“Grandfather!” shrieked Essper; “what a wonderful grandfather yours must

have been! All my tricks are fresh from Fairyland this morning.

Grandfather, indeed! Pray, is this your grandfather?” and here the

conjuror, leaning over the table, with a rapid catch drew out from the

fat paunch of the judge a long grinning wooden figure, with great

staring eyes, and the parrot nose of a pulcinello. The laugh which

followed this sleight-of-hand was loud, long, and universal. The judge

lost his temper; and Essper George took the opportunity of the confusion

to drink off the glass of Rudesheimer which stood, as we have

mentioned, ready charged, at the magistrate’s elbow.

The waiter now went round to collect the money of the various guests who

had partaken of the boat-supper; and, of course, charged the judge extra

for his ordered bottle, bowing at the same time very low, as was proper

to so good a customer. These little attentions at inns encourage

expenditure. The judge tried at the same time the bottle, which he found

empty, and applied to his two boon companions for their quota; but the

students affected a sort of brutal surprise at any one having the

impudence to imagine that they were going to pay their proportion; and

flinging down the money for their own supper on the table, they retired.

The magistrate, calling loudly for the landlord, followed them out

of the room.

Essper George stood moralising at the table, and emptying every glass

whose contents were not utterly drained, with the exception of the

tumblers of the cloth-merchants, of whose liquor he did not approve.

“Poor man! to get only one glass out of his own bottle! Ay! call for M.

Maas; threaten as you will. Your grandfather will not help you here.

Blood out of a wall and money out of a student come the same day. Ah! is

your Excellency here?” said Essper, turning round to our two travellers

with affected surprise, although he had observed them the whole time.

“Is your Excellency here? I have been looking for you through Frankfort

this whole morning. There! it will do for your glass. It is of chamois

leather, and I made it myself, from a beast I caught last summer in the

valley of the Rhone.” So saying, he threw over Vivian’s neck a neat

chain, or cord, of curiously-worked leather.

“Who the devil is this, Grey?” asked the Baron.

“A funny knave, whom I once saved from a thrashing, or something of the

kind, which I do him the justice to say he well deserved.”

“Who the devil is this?” said Essper George. “Why, that is exactly the

same question I myself asked when I saw a tall, pompous, proud fellow,

dressed like a peacock on a May morning, standing at the door just now.

He looked as if he would pass himself off for an ambassador at least;

but I told him that if he got his wages paid he was luckier than most

servants. Was I right, your Excellency?”

“Poor Ernstorff!” said the Baron, laughing. “Yes; _he_ certainly gets

paid. Here, you are a clever varlet; fill your glass.”

“No; no wine. Don’t you hear the brawling, and nearly the bloodshed,

which are going on upstairs about a sour bottle of Rudesheimer? and here

I see two gentles who have ordered the best wine merely to show that

they are masters and not servants of the green peacock, and lo! cannot

get through a glass. Lord! lord! what is man? If my fat friend and his

grandfather would but come down stairs again, here is liquor enough to

make wine and water of the Danube; for he comes from thence by his

accent. No, I’ll have none of your wine; keep it to throw on the sandy

floor, that the dust may not hurt your delicate shoes, nor dirt the hand

of the gentleman in green and gold when he cleans them for you in

the morning.”

Here the Baron laughed again, and, as he bore his impertinence, Essper

George immediately became polite.

“Does your Highness go to Ems?”

“We hardly know, my friend.”

“Oh! go there, gentlemen. I have tried them all; Aix-la-Chapelle, Spa,

Wiesbaden, Carlsbad, Pyrmont, every one of them; but what are these to

Ems? There we all live in the same house and eat from the same table.

When there I feel that you are all under my protection; I consider you

all as my children. Besides, the country, how delightful! the mountains,

the valleys, the river, the woods, and then the company so select! No

sharpers, no adventurers, no blacklegs: at Ems you can be taken in by no

one except your intimate friend. To Ems, by all means. I would advise

you, however, to send the gentleman in the cocked hat on before you to

engage rooms; for I can assure you that you will have a hard chance. The

baths are very full.”

“And how do you get there, Essper?” asked Vivian.

“Those are subjects on which I never speak,” answered the conjuror, with

a solemn air.

“But have you all your stock-in-trade with you, my good fellow? Where is

the Mystery?”

“Sold, sir; sold! I never keep to anything long. Variety is the mother

of Enjoyment. At Ems I shall not be a conjuror: but I never part with my

box. It takes no more room than one of those medicine chests, which I

dare say you have got with you in your carriage, to prop up your couple

of shattered constitutions.”

“By Jove! you are a merry, impudent fellow,” said the Baron; “and if

you like to get up behind my britzska, you may.”

“No; I carry my own box and my own body, and I shall be at Ems to-morrow

in time enough to receive your Lordships.”

CHAPTER V

In a delightful valley of Nassau, formed by the picturesque windings of

the Taunus Mountains, and on the banks of the noisy river Lahn, stands a

vast brick pile, of irregular architecture, which nearly covers an acre

of ground. This building was formerly a favourite palace of the ducal

house of Nassau; but the present Prince has thought proper to let out

the former residence of his family as an hotel for the accommodation of

the company, who in the season frequent this, the most lovely spot in

his lovely little duchy. This extensive building contains two hundred

and thirty rooms and eighty baths; and these apartments, which are under

the management of an official agent, who lives in the “Princely Bathing

House,” for such is its present dignified title, are to be engaged at

fixed prices, which are marked over the doors. All the rooms in the

upper story of the Princely Bathing House open on, or are almost

immediately connected with, a long corridor, which extends the whole

length of the building. The ground-floor, besides the space occupied by

the baths, also affords a spacious promenade, arched with stone, and

surrounded with stalls, behind which are marshalled vendors of all the

possible articles which can be required by the necessities of the

frequenters of a watering-place. There you are greeted by the jeweller

of the Palais Royal and the marchande de mode of the Rue de la Paix; the

print-seller from Mannheim and the china-dealer from Dresden; and other

small speculators in the various fancy articles which abound in Vienna,

Berlin, Geneva, Basle, Strasburg, and Lausanne; such as pipes, costumes

of Swiss peasantry, crosses of Mont Blanc crystal, and all varieties of

national bijouterie. All things may here be sold, save those which

administer to the nourishment of the body or the pleasure of the palate.

Let not those of my readers who have already planned a trip to the sweet

vales of the Taunus be frightened by this last sentence. At Ems

“eatables and drinkables” are excellent and abounding; but they are

solely supplied by the restaurateur, who farms the monopoly from the

Duke. This gentleman, who is a pupil of Beauvillier’s, and who has

conceived an exquisite cuisine, by adding to the lighter graces of

French cookery something of the more solid virtues of the German,

presides in a saloon of vast size and magnificent decoration, in which,

during the season, upwards of three hundred persons frequent the table

d’hôte. It is the etiquette at Ems that, however distinguished or

however humble the rank of the visitors, their fare and their treatment

must be alike. In one of the most aristocratic countries in the word the

sovereign prince and his tradesman subject may be found seated in the

morning at the same board, and eating from the same dish, as in the

evening they may be seen staking on the same colour at the gaming-table,

and sharing in the same interest at the Redoute.

The situation of Ems is delightful. The mountains which form the valley

are not, as in Switzerland, so elevated that they confine the air or

seem to impede the facility of breathing. In their fantastic forms the

picturesque is not lost in the monotonous, and in the rich covering of

their various woods the admiring eye finds at the same time beauty and

repose. Opposite the ancient palace, on the banks of the Lahn, are the

gardens. In these, in a pavilion, a band of musicians seldom cease from

enchanting the visitors by their execution of the most favourite

specimens of German and Italian music. Numberless acacia arbours and

retired sylvan seats are here to be found, where the student or the

contemplative may seek refuge from the noise of his more gay companions,

and the tedium of eternal conversation. In these gardens, also, are the

billiard-room, and another saloon, in which each night meet, not merely

those who are interested in the mysteries of rouge et noir, and the

chances of roulette, but, in general, the whole of the company, male and

female, who are frequenting the baths. In quitting the gardens for a

moment, we must not omit mentioning the interesting booth of our friend,

the restaurateur, where coffee, clear and hot, and exquisite

confectionery, are never wanting. Nor should we forget the glittering

pennons of the gay boats which glide along the Lahn; nor the handsome

donkeys, who, with their white saddles and red bridles, seem not

unworthy of the princesses whom they sometimes bear. The gardens, with

an alley of limetrees, which are farther on, near the banks of the

river, afford easy promenades to the sick and debilitated; but the more

robust and active need not fear monotony in the valley of the Lahn. If

they sigh for the champaign country, they can climb the wild passes of

the encircling mountains, and from their tops enjoy the most magnificent

views of the Rhineland. There they may gaze on that mighty river,

flowing through the prolific plain which at the same time it nourishes

and adorns, bounded on each side by mountains of every form, clothed

with wood or crowned with castles. Or, if they fear the fatigues of the

ascent, they may wander farther up the valley, and in the wild dells,

romantic forests, and grey ruins of Stein and Nassau, conjure up the old

times of feudal tyranny when the forest was the only free land, and he

who outraged the laws the only one who did not suffer from their

authority.

Besides the Princely Bathing House, I must mention that there was

another old and extensive building near it, which, in very full seasons,

also accommodated visitors on the same system as the palace. At present,

this adjoining building was solely occupied by a Russian Grand Duke, who

had engaged it for the season.

Such is a slight description of Ems, a place almost of unique character;

for it is a watering-place with every convenience, luxury, and

accommodation; and yet without shops, streets, or houses.

The Baron and Vivian were fortunate in finding rooms, for the Baths were

very full; the extraordinary beauty of the weather having occasioned a

very early season. They found themselves at the baths early on the

morning after their arrival at Coblentz, and at three o’clock in the

same day had taken their places at the dinner table in the great saloon.

At the long table upwards of two hundred and fifty guests were

assembled, of different nations, and of very different characters. There

was the cunning, intriguing Greek, who served well his imperial master

the Russian. The order of the patron saint of Moscow, and the glittering

stars of other nations which sparkled on his green uniform, told how

well he had laboured for the interest of all other countries except his

own; but his clear, pale complexion, his delicately trimmed mustachio,

his lofty forehead, his arched eyebrow, and his Eastern eye, recalled to

the traveller, in spite of his barbarian trappings, the fine

countenances of the Aegean, and became a form which apparently might

have struggled in Thermopylae. Next to him was the Austrian diplomatist,

the Sosia of all cabinets, in whose gay address and rattling

conversation you could hardly recognise the sophistical defender of

unauthorised invasion, and the subtle inventor of Holy Alliances and

Imperial Leagues. Then came the rich usurer from Frankfort or the

prosperous merchant from Hamburgh, who, with his wife and daughters,

were seeking some recreation from his flourishing counting-house in the

sylvan gaieties of a German bathing-place. Flirting with these was an

adventurous dancing-master from Paris, whose profession at present was

kept in the background, and whose well-curled black hair, diamond pin,

and frogged coat hinted at the magnifico incog, and also enabled him, if

he did not choose in time to follow his own profession, to pursue

another one, which he had also studied, in the profitable mystery of the

Redoute. There were many other individuals, whose commonplace appearance

did not reveal a character which perhaps they did not possess. There

were officers in all uniforms, and there were some uniforms without

officers. But all looked perfectly comme il faut, and on the whole very

select; and if the great persons endeavoured for a moment to forget

their dignity, still these slight improprieties were amply made up by

the affected dignity of those little persons who had none to forget.

