"It is very odd I cannot ride out when it happens to suit me! However, I will be off to-morrow; and so, if you please, show me my bed-room at once."
"Your room is the library, sir."
"The library! Why, there is no bed in the library."
"We have no beds, sir; but the sofa is made up."
"No beds! Well! it is only for one night. You are all mad, and I am as mad as you for coming here."
CHAPTER VII
The morning sun peeping through the window of the little summer-house roused its inmate at an early hour; and finding no signs of Mr.
Beckendorff and his guest having yet risen from their slumbers, Vivian took the opportunity of strolling about the gardens and the grounds.
Directing his way along the margin of the river, he soon left the lawn and entered some beautiful meadows, whose dewy verdure glistened in the brightening beams of the early sun. Crossing these, and pa.s.sing through a gate, he found himself in a rural road, whose lofty hedge-rows, rich with all the varieties of wild fruit and flower, and animated with the cheering presence of the busy birds chirping from every bough and spray, altogether presented a scene which reminded him of the soft beauties of his own country. With some men, to remember is to be sad; and unfortunately for Vivian Grey, there were few objects which with him did not give rise to a.s.sociations of a painful nature. The strange occurrences of the last few days had recalled, if not revived, the feelings of his boyhood. His early career flitted across his mind. He would have stifled the remembrance with a sigh, but man Is the slave of Memory. For a moment he mused over Power; but then he, shuddering, shrank from the wearing anxiety, the consuming care, the eternal vigilance, the constant contrivance, the agonising suspense, the distracting vicissitudes of his past career. Alas! it is our nature to sicken, from our birth, after some object of unattainable felicity, to struggle through the freshest years of our life in an insane pursuit after some indefinite good, which does not even exist! But sure and quick is the dark hour which cools our doting frenzy in the frigid waves of the ocean of oblivion! We dream of immortality until we die.
Ambition! at thy proud and fatal altar we whisper the secrets of our mighty thoughts, and breathe the aspirations of our inexpressible desires. A clouded flame licks up the offering of our ruined souls, and the sacrifice vanishes in the sable smoke of Death.
But where are his thoughts wandering? Had he forgotten that day of darkest despair? There had that happened to him which had happened to no other man. He was roused from his reverie by the sound of a trotting horse. He looked up, but the winding road prevented him at first from seeing the steed which evidently was approaching. The sound came nearer and nearer; and at length, turning a corner, Mr. Beckendorff came in sight. He was mounted on a strong-built, rough, and ugly pony, with an obstinate mane, which, defying the exertion"s of the groom, fell in equal divisions on both sides of its bottle neck, and a large white face, which, combined with its blinking vision, had earned for it the euphonious t.i.tle of Owlface. Both master and steed must have travelled hard and far, for both were covered with dust and mud from top to toe, from mane to hoof. Mr. Beckendorff seemed surprised at meeting Vivian, and pulled up his pony as he reached him.
"An early riser, I see, sir. Where is Mr. von Philipson?"
"I have not yet seen him, and imagined that both he and yourself had not yet risen."
"Hum! how many hours is it to noon?" asked Mr. Beckendorff, who always spoke astronomically.
"More than four, I imagine."
"Pray do you prefer the country about here to Turriparva?"
"Both, I think, are beautiful."
"You live at Turriparva?" asked Mr. Beckendorff.
"As a guest," answered Vivian.
"Has it been a fine summer at Turriparva?"
"I believe everywhere."
"I am afraid Mr. von Philipson finds it rather dull here?"
"I am not aware of it."
"He seems a ve-ry--?" said Beckendorff, looking keenly in his companion"s face. But Vivian did not supply the desired phrase; and so the Minister was forced to finish the sentence himself, "a very gentlemanlike sort of man?" A low bow was the only response.
"I trust, sir, I may indulge the hope," continued Mr. Beckendorff, "that you will honour me with your company another day."
"You are exceedingly obliging!"
"Mr. von Philipson is fond, I think, of a country life?" said Beckendorff.
"Most men are."
"I suppose he has no innate objection to live occasionally in a city?"
"Few have."
"You probably have known him long?"
"Not long enough to wish our acquaintance at an end."
"Hum!"
They proceeded in silence for some moments, and then Beckendorff again turned round, and this time with a direct question.
"I wonder if Mr. Von Philipson can make it convenient to honour me with his company another day. Can you tell me?"
"I think the best person to inform you of that would be his Highness himself," said Vivian, using his friend"s t.i.tle purposely to show Mr.
Beckendorff how ridiculous he considered his present use of the incognito.
"You think so, sir, do you?" answered Beckendorff, sarcastically.
They had now arrived at the gate by which Vivian had reached the road.
"Your course, sir," said Mr. Beckendorff, "lies that way. I see, like myself, you are no great talker. We shall meet at breakfast." So saying, the Minister set spurs to his pony, and was soon out of sight.
When Vivian reached the house, he found the bow window of the library thrown open, and as he approached he saw Mr. Beckendorff enter the room and bow to the prince. His Highness had pa.s.sed a good night in spite of not sleeping in a bed, and he was at this moment commencing a delicious breakfast. His ill-humour had consequently vanished. He had made up his mind that Beckendorff was mad; and although he had given up all the secret and flattering hopes which he had dared to entertain when the interview was first arranged, he nevertheless did not regret his visit, which on the whole had been amusing, and had made him acquainted with the person and habits, and, as he believed, the intellectual powers of a man with whom, most probably, he should soon be engaged in open hostility. Vivian took his seat at the breakfast, table, and Beckendorff stood conversing with them with his back to the fireplace, and occasionally, during the pauses of conversation, pulling the strings of his violin with his fingers. It did not escape Vivian"s observation that the Minister was particularly courteous and even attentive to the Prince; and that he endeavoured by his quick and more communicative answers, and occasionally by a stray observation, to encourage the good humour visible on the cheerful countenance of his guest.
"Have you been long up, Mr. Beckendorff?" asked the Prince; for his host had resumed his dressing-gown and slippers.
"I generally see the sun rise."
"And yet you retire late! out riding last night, I understand?"
"I never go to bed."
"Indeed!" said the Prince. "Well, for my part, without my regular rest I am nothing. Have you breakfasted, Mr. Beckendorff?"
"Clara will bring my breakfast immediately."
The dame accordingly soon appeared, bearing a tray with a basin of boiling water and one large thick biscuit. This Mr. Beckendorff, having well soaked in the hot fluid, eagerly devoured; and then taking up his violin, amused himself until his guests had finished their breakfast.
When Vivian had ended his meal he left the Prince and Beckendorff alone, determined that his presence should not be the occasion of the Minister any longer r.e.t.a.r.ding the commencement of business. The Prince, who by a private glance had been prepared for his departure, immediately took the opportunity of asking Mr. Beckendorff, in a decisive tone, whether he might flatter himself that he could command his present attention to a subject of importance. Mr. Beckendorff said that he was always at Mr.
von Philipson"s service; and drawing a chair opposite him, the Prince and Mr. Beckendorff now sat on each side of the fireplace.