“On that head,” replied the Prince, “I am, of course, the best judge.

The friend whom I need is a man not ignorant of the world, with a cool

head and an impartial mind. Though young, you have said and told me

enough to prove that you are not unacquainted with mankind. Of your

courage I have already had a convincing proof. In the business in which

I require your assistance freedom from national prejudices will

materially increase the value of your advice; and, therefore, I am far

from being unwilling to consult a person ignorant, according to your own

phrase, of men and affairs in this country. Moreover, your education as

an Englishman has early led you to exercise your mind on political

subjects; and it is in a political business that I require your aid.”

“Am I fated always to be the dry nurse of an embryo faction!” thought

Vivian; and he watched earnestly the countenance of the Prince. In a

moment he expected to be invited to become a counsellor of the leagued

Princes. Either the lamp was burning dim, or the blazing wood fire had

suddenly died away, or a mist was over Vivian’s eyes; but for a moment

he almost imagined that he was sitting opposite his old friend the

Marquis of Carabas. The Prince’s phrase had given rise to a thousand

agonising associations: in an instant Vivian had worked up his mind to a

pitch of nervous excitement.

“Political business?” said Vivian, in an agitated voice. “You could not

address a more unfortunate person. I have seen, Prince, too much of

politics ever to wish to meddle with them again.”

“You are too quick, my good friend,” continued his Highness. “I may wish

to consult you on political business, and yet have no intention of

engaging you in politics, which, indeed, is quite a ridiculous idea. But

I see that I was right in supposing that these subjects have engaged

your attention.”

“I have seen, in a short time, something of the political world,”

answered Vivian, who was almost ashamed of his previous emotion; “and I

thank Heaven daily that I have no chance of again having any

connection with it.”

“Well, well! that as it may be. Nevertheless, your experience is only

another inducement to me to request your assistance. Do not fear that I

wish to embroil you in politics; but I hope you will not refuse,

although almost a stranger, to add to the great obligations which I am

already under to you, and give me the benefit of your opinion.”

“Your Highness may speak with perfect unreserve, and reckon upon my

delivering my genuine sentiments.”

“You have not forgotten, I venture to believe,” said the Prince, “our

short conversation of last night!”

“It was of too interesting a nature easily to escape my memory.”

“Before I can consult you on the subject which at present interests me,

it is necessary that I should make you a little acquainted with the

present state of public affairs here, and the characters of the

principal individuals who control them.”

“So far as an account of the present state of political parties, the

history of the Grand Duke’s career, and that of his Minister, Mr.

Beckendorff, and their reputed characters, will form part of your

Highness’s narrative, by so much may its length be curtailed and your

trouble lessened; for I have at different times picked up, in casual

conversation, a great deal of information on these topics. Indeed, you

may address me, in this respect, as you would any German gentleman who,

not being himself personally interested in public life, is, of course,

not acquainted with its most secret details.”

“I did not reckon on this,” said the Prince, in a cheerful voice. “This

is a great advantage, and another reason that I should no longer

hesitate to develop to you a certain affair which now occupies my mind.

To be short,” continued the Prince, “it is of the letter which I so

mysteriously received last night, and which, as you must have remarked,

very much agitated me; it is on this letter that I wish to consult you.

Bearing in mind the exact position, the avowed and public position, in

which I stand, as connected with the Court, and having a due

acquaintance, which you state you have, with the character of Mr.

Beckendorff, what think you of this letter?”

So saying, the Prince leant over the table, and handed to Vivian the

following epistle:

“TO HIS HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF LITTLE LILLIPUT.

“I am commanded by his Royal Highness to inform your Highness that his

Royal Highness has considered the request which was signed by your

Highness and other noblemen, and presented by you to his Royal Highness

in a private interview. His Royal Highness commands me to state that

that request will receive his most attentive consideration. At the same

time, his Royal Highness also commands me to observe that, in bringing

about the completion of a result desired by all parties, it is difficult

to carry on the necessary communications merely by written documents;

and his Royal Highness has therefore commanded me to submit to your

Highness the advisability of taking some steps in order to further the

possibility of the occurrence of an oral interchange of the sentiments

of the respective parties. Being aware, from the position which your

Highness has thought proper at present to maintain, and from other

causes which are of too delicate a nature to be noticed in any other way

except by allusion, that your Highness may feel difficulty in personally

communicating with his Royal Highness without consulting the wishes and

opinions of the other Princes; a process to which, it must be evident to

your Highness, his Royal Highness feels it impossible to submit; and, at

the same time, desirous of forwarding the progress of those views which

his Royal Highness and your Highness may conjunctively consider

calculated to advance the well-being of the State, I have to submit to

your Highness the propriety of considering the propositions contained in

the enclosed paper; which, if your Highness keep unconnected with this

communication, the purport of this letter will be confined to

your Highness.

PROPOSITIONS.

‘1st. That an interview shall take place between your Highness and

myself, the object of which shall be the consideration of measures by

which, when adopted, the various interests now in agitation shall

respectively be regarded.

‘2nd. That this interview shall be secret; your Highness be incognito.’

“If your Highness be disposed to accede to the first proposition, I beg

to submit to you that, from the nature of my residence, its situation,

and other causes, there will be no fear that any suspicion of the fact

of Mr. von Philipson acceding to the two propositions will gain

notoriety. This letter will be delivered into your own hands. If Mr. von

Philipson determine on acceding to these propositions, he is most

probably aware of the general locality in which my residence is

situated; and proper measures will be taken that, if Mr. von Philipson

honour me with a visit, he shall not be under the necessity of

attracting attention by inquiring the way to my house. It is wished that

the fact of the second proposition being acceded to should only be known

to Mr. von Philipson and myself, but if to be perfectly unattended be

considered as an insuperable objection, I consent to his being

accompanied by a single friend. I shall be alone.

“BECKENDORFF.”

“Well!” said the Prince, as Vivian finished the letter.

“The best person,” said Vivian, “to decide upon your Highness consenting

to this interview is yourself.”

“That is not the point on which I wish to have the benefit of your

opinion; for I have already consented. I rode over this morning to my

cousin, the Duke of Micromegas, and despatched from his residence a

trusty messenger to Beckendorff. I have agreed to meet him, and

to-morrow; but on the express terms that I should not be unattended. Now

then,” continued the Prince, with great energy; “now then, will you be

my companion?”

“I!” said Vivian.

“Yes; you, my good friend! you. I should consider myself as safe if I

were sleeping in a burning house as I should be were I with Beckendorff

alone. Although this is not the first time that we have communicated, I

have never yet seen him; and I am fully aware that, if the approaching

interview were known to my friends, they would consider it high time

that my son reigned in my stead. But I am resolved to be firm, to be

inflexible. My course is plain. I am not to be again duped by him,

which,” continued the Prince, much confused, “I will not conceal that I

have been once.”

“But I!” said Vivian; “I; what good can I possibly do? It appears to me

that, if Beckendorff is to be dreaded as you describe, the presence or

the attendance of no friend can possibly save you from his crafty plans.

But surely, if any one attend you, why not be accompanied by a person

whom you have known long, and who knows you well; on whom you can

confidently rely, and who may be aware, from a thousand signs and

circumstances which will never attract my attention, at what particular

and pressing moments you may require prompt and energetic assistance.

Such is the companion you want; and surely such an one you may find in

Arnelm, Von Neuwied--”

“Arnelm! Von Neuwied!” said the Prince; “the best hands at sounding a

bugle or spearing a boar in all Reisenburg! Excellent men, forsooth! to

guard their master from the diplomatic deceits of the wily Beckendorff!

Moreover, were they to have even the slightest suspicion of my intended

movement, they would commit rank treason out of pure loyalty, and lock

me up in my own cabinet! No, no! they will never do: I want a companion

of experience and knowledge of the world, with whom I may converse with

some prospect of finding my wavering firmness strengthened, or my misled

judgment rightly guided, or my puzzled brain cleared; modes of

assistance to which the worthy Jagd Junker is but little accustomed,

however quickly he might hasten to my side in a combat or the chase.”

“If these, then, will not do, surely there is one man in this castle

who, although he may not be a match for Beckendorff, can be foiled by

few others. Mr. Sievers?” said Vivian, with an inquiring eye.

“Sievers!” exclaimed the Prince, with great eagerness; “the very man!

firm, experienced, and sharp-witted; well schooled in political

learning, in case I required his assistance in arranging the terms of

the intended Charter or the plan of the intended Chambers; for these, of

course, are the points on which Beckendorff wishes to consult. But one

thing I am determined on: I positively pledge myself to nothing while

under Beckendorff’s roof. He doubtless anticipates, by my visit, to

grant the liberties of the people on his own terms: perhaps Mr.

Beckendorff, for once in his life, may be mistaken. I am not to be

deceived twice; and I am determined not to yield the point of the

Treasury being under the control of the Senate. That is the part of the

harness which galls; and to preserve themselves from this rather

inconvenient regulation, without question, my good friend Beckendorff

has hit upon this plan.”

“Then Mr. Sievers will accompany you?” asked Vivian, calling the

Prince’s attention to the point of consultation.

“The very man for it, my dear friend! but although Beckendorff, most

probably respecting my presence, and taking into consideration the

circumstances under which we meet, would refrain from consigning Sievers

to a dungeon; still, although the Minister invites this interview, and

although I have no single inducement to conciliate him, yet it would

scarcely be correct, scarcely dignified on my part, to prove, by the

presence of my companion, that I had for a length of time harboured an

individual who, by Beckendorff’s own exertions, was banished from the

Grand Duchy. It would look too much like a bravado.”

“Oh!” said Vivian; “is it so? And pray of what was Mr. Sievers guilty?”

“Of high treason against one who was not his sovereign.”

“How is that?”

“Sievers, who is a man of considerable talents, was for a long time a

professor in one of our great Universities. The publication of many able

works procured him a reputation which induced Madame Carolina to use

every exertion to gain his attendance at Court; and a courtier in time

the professor became. At Reisenburg Mr. Sievers was the great authority

on all subjects: philosophical, literary, and political. In fact, he was

the fashion; and, at the head of the great literary journal which is

there published, he terrified admiring Germany with his profound and

piquant critiques. Unfortunately, like some men as good, he was unaware

that Reisenburg was not an independent state; and so, on the occasion of

Austria attacking Naples, Mr. Sievers took the opportunity of attacking

Austria. His article, eloquent, luminous, profound, revealed the dark

colours of the Austrian policy, as an artist’s lamp brings out the murky

tints of a Spagnoletto. Every one admired Sievers’ bitter sarcasms,

enlightened views, and indignant eloquence. Madame Carolina crowned him

with laurel in the midst of her coterie, and it is said that the Grand

Duke sent him a snuff-box. In a short time the article reached Vienna,

and in a still shorter time Mr. Beckendorff reached the Residence, and

insisted on the author being immediately given up to the Austrian

Government. Madame Carolina was in despair, the Grand Duke in doubt, and

Beckendorff threatened to resign if the order were not signed. A kind

friend, perhaps his Royal Highness himself, gave Sievers timely notice,

and by rapid flight he reached my castle, and demanded my hospitality.

He has lived here ever since, and has done me a thousand services, not

the least of which is the education which he has given my son, my

glorious Maximilian.”

“And Beckendorff,” asked Vivian; “has he always been aware that Sievers

was concealed here?”

“That I cannot answer: had he been, it is not improbable that he would

have winked at it; since it never has been his policy unnecessarily to

annoy a mediatised Prince, or without great occasion to let us feel that

our independence is gone; I will not, with such a son as I have, say,

for ever.”

“Mr. Sievers of course, then, cannot visit Beckendorff,” said Vivian.

“That is clear,” said the Prince; “and I therefore trust that now you

will no longer refuse my first request.”

