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Vivian Grey

T >> The Earl of Beaconsfield >> Vivian Grey




Here entered Mr. Sadler with the letters.

"One from Courtown. I wonder if he has seen Mounteney. Mounteney is a
very good-natured fellow, and I think might be managed. Ah! I wish you
could get hold of him, Vivian; you would soon bring him round. What it
is to have brains, Vivian!" and here the Marquess shook his head very
pompously, and at the same time tapped very significantly on his left
temple. "Hah! what, what is all this? Here, read it, read it, man; I
have no head to-day."

Vivian took the letter, and his quick eye dashed through its contents in
a second. It was from Lord Courtown, and dated far in the country. It
talked of private communications, and premature conduct, and the
suspicious, not to say dishonourable, behaviour of Mr. Vivian Grey: it
trusted that such conduct was not sanctioned by his Lordship, but
"nevertheless obliged to act with decision, regretted the necessity,"
&c. &c. &c. &c. In short, Lord Courtown had deserted, and recalled his
pledge as to the official appointment promised to Mr. Cleveland,
"because that promise was made while he was the victim of delusions
created by the representations of Mr. Grey."

"What can all this mean, my Lord?"

The Marquess swore a fearful oath, and threw another letter.

"This is from Lord Beaconsfield, my Lord," said Vivian, with a face
pallid as death, "and apparently the composition of the same writer; at
least, it is the same tale, the same refacimento of lies, and treachery,
and cowardice, doled out with diplomatic politesse. But I will off
to ----shire instantly. It is not yet too late to save everything. This
is Wednesday; on Thursday afternoon I shall be at Norwood Park. Thank
God! I came this morning."

The face of the Marquess, who was treacherous as the wind, seemed
already to indicate "Adieu! Mr. Vivian Grey!" but that countenance
exhibited some very different passions when it glanced over the contents
of the next epistle. There was a tremendous oath and a dead silence. His
Lordship's florid countenance turned as pale as that of his companion.
The perspiration stole down in heavy drops. He gasped for breath!

"Good God! my Lord, what is the matter?"

"The matter!" howled the Marquess, "the matter! That I have been a vain,
weak, miserable fool!" and then there was another oath, and he flung the
letter to the other side of the table.

It was the official congé of the Most Noble Sydney Marquess of Carabas.
His Majesty had no longer any occasion for his services. His successor
was Lord Courtown!

We will not affect to give any description of the conduct of the
Marquess of Carabas at this moment. He raved, he stamped, he
blasphemed! but the whole of his abuse was levelled against his former
"monstrous clever" young friend; of whose character he had so often
boasted that his own was she prototype, but who was now an adventurer, a
swindler, a scoundrel, a liar, a base, deluding, flattering, fawning
villain, &c. &c. &c. &c,

"My Lord," said Vivian.

"I will not hear you; out on your fair words! They have duped me enough
already. That I, with my high character and connections! that I, the
Marquess of Carabas, should have been the victim of the arts of a young
scoundrel!"

Vivian's fist was once clenched, but it was only for a moment. The
Marquess leant back in his chair with his eyes shut. In the agony of the
moment a projecting tooth of his upper jaw had forced itself through his
under lip, and from the wound the blood was flowing freely over his dead
white countenance. Vivian left the room.




CHAPTER IV


He stopped one moment on the landing-place, ere he was about to leave
the house for ever.

"'Tis all over! and so, Vivian Grey, your game is up! and to die, too,
like a dog! a woman's dupe! Were I a despot, I should perhaps satiate my
vengeance upon this female fiend with the assistance of the rack, but
that cannot be; and, after all, it would be but a poor revenge in one
who has worshipped the Empire of the Intellect to vindicate the agony I
am now enduring upon the base body of a woman. No! 'tis not all over.
There is yet an intellectual rack of which few dream: far, far more
terrific than the most exquisite contrivances of Parysatis. Jacinte,"
said he to a female attendant that passed, "is your mistress at home?"

"She is, sir."

"'Tis well," said Vivian, and he sprang upstairs.

"Health to the lady of our love!" said Vivian Grey, as he entered the
elegant boudoir of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. "In spite of the easterly wind,
which has spoiled my beauty for the season, I could not refrain from
inquiring after your prosperity before I went to the Marquess. Have you
heard the news?"

"News! no; what news?"

"'Tis a sad tale," said Vivian, with a melancholy voice.

"Oh! then, pray do not tell it me. I am in no humour for sorrow to-day.
Come! a bon-mot, or a calembourg, or exit Mr. Vivian Grey."

