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 THE 
 
 PEER^S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY BULWER LYTTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF CHEVELEY, &C. 
 
 " When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat ; 
 
 Yet fooled by hope, men favour the deceit, 
 
 Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay ; 
 
 To-morrow's falser than the former day, 
 
 Lies worse, and whilst it says we shall be blest 
 
 With some new joys, cuts off what wepossest. 
 
 Strange cozenage, none would live past years again, 
 
 Yet all hope pleasure from what yet remain, 
 
 And from the dregs of life hope to receive 
 
 What its first sprightly running could not give."— Dbyden. 
 
 " Read not to contradict and confute ; nor to believe and take for granted 
 nor to find talk and discourse : bat to weigh and consider."— Loed Bacon. 
 
 " Time writes no wrinkles on his brow, 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, we see it now." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES.— VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 T. C. NEWBY, 30, WELBECK STREET, 
 
 CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1849.
 
 3. BILLING, PRINTER, WOKING, SURREY.
 
 8^5 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 TO PHILIP JAMES BAILEY, ESQ., 
 
 Author of " Festus."* 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 
 Had it not been for the remembrance of the 
 
 permission, which you, long ago, so kindly 
 
 granted me, of dedicating this work to you, 
 
 I do not think that anything could have com- 
 
 Apensated to me for the ennui, not to say 
 
 ^^ degout, of pubHshing it, so long after the time 
 
 ; it was originally intended to appear. Begun, 
 
 U as you are aware, three years ago, and thrown 
 
 ^ by, for the last eighteen months, under the most 
 
 gainful circumstances, nothing but necessity ! 
 
 (that relentless task master,) could ever have 
 
 V ^' Pickering, London, 1845. 
 
 \ 
 
 4v
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 compelled me to finish it. With '' all its im- 
 perfections on its head," therefore, (trusting to 
 your indulgence,) I venture to lay it upon your 
 shrine, not indeed as an adequate offering, (for 
 where could such be found ?) but as the only 
 one in my power, whereby I can express the 
 intense admiration with which your genius has 
 inspired 
 
 My Dear Sir, 
 Your obliged and obedient servant, 
 Rosin A Bulwer Lytton. 
 
 5a, Sloane Street, 
 November, 1849.
 
 A WORD TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 Respected Enigma ! 
 
 As I have the highest possible opinion of 
 your judgment, being convinced that when you know 
 the truth, your decisions are always right ; I wish to 
 anticipate any hasty conclusions you might come to, 
 touching certain doctrines broached by the Comte 
 de Saint Germain ; which I feel it is the more in- 
 cumbent upon me to do, inasmuch as that authors, 
 if not considered the parents, are at least deemed 
 the sponsors, of their creations, and in that capacity
 
 VI A WORD TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 answerable for the opinions of their Dramatis Per- 
 soncB ; I shall therefore briefly state, that, independent 
 of there never having been but one fixed quantum of 
 matter and spirit created, (which are both indestruct- 
 ible^ the Jews seem to have been warranted in their 
 behef of the ^re-existence of souls ; for even the 
 disciples appealed to their Divine Master, saying, 
 " Did this man sin, or his parents, that he was born 
 blind?" and in "The Book of Wisdom/' (which 
 though apocryphal, is nevertheless appointed to be 
 read in churches), occurs the following passage : 
 
 ^' I was a witty child, and had a good spirit ; yea, 
 rather, being good I came into a body undefiled." 
 
 Now as it is utterly impossible for any deeply 
 thinking, or rightly constituted mind, for one mo- 
 ment to doubt the justice and goodness of the Creator, 
 however much crime, vice, and their concomitants — 
 misery and injustice,— may reign in the world, this 
 theory of pre-exhtence seems most satisfactorily to 
 account for all, (even to our finite capacities), down
 
 A WORD TO THE PUBLIC. VI 
 
 to reducing the apparent injustice of the fearful in- 
 equalities of position and destiny to the infallible 
 results of foregone actions. At all events, it is an 
 open question ; and as such, is entitled to toleration. 
 Committing it therefore to yours, 
 I remain, 
 
 Your obedient servant, 
 
 The Author.
 
 THE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 * ' Jam nox inducere terris 
 
 Umbras, et coelo difFundere signa parabat :" — Horat. 
 
 There is a History in all mens' lives 
 
 Figuring the nature of the time deceased," — Shakspearb. 
 
 TvpoQ. 
 
 The last crimson flush of day had faded from the 
 distant hills ; — the hum of insects (those ephemeral 
 parasites of the sun) had ceased ; the flowers drooped 
 their heads, and had closed the soft curtains of their 
 folding leaves, — but not before they had breathed 
 their evening prayer, which filled the air with a 
 holier fragrance, nature's sweet incense ! worthy to 
 rise from her altars — to those of God ! The whis- 
 pering rivers, and the murmuring rills, now told a 
 thousand legends to their paraclete the evening 
 breeze : and then flowed on, fraught with other 
 tales for other times. 
 
 Night ! sweet empyrean soft abodant night ! had 
 donned her radiant darkness, and the eternal, and 
 mysterious stars, — those bright clad heralds of 
 so many myriads of dark and yet unacted human 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 i5 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 dramas, — looked from their immutable glorj coldly 
 down, upon their grovelling slave the earth. 
 
 '' Yes — all is beautiful, all is harmonious, all is 
 consistent in nature ; — but man^ — alas ! alas ! that 
 human nature alone should be the one dark spot on 
 the sun of God's creation !— Omnipotence ! strange 
 paradox ! that puzzles reason, and fetters the will as 
 long as the power of evil exists.'* 
 
 So thought aloud, Raphael Valasquez, a young 
 Spanish noble, as he lay stretched upon a couch 
 before an open window in the Pavilion D^ Henri 
 Quatre at *S^. Germain e en Laye, upon a sultry 
 evening in July, during those intermediate hours be- 
 tween early evening and midnight — before the dis- 
 solute court of Louis Quinze repaired to their almost 
 nightly orgies. Valasquez was rich, and handsome, 
 and young, a trinity of blessings, which caused the 
 envy of his associates, without sufficing to ensure to 
 him the supposed happiness for which he was envied. 
 Left an orphan, and heir to immense wealth, at the 
 early age of ten, he had had for his preceptor an 
 Itahan Jesuit, who was deeply imbued with all the 
 theoretic mysticisms so rife in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury ; the consequence was, that the young Raphael 
 had fused the bloom of his cheek in crucibles, and 
 withered the freshness of his heart in metaphysical 
 speculations, long before he was six-and-twenty ;— so 
 zealous a devotee had he been at the occult shrines 
 of Mesmer, and Albert the Great ; so diligent a
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 3 
 
 tyro of the sentences of Zoroaster, the hymns of 
 Orpheus, and the symbols of Pythagoras ; so con- 
 stant a guest at the emerald table of Hermes ; so 
 indefatigable a studier of his Asclepius, his Miner a 
 Mundi, his Tatro- Mathematical and his Lapidis 
 Philosophi — to say nothing of his having pressed 
 into his service Aristotle, Plato, Zozima, Democrites, 
 Olt/mpiodonis, Sopkar the Persian, Synesius Dios- 
 coi'iis, high priest of the great Serapis at Alexan- 
 dria, Ostanes the Egyptian, the emperor Heraclhis 
 TlieophrasteSy Archelaiis, Claudius, Sergius, and 
 Memnon ; — that in the very dawn of manhood, not- 
 withstanding the extreme brilliancy of his large lust- 
 rous dark eyes, and the faultless beauty of his fea- 
 tures, they had an unearthly calmness — not to say 
 rigidity of expression, that gave him the appearance, 
 of having suddenly jumped as it were the soft and 
 flowery margin of youth, into the dark and icy 
 gulf of age. But woe unto those who forget to be 
 young in due season — for the genial sunshine of 
 youth, that they have neglected to open their hearts 
 to, will be replaced sooner, or later, by a devouring 
 fire which shall not warm, but consume. The first 
 act of young Valasquez upon attaining his majority, 
 had been to dismiss his preceptor the Jesuit Contarini, 
 and publicly abjure Catholicism, to embrace the 
 tenets of Calvin ; — which caused such a scandal in 
 Madrid, that he was obliged to quit it ; for though 
 more than half suspected of sorcery, from his astute 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 knowledge of chemistry, and from having upon more 
 than one occasion regaled several Hidalgos, and 
 members of the Jesuits college — with the exhibition 
 of grasping for several minutes, a bar cf red-hot iron 
 — and then producing his hand perfectly unscathed ;* 
 yet, in consideration of his wealth, and the splendid 
 fetes and irreproachable dinners that were the re- 
 sult of it, even his suspected liaison with the nether 
 powers, might have been overlooked ; — for, as the 
 archbishop of Toledo (who had been for two months 
 on a visit at the escurial) incontrovertably observed, 
 " If the devil does send cooks, — he has taken care to 
 send Don Raphael develish good ones, for there are 
 no such cordons bleiies as his to be found in all Spain." 
 All these things duly considered, as we before stated, 
 his suspected dealings with his satanic majesty 
 might have been winked at, had he not so glaringly 
 confirmed them by his recent heretical apostacy — 
 and with all the good will in the world, how could the 
 Catholic church sell her indulgences to a heretic who 
 w ould }iof purchase them ? — aye there was the rub ! 
 and so Don Raphael left Spain, and became a so- 
 journer at the court of Louis Quinze, where wealth 
 was always Catholic, not to say apostolic. 
 
 * The method of performing this Diablerie is to be found among 
 Albertus Magnus's receipts, and is as follows : '' Prenez de I'arsenic 
 roDge avec de Talum, broyez-les ensemble ; et les m^lez avec du sue 
 de jubarbe, et la gomme qui sort du laurier odorant ; I'homme qui 
 s'en sera frotte les mains a trois fois consecutivement pourra prendre, 
 et nianier un fer rouge sans en etre incommode."
 
 THE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. 5 
 
 Valasquez had one of those clear, broad, analytical 
 minds, which being of no peculiar age, or epoch, are 
 of all, and consequently would have made a glorious 
 rallying point for D'Alembert, and that philosophi- 
 cal chrysalis, the cidevant young aronet, who had 
 now long donned his Voltairean wings, which were 
 already gorgeous, with the bright, and not over ephe- 
 meral tints of the ^golden opinions,' which his wit, 
 scepticism, and sophistry, had won from him, from 
 the habitues of the Hotel de Richelieu, and the cafe 
 Procope ; but unfortunately Don Raphael was also 
 encumbered with that, in all times, unfashionable, 
 and troublesome appendage, a heart, whose out- 
 gushings had ever their source in the deep and eternal 
 truths of nature ; consequently, he soon not only 
 wearied but withered, in the paralysing atmosphere of 
 mere intellectual meteors, whose corruscations, how- 
 ever brilliant, wanted the spark of sacred fire which 
 alone can kindle and create. Mere head work, ever 
 has, and ever will be, but like the unsubstantial 
 shadows of a dream, lacking the incarnation of 
 reality. '* Hell,'' says the proverb, *' is paved with 
 good intentions ;" then surely it must be lit by a 
 gasometer of fine sentiments, retailed by individuals 
 whose actions were the very reverse ; for verily sen- 
 timent, beautiful, varnished, rounded, abstract senti- 
 ment, is the devil's abditory, where sin lurks in satin, 
 vice in velvet, crime and cruelty in suavity and hy- 
 pocrisy, and falsehood, meanness, and injustice in
 
 O THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 every garb and guise, known throughout the habit- 
 able world. 
 
 It was the daily and hourly proofs of the power 
 and triumph of evil in this world, which had made 
 young Valasquez already weary of it unto death ; for 
 his wealth, which gave him the power of gratifying 
 every external wish, soon convinced him of the no- 
 thingness of all things, the pursuit of which merely 
 begins and ends in our terrestrial sphere ; for Ra- 
 phael had a heart, a mind, and a soul, to fill : and 
 their eternal cravings were not likely to be satisfied, 
 in a highly demoralized, artificial, and vicious state 
 of society, whose very atmosphere was an alkahest 
 for every pure, generous, or natural feeling. His 
 skill in physics had opened to him a vista of meta- 
 physics, which lured him on till he was involved in a 
 labyrinth of speculation so exciting and yet so vague, 
 that the fabled torments of Tantalus were happiness, 
 compared to the incessant and fruitless struggles of 
 his internal life, over which all external objects and 
 circumstances were utterly po'.verless. Not but what 
 Valasquez was to be seen corporeally daily and 
 nightly, when not at the court orgies, alternately in 
 every salon in Paris, from the half pedant, half 
 spirituely and wholly heartless coteries of Mesdames 
 Du deffand, and du Chdtelet^ to the gilded walls of 
 the Hotel de Richelieu, where two or three times a 
 year Mademoiselle Clairon delighted the Marechal 
 and his guests, with her perfect declamation, and
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 7 
 
 her equally perfect curtsey a La Fontanyes, Nor 
 was he (all heretic though he was) banished from 
 the Pavilion Marsan by its then prim occupant, 
 from whom it derived its name, or excluded from the 
 dull dignity of the Hotel de Breteuil and its aristo- 
 cratic petits soupers, where he often met the beauti- 
 ful and interesting Comtesse d'Egmont, with whom he 
 might have found no difficulty in falling in love, but 
 for her well known faithful attachment to the me- 
 mory of the Comte de Gisors. 
 
 And though Madame d'Egmont had just the sort 
 of eyes as the Comte de Chastellux said of them, 
 qui for cent la consigne de tons les coeurs, on reaching 
 Valasquez*, she found nothing but a deep interest 
 and sympathy, awarded her by few ; for the set 
 among whom she lived, only laughed at what they 
 called her ridiculous romance. But so frequent and 
 protracted were Don Raphael's visits to the Vidame 
 de Poitiers, that the reports of his sorceries, so rife 
 at Madrid, now began to circulate in Paris, and 
 made him an object of mingled animadversion and 
 curiosity, especially among the EngHsh, whenever 
 he went to Lord Albemarle's, the then EngHsh am- 
 bassador at the court of France. It was one niffht 
 at the English embassy, that Valasquez had, for the 
 first time since his arrival in Paris, been roused out 
 of his imperturbable apathy for all external things, 
 by a lady ; the play of whose countenance, while 
 seated beside and conversing with the old Duchesse de
 
 Cosse Brissac, despite himself, excited his admiration, 
 and roused his curiosity ; for, at one moment its ex- 
 pression was so brilh'ant and spirituelle, and the next 
 so hopelessly yet calmly sad, that there appeared to 
 him a whole drama, (and one which he longed to 
 study) in the deep hazel eyes of the beautiful 
 speaker. As long as she continued to speak, he 
 watched her from the pillar against which he was 
 leaning ; but when she rose and made her farewell 
 salutation to the Duchesse^ he broke through a solid 
 square of sommites aristocratiques in the persons of 
 Mesdames de Mazerin, de Tesse, de Lamarck, the 
 Duchess of Gordon^ and the Marechale d'Estrees, 
 in order to inquire of Madame de Brissac, by what 
 name he should admire the beautiful face he had just 
 seen ; but one of those malicious little punctuations 
 of time, those colons and commas of seconds and 
 minutes, which often so completely and provokingly 
 alter the reading of our fate, had just stopped the 
 Duchesse before he could get close to her, in the per- 
 son of that mosaic of bigotry and family pride, the 
 Marechale de Noailles^, to tell her of the shameful 
 
 • It was of her that the Marquise de Crequy relates (among many 
 others), a ridiculous story of her commencing a correspondence with 
 the Virgin Mary, which her confessor to humour her used to reply to 
 under the name of her celestial correspondent, which greatly charmed 
 the Marechale, till one day in a paroxysm of family pride, she took 
 occasion to observe to one of her friends, '' que la Sainte Vierge" was a 
 little too familiar '^ pour une petite hourgeoise de Nazereth !" putting 
 »" Ma chere Marechale, et a la troisieme ligne !"
 
 9 
 
 conduct of the Vicomte de Chabrillan, in getting 
 behind the statue of the virgin that morning, at the 
 Abhaye-aux-Bois, and negativing her request, when 
 she the Marechale de Noailles \ had condescended to 
 go and implore the Madona's intercession towards 
 obtaining for her husband the order of the garter, 
 being the only one of any consideration of which he 
 was not possessed. As Madame de Noailles' stories 
 were generally as long as her pedigree, Valasquez 
 saw that it was hopeless to wait an opportunity of 
 putting his intended question to the Duchesse, and 
 was turning away with a mingled feeling- of provoca- 
 tion and disappointment, when he perceived the 
 young Due de Richelieu, with difficulty suppressing 
 his laughter, and enjoying to the uttermost Madame 
 de Noailles' denunciations against Monsieur da 
 Chabrillan. 
 
 *' Ah ! bon soir ; charme de vons voir mon cher due,* 
 said Valasquez. ** Can you tell me the name of the 
 lady whom a few minutes ago was sitting on this 
 sofa, and talking to Madame de Brissac ?" 
 
 " Ben oni, as my uncle the Marechol elegantly 
 expresses himself, dajis son argot de la regence. She 
 is an English lady ; a Lady Evelyn Howard, elle est 
 jolie n'est ce pas V 
 
 Without replying to this last question (to which, 
 however, he more than assented), Valasquez observed, 
 ** 'Tis strange that 1 have never seen her any where 
 before, not even here/' 
 
 B 3
 
 10 
 
 ^' On the contrary, it would have been strange if 
 you had/' said his companion ; " for she seldom or 
 ever goes out ; — in short, she is not the fashion ! — 
 she is separated from her husband — et les collets 
 monies, ^^ 
 
 '"'Arvetez de grdce mon clier^^ cried Valasquez, lay- 
 ing his hand on the Duke's arm, '*you are not, I 
 hope, going to carry your love of jesting so far as to 
 lell me that in a society such as that which consti- 
 tutes the court of Louis Quinze, and into which even 
 the dregs of the Regency are received, a bras ouverts 
 — not even excepting Mesdames du DefFand and de 
 Parabere !— that so virtuous a society revolt against 
 the heinous crime of a woman being separated from 
 her husband, even should her being so have originated 
 in any fault of hers, which remains to be proved.'' 
 
 " 1 mean to tell you the plain truth," rejoined the 
 Duke ; " which is, as I before told you, that Lady 
 Evelyn Howard is not the fashion ; though the 
 English acknowledge that Mr. Howard is every- 
 thing that is worthless and bad, yet he and his family 
 do dirty work for the English government, and in 
 that consists his real power, and the cause of their 
 upholding him, and leaguing against her." 
 
 " So then," interrupted Valasquez, while a con- 
 temptuous smile played round his beautiful mouth, 
 " it would seem that the reputation of nations is as 
 hollow and ill-founded as that of individuals? I had 
 always understood that England was above the mean-
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 11 
 
 ness and duplicity which degrade and render sus- 
 picious the poHcy of other countries." 
 
 *' To wit, the conspiracy some time back against 
 the life of the Chevalier de St, George,"^ and the as- 
 sassins, who owned to being paid and employed by 
 Lord Stair," said the Due, wuth a shrug. " Butj my 
 dear Don Raphael,'' added he, '* while 1 think of it, 
 voulez vous etre des notres ? for this day month, on 
 a crusade against Louis Racine ?" 
 
 '' To tell you the truth,'' replied Valasquez, with a 
 yawn, ^' you are by far all too choice spirits for me ; 
 and the more you sparkle and shine, the duller and 
 more stagnant I become : 
 
 ' the noblest ties 
 
 That link this passing world's communities J 
 
 have not strength to bind me ; then why should I 
 damp your electricity with my lymphatic unsoci- 
 ability ?" 
 
 " 1 suppose," said Richelieu, " the Cul de sac de 
 Guemenee is a Terra incognita to you ?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I often go there — for who is 
 there in Paris who has not dealings with Zamora?" 
 
 " Ah ! true,*' said the volatile Due ; and here they 
 parted. 
 
 It was quite true that Valasquez often went to the 
 Jew Zamora's house, in quest of those then almost 
 unattainable coins, rose nobles, which he wanted for 
 
 * The name adopted by Prince Charles Edward when in Paris.
 
 12 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 an experiment he was about to make; but, having 
 been faithfully promised the necessary number by the 
 Jew, the morning after his conversation with the 
 Due de Richelieu, he went to the Cul de Sac de 
 Guemenee by appointment ; and, faithful to his pro- 
 mise, Zamora delivered into his hand the promised 
 rouleau of this occult coin, but had scarcely done so 
 before he was seized with a violent attack of epilepsy, 
 to which he was subject, and of which none till this 
 day had ever been the witness but a certain dwarf, 
 or dme damnee of the Jew's^ of the name of Xintro, 
 who carefully excluded all witnesses to his master's 
 infirmity; and therefore on the present occasion not 
 only rejected Raphael's proffered services, but almost 
 ejected him forcibly from the room. As the latter 
 descended the stairs, he heard this poor half-witted 
 dwarf singing, as he knelt on the Jew's chest, and 
 dashed the fearful foam from his mouth with his long 
 beard, 
 
 *' Ha ! now Jam King Xintro again, 
 
 For kings have but common years, kneaded with gold, 
 And the more that they glitter, the sooner they're told ! 
 
 Heigh ho ! woe is me for a King ! Zillah shall love 
 me now /" 
 
 Valasquez left the Jew to the care, or rather to the 
 casualties, of the dwarf, and walked away ; but from 
 that day he was indefatigable in quest of the re- 
 maining number of rose nobles, for which he had oc- 
 casion ; he with great difficulty obtained forty from
 
 THE peer's daughters. 13 
 
 an Armenian, twenty-five of which were some of 
 those which Thurnecifere had, in 1587, transmuted 
 from lead before Ferdinando Primo, Grand Duke of 
 Tuscany ; and the other fifteen, those which Ray- 
 mond Z'Ulle had coined in the same manner before 
 Edward the First, in London. No sooner had they 
 come into the possession of Valasquez, than they 
 found their way into the crucible, and he became 
 daily more fearfully and febrily excited by the fore- 
 shadowing of some great and supernatural event ; — 
 every sound, every ray of light, or passing shadow, 
 seemed an omen to his excited imagination ; but 
 since the night he had seen Lady Evelyn Howard at 
 Lord Albemarle^s, her image had haunted him, and 
 mingled with his wildest dreams ; so that another, 
 and an under current of excitement was sapping his 
 existence. He would have given worlds to have as- 
 certained v/here she lived ; but already her name was 
 graven like a spell upon his heart, the magic of which 
 he feared a sound, a breath, might dissolve ; — he had 
 sought her in crowds, but sought her in vain, ever 
 since the first evening he had beheld her ; and the 
 brief sketch the Due de Richelieu had given him of 
 her history had much to do with the spirit of the so- 
 liloquy which he uttered at the commencement of 
 this chapter. No sooner had he done so, than he 
 perceived a circle of mild, yet radiant light, revolve 
 round the centre of the room, and a sort of exquisite 
 harmony to fill the air, which yet did not amount to
 
 J'r 
 
 14 
 
 sound, but was more like the remembered music which 
 haunts the imagination long after its full-toned realities 
 have faded from the ear. 
 
 Valasquez started from the couch on which he had 
 been lying, and rushed forward with extended arms 
 towards the opposite door, breathlessly exclaiming, in 
 the jargon of the Cabalists, 
 
 Arkepias ferda ko Sir earn ! 
 
 but in proportion as he advanced, both the luminous 
 circle and the unbreathed music faded gradually 
 away ; and notwithstanding the sultriness of the 
 evening, by the time he had reached the door it burst 
 open, and a whirlwind so cold, so deadly, and so 
 violent, shook him with such an invisible but giant 
 strength, that it laid him prostrate and insensible on 
 the floor.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 15 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 AT MADAME DE POMPADOUR'S. 
 
 " There are unquestionably states of mind, during the prevalence 
 of affliction or any strong passion, in which there is no point in the 
 jest, as there is no pleasure in the very aspect of joy." 
 
 Browin's Philosophy of the Mind. 
 
 Valasquez had remained for about three quarters 
 of an hour iu a state of insensibiUty, when he was 
 aroused by his servant, who came to remind him that 
 it was time to dress, as he was to sup at Madame de 
 Pompadour's. 
 
 " Where ? where ? — has anything happened ?" cried 
 Don Raphael, starting to his feet. 
 
 "Nothing, Monseiyiieur," rephed the valet; "ex- 
 cept that Madame la Marquise has sent to say that 
 she will sup at La Muette to- night, instead of in the 
 Charnps Elysee.''^ 
 
 " 'Tis well," said Valasquez, rousing himself; " has 
 any one been here this evening?'^ 
 
 " No one, Monseigneur,'' 
 
 * Madame de Pompadour was at this time dans sa jeunesse, before 
 her skin had grown as yellow as her hair. She then occupied as her 
 Paris residence the very charming house and grounds in the Champs 
 Elysee, now called the Elysee Bourbon ; and at Passy, the campayne 
 of La Muette, which Louis Quinze had built for a former mistress, 
 Mademoiselle La Romaine.
 
 16 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 "Not the Due de Richelieu? the Chevalier de 
 Folard ? — or — or any message from the Hotel de 
 Lusignan? or has Zamora's clerk, Jules Quatreraaine, 
 been here?" 
 
 " Personne ahsolument personne, Monseigneur/^ 
 was again Isabe the valet's reply. 
 
 "Strange, — very strange!'* muttered Valasquez. 
 
 *' What suit would Monseigneur be pleased to wear 
 to-night ?'' inquired the well-bred servitor with a pro- 
 found bow, as he finished pouring the best part of a 
 flacon of what in those days was called Hungary 
 water, ( Messieurs Jean Marie Farina and Zanoli 
 being still unborn,) into a gold wash-hand bason half 
 full of water, and continuing, as he spoke, to uncover 
 a jar oi amandine, and to adjust some half dozen snow 
 white Hamborough napkins, half unfolded, within 
 reach of the bason, — so as to appear wholly guiltless 
 of having heard one syllable of his master's soliloquy. 
 Nevertheless, he had to repeat his question, before 
 Valasquez, rubbing his eyes as if awaking from a 
 dream, replied, 
 
 " Yes — no — that is — what did you say, Tsahe /"' 
 
 " What suit would Monseigneur be pleased to wear 
 to-night?" 
 
 '' Any — the violet and silver, with the pearl and 
 amythest buttons.'' 
 
 With a look of mingled sorrow and compassion — 
 now thoroughly convinced that his master's intellects 
 were deranged, and that he was more fit to become
 
 THE peer's daughters. 17 
 
 the inmate of a cell at Bicetre, than a guest at one of 
 Madame de Pompadour's all sparkling 'petit soupers, 
 Isahe clasped his hands, which said as plainly as 
 hands could express themselves, (evincing the violence 
 of their excitement by the tremulous agitation of the 
 ruffles above them) il/ow poMvre Maitre ! and then 
 added, in a voice of compassionate tenderness, his 
 affection evidently struggling to find that excuse for 
 his master's conduct which his judgment refused to 
 accord. 
 
 " Surely, if I might take the liberty of remarking, 
 Monseigneur must have forgotten — which, indeed, 
 among his multiplicity of occupations, is not only 
 pardonable, but almost natural — that this was the 
 identical suit he wore the last time that he supped 
 Chez Madame la Marquise, which Monseigneur might 
 have remembered from two circumstances : first, that 
 Mademoiselle Alexandrine,* grand elle faisoit la 
 mijaureef comme elle fait toujour s apres souper en hit-^^^f^U. 
 tant avec Monseigneur, spilt a whole glass of parfait 
 amour over it ; and next, that the Vicomte de Nes- 
 mond was dishonourable enough to have carried away 
 a most correct remembrance of the whole suit, and 
 appeared, dans les petits appartemens de L,L. M.M, 
 the very next day in a dress the fac-siraile of Mon- 
 
 • Alexandrine d'Etioles, Madame de Pompadour's daughter, then 
 about six years old, 
 
 t Mijaurant was then used for Minaudeant, unkno^vn (the word 
 not the thing) at that time. ~
 
 18 
 
 seigneur's ; but if Monseigneur is magnanimous 
 enough to forget these things ! 1 should be quite un- 
 worthy of the honour of watching over his best in- 
 terests, did I not remind him of them.'^ 
 
 It would be difficult, at this distance of time, to 
 make any positive assertion as to how Pericles looked 
 after his protest against Diopithe's accusation of 
 Anaxagoras, one of his lectures to his hopeful 
 nephew, Alcibiades, or any of his remonstrances, 
 with that most capricious of all beauties, ancient, or 
 modern, the people of Athens, but as far as the mens 
 conscia recti is concerned, it is impossible, that it 
 could have glowed more triumphantly upon the face 
 of the eloquent Athenian, on any, or all of the above 
 occasions, than it did on the countenance of Mon- 
 sieur Claude Isabe, when he had ceased speaking. 
 
 '' Well then," said Valasques, with a smile, roused 
 into a sense of his own identity, and of the time pre- 
 sent, by the exceeding energy of his valet, " give me 
 ray amaranth velvet suit with the gold ground, and 
 diamond buttons." 
 
 ^^ A la bonne lieure ! monseigneur,^^ said the an- 
 xious Isabe, now for the first time breathing freely, 
 since his entrance into his master's dressing room. 
 If Don Raphael's toilet was soignee au dermier j^foint , 
 it was no merit of his, as he resigned himself im- 
 plicitly, and mechanically, to the care of the all 
 accomplished Isabe ; without even perceiving, much 
 less appreciating, the living monument of supreme
 
 THE peer's daughters. 19 
 
 good taste he was momentarily becoming, under the 
 auspices of that highly gifted individual ; and even 
 after this triumph of art was achieved, and Valasquez 
 had thrown himself into his luxurious and gilded 
 7'is-a'vis, lined with a silvery pearl gray satin, em- 
 broidered in bouquets of field flowers, and stuffed 
 with eider down, and fleurs de Montpellier, which 
 from the wild fragrance of their aroma, created a 
 most delicate and balmy atmosphere, not one 
 thought did he give either to himself, or the brilliant 
 assemblage, towards which his thorough-bred, high- 
 stepping, English horses were hurrying him. While 
 so true is it Tel maUre, tel valet, that Monsieur 
 Claude Isahe was also given to metaphysical reve- 
 ries, and burst into the following soliloquy, as he re- 
 turned from lighting his master to the head of the 
 stairs, and somewhat impatiently flung the gilt 
 candelabra he had been carrying, upon a porphyry 
 console, to the considerable detriment of the latter : — 
 *' Such is life ! or rather, such is fate ! there goes 
 a grand seigneur, a millionnaire, with so little taste 
 for, and attention to, that which is the chief distinc- 
 tion of a gentleman ; namely, his toilet ! that if one 
 were sufficiently unprincipled to be guilty of such an 
 enormity, I verily believe one might dress him like 
 that clumsy young mad man. Monsieur Rous- 
 seau of Geneva, without his being a bit the wiser ; 
 while /, Claude Alcihiade Isabt rempli de gout et 
 dcs talents distinguts, am doomed to live a valet de
 
 20 
 
 chamhre, and perhaps die, without even giving my 
 name to a powder puff, ou la plus petite pomade de 
 toilette ; ah ! Monsieur de Voltaire was right the other 
 night at supper, when he said * que la renommte ttait 
 encore plus avugle que la fortune ''' 
 
 It was not till the vis-d-vis of Don Raphael had 
 driven through the then beautiful grounds, and 
 stopped before the brilliantly illuminated vestibule of 
 La Maette, that its occupant was sufficiently roused 
 from the reverie, into which he had been plunged, 
 since the half vision he had been witness of that 
 evening, to recollect the very different scene in which 
 he was about to mingle ; and indeed his sudden con- 
 sciousness was more owing to the demand of one of 
 his lacqueys, as to what hour he would have the car- 
 ri^e ? than to any internal exertion of his own. 
 
