CHAPTER XVI

Vivian had duly acquainted the Marquess with the successful progress of

his negotiations with their intended partisans, and Lord Carabas had

himself conversed with them singly on the important subject. It was

thought proper, however, in this stage of the proceedings, that the

persons interested should meet together; and so the two Lords, and Sir

Berdmore, and Vivian were invited to dine with the Marquess alone, and

in his library.

There was abundance of dumb waiters and other inventions by which the

ease of the guests might be consulted, without risking even their secret

looks to the gaze of liveried menials. The Marquess’ gentleman sat in an

ante-chamber, in case human aid might be necessary, and everything, as

his Lordship averred, was “on the same system as the Cabinet Dinners.”

In the ancient kingdom of England it hath ever been the custom to dine

previously to transacting business. This habit is one of those few which

are not contingent upon the mutable fancies of fashion, and at this day

we see Cabinet Dinners and Vestry Dinners alike proving the correctness

of our assertion. Whether the custom really expedites the completion or

the general progress of the business which gives rise to it, is a grave

question, which we do not feel qualified to decide. Certain it is that

very often, after the _dinner_, an appointment is made for the

transaction of the _business_ on the following morning: at the same time

it must be remembered that, had it not been for the opportunity which

the banquet afforded of developing the convivial qualities of the

guests, and drawing out, by the assistance of generous wine, their most

kindly sentiments and most engaging feelings, it is very probable that

the appointment for the transaction of the business would never have

been made at all.

There certainly was every appearance that “the great business,” as the

Marquess styled it, would not be very much advanced by the cabinet

dinner at Château Desir. For, in the first place, the table was laden

“with every delicacy of the season,” and really, when a man is either

going to talk sense, fight a duel, or make his will, nothing should be

seen at dinner save cutlets and the lightest Bordeaux. And, in the

second place, it must be confessed, that when it came to the point of

all the parties interested meeting, the Marquess’ courage somewhat

misgave him. Not that any particular reason occurred to him which would

have induced him to yield one jot of the theory of his sentiments, but

the putting them in practice rather made him nervous. In short, he was

as convinced as ever that he was an ill-used man, of great influence and

abilities; but then he remembered his agreeable sinecure and his

dignified office, and he might not succeed. The thought did not please.

But here they were all assembled; receding was impossible; and so the

Marquess took a glass of claret, and felt more courageous.

“My Lords and Gentlemen,” he began, “although I have myself taken the

opportunity of communicating to you singly my thoughts upon a certain

subject, and although, if I am rightly informed, my excellent young

friend has communicated to you more fully upon that subject; yet, my

Lords and Gentlemen, I beg to remark that this is the first time that we

have collectively assembled to consult on the possibility of certain

views, upon the propriety of their nature, and the expediency of their

adoption.” (Here the claret passed.) “The present state of parties,” the

Marquess continued, “has doubtless for a long time engaged your

attention. It is very peculiar, and although the result has been

gradually arrived at, it is nevertheless, now that it is realised,

startling, and not, I apprehend, very satisfactory. There are few

distinctions now between the two sides of the House of Commons, very

different from the times in which most, I believe all, of us, my Lords

and Gentlemen, were members of that assembly. The question then

naturally arises, why a certain body of individuals, who now represent

no opinions, should arrogate to themselves the entire government and

control of the country? A second question would occur, how they contrive

to succeed in such an assumption? They succeed clearly because the

party who placed them in power, because they represented certain

opinions, still continue to them their support. Some of the most

influential members of that party, I am bold to say, may be found in

this room. I don’t know, if the boroughs of Lord Courtown and Lord

Beaconsfield were withdrawn at a critical division, what might be the

result. I am quite sure that if the forty country gentlemen who follow,

I believe I am justified in saying, our friend Sir Berdmore, and wisely

follow him, were to declare their opposition to any particular tax, the

present men would be beaten, as they have been beaten before. I was

myself a member of the government when so beaten, and I know what Lord

Liverpool said the next morning. Lord Liverpool said the next morning.

‘Forty country gentlemen, if they choose, might repeal every tax in the

Budget.’ Under these circumstances, my Lords and Gentlemen, it becomes

us, in my opinion, to consider our situation. I am far from wishing to

witness any general change, or indeed, very wide reconstruction of the

present administration. I think the interests of the country require

that the general tenor of their system should be supported; but there

are members of that administration whose claims to that distinction

appear to me more than questionable, while at the same time there are

individuals excluded, personages of great influence and recognised

talents, who ought no longer, in my opinion, to occupy a position in the

background. Mr. Vivian Grey, a gentleman whom I have the honour to call

my particular friend, and who, I believe, has had already the pleasure

of incidentally conversing with you on the matters to which I have

referred, has given great attention to this important subject. He is a

younger man than any of us, and certainly has much better lungs than I

have. I will take the liberty, therefore, of requesting him to put the

case in its completeness before us.”

A great deal of “desultory conversation,” as it is styled, relative to

the great topic of debate, now occurred. When the blood of the party was

tolerably warmed, Vivian addressed them. The tenor of his oration may be

imagined. He developed the new political principles, demonstrated the

mistake under the baneful influence of which they had so long suffered,

promised them place, and power, and patronage, and personal

consideration, if they would only act on the principles which he

recommended, in the most flowing language and the most melodious voice

in which the glories of ambition were ever yet chaunted. There was a

buzz of admiration when the flattering music ceased; the Marquess smiled

triumphantly, as if to say, “Didn’t I tell you he was a monstrous clever

fellow?” and the whole business seemed settled. Lord Courtown gave in a

bumper, _“Mr. Vivian Grey, and success to his maiden speech!”_ and

Vivian replied by proposing _“The New Union!”_ At last, Sir Berdmore,

the coolest of them all, raised his voice: “He quite agreed with Mr.

Grey in the principles which he had developed; and, for his own part, he

was free to confess that he had perfect confidence in that gentleman’s

very brilliant abilities, and augured from their exertion complete and

triumphant success. At the same time, he felt it his duty to remark to

their Lordships, and also to that gentleman, that the House of Commons

was a new scene to him; and he put it, whether they were quite convinced

that they were sufficiently strong as regarded talent in that assembly.

He could not take it upon himself to offer to become the leader of the

party. Mr. Grey might be capable of undertaking that charge, but still,

it must be remembered that in that assembly he was as yet untried. He

made no apology to Mr. Grey for speaking his mind so freely; he was sure

that his motives could not be misinterpreted. If their Lordships, on the

whole, were of opinion that this charge should be entrusted to him, he,

Sir Berdmore, having the greatest confidence in Mr. Grey’s abilities,

would certainly support him to the utmost.”

“He can do anything,” said the Marquess.

“He is a surprising clever man!” said Lord Courtown.

“He is a surprising clever man!” echoed Lord Beaconsfield.

“Stop, my Lords,” said Vivian; “your good opinion deserves my gratitude,

but these important matters do indeed require a moment’s consideration.

I trust that Sir Berdmore Scrope does not imagine that I am the vain

idiot to be offended at his most excellent remarks, even for a moment.

Are we not met here for the common good, and to consult for the success

of the common cause? Whatever my talents are, they are at your service,

and in your service will I venture anything; but surely, my Lords, you

will not unnecessarily entrust this great business to a raw hand! I need

only aver that I am ready to follow any leader who can play his great

part in a becoming manner.”

“Noble!” said the Marquess.

But who was the leader to be? Sir Berdmore frankly confessed that he

had none to propose; and the Viscount and the Baron were quite silent.

“Gentlemen!” exclaimed the Marquess, “Gentlemen! there is a man who

could do our bidding,” The eyes of every guest were fixed on the

haranguing host.

“Gentlemen, fill your glasses, I give you our leader, Mr. Frederick

Cleveland!”

“Cleveland”’ every one exclaimed. A glass of claret fell from Lord

Courtown’s hand; Lord Beaconsfield stopped as he was about to fill his

glass, and stood gaping at the Marquess with the decanter in his hand;

and Sir Berdmore stared on the table, as men do when something

unexpected and astounding has occurred at dinner which seems past all

their management.

“Cleveland!” exclaimed the guests.

“I should as soon have expected you to have given us Lucifer!” said Lord

Courtown.

“Or the present Secretary!” said Lord Beaconsfield.

“Or yourself,” said Sir Berdmore.

“And does any one maintain that Frederick Cleveland is not capable of

driving out a much stronger Government than he will have to cope with?”

demanded the Marquess with a rather fierce air.

“We do not deny Mr. Cleveland’s powers, my Lord; we only humbly beg to

suggest that it appears to us that, of all the persons in the world, the

man with whom Mr. Cleveland would be least inclined to coalesce would be

the Marquess of Carabas.”

The Marquess looked somewhat blank.

“Gentlemen,” said Vivian, “do not despair; it is enough for me to know

that there is a man who is capable of doing our work. Be he animate man

or incarnate fiend, provided he can be found within this realm, I pledge

myself that within ten days he is drinking my noble friend’s health at

this very board.”

The Marquess said, “Bravo,” the rest smiled, and rose from the table in

some confusion. Little more was said on the “great business.” The guests

took refuge in coffee and a glass of liqueur. The pledge was, however,

apparently accepted, and Lord Carabas and Vivian were soon left alone.

The Marquess seemed agitated by Vivian’s offer and engagement. “This is

a grave business,” he said: “you hardly know, my dear Vivian, what you

have undertaken; but, if anybody can succeed, you will. We must talk of

this to-morrow. There are some obstacles, and I should once have

thought, invincible. I cannot conceive what made me mention his name;

but it has been often in my mind since you first spoke to me. You and he

together, we might carry everything before us. But there are some

obstacles; no doubt there are some obstacles. You heard what Courtown

said, a man who does not make difficulties, and Beaconsfield, a man who

does not say much. Courtown called him Lucifer. He is Lucifer. But, by

Jove, you are the man to overcome obstacles. We must talk of it

to-morrow. So now, my dear fellow, good night!”

“What have I done?” thought Vivian; “I am sure that Lucifer may know,

for I do not. This Cleveland is, I suppose, after all, but a man. I saw

the feeble fools were wavering, and, to save all, made a leap in the

dark. Well! is my skull cracked? Nous verrons. How hot either this room

or my blood is! Come, for some fresh air (he opened the library window).

How fresh and soft it is! Just the night for the balcony. Hah! music! I

cannot mistake that voice. Singular woman! I will just walk on till I am

beneath her window.”

Vivian accordingly proceeded along the balcony, which extended down one

whole side of the Château. While he was looking at the moon he stumbled

against some one. It was Colonel Delmington. He apologised to the

militaire for treading on his toes, and wondered “how the devil he

got there!”

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

Fredrick Cleveland was educated at Eton and at Cambridge; and after

having proved, both at the school and the University, that he possessed

talents of a high order, he had the courage, in order to perfect them,

to immure himself for three years in a German University. It was

impossible, therefore, for two minds to have been cultivated on more

contrary systems than those of Frederick Cleveland and Vivian Grey. The

systems on which they had been educated were not, however, more

discordant than the respective tempers of the pupils. With that of

Vivian Grey the reader is now somewhat acquainted. It has been shown

that he was one precociously convinced of the necessity of managing

mankind, by studying their tempers and humouring their weaknesses.

Cleveland turned from the Book of Nature with contempt, and although his

was a mind of extraordinary acuteness, he was, at three-and-thirty, as

ignorant of the workings of the human heart as when, in the innocence of

boyhood, he first reached Eton.

