which his had been alleviated. This
      train of thought was pursued till his aching mind sunk into
      indefiniteness. He sat for some little time almost unconscious of
      existence, till the crying of a child, waked by its father&rsquo;s return,
      brought him back to the present scene. His thoughts naturally ran to his
      friend Eugene. Surely this youthful bridegroom might reckon upon
      happiness! Again Lady Madeleine recurred to him. Suddenly he observed a
      wonderful appearance in the sky. The moon was paled in the high heavens,
      and surrounded by luminous rings, almost as vividly tinted as the rainbow,
      spreading and growing fainter, till they covered nearly half the
      firmament. It was a glorious and almost unprecedented halo!
    </p>
    <p>
      <a id="link2HCH0079">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br ><br ><br ><br >
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV
    </h2>
    <p>
      The sun rose red, the air was thick and hot. Anticipating that the day
      would be very oppressive, Vivian and Essper were on their horses&rsquo; backs at
      an early hour. Already, however, many of the rustic revellers were about,
      and preparations were commencing for the fête champêtre, which this day
      was to close the wedding festivities. Many and sad were the looks which
      Essper George cast behind him at the old castle on the lake. &ldquo;No good luck
      can come of it!&rdquo; said he to his horse; for Vivian did not encourage
      conversation. &ldquo;O! master of mine, when wilt thou know the meaning of good
      quarters! To leave such a place, and at such a time! Why, Turriparva was
      nothing to it! The day before marriage and the hour before death is when a
      man thinks least of his purse and most of his neighbour. O! man, man, what
      art thou, that the eye of a girl can make thee so pass all discretion that
      thou wilt sacrifice for the whim of a moment good cheer enough to make
      thee last an age!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian had intended to stop and breakfast after riding about ten miles;
      but he had not proceeded half that way when, from the extreme sultriness
      of the morning, he found it impossible to advance without refreshment.
      Max, also, to his rider&rsquo;s surprise, was much distressed; and, on turning
      round to his servant, Vivian found Essper&rsquo;s hack panting and puffing, and
      breaking out, as if, instead of commencing their day&rsquo;s work, they were
      near reaching their point of destination.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, how now, Essper? One would think that we had been riding all night.
      What ails the beast?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth, sir, that which ails its rider; the poor dumb brute has more
      sense than some who have the gift of speech. Who ever heard of a horse
      leaving good quarters without much regretting the indiscretion?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The closeness of the air is so oppressive that I do not wonder at even
      Max being distressed. Perhaps when the sun is higher, and has cleared away
      the vapours, it may be more endurable: as it is, I think we had better
      stop at once and breakfast here. This wood is as inviting as, I trust, are
      the contents of your basket!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;St. Florian devour them!&rdquo; said Essper, in a very pious voice, &ldquo;if I agree
      not with you, sir; and as for the basket, although we have left the land
      of milk and honey, by the blessing of our Black Lady! I have that within
      it which would put courage in the heart of a caught mouse. Although we may
      not breakfast on bridecake and beccaficos, yet is a neat&rsquo;s tongue better
      than a fox&rsquo;s tail; and I have ever held a bottle of Rhenish to be superior
      to rain-water, even though the element be filtered through a gutter. Nor,
      by All Saints! have I forgotten a bottle of Kerchen Wasser from the Black
      Forest, nor a keg of Dantzic brandy, a glass of which, when travelling at
      night, I am ever accustomed to take after my prayers; for I have always
      observed that, though devotion doth sufficiently warm up the soul, the
      body all the time is rather the colder for stopping under a tree to tell
      its beads.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The travellers accordingly led their horses a few yards into the wood, and
      soon met, as they had expected, with a small green glade. It was
      surrounded, except at the slight opening by which they had entered it,
      with fine Spanish chestnut trees, which now, loaded with their large brown
      fruit, rich and ripe, clustered in the starry foliage, afforded a retreat
      as beautiful to the eye as its shade was grateful to their senses. Vivian
      dismounted, and, stretching out his legs, leant back against the trunk of
      a tree: and Essper, having fastened Max and his own horse to some
      branches, proceeded to display his stores. Vivian was silent, thoughtful,
      and scarcely tasted anything: Essper George, on the contrary, was in
      unusual and even troublesome spirits, and had not his appetite necessarily
      produced a few pauses in his almost perpetual rattle, the patience of his
      master would have been fairly worn out. At length Essper had devoured the
      whole supply; and as Vivian not only did not encourage his remarks, but
      even in a peremptory manner had desired his silence, he was fain to amuse
      himself by trying to catch in his mouth a large brilliant fly which every
      instant was dancing before him. Two individuals more singularly
      contrasting in their appearance than the master and the servant could
      scarcely be conceived; and Vivian, lying with his back against a tree,
      with his legs stretched out, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the
      ground; and Essper, though seated, in perpetual motion, and shifting his
      posture with feverish restlessness, now looking over his shoulder for the
      fly, then making an unsuccessful bite at it, and then, wearied with his
      frequent failures, amusing himself with acting Punch with his thumbs;
      altogether presenting two figures, which might have been considered as not
      inapt personifications of the rival systems of Ideality and Materialism.