 '/ At eleven." 
 
 cf Pardon Monseigneur ^^ said a servant, in an 
 orange coloured livery, before, and since in France, 
 called coleur souci, but at that time in honour of the 
 lady w'hose household wore it, styled Pompadour. 
 
 " Pardon, but Monseigneur le Prince de Soubise, 
 has not ordered the carriage till twelve." 
 
 '* Oh, then the king sups here to-night ;" said 
 Valasquez, carelessly adjusting his sword knot pre- 
 paratory to ascending the stairs, and then added, 
 turning to his own people — " My carriage at twelve 
 then." 
 
 " Monseigneur Don Raphael Valasquez," cried
 
 21 
 
 Clavinot, Madame de Pompadour's Maitre d'Hotel, 
 in his irreproachably powdered ailes de pigeon coif- 
 fure ; and puce coloured coat, strewed with a mimic 
 jmrterre of bouquets of small roses, tied with sky- 
 blue true lovers knots, wonderfully thrown out by a 
 pair of peach blossom, and white camtlion silk inex- 
 pressibles, snow-white silk stockings, highly polished 
 shoes, and diamond knee and shoe buckles, as he 
 flung open the folding doors of the last ante-room, 
 leading into the salon. Leaning against the mantel 
 piece (the chimney being then filled with rare 
 plants of the most fragrant description) stood 
 d'Alembert and Holbach, apparently talking finance, 
 as the following sentence was just entered by the 
 ^atter, as Velaquez entered. 
 
 " Cet immense capital, forme de la reunion d'un 
 trh-grand nombre de petits capitaux, fait des enrole- 
 ments, des equipements des inunitions." 
 
 " £t des Ennvyeux ."' sotto voced the Vicomte de' 
 Nesmond, with an undisguised yawn, as he lolled 
 back in a Bergere beside the chimney piece, his feet 
 protruding, and his eye sleepily glancing up over his 
 shoulder at the fore-finger of D'Alembert's right hand, 
 which was argumentatively ready primed and raised 
 to go off in a contradiction at the first possible, or 
 even impossible, opportunity. At a little distance 
 from the Vicomte, on his left side, stood a heavy- 
 looking German — the Baron de Gruntenstern, who
 
 22 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 was in vain trying to make himself intelligible through 
 a wilderness of misplaced P's, D's, B's, and F's, in a 
 tete-cL'tete with a Marquis de Jodelet, who had just 
 returned from a six months' visit to London, dressed 
 in the very extreme of the then English fashion ; — 
 which consisted in a head Hke a powder puff gone 
 mad ; a striped jockey waistcoat ; two enormous 
 watches ; buckskin brevities, which for difficulty of 
 ingress would have satisfied even Monsieur de Boissec 
 himself; short top-boots, that is, the tops reaching 
 very little beyond the calves of the legs, and leaving 
 a pair of blue and white ribbed stockings fully de- 
 veloped above them ; muslin sufficient for a large 
 window curtain coiled into a cravat, with the long 
 ends despairingly agitating themselves in every 
 breeze ; blue cloth coat, with very long skirts and very 
 large gilt buttons ; and a sufficient exuberance of 
 shirt frill to have furbelowed half a dozen Fontange 
 petticoats : — in short, the identical costume which had 
 begun and ended in France with the Regency. 
 
 On a sofa opposite these different groups sat La 
 dame du Chateau, the 9i-devant Madame le Normand 
 d'Etioles, now Marquese de Pompadour ; she wore a 
 dress of dove-coloured Moire, with cherry-coloured 
 stripes, intersected with bouquets of that particular 
 pattern which to this day is called a la Pompadour ; 
 about the body and sleeves of this dress were pom- 
 pons of cherry-coloured ribbon, while on her head, 
 (which being only slightly powdered shewed the
 
 THE peer's daughters. 23 
 
 golden tint of her hair) placed quite on one side, 
 was a very small black velvet hat, which bore one of 
 those mauvaise pleasantrie names that Law's Bank- 
 ruptcy had long before given rise to, for the hats like 
 the one in question were called a la caisse d^Escompte, 
 from being sans fonds. In her left hand was one of 
 Watteau's chefd'cenvres, portraying the loves of a well 
 powdered Marquis and equally well powdered Ber- 
 geres, the former kneeling in mid-air, the latter half- 
 fainting, half-flirting, effacing themselves amid the 
 umbrageous verdure of gently undulating perspective 
 arbours. The sticks of this fan were of most elabo- 
 rately chased Venice gold, highly enamelled, and 
 studded with precious stones ; at each rivet, when 
 the fan was shut, were two little oval convex mirrors, 
 which, upon touching a spring, slid back, and in one 
 discovered an exquisite enamel portrait of his majesty, 
 Louis Quinze, while beneath the other was a ruby 
 heart, in the centre of which was inscribed, 
 
 A Toi 
 in brilliants. With her right hand, which was deli- 
 cately white and small, and covered with the most 
 costly rings, Madame de Pompadour was coquettishly 
 opening and shutting this fan, while beside her sat 
 Voltaire, dressed in what was then called a suit of 
 Blaise- et-Bahet Taffeta^ uttering a volley of the most 
 fade and fulsome compliments, and addressing her 
 as YOUR DIVINITY ! a piece of disgusting adulation 
 which in his dying moments he transferred to her
 
 24 
 
 successor, Madame du Barri. Behind this sofa stood 
 the Prince de Soubise, whose eyes, as he leant over 
 the sofa, were constantly fixed upon an opposite door, 
 as if in anxious expectation of the appearance of some 
 one, yet ever and anon either adding a postscript to 
 Voltaire's elaborate compliments, or breaking new 
 ground on his own account ; while the Marquise, who 
 kept impatiently advancing and retreating a very 
 pretty little foot, cased in a pale rose-coloured kid 
 shpper, with high embroidered silver heels, turned 
 and pettishly exclaimed, 
 
 " Vraiment Monsieur le Prince cest insupportable ! 
 you are as obstinate as a mule. I have told you fifty 
 times that I had a particular dislike to any one's 
 leaning over the back of my sofa ;" and she exchanged 
 looks with her friends Mesdames d^Esparbes et d'Am- 
 blimon, who sat opposite. 
 
 " Htlas ! belle Inhumaine /'' replied the bland 
 courtier, with all the ballet pantomime of a profound 
 sigh, and his right hand pressing his heart, while 
 (that the Calembourg might not fail to reach its ad- 
 dress) he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the before 
 mentioned little rose-coloured slipper, — ^' Autant que 
 La Mule* s'obstine faut bien que le Mnletf suit une 
 si belle examjjleJ' 
 
 A slight frown knit the lady's brow as she hastily 
 concealed her foot beneath her petticoat, while the 
 
 • A woman's slipper, and a female mule, 
 t A mule.
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTKRS. 25 
 
 Baron de Gruntenstern, who for private and personal 
 reasons known only to himself, was particularly as- 
 siduous in paying his court to the Prince de Soubise, 
 now advanced, crying, as he tapped gently upon a 
 large gold snufF-box encircled with brilliants, 
 
 " Pravo ! Pravo ! Brince — Brh des Pelles Tames, 
 il faut etre com me 9e chef alter Francais sans heurre, 
 et sans broche son nom Mechappe comment s'appel- 
 let il ? 
 
 " Connois pas /'' said Voltaire, with a shrug, in 
 answer to the poor Baron's interrogatory glance ; 
 "but no doubt it was some Chevalier d'^ Industrie, as 
 they are the only class of chevaliers absolutely sans 
 heurre, et sans broche ! but Heaven grant, that the 
 shade of Bayard be the next ombre Chevalier^ that 
 I see at Ferney, and I promise you, mon cher Baron, 
 it shall not be sans beurre, however it may be sans 
 broche !'* 
 
 The raised sound of voices, as if disputing, were 
 ever and anon heard in the room on the door of 
 which the glances of the Prince de Soubise, followed 
 by those of Madame de Pompadour, had been so un- 
 remittingly rivetted ; at length the voices subsided, 
 another door within the room was slammed violently 
 to, and the next moment the King appeared, bowing 
 to the guests assembled in the drawing-room, who all 
 rose, except the hostess, who, after having desired 
 
 * A fish peculiar to the Lake of Geneva, and the best fish in that 
 Lake, not excepting the trout. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 26 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 Monsieur de Soubise to ring for supper, said peevishly 
 to Louis Quinze — 
 
 " Really, sire, there was such a clamour of voices 
 in the next room that one would have thought you 
 were holding a congt d^elire'^ 
 
 " Par bleu ! Madame c'est tout naturel puisque 
 nous etions deux cents ferames c'est a dire (deux, — 
 sans femmes) le Juif Zamora et moi," 
 
 While Voltaire set the example of applauding the 
 royal pun to the echo, at which none laughed louder 
 or longer than the king himself, Madame de Pom- 
 padour murmured, 
 
 "Always that horrid Zamora.*' 
 And what she uttered, the Prince de Soubise 
 thought — the Marquise had heard of the surpassing 
 beauty of the Jew's daughter, and dreaded a rival. 
 The prince who had seen that beauty — feared that if 
 ever the king did the same, its influence, coupled 
 with her father's colossal wealth, would go far to 
 destroy the honourable post he held in the royal 
 household — that of purveyor to the king's vices ; and 
 although he as well as the favourite were fully aware 
 that for the present Louis Quinze's intercourse with 
 Zamora was of a purely financial nature, yet each 
 dreaded that it might not end there. However, 
 whatever their internal disquietudes might be, the 
 lady only smiled the more blandly, while the cour- 
 tier bowed the more obsequiously ; and, as a Mezzo 
 terminey supper was announced.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 2? 
 
 " Ah ca, Monsieur de Jodelet/' said the king, 
 (while at the same time he ran over the Menu du 
 Sonper in a half audible voice, as if far more inte- 
 rested in its announcements, than in any answer he 
 might receive to his question from the parvenu 
 mai-quis, who was not only one of the silUest ephe- 
 mera of the day, but also the son of a Huissier 
 Audiencier, or public crier of a court of justice.) 
 " Ah ca Potage a la Jamhe du bois,^' what have you 
 " Soupirs de poidets en deuil,^' been doing all this 
 time in England ? " Coquilles de Huitres a la Sourire 
 de Venus." 
 
 " SireJ'ai appris a penser /" replied the Marquis 
 pompously. 
 
 '^ Pancaliers a Vane d' or — ah! oui je comprends 
 a panser des Chevaux!" A loud laugh followed this 
 repartee of the monarches, which was joined in by 
 all, except Madame de Pompadour and Voltaire, who 
 did not hear it, being pre- occupied in a sotto-voce 
 tete-a-tete ; w hile, although the laugh was at his 
 own expense. Monsieur de Jodelet was too finished 
 a courtier, despite his very recent inauguration, not 
 to let his hilarity be the loudest of all, at the royal 
 wit, so that though the ha I ha ! ha ! was counterfeit, 
 the tears were perfectly genuine, which he applied 
 his handkerchief to dry, as he cried across the table 
 to Voltaire — 
 
 " Guerre ! guerre ! — Monsieur de Voltaire vous 
 n'tcoutez pas le mot de sa Majeste." 
 
 c 2
 
 ■d 
 
 28 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 " Comment guerre guerre ? Monsieur de Jode- 
 let,'' said the wit, turning slowly round so as to 
 bring the full battery of his most cynical smile to 
 bear upon the unfortunate nonveau riche ; " it seems 
 to me that you have greatly degenerated with your 
 guerre, guerre; — for, if I remember rightly, your 
 very respectable father grew hoarse in crying, Paix •' 
 paix ."' * 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! C'est par trop fort — vous etes 
 vraiment a rouer (Arouet)^' said the king. 
 
 While the new seigneur of Ferney, who by no 
 ^' means relished this punic allusion to the ignoble 
 name which he had taken such pains to rid himself 
 of, was in his turn silenced and abashed. 
 
 Madame de Pompadour, who could not banish the 
 Jew Zamora from her thoughts, or rather the mar- 
 vellous reputation of his daughter's beauty, eat little 
 and remained silent ; for zealous as she also was in 
 conjunction with Lebel, the king's valet de chambre, 
 in promoting the atrocious orgies of the Pare aux 
 Cerfs, and in surrounding the king with such 
 women as Mesdames d'Esparbes, and Ambhmon, 
 who, however they might amuse and attract, had 
 both too little intellect and too little ambition, either 
 
 * It is the province of all Huissiers- Audiencier iu the courts of 
 justice, or other public tribunals in France, to cry Paix, paix, or in 
 other words, Silence ! Silence ! upon the same principle, and from 
 the same motive that that much enduring, living specimen of monu- 
 mental patience, the Speaker of the House of Commons, cries 
 Order ! Order !
 
 29 
 
 to aim at, or achieve anything like a solid, or perma- 
 nent empire over the weak and profligate monarch, 
 were naturally the intimate companions of her choice, 
 for in them she had no reason to fear another Du- 
 chesse de Chateauroux, or a return to what the Due 
 de Richelieu called Louis Quinze^s Tour de Nesle.^ 
 
 '* Marquise,'^ said the Vicomte de Nesmond inter- 
 rupting the favourite^s reverie ; "I thought we should 
 have met the Comte de Saint Germain here to-night ? 
 and, I own I have the greatest possible curiosity to 
 see him ; if all, or only half the curious reports cur- 
 rent about him be true, he must be an incarnate 
 miracle !'' 
 
 *• Yes, he was to have been here, and I am sur- 
 prised he is not yet arrived ; for with a memory that 
 reaches back into so many centuries, he can scarcely 
 have forgotten an invitation of four-and-twenty hours 
 standing, and to do him justice, he is generally punc- 
 tuality personified," added Madame de Pompadour. 
 
 " It is the least respect he can pay to Time ; — who 
 by all accounts, has evinced so much for him !" re- 
 joined Valasquez, who, now for the first time ap- 
 peared interested in the conversation. 
 
 "Tush!" cried Voltaire. "Ours is an age of 
 
 * Alluding to the four desmoiselles de Nesle. These four sisters 
 became Comtesse de Mailly, Marquise de Vintimile, Marquise Lau- 
 ragiiais, and Madame de Tourneile ; this latter, whose reign was the 
 longest and most absolute of this virtuous family, Louis Quinze 
 created Duchesse de Chateauroux.
 
 30 
 
 charlatans ; and I look upon the Cornte de Saint 
 Germain, as the king of the tribe/' 
 
 " I don't know/^ said Madame de Pompadour, 
 "at all events, he possesses some very extraordinary, 
 not to say supernatural secrets, for three weeks ago, 
 the king showed him a brilliant, which Boemer^ 
 said would be worth ten thousand francs, if it had 
 not a flaw in it; but, that unfortunately as there was 
 no method of obviating these defects in precious 
 stones, it reduced the value to six ; I, in common 
 with every one else, being much surprised at the 
 immense size, fine water, and profusion, of the 
 Comte de Saint Germain's diamonds, told him while 
 he was examining the defective brilliant belonging to 
 his majesty, that I had heard that he possessed not 
 only the secret of the philosopher's stone, but also 
 that of making diamonds. He smiled, and while he 
 acknowledged that he had often succeeded in making 
 pearls as fine as any that had ever been brought 
 from Balsora, added that he had no doubt diamonds 
 might be made ;t at all events, that with the king's 
 permission, he would take the defective diamond 
 home with him, and see if he could not remove the 
 flaw : the diamond, which weighed fourteen carats, 
 was accordingly given to him ; and in less than a 
 fortnight, he brought it back — perfect ! and that 
 
 * Louis XV's jeweller. 
 
 t Diamonds now ore made ; only they cost more than real ones.
 
 THE PEERS D.VUG11TERS. 31 
 
 without its having lost a single grain in weight ! ! Now 
 how do you explain this ?'' 
 
 " Perhaps, by his having substituted another.' 
 said Voltaire, with his peculiar leathern bat's \\in<^ 
 ironical smile ; but perceiving that the favourite evi- 
 dently leant towards the supernatural side of the 
 question, he hastened to add, between the parenthesis 
 of a pinch of snuff, *' it certainly is very extraordi- 
 nary !" 
 
 " Besides/' continued Madame de Pompadour, 
 '* Madame de Vegy, who knew the Comte de Saiat 
 Germain fifty-five years ago ! at Venice, when her 
 husband was ambassador there, declares, he does not 
 appear a single hour older, and she also told me that 
 when at Venice, she being then a great beauty, he 
 had offered her a rejuvenating elixir — asking her for 
 how many years she would wish to preserve her 
 youth; but looking upon the proposition as a jest, 
 she replied laughing : — Oh, for forty gears longer at 
 least ! and we all know how wonderfully young, and 
 lovely Madame de Vegy looked, till within the last 
 fifteen years." 
 
 " Yes, but she has furiously made up for lost time 
 since, for she looks to me to have received the arrears 
 of three centuries of wrinkles, and a fifty mother-in- 
 law share of ugliness," cried the Prince de Soubise, 
 despatching a glass of Chamhertin ; " and as for the 
 count's eau dejouvence, I do not believe a word of it ; 
 foi d 'honntte homme.'^
 
 32 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 '■' FoiecVoies /" exclaimed the king, who was again 
 busily speUing over the bill of fare. 
 
 " You know," said Quesnay, the king's doctor, 
 inclining towards the ear of Monsieur de Soubise, 
 " that the Controleur gtntral (Monsieur de Sechelles,) 
 set off this morning on horse back to Piombieres, to 
 see Madame de Polignac?" 
 
 '' Pattes cVoise bottees a Vintendante,'' again burst 
 from the royal lips, his majesty's eyes being still fixed 
 upon the Menu du Sonper ; but at the name of the 
 comptroler-general, he suddenly raised them and 
 turning towards the physician, said — 
 
 " Eh ! eh ! what's that Quesnay, that you are 
 saying about Monsieur de Sechelles ?" 
 
 '^Only sire, that he started a franc etrier for Piom- 
 bieres this morning, after Madame Diane de Polig- 
 nac ! and yet your majesty still doubts his being 
 mad r 
 
 " Bah I fou d'une johe femme, qu'est ce que 9ela 
 prouve? — nous sommes, tons loges a la Mcme En- 
 seigne — n'est ^e pas ma Chiffeloque? eh Mon 
 Torchon !"* said the monarch, appealing to his 
 mistress. 
 
 " Ah ! no wonder that so much elegant simplicity 
 reigns in our language," sneered Voltaire to the 
 Baron de Gruntenstern, '^ when our petites tnahr-esses, 
 
 * Graille. Loche, Salope, Torchon, Chiff'doque, such were the ele- 
 gant namesof ende:irn:en: lavislied on his favourites by Louis Quinze,
 
 33 
 
 and our talons rouges study elocution and the 
 graces at Ramponneaic's.''^ 
 
 "Ah, yes/' said the German, somewhat mah- 
 ciously, as the suspicion had just reached him, that 
 it was more than probable, that the wit of the Caft 
 Procope had been laughing at him about his Che- 
 valier sans beurre, et sans hroche ! " Ah, yes, de lan- 
 cuage, he is even hetthe in de work of Monsieuri^ow- 
 zeauof Cheneve ; you know Rouzeau de ChentveV 
 
 " If you mean a mad man of the name of Rous- 
 seau, who lives in a very small trumpery republic, 
 called Geneva, I do happen to know them, the place 
 being a small town near my estate of Ferney^ and the 
 man being the greatest among the many nuisances 
 of that small town ;" and Voltaire, — more delighted at 
 being safely delivered of this speech than at the 
 place of Gentilhomme ordinaire de la Chambre du Roi, 
 which he had tried so hard to obtain, and which, 
 thanks to Madame de Pompadour, he had just suc- 
 ceeded in getting, — leant back in his chair, indulging 
 in a suppressed chuckle as he presented his snuff- 
 box with an " En usez-vons ?" to the baron. 
 
 Gruntenstern was obligingly about to explain to his 
 
 neighbour, that Geneva, though unquestionably a 
 
 small, a very small jjlace, was still somewhat larger 
 
 than the village of Fernay, even including its chateau, 
 
 and that Jean Jaques Rousseau, though perhaps a 
 
 little mad, and certainly not a little bad, still wrote 
 
 A Cabaret, at that time much in vogue, and greatly frequented 
 by all classes, especially the higher or rather liiuhest. 
 
 c 3
 
 34 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 very good French, although he had not written either 
 *' Zaire,'' or the '^ Henriade,'' — when he was prevented 
 irom communicating this piece of pleasing intelligence 
 to the Nouveau Seigneur du village, by everybody's 
 attention being called to the raised voice of the king, 
 who in reply to what the physician had said touching 
 Monsieur de Sechelle's insanity, exclaimed across the 
 table : 
 
 " Decidedly Quesnay ; you owe the poor Contr6- 
 leur general a grudge ; come confess ; what favour has 
 he refused you ?*' 
 
 *' None, sire ; but even were such the case, pique 
 though it might lead me to tell an unpleasant truth, 
 could never I hope lead me into inventing an inju- 
 rious calumny, and I can only repeat that Monsieur 
 de Sechelles will be in a straight waistcoat sooner 
 perhaps than your majesty imagines. 1 have a pene- 
 tration which is seldom at fault in these matters ; 
 and if the Controleur generaVs exceeding gallantry 
 at his age, and the total disconnection of all his ideas, 
 be not two, among many other, unerring symptoms of 
 his aberration of intellect, I shall be w'onderously 
 surprised." 
 
 ''All ca qor bleu J'' said the king ; " according to 
 you, I have a ministry of mad men and fools !" 
 
 *' How few monarchs have the good fortune to 
 be so faithfully represented,'' whispered Voltaire^ to 
 D'Alembert. 
 
 " For," continued Louis Quinze, " it was only the
 
 THE peer's daughters. 35 
 
 other day you were prophecying the imbecility of 
 another of my ministers ; ha, ha, ha ! the thing is 
 more comic than consoHtary." 
 
 " Laugh, sire, if such be your pleasure, but it is 
 not the less true that you have a maniac in your 
 council/' ^ ./^^, 
 
 " In my council, diantre the thing becomes less 
 amusing.'' 
 
 '^ If your majesty would be pleased to make a 
 memorandum of the date, I am ready to bet any 
 sum you may name, that, before three weeks from 
 this time, M. Berryer is either mad or cataleptic,*" 
 rejoined Quesnay. 
 
 *' What ! my minister of marine too, and your 
 reasons for thinking so, Pro'plitte du Malheur V^ 
 
 " Yesterday, sire, in the chapel royal at high mass," 
 resumed Quesnay, *' I observed M. Berryer seated on 
 a prie Dieu, his knees consequently touching his 
 chin, which made his excellency the laughing-stock 
 of ail the gardes de corps ; and after mass I attended 
 his levee, and then witnessed still stronger symptoms 
 of his unmistakable absence of mind ; not only were 
 his eyes fearfully wild and haggard, but his secretary 
 having asked him a very natural and necessary ques- 
 tion, relative to a paper he was copying, his excel- 
 lency replied in a voice of thunder, accompanied by 
 the most vehement gesticulations, — " Hold your 
 tongue pen ; a pen is made to ivrite and not to talk'' 
 
 « Which prophecy was literully fulfilled within the time here spe- 
 cified.
 
 36 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 '' Par ma Batterie de Cuisine du Petit Trianon .'" 
 exclaimed the king, as he shook the dthris of his last 
 pinch of snufF from the folds of his Dresden lace 
 jaoGt ; '* I think I should do well to exchange all my 
 ministers for Marmitons du moin il seroit plus facile 
 de les mettre a toute sauces, and you have no idea 
 messieurs how we distinguished ourselves au Petit 
 Trianon last Monday ; our cordons hleueSf were my- 
 self, the Dues de Gontaut,, d^Agen, de Coigni^ de 
 Lavallitre, and de Fleury, Le Prince de Beaufremont, 
 and Le Marquis de Polignac; for marmitons and 
 aides, we had the Comte de Croismare, Chevalier de 
 Brusse, Chevalier de Saint Sauvear, and the Marquis 
 de Montmorency ; and some half dozen pages to act as 
 poodles, and fetch and carry, a necessary precau- 
 tion, as we had the whole hatterie de cuisine brought 
 into the dining-room ; my chef-d'oeuvre was despoulets 
 au basilic; but I did not stop there, for I achieved a 
 surprise d'oeufs frais, which was unanimously voted 
 to be worthy of entitling me to a chair at the Acade- 
 mic Franqaise ; did that august body ever reward 
 merit ah ova ! ha, ha, ha I As for Monsieur de Gon- 
 tautj he was the hero of the salad ; and de Coigni 
 covered himself with glory by an irreproachable roast ; 
 while Monsieur de Soubise there gave us des filets 
 de truite a V Enltvement that were perfectly exquisite. 
 A propos. Monsieur de Voltaire,'' continued his ma- 
 jesty, for the first time addressing his new gentleman 
 of the bed-chamber, for he detested literary men in
 
 37 
 
 general, and Voltaire in particular. But as Madame 
 de Pompadour greatly relished the idea of having the 
 adulation she received immortalized, and had, more- 
 over, sufficient intellect, (thanks to the education 
 which her godfather Le Normand de Tournehem the 
 Ftrmier gtntral had given her), to relish the society 
 of the heaux esprits of the time, even niore than her 
 royal lover^s culinary conversation, or equally culinary 
 epithets of endearment. He not always dariiig, or 
 to speak more correctly, not often daring to run 
 counter to his leading strings, was also, perforce, oc- 
 casionally obhged to endure their presence, though 
 the words he addressed to them, were as few, and as 
 grudgingly bestowed as the crusts which a churlish 
 beggar now and then flings to his dog, but like the 
 mendicant's cur, the author of the Henriade seemed 
 quite as grateful for, and eager to receive, the few, 
 dry, hard words, flung to him by the niggardly 
 courtesy of royalty, as the hungry quadruped could 
 be to catch the scanty crusts. And the King's 
 " Apropos Monsieur de Voltaire, de quelle maniere 
 tronvez-vous que le Poisson soit le mieux accommodeV 
 seemed to have the same effect upon him, as if he 
 had received a foretaste of beatitude, through the 
 medium of electricity ! and no doubt it was the ex- 
 ceeding pleasurable flurry of his nerves which 
 caused him to commit the unaccountable ^«wc/zme of 
 looking tenderly at Madame de Pompadour, as he 
 replied to Louis Quir.ze's gastronomic query.
 
 38 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 " Point de donte sire que c^est a la Pompadour J'^^ 
 Puns being the only species of wit a la portte de 
 
 * In allusion to Madame de Pompadour's maiden name, which was 
 Poisson ; she being ostensibly the daughter of a butcher and grazier of 
 that name, although the scandalous chronicle declared her to be the 
 daughter of her godfather the Ffnnier General Le Normand Turne- 
 ham ; who after giving her a very liberal education, and developing 
 those talents, which nature had so lavishly bestowed upon her, married 
 her to his nephew, Monsieur le Normand d'Etioles, sous Fermier 
 General, whose wife she was when the Due de Richelieu brought 
 about her liaison with Louis Quinze. But whether the butcher 
 Poisson was her father or not ? he usurped all the authority and privi- 
 leges of one ; even to the coarse vulgar familiarity which might be 
 expected from a person of so low an origin of calling Louis Quinze, 
 " mon gendre" and boasting upon all occasions of his daughter's dis- 
 honour. This man with her brother (who was created Marquis de 
 Marigny, and whom the old 'noblesse used after he was emmarqidse 
 to call the Marquis d'Avant Hier, were the two thorns in the fa- 
 vourite's side ; for although de Marigny was not quite such a monster 
 of coarseness and vulgarity as the elder Poisson ; yet his insatiable 
 demands upon the royal purse and prerogative, ran daily risks of 
 shaking his sister's empire to its fall ; especially, as he also, during the 
 effervescence of inebriety often went the lengths of calling the king — 
 '■'' petit frere !" However, the blunders of a brainless parvenu, like 
 the Marquis de Marigny, are not to be wondered at ; but that a man 
 like Voltaire (notwithstanding that his servile anxiety to play the cour- 
 tier, sank him on the one hand to the par of imbecility) should not on 
 the other, amid his mass of intellectual pre-eminence, have had suffi- 
 cient judgment, or even its intuition which men are agreed to call 
 tact, to avoid the gross mistakes he was frequently falling, into is truly 
 surprising ; twice within the space of eighteen months had he been 
 given unequivocally to understand that his absence from, would please 
 more than his presence at court ; once from his having, in a fit of en- 
 thusiasm, after the representation of one of his own plays, turned 
 round and embraced the king ; and a second time within a few months 
 of this scene, after Madame de Pompadour had had the greatest 
 difficulty in gaining the royal permission for the poet to appear at 
 the theatre of Versailles, on the occasion of her acting in the follow. 
 ing pieces — '• Zelie," " Bacchus et Erigone," (of Labruere et Blamont)
 
 THR peer's daughters. 39 
 
 Louis Quinze ; he felt greatly inclined to indulge in 
 a loud laugh, at one which contained so intimate a 
 reference to his two ruling passions, Madame de 
 Pompadour, and his cuisine; but the storm that 
 lowered on the brow of the favourite, and the crim- 
 son anger that flashed even through her rouge, at 
 
 "Ismene," (de Moncrif et Rebel) and finally the "Egle," of La- 
 garde et Laujon, Avhereiipon Voltaire penned the following madrigal, 
 which ran the gauntlet of all the salo7is of Versailles and Paris, espe- 
 cially those most hostile to the poet, such as the Duchesse de Talard's, 
 where the Queen, Marie Leczinska, passed most of her evenings, and 
 though it is an understood thing in all civilized countries, that kings, 
 like all other men. and all olher men, as well as kings, may be as 
 vicious as they please with impunity, or rather with every success and 
 eclat, yet still for a man of genius to sing those vices in pompous 
 verse, and to put up vows for the long continuance of the pernicious 
 example held out by the hero and heroine of his theme ; had, it must 
 be confessed, more the appearance of an insult in the disguise of a 
 compliment, than any thing else ; and even the pair whom it was in- 
 tended to adulate, as the event proved, could not but take it in that 
 sense. Here is the unlucky madrigal conveyed by Voltaire in a 
 Bonhomiierc to Madame de Pompadour, after her representation of 
 " Egle." 
 
 Ainsi done vous reunissez 
 
 Tons les arts, tons les dons de plaire, 
 
 Pompadour vous embellissez 
 
 La Cour, Parnasse, et cithere. 
 
 Charme de tous les yeux, tresor d'un seul mortel 
 
 Que votre amour soil eternel ! 
 
 Que tous vos jours soient marques par des fetes ; 
 
 Que de mouveaux succfes marquent ceux de Louis ! 
 