Although possessed of no fortune, from his connections and the

reputation of his abilities, he entered Parliament at an early age. His

success was eminent. It was at this period that he formed a great

intimacy with the present Marquess of Carabas, then Under Secretary of

State. His exertions for the party to which Mr. Under Secretary Lorraine

belonged were unremitting; and it was mainly through their influence

that a great promotion took place in the official appointments of the

party. When the hour of reward came, Mr. Lorraine and his friends

unfortunately forgot their youthful champion. He remonstrated, and they

smiled: he reminded them of private friendship, and they answered him

with political expediency. Mr. Cleveland went down to the House, and

attacked his old comates in a spirit of unexampled bitterness. He

examined in review the various members of the party that had deserted

him. They trembled on their seats, while they writhed beneath the

keenness of his satire: but when the orator came to Mr. President

Lorraine, he flourished the tomahawk on high like a wild Indian

chieftain; and the attack was so awfully severe, so overpowering, so

annihilating, that even this hackneyed and hardened official trembled,

turned pale, and quitted the House. Cleveland’s triumph was splendid,

but it was only for a night. Disgusted with mankind, he scouted the

thousand offers of political connections which crowded upon him; and

having succeeded in making an arrangement with his creditors, he

accepted the Chiltern Hundreds.

By the interest of his friends he procured a judicial situation of

sufficient emolument, but of local duty; and to fulfil this duty he was

obliged to reside in North Wales. The locality, indeed, suited him well,

for he was sick of the world at nine-and-twenty; and, carrying his

beautiful and newly-married wife from the world, which without him she

could not love, Mr. Cleveland enjoyed all the luxuries of a cottage

ornée in the most romantic part of the Principality. Here were born unto

him a son and daughter, beautiful children, upon whom the father

lavished all the affection which Nature had intended for the world.

Four years had Cleveland now passed in his solitude, an unhappy man. A

thousand times during the first year of his retirement he cursed the

moment of excitement which had banished him from the world; for he found

himself without resources, and restless as a curbed courser. Like many

men who are born to be orators, like Curran and like Fox, Cleveland was

not blessed, or cursed, with the faculty of composition; and indeed, had

his pen been that of a ready writer, pique would have prevented him from

delighting or instructing a world whose nature he endeavoured to

persuade himself was base, and whose applause ought, consequently, to be

valueless. In the second year he endeavoured to while away his time by

interesting himself in those pursuits which Nature has kindly provided

for country gentlemen. Farming kept him alive for a while; but, at

length, his was the prize ox; and, having gained a cup, he got wearied

of kine too prime for eating, wheat too fine for the composition of the

staff of life, and ploughs so ingeniously contrived that the very

ingenuity prevented them from being useful. Cleveland was now seen

wandering over the moors and mountains, with a gun over his shoulder and

a couple of dogs at his heels; but ennui returned in spite of his patent

percussion: and so, at length, tired of being a sportsman, he almost

became what he had fancied himself in an hour of passion, a misanthrope.

After having been closeted with Lord Carabas for a considerable time the

morning after the cabinet dinner, Vivian left Château Desir.

He travelled night and day, until he arrived in the vicinity of Mr.

Cleveland’s abode. What was he to do now? After some deliberation, he

despatched a note to Mr. Cleveland, informing him “that he (Mr. Grey)

was the bearer to Mr. Cleveland of a ‘communication of importance.’

Under the circumstances of the case, he observed that he had declined

bringing any letters of introduction. He was quite aware, therefore,

that he should have no right to complain if he had to travel back three

hundred miles without having the honour of an interview; but he trusted

that this necessary breach of etiquette would be overlooked.”

The note produced the desired effect, and an appointment was made for

Mr. Grey to call at Kenrich Lodge on the following morning.

Vivian, as he entered the room, took a rapid glance at its master. Mr.

Cleveland was tall and distinguished, with a face which might have been

a model for manly beauty. He came forward to receive Vivian with a

Newfoundland dog on one side and a large black greyhound on the other;

and the two animals, after having elaborately examined the stranger,

divided between them the luxuries of the rug. The reception which Mr.

Cleveland gave our hero was cold and constrained; but it did not appear

to be purposely uncivil, and Vivian flattered himself that his manner

was not unusually stiff.

“I do not know whether I have the honour of addressing the son of Mr.

Horace Grey?” said Mr. Cleveland, with a frowning countenance, which was

intended to be courteous.

“I have that honour.”

“Your father, sir, is a most amiable and able man. I had the pleasure of

his acquaintance when I was in London, many years ago, at a time when

Mr. Vivian Grey was not entrusted, I rather imagine, with missions ‘of

importance.’” Although Mr. Cleveland smiled when he said this, his smile

was anything but a gracious one. The subdued satire of his keen eye

burst out for an instant, and he looked as if he would have said, “Who

is this yonker who is trespassing upon my retirement?”

Vivian had, unbidden, seated himself by the side of Mr. Cleveland’s

library table; and, not knowing exactly how to proceed, was employing

himself by making a calculation whether there were more black than white

spots on the body of the old Newfoundland, who was now apparently

happily slumbering.

“Well, sir!” continued the Newfoundland’s master, “the nature of your

communication? I am fond of coming to the point.”

Now this was precisely the thing which Vivian had determined not to do;

and so he diplomatised, in order to gain time. “In stating, Mr.

Cleveland, that the communication which I had to make was one of

importance, I beg to be understood, that it was with reference merely to

my opinion of its nature that that phrase was used, and not as relative

to the possible, or, allow me to say, the probable, opinion of Mr.

Cleveland.”

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

“As to the purport or nature of the communication it is,” said Vivian,

with one of his sweetest cadences and looking up to Mr. Cleveland’s face

with an eye expressive of all kindness, “it is of a political nature.”

“Well, sir!” again exclaimed Cleveland, looking very anxious, and moving

restlessly on his library chair.

“When we take into consideration, Mr. Cleveland, the present aspect of

the political world, when we call to mind the present situation of the

two great political parties, you will not be surprised, I feel

confident, when I mention that certain personages have thought that the

season was at hand when a move might be made in the political world with

very considerable effect--”

“Mr. Grey, what am I to understand?” interrupted Mr. Cleveland, who

began to suspect that the envoy was no greenhorn.

“I feel confident, Mr. Cleveland, that I am doing very imperfect justice

to the mission with which I am entrusted; but, sir, you must be aware

that the delicate nature of such disclosures, and--”

“Mr. Grey, I feel confident that you do not doubt my honour; and, as for

the rest, the world has, I believe, some foolish tales about me; but,

believe me, you shall be listened to with patience. I am certain that,

whatever may be the communication, Mr. Vivian Grey is a gentleman who

will do its merits justice.”

And now Vivian, having succeeded in exciting Cleveland’s curiosity and

securing himself the certainty of a hearing, and having also made a

favourable impression, dropped the diplomatist altogether, and was

explicit enough for a Spartan.

“Certain Noblemen and Gentlemen of eminence and influence, hitherto

considered as props of the ---- party, are about to take a novel and

decided course next Session. It is to obtain the aid and personal

co-operation of Mr. Cleveland that I am now in Wales.”

“Mr. Grey, I have promised to listen to you with patience: you are too

young a man to know much, perhaps, of the history of so insignificant a

personage as myself, otherwise you would have been aware that there is

no subject in the world on which I am less inclined to converse than

that of politics. If I were entitled to take such a liberty, I would

recommend you to think of them as little as I do; but enough of this.

Who is the mover of the party?”

“My Lord Courtown is a distinguished member of it.”

“Courtown, Courtown; powerful enough: but surely the good Viscount’s

skull is not exactly the head for the chief of a cabal?”

“There is my Lord Beaconsfield.”

“Powerful, too; but a dolt.”

“Well,” thought Vivian, “it must out at last; and so to it boldly. And,

Mr. Cleveland, there is little fear that we may secure the great

influence and tried talents of the Marquess of Carabas.”

“The Marquess of Carabas!” almost shrieked Mr. Cleveland, as he started

from his seat and paced the room with hurried steps; and the greyhound

and the Newfoundland jumped up from the rug, shook themselves, growled,

and then imitated their master in promenading the apartment, but with

more dignified and stately paces. “The Marquess of Carabas! Now, Mr.

Grey, speak to me with the frankness which one gentleman should use to

another; is the Marquess of Carabas privy to this application?”

“He himself proposed it.”

“Then he is baser than even I conceived. Mr. Grey, I am a man spare of

my speech to those with whom I am unacquainted, and the world calls me a

soured, malicious man. And yet, when I think for a moment that one so

young as you are, endowed as I must suppose with no ordinary talents,

and actuated as I will believe with a pure and honourable spirit, should

be the dupe, or tool, or even present friend of such a creature as this

perjured Peer, it gives me pang.”

“Mr. Cleveland,” said Vivian, “I am grateful for your kindness; and

although we may probably part, in a few hours, never to meet again, I

will speak to you with the frankness which you have merited, and to

which I feel you are entitled. I am not the dupe of the Marquess of

Carabas; I am not, I trust, the dupe, or tool, of any one whatever.

Believe me, sir, there is that at work in England which, taken at the

tide, may lead on to fortune. I see this, sir; I, a young man,

uncommitted in political principles, unconnected in public life, feeling

some confidence, I confess, in my own abilities, but desirous of

availing myself, at the same time, of the powers of others. Thus

situated, I find myself working for the same end as my Lord Carabas and

twenty other men of similar calibre, mental and moral; and, sir, am I to

play the hermit in the drama of life because, perchance, my

fellow-actors may be sometimes fools, and occasionally knaves? If the

Marquess of Carabas has done you the ill-service which Fame says he

has, your sweetest revenge will be to make him your tool; your most

perfect triumph, to rise to power by his influence.

“I confess that I am desirous of finding in you the companion of my

career. Your splendid talents have long commanded my admiration; and, as

you have given me credit for something like good feeling, I will say

that my wish to find in you a colleague is greatly increased when I see

that those splendid talents are even the least estimable points in Mr.

Cleveland’s character. But, sir, perhaps all this time I am in error;

perhaps Mr. Cleveland is, as the world reports him, no longer the

ambitious being who once commanded the admiration of a listening Senate;

perhaps, convinced of the vanity of human wishes, Mr. Cleveland would

rather devote his attention to the furtherance of the interests of his

immediate circle; and, having schooled his intellect in the Universities

of two nations, is probably content to pass the hours of his life in

mediating in the quarrels of a country village.”

Vivian ceased. Cleveland heard him with his head resting on both his

arms. He started at the last expression, and something like a blush

suffused his cheek, but he did not reply. At last he jumped up and rang

the bell. “Come, Mr. Grey,” said he, “I am in no humour for politics

this morning. You must not, at any rate, visit Wales for nothing.

Morris! send down to the village for this gentleman’s luggage. Even we

cottagers have a bed for a friend, Mr. Grey: come, and I will introduce

you to my wife.”

CHAPTER II

And Vivian was now an inmate of Kenrich Lodge. It would have been

difficult to have conceived a life of more pure happiness than that

which was apparently enjoyed by its gifted master. A beautiful wife and

lovely children, and a romantic situation, and an income sufficient not

only for their own but for the wants of their necessitous neighbours;

what more could man wish? Answer me, thou inexplicable myriad of

sensations which the world calls human nature!

Three days passed over in delightful converse. It was so long since

Cleveland had seen any one fresh from the former scenes of his life,

that the company of any one would have been agreeable; but here was a

companion who knew every one, everything, full of wit and anecdote, and

literature and fashion; and then so engaging in his manners, and with

such a winning voice.

The heart of Cleveland relented; his stern manner gave way; all his

former warm and generous feeling gained the ascendant; he was in turn

amusing, communicative, and engaging. Finding that he could please

another, he began to be pleased himself. The nature of the business upon

which Vivian was his guest rendered confidence necessary; confidence

begets kindness. In a few days Vivian necessarily became more acquainted

with Mr. Cleveland’s disposition and situation than if they had been

acquainted for as many years; in short.

They talked with open heart and tongue,

Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends.