“And how like you the baths of Ems?” the Baron asked of Vivian, “We

shall get better seats to-morrow, and perhaps be among those whom you

shall know. I see many friends and some agreeable ones. In the meantime,

you must make a good dinner to-day, and I will amuse you, and assist

your digestion, by putting you up to some of the characters with whom

you are dining.”

At this moment a party entered the room, who were rather late in their

appearance, but who attracted the attention of Vivian. The group

consisted of three persons; a very good-looking young man, who supported

on each arm a female. The lady on his right arm was apparently of about

five-and-twenty years of age. She was of majestic stature; her

complexion of untinged purity. Her features were like those conceptions

of Grecian sculptors which, in moments of despondency, we sometimes

believe to be ideal. Her full eyes were of the same deep blue as the

mountain lake, and gleamed from under their long lashes as that purest

of waters beneath its fringing sedge. Her brown light hair was braided

from her high forehead, and hung in long full curls over her neck; the

mass gathered up into a Grecian knot, and confined by a bandeau of

cameos. She wore a dress of black velvet, whose folding drapery was

confined round a waist which was in exact symmetry with the proportions

of her full bust and the polished roundness of her bending neck. The

countenance of the lady was dignified, without any expression of pride,

and reserved, without any of the harshness of austerity. In gazing on

her the enraptured spectator for a moment believed that Minerva had

forgotten her severity, and had entered into a delightful rivalry

with Venus.

Her companion was much younger, not so tall, and of slender form. The

long tresses of her chestnut hair shaded her oval face. Her small,

aquiline nose, bright hazel eyes, delicate mouth, and the deep colour of

her lips, were as remarkable as the transparency of her complexion. The

flush of her cheek was singular; it was of a brilliant pink: you may

find it in the lip of an Indian shell. The blue veins played beneath her

arched forehead, like lightning beneath a rainbow. She was dressed in

white, and a damask rose, half hid in her clustering hair, was her only

ornament. This lovely creature glided by Vivian Grey almost unnoticed,

so fixed was his gaze on her companion. Yet, magnificent as was the

style of Lady Madeleine Trevor, there were few who preferred even her

commanding graces to the softer beauties of Violet Fane.

This party, having passed Vivian, proceeded to the top of the room,

where places had been kept for them. Vivian’s eye watched them till they

were lost among surrounding visitors: their peculiar loveliness could

not deceive him.

“English, no doubt,” observed he to the Baron; “who can they be?”

“I have not the least idea; that is, I do not exactly know. I think they

are English,” answered the Baron, in so confused a manner that Vivian

rather stared. After musing a moment, the Baron recovered himself.

“The unexpected sight of a face we feel that we know, and yet cannot

immediately recognise, is extremely annoying; it is almost agitating.

They are English. The lady in black is Lady Madeleine Trevor; I knew her

in London.”

“And the gentleman?” asked Vivian: “is the gentleman Mr. Trevor?”

“No; Trevor, poor Trevor, is dead, I think; is, I am sure, dead. That, I

am confident, is not he. He was of the ---- family, and was in office

when I was in England. It was in my diplomatic capacity that I first

became acquainted with him. Lady Madeleine was, and, as you see, is, a

charming woman; a very charming woman is Lady Madeleine Trevor.”

“And the young lady with her?”

“And the young lady with her, I cannot exactly say; I do not exactly

know. Her face is familiar to me, and yet I cannot remember her name.

She must have been very young, as you may see, when I was in England;

she cannot now be above eighteen. Miss Fane must therefore have been

very young when I was in England, Miss Fane; how singular I should have

recalled her name! that is her name, Violet Fane, a cousin, or some

relation, of Lady Madeleine: good family. Will you have some soup?”

Whether it were from not being among his friends, or some other cause,

the Baron was certainly not in his usual spirits this day at dinner.

Conversation, which with him was generally as easy as it was brilliant,

like a fountain at the same time sparkling and fluent, was evidently

constrained. For a few minutes he talked very fast, and was then

uncommunicative, absent, and dull. He, moreover, drank a great deal of

wine, which was not his custom; but the grape did not inspire him.

Vivian found amusement in his next neighbour, a forward, bustling man,

clever in his talk, very fine, but rather vulgar. He was the manager of

a company of Austrian actors, and had come to Ems on the chance of

forming an engagement for his troop, who generally performed at Vienna,

He had been successful in his adventure, the Archduke having engaged the

whole band at the New House, and in a few days the troop were to arrive;

at which time the manager was to drop the character of a travelling

gentleman, and cease to dine at the table d’hôte of Ems. From this man

Vivian learnt that Lady Madeleine Trevor had been at the Baths for some

time before the season commenced: that at present hers was the party

which, from its long stay and eminent rank, gave the tone to the

amusements of the place; the influential circle which those who have

frequented watering-places have often observed, and which may be seen at

Ems, Spa, or Pyrmont, equally as at Harrowgate, Tunbridge Wells, or

Cheltenham.

CHAPTER VI

When dinner was finished the party broke up, and most of them assembled

in the gardens. The Baron, whose countenance had assumed its wonted

cheerfulness, and who excused his previous dulness by the usual story of

a sudden headache, proposed to Vivian to join the promenade. The gardens

were very full, and the Baron recognised many of his acquaintance.

“My dear Colonel, who possibly expected to meet you here? Why! did you

dine in the saloon? I only arrived this morning. This is my friend, Mr.

Grey; Colonel von Trumpetson.”

“An Englishman, I believe?” said the Colonel, bowing. He was a starch

militaire, with a blue frock coat buttoned up to his chin, a bald head

with a few grey hairs, and long, thin mustachios like a mandarin’s. “An

Englishman, I believe; pray, sir, will you inform me whether the

household troops in England wear the Marboeuf cuirass?”

“Sir!” said Vivian.

“I esteem myself particularly fortunate in thus meeting with an English

gentleman. It was only at dinner to-day that a controversy arose between

Major von Musquetoon and the Prince of Buttonstein on this point. As I

said to the Prince, you may argue for ever, for at present we cannot

decide the fact. How little did I think when I parted from the Major

that in a few minutes I should be able to settle the question beyond a

doubt. I esteem myself particularly fortunate in meeting with an

Englishman.”

“I regret to say, Colonel, that the question is one that I cannot

decide.”

“Sir, I wish you good morning,” said the Colonel, very drily; and,

staring keenly at Vivian, he walked away.

“He is good enough to fight, I suppose,” said the Baron, with a smile

and shrug of the shoulders, which seemed to return thanks to Providence

for having been educated in the civil service.

At this moment Lady Madeleine Trevor, leaning on the arm of the same

gentleman, passed, and the Baron bowed. The bow was coldly returned.

“You know her Ladyship, then! well!”

“I did know her,” said the Baron; “but I see from her bow that I am at

present in no very high favour. The truth is, she is a charming woman,

but I never expected to see her in Germany, and there was some little

commission of hers which I neglected, some little order for Eau de

Cologne, or a message about a worked pocket-handkerchief, which I

utterly forgot: and then, I never wrote! and you know. Grey, that these

little sins of omission are never forgiven by women.”

“My dear friend, De Konigstein, one pinch! one pinch!” chirped out a

little old odd-looking man, with a poudré head, and dressed in a costume

in which the glories of the vieille cour seemed to retire with

reluctance. A diamond ring twinkled on the snuffy hand, which was

encircled by a rich ruffle of dirty lace. The brown coat was not

modern, and yet not quite such an one as was worn by its master when he

went to see the King dine in public at Versailles before the Revolution:

large silver buckles still adorned the well-polished shoes; and silk

stockings, whose hue was originally black, were picked out with

clock-work of gold.

“My dear Marquis, I am most happy to see you; will you try the

boulangero?”

“With pleasure! A-a-h! what a box! a Louis-Quatorze, I think?”

“Oh, no! by no means so old.”

“Pardon me, my dear De Konigstein; I think a Louis-Quatorze.”

“I bought it in Sicily.”

“A-a-h!” slowly exclaimed the little man, shaking his head.

“Well, good afternoon,” said the Baron, passing on.

“My dear De Konigstein, one pinch; you have often said you have a

particular regard for me.”

“My dear Marquis!”

“A-a-h! I thought so; you have often said you would serve me, if

possible.”

“My dear Marquis, be brief.”

“A-a-h! I will. There’s a cursed crusty old Prussian officer here; one

Colonel de Trumpetson.”

“Well, what can I do? you are surely not going to fight him!”

“A-a-h! no, no; I wish you to speak to him.”

“Well, what?”

“He takes snuff.”

“What is that to me?”

“He has got a box.”

“Well!”

“It is a Louis-Quatorze; could not you get it for me?”

“Good morning to you,” said the Baron, pulling on Vivian.

“You have had the pleasure, Grey, of meeting this afternoon two men who

have each only one idea. Colonel von Trumpetson and the Marquis de la

Tabatière are equally tiresome. But are they more tiresome than any

other man who always speaks on the same subject? We are more irritable,

but not more wearied, with a man who is always thinking of the pattern

of a button-hole, or the shape of a snuff-box, than with one who is

always talking about pictures, or chemistry, or politics. The true bore

is that man who thinks the world is only interested in one subject,

because he himself can only comprehend one.”

Here Lady Madeleine passed again, and this time the Baron’s eyes were

fixed on the ground.

A buzz and a bustle at the other end of the gardens, to which the Baron

and Vivian were advancing, announced the entry of the Grand Duke. His

Imperial Highness was a tall man, with a quick, piercing eye, which was

prevented from giving to his countenance the expression of intellect,

which it otherwise would have done, by the dull and almost brutal effect

of his flat, Calmuck nose. He was dressed in a plain green uniform,

adorned by a single star; but his tightened waist, his stiff stock, and

the elaborate attention which had evidently been bestowed upon his

mustachio, denoted the military fop. The Grand Duke was accompanied by

three or four stiff and stately-looking personages, in whom the severity

of the martinet seemed sunk in the servility of the aide-de-camp.

The Baron bowed very low to the Prince as he drew near, and his

Highness, taking off his cocked-hat with an appearance of cordial

condescension, made a full stop. The silent gentlemen in the rear, who

had not anticipated this suspense in their promenade, almost foundered

on the heels of their royal master; and, frightened at the imminency of

the profanation, forgot their stiff pomp in a precipitate retreat of

half a yard.

“Baron,” said his Highness, “why have I not seen you at the New House?”

“I have but this moment arrived, may it please your Imperial Highness.”

“Your companion,” continued the Grand Duke, pointing very graciously to

Vivian.

“My intimate friend, my fellow-traveller, and an Englishman. May I have

the honour of presenting Mr. Grey to your Imperial Highness?”

“Any friends of the Baron von Konigstein I shall always feel great

pleasure in having presented to me. Sir, I feel great pleasure in having

you presented to me. Sir, you ought to be proud of the name of

Englishman; sir, the English are a noble nation; sir, I have the highest

respect for the English nation!”

Vivian of course bowed very low; and of course made a very proper speech

on the occasion, which, as all speeches of that kind should be, was very

dutiful and quite inaudible.

“And what news from Berlin, Baron? let us move on,” and the Baron turned

with the Grand Duke. The silent gentlemen, settling their mustachios,

followed in the rear. For about half an hour, anecdote after anecdote,

scene after scene, caricature after caricature, were poured out with

prodigal expenditure for the amusement of the Prince, who did nothing

during the exhibition but smile, stroke his whiskers, and at the end of

the best stories fence with his forefinger at the Baron’s side, with a

gentle laugh, and a mock shake of the head, and a “Eh! Von Konigstein,

you’re too bad!” Here Lady Madeleine Trevor passed again, and the Grand

Duke’s hat nearly touched the ground. He received a most gracious bow.

“Finish the story about Salvinski, Baron, and then I will present you

for a reward to the most lovely creature in existence, a countrywoman of

your friend, Lady Madeleine Trevor.”

