Vivian Grey/Volume 3/Chapter 5.11

by Benjamin Disraeli

CHAPTER XI.

When Vivian awoke in the morning, he found that the intenseness of his emotions had subsided; and that his sensations were not quite so indefinite as on the preceding night:—he found himself in love—with whom, however, was perhaps still doubtful. The image of Violet Fane had made his dreams delicious; but it must be confessed, that the eidolon sometimes smiled with the features of Lady Madeleine Trevor:—but that he looked on the world with new feelings, and a changed spirit,—with hope, and almost with joy,—was certain. The sweet summer morning had succeeded to the soft summer night. The sun illumined as yet only the tops of the western mountains; and the morning breeze, unhealed by his beams, told that it was June by the odours which it wafted around. At such a moment the sense of existence alone is happiness; but to Vivian it seemed that the sun was about to light up a happier world, and that the sweet wind blew from Paradise.

Young Love! young Love, 'thy birth was of the womb of morning dew, and thy conception of the joyous prime!'—so Spenser sings; and there are few, perhaps, who, on this subject, have not scribbled some stray stanzas in their time, if not as sweet, it may be more sincere. They will understand feelings which none can describe. How miraculous is that power, which, in an instant, can give hope to the desperate, and joy to the forlorn; which, without an argument, can vanquish all philosophy; and without a gibe silence all wit; which turns the light-hearted serious, while it makes the sorrowful smile; which is braver than courage, and yet more cautious than fear; which can make the fool outwit wisdom. and wisdom envy the fool!

It was in one of those sweet bowers, with which, as we have before mentioned, the gardens of Ems wisely abound, that Vivian Grey had spent more than three hours, unconscious of the passing of a moment. A rustling among the trees first attracted his attention; and on looking quickly up the winding walk, he thought he saw Essper George vanish in the shrubbery. Was he watched?—But he soon forgot his slight anger in another fit of abstraction, from which he was wakened, as he imagined by the same sound. "This time, I'll catch you," thought Vivian. He jumped suddenly up, and nearly knocked down Lady Madeleine Trevor, who had entered the arbour.

"I hope I've not disturbed you, Mr. Grey," said her Ladyship, who saw that he was confused; "I am in want of an escort, and I have come to reclaim a truant knight. You forget that I had your pledge yesterday, to accompany me to the New Spring."

Vivian made a violent struggle to recover himself, and began to talk a quantity of nonsense to her ladyship, by way of apology for his negligence, and thanks for her kindness; Lady Madeleine listened, with her usual gentle smile, to a long and muttered discourse, in which the words "Essper George, Miss Fane, and fine morning," were alone intelligible.

"Shall we have the pleasure of Miss Fane and Mr. Sherborne's company in our walk to-day?" asked Vivian.

"No! they are not going with us," said Lady Madeleine. "You will join our party at the Archduke's to-night, I hope, Mr. Grey," continued her Ladyship.

"Yes-I don't know:-that is, are you going, Lady Madeleine?"

"Why, my dear Sir, isn't this the fête night?"

"Ah! ah! I understand—I remember—it will give me the greatest pleasure to join the party at your Ladyship's rooms."

Lady Madeleine looked very earnestly at her companion, and then talked about the weather, and the beauty of summer, and the singing of birds, and a thousand other little topics, by which she soon restored him to his usual state of mind. In a quarter of an hour Vivian had quite recovered his senses; and only regretted the part which he necessarily took in the conversation, because it prevented him from listening to the soft tones of her ladyship's voice, who he thought to-day looked a thousand times more beautiful than ever. He began also to think, that he should like to walk to the New Spring alone with her every morning of his life.

Vivian had been so occupied by his own feelings, that he and his companion had completed nearly half their walk, before it struck him that something was dwelling on the mind of Lady Madeleine. In the midst of the gayest conversation, her features more than once appeared to be in little accordance with the subject of discussion; and her voice often broke off abruptly at the commencement of a sentence-some sentence which it seemed she had not courage to finish.

"Mr. Grey," said her ladyship, suddenly; "I cannot conceal any longer, that I am thinking of a very different subject to the Archduke's ball. As you form part of my thoughts at this moment, I shall not hesitate to disburthen my mind to you; although, perhaps, I run the risk of being considered at the same time both impertinent and officious. Understand me, however, distinctly, that whatever I may say, you are not, for a moment, to believe that I am ostentatiously presuming to give you advice. There are many points, however, to which the hint or intimation of a friend may attract our attention with advantage; and although our conversation to-day may not be productive of any to you, believe me that I should very much grieve, if my gentle suggestion were construed into an unwarrantable interference."

