CHAPTER V.

Parliament was at length dissolved; the new writs were issued, and the

day of nomination fixed for the Dreepdaily burghs. For a time it

appeared to myself, and indeed to almost every one else, that my return

was perfectly secure. Provost Binkie was in great glory, and the faces

of the unknown Clique were positively radiant with satisfaction. But a

storm was brewing in another quarter, upon which we had not previously

calculated.

The Honourable Mr Pozzlethwaite, my opponent, had fixed his headquarters

in Drouthielaw, and to all appearance was making very little progress in

Dreepdaily. Indeed, in no sense of the word could Pozzlethwaite be said

to be popular. He was a middle-aged man, as blind as a bat, and, in

order to cure the defect, he ornamented his visage with an immense pair

of green spectacles, which, it may be easily conceived, did not add to

the beauty of his appearance. In speech he was slow and verbose, in

manner awkward, in matter almost wholly unintelligible. He professed

principles which he said were precisely the same as those advocated by

the late Jeremy Bentham; and certainly, if he was correct in this, I do

not regret that my parents omitted to bring me up at the feet of the

utilitarian Gamaliel. In short, Paul was prosy to a degree, had not

an atom of animation in his whole composition, and could no more have

carried a crowd along with him than he could have supported Atlas upon

his shoulders. A portion, however, of philosophic weavers, and a certain

section of the Seceders, had declared in his favour; and, moreover,

it was just possible that he might gain the suffrages of some of the

Conservatives. Kittleweem, the Tory burgh, had hitherto preserved the

appearance of strict neutrality. I had attempted to address the electors

of that place, but I found that the hatred of Dreepdaily and of its

Clique was more powerful than my eloquence; and, somehow or other, the

benighted savages did not comprehend the merits of the Revolution

Settlement of 1688, and were as violently national as the Celtic race

before the invention of trews. Kittleweem had equipped half a regiment

for Prince Charles in the Forty-five, and still piqued itself on its

stanch Episcopacy. A Whig, therefore, could hardly expect to be popular

in such a den of prejudice. By the advice of M'Corkindale, I abstained

from any further efforts, which might possibly have tended to exasperate

the electors, and left Kittleweem to itself, in the hope that it would

maintain an armed neutrality.

And so it probably might have done, but for an unexpected occurrence.

Two days before the nomination, a new candidate appeared on the field.

Sholto Douglas was the representative of one of the oldest branches of

his distinguished name, and the race to which he more immediately

belonged had ever been foremost in the ranks of Scottish chivalry and

patriotism. In fact, no family had suffered more from their attachment

to the cause of legitimacy than the Douglases of Inveriachan.

Forfeiture after forfeiture had cut down their broad lands to a narrow

estate, and but for an unexpected Indian legacy, the present heir would

have been marching as a subaltern in a foot regiment. But a large

importation of rupees had infused new life and spirit into the bosom of

Sholto Douglas. Young, eager, and enthusiastic, he determined to rescue

himself from obscurity; and the present state of the Dreepdaily burghs

appeared to offer a most tempting opportunity. Douglas was, of course,

Conservative to the backbone; but, more than that, he openly proclaimed

himself a friend of the people, and a supporter of the rights of labour.

"Confound the fellow!" said Bob M'Corkindale to me, the morning after

Sholto's address had been placarded through the burghs, "who would have

thought of an attack of this kind from such a quarter? Have you seen his

manifesto, Dunshunner?"

"Yes--here it is in the _Patriot_. The editor, however, gives him it

soundly in the leading article. I like his dogmatic style and wholesale

denunciation of the Tories."

"I'll tell you what it is, though--I look upon this as anything but a

joke. Douglas is evidently not a man to stand upon old aristocratic

pretensions. He has got the right sow by the ear this time, and, had he

started a little earlier, might have roused the national spirit to a

very unpleasant pitch. You observe what he says about Scotland, the

neglect of her local interests, and the manner in which she has been

treated, with reference to Ireland?"

"I do. And you will be pleased to recollect that but for yourself,

something of the same kind would have appeared in my address."

"If you mean that as a reproach, Dunshunner, you are wrong. How was it

possible to have started you as a Whig upon patriotic principles?"

"Well--that's true enough. At the same time, I cannot help wishing that

we had said a word or two about the interests to the north of the

Tweed."

"What is done cannot be undone. We must now stick by the Revolution

settlement."

"Do you know, Bob, I think we have given them quite enough of that same

settlement already. Those fellows at Kittleweem laughed in my face the

last time that I talked about it, and I am rather afraid that it won't

go down on the hustings."

"Try the sanitary condition of the towns, then, and universal

conciliation to Ireland," replied the Economist. "I have given orders to

hire two hundred Paddies, who have come over for the harvest, at a

shilling a-head, and of course you may depend upon their voices, and

also their shillelahs, if needful. I think we should have a row. It

would be a great matter to make Douglas unpopular; and, with a movement

of my little finger, I could turn out a whole legion of navigators."

"No, Bob, you had better not. It is just possible they might make a

mistake, and shy brickbats at the wrong candidate. It will be safer, I

think, to leave the mob to itself: at the same time, we shall not be the

worse for the Tipperary demonstration. And how looks the canvass?"

"Tolerably well, but not perfectly secure. The Clique has done its very

best, but at the same time there is undeniably a growing feeling against

it. Many people grumble about its dominion, and are fools enough to say

that they have a right to think for themselves."

"Could you not circulate a report that Pozzlethwaite is the man of the

Clique?"

"The idea is ingenious, but I fear it would hardly work. Dreepdaily is

well known to be the headquarters of the confederation, and the name of

Provost Binkie is inseparably connected with it."

"By the way, M'Corkindale, it struck me that you looked rather sweet

upon Miss Binkie last evening."

"I did. In fact I popped the question," replied Robert calmly.

"Indeed! Were you accepted?"

"Conditionally. If we gain the election, she becomes Mrs

M'Corkindale--if we lose, I suppose I shall have to return to Glasgow

in a state of celibacy."

"A curious contract, certainly! Well, Bob, since your success is

involved in mine, we must fight a desperate battle."

"I wish, though, that Mr Sholto Douglas had been kind enough to keep out

of the way," observed M'Corkindale.

The morning of the day appointed for the nomination dawned upon the

people of Dreepdaily with more than usual splendour. For once, there was

no mist upon the surrounding hills, and the sky was clear as sapphire. I

rose early to study my speech, which had received the finishing touches

from M'Corkindale on the evening before; and I flatter myself it was as

pretty a piece of Whig rhetoric as ever was spouted from a hustings.

Toddy Tam, indeed, had objected, upon seeing a draft, that "there was

nae banes intil't;" but the political economist was considered by the

Committee a superior authority on such subjects to Gills. After having

carefully conned it over, I went down-stairs, where the whole party were

already assembled. A large blue and yellow flag, with the inscription,

"DUNSHUNNER AND THE GOOD CAUSE!" was hung out from the window, to the

intense delight of a gang of urchins, who testified to the popularity of

the candidate by ceaseless vociferation to "pour out." The wall

opposite, however, bore some memoranda of an opposite tendency, for I

could see some large placards, newly pasted up, on which the words,

"ELECTORS OF DREEPDAILY! YOU ARE SOLD BY THE CLIQUE!" were conspicuous

in enormous capitals. I heard, too, something like a ballad chanted, in

which my name seemed to be coupled, irreverently, with that of the

independent Gills.

Provost Binkie--who, in common with the rest of the company, wore upon

his bosom an enormous blue and buff cockade, prepared by the fair hands

of his daughter--saluted me with great cordiality. I ought to observe

that the Provost had been kept as much as possible in the dark regarding

the actual results of the canvass. He was to propose me, and it was

thought that his nerves would be more steady if he came forward under

the positive conviction of success.

"This is a great day, Mr Dunshunner--a grand day for Dreepdaily," he

said. "A day, if I may sae speak, o' triumph and rejoicing! The news o'

this will run frae one end o' the land to the ither--for the een o' a'

Scotland is fixed on Dreepdaily, and the stench auld Whig principles is

sure to prevail, even like a mighty river that rins down in spate to the

sea!"

I justly concluded that this figure of speech formed part of the address

to the electors which for the two last days had been simmering in the

brain of the worthy magistrate, along with the fumes of the potations

he had imbibed, as incentives to the extraordinary effort. Of course I

took care to appear to participate in his enthusiasm. My mind, however,

was very far from being thoroughly at ease.

As twelve o'clock, which was the hour of nomination, drew near, there

was a great muster at my committee-room. The band of the Independent

Tee-totallers, who to a man were in my interest, was in attendance. They

had been well primed with ginger cordial, and were obstreperous to a

gratifying degree.

Toddy Tam came up to me with a face of the colour of carnation.

"I think it richt to tell ye, Mr Dunshunner, that there will be a bit o'

a bleeze ower yonder at the hustings. The Kittleweem folk hae come

through in squads, and Lord Hartside's tenantry have marched in a body,

wi' Sholto Douglas's colours flying."

"And the Drouthielaw fellows--what has become of them?"

"Od, they're no wi' us either--they're just savage at the Clique!

Gudesake, Mr Dunshunner, tak care, and dinna say a word aboot huz. I

intend mysell to denounce the body, and may be that will do us gude."

I highly approved of Mr Gills' determination, and as the time had now

come, we formed in column, and marched towards the hustings with the

tee-total band in front, playing a very lugubrious imitation of

"Glorious Apollo."

The other candidates had already taken their places. The moment I was

visible to the audience, I was assailed by a volley of yells, among

which, cries of "Doun wi' the Clique!"--"Wha bought them?"--"Nae

nominee!"--"We've had eneuch o' the Whigs!" et cetera, were distinctly

audible. This was not at all the kind of reception I had bargained

for;--however, there was nothing for it but to put on a smiling face,

and I reciprocated courtesies as well as I could with both of my

honourable opponents.

During the reading of the writ and the Bribery Act, there was a deal of

joking, which I presume was intended to be good-humoured. At the same

time there could be no doubt that it was distinctly personal. I heard my

name associated with epithets of anything but an endearing description,

and, to say the truth, if choice had been granted, I would far rather

have been at Jericho than in the front of the hustings at Dreepdaily. A

man must be, indeed, intrepid, and conscious of a good cause, who can

oppose himself without blenching to the objurgation of an excited mob.

The Honourable Paul Pozzlethwaite, on account of his having been the

earliest candidate in the field, was first proposed by a town-councillor

of Drouthielaw. This part of the ceremony appeared to excite but little

interest, the hooting and cheering being pretty equally distributed.

It was now our turn.

"Gang forrard, Provost, and be sure ye speak oot!" said Toddy Tam; and

Mr Binkie advanced accordingly.

Thereupon such a row commenced as I never had witnessed before. Yelling

is a faint word to express the sounds of that storm of extraordinary

wrath which descended upon the head of the devoted Provost. "Clique!