“I have the honour of a slight acquaintance with her,” said the Baron;

“I had the pleasure of knowing her in England.”

“Indeed! Fortunate mortal! I see she has stopped, talking to some

stranger. Let us turn and join her.”

The Grand Duke and the two friends accordingly turned, and of course the

silent gentlemen in the rear followed with due precision.

“Lady Madeleine!” said the Grand Duke, “I flattered myself for a moment

that I might have had the honour of presenting to you a gentleman for

whom I have a great esteem; but he has proved to me that he is more

fortunate than myself, since he had the honour before me of an

acquaintance with Lady Madeleine Trevor.”

“I have not forgotten Baron von Konigstein,” said her ladyship, with a

serious air. “May I ask his Highness how he prospered in his negotiation

with the Austrian troop?”

“Perfectly successful! Inspired by your Ladyship’s approbation, my

steward has really done wonders. He almost deserves a diplomatic

appointment for the talent which he has shown; but what should I do

without Cracowsky? Lady Madeleine, can you conceive what I should do

without Cracowsky?”

“Not in the least.”

“Cracowsky is everything to me. It is impossible to say what Cracowsky

is to me. I owe everything to Cracowsky. To Cracowsky I owe being here.”

The Grand Duke bowed very low, for this eulogium on his steward also

conveyed a compliment to her Ladyship. The Grand Duke was certainly

right in believing that he owed his summer excursion to Ems to his

steward. That wily Pole regularly every year put his Imperial master’s

summer excursion up to auction, and according to the biddings of the

proprietors of the chief baths did he take care that his master

regulated his visit. The restaurateur of Ems, in collusion with the

official agent of the Duke of Nassau, were fortunate this season in

having the Grand Duke knocked down to them.

“May I flatter myself that Miss Fane feels herself better?” asked the

Grand Duke.

“She certainly does feel herself better, but my anxiety about her does

not decrease. In her illness apparent convalescence is sometimes as

alarming as suffering.”

The Grand Duke continued by the side of Lady Madeleine for about twenty

minutes, seizing every opportunity of uttering, in the most courtly

tone, inane compliments; and then trusting that he might soon have her

Ladyship’s opinion respecting the Austrian troop at the New House, and

that Von Konigstein and his English friend would not delay letting him

see them there, his Imperial Highness, followed by his silent suite,

left the gardens.

“I am afraid Lady Madeleine must have almost mistaken me for a taciturn

lord chamberlain,” said the Baron, occupying immediately the Grand

Duke’s vacated side.

“Baron von Konigstein must be very changed if silence be imputed to him

as a fault,” said Lady Madeleine.

“Baron von Konigstein is very much changed since last he had the

pleasure of conversing with Lady Madeleine Trevor; more changed than she

will perhaps believe; more changed than he can sometimes himself

believe. I hope that he will not be less acceptable to Lady Madeleine

Trevor because he is no longer rash, passionate, and unthinking; because

he has learnt to live more for others and less for himself.”

“Baron von Konigstein does indeed appear changed, since, by his own

account, he has become, in a very few years, a being in whose existence

philosophers scarcely believe, a perfect man.”

“My self-conceit has been so often reproved by you, that I will not

apologise for a quality which I almost flattered myself I no longer

possessed; but you will excuse, I am sure, one who, in zealous haste to

prove himself amended, has, I fear, almost shown that he has

deceived himself.”

Some strange thoughts occurred to Vivian while this conversation was

taking place. “Is this a woman to resent the neglect of an order for Eau

de Cologne? My dear Von Konigstein, you are a very pleasant fellow, but

this is not the way men apologise for the non-purchase of a

pocket-handkerchief!”

“Have you been long at Ems?” inquired the Baron, with an air of great

deference.

“Nearly a month: we are travelling in consequence of the ill-health of a

relation. It was our intention to have gone on to Pisa, but our

physician, in consequence of the extreme heat of the summer, is afraid

of the fatigue of travelling, and has recommended Ems. The air between

these mountains is very soft and pure, and I have no reason to regret at

present that we have not advanced farther on our journey.”

“The lady who was with your party at dinner is, I fear, your invalid.

She certainly does not look like one. I think,” said the Baron, with an

effort, “I think that her face is not unknown to me. It is difficult,

even after so many years, to mistake Miss--”

“Fane,” said Lady Madeleine, firmly; for it seemed that the Baron

required a little assistance at the end of his sentence.

“Ems,” returned his Excellency, with great rapidity of utterance, “Ems

is a charming place, at least to me. I have, within these few years,

quite recurred to the feelings of my boyhood; nothing to me is more

disgustingly wearisome than the gay bustle of a city. My present

diplomatic appointment at Frankfort ensures a constant life among the

most charming scenes of nature. Naples, which was offered to me, I

refused. Eight years ago, I should have thought an appointment at Naples

a Paradise on earth.”

“You must indeed be changed.”

“How beautiful is the vicinity of the Rhine! I have passed within these

three days, for almost the twentieth time in my life, through the

Rheingau; and yet how fresh, and lovely, and novel, seemed all its

various beauties! My young travelling companion is enthusiastic about

this gem of Germany. He is one of your Ladyship’s countrymen. Might I

take the liberty of presenting to you Mr. Grey?”

Lady Madeleine, as if it could now no longer be postponed, introduced to

the two gentlemen her brother, Mr. St. George. This gentleman, who,

during the whole previous conversation, had kept his head in a

horizontal position, looking neither to the right nor to the left, and

apparently unconscious that any one was conversing with his sister,

because, according to the English custom, he was not introduced, now

suddenly turned around, and welcomed his acquaintance with cordiality.

“Mr. Grey,” asked her Ladyship, “are you of Dorsetshire?”

“My mother is a Dorsetshire woman; her family name is Vivian, which name

I also bear.”

“Then I think we are longer acquainted than we have been introduced. I

met your father at Sir Hargrave Vivian’s last Christmas. He spoke of you

in those terms that make me glad that I have met his son. You have been

long from England, I think?”

“Nearly a year and a half.”

The Baron had resigned his place by Lady Madeleine, and was already in

close conversation with Mr. St. George, from whose arm Lady Madeleine’s

was disengaged. No one acted the part of Asmodeus with greater spirit

than his Excellency; and the secret history of every person whose secret

history could be amusing delighted Mr. St. George.

“There,” said the Baron, “goes the son of an unknown father; his mother

followed the camp, and her offspring was early initiated in the

mysteries of military petty larceny. As he grew up he became the most

skilful plunderer that ever rifled the dying of both sides. Before he

was twenty he followed the army as a petty chapman, and amassed an

excellent fortune by re-acquiring after a battle the very goods and

trinkets which he had sold at an immense price before it. Such a wretch

could do nothing but prosper, and in due time the sutler’s brat became a

commissary-general. He made millions in a period of general starvation,

and cleared at least a hundred thousand dollars by embezzling the shoe

leather during a retreat. He is now a baron, covered with orders, and

his daughters are married to some of our first nobles. There goes a

Polish Count who is one of the greatest gamblers in Christendom. In the

same season he lost to a Russian general, at one game of chess, his

chief castle and sixteen thousand acres of woodland; and recovered

himself on another game, on which he won of a Turkish Pasha one hundred

and eighty thousand leopard skins. The Turk, who was a man of strict

honour, paid the Count by embezzling the tribute in kind of the province

he governed; and as on quarter-day he could not, of course, make up his

accounts with the Divan, he joined the Greeks.”

While the Baron was entertaining Mr. St. George, the conversation

between Lady Madeleine and Vivian proceeded.

“Your father expressed great disappointment to me at his being prevented

paying you a visit. Do you not long to see him?”

“More than I can express. Did you think him in good spirits?”

“Generally so: as cheerful as all fathers can be without their only

son.”

“Did he complain, then, of my absence?”

“He regretted it.”

“I linger in Germany with the hope of seeing him; otherwise I should

have now been much further south. Do you find Sir Hargrave as amusing

as ever?”

“When is he otherwise than the most delightful of old men? Sir Hargrave

is one of my great favourites. I should like to persuade you to return

and see them all. Cannot you fancy Chester Grange very beautiful now?

Albert!” said her Ladyship, turning to her brother, “what is the number

of our apartments? Mr. Grey, the sun has now disappeared, and I fear the

night air among these mountains. We have hardly yet summer nights,

though we certainly have summer days. We shall be happy to see you at

our rooms.” So saying, bowing very cordially to Vivian and coldly to the

Baron, Lady Madeleine left the gardens.

“There goes the most delightful woman in the world,” said the Baron;

“how fortunate that you know her! for really, as you might have

observed, I have no great claims on her indulgent notice. I was

certainly very wild in England; but then young men, you know, Grey! and

I did not leave a card, or call, before I went; and the English are

very stiff and precise about those things; and the Trevors had been very

kind to me. I think we had better take a little coffee now; and then, if

you like, we will just stroll into the REDOUTE.”

In a brilliantly-illuminated saloon, adorned with Corinthian columns and

casts from some of the most famous antique statues, assembled, between

nine and ten o’clock in the evening, many of the visitors at Ems. On

each side of the room was placed a long narrow table, one of which was

covered with green baize, and unattended; while the variously-coloured

leathern surface of the other was closely surrounded by an interested

crowd. Behind this table stood two individuals of different appearance.

The first was a short, thick man, whose only business was dealing

certain portions of playing cards with quick succession one after the

other: and as the fate of the table was decided by this process, did his

companion, a very tall, thin man, throw various pieces of money upon

certain stakes, which were deposited by the bystanders on different

parts of the table; or, which was much oftener the case, with a silver

rake with a long ebony handle, sweep into a large inclosure near him the

scattered sums. This inclosure was called the Bank, and the mysterious

ceremony in which these persons were assisting was the celebrated game

of rouge-et-noir. A deep silence was strictly preserved by those who

immediately surrounded the table; no voice was heard save that of the

little, short, stout dealer, when, without an expression of the least

interest, he seemed mechanically to announce the fate of the different

colours. No other sound was heard, except the jingle of the dollars and

Napoleons, and the ominous rake of the tall, thin banker. The

countenances of those who were hazarding their money were grave and

gloomy: their eyes were fixed, their brows contracted, and their lips

projected; and yet there was an evident effort visible to show that they

were both easy and unconcerned. Each player held in his hand a small

piece of pasteboard, on which, with a steel pricker, he marked, the run

of the cards, in order, from his observations, to regulate his own play.

The rouge-et-noir player imagines that chance is not capricious. Those

who were not interested in the game promenaded in two lines within the

tables, or, seated in recesses between the pillars, formed small parties

for conversation.

“I suppose we must throw away a dollar or two,” said the Baron, as he

walked up to the table.

“My dear De Konigstein, one pinch!”

“Ah! Marquess, what fortune to-night?”

“Bad! I have lost my Napoleon: I never risk further. There is that

cursed crusty old De Trumpetson, persisting, as usual, in his run

of bad luck; because he never will give in. Trust me, my dear De

Konigstein, it will end in his ruin; and then, if there be a sale of

his effects, I shall, perhaps, get his snuff-box; a-a-h!”

“Come, shall I throw down a couple of Napoleons on joint account. I do

not care much for play myself; but I suppose, at Ems, we must make up

our minds to lose a few Louis. Here! now, for the red; joint

account, mind!”

“Done.”

“There’s the Grand Duke! Let us go and make our bow; we need not stick

at the table as if our whole soul were staked with our crown-pieces,” So

saying, the gentlemen walked up to the top of the room.

