“1783!” hallooed the Grand Duke in a tone of the most triumphant

exultation, and his mighty proboscis, as it snuffed the air, almost

caused a whirlwind round the room. Hockheimer gave a roar, Steinberg a

growl, Rudesheimer a wild laugh, Markbrunnen, a loud grunt, Grafenberg a

bray, Asmanshausen’s long body moved to and fro with wonderful

agitation, and little Geisenheim’s bright eyes glistened through their

glasses as if they were on fire. How ludicrous is the incipient

inebriety of a man who wears spectacles!

Thanks to an excellent constitution, which recent misery, however, had

somewhat shattered, Vivian bore up against all these attacks; and when

they had got down to 1802, from the excellency of his digestion and the

inimitable skill with which he emptied many of the latter glasses under

the table, he was, perhaps, in better condition than any one in

the room.

And now rose the idiot Grafenberg; Rudesheimer all the time, with a

malicious smile, faintly pulling him down by the skirt of his coat, as

if he were desirous of preventing an exposure which his own advice had

brought about. He had been persuading Grafenberg the whole evening to

make a speech.

“My Lord Duke,” brayed the jackass; and then he stopped dead, and looked

round the room with an unmeaning stare.

“Hear, hear, hear!” was the general cry; but Grafenberg seemed astounded

at any one being desirous of hearing his voice, or for a moment

seriously entertaining the idea that he could have anything to say; and

so he stared again, and again, and again, till at last Rudesheimer, by

dint of kicking his shins under the table, the Margrave the whole time

seeming perfectly motionless, at length extracted a sentence from the

asinine Landgrave.

“My Lord Duke!” again commenced Grafenberg, and again he stopped.

“Go on!” shouted all.

“My Lord Duke! Rudesheimer is treading on my toes!”

Here little Geisenheim gave a loud laugh of derision, in which all

joined except surly Markbrunnen, whose lips protruded an extra inch

beyond their usual length when he found that all were laughing at his

friend. The Grand Duke at last procured silence.

“Shame! shame! mighty Princes! Shame! shame! noble Lords! Is it with

this irreverent glee, these scurvy flouts, and indecorous mockery, that

you would have this stranger believe that we celebrate the ceremonies of

our Father Rhine? Shame, I say; and silence! It is time that we should

prove to him that we are not merely a boisterous and unruly party of

swilling varlets, who leave their brains in their cups. It is time that

we should do something to prove that we are capable of better and

worthier things. What ho! my Lord of Geisenheim! shall I speak twice to

the guardian of the horn of the Fairy King?”

The little dwarf instantly jumped from his seat and proceeded to the end

of the room, where, after having bowed three times with great reverence

before a small black cabinet made of vine wood, he opened it with a

golden key, and then with great pomp and ceremony bore its contents to

the Grand Duke. That chieftain took from the little dwarf the horn of a

gigantic and antediluvian elk. The cunning hand of an ancient German

artificer had formed this curious relic into a drinking-cup. It was

exquisitely polished, and cased in the interior with silver. On the

outside the only ornaments were three richly-chased silver rings, which

were placed nearly at equal distances. When the Grand Duke had carefully

examined this most precious horn, he held it up with great reverence to

all present, and a party of devout Catholics could not have paid greater

homage to the elevated Host than did the various guests to the horn of

the Fairy King. Even the satanic smile on Rudesheimer’s countenance was

for a moment subdued, and all bowed. The Grand Duke then delivered the

mighty cup to his neighbour, the Archduke of Hockheimer, who held it

with both hands until his Royal Highness had emptied into it, with great

care, three bottles of Johannisberger. All rose: the Grand Duke took

the goblet in one hand, and with the other he dexterously put aside his

most inconvenient and enormous nose. Dead silence prevailed, save the

roar of the liquor as it rushed down the Grand Duke’s throat, and

resounded through the chamber like the distant dash of a waterfall. In

three minutes the Chairman had completed his task, the horn had quitted

his mouth, his nose had again resumed its usual situation, and as he

handed the cup to the Archduke, Vivian thought that a material change

had taken place in his countenance since he had quaffed his last

draught. His eyes seemed more apart; his ears seemed broader and longer;

and his nose visibly lengthened. The Archduke, before he commenced his

draught, ascertained with great scrupulosity that his predecessor had

taken his fair share by draining the horn as far as the first ring; and

then he poured off with great rapidity his own portion. But though, in

performing the same task, he was quicker than the master of the party,

the draught not only apparently, but audibly, produced upon him a much

more decided effect than it had on the Grand Duke; for when the second

ring was drained the Archduke gave a loud roar of exultation, and stood

up for some time from his seat, with his hands resting on the table,

over which he leant, as if he were about to spring upon his opposite

neighbour. The cup was now handed across the table to the Baron of

Asmanshausen. His Lordship performed his task with ease; but as he

withdrew the horn from his mouth, all present, except Vivian, gave a

loud cry of “Supernaculum!” The Baron smiled with great contempt, as he

tossed, with a careless hand, the great horn upside downwards, and was

unable to shed upon his nail even the one excusable pearl. He handed the

refilled horn to the Elector of Steinberg, who drank his portion with a

growl; but afterwards seemed so pleased with the facility of his

execution that, instead of delivering it to the next bibber, the

Palsgrave of Markbrunnen, he commenced some clumsy attempts at a dance

of triumph, in which he certainly would have proceeded, had not the loud

grunts of the surly and thick-lipped Markbrunnen occasioned the

interference of the President. Supernaculum now fell to the Margrave of

Rudesheimer, who gave a loud and long-continued laugh as the dwarf of

Geisenheim filled the horn for the third time.

While this ceremony was going on, a thousand plans had occurred to

Vivian for his escape; but all, on second thoughts, proved

impracticable. With agony he had observed that supernaculum was his

miserable lot. Could he but have foisted it on the idiot Grafenberg, he

might, by his own impudence and the other’s stupidity, have escaped. But

he could not flatter himself that he should be successful in bringing

about this end, for he observed with dismay that the malicious

Rudesheimer had not for a moment ceased watching him with a keen and

exulting glance. Geisenheim performed his task; and ere Vivian could ask

for the goblet, Rudesheimer, with a fell laugh, had handed it to

Grafenberg. The greedy ass drank his portion with ease, and indeed drank

far beyond his limit. The cup was in Vivian’s hand, Rudesheimer was

roaring supernaculum louder than all; Vivian saw that the covetous

Grafenberg had providentially rendered his task comparatively light; but

even as it was, he trembled at the idea of drinking at a single draught

more than a pint of most vigorous and powerful wine.

“My Lord Duke,” said Vivian, “you and your companions forget that I am

little used to these ceremonies; that I am yet uninitiated in the

mysteries of the näre. I have endeavoured to prove myself no

chicken-hearted water-drinking craven, and I have more wine within me at

this moment than any man yet bore without dinner. I think, therefore,

that I have some grounds for requesting indulgence, and I have no doubt

that the good sense of yourself and your friends--”

Ere Vivian could finish, he almost fancied that a well-stocked menagerie

had been suddenly emptied in the room. Such roaring, and such growling,

and such hissing, could only have been exceeded on some grand feast day

in the recesses of a Brazilian forest. Asmanshausen looked as fierce as

a boa constrictor before dinner. The proboscis of the Grand Duke heaved

to and fro like the trunk of an enraged elephant. Hockheimer glared like

a Bengal tiger about to spring upon its prey. Steinberg growled like a

Baltic bear. In Markbrunnen Vivian recognised the wild boar he had

himself often hunted. Grafenberg brayed like a jackass, and Geisenheim

chattered like an ape. But all was forgotten and unnoticed when Vivian

heard the fell and frantic shouts of the laughing hyaena, the Margrave

of Rudesheimer! Vivian, in despair, dashed the horn of Oberon to his

mouth. One pull, a gasp, another desperate draught; it was done! and

followed by a supernaculum almost superior to the exulting

Asmanshausen’s.

A loud shout hailed the exploit, and when the shout had subsided into

silence the voice of the Grand Duke of Johannisberger was again heard:

“Noble Lords and Princes! I congratulate you on the acquisition of a

congenial co-mate, and the accession to our society of one who, I now

venture to say, will never disgrace the glorious foundation; but who, on

the contrary, with heaven’s blessing and the aid of his own good palate,

will, it is hoped, add to our present knowledge of flavours by the

detection of new ones, and by illustrations drawn from frequent study

and constant observation of the mysterious näre. In consideration of his

long journey and his noble achievement, I do propose that we drink but

very lightly to-night, and meet by two hours after to-morrow’s dawn,

under the moss-man’s oak. Nevertheless, before we part, for the

refreshment of our own good bodies, and by way of reward and act of

courtesy unto this noble and accomplished stranger, let us pledge him in

some foreign grape of fame, to which he may perhaps be more accustomed

than unto the ever-preferable juices of our Father Rhine.” Here the

Grand Duke nodded to little Geisenheim, who in a moment was at

his elbow.

It was in vain that Vivian remonstrated, excused himself from joining,

or assured them that their conduct had already been so peculiarly

courteous, that any further attention was at present unnecessary. A

curiously cut glass, which on a moderate calculation Vivian reckoned

would hold at least three pints, was placed before each guest; and a

basket, containing nine bottles of sparkling champagne, première

qualité, was set before his Highness.

“We are no bigots, noble stranger,” said the Grand Duke, as he took one

of the bottles, and scrutinised the cork with a very keen eye; “we are

no bigots, and there are moments when we drink Champagne, nor is

Burgundy forgotten, nor the soft Bourdeaux, nor the glowing grape of the

sunny Rhone!” His Highness held the bottle at an oblique angle with the

chandelier. The wire is loosened, whirr! The exploded cork whizzed

through the air, extinguished one of the burners of the chandelier, and

brought the cut drop which was suspended under it rattling down among

the glasses on the table. The President poured the foaming fluid into

his great goblet, and bowing to all around, fastened on its contents

with as much eagerness as Arabs hasten to a fountain.

The same operation was performed as regularly and as skilfully by all

except Vivian. Eight burners were extinguished; eight diamond drops had

fallen clattering on the table; eight human beings had finished a

miraculous carouse, by each drinking off a bottle of sparkling

champagne. It was Vivian’s turn. All eyes were fixed on him with the

most perfect attention. He was now, indeed, quite desperate; for had he

been able to execute a trick which long practice alone could have

enabled any man to perform, he felt conscious that it was quite out of

his power to taste a single drop of the contents of his bottle. However,

he loosened his wire and held the bottle at an angle with the

chandelier; but the cork flew quite wild, and struck with great force

the mighty nose of Johannisberger.

“A forfeit!” cried all.

“Treason, and a forfeit!” cried the Margrave of Rudesheimer.

“A forfeit is sufficient punishment,” said the President; who, however,

still felt the smarting effect of the assault on his proboscis. “You

must drink Oberon’s horn full of champagne,” he continued.

“Never!” said Vivian. “Enough of this. I have already conformed in a

degree which may injuriously affect my health with your barbarous

humours; but there is moderation even in excess. And so, if you please,

my Lord, your servant may show me to my apartment, or I shall again

mount my horse.”

“You shall not leave this room,” said the President, with great

firmness.

“Who shall prevent me?” asked Vivian.

“I will, all will!”

“Now, by heavens! a more insolent and inhospitable old ruffian did I

never meet. By the wine you worship, if one of you dare touch me, you

shall rue it all your born days; and as for you, sir, if you advance one

step towards me, I will take that sausage of a nose of yours and hurl

you half round your own castle!”

“Treason!” shouted all, and looked to the chair.

“Treason!” said enraged majesty. The allusion to the nose had done away

with all the constitutional doubts which had been sported so moderately

at the commencement of the evening.

“Treason!” howled the President: “instant punishment!”

“What punishment?” asked Asmanshausen.

“Drown him in the new butt of Moselle,” recommended Rudesheimer. The

suggestion was immediately adopted. Every one rose: the little

Geisenheim already had hold of Vivian’s shoulder; and Grafenberg,

instigated by the cowardly but malicious Rudesheimer, was about to

seize him by the neck. Vivian took the dwarf and hurled him at the

chandelier, in whose brazen chains the little being got entangled, and

there remained. An unexpected cross-buttocker floored the incautious and

unscientific Grafenberg; and following up these advantages, Vivian laid

open the skull of his prime enemy, the retreating Margrave of

Rudesheimer, with the assistance of the horn of Oberon; which flew from

his hand to the other end of the room, from the force with which it

rebounded from the cranium of the enemy. All the rest were now on the

advance; but giving a vigorous and unexpected push to the table, the

Johannisberger and Asmanshausen were thrown over, and the nose of the

former got entangled with the awkward windings of the Fairy King’s horn.