"Well, then, good morning! I am off for a black crape, or a Barcelona
kerchief. Mrs. Cleveland is dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine.

"Dead! She died last night, suddenly. Is it not horrible?"

"Shocking!" exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine, with a mournful voice and an eye
dancing with joy. "Why, Mr. Grey, I do declare you are weeping."

"It is not for the departed!"

"Nay, Vivian! for Heaven's sake, what is the matter?"

"My dear Mrs. Lorraine!" but here the speaker's voice was choked with
grief, and he could not proceed.

"Pray compose yourself."

"Mrs. Felix Lorraine, can I speak with you half an hour, undisturbed?"

"By all means. I will ring for Jacinte. Jacinte! mind I am not at home
to anyone. Well, what is the matter?"

"O! madam, I must pray your patience; I wish you to shrive a penitent."

"Good God! Mr. Grey! for Heaven's sake be explicit."

"For Heaven's sake, for your sake, for my soul's sake, I would be
explicit; but explicitness is not the language of such as I am. Can you
listen to a tale of horror? can you promise me to contain yourself?"

"I will promise anything. Pray, pray proceed."

But in spite of her earnest solicitations her companion was mute. At
length he rose from his chair, and leaning on the chimney-piece, buried
his face in his hands and wept.

"Vivian," said Mrs. Lorraine, "have you seen the Marquess yet?"

"Not yet," he sobbed; "I am going to him, but I am in no humour for
business this morning."

"Compose yourself, I beseech you. I will hear everything. You shall not
complain of an inattentive or an irritable auditor. Now, my dear Vivian,
sit down and tell me all." She led him to a chair, and then, after
stifling his sobs, with a broken voice he proceeded.

"You will recollect, madam, that accident made me acquainted with
certain circumstances connected with yourself and Mr. Cleveland. Alas!
actuated by the vilest of sentiments, I conceived a violent hatred
against that gentleman, a hatred only to be equalled by my passion for
you; but I find difficulty in dwelling upon the details of this sad
story of jealousy and despair."

"Oh! speak, speak! compensate for all you have done by your present
frankness; be brief, be brief."

"I will be brief," said Vivian, with earnestness: "I will be brief. Know
then, madam, that in order to prevent the intercourse between you and
Mr. Cleveland from proceeding I obtained his friendship, and became the
confidante of his heart's sweetest secret. Thus situated, I suppressed
the letters with which I was entrusted from him to you, and, poisoning
his mind, I accounted for your silence by your being employed in other
correspondence; nay, I did more; with the malice of a fiend, I boasted
of--; nay, do not stop me; I have more to tell."

Mrs. Felix Lorraine, with compressed lips and looks of horrible
earnestness, gazed in silence.

"The result of all this you know; but the most terrible part is to come;
and, by a strange fascination, I fly to confess my crimes at your feet,
even while the last minutes have witnessed my most heinous one. Oh!
madam. I have stood over the bier of the departed; I have mingled my
tears with those of the sorrowing widower, his young and tender child
was on my knee, and as I kissed his innocent lips, me thought it was but
my duty to the departed to save the father from his mother's rival--"
He stopped.

"Yes, yes, yes," said Mrs. Felix Lorraine, in a low whisper.

"It was then, even then, in the hour of his desolation, that I mentioned
your name, that it might the more disgust him; and while he wept over
his virtuous and sainted wife, I dwelt on the vices of his rejected
mistress."

Mrs. Lorraine clasped her hands, and moved restlessly on her seat.

"Nay! do not stop me; let me tell all. 'Cleveland,' said I, 'if ever you
become the husband of Mrs. Felix Lorraine, remember my last words: it
will be well for you if your frame be like that of Mithridates of
Pontus, and proof against ---- poison.'"

"And did you say this?" shrieked the woman.

"Even these were my words."

"Then may all evil blast you!" She threw herself on the sofa; her voice
was choked with the convulsions of her passion, and she writhed in
fearful agony.

Vivian Grey, lounging in an arm-chair in the easiest of postures, and
with a face brilliant with smiles, watched his victim with the eye of a
Mephistopheles.

She slowly recovered, and, with a broken voice, poured forth her sacred
absolution to the relieved penitent.

"You wonder I do not stab you; hah! hah! hah! there is no need for that!
the good powers be praised that you refused the draught I once
proffered. Know, wretch, that your race is run. Within five minutes you
will breathe a beggar and an outcast. Your golden dreams are over, your
cunning plans are circumvented, your ambitious hopes are crushed for
ever, you are blighted in the very spring of your life. Oh, may you
never die! May you wander for ever, the butt of the world's malice; and
may the slow moving finger of scorn point where'er you go at the ruined
Charlatan!"