Clique!" resounded on every side, and myriads of eyes, ferocious as

those of the wildcat, were bent scowlingly on my worthy proposer. In

vain did he gesticulate--in vain implore. The voice of Demosthenes--nay,

the deep bass of Stentor himself--could not have been heard amidst that

infernal uproar; so that, after working his arms for a time like the

limbs of a telegraph, and exerting himself until he became absolutely

swart in the face, Binkie was fain to give it up, and retired amidst a

whirlwind of abuse.

"May the deil fly awa' wi' the hail pack o' them!" said he, almost

blubbering with excitement and indignation. "Wha wad ever hae thocht to

have seen the like o' this? and huz, too, that gied them the Reform

Bill! Try your hand at them, Tam, for my heart's amaist broken!"

The bluff independent character of Mr Gills, and his reputed purity

from all taint of the Clique, operated considerably in his favour. He

advanced amidst general cheering, and cries of "Noo for Toddy Tam!"

"Let's hear Mr Gills!" and the like; and as he tossed his hat aside and

clenched his brawny fist, he really looked the incarnation of a sturdy

and independent elector. His style, too, was decidedly popular--

"Listen tae me!" he said, "and let the brawlin', braggin', bletherin'

idiwits frae Drouthielaw haud their lang clavering tongues, and no keep

rowtin' like a herd o' senseless nowte! (Great cheering from Dreepdaily

and Kittleweem--considerable disapprobation from Drouthielaw.) I ken

them weel, the auld haverils! (cheers.) But you, my freends, that I have

dwalt wi' for twenty years, is it possible that ye can believe for one

moment that I wad submit to be dictated to by a Clique? (Cries of "No!

no!" "It's no you, Tam!" and confusion.) No me? I dinna thank ye for

that! Wull ony man daur to say to my face, that I ever colleagued wi' a

pack that wad buy and sell the haill of us as readily as ye can deal wi'

sheep's-heads in the public market? (Laughter.) Div ye think that if Mr

Dunshunner was ony way mixed up wi' that gang, I wad be here this day

tae second him? Div ye think----"

Here Mr Gills met with a singular interruption. A remarkable figure

attired in a red coat and cocked-hat, at one time probably the property

of a civic officer, and who had been observed for some time bobbing

about in front of the hustings, was now elevated upon the shoulders of a

yeoman, and displayed to the delighted spectators the features of

Geordie Dowie.

"Ay, Toddy Tam, are ye there, man?" cried Geordie with a malignant grin.

"What was you and the Clique doin' at Nanse Finlayson's on Friday

nicht?"

"What was it, Geordie? What was it?" cried a hundred voices.

"Am I to be interrupted by a natural?" cried Gills, looking, however,

considerably flushed in the face.

"What hae ye dune wi' the notes, Tam, that the lang chield up by there

gied ye? And whaur's your freends, Shanks and M'Auslan? See that ye

steek close the window neist time, ma man!" cried Geordie with demoniac

ferocity.

This was quite enough for the mob, who seldom require any excuse for a

display of their hereditary privileges. A perfect hurricane of hissing

and of yelling arose, and Gills, though he fought like a hero, was at

last forced to retire from the contest. Had Geordie Dowie's windpipe

been within his grasp at that moment, I would not have insured for any

amount the life of the perfidious spy.

Sholto Douglas was proposed and seconded amidst great cheering, and

then Pozzlethwaite rose to speak. I do not very well recollect what he

said, for I had quite enough to do in thinking about myself; and the

Honourable Paul would have conferred a material obligation upon me, if

he had talked for an hour longer. At length my turn came.

"Electors of Dreepdaily!"--

That was the whole of my speech--at least the whole of it that was

audible to any one human being. Humboldt, if I recollect right, talks in

one of his travels of having somewhere encountered a mountain composed

of millions of entangled snakes, whose hissing might have equalled that

of the transformed legions of Pandemonium. I wish Humboldt, for the sake

of scientific comparison, could have been upon the hustings that day!

Certain I am, that the sibilation did not leave my ears for a fortnight

afterwards, and even now, in my slumbers, I am haunted by a wilderness

of asps! However, at the urgent entreaty of M'Corkindale, I went on for

about ten minutes, though I was quivering in every limb, and as pale as

a ghost; and in order that the public might not lose the benefit of my

sentiments, I concluded by handing a copy of my speech, interlarded with

fictitious cheers, to the reporter for the _Dreepdaily Patriot_. That

document may still be seen by the curious in the columns of that

impartial newspaper.

I will state this for Sholto Douglas, that he behaved like a perfect

gentleman. There was in his speech no triumph over the discomfiture

which the other candidates had received; on the contrary, he rather

rebuked the audience for not having listened to us with greater

patience. He then went on with his oration. I need hardly say it was a

national one, and it was most enthusiastically cheered.

All that I need mention about the show of hands is, that it was not by

any means hollow in my favour.

That afternoon we were not quite so lively in the Committee-room as

usual. The serenity of Messrs Gills, M'Auslan, and Shanks,--and,

perhaps, I may add of myself--was a good deal shaken by the intelligence

that a broadside with the tempting title of "_Full and Particular

Account of an Interview between the Clique and Mr Dunshunner, held at

Nanse Finlayson's Tavern, on Friday last, and how they came to terms. By

an Eyewitness_," was circulating like wildfire through the streets. To

have been beaten by a Douglas was nothing, but to have been so artfully

entrapped by an imbecile!

Provost Binkie, too, was dull and dissatisfied. The reception he had met

with in his native town was no doubt a severe mortification, but the

feeling that he had been used as a catspaw and instrument of the Clique,

was, I suspected, uppermost in his mind. Poor man! We had great

difficulty that evening in bringing him to his sixth tumbler.

Even M'Corkindale was hipped. I own I was surprised at this, for I knew

of old the indefatigable spirit and keen energy of my friend, and I

thought that, with such a stake as he had in the contest, he would even

have redoubled his exertions. Such, however, was not the case.

I pass over the proceedings at the poll. From a very early hour it

became perfectly evident that my chance was utterly gone; and, indeed,

had it been possible, I should have left Dreepdaily before the close. At

four o'clock the numbers stood thus:--

DREEPDAILY. DROUTHIELAW. KITTLEWEEM.

DOUGLAS, 94 63 192

POZZLETHWAITE, 59 73 21

DUNSHUNNER, 72 19 7

Majority for DOUGLAS, 196

We had an affecting scene in the Committee-room. Gills, who had been

drinking all day, shed copious floods of tears; Shanks was disconsolate;

and M'Auslan refused to be comforted. Of course I gave the usual pledge,

that on the very first opportunity I should come forward again to

reassert the independence of the burghs, now infamously sacrificed to a

Conservative; but the cheering at this announcement was of the very

faintest description, and I doubt whether any one believed me. Two hours

afterwards I was miles away from Dreepdaily.

I have since had letters from that place, which inform me that the

Clique is utterly discomfited; that for some days the component members

of it might be seen wandering through the streets, and pouring their

husky sorrows into the ears of every stray listener whom they could

find, until they became a positive nuisance. My best champion, however,

was the editor of the _Patriot_. That noble and dauntless individual

continued for weeks afterwards to pour forth Jeremiads upon my defeat,

and stigmatised my opponents and their supporters as knaves, miscreants,

and nincompoops. I was, he maintained, the victim of a base conspiracy,

and the degraded town of Dreepdaily would never be able thereafter to

rear its polluted head in the Convention of Royal Burghs.

Whilst these things were going on in Dreepdaily, I was closeted with

M'Corkindale in Glasgow.

"So, then, you have lost your election," said he.

"And you have lost your wife."

"Neither of the two accidents appear to me irreparable," replied Robert.

"How so? Do you still think of Miss Binkie?"

"By no means. I made some little inquiry the day before the election,

and discovered that a certain nest-egg was enormously exaggerated, if

not altogether fictitious."

"Well, Bob, there is certainly nobody like yourself for getting

information."

"I do my best. May I inquire into the nature of your future movements?"

"I have not yet made up my mind. These election matters put everything

else out of one's head. Let me see--August is approaching, and I half

promised the Captain of M'Alcohol to spend a few weeks with him at his

shooting-quarters."

"Are you aware, Dunshunner, that one of your bills falls due at the

Gorbals Bank upon Tuesday next?"

"Mercy upon me, Bob! I had forgotten all about it."

I did not go to the Highlands after all. The fatigue and exertion we had

undergone rendered it quite indispensable that my friend Robert and I

should relax a little. Accordingly we have both embarked for a short run

upon the Continent.

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER,

_12th August 1847_.

FIRST AND LAST

BY WILLIAM MUDFORD.

[_MAGA._ FEBRUARY 1829.]

Take down from your shelves, gentle reader, your folio edition of

Johnson's Dictionary,--or, if you possess Todd's edition of Johnson,

take down his four ponderous quartos; turn over every leaf, read every

word from A to Z, and then confess, that in the whole vocabulary there

are not any two words which awaken in your heart such a crowd of mixed

and directly opposite emotions as the two which now stare you in the

face--FIRST and LAST! In the abstract, they embrace the whole round of

our existence: in the detail, all its brightest hopes, its noblest

enjoyments, and its most cherished recollections; all its loftiest

enterprises, and all its smiles and tears; its pangs of guilt, its

virtuous principles, its trials, its sorrows, and its rewards. They give

you the dawn and the close of life, the beginning and the end of its

countless busy scenes. They are the two extremities of a path which, be

it long, or be it short, no man sees at one and the same moment. Happy

would it be for us, sometimes, if we could--if we _could_ behold the end

of a course of action as certainly as we do the beginning; but oftener,

far oftener, would it be our curse and torment, unless, with the

foresight or foreknowledge, we had the power to avert the end.

But let me not anticipate my own intentions, which are to portray, in a

few sketches, the links that hold together the _first_ and _last_ of the

most momentous periods and undertakings of our lives; to trace the dawn,

progress, and decline of many of the best feelings and motives of our

nature; to touch, with a pensive colouring, the contrasts they present;

to stimulate honourable enterprises by the examples they furnish; and to

amuse by the form in which the truths they supply are embodied. I shall

begin with a subject not exactly falling within the legitimate scope of

my design, but it will serve as an appropriate introduction, and I shall

call it

THE FIRST AND LAST DINNER.

Twelve friends, much about the same age, and fixed by their pursuits,

their family connections, and other local interests, as permanent

inhabitants of the metropolis, agreed, one day when they were drinking

their wine at the Star and Garter at Richmond, to institute an annual

dinner among themselves, under the following regulations: That they

should dine alternately at each other's houses on the _first_ and _last_

day of the year; that the _first_ bottle of wine uncorked at the _first_

dinner, should be recorked and put away, to be drunk by him who should

be the _last_ of their number; that they should never admit a new

member; that, when one died, eleven should meet, and when another died,

ten should meet, and so on; and that, when only one remained, he should,

on those two days, dine by himself, and sit the usual hours at his

solitary table; but the _first_ time he so dined alone, lest it should

be the only one, he should then uncork the _first_ bottle, and, in the

_first_ glass, drink to the memory of all who were gone.

