No, what was it?
One day Moore and Rogers went to call on Denon. Rogers gave their names to the Swiss, Monsieur Rogers et Monsieur Moore. The Swiss dashed open the library door, and, to the great surprise of the illustrious antiquary, announced, Monsieur lAmour! While Denon was doubting whether the God of Love was really paying him a visit or not, Rogers entered. I should like to have seen Denons face!
And Monsieur Denon did take a portrait of Mr. Rogers as Cupid, I believe?
Come, madam, no scandal about Queen Elizabeth. Mr. Rogers is one of the most elegant-minded men in the country.
Nay! do not lecture me with such a laughing face, or else your moral will be utterly thrown away.
Ah! you have Retschs Faust there. I did not expect on a drawing-room table at Château Desir to see anything so old, and so excellent, I thought the third edition of Tremaine would be a very fair specimen of your ancient literature, and Major Denhams hair-breadth escapes of your modern. There was an excellent story about, on the return of Denham and Clapperton. The travellers took different routes, in order to arrive at the same point of destination. In his wanderings the Major came unto an unheard-of Lake, which, with the spirit which they of the Guards surely approved, he christened Lake Waterloo. Clapperton arrived a few days after him; and the pool was immediately re-baptized Lake Trafalgar. There was a hot quarrel in consequence. Now, if I had been there, I would have arranged matters, by proposing as a title, to meet the views of all parties, The United Service Lake.
That would have been happy.
How beautiful Margaret is, said Vivian, rising from his ottoman, and seating himself on the sofa by the lady. I always think that this is the only Personification where Art has not rendered Innocence insipid.
Do you think so?
Why, take Una in the Wilderness, or Goody Two Shoes. These, I believe, were the most innocent persons that ever existed, and I am sure you will agree with me, they always look the most insipid. Nay, perhaps I was wrong in what I said; perhaps it is Insipidity that always looks innocent, not Innocence always insipid.
How can you refine so, when the thermometer is at 100°! Pray, tell me some more stories.
I cannot, I am in a refining humour: I could almost lecture to-day at the Royal Institution. You would not call these exactly Prosopopeias of Innocence? said Vivian, turning over a bundle of Stewart Newtons beauties, languishing, and lithographed. Newton, I suppose, like Lady Wortley Montague, is of opinion, that the face is not the most beautiful part of woman; at least, if I am to judge from these elaborate ankles. Now, the countenance of this Donna, forsooth, has a drowsy placidity worthy of the easy-chair she is lolling in, and yet her ankle would not disgrace the contorted frame of the most pious faquir.
Well! I am an admirer of Newtons paintings.
Oh! so am I. He is certainly a cleverish fellow, but rather too much among the blues; a set, of whom, I would venture to say, Miss Manvers knoweth little about.
Oh, not the least! Mamma does not visit that way. What are they?
Oh, very powerful people! though Mamma does not visit that way. Their words are Ukases as far as Curzon Street, and very Decretals in the general vicinity of May Fair; but you shall have a further description another time. How those rooks bore! I hate staying with ancient families; you are always cawed to death. If ever you write a novel, Miss Manvers, mind you have a rookery in it. Since Tremaine, and Washington Irving, nothing will go down without.
By-the-bye, who is the author of Tremaine?
It is either Mr. Ryder, or Mr. Spencer Percival, or Mr. Dyson, or Miss Dyson, or Mr. Bowles, or the Duke of Buckingham, or Mr. Ward, or a young officer in the Guards, or an old Clergyman in the North of England, or a middle-aged Barrister on the Midland Circuit.
Mr. Grey, I wish you could get me an autograph of Mr. Washington Irving; I want it for a particular friend.
Give me a pen and ink; I will write you one immediately.
Ridiculous!
There! now you have made me blot Faustus.
At this moment the room-door suddenly opened, and as suddenly shut.
Who was that?
Mephistopheles, or Mrs. Felix Lorraine; one or the other, perhaps both.
What!
What do you think of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, Miss Manvers?
Oh! I think her a very amusing woman, a very clever woman a verybut
But what?
But I cannot exactly make her out.
Nor I; she is a dark riddle; and, although I am a very Oedipus, I confess I have not yet unravelled it. Come, there is Washington Irvings autograph for you; read it; is it not quite in character? Shall I write any more? One of Sir Walters, or Mr. Southeys, or Mr. Milmans or Mr. Disraelis? or shall I sprawl a Byron?
I really cannot sanction such unprincipled conduct. You may make me one of Sir Walters, however.
Poor Washington! said Vivian, writing. I knew him well. He always slept at dinner. One day, as he was dining at: Mr. Hallams, they took him, when asleep, to Lady Jerseys: and, to see the Sieur Geoffrey, they say, when he opened his eyes in the illumined saloons, was really quite admirable! quite an Arabian tale!