Vivian, for some time, dwelt upon everything but the immediate subject

of his mission; but when, after the experience of a few days, their

hearts were open to each other, and they had mutually begun to discover

that there was a most astonishing similarity in their principles, their

tastes, their feelings, then the magician poured forth his incantation,

and raised the once-laid ghost of Cleveland’s ambition. The recluse

agreed to take the lead of the Carabas party. He was to leave Wales

immediately, and resign his place; in return for which the nephew of

Lord Courtown was immediately to give up, in his favour, an office of

considerable emolument; and, having thus provided some certainty for his

family, Frederick Cleveland prepared himself to combat for a more

important office.

CHAPTER III

“Is Mr. Cleveland handsome?” asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine of Vivian,

immediately on his return, “and what colour are his eyes?”

“Upon my honour, I have not the least recollection of ever looking at

them; but I believe he is not blind.”

“How foolish you are! now tell me, pray, _point de moquerie_, is he

amusing?”

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

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

with you.”

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

Vivian redeemed his pledge: Mr. Cleveland arrived. It was the wish of

the Marquess, if possible, not to meet his old friend till dinner-time.

He thought that, surrounded by his guests, certain awkward senatorial

reminiscences might be got over. But, unfortunately, Mr. Cleveland

arrived about an hour before dinner, and, as it was a cold autumnal day,

most of the visitors who were staying at Château Desir were assembled in

the drawing-room. The Marquess sallied forward to receive his guest with

a most dignified countenance and a most aristocratic step; but, before

he got half-way, his coronation pace degenerated into a strut, and then

into a shamble, and with an awkward and confused countenance, half

impudent and half flinching, he held forward his left hand to his

newly-arrived visitor. Mr. Cleveland looked terrifically courteous and

amiably arrogant. He greeted the Marquess with a smile at once gracious

and grim, and looked something like Goliath, as you see the Philistine

depicted in some old German painting, looking down upon the pigmy

fighting men of Israel.

As is generally the custom when there is a great deal to be arranged and

many points to be settled, days flew over, and very little of the future

system of the party was matured. Vivian made one or two ineffectual

struggles to bring the Marquess to a business-like habit of mind, but

his Lordship never dared to trust himself alone with Cleveland, and,

indeed, almost lost the power of speech when in presence of the future

leader of his party; so, in the morning, the Marquess played off the two

Lords and Sir Berdmore against his former friend, and then, to

compensate for not meeting Mr. Cleveland in the morning, he was

particularly courteous to him at dinner-time, and asked him always “how

he liked his ride?” and invariably took wine with him. As for the rest

of the day, he had particularly requested his faithful counsellor, Mrs.

Felix Lorraine, “for God’s sake to take this man off his shoulders;” and

so that lady, with her usual kindness, and merely to oblige his

Lordship, was good enough to patronise Mr. Cleveland, and on the fourth

day was taking a moonlit walk with him.

Mr. Cleveland had now been ten days at Château Desir, and was to take

his departure the next morning for Wales, in order to arrange everything

for his immediate settlement in the metropolis. Every point of

importance was postponed until their meeting in London. Mr. Cleveland

only agreed to take the lead of the party in the Commons, and received

the personal pledge of Lord Courtown as to the promised office.

It was a September day, and to escape from the excessive heat of the

sun, and at the same time to enjoy the freshness of the air, Vivian was

writing his letters in the conservatory, which opened into one of the

drawing-rooms. The numerous party which then honoured the Château with

their presence were out, as he conceived, on a picnic excursion to the

Elfin’s Well, a beautiful spot about ten miles off; and among the

adventurers were, as he imagined, Mrs. Felix Lorraine and Mr. Cleveland.

Vivian was rather surprised at hearing voices in the adjoining room, and

he was still more so when, on looking round, he found that the sounds

proceeded from the very two individuals whom he thought were far away.

Some tall American plants concealed him from their view, but he observed

all that passed distinctly, and a singular scene it was. Mrs. Felix

Lorraine was on her knees at the feet of Mr. Cleveland; her countenance

indicated the most contrary passions, contending, as it were, for

mastery; supplication, anger, and, shall I call it, love? Her

companion’s countenance was hid, but it was evident that it was not

wreathed with smiles: there were a few hurried sentences uttered, and

then both quitted the room at different doors, the lady in despair, and

the gentleman in disgust.

CHAPTER IV

And now Château Desir was almost deserted. Mrs. Million continued her

progress northward. The Courtowns, and the Beaconsfields, and the

Scropes quitted immediately after Mr. Cleveland; and when the families

that form the material of the visiting corps retire, the nameless

nothings that are always lounging about the country mansions of the

great, such as artists, tourists, authors, and other live stock, soon

disappear. Mr. Vivian Grey agreed to stay another fortnight, at the

particular request of the Marquess.

Very few days had passed ere Vivian was exceedingly struck at the

decided change which suddenly took place in his Lordship’s general

demeanour towards him.

The Marquess grew reserved and uncommunicative, scarcely mentioning “the

great business” which had previously been the sole subject of his

conversation but to find fault with some arrangement, and exhibiting,

whenever his name was mentioned, a marked acrimony against Mr.

Cleveland. This rapid change alarmed as much as it astonished Vivian,

and he mentioned his feelings and observations to Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

That lady agreed with him that something certainly was wrong; but could

not, unfortunately, afford him any clue to the mystery. She expressed

the liveliest solicitude that any misunderstanding should be put an end

to, and offered her services for that purpose.

In spite, however, of her well-expressed anxiety, Vivian had his own

ideas on the subject; and, determined to unravel the affair, he had

recourse to the Marchioness.

“I hope your Ladyship is well to-day. I had a letter from Count Caumont

this morning. He tells me that he has got the prettiest poodle from

Paris that you can possibly conceive! waltzes like an angel, and acts

proverbs on its hind feet.”

Her Ladyship’s eyes glistened with admiration.

“I have told Caumont to send it me down immediately, and I shall then

have the pleasure of presenting it to your Ladyship.”

Her Ladyship’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“I think,” continued Vivian, “I shall take a ride to-day. By-the-bye,

how is the Marquess? he seems in low spirits lately.”

“Oh, Mr. Grey! I do not know what you have done to him,” said her

Ladyship, settling at least a dozen bracelets; “but, but--”

“But what?”

“He thinks; he thinks.”

“Thinks what, dear lady?”

“That you have entered into a combination, Mr. Grey.”

“Entered into a combination!”

“Yes, Mr. Grey! a conspiracy, a conspiracy against the Marquess, with

Mr. Cleveland. He thinks that you have made him serve your purpose, and

now you are going to get rid of him.”

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

“He thinks you talk too loud,” said the Marchioness, still working at

her bracelets.

“Well! that is shockingly vulgar! Allow me to recommend your Ladyship to

alter the order of those bracelets, and place the blue and silver

against the maroon. You may depend upon it, that is the true Vienna

order. And what else dues the Marquess say?”

“He thinks you are generally too authoritative. Not that I think so, Mr.

Grey: I am sure your conduct to me has been most courteous. The blue and

silver next to the maroon, did you say? Yes; certainly it does look

better. I have no doubt the Marquess is quite wrong, and I dare say you

will set things right immediately. You will remember the pretty poodle,

Mr. Grey? and you will not tell the Marquess I mentioned anything.”

“Oh! certainly not. I will give orders for them to book an inside place

for the poodle, and send him down by the coach immediately, I must be

off now. Remember the blue and silver next to the maroon. Good morning

to your Ladyship.”

“Mrs. Felix Lorraine, I am your most obedient slave,” said Vivian Grey,

as he met that lady on the landing-place. “I can see no reason why I

should not drive you this bright day to the Elfin’s Well; we have long

had an engagement to go there.”

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

ordered.

“How pleasant Lady Courtown and I used to discourse about martingales! I

think I invented one, did not I? Pray, Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can you tell

me what a martingale is? for upon my honour I have forgotten, or

never knew.”

“If you found a martingale for the mother, Vivian, it had been well if

you had found a curb for the daughter. Poor Cynthia! I had intended once

to advise the Marchioness to interfere; but one forgets these things.”

“One does. O, Mrs. Felix!” exclaimed Vivian, “I told your admirable

story of the Leyden Professor to Mrs. Cleveland. It is universally

agreed to be the best ghost-story extant. I think you said you knew the

Professor.”

“Well! I have seen him often, and heard the story from his own lips.

And, as I mentioned before, far from being superstitious, he was an

esprit fort. Do you know, Mr. Grey, I have such an interesting packet

from Germany to-day; from my cousin, Baron Rodenstein. But I must keep

all the stories for the evening; come to my boudoir, and I will read

them to you. There is one tale which I am sure will make a convert even

of you. It happened to Rodenstein himself, and within these three

months,” added the lady in a serious tone. “The Rodensteins are a

singular family. My mother was a Rodenstein. Do you think this

beautiful?” said Mrs. Felix, showing Vivian a small miniature which was

attached to a chain round her neck. It was the portrait of a youth

habited in the costume of a German student. His rich brown hair was

flowing over his shoulders, and his dark blue eyes beamed with such a

look of mysterious inspiration, that they might have befitted a

young prophet.

“Very, very beautiful!”

“‘Tis Max, Max Rodenstein,” said the lady, with a faltering voice. “He

was killed at Leipsic, at the head of a band of his friends and

fellow-students. O, Mr. Grey! this is a fair work of art, but if you had

but seen the prototype you would have gazed on this as on a dim and

washed-out drawing. There was one portrait, indeed, which did him more

justice; but then that portrait was not the production of

mortal pencil.”

Vivian looked at his companion with a somewhat astonished air, but Mrs.

Felix Lorraine’s countenance was as little indicative of jesting as that

of the young student whose miniature rested on her bosom.

“Did you say _not_ the production of a mortal hand, Mrs. Felix

Lorraine?”

“I am afraid I shall weary you with my stories, but the one I am about

to tell you is so well evidenced that I think even Mr. Vivian Grey will

hear it without a sneer.”

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

“Max Rodenstein was the glory of his house. A being so beautiful in body

and in soul you cannot imagine, and I will not attempt to describe. This

miniature has given you some faint idea of his image, and yet this is

only the copy of a copy. The only wish of the Baroness Rodenstein, which

never could be accomplished, was the possession of a portrait of her

youngest son, for no consideration could induce Max to allow his

likeness to be taken. His old nurse had always told him that the moment

his portrait was taken he would die. The condition upon which such a

beautiful being was allowed to remain in the world was, she always said,

that his beauty should not be imitated. About three months before the

battle of Leipsic, when Max was absent at the University, which was

nearly four hundred miles from Rodenstein Castle, there arrived one

morning a large case directed to the Baroness. On opening it it was

found to contain a picture, the portrait of her son. The colouring was

so vivid, the general execution so miraculous, that for some moments

they forgot to wonder at the incident in their admiration of the work of

art. In one corner of the picture, in small characters yet fresh, was an

inscription, which on examining they found consisted of these words:

‘Painted last night. Now, lady, thou hast thy wish.’ My aunt sank into

the Baron’s arms.

“In silence and in trembling the wonderful portrait was suspended over

the fireplace of my aunt’s favourite apartment. The next day they

received letters from Max. He was quite well, but mentioned nothing of

the mysterious painting.

“Three months afterwards, as a lady was sitting alone in the Baroness’s

room, and gazing on the portrait of him she loved right dearly, she

suddenly started from her seat, and would have shrieked, had not an

indefinable sensation prevented her. The eyes of the portrait moved. The

lady stood leaning on a chair, pale, and trembling like an aspen, but

gazing steadfastly on the animated portrait. It was no illusion of a

heated fancy; again the eyelids trembled, there was a melancholy smile,

and then they closed. The clock of Rodenstein Castle struck three.