Taking advantage of this move, Vivian rushed to the door. He escaped,

but had not time to secure the lock against the enemy, for the stout

Elector of Steinberg was too quick for him. He dashed down the stairs

with extraordinary agility; but just as he had gained the large

octagonal hall, the whole of his late boon companions, with the

exception of the dwarf of Geisenheim, who was left in the chandelier,

were visible in full chase. Escape was impossible, and so Vivian,

followed by the seven nobles, headed by their President, described with

all possible rapidity a circle round the hall. He gave himself up for

lost; but, luckily, for him, it never occurred to one of his pursuers to

do anything but follow their leader; and as, therefore, they never

dodged Vivian, and as, also, he was a much fleeter runner than the fat

President, whose pace, of course, regulated the progress of his

followers, the party might have gone on at this rate until all of them

had dropped from fatigue, had not the occurrence of a ludicrous incident

prevented this consummation.

The hall door was suddenly dashed open, and Essper George rushed in,

followed in full chase by Hunsdrich and the guests of the lodge, who

were the servants of Vivian’s pursuers. Essper darted in between

Rudesheimer and Markbrunnen, and Hunsdrich and his friends following the

same tactics as their lords and masters, without making any attempt to

surround and hem in the object of their pursuit, merely followed him in

order, describing, but in a contrary direction, a lesser circle within

the eternal round of the first party. It was only proper for the

servants to give their masters the wall. In spite of their very

disagreeable and dangerous situation, it was with difficulty that Vivian

refrained from laughter, as he met Essper regularly every half minute

at the foot of the great staircase. Suddenly, as Essper passed, he took

Vivian by the waist, and with a single jerk placed him on the stairs;

and then, with a dexterous dodge, he brought Hunsdrich the porter and

the Grand Duke in full contact.

“I have got you at last,” said Hunsdrich, seizing hold of his Grace of

Johannisberger by the ears, and mistaking him for Essper.

“I have got you at last,” said his master, grappling, as he supposed,

with Vivian. Both struggled; their followers pushed on with impetuous

force, the battle was general, the overthrow universal. In a moment all

were on the ground; and if any less inebriated or more active individual

attempted to rise, Essper immediately brought him down with a

boar-spear.

“Give me that large fishing-net,” said Essper to Vivian; “quick, quick.”

Vivian pulled down a large coarse net, which covered nearly five sides

of the room. It was immediately unfolded, and spread over the fallen

crew. To fasten it down with half a dozen boar-spears, which they drove

into the floor, was the work of a moment. Essper had one pull at the

proboscis of the Grand Duke of Johannisberger before he hurried Vivian

away; and in ten minutes they were again on their horses’ backs and

galloping through the star-lit wood.

CHAPTER II

It is the hour before the labouring bee has left his golden hive; not

yet the blooming day buds in the blushing East; not yet has the

victorious Lucifer chased from the early sky the fainting splendour of

the stars of night. All is silent, save the light breath of morn waking

the slumbering leaves. Even now a golden streak breaks over the grey

mountains. Hark to shrill chanticleer! As the cock crows the owl ceases.

Hark to shrill chanticleer’s feathered rival! The mountain lark springs

from the sullen earth, and welcomes with his hymn the coming day. The

golden streak has expanded into a crimson crescent, and rays of living

fire flame over the rose-enamelled East. Man rises sooner than the sun,

and already sound the whistle of the ploughman, the song of the mower,

and the forge of the smith; and hark to the bugle of the hunter, and the

baying of his deep-mouthed hound. The sun is up, the generating sun! and

temple, and tower, and tree, the massy wood, and the broad field, and

the distant hill, burst into sudden light; quickly upcurled is the dusky

mist from the shining river; quickly is the cold dew drunk from the

raised heads of the drooping flowers!

A canter by a somewhat clearer light than the one which had so

unfortunately guided himself and his companion to the Palace of the

Wines soon carried them again to the skirts of the forest, and at this

minute they are emerging on the plain from yonder dark wood.

“By heavens! Essper, I cannot reach the town this morning. Was ever

anything more unfortunate. A curse on those drunken fools. What with no

rest and no solid refreshment, and the rivers of hock that are flowing

within me, and the infernal exertion of running round that vile hall, I

feel fairly exhausted, and could at this moment fall from my saddle. See

you no habitation, my good fellow, where there might be a chance of a

breakfast and a few hours’ rest? We are now well out of the forest. Oh!

surely there is smoke from behind those pines; some good wife, I trust,

is by her chimney corner.”

“If my sense be not destroyed by the fumes of that mulled Geisenheim,

which still haunts me, I could swear that the smoke is the soul of a

burning weed.”

“A truce to your jokes, good Essper; I really am very ill. A year ago I

could have laughed at our misfortunes, but now it is very different;

and, by heavens, I must have breakfast! so stir, exert yourself, and,

although I die for it, let us canter up to the smoke.”

“No, dear master, I will ride on before. Do you follow gently, and if

there be a pigeon in the pot in all Germany. I swear by the patron saint

of every village for fifty miles round, provided they be not heretics,

that you shall taste of its breast-bone this morning.”

The smoke did issue from a chimney, but the door of the cottage was

shut.

“Hilloa, within!” shouted Essper; “who shuts the sun out on a September

morning?”

The door was at length slowly opened, and a most ill-favoured and

inhospitable-looking dame demanded, in a sullen voice, “What’s

your will?”

“You pretty creature!” said Essper, who was still a little tipsy.

The door would have been shut in his face had not he darted into the

house before the woman was aware.

“Truly, a neat and pleasant dwelling! and you would have no objection, I

guess, to give a handsome young gentleman some little sop of something

just to remind him, you know, that it isn’t dinner-time.”

“We give no sops here: what do you take us for? and so, my handsome

young gentleman, be off, or I shall call the good man.”

“Why, I am not the handsome young gentleman; that is my master! who, if

he were not half-starved to death, would fall in love with you at

first sight.”

“Your master; is he in the carriage?”

“Carriage! no; on horseback.”

“Travellers?”

“To be sure, dear dame; travellers true.”

“Travellers true, without luggage, and at this time of morn! Methinks,

by your looks, queer fellows, that you are travellers whom it may be

wise for an honest woman not to meet.”

“What! some people have an objection, then, to a forty kreüzer piece on

a sunny morning?”

So saying, Essper, in a careless manner, tossed a broad piece in the

air, and made it ring on a fellow coin, as he caught it in the palm of

his hand when it descended.

“Is that your master?” asked the woman.

“Ay, is it! and the prettiest piece of flesh I have seen this month,

except yourself.”

“Well! if the gentleman likes bread he can sit down here,” said the

woman, pointing to a bench, and throwing a sour black loaf upon

the table.

“Now, sir!” said Essper, wiping the bench with great care, “lie you here

and rest yourself. I have known a marshal sleep upon a harder sofa.

Breakfast will be ready immediately.”

“If you cannot eat what you have, you may ride where you can find better

cheer.”

“What is bread for a traveller’s breakfast? But I daresay my lord will

be contented; young men are so easily pleased when there is a pretty

girl in the case; you know that, you wench! you do, you little hussy;

you are taking advantage of it.”

Something like a smile lit up the face of the sullen woman when she

said. “There may be an egg in the house, but I don’t know.”

“But you will soon, you dear creature! What a pretty foot!” bawled

Essper after her, as she left the room. “Now confound this hag; if there

be not meat about this house may I keep my mouth shut at our next

dinner. What’s that in the corner? a boar’s tusk! Ay, ay! a huntsman’s

cottage; and when lived a huntsman on black bread before! Oh! bless your

bright eyes for these eggs, and this basin of new milk.”

So saying, Essper took them out of her hand and placed them before

Vivian.

“I was saying to myself, my pretty girl, when you were out of the room,

‘Essper George, good cheer, say thy prayers, and never despair; come

what may, you will fall among friends at last, and how do you know that

your dream mayn’t come true after all? Didn’t you dream that you

breakfasted in the month of September with a genteel young woman with

gold ear-rings? and is not she standing before you now? and did not she

do everything in the world to make you comfortable? Did not she give you

milk and eggs, and when you complained that you and meat had been but

slack friends of late, did not she open her own closet, and give you as

fine a piece of hunting beef as was ever set before a Jagd Junker?’”

“I think you will turn me into an innkeeper’s wife at last,” said the

dame, her stern features relaxing into a smile; and while she spoke she

advanced to the great closet, Essper George following her, walking on

his toes, lolling out his enormous tongue, and stroking his mock paunch.

As she opened it he jumped upon a chair and had examined every shelf in

less time than a pistol could flush. “White bread! fit for a countess;

salt! worthy of Poland; boar’s head!! no better at Troyes; and hunting

beef!!! my dream is true!” and he bore in triumph to Vivian, who was

nearly asleep, the ample round of salt and pickled beef well stuffed

with all kinds of savoury herbs.

It was nearly an hour before noon ere the travellers had remounted.

Their road again entered the forest which they had been skirting for the

last two days. The huntsmen were abroad; and the fine weather, his good

meal and seasonable rest, and the inspiriting sounds of the bugle made

Vivian feel recovered from his late fatigues.

“That must be a true-hearted huntsman, Essper, by the sound of his

bugle. I never heard one played with more spirit. Hark! how fine it dies

away hi the wood; fainter and fainter, yet how clear! It must be now

half a mile distant.”

“I hear nothing so wonderful,” said Essper, putting the two middle

fingers of his right hand before his mouth and sounding a note so clear

and beautiful, so exactly imitative of the fall which Vivian had noticed

and admired, that for a moment he imagined that the huntsman was at

his elbow.

“Thou art a cunning knave! do it again.” This time Essper made the very

wood echo. In a few minutes a horseman galloped up; he was as spruce a

cavalier as ever pricked gay steed on the pliant grass. He was dressed

in a green military uniform, and a gilt bugle hung by his side; his

spear told them that he was hunting the wild boar. When he saw Vivian

and Essper he suddenly pulled up his horse and seemed astonished.

“I thought that his Highness had been here,” said the huntsman.

“No one has passed us, sir,” said Vivian.

“I could have sworn that his bugle sounded from this very spot,” said

the huntsman. “My ear seldom deceives me.”

“We heard a bugle to the right, sir,” said Essper.

“Thanks, my friend,” and the huntsman was about to gallop off.

“May I ask the name of his Highness?” said Vivian. “We are strangers in

this country.”

“That may certainly account for your ignorance,” said the huntsman; “but

no one who lives in this land can be unacquainted with his Serene

Highness the Prince of Little Lilliput, my illustrious master. I have

the honour,” continued the huntsman, “of being Jagd Junker, or

Gentilhomme de la Chasse to his Serene Highness.”

“‘Tis an office of great dignity,” said Vivian, “and one that I have no

doubt you admirably perform; I will not stop you, sir, to admire

your horse.”

The huntsman bowed courteously and galloped off.

“You see, sir,” said Essper George, “that my bugle has deceived even the

Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse of his Serene Highness the

Prince of Little Lilliput himself;” so saying, Essper again sounded his

instrument.

“A joke may be carried too far, my good fellow,” said Vivian. “A true

huntsman like myself must not spoil a brother’s sport, so silence

your bugle.”

Now again galloped up the Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse of

his Serene Highness the Prince of Little Lilliput. He pulled up his

horse again apparently as much astounded as ever.

“I thought that his Highness had been here.” said the huntsman.

“No one has passed us,” said Vivian.

“We heard a bugle to the right,” said Essper George.

“I am afraid his Serene Highness must be in distress. The whole suite

are off the scent. It must have been his bugle, for the regulations of

this forest are so strict that no one dare sound a blast but his Serene

Highness.” Away galloped the huntsman.

“Next time I must give you up, Essper,” said Vivian.

“One more blast, good master!” begged Essper, in a supplicating voice.

“This time to the left; the confusion will be then complete.”

“I command you not,” and so they rode on in silence. But it was one of

those days when Essper could neither be silent nor subdued. Greatly

annoyed at not being permitted to play his bugle, he amused himself

imitating the peculiar sound of every animal that he met; a young fawn

and various birds already followed him, and even a squirrel had perched

on his horse’s neck. And now they came to a small farmhouse, which was

situated in the forest: the yard here offered great amusement to Essper.