“Why, Grey! Surely no, it cannot be, and yet it is. De Boeffleurs, how

d’ye do?” said the Baron, with a face beaming with joy and a hearty

shake of the hand. “My dear fellow, how did you manage to get off so

soon? I thought you were not to be here for a fortnight: we only arrived

ourselves to-day.”

“Yes; but I have made an arrangement which I did not anticipate; and so

I posted after you at once. Whom do you think I have brought with me?”

“Who?”

“Salvinski.”

“Ah! And the Count?”

“Follows immediately. I expect him to-morrow or next day. Salvinski is

talking to the Grand Duke; and see, he beckons to me. I suppose I am

going to be presented.”

The Chevalier moved forward, followed by the Baron and Vivian.

“Any friend of Prince Salvinski I shall always have great pleasure in

having presented to me. Chevalier, I feel great pleasure in having you

presented to me. Chevalier, you ought to be proud of the name of

Frenchman. Chevalier, the French are a great nation. Chevalier, I have

the highest respect for the French nation.”

“The most subtile diplomatist,” thought Vivian, as he recalled to mind

his own introduction, “would be puzzled to decide to which interest his

Imperial Highness leans.”

The Grand Duke now entered into conversation with the Prince, and most

of the circle who surrounded him. As his Imperial Highness was

addressing Vivian, the Baron let slip our hero’s arm, and, taking that

of the Chevalier de Boeffleurs, began walking up and down the room with

him, and was soon engaged in animated conversation. In a few minutes the

Grand Duke, bowing to his circle, made a move, and regained the side of

a Saxon lady, from whose interesting company he had been disturbed by

the arrival of Prince Salvinski; an individual of whose long stories and

dull romances the Grand Duke had, from experience, a particular dread:

but his Highness was always very courteous to the Poles.

“Grey, I have despatched De Boeffleurs to the house, to instruct his

servant and Ernstorff to do the impossible, in order that our rooms may

be all together. You will be delighted with De Boeffleurs when you know

him, and I expect you to be great friends. By-the-bye, his unexpected

arrival has quite made us forget our venture at rouge-et-noir. Of course

we are too late now for anything; even if we had been fortunate, our

stake, remaining on the table, is, of course, lost: we may as well,

however, walk up.” So saying, the Baron reached the table.

“That is your Excellency’s stake! that is your Excellency’s stake!”

exclaimed many voices as he came up.

“What is the matter, my friends?” asked the Baron, calmly.

“There has been a run on the red! there has been a run on the red! and

your Excellency’s stake has doubled each time. It has been 4, 8, 16, 32,

64, 128, 256, and now it is 512!” quickly rattled a little thin man in

spectacles, pointing at the same time to his unparalleled line of

punctures. This was one of those officious, noisy little men who are

always ready to give you unasked information, and who are never so happy

as when they are watching over the interest of some stranger, who never

thanks them for their unnecessary solicitude.

Vivian, in spite of his philosophy, felt the excitement of the moment.

He looked at the Baron, whose countenance, however, was unmoved.

“It seems,” said he, coolly, “we are in luck.”

“The stake, then, is not all your own?” eagerly asked the little man in

spectacles.

“No; part of it is yours, sir,” answered the Baron, drily.

“I am going; to deal,” said the short, thick man behind. “Is the board

cleared?”

“Your Excellency, then, allows the stake to remain?” inquired the tall,

thin banker, with affected nonchalance.

“Oh! certainly,” said the Baron, with real nonchalance.

“Three, eight, fourteen, twenty-four, thirty-four. Rouge 34--”

All crowded nearer; the table was surrounded five or six deep, for the

wonderful run of luck had got wind, and nearly the whole room were round

the table. Indeed, the Grand Duke and Saxon lady, and of course the

silent suite, were left alone at the upper part of the room. The tall

banker did not conceal his agitation. Even the short, stout dealer

ceased to be a machine. All looked anxious except the Baron. Vivian

looked at the table; his Excellency watched, with a keen eye, the little

dealer. No one even breathed as the cards descended. “Ten, twenty (here

the countenance of the banker brightened), twenty-two, twenty-five,

twenty-eight, thirty-one; noir 31. The bank’s broke: no more play

tonight. The roulette table opens immediately.”

In spite of the great interest which had been excited, nearly the whole

crowd, without waiting to congratulate the Baron, rushed to the opposite

side of the room, in order to secure places at the roulette fable.

“Put these five hundred and twelve Napoleons into a bag,” said the

Baron, “Grey, this is your share. With regard to the other half, Mr.

Hermann, what bills have you got?”

“Two on Gogel of Frankfort for two hundred and fifty each, and these

twelve Napoleons will make it right,” said the tall banker, as he opened

a large black pocket-book, from which he took out two small bits of

paper. The Baron examined them, and after having seen them endorsed, put

them into his pocket, not forgetting the twelve Napoleons; and then

taking Vivian’s arm, and regretting extremely that he should have the

trouble of carrying such a weight, he wished Mr. Hermann a very good

night and success at his roulette, and walked with his companion quietly

home. Thus passed a day at Ems!

CHAPTER VII

On the following morning, Vivian met with his friend Essper George,

behind a small stall in the Bazaar.

“Well, my Lord, what do you wish? Here are Eau de Cologne, violet soap,

and watch-ribbons; a smelling bottle of Ems crystal; a snuff-box of

fig-tree wood. Name your price: the least trifle that can be given by a

man who breaks a bank must be more than my whole stock-in-trade

is worth.

“I have not paid you yet, Essper, for my glass chain. There is your

share of my winnings, the fame of which, it seems, has reached even

you!” added Vivian, with no pleased air.

“I thank you, sir, for the Nap; but I hope I have not offended by

alluding to a certain event, which shall be passed over in silence,”

continued Essper George, with a look of mock solemnity. “I really think

you have but a faint appetite for good fortune. They deserve her most

who value her least.”

“Have you any patrons at Ems, Essper, that have induced you to fix on

this place in particular for your speculations? Here, I should think,

you have many active rivals,” said Vivian, looking round the

various stalls.

“I have a patron here who has never deceived, and who will never desert

me; I want no other; and that’s myself. Now here comes a party: could

you just tell me the name of that tall lady now?”

“If I tell you it is Lady Madeleine Trevor, what will it profit you?”

Before Vivian could well finish his sentence Essper had drawn out a long

horn from beneath his small counter, and sounded a blast which echoed

through the arched passages. The attention of every one was excited, and

no part of the following speech was lost:--

“The celebrated Essper George, fresh from Fairyland, dealer in pomatum

and all sorts of perfumery, watches, crosses, Ems crystal, coloured

prints, Dutch toys, Dresden china, Venetian chains, Neapolitan coral,

French crackers, chamois bracelets, tame poodles, and Cherokee

corkscrews, mender of mandolins and all other musical instruments, to

Lady Madeleine Trevor, has just arrived at Ems, where he only intends to

stay two or three days, and a few more weeks besides. Now, gracious

lady, what do you wish?”

“And who,” said Lady Madeleine, smiling, “is this?”

“The celebrated Essper George, just--” again commenced the conjuror; but

Vivian prevented the repetition.

“He is an odd knave. Lady Madeleine, that I have met with before, at

other places, I believe I may add an honest one. What say you, Essper?”

“More honest than moonlight, gracious lady, for that deceives every one;

and less honest than self-praise, for that deceives no one.”

“My friend, you have a ready wit.”

“My wit is like a bustling servant, gracious lady; always ready when not

wanted, and never present at a pinch.”

“Come, I must have a pair of your chamois bracelets. How sell you them?”

“I sell nothing; all here is gratis to beauty, virtue, and nobility: and

these are my only customers.”

“Thanks will not supply a stock-in-trade though, Essper,” said Vivian.

“Very true! but my customers are apt to leave some slight testimonies

behind them of the obligations which they are under to me; and these, at

the same time, are the prop of my estate and the proof of their

discretion. But who comes here?” said Essper, drawing out his horn. The

sight of this instrument reminded Lady Madeleine how greatly the effect

of music is heightened by distance, and she made a speedy retreat,

yielding her place to a family procession of a striking character.

Three daughters abreast, flanked by two elder sons, formed the first

file. The father, a portly, prosperous-looking man, followed, with his

lady on his arm. Then came two nursery maids, with three children,

between the tender ages of five and six. The second division of the

grand army, consisting of three younger sons, immediately followed. This

was commanded by a tutor. A governess and two young daughters then

advanced; and then came the extreme rear, the sutlers of the camp, in

the persons of two footmen in rich liveries, who each bore a basket on

his arm, filled with various fancy articles, which had been all

purchased during the promenade of this nation through only part of

the bazaar.

The trumpet of Essper George produced a due effect upon the great party.

The commander-in-chief stopped at his little stall, and, as if this were

the signal for general attack and plunder, the files were immediately

broken up. Each individual dashed at his prey, and the only ones who

struggled to maintain a semblance of discipline were the nursery maids,

the tutor, and the governess, who experienced the greatest difficulty in

suppressing the early taste which the detachment of light infantry

indicated for booty. But Essper George was in his element: he joked, he

assisted, he exhibited, he explained; tapped the cheeks of the children

and complimented the elder ones; and finally, having parted at a

prodigious profit, with nearly his whole, stock, paid himself out of a

large and heavy purse, which the portly father, in his utter inability

to comprehend the complicated accounts and the debased currency, with

great frankness deposited in the hands of the master of the stall,

desiring him to settle his own claims.

“I hope I may be allowed to ask after Miss Fane,” said Vivian.

“She continues better; we are now about to join her in the Limewalk. If

you will join our morning stroll, it will give us much pleasure.”

Nothing in the world could give Vivian greater pleasure; he felt himself

impelled to the side of Lady Madeleine; and only regretted his

acquaintance with the Baron because he felt conscious that there was

some secret cause which prevented that intimacy from existing between

his Excellency and the Trevor party which his talents and his position

would otherwise have easily produced.

“By-the-bye,” said Lady Madeleine, “I do not know whether I may be

allowed to congratulate you upon your brilliant success at the Redoute

last night. It is fortunate that all have not to regret your arrival at

Ems so much as poor Mr. Hermann.”

“The run was extraordinary. I am only sorry that the goddess should have

showered her favours on one who neither deserves nor desires them; for I

have no wish to be rich; and as I never lost by her caprices, it is

hardly fair that I should gain by them.”

“You do not play, then, much?”

“I never played in my life till last night. Gambling has never been one

of my follies, although my catalogue of errors is fuller, perhaps, than

most men’s.”

“I think Baron von Konigstein was your partner in the exploit?”

“He was; and apparently as little pleased at the issue as myself.”

“Indeed! Have you known the Baron long?”

“We are only friends of a week. I have been living, ever since I was in

Germany, a very retired life. A circumstance of a most painful nature

drove me from England; a circumstance of which I can hardly flatter

myself, and can hardly wish, that you should be ignorant.”

“I learnt the sad history from one who, while he spoke the truth, spoke

of the living sufferer in terms of the fondest affection.”

“A father!” said Vivian, agitated, “a father can hardly be expected to

be impartial.”

“Such a father as yours may, I only wish that he was with us now, to

assist me in bringing about what he must greatly desire, your return

to England.”

“It cannot be. I look back to the last year which I spent in that

country with feelings of such disgust, I look forward to a return to

that country with feelings of such repugnance that--but I feel I am

trespassing beyond all bounds in touching on these subjects.”

“I promised your father that in case we met, I would seek your society.

I have suffered too much myself not to understand how dangerous and how

deceitful is the excess of grief. You have allowed yourself to be

overcome by that which Providence intended as a lesson of instruction,

not as a sentence of despair. In your solitude you have increased the

shadow of those fantasies of a heated brain, which converse with the

pure sunshine of the world would have enabled you to dispel.”