Between astonishment and fear the lady was tearless. Three days

afterwards came the news of the battle of Leipsic, and at the very

moment that the eyes of the portrait closed Max Rodenstein had been

pierced by a Polish Lancer.”

“And who was this wonderful lady, the witness of this wonderful

incident?” asked Vivian.

“That lady was myself.”

There was something so singular in the tone of Mrs. Felix Lorraine’s

voice, and so peculiar in the expression of her countenance, as she

uttered these words, that the jest died on Vivian’s tongue; and, for

want of something better to do, he lashed the little ponies, which were

already scampering at their full speed.

The road to the Elfin’s Well ran through the wildest parts of the park;

and after an hour and a half’s drive they reached the fairy spot. It was

a beautiful and pellucid spring, that bubbled up in a small wild dell,

which, nurtured by the flowing stream, was singularly fresh and green.

Above the spring had been erected a Gothic arch of grey stone, round

which grew a few fine birch-trees. In short, nature had intended the

spot for picnics. There was fine water, and an interesting tradition;

and as the parties always bring, or always should bring, a trained

punster, champagne, and cold pasties, what more ought Nature to

have provided?

“Come, Mrs. Lorraine, I will tie Gypsey to this ash, and then you and I

will rest ourselves beneath these birch-trees, just where the

fairies dance.”

“Oh, delightful!”

“Now, truly, we should have some book of beautiful poetry to while away

an hour. You will blame me for not bringing one. Do not. I would sooner

listen to your voice; and, indeed, there is a subject on which I wish to

ask your particular advice.”

“Is there?”

“I have been thinking that this is a somewhat rash step of the Marquess;

this throwing himself into the arms of his former bitterest enemy,

Cleveland.”

“You really think so?”

“Why, Mrs. Lorraine, does it appear to you to be the most prudent course

of action which could have been conceived?”

“Certainly not.”

“You agree with me, then, that there is, if not cause for regret at this

engagement, at least for reflection on its probable consequences?”

“I quite agree with you.”

“I know you do. I have had some conversation with the Marquess upon this

subject this very morning.”

“Have you?” eagerly exclaimed the lady, and she looked pale and breathed

short.

“Ay; and he tells me you have made some very sensible observations on

the subject. ‘Tis pity they were not made before Mr. Cleveland left; the

mischief might then have been prevented.”

“I certainly have made some observations.”

“And very kind of you. What a blessing for the Marquess to have such a

friend!”

“I spoke to him,” said Mrs. Felix, with a more assured tone, “in much

the same spirit as you have been addressing me. It does, indeed, seem a

most imprudent act, and I thought it my duty to tell him so.”

“Ay, no doubt; but how came you, lady fair, to imagine that _I_ was also

a person to be dreaded by his Lordship; _I_, Vivian Grey!”

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

“Did you not, Mrs. Felix Lorraine? Have you not, regardless of my

interests, in the most unwarrantable and unjustifiable manner; have you

not, to gratify some private pique which you entertain against Mr.

Cleveland; have you not, I ask you, poisoned the Marquess’ mind against

one who never did aught to you but what was kind and honourable?”

“I have been imprudent; I confess it; I have spoken somewhat loosely.”

“Now, listen to me once more,” and Vivian grasped her hand. “What has

passed between you and Mr. Cleveland it is not for me to inquire. I give

you my word of honour that he never even mentioned your name to me. I

can scarcely understand how any man could have incurred the deadly

hatred which you appear to entertain for him. I repeat, I can

contemplate no situation in which you could be placed together which

would justify such behaviour. It could not be justified, even if he had

spurned you while--kneeling at his feet.”

Mrs. Felix Lorraine shrieked and fainted. A sprinkling from the fairy

stream soon recovered her. “Spare me! spare me!” she faintly cried: “say

nothing of what you have seen.”

“Mrs. Lorraine, I have no wish. I have spoken thus explicitly that we

may not again misunderstand each other. I have spoken thus explicitly, I

say, that I may not be under the necessity of speaking again, for if I

speak again it must not be to Mrs. Felix Lorraine. There is my hand; and

now let the Elfin’s Well be blotted out of our memories.”

Vivian drove rapidly home, and endeavoured to talk in his usual tone and

with his usual spirit; but his companion could not be excited. Once, ay

twice, she pressed his hand, and as he assisted her from the phaeton she

murmured something like a blessing. She ran upstairs immediately. Vivian

had to give some directions about the ponies; Gipsey was ill, or Fanny

had a cold, or something of the kind; and so he was detained for about

a quarter of an hour before the house, speaking most learnedly to

grooms, and consulting on cases with a skilled gravity worthy of

Professor Coleman.

When he entered the house he found the luncheon prepared, and Mrs. Felix

pressed him earnestly to take some refreshment. He was indeed wearied,

and agreed to take a glass of hock and seltzer.

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

Tired with his drive, Vivian Grey was leaning on the mantelpiece, with

his eyes vacantly gazing on the looking-glass which rested on the marble

slab. It was by pure accident that, reflected in the mirror, he

distinctly beheld Mrs. Felix Lorraine open a small silver box, and throw

some powder into the tumbler which she was preparing for him. She was

leaning down, with her back almost turned to the glass, but still Vivian

saw it distinctly. A sickness came over him, and ere he could recover

himself his Hebe tapped him on the shoulder.

[Illustration: small silver box]

“Here, drink, drink while it is effervescent.”

“I cannot drink,” said Vivian, “I am not thirsty; I am too hot; I am

anything--”

“How foolish you are! It will be quite spoiled.”

“No, no; the dog shall have it. Here, Fidele, you look thirsty enough;

come here--”

“Mr. Grey, I do not mix tumblers for dogs,” said the lady, rather

agitated: “if you will not take it,” and she held it once more before

him, “here it goes for ever.” So saying she emptied the tumbler into a

large globe of glass, in which some gold and silver fish were swimming

their endless rounds.

CHAPTER V

This last specimen of Mrs. Felix Lorraine was somewhat too much even for

the steeled nerves of Vivian Grey, and he sought his chamber for relief.

“Is it possible? Can I believe my senses? Or has some demon, as we read

of in old tales, mocked me in a magic mirror? I can believe anything.

Oh! my heart is very sick! I once imagined that I was using this woman

for my purpose. Is it possible that aught of good can come to one who

is forced to make use of such evil instruments as these? A horrible

thought sometimes comes over my spirit. I fancy that in this mysterious

foreigner, that in this woman, I have met a kind of double of myself.

The same wonderful knowledge of the human mind, the same sweetness of

voice, the same miraculous management which has brought us both under

the same roof: yet do I find her the most abandoned of all beings; a

creature guilty of that which, even in this guilty age, I thought was

obsolete. And is it possible that I am like her? that I can resemble

her? that even the indefinite shadow of my most unhallowed thought can

for a moment be as vile as her righteousness? O God! the system of my

existence seems to stop. I cannot breathe.” He flung himself upon his

bed, and felt for a moment as if he had quaffed the poisoned draught so

lately offered.

“It is not so; it cannot be so; it shall not be so! In seeking the

Marquess I was unquestionably impelled by a mere feeling of

self-interest; but I have advised him to no course of action in which

his welfare is not equally consulted with my own. Indeed, if not

principle, interest would make me act faithfully towards him, for my

fortunes are bound up in his. But am I entitled, I, who can lose

nothing, am I entitled to play with other men’s fortunes? Am I all this

time deceiving myself with some wretched sophistry? Am I, then, an

intellectual Don Juan, reckless of human minds, as he was of human

bodies; a spiritual libertine? But why this wild declamation? Whatever I

have done, it is too late to recede; even this very moment delay is

destruction, for now it is not a question as to the ultimate prosperity

of our worldly prospects, but the immediate safety of our very bodies.

Poison! O God! O God! Away with all fear, all repentance, all thought of

past, all reckoning of future. If I be the Juan that I fancied myself,

then Heaven be praised! I have a confidant in all my troubles; the most

faithful of counsellors, the craftiest of valets; a Leporello often

tried and never found wanting: my own good mind. And now, thou female

fiend! the battle is to the strongest; and I see right well that the

struggle between two such spirits will be a long and a fearful one. Woe,

I say, to the vanquished! You must be dealt with by arts which even

yourself cannot conceive. Your boasted knowledge of human nature shall

not again stand you in stead; for, mark me, from henceforward Vivian

Grey’s conduct towards you shall have no precedent in human nature.”

As Vivian re-entered the drawing-room he met a servant carrying in the

globe of gold and silver fishes.

“What, still in your pelisse, Mrs. Lorraine!” said Vivian. “Nay, I

hardly wonder at it, for surely, a prettier pelisse never yet fitted

prettier form. You have certainly a most admirable taste in dress; and

this the more surprises me, for it is generally your plain personage

that is the most recherché in frills and fans and flounces.”

The lady smiled.

“Oh! by-the-bye,” continued her companion, “I have a letter from

Cleveland this morning. I wonder how any misunderstanding could possibly

have existed between you, for he speaks of you in such terms.”

“What does he say?” was the quick question.

“Oh! what does he say?” drawled out Vivian; and he yawned, and was most

provokingly uncommunicative.

“Come, come, Mr. Grey, do tell me.”

“Oh! tell you, certainly. Come, let us walk together in the

conservatory:” so saying, he took the lady by the hand, and they

left the room.

“And now for the letter, Mr. Grey.”

“Ay, now for the letter;” and Vivian slowly drew an epistle from his

pocket, and therefrom read some exceedingly sweet passages, which made

Mrs. Felix Lorraine’s very heart-blood tingle. Considering that Vivian

Grey had never in his life received a single letter from Mr. Cleveland,

this was tolerably well: but he was always an admirable improvisatore!

“I am sure that when Cleveland comes to town everything will be

explained; I am sure, at least, that it will not be my fault if you are

not the best friends. I am heroic in saying all this, Mrs. Lorraine;

there was a time when (and here Vivian seemed so agitated that he could

scarcely proceed), there was a time when I could have called that man

liar who would have prophesied that Vivian Grey could have assisted

another in riveting the affections of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. But enough of

this. I am a weak, inexperienced boy, and misinterpret, perhaps, that

which is merely the compassionate kindness natural to all women into a

feeling of a higher nature. But I must learn to contain myself; I really

do feel quite ashamed of my behaviour about the tumbler to-day. To act

with such unwarrantable unkindness, merely because I had remembered

that you once performed the same kind office for Colonel Delmington, was

indeed too bad.”

“Colonel Delmington is a vain, empty-headed fool. Do not think of him,

my dear Mr. Grey,” said Mrs. Felix, with a countenance beaming

with smiles.

“Well, I will not; and I will try to behave like a man; like a man of

the world, I should say. But indeed you must excuse the warm feelings of

a youth; and truly, when I call to mind the first days of our

acquaintance, and then remember that our moonlit walks are gone for

ever, and that our--”

“Nay, do not believe so, my dear Vivian; believe me, as I ever shall be,

your friend, your--”

“I will, I will, my dear, my own Amalia!”

CHAPTER VI

It was an autumnal night; the wind was capricious and changeable as a

petted beauty, or an Italian greyhound, or a shot silk. Now the breeze

blew so fresh that the white clouds dashed along the sky as if they bore

a band of witches too late for their Sabbath meeting, or some other

mischief; and now, lulled and soft as the breath of a slumbering infant,

you might almost have fancied it Midsummer Eve; and the bright moon,

with her starry court, reigned undisturbed in the light blue sky. Vivian

Grey was leaning against an old beech-tree in the most secluded part of

the park, and was gazing on the moon.