He neighed, and half a dozen horses’ heads immediately appeared over the

hedge; another neigh, and they were following him in the road. A dog

rushed out to seize the dangerous stranger and recover his charge, but

Essper gave an amicable bark, and in a second the dog was jumping by his

side and engaged in earnest and friendly conversation. A loud and

continued grunt soon brought out the pigs, and meeting three or four

cows returning home, a few lowing sounds soon seduced them from keeping

their appointment with the dairymaid. A stupid jackass, who stared with

astonishment at the procession, was saluted with a lusty bray, which

immediately induced him to swell the ranks; and, as Essper passed the

poultry-yard, he so deceitfully informed its inhabitants that they were

about to be fed, that broods of ducks and chickens were immediately

after him. The careful hens were terribly alarmed at the danger which

their offspring incurred from the heels and hoofs of the quadrupeds; but

while they were in doubt and despair a whole flock of stately geese

issued in solemn pomp from another gate of the farmyard, and commenced a

cackling conversation with the delighted Essper. So contagious is the

force of example, and so great was the confidence which the hens placed

in these pompous geese, who were not the first fools whose solemn air

has deceived a few old females, that as soon as they perceived them in

the train of the horseman they also trotted up to pay their respects at

his levée.

But it was not a moment for mirth; for rushing down the road with awful

strides appeared two sturdy and enraged husbandmen, one armed with a

pike and the other with a pitchfork, and accompanied by a frantic

female, who never for a moment ceased hallooing “Murder, rape, and

fire!” everything but “theft.”

“Now, Essper, here’s a pretty scrape!”

“Stop, you rascals!” hallooed Adolph, the herdsman.

“Stop, you gang of thieves!” hallooed Wilhelm, the ploughman.

“Stop, you bloody murderers!” shrieked Phillippa, the indignant mistress

of the dairy and the poultry-yard.

“Stop, you villains!” hallooed all three. The villains certainly made no

attempt to escape, and in half a second the enraged household of the

forest farmer would have seized on Essper George; but just at this

crisis he uttered loud sounds in the respective language of every bird

and beast about him, and suddenly they all turned round and

counter-marched. Away rushed the terrified Adolph, the herdsman, while

one of his own cows was on his back. Still quicker scampered off the

scared Wilhelm, the ploughman, while one of his own steeds kicked him in

his rear. Quicker than all these, shouting, screaming, shrieking, dashed

back the unhappy mistress of the hen-roost, with all her subjects

crowding about her; some on her elbow, some on her head, her lace cap

destroyed, her whole dress disordered. The movements of the crowd were

so quick that they were soon out of sight.

“A trophy!” called out Essper, as he jumped off his horse and picked up

the pike of Adolph, the herdsman.

“A boar-spear, or I am no huntsman,” said Vivian: “give it me a moment!”

He threw it up into the air, caught it with ease, poised it with the

practiced skill of one well used to handle the weapon, and with the same

delight imprinted on his countenance as greets the sight of an

old friend.

“This forest, Essper, and this spear, make me remember days when I was

vain enough to think that I had been sufficiently visited with sorrow.

Ah! little did I then know of human misery, although I imagined I had

suffered so much!”

As he spoke, the sounds of a man in distress were heard from the right

side of the road.

“Who calls?” cried Essper. A shout was the only answer. There was no

path, but the underwood was low, and Vivian took his horse, an old

forester, across it with ease. Essper’s jibbed; Vivian found himself in

a small green glade of about thirty feet square. It was thickly

surrounded with lofty trees, save at the point where he had entered; and

at the farthest corner of it, near some grey rocks, a huntsman was

engaged in a desperate contest with a wild boar.

The huntsman was on his right knee, and held his spear with both hands

at the furious beast. It was an animal of extraordinary size and power.

Its eyes glittered like fire. On the turf to its right a small grey

mastiff, of powerful make, lay on its back, bleeding profusely, with its

body ripped open. Another dog, a fawn-coloured bitch, had seized on the

left ear of the beast; but the under tusk of the boar, which was nearly

a foot long, had penetrated the courageous dog, and the poor creature

writhed in agony, even while it attempted to wreak its revenge upon its

enemy. The huntsman was nearly exhausted. Had it not been for the

courage of the fawn-coloured dog, which, clinging to the boar, prevented

it making a full dash at the man, he must have been gored. Vivian was

off his horse in a minute, which, frightened at the sight of the wild

boar, dashed again over the hedge.

“Keep firm, sir!” said he; “do not move. I will amuse him behind, and

make him turn.”

A graze of Vivian’s spear on its back, though it did not materially

injure the beast, for there the boar is nearly in vulnerable, annoyed

it; and dashing off the fawn-coloured dog with great force, it turned on

its new assailant. Now there are only two places in which the wild boar

can be assailed with any effect; and these are just between the eyes and

between the shoulders. Great caution, however, is necessary in aiming

these blows, for the boar is very adroit in transfixing the weapon on

his snout or his tusks; and if once you miss, particularly if you are

not assisted by dogs, which Vivian was not, ‘tis all over with you; for

the enraged animal rushes in like lightning, and gored you must be.

But Vivian was fresh and cool. The animal suddenly stood still and eyed

its new enemy. Vivian was quiet, for he had no objection to give the

beast an opportunity of retreating to its den. But retreat was not its

object; it suddenly darted at the huntsman, who, however, was not off

his guard, though unable, from a slight wound in his knee, to rise.

Vivian again annoyed the boar at the rear, and the animal soon returned

to him. He made a feint, as if he were about to strike his pike between

its eyes. The boar, not feeling a wound which had not been inflicted,

and very irritated, rushed at him, and he buried his spear a foot deep

between its shoulders. The beast made one fearful struggle, and then

fell down quite dead. The fawn-coloured bitch, though terribly wounded,

gave a loud bark; and even the other dog, which Vivian thought had been

long dead, testified its triumphant joy by an almost inarticulate groan.

As soon as he was convinced that the boar was really dead, Vivian

hastened to the huntsman, and expressed his hope that he was not

seriously hurt.

“A trifle, which our surgeon, who is used to these affairs, will quickly

cure. Sir! we owe you our life!” said the huntsman, with great dignity,

as Vivian assisted him in rising from the ground. He was a tall man, of

distinguished appearance; but his dress, which was the usual hunting

costume of a German nobleman, did not indicate his quality.

“Sir, we owe you our life!” repeated the stranger; “five minutes more,

and our son must have reigned in Little Lilliput.”

“I have the honour, then, of addressing your Serene Highness. Far from

being indebted to me, I feel that I ought to apologise for having so

unceremoniously joined your sport.”

“Nonsense, man! We have killed in our time too many of these gentry to

be ashamed of owning that, had it not been for you, one of them would at

last have revenged the species. But many as are the boars that we have

killed or eaten, we never saw a more furious or powerful animal than the

present. Why, sir, you must be one of the best hands at the spear in all

Christendom!”

“Indifferently good, your Highness: your Highness forgets that the

animal was already exhausted by your assault.”

“Why, there is something in that; but it was neatly done, man; it was

neatly done. You are fond of the sport, we think?”

“I have had some practice, but illness has so weakened me that I have

given up the forest.”

“Pity! and on a second examination we observe that you are no hunter.

This coat is not for the free forest; but how came you by the pike?”

“I am travelling to the next post town, to which I have sent on my

luggage. I am getting fast to the south; and as for this pike, my

servant got it this morning from some peasant in a brawl, and was

showing it to me when I heard your Highness call. I really think now

that Providence must have sent it. I certainly could not have done you

much service with my riding whip. Hilloa! Essper, where are you?”

“Here, noble sir! here, here. Why, what have you got there? The horses

have jibbed, and will not stir. I can stay no longer: they may go to the

devil!” So saying, Vivian’s valet dashed over the underwood, and leaped

at the foot of the Prince.

“In God’s name, is this thy servant?” asked his Highness.

“In good faith am I,” said Essper; “his valet, his cook, and his

secretary, all in one; and also his Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la

Chasse, as a puppy with a bugle horn told me this morning.”

“A merry knave!” said the Prince; “and talking of a puppy with a bugle

horn reminds us how unaccountably we have been deserted to-day by a

suite that never yet were wanting. We are indeed astonished. Our bugle,

we fear, has turned traitor.” So saying, the Prince executed a blast

with great skill, which Vivian immediately recognised as the one which

Essper George had imitated.

“And now, my good friend,” said the Prince, “we cannot hear of your

passing through our land without visiting our good castle. We would that

we could better testify the obligation that we feel under to you in any

other way than by the offer of an hospitality which all gentlemen, by

right, can command. But your presence would, indeed, give us sincere

pleasure. You must not refuse us. Your looks, as well as your prowess,

prove your blood; and we are quite sure no cloth-merchant’s order will

suffer by your not hurrying to your proposed point of destination. We

are not wrong, we think, though your accent is good, in supposing that

we are conversing with an English gentleman. But here they come.”

As he spoke, three or four horsemen, at the head of whom was the young

huntsman whom the travellers had met in the morning, sprang into

the glade.

“Why, Arnelm!” said the Prince, “when before was the Jagd Junker’s ear

so bad that he could not discover his master’s bugle, even though the

wind were against him?”

“In truth, your Highness, we have heard bugles enough this morning. Who

is violating the forests laws we know not; but that another bugle is

sounding, and played; St. Hubert forgive me for saying so; with as great

skill as your Highness’, is certain. Myself, Von Neuwied, and Lintz have

been galloping over the whole forest. The rest, I doubt not, will be up

directly.” The Jagd Junker blew his own bugle.

In the course of five minutes, about twenty other horsemen, all dressed

in the same uniform, had arrived; all complaining of their wild chases

after the Prince in every other part of the forest.

“It must be the Wild Huntsman himself!” swore an old hand. This solution

of the mystery satisfied all.

“Well, well!” said the Prince; “whoever it may be, had it not been for

the timely presence of this gentleman, you must have changed your green

jackets for mourning coats, and our bugle would have sounded no more in

the forest of our fathers. Here, Arnelm! cut up the beast, and remember

that the left shoulder is the quarter of honour, and belongs to this

stranger, not less honoured because unknown.”

All present took off their caps and bowed to Vivian, who took this

opportunity of informing the Prince who he was.

“And now,” continued his Highness, “Mr. Grey will accompany us to our

castle; nay, sir, we can take no refusal. We will send on to the town

for your luggage. Arnelm, do you look to this! And, honest friend,” said

the Prince, turning to Essper George, “we commend you to the special

care of our friend Von Neuwied; and so, gentlemen, with stout hearts and

spurs to your steeds, to the castle.”

CHAPTER III

The cavalcade proceeded for some time at a brisk but irregular pace,

until they arrived at a less wild and wooded part of the forest. The

Prince of Little Lilliput reined in his steed as he entered a broad

avenue of purple beeches, at the end of which, though at a considerable

distance, Vivian perceived the towers and turrets of a Gothic edifice

glittering in the sunshine.

“Welcome to Turriparva!” said his Highness.

“I assure your Highness,” said Vivian, “that I view with no unpleasant

feeling the prospect of a reception in any civilised mansion; for to say

the truth, for the last eight-and-forty hours Fortune has not favoured

me either in my researches after a bed, or that which some think still

more important than repose.”

“Is it so?” said the Prince. “Why, we should have thought by your home

thrust this morning that you were as fresh as the early lark. In good

faith, it was a pretty stroke! And whence come you, then, good sir?”

“Know you a most insane and drunken idiot who styles himself the Grand

Duke of Johannisberger?”

“No, no!” said the Prince, staring in Vivian’s face earnestly, and then

laughing. “And you have actually fallen among that mad crew. A most

excellent adventure! Arnelm! why, man, where art thou? Ride up! Behold

in the person of this gentleman a new victim to the overwhelming

hospitality of our Uncle of the Wines. And did they confer a title on

you on the spot? Say, art thou Elector, or Palsgrave, or Baron; or,

failing in thy devoirs, as once did our good cousin Arnelm, confess that

thou wert ordained with becoming reverence the Archprimate of

Puddledrink. Eh! Arnelm, is not that the style thou bearest at the

Palace of the Wines?”

“So it would seem, your Highness. I think the title was conferred on me

the same night that your Highness mistook the Grand Duke’s proboscis for

Oberon’s horn, and committed treason not yet pardoned.”

“Good! good! thou hast us there. Truly a good memory is often as ready a

friend as a sharp wit. Wit is not thy strong point, friend Arnelm; and

yet it is strange that in the sharp encounter of ready tongues and idle

logomachies thou hast sometimes the advantage. But, nevertheless, rest

assured, good cousin Arnelm, that wit is not thy strong point.”

“It is well for me that all are not of the same opinion as your Serene

Highness,” said the young Jagd Junker, somewhat nettled; for he prided

himself on his repartees.

The Prince was much diverted with Vivian’s account of his last night’s

adventure; and our hero learnt from his Highness that his late host was

no less a personage than the cousin of the Prince of Little Lilliput,

an old German Baron, who passed his time, with some neighbours of

congenial temperament, in hunting the wild boar in the morning, and

speculating on the flavours of the fine Rhenish wines during the rest of

the day. “He and his companions,” continued the Prince, “will enable you

to form some idea of the German nobility half a century ago. The debauch

of last night was the usual carouse which crowned the exploits of each

day when we were a boy. The revolution has rendered all these customs

obsolete. Would that it had not sent some other things equally out

of fashion!”