 Vivez tous deux sans enemis 
 
 Et gardez tous deux vos conquetes. 
 The next day Voltaire was on a forced march towards his Alpine 
 thdteau : in most cases it is safer, and at all events surer, for Ma- 
 homet to go to the mountain, than to attempt any vice versa pro- 
 ceedings.
 
 40 THE PEER'S DAUGHTF.RS. 
 
 SO public and pointed an allusion to her plebeian 
 origin, and name, announced to the king that it was 
 no matter of merriment, but on the contrary, he 
 should punish the delinquent who had uttered this 
 unlucky calembourg, in the most summary and rigor- 
 ous manner ; consequently the smile, which was just 
 ready to burst into a sonorous laugh, was hastily re- 
 imprisoned within the royal Hps, and knitting his 
 brows portentously, and clearing his voice so as to 
 command a universal silence, his majesty said across 
 the table, in a tone of voice that was equiponderant 
 to a lettre de cachet, from the meaning of which there 
 was no appeal, 
 
 " Monsieur Arouet, pardon Monsieur de Vol- 
 taire, your absence from Ferney appears to me to 
 have been prolonged into a total forgetfulness of 
 yourself, and every body else, and I should therefore 
 advise your returning as soon as possible ; the re- 
 publican sans gene of its immediate vicinity, being, 
 I take it, a more congenial atmosphere to your pecu- 
 liar temperament, than the confined air of a court in 
 our metropolis." 
 
 " Sire," replied the discomfited wit, instantly rising, 
 and bowing with downcast eyes, " it is my inten- 
 tion to return to Ferney to morrow ; and for that 
 reason, I humbly take leave of your majesty now." 
 
 Except Valasquez, none venturned upon thehazard- 
 ous courtesy of bowing to the departing poet, not even 
 D'Alembert or Flolbach, all philosophers though they 
 were ; perhaps it was for this very reason, that like
 
 41 
 
 most persons of a philosophical frame of mind, they al- 
 ways exerted the utmost stoicism for the misfortunes 
 of their friends, and never endangered the iron sinews 
 of their philosophy, by the enervating contagion of 
 sympathy. But children who have no philosophy, 
 and consequently no calculation, are never influenced 
 either for, or against, persons, by their rise or fall in 
 public favour. Consequently little Alexandriene 
 d'Etioles, who was leaning, half asleep upon her mo- 
 ther's shoulder, put out her hand — as Voltaire passed, 
 and said in her little voice of drowsy reproach, for the 
 child had also acquired the elegant habit so rife 
 at court, of bestowing nicknames of the least re- 
 fined kind upon every one, — 
 
 " Comment mon Goret (little pig) tu t'en va sans 
 me dire hon soir V 
 
 The appeal, and the epithet, homely and unflat- 
 tering as they were, seemed almost to " draw iron 
 tears down Pluto^s cheek,'' so effectually does the 
 slighte t breath of kindness reach and stir the heart, 
 when labouring either under grief or disappointment, 
 and most men have hearts, though their anatomicaj 
 locality varies considerably. Some having them 
 placed in their vanity or self love, (and these are the 
 majority,) some in their ambition, many in their 
 purse, many more in their palate, some in their ears, 
 some in their eyes, and some few (but the latter race 
 is so rare as to be almost extinct) where the Creator 
 originally placed them, deep within the sources of 
 their being ; around and through which the warm
 
 42 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 and generous gushings of their life are continually 
 flowing, for and towards all God's creatures, in out- 
 pourings of unquenchable benevolence. Voltaire 
 then having had the heart of his vanity sensibly 
 ^ouched b)^ the little girl's friendly reproach, when all 
 other eyes were turned from him, seized her hand, 
 and carrying it to his lips, exclaimed in the tone of 
 exalted sycophancy with which he always addressed 
 her, though for once a shadow of something resem- 
 bling affection trembled in his voice and eyes — 
 
 " Votre mignionnerie* daigne done 
 Agreer mais baise, mains, adieuj 
 Mille fois adieu cher auge !" 
 
 I have only to wish you all that your mother is, 
 to condense in one sentence a hope that you may 
 attain to every perfection that can fall to the lot o^ 
 humanity ! 
 
 - Even this last piece of colossal flattery hurled at 
 the Marquise en passant^ fulsome as it was, failed of 
 extorting any token of acknowledgment, or recon- 
 ciliation from the offended lady, beyond a slight and 
 haughty inclination of the head, which she after- 
 wards quickly turned to the Maitre d^ Hotel, saying, 
 
 ** Clavinot, you have forgotten the king's salad — 
 where are the cherries V 
 
 "Here, a la glace, Madame la Marquise,'^ replied 
 the Maitre d' Hotel, taking a basket of rock crystal 
 
 * A title of affection coined by Voltaire for the little d'etioles, and 
 which was certainly more flattering and pre'tier than the torchons, and 
 salopes, so liberally bestowed on her mother by her royal admirer!
 
 43 
 
 filled with magnificent large red cherries — out of an 
 ice pail; and presenting them to Madame d^Esparbes, 
 while another servant followed with a gold Saladier, 
 a grape scissors, and a bottle of white hermitage, in 
 a claret decanter, also of rock crystal, protected by 
 a trellis-work of gold vine-leaves, and grapes, which 
 he presented to the same lady, who, after throwing 
 a quantity of pounded sugar into the salad-bowl, 
 held up each cherry separately, for at least the space 
 of two or three seconds, while she deliberately cut 
 off* the stems, and let them drop into the snowy bed 
 of sugar prepared for them — which slow, and mea- 
 sured proceeding, left ample time for the display of 
 her exquisitely moulded hands, which were models 
 as to shape, size, and colour,* the cherries being at 
 length one by one, embedded in the mimic snow of 
 the salad bowl ; then came the last act of this nightly 
 representation — as the fair Comtesse seized the flask 
 of hermitage — and bathing the pouting fruit in its 
 golden flood, threw back her pretty little Hebe-like 
 head, almost upon the monarch's shoulder, as she 
 conveyed the first spoonful of the rosy salad to his lips. 
 '•' Mille graces Chere Comtesse/'' sighed the king, 
 
 * It was for the especial display of these very beautiful little hands 
 of Madame d'Esparbes, that Louis XV's gallantry deemed it necessary 
 nightly to devour, by way of sur-tout, a quantum of cherries, suffi- 
 cient to have given any limited number of fasting young gentleman at 
 a preparatory school, gastric fevers ; but then to be sure, the Bourbons 
 always have from time immemorial been celebrated for their great 
 capacity. ... of stomach, and their infinite powers . . of digestion.
 
 44 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 more it must be confessed from repletion than 
 tendresse, and taking the very necessary precaution 
 to undo the three first diamond buttons of his waist- 
 coat, previous to seizing the fairy-hke hand that was 
 about to withdraw the spoon, he imprinted a kiss 
 upon it, reiterating — '* Mille graces, pas d'avantage ; 
 je prefer qe delicieux Blanc Manger mille fois Mon 
 Poupelin ;" and having bestowed upon the lady this 
 latter peculiarly elegant epithet, Louis XV. took the 
 little hand between his teeth, (which luckily hap- 
 pened to be both brilliant and Soignets) and atfected 
 to cranch it as a puppy-dog does a chicken bone. 
 During this pretty little interlude of half regal, half 
 canine gambols, one of the doors of the supper-room 
 was thrown open, and Monsieur le Comte de Saint 
 Germain was announced. 
 
 The Comte de Saint Germain, though not much 
 above the middle size, had all the elegance, without 
 any of the awkwardness of height — his figure being 
 slight and elancte, and his head remarkably well 
 placed upon his shoulders, his hair was silky and 
 undulating, and of that purple black, so rare among 
 Europeans ; this hair, of which he had a profusion, 
 he as often wore without, as with powder ; for, not- 
 withstanding the tyranny of fashions, (perhaps more 
 despotic then, than at any other epoch,) yet, as this 
 extraordinary personage, rather sought than shunned 
 eccentricity, it was a matter of perfect indifference 
 to him, to light occasionally, like a Corheau du Moyen
 
 THE peer's daughters. 45 
 
 age, amid the snowy Ailes de Pigeons of the CEil 
 de BcBuf, though upon the present occasion, he was 
 scrupulously crtpt and powdered. His forehead was ^^^ ^ -^^^ 
 high, large, and peculiarly intellectual, and of the 
 whiteness and smoothness of ivory, there was an ex- 
 traordinary flexibility in the low, straight brows that 
 surmounted his large eyes of dark hazel, which float- 
 ing as it were in an orbed of liquid light, had such 
 quick transitions both of colour and expression, 
 that he seenved a perfect kaleidoscope — of that inner 
 and inmost world, which is more or less busy, and \ 
 more or less mystical in every human being. His 
 nose though straight, and finely moulded, could not 
 exactly be called Grecian, inasmuch, as that it did 
 not leave the forehead in that insipid straight line 
 which constitutes a Grecian nose par excellence, but 
 the delicately chiselled nostrils and the exquisite 
 harmony, with which it at once blended in with, and 
 stood out from the short curved upp^r lip beneath 
 it was essentially Greek. Nothing could exceed 
 the freshness and brilliancy of his mouth and teeth, 
 or the graceful precision that was the distinguishing 
 expression of the former, while his cheeks, which 
 still retained the peach-like down of youth, varied 
 in tint, from the faintest rose to the deepest carnation 
 according to the lights and shadows that passed 
 over the mind that animated them. Dressed in the 
 extreme of the reigning fashion, he wore a coat of 
 violet velvet, embroidered with gold, the buttons of
 
 46 
 
 which were composed of unusually large brilliants, 
 especially those which ornamented the large cuffs of 
 the sleevesj the hilt of his sword, knee, and shoe 
 buckles were also of brilliants of an extraordinary 
 fine water, as well as the loop and button of his three 
 cornered, gold-laced hat ; from his right shoulder 
 were suspended streamers of flame-coloured ribbon, 
 (that colour which is now called vapeur) edged with 
 violet, the ends of which were confined in diamond 
 aiguillettes, whose conical form, was not, as is gene- 
 rally the case, composed of several small briUiants 
 set in ajyaveyhut hollowed out of one large diamond; 
 these aiguilettes gave rise to more wonder, specu- 
 lations, conjectures, rumours, and historiettes, than 
 even the celebrated Ferrets of Anne of Austria, 
 which had figured as aiguillettes two reigns back, 
 upon the gallant, and all accomplished Duke of 
 Buckingham. The count's hands, which were of 
 perfect beauty, were also covered (as the fashion of 
 the day exacted,) with the most costly rings, — while, 
 gleaming like a star f^'om within the folds and ends 
 of cambric and magnificent lace of his cravat, shone 
 a resplendent Solitaire of an almost fabulous size and 
 water. Such was the external appearance of the 
 Comte de Saint German, as with his hat pressed to 
 his bosom, and bowing profoundly over it, he ad- 
 vanced towards Madame de Pompadour, and said in 
 a voice, the silvery mellowness of whose tones would 
 have amply compensated for any other defects, had 
 he had any to atone for —
 
 " A thousand pardons, helle marquise, but you 
 know it is not in mortals to command success ' and I 
 not being happy enough even to deserve it, have al- 
 ways a double chance of misfortune ; witness the 
 two long hours I have lost of your charming society 
 this evening — and the having very nearly sent a poor 
 hunchback to his long account — by driving over him/' 
 " Decidedly, Comte, you are always Vout aux 
 grandes aventures ; pray let us have those of this 
 evening ?" 
 
 '•' Sire agrtez mez liommages^' said the count, seat- 
 ing himself in the chair Madame de Pompadour had 
 indicated to him next to her own ; and bowing across 
 the table to the king, as he unfolded his napkin, and 
 then resumed in obedience to the dame du Chateau. 
 " Nothing can be more ordinary, more vulgar than 
 that of to- night helle dame ; happening to drive for the 
 first time a pair of English horses, which are rather 
 hot, and my English coachman being ill, and his 
 Parisian substitute not understanding his metier 
 quite so well ; or perhaps thinking upon Cardinal de 
 Rohan's principle of political nulUty, to achieve a 
 sort of importance through the medium of adven- 
 tures, though somewhat of a different nature, 
 thought fit, at the entrance of Passg to drive over 
 a poor half-witted hunchback, who, without having 
 sustained any more serious injury, yet being stunned 
 by the fall, I felt in duty bound to convey him to 
 his home, which, being in the Cul de Sac de Gut-
 
 48 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 meme, and I having to proceed to my own hotel 
 afterwards, to repair the disorder of my toilette — you 
 will understand, Charmante Marquise, how the inex- 
 orable fates have doomed me to two long hours of 
 banishment from you." 
 
 ^' Come, come, Count, galanterie a part,'^ said 
 Louis Quinze, darting a telegraphic look at the rest 
 of the party. *' What are two paltry hours to you ? 
 when every one is agreed upon your being a chro- 
 nological millionnaire — who settles his accounts with 
 Time by centuries !" 
 
 His majesty being one of the sceptics, as to the 
 count's longevity and other supernatural attributes, 
 lost no opportunity of bantering him upon the sub- 
 ject, never, for one moment being deterred by de- 
 licacy or good breeding, either as to the matter or 
 manner of his railleries, and being rarely, if ever 
 daunted by the polished sarcasm of Saint Germain's 
 replies, who, on the other hand baffled both mahce 
 and curiosity, by the perfect and equal indifference 
 he displayed, as to seeking or avoiding the subject of 
 his personal history. Nor was his sang froicl at fault 
 on the present occasion, for helping himself to a hro- 
 chet a la Chamhord, while another servant presented 
 and announced at the same time, cles Saumons a la 
 Regence, he replied to the king's speech, by saying — 
 
 " Ah sire, if such be the case, respect my age, and 
 look upon me in the light of an old coquette, who 
 would fain preserve a discreet silence upon the years
 
 THE peer's daughters. 49 
 
 she has passed, and the teeth she has lost— and it 
 does not require to have Uved in past ages, since the 
 most superficial, historical lore can enable one to 
 bestow every possible comparatioe appreciation upon 
 your majesty's reign." 
 
 Madame de Pompadour colored and bit her lip, 
 but the king nothing daunted, rejoined — 
 
 " Well, but the truth Count, the truths — have you 
 or have you not lived in other times ?" 
 
 " The truth, Sire, perhaps would be incomprehen- 
 sible; TttUTH is seen and heard so seldom among men, 
 that they have great difficulty in recognizing her when 
 she does appear — for, blushing, no doubt, at the per- 
 fect nudity in which she leaves her well, like most of 
 her sex, she goes from one extreme to the other, and 
 often conceals herself beneath a veil that is impe- 
 netrable to ordinary observers." 
 
 '' But an answer, yes or no? Monsieur le Comte, to 
 ray question, for I long for a little authentic news of 
 my ancestors and predecessors/' 
 
 ^' It is true, Sire,'^ replied Saint Germain, with his 
 pecuUar and undefinable smile, " that I have some- 
 times amused myself, not indeed in making people 
 believe, but in letting them believe, that I have lived 
 in the remotest times." 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur le Comte, how I pity you if you 
 have really lived in those barbarous times — truly 
 might they be called the dark ages — before cham 
 pagne, that is, before sparkling champagne was known 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 — and Vart sublime de le frapper au pointy' cried the 
 Prince de Soubise, despatching at one essay a glass 
 of sillery. 
 
 ** YeSj truly it was but a poor drug, a body with- 
 out a soui.*' 
 
 " Ah ! then you do remember those benighted 
 times?" resumed Monsieur de Soubise, "and who? 
 and where ? was the Prometheus who first infused 
 the divine spark — or rather sparkle — into it ? here^s 
 to him, and may no other vulture ever prey upon his 
 vitals/^ 
 
 " And yet you will hardly believe prince, that there 
 were palates, so grossly ignorant and uncultivated, 
 that they did not like it at first, just as there are 
 dullards who do not understand wit, and are therefore 
 frightened at it, thinking there is poison beneath all 
 that sparkles. Yes,'' continued Saint Germain, after 
 a short pause, as if passing in review before his 
 memory a long gone-by scene, and replying more to 
 his own thoughts than to the question addressed to 
 him, '^ tliat loas a splendid /e^e ;'' and then raising 
 his head as if awaking from a reverie, he added, ad- 
 dressing Monsieur de Soubise, '' Champagne, mous- 
 seux, was a galanterie of the Comte de Champagne 
 to Blanche of Castile at a banquet he gave to that, 
 till then^ cruel beauty ; but he had not the merit of 
 the invention, it was a discovery due to the success- 
 ful researches of one of his marmitons, a poor devil 
 of the name of Epaulard."
 
 THE peer's daughters. 51 
 
 " Par la harhe de Charlemagne ! that was an 
 epaulard,* that deserved to be Dauphin of France !" 
 exclaimed the Prince de Soubise. 
 
 " Me voits ghitz nullement monsieur le Prince^" 
 said Louis XV. *^ Say king at once." 
 
 " Sire," bowed the courtier, " you have among 
 many others, a noble example in your august family, 
 therefore I pray you let not the King of France re- 
 member or resent a liberty taken with the Dauphin.'* 
 
 " C'est bien^ cest hien," said the king, laughing, 
 and tapping his snufF box, as he offered it to the 
 adroit martchal, who, had he been as skilful a general 
 as he was a good cook and accomplished courtier, 
 \\ouid never have lost the battle of Rosebach, *' cest 
 Men mon cher Prince, voire surjjrise de douceur es a la 
 Orleans ;-\ is as palatable as all your other friandises, 
 therefore I swallow it accordingly. But the Comte 
 de Saint Germain has not yet answered my question. 
 Since your memory and your life, Count, are both 
 of such prodigious length," continued Louis XV. 
 maliciously, " do give me some news of the court of 
 Francis L ; among all my predecessors, he was the 
 
 • An epaulard is a large sea fish of the same species as the dol- 
 phin, but inferior in size. 
 
 f A mixture of fruits of different kinds in Maraschino jelly, then 
 much in vogue, and called surprise de douceures a la Orlehis, having 
 been invented during the regency. This plat doux is the same as that 
 now called a rnacedoine de fruits. The anecdote of the noble Louis 
 XII., who conferred a favour upon one of his former enemies, saying : 
 "The King of France should not remember the injuries done to the 
 Duke of Orleans," is too well known to need repeating. 
 
 D 2 
 
 iiMn/CDQITV nP
 
 52 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 one I affection the most, not even excepting Henri 
 Quatre." 
 
 *' And your majesty in so doing evinces your dis- 
 cernment," replied the count, " for few monarchs 
 ever combined so many regal and chivalric virtues, 
 set off as' they were, with that elixir of king-craft, 
 the most polished and fascinating manners ;'* and 
 Saint Germain then proceeded, with all the enthu- 
 siasm of personal knowledge, to describe the roi 
 chevalier's appearance, which he did like an arfcist, 
 while he analysed his moral and mental qualities with 
 the acumen of a philosopher. 
 
 " Really,' ' exclaimed the king, interested and ex- 
 cited in spite of himself, " I think I see him ; so 
 graphic and animated is your description ; and were 
 not the thing impossible^ 1 should almost be tempted 
 to believe that you actually had seen and known 
 him.'' 
 
 " Saint Germain smiled and sighed slightly, and 
 folding his arms, continued, as if thinking aloud ; 
 and re-riveting the hnk of a chain of ideas in his 
 own mind, — '' yes, had Francois Premier been less 
 ardent, less impetuous, I could have given him a 
 guarantee against every misfortune ; and yet 1 doubt 
 his having benefited by it, for he was propelled by 
 that fatahty which rules princes — at least those who 
 are unfortunate enough to shut the ears of their 
 understanding to wise counsels — especially during 
 those political crises which occur, more or less often » 
 in every reign.''
 
 THE peer's daughters. 53 
 
 " Was the court of Francois Premier a very bril- 
 liant one?" interrupted, Madame de Pompadour, 
 who liked Saint Germain, and therefore feared his 
 franc parler might carry him too far on the dangerous 
 ground of royal weakness and obstinacy, 
 
 ''Very brilliant,'^ said the count, who seized the 
 good nature of the favorite's intention. " Very bril- 
 liant, but that of his grandson's infinitely surpassed 
 it. In the time of Mary Stuart, and Marguerite de 
 Valois, the court was a land of enchantment, where 
 pleasure, wit and gallantry rivalled each other under 
 a thousand different forms, each succeeding one more 
 graceful and more captivating than the last. Those 
 two queens were learned without pedantry, and 
 spirituelles without ever aiming at effect; they wrote 
 poetry too, so good, considering the time, that it was 
 almost worthy of celebrating themselves, and when 
 recited by their charming mouths it was a real plea- 
 sure to hear it." 
 
 " D'honneur !" cried the king, bursting into a loud 
 and ill-bred laugh, "one would really think you had 
 seen and heard all that. Perhaps you are the Cid, 
 as your Arab page Narguile calls you what does 
 Narguile mean in French?*' 
 
 " Alas, Sire, I cannot lay claim to being that great 
 man Roderigo Dias de Bivar. My Arab boy only 
 calls me * Cid,' because that is the Arabic word for 
 lord ; and I call him Narguilt, (which in French 
 corresponds with the unromantic name of pipe,) be-
 
 54 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 cause he has the care of my Tchllionque. With 
 regard to the reign of Charles IX. ," continued Saint 
 Germain with the utmost sang froid, " my memory 
 is good, but also my notes are authentic and copious 
 upon those times." And so saying he drew from his 
 pocket a small thick volume in a costly gothic bind- 
 ing of green velvet flowered with gold^ the corners 
 and clasps being of massive filagreed gold studded 
 with precious stones, and opening it he showed the 
 king a few lines written by Michel Montaigne w^ith 
 his own hand in 1580. 
 
 " Mafoiy' said Louis XV., glancing at the writing^ 
 and then handing the book to the Marquis de Jode- 
 let, " by all the bats in Notre Dame, the characters 
 are too antiquated for me to decipher ; but Monsieur 
 de Jodelet, you, who have been in England to learn 
 to think, and therefore must naturally think yourself 
 learnedy you may like a touch of philosophy tout 
 Chaud de Montaigne, so read us what he says. 
 
 And the new-blown marquis, much flattered at 
 the request, pompously cleared his throat, arranged 
 his jabot, changed the watch-chain and seals that 
 dangled from his left side to his right, and that sus- 
 pended from his right to his left,* and finally hold- 
 ing the little book at a respectful distance from him, 
 read out the following passage — 
 
 '• II nest homme de hien qui mette a Vexamen des his 
 
 * At that time it was the fashion to wear two watches.
 
 55 
 
 toutes ses actions, et toutes ses penstes, qui ne soit pen- -^t*^^ j 
 dahle six fois en sa vie; voire tel, qu^il serrait dom- ^"^*^ 
 mage et tres injuste de punir.''^ 
 
 '' Eh ! Monsieur le Marquis, toutes ses pensees 
 pourquoi done avez vous appris a penser puisque 
 c'est line chose pendable/' cried the king with a serio- 
 comico face, as he took the book from the Marquis 
 de Jodelet, and handed it back to the count. 
 
 While every one laughed, as in duty bound, at this 
 witless royal sally, they also exchanged looks of in- 
 terrogation and surprise, evidently not knowing what 
 to think of the Comte de Saint Germain, which, 
 Madame de Pompadour perceiving,- turned to the 
 latter and said, — 
 
 " Et la belle Ferronniere, was she really as hand- 
 some as report has handed her down to us?" 
 
 "At ^^«^time," said Saint Germain, bowing gal- 
 lantly to the marquise, and offering his hand to lead 
 her to the drawing-room, as the king had now risen 
 from table — *' At that time I thought her the most 
 beautiful woman I had ever seen ; I should not think 
 so now,^' 
 
 Madame de Pompadour, though in reality charmed 
 at this compliment, which she was not the less 
 pleased at, from its exaggeration, yet, nevertheless, 
 modestly affected not to take it, playing the part of 
 unconsciousness, by telling the sleepy little Alexan- 
 drine betw^een two kisses, to go to bed, and take care 
 and not tread upon FollettCy a very pretty little
 
 56 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 Blenheim dog, encumbered with pompons of blue 
 and rose coloured ribbons, who vvas following her 
 little mistress closely. 
 
 But Monsieur de Soubise, who always officiated as 
 lord in waiting to every compliment directed to- 
 wfirds, but unclaimed by the favorite, exclaimed : 
 
 *' Madame la marquise qe compliment, est a voire ad- 
 resse, et porte si visihlement le timhrie de la vtritt, que 
 vous ne pouvez eviter de V accuser reception V 
 
 " All ! apropos de timbre ; that reminds me of let- 
 ters, and they naturally remind me of pens/' said 
 Madame de Pompadour turning to the count. " And 
 do you remember Monsieur de Saint Germain, that 
 you said the other morning, that you would do me an 
 etching of Marion de L'Orme, returning to fling at 
 Cardinal de Richelieu, the scantily furnished purse 
 he had sent her by one of his pages, if you could 
 procure some Egyptian dove quills, sufficiently firm 
 to make into pens for the purpose ? Well, I 
 jirive \^ith my own hands made you a whole packet, 
 and here they are,'^ added the lady, taking from 
 off a bhul table covered with writing materials, 
 as she entered the drawing-room, a little golden 
 quiver with two doves, exquisitely painted in enamel, 
 enchained with a wreath of roses, according to the 
 most approved bad taste of the times, which quiver 
 contained the pens in question, which she placed in 
 the count's hands, begging of him to try how she 
 had succeeded in her first attempt at penmaking.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 57 
 
 1 St. Germain, who did everything with an indescri- 
 bable grace, which was of no age and yet of all, after 
 imprinting a kiss upon the fair hand which had 
 placed the quiver in his, seated himself at the table, 
 and withdrawing one of the fairy pens from the quiver, 
 selected a sheet of paper, redolent of rose musqute, 
 and traced upon it the following lines, which he pre- 
 sented to Madame de Pompadour, who was so de- 
 lighted with them, that they soon made the tour of 
 the room. 
 
 A MADAME LA MARQUISE DE POMPADOUR. 
 
 Sensible a qc joli cadeau, 
 Ma voix reconnoissante 
 Va done repeter de nouveau 
 Que votre taille est charmante. 
 
 "And your comphment equally so, Monsieur le 
 Comte," said Louis XV. when he had finished read- 
 ing the lines ; and then returning them to Madame 
 de Pompadour, he added, " Antoinette sing me that 
 romance that I like.'' 
 
 The lady, not without a considerable degree of 
 minauderie, suffered herself to be lead to the harpsi- 
 chord, to which Monsieur de Soubise, and the Baron 
 de Gruntenstern had already flown ; the former, 
 raising the sounding board, the keys of the instru- 
 ment were surmounted by a large oval plate of white 
 enamel, where of course gambolled, the necessary 
 quantum of loves, doves, hearts, darts, true lover's 
 knots, roses, and forget me nots ; but the outside of 
 
 D 3
 
 58 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 the harpsichord was composed of a magnificent land- 
 scape by Salvator Rosa,* representing a storm amid 
 that chaotic and mysterious wilderness, the summit 
 of the black rock at Valombrosa, with the large iron 
 cross on the top of it struck by lightning, and some 
 figures of cattle and carbo?iaja, crouching at its foot. 
 Every arrangement having been duly made, Madame 
 de Pompadour seated herself at this instrument, and 
 after a prelude of little jiggy, jirky, wirey, penny, 
 ribbon ringletty sounds, which constituted what 
 was called music at that time, and estabhshing 
 an estafette of glances between herself and the king, 
 she began a song, the two first lines of which were 
 as follows : 
 
 " Ah ! que ma voix me devient chere 
 Depuis que mon Berger se plait a Tecoutre/'f 
 
 After every one had feigned a sufficient degree of 
 ecstacy at this charming performance, which, the 
 
 * One often sees in Italy ckef^d'ceiivres of Salvator Eosa, Claude 
 Lorraine, and Poussin, rescued from old spinets and harpsichords, and 
 now restored to the legitimate honors of a frame ; but in standing in a 
 side light, and looking along the surface of the picture, the " small 
 by degrees and beautifully less" form of the wilhom-spinet, is still 
 perfectly visible where the landscape has been dove-tailed into the 
 other canvass. 
 
 t It was of this song -^vhich Madame de Pompadour sang at 
 Louis XV., before Madame de Crequy, that the latter observes, " Ceci 
 me parut avoir une inte7ition de galanterie tellement directe, et tellement 
 deplacee^ devard Moi ! que fen f us, troullee honteuse et que yen devins 
 touterefrcgnee, suivant Vexpression du Richelieu." — Memoires de la 
 Marquise de Crequy, tome iii, pnge 21.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 59 
 
 king applauded with a " tres Men parole d'homiear 
 Chiffette^' between a parenthesis of yawns. His 
 majesty then turned to the Prince de^Soubisejand com- 
 manded him sotto voce, to ring for his carriage, which, 
 Valasquez perceiving, approached Madame de Pompa- 
 dour, and requested her to present him to the Comte 
 de St. Germain, whose eyes had been steadily fixed 
 on him, more than once during the evening, with a 
 sort of undefinable expression which troubled Don 
 Raphael quite as much as it excited his curiosity. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte,^' said the Marquise, *^ allow 
 me to present to you Don Raphael Valasquez, whom, 
 I believe, is e7i intimitt with your occult friend the 
 Vidame de Poitier." 
 
 " C^ est possible,'' was Saint Germain's laconic reply 
 as he exchanged bows with Valasquez ; and then 
 fixing his large lustrous bewildering eyes upon him, 
 pronounced in a low voice the one word 
 
 ^* ZARASKI?'^ 
 
 Raphael not understanding the meaning of this 
 monosyllable, addressed to him in an interrogatory 
 tone of voice, thought he had misunderstood the 
 sound, and replied in an equally low tone, 
 
 '• Pardon me, but I did not catch what you said.'' 
 The Comte de Saint Germain, fixing his eyes upon 
 him with a look so penetrating, and at the same time 
 so luminously communicative, that it appeared to the 
 excited imagination of A^alasquez, as if all the se- 
 crets of the past, present, and future were condensed
 
 60 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS 
 
 in the focus of that single glance, made no other an- 
 swer than by pronouncing the word 
 
 .ETHALIDES. 
 
 No sooner had this name (notwithstanding that 
 he now heard it for the first time) reached the 
 Spaniard's ear, than a sort of moral earthquake 
 seemed to shake his very being to its centre ; and, 
 pale and gasping, from the intense agony of the in- 
 ternal and inexplicable convulsion he was struggling 
 with, he mechanically repeated, — 
 
 ^THALIDES. 
 
