Vivian Grey/Volume 3/Chapter 5.7

On the following morning, Vivian met with his friend Essper George, behind a small stall in the Bazaar.

"Well, your Highness, what do you wish? Here are Eau de Cologne, violet soap, and watch-ribbons; a smelling bottle of Ems crystal; a snuff-box of fig-tree wood. Name your price, name your price: the least trifle that can be given by a man who breaks a bank, must be more than my whole stock in trade 's worth."

"I have not paid you yet, Essper, for my glass chain. There is your share of my winnings: the fame of which, it seems, has reached even you!" added Vivian, with no pleased air.

"I thank your Highness for the Nap; but ​I hope I have not offended by alluding to a certain event, which shall be past over in silence," continued Essper George, with a look of mock solemnity. "I really think your Highness has but a faint appetite for good fortune. They deserve her most who value her least."

"Have you any patrons at Ems, Essper, that have induced you to fix on this place in particular for your speculations. Here, I should think you have many active rivals," said Vivian, looking round the various stalls.

"I have a patron here, may it please your Highness, a patron who has never deceived, and who will never desert me,-I want no other; and that's myself. Now here comes a party could your Highness just tell me the name of that tall lady now ?"

"If I tell you it is Lady Madeleine Trevor, what will it profit you?"

Before Vivian could well finish his sentence, Essper had drawn out a long horn from beneath his small counter, and sounded a blast which echoed through the arched passages. The at​tention of every one was excited, and no part of the following speech was lost.

"The celebrated Essper George, fresh from Fairyland, dealer in pomatum and all sorts of perfumery, watches, crosses, Ems crystal, coloured prints, Dutch toys, Dresden china, Venetian chains, Neapolitan coral, French crackers, chamois bracelets, tame poodles, and Cherokee corkscrews, mender of mandolins, and all other musical instruments, &c. &c. &c. &c. to her Royal Highness, Lady Madeleine Trevor, and all her royal family, has just arrived at Ems, where he only intends to stay two or three days, and a few more weeks besides.—Now, your ladyship, what do you wish?"

Mr. Grey," said her ladyship, smiling, "you can perhaps explains the reason of this odd greeting. Who is this singular being?"

"The celebrated Essper George, just"—again commenced the conjuror; but Vivian prevented the repetition.

"He is an odd knave, Lady Madeleine, that I've met with before, at other places. I believe ​I may add, an honest one. What say you, Essper?"

"More honest than moonlight, my lady, for that deceives every one; and less honest than self-praise, my lady, for that deceives no one."

"My friend, you have a ready wit."

"My wit is like a bustling servant, my lady; always ready when not wanted; and never present at a pinch."

"Come, I must have a pair of your chamois bracelets. How sell you them?"

"I sell nothing, my lady; all here is gratis to beauty, virtue, and nobility: and these are my only customers."

"Thanks will not supply a stock-in-trade though, Essper," said Vivian.

"Very true! your Highness; but my customers are apt to leave some slight testimonies behind them of the obligations which they are under to me; and these, at the same time, are the prop of my estate and the proof of their discretion. But who comes here?" said Essper, drawing out his horn. The sight of this terrible instrument, reminded Lady Madeleine how ​greatly the effect of music is heightened by distance, and she made a speedy retreat. Her ladyship, with her companion, the elderly gentleman with whom she left the Redoute the preceding night, and Vivian, stopped one moment to watch the party to whom Essper George alluded. It was a family procession of a striking character.

Three daughters abreast, flanked by two elder sons, formed the first file. The father, a portly prosperous-looking man, followed, with his lady on his arm. Then came two nursery maids, with three children, between the tender ages of five and six. The second division of the grand army, consisting of three younger sons, immediately followed. This was commanded by a tutor. A governess and two young daughters then advanced; and then came the extreme rear-the suttlers of the camp-in the persons of two footmen in rich laced liveries, who each bore a basket on his arm, filled with various fancy articles, which had been all purchased during the promenade of this nation through only part of the bazaar.

​"Who can they be?" said her ladyship.