There was something original and whimsical in the idea, and it was

eagerly embraced. They were all in the prime of life, closely attached

by reciprocal friendship, fond of social enjoyments, and looked forward

to their future meetings with unalloyed anticipations of pleasure. The

only thought, indeed, that could have darkened those anticipations was

one not very likely to intrude itself at that moment, that of the

hapless wight who was destined to uncork the _first_ bottle at his

lonely repast.

It was high summer when this frolic compact was entered into; and as

their pleasure-yacht skimmed along the dark bosom of the Thames, on

their return to London, they talked of nothing but their _first_ and

_last_ feasts of ensuing years. Their imaginations ran riot with

a thousand gay predictions of festive merriment. They wantoned in

conjectures of what changes time would operate; joked each other upon

their appearance, when they should meet,--some hobbling upon crutches

after a severe fit of the gout,--others poking about with purblind

eyes, which even spectacles could hardly enable to distinguish the

alderman's walk in a haunch of venison--some with portly round bellies

and tidy little brown wigs, and others decently dressed out in a

new suit of mourning for the death of a great-granddaughter or a

great-great-grandson. Palsies, wrinkles, toothless gums, stiff hams,

and poker knees, were bandied about in sallies of exuberant mirth, and

appropriated, first to one and then to another, as a group of merry

children would have distributed golden palaces, flying chariots, diamond

tables, and chairs of solid pearl, under the fancied possession of a

magician's wand, which could transform plain brick, and timber, and

humble mahogany, into such costly treasures.

"As for you, George," exclaimed one of the twelve, addressing his

brother-in-law, "I expect I shall see you as dry, withered, and

shrunken, as an old eel-skin, you mere outside of a man!" and he

accompanied the words with a hearty slap on the shoulder.

George Fortescue was leaning carelessly over the side of the yacht,

laughing the loudest of any at the conversation which had been carried

on. The sudden manual salutation of his brother-in-law threw him off his

balance, and in a moment he was overboard. They heard the heavy splash

of his fall, before they could be said to have seen him fall. The yacht

was proceeding swiftly along; but it was instantly stopped.

The utmost consternation now prevailed. It was nearly dark, but

Fortescue was known to be an excellent swimmer, and, startling as the

accident was, they felt certain he would regain the vessel. They could

not see him. They listened. They heard the sound of his hands and feet.

They hailed him. An answer was returned, but in a faint gurgling voice,

and the exclamation "Oh God!" struck upon their ears. In an instant two

or three, who were expert swimmers, plunged into the river, and swam

towards the spot whence the exclamation had proceeded. One of them was

within an arm's length of Fortescue: he saw him; he was struggling and

buffeting the water; before he could be reached, he went down, and his

distracted friend beheld the eddying circles of the wave just over the

spot where he had sunk. He dived after him, and touched the bottom; but

the tide must have drifted the body onwards, for it could not be found!

They proceeded to one of the nearest stations where drags were kept,

and having procured the necessary apparatus, they returned to the fatal

spot. After the lapse of above an hour, they succeeded in raising the

lifeless body of their lost friend. All the usual remedies were employed

for restoring suspended animation; but in vain; and they now pursued the

remainder of their course to London in mournful silence, with the corpse

of him who had commenced the day of pleasure with them in the fulness of

health, of spirits, and of life! Amid their severer grief, they could

not but reflect how soon one of the joyous twelve had slipped out of the

little festive circle.

The months rolled on, and cold December came with all its cheering round

of kindly greetings and merry hospitalities; and with it came a softened

recollection of the fate of poor Fortescue; _eleven_ of the twelve

assembled on the last day of the year, and it was impossible not to feel

their loss as they sat down to dinner. The very irregularity of the

table, five on one side, and only four on the other, forced the

melancholy event upon their memory.

There are few sorrows so stubborn as to resist the united influence of

wine, a circle of select friends, and a season of prescriptive gaiety.

Even those pinching troubles of life, which come home to a man's

own bosom, will light up a smile, in such moments, at the beaming

countenances and jocund looks of all the rest of the world; while

your mere sympathetic or sentimental distress gives way, like the

inconsolable affliction of a widow of twenty closely besieged by a lover

of thirty.

A decorous sigh or two, a few becoming ejaculations, and an instructive

observation upon the uncertainty of life, made up the sum of tender

posthumous "offerings to the _manes_ of poor George Fortescue," as

they proceeded to discharge the more important duties for which they

had met. By the time the third glass of champagne had gone round, in

addition to sundry potations of fine old hock, and "capital madeira,"

they had ceased to discover anything so very pathetic in the inequality

of the two sides of the table, or so melancholy in their crippled number

of eleven.

The rest of the evening passed off to their hearts' content.

Conversation was briskly kept up amid the usual fire of pun, repartee,

anecdote, politics, toasts, healths, jokes, broad laughter, erudite

disquisitions upon the vintage of the wines they were drinking, and an

occasional song. Towards twelve o'clock, when it might be observed that

they emptied their glasses with less symptoms of palating the quality of

what they quaffed, and filled them again with less anxiety as to which

bottle or decanter they laid hold of, they gradually waxed moral and

tender; sensibility began to ooze out; "Poor George Fortescue!" was once

more remembered; those who could count, sighed to think there were only

eleven of them; and those who could see, felt the tears come into their

eyes, as they dimly noted the inequality of the two sides of the table.

They all agreed, at parting, however, that they had never passed such a

happy day, congratulated each other upon having instituted so delightful

a meeting, and promised to be punctual to their appointment the ensuing

evening, when they were to celebrate the new-year, whose entrance they

had welcomed in bumpers of claret, as the watchman bawled "past twelve!"

beneath the window.

They met accordingly; and their gaiety was without any alloy or

drawback. It was only the _first_ time of their assembling after the

death of "poor George Fortescue," that made the recollection of it

painful; for, though but a few hours had intervened, they now took their

seats at the table as if eleven had been their original number, and as

if all were there that had been ever expected to be there.

It is thus in everything. The _first_ time a man enters a prison--the

_first_ book an author writes--the _first_ painting an artist

executes--the _first_ battle a general wins--nay, the _first_ time

a rogue is hanged (for a rotten rope may provide a second performance,

even of that ceremony, with all its singleness of character), differ

inconceivably from their _first_ repetition. There is a charm, a spell,

a novelty, a freshness, a delight, inseparable from the _first_

experience (hanging always excepted, be it remembered), which no art or

circumstance can impart to the _second_. And it is the same in all the

darker traits of life. There is a degree of poignancy and anguish in the

_first_ assaults of sorrow, which is never found afterwards. Ask the

weeping widow, who, "like Niobe all tears," follows her fifth husband to

the grave, and she will tell you that the _first_ time she performed

that melancholy office, it was with at least five times more

lamentations than when she last discharged it. In every case, it is

simply that the _first_ fine edge of our feelings has been taken off,

and that it can never be restored.

Several years had elapsed, and our eleven friends kept up their double

anniversaries, as they might aptly enough be called, with scarcely any

perceptible change. But, alas! there came one dinner at last, which was

darkened by a calamity they never expected to witness, for on that very

day their friend, companion, brother almost, was hanged! Yes! Stephen

Rowland, the wit, the oracle, the life of their little circle, had, on

the morning of that day, forfeited his life upon a public scaffold, for

having made one single stroke of his pen in a wrong place. In other

words, a bill of exchange which passed _into_ his hands for L700 passed

_out_ of them for L1700; he having drawn the important little prefix to

the hundreds, and the bill being paid at the banker's without examining

the words of it. The forgery was discovered,--brought home to

Rowland,--and though the greatest interest was used to obtain a

remission of the fatal penalty (the particular female favourite of the

prime-minister himself interfering), poor Stephen Rowland was hanged.

Everybody pitied him; and nobody could tell why he did it. He was not

poor; he was not a gambler; he was not a speculator; but phrenology

settled it. The organ of _acquisitiveness_ was discovered in his head,

after his execution, as large as a pigeon's egg. He could not help it.

It would be injustice to the ten to say, that even wine, friendship, and

a merry season, could dispel the gloom which pervaded this dinner. It

was agreed beforehand that they should not allude to the distressing and

melancholy theme; and having thus interdicted the only thing which

really occupied all their thoughts, the natural consequence was, that

silent contemplation took the place of dismal discourse, and they

separated long before midnight. An embarrassing restraint, indeed,

pervaded the little conversation which grew up at intervals. The

champagne was not in good order, but no one liked to complain of its

being _ropy_. A beautiful painting of Vandyke which was in the room,

became a topic of discussion. They who thought it was _hung_ in a bad

place, shrunk from saying so; and not one ventured to speak of the

_execution_ of that great master. Their host was having the front of

his house repaired, and at any other time he would have cautioned them,

when they went away, as the night was very dark, to take care of the

_scaffold_; but no, they might have stumbled right and left before he

would have pronounced that word, or told them not to _break their

necks_. One, in particular, even abstained from using his customary

phrase, "this is a _drop_ of good wine;" and another forbore to

congratulate the friend who sat next him, and who had been married since

he last saw him, because he was accustomed on such occasions to employ

figurative language and talk of the holy _noose_ of wedlock.

Some fifteen years had now glided away since the fate of poor Rowland,

and the ten remained; but the stealing hand of time had written sundry

changes in most legible characters. Raven locks had become grizzled--two

or three heads had not as many locks altogether as may be reckoned in a

walk of half a mile along the Regent's Canal--one was actually covered

with a brown wig--the crow's-feet were visible in the corner of the

eye--good old port and warm madeira carried it against hock, claret,

red burgundy, and champagne--stews, hashes, and ragouts, grew into

favour--crusts were rarely called for to relish the cheese after

dinner--conversation was less boisterous, and it turned chiefly

upon politics and the state of the funds, or the value of landed

property--apologies were made for coming in thick shoes and warm

stockings--the doors and windows were more carefully provided with list

and sand-bags--the fire more in request--and a quiet game of whist

filled up the hours that were wont to be devoted to drinking, singing,

and riotous merriment. Two rubbers, a cup of coffee, and at home by

eleven o'clock, was the usual cry, when the fifth or sixth glass had

gone round after the removal of the cloth. At parting, too, there was

now a long ceremony in the hall, buttoning up great-coats, tying on

woollen comforters, fixing silk handkerchiefs over the mouth and up to

the ears, and grasping sturdy walking-canes to support unsteady feet.

Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed been busy. One had

been killed by the overturning of the mail, in which he had taken his

place in order to be present at the dinner, having purchased an estate

in Monmouthshire, and retired thither with his family. Another had

undergone the terrific operation for the stone, and expired beneath the

knife--a third had yielded up a broken spirit two years after the loss

of an only-surviving and beloved daughter--a fourth was carried off in a

few days by a _cholera morbus_--a fifth had breathed his last the very

morning he obtained a judgment in his favour by the Lord Chancellor,

which had cost him his last shilling nearly to get, and which, after a

litigation of eighteen years, declared him the rightful possessor of

ten thousand a-year--ten minutes after he was no more. A sixth had

perished by the hand of a midnight assassin, who broke into his house

for plunder, and sacrificed the owner of it, as he grasped convulsively

a bundle of Exchequer bills, which the robber was drawing from beneath

his pillow, where he knew they were every night placed for better

security.

Four little old men, of withered appearance and decrepit walk, with

cracked voices, and dim, rayless eyes, sat down, by the mercy of Heaven

(as they themselves tremulously declared), to celebrate, for the

fiftieth time, the first day of the year--to observe the frolic compact

which, half a century before, they had entered into at the Star and

Garter at Richmond! Eight were in their graves! The four that remained

stood upon its confines. Yet they chirped cheerily over their glass,

though they could scarcely carry it to their lips, if more than half

full; and cracked their jokes, though they articulated their words with

difficulty, and heard each other with still greater difficulty. They

mumbled, they chattered, they laughed (if a sort of strangled wheezing

might be called a laugh); and when the wines sent their icy blood in

warmer pulse through their veins, they talked of their past as if it

were but a yesterday that had slipped by them,--and of their future, as

if it were a busy century that lay before them.

They were just the number for a quiet rubber of whist; and for three

successive years they sat down to one. The fourth came, and then their

rubber was played with an open dummy; a fifth, and whist was no longer

practicable; _two_ could play only at cribbage, and cribbage was the

game. But it was little more than the mockery of play. Their palsied

hands could hardly hold, or their fading sight distinguish, the cards,

while their torpid faculties made them doze between each deal.

At length came the LAST dinner; and the survivor of the twelve, upon

whose head fourscore and ten winters had showered their snow, ate his

solitary meal. It so chanced that it was in his house, and at his table,

they had celebrated the first. In his cellar, too, had remained, for

eight-and-fifty years, the bottle they had then uncorked, recorked, and

which he was that day to uncork again. It stood beside him. With a

feeble and reluctant grasp he took the "frail memorial" of a youthful

vow; and for a moment memory was faithful to her office. She threw open

the long vista of buried years; and his heart travelled through them

all;--their lusty and blithesome spring--their bright and fervid

summer--their ripe and temperate autumn--their chill, but not too frozen

winter. He saw, as in a mirror, how, one by one, the laughing companions

of that merry hour at Richmond, had dropped into eternity. He felt all

the loneliness of his condition (for he had eschewed marriage, and in

the veins of no living creature ran a drop of blood whose source was in

his own); and as he drained the glass which he had filled, "to the

memory of those who were gone," the tears slowly trickled down the deep

furrows of his aged face.

He had thus fulfilled one part of his vow, and he prepared himself to

discharge the other, by sitting the usual number of hours at his

desolate table. With a heavy heart he resigned himself to the gloom of

his own thoughts--a lethargic sleep stole over him--his head fell upon

his bosom--confused images crowded into his mind--he babbled to

himself--was silent--and when his servant entered the room, alarmed by a

noise which he heard, he found his master stretched upon the carpet at

the foot of the easy-chair, out of which he had slipped in an apoplectic

fit. He never spoke again, nor once opened his eyes, though the vital

spark was not extinct till the following day. And this was the LAST

DINNER.

THE DUKE'S DILEMMA.

A CHRONICLE OF NIESENSTEIN.

[_MAGA._ SEPTEMBER 1853.]

The close of the theatrical year, which in France occurs in early

spring, annually brings to Paris a throng of actors and actresses, the

disorganised elements of provincial companies, who repair to the capital

to contract engagements for the new season. Paris is the grand centre to

which all dramatic stars converge--the great bazaar where managers

recruit their troops for the summer campaign. In bad weather the mart

for this human merchandise is at an obscure coffee-house near the Rue St

Honore; when the sun shines, the place of meeting is in the garden of

the Palais Royal. There, pacing to and fro beneath the lime-trees, the

high contracting parties pursue their negotiations and make their

bargains. It is the theatrical Exchange, the histrionic _Bourse_. There

the conversation and the company are alike curious. Many are the strange

discussions and original anecdotes that there are heard; many the odd

figures there paraded. Tragedians, comedians, singers, men and women,

young and old, flock thither in quest of fortune and a good engagement.

The threadbare coats of some say little in favour of recent success or

present prosperity; but only hear them speak, and you are at once

convinced that _they_ have no need of broadcloth who are so amply

covered with laurels. It is delightful to hear them talk of their

triumphs, of the storms of applause, the rapturous bravos, the boundless

enthusiasm, of the audiences they lately delighted. Their brows are

oppressed with the weight of their bays. The south mourns their loss; if

they go west, the north will be envious and inconsolable. As to

themselves--north, south, east, or west--they care little to which point

of the compass the breeze of their destiny may waft them. Thorough

gypsies in their habits, accustomed to make the best of the passing

hour, and to take small care for the future so long as the present is

provided for, like soldiers they heed not the name of the town so long

as the quarters be good.

It was a fine morning in April. The sun shone brightly, and, amongst the

numerous loungers in the garden of the Palais Royal were several groups

of actors. The season was already far advanced; all the companies were

formed, and those players who had not secured an engagement had but a

poor chance of finding one. Their anxiety was legible upon their

countenances. A man of about fifty years of age walked to and fro, a

newspaper in his hand, and to him, when he passed near them, the actors

bowed--respectfully and hopefully. A quick glance was his acknowledgment

of their salutation, and then his eyes reverted to his paper, as if it

deeply interested him. When he was out of hearing, the actors, who had

assumed their most picturesque attitudes to attract his attention, and

who beheld their labour lost, vented their ill-humour.

"Balthasar is mighty proud," said one; "he has not a word to say to us."

"Perhaps he does not want anybody," remarked another; "I think he has no

theatre this year."

"That would be odd. They say he is a clever manager."

"He may best prove his cleverness by keeping aloof. It is so difficult

nowadays to do good in the provinces. The public is so fastidious! the

authorities are so shabby, so unwilling to put their hands in their

pockets. Ah, my dear fellow, our art is sadly fallen!"

Whilst the discontented actors bemoaned themselves, Balthasar eagerly

accosted a young man who just then entered the garden by the passage of

the Perron. The coffehouse-keepers had already begun to put out tables

under the tender foliage. The two men sat down at one of them.

"Well, Florival," said the manager, "does my offer suit you? Will you

make one of us? I was glad to hear you had broken off with Ricardin.

With your qualifications you ought to have an engagement in Paris, or at

least at a first-rate provincial theatre. But you are young, and, as you

know, managers prefer actors of greater experience and established

reputation. Your parts are generally taken by youths of five-and-forty,

with wrinkles and grey hairs, but well versed in the traditions of the

stage--with damaged voices but an excellent style. My brother managers

are greedy of great names; yours still has to become known--as yet, you

have but your talent to recommend you. I will content myself with that;

content yourself with what I offer you. Times are bad, the season is

advanced, engagements are hard to find. Many of your comrades have gone

to try their luck beyond seas. We have not so far to go; we shall

scarcely overstep the boundary of our ungrateful country. Germany

invites us; it is a pleasant land, and Rhine wine is not to be

disdained. I will tell you how the thing came about. For many years past

I have managed theatres in the eastern departments, in Alsatia and

Lorraine. Last summer, having a little leisure, I made an excursion to

Baden-Baden. As usual, it was crowded with fashionables. One rubbed

shoulders with princes and trod upon highnesses' toes; one could not

walk twenty yards without meeting a sovereign. All these crowned heads,

kings, grand-dukes, electors, mingled easily and affably with the

throng of visitors. Etiquette is banished from the baths of Baden,

where, without laying aside their titles, great personages enjoy the

liberty and advantages of an incognito. At the time of my visit, a

company of very indifferent German actors were playing, two or three

times a-week, in the little theatre. They played to empty benches, and

must have starved but for the assistance afforded them by the directors

of the gambling-tables. I often went to their performances, and, amongst

the scanty spectators, I soon remarked one who was as assiduous as

myself. A gentleman, very plainly dressed, but of agreeable countenance

and aristocratic appearance, invariably occupied the same stall, and

seemed to enjoy the performance, which proved that he was easily

pleased. One night he addressed to me some remark with respect to the

play then acting; we got into conversation on the subject of dramatic

art; he saw that I was specially competent on that topic, and after the

theatre he asked me to take refreshment with him. I accepted. At

midnight we parted, and, as I was going home, I met a gambler whom I

slightly knew. 'I congratulate you,' he said; 'you have friends in high

places!' He alluded to the gentleman with whom I had passed the evening,

and who I now learned was no less a personage than his Serene Highness

Prince Leopold, sovereign ruler of the Grand Duchy of Niesenstein. I

had had the honour of passing a whole evening in familiar intercourse

with a crowned head. Next day, walking in the park, I met his highness.

I made a low bow and kept at a respectful distance, but the Grand Duke

came up to me and asked me to walk with him. Before accepting, I thought

it right to inform him who I was. 'I guessed as much,' said the Prince.

'From one or two things that last night escaped you, I made no doubt you

were a theatrical manager.' And by a gesture he renewed his invitation

to accompany him. In a long conversation he informed me of his intention

to establish a French theatre in his capital, for the performance of

comedy, drama, vaudeville, and comic operas. He was then building a

large theatre, which would be ready by the end of the winter, and he

offered me its management on very advantageous terms. I had no plans in

France for the present year, and the offer was too good to be refused.

The Grand Duke guaranteed my expenses and a gratuity, and there was a

chance of very large profits. I hesitated not a moment; we exchanged

promises, and the affair was concluded.

"According to our agreement, I am to be at Karlstadt, the capital of the

Grand Duchy of Niesenstein, in the first week in May. There is no time

to lose. My company is almost complete, but there are still some

important gaps to fill. Amongst others, I want a lover, a light

comedian, and a first singer. I reckon upon you to fill these important

posts."

"I am quite willing," replied the actor, "but there is still an

obstacle. You must know, my dear Balthasar, that I am deeply in

love--seriously, this time--and I broke off with Ricardin solely because

he would not engage her to whom I am attached."

"Oho! she is an actress?"

"Two years upon the stage; a lovely girl, full of grace and talent, and

with a charming voice. The Opera Comique has not a singer to compare

with her."

"And she is disengaged?"