It was impossible for Vivian to deny the Prince any longer; and indeed

he had no objection (as his Highness could not be better attended) to

seize the singular and unexpected opportunity which now offered itself

of becoming acquainted with an individual respecting whom his curiosity

was much excited. It was a late hour ere the Prince and his friend

retired, having arranged everything for the morrow’s journey, and

conversed on the probable subjects of the approaching interview at

great length.

CHAPTER VI

On the following morning, before sunrise, the Prince’s valet roused

Vivian from his slumbers. According to the appointment of the preceding

evening, Vivian repaired in due time to a certain spot in the park. The

Prince reached it at the same moment. A mounted groom, leading two

English horses of showy appearance, and each having a travelling case

strapped on the back of its saddle, awaited them. His Highness mounted

one of the steeds with skilful celerity, although Arnelm and Von Neuwied

were not there to do honour to his bridle and his stirrup.

“You must give me an impartial opinion of your courser, my dear friend,”

said the Prince to Vivian; “for if you deem it worthy of being

bestridden by you, my son requests that you will do him the honour of

accepting it. If so, call it Max; and provided it be as thoroughbred as

the donor, you need not change it for Bucephalus.”

“Not unworthy of the son of Ammon!” said Vivian, as he touched the

spirited animal with the spur, and proved its fiery action on the

springing turf.

A man never feels so proud or so sanguine as when he is bounding on the

back of a fine horse. Cares fly with the first curvet, and the very

sight of a spur is enough to prevent one committing suicide.

When Vivian and his companion had proceeded about five miles, the Prince

pulled up, and giving a sealed letter to the groom, he desired him to

leave them. The Prince and Vivian amused themselves by endeavouring to

form some conception of the person, manners, and habits of the

remarkable man to whom they were on the point of paying so interesting

a visit.

“I expect,” said Vivian, “to be received with folded arms, and a brow

lowering with the overwhelming weight of a brain meditating for the

control of millions. His letter has prepared us for the mysterious, but

not very amusing, style of his conversation. He will be perpetually on

his guard not to commit himself; and although public business, and the

receipt of papers, by calling him away, will occasionally give us an

opportunity of being alone, still I regret that I did not put up in my

case some interesting volume, which would have allowed me to feel less

tedious those hours during which you will necessarily be employed with

him in private consultation.”

After a ride of five hours, the horsemen arrived at a small village.

“Thus far I think I have well piloted you,” said the Prince: “but I

confess my knowledge here ceases; and though I shall disobey the

diplomatic instructions of the great man, I must even ask some old woman

the way to Mr. Beckendorff’s.”

While they were hesitating as to whom they should address, an

equestrian, who had already passed them on the road, though at some

distance, came up, and inquired, in a voice which Vivian recognised as

that of the messenger who had brought Beckendorff’s letter to

Turriparva, whether he had the honour of addressing Mr. von Philipson.

Neither of the gentlemen answered, for Vivian of course expected the

Prince to reply; and his Highness was, as yet, so unused to his

incognito, that he had actually forgotten his own name. But it was

evident that the demandant had questioned rather from system than by way

of security, and he waited patiently until the Prince had collected his

senses and assumed sufficient gravity of countenance to inform the

horseman that he was the person in question. “What, sir, is your

pleasure?”

“I am instructed to ride on before you, sir, that you may not mistake

your way;” and without waiting for an answer the laconic messenger

turned his steed’s head and trotted off.

The travellers soon left the high road and turned up a wild turf path,

not only inaccessible to carriages, but even requiring great attention

from horsemen. After much winding and some floundering, they arrived at

a light gate, which apparently opened into a shrubbery.

“I will take your horses here, gentlemen,” said the guide; and getting

off his horse, he opened the gate. “Follow this path, and you can meet

with no difficulty.” The Prince and Vivian accordingly dismounted, and

the guide immediately gave a loud shrill whistle.

The path ran, for a short way, through the shrubbery, which evidently

was a belt encircling the grounds. From this the Prince and Vivian

emerged upon a lawn, which formed on the farthest side a terrace, by

gradually sloping down to the margin of the river. It was enclosed on

the other side, and white pheasants were feeding in its centre.

Following the path which skirted the lawn, they arrived at a second

gate, which opened into a garden, in which no signs of the taste at

present existing in Germany for the English system of picturesque

pleasure-grounds were at all visible. The walk was bounded on both sides

by tall borders, or rather hedges, of box, cut into the shape of

battlements; the sameness of these turrets being occasionally varied by

the immovable form of some trusty warder, carved out of yew or laurel.

Raised terraces and arched walks, aloes and orange trees mounted on

sculptured pedestals, columns of cypress and pyramids of bay, whose dark

foliage strikingly contrasted with the marble statues, and the white

vases shining in the sun, rose in all directions in methodical

confusion. The sound of a fountain was not wanting, and large beds of

beautiful flowers abounded. Proceeding through a lofty berçeau,

occasional openings in whose curving walks allowed effective glimpses of

a bust or a statue, the companions at length came in sight of the house.

It was a long, uneven, low building, evidently of ancient architecture.

Numerous stacks of tall and fantastically-shaped chimneys rose over

three thick and heavy gables, which reached down farther than the middle

of the elevation, forming three compartments, one of them including a

large and modern bow window, over which clustered in profusion the sweet

and glowing blossoms of the clematis and the pomegranate. Indeed, the

whole front of the house was so completely covered with a rich

scarlet-creeper, that it was difficult to ascertain of what materials it

was built. As Vivian was admiring a white peacock, which, attracted by

their approach, had taken the opportunity of unfurling its wheeling

train, a man came forward from the bow window.

In height he was about five feet eight, and of a spare but

well-proportioned figure. He had little hair, which was powdered, and

dressed in a manner to render more remarkable the elevation of his

conical and polished forehead. His long piercing black eyes were almost

closed, from the fullness of their upper lids. His cheek was sallow, his

nose aquiline, his mouth compressed. His ears, which were uncovered,

were so small that it would be wrong to pass them over unnoticed; as,

indeed, were his hands and feet, in form quite feminine. He was dressed

in a coat and waistcoat of black velvet, the latter part of his costume

reaching to his thighs; and in a button-hole of his coat was a large

bunch of tube-rose. The broad collar of his exquisitely plaited shirt,

though tied round with a wide black ribbon, did not conceal a neck which

agreed well with his beardless chin, and would not have misbecome a

woman. In England we should have called his breeches buckskin. They were

of a pale yellow leather, and suited his large and spur-armed cavalry

boots, which fitted closely to the legs they covered, reaching over the

knees of the wearer. A ribbon round his neck, tucked into his waistcoat

pocket, was attached to a small French watch. He swung in his right hand

the bow of a violin; and in the other, the little finger of which was

nearly hid by a large antique ring, he held a white handkerchief

strongly perfumed with violets. Notwithstanding the many feminine

characteristics which I have noticed, either from the expression of the

eyes or the formation of the mouth, the countenance of this individual

generally conveyed an impression of firmness and energy. This

description will not be considered ridiculously minute by those who have

never had an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the person of so

celebrated a gentleman as MR. BECKENDORFF.

He advanced to the Prince with an air which seemed to proclaim that, as

his person could not be mistaken, the ceremony of introduction was

unnecessary. Bowing in a ceremonious and courtly manner to his Highness,

Mr. Beckendorff, in a weak but not unpleasing voice, said that he was

“honoured by the presence of Mr. von Philipson.” The Prince answered his

salutation in a manner equally ceremonious and equally courtly; for

having no mean opinion of his own diplomatic abilities, his Highness

determined that neither by an excess of coldness nor cordiality on his

part should the Minister gather the slightest indication of the temper

in which he had attended the interview. You see that even the bow of a

diplomatist is a serious business!

“Mr. Beckendorff,” said his Highness, “my letter doubtless informed you

that I should avail myself of your permission to be accompanied. Let me

have the honour of presenting to you my friend Mr. Grey, an English

gentleman.”

As the Prince spoke, Beckendorff stood with his arms crossed behind

him, and his chin resting upon his chest, but his eyes at the same time

so raised as to look his Highness full in the face. Vivian was so struck

by his posture and the expression of his countenance, that he nearly

omitted to bow when he was presented. As his name was mentioned, the

Minister gave him a sharp, sidelong glance, and moving his head

slightly, invited his guests to enter the house. The gentlemen

accordingly complied with his request. Passing through the bow window,

they found themselves in a well-sized room, the sides of which were

covered with shelves filled with richly-bound books. There was nothing

in the room which gave the slightest indication that the master of the

library was any other than a private gentleman. Not a book, not a chair

was out of its place. A purple inkstand of Sèvre, and a highly-tooled

morocco portfolio of the same colour, reposed on a marqueterie table,

and that was all. No papers, no despatches, no red tape, and no red

boxes. Over an ancient chimney, lined with china tiles, on which were

represented grotesque figures, cows playing the harp, monkeys acting

monarchs, and tall figures all legs, flying with rapidity from pursuers

who were all head; over this chimney were suspended some curious pieces

of antique armour, among which an Italian dagger, with a chased and

jewelled hilt, was the most remarkable and the most precious.

“This,” said Mr. Beckendorff, “is my library.”

“What a splendid poignard!” said the Prince, who had no taste for books;

and he immediately walked up to the chimney-piece. Beckendorff followed

him, and taking down the admired weapon from its resting-place,

proceeded to lecture on its virtues, its antiquity, and its beauty.

Vivian seized this opportunity of taking a rapid glance at the contents

of the library. He anticipated interleaved copies of Machiavel, Vattel,

and Montesquieu; and the lightest works that he expected to meet with

were the lying memoirs of some intriguing cardinal or the deluding

apology of an exiled minister. To his surprise, he found that, without

an exception, the collection consisted of poetry and romance. Somewhat

surprised, Vivian looked with a curious eye on the unlettered backs of a

row of mighty folios on a corner shelf. “These,” he thought, “at least

must be royal ordinances, and collected state papers.” The sense of

propriety struggled for a moment with the passion of curiosity; but

nothing is more difficult for the man who loves books than to refrain

from examining a volume which he fancies may be unknown to him. From

the jewelled dagger Beckendorff had now got to an enamelled

breast-plate. Two to one he should not be observed; and so, with a

desperate pull, Vivian extracted a volume; it was a herbal! He tried

another; it was a collection of dried insects!

“And now,” said Mr. Beckendorff, “I will show you my drawing-room.”

He opened a door at the farther end of the library, and introduced them

to a room of a different character. The sun, which was shining brightly,

lent additional brilliancy to the rainbow-tinted birds of paradise, the

crimson maccaws, and the green parroquets that glistened on the Indian

paper, which covered not only the walls, but also the ceiling of the

room. Over the fireplace a black frame, projecting from the wall, and

mournfully contrasting with the general brilliant appearance of the

apartment, inclosed a picture of a beautiful female; and bending over

its frame, and indeed partly shadowing the countenance, was the withered

branch of a tree. A harpsichord and several cases of musical instruments

were placed in different parts of the room; and suspended by broad black

ribbons from the wall, on each side of the picture, were a guitar and a

tambourine. On a sofa of unusual size lay a Cremona; and as Mr.

Beckendorff passed the instrument he threw by its side the bow, which he

had hitherto carried in his hand.

“We may as well now take something,” said Mr. Beckendorff, when his

guests had sufficiently admired the room; “my pictures are in my

dining-room; let us go there.”

So saying, and armed this time not only with his bow but also with his

violin, he retraced his steps through the library, and crossing a small

passage which divided the house into two compartments, he opened the

door into his dining-room. The moment they entered the room their ears

were saluted, and indeed their senses ravished, by what appeared to be a

concert of a thousand birds; yet none of the winged choristers were to

be seen, and not even a single cage was visible. The room, which was

simply furnished, appeared at first rather gloomy; for, though lighted

by three windows, the silk blinds were all drawn.