"English," said the elderly gentleman; who had been already introduced by Lady Madeleine to Vivian as her uncle, Mr. Sherborne.

The trumpet of Essper George produced a due effect upon the great party. The commander-in-chief stopped at his little stall, and as if this were the signal for general attack and plunder, the files were all immediately broken up. Each individual dashed at his prey, and the only ones who struggled to maintain a semblance of discipline, were the nursery maids, the tutor, and the governess, who experienced the greatest difficulty in suppressing the early taste which the detachment of light infantry indicated for booty. But Essper George was in his element: he joked, he assisted, he exhibited, he explained; tapped the cheeks of the children, and complimented the elder ones; and finally, having parted at a prodigious profit with nearly his whole stock, paid himself out of a large and heavy purse, which the portly father, in his utter inability to comprehend the complicated accounts and the debased currency, ​with great frankness deposited in the hands of the master of the stall, desiring him to settle his own claims.

"The tradesman is more singular even than his customers," said Mr. Sherborne; "I think you said you knew something of him, Mr. Grey?"

"I knew him, Sir, before, as a conjuror at Frankfort fair."

"By a conjuror, do you mean, Mr. Grey, one of those persons who profess an ability to summon, by the adjuration in a sacred name, a departed spirit; or merely one, who by his dexterity in the practice of sleight-of-hand, produces certain optical delusions on the sight and senses of his fellow men?”

"I met Essper George certainly only in your latter capacity, Mr. Sherborne."

Then, Sir, I cannot agree with you in your definition of his character. I should rather style him a juggler than a conjuror. Would you call that man a conjuror who plays a trick with a cup and balls—a sprinkling of rice, or a bad shilling?"

​"You are perhaps, Sir, critically speaking right; but the world in general are not such purists as Mr. Sherborne. I should not hesitate to describe Essper George as a conjuror. It is an use of the word which common parlance has sanctioned. We must always remember that custom is stronger than etymology."

"Sir, are you aware that you're giving loose to very dangerous sentiments? I may be too precise, I may be too particular; but Sir, I read Addison—and Sir, I think Pope a poet."

"Then Sir, I am happy to say that our tastes agree," said Vivian, bowing.

"I'm very happy to hear it—I'm very glad of it—Sir, I congratulate you—give me your hand—you're the first bearable young man that I've met with for these last twenty years.—Sir, they sometimes talk of our laws and constitution being in danger, which is seldom true—how is it that no one calls out that our language is in danger? A noble poet, whom I honour for his defence of Pope, and who, in my opinion, has gained more glory by that letter of his, ​than by all the rhapsodies of false brilliancy, bad taste, and exaggerated feeling, which ever claimed the attention of the world under the title of Eastern Tales, has called this the Age of Bronze—Why didn't he call it the Age of Slang?"

"But, my dear uncle," said Lady Madeleine, "now that you and Mr. Grey understand each other, you surely will not maintain that his use of the word conjuror was erroneous. Custom surely has some influence upon language. You would think me very affected, I'm sure, if I were to talk of putting on a neck-kerchief."

"My dear, Mr. Grey was right, and I was wrong: I carried the point a little too far; but I feel it my duty to take every opportunity of informing the youth of the present day that I hold them in absolute contempt. Their affectation, their heartlessness, their artificial feelings, their want of all real, genuine, gentlemanly, English sentiments,—and, above all, their slang,—have disgusted me—I'm very glad to find that Mr. Grey is not guilty of these follies—I'm very glad to find that he believes that a man ​older than himself is not quite a fool—I wish I could say as much for Albert. Mr. Grey was certainly right:—next to being correct, a man should study to be candid—I haven't met with a candid man these fifty years—no one now will own, by any chance, they're ever wrong. Now, for myself, it's very odd, I never form a hasty opinion, and yet I'm not always right: but I always own it—I make it the principle of my life to be candid."

"I hope I may be allowed to ask after Miss Fane, although I have not the honour of her acquaintance."

"She continues much better; my uncle and myself are now about to join her in the Limewalk, where, by this time, she and Albert must have arrived; if you are not otherwise engaged, and will join our morning stroll, it will give us much pleasure."