"Yes, my dear fellow; strange though it seems, and by a combination of

circumstances which it were tedious to detail, the fascinating Delia is

still without an engagement. And I give you notice that henceforward I

attach myself to her steps: where she goes, I go; I will perform upon no

boards which she does not tread. I am determined to win her heart, and

make her my wife."

"Very good!" cried Balthasar, rising from his seat; "tell me the address

of this prodigy: I run, I fly, I make every sacrifice; and we will start

to-morrow."

People were quite right in saying that Balthasar was a clever manager.

None better knew how to deal with actors, often capricious and difficult

to guide. He possessed skill, taste, and tact. One hour after the

conversation in the garden of the Palais Royal, he had obtained the

signatures of Delia and Florival, two excellent acquisitions, destined

to do him infinite honour in Germany. That night his little company was

complete, and the next day, after a good dinner, it started for

Strasburg. It was composed as follows:

Balthasar, manager, was to play the old men, and take the heavy

business.

Florival was the leading man, the lover, and the first singer.

Rigolet was the low comedian, and took the parts usually played by

Arnal and Bouffe.

Similor was to perform the valets in Moliere's comedies, and

eccentric low comedy characters.

Anselmo was the walking gentleman.

Lebel led the band.

Miss Delia was to display her charms and talents as prima donna, and

in genteel comedy.

Miss Foligny was the singing chambermaid.

Miss Alice was the walking lady, and made herself generally useful.

Finally, Madame Pastorale, the duenna of the company, was to perform

the old women, and look after the young ones.

Although so few, the company trusted to atone by zeal and industry for

numerical deficiency. It would be easy to find, in the capital of the

Grand Duchy, persons capable of filling mute parts, and, in most plays,

a few unimportant characters might be suppressed.

The travellers reached Strasburg without adventure worthy of note. There

Balthasar allowed them six-and-thirty hours' repose, and took advantage

of the halt to write to the Grand Duke Leopold, and inform him of his

approaching arrival; then they again started, crossed the Rhine at Kehl,

and in thirty hours, after traversing several small German states,

reached the frontier of the Grand Duchy of Niesenstein, and stopped at a

little village called Krusthal. From this village to the capital the

distance was only four leagues, but means of conveyance were wanting.

There was but a single stagecoach on that line of road; it would not

leave Krusthal for two days, and it held but six persons. No other

vehicles were to be had; it was necessary to wait, and the necessity was

anything but pleasant. The actors made wry faces at the prospect of

passing forty-eight hours in a wretched village. The only persons who

easily made up their minds to the wearisome delay were Delia and

Florival. The first singer was desperately in love, and the prima donna

was not insensible to his delicate attentions and tender discourse.

Balthasar, the most impatient and persevering of all, went out to

explore the village. In an hour's time he returned in triumph to his

friends, in a light cart drawn by a strong horse. Unfortunately the

cart held but two persons.

"I will set out alone," said Balthasar. "On reaching Karlstadt, I will

go to the Grand Duke, explain our position, and I have no doubt he will

immediately send carriages to convey you to his capital."

These consolatory words were received with loud cheers by the actors.

The driver, a peasant lad, cracked his whip, and the stout Mecklenburg

horse set out at a small trot. Upon the way, Balthasar questioned his

guide as to the extent, resources, and prosperity of the Grand Duchy,

but could obtain no satisfactory reply; the young peasant was profoundly

ignorant upon all these subjects. The four leagues were got over in

something less than three hours, which is rather rapid travelling for

Germany. It was nearly dark when Balthasar entered Karlstadt. The shops

were shut, and there were few persons in the streets; people are early

in their habits in the happy lands on the Rhine's right bank. Presently

the cart stopped before a good-sized house.

"You told me to take you to our prince's palace," said the driver, "and

here it is." Balthasar alighted and entered the dwelling, unchallenged

and unimpeded by the sentry who paced lazily up and down in its front.

In the entrance-hall the manager met a porter, who bowed gravely to him

as he passed; he walked on and passed through an empty anteroom. In the

first apartment, appropriated to gentlemen-in-waiting, aides-de-camp,

equerries, and other dignitaries of various degree, he found nobody; in

a second saloon, lighted by a dim and smoky lamp, was an old gentleman,

dressed in black, with powdered hair, who rose slowly at his entrance,

looked at him with surprise, and inquired his pleasure.

"I wish to see his Serene Highness, the Grand Duke Leopold," replied

Balthasar.

"The prince does not grant audiences at this hour," the old gentleman

dryly answered.

"His Highness expects me," was the confident reply of Balthasar.

"That is another thing. I will inquire if it be his Highness's pleasure

to receive you. Whom shall I announce?"

"The manager of the Court theatre."

The gentleman bowed, and left Balthasar alone. The pertinacious manager

already began to doubt the success of his audacity, when he heard the

Grand Duke's voice, saying, "Show him in."

He entered. The sovereign of Niesenstein was alone, seated in a large

arm-chair, at a table covered with a green cloth, upon which were a

confused medley of letters and newspapers, an inkstand, a tobacco-bag,

two wax-lights, a sugar-basin, a sword, a plate, gloves, a bottle,

books, and a goblet of Bohemian glass, artistically engraved. His

Highness was engrossed in a thoroughly national occupation; he was

smoking one of those long pipes which Germans rarely lay aside except to

eat or to sleep.

The manager of the Court theatre bowed thrice, as if he had been

advancing to the foot-lights to address the public; then he stood still

and silent, awaiting the prince's pleasure. But, although he said

nothing, his countenance was so expressive that the Grand Duke answered

him.

"Yes," he said, "here you are. I recollect you perfectly, and I have not

forgotten our agreement. But you come at a very unfortunate moment, my

dear sir!"

"I crave your Highness's pardon if I have chosen an improper hour to

seek an audience," replied Balthasar with another bow.

"It is not the hour that I am thinking of," answered the prince quickly.

"Would that were all! See, here is your letter; I was just now reading

it, and regretting that, instead of writing to me only three days ago,

when you were half-way here, you had not done so two or three weeks

before starting."

"I did wrong."

"More so than you think; for, had you sooner warned me, I would have

spared you a useless journey."

"Useless!" exclaimed Balthasar aghast. "Has your Highness changed your

mind?"

"Not at all; I am still passionately fond of the drama, and should be

delighted to have a French theatre here. As far as that goes, my ideas

and tastes are in no way altered since last summer; but, unfortunately,

I am unable to satisfy them. Look here," continued the prince, rising

from his arm-chair. He took Balthasar's arm and led him to a window: "I

told you, last year, that I was building a magnificent theatre in my

capital."

"Your Highness did tell me so."

"Well, look yonder, on the other side of the square; there the theatre

is!"

"Your Highness, I see nothing but an open space; a building commenced,

and as yet scarcely risen above the foundation."

"Precisely so; that is the theatre."

"Your Highness told me it would be completed before the end of winter."

"I did not then foresee that I should have to stop the works for want of

cash to pay the workmen. Such is my present position. If I have no

theatre ready to receive you, and if I cannot take you and your company

into my pay, it is because I have not the means. The coffers of the

State and my privy purse are alike empty. You are astounded!--Adversity

respects nobody--not even Grand Dukes. But I support its assaults with

philosophy: try to follow my example; and, by way of a beginning, take a

chair and a pipe, fill yourself a glass of wine, and drink to the

return of my prosperity. Since you suffer for my misfortunes, I owe you

an explanation. Although I never had much order in my expenditure, I had

every reason, at the time I first met with you, to believe my finances

in a flourishing condition. It was not until the commencement of the

present year that I discovered the contrary to be the case. Last year

was a bad one; hail ruined our crops, and money was hard to get in. The

salaries of my household were in arrear, and my officers murmured. For

the first time I ordered a statement of my affairs to be laid before me,

and I found that ever since my accession I had been exceeding my

revenue. My first act of sovereignty had been a considerable diminution

of the taxes paid to my predecessors. Hence the evil, which had annually

augmented, and now I am ruined, loaded with debts, and without means of

repairing the disaster. My privy-councillors certainly proposed a way;

it was to double the taxes, raise extraordinary contributions--to

squeeze my subjects, in short. A fine plan, indeed! to make the poor pay

for my improvidence and disorder! Such things may occur in other States,

but they shall not occur in mine. Justice before everything. I prefer

enduring my difficulties to making my subjects suffer."

"Excellent prince!" exclaimed Balthasar, touched by these generous

sentiments. The Grand Duke smiled.

"Do you turn flatterer?" he said. "Beware! it is an arduous post, and

you will have none to help you. I have no longer wherewith to pay

flatterers; my courtiers have fled. You have seen the emptiness of my

anterooms; you met neither chamberlain nor equerry upon your entrance.

All those gentlemen have given in their resignations. The civil and

military officers of my house, secretaries, aides-de-camp, and others,

left me, because I could no longer pay them their wages. I am alone; a

few faithful and patient servants are all that remain, and the most

important personage of my court is now honest Sigismund, my old

valet-de-chambre."

These last words were spoken in a melancholy tone, which pained

Balthasar. The eyes of the honest manager glistened. The Grand Duke

detected his sympathy.

"Do not pity me," he said with a smile. "It is no sorrow to me to have

got rid of a wearisome etiquette, and, at the same time, of a pack of

spies and hypocrites, by whom I was formerly from morning till night

beset."

The cheerful frankness of the Grand Duke's manner forbade doubt of his

sincerity. Balthasar congratulated him on his courage.

"I need it more than you think!" replied Leopold, "and I cannot answer

for having enough to support the blows that threaten me. The desertion

of my courtiers would be nothing did I owe it only to the bad state of

my finances: as soon as I found myself in funds again I could buy others

or take back the old ones, and amuse myself by putting my foot upon

their servile necks. Then they would be as humble as now they are

insolent. But their defection is an omen of other dangers. As the

diplomatists say, clouds are at the political horizon. Poverty alone

would not have sufficed to clear my palace of men who are as greedy of

honours as they are of money; they would have waited for better days;

their vanity would have consoled their avarice. If they fled, it was

because they felt the ground shake beneath their feet, and because they

are in league with my enemies. I cannot shut my eyes to impending

dangers. I am on bad terms with Austria; Metternich looks askance at me;

at Vienna I am considered too liberal, too popular: they say that I set

a bad example; they reproach me with cheap government, and with not

making my subjects sufficiently feel the yoke. Thus do they accumulate

pretexts for playing me a scurvy trick. One of my cousins, a colonel

in the Austrian service, covets my Grand Duchy. Although I say _grand_,

it is but ten leagues long and eight leagues broad: but such as it is,

it suits me; I am accustomed to it, I have the habit of ruling it, and

I should miss it were I deprived of it. My cousin has the audacity

to dispute my incontestable rights; this is a mere pretext for

litigation, but he has carried the case before the Aulic Council, and

notwithstanding the excellence of my right I still may lose my cause,

for I have no money wherewith to enlighten my judges. My enemies are

powerful, treason surrounds me; they try to take advantage of my

financial embarrassments, first to make me bankrupt and then to depose

me. In this critical conjuncture, I should be only too delighted to have

a company of players to divert my thoughts from my troubles--but I have

neither theatre nor money. So it is impossible for me to keep you, my

dear manager, and, believe me, I am as grieved at it as you can be.