"Hah, hah! is it so? Think you that Vivian Grey would fall by a woman's
wile? Think you that Vivian Grey could be crushed by such a worthless
thing as you? Know, then, that your political intrigues have been as
little concealed from me as your personal ones; I have been acquainted
with all. The Marquess has himself seen the Minister, and is more firmly
established in his pride of place than ever. I have myself seen our
colleagues, whom you tampered with, and their hearts are still true, and
their purpose still fixed. All, all prospers; and ere five days are
passed 'the Charlatan' will be a Senator."

The shifting expression of Mrs. Lorraine's countenance, while Vivian was
speaking, would have baffled the most cunning painter. Her complexion
was capricious as the chameleon's, and her countenance was so convulsed
that her features seemed of all shapes and sizes. One large vein
protruded nearly a quarter of an inch from her forehead, and the dank
light which gleamed in her tearful eye was like an unwholesome meteor
quivering in a marsh. When he ended she sprang from the sofa, and,
looking up and extending her arms with unmeaning wildness, she gave one
loud shriek and dropped like a bird shot on the wing; she had burst a
blood-vessel.

Vivian raised her on the sofa and paid her every possible attention.
There is always a medical attendant lurking about the mansions of the
noble, and to this worthy and the attendant Jacinte Vivian delivered
his patient.

Had Vivian Grey left the boudoir a pledged bridegroom his countenance
could not have been more triumphant; but he was labouring under
unnatural excitement; for it is singular that when, as he left the
house, the porter told him that Mr. Cleveland was with his Lord, Vivian
had no idea at the moment what individual bore that name. The fresh air
of the street revived him, and somewhat cooled the bubbling of his
blood. It was then that the man's information struck upon his senses.

"So, poor Cleveland!" thought Vivian; "then he knows all!" His own
misery he had not yet thought of; but when Cleveland occurred to him,
with his ambition once more baulked, his high hopes once more blasted,
and his honourable soul once more deceived; when he thought of his fair
wife, and his infant children, and his ruined prospects, a sickness came
over his heart, he grew dizzy, and fell.

"And the gentleman's ill, I think," said an honest Irishman; and, in the
fulness of his charity, he placed Vivian on a door-step.

"So it seems," said a genteel passenger in black; and he snatched, with
great sang-froid, Vivian's watch. "Stop thief!" hallooed the Hibernian.
Paddy was tripped up. There was a row, in the midst of which Vivian Grey
crawled to an hotel.




CHAPTER V


In half an hour Vivian was at Mr. Cleveland's door.

"My master is at the Marquess of Carabas', sir; he will not return, but
is going immediately to Richmond, where Mrs. Cleveland is staying."

Vivian immediately wrote to Mr. Cleveland. "If your master have left the
Marquess', let this be forwarded to him at Richmond immediately."

"CLEVELAND!

"You know all. It would be mockery were I to say that at this moment I
am not thinking of myself. I am a ruined man in body and in mind. But
my own misery is nothing; I can die, I can go mad, and who will be
harmed? But you! I had wished that we should never meet again; but my
hand refuses to trace the thoughts with which my heart is full, and I am
under the sad necessity of requesting you to see me once more. We have
been betrayed, and by a woman; but there has been revenge. Oh,
what revenge!

"VIVIAN GREY."

When Vivian left Mr. Cleveland's he actually did not know what to do
with himself. Home, at present, he could not face, and so he continued
to wander about, quite unconscious of locality. He passed in his
progress many of his acquaintance, who, from his distracted air and
rapid pace, imagined that he was intent on some important business. At
length he found himself in one of the most sequestered parts of
Kensington Gardens. It was a cold, frosty day, and as Vivian flung
himself upon one of the summer seats the snow drifted from off the
frozen board; but Vivian's brow was as burning hot as if he had been an
inhabitant of Sirius. Throwing his arms on a small garden table, he
buried his face in his hands and wept as men can but once weep in
this world.

O, thou sublime and most subtle philosopher, who, in thy lamp-lit cell,
art speculating upon the passions which thou hast never felt! O, thou
splendid and most admirable poet, who, with cunning words, art painting
with a smile a tale of woe! tell me what is Grief, and solve me the
mystery of Sorrow.