O thou bright moon! thou object of my first love! thou shalt not escape

an invocation, although perchance at this very moment some varlet

sonnetteer is prating of “the boy Endymion” and “thy silver bow.” Here

to thee, Queen of the Night! in whatever name thou most delightest! Or

Bendis, as they hailed thee in rugged Thrace; or Bubastis, as they

howled to thee in mysterious Egypt; or Dian, as they sacrificed to thee

in gorgeous Rome; or Artemis, as they sighed to thee on the bright

plains of ever glorious Greece! Why is it that all men gaze on thee? Why

is it that all men love thee? Why is it that all men worship thee?

Shine on, shine on, sultana of the soul! the Passions are thy eunuch

slaves, Ambition gazes on thee, and his burning brow is cooled, and his

fitful pulse is calm. Grief wanders in her moonlit walk and sheds no

tear; and when thy crescent smiles the lustre of Joy’s revelling eye is

dusked. Quick Anger, in thy light, forgets revenge; and even dove-eyed

Hope feeds on no future joys when gazing on the miracle of thy beauty.

Shine on, shine on! although a pure Virgin, thou art the mighty mother

of all abstraction! The eye of the weary peasant returning from his

daily toil, and the rapt gaze of the inspired poet, are alike fixed on

thee; thou stillest the roar of marching armies, and who can doubt thy

influence o’er the waves who has witnessed the wide Atlantic sleeping

under thy silver beam?

Shine on, shine on! they say thou art Earth’s satellite; yet when I gaze

on thee my thoughts are not of thy suzerain. They teach us that thy

power is a fable, and that thy divinity is a dream. Oh, thou bright

Queen! I will be no traitor to thy sweet authority; and verily, I will

not believe that thy influence o’er our hearts is, at this moment, less

potent than when we worshipped in thy glittering fane of Ephesus, or

trembled at the dark horrors of thine Arician rites. Then, hail to thee,

Queen of the Night! Hail to thee, Diana, Triformis; Cynthia, Orthia,

Taurica; ever mighty, ever lovely, ever holy! Hail! hail! hail!

Were I a metaphysician, I would tell you why Vivian Grey had been gazing

two hours on the moon; for I could then present you with a most logical

programme of the march of his ideas, since he whispered his last honied

speech in the ear of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, at dinner-time, until this

very moment, when he did not even remember that such a being as Mrs.

Felix Lorraine breathed. Glory to the metaphysician’s all-perfect

theory! When they can tell me why, at a bright banquet, the thought of

death has flashed across my mind, who fear not death; when they can tell

me why, at the burial of my beloved friend, when my very heart-strings

seemed bursting, my sorrow has been mocked by the involuntary

remembrance of ludicrous adventures and grotesque tales; when they can

tell me why, in a dark mountain pass, I have thought of an absent

woman’s eyes; or why, when in the very act of squeezing the third lime

into a beaker of Burgundy cup, my memory hath been of lean apothecaries

and their vile drugs; why then, I say again, glory to the

metaphysician’s all-perfect theory! and fare you well, sweet world, and

you, my merry masters, whom, perhaps, I have studied somewhat too

cunningly: _nosce teipsum_ shall be my motto. I will doff my travelling

cap, and on with the monk’s cowl.

There are mysterious moments in some men’s lives when the faces of human

beings are very agony to them, and when the sound of the human voice is

jarring as discordant music. These fits are not the consequence of

violent or contending passions: they grow not out of sorrow, or joy, or

hope, or fear, or hatred, or despair. For in the hour of affliction the

tones of our fellow-creatures are ravishing as the most delicate lute;

and in the flush moment of joy where is the smiler who loves not a

witness to his revelry or a listener to his good fortune? Fear makes us

feel our humanity, and then we fly to men, and Hope is the parent of

kindness. The misanthrope and the reckless are neither agitated nor

agonised. It is in these moments that men find in Nature that

congeniality of spirit which they seek for in vain in their own species.

It is in these moments that we sit by the side of a waterfall and listen

to its music the live-long day. It is in these moments that men gaze

upon the moon. It is in these moments that Nature becomes our Egeria;

and, refreshed and renovated by this beautiful communion, we return to

the world better enabled to fight our parts in the hot war of passions,

to perform the great duties for which man appeared to have been created,

to love, to hate, to slander, and to slay.

It was past midnight, and Vivian was at a considerable distance from the

Château. He proposed entering by a side door, which led into the

billiard-room, and from thence, crossing the Long Gallery, he could

easily reach his apartment without disturbing any of the household. His

way led through the little gate at which he had parted with Mrs. Felix

Lorraine on the first day of their meeting.

As he softly opened the door which led into the Long Gallery he found he

was not alone: leaning against one of the casements was a female. Her

profile was to Vivian as he entered, and the moon, which shone bright

through the window, lit up a countenance which he might be excused for

not immediately recognising as that of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. She was

gazing steadfastly, but her eye did not seem fixed upon any particular

object. Her features appeared convulsed, but their contortions were not

momentary, and, pale as death, a hideous grin seemed chiselled on her

idiot countenance.

Vivian scarcely knew whether to stay or to retire. Desirous not to

disturb her, he determined not even to breathe; and, as is generally the

case, his very exertions to be silent made him nervous, and to save

himself from being stifled he coughed.

Mrs. Lorraine immediately started and stared wildly around her, and when

her eye caught Vivian’s there was a sound in her throat something like

the death-rattle.

“Who are you?” she eagerly asked.

“A friend, and Vivian Grey.”

“How came you here?” and she rushed forward and wildly seized his hand,

and then she muttered to herself, “‘tis flesh.”

“I have been playing, I fear, the mooncalf to-night; and find that,

though I am a late watcher, I am not a solitary one.”

Mrs. Lorraine stared earnestly at him, and then she endeavoured to

assume her usual expression of countenance; but the effort was too much

for her. She dropped Vivian’s arm, and buried her face in her own hands.

Vivian was retiring, when she again looked up. “Where are you going?”

she asked, with a quick voice.

“To sleep, as I would advise all: ‘tis much past midnight.”

“You say not the truth. The brightness of your eye belies the sentence

of your tongue. You are not for sleep.”

“Pardon me, dear Mrs. Lorraine; I really have been yawning for the last

hour,” said Vivian, and he moved on.

“You are speaking to one who takes her answer from the eye, which does

not deceive, and from the speaking lineaments of the face, which are

Truth’s witnesses. Keep your voice for those who can credit man’s words.

You will go, then? What! are you afraid of a woman, because ‘tis past

midnight,’ and you are in an old gallery?”

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

“The words in your vocabulary are few, boy! as are the years of your

age. He who sent you here this night sent you here not to slumber. Come

hither!” and she led Vivian to the window: “what see you?”

“I see Nature at rest, Mrs. Lorraine; and I would fain follow the

example of beasts, birds, and fishes.”

“Yet gaze upon this scene one second. See the distant hills, how

beautifully their rich covering is tinted with the moonbeam! These

nearer fir-trees, how radiantly their black skeleton forms are tipped

with silver; and the old and thickly foliaged oaks bathed in light! and

the purple lake reflecting in its lustrous bosom another heaven? la it

not a fair scene?”

“Beautiful! most beautiful!”

“Yet, Vivian, where is the being for whom all this beauty exists? Where

is your mighty creature, Man? The peasant on his rough couch enjoys,

perchance, slavery’s only service-money, sweet sleep; or, waking in the

night, curses at the same time his lot and his lord. And that lord is

restless on some downy couch; his night thoughts, not of this sheeny

lake and this bright moon, but of some miserable creation of man’s

artifice, some mighty nothing, which Nature knows not of, some offspring

of her bastard child, Society. Why, then, is Nature loveliest when man

looks not on her? For whom, then, Vivian Grey, is this scene so fair?”

“For poets, lady; for philosophers; for all those superior spirits who

require some relaxation from the world’s toils; spirits who only

commingle with humanity on the condition that they may sometimes commune

with Nature.”

“Superior spirits! say you?” and here they paced the gallery. “When

Valerian, first Lord Carabas, raised this fair castle; when, profuse for

his posterity, all the genius of Italian art and Italian artists was

lavished on this English palace; when the stuffs and statues, the

marbles and the mirrors, the tapestry, and the carvings, and the

paintings of Genoa, and Florence, and Venice, and Padua, and Vicenza,

were obtained by him at miraculous cost, and with still more miraculous

toil; what think you would have been his sensations, if, while his soul

was revelling in the futurity of his descendants keeping their state in

this splendid pile, some wizard had foretold to him that, ere three

centuries could elapse, the fortunes of his mighty family would be the

sport of two individuals; one of them a foreigner, unconnected in blood,

or connected only in hatred; and the other a young adventurer alike

unconnected with his race, in blood or in love; a being ruling all

things by the power of his own genius, and reckless of all consequences

save his own prosperity? If the future had been revealed to my great

ancestor, the Lord Valerian, think you, Vivian Grey, that you and I

should be walking in this long gallery?”

“Really, Mrs. Lorraine, I have been so interested in discovering what

people think in the nineteenth century, that I have had but little time

to speculate on the possible opinions of an old gentleman who flourished

in the sixteenth.”

“You may sneer, sir; but I ask you, if there are spirits so superior to

that of the slumbering Lord of this castle as those of Vivian Grey and

Amalia Lorraine, why may there not be spirits proportionately superior

to our own?”

“If you are keeping me from my bed, Mrs. Lorraine, merely to lecture my

conceit by proving that there are in this world wiser heads than that of

Vivian Grey, on my honour you are giving yourself a great deal of

unnecessary trouble.”

“You will misunderstand me, then, you wilful boy!”

“Nay, lady, I will not affect to misunderstand your meaning; but I

recognise, you know full well, no intermediate essence between my own

good soul and that ineffable and omnipotent spirit in whose existence

philosophers and priests alike agree.”

“Omnipotent and ineffable essence! Leave such words to scholars and to

school-boys! And think you that such indefinite nothings, such unmeaning

abstractions, can influence beings whose veins are full of blood,

bubbling like this?” And here she grasped Vivian with a feverish hand.

“Omnipotent and ineffable essence! Oh! I have lived in a land where

every mountain, and every stream, and every wood, and every ruin, has

its legend and its peculiar spirit; a land in whose dark forests the

midnight hunter, with his spirit-shout, scares the slumbers of the

trembling serf; a land from whose winding rivers the fair-haired Undine

welcomes the belated traveller to her fond and fatal embrace; and you

talk to me of omnipotent and ineffable essence! Miserable Mocker! It is

not true, Vivian Grey; you are but echoing the world’s deceit, and even

at this hour of the night you dare not speak as you do think. You

worship no omnipotent and ineffable essence; you believe in no

omnipotent and ineffable essence. Shrined in this secret chamber of your

soul there is an image before which you bow down in adoration, and that

image is YOURSELF. And truly, when I do gaze upon your radiant eyes,”

and here the lady’s tone became more terrestrial; “and truly, when I do

look upon your luxuriant curls,” and here the lady’s small white hand

played like lightning through Vivian’s dark hair; “and truly, when I do

remember the beauty of your all-perfect form, I cannot deem your

self-worship a false idolatry,” and here the lady’s arms were locked

round Vivian’s neck, and her head rested on his bosom.

“Oh, Amalia! it would be far better for you to rest here than to think

of that of which the knowledge is vanity.”

“Vanity!” shrieked Mrs. Lorraine, and she violently loosened her

embrace, and extricated herself from the arm which, rather in courtesy

than in kindness, had been wound round her delicate waist: “Vanity! Oh!

if you knew but what I know, oh! if you had but seen what I have seen;”

and here her voice failed her, and she stood motionless in the

moonshine, with averted head and outstretched arms.

“Amalia! this is madness; for Heaven’s sake calm yourself!”