“And now,” said Mr. Beckendorff, raising the first blind, “you shall see

my pictures. At what do you estimate this Breughel?”

The window, which was of stained green glass, gave to the landscape an

effect similar to that generally produced by the artist mentioned. The

Prince, who was already puzzled by finding one who at the same time was

both his host and his enemy so different a character from what he had

conceived, and who, being by temper superstitious, considered that this

preliminary false opinion of his was rather a bad omen, did not express

any great admiration of the gallery of Mr. Beckendorff; but Vivian, who

had no ambitious hopes or fears to affect his temper, and who was amused

by the character with whom he had become so unexpectedly acquainted,

good-naturedly humoured the fantasies of the Minister, and said that he

preferred his picture to any Breughel he had ever seen.

“I see you have a fine taste,” said Mr. Beckendorff, with a serious air,

but in a courteous tone; “you shall see my Claude!”

The rich yellow tint of the second window gave to the fanciful garden

all that was requisite to make it look Italian.

“Have you ever been in Italy, sir?” asked Beckendorff.

“I have not.”

“You have, Mr. von Philipson?”

“Never south of Germany,” answered the Prince, who was hungry, and eyed

with a rapacious glance the capital luncheon which he saw prepared

for him.

“Well, then, when either of you go, you will, of course, not miss the

Lago Maggiore. Gaze on Isola Bella at sunset, and you will not view so

fair a scene as this! And now, Mr. von Philipson,” said Beckendorff, “do

me the favour of giving me your opinion of this Honthorst?”

His Highness would rather have given his opinion of the dish of game

which still smoked upon the table, but which he was mournfully convinced

would not smoke long. “But,” thought he, “this is the last!” and so he

admired the effect produced by the flaming panes, to which Beckendorff

swore that no piece ever painted by Gerard Honthorst, for brilliancy of

colouring and boldness of outline, could be compared. “Besides,”

continued Beckendorff, “mine are all animated pictures. See that

cypress, waving from the breeze which is now stirring, and look! look at

this crimson peacock! look! Mr. von Philipson.”

“I am looking, Mr. von--I beg pardon, Mr. Beckendorff,” said the Prince,

with great dignity, making this slight mistake in the name, either from

being unused to converse with such low people as had not the nominal

mark of nobility, or to vent his spleen at being so unnecessarily kept

from the refreshment which he so much required.

“Mr. von Philipson,” said Beckendorff, suddenly turning round, “all my

fruits and all my vegetables are from my own garden. Let us sit down and

help ourselves.”

The only substantial food at table was a great dish of game. The

vegetables and the fruits were numerous and superb; and there really

appeared to be a fair prospect of the Prince of Little Lilliput making

as good a luncheon as if the whole had been conducted under the auspices

of Master Rodolph himself, had it not been for the melody of the unseen

vocalists, which, probably excited by the sounds of the knives and

plates, too evidently increased every moment. But this inconvenience was

soon removed by Mr. Beckendorff rising and giving three loud knocks on

the door opposite to the one by which they had entered. Immediate

silence ensued.

“Clara will change your plate, Mr. von Philipson,” said Beckendorff.

Vivian eagerly looked up, not with the slightest idea that the entrance

of Clara would prove that the mysterious picture in the drawing-room was

a portrait, but, it must be confessed, with a little curiosity to view

the first specimen of the sex who lived under the roof of Mr.

Beckendorff. Clara was a hale old woman, with rather an acid expression

of countenance, prim in her appearance, and evidently precise in her

manners. She placed a bottle and two wine-glasses with long, thin stems

on the table; and having removed the game and changed the plates, she

disappeared.

“Pray what wine is this, Mr. Beckendorff?” eagerly asked the Prince.

“I really don’t know. I never drink wine.”

“Not know! I never tasted such Tokay in my life!”

“Probably,” said Mr. Beckendorff; “I think it was a present from the

Emperor. I have never tasted it.”

“My dear sir, take a glass!” said the Prince, his naturally jovial

temper having made him completely forget whom he was addressing, and the

business he had come upon.

“I never drink wine; I am glad you like it; I have no doubt Clara has

more.”

“No, no, no! we must be moderate,” said the Prince, who, though a great

admirer of a good luncheon, had also a due respect for a good dinner,

and consequently had no idea, at this awkward hour in the day, of

preventing himself from properly appreciating the future banquet.

Moreover, his Highness, taking into consideration the manner in which

the game had been dressed, and the marks of refinement and good taste

which seemed to pervade every part of the establishment of Mr.

Beckendorff, did not imagine that he was much presuming when he

conjectured that there was a fair chance of his dinner being

something superior.

The sudden arrival and appearance of some new and unexpected guests

through the mysterious portal on which Mr. Beckendorff by his three

knocks had previously produced such a tranquillising effect, and which

he had now himself opened, explained the character of the apartment,

which, from its unceasing melody, had so much excited the curiosity of

his guests. These new visitors were a crowd of piping bullfinches,

Virginia nightingales, trained canaries, Java sparrows, and Indian

lorys; which, freed from their cages of golden wire by their fond

master, had fled, as was their custom, from his superb aviary to pay

their respects and compliments at his daily levée.

“I am glad to see that you like birds, sir,” said Beckendorff to Vivian;

for our hero, good-naturedly humouring the tastes of his host, was

impartially dividing the luxuries of a peach among a crowd of gaudy and

greedy little sparrows. “You shall see my favourites,” continued

Beckendorff; and tapping rather loudly on the table, he held out the

forefinger of each hand. Two bullfinches recognised the signal, and

immediately hastened to their perch.

“My dear!” trilled out one little songster, and it raised its speaking

eyes to its delighted master.

“My love!” warbled the other, marking its affection by looks equally

personal.

As these monosyllables were repeated, Beckendorff, with sparkling eyes,

triumphantly looked round at Vivian, as if the frequent reiteration were

a proof of the sincerity of the affection of these singular friends.

At length, to the Prince’s relief, Mr. Beckendorff’s feathered friends,

having finished their dessert, were sent back to their cages, with a

strict injunction not to trouble their master at present with their

voices, an injunction which was obeyed to the letter; and when the door

was closed few persons could have been persuaded that the next room was

an aviary.

“I am proud of my peaches, Mr. von Philipson,” said Beckendorff,

recommending the fruit to his guest’s attention, then rising from the

table, he threw himself on the sofa, and began humming a tune in a low

voice. Presently he took up his Cremona, and, using the violin as a

guitar, accompanied himself in a beautiful air, but not in a more

audible tone. While Mr. Beckendorff was singing he seemed unconscious

that any person was in the room; and the Prince, who was not very fond

of music, certainly gave him no hint, either by his approbation or his

attention, that he was listened to. Vivian, however, like most unhappy

men, loved music; and actuated by this feeling, and the interest which

he began to take in the character of Mr. Beckendorff, he could not, when

that gentleman had finished his air, refrain from very sincerely

saying “encore!”

Beckendorff started and looked round, as if he were for the first moment

aware that any being had heard him.

“Encore!” said he, with a kind sneer: “who ever could sing or play the

same thing twice! Are you fond of music, sir?”

“Very much so, indeed. I fancied I recognised that air. You are an

admirer I imagine, of Mozart?”

“I never heard of him; I know nothing of those gentry. But if you really

like music, I will play you something worth listening to.”

Mr. Beckendorff began a beautiful air very adagio, gradually increasing

the time in a kind of variation, till at last his execution became so

rapid that Vivian, surprised at the mere mechanical action, rose from

his chair in order better to examine the player’s management and motion

of his bow. Exquisite as were the tones, enchanting as were the

originality of his variations and the perfect harmony of his

composition, it was nevertheless extremely difficult to resist smiling

at the contortions of his face and figure. Now, his body bending to the

strain, he was at one moment with his violin raised in the air, and the

next instant with the lower nut almost resting upon his foot. At length,

by well-proportioned degrees, the air died away into the original soft

cadence; and the player, becoming completely entranced in his own

performance, finished by sinking back on the sofa, with his bow and

violin raised over his head. Vivian would not disturb him by his

applause. An instant after, Mr. Beckendorff, throwing down the

instrument, rushed through an open window into the garden.

As soon as Beckendorff was out of sight, Vivian looked at the Prince;

and his Highness, elevating his eyebrows, screwing up his mouth, and

shrugging his shoulders, altogether presented a comical picture of a

puzzled man.

“Well, my dear friend,” said he, “this is rather different from what we

expected.”

“Very different; but much more amusing.”

“Humph!” said the Prince, slowly; “I do not think it exactly requires a

ghost to tell us that Mr. Beckendorff is not in the habit of going to

court. I do not know how he is accustomed to conduct himself when he is

honoured by a visit from the Grand Duke; but I am quite sure that, as

regards his treatment of myself, to say the least, the incognito is well

observed.”

“Mr. von Philipson,” said the gentleman of whom they were speaking,

putting his head in at the window, “you shall see my blue

passion-flower. We will take a walk round the garden.”

The Prince gave Vivian a look which seemed to suppose they must go, and

accordingly they stepped into the garden.

“You do not see my garden in its glory,” said Mr. Beckendorff, stopping

before the bow window of the library. “This spot is my strong point; had

you been here earlier in the year, you might have admired with me my

invaluable crescents of tulips; such colours! such brilliancy! so

defined! And last year I had three king-tulips; their elegantly-formed,

creamy cups I have never seen equalled. And then my double variegated

ranunculuses; my hyacinths of fifty bells, in every tint, single and

double; and my favourite stands of auriculas, so large and powdered that

the colour of the velvet leaves was scarcely discoverable! The blue

passion-flower is, however, now beautiful. You see that summer-house,

sir,” continued he, turning to Vivian; “the top is my observatory. You

will sleep in that pavilion to-night, so you had better take notice how

the walk winds.”

The passion-flower was trained against the summer-house in question.

“There,” said Mr. Beckendorff; and he stood admiring with outstretched

arms; “the latter days of its beauty, for the autumn frosts will soon

stop its flower. Pray, Mr. von Philipson, are you a botanist?”

“Why,” said the Prince, “I am a great admirer of flowers, but I cannot

exactly say that--”

“Ah! no botanist. The flower of this beautiful plant continues only one

day, but there is a constant succession from July to the end of the

autumn; and if this fine weather continue--Pray, sir, how is the wind?”

“I really cannot say,” said the Prince; “but I think the wind is

either--”

“Do you know, sir?” continued Beckendorff to Vivian.

“I think, sir, that it is--”

“Westerly. Well! If this weather continue, the succession may still last

another month. You will be interested to know, Mr. von Philipson, that

the flower comes out at the same joint with the leaf, on a peduncle

nearly three inches long; round the centre of it are two radiating

crowns; look, look, sir! the inner inclining towards the centre column;

now examine this well, and I will be with you in a moment.” So saying,

Mr. Beckendorff, running down the walk, jumped over the railing, and in

a moment was coursing across the lawn, towards the river, in a chase

after a dragon-fly.

Mr. Beckendorff was soon out of sight, and after lingering half-an-hour

in the vicinity of the blue passion-flower, the Prince proposed to

Vivian that they should quit the spot. “So far as I can observe,”

continued his Highness, “we might as well quit the house. No wonder that

Beckendorff’s power is on the wane, for he appears to me to be growing

childish. Surely he could not always have been this frivolous creature!”

“I am really so astonished,” said Vivian, “that it is quite out of my

power to assist your Highness in any supposition. But I should recommend

you not to be too hasty in your movements. Take care that staying here

does not affect the position which you have taken up, or retard the

progress of any measures on which you have determined, and you are safe.