At this moment the Prince sounded his bugle, and the gates of the

castle, which were not more than twenty yards distant, were immediately

thrown open. The whole cavalcade set spurs to their steeds, and dashed

at full gallop over the hollow-sounding drawbridge into the courtyard of

the castle. A crowd of serving-men, in green liveries, instantly

appeared, and Arnelm and Von Neuwied, jumping from their saddles,

respectively held the stirrup and the bridle of the Prince as he

dismounted.

“Where is Master Rodolph?” asked his Highness, with a loud voice.

“So please your Serene Highness, I am here!” answered a very thin

treble; and, bustling through the surrounding crowd, came forward the

owner of the voice. Master Rodolph was not much above five feet high,

but he was nearly as broad as he was long. Though more than middle-aged,

an almost infantile smile played upon his broad fair face, to which his

small turn-up nose, large green goggle-eyes, and unmeaning mouth gave no

expression. His long hair hung over his shoulders, the flaxen locks in

some places maturing into grey. In compliance with the taste of his

master, this most unsportsman-like-looking steward was clad in a green

jerkin, on the right arm of which was embroidered a giant’s head, the

crest of the Little Lilliputs.

“Truly, Rodolph, we have received some scratch in the chase to-day, and

need your assistance. The best of surgeons, we assure you, Mr. Grey, if

you require one: and look you that the blue chamber be prepared for this

gentleman; and we shall have need of our cabinet this evening. See that

all this be done, and inform Prince Maximilian that we would speak with

him. And look you, Master Rodolph, there is one in this company; what

call you your servant’s name, sir? Essper George! ‘tis well: look you,

Rodolph, see that our friend Essper George be well provided for. We know

that we can trust him to your good care. And now, gentlemen, at sunset

we meet in the Giants’ Hall.” So saying, his Highness bowed to the

party; and taking Vivian by the arm, and followed by Arnelm and Von

Neuwied, he ascended a stair case which opened into the court, and then

mounted into a covered gallery which ran round the whole building. The

interior wall of the gallery was alternately ornamented with stags’

heads or other trophies of the chase, and coats of arms blazoned in

stucco. The Prince did the honours of the castle to Vivian with great

courtesy. The armoury and the hall, the knights chamber, and even the

donjon-keep, were all examined; and when Vivian had sufficiently admired

the antiquity of the structure and the beauty of the situation, the

Prince, having proceeded down a long corridor, opened the door into a

small chamber, which he introduced to Vivian as his cabinet. The

furniture of this room was rather quaint, and not unpleasing. The

wainscot and ceiling were painted alike, of a light green colour, and

were richly carved and gilt. The walls were hung with green velvet, of

which material were also the chairs, and a sofa, which was placed under

a large and curiously-cut looking glass. The lower panes of the windows

of this room were of stained glass, of vivid tints; but the upper panes

were untinged, in order that the light should not be disturbed which

fell through them upon two magnificent pictures; one a hunting-piece, by

Schneiders, and the other a portrait of an armed chieftain on horseback,

by Lucas Cranach.

And now the door opened, and Master Rodolph entered, carrying in his

hand a white wand, and bowing very reverently as he ushered in servants

bearing a cold collation. As he entered, it was with difficulty that he

could settle his countenance into the due and requisite degree of

gravity; and so often was the fat steward on the point of bursting into

laughter, as he arranged the setting out of the refreshments on the

table, that the Prince, with whom he was at the same time both a

favourite and a butt, at last noticed his unusual and unmanageable

risibility.

“Why, Rodolph, what ails thee? Hast thou just discovered the point of

some good saying of yesterday?”

The steward could now contain his laughter no longer, and he gave vent

to his emotion in a most treble “He! he! he!”

“Speak, man, in the name of St. Hubert, and on the word of as stout a

huntsman as ever yet crossed horse. Speak, we say; what ails thee?”

“He! he! he! in truth, a most comical knave! I beg your Serene Highness

ten thousand most humble pardons, but, in truth, a more comical knave

did I never see. How call you him? Essper George, I think; he! he! he!

In truth, your Highness was right when you styled him a merry knave; in

truth, a most comical knave; he! he! a very funny knave! He says, your

Highness, that I am like a snake in a consumption! he! he! he! In truth,

a most comical knave!”

“Well, Rodolph, so long as you do not quarrel with his jokes, they shall

pass as true wit. But why comes not our son? Have you bidden the Prince

Maximilian to our presence?”

“In truth have I, your Highness; but he was engaged at the moment with

Mr. Sievers, and therefore he could not immediately attend my bidding.

Nevertheless, he bade me deliver to your Serene Highness his dutiful

affection, saying that he would soon have the honour of bending his knee

unto your Serene Highness.”

“He never said any such nonsense. At least, if he did, he must be

changed since last we hunted.”

“In truth, your Highness, I cannot aver, upon my conscience as a

faithful steward, that such were the precise words and exact phraseology

of his Highness the Prince Maximilian. But in the time of the good

Prince, your father, whose memory be ever blessed, such were the words

and style of message which I was schooled and instructed by Mr. von

Lexicon, your Serene Highness’ most honoured tutor, to bear unto the

good Prince your father, whose memory be ever blessed, when I had the

great fortune of being your Serene Highness’ most particular page, and

it fell to my lot to have the pleasant duty of informing the good Prince

your father, whose memory be ever blessed--”

“Enough! but Sievers is not Von Lexicon, and Maximilian, we trust,

is--”

“Papa! papa! dearest papa!” shouted a young lad, as he dashed open the

door, and, rushing into the room, threw his arms round the

Prince’s neck.

“My darling!” said the father, forgetting at this moment of genuine

feeling the pompous plural in which he had hitherto spoken of himself.

The Prince fondly kissed his child. The boy was about ten years of age,

exquisitely handsome. Courage, not audacity, was imprinted on his

noble features.

“Papa! may I hunt with you to-morrow?”

“What says Mr. Sievers?”

“Oh! Mr. Sievers says I am excellent; I assure you, upon my honour, he

does, I heard you come home; but though I was dying to see you, I would

not run out till I had finished my Roman History. I say, papa! what a

grand fellow Brutus was; what a grand thing it is to be a patriot! I

intend to be a patriot myself, and to kill the Grand Duke of Reisenburg.

Who is that?”

“My friend, Max, Mr. Grey. Speak to him.”

“I am happy to see you at Turriparva, sir,” said the boy, bowing to

Vivian with dignity. “Have you been hunting with his Highness

this morning?”

“I can hardly say I have.”

“Max, I have received a slight wound to-day. Do not look alarmed; it is

slight. I only mention it because, had it not been for this gentleman,

it is very probable you would never have seen your father again. He has

saved my life!”

“Saved your life! saved my papa’s life!” said the young Prince, seizing

Vivian’s hand. “Oh! sir, what can I do for you? Mr. Sievers!” said the

boy, with eagerness, to a gentleman who entered the room; “Mr. Sievers!

here is a young lord who has saved papa’s life!”

Mr. Sievers was a tall, thin man, about forty, with a clear sallow

complexion, a high forehead, on which a few wrinkles were visible,

bright keen eyes, and a quantity of grey curling hair, which was combed

back off his forehead, and fell down over his shoulders. He was

introduced to Vivian as the Prince’s particular friend; and then he

listened, apparently with interest, to his Highness’ narrative of the

morning’s adventure, his danger, and his rescue. Young Maximilian never

took his large, dark-blue eyes off his father while he was speaking, and

when he had finished the boy rushed to Vivian and threw his arms round

his neck. Vivian was delighted with the affection of the child, who

whispered to him in a low voice, “I know what you are!”

“What, my young friend?”

“Ah! I know.”

“But tell me!”

“You thought I should not find out: you are a patriot!”

“I hope I am,” said Vivian; “but travelling in a foreign country is

hardly a proof of it. Perhaps you do not know that I am an Englishman.”

“An Englishman!” said the child, with an air of great disappointment. “I

thought you were a patriot! I am one. Do you know I will tell you a

secret. You must promise not to tell, though. Promise, upon your word!

Well, then,” said the urchin, whispering with great energy in Vivian’s

ear through his hollow fist, “I hate the Grand Duke of Reisenburg, and I

mean to stab him to the heart.” So saying, the little Prince grated his

teeth with an expression of bitter detestation.

“What the deuce is the matter with the child!” thought Vivian; but at

this moment his conversation with him was interrupted.

“Am I to believe this young gentleman, my dear Sievers,” asked the

Prince, “when he tells me that his conduct has met your approbation?”

“Your son, Prince,” answered Mr. Sievers, “can only speak truth. His

excellence is proved by my praising him to his face.”

The young Maximilian, when Mr. Sievers had ceased speaking, stood

blushing, with his eyes fixed on the ground; and the delighted parent,

catching his child up in his arms, embraced him with unaffected

fondness.

“And now, all this time Master Rodolph is waiting for his patient. By

St. Hubert, you can none of you think me very ill! Your pardon, Mr.

Grey, for leaving you. My friend Sievers will, I am sure, be delighted

to make you feel at ease at Turriparva. Max, come with me!”

Vivian found in Mr. Sievers an interesting companion; nothing of the

pedant and much of the philosopher. Their conversation was of course

chiefly on topics of local interest, anecdotes of the castle and the

country, of Vivian’s friends, the drunken Johannisberger and his crew,

and such matters; but there was a keenness of satire in some of Mr.

Sievers’ observations which was highly amusing, and enough passed to

make Vivian desire opportunities of conversing with him at greater

length, and on subjects of greater interest. They were at present

disturbed by Essper George entering the room to inform Vivian that his

luggage had arrived from the village, and that the blue chamber was now

prepared for his presence.

“We shall meet, I suppose, in the hall, Mr. Sievers?”

“No; I shall not dine there. If you remain at Turriparva, which I

trust you will. I shall be happy to see you in my room. If it have no

other inducement to gain it the honour of your visit, it has here, at

least, the recommendation of singularity; there is, at any rate, no

other chamber like it in this good castle.”

The business of the toilet is sooner performed for a hunting party in a

German forest than for a state dinner at Château Desir, and Vivian was

ready before he was summoned.

“His Serene Highness has commenced his progress towards the hall.”

announced Essper George to Vivian in a treble voice, and bowing with

ceremony as he offered to lead the way with a white wand waving in his

right hand.

“I shall attend his Highness,” said his master; “but before I do, if

that white wand be not immediately laid aside it will be broken about

your back.”

“Broken about my back! what, the wand of office, sir, of your steward!

Master Rodolph says that, in truth, a steward is but half himself who

hath not his wand: methinks when his rod of office is wanting, his

Highness of Lilliput’s steward is but unequally divided. In truth, he is

stout enough to be Aaron’s wand that swallowed up all the rest. But has

your nobleness any serious objection to my carrying a wand? It gives

such an air!”

The Giants’ Hall was a Gothic chamber of imposing appearance; the oaken

rafters of the curiously-carved roof rested on the grim heads of

gigantic figures of the same material. These statues extended the length

of the hall on each side; they were elaborately sculptured and highly

polished, and each one held in its outstretched arm a blazing and

aromatic torch. Above them, small windows of painted glass admitted a

light which was no longer necessary at the banquet to which we are now

about to introduce the reader. Over the great entrance doors was a

gallery, from which a band of trumpeters, arrayed in ample robes of

flowing scarlet, sent forth many a festive and martial strain. More than

fifty individuals, all wearing hunting dresses of green cloth on which

the giant’s head was carefully emblazoned, were already seated in the

hall when Vivian entered: he was conducted to the upper part of the

chamber, and a seat was allotted him on the left hand of the Prince. His

Highness had not arrived, but a chair of state, placed under a crimson

canopy, denoted the style of its absent owner; and a stool, covered with

velvet of the same regal colour, and glistening with gold lace,

announced that the presence of Prince Maximilian was expected. While

Vivian was musing in astonishment at the evident affectation of royal

pomp which pervaded the whole establishment of the Prince of Little

Lilliput, the trumpeters in the gallery suddenly commenced a triumphant

flourish. All rose as the princely procession entered the hall: first

came Master Rodolph twirling his white wand with the practised pride of

a drum-major, and looking as pompous as a turkey-cock in a storm; six

footmen in splendid liveries, two by two, immediately followed him. A

page heralded the Prince Maximilian, and then came the Serene father;

the Jagd Junker, and four or five other gentlemen of the court, formed

the suite.

His Highness ascended the throne, Prince Maximilian was on his right,

and Vivian had the high honour of the left hand; the Jagd Junker seated

himself next to our hero. The table was profusely covered, chiefly with

the sports of the forest, and the celebrated wild boar was not

forgotten. Few minutes had elapsed ere Vivian perceived that his

Highness was always served on bended knee; surprised at this custom,

which even the mightiest and most despotic monarchs seldom exact, and

still more surprised at the contrast which all this state afforded to

the natural ease and affable amiability of the Prince, Vivian ventured

to ask his neighbour Arnelm whether the banquet of to-day was in

celebration of any particular event of general or individual interest.