How delightful! I should have so liked to have seen him! He seems quite forgotten now in England. How came we to talk of him?
Forgotten! Oh! he spoilt his elegant talents in writing German and Italian twaddle with all the rawness of a Yankee. He ought never to have left America, at least in literature; there was an uncontested and glorious field for him. He should have been managing director of the Hudson Bay Company, and lived all his life among the beavers.
I think there is nothing more pleasant than talking over the season, in the country, in August.
Nothing more agreeable. It was dull though, last season, very dull; I think the game cannot be kept going another year. If it were not for the General Election, we really must have a war for varietys sake. Peace gets quite a bore. Everybody you dine with has a good cook, and gives you a dozen different wines, all perfect. We cannot bear this any longer; all the lights and shadows of life are lost. The only good thing I heard this year was an ancient gentlewoman going up to Gunter and asking him for the receipt for that white stuff, pointing to his Roman punch. I, who am a great man for receipts, gave it her immediately: One hod of mortar to one bottle of Noyau.
And did she thank you?
Thank me! ay, truly; and pushed a card into my hand, so thick and sharp that it cut through my glove. I wore my arm in a sling for a month afterwards.
And what was the card?
Oh, you need not look so arch. The old lady was not even a faithless duenna. It was an invitation to an assembly, or something of the kind, at a place, somewhere, as Theodore Hook or Mr. Croker would say, between Mesopotamia and Russell Square.
Pray, Mr. Grey, is it true that all the houses in Russell Square are tenantless?
Quite true; the Marquess of Tavistock has given up the county in consequence. A perfect shame, is it not? Let us write it up.
An admirable plan! but we will take the houses first, at a pepper-corn rent.
What a pity, Miss Manvers, the fashion has gone out of selling oneself to the devil.
Good gracious, Mr. Grey!
On my honour, I am quite serious. It does appear to me to be a very great pity. What a capital plan for younger brothers! It is a kind of thing I have been trying to do all my life, and never could succeed. I began at school with toasted cheese and a pitchfork; and since then I have invoked, with all the eloquence of Goethe, the evil one in the solitude of the Hartz, but without success. I think I should make an excellent bargain with him: of course I do not mean that ugly vulgar savage with a fiery tail. Oh, no! Satan himself for me, a perfect gentleman! Or Belial: Belial would be the most delightful. He is the fine genius of the Inferno, I imagine, the Beranger of Pandemonium.
On my honour, I am quite serious. It does appear to me to be a very great pity. What a capital plan for younger brothers! It is a kind of thing I have been trying to do all my life, and never could succeed. I began at school with toasted cheese and a pitchfork; and since then I have invoked, with all the eloquence of Goethe, the evil one in the solitude of the Hartz, but without success. I think I should make an excellent bargain with him: of course I do not mean that ugly vulgar savage with a fiery tail. Oh, no! Satan himself for me, a perfect gentleman! Or Belial: Belial would be the most delightful. He is the fine genius of the Inferno, I imagine, the Beranger of Pandemonium.
I really cannot listen to such nonsense one moment longer. What would you have if Belial were here?
Let us see. Now, you shall act the spirit, and I, Vivian Grey. I wish we had a short-hand writer here to take down the Incantation Scene. We would send it to Arnold. Commençons: Spirit! I will have a fair castle.
The lady bowed.
I will have a palace in town.
The lady bowed.
I will have a fair wife. Why, Miss Manvers, you forget to bow!
I really beg your pardon!
Come, this is a novel way of making an offer, and, I hope, a successful one.
Julia, my dear, cried a voice in the veranda, Julia, my dear, I want you to walk with me.
Say you are engaged with the Marchioness, whispered Vivian, with a low but distinctvoice; his eyes fixed on the table, and his lips not appearing to move.
Mamma, I am
I want you immediately and particularly, Julia, cried Lady Louisa, in an earnest voice.
I am coming, I am coming. You see I must go.
CHAPTER X
Confusion on that old hag! Her eye looked evil on me, at the very moment! Although a pretty wife is really the destruction of a young mans prospects, still, in the present case, the niece of my friend, my patron, high family, perfectly unexceptionable, &c. &c. &c. Such blue eyes! upon my honour, this must be an exception to the general rule, Here a light step attracted his attention, and, on turning round, he found Mrs. Felix Lorraine at his elbow.
Oh! you are here, Mr. Grey, acting the solitaire in the park! I want your opinion about a passage in Herman and Dorothea.
My opinion is always at your service; but if the passage is not perfectly clear to Mrs. Felix Lorraine, it will be perfectly obscure, I am convinced, to me.