What will it injure you if, with the chance of achieving the great and

patriotic purpose to which you have devoted your powers and energies,

you are subjected for a few hours to the caprices, or even rudeness, of

any man whatever? If Beckendorff be the character which the world gives

him credit to be, I do not think he can imagine that you are to be

deceived twice; and if he do imagine so, we are convinced that he will

be disappointed. If, as you have supposed, not only his power is on the

wane, but his intellect also, four-and-twenty hours will convince us of

the fact; for in less than that time your Highness will necessarily have

conversation of a more important nature with him. I recommend,

therefore, that we continue here to-day, although,” added Vivian,

smiling, “I have to sleep in his observatory.”

After walking in the gardens about an hour, the Prince and Vivian again

went into the house, imagining that Beckendorff might have returned by

another entrance; but he was not there. The Prince was much annoyed; and

Vivian, to amuse himself, had recourse to the library. After

re-examining the armour, looking at the garden through the painted

windows, conjecturing who might be the original of the mysterious

picture and what could be the meaning of the withered branch, the Prince

was fairly worn out. The precise dinner hour he did not know; and

notwithstanding repeated exertions, he had hitherto been unable to find

the blooming Clara. He could not flatter himself, however, that there

were less than two hours to kill before the great event took place; and

so, heartily wishing himself back again at Turriparva, he prevailed upon

Vivian to throw aside his book and take another walk.

This time they extended their distance, stretched out as far as the

river, and explored the adjoining woods; but of Mr. Beckendorff they saw

and heard nothing. At length they again returned: it was getting dusk.

They found the bow window of the library closed. They again entered the

dining-room, and, to their surprise, found no preparations for dinner.

This time the Prince was more fortunate in his exertions to procure an

interview with Madam Clara, for that lady almost immediately entered

the room.

“Pray, my good madam,” inquired the Prince, “has your master returned?”

“Mr. Beckendorff is in the library, sir,” said the old lady, pompously.

“Indeed! we do not dine in this room, then?”

“Dine, sir!” said the good dame, forgetting her pomposity in her

astonishment.

“Yes, dine,” said the Prince.

“Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal.”

“Am I to understand, then, that we are to have no dinner?” asked his

Highness, angry and agitated.

“Mr. Beckendorff never takes anything after his noon meal, sir; but I am

sure that if you and your friend are hungry, sir, I hope there is never

a want in this house.”

“My good lady, I am hungry, very hungry, indeed; and if your master, I

mean Mr. von, that is Mr. Beckendorff, has such a bad appetite that he

can satisfy himself with picking, once a day, the breast of a pheasant;

why, if he expect his friends to be willing or even able to live on such

fare, the least that I can say is, that he is much mistaken; and so,

therefore, my good friend Grey, I think we had better order our horses

and be off.”

“No occasion for that, I hope,” said Mrs. Clara, rather alarmed at the

Prince’s passion; “no want, I trust, ever here, sir; and I make no doubt

you will have dinner as soon as possible; and so, sir, I hope you will

not be hasty.”

“Hasty! I have no wish to be hasty; but as for disarranging the whole

economy of the house, and getting up an extemporaneous meal for me, I

cannot think of it. Mr. Beckendorff may live as he likes, and if I stay

here I am contented to live as he does. I do not wish him to change his

habits for me, and I shall take care that, after today, there will be no

necessity for his doing so. However, absolute hunger can make no

compliments; and therefore I will thank you, my good madam, to let me

and my friend have the remains of that cold game, if they be still in

existence, on which we lunched, or, as you term it, took our noon meal,

this morning; and which, if it were your own cooking, Mrs. Clara, I

assure you, as I observed to my friend at the time, did you

infinite credit.”

The Prince, although his gentlemanlike feelings had, in spite of his

hunger, dictated a deprecation of Mrs. Clara’s making a dinner merely

for himself, still thought that a seasonable and deserved compliment to

the lady might assist in bringing about a result which, notwithstanding

his politeness, he much desired; and that was the production of another

specimen of her culinary accomplishments. Having behaved, as he

considered, with moderation and dignified civility, he was, it must be

confessed, rather astounded when Mrs. Clara, duly acknowledging his

compliment by her curtsey, was sorry to inform him that she dared give

no refreshment in this house without Mr. Beckendorff’s special order.

“Special order! Why! surely your master will not grudge me the cold leg

of a pheasant?”

“Mr. Beckendorff is not in the habit of grudging anything,” answered the

housekeeper, with offended majesty.

“Then why should he object?” asked the Prince.

“Mr. Beckendorff is the best judge, sir, of the propriety of his own

regulations.”

“Well, well!” said Vivian, more interested for his friend than himself,

“there is no difficulty in asking Mr. Beckendorff?”

“None in the least, sir,” answered the housekeeper, “when he is awake.”

“Awake!” said the Prince, “why! is he asleep now?”

“Yes, sir, in the library.”

“And how long will he be asleep?” asked the Prince, with eagerness.

“It is uncertain; he may be asleep for hours, he may wake in five

minutes; all I can do is to watch.”

“But, surely in a case like the present, you can wake your master?”

“I could not wake Mr. Beckendorff, sir, if the house were on fire. No

one can enter the room when he is asleep.”

“Then how can you possibly know when he is awake?”

“I shall hear his violin immediately, sir.”

“Well, well! I suppose it must be so. I wish we were in Turriparva; that

is all I know. Men of my station have no business to be paying visits to

the sons of the Lord knows who! peasants, shopkeepers, and pedagogues!”

As a fire was blazing in the dining-room, which Mrs. Clara informed them

Mr. Beckendorff never omitted having every night in the year, the Prince

and his friend imagined that they were to remain there, and they

consequently did not attempt to disturb the slumbers of their host.

Resting his feet on the hobs, his Highness, for the fiftieth time,

declared that he wished he had never left Turriparva; and just when

Vivian was on the point of giving up in despair the hope of consoling

him, Mrs. Clara entered and proceeded to lay the cloth.

“Your master is awake, then?” asked the Prince, very quickly.

“Mr. Beckendorff has been long awake, sir! and dinner will be ready

immediately.”

His Highness’ countenance brightened; and in a short time the supper

appearing, the Prince, again fascinated by Mrs. Clara’s cookery and Mr.

Beckendorff’s wine, forgot his chagrin, and regained his temper.

In about a couple of hours Mr. Beckendorff entered.

“I hope that Clara has given you wine you like, Mr. von Philipson?”

“The same bin, I will answer for that.”

Mr. Beckendorff had his violin in his hand, but his dress was much

changed. His great boots being pulled off, exhibited the white silk

stockings which he invariably wore. His coat had given place to the

easier covering of a brocade dressing-gown. He drew a chair round the

fire, between the Prince and Vivian. It was a late hour, and the room

was only lighted by the glimmering coals, for the flames had long died

away. Mr. Beckendorff sat for some time without speaking, gazing

earnestly on the decaying embers. Indeed, before many minutes had

elapsed, complete silence prevailed; for both the endeavours of the

Prince and of Vivian to promote conversation had been unsuccessful. At

length the master of the house turned round to the Prince, and pointing

to a particular mass of coal, said, “I think, Mr. von Philipson, that is

the completest elephant I ever saw. We will ring the bell for some

coals, and then have a game of whist.”

The Prince was so surprised by Mr. Beckendorff’s remark that he was not

sufficiently struck by the strangeness of his proposition, and it was

only when he heard Vivian professing his ignorance of the game that it

occurred to him that to play at whist was hardly the object for which he

had travelled from Turriparva.

“An Englishman not know whist!” said Mr. Beckendorff: “ridiculous! You

do know it. Let us play! Mr. von Philipson, I know, has no objection.”

“But, my good sir,” said the Prince, “although previous to conversation

I may have no objection to join in a little amusement, still it appears

to me that it has escaped your memory that whist is a game which

requires the co-operation of four persons.”

“Not at all! I take dummy! I am not sure it is not the finest way of

playing the game.”

The table was arranged, the lights brought, the cards produced, and the

Prince of Little Lilliput, greatly to his surprise, found himself

playing whist with Mr. Beckendorff. Nothing could be more dull. The

Minister would neither bet nor stake, and the immense interest which he

took in every card that was played ludicrously contrasted with the

rather sullen looks of the Prince and the very sleepy ones of Vivian.

Whenever Mr. Beckendorff played for dummy he always looked with the most

searching eye into the next adversary’s face, as if he would read his

cards in his features. The first rubber lasted an hour and a half, three

long games, which Mr. Beckendorff, to his triumph, hardly won. In the

first game of the second rubber Vivian blundered; in the second he

revoked; and in the third, having neglected to play, and being loudly

called upon, and rated both by his partner and Mr. Beckendorff, he was

found to be asleep. Beckendorff threw down his hand with a loud dash,

which roused Vivian from his slumber. He apologised for his drowsiness;

but said that he was so sleepy that he must retire. The Prince, who

longed to be with Beckendorff alone, winked approbation of his

intention.

“Well!” said Beckendorff, “you spoiled the rubber. I shall ring for

Clara. Why you all are so fond of going to bed I cannot understand. I

have not been to bed these thirty years.”

Vivian made his escape; and Beckendorff, pitying his degeneracy,

proposed to the Prince, in a tone which seemed to anticipate that the

offer would meet with instantaneous acceptation, double dummy. This,

however, was too much.

“No more cards, sir, I thank you,” said the Prince; “if, however, you

have a mind for an hour’s conversation, I am quite at your service.”

“I am obliged to you; I never talk. Good night, Mr. von Philipson.”

Mr. Beckendorff left the room. His Highness could contain himself no

longer. He rang the bell.

“Pray, Mrs. Clara,” said he, “where are my horses?”

“Mr. Beckendorff will have no quadrupeds within a mile of the house,

except Owlface.”

“How do you mean? Let me see the man-servant.”

“The household consists only of myself, sir.”

“Why! where is my luggage, then?”

“That has been brought up, sir; it is in your room.”

“I tell you I must have my horses.”

“It is quite impossible to-night, sir. I think, sir, you had better

retire. Mr. Beckendorff may not be home again these six hours.”

“What! is your master gone out?”

“Yes, sir, he is just gone out to take his ride.”

“Why! where is his horse kept, then?”

“It is Owlface, sir.”

“Owlface, indeed! What! is your master in the habit of riding out at

night?”

“Mr. Beckendorff rides out, sir, just when it happens to suit him.”

“It is very odd I cannot ride out when it happens to suit me! However,

I will be off to-morrow; and so, if you please, show me my bed-room

at once.”

“Your room is the library, sir.”

“The library! Why, there is no bed in the library.”

“We have no beds, sir; but the sofa is made up.”

“No beds! Well! it is only for one night. You are all mad, and I am as

mad as you for coming here.”

CHAPTER VII

The morning sun peeping through the window of the little summer-house

roused its inmate at an early hour; and finding no signs of Mr.

Beckendorff and his guest having yet risen from their slumbers, Vivian

took the opportunity of strolling about the gardens and the grounds.

Directing his way along the margin of the river, he soon left the lawn

and entered some beautiful meadows, whose dewy verdure glistened in the

brightening beams of the early sun. Crossing these, and passing through

a gate, he found himself in a rural road, whose lofty hedge-rows, rich

with all the varieties of wild fruit and flower, and animated with the

cheering presence of the busy birds chirping from every bough and spray,

altogether presented a scene which reminded him of the soft beauties of

his own country. With some men, to remember is to be sad; and

unfortunately for Vivian Grey, there were few objects which with him did

not give rise to associations of a painful nature. The strange

occurrences of the last few days had recalled, if not revived, the

feelings of his boyhood. His early career flitted across his mind. He

would have stifled the remembrance with a sigh, but man Is the slave of

Memory. For a moment he mused over Power; but then he, shuddering,

shrank from the wearing anxiety, the consuming care, the eternal

vigilance, the constant contrivance, the agonising suspense, the

distracting vicissitudes of his past career. Alas! it is our nature to

sicken, from our birth, after some object of unattainable felicity, to

struggle through the freshest years of our life in an insane pursuit

after some indefinite good, which does not even exist! But sure and

quick is the dark hour which cools our doting frenzy in the frigid waves

of the ocean of oblivion! We dream of immortality until we die.