Not for himself, for after the first pang he would have whistled off his
high hopes with the spirit of a Ripperda; not even for Cleveland, for at
this moment, it must be confessed, his thoughts were not for his friend,
did Vivian Grey's soul struggle as if it were about to leave its fleshy
chamber. We said he wept as men can weep but once in this world, and yet
it would have been impossible for him to have defined what, at that
fearful moment, was the cause of his heart's sorrow. Incidents of
childhood of the most trivial nature, and until this moment forgotten,
flashed across his memory; he gazed on the smile of his mother, he
listened to the sweet tones of his father's voice, and his hand
clenched, with still more agonised grasp, his rude resting-place, and
the scalding tears dashed down his cheek in still more ardent torrents.
He had no distinct remembrance of what had so lately happened; but
characters flitted before him as in a theatre, in a dream, dim and
shadowy, yet full of mysterious and undefinable interest; and then there
came a horrible idea across his mind that his glittering youth was gone
and wasted; and then there was a dark whisper of treachery, and
dissimulation, and dishonour; and then he sobbed as if his very heart
were cracking. All his boasted philosophy vanished; his artificial
feelings fled him. Insulted Nature reasserted her long-spurned
authority, and the once proud Vivian Grey felt too humble even to curse
himself. Gradually his sobs became less convulsed and his brow more
cool; and, calm from very exhaustion, he sat for upwards of an hour
motionless.

At this moment there issued, with their attendant, from an adjoining
shrubbery, two beautiful children. They were so exceedingly lovely that
the passenger would have stopped to gaze upon them. The eldest, who yet
was very young, was leading his sister hand in hand with slow and
graceful steps, mimicking the courtesy of men. But when his eye caught
Vivian's the boy uttered a loud cry of exultation, and rushed, with the
eagerness of infantile affection, to his gentle and favourite playmate.
They were the young Clevelands. With what miraculous quickness will man
shake off the outward semblance of grief when his sorrow is a secret!
The mighty merchant, who knows that in four-and-twenty hours the world
must be astounded by his insolvency, will walk in the front of his
confident creditor as if he were the lord of a thousand argosies; the
meditating suicide will smile on the arm of a companion as if to breathe
in this sunny world were the most ravishing and rapturous bliss. We
cling to our stations in our fellow-creatures' minds and memories; we
know too well the frail tenure on which we are in this world great and
considered personages. Experience makes us shrink from the specious
sneer of sympathy; and when we are ourselves falling, bitter Memory
whispers that we have ourselves been neglectful.

And so it was that even unto these infants Vivian Grey dared not appear
other than a gay and easy-hearted man; and in a moment he was dancing
them on his knee, and playing with their curls, and joining in their
pretty prattle, and pressing their small and fragrant lips.

It was night when he paced down--. He passed his club; that club to
become a member of which had once been the object of his high ambition,
and to gain which privilege had cost such hours of canvassing, such
interference of noble friends, and the incurring of favours from so many
people, "which never could be forgotten!"

A desperate feeling actuated him, and he entered the Club-house. He
walked into the great saloon and met some fifty "most particular
friends," all of whom asked him "how the Marquess did," or "have you
seen Cleveland?" and a thousand other as comfortable queries. At length,
to avoid these disagreeable rencontres, and indeed to rest himself, he
went to a smaller and more private room. As he opened the door his eyes
lighted upon Cleveland.

He was standing with his back to the fire. There were only two other
persons in the room; one was a friend of Cleveland's, and the other an
acquaintance of Vivian's. The latter was writing at the table.

When Vivian saw Cleveland he would have retired, but he was bid to "come
in" in a voice of thunder.

As he entered he instantly perceived that Cleveland was under the
influence of wine. When in this situation, unlike other men, Mr.
Cleveland's conduct was not distinguished by any of the little
improprieties of behaviour by which a man is always known by his friends
"to be very drunk." He neither reeled, nor hiccuped, nor grew maudlin.
The effect of drinking upon him was only to increase the intensity of
the sensation by which his mind was at the moment influenced. He did not
even lose the consciousness of identity of persons. At this moment it
was clear to Vivian that Cleveland was under the influence of the
extremest passion; his eyes rolled wildly, and seemed fixed only upon
vacancy. As Vivian was no friend to scenes before strangers he bowed to
the two gentlemen and saluted Cleveland with his wonted cordiality; but
his proffered hand was rudely repelled.

"Away!" exclaimed Cleveland, in a furious tone; "I have no friendship
for traitors."

The two gentlemen stared, and the pen of the writer stopped.

"Cleveland!" said Vivian, in an earnest whisper, as he came up close to
him; "for God's sake contain yourself. I have written you a letter which
explains all; but--"

"Out! out upon you. Out upon your honied words and your soft phrases! I
have been their dupe too long;" and he struck Vivian.