 Saint Germain, who had watched Valasquez's 
 countenance, till he had uttered this name, with the 
 breathless intensity which love, revenge, or fear, 
 watches the eventful crisis upon which its last cast is 
 set^ now tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and hastily 
 writing upon it ; 
 
 '^'Tis well, meet me at Ramponneau^s at ten to- 
 morroio night'* 
 
 Placed it within Don Raphael's hand as he shook 
 it, at parting, and then took leave of the Dame du 
 Chateau, with all the ephemeral and exaggerated 
 gallantry, so inseparable from the ailes de pigeon and 
 talons rouge, Freluquets of the Oeil de Bceuf ; while 
 the still bewildered Valasquez, who had been gra- 
 ciously distinguished by Madame de Pompadour 
 from her other departing guests, by her expressing 
 a hope that he would attend her levees at the H6tel
 
 THE peer's daughters. 61 
 
 d'Evereux,* could not collect his ideas sufficiently to 
 frame a suitable speech, and therefore made no other 
 reply, than by pressing the very pretty hand so con- 
 descendingly held out to him, to his heart ; a pro- 
 ceeding which the fair owner did not fail to interpret 
 as an infallible sign, that she had inspired him with 
 feelings too deep for words. So invariably does va- 
 nity supply the omissions of love, and even of com- 
 mon politeness, in some well organized imaginations 
 
 * ^he favorite's hotel at Paris, which a contemporary writer 
 speaking of, observes, — *' Aussi voit-ou chaque jour une double, une 
 triple file de voitures a la porte de PHotel d Evereux, on ne rencontre 
 autant nuUe part, pas meme devant I'hotel des ministres." Each day 
 a double and even a triple row of carriages before the Hotel d'Eve- 
 reux ; one sees there even more equipages than before the hotels of 
 the ministers, and ambassadors.
 
 62 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LE TAMBOUR BOYAL. 
 
 " Au sein de la paix gouter le plaisir 
 Chez soi s'ainuser dans im doux loiair, 
 Ou bien chez Magny scalier diverter, 
 C'etait la vieille methode. 
 
 " On voit aujourd'hui courir nos badauds. 
 Sans les acheve r, quitter leurs travaux ; 
 Pourquoi ? C'est qu'ils vont chez mon Ramponneau. 
 Voila la taverne a la mode". 
 Legende d''une anciennee stampe du Cabaret de Ramponneau.'^ 
 
 Some few years had, at the period of our tale, legiti- 
 mised as it were the reign of the " Tambour Ro.yal ;'' 
 for, so far back as the year 1734, the cabaret of Ram- 
 ponneau, first began to be la grande mode in Paris, 
 the ever favoured metropolis, where that omnipotent, 
 and most versatile of goddesses Fashion, has al- 
 ways par preftrence held her court, and established 
 the head quarters from which her fiats are issued, 
 
 Alas ! upon what frail and shifting wings, 
 Speed the veil'd fates of publicans and kings ! 
 
 A few short years before, as the legend which 
 heads this chapter informs us, all the world flocked 
 to Magnys ; and in those days mine host of the
 
 63 
 
 Tamhour Hoyal, honest Jean Ramponneau, could 
 boast of no grander customers than a motley crew 
 of ambulating musicians, beggars, mechanics, and 
 Dames de la Halle. But noWy though things were 
 much changed, the tables were by no means turned, 
 at least in the kitchen of the Tambour Royal, where 
 they remained in statu quo, as well as the heart of 
 its landlord, who was an honest man after Hamlet's 
 acceptation, that is '■'one in ten thousand f' and not- 
 withstanding that the bad language of the crocheteur .,. - - 
 had made way for the ban mots of the perfumed Fre- Caa^^. 
 loquetso^ U (Ell de Bcew/,and that where erst a ragged 
 2)oissarde alone brandished her fish, now brocaded 
 petite maitresses flirted their fans, still Ramponneau 
 had ever a ready welcome for the poorest beggar, 
 and Margot his wife, a ready bone for that beggar's 
 dog; which caused his humbler customers to sa}^ 
 that tiie prayers of the poor were drafts upon Heaven, 
 which the Almighty always accepted.; and therefore 
 no wonder that Ramponneau had grown rich, and 
 the Tambour Royal become flourishing ! — while his 
 more aristocratic, but less pious and less grateful 
 hahituts, attributed the worthy vintner's unprece- 
 dented vogue to the influence bf Z'Az^ifrc,* — alluding 
 
 * Madame de Cha,teauroux, Madame de Pompadour's predecessor, 
 acquired the soubriquet of L' Autre among the courtiers of Louis XV. 
 from the following circumstance :-rDage, the famous coiffeur of that 
 time, (whom Louis Quinze was almost obliged to treat with, as from 
 one sovereign power to another, to insure his attendance) being one day 
 more than usually late at Madame de Pompadour's levee, she rashly
 
 64 THE P! 
 
 to the Diichesse de Chateauroux having once been 
 taken ill at the door of the Tambour RoyaU and being 
 indebted for her recovery to such restoratives as its 
 then humble resources afforded ; be this as it might, 
 nothing could exceed the strange extremes of the 
 human mosaic which formed its nightly crowds, 
 composed as they were from the consolidated mud 
 of the lowest classes, to the glittering external ore 
 and brilliants of the very highest, but which were all 
 dove- tailed into the most perfect harmony for the 
 moment. Here, while a pretty but ragged fripiere 
 from the Rue Saint Denis, whose beauty pierced like 
 a star the Ethiopian darkness of her unwashed face, 
 related to her peers some adventure, of the nature of 
 which her too graphically expressive pantomime left 
 no doubt. There, a fair and timid jeune comtesse a 
 uarante quartiers, and only half that number of 
 years, after a rapid glance round the thickly peopled 
 and smoke-dried walls of the kitchen of the Tambour 
 Royal, for a moment hesitated upon its threshold — 
 
 ventured to ask him " how it was that he had, first acquired such im- 
 mense vogue ?" To which he replied, with consummate fatuity, and 
 the most exasperating sangfroid, as he nonchalantly passed the comb 
 through the favourite's hair, accompanying the act by a shrug of the 
 shoulders ; " c'est que je coiffais L" Autre . /" alluding to the king's 
 former maitresse en tetre, Mada7ne de Chateauroux. The reigning 
 favourite's levees were too numerously attended for Dage's imperti- 
 nence not to be repeated by athousand echoes, and a week after, even 
 in the remotest of the provinces, tlie Ducbesse de Chateauroux was 
 mentioned by no other name than L' Autre.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 65 
 
 but entered. Further on to the left, a Procureur 
 had thrown down the gauntlet to an Intendant, to 
 wage a war of wits ; while here, there, and every- 
 where were pairs whispering those nameless nothings 
 which are the wealth of love ! — the current coin of 
 the heart !— and which, though (unfortunately for 
 many a young mtnage) it cannot circulate beyond 
 the region where it is issued, yet is capable of pro- 
 curing there every luxury of feeling. It was no 
 wonder, then, that half of the frequenters of Ram pon- 
 neau's preferred inhaling the acrid houquet of wine 
 at two sous a bottle, to the aroma of the treasures of 
 their own hereditary cellars ; no wonder that they 
 preferred occasionally the rags of a poissardes stuff 
 gown to the rustle of *a princess's silk sacque, for to 
 one half of its aristocratic habitues the Tambour 
 Royal was a trysting-place, and consequently, despite 
 the smoke of its chimneys and of its pipes, its atmo- 
 sphere was redolent of the only two feelings capable 
 of insuring perfect happiness — Love and Self 
 Love — the first making men blind to the defects of 
 their mistresses, and the latter (which they generally 
 possess in a far larger, deeper, and more lasting de- 
 gree) casting an impenetrable veil over their own. 
 Besides, there was something in the curious and op- 
 posite influences of the place, which was to the 
 biases votaries of luxury, wearied of soaring on 
 
 " Pleasure's golden pinions, imped with purple down !"
 
 66 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 a sort of breaking new ground in the realms of ex- 
 citement — that real Elysium of the passions. But 
 now for a word or two upon the place itself: a heart 
 less stanch, or made of flimsier stuff, than was that 
 of Jean Ramponneau, would, with his brightening 
 fortunes, have brightened — or at least whitened the 
 walls of his ancient domicile ; — have replaced the 
 small thick horny looking octagonal pieces of glass, 
 that filled the leaden frames of the narrow windows, 
 with broad, clear panes, that would have given a 
 more hospitable reception to the light of Heaven ; — 
 would have exchanged the narrow strips of chequered 
 red and white huckaback that fluttered above them 
 for more dainty hangings ; — or at least, in the nooks 
 and corners of the homely refectory, have placed, as 
 if by pure accident here and there, for the safer con- 
 tact of a brocaded silk, a friendly chair of Utrecht 
 velvet, extending its polished arms to woo the fair 
 forms that flitted to and fro to a temporary repose. 
 But no, not one of these things did Jean Rampon- 
 neau ! no change was visible in the Tambour Royaly 
 except that composed of silver and copper, elicited 
 by the rapidly circulating Louis-cPors of its fre- 
 quenters. 
 
 An ordinary man — but Jean was no ordinary man 
 — for have we not already said that he was an honest 
 man ? — well, an ordinary man, with a vulgar every- 
 day-work-a-day-nature, would at least have Sunday- 
 fied himself each day in the week. Not a bit of it ;
 
 67 
 
 Jean Ramponneau had always been clean, and clean 
 he continued ; but his linen was not one bit finer 
 than it had ever been, and his coat was still of the 
 same coarse cloth, of that peculiar blue now only to 
 be seen in the dye of the paper devoted to covering 
 sugar loaves, and the tinge of old gentlemen's noses 
 in the month of December. But if the truth must 
 be told, (and as we differ from the enlightened and 
 pious divine who opined that it ought not to he told 
 at all times, and think that it ought,) it must be con- 
 fessed, that to an experienced eye, Jean's hat was a 
 faint suspicion more jauntily cocked than it used to 
 be, that is, the pins were decidedly longer than of 
 yore, but then for that matter so were the bills, and 
 Jean being, like all right-minded persons, a great 
 lover of order, of course included uniformity in this 
 most legitimate of all affections. Fanchette Fredon, 
 that queen of laundresses, (from whom, however, 
 Margot Ramponneau had recently withdrawn her 
 custom) also asserted that Jean's speckled black and 
 gray worsted hose were drawn up much more tightly, 
 and rolled more neatly over his black velvet unna- 
 mables, than they were wont to be in days of yore, 
 and that the heels of his shoes were not only higher, 
 and the massive silver buckles brighter, but that the 
 shoes themselves were much blacker ; but this we 
 firmly believe to be all mere sudp, and slander, for it 
 is not likely that a man of Jean's consistent and 
 stoical simplicity, would put his foot in it by any
 
 68 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 such eflfeminate fopperies. On the contrary, when 
 urged by friends and foes to assimilate both his cos- 
 tume and his furniture more with the glories of his 
 increasing fortune, he was often heard loudly to de- 
 clare that nothing should tempt him to do anything 
 of the sort, adding with a shrug, as he pointed some- 
 what cavaherlyj not to say contemptuously, with a 
 jerk of his left thumb over his left shoulder, at 
 some knot of peers and princes, — *' I do not ask 
 them to come here; they come to please themselves, 
 and are as free to go as to stay; — no doubt they have 
 oripeaux and gew-gaws enough at home, so the case 
 is clear : — for if it be not the forests that have come 
 to an untimely end in my oaken benches — the mine- 
 ral waters they quaff from my pewter flagons — and 
 the fine effects of light and shade on my smoke-dried 
 walls, that attract them here, what else can it be ? — 
 for I scarcely think," concluded honest Jean, point- 
 ing with his stout elm stick to a daub done in red 
 chalk on the opposite wall, representing the favourite 
 Danseuse and Danseur of the then opera,^ — *'I scarcely 
 think such fine folks come all this way to see Mon- 
 sieur Belhumeur cutting a mimic entrechat with la belle 
 camargo, when they can see the originals every night 
 for the wishing, and when the latter was so recently 
 given as a spectacle gratis to the good Parisians, by 
 being borne in triumph on the shoulders of the popu- 
 lace ; no — no — c'est vrai que
 
 THE peer's daughters. 69 
 
 "Mon oyefait tout,"* 
 
 and that is the whole secret. No; — Jean, who fan- 
 cied himself a great politician, and was a bit of a 
 philosopher unknown to himself, having (in his visits 
 to a friend, who was one of the waiters at the cafe 
 Procope ) picked up sundry crumbs of liberty 1 
 equality ! the monarchy of the mass ! and other cru- 
 dities, which he digested tant Men que mal ; — never 
 could be either bribed or buUied into making the 
 
 * Formerly each cabaret in France, like the Roman capitol of old, 
 had its tutelary goose, with generally the following lines appended to it, 
 " Chascun, de da?is ge munde-cy, 
 
 Met son corps et son dme en proie, 
 Et pensanfsortir de saucy, 
 
 S' en vo)it a la chasse a Moyi OYB. 
 
 Be Vunjusques a V autre bout 
 
 Du monde, vous serez sans Joy e, 
 A chevaly en chaise, ou de bout, 
 
 Si vous ne possedez — mon dye." 
 
 And as mythology was always in great force at the Courtille, sur- 
 mounting the protecting goose a small wooden Bacchus was invariably 
 to be seen, taking a constitutional ride upon his barrel, with a fixed 
 smile upon all his votaries beneath ; while by way of halo, (rising cir- 
 cularly from his vine-crowned temples, which he seemed to point to 
 with the brimming cup he eternally flourished in his right hand,) was 
 the following diatich, 
 
 Non, Bacchus n'est pas mort, 
 
 Car il vide encore ! 
 
 and another charming statuette of Monsieur Pret-a-boir, le tyiie des 
 
 francs buveurs, seems in his bacchanalian pantomime to echo this 
 
 refrain, as he brandished his colossal tankard high above his joyous 
 
 face, 
 
 " Flush'd with a purple grace."
 
 70 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 slightest alteration or addition to the decorations of 
 the Tamhour Royal, with the exception of the fol- 
 lowing inscription, which ran parallel to the before- 
 mentioned specimens of the fine arts, displayed in 
 the fresco of Mademoiselle Camargo, and Monsieur 
 Belhumeur, and the statues of Bacchus and Monsieur 
 Pret-a-Boir, and frowned upon the assembled multi- 
 tudes in large black, heavy, republican-looking letter^, 
 above the frying-pans, gridirons, and candlesticks 
 that adorned the broad, projecting, gable-ended kit- 
 chen chimney. 
 
 " L'Egalite n'est point nee d'hier le 
 PLAisiR l'avait inventus et consacree avant 
 
 LES constitutions." 
 
 An assertion which it must be confessed, every- 
 thing tended to confirm, in a place where pleasure 
 was the ostensible cause assigned for so strange and 
 novel a confusion of all classes and ranks ; and where, 
 taking the matter literally^ constitutions were nightly 
 destroyed at, from two sous to two louis a bottle. 
 Ah ! happy times ! when there was no place like 
 mon B.am'ponneau s. There, even husbands were 
 perfection — sparkling, smiling, and fascinating, with 
 a lavish profusion of good humour and amiability, 
 which they could well afford, considering the penuri- 
 ous economy they generally practised with regard to 
 those qualities at home— there too, the luckless \^ight, 
 constitutionally gay, but devoid of money from habit 
 — (and of all the many bad habits poverty engenders
 
 THE peer's daughters. 71 
 
 this is decidedly the worst, being the source of all 
 the others) — there, there, at least, he might find both 
 his humour and his habit accommodated ; and sana 
 souci, and sans six sous.' those moral antipodes, as 
 their names denote, might accidentally meet on ami- 
 cable terms, and equally enjoy themselves. It' is 
 true that, there are a sect of wild visionary moralists 
 of the Twaddle-onic school, who pretend that instead 
 of being foes, sans sonci, and sans six sous, were, on 
 the contrary born twins ; but this is a mere Union 
 Workhouse sort of philosophy, invented by the 
 rich for the destitute. Yet, if the Twaddle-onicans 
 are sticklish upon this genealogical point, they should 
 at least, in common honesty add, — that they are twins 
 a-la Castor and Pollux — that is, that as long as sans 
 souci is enjoying himself in the world, poor sans six 
 sous is unavoidably prevented from joining the party, 
 by being detained by Jupiter in the infernal regions. 
 But to return to mine host of the Tambour Royal, 
 he justly considered, that like the swallows, the 
 summer was his season ; and that for so short a pe- 
 riod, it would have been a species of ungrateful 
 folly to sacrifice to the aristocratic butterflies, of a 
 span of sunshine, the guests who were his real sup- 
 port, or in other words, to furnish his tavern with a 
 degree of luxury, well indeed adapted to one half its 
 frequenters; but which must have effectually ex- 
 cluded the mendicants and ambulating musicians, 
 who furmed as it were his real capital. Upon the
 
 72 
 
 night upon which the Comte de Saint Germain had 
 given Valasquez a rendez-vous there, the Tamhour 
 Royal was in all its glory, the iron lamps, albeit 
 none of the brightest, gleamed along the smoke dried 
 walls, and threw out in strong relief the red chalk 
 fresco of Mademoiselle Camargo and Monsieur Bel- 
 humeur. The flamheaux, with their strong efluvia 
 of bitumen, flared upon the oaken tables covered 
 with glasses and pewter flagons, occasionally inter- 
 sected with baskets of fruit and baskets of pipes. 
 At the upper end of the kitchen, by a large stove, 
 which flanked the hugh chimney, stood Margot 
 Ramponneau, who, having very properly first at- 
 tended to liis dog, (by giving him a large bone, 
 which had by no means divorced itself from its 
 fleshly better half,) she was meting out, ladle in 
 hand, a savory ragout to his master, a blind fiddler, 
 who, by way of grace, was humming to the wirey 
 accompaniment of his three stringed instrument the 
 first couplet of 
 
 Jadis et Aujourd 'Aui* 
 with its chorus of Caliin calm. 
 
 At a garden door opposite the street entrance, a 
 lady in a dark Jiior dore changeable silk dress, her 
 head and shoulders covered by a black wimple, and 
 
 * This was one of the many popular songs of Pannard ; surnamed 
 in France, Le La Fontaine de la Chanson, and upon whom his con- 
 temporaries bestowed a just eulogium, in saying that 
 
 " II chansonna le vice, et chanta la vertu."
 
 THE peer's daughters. 7^ 
 
 holding before her face a small black velvet mask, 
 called at the time a Loup^ now appeared, casting a 
 hasty and apparently fearful look round the kitchen 
 of the Tambour Royal, and then retreated behind 
 one of the projections of the wall, as if satisfied that 
 the person she expected had not yet arrived ; while 
 at a small table near the embrasure where this lady 
 had taken refuge, sat two very fine gentlemen, play- 
 ing at lansquinet, that is, they held their [)atent 
 of gentility from their powdered Coups de Veuts, 
 red heeled shoes, point lace ruffles, and diamond 
 solitaries, — being in reality no greater nor lesser per- 
 sonages than Messieurs Lebel and Isabe, first valets 
 de chambres to His Most Christian Majesty, Louis 
 XV., and Don Raphael Valasquez, grandee of Spain, 
 and Count of the Holy Roman Empire; but as tar 
 as their score at Ramponneau's went, and the quafity 
 of the wines they discussed, it would have been im- 
 possible for their respective masters to have played 
 the grand seigneur better. Isabe, after having grace- 
 fully elongated his left leg, the better to display, not 
 only a very tightly drawn up silk stocking, but still 
 more the calf within it, which he deemed quite as 
 deserving of adoration as any calf that had ever 
 received similar honors — golden or other — seetned 
 wholly intent upon the chances of the game ; while 
 Lebel, on the contrary, appeared perfectly indifferent 
 as to whether fortune smiled or frowned upon him, 
 Jiis eyes, ever and anon, wandering restlessly from 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 one entrance door to another, like a man whose real 
 occupation was far wide of his ostensible employ- 
 ment. At another table facing the street door, but 
 to ^^hich table Lebel turned his back, sat the Comte 
 de Saint Germain, in a black velvet riding dress, a 
 sprig of heath in one of the button holes, and a black 
 beaver hat surrounded with white Ostrich feathers, 
 in the fashion of the preceding reign, as were also 
 his large black riding boots coming above the knee, 
 and his white doe-skin gauntlets, while in his hand 
 he held a heavily leaded, silver mounted riding whip, 
 with the handle of which he had made a sort of im- 
 promptu Castanet against his teeth ; as both his 
 elbows rested upon the table, and he kept his eyes 
 fixed upon the opposite door, in expectation of Va- 
 lasquez' arrival. But Ranyponneau's was situated 
 beyond the Boulevard du Temple, where the courtile 
 now flourishes ; and in those days more accidents 
 and perils were incurred in a transit from the Rue 
 de Grenelle to the Boulevard du Temple, than there 
 is in the presto begone mode of travelling of our age, 
 in a voyage from London to Jerusalem, or from Paris 
 to Peru ;' which contingencies effectually accounted in 
 Saint Germain's mind for Valasquez' want of punctu- 
 ality at their rendez-vous ; and although his eyes, 
 after making the tour of the tavern, were constantly 
 fixed upon the opposite door ; yet it was with the 
 calm and patient expression of total indifference. 
 Not so Lebel ; the anxiety of his glance, now seldom
 
 THE peer's daughters. 7^ 
 
 removed from the door, became perfectly feverish ; 
 but this, coupled with his exceeding restlessness, 
 Isabe attributed to his increasing run of ill luck, 
 and therefore offered to give him his revenge, either 
 by playing all night or appointing the first oppor- 
 tunity suited to his convenience for that purpose. 
 
 " You are too good," said Lebel, \^ hile he mut- 
 tered between his teeth, as he looked at his watch, 
 '' It is too bad, three quarters of an hour later 
 than usual to-night.'' 
 
 As he spoke, the door opened, and a murmur ran 
 through the kitchen of the Tambour Royal, accom- 
 panied by a slight clapping of hands and cries of 
 brava, brava la Corella ! while Lebel flung down 
 his cards, joining loudly in the chorus of bravas, 
 as an old woman, apparently almost sinking under 
 that gorgeous prodigality of wrinkles and ugliness, 
 of which time is so lavish in the years he bestows 
 upon continental women, entered, carrying a real 
 Andalusian mandolin in one hand, while with the 
 other she lead, or rather dragged after her a young 
 girl, clad in all the glittering twilight of the Spanish 
 costume of that day ; and pulUng back her mantilla, 
 displayed to the admiring multitude, one of those 
 exquisite gems of beauty which a poet often creates, 
 and nature seldom. Corella, (for such was the name 
 of the young firl who accompanied the old woman), 
 had two months before attained her seventeenth 
 year, and her form, though slight in the extreme, 
 
 E 2
 
 7B THE peer's daughters. 
 
 was fully developed, still retaining all the diaphanic 
 elasticity of childhood, though undulating into the 
 more rounded contour of maturer age. Her face, 
 which was of a perfect oval, could not be called pale, 
 as that implies an absence of bloom, it was only ex- 
 quisitely fair, and of the texture of a white Camelia, 
 into which, love himself appeared to have kissed a 
 blush. Her mouth was of that rich, ripe, cherry red, 
 which, from the two rows of small pearl like teeth 
 within it, gave it perfectly the appearance of that 
 pouting fruit, surrounded by a coronal of its own 
 snowy blossoms. Her nose, which was exquisitely 
 moulded, was neither aquiline nor Grecian, but par- 
 took of all the dignity of the former, and all the 
 grace of the latter, while its delicately indented 
 nostrils, with her short artistically chiselled upper lip, 
 made of her profile a living, breathing Cameo. Her 
 eyes were of a deep, dark, violet blue, which seemed 
 to float in a sort of liquid starlight, shrouded occa- 
 sionally by her soft, long, silken lashes. Her fore- 
 head, of an ivory smoothness and whiteness, was 
 high and intellectual, but it was the intellect of soul, 
 that sacred spark, which, emanating from the Eternal 
 Creator of all, pervades and animates the whole 
 being wherein it dwells, ever impelling its every 
 action, feeling, and aspiration back to the divine 
 source from whence it came, unlike The cold, wan, 
 ghastly light of mere mental intelligence, which, is 
 ^^of the earth, earthy," and flits through this vast
 
 THE peer's daughters. 77 
 
 sepulchre, our icorld, luring astray the weary spirits 
 that still quiver 'neath their mortal coil without ever 
 flashing into sufficient brightness to pierce that dense 
 mysterious darkness, beyond which, lies immortality ! 
 
 There appeared between the old womaa and 
 Lebel, a sort of telegraphic intelligence, and though 
 the former, on entering, had placed the Mandolin 
 in Corella's hands, the young girl only swept its 
 chords mechanically with one hand, as she raised the 
 other equally listlessly to the sunny wreathes of 
 thickly braided chesnut hair — that formed a sort of 
 natural Greek cap — round her beautifully formed 
 head. But the audience of the Tambour Royal had 
 become impatient ; and, just as Valasquez entered 
 by the door that opened on the Boulevard, he heard 
 vociferous cries addressed to the old woman (who 
 was receiving from the hands of Margot Rampon- 
 neau a no ver}^ diminutive glass of brandy) of — 
 
 " Come, come, Marie Cadel, your brandy can 
 wait." 
 
 "Brandy!" echoed the beldam, with a horrible 
 laugh. " Go home, and learn your (Eil de Baufhy 
 heart, to prevent your insulting one of i\\e fair sex ' 
 ha! ha ! ha ! Brandy indeed ! I'd have you to know, 
 my chaffinches — it is Bourdeau — as choice as ever 
 went into, or came out of the king's cellar." 
 
 " Weil, brandy, or Bourdeau," rejoined one of the 
 former spokesmen, "it can w^ait — for there is this 
 especial difference between women and wine ; all (q
 
 78 
 
 the advantage of the latter — which is — that the older 
 wine becomes, the better and the milder it is. 
 
 Whereas with women Whew !— so make pretty 
 
 Corella sing us Milrenza of Castile, for she always 
 needs the bastenado of your voice, to inforce our 
 requests/' 
 
 Marie Cadel having despatched another glass of 
 Bourdeau, disguised as Cogniac, now struck Corella 
 on the shoulder, commanding her to sing without fur- 
 ther delay ; the latter, whose eyes (during the hub- 
 hub her entrance had given rise to,) had been fixed on 
 the Comte de Saint Germain, started, as if out of a 
 dream — and sighing deeply — without the slightest 
 remonstrance or delay, played a short minor prelude 
 on the mandolin, and in a rich, deep, pure and per- 
 fectly modulated contralto voice, sang the following 
 ballad, which was followed by the long continued 
 plaudits its perfect harmony so well merited. 
 
 Ballad. 
 
 I. 
 
 Milrenza I why. when all Castile 
 
 Is to thy beauty kneeling ; 
 Dost thou alone seem not to feel 
 
 The incense round thee stealing- ? 
 
 Why ? Milrenza, why ? 
 
 II. 
 
 The pride of chivalry, and Spain 
 
 Contend but for thy glances ! 
 Then, why thus coldly still disdain 
 Their broken hearts and lances? 
 
 Why ? Milrenza, why ?
 
 79 
 
 III. 
 Why leave unbraided now thy hair? 
 
 Why dim thine eyes with tears? 
 
 Why pale thy cheek that was so fair ? 
 
 Why blighted thy young years ? 
 
 Why ? Milrenza, why ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 But echo only answer'd " Why?" 
 
 The maiden answer'd not ; 
 Save by a half-breath' d sigh, 
 
 Which said—" I have not yet forgot!"' 
 
 Who ? Milrenza, who ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh ! there are looks and tones that cast 
 
 Our fates for aye and ever ! 
 And could our lives for ages last, 
 
 Their spell would leave us never ! 
 
 Sigh ! Milrenza, sigh ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Moorish king from battle came, 
 His brow with conquest flush'd ; 
 
 '" MiRAMOLiN !" his glorious name ! 
 Milrenza trembled, blush'd ! 
 
 Why ? Milrenza, why ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Her kinsmen in the struggle slain 
 Their spirits haunt her natal halls : 
 
 The songs are mute of herlov'd Spain, 
 And crumbling are its cities walls, 
 
 Weep 1 Milrenza, weep ! 
 
 virr. 
 Yes, weep for these ! but oh ! thy fate. 
 
 Weaves thee still a darker doom ; 
 
 To worship him thou most should hate. 
 
 And keep thy bridal in the tomb ! 
 
 Sleep : Milrenza, sleep !
 
 80 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For cold, calm death alone can cure. 
 
 Love sapp'd by shame and sorrow '. 
 To day thy last look give the Moor ; 
 
 Thy last sigh breathe to-morrow ! 
 
 Rest ! Milrenza, rest ! 
 
 Shortly after Corella had commenced the abov^ 
 ballad, the Viscomte de Nesmond, who happened 
 upon that night to be the Chevalier du Guet, or 
 gentleman of the watch, entered the kitchen of the 
 Tambour Royal ; and it was evident, from the man- 
 ner in which he placed his hat upon the table near 
 to the lady in the mor dore dress and black loup, and, 
 the not very dexterous sleight of hand, with which 
 she abstracted a billet-doux from it, and put another 
 in its stead — that if she had waited long in the 
 friendly shade of the embrasure of the wall, at all 
 events, she would not return without her errand. 
 While the Vicomte, these preliminaries once over, 
 repossessed himself of his three cornered, gold-laced, 
 military hat, and under the pretext of joining the 
 Comte de Saint Germain and Valasquez, but in 
 reality, more minutely to scrutinize Corella, — by 
 whose beauty he appeared perfectly electrified, — he 
 walked over to the other side, while the lady in the 
 black loupf disappeared through the garden door. 
 Corella's was one of those voices so effluent of 
 pathos, that its tones stirred and lingered long in 
 the heart, after they had faded from the ear; and 
 the usually gay and volatile de Nesmond seemed to
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 81 
 
 listen spell-bound, as if in expectation of the continu- 
 ance of those thrilling sounds which had so com- 
 pletely riveted him, so that he did not even join in the 
 unanimous and vehement applause that followed 
 Corella's song. 
 
 " Well met, Vicomte !'^ said Saint Germain, plac- 
 ing his hand on the young officer's shoulder. "What 
 news ? for you are Les Nouvelles a la main.'' 
 
 " Or rather you are at this moment, since you hold 
 me," replied the Vicomte, whose repartee from habit 
 had become mechanical, and never forsook him, 
 though, at that instant, his whole attention and his 
 every thought were absorbed by Corella. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha I well, that is an additional reason 
 why I should not remain in ignorance, aimi va pour 
 le bruit dujour.'' 
 
 '' Nay, surely. Count, you must have been gossip- 
 ing in the shades with your old friend Brantorae, 
 and entombing reputations that were dead some half 
 century before their owners, not to know that the 
 court and the town talk of nothing, but the antiphi- 
 losophical pilgrimage of those two encyclopedian 
 doves, Madame du Detfand and her friend Pont de 
 Vesle, to the shrine of La Men heureuse Geneviere de 
 Nanterre, for the conservation of les beaux yeux 
 of the academic lady," replied de Nesmond. 
 
 *' Charming !" cried Saint Germain, laughing as 
 much as he ever was known to laugh. **And do 
 her friends Holbach, and D'Alembert, know of 
 what no doubt they would call her blind bigotry ?''
 
 S2 
 
 " No ; but thanks to the Due de Penthievre, who 
 is in perfect ecstasies at the whole affair, I have no 
 doubt they soon wili ; though, as De RicheHeu ob- 
 serves, they should forgive her, as it is unquestion- 
 ably the first saint qui lui a jamais donne dans 
 Voeil!" 
 