“The pure sunshine of the world, Lady Madeleine! would that it had ever

lighted me! My youth flourished in the unwholesome sultriness of a

blighted atmosphere, which I mistook for the resplendent brilliancy of a

summer day. How deceived I was, you may judge, not certainly from

finding me here; but I am here because I have ceased to suffer, only in

having ceased to hope.”

“You have ceased to hope, because hope and consolation are not the

companions of solitude, which are of a darker nature. Hope and

consolation spring from the social affections. Converse with the world

will do more for you than all the arguments of philosophers. I hope yet

to find you a believer in the existence of that good which we all

worship and all pursue. Happiness comes when we least expect it, and to

those who strive least to obtain it; as you were fortunate yesterday at

the Redoute, when you played without an idea of winning.”

They were in the Limewalk: gay sounds greeted them, and Miss Fane came

forward from a light-hearted band to welcome her cousin. She had to

propose a walk to the New Spring, which she was prepared for Lady

Madeleine to resist on the ground of her cousin’s health. But Miss Fane

combated all the objections with airy merriment, and with a bright

resource that never flagged. As she bent her head slightly to Vivian,

ere she hastened back to her companions to announce the success of her

mission, it seemed to him that he had never beheld so animated and

beaming a countenance, or glanced upon a form of such ineffable and

sparkling grace.

“You would scarcely imagine, Mr. Grey, that we are travelling for my

cousin’s health, nor do her physicians, indeed, give us any cause for

serious uneasiness; yet I cannot help feeling at times great anxiety.

Her flushed cheek and the alarming languor which succeeds any excitement

make me fear her complaint may be more deeply seated than they are

willing to acknowledge.”

“They were saying the other day that the extraordinary heat of this

season must end in an earthquake, or some great convulsion of nature.

That would bring languor.”

“We are willing to adopt any reasoning that gives us hope, but her

mother died of consumption.”

CHAPTER VIII

When the walking party returned home they found a crowd of idle servants

assembled opposite the house, round a group of equipages, consisting of

two enormous crimson carriages, a britzska, and a large caravan, on all

which vehicles the same coat of arms was ostentatiously blazoned.

“Some new guests!” said Miss Fane.

“It must be the singular party that we watched this morning in the

bazaar,” said Lady Madeleine. “Violet! I have such a curious character

to introduce you to, a particular friend of Mr. Grey, who wishes very

much to have the honour of your acquaintance, MR. ESSPER GEORGE.”

“These carriages, then, belong to him?”

“Not exactly,” said Vivian.

In an hour’s time, the party again met at dinner in the saloon. By the

joint exertions of Ernstorff and Mr. St. George’s servants, the Baron,

Vivian, and the Chevalier de Boeffleurs were now seated next to the

party of Lady Madeleine Trevor.

“My horses fortunately arrived from Frankfort this morning,” said the

Baron. “Mr. St. George and myself have been taking a ride very far up

the valley. Has your Ladyship yet been to the Castle of Nassau?”

“We have not. The expedition has been one of those plans often arranged

and never executed.”

“You should go. The ruin is one of the finest in Germany. An expedition

to Nassau Castle would be a capital foundation for a pic-nic. Conceive a

beautiful valley, discovered by a knight, in the middle ages, following

the track of a stag. How romantic! The very incident vouches for its

sweet seclusion. Cannot you imagine the wooded mountains, the old grey

ruin, the sound of the unseen river? What more should we want, except

agreeable company, fine music, and the best provisions, to fancy

ourselves in Paradise?”

“I wish the plan were practicable,” said Mr. St. George.

“I take the whole arrangement upon myself; there is not a difficulty.

The ladies shall go on donkeys, or we might make a water excursion of it

part of the way, and the donkeys can meet us at the pass near Stein, and

then the gentlemen may walk; and if you fear the water at night, why

then the carriages may come round: and if your own be too heavy for

mountain roads, my britzska is always at your command. You see there is

not a difficulty.”

“Not a difficulty,” said Mr. St. George. “Madeleine, we only wait your

consent.”

“I think we had better put off the execution of our plan till June is a

little more advanced. We must have a fine summer night for Violet.”

“Well, then, I hold the whole party present engaged to follow my

standard, whenever I have permission from authority to unfold it,” said

the Baron, bowing to Lady Madeleine: “and lest, on cool reflection, I

shall not possess influence enough to procure the appointment, I shall,

like a skilful orator, take advantage of your feelings, which gratitude

for this excellent plan must have already enlisted in my favour, and

propose myself as Master of the Ceremonies.” The Baron’s eye caught Lady

Madeleine’s as he uttered this, and something like a smile, rather of

pity than derision, lighted up her face.

Here Vivian turned round to give some directions to an attendant, and to

his annoyance found Essper George standing behind his chair.

[Illustration: frontispiece]

“Is there anything you want, sir?”

“Who ordered you here?”

“My duty.”

“In what capacity do you attend?”

“As your servant, sir.”

“I insist upon your leaving the room directly.”

“Ah! my friend, Essper George,” said Lady Madeleine, “are you there?

What is the matter?”

“This, then, is Essper George!” said Violet Fane. “What kind of being

can he possibly be? What indeed is the matter?”

“I am merely discharging a servant at a moment’s warning, Miss Fane; and

if you wish to engage his constant attendance upon yourself, I have no

objection to give him a character for the occasion.”

“What do you want, Essper?” said Miss Fane.

“Merely to see whether your walk this morning had done your appetites

any good,” answered Essper, looking disconsolate; “and so I thought

I might make myself useful at the same time. And though I do not bring

on the soup in a cocked hat, and carve the venison with a

couteau-de-chasse,” continued he, bowing very low to Ernstorff, who,

standing stiff behind his master’s chair, seemed utterly unaware that

any other person in the room could experience a necessity; “still I can

change a plate or hand the wine without cracking the first, or drinking

the second.”

“And very good qualities, too!” said Miss Fane. “Come, Essper, you shall

put your accomplishments into practice immediately; change my plate.”

This Essper did with dexterity and quiet, displaying at the same time a

small white hand, on the back of which was marked a comet and three

daggers. As he had the discretion not to open his mouth, and performed

all his duties with skill, his intrusion in a few minutes was not only

pardoned but forgotten.

“There has been a great addition to the visitors to-day, I see,” said

Mr. St. George. “Who are the new comers?”

“I will tell you all about them,” said the Baron. “This family is one of

those whose existence astounds the Continent much more than any of your

mighty dukes and earls, whose fortunes, though colossal, can be

conceived, and whose rank is understood. Mr. Fitzloom is a very

different personage, for thirty years ago he was a journeyman cotton

spinner. Some miraculous invention in machinery entitled him to a

patent, which has made him one of the great proprietors of England. He

has lately been returned a member for a manufacturing town, and he

intends to get over the first two years of his parliamentary career by

successively monopolising the accommodation of all the principal cities

of France, Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, and by raising the price of

provisions and post-horses through a track of five thousand miles. My

information is authentic, for I had a casual acquaintance with him in

England. There was some talk of a contract for supplying our army from

England, and I saw Fitzloom often on the subject. I have spoken to him

to-day. This is by no means the first of the species that we have had in

Germany. I can assure you that the plain traveller feels seriously the

inconvenience of following such a caravan; their money flows with such

unwise prodigality that real liberality ceases to be valued; and many of

your nobility have complained to me that in their travels they are now

often expostulated with on account of their parsimony, and taunted with

the mistaken extravagance of a stocking-maker or a porter-brewer.”

“What pleasure can such people find in travelling?” wondered Mr. St.

George.

“As much pleasure and more profit than half the young men of the present

day,” replied a middle-aged English gentleman, who was a kinsman of the

St. Georges, and called them cousins. “In my time travelling was

undertaken on a very different system to what it is now. The English

youth then travelled to frequent, what Lord Bacon says are ‘especially

to be seen and observed, the Courts of Princes.’ You all travel now, it

appears, to look at mountains and catch cold in spouting trash on lakes

by moonlight.”

“But, my dear sir!” said the Baron, “although I grant you that the

principal advantages of travel must be the opportunity which it affords

us of becoming acquainted with human nature, knowledge, of course,

chiefly gained where human beings most congregate, great cities, and, as

you say, the Courts of Princes; still, one of its great benefits is,

that it enlarges a man’s experiences, not only of his fellow-creatures

in particular, but of nature in general. Many men pass through life

without seeing a sunrise: a traveller cannot. If human experience be

gained by seeing men in their undress, not only when they are conscious

of the presence of others, natural experience is only to be acquired by

studying nature at all periods, not merely when man is busy and the

beasts asleep.”

“But what is the use of this deep experience of nature? Men are born to

converse with men, not with stocks and stones. He who has studied Le

Sage will be more happy and more successful in this world than the man

who muses over Rousseau.”

“I agree with you. I have no wish to make man an anchorite. But as to

the benefit of a thorough experience of nature, it appears to me to be

evident. It increases our stock of ideas.”

“So does everything.”

“But it does more than this. It calls into being new emotions, it gives

rise to new and beautiful associations; it creates that salutary state

of mental excitement which renders our ideas more lucid and our

conclusions more sound. Can we too much esteem a study which at the same

time stimulates imagination and corrects the judgment?”

“Do not you think that a communion with nature is calculated to elevate

the soul,” said Lady Madeleine, “to--?”

“So is reading your Bible. A man’s soul should always be elevated. If

not, he might look at mountains for ever, but I should not trust him a

jot more.”

“But, sir,” continued the Baron, with unusual warmth, “I am clear that

there are cases in which the influence of nature has worked what you

profess to treat as an impossibility or a miracle. I am myself

acquainted with an instance of a peculiar character. A few years ago, a

gentleman of high rank found himself exposed to the unhappy suspicion of

being connected with some dishonourable transactions which took place in

the highest circles of England. Unable to find any specific charge which

he could meet, he added one to the numerous catalogue of those

unfortunate beings who have sunk in society, the victims of a surmise.

He quitted England, and, disgusted with the world, became the

profligate which he had been falsely believed to be. At the house of

Cardinal ----, at Naples, celebrated for its revels, this gentleman

became a constant guest. He entered with a mad eagerness into every

species of dissipation, although none gave him pleasure, and his

fortune, his health, and the powers of his mind were all fast vanishing.

One night of frantic dissipation a mock election of Master of the Sports

was proposed, and the hero of my tale had the splendid gratification of

being chosen by unanimous consent to this new office. About two o’clock

of the same night he left the palace of the Cardinal, with an intention

of returning; his way on his return led by the Chiaja. It was one of

those nights which we witness only in the south. The blue and brilliant

sea was sleeping beneath a cloudless sky; and the moon not only shed her

light over the orange and lemon trees, which, springing from their green

banks of myrtle, hung over the water, but added fresh lustre to the

white domes and glittering towers of the city, and flooded Vesuvius and

the distant coast with light as far even as Capua. The individual of

whom I am speaking had passed this spot on many nights when the moon was

not less bright, the waves not less silent, and the orange trees not

less sweet; but to-night something irresistible impelled him to stop.

What a contrast to the artificial light and heat and splendour of the

palace to which he was returning! He mused in silence. Would it not be

wiser to forget the world’s injustice in gazing on a moonlit ocean than

in discovering in the illumined halls of Naples the baseness of the

crowd which forms the world’s power? To enjoy the refreshing luxury of a

fanning breeze which now arose he turned and gazed on the other side of

the bay; upon his right stretched out the promontory of Pausilippo;

there were the shores of Baiae. But it was not only the loveliness of

the land which now overcame his spirit; he thought of those whose fame

had made us forget even the beauty of these shores in associations of a

higher character and a more exalted nature. He remembered the time when

it was his only wish to be numbered among them. How had his early hopes

been fulfilled! What just account had he rendered to himself and to his

country; that country that had expected so much, that self that had

aspired even to more!