Ambition! at thy proud and fatal altar we whisper the secrets of our

mighty thoughts, and breathe the aspirations of our inexpressible

desires. A clouded flame licks up the offering of our ruined souls, and

the sacrifice vanishes in the sable smoke of Death.

But where are his thoughts wandering? Had he forgotten that day of

darkest despair? There had that happened to him which had happened to no

other man. He was roused from his reverie by the sound of a trotting

horse. He looked up, but the winding road prevented him at first from

seeing the steed which evidently was approaching. The sound came nearer

and nearer; and at length, turning a corner, Mr. Beckendorff came in

sight. He was mounted on a strong-built, rough, and ugly pony, with an

obstinate mane, which, defying the exertion’s of the groom, fell in

equal divisions on both sides of its bottle neck, and a large white

face, which, combined with its blinking vision, had earned for it the

euphonious title of Owlface. Both master and steed must have travelled

hard and far, for both were covered with dust and mud from top to toe,

from mane to hoof. Mr. Beckendorff seemed surprised at meeting Vivian,

and pulled up his pony as he reached him.

“An early riser, I see, sir. Where is Mr. von Philipson?”

“I have not yet seen him, and imagined that both he and yourself had not

yet risen.”

“Hum! how many hours is it to noon?” asked Mr. Beckendorff, who always

spoke astronomically.

“More than four, I imagine.”

“Pray do you prefer the country about here to Turriparva?”

“Both, I think, are beautiful.”

“You live at Turriparva?” asked Mr. Beckendorff.

“As a guest,” answered Vivian.

“Has it been a fine summer at Turriparva?”

“I believe everywhere.”

“I am afraid Mr. von Philipson finds it rather dull here?”

“I am not aware of it.”

“He seems a ve-ry--?” said Beckendorff, looking keenly in his

companion’s face. But Vivian did not supply the desired phrase; and so

the Minister was forced to finish the sentence himself, “a very

gentlemanlike sort of man?” A low bow was the only response.

“I trust, sir, I may indulge the hope,” continued Mr. Beckendorff, “that

you will honour me with your company another day.”

“You are exceedingly obliging!”

“Mr. von Philipson is fond, I think, of a country life?” said

Beckendorff.

“Most men are.”

“I suppose he has no innate objection to live occasionally in a city?”

“Few have.”

“You probably have known him long?”

“Not long enough to wish our acquaintance at an end.”

“Hum!”

They proceeded in silence for some moments, and then Beckendorff again

turned round, and this time with a direct question.

“I wonder if Mr. Von Philipson can make it convenient to honour me with

his company another day. Can you tell me?”

“I think the best person to inform you of that would be his Highness

himself,” said Vivian, using his friend’s title purposely to show Mr.

Beckendorff how ridiculous he considered his present use of the

incognito.

“You think so, sir, do you?” answered Beckendorff, sarcastically.

They had now arrived at the gate by which Vivian had reached the road.

“Your course, sir,” said Mr. Beckendorff, “lies that way. I see, like

myself, you are no great talker. We shall meet at breakfast.” So saying,

the Minister set spurs to his pony, and was soon out of sight.

When Vivian reached the house, he found the bow window of the library

thrown open, and as he approached he saw Mr. Beckendorff enter the room

and bow to the prince. His Highness had passed a good night in spite of

not sleeping in a bed, and he was at this moment commencing a delicious

breakfast. His ill-humour had consequently vanished. He had made up his

mind that Beckendorff was mad; and although he had given up all the

secret and flattering hopes which he had dared to entertain when the

interview was first arranged, he nevertheless did not regret his visit,

which on the whole had been amusing, and had made him acquainted with

the person and habits, and, as he believed, the intellectual powers of a

man with whom, most probably, he should soon be engaged in open

hostility. Vivian took his seat at the breakfast, table, and Beckendorff

stood conversing with them with his back to the fireplace, and

occasionally, during the pauses of conversation, pulling the strings of

his violin with his fingers. It did not escape Vivian’s observation that

the Minister was particularly courteous and even attentive to the

Prince; and that he endeavoured by his quick and more communicative

answers, and occasionally by a stray observation, to encourage the good

humour visible on the cheerful countenance of his guest.

“Have you been long up, Mr. Beckendorff?” asked the Prince; for his host

had resumed his dressing-gown and slippers.

“I generally see the sun rise.”

“And yet you retire late! out riding last night, I understand?”

“I never go to bed.”

“Indeed!” said the Prince. “Well, for my part, without my regular rest I

am nothing. Have you breakfasted, Mr. Beckendorff?”

“Clara will bring my breakfast immediately.”

The dame accordingly soon appeared, bearing a tray with a basin of

boiling water and one large thick biscuit. This Mr. Beckendorff, having

well soaked in the hot fluid, eagerly devoured; and then taking up his

violin, amused himself until his guests had finished their breakfast.

When Vivian had ended his meal he left the Prince and Beckendorff alone,

determined that his presence should not be the occasion of the Minister

any longer retarding the commencement of business. The Prince, who by a

private glance had been prepared for his departure, immediately took the

opportunity of asking Mr. Beckendorff, in a decisive tone, whether he

might flatter himself that he could command his present attention to a

subject of importance. Mr. Beckendorff said that he was always at Mr.

von Philipson’s service; and drawing a chair opposite him, the Prince

and Mr. Beckendorff now sat on each side of the fireplace.

“Hem!” said the Prince, clearing his throat; and he looked at Mr.

Beckendorff, who sat with his heels close together, his toes out square,

his hands resting on his knees, which, as well as his elbows, were

turned out, his shoulders bent, his head reclined, and his

eyes glancing.

“Hem!” said the Prince of Little Lilliput. “In compliance, Mr.

Beckendorff, with your wish, developed in the communication received by

me on the--inst., I assented in my answer to the arrangement then

proposed; the object of which was, to use your own words, to facilitate

the occurrence of an oral interchange of the sentiments of various

parties interested in certain proceedings, by which interchange it was

anticipated that the mutual interests might be respectively considered

and finally arranged. Prior, Mr. Beckendorff, to either of us going into

any detail upon those points of probable discussion, which will, in all

likelihood, form the fundamental features of this interview, I wish to

recall your attention to the paper which I had the honour of presenting

to his Royal Highness, and which is alluded to in your communication of

the--last. The principal heads of that document I have brought with me,

abridged in this paper.”

Here the Prince handed to Mr. Beckendorff a MS. pamphlet, consisting of

several sheets closely written. The Minister bowed very graciously as he

took it from his Highness’ hand, and then, without even looking at it,

laid it on the table.

“You, sir, I perceive,” continued the Prince, “are acquainted with its

contents; and it will therefore be unnecessary for me at present to

expatiate upon their individual expediency, or to argue for their

particular adoption. And, sir, when we observe the progress of the human

mind, when we take into consideration the quick march of intellect, and

the wide expansion of enlightened views and liberal principles; when we

take a bird’s-eye view of the history of man from the earliest ages to

the present moment, I feel that it would be folly in me to conceive for

an instant that the measures developed and recommended in that paper

will not finally receive the approbation of his Royal Highness. As to

the exact origin of slavery, Mr. Beckendorff, I confess that I am not,

at this moment, prepared distinctly to speak. That the Divine Author of

our religion was its decided enemy, I am informed, is clear. That the

slavery of ancient times was the origin of the feudal service of a more

modern period, is a point on which men of learning have not precisely

made up their minds. With regard to the exact state of the ancient

German people, Tacitus affords us a great deal of most interesting

information. Whether or not, certain passages which I have brought with

me marked in the Germania are incontestable evidences that our ancestors

enjoyed or understood the practice of a wise and well-regulated

representative system, is a point on which I shall be happy to receive

the opinion of so distinguished a statesman as Mr. Beckendorff. In

stepping forward, as I have felt it my duty to do, as the advocate of

popular rights and national privileges, I am desirous to prove that I

have not become the votary of innovation and the professor of

revolutionary doctrines. The passages of the Roman author in question,

and an ancient charter of the Emperor Charlemagne, are, I consider,

decisive and sufficient precedents for the measures which I have thought

proper to sanction by my approval, and to support by my influence. A

minister, Mr. Beckendorff, must take care that in the great race of

politics the minds of his countrymen do not leave his own behind them.

We must never forget the powers and capabilities of man. On this very

spot, perhaps, some centuries ago, savages clothed in skins were

committing cannibalism in a forest. We must not forget, I repeat, that

it is the business to those to whom Providence has allotted the

responsible possession of power and influence (that it is their duty,

our duty, Mr. Beckendorff), to become guardians of our weaker

fellow-creatures; that all power is a trust; that we are accountable for

its exercise; that from the people, and for the people, all springs, and

all must exist; and that, unless we conduct ourselves with the requisite

wisdom, prudence, and propriety, the whole system of society will be

disorganised; and this country, in particular, will fall a victim to

that system of corruption and misgovernment which has already occasioned

the destruction of the great kingdoms mentioned in the Bible, and many

other states besides, Greece, Rome, Carthage, &c.”

Thus ended the peroration of an harangue consisting of an incoherent

arrangement of imperfectly-remembered facts and misunderstood

principles; all gleaned by his Highness from the enlightening articles

of the Reisenburg journals. Like Brutus, the Prince of Little Lilliput

paused for a reply.

“Mr. von Philipson,” said his companion, when his Highness had finished,

“you speak like a man of sense.” Having given this answer, Mr.

Beckendorff rose from his seat and walked straight out of the room.

The Prince at first took the answer for a compliment; but Mr.

Beckendorff not returning, he began to have a faint idea that he was

neglected. In this uncertainty he rang the bell for his friend Clara.

“Mrs. Clara! where is your master?”

“Just gone out, sir.”

“How do you mean?”

“He has gone out with his gun, sir.”

“You are quite sure he has--gone out?”

“Quite sure, sir. I took him his coat and boots myself.”

“I am to understand, then, that your master has gone out?”

“Yes, sir; Mr. Beckendorff has gone out. He will be home for his noon

meal.”

“That is enough! Grey!’ called out the indignant Prince, darting into

the garden.

“Well, my dear Prince,” said Vivian, “what can possibly be the matter?”

“The matter! Insanity can be the only excuse; insanity can alone account

for his preposterous conduct. We have seen enough of him. The repetition

of absurdity is only wearisome. Pray assist me in getting our horses

immediately.”

“Certainly, if you wish it; but remember you brought me here as your

friend and counsellor. As I have accepted the trust, I cannot help being

sensible of the responsibility. Before, therefore, you finally resolve

upon departure, pray let me be fully acquainted with the circumstances

which have impelled you to this sudden resolution.”

