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Vivian Grey

T >> The Earl of Beaconsfield >> Vivian Grey




For the first fortnight the Baron's attendance on Lady Madeleine was
constant. After this time he began to slacken in his attentions. He
first disappeared from the morning walks, and yet he did not ride; he
then ceased from joining the party at Lady Madeleine's apartments in the
evening, and never omitted increasing the circle at the New House for a
single night. The whole of the fourth week the Baron dined with his
Imperial Highness. Although the invitation had been extended to all the
gentlemen from the first, it had been agreed that it was not to be
accepted, in order that the ladies should not find their party in the
saloon less numerous or less agreeable. The Baron was the first to break
through a rule which he had himself proposed, and Mr. St. George and the
Chevalier de Boeffleurs soon followed his example.

"Mr. Grey," said Lady Madeleine one evening, as she was about to leave
the gardens, "we shall be happy to see you to-night, if you are
not engaged."

"I fear that I am engaged," said Vivian; for the receipt of some letters
from England made him little inclined to enter into society.

"Oh, no! you cannot be," said Miss Fane: "pray come! I know you only
want to go to that terrible New House. I wonder what Albert can find to
amuse him there; I fear no good. Men never congregate together for any
beneficial purpose. I am sure, with all his gastronomical affectations,
he would not, if all were right, prefer the most exquisite dinner in the
world to our society. As it is, we scarcely see him a moment. I think
that, you are the only one who has not deserted the saloon. For once,
give up the New House."

Vivian smiled at Miss Fane's warmth, and could not persist in his
refusal, although she did dilate most provokingly on the absence of her
cousin. He therefore soon joined them.

"Lady Madeleine is assisting me in a most important work, Mr. Grey. I am
making drawings of the Valley of the Rhine. I know that you are
acquainted with the scenery; you can, perhaps, assist me with your
advice about this view of old Hatto's Castle."

Vivian was so completely master of every spot in the Rhineland that he
had no difficulty in suggesting the necessary alterations. The drawings
were vivid representations of the scenery which they professed to
depict, and Vivian forgot his melancholy as he attracted the attention
of the fair artist to points of interest unknown or unnoticed by the
guide-books and the diaries.

"You must look forward to Italy with great interest, Miss Fane?"

"The greatest! I shall not, however, forget the Rhine, even among the
Apennines."

"Our intended fellow-travellers, Lord Mounteney and his family, are
already at Milan," said Lady Madeleine to Vivian; "we were to have
joined their party. Lady Mounteney is a Trevor."

"I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Mounteney in England, at Sir
Berdmore Scrope's: do you know him?"

"Slightly. The Mounteneys pass the winter at Rome, where I hope we shall
join them. Do you know the family intimately?"

"Mr. Ernest Clay, a nephew of his Lordship's, I have seen a great deal
of; I suppose, according to the adopted phraseology, I ought to describe
him as my friend, although I am ignorant where he is at present; and
although, unless he is himself extremely altered, there scarcely can be
two persons who now more differ in their pursuits and tempers than
ourselves."

"Ernest Clay! is he a friend of yours? He is at Munich, attached to the
Legation. I see you smile at the idea of Ernest Clay drawing up a
protocol!"

"Madeleine, you have never read me Caroline Mounteney's letter, as you
promised," said Miss Fane; "I suppose full of raptures; 'the Alps and
Apennines, the Pyrenaean and the River Po?'"

"By no means; the whole letter is filled with an account of the ballet
at La Scala, which, according to Caroline, is a thousand times more
interesting than Mont Blanc or the Simplon."

"One of the immortal works of Vigano, I suppose," said Vivian; "he has
raised the ballet of action to an equality with tragedy. I have heard my
father mention the splendid effect of his Vestale and his Otello."

"And yet," said Violet, "I do not like Othello to be profaned. It is not
for operas and ballets. We require the thrilling words."

"It is very true; yet Pasta's acting in the opera was a grand
performance; and I have myself seldom witnessed a more masterly effect
produced by any actor in the world than I did a fortnight ago, at the
Opera at Darmstadt, by Wild in Othello."

"I think the history of Desdemona is the most affecting of all tales,"
said Miss Fane.

"The violent death of a woman, young, lovely, and innocent, is assuredly
the most terrible of tragedies," observed Vivian.