Any thing that Lady Madeleine Trevor can do, surely cannot be construed by any one as unwarrantable-any thing that Lady Madeleine Trevor can be kind enough to address to me, must always be received with the most respectful, the most grateful attention."

"I wish not to keep you in suspense, Mr. Grey. It is of the mode of life which I see my brother, which I see you pursuing here, that I wish to speak," said her ladyship, with an agitated voice. "May I-may I really speak with freedom?"

"Any thing-every thing, with the most perfect unreserve and confidence," answered Vivian.

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

'I am not ignorant that his Excellency has been in England."

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

"I should judge, with the greatest reluctance, Lady Madeleine."

"And yet it was with still more reluctance, Mr. Grey, that I prevailed upon myself to believe you were his friend. I experienced the greatest delight, when you told me how short and accidental had been your acquaintance. I have experienced the greatest 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."

"Lady Madeleine, I trust there is no cause either for your sorrow or your fear; but much, much cause for my gratitude. Do not fear to be explicit."

"Now that I have prevailed upon myself to speak, Mr. Grey, and have experienced from you the reception that I gave you credit for; do not fear that there will be any want of openness on my part. I have observed the constant attendance of yourself, and my brother, at the New House with the greatest anxiety. I have seen too much of the world, not to be perfectly aware of the danger-the terrific 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. Your abstraction this morning frightened me. 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 have too much respect for your feelings to stop even one moment to express the gratitude-the pride-the honourable pride, which your generous conduct allows me to feel. This moment repays me for a year of agony. I affect not to misunderstand one syllable of your meaning. My opinion, my detestation of the gaming-table has always, 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-a most considerable sum, acquired by this m unhallowed practice. But for this I am scarcely to be blamed. You are yourself 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 with his Highness, and when, unexpectedly, I was forced to play; that fatal fortune has rendered my attendance at the New House absolutely necessary. I found that it was impossible to keep away, without subjecting myself to the most painful observations. I need scarcely say now, that my depression of yesterday was occasioned by the receipt of letters from England; and as to my abstraction this morning, believe me, Lady Madeleine, it was not a state of mind which grew out of any disgust to the world, or its inhabitants. I am ashamed of having spoken so much about myself, and so little about those for whom you are more interested. As far as I can judge, you have no cause, at present, for any serious 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 now for the Baron, Lady Madeleine."

"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; and I need not tell Lady Madeleine Trevor, that at the table of an Archduke, losses are instantly paid."

"Now that I know the truth—the joyful truth, Mr. Grey," said her ladyship, with great earnestness and animation; "I feel quite ashamed of my boldness; must I say my suspicions? But if you could only understand the relief, the ease, the happiness, 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 yes, certainly! After what has passed, I would, without any fear of my motives being misinterpreted, submit to your Ladyship, that the wisest course now, would be to speak to me frankly respecting Von Konigstein; and if you are aware of any thing which has passed in the circles in England, of a nature which may render it more prudent for—"

"Oh! stop, stop!" said Lady Madeleine, in the greatest agitation. Vivian was silent, and many minutes 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. It was evident that she had mastered her emotions.

"I am going to accept, Mr. Grey, the confidence which you have proffered me. I feel, I am convinced, that it is due to you now, that I should say all; 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, Mr. Grey, 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 eminently 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 high in office, and was constantly in personal communication with the Baron. They became intimate, and his Excellency our constant guest. The Baron had the reputation of being a man of pleasure. Few men ever existed, for whose indiscretions there could be a greater excuse; nor had any thing ever transpired which could induce us to believe, that Baron von Konigstein could be guilty of any thing, 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 most fondly loved, resided in our family. Trevor, and myself. 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 all young men. He led a very dissipated, an alarmingly dissipated life; but he was very young; and, as unlike most relations, we never allowed any conduct on his part, for an instant 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 tastes more refined, and his habits less irregular. We had now known Baron von Konigstein for upwards of a year and a half, most 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 the purest honour, and, in spite of a few imprudencies, of the correctest principles. Whatever might have been my own opinion of his Excellency 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 rejoiced to observe, 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, Mr. Grey, which it is necessary for me only to allude to; but which placed Baron von Konigstein, according to his own declaration, under the most 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, his heart was too full; and when her ladyship resumed her tale, he, unconsciously, pressed her arm.