“Willingly, my good friend, could I only command my temper; and yet to

fall into a passion with a madman is almost a mark of madness. But his

manner and his conduct are so provoking and so puzzling, that I cannot

altogether repress my irritability. And that ridiculous incognito! Why I

sometimes begin to think that I really am Mr. von Philipson! An

incognito forsooth! for what? to deceive whom? His household apparently

only consists of two persons, one of whom has visited me in my own

castle; and the other is a cross old hag, who would not be able to

comprehend my rank if she were aware of it. But to the point! When you

left the room I was determined to be trifled with no longer, and I asked

him, in a firm voice and very marked manner, whether I might command his

immediate attention to important business. He professed to be at my

service. I opened the affair by taking a cursory, yet definite, review

of the principles in which my political conduct had originated, and on

which it was founded. I flattered myself that I had produced an

impression. Sometimes we are in a better cue for these expositions than

at others, and to-day I was really unusually felicitous. My memory never

deserted. I was at the same time luminous and profound; and while I was

guided by the philosophical spirit of the present day, I showed, by my

various reading, that I respected the experience of antiquity. In

short, I was satisfied with myself; and with the exception of one single

point about the origin of slavery, which unfortunately got entangled

with the feudal system, I could not have got on better had Sievers

himself been at my side. Nor did I spare Mr. Beckendorff; but, on the

contrary, I said a few things which, had he been in his senses, must, I

imagine, have gone home. Do you know I finished by drawing his own

character, and showing the inevitable effects of his ruinous policy: and

what do you think he did?”

“Left you in a passion?”

“Not at all. He seemed much struck by what I had said, and apparently

understood it. I have heard that in some species of insanity the patient

is perfectly able to comprehend everything addressed to him, though at

that point his sanity ceases, and he is unable to answer or to act. This

must be Beckendorff’s case; for no sooner had I finished than he rose up

immediately, and, saying that I spoke like a man of sense, abruptly

quitted the room. The housekeeper says he will not be at home again till

that infernal ceremony takes place called the noon meal. Now, do you not

advise me to be off as soon as possible?”

“It will require some deliberation. Pray did you not speak to him last

night?”

“Ah! I forgot that I had not been able to speak to you since then. Well!

last night, what do you think he did? When you were gone, he had the

insolence to congratulate me on the opportunity then afforded of playing

double dummy; and when I declined his proposition, but said that if he

wished to have an hour’s conversation I was at his service, he coolly

told me that he never talked, and bade me good night! Did you ever know

such a madman? He never goes to bed. I only had a sofa. How the deuce

did you sleep?”

“Well and safely, considering that I was in a summer-house without lock

or bolt.”

“Well! I need not ask you now as to your opinion of our immediately

getting off. We shall have, however, some trouble about our horses, for

he will not allow a quadruped near the house, except some monster of an

animal that he rides himself; and, by St. Hubert! I cannot find out

where our steeds are. What shall we do?” But Vivian did not answer.

“What are you thinking of?” continued his Highness. “Why don’t

you answer?”

“Your Highness must not go,” said Vivian, shaking his head.

“Not go! Why so?”

“Depend upon it you are wrong about Beckendorff. That he is a humorist

there is no doubt; but it appears to me to be equally clear that his

queer habits and singular mode of life are not of late adoption. What

he is now he must have been these ten, perhaps these twenty years,

perhaps more; of this there are a thousand proofs about us. As to the

overpowering cause which has made him the character he appears at

present, it is needless for us to inquire; probably some incident in his

private life in all likelihood connected with the mysterious picture.

Let us be satisfied with the effect. If the case be as I state it in his

private life and habits, Beckendorff must have been equally

incomprehensible and equally singular at the very time that, in his

public capacity, he was producing such brilliant results as at the

present moment. Now then, can we believe him to be insane? I anticipate

your objections. I know you will enlarge upon the evident absurdity of

his inviting his political opponent to his house for a grave

consultation on the most important affairs, and then treating him as he

has done you, when it must be clear to him that you cannot be again

duped, and when he must feel that, were he to amuse you for as many

weeks as he has days, your plans and your position would not be

injuriously affected. Be it so; probably a humorist like Beckendorff

cannot, even in the most critical moment, altogether restrain the bent

of his capricious inclinations. However, my dear Prince, I will lay no

stress upon this point. My opinion, indeed my conviction, is that

Beckendorff acts from design. I have considered his conduct well, and I

have observed all that you have seen, and more than you have seen, and

keenly; depend upon it that since you assented to the interview

Beckendorff has been obliged to shift his intended position for

negotiation; some of the machinery has gone wrong. Fearful, if he had

postponed your visit, you should imagine that he was only again amusing

you, and consequently would listen to no future overtures, he has

allowed you to attend a conference for which he is not prepared. That he

is making desperate exertions to bring the business to a point is my

firm opinion; and you would perhaps agree with me were you as convinced

as I am that, since we parted last night, our host has been to

Reisenburg and back again.”

“To Reisenburg and back again!”

“Ay! I rose this morning at an early hour, and imagining that both you

and Beckendorff had not yet made your appearance, I escaped from the

grounds, intending to explore part of the surrounding country. In my

stroll I came to a narrow winding road, which I am convinced lies in the

direction towards Reisenburg; there, for some reason or other, I

loitered more than an hour, and very probably should have been too late

for breakfast had not I been recalled to myself by the approach of a

horseman. It was Beckendorff, covered with dust and mud; his horse had

been evidently hard ridden. I did not think much of it at the time,

because I supposed he might have been out for three or four hours and

hard worked, but I nevertheless was struck by his appearance; and when

you mentioned that he went out riding at a late hour last night, it

immediately occurred to me that had he come home at one or two o’clock

it was not very probable that he would have gone out again at four or

five. I have no doubt that my conjecture is correct; Beckendorff has

been to Reisenburg.”

“You have placed this business in a new and important light,” said the

Prince, his expiring hopes reviving; “what then do you advise me to do?”

“To be quiet. If your own view of the case be right, you can act as well

to-morrow or the next day as this moment; on the contrary, if mine be

the correct one, a moment may enable Beckendorff himself to bring

affairs to a crisis. In either case I should recommend you to be silent,

and in no manner to allude any more to the object of your visit. If you

speak you only give opportunities to Beckendorff of ascertaining your

opinions and your inclinations; and your silence, after such frequent

attempts on your side to promote discussion upon business, will soon be

discovered by him to be systematic. This will not decrease his opinion

of your sagacity and firmness. The first principle of negotiation is to

make your adversary respect you.”

After long consultation the Prince determined to follow Vivian’s advice;

and so firmly did he adhere to his purpose that when he met Mr.

Beckendorff at the noon meal, he asked him, with a very unembarrassed

voice and manner, “what sport he had had in the morning.”

The noon meal again consisted of a single dish, as exquisitely dressed,

however, as the preceding one. It was a haunch of venison.

“This is my dinner, gentlemen,” said Beckendorff; “let it be your

luncheon. I have ordered your dinner at sunset.”

After having eaten a slice of the haunch, Mr. Beckendorff rose from the

table and said, “We will have our wine in the drawing-room, Mr. von

Philipson, and then you will not be disturbed by my birds.”

He left the room.

To the drawing-room, therefore, his two guests soon adjourned; they

found him busily employed with his pencil. The Prince thought it must be

a chart, or a fortification at least, and was rather surprised when Mr.

Beckendorff asked him the magnitude of Mirac in Boötes; and the Prince

confessing his utter ignorance of the subject, the Minister threw aside

his unfinished planisphere and drew his chair to them at the table. It

was with satisfaction that his Highness perceived a bottle of his

favourite Tokay; and with no little astonishment he observed that to-day

there were three wine glasses placed before them. They were of peculiar

beauty, and almost worthy, for their elegant shapes and great antiquity,

of being included in the collection of the Grand Duke of Johannisberger.

After exhausting their bottle, in which they were assisted to the extent

of one glass by their host, who drank Mr. von Philipson’s health with

cordiality, they assented to Mr. Beckendorff’s proposition of visiting

his fruitery.

To the Prince’s great relief, dinner-time soon arrived; and having

employed a couple of hours on that meal very satisfactorily, he and

Vivian adjourned to the drawing-room, having previously pledged their

honour to each other that nothing should again induce them to play dummy

whist. Their resolutions and their promises were needless. Mr.

Beckendorff, who was sitting opposite the fire when they came into the

room, neither by word nor motion acknowledged that he was aware of their

entrance. Vivian found refuge in a book; and the Prince, after having

examined and re-examined the brilliant birds that figured on the

drawing-room paper, fell asleep upon the sofa. Mr. Beckendorff took down

the guitar, and accompanied himself in a low voice for some time; then

he suddenly ceased, and stretching out his legs, and supporting his

thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, he leant back in his chair and

remained motionless, with his eyes fixed upon the picture. Vivian, in

turn, gazed upon this singular being and the fair pictured form which

he seemed to idolise. Was he, too, unhappy? Had he, too, been bereft in

the hour of his proud and perfect joy? Had he, too, lost a virgin bride?

His agony overcame him, the book fell from his hand, and he sighed

aloud! Mr. Beckendorff started, and the Prince awoke. Vivian,

confounded, and unable to overpower his emotions, uttered some hasty

words, explanatory, apologetical, and contradictory, and retired. In his

walk to the summer-house a man passed him. In spite of a great cloak,

Vivian recognised him as their messenger and guide; and his ample mantle

did not conceal his riding boots and the spurs which glistened in the

moonlight.

It was an hour past midnight when the door of the summer-house softly

opened and Mr. Beckendorff entered. He started when he found Vivian

still undressed, and pacing up and down the little chamber. The young

man made an effort, when he witnessed an intruder, to compose a

countenance whose agitation could not be concealed.

“What, are you up again?” said Mr. Beckendorff. “Are you ill?”

“Would I were as well in mind as in body! I have not yet been to rest.

We cannot command our feelings at all moments, sir; and at this,

especially, I felt that I had a right to count upon being alone.”

“I exceedingly regret that I have disturbed you,” said Mr. Beckendorff,

in a kind voice, and in a manner which responded to the sympathy of his

tone. “I thought that you had been long asleep. There is a star which I

cannot exactly make out. I fancy it must be a comet, and so I ran to the

observatory; but let me not disturb you;” and Mr. Beckendorff

was retiring.

“You do not disturb me, sir. I cannot sleep: pray ascend.”

“Never mind the star. But if you really have no inclination to sleep,

let us sit down and have a little conversation; or perhaps we had better

take a stroll. It is a warm night.” As he spoke, Mr. Beckendorff gently

put his arm within Vivian’s, and led him down the steps.

“Are you an astronomer, sir?” asked Beckendorff.

“I can tell the Great Bear from the Little Dog; but I confess that I

look upon the stars rather in a poetical than a scientific spirit.”

“Hum! I confess I do not.”

“There are moments,” continued Vivian, “when I cannot refrain from

believing that these mysterious luminaries have more influence over our

fortunes than modern times are disposed to believe. I feel that I am

getting less sceptical, perhaps I should say more credulous, every day;

but sorrow makes us superstitious.”

“I discard all such fantasies,” said Mr. Beckendorff; “they only tend to

enervate our mental energies and paralyse all human exertion. It is the

belief in these, and a thousand other deceits I could mention, which

teach man that he is not the master of his own mind, but the ordained

victim or the chance sport of circumstances, that makes millions pass

through life unimpressive as shadows, and has gained for this existence

the stigma of a vanity which it does not deserve.”

“I wish that I could think as you do,” said Vivian; “but the experience

of my life forbids me. Within only these last two years my career has,

in so many instances, indicated that I am not the master of my own

conduct; that no longer able to resist the conviction which is hourly

impressed on me, I recognise in every contingency the preordination

of my fate.”

“A delusion of the brain!” said Beckendorff, quickly. “Fate, Destiny,

Chance, particular and special Providence; idle words! Dismiss them all,

sir! A man’s fate is his own temper; and according to that will be his

opinion as to the particular manner in which the course of events is

regulated. A consistent man believes in Destiny, a capricious man

in Chance.”

“But, sir, what is a man’s temper? It may be changed every hour. I

started in life with very different feelings from those which I profess

at this moment. With great deference to you, I imagine that you mistake

the effect for the cause; for surely temper is not the origin, but the

result of those circumstances of which we are all the creatures.”