“Day broke over the city and found him still pacing the Chiaja; he did

not return to the Cardinal’s palace, and in two days he had left Naples.

I can myself, from personal experience, aver that this individual is

now a useful and honourable member of society. The world speaks of him

in more flattering terms.”

The Baron spoke with energy and animation. Miss Fane, who had been

silent, and who certainly had not encouraged by any apparent interest

the previous conversation of the Baron, listened to this anecdote with

eager attention; but the effect it produced upon Lady Madeleine Trevor

was remarkable.

Soon after this the party broke up. The promenade followed; the Grand

Duke, his compliments, and courtiers; then came the Redoute. Mr. Hermann

bowed low as the gentlemen walked up to the table. The Baron whispered

Vivian that it was “expected” that they should play, and give the tables

a chance of winning back their money. Vivian staked with the

carelessness of one who wishes to lose; as is often the case under such

circumstances, he again left the Redoute a considerable winner. He

parted with the Baron at his Excellency’s door and proceeded to the

next, which was his own. Here he stumbled over something at the doorway

which appeared like a large bundle; he bent down with his light to

examine it, and found Essper George lying on his back with his eyes

half-open. It was some moments before Vivian perceived he was asleep;

stepping gently over him, he entered his apartment.

CHAPTER IX

When Vivian rose in the morning a gentle tap at his door announced the

presence of an early visitor, who, being desired to enter, appeared in

the person of Essper George.

“Do you want anything, sir?” asked Essper, with a submissive air.

Vivian stared at him for a moment, and then ordered him to come in.

“I had forgotten, Essper, until this moment, that on returning to my

room last night I found you sleeping at my door. This also reminds me of

your conduct in the saloon yesterday; and as I wish to prevent the

repetition of such improprieties, I shall take this opportunity of

informing you, once for all, that if you do not in future conduct

yourself with more discretion, I must apply to the Maitre d’Hôtel. Now,

sir, what do you want?”

Essper was silent, and stood with his hands crossed on his breast, and

his eyes fixed on the ground.

“If you do not want anything, quit the room immediately.”

Here the singular being began to weep.

“Poor fellow!” thought Vivian, “I fear, with all thy wit and pleasantry,

thou art, after all, but one of those capriccios which Nature sometimes

indulges in, merely to show how superior is her accustomed order to

eccentricities, even accompanied with rare powers.”

“What is your wish, Essper?” continued Vivian, in a kinder tone. “If

there be any service that I can do you, you will not find me backward.

Are you in trouble? you surely are not in want?”

“No!” sobbed Essper; “I wish to be your servant:” here he hid his face

in his hands.

“My servant! why surely it is not very wise to seek dependence upon any

man. I am afraid that you have been keeping company too much with the

lackeys that are always loitering about these bathing-places,

Ernstorff’s green livery and sword, have they not turned your

brain, Essper?”

“No, no, no! I am tired of living alone.”

“But remember, to be a servant, you must be a person of regular habits

and certain reputation. I have myself a good opinion of you, but I have

myself seen very little of you, though more than any one here, and I am

a person of a peculiar turn of mind. Perhaps there is not another

individual in this house who would even allude to the possibility of

engaging a servant without a character.”

“Does the ship ask the wind for a character when he bears her over the

sea without hire and without reward? and shall you require a character

from me when I request to serve you without wages and without pay?”

“Such an engagement, Essper, it would be impossible for me to enter

into, even if I had need of your services, which at present I have not.

But I tell you frankly that I see no chance of your suiting me. I should

require an attendant of steady habits and experience; not one whose very

appearance would attract attention when I wish to be unobserved, and

acquire a notoriety for the master which he detests. I warmly advise you

to give up all idea of entering into a state of life for which you are

not in the least suited. Believe me, your stall will be a better friend

than a master. Now leave me.”

Essper remained one moment with his eyes still fixed on the ground; then

walking very rapidly up to Vivian, he dropped on his knee, kissed his

hand, and disappeared.

Mr. St. George breakfasted with the Baron, and the gentlemen called on

Lady Madeleine early in the morning to propose a drive to Stein Castle;

but she excused herself, and Vivian following her example, the Baron and

Mr. St. George “patronised” the Fitzlooms, because there was nothing

else to do. Vivian again joined the ladies in their morning walk, but

Miss Fane was not in her usual high spirits. She complained more than

once of her cousin’s absence; and this, connected with some other

circumstances, gave Vivian the first impression that her feelings

towards Mr. St. George were not merely those of a relation. As to the

Chevalier de Boeffleurs, Vivian soon found that it was utterly

impossible to be on intimate terms with a being without an idea. The

Chevalier was certainly not a very fit representative of the gay,

gallant, mercurial Frenchman: he rose very late, and employed the whole

of the morning in reading the French journals and playing billiards

alternately with Prince Salvinski and Count von Altenburgh.

These gentlemen, as well as the Baron, Vivian, and Mr. St. George, were

to dine this day at the New House.

They found assembled at the appointed hour a party of about thirty

individuals. The dinner was sumptuous, the wines superb. At the end of

the banquet the company adjourned to another room, where play was

proposed and immediately commenced. His Imperial Highness did not join

in the game, but, seated in a corner of the apartment, was surrounded by

his aides-de-camp, whose business was to bring their master constant

accounts of the fortunes of the table and the fate of his bets. His

Highness did not stake.

Vivian soon found that the game was played on a very different scale at

the New House to what it was at the Redoute. He spoke most decidedly to

the Baron of his detestation of gambling, and expressed his

unwillingness to play; but the Baron, although he agreed with him in his

sentiments, advised him to conform for the evening to the universal

custom. As he could afford to lose, he consented, and staked boldly.

This night very considerable sums were lost and won; but none returned

home greater winners than Mr. St. George and Vivian Grey.

CHAPTER X

The first few days of an acquaintance with a new scene of life and with

new characters generally appear to pass very slowly; not certainly from

the weariness which they induce, but rather from the keen attention

which every little circumstance commands. When the novelty has worn off,

when we have discovered that the new characters differ little from all

others we have met before, and that the scene they inhabit is only

another variety of the great order we have so often observed, we relapse

into our ancient habits of inattention; we think more of ourselves, and

less of those we meet; and musing our moments away in reverie, or in a

vain attempt to cheat the coming day of the monotony of the present one,

we begin to find that the various-vested hours have bounded and are

bounding away in a course at once imperceptible, uninteresting, and

unprofitable. Then it is that, terrified at our nearer approach to the

great river whose dark windings it seems the business of all to forget,

we start from our stupor to mourn over the rapidity of that collective

sum of past-time, every individual hour of which we have in turn

execrated for its sluggishness.

Vivian had now been three weeks at Ems, and the presence of Lady

Madeleine Trevor and her cousin alone induced him to remain. Whatever

the mystery existing between Lady Madeleine and the Baron, his efforts

to attach himself to her party had been successful. The great intimacy

subsisting between the Baron and her brother materially assisted in

bringing about this result. For the first fortnight the Baron was Lady

Madeleine’s constant attendant in the evening promenade, and sometimes

in the morning walk; and though there were few persons whose

companionship could be preferred to that of Baron von Konigstein, still

Vivian sometimes regretted that his friend and Mr. St. George had not

continued their rides. The presence of the Baron seemed always to have

an unfavourable influence upon the spirits of Miss Fane, and the absurd

and evident jealousy of Mr. St. George prevented Vivian from finding in

her agreeable conversation some consolation for the loss of the sole

enjoyment of Lady Madeleine’s exhilarating presence. Mr. St. George had

never met Vivian’s advances with cordiality, and he now treated him with

studied coldness.

The visits of the gentlemen to the New House had been frequent. The

saloon of the Grand Duke was open every evening, and in spite of his

great distaste for the fatal amusement which was there invariably

pursued, Vivian found it impossible to decline frequently attending

without subjecting his motives to painful misconception. His

extraordinary fortune did not desert him, and rendered his attendance

still more a duty. The Baron was not so successful as on his first

evening’s venture at the Redoute; but Mr. St. George’s star remained

favourable. Of Essper Vivian had seen little. In passing through the

bazaar one morning, which he seldom did, he found, to his surprise, that

the former conjuror had doffed his quaint costume, and was now attired

in the usual garb of men of his condition of life. As Essper was busily

employed at the moment, Vivian did not stop to speak to him; but he

received a respectful bow. Once or twice, also, he had met Essper in the

Baron’s apartments; and he seemed to have become a very great favourite

with the servants of his Excellency and the Chevalier de Boeffleurs,

particularly with his former butt, Ernstorff, to whom he now behaved

with great deference.

For the first fortnight the Baron’s attendance on Lady Madeleine was

constant. After this time he began to slacken in his attentions. He

first disappeared from the morning walks, and yet he did not ride; he

then ceased from joining the party at Lady Madeleine’s apartments in the

evening, and never omitted increasing the circle at the New House for a

single night. The whole of the fourth week the Baron dined with his

Imperial Highness. Although the invitation had been extended to all the

gentlemen from the first, it had been agreed that it was not to be

accepted, in order that the ladies should not find their party in the

saloon less numerous or less agreeable. The Baron was the first to break

through a rule which he had himself proposed, and Mr. St. George and the

Chevalier de Boeffleurs soon followed his example.

“Mr. Grey,” said Lady Madeleine one evening, as she was about to leave

the gardens, “we shall be happy to see you to-night, if you are

not engaged.”

“I fear that I am engaged,” said Vivian; for the receipt of some letters

from England made him little inclined to enter into society.

“Oh, no! you cannot be,” said Miss Fane: “pray come! I know you only

want to go to that terrible New House. I wonder what Albert can find to

amuse him there; I fear no good. Men never congregate together for any

beneficial purpose. I am sure, with all his gastronomical affectations,

he would not, if all were right, prefer the most exquisite dinner in the

world to our society. As it is, we scarcely see him a moment. I think

that, you are the only one who has not deserted the saloon. For once,

give up the New House.”

Vivian smiled at Miss Fane’s warmth, and could not persist in his

refusal, although she did dilate most provokingly on the absence of her

cousin. He therefore soon joined them.

“Lady Madeleine is assisting me in a most important work, Mr. Grey. I am

making drawings of the Valley of the Rhine. I know that you are

acquainted with the scenery; you can, perhaps, assist me with your

advice about this view of old Hatto’s Castle.”

Vivian was so completely master of every spot in the Rhineland that he

had no difficulty in suggesting the necessary alterations. The drawings

were vivid representations of the scenery which they professed to

depict, and Vivian forgot his melancholy as he attracted the attention

of the fair artist to points of interest unknown or unnoticed by the

guide-books and the diaries.

“You must look forward to Italy with great interest, Miss Fane?”

“The greatest! I shall not, however, forget the Rhine, even among the

Apennines.”

“Our intended fellow-travellers, Lord Mounteney and his family, are

already at Milan,” said Lady Madeleine to Vivian; “we were to have

joined their party. Lady Mounteney is a Trevor.”

“I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mounteney in England, at Sir

Berdmore Scrope’s: do you know him?”

“Slightly. The Mounteneys pass the winter at Rome, where I hope we shall

join them. Do you know the family intimately?”

“Mr. Ernest Clay, a nephew of his Lordship’s, I have seen a great deal

of; I suppose, according to the adopted phraseology, I ought to describe

him as my friend, although I am ignorant where he is at present; and

although, unless he is himself extremely altered, there scarcely can be

two persons who now more differ in their pursuits and tempers than

ourselves.”

“Ernest Clay! is he a friend of yours? He is at Munich, attached to the

Legation. I see you smile at the idea of Ernest Clay drawing up a

protocol!”