Nothing in the world could give Vivian greater pleasure; he felt himself irresistibly impelled to the side of Lady Madeleine; and only regretted his acquaintance with the Baron, because he felt conscious that there was some ​secret cause, which prevented that intimacy from existing between his Excellency and the Trevor party, which his amusing talents and his influential rank would otherwise have easily produced, When they reached the Lime-walk, Miss Fane and her cousin were not there, although the time of appointment was considerably past.

"I hope nothing has happened," said Lady Madeleine; "I trust she is not taken unwell."

"Quite improbable!" said Mr. Sherborne; "there must be some other reason: if she were unwell, the servant would have been here."

"Let us return," said Lady Madeleine.

"By no means, my dear," said Mr. Sherborne, who had the greatest affection for his nieces; "Mr. Grey will, I have no doubt, have the goodness to remain with your ladyship, and I will fetch Violet; you may depend upon it, she is ready to come;" so saying, Mr. Sherborne stalked off at a very quick pace.

"My dear uncle is rather a character, Mr. Grey; but he is as remarkable for his excellence of heart, as for any little peculiarities in ​his habits. I am glad that you have made a favourable impression upon him; because, as I hope you will be much in his company, you stand now no chance of being included in the list of young men whom he delights to torment, at the head of which, I regret to say, is my brother. By-the-bye, I do not know whether I may be allowed to congratulate you upon your brilliant success at the Redoute last night. It is fortunate, that all have not to regret your arrival at Ems as much as poor Mr. Hermann."

"The run of fortune was certainly most extraordinary. I 'm only sorry that the Goddess should have showed her favours on one who neither deserves, nor desires them; for I've no wish to be rich; and as I never lost by her caprices, it is hardly fair that I should gain by them."

"You do not play then, much?"

"I never played in my life, till last night. Gambling has never been one of my follies: although my catalogue of errors is fuller, perhaps, than most men's."

​"I think Baron von Konigstein was your partner in the exploit."

"He was; and apparently as little pleased at the issue, as myself."

"Indeed!—Have you known the Baron long?"

"You will be surprised to hear that we are only friends of a week. I have been living, ever since I was in Germany, a most retired life. A circumstance of a most painful nature drove me from England—a circumstance of which, I can hardly flatter myself, and can hardly wish, that your ladyship should be ignorant."

"I am not unacquainted, Mr. Grey," said Lady Madeleine, much moved, "with an unhappy event, which we need not again mention. Believe me, that I learnt the sad history from one, who, while he spoke the rigid truth, spoke of the living sufferer in terms of the fondest affection."

"A father!" said Vivian, with an agitation which he did not affect to suppress, "a father can hardly be expected to be impartial."

​"Such a father as yours must always be so. He is one of those men who must be silent, or speak truth. I only wish that he was with us now, to assist me in bringing about what he must greatly desire—your return to England."

"It cannot be—it cannot be—I look back to the last year which I spent in that country with feelings of such disgust, I look forward to a return to that country with feelings of such repugnance—that—but I feel I'm trespassing beyond all bounds, in dwelling on these subjects to your ladyship. They are those on which I have never yet conversed with human being; but the unexpected meeting with a friend—with a friend of my father, I mean, has surprised me into a display of feelings which I thought -were dead within me; and for which, I am sure, the custom of society requires an apology."

"Oh! do not say so, Mr. Grey—do not say so! When I promised your father, that in case we met, I should even seek your society, I entered into an engagement, which, though I am surprised I am now called upon to fulfil, I did not form in a careless spirit. Let us understand ​each other: I am inclined to be your friend, if you will permit it; and the object which I wish to obtain by our friendship, I have not concealed: at least, I am frank. I have suffered too much myself, not to understand how dangerous, and how deceitful is the excess of grief. You have allowed yourself to be overcome by that which Providence intended as a lesson of instruction—not as a sentence of despair. In your solitude you have increased the shadow of those fantasies of a heated brain, which converse with the pure sunshine of the world, would have enabled you to dispel."