“Calm myself! Yes, it is madness; very, very madness! ‘tis the madness

of the fascinated bird; ‘tis the madness of the murderer who is

voluntarily broken on the wheel; ‘tis the madness of the fawn that gazes

with adoration on the lurid glare of the anaconda’s eye; ‘tis the

madness of woman who flies to the arms of her Fate;” and here she sprang

like a tigress round Vivian’s neck, her long light hair bursting from

its bands, and clustering down her shoulders.

And here was Vivian Grey, at past midnight, in this old gallery, with

this wild woman clinging round his neck. The figures in the ancient

tapestry looked living in the moon, and immediately opposite him was one

compartment of some old mythological tale, in which were represented,

grinning, in grim majesty, the Fates.

The wind now rose again, and the clouds which had vanished began to

reassemble in the heavens. As the blue sky was gradually covering, the

gigantic figures of Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos became as gradually

dimmer and dimmer, and the grasp of Vivian’s fearful burden looser and

looser. At last the moon was entirely hid, the figures of the Fates

vanished, and Mrs. Felix Lorraine sank lifeless into his arms.

Vivian groped his way with difficulty to the nearest window, the very

one at which she was leaning when he first entered the gallery. He

played with her wild curls; he whispered to her in a voice sweeter than

the sweetest serenade; but she only raised her eyes from his breast and

stared wildly at him, and then clung round his neck with, if possible, a

tighter grasp.

For nearly half an hour did Vivian stand leaning against the window,

with his mystic and motionless companion. At length the wind again fell;

there was a break in the sky, and a single star appeared in the midst of

the clouds, surrounded with a little heaven of azure.

“See there, see there!” the lady cried, and then she unlocked her arms.

“What would you give, Vivian Grey, to read that star?”

“Am I more interested in that star, Amalia, than in any other of the

bright host?” asked Vivian with a serious tone, for he thought it

necessary to humour his companion.

“Are you not? is it not the star of your destiny?”

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

“Oh, no, no, no!” slowly murmured Mrs. Lorraine, and then she started:

but Vivian seized her arms, and prevented her from again clasping

his neck.

“I must keep these pretty hands close prisoners,” he said, smiling,

“unless you promise to behave with more moderation. Come, my Amalia! you

shall be my instructress! Why am I so interested in this brilliant

star?” and holding her hands in one of his, he wound his arm round her

waist, and whispered her such words as he thought might calm her

troubled spirit. The wildness of her eyes gradually gave way; at length

she raised them to Vivian with a look of meek tenderness, and her head

sank upon his breast.

“It shines, it shines, it shines, Vivian!” she softly whispered; “glory

to thee and woe to me! Nay, you need not hold my hands; I will not harm

you. I cannot: ‘tis no use. O Vivian! when we first met, how little did

I know to whom I pledged myself!”

“Amalia, forget these wild fancies; estrange yourself from the wild

belief which has exercised so baneful an influence, not only over your

mind, but over the very soul of the land from which you come. Recognise

in me only your friend, and leave the other world to those who value it

more, or more deserve it. Does not this fair earth contain sufficient of

interest and enjoyment?”

“O Vivian! you speak with a sweet voice, but with a sceptic’s spirit.

You know not what I know.”

“Tell me, then, my Amalia; let me share your secrets, provided they be

your sorrows.”

“Almost within this hour, and in this park, there has happened that

which--” and here her voice died, and she looked fearfully round her.

“Nay, fear not; no one can harm you here, no one shall harm you. Rest

upon me, and tell me all thy grief.”

“I dare not, I cannot tell you.”

“Nay, thou shalt.”

“I cannot speak; your eye scares me. Are you mocking me? I cannot speak

if you look so at me.”

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

“O Vivian, there is a custom in my native land: the world calls it an

unhallowed one; you, in your proud spirit, will call it a vain one. But

you would not deem it vain if you were the woman now resting on your

bosom. At certain hours of particular nights, and with peculiar

ceremonies, which I need not here mention, we do believe that in a lake

or other standing water fate reveals itself to the solitary votary. O

Vivian, I have been too long a searcher after this fearful science; and

this very night, agitated in spirit, I sought yon water. The wind was in

the right direction, and everything concurred in favouring a propitious

divination. I knelt down to gaze on the lake. I had always been

accustomed to view my own figure performing some future action, or

engaged in some future scene of my life. I gazed, but I saw nothing but

a brilliant star. I looked up into the heavens, but the star was not

there, and the clouds were driving quick across the sky. More than

usually agitated by this singular occurrence, I gazed once more; and

just at the moment when with breathless and fearful expectation I waited

the revelation of my immediate destiny there flitted a figure across the

water. It was there only for the breathing of a second, and as it passed

it mocked me.” Here Mrs. Lorraine writhed in Vivian’s arms; her features

were moulded in the same unnatural expression as when he first entered

the gallery, and the hideous grin was again sculptured on her

countenance. Her whole frame was in such a state of agitation that she

rose up and down in Vivian’s arms, and it was only with the exertions of

his whole strength that he could retain her.

“Why, Amalia, this, this was nothing; your own figure.”

“No, not my own; it was yours!”

Uttering a piercing shriek, which echoed through the winding gallery,

she swooned.

Vivian gazed on her in a state of momentary stupefaction, for the

extraordinary scene had begun to influence his own nerves. And now he

heard the tread of distant feet, and a light shone through the key-hole

of the nearest door. The fearful shriek had alarmed some of the

household. What was to be done? In desperation Vivian caught the lady up

in his arms, and dashing out of an opposite door bore her to

her chamber.

CHAPTER VII

What is this chapter to be about? Come, I am inclined to be courteous!

You shall choose the subject of it. What shall it be, sentiment or

scandal? a love-scene or a lay sermon? You will not choose? Then we must

open the note which Vivian, in the morning, found on his pillow:--

“Did you hear the horrid shriek last night? It must have disturbed every

one. I think it must have been one of the South American birds which

Captain Tropic gave the Marchioness. Do not they sometimes favour the

world with these nocturnal shriekings? Is not there a passage in Spix

apropos to this? A----.”

“Did you hear the shriek last night, Mr. Grey?” asked the Marchioness,

as Vivian entered the breakfast-room.

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

“Who did not?”

“What could it be?” said the Marchioness.

“What could it be?” said Miss Graves.

“What should it be; a cat in a gutter, or a sick cow, or a toad dying to

be devoured, Miss Graves?”

Always snub toadeys and led captains. It is only your greenhorns who

endeavour to make their way by fawning and cringing to every member of

the establishment. It is a miserable mistake. No one likes his

dependants to be treated with respect, for such treatment affords an

unpleasant contrast to his own conduct. Besides, it makes the toadey’s

blood unruly. There are three persons, mind you, to be attended to: my

lord, or my lady, as the case may be (usually the latter), the pet

daughter, and the pet dog. I throw out these hints en passant, for my

principal objects in writing this work are to amuse myself and to

instruct society. In some future book, probably the twentieth or

twenty-fifth, when the plot begins to wear threadbare, and we can afford

a digression. I may give a chapter on Domestic Tactics.

“My dear Marchioness,” continued Vivian, “see there: I have kept my

promise, there is your bracelet. How is Julie to-day?”

“Poor dear, I hope she is better.”

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

“I do not know that, Miss Graves,” said her Ladyship, somewhat tartly,

not at all approving of a toadey thinking. “I am afraid that scream

last night must have disturbed her. O dear, Mr. Grey, I am afraid she

will be ill again.”

Miss Graves looked mournful, and lifted up her eyes and hands to Heaven,

but did not dare to speak this time.

“I thought she looked a little heavy about the eyes this morning,” said

the Marchioness, apparently very agitated; “and I have heard from

Eglamour this post; he is not well, too; I think everybody is ill now;

he has caught a fever going to see the ruins of Paestum. I wonder why

people go to see ruins!”

“I wonder, indeed,” said Miss Graves; “I never could see anything in a

ruin.”

“O, Mr. Grey!” continued the Marchioness, “I really am afraid Julie is

going to be very ill.”

“Let Miss Graves pull her tail and give her a little mustard seed: she

will be better tomorrow.”

“Remember that, Miss Graves.”

“Oh! y-e-s, my Lady!”

“Mrs. Felix,” said the Marchioness, as that lady entered the room, “you

are late to-day; I always reckon upon you as a supporter of an early

breakfast at Desir.”

“I have been half round the park.”

“Did you hear the scream, Mrs. Felix?”

“Do you know what it was, Marchioness?”

“No: do you?”

“See the reward of early rising and a walk before breakfast. It was one

of your new American birds, and it has half torn down your aviary.”

“One of the new Americans? O the naughty thing; and has it broken the

new fancy wirework?”

Here a little odd-looking, snuffy old man, with a brown scratch wig, who

had been very busily employed the whole breakfast-time with a cold game

pie, the bones of which Vivian observed him most scientifically pick and

polish, laid down his knife and fork, and addressed the Marchioness with

an air of great interest.

“Pray, will your Ladyship have the goodness to inform me what bird this

is?”

The Marchioness looked astounded at any one presuming to ask her a

question; and then she drawled, “Mr. Grey, you know everything; tell

this gentleman what some bird is.”

Now this gentleman was Mr. Mackaw, the most celebrated ornithologist

extant, and who had written a treatise on Brazilian parroquets, in three

volumes folio. He had arrived late at the Château the preceding night,

and, although he had the honour of presenting his letter of introduction

to the Marquess, this morning was the first time he had been seen by any

of the party present, who were of course profoundly ignorant of his

character.

“Oh! we were talking of some South American bird given to the

Marchioness by the famous Captain Tropic; you know him, perhaps;

Bolivar’s brother-in-law, or aide-de-camp, or something of that kind;

and which screams so dreadfully at night that the whole family is

disturbed. The Chowchowtow it is called; is not it, Mrs. Lorraine?”

“The Chowchowtow!” said Mr. Mackaw; “I don’t know it by that name.”

“Do not you? I dare say we shall find an account of it in Spix,

however,” said Vivian, rising, and taking a volume from the book-case;

“ay! here it is; I will read it to you.”

“‘The Chowchowtow is about five feet seven inches in height from the

point of the bill to the extremity of the claws. Its plumage is of a

dingy, yellowish white; its form is elegant, and in its movements and

action a certain pleasing and graceful dignity is observable; but its

head is by no means worthy of the rest of its frame; and the expression

of its eye is indicative of the cunning and treachery of its character.

The habits of this bird are peculiar: occasionally most easily

domesticated, it is apparently sensible of the slightest kindness; but

its regard cannot be depended upon, and for the slightest inducement, or

with the least irritation, it will fly at its feeder. At other times it

seeks perfect solitude, and can only be captured with the utmost skill

and perseverance. It generally feeds three times a day, but its appetite

is not rapacious; it sleeps little, is usually on the wing at sunrise,

and proves that it slumbers but little in the night by its nocturnal and

thrilling shrieks.’”

“What an extraordinary bird! Is that the bird you meant, Mrs. Felix

Lorraine?”

Mr. Mackaw was restless the whole time that Vivian was reading this

interesting passage. At last he burst forth with an immense deal of

science and a great want of construction, a want which scientific men

often experience, always excepting those mealy-mouthed professors who

lecture “at the Royal,” and get patronised by the blues, the Lavoisiers

of May Fair!

“Chowchowtow, my Lady! five feet seven inches high! Brazilian bird! When

I just remind your Ladyship that the height of the tallest bird to be

found in Brazil, and in mentioning this fact, I mention nothing

hypothetical, the tallest bird does not stand higher than four feet

nine. Chowchowtow! Dr. Spix is a name, accurate traveller, don’t

remember the passage, most singular bird! Chowchowtow! don’t know it by

that name. Perhaps your Ladyship is not aware; I think you called that

gentleman Mr. Grey; perhaps Mr. Grey is not aware, that I am Mr. Mackaw,

I arrived late here last night, whose work in three volumes folio, on

Brazilian Parroquets, although I had the honour of seeing his Lordship

is, I trust, a sufficient evidence that I am not speaking at random on

this subject; and consequently, from the lateness of the hour, could not

have the honour of being introduced to your Ladyship.”