 ''Which of the Richelieus said that?" asked 
 Saint Germain with a smile ; "the uncle or the ne- 
 phew V 
 
 *' The nephew," replied De Nesmond hastily ; for, 
 at that moment, Marie Cadel, dragging Corella with 
 her, left the Tambour Royal ; and quick as lightning 
 the vicomte darted after them, thereby exemplifying 
 the stability of human wishes ; for a few hours be- 
 fore, this very man would have made almost any 
 sacrifice to have lured the Comte de Saint Germain 
 into a sustained conversation, so strong was his cu- 
 riosity excited by the great incarnate mystery of the 
 age ; yet, now that an opportunity of doing so otfered 
 naturally and unexpectedly, he voluntarily threw it 
 away, to run after (through the then narrow, and 
 scarcely lit streets of Paris), a pair of blue eyes, of 
 whose very existence he had been ignorant half an 
 hour before, 
 
 " It is strange," observed Saint Germain, whose 
 imperturbable calmness, nothing ever disturbed, and 
 who, continuing to address Valasquez, appeared not 
 even aware of the Vicomte's sudden flight—" it is 
 strange how much consistency and unity, there is in
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 83 
 
 each separate race, and how little in each separate 
 Ind'ii'klual" 
 
 " True, but can we not discuss this fact, (which 
 may lead us somewhat far) elsewhere, at your hotel 
 or at mine ?" said Don Raphael, who was burning to 
 know the denouement of the rendezvous Saint Ger- 
 main had given him. 
 
 "Elsewhere, certainly if you wish it/' replied the 
 latter, leisurely putting on his hat, and drawing on 
 his gloves ; " but neither at your hotel, nor at mine, 
 for I have ordered otherwise/' 
 
 "And I am wholly at your orders," said Valasquez 
 bowing, and following his new acquaintance to the 
 door, which opened on the Boulevard du Temple. 
 The night, which was sultry in the extreme, had, 
 since Don Raphael's arrival at Ramponneau's, been 
 refreshed by one of those sudden and violent summer 
 showers, which while it had the effect of materially 
 cooling the air, had also that of completely shroud- 
 ing the moon, so that the boulevard and the adjacent 
 streets were now in almost total obscurity ; for the 
 small dim, flickering sepulchral light, placed in a 
 huge wilderness of a lantern, and, suspended by 
 cords and pullies across the road or streets, was only 
 just sufficient to make darkness still more myste- 
 rious. 
 
 ** It is now for you Scnor to decide by what mode 
 of conveyance we shall reach our destination ?" said 
 Saint Germain, addressing Valasquez in very pure
 
 84 
 
 Castilian, as soon as they found themselves without 
 the Tambour Royal, " for, both my saddle horses and 
 carriage await us round the corner." 
 
 " Nay, Count, you best know how far our journey 
 lies ; but if the distance be within moderation, I am all 
 for a swift steed, and the fresh air ; and, judging from 
 your dress, our wishes do not differ,'* replied Valas- 
 quez. 
 
 '* To horse then,'' cried Saint Germain leading the 
 way to the dark narrow street, where a groom was 
 awaiting him with two led horses, beside which stood 
 a carriage, or to speak more correctly, a fine gilt 
 coach, with highly varnished and floridly painted 
 pannels, portraying the loves of Jupiter and Leda, 
 and upon the gorgeous crimson and gold hammer- 
 cloth of which, a fat coachman was sleeping off the 
 effectsof his evening potations. Scarcely, however, 
 had Don Raphael and the Count proceeded three 
 paces, before their attention was arrested by the most 
 piercing screams, and the clashing of swords, both 
 of which rang out with a fearful distinctness, athwart 
 the night, by which they were surrounded. 
 
 " A plague upon the clouds," cried Valasquez, 
 hurrying forward, while he felt the way before him 
 with his sword, which he had instantly drawn. 
 '•' There is some woman in distress, and how or 
 where to help her in this confounded darkness hea- 
 ven only knows." 
 
 " Probably only some street brawl," rejoined Saint
 
 THE peer's daughters. 85 
 
 Germain coldly, rather relaxing than quickening 
 his pace, ** for which we shall be in ample time to 
 share any random oaths, and thrusts going." As he 
 spoke the screams became fainter, and the clanging 
 of arms louder ; but presently a voice rose upon the 
 air, which, panting and exhausted as it was, Saint 
 Germain and Valasquez, both recognized as the Vi- 
 comte de Nesmond's, as it gasped out, — 
 
 " Ho ! la garde^ le guet, au secours." At this, even 
 Saint Germain pressed forward ; and as he and Va- 
 lasquez turned into the small street on that side of the 
 boulevard, opposite to the one in which the Count's 
 horses were waiting, the moon suddenly emerged 
 from behind a cloud, and flooding the narrow street 
 with its broad clear light, discovered Monsieur de 
 Nesmond, closing with Lebel, while his left arm 
 was incircling the waist of Corella, whom Lebel with 
 his left hand was vainly trying to force from the Vi- 
 comte ; but no sooner did the unexpected influx of 
 light shew the two new spectators of this scene, than 
 the worthy charge d'affaires of his Majesty Louis XV. 
 relaxed his grasp of the half fainting Corella, and 
 hastily placed a black wire mask before his face. 
 
 " Ah, wretch ! it is too late, I know you,'' ex- 
 claimed Monsieur de Nesmond, making a lunge at 
 Lebel, " and Til see if I cannot place the j^^rc aux 
 cerfs under the necessity of having another garde 
 chasseS' 
 
 " And ril see if your next poulet be not a let-
 
 86 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 'tre de cachet, vive la bastille," shouted Lebel, who 
 now having his other arm free, put himself in a 
 position to parry the Vicomte's thrust, while Co- 
 rella, making an almost superhuman effort, extri- 
 cated herself from de Nesmond's grasp ; and, fling- 
 ing herself at the Comte de Saint Germain's feet, 
 exclaimed with clasped hands, and a deep devotion 
 in her manner, as if her very soul were kneeling in 
 her voice, — 
 
 '' Save, oh, save me, for you alone can.'' 
 
 " I will save you,'' said Saint Germain, with a sort 
 of mournful sweetness in his voice, as he raised her, 
 and placed her arm within his own ; " that is, I will 
 save you from this peril. Heaven guard you from 
 others.'' 
 
 Corella followed him across the boulevard, as if 
 impelled forward by some invisible power, which she 
 neither wished nor tried to resist, while every word 
 he uttered, though both few and common-place, 
 seemed to steal like the breath of flowers upon her 
 senses, and distil honey into her heart ; and yet, 
 silvery as Saint Germain's voice was, it was only the 
 hollow sweetness of an echo. No touch of human 
 tenderness ever trembled in it, no throe of human 
 agony ever made it falter. 
 
 "You are much too young, and oh ! far too fair," 
 said he, addressing Corella, during their short transit 
 across the boulevard, " for so ungracious a vocation 
 as that of an itinerant cantatrice ; and with such a
 
 THE PEER^S DAUGHTERS. 8? 
 
 voice too, you should be sovereign in the realms of 
 song. I know the director of the opera; if I could 
 serve you it would give me pleasure." 
 
 " Oh !'^ interrupted Corella, for the first time with- 
 drawing her eyes from Saint Germain's face, upon 
 which she had been gazing in a sort of dreamy ec- 
 stasy ; and covering her own with her hand, — '' talk 
 not of me. I, that is you.^' 
 
 "Then of what, or whom should I talk?'^ said 
 Saint Germain, with a calm smile. "One question 
 at least let me ask, even at the risk of being deemed 
 impertinent. I hope, nay I am sure, the person who 
 accompanied you to Ramponneau's to-night cannot 
 be your mother." 
 
 " My mother, no, thank heaven, if I am deprived 
 of the blessing of having one, at all events, God 
 has not afflicted me with the curse of having such a 
 one as Marie Cadel." 
 
 ^* You are right,'' said Saint Germain; "next to 
 positive blessings, which are as rare as positive virtues, 
 we ought to be grateful for negative ones ; for, after 
 all, absence of evil, is the real Aa/Liirac, or lamp of life ; 
 in that state we see our way, far better than under 
 the influence of the intoxicating orgies of happiness ; 
 whose brevity alas, are generally in proportion to 
 their brilliancy.' 
 
 "' Happiness ! is there such a thing ?" exclaimed 
 Corella, " or if there is, does it not resemble the
 
 88 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 meteors of a summer sky, which dazzle for a moment, 
 but vanish ere we can look upon them/' 
 
 " Nay, nay," rejoined Saint Germain with a me- 
 lancholy smile, '' for one like you, so richly dowered 
 with nature's sovereignty, beauty, and young with 
 legitimate youth, the future has always a golden ho- 
 rizon." 
 
 *' Which clouds as we approach it," murmured 
 Corella with a sigh, as they had now reached the 
 carriage ; and Saint Germain having motioned to the 
 servants to lower the steps, extended his hand, to 
 help her to ascend them. 
 
 "May I," said he, "without indiscretion request 
 permission to inquire after you to-morrow? and con. 
 sequently to know^ where I can do so ?" 
 
 ''No," repHed Corella hastily, ''for I have no 
 home — that is none — where I can receive any one." 
 
 " And yet," rejoined Saint Germain, making a 
 last effort to satisfy his curiosity with as much ear- 
 nestness as good breeding would allow hirn to evince, 
 " your French is so pure that I should imagine you 
 to have been a Parisian?" 
 
 " I have lived nearly all my life in Paris," said 
 Corella. 
 
 Perceiving she stopped at this announcement, and 
 did not appear inclined to be more communicative, 
 Saint Germain had not only too much delicacy, but 
 also too much savoir vivre, to attempt to extort a 
 confidence she did not seem willing to accord ; and
 
 THE peer's daughters. 8^ 
 
 therefore, taking off his hat, and bowing his adieux, 
 he desired the coachman to drive on and to stop 
 at the end of the Boulevard, to receive Corella's 
 orders where he was to drive to ; and then retraced 
 his steps slowly to where he had left Valasquez, 
 either as a witness or a check upon the Vicomte 
 de Nesmond's encounter with Lebel. Brief as had 
 been Saint Germain's absence, it had been long 
 enough to have enabled Monsieur de Nesmond to 
 inflict a slight wound on Lebel's right arm, and 
 for the guet to arrive, who, after procuring a hackney 
 coach for the wounded valet, and placing him in it, 
 were compelled, at his denunciation, to demand their 
 late chevalier's sword, and escort him as a prisoner 
 to the Corps de Gardes. Valasquez and Saint Ger- 
 main, finding they could possibly do nothing in the 
 matter, took leave of the Vicomte, promising that 
 wherever his quarters might be, they would visit 
 him on the morrow. 
 
 *' One word, Monsieur le Comte," said de Nes- 
 mond, drawing Saint Germain aside, and lowering 
 his voice to a whisper, ''where did you leave her? 
 where does she live V 
 
 " If you mean the Spanish girl,'' rejoined Saint 
 Germain, "your first question is easily answered — 
 in my carriage at the other side of the Boulevard — 
 but as for where she lives, I know no more than you, 
 for she would not tell me." 
 
 '' Sapristi /" exclaimed de Nesmond, stamping his
 
 90 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 foot impatiently, "and you let her go without trying 
 to find out V 
 
 " No — but without succeeding in finding out, al- 
 though in my endeavours, 1 perceive, I have lost a 
 very beautiful sprig of heath which Madame d'Eg- 
 mont gave me this evening/' 
 
 *' But she is gone in your carriage ; then your ser- 
 vants will know/' persisted de Nesmond. 
 
 " I doubt it ; as I suspect she will never let them 
 take her to her actual place of abode." 
 
 *' Five hundred francs to each of them if they can 
 discover it," cried de Nesmond. 
 
 " Well, my dear Vicomte/' said Saint Germain, 
 with a smile, " I'll make known your proclamation 
 among my three liveried graces, and acquaint you 
 with the result to-morrow\" 
 
 "Ten thousand thanks, my dear Corate,'' cried 
 the young man, wringing Saint Germain's hand 
 with such a paroxysm of demonstrative and ener- 
 getic gratitude, that he nearly drove the latter's 
 costly rings like so many diamond daggers into his 
 cruelly martyred fingers. 
 
 *' So ! softly, my dear Vicomte," said he, extract- 
 ing his hand from de Nesmond's unmerciful grasp ; 
 and shaking his fingers, in order to ascertain whether 
 they were dislocated or not. " Softly, a child's in- 
 gratitude is compared in sharpness to a serpent's 
 tooth — but, certes, a lover's gratitude exceeds it in
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 91 
 
 poignancy by six-and-thirty shark's teeth! The guet 
 then proceeded, and Saint Germain linking his arm 
 in Don Raphael's, again crossed the Boulevard, and 
 mounting their horses, set off at a brisk pace, and 
 unattended, for their place of destination.
 
 92 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 LCHAPTER IV. 
 
 ^THALIDES. 
 
 Festus. "Where then is thy vaunted power ?" 
 Lucifer. " It is better seen as thus I stand apart 
 From all. — Mortality is mine — the green 
 Unripened universe. But as the fruit 
 Matures, and world by world drops mellowed off 
 The wrinkling stalk of time, as thine own race 
 Hath seen of stars now vanished — all is hid 
 From me. My part is done. What after comes 
 I know not more than thou." 
 
 Festus, page 28. 
 " But like a streamer strown upon the wind. 
 We fling our souls to fate and to the future." 
 Ibid, page 128. 
 
 Although Valasquez was burning to interrogate 
 Saint Germain upon the subject which almost ex- 
 clusively pre-occupied him — namely, the mysterious 
 word the former had pronounced at Madame Pom- 
 padour's on the preceding evening; and the cause, 
 or, rather the object of their present pre-concerted 
 meeting. Yet, so deep was the reverie of his com- 
 panion, as they now walked their horses on the road 
 to St. Germain en Laye, after having ridden ventre- 
 a-terre through the streets of Paris, that Raphael
 
 9S 
 
 scarcely dared to interrupt it ; when, suddenly the 
 echo of horses' feet rapidly approaching broke upon 
 the stillness of the night, and soon after, a cloud of 
 dust acted as out-rider to the Marechal Due de 
 Richelieu and his groom, who were rendered fully 
 visible by the now unclouded moon, as the latter, 
 without for an instant slackening his pace, took off 
 his hat as he passed Saint Germain and Valasquez. 
 This incident furnished Don Raphael with an open- 
 ing to commence a conversation, which he had vainly 
 taxed his own invention to bring about ; and having 
 recourse to a ruse in great request among lovers and 
 children, that of broaching a subject wide as the 
 poles asunder from the one ultimately their intention 
 to arrive at — he burst into an — 
 
 " A-propos Comte, you were remarking to-night 
 at Ramponneau's — speaking of the younger Riche- 
 lieu — how much consistency there is in each sepa- 
 rate race, and how little in each separate individual ; 
 do you then really think that virtue and vice, moral 
 and intellectual qualities, both, or either, are here- 
 ditary ?'^ 
 
 *' Undoubtedly," replied Saint Germain, as calmly 
 quittmg his own thoughts— all absorbing as they 
 had appeared a moment before — as he would at will 
 have put off any outward garment ; for in the many 
 lives condensed in his, he was in the habit of step- 
 ping as it were from the threshold of one mind to 
 another. — " Undoubtedly."
 
 94 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 "And yet," resumed Valasquez, "how seldom 
 you see great men — whether philosophers, statesmen, 
 poets, artists, or generals — leave anything but me- 
 diocrity to their sons." 
 
 "For the same reason that the field or the vine- 
 yard which this year produces an unusually super- 
 abundant harvest or vintage, will, the next, evince 
 even less than ordinary fertility ; it is one of the im- 
 mutable laws of nature, that the human earth must, 
 as well as its parent soil, occasionally lie fallow ; and, 
 hence comes," continued Saint Germain, "the in- 
 consistency and falling off of individuals, but this 
 is the small abstract ; in the uniparous whole, there 
 is an invisible preparation of natural causes, which 
 is the unsuspected impetus of the civil order of 
 things that concurs to perpetuate the honours, the 
 genius, and even the infamy, or the misfortunes of a 
 race ; the unfeeling obstinacy and insolence of the 
 Appian blood, for instance, never, for a moment, 
 belies its source; and I need not tell you how nume- 
 rous and unextinguishable are its descendants. A 
 thousand circumstances, it is true, may warp a con- 
 stitution from any Hue of character, and be destruc- 
 tive of all hei^ditary symptoms ; but if these symp- 
 toms are often found to be concomitants of birth, 
 and are visible in the extremes, they wuU exist, 
 though less apparently in other situations ; and this 
 reasoning, how fallacious soever it may be, as applied 
 to individuals, fully justifies the general conclusion.
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 95 
 
 If a peculiar turn of imagination and those infirmi- 
 ties of intellect, which designate insanity, monoma- 
 nia, or imbecility, are so often acknowledged to be 
 hereditary, shall we not accord to all the nobler 
 endowments and intelHgences of the mind the same 
 prerogative ? But there is no need to infer from 
 analogy what might be established by the most in- 
 controvertible /ac^s, were it not too tedious to enu- 
 merate particulars, where the experience of common 
 life is so decisive. I am wiUing to allow that these 
 communicable qualities are subject to many contin- 
 gencies ; some are totally effaced ; others, checked in 
 their growth, lie dormant perhaps for generations, 
 yet again revive at the electric contact of opportunity, 
 and burst into that assemblage of great talents, or 
 predominance of some one striking quality, which 
 attracts the observation of the world. The heroism 
 of the younger Brutus was the heroism of his most 
 remote progenitor ; the daughter of Scipio was the 
 mother of the Gracchii ; the Houses of Publicola, 
 the Messalii, and Valerii, were illustrious for six 
 hundred years ; and the Decii retained equally long 
 their primeval character, though they failed in their 
 attempt to restore to Rome — hers, in the decline of 
 her empire. The great qualities too of the last Athe- 
 nian king flourished in the Archons for more than 
 three hundred years, and the Incas of Peru, during 
 a far longer period, were pre-eminent in every princely
 
 96 
 
 virtue. But to come nearer home, France is rife 
 with more modern instances." 
 
 "True," said Valasquez, ''and yet how does it 
 happen that a man's own times so often plays the 
 valet- de-chambre to him ? and that even the most 
 towering intellects are not always heroes to their own 
 era ?" 
 
 '' Perhaps," replied Saint Germain, with a shrug, 
 " it is, that genius is in the same category with all 
 other phenomena, and that 
 
 " De 10171 c'est quelque chose, et de pres ce'nest rien!" 
 but if such be the case, it is no wonder that Fame 
 has no permanent Pantheon, since mortals can never 
 agree upon who should fill its niches, the hunted of 
 one age being the hero of another, and vice versa ; 
 Galileo, in the prison of the Inquisition, was nothing 
 more than an impious heretic to his contemporaries; 
 Columbus, when his genius had revealed to him the 
 new world, passed among his fellow citizens for a 
 madman, bewildered by his own chimeras ; and few 
 persons now-a-days remember the existence even of 
 the exemplary and truly christian Theodore de Beze ; 
 while the ambitious and hypocritical Calvin has 
 swindled posterity out of the appellation of a great 
 man ; but so it is, ad infinitum. Anne Boleyn 
 perished on the scaffold for a suspected immorality, 
 while her daughter lies in her grave, with an epitaph 
 that ought to be indicted for perjury, from styhng 
 her the virgin Glueen I After this, \\ ho can deny
 
 97 
 
 that the ancients were right in giving their omnipotent 
 Fatum the precedence of all their other gods, and 
 making the latter irresistibly subject to it ! 
 
 " Ah ! there is another great mystery," said Valas- 
 quez, involuntarily reining in his horse ; '^ the relent- 
 less and almost brutal injustice of the fates of some, 
 the most deserving of the human race — the insolent 
 and undeviating prosperity of others, the most worth- 
 less of our species — would almost at times shake the 
 faith of an angel. Do you also think, then, that good 
 and bad fortune are hereditary ?'' 
 
 "Not exactly; for the influences which produce 
 both may be traced to two sources : the first, a moral 
 one, derived from the actions and principles of our 
 predecessors ; for if in ^/zei?- journey through the world, 
 knowing that their conduct, possessions, and position, 
 are the heritage of their successors, they yet scatter 
 thorns and chaff in the highways and byeways of life, 
 it is very certain that their descendants must perforce 
 reap them, and hence, instead of the epithet of unjust, 
 we should substitute that of inevitable. Death is 
 the Pythoness which tells us everything, without ex- 
 plaining anything ; that voice from the tombs, ever 
 sighing forth its two great truths of* We were what 
 you are ; you will be what we are ;' contains all of this 
 world's mysteries that while on earth we are likely to 
 elucidate, — the action and denouement of its dark 
 dramas ; but I firmly believe " (and here a strange 
 change came over Saint Germain's face and voice) 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 
 
 *' that both as to matter, and certainly as to spirit, all 
 has existed and will exist to, and from, all eternity ; and 
 that our bodies are only the moulds or phials in nature's 
 laboratory, successively refilled with the same essences, 
 or passions, and intelligence, poured into different 
 forms, and labelled with a different fate ; for who can 
 read history and not feel that himself and his con- 
 temporaries are hut the continuation of the same beings 
 who have * strutted and fretted their hour ' before 
 us ? for if it be true, as Cardan asserts, that there is 
 a primary matter in all existing things, and that this 
 matter continues to subsist after the first form or 
 body that contained it has perished, it is evident that 
 under every form is some hidden cause or substratum ; 
 and this substratum not being engendered^ but self- 
 existing from all eternity, cannot be destroyed, not 
 being from its nature subject to the laws of corruption, 
 inasmuch as that it is a part and emanation of the 
 GREAT FIRST CAUSE, that is, unproduced, eternal, 
 infinite, and indestructible. But it is quite impossible 
 to determine, or even to guess at the modifications 
 this primary matter may undergo, in the moral and 
 physical revolutions of ages; all that is certain is, 
 that we move and act by the same passions which 
 have ruled or wrecked, exalted or debased, saved or 
 scourged mankind from the world's infancy, (as far as 
 our limping chronology enables us to fix that period;) 
 and moreover I believe that what we call another 
 world, that is, another and higher sphere, or a lower
 
 THE peer's daughters. 9^9 
 
 and inferior one, as the case may be, we shall not 
 reach till the expiration of several centuries after we 
 have achieved our innumerable probationary evolutions 
 in this." 
 
 "What then ?" exclaimed Valasquez, hurried away 
 by his momentarily increasing curiosity, "the current 
 opinion of your superhumanly prolonged existence is 
 really true, Comte ?" 
 
 " I was not alluding to myself individually/' replied 
 Saint Germain calmly, (but at the same time waiving, 
 with a sort of marble rigidity from which there was 
 no appeal, the remotest reply to his companion's 
 point blank question;) *^ I spoke with reference to the 
 whole human race, with regard to which I am con- 
 vinced such is the case, as it requires several cycles 
 before mind can find its focus, for thought is the germ 
 of action, and reflection its seed ; — with this seed the 
 universe is sown, — the scattered thoughts, dormant 
 dreams, and crude theories of one age mature into 
 the great actions, scientific discoveries, and glorious 
 ameliorations of succeeding ones, even to the pas- 
 sions ! — Is not the common air rife with unuttered, 
 unacted, and unsuspected feelings? which during tlie 
 present or actual of one epoch, find do other vent, 
 and assume no other form than the passing sigh 
 which launches them into ether, and mingles them 
 with the other elements. But each breath thus gar- 
 nered into nature's granary, like the fabled dragon's 
 teeth matured through revolving ages, springs up in
 
 100 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 giant fcrni; thewed with iron sinews^ and armed cap 
 a pie to wage the war of life, within those human 
 citadels, the hearts of future generations. So that, 
 (hat which was but a passing thought, for good or 
 ill, in our far distant ancestor, consoHdates into the 
 stern irrevocable deed or deeds, which cast the form 
 and colour of our lives " 
 
 " You suppose then, '^ said Valasquez, " that 
 thought is a sort of human exhalation, caught up by 
 nature into her arcana — cana, there to assume, 
 during her centenary gestations, a palpable and par- 
 cenary form, when it descends upon the world again, 
 either in the thunderbolts of crime or conquest, or 
 the fulgent and meteoric forms of pure and deep af- 
 fections, high and noble achievements, and benevolent 
 actions.'^ 
 
 '* Precisely so ; and for that reason," continued 
 Saint Germain, ^' I think the world, that is the human 
 race, would lose infinitely less were every tome of its 
 misnomered History sacrificed to that great Jugger- 
 naut, Time, than should one really fine poem, or 
 work of high imagination perish.'^* 
 
 This " wise saw " was written more than three years ago, and I 
 can now support and substantiate it with a "modern instance," having 
 fallen in with that most stupendous and sublime poem, " Festus," 
 Never before had the Deity so faithful an interpreter ; and who can 
 ponder over the costly ingots of thought, heaped through the mine of 
 that most wonderful creation, and not feel that it were infinitely better 
 Time should re-temper his scythe, at furnace heat, in the funeral pyre 
 of Hume, Smollet, Gibbon, Goldsmith, Robertson, and fifty more 
 such sciolists, than that the very smallest grain of his sand should blot 
 oul 0716 word of such a work as " Festus ?"
 
 THE peer's daughters. 101 
 
 **I agree with you," rejoined his companion; "for 
 not only is thought the lever of events, but it is also 
 the ballast of time ; and from the additions, or sub- 
 tractions, chronological and topographical blunders, 
 and various colourings it undergoes, there is perhaps 
 nothing less true than that which the world receives 
 as fact, from the wholesale collection of solemn fictions 
 and party prejudices called history, down to the fa- 
 miliar gossip of contemporary on dit ; whether inflated 
 by the puffery of Cammeraderie, infected by that 
 leprosy of deceit which is only to be caught from the 
 flattery and hollow professions of false friends, who 
 gloat their envy on treachery ; or those toxical archery 
 meetings of scandal, where idleness and indifference, 
 far oftener even than malice or revenge, pierce a re- 
 putation through and through with 
 
 "* All the kind mendacity of hints.' " 
 
 ^' That is as true," said Saint Germain, " as if 
 you had been eye and ear witness to the fallacies of 
 history. Ah ! if men would but be convinced of 
 that one great truth — that 'all things worked to- 
 gether for good/ they would then feel that God's 
 great work was not so much the abstract creation as 
 its spiritual, moral and mental development. This 
 book of his great epic progresses slowly, for the 
 Almighty punctuates with ages ! but it progresses 
 not the less surely on that account, and its unities 
 are perfect, though the full focus of its harmonious
 
 102 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 and beautiful whole may not be brought to bear 
 upon the perceptions of any one race of men ; they 
 must all be gathered together for that at the ap- 
 pointed time — and hence, the cold and narrow scep- 
 ticism of some — the unspiritual and mere lip worship 
 of others— and the ungrateful and short-sighted 
 murmurings of all, aS long as our standards and 
 references are the persons and things of this world — 
 the persecution of enemies— the still worse treachery 
 and desertion of friends — the prosperity of the 
 wicked — the afflictions of the good — in short, the 
 trials and trammels of life in all their protean forms, 
 must, of necessity, be utterly insupportable to us. 
 But let Calavry once be the altar steadily fixed in 
 our soul, to which all our offerings are brought — on 
 which all our sacrifices are offered up — and before 
 which all our sorrows pray till they are heard, and 
 anger will soon depart from us at the parts our fellow 
 puppets act towards us, in working out God's will 
 respecting our individual fate ; for we should then 
 feel that they could have no poiuer over us if it were 
 not given them from above,'' and feeling this, we 
 should submit. If also, we would study ourselves and 
 analyse our own heart till it alone became our point 
 of comparison, whatever source of pride or gratu- 
 lation we might feel from our contrast with others, 
 we should always experience so deep a humiliation 
 from our examination of self, that our burdens would
 
 THE peer's daughters. 103 
 
 feel considerably lightened, from the conviction thai 
 even humanly speaking, wedeserved them." 
 
 Here they arrived at one of the carrefours of the 
 forest of Saint Germain ; and the Count reining in 
 his horse, dismounted, and tying it to a tree, his tall 
 figure stood out in bold relief against the open space 
 which was now perfectly flooded with light from the 
 moonbeams, which came pouring through the dia- 
 mond sprayed leaves of the patriarchal trees, which 
 were still glittering from the drops of the recent 
 shower. As Valasquez followed his companion's 
 example and alighted, he said, fixing his eyes on 
 Saint Germain's face, in reply to his last remark — 
 
 " And yet Comte, T don't know why, but I should 
 scarcel}^ have expected such sound and orthodox 
 theology from you." 
 
 "And why not from me?" retorted Saint Ger- 
 main, his eyes dilating with an unearthly light ; 
 *' and, why not from me? or, rather why not more 
 from me than from any other human being ? for who 
 knows most, believes most ; and, alas .' my knowledge 
 is great ; but, thank God ! through all and every- 
 thing, my faith is greater. You look surprised," 
 continued he, folding his arms, and casting, like a 
 spell, the gaze of his cold, luminous eyes upon Va- 
 lasquez's face ; " are you then like the rest ? and, do 
 you too take me for the vulgar hero of a nursery tale, 
 an amateur wizard who has sold himself to the devil? 
 tush ! leave to that Maqedoine of fools — the world —
 
 104 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 such drlvelllngs ; and know, young man — for you 
 are worthy of such knowledge — that souls are 
 God's coin, which, none have power to barter ; and, 
 least of all, to the prince of darkness, who is but 
 the lowest vassal of Omnipotence.'^ 
 
 "And yet," rejoined Valasquez, timidly; for he 
 felt a mingled awe and admiration for his companion, 
 "I had, I own, imagined — that is, I had been in- 
 fected with the popular belief that — that — you—" 
 
 **Nay5 out with it," said Saint Germain, with a 
 slight elevation of the shoulders and a melancholy 
 smile ; " that I had made a pacte with the nether 
 powers for a supernatural quantity of wealth, wisdom, 
 and longevity — is it not so ?'' 
 
 " Not exactly — but I confess, I had believed in 
 your superhumanly prolonged existence ! the range 
 and depth too of your acquirements are startling ; 
 and, pardon my indiscreet candor, Count, if I also 
 acknowledge, that your apparently more than regal 
 wealth, coupled, as it is, with the received opinion of 
 your having neither banker* nor lands, has raised 
 my curiosity to a most feverish and unendurable 
 degree " 
 
 Saint Germain remaining silent, but with his load- 
 stone eyes still calmly and unflinchingly fixed upon 
 Valasquez, the latter seemed desperately to gird 
 himself in the panoply of valour, so often the mer" 
 
 « For this, see note (A) at the end of this volume.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 105 
 
 ciful gift of fear itself, and added, after a moment's 
 pause, " besides, Comte, do you know that the mi- 
 raculously protracted youth and beauty of the Prin- 
 cesse des Ursins, in the last reign, and of Madame 
 de Vegy in the present, are attributed to a gift from 
 you of an ehxir of your own composition. '^ 
 
 " Well, and what then ?" said Saint Germain, in 
 his low, sweet, cold, silvery voice. " / deny none of 
 these facts, the effects of my knowledge ; I only re- 
 pudiate the supposed cause and origin of my power. 
 Raphael Valasquez, I have watched you for years — 
 has not your life been past among the cabalists ? 
 have not your energies been exhausted in trying to 
 fathom their secrets? have you not excavated your 
 brain for gold with Nicholas Famel, and invoked 
 shades from Paracelses?" 
 
 " Yes, but I have never succeeded in obtaining 
 either,^^ replied Valasquez, breathlessly. 
 
 "/ have, and therein consists the difference be- 
 tween us,^' rejoined Saint Germain slowly and al- 
 most solemnly. 
 