"The pure sunshine of the world, Lady Madeleine!—would that it had ever lighted me! My youth flourished in the unwholesome sultriness of a blighted atmosphere, which I mistook for the resplendent brilliancy of a summer-day. How deceived I was, you may judge, not certainly from finding me here; but I am here, because I have ceased to suffer, only in having ceased to hope."

"You have ceased to hope, Mr. Grey, because hope and consolation are not the visible ​companions of solitude, which are of a darker nature. Hope and consolation spring from those social affections, which your father, among others, has taught me to believe imperishable. With such a parent, are you justified in acting the part of a misanthrope? Ought you not rather to hope, to believe that there are others, whose principle of being is as benevolent, if not as beneficial as his own?"

"Lady Madeleine, I do believe it; if I had doubted it, my doubts must end this day; but you mistake in believing that I am a misanthrope. It is not Sorrow now that makes me sad; but Thought that has made me grave. I have done with grief; but my release from suffering has been gained at a high price. The ransom which freed me from the slavery of sorrow was—happiness."

"I am no metaphysician, Mr. Grey, but I fear you have embraced a dark philosophy. Converse with the world, now that your passions are subdued, and your mind matured, will do more for you than all the arguments of philosophers. I hope yet to find you a believer in the ​existence of that good which we all worship, and all pursue. Happiness comes when we least expect it, and to those who strive least to obtain it—as you were fortunate yesterday at the Redoute, when you played without an idea of winning. The truth seems, that after all, we are the authors of our own sorrow. In an eager pursuit to be happy, and to be rich, men do many unwise, and some unprincipled actions; it ends in their becoming miserable, and continuing poor. The common course of events will bring to each mortal his fair share of fortune. The whole secret of life seems to be to restrain our passions, and let the common course of events have its run. But I will not enter into an argument which I have not the vanity to suppose that I possess the ability to maintain; and yet which I feel that I ought not to have the weakness to lose. But here comes my uncle, and Violet too! Well, my dear Sir, you've brought the truant, I see!"

"Brought her, indeed, dear little thing! I knew it was not her fault; I said she was not unwell; I wonder what St. George will do ​next! Mr. Grey, this is my niece Violet, Miss Fane: and Violet, my dear, this is Mr. Grey, and I wish all persons of his age were like him. As for the Honourable Mr. St. George, he gets more unbearable every day. I suppose soon he 'll 'cut' his own family."

"Well, I regret uncle, that I think in this business you are entirely wrong," said Miss Fane.

"Now, Violet! now, how can you be so wilful! to contradict me so, when you haven't a shadow of a defence for your cousin's unprincipled conduct!"

"My dear uncle, is it so unprincipled to break an appointment? I think it is one of the most agreeable and pleasant habits in the world. No young man is expected to keep an appointment."

"Now, Violet! how can you go on so? You know if there's one thing in the world that I detest more than another, it is breaking an appointment—a vice, which, as far as I can observe, has originated in your young men of the present day. And who the devil are these young men, ​that the whole system of civilized society is to be disorganised for their convenience? Young men, indeed! I hate the phrase. I wish I could hear of more young gentlemen, and fewer young men. There isn't a young man in the world for whom I haven't the most sovereign contempt; I don't mean you, Mr. Grey. I 've the highest respect for you. I mean that mass of half-educated, inexperienced, insolent, conceited puppies, who think every man 's a fool who 's older than themselves; whose manners are a mixture of the vices of all nations, and whose talk is the language of none; at the head of whom is my nephew—your brother. Lady Madeleine Trevor—your cousin, Violet Fane—I mean Mr. Albert St. George."

Mr. Sherborne had now worked himself into a terrible passion; and the two ladies increased his irritability, by their incessant laughter.

"Well, I confess I do not see that Albert deserves this tirade," continued Miss Fane; "only think, my dear uncle, how many unexpected demands a man has upon his time. For all we know, unforeseen business may have pe​remptorily required Albert's attention. How do you know that he hasn't been looking at a horse for a friend; or completing the purchase of a monkey; or making some discoveries in the highest branches of experimental philosophy? perhaps he has succeeded in lighting his cigar with a burning-glass."