“By no means,” said the Jagd Junker, “this is the usual style of the

Prince’s daily meal, except that to-day there is, perhaps, rather less

state and fewer guests than usual, in consequence of many of our

fellow-subjects having left us with the purpose of attending a great

hunting party, which is now holding in the dominions of his Highness’

cousin, the Duke of Micromegas.”

When the more necessary but, as most hold, the less delightful part of

banqueting was over, and the numerous serving-men had removed the more

numerous dishes of wild boar, red deer, roebuck, and winged game, a

stiff Calvinistic-looking personage rose and delivered a long and most

grateful grace, to which the sturdy huntsmen listened with a due mixture

of piety and impatience. When his starch reverence, who in his black

coat looked among the huntsmen very like (as Essper George observed) a

blackbird among a set of moulting canaries, had finished, an old man,

with long snow-white hair--and a beard of the same colour--rose from his

seat, and, with a glass in his hand, bowing first to his Highness with

great respect and then to his companions, with an air of condescension,

gave in a stout voice, “The Prince!” A loud shout was immediately

raised, and all quaffed with rapture the health of a ruler whom

evidently they adored. Master Rodolph now brought forward an immense

silver goblet full of some crafty compound, from its odour doubtless

delicious. The Prince held the goblet by its two massy handles, and then

said in a loud voice:

“My friends, the Giant’s head! and he who sneers at its frown may he rue

its bristles!”

The toast was welcomed with a cry of triumph. When the noise had

subsided the Jagd Junker rose, and prefacing the intended pledge by a

few observations as remarkable for the delicacy of their sentiments as

the elegance of their expression, he gave, pointing to Vivian, “The

Guest! and may the Prince never want a stout arm at a strong push!” The

sentiment was again echoed by the lusty voices of all present, and

particularly by his Highness. As Vivian shortly returned thanks and

modestly apologised for the German of a foreigner, he could not refrain

from remembering the last time when he was placed in the same situation;

it was when the treacherous Lord Courtown had drank success to Mr.

Vivian Grey’s maiden speech in a bumper of claret at the political

orgies of Château Desir. Could he really be the same individual as the

daring youth who then organised the crazy councils of those ambitious,

imbecile grey-beards? What was he then? What had happened since? What

was he now? He turned from the comparison with feelings of sickening

disgust, and it was with difficulty that his countenance could assume

the due degree of hilarity which befitted the present occasion.

“Truly, Mr. Grey,” said the Prince, “your German would pass current at

Weimar. Arnelm, good cousin Arnelm, we must trouble thy affectionate

duty to marshal and regulate the drinking devoirs of our kind subjects

to-night; for by the advice of our trusty surgeon, Master Rodolph, of

much fame, we shall refrain this night from our accustomed potations,

and betake ourselves to the solitude of our cabinet; a solitude in good

sooth, unless we can persuade you to accompany us, kind sir,” said the

Prince, turning to Mr. Grey. “Methinks eight-and-forty hours without

rest, and a good part spent in the mad walls of our cousin of

Johannisberger, are hardly the best preparatives for a drinking bout;

unless, after Oberon’s horn, ye may fairly be considered to be in

practice. Nevertheless, I advise the cabinet and a cup of Rodolph’s

coffee. What sayest thou?” Vivian acceded to the Prince’s proposition

with eagerness; and accompanied by Prince Maximilian, and preceded by

the little steward, who, surrounded by his serving-men, very much

resembled a planet eclipsed by his satellites, they left the hall.

“‘Tis almost a pity to shut out the moon on such a night,” said the

Prince, as he drew a large green velvet curtain from the windows of

the cabinet.

“‘Tis a magnificent night!” said Vivian; “how fine the effect of the

light is upon the picture of the warrior. The horse seems quite living,

and its fierce rider actually frowns upon us.”

“He may well frown,” said the Prince of Little Lilliput, in a voice of

deep melancholy; and he hastily redrew the curtain. In a moment he

started from the chair on which he had just seated himself, and again

admitted the moonlight. “Am I really afraid of an old picture? No, no;

it has not yet come to that.”

This was uttered in a distinct voice, and of course excited the

astonishment of Vivian, who, however, had too much discretion to evince

his surprise, or to take any measure by which his curiosity might be

satisfied.

His companion seemed instantly conscious of the seeming singularity of

his expression.

“You are surprised at my words, good sir,” said his Highness, as he

paced very rapidly up and down the small chamber; “you are surprised at

my words; but, sir, my ancestor’s brow was guarded by a diadem!”

“Which was then well won, Prince, and is now worthily worn.”

“By whom? where? how?” asked the Prince, in a rapid voice. “Maximilian,”

continued his Highness, in a more subdued tone; “Maximilian, my own

love, leave us; go to Mr. Sievers. God bless you, my only boy.

Good night!”

“Good night, dearest papa, and down with the Grand Duke of Reisenburg!”

“He echoes the foolish zeal of my fond followers,” said the Prince, as

his son left the room. “The idle parade to which their illegal loyalty

still clings; my own manners, the relics of former days; habits will not

change like stations; all these have deceived you, sir. You have

mistaken me for a monarch; I should be one. A curse light on me the

hour I can mention it without a burning blush. Oh, shame! shame on the

blood of my father’s son! Can my mouth own that I once was one? Yes,

sir! you see before you the most injured, the least enviable of human

beings. I am a mediatised Prince!”

Vivian had resided too long in Germany to be ignorant of the meaning of

this title, with which, perhaps, few of our readers may be acquainted. A

mediatised Prince is an unhappy victim of those Congresses which, among

other good and evil, purged with great effect the ancient German

political system. By the regulations then determined on, that country

was freed at one fell swoop from the vexatious and harassing dominion of

the various petty Princes who exercised absolute sovereignties over

little nations of fifty thousand souls. These independent sovereigns

became subjects; and either swelled, by their mediatisation, the

territories of some already powerful potentate, or transmuted into a

state of importance some more fortunate petty ruler than themselves,

whose independence, through the exertions of political intrigue or

family influence, had been preserved inviolate. In most instances, the

concurrence of these little rulers in their worldly degradation was

obtained by a lavish grant of official emoluments or increase of

territorial possessions; and the mediatised Prince, instead of being an

impoverished and uninfluential sovereign, became a wealthy and powerful

subject. But so dominant in the heart of man is the love of independent

dominion, that even with these temptations few of the petty princes

could have been induced to have parted with their cherished sceptres,

had they not been conscious that, in case of contumacy, the resolutions

of a Diet would have been enforced by the armies of an emperor. As it

is, few of them have yet given up the outward and visible signs of regal

sway. The throne is still preserved and the tiara still revered. They

seldom frequent the courts of their sovereigns, and scarcely condescend

to notice the attentions of their fellow nobility. Most of them expend

their increased revenues in maintaining the splendour of their little

courts at their ancient capitals, or in swelling the ranks of their

retainers at their solitary forest castles.

The Prince of Little Lilliput was the first mediatised sovereign that

Vivian had ever met. At another time, and under other circumstances, he

might have smiled at the idle parade and useless pomp which he had this

day witnessed, or moralised on that weakness of human nature which

seemed to consider the inconvenient appendages of a throne as the great

end for which power was to be coveted; but at the present moment he only

saw a kind and, as he believed, estimable individual disquieted and

distressed. It was painful to witness the agitation of the Prince, and

Vivian felt it necessary to make some observations, which, from his

manner, expressed more than they meant.

“Sir,” said his Highness, “your sympathy consoles me. Do not imagine

that I can misunderstand it; it does you honour. You add by this to the

many favours you have already conferred on me by saving my life and

accepting my hospitality. I sincerely hope that your departure hence

will be postponed to the last possible moment. Your conversation and

your company have made me pass a more cheerful day than I am accustomed

to. All here love me; but, with the exception of Sievers, I have no

companion; and although I esteem his principles and his talents, there

is no congeniality in our tastes, or in our tempers. As for the rest, a

more devoted band cannot be conceived; but they think only of one thing,

the lost dignity of their ruler; and although this concentration of

their thoughts on one subject may gratify my pride, it does not elevate

my spirit. But this is a subject on which in future we will not

converse. One of the curses of my unhappy lot is, that a thousand

circumstances daily occur which prevent me forgetting it.”

The Prince rose from the table, and pressing with his right hand on part

of the wall, the door of a small closet sprung open; the interior was

lined with crimson velvet. He took out of it a cushion of the same regal

material, on which reposed, in solitary magnificence, a golden coronet

of antique workmanship.

“The crown of my fathers,” said his Highness, as he placed the treasure

with great reverence on the table, “won by fifty battles and lost

without a blow! Yet in my youth I was deemed no dastard; and I have shed

more blood for my country in one day than he who claims to be my

suzerain in the whole of his long career of undeserved prosperity. Ay,

this is the curse; the ancestor of my present sovereign was that

warrior’s serf!” The Prince pointed to the grim chieftain, whose stout

helmet Vivian now perceived was encircled by a crown similar to the one

which was now lying before him. “Had I been the subject, had I been

obliged to acknowledge the sway of a Caesar, I might have endured it

with resignation. Had I been forced to yield to the legions of an

Emperor, a noble resistance might have consoled me for the clanking of

my chains. But to sink without a struggle, the victim of political

intrigue; to become the bondsman of one who was my father’s slave; for

such was Reisenburg, even in my own remembrance, our unsuccessful rival;

this was too had. It rankles in my heart, and unless I can be revenged I

shall sink under it. To have lost my dominions would have been nothing.

But revenge I will have! It is yet in my power to gain for an enslaved

people the liberty I have myself lost. Yes! the enlightened spirit of

the age shall yet shake the quavering councils of the Reisenburg cabal.

I will, in truth I have already seconded the just, the unanswerable

demands of an oppressed and insulted people, and, ere six months are

over, I trust to see the convocation of a free and representative

council in the capital of the petty monarch to whom I have been

betrayed. The chief of Reisenburg has, in his eagerness to gain his

grand ducal crown, somewhat overstepped the mark.

“Besides myself, there are no less than three other powerful princes

whose dominions have been devoted to the formation of his servile duchy.

We are all animated by the same spirit, all intent upon the same end. We

have all used, and are using, our influence as powerful nobles to gain

for our fellow-subjects their withheld rights; rights which belong to

them as men, not merely as Germans. Within this week I have forwarded to

the Residence a memorial subscribed by myself, my relatives, the other

princes, and a powerful body of discontented nobles, requesting the

immediate grant of a constitution similar to those of Wirtemburg and

Bavaria. My companions in misfortune are inspirited by my joining them.

Had I been wise I should have joined them sooner; but until this moment

I have been the dupe of the artful conduct of an unprincipled Minister.

My eyes, however, are now open. The Grand Duke and his crafty

counsellor, whose name shall not profane my lips, already tremble. Part

of the people, emboldened by our representations, have already refused

to answer an unconstitutional taxation. I have no doubt that he must

yield. Whatever may be the inclination of the Courts of Vienna or St.

Petersburg, rest assured that the liberty of Germany will meet with no

opponent except political intrigue; and that Metternich is too well

acquainted with the spirit which is now only slumbering in the bosom of

the German nation to run the slightest risk of exciting it by the

presence of foreign legions. No, no! that mode of treatment may do very

well for Naples, or Poland, or Spain; but the moment that a Croat or a

Cossack shall encamp upon the Rhine or the Elbe, for the purpose of

supporting the unadulterated tyranny of their new-fangled Grand Dukes,

that moment Germany becomes a great and united nation. The greatest

enemy of the prosperity of Germany is the natural disposition of her

sons; but that disposition, while it does now, and may for ever, hinder

us from being a great people, will at the same time infallibly prevent

us from ever becoming a degraded one.”

At this moment, this moment of pleasing anticipation of public virtue

and private revenge, Master Rodolph entered, and prevented Vivian from

gaining any details of the history of his host. The little round steward

informed his master that a horseman had just arrived, bearing for his

Highness a despatch of importance, which he insisted upon delivering

into the Prince’s own hands.

“Whence comes he?” asked his Highness.

“In truth, your Serene Highness, that were hard to say, inasmuch as the

messenger refuses to inform us.”

“Admit him.”

A man whose jaded looks proved that he had travelled far that day was

soon ushered into the room, and, bowing to the Prince, delivered to him

in silence a letter.

“From whom comes this?” asked the Prince.

“It will itself inform your Highness,” was the only answer.

“My friend, you are a trusty messenger, and have been well trained.