“Sir, I deny it. Man is not the creature of circumstances. Circumstances

are the creatures of men. We are free agents, and man is more powerful

than matter. I recognise no intervening influence between that of the

established course of nature and my own mind. Truth may be distorted,

may be stifled, be suppressed. The invention of cunning deceits may, and

in most instances does, prevent man from exercising his own powers. They

have made him responsible to a realm of shadows, and a suitor in a court

of shades. He is ever dreading authority which does not exist, and

fearing the occurrence of penalties which there are none to enforce.

But the mind that dares to extricate itself from these vulgar

prejudices, that proves its loyalty to its Creator by devoting all its

adoration to His glory; such a spirit as this becomes a master-mind, and

that master-mind will invariably find that circumstances are

its slaves.”

“Mr. Beckendorff, yours is a bold philosophy, of which I myself was once

a votary. How successful in my service you may judge by finding me a

wanderer.”

“Sir! your present age is the age of error: your whole system is founded

on a fallacy: you believe that a man’s temper can change. I deny it. If

you have ever seriously entertained the views which I profess; if, as

you lead me to suppose, you have dared to act upon them, and failed;

sooner or later, whatever may be your present conviction and your

present feelings, you will recur to your original wishes and your

original pursuits. With a mind experienced and matured, you may in all

probability be successful; and then I suppose, stretching your legs in

your easy-chair, you will at the same moment be convinced of your own

genius, and recognise your own Destiny!”

“With regard to myself, Mr. Beckendorff, I am convinced of the

erroneousness of your views. It is my opinion that no one who has dared

to think can look upon this world in any other than a mournful spirit.

Young as I am, nearly two years have elapsed since, disgusted with the

world of politics, I retired to a foreign solitude. At length, with

passions subdued, and, as I flatter myself, with a mind matured,

convinced of the vanity of all human affairs, I felt emboldened once

more partially to mingle with my species. Bitter as my lot had been, I

had discovered the origin of my misery in my own unbridled passions;

and, tranquil and subdued, I now trusted to pass through life as certain

of no fresh sorrows as I was of no fresh joys. And yet, sir, I am at

this moment sinking under the infliction of unparalleled misery; misery

which I feel I have a right to believe was undeserved. But why expatiate

to a stranger on sorrow which must be secret? I deliver myself up to my

remorseless Fate.”

“What is grief?” said Mr. Beckendorff; “if it be excited by the fear of

some contingency, instead of grieving, a man should exert his energies

and prevent its occurrence. If, on the contrary, it be caused by an

event, that which has been occasioned by anything human, by the

co-operation of human circumstances, can be, and invariably is, removed

by the same means. Grief is the agony of an instant; the indulgence of

Grief the blunder of a life. Mix in the world, and in a month’s time you

will speak to me very differently. A young man, you meet with

disappointment; in spite of all your exalted notions of your own powers,

you immediately sink under it. If your belief of your powers were

sincere, you should have proved it by the manner in which you have

struggled against adversity, not merely by the mode in which you

laboured for advancement. The latter is but a very inferior merit. If,

in fact, you wish to succeed, success, I repeat, is at your command. You

talk to me of your experience; and do you think that my sentiments are

the crude opinions of an unpractised man? Sir! I am not fond of

conversing with any person, and therefore far from being inclined to

maintain an argument in a spirit of insincerity merely for the sake of a

victory of words. Mark what I say: it is truth. No Minister ever yet

fell but from his own inefficiency. If his downfall be occasioned, as it

generally is, by the intrigues of one of his own creatures, his downfall

is merited for having been the dupe of a tool which in all probability

he should never have employed. If he fall through the open attacks of

his political opponents, his downfall is equally deserved for having

occasioned by his impolicy the formation of a party, for having allowed

it to be formed, or for not having crushed it when formed. No conjecture

can possibly occur, however fearful, however tremendous it may appear,

from which a man, by his own energy, may not extricate himself, as a

mariner by the rattling of his cannon can dissipate the impending

water-spout!”

CHAPTER VIII

It was on the third day of the visit to Mr. Beckendorff, just as that

gentleman was composing his mind after his noon meal with his favourite

Cremona, and in a moment of rapture raising his instrument high in the

air, that the door was suddenly dashed open, and Essper George rushed

into the room. The intruder, the moment that his eye caught Vivian, flew

to his master, and, seizing him by the arm, commenced and continued a

loud shout of exultation, accompanying his scream the whole time by a

kind of quick dance, which, though not quite as clamorous as the

Pyrrhic, nevertheless completely drowned the scientific harmony of Mr.

Beckendorff.

So astounded were the three gentlemen by this unexpected entrance, that

some moments elapsed ere either of them found words at his command. At

length the master of the house spoke.

“Mr. von Philipson, I beg the favour of being informed who this person

is?”

The Prince did not answer, but looked at Vivian in great distress; and

just as our hero was about to give Mr. Beckendorff the requisite

information, Essper George, taking up the parable himself, seized the

opportunity of explaining the mystery.

“Who am I? who are you? I am an honest man, and no traitor; and if all

were the same, why, then, there would be no rogues in Reisenburg. Who am

I? A man. There’s an arm! there’s a leg! Can you see through a wood by

twilight? If so, yours is a better eye than mine. Can you eat an

unskinned hare, or dine on the haunch of a bounding stag? If so, your

teeth are sharper than mine. Can you hear a robber’s footstep when he’s

kneeling before murder? or can you listen to the snow falling on

Midsummer’s day? If so, your ears are finer than mine. Can you run with

a chamois? can you wrestle with a bear? can you swim with an otter? If

so, I’m your match. How many cities have you seen? how many knaves have

you gulled? Which is dearest, bread or justice? Why do men pay more for

the protection of life than life itself? Is cheatery a staple at

Constantinople, as it is at Vienna? and what’s the difference between a

Baltic merchant and a Greek pirate? Tell me all this, and I will tell

you who went in mourning in the moon at the death of the last comet. Who

am I, indeed!”

The embarrassment of the Prince and Vivian while Essper George addressed

to Mr. Beckendorff these choice queries was indescribable. Once Vivian

tried to check him, but in vain. He did not repeat his attempt, for he

was sufficiently employed in restraining his own agitation and keeping

his own countenance; for in spite of the mortification and anger that

Essper’s appearance had excited in him, still an unfortunate but innate

taste for the ludicrous did not allow him to be perfectly insensible to

the humour of the scene. Mr. Beckendorff listened quietly till Essper

had finished; he then rose.

“Mr. von Philipson,” said he, “as a personal favour to yourself, and to

my own great inconvenience, I consented that in this interview you

should be attended by a friend. I did not reckon upon your servant, and

it is impossible that I can tolerate his presence for a moment. You know

how I live, and that my sole attendant is a female. I allow no male

servants within this house. Even when his Royal Highness honours me with

his presence he is unattended. I desire that I am immediately released

from the presence of this buffoon.”

So saying, Mr. Beckendorff left the room.

“Who are you?” said Essper, following him, with his back bent, his head

on his chest, and his eyes glancing. The imitation was perfect.

“Essper,” said Vivian, “your conduct is inexcusable, the mischief that

you have done irreparable, and your punishment shall be severe.”

“Severe! Why, what day did my master sell his gratitude for a silver

groschen! Is this the return for finding you out, and saving you from a

thousand times more desperate gang than that Baron at Ems! Severe indeed

will be your lot when you are in a dungeon in Reisenburg Castle, with

black bread for roast venison and sour water for Rhenish!”

“Why, what are you talking about?”

“Talking about! About treason, and arch traitors, and an old scoundrel

who lives in a lone lane, and dares not look you straight in the face.

Why, his very blink is enough to hang him without trial!”

“Essper, cease immediately this rhodomontade, and then in distinct terms

inform his Highness and myself of the causes of this unparalleled

intrusion.”

The impressiveness of Vivian’s manner produced a proper effect; and

except that he spoke somewhat affectedly slow and ridiculously precise,

Essper George delivered himself with great clearness.

“You see, sir, you never let me know that you were going to leave, and

so when I found that you did not come back, I made bold to speak to Mr.

Arnelm when he came home from hunting; but I could not get enough breath

out of him to stop a ladybird on a rose-leaf. I did not much like it,

your honour, for I was among strangers, and so were you, you know. Well,

then, I went to Master Rodolph: he was very kind to me, and seeing me in

low spirits, and thinking me, I suppose, in love, or in debt, or that I

had done some piece of mischief, or had something or other preying on

my mind, he comes to me, and says, ‘Essper,’ said he; you remember

Master Rodolph’s voice, sir?”

“To the point. Never let me hear Master Rodolph’s name again.”

“Yes, sir! Well, well! he said to me, ‘Come and dine with me in my

room;’ says I, ‘I will.’ A good offer should never be refused, unless we

have a better one at the same time. Whereupon, after dinner, Master

Rodolph said to me, ‘We will have a bottle of Burgundy for a treat.’ You

see, sir, we were rather sick of the Rhenish. Well, sir, we were free

with the wine; and Master Rodolph, who is never easy except when he

knows everything, must be trying, you see, to get out of me what it was

that made me so down in the mouth. I, seeing this, thought I would put

off the secret to another bottle; which being produced, I did not

conceal from him any longer what was making me so low. ‘Rodolph,’ said

I, ‘I do not like my young master going out in this odd way: he is of a

temper to get into scrapes, and I should like very much to know what he

and the Prince (saving your Highness’ presence) are after. They have

been shut up in that cabinet these two nights, and though I walked by

the door pretty often, devil a bit of a word ever came through the

key-hole; and so you see, Rodolph,’ said I, ‘it requires a bottle or two

of Burgundy to keep my spirits up.’ Well, your Highness, strange to say,

no sooner had I spoken than Master Rodolph put his head across the

little table; we dined at the little table on the right hand of the room

as you enter--”

“Go on.”

“I am going on. Well! he put his head across the little table, and said

to me in a low whisper, cocking his odd-looking eye at the same time, ‘I

tell you what, Essper, you are a deuced sharp fellow!’ and so, giving a

shake of his head and another wink of his eye, he was quiet. I smelt a

rat, but I did not begin to pump directly; but after the third bottle,

‘Rodolph,’ said I, ‘with regard to your last observation (for we had not

spoken lately, Burgundy being too fat a wine for talking), we are both

of us sharp fellows. I dare say, now, you and I are thinking of the same

thing.’ ‘No doubt of it,’ said Rodolph. And so, sir, he agreed to tell

me what he was thinking of, on condition that I should be equally frank

afterwards. Well, then, he told me that there were sad goings on at

Turriparva.”

“The deuce!” said the Prince.

“Let him tell his story,” said Vivian.

“Sad goings on at Turriparva! He wished that his Highness would hunt

more and attend less to politics; and then he told me, quite

confidentially, that his Highness the Prince, and Heaven knows how many

other Princes besides, had leagued together, and were going to dethrone

the Grand Duke, and that his master was to be made King, and he, Master

Rodolph, Prime Minister. Hearing all this, and duly allowing for a tale

over a bottle, I made no doubt, as I find to be the case, that you, good

master, were about to be led into some mischief; and as I know that

conspiracies are always unsuccessful, I have done my best to save my

master; and I beseech you, upon my knees, to get out of the scrape as

soon as you possibly can.” Here Essper George threw himself at Vivian’s

feet, and entreated him to quit the house immediately.

“Was ever anything so absurd and so mischievous!” ejaculated the Prince;

and then he conversed with Vivian for some time in a whisper. “Essper,”

at length Vivian said, “you have committed one of the most perfect and

most injurious blunders that you could possibly perpetrate. The mischief

which may result from your imprudent conduct is incalculable. How long

is it since you have thought proper to regulate your conduct on the

absurd falsehoods of a drunken steward? His Highness and myself wish to

consult in private; but on no account leave the house. Now mind me; if

you leave this house without my permission, you forfeit the little

chance which remains of being retained in my service.”