 " Eureka r shouted Valasquez, with a joyous burst 
 of indescribable triumph ; " I have not then toiled 
 in vain, I have found the haven towards which my 
 bark of life and hope has always drifted, and away 
 from which it has been so long and cruelly tempest- 
 tossed upon the dark seas of doubt and ignorance !" 
 
 "Emptiness of emptiness, «//;" continued Saint 
 Germain, pursuing his own thoughts rather than 
 
 F 3
 
 106 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 replying to Valasquez ; " emptiness of emptiness ! 
 Of what avails it, for man to woo science into an in- 
 fringement of the laws of nature ? what boots it, 
 that his footsteps should have left their traces upon 
 the primaeval earth, or, that he should have sucked 
 in prophecy for milk from the bosom of Amalthaea at 
 Cumee ; or, had the stars for his primer, and the 
 beautiful but sad — sad, because too wise — Erithraea 
 for his teacher at Ionia, beneath the first blue of its 
 young sky ? What boots it? since, through all time 
 there doth exist but one season of enjoyment, the 
 green summer that God has given us of our natural 
 youth ; then, and then only, is our heart like that 
 Indian nation, the Ascii, during whose noon, objects 
 however dark, cast not the faintest shadow ; for then 
 only, and never after, are those mysterious keys of 
 our being — the passions — attuned to harmony, till 
 even their most jarring, abstract discords at nature^ 
 skilful touch hlend and thrill forth into most elo- 
 quent music." 
 
 Saint Germain paused, and Valasquez, not daring 
 to come at once to the point, at which he was burn- 
 ing to arrive, rejoined, 
 
 " Yet, surely it is our passions which exhaust 
 us? are they not the sword that wears oat the 
 scabbard?' 
 
 " Alas ! no, they always exhaust themselves, but 
 not always their owners ; a memorable practical il- 
 lustration of this passed us not half an hour ago,
 
 THE pcer's daughters. 107 
 
 in the person of the Marechal Due de Richelieu ; 
 for eighty-five years he has indulged his every pas- 
 sion to satiety, and yet, he has seven good years 
 before him ere he enter the lists with death ; and the 
 latter, will find him no easy conquest then ; whereass 
 St. Bruno died old and worn out at forty, from 
 having successfully struggled against his, all his life. 
 But we are losing time, it was not to analyse these 
 abstract atoms, that we have met here ; like most 
 men, you are eager in the pursuit of your bane, you 
 would exceed the allotted term of life, you would 
 pass the fatal rubicon o{ forbidden knowledge T' 
 
 " Surely,'' interrupted Valasquez, mechanically 
 stretching out his hand, as if to clutch the phantom 
 taHsman, that was to secure to him the realisation of 
 all his dreams. "Surely, the thirst for knowledge, 
 if sufiiciently slaked, in allaying life's fitful fever of 
 doubt and fear, never can work evil?" 
 
 " Aye ! if sufficiently slaked ; but this boon is not 
 granted to mortal yearnings, for the springs of know- 
 ledge have their sources in eternity, and therefore, 
 its waters excite, but never satisfy ; they do not 
 quench, but consume !" 
 
 " Yet, have you not been satisfied ?'' 
 
 " Me !" resumed Saint Germain, " alas ! no, for 
 as I h^ve before told you, God gives to man but one 
 season of enjoyment, the youth of his natural life." 
 
 " But you have attained perpetual youth/' insisted 
 Valasquez.
 
 108 
 
 " Of form, and look, and outward texture, those 
 poor flimsy trappings of humanity, which are the 
 red earth worms' legitimate perquisites, and which 
 when defrauded of, it, in its remorseless vengeance, 
 only coils the more closely and undyingly around our 
 immortal part. But I tell thee again and again Ra- 
 phael Valasquez, that there is but one youth of heart, 
 for which reason the Almighty in his mercy has cast 
 an impenetrable veil over the dark features of the 
 great disenchanter, time ! and woe ! woe! woe ! 
 to those W'hose sacrilegious hand would rudely raise 
 this mysterious veil, they must brave, and hear the 
 worst.'^ 
 
 " And what is that worst? oh, for the knowledge 
 of it. I am ready to brave, and bear all things." 
 
 *' That worst ! is to live almost for ever, and yet to 
 cease to live, from the fatal moment wherein you take 
 up your most heavy burden of spurious immorta- 
 lity ; for, futurity, thus violently, and unhallowedly 
 looked upon, is the real medusa that turns with its 
 cold relentless gaze, every feeling, nay, almost 
 every thought to stone ; you will be as I have been, as 
 1 am, and as I am to be, till — till — '^ 
 
 " And what are you?'^ interrupted Valasquez ; '* for 
 that / would be, be it what it may." 
 
 " Truly there is no school like wisdom's for making 
 finished fools. Poor tyro in occult lore, listen, and 
 you shall learn by me how poor a thing it is to be 
 too rich in knowledge." Saint Germain passed his
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 109 
 
 hand over his forehead, which was even paler than 
 usual, and then describing with his forefinger some 
 strange characters as it were upon the air, continued, 
 *' Yes, it was even here, upon this very spot, but, oh I 
 how changed; that some nine hundred years ago, 
 I stood as you do now, breathless and panting, in 
 this mystic race, cheered on by hope's wild plaudits ; 
 straining every nerve to win the golden cup of im- 
 mortality ! and arriving at last, as you now want to 
 do, at the goal of desolation. These giant trees 
 were then for the most part but infant acorns, hid in 
 the bosom of their mother earth, with here and there 
 a little sapling, stretching out its baby leaves to kiss 
 the sun. I had ran the gauntlet of a young man's 
 life. I had got entangled in the web of its low am- 
 bitions and its vague aspirings ; in a word, I had 
 drained the circean cup of pleasure to its loathsome 
 dregs, and through all this rapid journey I had met 
 with but one spot of hallowed ground, for I had 
 loved but once ; but man's love is of man's nature, 
 earthy ; and his mad bigotry of passion accepts no 
 faith but that a martyr offers. What then ? 'tis but 
 the choice to Uve or die such ; the former's mine 
 Sweet saint ! thou art too well avenged ; is not my 
 soul a Jerusalem from whence the glory hath de- 
 parted ? my heart a dreary wilderness through which 
 memory— that homeless Hagar— ever wanders ; and 
 e'en my mind, my proud unwithering mind ! what is 
 it now, but a Palmyra filled with the gorgeous ruins
 
 110 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 of the splendid past ! And again, this very night 
 have I not once more bruised my spirit against my 
 fate's eternal stumbling-block, the key stone of these 
 ruins ? Valasquez, listen to me, and listening 
 learn, ere it be too late ; for earth's too late ! is time's 
 mildew, 'gainst which there is no nostrum ; you 
 love.'' 
 
 *• I love !" interrupted Valasquez starting, *• no, no, 
 you are mistaken.' 
 
 "And you untrue," resumed Saint Germain, as 
 calmly as if he had not been interrupted, " for you 
 love Lady Evelyn Howard,/or the present,'' 
 
 " Hush, for heaven's sake," exclaimed Valasquez 
 grasping Saint Germain's arm, and trembling as if 
 the forest leaves had all been ears, and tongues; 
 whilst he almost reeled under the terror of the shock 
 of another, having thus suddenly descended into the 
 very depths of his heart and rudely bared to sight, 
 and scattered to the indiscretion of the winds, the 
 carefully hidden secret, which he had never but once 
 allowed even his own eyes to glance at. *' Hush ! 
 I do not even know the lady whose name you have 
 dared thus to placard upon every breeze; I — I — 
 never even saw her but once." 
 
 *' Nor does the tinder see the fire, till the spark 
 falls upon it, and consumes it, and Lady Evelyn." 
 
 " Count de Saint Germain,' interrupted Valasquez, 
 his eye flashing and his cheek glowing, as he drew his 
 sword, '* you presume too much upon the folly, the
 
 Ill 
 
 madness, which has put it in your power to offer me 
 this unprecedented — this gratuitous insult; but had 
 you a thousand Uves you should peril them all to 
 atone for it.'' 
 
 " Tush, boy, put up your sword, for as you are 
 stinted to one life, 'twere a pity to jeopard it ; we go 
 not in quest of that which we have^ nor of that which 
 we know ; therefore I seek not your confidence, but 
 in lieu of it you shall have mine.'* 
 
 All that might have been offensive in the mere 
 wording of this speech, was so completely neutralized 
 by the calm sincerity of Saint Germain's manner, 
 the total absence of all taunt, or the slightest shade 
 of sarcasm, not to say the almost paternally kind in- 
 flection of his voice, that, impelled as it were by 
 some secret power, at once irresistible and unaccount- 
 able, Valasquez sheathed his sword, folded his arms, 
 and remained silently, almost deferentially, awaiting 
 this strange confidence. 
 
 "Let me see/' continued Saint Germain, tracing 
 as he spoke a sort of phantom chart on the air 
 with the lash of his whip, — "yes, it was irpo ttoXic' 
 
 " How mean you before the city ?" interrupted Va- 
 lasquez. 
 
 " Even so, before the city or rather cities ; for, in 
 those days there was neither Seville, Cadiz, nor 
 Madrid, as they now are ; but there was old Castile, 
 and there was thy Alhambra, oh ! Grenada, and 
 bright eyes, sweet voices, and high hearts in each ; 
 little feet too, whose echoes were like whispered
 
 112 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 music ; and forms, whose motion had such poetry in 
 it as stole away the reason, but hghted up rapture at 
 its frozen obsequies. Purple banners caught the 
 breezcj golden clarions roused e'en the tame and 
 languid air, to fan the flame of victory. Along the 
 green sward rang the chihad echoes of the hoofed 
 lightning of the Arab steeds ; here a javelin missed, 
 there an arrow hit ; but in all destruction's arsenal, 
 there were no weapons so unerring as the dark 
 glances of starry eyes, shooting down like meteors 
 into each wandering soul, from the close ambush of 
 some gilded lattice. I had been slightly wounded 
 in the fray, and was conveyed to the house of a 
 Moorish chief, he had taken me as an enemy, he 
 treated me as a friend ; and I — I repaid him, — after the 
 fashion of this world, — with ingratitude. He had a 
 fair Georgian wife ; oh ! there are no words of earth 
 can tell the soft, dream-like spell of her surpassing 
 beauty, so radiant, yet so mild ; it was like the sun 
 before he bids the world good night, which even 
 while flinging his golden largess on the earth, and 
 waving his crimson banners o'er the hills, casts such 
 a tenderness in every hue, that 'tis infectious, and we 
 feel darkly, though in the midst of light. So 
 it was with thy young beauty most sweet Neroli ! for, 
 while its refulgent brightness flooded the soul, and 
 circled with its magic gold love's horizon, 'twixt the 
 wide hemisphere of hope and fear, yet was there a 
 tender sadness in thy look, as though a forgotten
 
 113 
 
 angel wandered in thine eyes, and cast its shadow 
 o'er the heart into which thou hadst entered. Well, 
 'tis the old story, I loved Neroli. Foolish Djalhama ! 
 had you been less kind you would have been less 
 cruel. Could you find none other to minister to my 
 returning health but your own wife ? the poison was 
 not in the cup, but in the hand that tendered it ; was it 
 my fault that you thus madly flung your pearl of life 
 into it? 
 
 " Neroli loved not the Moor ; but he was kind to 
 her, and she loved his honour and her own. What 
 cared I for either ? I loved only her, that is, as man 
 loves, with self ever paramount, and she loved me ! 
 / k7iew it, for there is a freemasonry of heart which 
 no outward signs can deceive ; all love's telegraphs 
 are electric ; we always feel when we are loved, even 
 when we do not love in return ; for love is so devo- 
 tional a sentiment, that it consecrates us to ourselves ; 
 and admiration is an incense, the perfume of which 
 is always sweet ; even if we care not for the wor- 
 shipper w ho offers it ; but when we do, then indeed 
 does the divinity stir within us, for is not to create 
 God like ? and what a new paradise does love again 
 create for two 1 and is it not another divine attri- 
 bute, not only to hear, but to have the power of 
 granting prayers? / hnew then that Neroli loved 
 me, for every thing told me so, the wooing balm of 
 her passing breath, as it lingered on my cheek, the 
 glance that met, or that avoided mine, the touch
 
 114 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 that burnt and thrilled 'neath my own, or the cold 
 hand that trembled at my grasp, all, all, told me 1 
 was loved, all, even to her voice, but not in words ; 
 and are not such words love's signets, without which 
 no contract is secure ? I was resolved that mine 
 should be in form ; and after many long ineffectual 
 efforts to make the opportunities I could not find, 
 Lachases, ever vigilant to weave in the darker threads 
 of human life, soon furnished that which I so long 
 had sought in vain. Djalhama was again absent at 
 the wars, Neroli and I were alone, we stood at the 
 open lattice, she gazing on the night and I on her, 
 the stars above us, the flowers beneath, and the 
 sweet summer breeze sighing unheeded through the 
 soft midnight of her hair. 
 
 " ' Neroli,' cried I, ^ only tell me that you love 
 me, and Pll ask no more.' 
 
 " The low faint ' yes * scarce trembled on her lip, 
 ere it was kissed, or rather torn off, by mine ; heaven 
 and hell ! life and death ! time and eternity ! were in 
 that kiss ! bewildered, terrified, she broke from me ; 
 no matter, I had climbed to heaven, I had caught 
 the sacred spark, and with it kindled mine own soul ! 
 and from that hour I bravely flung my offal vitals 
 to the vulture fate ! 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " Time rolled on ; and still between me and Neroli 
 was the impregnable bastion of her own innate 
 purity, and her plighted faith to Djalhama. Amid all
 
 TMK peer's daughters. 115 
 
 the subtile tactics of love militant, there is none for 
 sapping and mining the fond citadel of a woman's 
 heart like man's, one constant taunt of ' then you do 
 not love me." But for months even this failed ; for 
 Neroli's love was like herself, angelic ; and as an angel 
 I tried to worship her but in vain ; for 'tis the pecu- 
 liarity of all idolatry, sooner or later, to find its 
 idol's feet of clay, and then destroy it ; and so it was 
 with her; for alas ! what are a woman's sands of life 
 but love ? and no sooner does the fossil alkali, of 
 man's ever selfish passions mingle with the pure ore 
 of these fine particles, than lo ! from the fusion, 
 the crystal rivers of her heart begin to flow, and he 
 at will may flaw or break the fragile beauty of his 
 own creation! * One evening, the Moor was still 
 away, Neroli was in her bower, where the starry 
 sentinels alone kept watch ; and love's ever apt ac- 
 complice, the great enchantress, nature, had poured 
 through the ambient air, her cunning filtres from the 
 enamelled calyx of unnumbered flowers ; the sternest 
 mind, and coldest heart, might have succumbed 
 under the sweet delirium of their influence, mine 
 were neither. 
 
 "'Neroli!' cried I, putting aside the fragrant ta- 
 
 * On the banks of the small river Belus, glass was first discovered ; 
 a ship laden with nitre was stranded about 2,000 years ago ; some of 
 her crew employed blocks of the fossil alkali, that had constituted 
 their cargo, to support their kettle, in the fire they kindled by the 
 river, and to their surprise soon found rivulets of beautiful chrystal 
 flowing from the fusion.
 
 116 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 pestry of jessamine, and irreverently obtruding upon 
 the sanctity of her silence and her solitude, ' I come 
 to bid you farewell, for I leave you to-morrow, it 
 may be for years, or it may be for ever.' 
 
 "'Leave me for years, for ever? oh, no, no, im- 
 possible !' she almost shrieked, and, as if moved by 
 a spring, she rushed forward and clasped my arm, in 
 the convulsive grasp of both her hands. 
 
 " ' Even so,' rejoined I calmly ; for not only did I 
 derive intense delight and exulting hope, from her 
 overwhelming and unguarded burst of feeling, but in 
 her frenzied excitement, /found my composure and 
 sang froid. 'Even so, Neroli, dear Neroli, for I 
 can endure this torture no longer ; oh no, it is im- 
 possible to love you, and be ever near you, when you 
 do not, when perhaps you cannot^ love me ?' 
 
 *''I do not! I cannot!' exclaimed she wildly; 
 * oh ! I have ! I do ! — May heaven pardon me, for 
 loving you too well P and her streaming eyes were 
 raised imploringly to mine, as if in them was the 
 heaven whose forgiveness she alone sought ! With the 
 cowardly selfishness of man's nature, I felt, and took 
 advantage of my triumph. 
 
 *'' Thanks, sweet Neroli,' said I, in that nicely 
 blended amor geloso, moral Hecla tone, half ice, half 
 fire, which never fails to produce its eflfect when skil- 
 fully enunciated ; '■ thanks to your gentle tender- 
 ness of nature, which leads you in this trying hour, 
 to borrow for your rigid friendship, love's sweet name
 
 THE peer's daughters. ll? 
 
 wherewith to soothe the death wound of a retreating 
 foe ; thanks most gentle Neroli, but while I accept 
 with gratitude your kind intent, I reject the boon, for 
 love's avarice is boundless ; he must have all or none ; 
 and so with the latter I depart. Neroli, farewell, 
 farewell for ever !' 
 
 " Thus saying, I imprinted one burning kiss upon 
 her pure white forehead, and again pushing aside the 
 delicate arras of silvery flowers, simulated a strong 
 effort to tear myself from the soft fetters of her still 
 clasped fingers. 
 
 '' ' Oh, no, no ! my fate is in your hands, decide it 
 as you will ; but do not leave me ." gasped the al- 
 most fainting Neroli, as she sank upon the earth , 
 she was at my feet ! she knelt to me ! 
 
 2fC r|s ^ ^ 
 
 " Neroli was mine ! 
 
 '* Oh, the eternal agony of that too happy night 
 the warring elements were the unbidden guests of 
 our unhallowed nuptials ; heaven on a sudden put 
 out all its lights ; the sweet, soft whispering air, 
 which just before had been calm as a child's repose, 
 now moaned like a dirge, swept by the Etesian and 
 prophetic blasts of fate ! The very fiends yelled out 
 their damned mirth, and the dread peals of their in- 
 fernal laughter were echoed in giant thunders 
 through the murky sky. The large drops fell, as if 
 in agony from the knit brow of night, these were 
 the tears, for every bridal hath its tears ! and verily
 
 118 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 'tis their most real part, sweet Neroli, the angels 
 wept at ours ! 
 
 ^ ^ 7]C ?IC 
 
 ^'Well, I must end as I've begun; but there is a 
 galvanic madness in every thought that points that 
 way, which doth resuscitate and lash into living tor- 
 ture all the cold obstruction of my long buried pas- 
 sions. Too soon the Moor returned^ like the incar- 
 nate spirit of God's vengeance, to drive us from our 
 Eden ; but even before this, Neroli began to droop ; 
 she was less radiant, and yet perhaps more lovely — 
 for as yet love's omnipresence kept out the gnome, 
 Remorse, and her beauty was but steeped in the 
 soft twilight of a coming sorrow ; for even sorrovr, 
 all hag though she be when we are wedded to her, 
 yet hath, like every heir of earth, her one brief moment 
 of unalienable youth, with its rich dower, attraction; 
 then Pity is her first, fond, gentle love, — but old, he 
 deserts her, and she never finds him again. Yes, 
 even be"fl&i'e Djalhama's return, Neroli drooped ; for 
 her pure spirit's wings were clogged with the earth 
 which had sullied them in falling. Love is aye and 
 ever his own worst traitor, which must be the force 
 of habit ; for from so constantly betraying others, he 
 is sure to betray himself, and doubtless he did so now, 
 in the too anxious glances he was ever sending 
 through my eyes to Neroli. Be this as it might, the 
 Moor seemed to take no note of her or me ; he was 
 changed in nothing, save, perhaps even a more than
 
 119 
 
 usually friendly bearing towards me, increased ten- 
 derness of manner to his wife, and the sudden whim 
 of placing a little Arab boy, who had hitherto been 
 only page to his favourite steed, as chamber page to 
 Neroli. This imp of darkness, whose name was 
 Jijee, was ever in our path ; not a look could pass 
 between me and his mistress, but what his shrewd, 
 dark, devilish eyes seemed to analyze it with chemical 
 acumen ; Neroli could not drop a gem or flower, but 
 what the hated Jijee, ere I could touch it, had seized 
 it as a tiger does its prey, and returned it to her. 
 One day, having a note to convey to her, she by 
 agreement dropped her handkerchief; determined to 
 be in time, that I might place the note within it, I 
 darted forward, but as usual the accursed Jijee had 
 anticipated me, and what was still worse, I lost the 
 note most unaccountably, andXalso a richly damas- 
 cined jewel-hilted dagger, (steeped in a most deadly 
 Ethiopian poison), that I always wore ; but at the 
 moment I naturally thought much more of the note 
 I had written to Neroli, the fatal note ! than anything 
 else. The insidious Arab affected to look everywhere 
 for the dagger, (for of course I took care to say no- 
 thing about the paper), and at length he even ended 
 by volunteering to continue his search in my own 
 apartment, where he suggested I might have left it. 
 Too happy to get rid of him, even for a moment, I 
 thankfully accepted his offer. No sooner had the 
 thick gold and velvet tissue curtains of the door way
 
 120 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 ceased to undulate from his retreating form, than I 
 approached Neroli, and was about to put my arm 
 round her waist, but she pushed me away, and her 
 eyes glassily fixed upon the door, her finger on her 
 lip, and her cheeks paler than marble, said, 
 
 *' ' Hush ! I dread that horrid Jijee ; for Heaven's 
 sake go now, be cautious, and be here to-night at ten, 
 I'll invent some distant message for him, but for 
 mercy's sake do not stay another moment here now, 
 for I am half dead with dark forebodings.' 
 
 " There is an omnipotence in a woman's fears upon 
 such occasions which insures obedience. I quitted 
 her instantly. An hour after Jijee came to me, ex- 
 pressing many regrets that he could nowhere find my 
 dagger, which he said he had even looked for in the 
 holsters of all my saddles. The day wore heavily 
 away ; Neroli's fears had infected me ; the sky had 
 no beauty, the air no freshness, the wave no music, 
 the flowers no perfume ; for all these things, nay, all 
 creation was to me but one vast mirror which reflected 
 her, and when she was not there, I only " saw as 
 through a glass darkly " the vague desolation of 
 empty space. Night at length came ; Djalhama was 
 absent, he had taken the Arab with him ; silence 
 reigned around, that fearful silence which precedes a 
 deed of darkness, as if affrighted nature by force kept 
 in her universal breath, till from its very intensity of 
 muteness it grew audible. I had crossed two courts 
 on my way to Neroli's apartments ; the moonbeams
 
 THE peer's daughters. 121 
 
 fell partially in a broad track of light, at right angles 
 of the court, while the other half remained in total 
 darkness ; even the bright waters that fell from the 
 gilded lions of the fountains into the marble basons 
 beneath, seemed to trickle stealthily, and not to flow 
 with their usual clear and silvery sounds. I hurried 
 forward, starting almost at the echo of my own foot- 
 steps ; I cleared the first flight of low broad stairs 
 so rapidly, that I stood panting at the landing, ere I 
 could continue my way through the corridor to 
 
 Neroli's chamber At length I reached it. 
 
 ' Oh ! my prophetic spirit !' even there the ^iron had 
 entered into my soul/ and my feet became immove- 
 able, and riveted to the marble floor, as if it had been 
 a magnet. 
 
 '• In the Moorish, as in the Turkish houses, the up- 
 per or grand apartment was divided into two, the 
 line of demarcation between which was sacred. One 
 of these divisions, the Salemlik, was occupied by the 
 master of the house, and was open to all male ser- 
 vants and visitors ; the other, or Harem — which word 
 signifies a 'holy place ^ — is devoted to the women, 
 and entrance into it, (as you are aware,) is interdicted 
 to all men. In the larger, or chief's houses, there 
 is a sort of neutral ground between the two ; this is 
 called Mabeinn, (literally ''between two J) but even 
 here none save the master of the house has access. 
 As I stood trembling on this forbidden threshold, 
 which I had so often boldly passed before, a sudden 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 1.22 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 shadow seemed to fall across the Mabeinn. I felt, I 
 know not why, death struck ! could it be that this 
 shade was conscience, which had strode across my 
 moral Marathon, and like that of Theseus, ^ smote 
 without a blow ? ' Rallying with one desperate effort, 
 I darted forward, and pushed aside the massive cur- 
 tain ; for in all men's lives, Fate sends one forlorn 
 hope, which they must lead on to death or victory ! 
 As usual, the room was redolent of those soft, volup- 
 tuous perfumes which seem at once woman's essence 
 and her atmosphere. The hght glanced tenderly and 
 timidly athwart the white alabaster of the lotus-shaped 
 lamps, — all — all — was as usual, save that Neroli 
 sprang not to my embrace. I advanced towards the 
 divan ; there she lay hushed in a gentle sleep, a veil 
 thrown over her ; it was strange, it had never been 
 so before ! Was then the harpy, Custom, already 
 at her work ? and with her foul fatal touch soiling and 
 wearing off the gloss and beauty of love's bridal suit? 
 The subtile poison of jealousy began to dart, and burn 
 through my veins ; I was ]td\ou^— jealous of myself! 
 a few short hours ago, and / was better loved than 
 this ; dreams then sufficed to Neroli ; — what business 
 now had sleep to keep his trysting before me ? I sat 
 down at the foot of the couch, pouting like a way- 
 ward child, determined not to waken her, if she did 
 not waken of her own accord — if she did not waken ! 
 oh ! God ! and / am living still ! — no, not living, but 
 breathing, moving, jostHng through this world of cold
 
 THE peer's daughters. 123 
 
 and bloodless shades. Mercy, great Heaven, mercy, 
 thy justice is too terrible !****! sat, it 
 might be, some few seconds, my arms folded dog- 
 gedly ; but, self-love gradually yielding to love, I 
 took one of her small white unslippered feet gently 
 between my hands; it was eld, very cold; I knelt 
 down, kissed all its marble surface, and then placed 
 it in my bosom ; it scarce had lain one second there, 
 ere another curtain before a door-way at the side of 
 the couch was first slowly and then suddenly and 
 loudly pushed back, and Djalhama stood before me, 
 carrying a small bronze naptha lamp, the vivid flame 
 of which spiring upwards, threw out his dark por- 
 tentous face into such strong relief against the un- 
 blemished snow of his white turban, that it seemed 
 to my guilty brain as if before me stood an appalling 
 vision of the last great judgment, with all its glorious 
 disc of pardon and redemption in eclipse ! I started 
 to my feet The Moor looked slowly round on every 
 side, then raised the lamp first to my face and next 
 lowered it to my very feet, as if to assure himself that 
 I was all there, so that no particle of his vengeance 
 might escape him ; — this done, he placed the lamp 
 upon a small tripod by the couch, and its hght fell 
 amid the silver scintillas of Neroli's veil ; and then, 
 resting his right elbow within his left hand, and 
 placing his chin within his right, the fore-finger of 
 which partially hid his mouth, he advanced towards 
 me, and said, in a low, distinct, but painfully hoarse 
 
 G 2
 
 124 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 voice, as if the deadly sirocco of ten thousand warring 
 passions had parched up his throat and lungs : — 
 
 *" Most noble Castilian ! I come to bid you fare- 
 well; for there are more battles for me to play, more 
 lives to win and lose. All I fear is, that you may 
 find it dull in my absence, for things are somewhat 
 changed ; hitherto, such hospitality as my poor roof 
 afforded, was freely offered. Albeit, unskilled in the 
 silken broidery and glittering oripeaux of your more 
 courtly life, / may have omitted much that might 
 have caused your time to pass more pleasantly ; if 
 so ? I hope you exceeded your somewhat quibbling 
 Spanish proverb, which says ' Consider my house 
 as yours, but never forget that it is mine !' Ha ! ha i 
 such restrictions are but half courteous, and come 
 of a lame and halting hospitality. 1 hope you tuned 
 this low proverb in a higher key, and made yourself 
 master of all ; all, at least, that had the good for- 
 tune to find favor in your eyes ? but yes, your being 
 here, assures me of that ; by the way, 'tis sad to 
 lose that which we prize, whether the bauble be of 
 ore, or metal, of precious stones, or of flesh and 
 blood, a faithful steed, or a faithless wife ! and I am 
 the bearer of good tidings ; your Ethiopian dagger' 
 on which you set such store, is safe, safe amongst 
 your other treasures.^ And, with this fearful and de- 
 monaic jibe, he raised the silver veil from Neroli's 
 face and form, and, in her heart, that gentle, noble 
 heart ! was plunged my dagger to the very hilt ! he
 
 125 
 
 drew it forth, and, gloating with fiendish lust on his 
 revenge, he 'deliberately drew down the reeking 
 weapon, a paper, through which it had pierced his 
 victim ; and, opening it with the dagger's point, and 
 placing it before me, (all saturated with blood as it 
 was, I recognised here and there the burning words 
 of the last letter I had written to Neroli), he burst 
 ^nto one short demon laugh, as he exclaimed, in his 
 now almost inarticulately hoarse voice, 
 
 " * Ha ! noble CastiHan, are the Moors such 
 freebooters as you call them? own, at least, that 
 Djalhama is honest, and gives to every man 
 his own. Nay, more,* continued he, pointing to 
 Neroli's pale corse, * since you had made your own 
 of this pretty toy this climax of nature's cunning 
 workmanship, pray^ keep it ! I am sorry she receives 
 you so much more coldly than usual, but, doubtless, 
 'tis your much prized Ethopian dagger which has 
 steeled her heart against you. Oh, one more gift 
 before we part—be Jigee, the faithful Jigee ! your^ 
 to all eternity ! never to quit you more ! but, be aye 
 here and hereafter, the dark shadow of your shadow ! 
 " With these two infernal jests, he took up the lamp, 
 and retreated through the same door by which he had 
 entered. I flung myself on my now for ever cold 
 and silent Neroli ; I clung to her icy lips as if I 
 could pour the hot agony of my own life into them ; 
 I called wildly upon her name, but death had wedged 
 his marble deafness in her ear, she heard me not ! 
 then she was dead indeed ! Ah, then I felt — if aught
 
 126 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 could be called feeling 'neath the stunned numbness 
 of my crushed heart), that nothing could part us more, 
 that fate had done her worst, she was mine ! at least? 
 in death. And from the very depths of my despair, 
 I drew forth this pall-like comfort, and girded up my 
 madness with it through that fearful night ! 
 