Rodolph, look that this gentleman be well lodged and attended.”

“I thank your Highness,” said the messenger, “but I do not tarry here. I

wait no answer, and my only purpose in seeing you was to perform my

commission to the letter, by delivering this paper into your own hands.”

“As you please, sir; you must be the best judge of your own time; but we

like not strangers to leave our gates while our drawbridge is yet

echoing with their entrance steps.”

The Prince and Vivian were again alone. Astonishment and agitation were

visible on his Highness’ countenance as he threw his eye over the

letter. At length he folded it up, put it into his breast-pocket and

tried to resume conversation; but the effort was both evident and

unsuccessful. In another moment the letter was again taken out, and

again read with not less emotion than accompanied its first perusal.

“I fear I have wearied you, Mr. Grey,” said his Highness; “it was

inconsiderate in me not to remember that you require repose.”

Vivian was not sorry to have an opportunity of retiring, so he quickly

took the hint, and wished his Highness agreeable dreams.

CHAPTER IV

No one but an adventurous traveller can know the luxury of sleep. There

is not a greater fallacy in the world than the common creed that sweet

sleep is labour’s guerdon. Mere regular, corporeal labour may certainly

procure us a good, sound, refreshing slumber, disturbed often by the

consciousness of the monotonous duties of the morrow; but how sleep the

other great labourers of this laborious world? Where is the sweet sleep

of the politician? After hours of fatigue in his office and hours of

exhaustion in the House, he gains his pillow; and a brief, feverish

night, disturbed by the triumph of a cheer and the horrors of a reply.

Where is the sweet sleep of the poet? We all know how harassing are the

common dreams which are made up of incoherent images of our daily life,

in which the actors are individuals that we know, and whose conduct

generally appears to be regulated by principles which we can comprehend.

How much more enervating and destroying must be the slumber of that man

who dreams of an imaginary world! waking, with a heated and excited

spirit, to mourn over some impressive incident of the night, which is

nevertheless forgotten, or to collect some inexplicable plot which has

been revealed in sleep, and has fled from the memory as the eyelids have

opened. Where is the sweet sleep of the artist? of the lawyer? Where,

indeed, of any human being to whom to-morrow brings its necessary

duties? Sleep is the enemy of Care, and Care is the constant companion

of regular labour, mental or bodily.

But your traveller, your adventurous traveller, careless of the future,

reckless of the past, with a mind interested by the world, from the

immense and various character which that world presents to him, and not

by his own stake in any petty or particular contingency; wearied by

delightful fatigue, daily occasioned by varying means and from varying

causes; with the consciousness that no prudence can regulate the

fortunes of the morrow, and with no curiosity to discover what those

fortunes may be, from a conviction that it is utterly impossible to

ascertain them; perfectly easy whether he lie in a mountain-hut, or a

royal palace; and reckless alike of the terrors and chances of storm and

bandits, seeing that he has a fair chance of meeting both with security

and enjoyment; this is the fellow who, throwing himself upon a down

couch or his mule’s pack-saddle, with equal eagerness and equal

sangfroid, sinks into a repose, in which he is never reminded by the

remembrance of an appointment or an engagement for the next day, a duel,

a marriage, or a dinner, the three perils of man, that he has the

misfortune of being mortal; and wakes not to combat care, but only to

feel that he is fresher and more vigorous than he was the night before;

and that, come what come may, he is, at any rate, sure this day of

seeing different faces, and of improvising his unpremeditated part upon

a different scene.

We have now both philosophically accounted and politely apologised for

the loud and unfashionable snore which sounded in the blue chamber about

five minutes after Vivian Grey had entered that most comfortable

apartment. In about twelve hours’ time he was scolding Essper George for

having presumed to wake him so early, quite unconscious that he had

enjoyed anything more than a twenty minutes’ doze.

“I should not have come in, sir, only they are all out. They were off by

six o’clock this morning, sir; most part at least. The Prince has gone;

I do not know whether he went with them, but Master Rodolph has given

me--I breakfasted with Master Rodolph. Holy Virgin! what quarters we

have got into!”

“To the point; what of the Prince?”

“His Highness has left the castle, and desired Master Rodolph; if your

Grace had only seen Master Rodolph tipsy last night; he rolled about

like a turbot in a tornado.”

“What of the Prince?”

“The Prince desired this letter to be given to you, sir.”

Vivian read the note, which supposed that, of course, he would not wish

to join the chase this morning, and regretted that the writer was

obliged to ride out for a few hours to visit a neighbouring nobleman,

but requested the pleasure of his guest’s company at a private dinner in

the cabinet on his return.

After breakfast Vivian called on Mr. Sievers. He found that gentleman

busied in his library.

“You never hunt, I suppose, Mr. Sievers?”

“Never. His Highness, I apprehend, is out this morning; the beautiful

weather continues; surely we never had such a season. As for myself, I

almost have given up my indoor pursuits. The sun is not the light of

study. Let us take our caps and have a stroll.”

The gentlemen accordingly left the library, and proceeding through a

different gate to that by which Vivian had entered the castle, they came

upon a part of the forest in which the timber and brushwood had been in

a great measure cleared away; large clumps of trees being left standing

on an artificial lawn, and newly-made roads winding about in pleasing

irregularity until they were all finally lost in the encircling woods.

“I think you told me,” said Mr. Sievers, “that you had been long in

Germany. What course do you think of taking from here?”

“Straight to Vienna.”

“Ah! a delightful place. If, as I suppose to be the case, you are fond

of dissipation and luxury, Vienna is to be preferred to any city with

which I am acquainted. And intellectual companions are not wanting

there, as some have said. There are one or two houses in which the

literary soirées will yield to few in Europe; and I prefer them to most,

because there is less pretension and more ease. The Archduke John is a

man of considerable talents, and of more considerable acquirements. An

excellent geologist! Are you fond of geology?”

“I am not in the least acquainted with the science.”

“Naturally so; at your age, if, in fact, we study at all, we are fond of

fancying ourselves moral philosophers, and our study is mankind. Trust

me, my dear sir, it is a branch of research soon exhausted; and in a few

years you will be very glad, for want of something else to do, to

meditate upon stones. See now,” said Mr. Sievers, picking up a stone,

“to what associations does this little piece of quartz give rise! I am

already an antediluvian, and instead of a stag bounding by that wood I

witness the moving mass of a mammoth. I live in other worlds, which, at

the same time, I have the advantage of comparing with the present.

Geology is indeed a magnificent study! What excites more the

imagination? What exercises more the reason? Can you conceive anything

sublimer than the gigantic shadows and the grim wreck of an antediluvian

world? Can you devise any plan which will more brace our powers, and

develop our mental energies, than the formation of a perfect chain of

inductive reasoning to account for these phenomena? What is the boasted

communion which the vain poet holds with nature compared with

conversation which the geologist perpetually carries on with the

elemental world? Gazing on the strata of the earth, he reads the fate of

his species. In the undulations of the mountains is revealed to him the

history of the past; and in the strength of rivers and the powers of the

air he discovers the fortunes of the future. To him, indeed, that

future, as well as the past and the present, are alike matter for

meditation: for the geologist is the most satisfactory of antiquarians,

the most interesting of philosophers, and the most inspired of prophets;

demonstrating that which has past by discovery, that which is occurring

by observation, and that which is to come by induction. When you go to

Vienna I will give you a letter to Frederic Schlegel; we were

fellow-students, and are friends, though for various reasons we do not

at present meet; nevertheless a letter from me will command respect. I

will recommend you, however, before you go on to Vienna, to visit

Reisenburg.”

“Indeed! from the Prince’s account, I should have thought that there was

little to interest me there.”

“His Highness is not an impartial judge. You are probably acquainted

with the disagreeable manner in which he is connected with that Court.

Far from his opinion being correct, I should say there are few places in

Germany more worthy of a visit than the little Court near us; and above

all things my advice is that you should not pass it over.”

“I am inclined to follow it. You are right in supposing that I am not

ignorant that His Highness has the misfortune of being a mediatised

Prince; but what is the exact story about him? I have heard some odd

rumours, some--”

“It is a curious story, but I am afraid you will find it rather long.

Nevertheless, if you really visit Reisenburg, it may be of use to you to

know something of the singular characters you will meet there. In the

first place, you say you know that Little Lilliput is a mediatised

Prince, and, of course, are precisely aware what that title means.

About fifty years ago, the rival of the illustrious family in whose

chief castle we are both of us now residing was the Margrave of

Reisenburg, another petty Prince with territories not so extensive as

those of our friend, and with a population more limited: perhaps fifty

thousand souls, half of whom were drunken cousins. The old Margrave of

Reisenburg, who then reigned, was a perfect specimen of the

old-fashioned German Prince: he did nothing but hunt and drink and think

of the quarterings of his immaculate shield, all duly acquired from some

Vandal ancestor as barbarous as himself. His little Margraviate was

misgoverned enough for a great empire. Half of his nation, who were his

real people, were always starving, and were unable to find crown pieces

to maintain the extravagant expenditure of the other moiety, the

cousins; who, out of gratitude to their fellow-subjects for their

generous support, harassed them with every species of excess. Complaints

were of course made to the Margrave, and loud cries for justice

resounded at the palace gates. This Prince was an impartial chief

magistrate; he prided himself upon his “invariable” principles of

justice, and he allowed nothing to influence his decisions. His plan for

arranging all differences had the merit of being brief; and if brevity

be the soul of wit, it certainly was most unreasonable in his subjects

to consider his judgments no joke. He always counted the quarterings in

the shields of the respective parties, and decided accordingly. Imagine

the speedy redress gained by a muddy-veined peasant against one of the

cousins; who, of course, had as many quarterings as the Margrave

himself. The defendant was regularly acquitted. At length, a man’s house

having been burnt down out of mere joke in the night, the owner had the

temerity in the morning to accuse one of the privileged, and to produce,

at the same tune, a shield, with exactly one more quartering than the

reigning shield itself contained. The Margrave was astounded, the people

in raptures, and the cousins in despair. The complainant’s shield was

examined and counted, and not a flaw discovered. What a dilemma! The

chief magistrate consulted with the numerous branches of his family, and

the next morning the complainant’s head was struck off for high treason,

for daring to have one more quartering than his monarch!

“In this way they passed their time about fifty years since in

Reisenburg; occasionally, for the sake of variety, declaring war against

the inhabitants of Little Lilliput, who, to say the truth, in their

habits and pursuits did not materially differ from their neighbours. The

Margrave had one son, the present Grand Duke. A due reverence of the

great family shield, and a full acquaintance with the invariable

principles of justice, were early instilled into him; and the royal

stripling made such rapid progress, under the tuition of his amiable

parent, that he soon became highly popular with all his relations. At

length his popularity became troublesome to his father; and so the old

Margrave sent for his son one morning and informed him that he had

dreamed the preceding night that the air of Reisenburg was peculiarly

unwholesome for young persons, and therefore he begged him to get out of

his dominions as soon as possible. The young Prince had no objection to

see something of the world. He flew to a relative whom he had never

before visited. This nobleman was one of those individuals who

anticipate their age, which, by-the-bye, Mr. Grey, none but noblemen

should do; for he who anticipates his century is generally persecuted

when living, and is always pilfered when dead. Howbeit, this relation

was a philosopher; all about him thought him mad; he, in return, thought

all about him fools. He sent the Prince to an University, and gave him

for a tutor a young man about ten years older than his pupil. This

person’s name was Beckendorff. You will hear more of him.

“About three years after the sudden departure of the young Prince, the

old Margrave his father and the then reigning Prince of Little Lilliput

shot each other through the head in a drunken brawl, after a dinner

given in honour of a proclamation of peace between the two countries.

The cousins were not much grieved, as they anticipated a fit successor

in their former favourite. Splendid preparations were made for the

reception of the inheritor of the family shield, and all Reisenburg was

poured out to witness the triumphant entrance of their future monarch.