"I have often asked myself," said Miss Fane, "which is the most terrible
destiny for the young to endure: to meet death after a life of anxiety
and suffering, or suddenly to be cut off in the enjoyment of all things
that make life delightful."

"For my part," said Vivian, "in the last instance, I think that death
can scarcely be considered an evil. How infinitely is such a destiny to
be preferred to that long apprenticeship of sorrow, at the end of which
we are generally as unwilling to die as at the commencement!"

"And yet," said Miss Fane, "there is something fearful in the idea of
sudden death."

"Very fearful," muttered Vivian, "in some cases;" for he thought of one
whom he had sent to his great account before his time.

"Violet, my dear!" said Lady Madeleine, "have you finished your drawing
of the Bingenloch?" But Miss Fane would not leave the subject.

"Very fearful in all cases, Mr. Grey. How few of us are prepared to
leave this world without warning! And if from youth, or sex, or natural
disposition, a few may chance to be better fitted for the great change
than their companions, still I always think that in those cases in which
we view our fellow-creatures suddenly departing from this world,
apparently without a bodily or mental pang, there must be a moment of
suffering which none of us can understand; a terrible consciousness of
meeting death in the very flush of life; a moment of suffering which,
from its intense and novel character, may appear an eternity of anguish.
I have always looked upon such an end as the most fearful of
dispensations."

"Violet, my dear." said her Ladyship, "let us talk no more of death. You
have been silent a fortnight. I think to-night you may sing." Miss Fane
rose and sat down to the instrument.

It was a lively air, calculated to drive away all melancholy feelings,
and cherishing sunny views of human life. But Rossini's Muse did not
smile to-night upon her who invoked its gay spirit; and ere Lady
Madeleine could interfere Violet Fane had found more congenial emotions
in one of Weber's prophetic symphonies.

O Music! miraculous art, that makes a poet's skill a jest, revealing to
the soul inexpressible feelings by the aid of inexplicable sounds! A
blast of thy trumpet, and millions rush forward to die; a peal of thy
organ, and uncounted nations sink down to pray. Mighty is thy
threefold power!

First, thou canst call up all elemental sounds, and scenes, and
subjects, with the definiteness of reality. Strike the lyre! Lo! the
voice of the winds, the flash of the lightning, the swell of the wave,
the solitude of the valley!

Then thou canst speak to the secrets of a man's heart as if by
inspiration. Strike the lyre! Lo! our early love, our treasured hate,
our withered joy, our flattering hope!

And, lastly, by thy mysterious melodies thou canst recall man from all
thought of this world and of himself, bringing back to his soul's memory
dark but delightful recollections of the glorious heritage which he has
lost, but which he may win again. Strike the lyre! Lo! Paradise, with
its palaces of inconceivable splendour and its gates of
unimaginable glory!

When Vivian left the apartment of Lady Madeleine he felt no inclination
to sleep, and, instead of retiring to rest, he bent his steps towards
the gardens. It was a rich summer night; the air, recovered from the
sun's scorching rays, was cool, not chilling. The moon was still behind
the mountains; but the dark blue heavens were studded with innumerable
stars, whose tremulous light quivered on the face of the river. All
human sounds had ceased to agitate; and the note of the nightingale and
the rush of the waters banished monotony without disturbing reflection.
But not for reflection had Vivian Grey deserted his chamber: his heart
was full, but of indefinable sensations, and, forgetting the world in
the intenseness of his emotions, he felt too much to think.

How long he had been pacing by the side of the river he knew not, when
he was awakened from his reverie by the sound of voices. He looked up,
and saw lights moving at a distance. The party at the New House had just
broke up. He stopped beneath a branching elm-tree for a moment, that the
sound of his steps might not attract their attention, and at this very
instant the garden gate opened and closed with great violence. The
figure of a man approached. As he passed Vivian the moon rose up from
above the brow of the mountain, and lit up the countenance of the Baron.
Despair was stamped on his distracted features.




CHAPTER XI


On the evening of the next day there was to be a grand fête given at the
New House by his Imperial Highness. The ladies would treasure their
energies for the impending ball, and the morning was to pass without an
excursion. Only Lady Madeleine, whom Vivian met taking her usual early
promenade in the gardens, seemed inclined to prolong it, and even
invited him to be her companion. She talked of the fête, and she
expressed a hope that Vivian would accompany their party; but her air
was not festive, she seemed abstracted and disturbed, and her voice more
than once broke off abruptly at the commencement of a sentence which it
seemed she had not courage to finish.