    </p>
    <p>
      At length Essper became silent for the sake of variety, and imagining,
      from his master&rsquo;s example, that there must be some sweets in meditation
      hitherto undiscovered by him, he imitated Vivian&rsquo;s posture! So perverse is
      human nature, that the moment Vivian was aware that Essper was perfectly
      silent, he began to feel an inclination to converse with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Essper!&rdquo; said he, looking up and smiling, &ldquo;this is the first time
      during our acquaintance that I have ever seen thought upon your brow. What
      can now be puzzling your wild brain?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I was thinking, sir,&rdquo; said Essper, with a very solemn look, &ldquo;that if
      there were a deceased field-mouse here I would moralise on death.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;What! turned philosopher!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Ay! sir, it appears to me,&rdquo; said he, taking up a husk which lay on the
      turf, &ldquo;that there is not a nutshell in Christendom which may not become
      matter for very grave meditation!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Can you expound that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Verily, sir, the whole philosophy of life seems to me to consist in
      discovering the kernel. When you see a courtier out of favour or a
      merchant out of credit, when you see a soldier without pillage, a sailor
      without prize money, and a lawyer without paper, a bachelor with nephews,
      and an old maid with nieces, be assured the nut is not worth the cracking,
      and send it to the winds, as I do this husk at present.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, Essper!&rdquo; said Vivian, laughing, &ldquo;Considering that you have taken
      your degree so lately, you wear the Doctor&rsquo;s cap with authority! Instead
      of being in your noviciate, one would think that you had been a
      philosopher long enough to have outlived your system.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Bless you, sir, for philosophy, I sucked it in with my mother&rsquo;s milk.
      Nature then gave me the hint, which I have ever since acted on, and I hold
      that the sum of all learning consists in milking another man&rsquo;s cow. So
      much for the recent acquisition of my philosophy! I gained it, you see,
      sir, with the first wink of my eye; and though I lost a great portion of
      it by sea-sickness in the Mediterranean, nevertheless, since I served your
      Lordship, I have resumed my old habits, and do opine that this vain globe
      is but a large football to be kicked and cuffed about by moody
      philosophers!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;You must have seen a great deal in your life, Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Like all great travellers.&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;I have seen more than I
      remember, and remember more than I have seen.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Have you any objection to go to the East again?&rdquo; asked Vivian. &ldquo;It would
      require but little persuasion to lead me there.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I would rather go to a place where the religion is easier; I wish, sir,
      you would take me to England!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Nay, not there with me, if with others.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;With you, or with none.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I cannot conceive, Essper, what can induce you to tie up your fortunes
      with those of such a sad-looking personage as myself.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;In truth, sir, there is no accounting for tastes. My grandmother loved a
      brindled cat!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Your grandmother, Essper! Nothing would amuse me more than to be
      introduced to your family.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My family, sir, are nothing more nor less than what all of us must be
      counted, worms of five feet long, mortal angels, the world&rsquo;s epitome,
      heaps of atoms which Nature has kneaded with blood into solid flesh,
      little worlds of living clay, sparks of heaven, inches of earth, Nature&rsquo;s
      quintessence, moving dust, the little all, smooth-faced cherubim, in whose
      souls the Ring of stars has drawn the image of Himself!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;And how many years has breathed the worm of five feet long that I am now
      speaking to?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Good, my Lord, I was no head at calculating from a boy; but I do remember
      that I am two days older than one of the planets.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;How is that?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;There was one born in the sky, sir, the day I was christened with a
      Turkish crescent.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Come, Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian, who was rather interested by the
      conversation; Essper, having, until this morning, skilfully avoided any
      discourse upon the subject of his birth or family, adroitly turning the
      conversation whenever it chanced to approach these subjects, and silencing
      inquiries, if commenced, by some ludicrous and evidently fictitious
      answer. &ldquo;Come, Essper,&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;I feel by no means in the humour to
      quit this shady retreat. You and I have now known each other long, and
      gone through much together. It is but fair that I should become better
      acquainted with one who, to me, is not only a faithful servant, but what
      is more valuable, a faithful friend, I might now almost add, my only one.