At last two horsemen in plain dresses, and on indifferent steeds, rode

up to the palace gates, dismounted, and without making any enquiry

ordered the attendance of some of the chief nobility in the presence

chamber. One of them, a young man, without any preparatory explanation,

introduced the Reisenburg chieftains to his companion as his Prime

Minister, and commanded them immediately to deliver up their

portefeuilles and golden keys to Mr. Beckendorff. The nobles were in

dismay, and so astounded that they made no resistance, though the next

morning they started in their beds when they remembered that they had

delivered their insignia of office to a man without a von before his

name. They were soon, however, roused from their sorrow and their

stupor, by receiving a peremptory order to quit the palace: and as they

retired from the walls which they had long considered as their own,

they had the mortification of meeting crowds of the common people, their

slaves and their victims, hurrying with joyful countenances and

triumphant looks to the palace of their Prince, in consequence of an

energetic proclamation for the redress of grievances, and an earnest

promise to decide cases in future without examining the quarterings of

the parties, in a week’s time the cousins were all adrift. At length

they conspired, but the conspiracy was tardy, they found their former

servants armed, and they joined in an unequal struggle; for their

opponents were alike animated with hopes of the future and with revenge

for the past. The cousins got well beat, and this was not the worst; for

Beckendorff took advantage of this unsuccessful treason, which he had

himself fomented, and forfeited all their estates; destroying in one

hour the system which had palsied, for so many years, the energies of

his master’s subjects. In time many of the chief nobility were restored

to their honours and estates; but the power with which they were again

invested was greatly modified, and the privileges of the Commons greatly

increased. At this moment the French Revolution broke out. The French

crossed the Rhine and carried all before them; and the Prince of Little

Lilliput, among other true Germans, made a bold but fruitless

resistance. The Margrave of Reisenburg, on the contrary, received the

enemy with open arms; he raised a larger body of troops than his due

contingent, and exerted himself in every manner to second the views of

the Great Nation. In return for his services he was presented with the

conquered principality of Little Lilliput and some other adjoining

lands; and the Margraviate of Reisenburg, with an increased territory

and population, and governed with consummate wisdom, began to be

considered the most flourishing of the petty states in the quarter of

the empire to which it belonged. On the contrary, our princely and

patriotic friend, mortified by the degenerate condition of his country

and the prosperity of his rival house, quitted Little Lilliput, and

became one of those emigrant princes who abounded during the first years

of the Revolution in the northern courts of Europe. Napoleon soon

appeared upon the stage; and vanquished Austria, with the French

dictating at the gates of her capital, was no longer in a condition to

support the dignity of the Empire. The policy of the Margrave of

Reisenburg was as little patriotic and quite as consistent as before.

Beckendorff became the constant and favoured counsellor of the French

Emperor. It was chiefly by his exertions that the celebrated

Confederation of the Rhine was carried into effect. The institution of

this body excited among many Germans, at the time, loud expressions of

indignation; but I believe few impartial and judicious men now look upon

that league as any other than one in the formation of which consummate

statesmanship was exhibited. In fact, it prevented the subjugation of

Germany to France, and by flattering the pride of Napoleon saved the

decomposition of our Empire. But how this might be it is not at present

necessary for us to enquire. Certain it was, that the pupil of

Beckendorff was amply repaid for the advice and exertions of his master

and his Minister; and when Napoleon fell the brows of the former

Margrave were encircled with a grand ducal crown, and his duchy, while

it contained upwards of a million and a half of inhabitants, numbered in

its limits some of the most celebrated cities in Germany and many of

Germany’s most flourishing provinces. But Napoleon fell. The Prince of

Little Lilliput and his companions in patriotism and misfortune returned

from their exile panting with hope and vengeance. A Congress was held to

settle the affairs of agitated Germany. Where was the Grand Duke of

Reisenburg? His hard-earned crown tottered on his head. Where was his

crafty Minister, the supporter of revolutionary France, the friend of

its Imperial enslaver, the constant enemy of the House of Austria? At

the very Congress which, according to the expectations of the exiled

Princes, was to restore them to their own dominions, and to reward their

patriotic loyalty with the territories of their revolutionary brethren;

yes! at this very Congress was Beckendorff; not as a suppliant, not as a

victim, but seated at the right hand of Metternich, and watching, with

parental affection, the first interesting and infantile movements of

that most prosperous of political bantlings, the Holy Alliance. You may

well imagine that the Military Grand Duke had a much better chance in

political negotiation than the emigrant Prince. In addition to this, the

Grand Duke of Reisenburg had married, during the war, a Princess of a

powerful House; and the allied Sovereigns were eager to gain the future

aid and constant co-operation of a mind like Beckendorff’s. The Prince

of Little Lilliput, the patriot, was rewarded for his conduct by being

restored to his forfeited possessions: and the next day he became the

subject of his former enemy, the Grand Duke of Reisenburg, the traitor.

What think you of Monsieur Beckendorff?”

“One of the most interesting characters I have long heard of. But his

pupil appears to be a man of mind.”

“You shall hear. I should, however, first mention that while Beckendorff

has not scrupled to resort to any measures or adopt any opinions in

order to further the interests of his monarch and his country, he has in

every manner shown that personal aggrandisement has never been his

object. He lives in retirement, scarcely with an attendant, and his

moderate official stipend amply supports his more moderate expenditure.

The subjects of the Grand Duke may well be grateful that they have a

Minister without relations and without favourites. The Grand Duke is,

unquestionably, a man of talents; but at the same time, perhaps, one of

the most weak-minded men that ever breathed. He was fortunate in meeting

with Beckendorff early in life; and as the influence of the Minister has

not for a moment ceased over the mind of the monarch, to the world the

Grand Duke of Reisenburg has always appeared to be an individual of a

strong mind and consistent conduct. But when you have lived as much and

as intimately in his Court as I have done, you will find how easily the

world may be deceived. Since the close connection which now exists

between Reisenburg and Austria took place, Beckendorff has, in a great

degree, revived the ancient privileges of blood and birth. A Minister

who has sprung from the people will always conciliate the aristocracy.

Having no family influence of his own, he endeavours to gain the

influence of others: and it often happens that merit is never less

considered than when merit has made the Minister. A curious instance of

this occurs in a neighbouring state. There the Premier, decidedly a man

of great talents, is of as humble an origin as Beckendorff. With no

family to uphold him, he supports himself by a lavish division of all

the places and patronage of the State among the nobles. If the younger

son or brother of a peer dare to sully his oratorical virginity by a

chance observation in the Lower Chamber, the Minister, himself a real

orator, immediately rises to congratulate, in pompous phrase, the House

and the country on the splendid display which has made this night

memorable, and on the decided advantages which must accrue both to their

own resolutions and the national interests from the future participation

of his noble friend in their deliberations. All about him are young

nobles, quite unfit for the discharge of their respective duties. His

private secretary is unable to coin a sentence, almost to direct a

letter; but he is noble! The secondary officials cannot be trusted even

in the least critical conjunctures; but they are noble! And the Prime

Minister of a powerful empire is forced to rise early and be up late;

not to meditate on the present fortunes or future destinies of his

country, but by his personal exertions to compensate for the

inefficiency and expiate the blunders of his underlings, whom his

unfortunate want of blood has forced him to overwhelm with praises which

they do not deserve, and duties which they cannot discharge. I do not

wish you to infer that the policy of Beckendorff has been actuated by

the feelings which influence the Minister whom I have noticed, from

whose conduct in this very respect his own materially differs. On the

contrary, his connection with Austria is, in all probability, the

primary great cause. However this may be, certain it is that all offices

about the Court and connected with the army (and I need not remind you

that at a small German Court these situations are often the most

important in the State) can only be filled by the nobility; nor can any

person who has the misfortune of not inheriting the magical monosyllable

_von_ before his name, the shibboleth of nobility and the symbol of

territorial pride, violate by their unhallowed presence the sanctity of

Court dinners, or the as sacred ceremonies of a noble fête. But while a

monopoly of those offices which for their due performance require only a

showy exterior or a schooled address is granted to the nobles, all those

State charges which require the exercise of intellect are now chiefly

filled by the bourgeoisie. At the same time, however, that both our

Secretaries of State, many of our Privy Councillors, war Councillors,

forest Councillors, and finance Councillors, are to be reckoned among

the second class, still not one of these exalted individuals, who from

their situations are necessarily in constant personal communication with

the Sovereign, ever see that Sovereign except in his Cabinet and his

Council-Chamber. Beckendorff himself, the Premier, is the son of a

peasant; and of course not noble. Nobility, which has been proffered

him, not only by his own monarch, but by most of the sovereigns of

Europe, he has invariably refused; and consequently never appears at

Court. The truth is, that, from disposition, he is little inclined to

mix with men; and he has taken advantage of his want of an escutcheon

completely to exempt himself from all those duties of etiquette which

his exalted situation would otherwise have imposed upon him. None can

complain of the haughtiness of the nobles when, ostensibly, the Minister

himself is not exempted from their exclusive regulations. If you go to

Reisenburg, you will not therefore see Beckendorff, who lives, as I have

mentioned, in solitude, about thirty miles from the capital;

communicating only with his Royal master, the foreign Ministers, and one

or two official characters of his own country. I was myself an inmate of

the Court for upwards of two years. During that time I never saw the

Minister; and, with the exception of some members of the royal family

and the characters I have mentioned, I never knew one person who had

even caught a glimpse of the individual who may indeed be said to be

regulating their destinies.

“It is at the Court, then,” continued Mr. Sievers, “when he is no longer

under the control of Beckendorff, and in those minor points which are

not subjected to the management or influenced by the mind of the

Minister, that the true character of the Grand Duke is to be detected.

Indeed it may really be said, that the weakness of his mind has been the

origin of his fortune. In his early youth his pliant temper adapted

itself without a struggle to the barbarous customs and the brutal

conduct of his father’s Court; that same pliancy of temper prevented him

opposing with bigoted obstinacy the exertions of his relation to educate

and civilise him; that same pliancy of temper allowed him to become the

ready and the enthusiastic disciple of Beckendorff. Had the pupil, when

he ascended the throne, left his master behind him, it is very probable

that his natural feelings would have led him to oppose the French; and

at this moment, instead of being the first of the second rate powers of

Germany, the Grand Duke of Reisenburg might himself have been an

mediatised Prince. As it was, the same pliancy of temper which I have

noticed enabled him to receive Napoleon, when an Emperor, with

outstretched arms; and at this moment does not prevent him from

receiving, with equal rapture, the Imperial Archduchess, who will soon

be on her road from Vienna to espouse his son; for, to crown his

career, Beckendorff has successfully negotiated a marriage between a

daughter of the House of Austria and the Crown Prince of Reisenburg. It

is generally believed that the next step of the Diet will be to

transmute the father’s Grand Ducal coronet into a Regal crown; and

perhaps, my good sir, before you reach Vienna, you may have the supreme

honour of being presented to his Majesty the King of Reisenburg.”

“But when you talk only of the pupil’s pliancy of temper, am I to

suppose that in mentioning his talents you were speaking ironically?”

“By no means! The Grand Duke is a scholar; a man of refined taste, a

patron of the fine arts, a lover of literature, a promoter of science,

and what the world would call a philosopher. His judgment is sound, and

generally correct, his powers of discrimination acute, and his knowledge

of mankind greater than that of most sovereigns; but with all these

advantages he is cursed with such a wavering and indecisive temper, that

when, which is usually the case, he has come to a right conclusion, he

can never prevail upon himself to carry his theory into practice; and

with all his acuteness, his discernment, and his knowledge of the world,

his mind is always ready to receive any impression from the person who

last addresses him, though he himself be fully aware of the inferiority

of his adviser’s intellect to his own, or the imperfection of that

adviser’s knowledge. Never for a moment out of the sight of Beckendorff,

the royal pupil has made an admirable political puppet, since his

talents have always enabled him to understand the part which the

Minister had forced him to perform. Thus the world has given the Grand

Duke credit, not only for the possession of great talents, but almost

for as much firmness of mind and decision of character as his Minister.

But since his long-agitated career has become calm and tranquil, and

Beckendorff, like a guardian spirit, has ceased to be ever at his elbow,

the character of the Grand Duke of Reisenburg begins to be understood.

His Court has been, and still is, frequented by all the men of genius

in Germany, who are admitted without scruple, even if they be not noble.

But the astonishing thing is, that the Grand Duke is always surrounded

by every species of political and philosophical quack that you can

imagine. Discussions on a free press, on the reformation of the criminal

code, on the abolition of commercial duties, and such like interminable

topics, are perpetually resounding within the palace of this arbitrary

Prince; and the people, fired by the representations of the literary and

political journals with which Reisenburg abounds, and whose bold

speculations on all subjects elude the vigilance of the censor, by being

skilfully amalgamated with a lavish praise of the royal character, are

perpetually flattered with the speedy hope of becoming freemen.