All I can do is to give you, out of the little I have left, a small

indemnity to cover your travelling expenses and take you back to France.

Come and see me to-morrow morning; we will settle this matter, and you

shall take your leave."

Balthasar's attention and sympathy had been so completely engrossed by

the Grand Duke's misfortunes, and by his revelations of his political

and financial difficulties, that his own troubles had quite gone out of

his thoughts. When he quitted the palace they came back upon him like a

thunder-cloud. How was he to satisfy the actors, whom he had brought two

hundred leagues away from Paris? What could he say to them, how appease

them? The unhappy manager passed a miserable night. At daybreak he rose

and went out into the open air, to calm his agitation and seek a mode of

extrication from his difficulties. During a two hours' walk he had

abundant time to visit every corner of Karlstadt, and to admire the

beauties of that celebrated capital. He found it an elegant town, with

wide straight streets cutting completely across it, so that he could see

through it at a glance. The houses were pretty and uniform, and the

windows were provided with small indiscreet mirrors, which reflected the

passers-by and transported the street into the drawing-room, so that the

worthy Karlstadters could satisfy their curiosity without quitting their

easy chairs. An innocent recreation, much affected by German burghers.

As regarded trade and manufactures, the capital of the Grand Duchy of

Niesenstein did not seem to be very much occupied with either. It was

anything but a bustling city; luxury had made but little progress there;

and its prosperity was due chiefly to the moderate desires and

phlegmatic philosophy of its inhabitants.

In such a country a company of actors had no chance of a livelihood.

There is nothing for it but to return to France, thought Balthasar,

after making the circuit of the city: then he looked at his watch, and,

deeming the hour suitable, he took the road to the palace, which he

entered with as little ceremony as upon the preceding evening. The

faithful Sigismund, doing duty as gentleman-in-waiting, received him as

an old acquaintance, and forthwith ushered him into the Grand Duke's

presence. His Highness seemed more depressed than upon the previous day.

He was pacing the room with long strides, his eyes cast down, his arms

folded. In his hand he held papers, whose perusal it apparently was that

had thus discomposed him. For some moments he said nothing; then he

suddenly stopped before Balthasar.

"You find me less calm," he said, "than I was last night. I have just

received unpleasant news. I am heartily sick of these perpetual

vexations, and gladly would I resign this poor sovereignty, this crown

of thorns they seek to snatch from me, did not honour command me to

maintain to the last my legitimate rights. Yes," vehemently exclaimed

the Grand Duke, "at this moment a tranquil existence is all I covet, and

I would willingly give up my Grand Duchy, my title, my crown, to live

quietly at Paris, as a private gentleman, upon thirty thousand francs

a-year."

"I believe so, indeed!" cried Balthasar, who, in his wildest dreams of

fortune, had never dared aspire so high. His artless exclamation made

the prince smile. It needed but a trifle to dissipate his vexation, and

to restore that upper current of easy good temper which habitually

floated upon the surface of his character.

"You think," he gaily cried, "that some, in my place, would be satisfied

with less, and that thirty thousand francs a-year, with independence and

the pleasures of Paris, compose a lot more enviable than the government

of all the Grand Duchies in the world. My own experience tells me that

you are right; for, ten years ago, when I was but hereditary prince, I

passed six months at Paris, rich, independent, careless; and memory

declares those to have been the happiest days of my life."

"Well! if you were to sell all you have, could you not realise that

fortune? Besides, the cousin, of whom you did me the honour to speak to

me yesterday, would probably gladly insure you an income if you yielded

him your place here. But will your Highness permit me to speak plainly?"

"By all means."

"The tranquil existence of a private gentleman would doubtless have many

charms for you, and you say so in all sincerity of heart; but, upon the

other hand, you set store by your crown, though you may not admit it to

yourself. In a moment of annoyance it is easy to exaggerate the charms

of tranquillity, and the pleasures of private life; but a throne,

however rickety, is a seat which none willingly quit. That is my

opinion, formed at the dramatic school: it is perhaps a reminiscence of

some old part, but truth is sometimes found upon the stage. Since,

therefore, all things considered, to stay where you are is that which

best becomes you, you ought----But I crave your Highness's pardon, I am

perhaps speaking too freely----"

"Speak on, my dear manager, freely and fearlessly; I listen to you with

pleasure. I ought, you were about to say?----"

"Instead of abandoning yourself to despair and poetry, instead of

contenting yourself with succumbing nobly, like some ancient Roman, you

ought boldly to combat the peril. Circumstances are favourable; you have

neither ministers nor state-councillors to mislead you, and embarrass

your plans. Strong in your good right, and in your subjects' love, it is

impossible you should not find means of retrieving your finances and

strengthening your position."

"There is but one means, and that is--a good marriage."

"Excellent! I had not thought of it. You are a bachelor! A good marriage

is salvation. It is thus that great houses, menaced with ruin, regain

their former splendour. You must marry an heiress, the only daughter of

some rich banker."

"You forget--it would be derogatory. _I_ am free from such prejudices,

but what would Austria say if I thus condescended? It would be another

charge to bring against me. And then a banker's millions would not

suffice; I must ally myself with a powerful family, whose influence

will strengthen mine. Only a few days ago, I thought such an alliance

within my grasp. A neighbouring prince, Maximilian of Hanau, who is in

high favour at Vienna, has a sister to marry. The Princess Wilhelmina is

young, handsome, amiable, and rich; I have already entered upon the

preliminaries of a matrimonial negotiation, but two despatches, received

this morning, destroy all my hopes. Hence the low spirits in which you

find me."

"Perhaps," said Balthasar, "your Highness too easily gives way to

discouragement."

"Judge for yourself. I have a rival, the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen;

his territories are less considerable than mine, but he is more solidly

established in his little electorate than I am in my grand-duchy."

"Pardon me, your Highness; I saw the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen last

year at Baden-Baden, and, without flattery, he cannot for an instant be

compared with your Highness. You are hardly thirty, and he is more than

forty; you have a good figure, he is heavy, clumsy, and ill-made; your

countenance is noble and agreeable, his common and displeasing; your

hair is light brown, his bright red. The Princess Wilhelmina is sure to

prefer you."

"Perhaps so, if she were asked; but she is in the power of her august

brother, who will marry her to whom he pleases."

"That must be prevented."

"How?"

"By winning the young lady's affections. Love has so many resources.

Every day one sees marriages for money broken off, and replaced by

marriages for love."

"Yes, one sees that in plays----"

"Which afford excellent lessons."

"For people of a certain class, but not for princes."

"Why not make the attempt? If I dared advise you, it would be to set out

to-morrow, and pay a visit to the Prince of Hanau."

"Unnecessary. To see the prince and his sister, I need not stir hence.

One of these despatches announces their early arrival at Karlstadt. They

are on their way hither. On their return from a journey into Prussia,

they pass through my territories and pause in my capital, inviting

themselves as my guests for two or three days. Their visit is my ruin.

What will they think of me when they find me alone, deserted, in my

empty palace? Do you suppose the Princess will be tempted to share my

dismal solitude? Last year she went to Saxe-Tolpelhausen. The Elector

entertained her well, and made his court agreeable. _He_ could place

chamberlains and aides-de-camp at her orders, could give concerts,

balls, and festivals. But I--what can _I_ do? What a humiliation! And,

that no affront may be spared to me, my rival proposes negotiating his

marriage at my own court! Nothing less, it seems, will satisfy him! He

has just sent me an ambassador, Baron Pippinstir, deputed, he writes, to

conclude a commercial treaty which will be extremely advantageous to me.

The treaty is but a pretext. The Baron's true mission is to the Prince

of Hanau. The meeting is skilfully contrived, for the secret and

unostentatious conclusion of the matrimonial treaty. This is what I am

condemned to witness! I must endure this outrage and mortification, and

display, before the prince and his sister, my misery and poverty. I

would do anything to avoid such shame!"

"Means might, perhaps, be found," said Balthasar, after a moment's

reflection.

"Means? Speak, and whatever they be, I adopt them."

"The plan is a bold one!" continued Balthasar, speaking half to the

Grand Duke and half to himself, as if pondering and weighing a project.

"No matter! I will risk everything."

"You would like to conceal your real position, to re-people this palace,

to have a court?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the courtiers who have deserted you would return?"

"Never. Did I not tell you they are sold to my enemies?"

"Could you not select others from the higher class of your subjects?"

"Impossible! There are very few gentlemen amongst my subjects. Ah! if a

court could be got up at a day's notice! though it were to be composed

of the humblest citizens of Karlstadt----"

"I have better than that to offer you."

"_You_ have? And whom do you offer?" cried Duke Leopold, greatly

astonished.

"My actors."

"What! you would have me make up a court of your actors?"

"Yes, your Highness, and you could not do better. Observe that my actors

are accustomed to play all manner of parts, and that they will be

perfectly at their ease when performing those of noblemen and high

officials. I answer for their talent, discretion, and probity. As soon

as your illustrious guests have departed, and you no longer need their

services, they shall resign their posts. Bear in mind that you have no

other alternative. Time is short, danger at your door, hesitation is

destruction."

"But, if such a trick were discovered!----"

"A mere supposition, a chimerical fear. On the other hand, if you do not

run the risk I propose, your ruin is certain."

The Grand Duke was easily persuaded. Careless and easy-going, he yet

was not wanting in determination, nor in a certain love of hazardous

enterprises. He remembered that fortune is said to favour the bold, and

his desperate position increased his courage. With joyful intrepidity he

accepted and adopted Balthasar's scheme.

"Bravo!" cried the manager; "you shall have no cause to repent. You

behold in me a sample of your future courtiers; and since honours and

dignities are to be distributed, it is with me, if you please, that we

will begin. In this request I act up to the spirit of my part. A

courtier should always be asking for something, should lose no

opportunity, and should profit by his rivals' absence to obtain the best

place. I entreat your Highness to have the goodness to name me prime

minister."

"Granted!" gaily replied the prince. "Your Excellency may immediately

enter upon your functions."

"My Excellency will not fail to do so, and begins by requesting your

signature to a few decrees I am about to draw up. But in the first

place, your Highness must be so good as to answer two or three

questions, that I may understand the position of affairs. A new-comer in

a country, and a novice in a minister's office, has need of instruction.

If it became necessary to enforce your commands, have you the means of

so doing?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Your Highness has soldiers?"

"A regiment."

"How many men?"

"One hundred and twenty, besides the musicians."

