A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Vivian Grey

T >> The Earl of Beaconsfield >> Vivian Grey







CHAPTER VIII


The second week of Vivian's visit had come round, and the flag waved
proudly on the proud tower of Château Desir, indicating to the admiring
county, that the most noble Sidney, Marquess of Carabas, held public
days twice a week at his grand castle. And now came the neighbouring
peer, full of grace and gravity, and the mellow baronet, with his hearty
laugh, and the jolly country squire, and the middling gentry, and the
jobbing country attorney, and the flourishing country surveyor; some
honouring by their presence, some who felt the obligation equal, and
others bending before the noble host, as if paying him adoration was
almost an equal pleasure with that of guzzling his venison pasties and
quaffing his bright wines.

Independently of all these periodical visitors, the house was full of
permanent ones. There were the Viscount and Viscountess Courtown and
their three daughters, and Lord and Lady Beaconsfield and their three
sons, and Sir Berdmore and Lady Scrope, and Colonel Delmington of the
Guards, and Lady Louisa Manvers and her daughter Julia. Lady Louisa was
the only sister of the Marquess, a widow, proud and penniless.

To all these distinguished personages Vivian was introduced by the
Marquess as "a monstrous clever young man, and his Lordship's most
particular friend," and then the noble Carabas left the game in his
young friend's hands.

And right well Vivian did his duty. In a week's time it would have been
hard to decide with whom of the family of the Courtowns Vivian was the
greatest favourite. He rode with the Viscount, who was a good horseman,
and was driven by his Lady, who was a good whip; and when he had
sufficiently admired the tout ensemble of her Ladyship's pony phaeton,
he entrusted her, "in confidence," with some ideas of his own about
martingales, a subject which he assured her Ladyship "had been the
object of his mature consideration." The three honourable Misses were
the most difficult part of the business; but he talked sentiment with
the first, sketched with the second, and romped with the third.

Ere the Beaconsfields could be jealous of the influence of the
Courtowns, Mr. Vivian Grey had promised his Lordship, who was a
collector of medals, an unique which had never yet been heard of; and
her Ladyship, who was a collector of autographs, the private letters of
every man of genius that ever had been heard of. In this division of the
Carabas guests he was not bored with a family; for sons he always made
it a rule to cut dead; they are the members of a family who, on an
average, are generally very uninfluential, for, on an average, they are
fools enough to think it very knowing to be very disagreeable. So the
wise man but little loves them, but woe to the fool who neglects the
daughters!

Sir Berdmore Scrope Vivian found a more unmanageable personage; for the
baronet was confoundedly shrewd, and without a particle of sentiment in
his composition. It was a great thing, however, to gain him; for Sir
Berdmore was a leading country gentleman, and having quarrelled with
Ministers about the corn laws, had been counted disaffected ever since.
The baronet, however, although a bold man to the world, was luckily
henpecked; so Vivian made love to the wife and secured the husband.




CHAPTER IX


I think that Julia Manvers was really the most beautiful creature that
ever smiled in this fair world. Such a symmetrically formed shape, such
perfect features, such a radiant complexion, such luxuriant auburn hair,
and such blue eyes, lit up by a smile of such mind and meaning, have
seldom blessed the gaze of admiring man! Vivian Grey, fresh as he was,
was not exactly the creature to lose his heart very speedily. He looked
upon marriage as a comedy in which, sooner or later, he was, as a
well-paid actor, to play his part; and could it have advanced his views
one jot he would have married the Princess Caraboo to-morrow. But of all
wives in the world, a young and handsome one was that which he most
dreaded; and how a statesman who was wedded to a beautiful woman could
possibly perform his duties to the public, did most exceedingly puzzle
him. Notwithstanding these sentiments, however, Vivian began to think
that there really could be no harm in talking to so beautiful a creature
as Julia, and a little conversation with her would, he felt, be no
unpleasing relief to the difficult duties in which he was involved.

To the astonishment of the Honourable Buckhurst Stanhope, eldest son of
Lord Beaconsfield, Mr. Vivian Grey, who had never yet condescended to
acknowledge his existence, asked him one morning, with the most
fascinating of smiles and with the most conciliating voice, "whether
they should ride together." The young heir-apparent looked stiff and
assented. He arrived again at Château Desir in a couple of hours,
desperately enamoured of the eldest Miss Courtown. The sacrifice of two
mornings to the Honourable Dormer Stanhope and the Honourable Gregory
Stanhope sent them home equally captivated by the remaining sisters.
Having thus, like a man of honour, provided for the amusement of his
former friends, the three Miss Courtowns, Vivian left Mrs. Felix
Lorraine to the Colonel, whose moustache, by-the-bye, that lady
considerably patronised; and then, having excited an universal feeling
of gallantry among the elders, Vivian found his whole day at the service
of Julia Manvers.

"Miss Manvers, I think that you and I are the only faithful subjects in
this Castle of Indolence. Here am I lounging on an ottoman, my ambition
reaching only so far as the possession of a chibouque, whose aromatic
and circling wreaths, I candidly confess, I dare not here excite; and
you, of course, much too knowing to be doing anything on the first of
August save dreaming of races, archery feats, and county balls: the
three most delightful things which the country can boast, either for
man, woman, or child."

"Of course, you except sporting for yourself, shooting especially, I
suppose."