At length she said suddenly, "Mr. Grey, I cannot conceal any longer that
I am thinking of a very different subject from the ball. As you form
part of my thoughts, I shall not hesitate to disburthen my mind to you.
I wish not to keep you in suspense. It is of the mode of life which I
see my brother, which I see you, pursuing here that I wish to speak,"
she added with a tremulous voice. "May I speak with freedom?"

"With the most perfect unreserve and confidence."

"You are aware that Ems is not the first place at which I have met
Baron von Konigstein."

"I am not ignorant that he has been in England."

"It cannot have escaped you that I acknowledged his acquaintance with
reluctance."

"I should judge, with the greatest."

"And yet it was with still more reluctance that I prevailed upon myself
to believe you were his friend. I experienced great relief when you told
me how short and accidental had been your acquaintance. I have
experienced great pain in witnessing to what that acquaintance has led;
and it is with extreme sorrow for my own weakness, in not having had
courage to speak to you before, and with a hope of yet benefiting you,
that I have been induced to speak to you now."

"I trust there is no cause either for your sorrow or your fear; but
much, much cause for my gratitude."

"I have observed the constant attendance of yourself and my brother at
the New House with the utmost anxiety. I have seen too much not to be
aware of the danger which young men, and young men of honour, must
always experience at such places. Alas! I have seen too much of Baron
von Konigstein not to know that at such places especially his
acquaintance is fatal. The evident depression of your spirits yesterday
determined me on a step which I have for the last few days been
considering. I can learn nothing from my brother. I fear that I am even
now too late; but I trust that, whatever may be your situation, you will
remember, Mr. Grey, that you have friends; that you will decide on
nothing rash."

"Lady Madeleine," said Vivian, "I will not presume to express the
gratitude which your generous conduct allows me to feel. This moment
repays me for a year of agony. I affect not to misunderstand your
meaning. My opinion, my detestation of the gaming table, has always
been, and must always be, the same. I do assure you this, and all
things, upon my honour. Far from being involved, my cheek burns while I
confess that I am master of a considerable sum acquired by this
unhallowed practice. You are aware of the singular fortune which awaited
my first evening at Ems; that fortune was continued at the New House the
very first day I dined there, and when, unexpectedly, I was forced to
play. That fatal fortune has rendered my attendance at the New House
necessary. I found it impossible to keep away without subjecting myself
to painful observations. My depression of yesterday was occasioned by
the receipt of letters from England. I am ashamed of having spoken so
much about myself, and so little about those for whom you are more
interested. So far as I can judge, you have no cause, at present, for
any uneasiness with regard to Mr. St. George. You may, perhaps, have
observed that we are not very intimate, and therefore I cannot speak
with any precision as to the state of his fortunes; but I have reason to
believe that they are by no means unfavourable. And as for the
Baron--"

"Yes, yes!"

"I hardly know what I am to infer from your observations respecting him.
I certainly should infer something extremely bad, were not I conscious
that, after the experience of five weeks, I, for one, have nothing to
complain of him. The Baron, certainly, is fond of play; plays high,
indeed. He has not had equal fortune at the New House as at the Redoute;
at least I imagine so, for he has given me no cause to believe, in any
way, that he is a loser."

"If you could only understand the relief I feel at this moment, I am
sure you would not wonder that I prevailed upon myself to speak to you.
It may still be in my power, however, to prevent evil."

"Yes, certainly! I think the best course now would be to speak to me
frankly respecting Von Konigstein; and, if you are aware of anything
which has passed in England of a nature--"

"Stop!" said Lady Madeleine, agitated. Vivian was silent, and some
moments elapsed before his companion again spoke. When she did her eyes
were fixed on the ground, and her tones were low; but her voice was calm
and steady.