"Miss Fane!"

"Mr. Sherborne!"

"If I were here alone, if Lady Madeleine were only here, I could excuse this; but how you are to answer to your conscience giving a stranger, Mr. Grey, a young gentleman for whom I have the highest respect, the impression that you, my niece, can tolerate for a moment, the existence of such monstrous absurdities is to me the most unaccountable thing that———"

"My dear uncle! how do you know that Mr. Grey has not got a monkey himself? You really should remember who is present, when you are delivering these philippics on the manners of the present century, and be cautious, lest, at the same time, you are not only violent, but personal."

​"Now Violet, my dear!"

"My dear Sir!" said Lady Madeleine, "Violet is exerting herself too much; you know you are an enchanted lady at present, and may neither laugh, speak, nor sing."

"Well then, dear uncle, let us talk no more of poor Albert's want of memory. Had he come, I should very likely have been unwell, and then he would have stayed at home the whole morning for no earthly good. As it is, here I am; with the prospect of a very pleasant walk, not only feeling quite well, but decidedly better every day,—so now let us make an apology to Mr. Grey, for having kept him so long standing."

"Violet, you 're an angel! though I'm your uncle, who say so;—and perhaps, after all, as it wasn't a positive appointment, St. George is not so much to blame. And I will say this for him, that with all his faults, he is on the whole very respectful to me, and I sometimes try him hard. I 'm not in the habit of making hasty observations, but if ever I find myself doing so, I 'm always ready to own it. There's ​no excuse, however, for his not fetching you, my dear!—what business had he to be going about with that Baron von Konigstein—that foreign———"

"Friend of Mr. Grey's, my dear uncle," said Lady Madeleine.

"Humph!"

As Mr. Sherborne mentioned the Baron's name, the smiling face of Lady Madeleine Trevor became clouded, but the emotion was visible only for a moment, as the soft shadow steals over the sunny wood. Miss Fane led on her uncle, as if she were desirous to put an end to the conversation.

"You would scarcely imagine, Mr. Grey, from my cousin's appearance, and high spirits, that we are travelling for her health; nor do her physicians, indeed, give us any cause for serious uneasiness—yet I confess, that at times, I cannot help feeling very great anxiety. Her flushed cheek, and the alarming languor which constantly succeeds any exertion or excitement, make me fear that her complaint is more deeply seated than they are willing to acknowledge."

​ "Let us hope that the extraordinary heat of the weather may account, in a great degree, for this distressing languor."

"We are willing to adopt any reasoning that gives us hope, but I cannot help remembering that her mother died of consumption."

"Oh! Lady Madeleine," said Miss Fane, looking back, "do not you think I'm strong enough to walk as far as the New Spring? My uncle says, he is sure that I should be much better if I took more exercise, and I really want to see it. Can't we go to-morrow? I dare say, as Albert played truant to-day, he will condescend to escort us."

"Condescend, indeed! when I was a young man———"

"You a young man! I don't believe you ever were a young man," said Miss Fane, putting her small hand before a large open mouth, which was about to deliver the usual discourse on the degeneracy of the "present day."

The walk was most agreeable; and, with the exception of one argument upon the principles of the picturesque, which Mr. Sherborne insisted upon ​Vivian's entering into, and in which, of course, that gentleman soon had the pleasure of proving himself candid by confessing himself confuted, it passed over without any disturbance from that most worthy and etymological individual. This was the first day, for nearly a year and a half, that Vivian Grey had joined with beings whose talents and virtues he respected, in calm and rational conversation; this was nearly the first day in his life that Vivian Grey had conversed with any individuals, with no sinister views of self-advancement, and self-interest. He found his conversation, like his character, changed;—treating of things, rather than men; of nature, rather than society. To-day there was no false brilliancy to entrap the unwary; no splendid paradoxes to astound the weak; no poignant scandal to amuse the vile. He conversed calmly, without eagerness, and without passion; and delivering with ability his conscientious opinion upon subjects which he had studied, and which he understood, he found that while he interested others, he had also been interested himself.