"Shooting, oh! ah! there is such a thing. No, I am no shot; not that I
have not hi my time cultivated a Manton; but the truth is, having, at an
early age, mistaken my intimate friend for a cock pheasant, I sent a
whole crowd of fours into his face, and thereby spoilt one of the
prettiest countenances in Christendom; so I gave up the field. Besides,
as Tom Moore says, I have so much to do in the country, that, for my
part, I really have no time for killing birds and jumping over ditches:
good work enough for country squires, who must, like all others, have
their hours of excitement. Mine are of a different nature, and boast a
different locality; and so when I come into the country, 'tis for
pleasant air, and beautiful trees, and winding streams; things which, of
course, those who live among them all the year round do not suspect to
be lovely and adorable creations. Don't you agree with Tom Moore,
Miss Manvers?"

"Oh, of course! but I think it is very improper, that habit, which every
one has, of calling a man of such eminence as the author of 'Lalla
Rookh' _Tom_ Moore."

"I wish he could but hear you! But, suppose I were to quote Mr. Moore,
or Mr. Thomas Moore, would you have the most distant conception whom I
meant? Certainly not. By-the-bye, did you ever hear the pretty name they
gave him at Paris?"

"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 l'Amour! 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 Denon's 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 Retsch's '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 Denham's 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 Newton's
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 Newton's 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
very--but--"

"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 Irving's
autograph for you; read it; is it not quite in character? Shall I write
any more? One of Sir Walter's, or Mr. Southey's, or Mr. Milman's or Mr.
Disraeli's? or shall I sprawl a Byron?"

"I really cannot sanction such unprincipled conduct. You may make me one
of Sir Walter's, however."

"Poor Washington!" said Vivian, writing. "I knew him well. Be always
slept at dinner. One day, as he was dining at: Mr. Hallam's, they took
him, when asleep, to Lady Jersey's: 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 variety's 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."

"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 distinct--voice; 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
man's 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 Marquess's timber, by carving a certain person's 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;
Julia's 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 Vivian's. 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, we're in sad distress; there's been a seizure this
morning, and I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself."

"Good heavens! why did not you come to the Castle?"

"Oh! your honour, we a'nt his Lordship's tenants no longer; there's been
a change for Purley Mill, and now we're Lord Mounteney's people. John
Conyers has been behind-hand since he had the fever, but Mr. Sedgwick
always gave time: Lord Mounteney's gem'man says the system's bad, and so
he'll put an end to it; and so all's gone, your honour; all's gone, and
I'm mortal fear'd the good man's beside himself."

"And who is Lord Mounteney's 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, he'll be quiet enough then. I will see honest
John, dame."

"I'm sure your honour's very kind, but I'm mortal fear'd the good man's
beside himself, and he's apt to do very violent things when the fits on
him. He hasn't been so bad since young Barton behaved so wickedly to
his sister."

"Never mind! there is nothing like a friend's face in the hour of
sorrow."

"I wouldn't advise your honour," said the good dame. "It's an awful hour
when the fit's on him; he knows not friend or foe, and scarcely knows
me, your honour."

"Never mind, I'll 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.

"Oh! pray beware, your honour," earnestly whispered the poor dame, as
she entered the cottage with the visitor.

Vivian walked up with a silent step to the end of "the room, where
Conyers was sitting. He remembered this little room, when he thought it
the very model of the abode of an English husbandman. The neat row of
plates, and the well-scoured utensils, and the fine old Dutch clock, and
the ancient and amusing ballad, purchased at some neighbouring fair, or
of some itinerant bibliopole, and pinned against the wall, all gone!

"Conyers!" exclaimed Vivian.

There was no answer, nor did the miserable man appear in the slightest
degree to be sensible of Vivian's presence.

"My good John!"

The man raised his head from his resting-place, and turned to the spot
whence the voice proceeded. There was such an unnatural fire in his
eyes, that Vivian's spirit almost quailed. His alarm was not decreased,
when he perceived that the master of the cottage did not recognize him.
The fearful stare was, however, short, and again the sufferer's face
was hid.

The wife was advancing, but Vivian waved his hand to her to withdraw,
and she accordingly fell into the background; but her fixed eye did not
leave her husband for a second.

"John Conyers, it is your friend, Mr. Vivian Grey, who is here," said
Vivian.

"Grey!" moaned the husbandman; "Grey! who is he?"

"Your friend, John Conyers. Do you quite forget me?" said Vivian
advancing, and with a tone "which Vivian Grey could alone assume.

"I think I have seen you, and you were kind," and the face was again
hid.

"And always will be kind, John. I have come to comfort you. I thought
that a friend's voice would do you good. Come, cheer up, my man!" and
Vivian dared to touch him. His hand was not repulsed. "Do you remember
what good service you did me when I rode white-footed Moll? Why, I was
much worse off then than you are now: and yet, you see, a friend came
and saved me. You must not give way so, my good fellow. After all, a
little management will set everything right," and he took the
husbandman's sturdy hand.

"I do remember you," he faintly cried. "You were always very kind."

"And always will be, John; always to friends like you. Come, come, cheer
up and look about you, and let the sunbeam enter your cottage:" and
Vivian beckoned to the wife to open the closed shutter.

Conyers stared around him, but his eye rested only on bare walls, and
the big tear coursed down his hardy cheek.

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