      What say you to whiling away a passing hour by giving me some sketch of
      your curious and adventurous life? If there be anything that you wish to
      conceal, pass it over; but no invention, nothing but the truth, if you
      please; the whole truth, if you like.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Why, sweet sir, as for this odd knot of soul and body, which none but the
      hand of Heaven could have twined, it was first seen, I believe, near the
      very spot where we are now sitting; for my mother, when I saw her first
      and last, lived in Bohemia. She was an Egyptian, and came herself from the
      Levant. I lived a week, sir, in the Seraglio when I was at Constantinople,
      and I saw there the brightest women of all countries, Georgians, and
      Circassians, and Poles; in truth, sir, nature&rsquo;s masterpieces. And yet, by
      the Gods of all nations! there was not one of them half so lovely as the
      lady who gave me this tongue!&rdquo; Here Essper exhibited at full length the
      enormous feature which had so much enraged the one-eyed sergeant at
      Frankfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;When I first remember myself,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;I was playing with some
      other gipsy-boys in the midst of a forest. Here was our settlement! It was
      large and powerful. My mother, probably from her beauty, possessed great
      influence, particularly among the men; and yet I found not among them all
      a father. On the contrary, every one of my companions had a man whom he
      reverenced as his parent, and who taught him to steal; but I was called by
      the whole tribe the mother-son, and was honest from my first year out of
      mere wilfulness; at least, if I stole anything, it was always from our own
      people. Many were the quarrels I occasioned, since, presuming on my
      mother&rsquo;s love and power, I never called mischief a scrape; but acting just
      as my fancy took me, I left those who suffered by my conduct to apologise
      for my ill-behaviour. Being thus an idle, unprofitable, impudent, and
      injurious member of this pure community, they determined one day to cast
      me out from their bosom; and in spite of my mother&rsquo;s exertions and
      entreaties, the ungrateful vipers succeeded in their purpose. As a
      compliment to my parent, they allowed me to tender my resignation, instead
      of receiving my expulsion. My dear mother gave me a donkey, a wallet, and
      a ducat, a great deal of advice about my future conduct, and, what was
      more interesting to me, much information about my birth.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;&lsquo;Sweet child of my womb!&rsquo; said my mother, pressing me to her bosom; &lsquo;be
      proud of thy white hands and straight nose! Thou gottest them not from me,
      and thou shalt take them from whence they came. Thy father is a Hungarian
      Prince; and though I would not have parted with thee, had I thought that
      thou wouldst ever have prospered in our life, even if he had made thee his
      child of the law and lord of his castle, still, as thou canst not tarry
      with us, haste thou to him! Give him this ring and this lock of hair; tell
      him none have seen them but the father, the mother, and the child! He will
      look on them, and remember the days that are passed; and thou shalt be
      unto him as a hope for his lusty years and a prop for his old age.&rsquo;
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;My mother gave me all necessary directions, which I well remembered, and
      much more advice, which I directly forgot.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Although tempted, now that I was a free man, to follow my own fancy, I
      still was too curious to sec what kind of a person was my unknown father
      to deviate either from my route or my maternal instructions, and in a
      fortnight&rsquo;s time I had reached my future Principality.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The Sun sank behind the proud castle of my princely father, as, trotting
      slowly along upon my humble beast, with my wallet slung at my side, I
      approached it through his park. A guard, consisting of twenty or thirty
      men in magnificent uniforms, were lounging at the portal. I&mdash;but sir,
      sir, what is the meaning of this darkness? I always made a vow to myself
      that I never would tell my history. Ah! what ails me?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      A large eagle fell dead at their feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Protect me, master!&rdquo; screamed Essper, seizing Vivian by the shoulder;
      &ldquo;what is coming? I cannot stand; the earth seems to tremble! Is it the
      wind that roars and rages? or is it ten thousand cannon blowing this globe
      to atoms?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;It is, it must be the wind!&rdquo; said Vivian, agitated. &ldquo;We are not safe
      under these trees: look to the horses!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;I will,&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;if I can stand. Out of the forest! Ah, look at
      Max!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Vivian turned, and beheld his spirited horse raised on his hind legs, and
      dashing his fore feet against the trunk of a tree to which they had tied
      him. The terrified and furious creature was struggling to disengage
      himself, and would probably have sustained or inflicted some terrible
      injury, had not the wind suddenly hushed. Covered with foam, he stood
      panting, while Vivian patted and encouraged him. Essper&rsquo;s less spirited
      beast had, from the first, crouched upon the earth, covered with sweat,
      his limbs quivering and his tongue hanging out.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Master!&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;what shall we do? Is there any chance of getting
      back to the castle? I am sure our very lives are in danger. See that
      tremendous cloud! It looks like eternal night! Whither shall we go; what
      shall we do?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Make for the castle!&rdquo; said Vivian, mounting.
    </p>
    <p>
      They had just got into the road when another terrific gust of wind nearly
      took them off their horses, and blinded them with the clouds of sand which
      it drove out of the crevices of the mountains.