“Mr. Mackaw!” thought Vivian. “The deuce you are! Oh! why did I not say

a Columbian cassowary, or a Peruvian penguin, or a Chilian condor, or a

Guatemalan goose, or a Mexican mastard; anything but Brazilian. Oh!

unfortunate Vivian Grey!”

The Marchioness, who was quite overcome with this scientific appeal,

raised her large, beautiful, sleepy eyes from a delicious compound of

French roll and new milk, which she was working up in a Sèvre saucer for

Julie; and then, as usual, looked to Vivian for assistance.

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

“Is there any point on which you differ from Spix in his account of the

Chowchowtow, Mr. Mackaw?”

“My dear sir, I don’t follow him at all. Dr. Spix is a most excellent

man, a most accurate traveller, quite a name; but, to be sure, I’ve only

read his work in our own tongue; and I fear from the passage you have

just quoted, five feet seven inches high! in Brazil! it must be an

imperfect version. I say, that four feet nine is the greatest height I

know. I don’t speak without some foundation for my statement. The only

bird I know above that height is the Paraguay cassowary; which, to be

sure, is sometimes found in Brazil. But the description of your bird,

Mr. Grey, does not answer that at all. I ought to know. I do not speak

at random. The only living specimen of that extraordinary bird, the

Paraguay cassowary, in this country, is in my possession. It was sent me

by Bompland, and was given to him by the Dictator of Paraguay himself. I

call it, in compliment, Doctor Francia. I arrived here so late last

night, only saw his Lordship, or I would have had it on the lawn

this morning.”

“Oh, then, Mr. Mackaw,” said Vivian, “that was the bird which screamed

last night!”

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

“Lady Carabas!” continued Vivian, “it is found out. It is Mr. Mackaw’s

particular friend, his family physician, whom he always travels with,

that awoke us all last night.”

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

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

“Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!” said Vivian.

“Oh! Mr. Mackaw, Mr. Mackaw!” said Mrs. Felix Lorraine.

“I tell you he never screams,” reiterated the man of science; “I tell

you he can’t scream; he’s muzzled.”

“Oh, then, it must have been the Chowchowtow.”

“Yes, I think it must have been the Chowchowtow.”

“I should very much like to hear Spix’s description again,” said Mr.

Mackaw, “only I fear it is troubling you too much, Mr. Grey.”

“Read it yourself, my dear sir,” said Vivian, putting the book into his

hand, which was the third volume of Tremaine.

Mr. Mackaw looked at the volume, and turned it over, and sideways, and

upside downwards: the brain of a man who has written three folios on

parroquets is soon puzzled. At first, he thought the book was a novel;

but then, an essay on predestination, under the title of Memoirs of a

Man of Refinement, rather puzzled him; then he mistook it for an Oxford

reprint of Pearson on the Creed; and then he stumbled on rather a warm

scene in an old Château in the South of France.

Before Mr. Mackaw could gain the power of speech the door opened, and

entered, who? Dr. Francia.

Mr. Mackaw’s travelling companion possessed the awkward accomplishment

of opening doors, and now strutted in, in quest of his beloved master.

Affection for Mr. Mackaw was not, however, the only cause which induced

this entrance.

The household of Château Desir, unused to cassowaries, had neglected to

supply Dr. Francia with his usual breakfast, which consisted of half a

dozen pounds of rump steaks, a couple of bars of hard iron, some pig

lead, and brown stout. The consequence was, the Dictator was

sadly famished.

All the ladies screamed; and then Mrs. Felix Lorraine admired the

Doctor’s violet neck, and the Marchioness looked with an anxious eye on

Julie, and Miss Graves, as in duty bound, with an anxious eye on the

Marchioness.

There stood the Doctor, quite still, with his large yellow eye fixed on

Mr. Mackaw. At length he perceived the cold pasty, and his little black

wings began to flutter on the surface of his immense body.

“Che, che, che, che!” said the ornithologist, who did not like the

symptoms at all: “Che, che, che, che, don’t be frightened, ladies! you

see he’s muzzled; che, che, che, che, now, my dear doctor, now, now,

now, Franky, Franky, Franky, now go away, go away, that’s a dear doctor,

che, che, che, che!”

But the large yellow eye grew more flaming and fiery, and the little

black wings grew larger and larger; and now the left leg was dashed to

and fro with a fearful agitation. Mackaw looked agonised. What a whirr!

Francia is on the table! All shriek, the chairs tumble over the

ottomans, the Sèvre china is in a thousand pieces, the muzzle is torn

off and thrown at Miss Graves; Mackaw’s wig is dashed in the clotted

cream, and devoured on the spot; and the contents of the boiling urn are

poured over the beauteous and beloved Julie!

CHAPTER VIII

THE HONOURABLE CYNTHIA COURTOWN TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

“Alburies, Oct. 18--.

“DEAR GREY,

“We have now been at Alburies for a fortnight. Nothing can be more

delightful. Here is everybody in the world that I wish to see, except

yourself. The Knightons, with as many outriders as usual: Lady Julia and

myself are great allies; I like her amazingly. The Marquess of Grandgoût

arrived here last week, with a most delicious party; all the men who

write ‘John Bull.’ I was rather disappointed at the first sight of

Stanislaus Hoax. I had expected, I do not know why, something juvenile

and squibbish, when lo! I was introduced to a corpulent individual, with

his coat buttoned up to his chin, looking dull, gentlemanlike, and

apoplectic. However, on acquaintance, he came out quite rich, sings

delightfully, and improvises like a prophet, ten thousand times more

entertaining than Pistrucci. We are sworn friends; and I know all the

secret history of ‘John Bull.’ There is not much, to be sure, that you

did not tell me yourself; but still there are some things. I must not

trust them, however, to paper, and therefore pray dash down to Alburies

immediately; I shall be most happy to introduce you to Lord Devildrain.

There _was_ an interview. What think you of that? Stanislaus told me

all, circumstantially, and after dinner; I do not doubt that it is quite

true. What would you give for the secret history of the ‘rather yellow,

rather yellow,’ chanson? I dare not tell it you. It came from a quarter

that will quite astound you, and in a very elegant, small, female hand.

You remember Lambton did stir very awkwardly in the Lisbon business.

Stanislaus wrote all the songs that appeared in the first number, except

that; but he never wrote a single line of prose for the first three

months: it all came from Vivida Vis.

“I like the Marquess of Grandgoût so much! I hope he will be elevated in

the peerage: he looks as if he wanted it so! Poor dear man!”

“Oh! do you know I have discovered a liaison between Bull and

Blackwood. I am to be in the next Noctes; I forget the words of the

chorus exactly, but Courtown is to rhyme with port down, or something of

that kind, and then they are to dash their glasses over their heads,

give three cheers, and adjourn to whisky-toddy and the Chaldee chamber.

How delightful!

“The Prima Donnas are at Cheltenham, looking most respectable. Do you

ever see the ‘Age’? It is not proper for me to take it in. Pray send me

down your numbers, and tell me all about it. Is it true that his

Lordship paragraphises a little?

“I have not heard from Ernest Clay, which I think very odd. If you write

to him, mention this, and tell him to send me word how Dormer Stanhope

behaves at mess. I understand there has been a melee, not much; merely a

rouette; do get it all out of him.

“Colonel Delmington is at Cheltenham, with the most knowing beard you

can possibly conceive; Lady Julia rather patronises him. Lady Doubtful

has been turned out of the rooms; fifty challenges in consequence and

one duel; missed fire, of course.

“I have heard from Alhambra; he has been wandering about in all

directions. He has been to the Lakes, and is now at Edinburgh. He likes

Southey. He gave the laureate a quantity of hints for his next volume of

the Peninsular War, but does not speak very warmly of Wordsworth:

gentlemanly man, but only reads his own poetry.

“Here has been a cousin of yours about us; a young barrister going the

circuit; by name Hargrave Grey. The name attracted my notice, and due

inquiries having been made and satisfactorily answered, I patronised the

limb of law. Fortunate for him! I got him to all the fancy balls and

pic-nics that were going on. He was in heaven for a fortnight, and at

length, having overstayed his time, he left us, also leaving his bag and

only brief behind him. They say he is ruined for life. Write soon.

“Yours ever,

“CYNTHIA COURTOWN.”

ERNEST CLAY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

“October, 18--.

“DEAR GREY,

“I am sick of key-bugles and country-balls! All the girls in the town

are in love with me, or my foraging cap. I am very much obliged to you

for your letter to Kennet, which procured everything I wanted. The

family turned out bores, as you had prepared me. I never met such a

clever family in my life; the father is summoning up courage to favour

the world with a volume of sermons; and Isabella Kennet most

satisfactorily proved to me, after an argument of two hours, which for

courtesy’s sake I fought very manfully, that Sir Walter Scott was not

the author of Waverley; and then she vowed, as I have heard fifty young

literary ladies vow before, that she had ‘seen the Antiquary in

manuscript.’

“There has been a slight row to diversify the monotony of our military

life. Young Premium, the son of the celebrated loan-monger, has bought

in; and Dormer Stanhope, and one or two others equally fresh,

immediately anticipated another Battier business; but, with the greatest

desire to make a fool of myself, I have a natural repugnance to

mimicking the foolery of others; so with some little exertion, and very

fortunately for young Premium, I got the tenth voted vulgar, on the

score of curiosity, and we were civil to the man. As it turned out, it

was all very well, for Premium is a quiet, gentlemanlike fellow enough,

and exceedingly useful. He will keep extra grooms for the whole mess, if

they want it. He is very grateful to me for what does not deserve any

gratitude, and for what gave me no trouble; for I did not defend him

from any feeling of kindness: and both the Mounteneys, and young

Stapylton Toad, and Augustus, being in the regiment, why, I have very

little trouble in commanding a majority, if it come to a division.

“I dined the other day at old Premium’s, who lives near this town in a

magnificent old hall; which, however, is not nearly splendid enough for

a man who is the creditor of every nation from California to China; and,

consequently, the great Mr. Stucco is building a plaster castle for him

in another part of the park. Glad am I enough that I was prevailed upon

to patronise the Premium; for I think I seldom witnessed a more amusing

scene than I did the day I dined there.

“I was ushered through an actual street of servitors, whose liveries

were really cloth of gold, and whose elaborately powdered heads would

not have disgraced the most ancient mansion in St. James’s Square, into

a large and crowded saloon. I was, of course, received with miraculous

consideration; and the ear of Mrs. Premium seemed to dwell upon the

jingling of my spurs (for I am adjutant) as upon exquisite music. It

was _bonâ fide_ evidence of ‘the officers being there.’

“Premium is a short, but by no means vulgar-looking man, about fifty,

with a high forehead covered with wrinkles, and with eyes deep sunk in

his head. I never met a man of apparently less bustle, and of a cooler

temperament. He was an object of observation from his very

unobtrusiveness. There were, I immediately perceived, a great number of

foreigners in the room. They looked much too knowing for Arguelles and

Co., and I soon found that they were members of the different embassies,

or missions of the various Governments to whose infant existence Premium

is foster father. There were two striking figures in Oriental costume,

who were shown to me as the Greek Deputies; not that you are to imagine

that they always appear in this picturesque dress. It was only as a

particular favour, and to please Miss Premium (there, Grey, my boy!

there is a quarry!), that the illustrious envoys appeared habited this

day in their national costume.