Ah! yes, of course. Oh, dear! after all my trouble, I have forgotten my book. How mortifying! Well, I will show it to you after dinner: adieu! and, by-the-bye, Mr. Grey, as I am here, I may as well advise you not to spoil all the Marquesss timber, by carving a certain persons name on his park trees. I think your plans in that quarter are admirable. I have been walking with Lady Louisa the whole morning, and you cannot think how I puffed you! Courage, Cavalier, and we shall soon be connected, not only in friendship, but in blood.
The next morning, at breakfast, Vivian was surprised to find that the Manvers party was suddenly about to leave the Castle. All were disconsolate at their departure: for there was to be a grand entertainment at Château Desir that very day, but particularly Mrs. Felix Lorraine and Mr. Vivian Grey. The sudden departure was accounted for by the arrival of unexpected, &c. &c. &c. There was no hope; the green post-chariot was at the door, a feeble promise of a speedy return; Julias eyes were filled with tears. Vivian was springing forward to press her hand, and bear her to the carriage, when Mrs. Felix Lorraine seized his arm, vowed she was going to faint, and, ere she could recover herself, or loosen her grasp, the Manvers were gone.
CHAPTER XI
The gloom which the parting had diffused over all countenances was quite dispelled when the Marquess entered.
Lady Carabas, said he, you must prepare for many visitors to-day. There are the Amershams, and Lord Alhambra, and Ernest Clay, and twenty other young heroes, who, duly informed that the Miss Courtowns were honouring us with their presence, are pouring in from all quarters; is it not so, Juliana? gallantly asked the Marquess of Miss Courtown: but who do you think is coming besides?
Who, who? exclaimed all.
Nay, you shall guess, said the Peer.
The Duke of Waterloo? guessed Cynthia Courtown, the romp.
Prince Hungary? asked her sister Laura.
Is it a gentleman? asked Mrs. Felix Lorraine.
No, no, you are all wrong, and all very stupid. It is Mrs. Million.
Oh, how delightful! said Cynthia.
Oh, how annoying! said the Marchioness.
You need not look so agitated, my love, said the Marquess; I have written to Mrs. Million to say that we shall be most happy to see her; but as the castle is very full, she must not come with five carriages-and-four, as she did last year.
And will Mrs. Million dine with us in the Hall, Marquess? asked Cynthia Courtown.
Mrs. Million will do what she likes; I only know that I shall dine in the Hall, whatever happens, and whoever comes; and so, I suppose, will Miss Cynthia Courtown?
Vivian rode out alone, immediately after breakfast, to cure his melancholy by a gallop.
Returning home, he intended to look in at a pretty farm-house, where lived one John Conyers, a great friend of Vivians. This man had, about a fortnight ago, been of essential service to our hero, when a vicious horse, which he was endeavouring to cure of some ugly tricks, had nearly terminated his mortal career.
Why are you crying so, my boy? asked Vivian of a little Conyers, who was sobbing bitterly at the floor. He was answered only with desperate sobs.
Oh, tis your honour, said a decent-looking woman, who came out of the house; I thought they had come back again.
Come back again! why, what is the matter, dame?
Oh! your honour, were in sad distress; theres been a seizure this morning, and Im mortal feard the good mans beside himself.
Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?
Oh! your honour, we ant his Lordships tenants no longer; theres been a change for Purley Mill, and now were Lord Mounteneys people. John Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick always gave time: Lord Mounteneys gemman says the systems bad, and so hell put an end to it; and so alls gone, your honour; alls gone, and Im mortal feard the good mans beside himself.
And who is Lord Mounteneys man of business?
Mr. Stapylton Toad, sobbed the good dame.
Here, boy, leave off crying, and hold my horse; keep your hold tight, but give him rein, hell be quiet enough then. I will see honest John, dame.
Im sure your honours very kind, but Im mortal feard the good mans beside himself, and hes apt to do very violent things when the fits on him. He hasnt been so bad since young Barton behaved so wickedly to his sister.
Never mind! there is nothing like a friends face in the hour of sorrow.
I wouldnt advise your honour, said the good dame. Its an awful hour when the fits on him; he knows not friend or foe, and scarcely knows me, your honour.
Never mind, Ill see him.
Vivian entered the house; but who shall describe the scene of desolation! The room was entirely stripped; there was nothing left, save the bare whitewashed walls, and the red tiled flooring. The room was darkened; and seated on an old block of wood, which had been pulled out of the orchard, since the bailiff had left, was John Conyers. The fire was out, but his feet were still among the ashes. His head was buried in his hands, and bowed down nearly to his knees. The eldest girl, a fine sensible child of about thirteen, was sitting with two brothers on the floor in a corner of the room, motionless, their faces grave, and still as death, but tearless. Three young children, of an age too tender to know grief, were acting unmeaning gambols near the door.