"I am going to accept, Mr. Grey, the confidence which you have proffered
me; but I do not affect to conceal that I speak, even now, with
reluctance; an effort, and it will soon be over. It is for the best."
Lady Madeleine paused one moment, and then resumed with a firm voice:

"Upwards of six years have now passed since Baron von Konigstein was
appointed Minister to London from the Court of ----. Although apparently
young for such an important mission, he had already distinguished
himself as a diplomatist; and with all the advantages of brilliant
talents, various accomplishments, rank, reputation, person, and a
fascinating address, I need not tell you that he immediately became of
consideration, even in the highest circles. Mr. Trevor, I was then just
married, was at this period in office, and was constantly in personal
communication with the Baron. They became intimate, and he was our
constant guest. He had the reputation of being a man of pleasure. He was
one for whose indiscretions there might be some excuse; nor had anything
ever transpired which could induce us to believe that Baron von
Konigstein could be guilty of anything but an indiscretion. At this
period a relation and former ward of Mr. Trevor's, a young man of
considerable fortune, and one whom we all fondly loved, resided in our
family. We considered him as our brother. With this individual Baron von
Konigstein formed a strong friendship; they were seldom apart. Our
relation was not exempted from the failings of young men. He led a
dissipated life; but he was very young; and as, unlike most relations,
we never allowed any conduct on his part to banish him from our society,
we trusted that the contrast which his own family afforded to his usual
companions would in time render his habits less irregular. We had now
known Baron von Konigstein for upwards of a year and a half, intimately.
Nothing had transpired during this period to induce Mr. Trevor to alter
the opinion which he had entertained of him from the first; he believed
him to be a man of honour, and, in spite of a few imprudences, of
principle. Whatever might have been my own opinion of him at this
period, I had no reason to doubt the natural goodness of his
disposition; and though I could not hope that he was one who would
assist us in our plans for the reformation of Augustus, I still was not
sorry to believe, that in the Baron he would at least find a companion
very different from the unprincipled and selfish beings by whom he was
too often surrounded. Something occurred at this time which placed Baron
von Konigstein, according to his own declaration, under lasting
obligations to myself. In the warmth of his heart he asked if there was
any real and important service which he could do me. I took advantage of
the moment to speak to him about our young friend; I detailed to him all
our anxieties; he anticipated all my wishes, and promised to watch over
him, to be his guardian, his friend, his real friend. Mr. Grey,"
continued her Ladyship, "I struggle to restrain my feelings; but the
recollections of this period of my life are so painful that for a
moment I must stop to recover myself."

For a few minutes they walked on in silence. Vivian did not speak; and
when his companion resumed her tale, he, unconsciously, pressed her arm.

"I try to be brief. About three months after the Baron had given me the
pledge which I mentioned, Mr. Trevor was called up at an early hour one
morning with the intelligence that his late ward was supposed to be at
the point of death at a neighbouring hotel. He instantly repaired to
him, and on the way the fatal truth was broken to him: our friend had
committed suicide! He had been playing all night with one whom I cannot
now name." Here Lady Madeleine's voice died away, but with a struggle
she again spoke firmly.

"I mean with the Baron, some foreigners also, and an Englishman, all
intimate friends of Von Konigstein, and scarcely known to the deceased.
Our friend had been the only sufferer; he had lost his whole fortune,
and more than his fortune: and, with a heart full of despair and
remorse, had, with his own hand, terminated his life. The whole
circumstances were so suspicious that they attracted public attention,
and Mr. Trevor spared no exertion to bring the offenders to justice. The
Baron had the hardihood to call upon us the next day; of course, in
vain. He wrote violent letters, protesting his innocence; that he was
asleep during most of the night, and accusing the others who were
present of a conspiracy. The unhappy business now attracted very general
interest. Its consequence on me was an alarming illness of a most
unfortunate kind; I was therefore prevented from interfering, or,
indeed, knowing anything that took place; but my husband informed me
that the Baron was involved in a public correspondence; that the accused
parties recriminated, and that finally he was convinced that Von
Konigstein, if there were any difference, was, if possible, the most
guilty. However this might be, he soon obtained his recall from his own
Government. He wrote to us both before he left England; but I was too
ill to hear of his letters, until Mr. Trevor informed me that he had
returned them unopened. And now, I must give utterance to that which as
yet has always died upon my lips, the unhappy victim was the brother of
Miss Fane!"

"And Mr. St. George," said Vivian, "knowing all this, which surely he
must have done; how came he to tolerate, for an instant, the advances of
such a man?"