“Madeleine, you have never read me Caroline Mounteney’s letter, as you

promised,” said Miss Fane; “I suppose full of raptures; ‘the Alps and

Apennines, the Pyrenaean and the River Po?’”

“By no means; the whole letter is filled with an account of the ballet

at La Scala, which, according to Caroline, is a thousand times more

interesting than Mont Blanc or the Simplon.”

“One of the immortal works of Vigano, I suppose,” said Vivian; “he has

raised the ballet of action to an equality with tragedy. I have heard my

father mention the splendid effect of his Vestale and his Otello.”

“And yet,” said Violet, “I do not like Othello to be profaned. It is not

for operas and ballets. We require the thrilling words.”

“It is very true; yet Pasta’s acting in the opera was a grand

performance; and I have myself seldom witnessed a more masterly effect

produced by any actor in the world than I did a fortnight ago, at the

Opera at Darmstadt, by Wild in Othello.”

“I think the history of Desdemona is the most affecting of all tales,”

said Miss Fane.

“The violent death of a woman, young, lovely, and innocent, is assuredly

the most terrible of tragedies,” observed Vivian.

“I have often asked myself,” said Miss Fane, “which is the most terrible

destiny for the young to endure: to meet death after a life of anxiety

and suffering, or suddenly to be cut off in the enjoyment of all things

that make life delightful.”

“For my part,” said Vivian, “in the last instance, I think that death

can scarcely be considered an evil. How infinitely is such a destiny to

be preferred to that long apprenticeship of sorrow, at the end of which

we are generally as unwilling to die as at the commencement!”

“And yet,” said Miss Fane, “there is something fearful in the idea of

sudden death.”

“Very fearful,” muttered Vivian, “in some cases;” for he thought of one

whom he had sent to his great account before his time.

“Violet, my dear!” said Lady Madeleine, “have you finished your drawing

of the Bingenloch?” But Miss Fane would not leave the subject.

“Very fearful in all cases, Mr. Grey. How few of us are prepared to

leave this world without warning! And if from youth, or sex, or natural

disposition, a few may chance to be better fitted for the great change

than their companions, still I always think that in those cases in which

we view our fellow-creatures suddenly departing from this world,

apparently without a bodily or mental pang, there must be a moment of

suffering which none of us can understand; a terrible consciousness of

meeting death in the very flush of life; a moment of suffering which,

from its intense and novel character, may appear an eternity of anguish.

I have always looked upon such an end as the most fearful of

dispensations.”

“Violet, my dear.” said her Ladyship, “let us talk no more of death. You

have been silent a fortnight. I think to-night you may sing.” Miss Fane

rose and sat down to the instrument.

It was a lively air, calculated to drive away all melancholy feelings,

and cherishing sunny views of human life. But Rossini’s Muse did not

smile to-night upon her who invoked its gay spirit; and ere Lady

Madeleine could interfere Violet Fane had found more congenial emotions

in one of Weber’s prophetic symphonies.

O Music! miraculous art, that makes a poet’s skill a jest, revealing to

the soul inexpressible feelings by the aid of inexplicable sounds! A

blast of thy trumpet, and millions rush forward to die; a peal of thy

organ, and uncounted nations sink down to pray. Mighty is thy

threefold power!

First, thou canst call up all elemental sounds, and scenes, and

subjects, with the definiteness of reality. Strike the lyre! Lo! the

voice of the winds, the flash of the lightning, the swell of the wave,

the solitude of the valley!

Then thou canst speak to the secrets of a man’s heart as if by

inspiration. Strike the lyre! Lo! our early love, our treasured hate,

our withered joy, our flattering hope!

And, lastly, by thy mysterious melodies thou canst recall man from all

thought of this world and of himself, bringing back to his soul’s memory

dark but delightful recollections of the glorious heritage which he has

lost, but which he may win again. Strike the lyre! Lo! Paradise, with

its palaces of inconceivable splendour and its gates of

unimaginable glory!

When Vivian left the apartment of Lady Madeleine he felt no inclination

to sleep, and, instead of retiring to rest, he bent his steps towards

the gardens. It was a rich summer night; the air, recovered from the

sun’s scorching rays, was cool, not chilling. The moon was still behind

the mountains; but the dark blue heavens were studded with innumerable

stars, whose tremulous light quivered on the face of the river. All

human sounds had ceased to agitate; and the note of the nightingale and

the rush of the waters banished monotony without disturbing reflection.

But not for reflection had Vivian Grey deserted his chamber: his heart

was full, but of indefinable sensations, and, forgetting the world in

the intenseness of his emotions, he felt too much to think.

How long he had been pacing by the side of the river he knew not, when

he was awakened from his reverie by the sound of voices. He looked up,

and saw lights moving at a distance. The party at the New House had just

broke up. He stopped beneath a branching elm-tree for a moment, that the

sound of his steps might not attract their attention, and at this very

instant the garden gate opened and closed with great violence. The

figure of a man approached. As he passed Vivian the moon rose up from

above the brow of the mountain, and lit up the countenance of the Baron.

Despair was stamped on his distracted features.

CHAPTER XI

On the evening of the next day there was to be a grand fête given at the

New House by his Imperial Highness. The ladies would treasure their

energies for the impending ball, and the morning was to pass without an

excursion. Only Lady Madeleine, whom Vivian met taking her usual early

promenade in the gardens, seemed inclined to prolong it, and even

invited him to be her companion. She talked of the fête, and she

expressed a hope that Vivian would accompany their party; but her air

was not festive, she seemed abstracted and disturbed, and her voice more

than once broke off abruptly at the commencement of a sentence which it

seemed she had not courage to finish.

At length she said suddenly, “Mr. Grey, I cannot conceal any longer that

I am thinking of a very different subject from the ball. As you form

part of my thoughts, I shall not hesitate to disburthen my mind to you.

I wish not to keep you in suspense. It is of the mode of life which I

see my brother, which I see you, pursuing here that I wish to speak,”

she added with a tremulous voice. “May I speak with freedom?”

“With the most perfect unreserve and confidence.”

“You are aware that Ems is not the first place at which I have met

Baron von Konigstein.”

“I am not ignorant that he has been in England.”

“It cannot have escaped you that I acknowledged his acquaintance with

reluctance.”

“I should judge, with the greatest.”

“And yet it was with still more reluctance that I prevailed upon myself

to believe you were his friend. I experienced great relief when you told

me how short and accidental had been your acquaintance. I have

experienced great pain in witnessing to what that acquaintance has led;

and it is with extreme sorrow for my own weakness, in not having had

courage to speak to you before, and with a hope of yet benefiting you,

that I have been induced to speak to you now.”

“I trust there is no cause either for your sorrow or your fear; but

much, much cause for my gratitude.”

“I have observed the constant attendance of yourself and my brother at

the New House with the utmost anxiety. I have seen too much not to be

aware of the danger which young men, and young men of honour, must

always experience at such places. Alas! I have seen too much of Baron

von Konigstein not to know that at such places especially his

acquaintance is fatal. The evident depression of your spirits yesterday

determined me on a step which I have for the last few days been

considering. I can learn nothing from my brother. I fear that I am even

now too late; but I trust that, whatever may be your situation, you will

remember, Mr. Grey, that you have friends; that you will decide on

nothing rash.”

“Lady Madeleine,” said Vivian, “I will not presume to express the

gratitude which your generous conduct allows me to feel. This moment

repays me for a year of agony. I affect not to misunderstand your

meaning. My opinion, my detestation of the gaming table, has always

been, and must always be, the same. I do assure you this, and all

things, upon my honour. Far from being involved, my cheek burns while I

confess that I am master of a considerable sum acquired by this

unhallowed practice. You are aware of the singular fortune which awaited

my first evening at Ems; that fortune was continued at the New House the

very first day I dined there, and when, unexpectedly, I was forced to

play. That fatal fortune has rendered my attendance at the New House

necessary. I found it impossible to keep away without subjecting myself

to painful observations. My depression of yesterday was occasioned by

the receipt of letters from England. I am ashamed of having spoken so

much about myself, and so little about those for whom you are more

interested. So far as I can judge, you have no cause, at present, for

any uneasiness with regard to Mr. St. George. You may, perhaps, have

observed that we are not very intimate, and therefore I cannot speak

with any precision as to the state of his fortunes; but I have reason to

believe that they are by no means unfavourable. And as for the

Baron--”

“Yes, yes!”

“I hardly know what I am to infer from your observations respecting him.

I certainly should infer something extremely bad, were not I conscious

that, after the experience of five weeks, I, for one, have nothing to

complain of him. The Baron, certainly, is fond of play; plays high,

indeed. He has not had equal fortune at the New House as at the Redoute;

at least I imagine so, for he has given me no cause to believe, in any

way, that he is a loser.”

“If you could only understand the relief I feel at this moment, I am

sure you would not wonder that I prevailed upon myself to speak to you.

It may still be in my power, however, to prevent evil.”

“Yes, certainly! I think the best course now would be to speak to me

frankly respecting Von Konigstein; and, if you are aware of anything

which has passed in England of a nature--”

“Stop!” said Lady Madeleine, agitated. Vivian was silent, and some

moments elapsed before his companion again spoke. When she did her eyes

were fixed on the ground, and her tones were low; but her voice was calm

and steady.

“I am going to accept, Mr. Grey, the confidence which you have proffered

me; but I do not affect to conceal that I speak, even now, with

reluctance; an effort, and it will soon be over. It is for the best.”

Lady Madeleine paused one moment, and then resumed with a firm voice:

“Upwards of six years have now passed since Baron von Konigstein was

appointed Minister to London from the Court of ----. Although apparently

young for such an important mission, he had already distinguished

himself as a diplomatist; and with all the advantages of brilliant

talents, various accomplishments, rank, reputation, person, and a

fascinating address, I need not tell you that he immediately became of

consideration, even in the highest circles. Mr. Trevor, I was then just

married, was at this period in office, and was constantly in personal

communication with the Baron. They became intimate, and he was our

constant guest. He had the reputation of being a man of pleasure. He was

one for whose indiscretions there might be some excuse; nor had anything

ever transpired which could induce us to believe that Baron von

Konigstein could be guilty of anything but an indiscretion. At this

period a relation and former ward of Mr. Trevor’s, a young man of

considerable fortune, and one whom we all fondly loved, resided in our

family. We considered him as our brother. With this individual Baron von

Konigstein formed a strong friendship; they were seldom apart. Our

relation was not exempted from the failings of young men. He led a

dissipated life; but he was very young; and as, unlike most relations,

we never allowed any conduct on his part to banish him from our society,

we trusted that the contrast which his own family afforded to his usual

companions would in time render his habits less irregular. We had now

known Baron von Konigstein for upwards of a year and a half, intimately.

Nothing had transpired during this period to induce Mr. Trevor to alter

the opinion which he had entertained of him from the first; he believed

him to be a man of honour, and, in spite of a few imprudences, of

principle. Whatever might have been my own opinion of him at this

period, I had no reason to doubt the natural goodness of his

disposition; and though I could not hope that he was one who would

assist us in our plans for the reformation of Augustus, I still was not

sorry to believe, that in the Baron he would at least find a companion

very different from the unprincipled and selfish beings by whom he was

too often surrounded. Something occurred at this time which placed Baron

von Konigstein, according to his own declaration, under lasting

obligations to myself. In the warmth of his heart he asked if there was

any real and important service which he could do me. I took advantage of

the moment to speak to him about our young friend; I detailed to him all

our anxieties; he anticipated all my wishes, and promised to watch over

him, to be his guardian, his friend, his real friend. Mr. Grey,”

continued her Ladyship, “I struggle to restrain my feelings; but the

recollections of this period of my life are so painful that for a

moment I must stop to recover myself.”