"Are they obedient, devoted?"

"Passive obedience, unbounded devotion; soldiers and officers would die

for me to the last man."

"It is their duty. Another question: Have you a prison in your

dominions?"

"Certainly."

"I mean a good prison, strong and well-guarded, with thick walls, solid

bars, stern and incorruptible jailors?"

"I have every reason to believe that the Castle of Zwingenberg combines

all those requisites. The fact is, I have made very little use of it;

but it was built by a man who understood such matters--by my father's

great-grandfather, Rudolph the Inflexible."

"A fine surname for a sovereign! Your Inflexible ancestor, I am very

sure, never lacked either cash or courtiers. Your Highness has perhaps

done wrong to leave the state-prison untenanted. A prison requires to be

inhabited, like any other building; and the first act of the authority

with which you have been pleased to invest me, will be a salutary

measure of incarceration. I presume the Castle of Zwingenberg will

accommodate a score of prisoners?"

"What! you are going to imprison twenty persons?"

"More or less. I do not yet know the exact number of the persons who

composed your late court. They it is whom I propose lodging within the

lofty walls constructed by the Inflexible Rudolph. The measure is

indispensable."

"But it is illegal!"

"I crave your Highness's pardon; you use a word I do not understand. It

seems to me that, in every good German government, that which is

absolutely necessary is necessarily legal. That is my policy. Moreover,

as prime minister, I am responsible. What would you have more? It is

plain that, if we leave your courtiers their liberty, it will be

impossible to perform our comedy; they will betray us. Therefore the

welfare of the state imperatively demands their imprisonment. Besides,

you yourself have said that they are traitors, and therefore they

deserve punishment. For your own safety's sake, for the success of your

project--which will insure the happiness of your subjects--write the

names, sign the order, and inflict upon the deserters the lenient

chastisement of a week's captivity."

The Grand Duke wrote the names and signed several orders, which were

forthwith intrusted to the most active and determined officers of the

regiment, with instructions to make the arrests at once, and to take

their prisoners to the Castle of Zwingenberg, at three quarters of a

league from Karlstadt.

"All that now remains to be done is to send for your new court," said

Balthasar. "Has your Highness carriages?"

"Certainly! a berlin, a barouche, and a cabriolet."

"And horses?"

"Six draught and two saddle."

"I take the barouche, the berlin, and four horses; I go to Krusthal, put

my actors up to their parts, and bring them here this evening. We instal

ourselves in the palace, and shall be at once at your Highness's

orders."

"Very good; but, before going, write an answer to Baron Pippinstir, who

asks an audience."

"Two lines, very dry and official, putting him off till to-morrow. We

must be under arms to receive him.... Here is the note written, but how

shall I sign it? The name of Balthasar is not very suitable to a German

Excellency."

"True, you must have another name, and a title; I create you Count

Lipandorf."

"Thanks, your Highness. I will bear the title nobly, and restore it to

you faithfully, with my seals of office, when the comedy is played out."

Count Lipandorf signed the letter, which Sigismund was ordered to take

to Baron Pippinstir; then he started for Krusthal.

Next morning, the Grand Duke Leopold held a levee, which was attended by

all the officers of his new court. And as soon as he was dressed he

received the ladies with infinite grace and affability.

Ladies and officers were attired in their most elegant theatrical

costumes; the Grand Duke appeared greatly satisfied with their bearing

and manners. The first compliments over, there came a general

distribution of titles and offices.

The lover, Florival, was appointed aide-de-camp to the Grand Duke,

colonel of hussars, and Count Reinsburg.

Rigolet, the low comedian, was named grand chamberlain, and Baron

Fidibus.

Similor, who performed the valets, was master of the horse and Baron

Kockemburg.

Anselmo, walking gentleman, was promoted to be gentleman in waiting and

Chevalier Grillenfanger.

The leader of the band, Lebel, was appointed superintendant of the music

and amusements of the court, with the title of Chevalier Arpeggio.

The prima donna, Miss Delia, was created Countess of Rosenthal, an

interesting orphan, whose dowry was to be the hereditary office of first

lady of honour to the future Grand Duchess.

Miss Foligny, the singing chambermaid, was appointed widow of a general

and Baroness Allenzau.

Miss Alice, walking lady, became Miss Fidibus, daughter of the

chamberlain, and a rich heiress.

Finally, the duenna, Madame Pastorale, was called to the responsible

station of mistress of the robes and governess of the maids of honour,

under the imposing title of Baroness Schicklick.

The new dignitaries received decorations in proportion to their rank.

Count Balthasar von Lipandorf, prime minister, had two stars and three

grand crosses. The aide-de-camp, Florival von Reinsberg, fastened five

crosses upon the breast of his hussar jacket.

The parts duly distributed and learned, there was a rehearsal, which

went off excellently well. The Grand Duke deigned to superintend the

getting up of the piece, and to give the actors a few useful hints.

Prince Maximilian of Hanau and his august sister were expected that

evening. Time was precious. Pending their arrival, and by way of

practising his court, the Grand Duke gave audience to the ambassador

from Saxe-Tolpelhausen.

Baron Pippinstir was ushered into the Hall of the Throne. He had asked

permission to present his wife at the same time as his credentials, and

that favour had been granted him.

At sight of the diplomatist, the new courtiers, as yet unaccustomed to

rigid decorum, had difficulty in keeping their countenances. The Baron

was a man of fifty, prodigiously tall, singularly thin, abundantly

powdered, with legs like hop-poles, clad in knee breeches and white silk

stockings. A long slender pigtail danced upon his flexible back. He had

a face like a bird of prey--little round eyes, a receding chin, and an

enormous hooked nose. It was scarcely possible to look at him without

laughing, especially when one saw him for the first time. His

apple-green coat glittered with a profusion of embroidery. His chest

being too narrow to admit of a horizontal development of his

decorations, he wore them in two columns, extending from his collar to

his waist. When he approached the Grand Duke, with a self-satisfied

simper and a jaunty air, his sword by his side, his cocked hat under his

arm, nothing was wanting to complete the caricature.

The Baroness Pippinstir was a total contrast to her husband. She was a

pretty little woman of five-and-twenty, as plump as a partridge, with a

lively eye, a nice figure, and an engaging smile. There was mischief in

her glance, seduction in her dimples, and the rose's tint upon her

cheeks. Her dress was the only ridiculous thing about her. To come to

court, the little Baroness had put on all the finery she could muster;

she sailed into the hall under a cloud of ribbons, sparkling with jewels

and fluttering with plumes--the loftiest of which, however, scarcely

reached to the shoulder of her lanky spouse.

Completely identifying himself with his part of prime minister,

Balthasar, as soon as this oddly-assorted pair appeared, decided upon

his plan of campaign. His natural penetration told him the diplomatist's

weak point. He felt that the Baron, who was old and ugly, must be

jealous of his wife, who was young and pretty. He was not mistaken.

Pippinstir was as jealous as a tiger-cat. Recently married, the meagre

diplomatist had not dared to leave his wife at Saxe-Tolpelhausen, for

fear of accidents; he would not lose sight of her, and had brought her

to Karlstadt in the arrogant belief that danger vanished in his

presence.

After exchanging a few diplomatic phrases with the ambassador, Balthasar

took Colonel Florival aside and gave him secret instructions. The

dashing officer passed his hand through his richly-curling locks,

adjusted his splendid pelisse, and approached Baroness Pippinstir. The

ambassadress received him graciously; the handsome colonel had already

attracted her attention, and soon she was delighted with his wit and

gallant speeches. Florival did not lack imagination, and his memory was

stored with well-turned phrases and sentimental tirades, borrowed from

stage-plays. He spoke half from inspiration, half from memory, and he

was listened to with favour.

The conversation was carried on in French--for the best of reasons.

"It is the custom here," said the Grand Duke to the ambassador; "French

is the only language spoken in this palace; it is a regulation I had

some difficulty in enforcing, and I was at last obliged to decree that a

heavy penalty should be paid for every German word spoken by a person

attached to my court. That proved effectual, and you will not easily

catch any of these ladies and gentlemen tripping. My prime minister,

Count Balthasar von Lipandorf, is the only one who is permitted

occasionally to speak his native language."

Balthasar, who had long managed theatres in Alsace and Lorraine, spoke

German like a Frankfort brewer.

Meanwhile, Baron Pippinstir's uneasiness was extreme. Whilst his wife

conversed in a low voice with the young and fascinating aide-de-camp,

the pitiless prime minister held his arm tight, and explained at great

length his views with respect to the famous commercial treaty. Caught in

his own snare, the unlucky diplomatist was in agony; he fidgeted to get

away, his countenance expressed grievous uneasiness, his lean legs were

convulsively agitated. But in vain did he endeavour to abridge his

torments; the remorseless Balthasar relinquished not his prey.

Sigismund, promoted to be steward of the household, announced dinner.

The ambassador and his lady had been invited to dine, as well as all the

courtiers. The aide-de-camp was placed next to the Baroness, the Baron

at the other end of the table. The torture was prolonged. Florival

continued to whisper soft nonsense to the fair and well-pleased

Pippinstir. The diplomatist could not eat.

There was another person present whom Florival's flirtation annoyed, and

that person was Delia, Countess of Rosenthal. After dinner, Balthasar,

whom nothing escaped, took her aside.

"You know very well," said the minister, "that he is only acting a part

in a comedy. Should you feel hurt if he declared his love upon the

stage, to one of your comrades? Here it is the same thing; all this is

but a play; when the curtain falls, he will return to you."

A courier announced that the Prince of Hanau and his sister were within

a league of Karlstadt. The Grand Duke, attended by Count Reinsberg and

some officers, went to meet them. It was dark when the illustrious

guests reached the palace; they passed through the great saloon, where

the whole court was assembled to receive them, and retired at once to

their apartments.

"The game is fairly begun," said the Grand Duke to his prime minister;

"and now, may heaven help us!"

"Fear nothing," replied Balthasar. "The glimpse I caught of Prince

Maximilian's physiognomy satisfied me that everything will pass off

perfectly well, and without exciting the least suspicion. As to Baron

Pippinstir, he is already blind with jealousy, and Florival will give

him so much to do, that he will have no time to attend to his master's

business. Things look well."

Next morning, the Prince and Princess of Hanau were welcomed, on

awakening, by a serenade from the regimental band. The weather was

beautiful; the Grand Duke proposed an excursion out of town; he was glad

of an opportunity to show his guests the best features of his duchy--a

delightful country, and many picturesque points of view, much prized and

sketched by German landscape-painters. The proposal agreed to, the

party set out, in carriages and on horseback, for the old Castle of

Rauberzell--magnificent ruins, dating from the middle ages, and famous

far and wide. At a short distance from the castle, which lifted its

grey turrets upon the summit of a wooded hill, the Princess Wilhelmina

expressed a wish to walk the remainder of the way. Everybody followed

her example. The Grand Duke offered her his arm; the Prince gave his

to the Countess Delia von Rosenthal; and, at a sign from Balthasar,

Baroness Pastorale von Schicklick took possession of Baron Pippinstir;

whilst the smiling Baroness accepted Florival's escort. The young people

walked at a brisk pace. The unfortunate Baron would gladly have availed

himself of his long legs to keep up with his coquettish wife; but the

duenna, portly and ponderous, hung upon his arm, checked his ardour, and

detained him in the rear. Respect for the mistress of the robes forbade

rebellion or complaint.