“You would have enjoyed the scene. In one part of the room was a naval

officer, just hot from the mines of Mexico, and lecturing eloquently on

the passing of the Cordillera. In another was a man of science, dilating

on the miraculous powers of a newly-discovered amalgamation process to a

knot of merchants, who, with bent brows and eager eyes, were already

forming a Company for its adoption. Here floated the latest anecdote of

Bolivar; and there a murmur of some new movement of Cochrane’s. And then

the perpetual babble about ‘rising states,’ and ‘new loans,’ and

‘enlightened views,’ and ‘juncture of the two oceans,’ and ‘liberal

principles,’ and ‘steamboats to Mexico,’ and the earnest look which

every one had in the room. How different to the vacant gaze that we have

been accustomed to! I was really particularly struck by the

circumstance. Every one at Premium’s looked full of some great plan, as

if the fate of empires was on his very breath. I hardly knew whether

they were most like conspirators, or gamblers, or the lions of a public

dinner, conscious of an universal gaze, and consequently looking

proportionately interesting. One circumstance particularly struck me: as

I was watching the acute countenance of an individual, who young Premium

informed me was the Chilian minister, and who was listening with great

attention to a dissertation from Captain Tropic, the celebrated

traveller, on the feasibility of a railroad over the Andes, I observed a

great sensation among those around me; every one shifting, and

shuffling, and staring, and assisting in that curious and confusing

ceremony called ‘making way.’ Even Premium appeared a little excited

when he came forward with a smile on his face to receive an individual,

apparently a foreigner, and who stepped on with great though gracious

dignity. Being curious to know who this great man was, I found that this

was an ambassador, the representative of a recognised state.

“’Pon my honour, when I saw all this, I could not refrain from

moralising on the magic of wealth; and when I just remembered the embryo

plot of some young Hussar officers to cut the son of the magician, I

rather smiled; but while I, with even greater reverence than all others,

was making way for his Excellency, I observed Mrs. Premium looking at my

spurs. ‘Farewell Philosophy!’ thought I; ‘Puppyism for ever!’

“Dinner was at last announced, and the nice etiquette which was observed

between recognised states and non-recognised states was really

excessively amusing: not only the ambassador would take precedence of

the mere political agent, but his Excellency’s private secretary was

equally tenacious as to the agent’s private secretary. At length we were

all seated: the spacious dining-room was hung round with portraits of

most of the successful revolutionary leaders, and over Mr. Premium was

suspended a magnificent portrait of Bolivar. If you could but have seen

the plate! By Jove! I have eaten off the silver of most of the first

families in England, yet never in my life did it enter into my

imagination that it was possible for the most ingenious artist that ever

existed to repeat a crest half so often in a tablespoon as in that of

Premium. The crest is a bubble, and really the effect produced by it is

most ludicrous.

“I was very much struck at table by the appearance of an individual who

came in very late, but who was evidently, by his bearing, no

insignificant personage. He was a tall man, with a long hooked nose and

high cheek bones, and with an eye (were you ever at the Old Bailey?

there you may see its fellow); his complexion looked as if it had been

accustomed to the breezes of many climes, and his hair, which had once

been red, was now silvered, or rather iron-greyed, not by age. Yet there

was in his whole bearing, in his slightest actions, even in the easy,

desperate air with which he took a glass of wine, an indefinable

something (you know what I mean) which attracted your unremitting

attention to him. I was not wrong in my suspicions of his celebrity;

for, as Miss Premium, whom I sat next to, whispered, ‘he was quite a

lion.’ It was Lord Oceanville What he is after no one knows. Some say he

is going to Greece, others whisper an invasion of Paraguay, and others,

of course, say other things; perhaps equally correct. I think he is for

Greece. I know he is one of the most extraordinary men I ever met with.

I am getting prosy. Good-bye! Write soon. Any fun going on? How is

Cynthia? I ought to have written. How is Mrs. Felix Lorraine? She is a

deuced odd woman!

“Yours faithfully,

“ERNEST CLAY.”

HARGRAVE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

“October, 18--.

“DEAR VIVIAN,

“You ought not to expect a letter from me. I cannot conceive why you do

not occasionally answer your correspondents’ letters, if correspondents

they may be called. It is really a most unreasonable habit of yours; any

one but myself would quarrel with you.

“A letter from Baker met me at this place, and I find that the whole of

that most disagreeable and annoying business is arranged. From the

promptitude, skill, and energy which are apparent in the whole affair, I

suspect I have to thank the very gentleman whom I was just going to

quarrel with. You are a good fellow, Vivian, after all. For want of a

brief, I sit down to give you a sketch of my adventures on this my

first circuit.

“This circuit is a cold and mercantile adventure, and I am disappointed

in it. Not so either, for I looked for but little to enjoy. Take one day

of my life as a specimen; the rest are mostly alike. The sheriff’s

trumpets are playing; one, some tune of which I know nothing, and the

other no tune at all. I am obliged to turn out at eight. It is the first

day of the Assize, so there is some chance of a brief, being a new

place. I push my way into court through files of attorneys, as civil to

the rogues as possible, assuring them there is plenty of room, though I

am at the very moment gasping for breath wedged-in in a lane of

well-lined waistcoats. I get into court, take my place in the quietest

corner, and there I sit, and pass other men’s fees and briefs like a

twopenny postman, only without pay. Well! ‘tis six o’clock, dinner-time,

at the bottom of the table, carve for all, speak to none, nobody speaks

to me, must wait till last to sum up, and pay the bill. Reach home quite

devoured by spleen, after having heard every one abused who happened to

be absent.

“I travelled to this place with Manners, whom I believe you know, and

amused myself by getting from him an account of my fellows,

anticipating, at the same time, what in fact happened; to wit, that I

should afterwards get his character from them. It is strange how freely

they deal with each other; that is, the person spoken of being away. I

would not have had you see our Stanhope for half a hundred pounds; your

jealousy would have been so excited. To say the truth, we are a little

rough; our mane wants pulling and our hoofs trimming, but we jog along

without performing either operation; and, by dint of rattling the whip

against the splash-board, using all one’s persuasion of hand and voice,

and jerking the bit in his mouth, we do contrive to get into the circuit

town, usually, just about the time that the sheriff and his _posse

comitatus_ are starting to meet my Lord the King’s Justice: and that is

the worst of it; for their horses are prancing and pawing coursers just

out of the stable, sleek skins and smart drivers. We begin to be knocked

up just then, and our appearance is the least brilliant of any part of

the day. Here I had to pass through a host of these powdered, scented

fops; and the multitude who had assembled to gaze on the nobler

exhibition rather scoffed at our humble vehicle. As Manners had just

then been set down to find the inn and lodging, I could not jump out and

leave our equipage to its fate, so I settled my cravat, and seemed not

to mind it, only I did.

“But I must leave off this nonsense, and attend to his Lordship’s

charge, which is now about to commence. I have not been able to get you

a single good murder, although I have kept a sharp look-out, as you

desired me; but there is a chance of a first-rate one at ----n.

“I am quite delighted with Mr. Justice St. Prose. He is at this moment

in a most entertaining passion, preparatory to a ‘conscientious’ summing

up; and in order that his ideas may not be disturbed, he has very

liberally ordered the door-keeper to have the door oiled immediately, at

his own expense. Now for my Lord the King’s Justice.

“‘Gentlemen of the Jury,

“‘The noise is insufferable, the heat is intolerable, the door-keepers

let the people keep shuffling in, the ducks in the corner are going

quack, quack, quack, here’s a little girl being tried for her life, and

the judge can’t hear a word that’s said. Bring me my black cap, and I’ll

condemn her to death instantly.’

“‘You can’t, my Lord.’ shrieks the infant sinner; ‘it’s only for petty

larceny!’

“I have just got an invite from the Kearneys. Congratulate me.

“Dear Vivian, yours faithfully,

“HARGRAVE GREY.”

LADY SCROPE TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

“Ormsby Park, Oct. 18--.

“MY DEAR VIVIAN,

“By desire of Sir Berdmore, I have to request the fulfilment of a

promise, upon the hope of which being performed I have existed through

this dull month. Pray, my dear Vivian, come to us immediately. Ormsby

has at present little to offer for your entertainment. We have had that

unendurable bore Vivacity Dull with us for a whole fortnight. A report

of the death of the Lord Chancellor, or a rumour of the production of a

new tragedy, has carried him up to town; but whether it be to ask for

the seals, or to indite an ingenious prologue to a play which will be

condemned the first night, I cannot inform you. I am quite sure he is

capable of doing either. However, we shall have other deer in a

few days.

“I believe you have never met the Mounteneys. They have never been at

Hallesbrooke since you have been at Desir. They are coming to us

immediately. I am sure you will like them very much. Lord Mounteney is

one of those kind, easy-minded, accomplished men, who, after all, are

nearly the pleasantest society one ever meets. Rather wild in his youth,

but with his estate now unencumbered, and himself perfectly domestic.

His lady is an unaffected, agreeable woman. But it is Caroline Mounteney

whom I wish you particularly to meet. She is one of those delicious

creatures who, in spite of not being married, are actually conversable.

Spirited, without any affectation or brusquerie; beautiful, and knowing

enough to be quite conscious of it; perfectly accomplished, and yet

never annoying you with tattle about Bochsa, and Ronzi de Begnis, and

D’Egville.

“We also expect the Delmonts, the most endurable of the Anglo-Italians

that I know. Mrs. Delmont is not always dropping her handkerchief like

Lady Gusto, as if she expected a miserable cavalier servente to be

constantly upon his knees; or giving those odious expressive looks,

which quite destroy my nerves whenever I am under the same roof as that

horrible Lady Soprano. There is a little too much talk, to be sure,

about Roman churches, and newly-discovered mosaics, and Abbate Maii, but

still we cannot expect perfection. There are reports going about that

Ernest Clay is either ruined or going to be married. Perhaps both are

true. Young Premium has nearly lost his character by driving a

square-built, striped green thing, drawn by one horse. Ernest Clay got

him through this terrible affair. What can be the reasons of the Sieur

Ernest’s excessive amiability?

“Both the young Mounteneys are with their regiment, but Aubrey Vere is

coming to us, and I have half a promise from--; but I know you never

speak to unmarried men, so why do I mention them? Let me, I beseech you,

my dear Vivian, have a few days of you to myself before Ormsby is full,

and before you are introduced to Caroline Mounteney. I did not think it

was possible that I could exist so long without seeing you; but you

really must not try me too much, or I shall quarrel with you. I have

received all your letters, which are very, very agreeable; but I think

rather, rather impudent. Adieu!

“HARRIETTE SCROPE.”

HORACE GREY, ESQ., TO VIVIAN GREY, ESQ.

“Paris, Oct. 18--.

“MY DEAR VIVIAN,

“I have received yours of the 9th, and have read it with mixed feelings

of astonishment and sorrow.

“You are now, my dear son, a member of what is called the great world;

society formed on anti-social principles. Apparently you have possessed

yourself of the object of your wishes; but the scenes you live in are

very moveable; the characters you associate with are all masked; and it

will always be doubtful whether you can retain that long, which has

been obtained by some slippery artifice. Vivian, you are a juggler; and

the deceptions of your sleight-of-hand tricks depend upon

instantaneous motions.

“When the selfish combine with the selfish, bethink you how many

projects are doomed to disappointment! how many cross interests baffle

the parties at the same time joined together without ever uniting. What

a mockery is their love! but how deadly are their hatreds! All this

great society, with whom so young an adventurer has trafficked, abate

nothing of their price in the slavery of their service and the sacrifice

of violated feelings. What sleepless nights has it cost you to win over

the disobliged, to conciliate the discontented, to cajole the

contumatious! You may smile at the hollow flatteries, answering to

flatteries as hollow, which like bubbles when they touch, dissolve into

nothing; but tell me, Vivian, what has the self-tormentor felt at the

laughing treacheries which force a man down into self-contempt?