Suddenly, when all are expecting the grant of a charter or the

institution of Chambers, Mr. Beckendorff rides up from his retreat to

the Residence, and the next day the whole crowd of philosophers are

swept from the royal presence, and the censorship of the press becomes

so severe, that for a moment you would fancy that Reisenburg, instead of

being, as it boasts itself, the modern Athens, had more right to the

title of the modern Boeotia. The people, who enjoy an impartial

administration of equal laws, who have flourished, and are flourishing,

under the wise and moderate rule of their new monarch, have in fact no

inclination to exert themselves for the attainment of constitutional

liberty in any other way than by their voices. Their barbarous apathy

astounds the philosophers; who, in despair, when the people tell them

that they are happy and contented, artfully remind them that their

happiness depends on the will of a single man; and that, though the

present character of the monarch may guarantee present felicity, still

they should think of their children, and not less exert themselves for

the insurance of the future. These representations, as constantly

reiterated as the present system will allow, have at length produced an

effect; and political causes of a peculiar nature, combining their

influence with these philosophical exertions, have of late frequently

frightened the Grand Duke, who, in despair, would perhaps grant a

constitution if Beckendorff would allow him. But the Minister is

conscious that the people would not be happier, and do not in fact

require one: he looks with a jealous and an evil eye on the charlatanism

of all kinds which is now so prevalent at Court: he knows, from the

characters of many of these philosophers and patriots, that their

private interest is generally the secret spring of their public virtue;

that if the Grand Duke, moved by their entreaties, or seduced by their

flattery, were to yield a little, he would soon be obliged to grant all

to their demands and their threats; and finally, Beckendorff has, of

late years, so completely interwoven the policy of Reisenburg with that

of Austria, that he feels that the rock on which he has determined to

found the greatness of his country must be quitted for ever if he yield

one jot to the caprice or the weakness of his monarch.”

“But Beckendorff,” said Vivian; “why can he not crush in the bud the

noxious plant which he so much dreads? Why does the press speak in the

least to the people? Why is the Grand Duke surrounded by any others

except pompous Grand Marshals and empty-headed Lord Chamberlains? I am

surprised at this indifference, this want of energy!”

“My dear sir, there are reasons for all things. Rest assured that

Beckendorff is not a man to act incautiously or weakly. The Grand

Duchess, the mother of the Crown Prince, has been long dead.

Beckendorff, who, as a man, has the greatest contempt for women; as a

statesman, looks to them as the most precious of political instruments;

it was his wish to have married the Grand Duke to the young Princess who

is now destined for his son, but for once in his life he failed in

influencing his pupil. The truth was, and it is to this cause that we

must trace the present disorganised state of the Court, and indeed of

the Duchy, that the Grand Duke had secretly married a lady to whom he

had long been attached. This lady was a Countess, and his subject; and,

as it was impossible by the laws of the kingdom that any one but a

member of the reigning family could be allowed to share the throne, his

Royal Highness had recourse to a plan which is not uncommon in this

country, and espoused the lady with his left hand. The ceremony, which

we call here a morganatic marriage, you have, probably, heard of before.

The favoured female is, to all intents and purposes, the wife of the

monarch, and shares everything except his throne. She presides at Court,

but neither she nor her children assume the style of majesty, although

in some instances the latter have been created princes, and acknowledged

as heirs apparent when there has been a default in the lineal royal

issue. The lady of whom we are speaking, according to the usual custom,

has assumed a name derivative from that of her royal husband; and as the

Grand Duke’s name is Charles, she is styled Madame Carolina.”

“And what kind of lady is Madame Carolina?” asked Vivian.

“Philosophical! piquant! Parisian! a genius, according to her friends;

who, as in fact she is a Queen, are of course the whole world. Though

a German by family, she is a Frenchwoman by birth. Educated in the

spiritual saloons of the French metropolis, she has early imbibed

superb ideas of the perfectibility of man, and of the “science” of

conversation, on both which subjects you will not be long at Court ere

you hear her descant; demonstrating by the brilliancy of her ideas

the possibility of the one, and by the fluency of her language her

acquaintance with the other. She is much younger than her husband, and,

though not exactly a model for Phidias, a fascinating woman. Variety is

the talisman by which she commands all hearts and gained her monarch’s.

She is only consistent in being delightful; but, though changeable, she

is not capricious. Each day displays a new accomplishment as regularly

as it does a new costume; but as the acquirement seems only valued by

its possessor as it may delight others, so the dress seems worn, not so

much to gratify her own vanity as to please her friends’ tastes. Genius

is her idol; and with her genius is found in everything. She speaks

in equal raptures of an opera dancer and an epic poet. Her ambition

is to converse on all subjects; and by a judicious management of a

great mass of miscellaneous reading, and by indefatigable exertions

to render herself mistress of the prominent points of the topics

of the day, she appears to converse on all subjects with ability.

She takes the liveliest interest in the progress of mind, in all

quarters of the globe; and imagines that she should, at the same time,

immortalise herself and benefit her species, could she only establish

a Quarterly Review in Ashantee and a scientific Gazette at Timbuctoo.

Notwithstanding her sudden elevation, no one has ever accused her of

arrogance, or pride, or ostentation. Her liberal principles and her

enlightened views are acknowledged by all. She advocates equality in

her circle of privileged nobles, and is enthusiastic on the rights

of man in a country where justice is a favour. Her boast is to be

surrounded by men of genius, and her delight to correspond with the

most celebrated persons of all countries. She is herself a literary

character of no mean celebrity. Few months have elapsed since

enraptured Reisenburg hailed from her glowing pen two neat octavos,

bearing the title of ‘Memoirs of the Court of Charlemagne,’ which

give an interesting and accurate picture of the age, and delight the

modern public with vivid descriptions of the cookery, costume, and

conversation of the eighth century. You smile, my friend, at Madame

Carolina’s production. Do not you agree with me that it requires no

mean talent to convey a picture of the bustle of a levée during the

middle ages? Conceive Sir Oliver looking in at his club! and fancy

the small talk of Roland during a morning visit! Yet even the fame

of this work is to be eclipsed by Madame’s forthcoming quarto of

‘Haroun al Raschid and his Times.’ This, it is whispered, is to be a

chef-d’oeuvre, enriched by a chronological arrangement, by a celebrated

oriental scholar, of all the anecdotes in the Arabian Nights relating

to the Caliph. It is, of course, the sun of Madame’s patronage that has

hatched into noxious life the swarm of sciolists who now infest the

Court, and who are sapping the husband’s political power while they

are establishing the wife’s literary reputation. So much for Madame

Carolina! I need hardly add that during your short stay at Court you

will be delighted with her. If ever you know her as well as I do, you

will find her vain, superficial, heartless; her sentiment a system, her

enthusiasm exaggeration, and her genius merely a clever adoption of the

profundity of others.”

“And Beckendorff and the lady are not friendly?” asked Vivian, who was

delighted with his communicative companion.

“Beckendorff’s is a mind that such a woman cannot comprehend. He treats

her with contempt, and, if possible, views her with hatred, for he

considers that she has degraded the character of his pupil; while she,

on the contrary, wonders by what magic spell he exercises such influence

over the conduct of her husband. At first Beckendorff treated her and

her circle of illuminati with contemptuous silence; but in politics

nothing is contemptible. The Minister, knowing that the people were

prosperous and happy, cared little for projected constitutions, and less

for metaphysical abstractions; but some circumstances have lately

occurred which, I imagine, have convinced him that for once he has

miscalculated. After the arrangement of the German States, when the

Princes were first mediatised, an attempt was made, by means of a

threatening league, to obtain for these political victims a very ample

share of the power and patronage of the new State of Reisenburg. This

plan failed from the lukewarmness and indecision of our good friend of

Little Lilliput, who, between ourselves, was prevented from joining the

alliance by the intrigues of Beckendorff. Beckendorff secretly took

measures that the Prince should be promised that, in case of his keeping

backward, he should obtain more than would fall to his lot by leading

the van. The Prince of Little Lilliput and his peculiar friends

accordingly were quiet, and the attempt of the other chieftains failed.

It was then that his Highness found that he had been duped. Beckendorff

would not acknowledge the authority, and, of course, did not redeem the

pledge, of his agent. The effect that this affair produced upon the

Prince’s mind you can conceive. Since then he has never frequented

Reisenburg, but constantly resided either at his former capital, now a

provincial town of the Grand Duchy, or at this castle; viewed, you may

suppose, with no very cordial feeling by his companions in misfortune.

But the thirst of revenge will inscribe the bitterest enemies in the

same muster-roll; and the Princes, incited by the bold carriage of

Madame Carolina’s philosophical protégés, and induced to believe that

Beckendorff’s power is on the wane, have again made overtures to our

friend, without whose powerful assistance they feel that they have but

little chance of success. Observe how much more men’s conduct is

influenced by circumstances than principles! When these persons leagued

together before it was with the avowed intention of obtaining a share of

the power and patronage of the State: the great body of the people, of

course, did not sympathise in that which, after all, to them was a party

quarrel, and by the joint exertions of open force and secret intrigue

the Court triumphed. But now these same individuals come forward, not as

indignant Princes demanding a share of the envied tyranny, but as ardent

patriots advocating a people’s rights. The public, though I believe that

in fact they will make no bodily exertion to acquire a constitutional

freedom the absence of which they can only abstractedly feel, have no

objection to attain that which they are assured will not injure their

situation, provided it be by the risk and exertions of others. So far,

therefore, as clamour can support the Princes, they have the people on

their side; and as upwards of three hundred thousand of the Grand Ducal

subjects are still living on their estates, and still consider

themselves as their serfs, they trust that some excesses from this great

body may incite the rest of the people to similar outrages. The natural

disposition of mankind to imitation, particularly when the act to be

imitated is popular, deserves attention. The Court is divided; for the

exertions of Madame and the bewitching influence of Fashion have turned

the heads even of greybeards: and to give you only one instance, his

Excellency the Grand Marshal, protégé of the House of Austria, and a

favourite of Metternich, the very person to whose interests, and as a

reward for whose services, our princely friend was sacrificed by the

Minister, has now himself become a pupil in the school of modern

philosophy, and drivels out, with equal ignorance and fervour,

enlightened notions on the most obscure subjects. In the midst of all

this confusion, the Grand Duke is timorous, dubious, and uncertain.

Beckendorff has a difficult game to play; he may fall at last. Such, my

dear sir, are the tremendous consequences of a weak Prince marrying a

blue-stocking!”

“And the Crown Prince, Mr. Sievers, how does he conduct himself at this

interesting moment? or is his mind so completely engrossed by the

anticipation of his Imperial alliance that he has no thought for

anything but his approaching bride.”

“The Crown Prince, my dear sir, is neither thinking of his bride nor of

anything else: he is a hunch-backed idiot. Of his deformity I have

myself been a witness; and though it is difficult to give an opinion of

the intellect of a being with whom you have never interchanged a

syllable, nevertheless his countenance does not contradict the common

creed. I say the common creed, Mr. Grey, for there are moments when the

Crown Prince of Reisenburg is spoken of by his future subjects in a very

different manner. Whenever any unpopular act is committed, or any

unpopular plan suggested by the Court or the Grand Duke, then whispers

are immediately afloat that a future Brutus must be looked for in their

Prince; then it is generally understood that his idiocy is only assumed;

and what woman does not detect, in the glimmerings of his lack-lustre

eye, the vivid sparks of suppressed genius! In a short time the cloud

blows over the Court, dissatisfaction disappears, and the moment that

the monarch is again popular the unfortunate Crown Prince again becomes

the uninfluential object of pity or derision. All immediately forget

that his idiocy is only assumed; and what woman ever ceases from

deploring the unhappy lot of the future wife of their impuissant Prince!

Such, my dear sir, is the way of mankind! At the first glance it would

appear, that in this world, monarchs, on the whole, have it pretty well

their own way; but reflection will soon enable us not to envy their

situations; and speaking as a father, which unfortunately I am not,

should I not view with disgust that lot in life which necessarily makes

my son my enemy? The Crown Prince of all countries is only a puppet in

the hands of the people, to be played against his own father.”

CHAPTER V

The Prince returned home at a late hour, and immediately enquired for

Vivian. During dinner, which he hastily despatched, it did not escape

our hero’s attention that his Highness was unusually silent, and,

indeed, agitated.

“When we have finished our meal, my good friend,” at length said the

Prince, “I very much wish to consult with you on a most important

business.” Since the explanation of last night, the Prince, in private

conversation, had dropped his regal plural.

“I am ready at once,” said Vivian.

“You will think it strange, Mr. Grey, when you become acquainted with

the nature of my communication; you will justly consider it most

strange, most singular, that I should choose for a confidant and a

counsellor in an important business a gentleman with whom I have been

acquainted so short a time as yourself. But, sir, I have well weighed,

at least I have endeavoured well to weigh, all the circumstances and

contingencies which such a confidence would involve; and the result of

my reflection is, that I will look to you as a friend and adviser,

feeling assured that, both from your situation and your disposition, no

temptation exists which can induce you to betray or to deceive me.”

Though the Prince said this with an appearance of perfect sincerity, he

stopped and looked earnest in his guest’s face, as if he would read his

secret thoughts, or were desirous of now giving him an opportunity of

answering.

“So far as the certainty of your confidence being respected,” answered

Vivian, “I trust your Highness may communicate to me with the most

assured spirit. But while my ignorance of men and affairs in this

country will ensure you from any treachery on my part, I very much fear

that it will also preclude me from affording you any advantageous advice

or assistance.”