 <^ ^ 5j^ * ?jC 5|C 
 
 " Months had come and gone, delirium had been 
 between me and the past. When I regained my 
 senses, I found myself in my father's halls, on my 
 own bed ; gentle shadows gUded round it, they were 
 those of my mother and sister ; no Sabian stars or 
 crescents met my view, but the holy chime of Chris- 
 tian bells sent Sabbath tidings to the weary soul ! 
 happy those, which then and there might find their 
 rest, but mine was not amongst them. Again I left 
 my home, again I became a wanderer ; but this time 
 it was for ever. My sufferings had been so un- 
 bounded, that it seemed to me that nothing but 
 boundless knowledge could strike the beam, and 
 make the balance even. I travelled on — on — north, 
 south, east, west, — nor sage, nor raagi, but whom I 
 studied under; spider-Hke, I extracted poison from 
 all, and each ; and spider-like, I wove the dark web 
 that now incompasses me. Gold ! the red despot of 
 the world ! omnipotent gold ! I made and squandered. 
 Oh, it was great to feel men's conscience and their 
 fate were now my playthings, and that I could toss 
 them to and fro, as boys do marbles ; the first, I
 
 THE peer's daughters. 127 
 
 mostly found as hard, and the latter, (partly for com- 
 panionship), I made so. I hated all mankind; but 
 one poor span of life was not enough wherein to 
 slake what seemed to me then ray eternal thirst for 
 ill. No! I needed centuries to stab Djalhama through 
 countless generations ; for had I not injured and be- 
 trayed him too deeply to forgive him ? for, 'tis ever 
 by the heaping of successive wrongs upon the first, 
 that men solder up the faulty iron of their misdeeds. 
 "Now, mark the sequel of my Ufe, for, men live but 
 once ; if, even like me, they exist through many gene- 
 rations, each age hath its pet marvel, which it deems 
 the climacteric effort of the mechanism of human 
 intellect, at whose quaint clumsiness of construction, 
 pampered posterity nevertheless is sure to laugh. In 
 the year 807, the all-absorbing wonder of the world 
 was a ponderous time-piece, sent with ambassadorial 
 pomp by the Caliph Haroun al Rashid, to Charle- 
 magne ; this leviathan clock struck the hours by 
 means of the falling of twelve brass balls upon a 
 silver bell, it also had twelve horsemen, who came 
 out at separate doors, one at a time, which they 
 opened and closed again, and the moving power, on 
 what we should now call the main-spring, was worked 
 by a hydraulic machine. Far and near, the world 
 flocked to gaze on this chronological monster, which, 
 however, shared the fate of all other great discoveries 
 for the signal benefit of mankind, and did not fail 
 to be denounced by the legislature, and preached
 
 128 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 against by the clergy, as an invention of the devil, to 
 instigate men into impiously wresting from the Al- 
 mighty a knowledge of the advent and distribution 
 of time. 
 
 '' The Effendi charged with this important embassy, 
 was a magi, of the name of Kahn-Ali-Kahn, under 
 whom, I had long studied at Bagdad. Him I now 
 accompanied to France, which was then but a crude 
 rank berry, compared to the fair lily into which it has 
 blown and flourished since ; but even tlien, as now, 
 there was a suavity and conrteousness in its very 
 atmosphere, which made one wear one's load of life 
 more lightly, — a kindly sympathy of manner in her 
 people, which seemed to share the burden with one- 
 But the barbaric splendours of the court of Charle- 
 magne could, by no means, atone to me for the vo- 
 luptuous vis inertice of my eastern life. I grew 
 weary of tilting and wine bibbing, and, above all, I 
 grew weary of hearing our poor friend, Horlogius, 
 (as the Caliph's clock was called), preached and ca- 
 balled against:-.and therefore, 1 became importunate 
 with Kahn-Ali-Kahn, to impart to me the elixir of 
 life, which, 1 knew, he possessed. 
 
 '' He shook his head and again warned me, adding, 
 ' 1 cannot use a stronger argument, than by remind- 
 ing you, that though within my reach, I have for- 
 borne to incur the fearful penalties the using it 
 entails.' 
 
 " Much more did he urge upon my consideration,
 
 THE peer's daughters. 129 
 
 but I was deaf to all reason ; so, at length, on this 
 very spot, I madly took my curtius leap into the gulf 
 of mine own fate !" 
 
 " Oh! let me do the same," interrupted Valasquez. 
 
 " Stay ; you must first hear the conditions. Know 
 then, this elixir of immortality is all a juggle, to 
 make you dearly pay, that w^hich you already have ; 
 for all men live on through each succeeding age, 
 paying, in each new lease of life, the forfeits of their 
 last, else were the mere accident of birth a foul in- 
 justice. But God, who does all things well, takes 
 from us the knowledge of our own past identity ; 
 or, we should be so guarded in our actions in the 
 hope of mitigating our just punishment, that we 
 should destroy that one sole test of our obedience to 
 his laws — FREE WILL — with which he has paradox- 
 ically /e^^^ec? round our lives. Again, others, whose 
 lives are a smooth boiling green, along which for- 
 tune rolls her golden balls for them to win, without 
 the least apparent virtue, merit, conduct, or skill, 
 on their part, are those, who, in the cruel struggles 
 through some past but now forgotten fate, did so 
 bravely and unrepiningly bear the lash, that God 
 saw good to change the poor slaves to masters ; but 
 one life is but a unit in our great account, the good 
 or ill we do in it, is carried on to the next ; and, so 
 on for ages, when it will be all summed up, and the 
 final balance, for or against us, struck." 
 
 ^' Then, in that case, beyond the much to be envied 
 
 G 3
 
 130 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 wealth and eternal youth you possess, you do not 
 differ from other men ?" interrupted Valasquez. 
 
 " Alas ! widely, for I am aware of my own pro- 
 tracted identity^ and they are not." 
 
 " Well, but still I see but the advantage you have 
 gained over them ; for, vihat a boundless range of 
 feelings, sensations, passions and ideas, must be 
 yours V 
 
 *' Ideas, yes ; feelings, sensations, passions, no ; 
 for, from the moment I imbibed the fatal elixir, all 
 my interior world became fossilised, all, save its moral 
 and intellectual portion, over those it has no power ; 
 inasmuch, as that the three indestructible pivots, 
 upon which the mechanism of human life turns, are 
 progression, development, and retribution, and time 
 takes the initiative of all three. The worst bad nature 
 that vice ever corroded, in tune will mellow and purify 
 into virtue ; this, I know is esoteric, and not palpable 
 to all capacities, nevertheless, so it is. What think 
 you of the Neros and Caligulas of antient Rome, 
 with the Athenian Timon, mithridating into the 
 philanthropists of modern Europe ?" 
 
 " I thought, on the contrary, that I had understood 
 you to maintain the undeviating idiosyncracy of 
 race ; and to instance as a proof of it, the vices of 
 the Appian blood never for a moment through suc- 
 cessive generations belying itself.'' 
 
 " Of race, yes ; it never does bely itself,'' resumed 
 Saint Germain ; "for our good and bad qualities,
 
 131 
 
 virtues, and vices, passions, and peculiarities, are the 
 heritage of our descendants, just as much as our 
 lands, houses, and chattels ; but souls are self-exist- 
 ing, unalienable, and individual, each mortal has their 
 oioi, which is theirs, or rather them to all eternity.^' 
 
 *'Even so," said Valasquez; " I am yet far from 
 comprehending wherein lie the terrible penalties of 
 the great immunities which you have obtained be- 
 yond other men ; for instance, you say your moral 
 and intellectual powders are inextinguishable, and 
 these alone must, through so many ages, have accu- 
 mulated for you such a vast revenue of knowledge^ 
 as to have more than compensated to you for the 
 extermination of those physiologicalJesuits — the pas- 
 sions ; to say nothing of your having achieved your 
 great wish of time, to satiate through countless ge- 
 nerations your revenge." 
 
 " Revenge !^' exclaimed Saint Germain, " verily 
 that terrible vengeance, then begun, is progressing. 
 When, oh when will it be consummated ? but it is 
 heaven avenging Djalhama, not my insanity pursuing 
 Mm ; it is Time — the even-handed— working out 7ny 
 expiation, filtering my just punishment through my 
 sin. Eternal as you think me, as I seem, and in 
 one way as I am, yet every century must I undergo 
 the lot of mortaUty ; and the addition made to my 
 life, is carried on with terrible interest to my death, 
 whose agony is double that of other men, not the 
 least throe of which is to Jmow that even death for
 
 132 THE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 me is a mockery ; for / am the great unsepulchred or- 
 l^han of the past, who must live on ; for that matter so 
 must all ; but they deposit their self-consciousness with 
 their shroud in earth, and then are harnessed into 
 some new life, thinking it new, and charmed with 
 each wil-o'-the-wisp, hope's Ignus fatui, that springs 
 e'en from their own rank grave grass, and fools them 
 through the world, till they return from whence they 
 came. But /, /, must keep my orgies even in cor- 
 ruption ; and when death's last fearful rattle tells 
 him the die is cast, and makes him think he's won ! 
 / and the fiends laugh out to see him cozened ! for 
 mine is a loaded soul that Nemesis doth claim ; and 
 without a moment's respite, flings all, quivering and 
 lacerated, from its last dread stake into the frail body 
 of some new-born babe, whose suffering wail shrieks 
 out to tell the world it hath another victim. Oh ! 
 the overwhelming ache of man's more than mature 
 intellect, clogged with the ineptitude of infancy ; this 
 too hard and glittering marcasite ever struggling to 
 free itself from such soft inconsistent argil, doth only 
 generate a quotient legion of unequal foes. This is 
 perhaps one of the most insupportable stages of my 
 punishment ; could I lay aside my terrible identity, 
 then should I know the smiles and tears, but above 
 all the buoyancy of childhood ; but none of these 
 things are for me, for I am myself always myself! a 
 giant of unlawfully acquired knowledge, fettered by 
 the adamantine bonds of childish impotency. Then
 
 THE peer's daughters. 133 
 
 comes the accident of birth ; I am not always in the 
 brilliant position in which you have met me ; and 
 though always possessing the power of creating 
 wealth, and, consequently station, yet from a loath- 
 ing, an indigestion as it were of its inefficacy to pro- 
 cure happiness (at least for me), I voluntarily sub- 
 mit to all the cold, hard, insult-creating trials, and 
 temptations of poverty ; but even this is not the 
 severest ordeal through which I pass. Soul being 
 of no sex, mine sometimes passes into a woman's 
 form, if it be into that of an ugly woman, although 
 she must of necessity become what men modestly 
 term, " a woman of masculine intellect," yet upon 
 the whole, my life is tranquil enough, as it is aston- 
 ishing how little 1 have to complain of from the per- 
 fidy of men, and how much I have to laud the 
 friendship and sincerity of my own sex. But woe 
 is me, when I cloathe myself in beauty as in a gar- 
 ment, and light up the fair temple with my own 
 bright intelligence ; for then, not even the most dire 
 misfortunes (which from being a sort of panacea to 
 their envy, self-love, or other bad passions, are pass- 
 ports of security for our intercourse with our best 
 friends) can save me from the venom of malice 
 treachery, and ill- nature, as in either sex my youth- 
 ful appearance never deserts me ; and as envy, and 
 fretful discontent generally plant more wrinkles and 
 ugliness than even years or grief, to those upon 
 whom these bad passions have set their hideous seal,
 
 134 
 
 my smooth browed sorrows of course can not be 
 real, and I find neither sympathy for them, nor 
 mercy for me. Oh ! hard indeed is the lot of wo- 
 man, as man, not GOD hath made it ; for God's equal 
 law has he perverted to such foul extent, as to have 
 become, in his relative position towards her, a sort 
 of hydra minotaur, of tempter, judge, and execu- 
 tioner ; if it be true that " woe to him by whom the 
 evil cometh," then verily " shall no man living be 
 justified/^ Women too, like all slaves, are false and 
 treacherous to each other, and from the narrow sel- 
 fishness of individual policy and personal prudence, 
 renounce all honest pride and esprit de corpsj to pan- 
 der to their tyrant's despotism ; for it is not only to 
 God, but to man that women have to say non mea 
 voluntas seel tiia fiat ; and as it is generally the most 
 dissolute and profligate men who make the most 
 rigid and tenacious husbands and fathers, (because 
 then the omnipotent my is in the ascendant ;) it is on 
 this account that it is in society morally, as it is in 
 the valley of Gezeen physically. For the moment 
 an animal expires in the latter, the air is darkened 
 with vultures, ready to prey upon it ; and in the 
 former, no sooner does a reputation die, than vultures 
 from all quarters, in the shape of particular friends, 
 and especially those ladies of tarnished reputation 
 themselves, are sure not to lose a moment in tearing 
 it to pieces, not even so much as an ovation to their 
 lords and masters, as a peace-offering to the manes
 
 THE peer's daughters. 13$ 
 
 of their own virtue. But inscrutible are the ways 
 of God, and undeviating are the law's of nature. I 
 who have outlived all feehngs, sympathies, and affec- 
 tions as a man, resume them all in double force during 
 my female probation, or else I should not be a wo- 
 man. Oh, then indeed, are my sufferings at their 
 climax, I know men too well, to become their prey, 
 therefore must I of necessity become their martyr ; 
 for the woman that ivill not fall, must be trampled 
 through the mire by calumny, or left to perish piece- 
 meal upon the bleak rock of desertion and neglect. 
 None save those who have been so tempted, and who 
 have so resisted, who have gone through the same, 
 silent, bitter, unappreciated, because secret, and un- 
 known ordeal, — can comprehend the refined and 
 subtile tortures of a being, whose affections are ever 
 yearning, and never satisfied ; w^hose warm and ge- 
 nerous, and ever gushing impulses, are continually 
 being chilled and driven back, by treachery, miscon- 
 struction, and deceit, to prey upon themselves within 
 the pent precincts of their own heart. There are 
 certain wayward destinies also, which act upon a wo- 
 man's life like a species of moral transportation ; 
 and who may compute the amount of torture con- 
 tained in the almost impalpable, but not on that ac- 
 count less irritating particles of daily and hourly 
 annoyance, that form as it were the dense, ungenial, 
 climate of those exiled from their sphere? Such suf- 
 ferings are so intense, so commingled with the very
 
 136 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 essence of existence, that they remain a mystery and 
 a monument, between the creature who endures, and 
 the Creator that ordains them ; for they alone are 
 aware of the force, depth, or extent of the impres- 
 sions produced by the phantasmagoria of passing 
 events, upon certain organizations, as the happy and 
 well placed of this world, are the blast and unmoved 
 spectators of so much exterior, positive, tangible, and 
 material suffering, that they are naturally a thousand 
 times more indifferent, not to say sceptical, about 
 those interior and moral tragedies of ^human life, 
 which often escape the eye of friendship itself, or 
 even the still more penetrating one of love. Neroli, 
 my for ever lost, but unforgotten love, then art thou 
 avenged ! for is not my spirit steeped in thine, and 
 have I not quaffed sorrow from its deep sources in a 
 woman's heart, till I have reeled from the alcohol of 
 mine own misery ? 
 
 " Next comes Djalhama's turn ; when, as you see 
 me now, I dazzle the world with my exuberance of 
 wealth and youth, and dazzling puzzle which hap- 
 pens about each alternate century, then am I com- 
 pelled to wed one of surpassing beauty, but without 
 feeling one particle of love or liking, or even its false 
 substitute, admiration ; this gem I am also com- 
 pelled to rake from out some dunghill, that the vas 
 measure of my injury and humiliation may be the 
 more complete ; then we are married with infinite 
 pomp and pageant, and envy sheds her gorgeous
 
 137 
 
 but ill-omened halo, over our nuptials ; for none can 
 fail to see, thrice happy mortal, that I am ! that all 
 the love is on the side of the fair bride, but gratitude 
 is not in love's vocabulary. Poor wayward urchin, the 
 moon itself he'd spurn, if it were not the one par- 
 ticular toy he cried for at the moment. So I remain 
 unmoved, untouched, by this rich argosy of love ; 
 for I who see, alas, the end of all things, see the 
 deep hidden rock on which it soon must split, so I 
 should be mad (had I the power) to freight it with 
 my hopes. But though I cannot love, I can seem 
 that virtue well, and seeming is the world's most cur- 
 rent coin ; oh ! the wise Greeks were right, the 
 TO TTpfTTov or decorum, is every thing, and in the 
 nice decencies of life, I make even scandal dumb. 
 Some few years wedded, more or less, then comes 
 mine own familiar friend, (but always one to whom I 
 had rendered some signal service ; as Djalhama had 
 done to me) and robs me of my wife ! Then once 
 more human passion lashes into an empty foam, my 
 torpid pool of life, and I am jealous, darkly, savagely 
 jealous ; but it is not the jealousy of love, that al- 
 most sacred madness, which makes of the poor 
 bleeding heart which it consumes, a holocaust, that 
 heaven itself might pity and accept. No, mine is 
 the Laocoon jealousy of self-love, which, with its 
 sacrilegious progeny of hatred and revenge, perishes 
 beneath the serpent coils of its own writhlngs. 
 Then it is that the sepulchral voice of stern uncom-
 
 138 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 promising conscience, calls loudly through my soul, 
 and says, — ' Thou fool, look hack to lohere time 
 WAS, return to where time is, and then thouUt wear 
 the world, and its loorst sneers more lightly, pick up 
 thy tarnished honour, and gird it bravely on ; grateful 
 to think that thy heart, thy life, thy all, was not in it, 
 when it fell, to be crushed and trampled on, like to 
 Djalhama'sr *#**** 
 
 Then, then indeed, does time brim up his glass with 
 retribution's burning sands ; and drift them through 
 fate's dire simoon, across the still lengthening desert 
 of my life, above which shines no solitary star; 
 through which not even fancied waters flow ; for to 
 me, hope denies the kind cruelty of her bright delu- 
 sive mirage. Now learn the much coveted immu- 
 nities I have as a set off to all this torture. I read 
 in the cramped black letter grimoire of men's hearts 
 as in a fair typed, widely opening book, 'tis for the 
 most part like a Hebrew text, that must be deci- 
 phered backwards, and at best resembles the Parsee 
 Zendavesta* which coincides up to a certain point 
 with the Scriptures, but the Mosaic Scriptures, with- 
 out the glorious sunrise of their apocalypse, for in 
 most hearts there are good intentions, which may be 
 considered as the letter of the law, (or if you like it 
 
 * The sacred book of the Parsees, which is said to have been 
 written by Zoroaster \ and in many particulars tallies so remarkably 
 with the Hebrew Scriptures, as to countenance the supposition, that if 
 it really is of such antiquity as it pretends to, the author had obtained 
 a knowledge of the Jewish religion, from Daniel, or some other of the 
 Jewish captives at Babylon and Susa.
 
 139 
 
 better, its commandments graven on a stone tablet), 
 but seldom ripening into action, which is its spirit . 
 there too, I read eternal passions of scarce six weeks 
 duration, devoted friendships, ending in such deadly- 
 feuds, and fretted with such petty spites, that an 
 honest enemy would scorn such paltry weapons. 
 Each two hundred years a light streams out, athwart 
 the darkness of my night, for some deluded being 
 like yourself crosses my path ; eager to plunge into 
 the fearful whirlpool of unending life ! and should 
 they be rash enough to do so, then / should be free ! 
 but never yet after the ten years' novitiate, that the 
 equipollent spirit of life and death allows them, have 
 I found one mad enough to rid me of my burden, 
 nor will you /" 
 
 *^ Nay, be not too sure,^' interrupted Valasquez. 
 '^ At all events these ten years' novitiate seem at least 
 a safe and tempting foretaste, a pleasant instalment 
 of immortality I" 
 
 *^ Aye that tempts you all ;" said Saint Germain ; 
 " the more so, that for those years the spirit is your 
 slave, discounting your every wish into quick frui- 
 tion ; annihilating for you time and space, and will- 
 ing you from east to west, into all places, and at all 
 times, as fancy's mistian vane may chance to veer." 
 
 ^' There is one thing that puzzles me," rejoined 
 Valasquez; '' which is, that ten years of probation 
 is such a mere grain of sand in the immensity of 
 time through which you have lived, that I do not
 
 140 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 see how it was sufficient, comparatively speaking, to 
 have enabled you to judge, whether you would live 
 on or not ; the more so, that in accepting them in 
 the full zenith of one's natural life, how is it possi- 
 ble to distinguish the natural from the preternatural ? 
 that is, how is it possible to prevent their being so 
 blent together, as to preclude a separate analysation 
 of the pros and cons of either ?" 
 
 " Alas !" said Saint Germain, '* I had not even 
 these ten short probationary years, but rushed upon 
 my icholefate at once! and it is not one of the least 
 barriers to my escape, this novitiate I am compelled 
 to accord to all who think they should like to be my 
 successors. For great and startling events, like that 
 species of great men called conquerors, are terres- 
 trial meteors, which hke their celestial prototypes, 
 blaze on the world for a moment, but leave no last- 
 ing or useful light ; the whole arcana of physiology 
 consists in a series of rotatory re-actions, and thus it 
 is, that the great moral influences, which regenerate 
 mankind, and revolutionize society, are produced by 
 social under-currents, which are the slow, but sure, 
 and invisible agency, of apparently humble and in- 
 significant means. When the imperial power, and 
 purple pomp of the Cassars were spread like a man- 
 tle over the whole of the then civilized world, men 
 deemed that that was the greatness and the type 
 which would endure for ever ; and gazing with vul- 
 gar wonder upon this blazing, but ephemeral comet,
 
 THE peer's daughters. 141 
 
 neither perceived nor dreamt of the eternal star of 
 Bethlehem ! and yet, what are the Ccesars now ? At 
 most a useless page in history^s dead letter. And 
 n-here is their power that swayed the world ? Long 
 sleeping echo does not even answer where ? And later, 
 when Charles V., and his great rival of France, 
 filled the world with their deeds, neither they nor 
 mankind took cognizance of the obscure monk 
 born in Spain, nor of the humble German hier- 
 arch ; yet ever since it has been Martin Luther, and 
 Ignatius Loyola, who have divided and governed the 
 world. And so has it been with me, this fatal elixir 
 was the great glory of my past folly ; but from my 
 very presumption, have I learnt humility ; among 
 the wretched, the ignorant, and the lowly, have I 
 acquired its rudiments ; for among the most abject 
 of these, during weary cycles of my interminable life, 
 I have not met oney the conditions weighed, the ten 
 years past, who, by going farther on, would set me free. 
 " From this have I learnt the great practical truth, 
 that better is a little, nay the very least, which God 
 giveth, than much, however great, that man unlaw- 
 fully wresteth ; but it was not from my own giant 
 error that I acquired this knowledge ; no, it was 
 from the small, insignificant, almost imperceptible 
 lights and shadows passing over other men's minds, 
 that I matured my own ; it was the acorn constantly 
 falling from the universal tree of life, which had con- 
 vinced me how terrible a curse was the monstrous
 
 142 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 gourd that I had presumptuously dared to graft upon 
 my own particular branch of it. So much for my 
 lesson learnt among the lowly and the ignorant; now 
 pass I on to a higher school, and seek my substitute 
 amid the learned and the wise — the sybarites of in- 
 tellectual refinement, where I shall have more trouble 
 and even less success." 
 
 " Nay," said Valasquez, piqued into contradicting 
 the positiveness of Saint Germain's assertions, " with 
 all your knowledge, how can you be so very sure of 
 the chances of another's conduct ?" 
 
 " Because," replied Saint Germain, shaking his 
 head, " there are no such things as chances ; every- 
 thing in this world, from the smallest to the greatest, 
 or what we deem such, is immutably decided upon 
 from the first ; but not only events, but their results, 
 being mercifully in most instances, and wisely in alU 
 hidden from the finite perceptions of men, they have 
 set up an undiscerning god whom they call Chance, 
 and like the Chinese with their idols, heap curses on 
 it when it is against them, and load it with profane 
 and undeserved thanksgivings when it is for them. 
 But when I say that you will not be more willing 
 than the rest to take my place, I do not even use the 
 prescience of which I am so fatally possessed ; I 
 speak only according to one of the chief indentures 
 of my bond, which is, that never, till I find a person 
 answering to the first name I addressed to you last 
 night, shall I be sure of having found one willing to
 
 THE peer's daughters. 143 
 
 remove from me my whole burden, by taking it upon 
 themselves ; and the second name, only, found an 
 echo through your soul, and stirred it into quick in- 
 teUigence with mine." 
 
 *' Well but/' again objected Valasquez, "you seem 
 to me to exert yourself to the very utmost to dissuade 
 from taking f rather than to persuade into taking the 
 burden of which you are so weary, by adding to the 
 disheartening revelations of its penalties the urgent 
 warnings of your own experience. Surely such a 
 course must militate against your success, and is not 
 only ultra-loyal, but (pardon my freedom of speech) 
 somewhat foolish.'' 
 
 *' Foolish according to the wisdom of this world," 
 rejoined Saint Germain, '^ for to the shallow cunning 
 of men's narrow policy, the honesty which has no 
 clause in favour of self, is to them what Christianity 
 was to the Greeks, when preached by Paul at Athens 
 — ^foolishness;'' but have I not told you that pro- 
 gression and development are two of the inevitable laws 
 of our nature? In every century through which I have 
 dragged my ponderous burden, I have at least 
 worked out those two holy laws, for in every age I 
 have filtered away some of my dross ; till now I would 
 not injure or deceive if I coidd, but my nature being 
 purified, I could not ; so that I have little merit in 
 not attempting to curtail, even by a single hour, 
 God's just judgment, by trying fraudulently to palm 
 off my burden upon another. But even to ^me a
 
 144 THE PEER*S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 way is opened, where I may prove that I do right 
 for right's sake, and not because 1 am compelled to 
 it ; for virtue's gifts, Hke all others, are valueless un- 
 less they be free-will offerings. You know," con- 
 tinued Saint Germain, '^ the prophecies of Noel 
 Olivarus,* written in the time of Charles the Ninth, 
 touching the convulsions of this unhappy country ; 
 from that time to the present, they have been scoffed 
 at by the few who are cognizant of them, saying, he 
 did well to place such terrific events so far off, that 
 none might be able to refute him. Let them scoff ! 
 but / hear God's great army of events marching upon 
 the world! I see blood, as from victim-fed reservoirs 
 in the courts of fate, opening their gory sluices upon 
 this now smiling and thoughtless land ; for / also 
 have a link in the giant chain which is forging by 
 the reckless profligacy and oppression of its nobles, 
 to turn France into one large national galley, whose 
 ignominious brand may never be effaced. Olivarus, 
 when I consulted him, (for even at that time I tried 
 to be rid of my load), told me that my first oppor- 
 tunity of escape would be caused by a serpent be- 
 tween my robe and the stone which was my stum- 
 bling block, and would occur in or about the year 
 
 * For this most extraordinary prophecy, foretelling, from point to 
 point, in its utmost minutiae, the French Revolution of 1793, the 
 Consulate, the Empire, Napoleon's battles, abdication, return from 
 Elba, banishment, and death at St. Helena, return of his ashes into 
 France, the revolution of 1830, and the Orleans dynasty, see note (B) 
 at the end of the work.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 145 
 
 1793. All this was too dark and too enigmatical for 
 me to make anything of, and 1 begged of him to 
 leave riddles, and tell me plainly his meaning ; yet 
 nothing further could I elicit from him. But as the 
 time approaches, I see as through a telescope, that a 
 monster will lower upon the world at that period, of 
 the name of Robespierre ; — now, dividing the Robe 
 and the pierre with the letter s, which is serpent- 
 shaped, the prediction of Noel Olivarus becomes 
 plain, would I consent to let my soul slip into this 
 charnel-house of corruption, which in the next gene- 
 ration shall be called Maximilian Robespierre ; and 
 by so doing for one year, open the gates of hell, and 
 let loose upon this devoted country all its hideous 
 population of vice and crime ; I should then at length 
 be able to escape from myself, by forfeiting my ex- 
 istence on the scaffold." 
 
 " But surely,'^ interrupted Valasquez, '' if such a 
 monster as this Robespierre is to exist, and to un- 
 chain hell as you describe, the fearful amount of 
 crime that must ensue from the sanguinary scenes of 
 this infernal drama, of which he is to be at the same 
 time author and actor, your punishment, (supposing 
 you to become him), would of necessity be ten million 
 times greater than it can now by any possibility be ; 
 therefore instead of gaining you would lose." 
 
 " That is a matter of doubt," returned Saint Ger- 
 main, "for when such scourges are sent forth to lash 
 the rebellious world, it is a query whether they are 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 
 
 not used merely as special instruments, additional 
 mortars, as it were, in Heaven's artillery ; and if so, 
 it may be presumed that responsibility will not be 
 one of their attributes. But were it otherwise, and 
 my single soul were brought in bankrupt for all this 
 vast debt of crime, yet should / gain ; for in all the 
 stages of retribution that awaited me, through count- 
 less generations up to the far — far — distant cycle 
 which we call the end of time, that is, till om- planet 
 is burnt out, I should lose at all events the gnawing 
 sense of my own identity, and that with tJie is the one 
 great ' consummation so devoutly to be wished.' All 
 the world suffer, for all the world have sinned, but 
 in their ophthalmia of soul, thei/ say, ^ Oh ! what have 
 I done that I should be so tried V whereas, did they 
 but know, — were they like me, — were they bowed 
 down by their undying self -consciousness, which is the 
 quintessence of concentrated remorse, then would 
 their suffering seem but as a thistle's down weighed 
 against their rock of sin, and they would cry with 
 me, ' lioio many ages must yet pass away, ere my tribu- 
 lation will have been sufficient to counter-balance my 
 transgression V But you are wrong in calling Robes- 
 pierre the author as well as actor of the bloody 
 tragedy, which is so soon to have France for its 
 theatre, and Europe for its audience ! The copy- 
 right belongs to Voltaire, D'Alembert, and their 
 clique, but especially to the former ; however, he 
 himself does not dream of the pov;er of his own
 
 1-17 
 
 spells ; he is not the first dabbler in the black art, 
 who has been scared by the hideous fiend of their 
 own evoking, and he will live to be frightened at 
 the force and extent of his work ; for not a single 
 hon mot, shot from the leveUing wits of the Cafe 
 Procope, but may be considered as the nails of some 
 future, but not far distant scaffold ; and not a page 
 of the glittering tissue of infidelity, woven at Ferney, 
 but will form a pall for the victims of those scaf- 
 folds !" 
 
 Saint Germain paused. Valasquez also remained 
 silent, plunged in the depths of his own thoughts, 
 from which he was only roused by the voice of his 
 companion saying, 
 
 " I thank you for the patience with which you 
 have listened to me/' 
 
 " Patience ! nay, rather say deep interest and 
 sympathy,'' said Valasquez. 
 
 " No ; patience is the right word/' resumed Saint 
 Germain, mournfully, " and interest, if you call 
 curiosity interest ; but sympathy, at least Jiiiman 
 sympathy y is not for me, nor will it be for you if you 
 rush without its pale. The only time that I feel hu- 
 manly, is when I ^xo. compelled to lay open the sepul- 
 chre of my heart to the view of another ; then I 
 re-suffer my past life, and by so doing, know that I 
 am still human ; but those who heai\ listen as to the 
 obsolete legend of some long bye-gone time, whose 
 papyrus passions have lost all their sap." 
 
 H 2
 
 148 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 This was so true that Valasquez could not gain- 
 say it, therefore he merely observed, 
 
 " There is one thing which you have not explained 
 to me; namely, how it is possible to distinguish these 
 ten years of supernatural life, from the unheeded? 
 because familiar mystery, of the daily current of our 
 natural Hfe." 
 
 '' On the steep summit of a high mountain near 
 Canton well, two ever-gushing springs, one of a bright 
 pure diamond water, the other of an equally bright 
 fluid but of ruby red; this ruby water no human 
 means have power to warm ; moreover, put the two 
 waters into the self-same vessel, and shake them to- 
 gether with the utmost rapidity and strength, yet no 
 human power can make them mingle* So it is with 
 this natural and supernatural life ; nothing may make 
 them mingle ; through one channel of your soul will 
 gush all your human passions, virtues, vices, faults, 
 and failings, warm from their springs, which, how- 
 ever muddy and earthy at the source, yet if not ut- 
 terly poisoned, purify in their onward course, till 
 they lose themselves in the vast ocean of eternity, 
 while in another channel, parallel with the first, will 
 stagnate the reverse side or end of all these things. 
 Here will lie the high hopes so impetuously rushing 
 onward; at the other side, tangled and perishing amid 
 the rank weeds of obstruction and disappointment, 
 
 * Fact.
 