"Sir John Poynings!" said Vivian, with a quivering lip, turning to the
gentleman who was writing at the table, "we were school-fellows;
circumstances have prevented us from meeting often in after-life; but I
now ask you, with the frankness of an old acquaintance, to do me the sad
service of accompanying me in this quarrel, a quarrel which I call
Heaven to witness is not of my seeking."

The Baronet, who was in the Guards, and although a great dandy, quite a
man of business in these matters, immediately rose from his seat and led
Vivian to a corner of the room. After some whispering he turned round to
Mr. Cleveland, and bowed to him with a very significant look. It was
evident that Cleveland comprehended his meaning, for, though he was
silent, he immediately pointed to the other gentleman, his friend, Mr.
Castleton.

"Mr. Castleton," said Sir John, giving his card, "Mr. Grey will
accompany me to my rooms in Pall Mall; it is now ten o'clock; we shall
wait two hours, in which time I hope to hear from you. I leave time, and
place, and terms to yourself. I only wish it to be understood that it is
the particular desire of my principal that the meeting should be as
speedy as possible."

About eleven o'clock the communication from Mr. Castleton arrived. It
was quite evident that Cleveland was sobered, for in one instance Vivian
observed that the style was corrected by his own hand. The hour was
eight the next morning, at ---- Common, about six miles from town.

Poynings wrote to a professional friend to be on the ground at half-past
seven, and then he and Vivian retired.

Did you ever fight a duel? No? nor send a challenge either? Well! you
are fresh, indeed! 'Tis an awkward business, after all, even for the
boldest. After an immense deal of negotiation, and giving your opponent
every opportunity of coming to an honourable understanding, the fatal
letter is at length signed, sealed, and sent. You pass your mornings at
your second's apartments, pacing his drawing-room with a quivering lip
and uncertain step. At length he enters with an answer; and while be
reads you endeavour to look easy, with a countenance merry with the most
melancholy smile. You have no appetite for dinner, but you are too brave
not to appear at table; and you are called out after the second glass by
the arrival of your solicitor, who comes to alter your will. You pass a
restless night, and rise in the morning as bilious as a Bengal general.
Urged by impending fate, you make a desperate effort to accommodate
matters; but in the contest between your pride and your terror you at
the same time prove that you are a coward and fail in the negotiation.
You both fire and miss, and then the seconds interfere, and then you
shake hands: everything being arranged in the most honourable manner and
to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. The next day you are seen
pacing Bond Street with an erect front and a flashing eye, with an air
at once dandyish and heroical, a mixture at the same time of Brummell
and the Duke of Wellington.

It was a fine February morning. Sir John drove Vivian to the ground in
his cabriolet.

"Nothing like a cab, Grey, for the business you are going on: you glide
along the six miles in such style that it actually makes you quite
courageous. I remember once going down, on a similar purpose, in a post
and pair, and 'pon my soul, when I came to the ground, my hand shook so
that I could scarcely draw. But I was green then. Now, when I go in my
cab, with Philidor with his sixteen-mile-an-hour paces, egad! I wing my
man in a trice; and take all the parties home to Pall Mall, to celebrate
the event with a grilled bone, Havannahs, and Regent's punch. Ah! there!
that is Cleveland that we have just passed, going to the ground in a
chariot: he is a dead man, or my name is not Poynings."

"Come, Sir John; no fear of Cleveland's dying," said Vivian, with a
smile.

"What? You mean to fire in the air, and all that sort of thing?
Sentimental, but slip-slop!"

The ground is measured, all is arranged. Cleveland, a splendid shot,
fired first. He grazed Vivian's elbow. Vivian fired in the air. The
seconds interfered. Cleveland was implacable, and, "in the most
irregular manner," as Sir John declared, insisted upon another shot. To
the astonishment of all, he fired quite wild. Vivian shot at random, and
his bullet pierced Cleveland's heart. Cleveland sprang nearly two yards
from the ground and then fell upon his back. In a moment Vivian was at
the side of his fallen antagonist, but the dying man "made no sign;" he
stared wildly, and then closed his eyes for ever!




CHAPTER VI


When Vivian Grey remembered his existence he found himself in bed. The
curtains of his couch were closed; but as he stared around him they were
softly withdrawn, and a face that recalled everything to his
recollection gazed upon him with a look of affectionate anxiety.

"My father!" exclaimed Vivian; but the finger pressed on the parental
lip warned him to silence. His father knelt by his side, and then the
curtains were again closed.

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