"My brother," said Lady Madeleine, "is a very good young man, with a
kind heart and warm feelings; but my brother has not much knowledge of
the world, and he is too honourable himself ever to believe that what he
calls a gentleman can be dishonest. My brother was not in England when
the unhappy event took place, and of course the various circumstances
have not made the same impression upon him as upon us. He has heard of
the affair only from me; and young men too often imagine that women are
apt to exaggerate in matters of this nature, which, of course, few of us
can understand. The Baron had not the good feeling, or perhaps had not
the power, connected as he was with the Grand Duke, to affect ignorance
of our former acquaintance, or to avoid a second one. I was obliged
formally to present him to my brother. I was quite perplexed how to act.
I thought of writing to him the next morning, impressing upon him the
utter impossibility of our acquaintance being renewed: but this
proceeding involved a thousand difficulties. How was a man of his
distinction, a man, who not only from his rank, but from his
disposition, is always a remarkable and a remarked character, wherever
he may be; how could he account to the Grand Duke, and to his numerous
friends, for his not associating with a party with whom he was
perpetually in contact. Explanations, and worse, must have been the
consequence. I could hardly expect him to leave Ems; it was, perhaps,
out of his power: and for Miss Fane to leave Ems at this moment was most
strenuously prohibited by her physician. While I was doubtful and
deliberating, the conduct of Baron von Konigstein himself prevented me
from taking any step whatever. Feeling all the awkwardness of his
situation, he seized, with eagerness, the opportunity of becoming
intimate with a member of the family whom he had not before known. His
amusing conversation, and insinuating address, immediately enlisted the
feelings of my brother in his favour. You know yourself that the very
morning after their introduction they were riding together. As they
became more intimate, the Baron boldly spoke to Albert, in confidence,
of his acquaintance with us in England, and of the unhappy circumstances
which led to its termination. Albert was deceived by this seeming
courage and candour. He has become the Baron's friend, and has adopted
his version of the unhappy story; and as the Baron has had too much
delicacy to allude to the affair in a defence of himself to me, he
calculated that the representations of Albert, who, he was conscious,
would not preserve the confidence which he has always intended him to
betray, would assist in producing in my mind an impression in his
favour. The Neapolitan story which he told the other day at dinner was
of himself. I confess to you, that though I have not for a moment
doubted his guilt, still I was weak enough to consider that his desire
to become reconciled to me was at least an evidence of a repentant
heart; and the Neapolitan story deceived me. Actuated by these feelings,
and acting as I thought wisest under existing circumstances, I ceased to
discourage his advances. Your acquaintance, which we all desired to
cultivate, was perhaps another reason for enduring his presence. His
subsequent conduct has undeceived me: I am convinced now, not only of
his former guilt, but also that he is not changed; and that, with his
accustomed talent, he has been acting a part which for some reason or
other he has no longer any object in maintaining."

"And Miss Fane," said Vivian, "she must know all?"

"She knows nothing in detail; she was so young at the time that we had
no difficulty in keeping the particular circumstances of her brother's
death, and the sensation which it excited, a secret from her. As she
grew up, I have thought it proper that the mode of his death should no
longer be concealed from her; and she has learnt from some incautious
observations of Albert, enough to make her look upon the Baron with
terror. It is for Violet," continued Lady Madeleine, "that I have the
severest apprehensions. For the last fortnight her anxiety for her
cousin has produced an excitement, which I look upon with more dread
than anything that can happen to her. She has entreated me to speak to
Albert, and also to you. The last few days she has become more easy and
serene. She accompanies us to-night; the weather is so beautiful that
the night air is scarcely to be feared; and a gay scene will have a
favourable influence upon her spirits. Your depression last night did
not, however, escape her notice. Once more let me say how I rejoice at
hearing what you have told me. I unhesitatingly believe all that you
have said. Watch Albert. I have no fear for yourself."




CHAPTER XII


The company at the Grand Duke's fête was most select; that is to say, it
consisted of everybody who was then at the Baths: those who had been
presented to his Highness having the privilege of introducing any number
of their friends; and those who had no friend to introduce them
purchasing tickets at an enormous price from Cracowsky, the wily Polish
Intendant. The entertainment was imperial; no expense and no exertion
were spared to make the hired lodging-house look like an hereditary
palace; and for a week previous to the great evening the whole of the
neighbouring town of Wiesbaden, the little capital of the duchy, had
been put under contribution. What a harvest for Cracowsky! What a
commission from the restaurateur for supplying the refreshments! What a
percentage on hired mirrors and dingy hangings!

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