    </p>
    <p>
      They looked round on every side, and Hope gave way before the scene of
      desolation. Immense branches were shivered from the largest trees; small
      ones were entirely stripped of their leaves; the long grass was bowed to
      the earth; the waters were whirled in eddies out of the little rivulets;
      birds deserting their nests to shelter in the crevices of the rocks,
      unable to stem the driving air, flapped their wings and fell upon the
      earth: the frightened animals in the plain, almost suffocated by the
      impetuosity of the wind, sought safety, and found destruction: some of the
      largest trees were torn up by the roots; the sluices of the mountains were
      filled, and innumerable torrents rushed down before empty gulleys. The
      heavens now open, and lightning and thunder contend with the horrors of
      the wind!
    </p>
    <p>
      In a moment all was again hushed. Dead silence succeeded the bellow of the
      thunder, the roar of the wind, the rush of the waters, the moaning of the
      beasts, the screaming of the birds! Nothing was heard save the splashing
      of the agitated lake as it beat up against the black rocks which girt it
      in.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Master!&rdquo; again said Essper, &ldquo;is this the day of doom?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Keep by my side. Essper; keep close, make the best of this pause: let us
      but reach the village!&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Scarcely had Vivian spoken when greater darkness enveloped the trembling
      earth. Again the heavens were rent with lightning, which nothing could
      have quenched but the descending deluge. Cataracts poured down from the
      lowering firmament. In an instant the horses dashed round; beast and
      rider, blinded and stifled by the gushing rain, and gasping for breath.
      Shelter was nowhere. The quivering beasts reared, and snorted, and sank
      upon their knees. The horsemen were dismounted. Vivian succeeded in
      hoodwinking Max, who was still furious: the other horse appeared nearly
      exhausted. Essper, beside himself with terror, could only hang over his
      neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another awful calm.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Courage, Essper!&rdquo; said Vivian. &ldquo;We are still safe: look up, man! the
      storm cannot last long thus; and see! I am sure the clouds are breaking.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      The heavy mass of vapour which had seemed to threaten the earth with
      instant destruction suddenly parted. The red and lurid Sun was visible,
      but his light and heat were quenched in the still impending waters.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Mount, Essper!&rdquo; said Vivian, &ldquo;this is our only chance: five minutes&rsquo; good
      speed will take us to the village.&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      Encouraged by his master&rsquo;s example, Essper once more got upon his horse,
      and the panting animals, relieved by the cessation of the hurricane,
      carried them at a fair pace towards the village, considering that their
      road was now impeded by the overflowing of the lake.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;Master!&rdquo; said Essper, &ldquo;cannot we get out of these waters?&rdquo;
     </p>
    <p>
      He had scarcely spoken before a terrific burst, a noise, they knew not
      what, a rush they could not understand, a vibration which shook them on
      their horses, made them start back and again dismount. Every terror sank
      before the appalling roar of the cataract. It seemed that the mighty
      mountain, unable to support its weight of waters, shook to the foundation.
      A lake had burst on its summit, and the cataract became a falling Ocean.
      The source of the great deep appeared to be discharging itself over the
      range of mountains; the great grey peak tottered on its foundations! It
      shook! it fell! and buried in its ruins the castle, the village, and the
      bridge!
    </p>
    <p>
      Vivian with starting eyes beheld the whole washed away; instinct gave him
      energy to throw himself on the back of his horse: a breath, and he had
      leaped up the nearest hill! Essper George, in a state of distraction, was
      madly laughing as he climbed to the top of a high tree: his horse was
      carried off in the drowning waters, which had now reached the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      &ldquo;The desolation is complete!&rdquo; thought Vivian. At this moment the wind
      again rose, the rain again descended, the heavens again opened, the
      lightning again flashed! An amethystine flame hung upon rocks and waters,
      and through the raging elements a yellow fork darted its fatal point at
      Essper&rsquo;s resting-place. The tree fell! Vivian&rsquo;s horse, with a maddened
      snort, dashed down the hill; his master, senseless, clung to his neck; the
      frantic animal was past all government; he stood upright in the air, flung
      his rider, and fell dead!
    </p>
    <p>
      Here leave we Vivian! It was my wish to have detailed, in the present
      portion of this work, the singular adventures which befell him in one of
      the most delightful of modern cities, light-hearted Vienna! But his
      history has expanded under my pen, and I fear that I have, even now, too
      much presumed upon an attention which I am not entitled to command. I am,
      as yet, but standing without the gate of the Garden of Romance. True it
      is, that as I gaze through the ivory bars of its Golden Portal, I would
      fain believe that, following my roving fancy, I might arrive at some green
      retreats hitherto unexplored, and loiter among some leafy bowers where
      none have lingered before me. But these expectations may be as vain as
      those dreams of Youth over which all have mourned. The Disappointment of
      Manhood succeeds to the delusion of Youth: let us hope that the heritage
      of Old Age is not Despair.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE END
    </p>

<div  class="center">*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 9840 ***</div>
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