Amidst the ruins of the venerable castle, the distinguished party found

a table spread with an elegant collation. It was an agreeable surprise,

and the Grand Duke had all the credit of an idea suggested to him by his

prime minister.

The whole day was passed in rambling through the beautiful forest of

Rauberzell. The Princess was charming; nothing could exceed the

high-breeding of the courtiers, or the fascination and elegance of the

ladies; and Prince Maximilian warmly congratulated the Grand Duke on

having a court composed of such agreeable and accomplished persons.

Baroness Pippinstir declared, in a moment of enthusiasm, that the court

of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was not to compare with that of Niesenstein. She

could hardly have said anything more completely at variance with the

object of her husband's mission. The Baron was near fainting.

Like not a few of her countrywomen, the Princess Wilhelmina had a strong

predilection for Parisian fashions. She admired everything that came

from France; she spoke French perfectly, and greatly approved the Grand

Duke's decree, forbidding any other language to be spoken at his court.

Moreover, there was nothing extraordinary in such a regulation; French

is the language of all the northern courts. But she was greatly tickled

at the notion of a fine being inflicted for a single German word. She

amused herself by trying to catch some of the Grand Duke's courtiers

transgressing in this respect. Her labour was completely lost.

That evening, at the palace, when conversation began to languish, the

Chevalier Arpeggio sat down to the piano, and the Countess Delia von

Rosenthal sang an air out of the last new opera. The guests were

enchanted with her performance. Prince Maximilian had been extremely

attentive to the Countess during their excursion; the young actress's

grace and beauty had captivated him, and the charm of her voice

completed his subjugation. Passionately fond of music, every note she

sang went to his very heart. When she had finished one song, he

petitioned for another. The amiable prima donna sang a duet with the

aide-de-camp Florival von Reinsberg, and then, being further entreated,

a trio, in which Similor--master of the horse, barytone, and Baron von

Kockemburg--took a part.

Here our actors were at home, and their success was complete. Deviating

from his usual reserve, Prince Maximilian did not disguise his delight;

and the imprudent little Baroness Pippinstir declared that, with such a

beautiful tenor voice, an aide-de-camp might aspire to anything. A

cemetery on a wet day is a cheerful sight, compared to the Baron's

countenance when he heard these words.

Upon the morrow, a hunting-party was the order of the day. In the

evening there was a dance. It had been proposed to invite the principal

families of the metropolis of Niesenstein, but the Prince and Princess

begged that the circle might not be increased.

"We are four ladies," said the Princess, glancing at the prima donna,

the singing chambermaid, and the walking lady, "it is enough for a

quadrille."

There was no lack of gentlemen. There was the Grand Duke, the

aide-de-camp, the grand chamberlain, the master of the horse, the

gentleman-in-waiting, and Prince Maximilian's aide-de-camp, Count Darius

von Sturmhaube, who appeared greatly smitten by the charms of the

widowed Baroness Allenzau.

"I am sorry my court is not more numerous," said the Grand Duke, "but,

within the last three days, I have been compelled to diminish it by

one-half."

"How so?" inquired Prince Maximilian.

"A dozen courtiers," replied the Grand Duke Leopold, "whom I had loaded

with favours, dared conspire against me, in favour of a certain cousin

of mine at Vienna. I discovered the plot, and the plotters are now in

the dungeons of my good fortress of Zwingenberg."

"Well done!" cried the Prince; "I like such energy and vigour. And to

think that people taxed you with weakness of character! How we princes

are deceived and calumniated."

The Grand Duke cast a grateful glance at Balthasar. That able minister

by this time felt himself as much at his ease in his new office as if he

had held it all his life; he even began to suspect that the government

of a grand-duchy is a much easier matter than the management of a

company of actors. Incessantly engrossed by his master's interests, he

manoeuvred to bring about the marriage which was to give the Grand

Duke happiness, wealth, and safety; but, notwithstanding his skill,

notwithstanding the torments with which he had filled the jealous soul

of Pippinstir, the ambassador devoted the scanty moments of repose his

wife left him to furthering the object of his mission. The alliance with

Saxe-Tolpelhausen was pleasing to Prince Maximilian; it offered him

various advantages: the extinction of an old law-suit between the two

states, the cession of a large extent of territory, and, finally, the

commercial treaty, which the perfidious Baron had brought to the court

of Niesenstein, with a view of concluding it in favour of the

principality of Hanau. Invested with unlimited powers, the diplomatist

was ready to insert in the contract almost any conditions Prince

Maximilian chose to dictate to him.

It is necessary here to remark that the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was

desperately in love with the Princess Wilhelmina.

It was evident that the Baron would carry the day, if the prime minister

did not hit upon some scheme to destroy his credit or force him to

retreat. Balthasar, fertile in expedients, was teaching Florival his

part in the palace garden, when Prince Maximilian met him, and requested

a moment's private conversation.

"I am at your Highness's orders," respectfully replied the minister.

"I will go straight to the point, Count Lipandorf," the Prince began. "I

married my late wife, a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt, from political

motives. She has left me three sons. I now intend to marry again; but

this time I need not sacrifice myself to state considerations, and I am

determined to consult my heart alone."

"If your Highness does me the honour to consult _me_, I have merely to

say that you are perfectly justified in acting as you propose. After

once sacrificing himself to his people's happiness, a prince has surely

a right to think a little of his own."

"Exactly my opinion! Count, I will tell you a secret. I am in love with

Miss von Rosenthal."

"Miss Delia?"

"Yes, sir; with Miss Delia, Countess of Rosenthal; and, what is more, I

will tell you that _I know everything_."

"What may it be that your Highness knows?"

"I know who she is."

"Ha!"

"It was a great secret!"

"And how came your Highness to discover it?"

"The Grand Duke revealed it to me."

"I might have guessed as much!"

"He alone could do so, and I rejoice that I addressed myself directly to

him. At first, when I questioned him concerning the young Countess's

family, he ill concealed his embarrassment: her position struck me as

strange; young, beautiful, and alone in the world, without relatives or

guardians--all that seemed to me singular, if not suspicious. I

trembled, as the possibility of an intrigue flashed upon me; but the

Grand Duke, to dissipate my unfounded suspicion, told me all."

"And what is your Highness's decision?... After such a revelation----"

"It in no way changes my intentions. I shall marry the lady."

"Marry her?... But no, your Highness jests."

"Count Lipandorf, I never jest. What is there, then, so strange in my

determination? The Grand Duke's father was romantic, and of a roving

disposition; in the course of his life he contracted several left-handed

alliances--Miss von Rosenthal is the issue of one of those unions. I

care not for the illegitimacy of her birth; she is of noble blood of a

princely race--that is all I require."

"Yes," replied Balthasar, who had concealed his surprise and kept his

countenance, as became an experienced statesman and consummate

comedian--"Yes, I now understand; and I think as you do. Your Highness

has the talent of bringing everybody over to your way of thinking."

"The greatest piece of good fortune," continued the Prince, "is that the

mother remained unknown: she is dead, and there is no trace of family on

that side."

"As your Highness says, it is very fortunate. And doubtless the Grand

Duke is informed of your august intentions with respect to the proposed

marriage?"

"No; I have as yet said nothing either to him or to the Countess. I

reckon upon you, my dear Count, to make my offer, to whose acceptance I

trust there will not be the slightest obstacle. I give you the rest of

the day to arrange everything. I will write to Miss von Rosenthal; I

hope to receive from her own lips the assurance of my happiness, and I

will beg her to bring me her answer herself, this evening, in the

summer-house in the park. Lover-like, you see--a rendezvous, a

mysterious interview! But come, Count Lipandorf, lose no time; a double

tie shall bind me to your sovereign. We will sign, at one and the same

time, my marriage-contract and his. On that condition alone will I grant

him my sister's hand; otherwise I treat, this very evening, with the

envoy from Saxe-Tolpelhausen."

A quarter of an hour after Prince Maximilian had made this overture,

Balthasar and Delia were closeted with the Grand Duke.

What was to be done? The Prince of Hanau was noted for his obstinacy. He

would have excellent reasons to oppose to all objections. To confess the

deception that had been practised upon him was equivalent to a total and

eternal rupture. But, upon the other hand, to leave him in his error,

to suffer him to marry an actress! it was a serious matter. If ever he

discovered the truth, it would be enough to raise the entire German

Confederation against the Grand Duke of Niesenstein.

"What is my prime minister's opinion?" asked the Grand Duke.

"A prompt retreat. Delia must instantly quit the town; we will devise an

explanation of her sudden departure."

"Yes; and this evening Prince Maximilian will sign his sister's

marriage-contract with the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen. My opinion is,

that we have advanced too far to retreat. If the prince ever discovers

the truth, he will be the person most interested to conceal it. Besides,

Miss Delia is an orphan--she has neither parents nor family. I adopt

her--I acknowledge her as my sister."

"Your Highness's goodness and condescension----" lisped the pretty prima

donna.

"You agree with me, do you not, Miss Delia?" continued the Grand Duke.

"You are resolved to seize the good fortune thus offered, and to risk

the consequences?"

"Yes, your Highness."

The ladies will make allowance for Delia's faithlessness to Florival.

How few female heads would not be turned by the prospect of wearing a

crown! The heart's voice is sometimes mute in presence of such brilliant

temptations. Besides, was not Florival faithless? Who could say whither

he might be led in the course of the tender scenes he acted with the

Baroness Pippinstir? Prince Maximilian was neither young nor handsome,

but he offered a throne. Not only an actress, but many a high-born dame,

might possibly, in such circumstances, forget her love, and think only

of her ambition.

To her credit be it said, Delia did not yield without some reluctance to

the Grand Duke's arguments, which Balthasar backed with all his

eloquence; but she ended by agreeing to the interview with Prince

Maximilian.

"I accept," she resolutely exclaimed; "I shall be sovereign Princess of

Hanau."

"And I," cried the Grand Duke, "shall marry Princess Wilhelmina, and,

this very evening, poor Pippinstir, disconcerted and defeated, will go

back to Saxe-Tolpelhausen."

"He would have done that in any case," said Balthasar; "for, this

evening, Florival was to have run away with his wife."

"That is carrying things rather far," Delia remarked.

"Such a scandal is unnecessary," added the Grand Duke.