“Where am I to go, sir?”

“Stay in the passage.”

“Suppose” (here he imitated Beckendorff) “comes to me.”

“Then open the door and come into this room.”

“Well,” said the Prince, when the door was at length shut, “one thing is

quite clear. He does not know who Beckendorff is.”

“So far satisfactory; but I feel the force of your Highness’

observations. It is a most puzzling case. To send him back to Turriparva

would be madness: the whole affair would be immediately revealed over

another bottle of Burgundy with Master Rodolph; in fact, your Highness’

visit would be a secret to no one in the country, your host would be

soon discovered, and the evil consequences are incalculable. I know no

one to send him to at Reisenburg; and if I did, it appears to me that

the same objections equally apply to his proceeding to that city as to

his returning to Turriparva. What is to be done? Surely some demon must

have inspired him. We cannot now request Beckendorff to allow him to

stay here; and if we did, I am convinced, from his tone and manner, that

nothing could induce him to comply with our wish. The only course to be

pursued is certainly an annoying one; but, so far as I can judge, it is

the only mode by which very serious mischief can be prevented. Let me

proceed forthwith to Reisenburg with Essper. Placed immediately under my

eye, and solemnly adjured by me to silence, I think I can answer,

particularly when I give him a gentle hint of the station of

Beckendorff, for his preserving the confidence with which it will now be

our policy partially to entrust him. It is, to say the least, awkward

and distressing to leave you alone; but what is to be done? It does not

appear that I can now be of any material service to you. I have assisted

you as much as, and more than, we could reasonably have supposed it

would have been in my power to have done, by throwing some light upon

the character and situation of Beckendorff. With the clue to his conduct

which my chance meeting with him yesterday morning has afforded us, the

only point for your Highness to determine is as to the length of time

you will resolve to wait for his communication. As to your final

agreement together, with your Highness’ settled views and decided

purpose, all the difficulty of negotiation will be on his side.

Whatever, my dear Prince,” continued Vivian, with a significant voice

and marked emphasis, “whatever, my dear Prince, may be your secret

wishes, be assured that to attain them in your present negotiation you

have only to be firm. Let nothing divert you from your purpose, and the

termination of this interview must be gratifying to you.”

The Prince of Little Lilliput was very disinclined to part with his

shrewd counsellor, who had already done him considerable service, and he

strongly opposed Vivian’s proposition. His opposition, however, like

that of most other persons, was unaccompanied by any suggestion of his

own. And as both agreed that something must be done, it of course ended

in the Prince being of opinion that Vivian’s advice must be followed.

The Prince was really much affected by this sudden and unexpected

parting with one for whom, though he had known him so short a time, he

began to entertain a sincere regard. “I owe you my life,” said the

Prince, “and perhaps more than my life; and here we are about suddenly

to part, never to meet again. I wish I could get you to make Turriparva

your home. You should have your own suite of rooms, your own horses,

your own servants, and never feel for an instant that you were not

master of all around you. In truth,” continued the Prince, with great

earnestness, “I wish, my dear friend, you would really think seriously

of this. You know you could visit Vienna, and even Italy, and yet return

to me. Max would be delighted to see you: he loves you already; and

Sievers and his library would be at your command. Agree to my

proposition, dear friend.”

“I cannot express to your Highness how sensible I am of your kindness.

Your friendship I sincerely value and shall never forget; but I am too

unhappy and unlucky a being to burden any one with my constant presence.

Adieu! or will you go with me to Beckendorff?”

“Oh, go with you by all means! But,” said the Prince, taking a ruby ring

of great antiquity off his finger, “I should feel happy if you would

wear this for my sake.”

The Prince was so much affected at the thoughts of parting with Vivian

that he could scarcely speak. Vivian accepted the ring with a cordiality

which the kind-hearted donor deserved; and yet our hero unfortunately

had had rather too much experience of the world not to be aware that,

most probably, in less than another week, his affectionate friend would

not be able to recall his name under an hour’s recollection. Such are

friends! The moment that we are not at their side we are neglected, and

the moment that we die we are forgotten!

They found Mr. Beckendorff in his library. In apprising Mr. Beckendorff

of his intention of immediately quitting his roof, Vivian did not omit

to state the cause of his sudden departure. These not only accounted for

the abruptness of his movement, but also gave Beckendorff an opportunity

of preventing its necessity, by allowing Essper to remain. But the

opportunity was not seized by Mr. Beckendorff. The truth was, that

gentleman had a particular wish to see Vivian out of his house. In

allowing the Prince of Little Lilliput to be attended during the

interview by a friend, Beckendorff had prepared himself for the

reception of some brawny Jagd Junker, or some thick-headed chamberlain,

who he reckoned would act rather as an incumbrance than an aid to his

opponent. It was with great mortification therefore, that he found him

accompanied by a shrewd, experienced, wary, and educated Englishman. A

man like Beckendorff soon discovered that Vivian Grey’s was no common

mind. His conversation with him of the last night had given him some

notion of his powers, and the moment that Beckendorff saw Essper George

enter the house he determined that he should be the cause of Vivian

leaving it. There was also another and weighty reason for Mr.

Beckendorff desiring that the Prince of Little Lilliput should at this

moment be left to himself.

“Mr. Grey will ride on to Reisenburg immediately,” said the Prince,

“and, my dear friend, you may depend upon having your luggage by the day

after to-morrow. I shall be at Turriparva early to-morrow, and it will

be my first care.”

This was said in a loud voice, and both gentlemen watched Mr.

Beckendorff’s countenance as the information was given; but no emotion

was visible.

“Well, sir, good morning to you,” said Mr. Beckendorff; “I am sorry you

are going. Had I known it sooner I would have given you a letter. Mr.

von Philipson,” said Beckendorff, “do me the favour of looking over that

paper.” So saying, Mr. Beckendorff put some official report into the

Prince’s hand; and while his Highness’ attention was attracted by this

sudden request, Mr. Beckendorff laid his finger on Vivian’s arm, and

said in a lower tone, “I shall take care that you find a powerful friend

at Reisenburg!”

BOOK VII

CHAPTER I

As Vivian left the room Mr. Beckendorff was seized with an unusual

desire to converse with the Prince of Little Lilliput, and his Highness

was consequently debarred the consolation of walking with his friend as

far as the horses. At the little gate Vivian and Essper encountered the

only male attendant who was allowed to approach the house of Mr.

Beckendorff. As Vivian quietly walked his horse up the rough turf road,

he could not refrain from recurring to his conversation of the previous

night; and when he called to mind the adventures of the last six days,

he had new cause to wonder at, and perhaps to lament over, his singular

fate. In that short time he had saved the life of a powerful Prince, and

being immediately signalled out, without any exertion on his part, as

the object of that Prince’s friendship, the moment he arrives at his

castle, by a wonderful contingency, he becomes the depositary of state

secrets, and assists in a consultation of importance with one of the

most powerful Ministers in Europe. And now the object of so much

friendship, confidence, and honour, he is suddenly on the road to the

capital of the State of which his late host is the Prime Minister and

his friend the chief subject, without even the convenience of a common

letter of introduction; and with little prospect of viewing, with even

the usual advantages of a common traveller, one of the most interesting

of European Courts.

When he had proceeded about halfway up the turf lane he found a private

road to his right, which, with that spirit of adventure for which

Englishmen are celebrated, he immediately resolved must not only lead to

Reisenburg, but also carry him to that city much sooner than the regular

high road. He had not advanced far up this road before he came to the

gate at which he had parted with Beckendorff on the morning that

gentleman had roused him so unexpectedly from, his reverie in a green

lane. He was surprised to find a horseman dismounting at the gate.

Struck by this singular circumstance, the appearance of the stranger was

not unnoticed. He was a tall and well proportioned man, and as the

traveller passed he stared Vivian so fully in the face that our hero did

not fail to remark his handsome countenance, the expression of which,

however, was rather vacant and unpleasing. He was dressed in a

riding-coat exactly similar to the one always worn by Beckendorff’s

messenger, and had Vivian not seen him so distinctly he would have

mistaken him for that person. The stranger was rather indifferently

mounted, and carried his cloak and a small portmanteau at the back of

his saddle.

“I suppose it is the butler,” said Essper George, who now spoke for the

first time since his dismissal from the room. Vivian did not answer him;

not because he entertained any angry feeling on account of his

exceedingly unpleasant visit. By no means: it was impossible for a man

like Vivian Grey to cherish an irritated feeling for a second. But he

did not exchange a syllable with Essper George, merely because he was

not in the humour to speak. He could not refrain from musing on the

singular events of the last few days; and, above all, the character of

Beckendorff particularly engrossed his meditation. Their conversation of

the preceding night excited in his mind new feelings of wonder, and

revived emotions which he thought were dead or everlastingly dormant.

Apparently, the philosophy on which Beckendorff had regulated his

career, and by which he had arrived at his pitch of greatness, was

exactly the same with which he himself, Vivian Grey, had started in

life; which he had found so fatal in its consequences; which he believed

to be so vain in its principles. How was this? What radical error had he

committed? It required little consideration. Thirty, and more than

thirty, years had passed over the head of Beckendorff ere the world felt

his power, or indeed was conscious of his existence. A deep student, not

only of man in detail, but of man in groups; not only of individuals,

but of nations; Beckendorff had hived up his ample knowledge of all

subjects which could interest his fellow-creatures, and when that

opportunity which in this world occurs to all men occurred to

Beckendorff he was prepared. With acquirements equal to his genius,

Beckendorff depended only upon himself, and succeeded. Vivian Grey, with

a mind inferior to no man’s, dashed on the stage, in years a boy, though

in feelings a man. Brilliant as might have been his genius, his

acquirements necessarily were insufficient. He could not depend only

upon himself; a consequent necessity arose to have recourse to the

assistance of others; to inspire them with feelings which they could not

share; and humour and manage the petty weaknesses which he himself could

not experience. His colleagues were, at the same time, to work for the

gratification of their own private interests, the most palpable of all

abstract things; and to carry into execution a great purpose, which

their feeble minds, interested only by the first point, cared not to

comprehend. The unnatural combination failed, and its originator fell.

To believe that he could recur again to the hopes, the feelings, the

pursuits of his boyhood, he felt to be the vainest of delusions. It was

the expectation of a man like Beckendorff, whose career, though

difficult, though hazardous, had been uniformly successful; of a man who

mistook cares for grief, and anxiety for sorrow.

The travellers entered the city at sunset. Proceeding through an ancient

and unseemly town, full of long, narrow, and ill-paved streets, and

black unevenly built houses, they ascended the hill, on the top of which

was situated the new and Residence town of Reisenburg. The proud

palace, the white squares, the architectural streets, the new churches,

the elegant opera house, the splendid hotels, and the gay public

gardens, full of busts, vases, and statues, and surrounded by an iron

railing cast out of the cannon taken from both sides during the war by

the Reisenburg troops, and now formed into pikes and fasces, glittering

with gilded heads: all these, shining in the setting sun, produced an

effect which, at any time and in any place, would have been beautiful

and striking; but on the present occasion were still more so, from the

remarkable contrast they afforded to the ancient, gloomy, and filthy

town through which Vivian had just passed, and where, from the lowness

of its situation, the sun had already set. There was as much difference

between the old and new town of Reisenburg as between the old barbarous

Margrave and the new and noble Grand Duke.

On the second day after his arrival at Reisenburg, Vivian received the

following letter from the Prince of Little Lilliput. His luggage did not

accompany the epistle.

“My Dear Friend,