"Mr. Grey, I study 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 alarming intelligence, that his late ward was supposed to be at the point of death at a neighbouring hotel. He instantly accompanied the messenger, and on the way the fatal truth was broken to him—our young 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, Mr. Grey—with the Baron—some foreigners also, and an Englishman-all intimate friends of Von Konigstein, and scarcely known to Captain——, I mean 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 unhappy life. The whole circumstances were so suspicious, that public attention was keenly attracted, and Mr. Trevor spared no exertion to bring the offenders to punishment. The Baron had the hardihood to call upon us the next day; admittance was, of course, refused. He wrote the most violent letters, protesting by all that was sacred that he was innocent; that he was asleep during most of the night, and accusing the others who were present of a conspiracy. The unhappy business now attracted universal attention. Its consequence on me was an alarming illness of a most unfortunate kind; I was therefore prevented from interfering, or, indeed, knowing any thing that took place; but Trevor informed me that the Baron was involved in a correspondence in the public prints; 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 myself, and to Trevor 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, Mr. Grey, I am determined to give utterance to that which as yet has always died upon my lips—the victim—the unhappy victim was the brother of Miss Fane!"

"Oh, God!"

"And Mr. St. George," continued Vivian, "Mr. St. George 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, a very excellent 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, Mr. Grey, young men too often imagine that women are apt to exaggerate in matters of this nature, which, of course, few of us can understand. Von Konigstein had not the good feeling, or perhaps had not the power, connected as he was with the Archduke, to affect ignorance of our former acquaintance, or to avoid a second one. I was obliged formally to introduce him to my brother. I was quite perplexed how to act. I thought of writing to Von Konigstein the next morning, a letter—a calm letter; impressing upon him, without the expression of any hostile feeling, the utter impossibility of the 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 Archduke, and to his numerous friends, for his not associating with a party with whom he was perpetually in contact. Explanations—painful explanations, and worse, much worse than these 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 our physician. While I was doubtful and deliberating, the conduct of 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 St. George in confidence of his acquaintance with us in England, and of the unhappy circumstances which led to its termination. St. George 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 St. George, who he was conscious, would not preserve the confidence which Von Konigstein 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; relating it, as he might with truth, of a gentleman of rank, who was obliged to leave England, he blinded all present, except Miss Fane and myself. I confess to you, Mr. Grey, that though I have not for a moment doubted the guilt of the Baron, 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. Women are so easily to be deceived. We always hail with such credulous pleasure the prospect of the amendment of a fellow creature. Actuated by these feelings, and acting as I thought wisest under existing circumstances, I ceased to discourage the attentions of the Baron to myself and my friends. Your acquaintance, which we all desired to cultivate, was 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. Both Mr. Sherborne and myself have remonstrated with my brother; but the only consequence of our interference has been, that he has quarrelled with his uncle, and treated both my own and Miss Fane's interposition with indifference or irritability."

"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 St. George's, enough to make her look upon the Baron with horror. 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 excitation of mind, which I look upon with more dread than any thing that can happen to her. She has intreated both Mr. Sherborne and myself, to speak to St. George, and also to you, Mr. Grey; and, since our unsuccessful interference with my brother, we have been obliged to have recourse to deceit to calm her mind, and banish her apprehensions. Mr. Sherborne has persuaded her, that, at the New House, play is seldom pursued; and when pursued, that the limit is very moderate. 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, I am convinced, 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 have such confidence in your honour, Mr. Grey, that I unhesitatingly believe all that you have said. I have such confidence in your sense and courage, Mr. Grey, that I have now no apprehensions for the future. For God's sake, watch St. George. I have no fear for yourself."

Here they had reached home: Vivian parted with her ladyship at the door of her apartments, and pressed her hand as he refused to come in. He hastened to the solitude of his own chamber. His whole frame was in a tumult; he paced up and down his room with wild steps; he pressed his hand to his eyes to banish the disturbing light; and tried to call up the image of her who was lately speaking—of her, for whom alone he now felt that he must live. But what chance had he of ever gaining this glorious creature? what right? what claims? His brow alternately burnt with maddening despair, and exciting hope. How he cursed himself for his foul sacrifice of his talents! those talents, the proper exercise, the wise administration of which, might have placed happiness in his power, the enjoyment of a state of feeling, whose existence he had once ridiculed, because his imperfect moral sense was incapable of comprehending it,—once, and once only, it darted across his mind, that feelings of mere friendship could not have dictated this confidence, and occasioned this anxiety on her part; but the soft thought dwelt on his soul only for an instant—as the shadow of a nightingale flits over the moonlit moss.