For a few minutes they walked on in silence. Vivian did not speak; and

when his companion resumed her tale, he, unconsciously, pressed her arm.

“I try to be brief. About three months after the Baron had given me the

pledge which I mentioned, Mr. Trevor was called up at an early hour one

morning with the intelligence that his late ward was supposed to be at

the point of death at a neighbouring hotel. He instantly repaired to

him, and on the way the fatal truth was broken to him: our friend had

committed suicide! He had been playing all night with one whom I cannot

now name.” Here Lady Madeleine’s voice died away, but with a struggle

she again spoke firmly.

“I mean with the Baron, some foreigners also, and an Englishman, all

intimate friends of Von Konigstein, and scarcely known to the deceased.

Our friend had been the only sufferer; he had lost his whole fortune,

and more than his fortune: and, with a heart full of despair and

remorse, had, with his own hand, terminated his life. The whole

circumstances were so suspicious that they attracted public attention,

and Mr. Trevor spared no exertion to bring the offenders to justice. The

Baron had the hardihood to call upon us the next day; of course, in

vain. He wrote violent letters, protesting his innocence; that he was

asleep during most of the night, and accusing the others who were

present of a conspiracy. The unhappy business now attracted very general

interest. Its consequence on me was an alarming illness of a most

unfortunate kind; I was therefore prevented from interfering, or,

indeed, knowing anything that took place; but my husband informed me

that the Baron was involved in a public correspondence; that the accused

parties recriminated, and that finally he was convinced that Von

Konigstein, if there were any difference, was, if possible, the most

guilty. However this might be, he soon obtained his recall from his own

Government. He wrote to us both before he left England; but I was too

ill to hear of his letters, until Mr. Trevor informed me that he had

returned them unopened. And now, I must give utterance to that which as

yet has always died upon my lips, the unhappy victim was the brother of

Miss Fane!”

“And Mr. St. George,” said Vivian, “knowing all this, which surely he

must have done; how came he to tolerate, for an instant, the advances of

such a man?”

“My brother,” said Lady Madeleine, “is a very good young man, with a

kind heart and warm feelings; but my brother has not much knowledge of

the world, and he is too honourable himself ever to believe that what he

calls a gentleman can be dishonest. My brother was not in England when

the unhappy event took place, and of course the various circumstances

have not made the same impression upon him as upon us. He has heard of

the affair only from me; and young men too often imagine that women are

apt to exaggerate in matters of this nature, which, of course, few of us

can understand. The Baron had not the good feeling, or perhaps had not

the power, connected as he was with the Grand Duke, to affect ignorance

of our former acquaintance, or to avoid a second one. I was obliged

formally to present him to my brother. I was quite perplexed how to act.

I thought of writing to him the next morning, impressing upon him the

utter impossibility of our acquaintance being renewed: but this

proceeding involved a thousand difficulties. How was a man of his

distinction, a man, who not only from his rank, but from his

disposition, is always a remarkable and a remarked character, wherever

he may be; how could he account to the Grand Duke, and to his numerous

friends, for his not associating with a party with whom he was

perpetually in contact. Explanations, and worse, must have been the

consequence. I could hardly expect him to leave Ems; it was, perhaps,

out of his power: and for Miss Fane to leave Ems at this moment was most

strenuously prohibited by her physician. While I was doubtful and

deliberating, the conduct of Baron von Konigstein himself prevented me

from taking any step whatever. Feeling all the awkwardness of his

situation, he seized, with eagerness, the opportunity of becoming

intimate with a member of the family whom he had not before known. His

amusing conversation, and insinuating address, immediately enlisted the

feelings of my brother in his favour. You know yourself that the very

morning after their introduction they were riding together. As they

became more intimate, the Baron boldly spoke to Albert, in confidence,

of his acquaintance with us in England, and of the unhappy circumstances

which led to its termination. Albert was deceived by this seeming

courage and candour. He has become the Baron’s friend, and has adopted

his version of the unhappy story; and as the Baron has had too much

delicacy to allude to the affair in a defence of himself to me, he

calculated that the representations of Albert, who, he was conscious,

would not preserve the confidence which he has always intended him to

betray, would assist in producing in my mind an impression in his

favour. The Neapolitan story which he told the other day at dinner was

of himself. I confess to you, that though I have not for a moment

doubted his guilt, still I was weak enough to consider that his desire

to become reconciled to me was at least an evidence of a repentant

heart; and the Neapolitan story deceived me. Actuated by these feelings,

and acting as I thought wisest under existing circumstances, I ceased to

discourage his advances. Your acquaintance, which we all desired to

cultivate, was perhaps another reason for enduring his presence. His

subsequent conduct has undeceived me: I am convinced now, not only of

his former guilt, but also that he is not changed; and that, with his

accustomed talent, he has been acting a part which for some reason or

other he has no longer any object in maintaining.”

“And Miss Fane,” said Vivian, “she must know all?”

“She knows nothing in detail; she was so young at the time that we had

no difficulty in keeping the particular circumstances of her brother’s

death, and the sensation which it excited, a secret from her. As she

grew up, I have thought it proper that the mode of his death should no

longer be concealed from her; and she has learnt from some incautious

observations of Albert, enough to make her look upon the Baron with

terror. It is for Violet,” continued Lady Madeleine, “that I have the

severest apprehensions. For the last fortnight her anxiety for her

cousin has produced an excitement, which I look upon with more dread

than anything that can happen to her. She has entreated me to speak to

Albert, and also to you. The last few days she has become more easy and

serene. She accompanies us to-night; the weather is so beautiful that

the night air is scarcely to be feared; and a gay scene will have a

favourable influence upon her spirits. Your depression last night did

not, however, escape her notice. Once more let me say how I rejoice at

hearing what you have told me. I unhesitatingly believe all that you

have said. Watch Albert. I have no fear for yourself.”

CHAPTER XII

The company at the Grand Duke’s fête was most select; that is to say, it

consisted of everybody who was then at the Baths: those who had been

presented to his Highness having the privilege of introducing any number

of their friends; and those who had no friend to introduce them

purchasing tickets at an enormous price from Cracowsky, the wily Polish

Intendant. The entertainment was imperial; no expense and no exertion

were spared to make the hired lodging-house look like an hereditary

palace; and for a week previous to the great evening the whole of the

neighbouring town of Wiesbaden, the little capital of the duchy, had

been put under contribution. What a harvest for Cracowsky! What a

commission from the restaurateur for supplying the refreshments! What a

percentage on hired mirrors and dingy hangings!

The Grand Duke, covered with orders, received every one with the

greatest condescension, and made to each of his guests a most flattering

speech. His suite, in new uniforms, simultaneously bowed directly the

flattering speech was finished.

“Madame von Furstenburg, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My

greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Madame von

Furstenburg, I trust that your amiable and delightful family are quite

well. [The party passed on.] Cravatischeff!” continued his Highness,

inclining his head round to one of his aides-de-camp, “Cravatischeff! a

very fine woman is Madame von Furstenburg. There are few women whom I

more admire than Madame von Furstenburg.

“Prince Salvinski, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My

greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Poland honours no

one more than Prince Salvinski. Cravatischeff! a remarkable bore is

Prince Salvinski. There are few men of whom I have a greater terror than

Prince Salvinski.

“Baron von Konigstein, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My

greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Baron von

Konigstein, I have not yet forgotten the story of the fair Venetian.

Cravatischeff! an uncommonly pleasant fellow is Baron von Konigstein.

There are few men whose company I more enjoy than Baron von

Konigstein’s.

“Count von Altenburgh, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My

greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. You will not forget

to give me your opinion of my Austrian troop. Cravatischeff! a very good

billiard player is Count von Altenburgh. There are few men whose play I

would sooner bet upon than Count von Altenburgh’s.

“Lady Madeleine Trevor, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My

greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Miss Fane, your

servant; Mr. St. George, Mr. Grey. Cravatischeff! a most splendid woman

is Lady Madeleine Trevor. There is no woman whom I more admire than Lady

Madeleine Trevor! and Cravatischeff! Miss Fane, too! a remarkably fine

girl is Miss Fane.”

The great saloon of the New House afforded excellent accommodation for

the dancers. It opened on the gardens, which, though not very large,

were tastefully laid out, and were this evening brilliantly illuminated.

In the smaller saloon the Austrian troop amused those who were not

fascinated by waltz or quadrille with acting proverbs: the regular

dramatic performance was thought too heavy a business for the evening.

There was sufficient amusement for all; and those who did not dance, and

to whom proverbs were no novelty, walked and talked, stared at others,

and were themselves stared at; and this, perhaps, was the greatest

amusement of all. Baron von Konigstein did certainly to-night look

neither like an unsuccessful gamester nor a designing villain. Among

many who were really amusing he was the most so, and, apparently without

the least consciousness of it, attracted the admiration of all. To the

Trevor party he had attached himself immediately, and was constantly at

Lady Madeleine’s side, introducing to her, in the course of the evening,

his own and Mr. St. George’s particular friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzloom.

Among many smiling faces Vivian Grey’s was clouded; the presence of the

Baron annoyed him. When they first met he was conscious that he was

stiff and cool. One moment’s reflection convinced him of the folly of

his conduct, and he made a struggle to be very civil. In five minutes’

time he had involuntarily insulted the Baron, who stared at his friend,

and evidently did not comprehend him.

“Grey,” said his Excellency, very quietly, “you are not in a good

humour tonight. What is the matter? This is not at all a temper to come

to a fête in. What! won’t Miss Fane dance with you?’” asked the Baron,

with an arched smile.

“I wonder what can induce your Excellency to talk such nonsense!”

“Your Excellency! by Jove, that’s good! What the deuce is the matter

with the man? It is Miss Fane, then, eh?”

“Baron von Konigstein, I wish you to understand--”

“My dear fellow, I never could understand anything. I think you have

insulted me in a most disgraceful manner, and I positively must call you

out, unless you promise to dine at my rooms with me to-morrow, to meet

De Boeffleurs.”

“I cannot.”

“Why not? You have no engagement with Lady Madeleine I know, for St.

George has agreed to come.”

“Yes?”

“De Boeffleurs leaves Ems next week. It is sooner than he expected, and

I wish to have a quiet evening together before he goes. I should be very

vexed if you were not there. We have scarcely been enough together

lately. What with the New House in the evening, and riding parties in

the morning, and those Fitzloom girls, with whom St. George is playing a

most foolish game, he will be taken in now, if he is not on his guard;

we really never meet, at: least not in a quiet friendly way; and so now,

will you come?”

“St. George is positively coming?”

“Oh yes’ positively; do not be afraid of his gaining ground on the

little Violet in your absence.”

“Well, then, my dear Von Konigstein, I will come.”

“Well, that is yourself again. It made me quite unhappy to see you look

so sour and melancholy; one would have thought that I was some bore,

Salvinski at least, by the way you spoke to me. Well, mind you come; it

is a promise, good. I must go and say just one word to the lovely little

Saxon girl; by-the-bye, Grey, one word before I am off. List to a

friend; you are on the wrong scent about Miss Fane; St. George, I think,

has no chance there, and now no wish to succeed. The game is your own,

if you like; trust my word, she is an angel. The good powers prosper

you!” So saying, the Baron glided off.

Mr. St. George had danced With Miss Fane the only quadrille in which

Lady Madeleine allowed her to join. He was now waltzing with Aurelia

Fitzloom, and was at the head of a band of adventurous votaries of

Terpsichore; who, wearied with the commonplace convenience of a saloon,

had ventured to invoke the Muse on the lawn.