 149 
 
 the friends whose smiles played like sunbeams above 
 the bright waters of your life's youthful promise 
 hevBy will cloud o'er the turbid depths of their own 
 selfishness. And, above all, love, the first best 
 household god of every heart, shall here lie trampled 
 beneath his own Idalian dust, when sphinx like he 
 destroys himself, because forsooth his riddle's solved. 
 Here too, the most glowing beauty that ever cast its 
 angel halo o'er the soul, and lit up earth with heaven, 
 shall look but like some lifeless faded form, in one 
 of history's frescoes, traced upon the wall of time. 
 Decide then, now or nevei^f if you will dam up every 
 source of present enjoyment, by associating them 
 with the constant view of this foul, stagnant pool of 
 the inevitable * what will he.^ " 
 
 Valasquez continued silent for a few moments, and 
 then with a burst of excitement, exclaimed, — " I will, 
 for what are ten short years even of suffering com- 
 pared with such knowledge ?" 
 
 " Knowledge, aye, that is the watch word,'' said 
 Saint Germain. " Oh !" continued he, pointing up- 
 wards to the deep vault of heaven, where the moon 
 now sailed in cloudless splendour, " that men would 
 wait till they got there, where all shall be equal in 
 knowledge that are equal in virtue ; believe me, to 
 see God is to hnow all, and who can do that on 
 earth ?'' 
 
 ** But did you not tell me that I should read in 
 all hearts as in a book ?" inquired Valasquez.
 
 150 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 "In all, save one,^' 
 
 " Tush, the old story, ray own no doubt?" 
 
 " No, the heart of her you love." 
 
 '* Ha ! then how shall I know if she loves me ?" 
 
 *^ As other men know, or think they know, by her 
 telling you so/' 
 
 "Well, but were I to relinquish my power of 
 reading in all other hearts, could I not obtain the 
 only knowledge I covet, that of being able to read 
 in her's, that is, if eve?^ I should love V 
 
 Saint Germain smiled at this Jesuitical clause, but 
 replied, " It may not be ; lovers mystery is his life, as 
 I before told you ; once his riddle's read, he destroys 
 himself, therefore be not you the rash (Edipus that 
 would unravel this great enigma of the world.'' 
 
 Again Valasquez " pondered with his own heart," 
 and was silent for some seconds when he resumed : 
 *^But you say this spirit of life and death, for these 
 ten years, will be my slave, transmuting my every 
 wish into golden reality." 
 
 " Into reality,^' repeated Saint Germain. " I did 
 not say golden, for few realities are such." 
 
 *' Well then, even so," cried Valasquez after a few 
 more seconds of deliberation, " let the undiscerning 
 god as you call chance, lay the odds 
 
 ' I'll set ray fate upon the cast, 
 And stand the hazard of the die.' 
 
 So now for the last lesson ; how am I to summon
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 151 
 
 my future slave, this spirit of Life and Death ? let 
 him appear.'^ 
 
 Saint Germain sighed ; and with a melancholy 
 smile, drew from his bosom a small gUttering asp, 
 whose scales were alternately brilliants and rubies, 
 or something that greatly resembled them, only of 
 far superior brightness ; this, as he held it by the 
 centre of its body, writhed about, and emitted corrus- 
 cations of strange meteoric brilliancy through the air. 
 
 " Here,*' said he, " since it must be so, take this 
 Ophidian*, beware of losing or mislaying it, for if 
 you do, I am from that moment free, and ?/om must in- 
 evitably take my place ; for which reason it will be 
 better to wear it constantly round your neck, that it 
 may not be exposed to the legion contingencies of 
 accident and forgetfulness. By wearing it too, you 
 W'ill also derive another benefit, that of being warned 
 by the dart of its tongue, when any imminent danger 
 threatens, either you or the person you most love ; in 
 order to summon the spirit who henceforth (till this 
 day, night, and hour ten years), must obey you, you 
 have only to hold it thus. (Valasquez with a palpi- 
 tating heart seized the glittering taHsman), ^^ and,*' 
 continued Saint Germain, '* say 
 
 " iExHALlDES ! THOU EQUIPOLLENT AND UBIQUIT- 
 OUS SPIRIT OF LIFE AND DEATH ! I SUMMON THEE TO 
 MY PRESENCE, TO DO IN ALL THINGS MY BIDDING, 
 APPEAR !'' 
 
 * A small reptile of the lizard species.
 
 152 thp: peer's daughters. 
 
 No sooner had Valasquez repeated this invocation, 
 than the same deadly cold and mysterious whirlwind, 
 which had caused him to swoon on the preceding 
 night, accompanied by the same luminous circle, now 
 encompassed him. From the intense and sultry 
 heat which had prevailed a moment before, the forest 
 leaves were stirred with a mighty rushing of some 
 icy vapour, as if the storm king in person had swept 
 through them with his robes of drifting snow ; and 
 then again, as this vapour subsided, the atmosphere 
 gradually resumed its former genial glow, and Va- 
 lasquez, who had involuntarily closed his eyes, now 
 opened them, and beheld standing before him a tall 
 figure, clad in a luminous white vapour as in a gar- 
 ment. There was a solemn and impassible beauty in 
 bis features ; and his hair, which fell in thick flowing 
 curls over his shoulders, seemed to be formed of a 
 sort of impalpable, half golden, half purple atmos- 
 pheric tissue, as if it had been woven from twilight; 
 one of his wings which were large, and fell around him 
 like the folds of a mantle, cast out a bright track of 
 mild effulgent light, and the other a long, dark, cold 
 shadow ; for one wing was as of snow woofed with 
 sunshine, while the other or left wing, was black as 
 that of a raven. In his right hand he held a golden 
 cup wreathed with flowers, of most unearthly beauty 
 and fragrance, but into the calices of which, from 
 within the golden cup, small black asps were con-
 
 153 
 
 tinually darting their envenomed tongues, from which 
 the flowers shrunk up withering, till they all dropped 
 oflf one by one. In his other hand was a large, 
 black, extinguished torch reversed. At this appari- 
 tion Saint Germain stood deferentially uncovered, 
 as if in the presence of a superior, and his head 
 bent and his hands joined as in prayer ; while Va- 
 lasquez, on the contrary, independent of any vo- 
 lition or premeditation on his part, after looking till 
 he had learnt as it were the exterior of this vision by 
 heart, exclaimed boldly, '^ Who art thou ?" 
 
 *' I am,'' responded the spirit, " first thy slave, 
 oh ! mortal, to do thy wildest bidding, he whom 
 the Greeks called ^thalides, the herald son of Mer- 
 cury, whose way lies at once among the living and 
 the dead." 
 
 "And which way is the best?" questioned Va- 
 lasquez. 
 
 " I am not here to teach nor to betray, but simply 
 to obey thee, in the matter of thine own deeds." 
 
 " But will those deeds, the accomplishment of all 
 my wishes, through thy agency, insure me happi- 
 ness, that ultima thule of all men's desires ?" said Va- 
 lasquez. 
 
 '*' I know no more than thou, being no creator ; but 
 Uke thyself a creature." 
 
 *' But still if thou hast power to do my will, thou 
 should'st have power to know it,'' rejoined Valasquez, 
 " without speech of mine." 
 
 ii 5
 
 154 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 In the short space of time which this coloquy had 
 occupied, the floorers encircHng the golden cup which 
 ^^thalides held, (and, which sprung up afresh as 
 fast as they dropped oif,) had re-bloomed several 
 times ; his only answer to Valasquez' last question 
 was to pluck a leaf from one of the Nenuphars, and 
 wafting it towards him, said, 
 
 *' To-morrow, oh ! mortal, it shall be as thou 
 listeth." 
 
 Whereupon he instantly disappeared. For some 
 moments after, they were in total darkness ; and 
 neither Saint Germain nor Valasquez broke the si- 
 lence. At length, when the moon again shone out, 
 the former was leaning aojainst a tree like a man in 
 the last stage of mental and bodily exhaustion, 
 (while his horse, with dilated nostrils and covered 
 with foam, was trembling and neighing vehemently). 
 Rallying v\ ith a great effort, he sprang into his saddle, 
 and, perceiving that Valasquez was about to speak, 
 he vv'aived his hand deprecatingly, and said, 
 
 " No more of this, and, I must beg you will never 
 again allude to this night till I do; and now," con- 
 tinued he, pointing to the cold gray light of morn- 
 ing, that was beginning to dapple the east, " I 
 mupt return to Paris ; you, no doubt, will remain at 
 the Pavilion d^Henri Quatre ; but I hold you en- 
 gaged to accompany me to Madame de Pompadour's 
 levee to-morrow at noon, as / must arrange this affair 
 of Monsieur de Nesmond's, and, no doubt, shall
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 155 
 
 need you as a witness, to back me against Lebel ;" 
 and, with this, Saint Germain dug his spurs into the 
 flanks of his horse, and, taking off his hat, with the 
 scrupulous courtesy of the time, in another moment 
 was out of sight.
 
 156 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Qui beno amat, bene Castigat." 
 
 Occasionally altered from St. Augustin,for marital use. 
 
 " What's fame ? a fancied life in other's breath, 
 
 A thing beyond us e'en before our death. 
 
 Just what you hear you have, and what's unknown, 
 
 The same (my lord) if Tully's or your own. 
 
 All that we feel of it, begins and ends 
 
 In the small circle of our foes or friends." 
 
 Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 Is a large room on the Rez-de-Chausse, or, ground 
 floor of the Jew Zamora's house, in the Cul de Sac 
 de Guemenee, at the back of the old hotel de Rich- 
 elieu, in a room hung with vert perruche, and silver 
 damask, with a costly ameuhlement a la Louis Quinze, 
 of Biihl, and Sevres china, commodes chiffonieres, and 
 library tables, mounted, the former in or moidii, the 
 latter, in silver gilt : the velvet-covered mantel piece 
 laden with splendid vases, candelabras, and a time- 
 piece of the same, while a large lyre-shaped, gilded 
 jardiniere, blooming with choice exotics, filled up the 
 unused fire place and delicious watteaus, were in- 
 serted into each medallion-shaped pannel over the 
 doors, and a profusion of luxurious causeuses, bou- 
 deuseSf. sofas, and comme il vous plaira Madame's,
 
 157 
 
 stretched their inviting arms in every direction ; on 
 one of them, sat by a large round table, covered with 
 crimson velvet made to fit it, with a deep bullion 
 gold fringe round it, a lady, whose eyes suffused 
 with tears, rested (with that look of vacancy peculiar 
 to exhausted hysterics) upon an open letter, and a 
 uantity of papers lying on the table before her, one 
 small high-heeled velvet slippered foot, reposed upon 
 a kind of gold brocaded hassock, while the other 
 sank into the thick Tournois carpet that covered the 
 jyarquet ; her dress was of changeable light silk, shot 
 with pink, bluish green, and white, reflecting all the 
 colors of the interior of an ormer shell, and, called 
 at the time, *' vague de la naissance de Venus/' This 
 was clasped from the bosom down the pointed bod- 
 dice, with opal buttons ; over the shoulders, was 
 pinned a very fine and very white linon-hatisle hand- 
 kerchief, trimmed with two falls of magnificent 
 Dresden lace ; the cap, a la tant pis pour vous, one 
 of those exquisite chef d'oeuvres of coquetry, which 
 only a Parisian modiste can achieve — a something be- 
 tween a smile and- a frown, which seemed to say 
 resist me if you can ? but love me if you dare I — was 
 also of Dresden lace, tied negligently with its own 
 lappets, under the chin, and only very partially con- 
 cealing the magnificent blonde cendrt hair of the 
 wearer, which was turned up in a large cldgnon be. 
 hind, with a gold slide, and but very slightly dis- 
 fio'ured with brown martchale pow^der; the long pen-
 
 158 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 dant engageants or ruffles, were also of the same 
 costly Dresden lace, and, displayed a beautifully 
 rounded ivory arm, that might have served for a 
 model, the equally beautiful little hands which ter- 
 minated these arms, were hidden (all, save their 
 tapered-shell-nailed and rose-tipped fingers) by 
 cream colored kid mittens, that color now called 
 heurre frais, which were surmounted by broad black 
 velvet bracelets, clasped by small oval miniatures, 
 chef d'oeuvres of Petitots, set round with pearls. The 
 dress itself was tucked through the pocket-hole, on 
 the left side of the hoop, and displayed a quilted 
 satin gorge de pigeon colored petticoat, which, in its 
 turn, was short enough not to conceal the high 
 instep and exquisitely turned ancle, of the small 
 dainty little foot that peeped out from beneath it : 
 while its owner's beautiful head was thrown back 
 against the o-ilt corner of the hio;h-backed chair in 
 which she was sitting, her eyes fixed, (as we have 
 before stated), vacantly on the papers which strewed 
 the table ; her left hand hanging over the side of the 
 chair, where a very small white Pomeranean dog, 
 with large black loving eyes, was busily licking it, 
 [a proceeding sufficient, had it been seen by them, 
 to have excited the envy of all the other puppies in 
 Paris) ; the other hand listlessly stirred the spoon, 
 in a beautifully mounted stvres cup of half cold 
 chocolate, which stood with some untasted croutes 
 d'orts, on a salver beside her.
 
 159 
 
 This lady was Lady Evelyn Howard ; the letters 
 before her were from her English homme d^affair€s, 
 and being of a strictly private and personal nature, 
 like all she was in the habit of receiving from the 
 same quarter, had not failed to occasion her much 
 distress, and awaken her too numerous sources of 
 grief. Beautiful as she was. Lady Evelyn de Vere 
 had not been married for her beauty, but for her 
 dot, which was very large, she being a co-heiress with 
 her twin-sister, Lady Maud. Their mother had 
 died in giving them birth, and their father, Lord 
 Athenreagh, who knew that they were rich, and saw 
 that they were beautiful, thought that he, and na- 
 ture had done everything for them that they, or the 
 world, could either desire or expect; and though 
 loving them dearly, troubled himself no further 
 about them, than to find them a fitting clicvperon^ to 
 launch them into society ; by which he understood 
 one, whose rank and fashion were indisputable. And 
 as far as regarded those two qualifications, he cer- 
 tainly could not have selected a more fitting person, 
 than Lady Glensborough, who was la sommite des 
 sommites ; and whose house was the focus of the 
 elite, especially of a certain clique (for every age, 
 town and country, has its clique) of autocratic men, 
 composed for the chief part of the most distin- 
 guished profligates, and mauvais sujets of the day, 
 with a few variations and exceptions, in favour of 
 talent. Among Lady Glensborough's cHque were to
 
 160 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 be found, Pope, Swift and Arbuthnot, Lords Ox- 
 ford and Bolingbroke, Horace Walpole, and by way 
 of plastron his uncle " Pigwiggen," Edward Mon- 
 tague (when he was out of prison and in England), 
 his friend TaafF, of turtle and pine-apple celebrity, 
 and though last, not least, (at all events to Lady 
 Glensborough, whom the scandalous chronicle af- 
 firmed had been his maitresse en titre for three years) 
 the handsome, fascinating, but thoroughly worthless 
 and dissolute Vernon Howard. No sooner had Lord 
 Athenreagh intrusted his beautiful daughters to this 
 dangerous and unprincipled woman, than she marked 
 poor Evelyn for her prey, and resolved to repair the 
 shattered fortunes of her paramour, which had 
 been wrecked at the gaming table, by securing to 
 him the hand and dower of Evelyn. The plot was 
 by no means a difficult one, for Evelyn de Vere was 
 too young, and too pure minded, to see in Mr. Ver- 
 non Howard, aught beyond the handsome, clever, 
 captivating, and above all devoted lover ! which he 
 appeared to her ; while on his side, blase as he was, 
 the surpassing beauty of Evelyn, made him feel for 
 her, as much as ever a 7^oue is capable of feeling for 
 any woman, namely, a strong desire not to let her 
 escape him. Lord Athenreagh, it is true, had some 
 vague idea that Vernon Howard was not exactly 
 made of the stuff calculated for the wear and tear 
 of domestic life, and therefore put in his caveat, at a 
 very early stage of the business, which however,
 
 THE peer's daughters. 161 
 
 he was flattered by Vernon, and kissed by Evelyn, 
 into withdrawing, only wisely continuing to closely 
 tie up, the greater part of his daughter's fortune 
 upon herself. But Maud de Vere, whose deep, ear- 
 nest character, made precocious beyond her years, 
 in this instance by her unbounded affection for her 
 sister, saw with a prophetic eye, the misery Evelyn 
 was wedding herself to ; but Evelyn was eighteen, 
 and in love ! and a heart of eighteen labouring under 
 that terrible epidemic, thinks it a proof not so much 
 of devotion as of common justice^ to hold a contrary 
 opinion to the whole world, when the whole world's 
 opinion is injurious to the object of its affections. 
 And consequently this epoch of the sisters' lives was 
 commemorated by the first quarrel they had ever 
 had. 
 
 " I do believe Maud," said Evelyn tauntingly, 
 with a flushed cheek and a flashing eye, as she gave 
 a last look at her glass, preparatory to joining Mr. 
 Howard at the opera, and fastened into the bosom of 
 her dress, a diamond love-knot, his first gift after 
 they were affianced— "I do believe you are in love 
 with Vernon yourself, or you would not be so anxi- 
 ous for me to break with him. Ha! ha ! ha !" con- 
 tinued she with a forced laugh ; '* I could forgive 
 you much more easily for that, because I could un- 
 derstand it, than I can for eternally abusing and ma- 
 lignin": him as vou do ; it is unchristian-like, it is 
 unwomanly of you sister, and, and, I hate you for
 
 162 
 
 it — I c?o," concluded she, rushing from the room, 
 and slamming the door after her. 
 
 '* Evelyn ! Evelyn !'' sobbed Maud, following her, 
 and flinging her arms round her neck, as she overtook 
 her, on the first landing ; " only unsay that you hate 
 me ; and love Vernon Howard as much as you please, 
 Pll never, indeed / Jiever will say another word 
 against him, I'll only pray that he may love you?" 
 
 Evelyn, who at the beginning of Maud's petition 
 was too happy to be reconciled to her, and was min- 
 gling her own tears with her's, re-kindled at its ter- 
 mination. 
 
 '* Pray ! that he may love me I'* repeated Eve- 
 lyn indignantly ; " why you must be mad Maud, 
 he does love me, that I cannot be deceived about, 
 so pray, don't waste your prayers, upon such works 
 of supererogation." 
 
 " Oh yes !" said poor Maud, apologetically. " I 
 know very well that he loves you now ; for who 
 could help loving you Evelyn ? I only meant that I 
 hoped he'd be worthy of you !" 
 
 " Take care sister mine P^ cried Evelyn, bursting 
 into a joyous laugh, as she took Maud's chin in her 
 left hand, while looking archly in her eyes, she held 
 up the forefinger of her right menacingly ; *' take 
 care, for you know we are as like each other as two 
 drops of dew upon the same flower, so you cannot 
 rate your, I've no doubt, charming sister, the Lady
 
 THE peer's daughters. 163 
 
 Evelyn de Vere, so very high, as to think the all 
 accomplished Vernon Howard scarcely good enough 
 for her, by hoping he may be worthy of her, with- 
 out running considerable risk of orer-rating her 
 equally charming sister, the Lady Maud \" and so 
 saying Evelyn ran down stairs laughing, and Maud 
 returned to her room sighing. 
 
 A fortnight after, Evelyn became the bride of 
 Vernon Howard, to find herself his forgotten and 
 neglected w ife six months later ; for Lady Glens- 
 borough had resumed, or more properly speaking 
 had continued, all the omnipotence of her empire 
 over him ; for the influence obtained by an artful, 
 clever, beautiful, and had woman, over the mind of 
 an unprincipled man is generally boundless ; indeed 
 for this purpose she does not even need beauty or 
 talent, provided she possess in their full force, the 
 first and last qualification. Unfortunately, Evelyn 
 still loved her unworthy husband, and was angry with 
 her father, (who was the principal trustee to her 
 marriage settlement) because he would not allow her 
 to shew her dignity and her magnanimity, by ruin- 
 ing herself to supply her shameless lord and mas- 
 ter's incessant and rapacious demands for money. 
 Wearied out with these family contests, she had 
 quitted England, and with her sister, established 
 herself at Paris ; where, as the Due de Richelieu had 
 told Valasquez, notwithstanding her most exquisite 
 beautv, she was not, what in social slang is called
 
 164 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 the fashion, iov in society men seem agreed to act 
 upon the system of — 
 
 " If she be not fair for me, 
 What care I, how fair she be ?" 
 
 And with an admirable nicety of compensation, 
 which however is far from being premeditated on 
 their part, make the reputation of the women whose 
 characters they 7'uin. The papers now lying before 
 Lady Evelyn, and which had caused her tears, were 
 fresh demands for money on the part of her hus- 
 band, and a peremptory refusal on that of her 
 father, transmitted through her lawyer. 
 
 *' If he even wrote to me direct, but no, it is evi- 
 dent he has separated all he ever cared for, my for- 
 tune, so completely from its living incumberance, 
 that he does not even remember my existence I" 
 murmured Evelyn. 
 
 Here the door opened from the bed-room, the 
 \e\yet j^oj'ticre was pushed aside, and Mademoiselle 
 Augustine, her ladyship's soubrette, made her appear- 
 ance. Evelyn hastily dried her eyes, and patting 
 the irr.portunate little poraeranean on the head, said, 
 ''poor Fifine, good Fifine, did'nt I notice her?" 
 
 " Pardon Madaine,'' said Mademoiselle Augustine? 
 drawing a card from one of the pockets of her rose- 
 coloured silk apron, *' but this lady will not go away 
 without seeing mi ladi, she says she is sure Madame 
 will see her when she knows who it is? Oh! la
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 165 
 
 helle crtature I" continued Madelle Augustine, with 
 a shrug and a complacent glance in an opposite 
 mirror at her own toilette, which was jolie a croquis, 
 ** Oh ! la belle creature ! mais ! comme elle est 
 fagottV 
 
 Lady Evelyn took the card, and read — 
 
 " The Countess of Coventry." 
 
 "Lady Coventry! Maria Gunning ! oh, certainly, 
 admit her by all means/' said she, rising, and hurry- 
 ing away the papers scattered about the table, which 
 she locked up in a secretaire, and put the key in 
 her pocket. 
 
 A few seconds after, a tall figure, completely 
 muffled in a black mode cloak and hood, entered by 
 another door from the ante-room, but flinging off 
 the hood, and throwing herself into Lady Evelyn's 
 arms, discovered the lovely face (though somewhat 
 disfigured with violent crying) of the beautiful Lady 
 Coventry. 
 
 " Dear Maria, what is the matter ?" said Evelyn, 
 gently disengaging herself; "tears so soon, you so 
 young, so beautiful,-and so happy, as we all thought, 
 and, as you wrote me word.^^ 
 
 " Well, yes — happy,^' said Lady Coventry, burst- 
 ing into a fresh paroxysm of tears, and sinking down 
 upon a sofa beside Evelyn. " So, I am happy, and 
 so I ought to he : or, else I should be very ungrateful, 
 I'm sure, when ing lord was so good as to marry me,
 
 166 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 which I shall never forget.* And, don't think that 
 1 am making any complaint of my lord, for, it is all 
 my fault, as you shall hear ; but two such dreadful 
 things happened last night ; and, if you don't help 
 me, I don't know what T shall do, for, my lord swears 
 he'll separate from me, and, never see me again ; and 
 what will the world say ? what will it think of me? 
 after my lord's goodness in marrying me ? Oh ! oh ! 
 my heart will break.'^ 
 
 '^ Really," said Lady Evelyn, with difficulty sup- 
 pressing her laughter ; '' when I look at that beau- 
 tiful face of yours, Maria, I cannot help thinking 
 your gratitude to Lord Coventry a leetle prepos- 
 terous ; why, there is Elizabeth a Duchess I and she 
 is not one half as grateful to her sposo as you are to 
 yours.'' 
 
 " Nor has she the same reason to be,'' said Lady 
 Coventry, drawing herself up with a most ludicrous 
 expression of conscious superiority ; " for, it is well, 
 known, that Hamilton never could have made up 
 his mind to marry her, if my lord had not set him 
 the example by having had the goodness to marry 
 me." 
 
 " Well/' rejoined Lady Evelyn, having recourse 
 to her handkerchief, and affecting a cough to cover 
 
 * For poor Lady Coventry's unbounded gratitude to " my lord,'^ 
 for marrying her, and for his amiable little conjugalities, in the fol- 
 lowing anecdotes about the fan and the rouge, see Horace Walpole's 
 letters to Sir Horace INIann.
 
 167 
 
 the laughter, which she really could no longer con- 
 trol. " Well, but what is the cause of your present 
 distress ? and, what can I do to help "you ? for, if 
 it is in my power ? I need not, I hope, tell you, to 
 consider it as already done/' 
 
 '' Thank you dear," said Lady Coventry, kissing 
 Evelyn's forehead, " but, remember I'm not com- 
 plaining of my lord ; for, indeed, he is much to be 
 pitied, for he has had a great deal to try and provoke 
 him since we have been in Paris." 
 
 " Really, how, not jealous, I hope ?" interrupted 
 Evelyn, '• for, I am sure you have given him no 
 cause." 
 
 '* Oh, no," sighed Lady Coventry, " not jealous, 
 quite the reverse ; for he says the people here seem 
 scarcely to look at me, (and indeed he has overheard 
 me called dowdy by several), whereas, as he says, not 
 only in London, but tlirougliout England^ one heard 
 of nothing hut the Gunnings ; and lately Hamilton 
 wrote my lord word, that a shoe-maker at York had 
 made two guineas and a half by shewing to the com- 
 mon people, at a penny a-piece, one of the shoes he 
 had made for Elizabeth. Now it is provoking, poor 
 man, to have married a woman solely on account of 
 her beauty being talked so much of, and then to 
 bring her to a place where no one says a word about 
 it. But I must make haste and tell you what 
 brought me here so early. I must tell you that 
 when I rirst arrived in Paris, my lord had forbidden
 
 168 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 me to wear rouge, although it was all the fashion ; and 
 1 did not at all care about it, as indeed I think it very- 
 ugly for people who like me have a colour of their own, 
 and so I never did wear it ; but I am not very well 
 just now, and do look rather pale, and last night 
 there was to be a great ball at the Cosse Brissac's, 
 and you know how the old Duchesse laughs at, and 
 ridicules the English ; still I did not care for that, 
 and never thought of putting on rouge, but when 
 Dage had dressed ray head, he declared that if I did 
 not let him rouge me a little, he would pull it all 
 down, as it was compromising Ms fame as an artiste^ 
 to send one of his works only half finished into the 
 world in that way. So after stipulatmg with him that 
 he should only put on a very leetle, (as my lord had 
 a particular dislike to it), I submitted; and really I 
 could not help thinking that I did look better, my 
 eyes looked so brilliant, and even my lord (who of 
 course knew nothing of the rouge) said he did'nt 
 know when he had seen me look so well, for that I 
 looked more like Maria Gunning than I had done 
 since I had been in Paris ; and all the evening he 
 seemed quite pleased with and proud of me, till, un- 
 fortunately, at supper he overheard that horrid Mon- 
 tague (Edward Montague, you know, Lady Mary 
 Wortley's son) say to that odd, mad Mr. TaafF, 'How 
 much better Lady Coventry looks, now that she 
 wears rouge like other people, for before she had not 
 a fair chance amongst all these painted women.'
 
 THE peer's daughters. 169 
 
 Whereupon my lord, who had had a little too much 
 wine, in his hurry to rise, upset a caserole de pctits 
 poix mix yeux doux all over the table, and spoilt his 
 own new suit of pansey - coloured brocade, and 
 coming over to the other side of the table to me, 
 took a napkin, which he steeped in a glass of water, 
 which the Due de Grammont (who was sitting next 
 to me) had just been drinking out of, and washing 
 my face before every one, cried out in a loud voice, 
 swearing a great oath, ' that he would have no painted 
 doll of a wife, and that I should leave that to those 
 French Jezebels.' I thought I should have died 
 with fear, for all the men's hands flew^ to their 
 swords, and the Prince de Craon muttered something 
 about c^es manants d'Anglois, which luckily my lord 
 did not understand, or I'm sure he would have re- 
 sented it; for it was, you will allow, particularly 
 rude and ill-bred to make such an allusion to an 
 English nobleman." 
 
 '' Nay,'' my dear Maria, interrupted Lady Evelyn 
 *' I must say that I think Lord Coventry's oppro- 
 brious epithet of Jezebels, applied to so many French 
 peeresses, and under the roof of one, was a little 
 more ill bred, offensive, and provocative, than the 
 Prince de Craon's retort of ces manants d' Ajiglois ! 
 which Lord Coventry might flatter himself he had 
 well earned.'' 
 
 "Ah! there it is," pouted Lady Coventry, "as 
 my lord says, the English who remain any time in 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 170 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 France are such fools that they always side with the 
 French against their own country/' 
 
 *' I accept the compliment,^' said Evelyn, laughing, 
 " as I'm sure foUy^s cap must be very becoming, 
 when it is put on and decorated by such bell(e)s as 
 you.'' 
 
 *^ Ah, I've no doubt you are saying something 
 clever, Evelyn, and therefore ill-natured ; for my lord 
 says clever people are always ill-natured, I remember 
 his saying so one night when he wanted me not to 
 dance with Horace Walpole; but never mind, 1 know, 
 though you are clever, that you are kind-hearted, or 
 else I should not have come to you in all my troubles 
 this morning ; but I must make haste, or my lord 
 will be angry again, if I am not back in time to ac- 
 company him to Mesraers. Well, no sooner had 
 my lord washed the rouge off my face, and said what 
 he did about French Jezebels, than my Lord Albe- 
 marle * must needs look as black as midnight, and 
 taking my lord by the arm, (while he offered me his 
 to take me down stairs) said, ' Lord Coventry, your 
 carriage has been some time announced.' My lord was 
 50 angry all the way home, and continued so for an 
 hour aflerwards, that I fainted : for, entre nous. Eve 
 lyn," continued poor Lady Coventry, lowering her 
 
 * Anne Keppel, Lord Albemarle, the then English ambassador at 
 the court of Versailles, and more celebrated for his colossal debts than 
 for his diplomacy ; but his prmcely style of living grew into a proverb 
 at Paris.
 
 THE peer's daughters. I?! 
 
 voice, (** I have hopes of becoming a mother,) and 
 when I came to myself, I found my lord rummaging 
 in all my pockets. 'Where is your fan?' said he. 
 I then remembered having given it, at the beginning 
 of the evening, to Madame de Esparbes, who had 
 admired it very much, and had forgotten her own, 
 and as she was going to meet the king at supper, at 
 Madame de Pompadour's, had not time to return 
 home for hers. Oh ! then it was that my lord really 
 did fly into a rage ; he stormed, he swore, he tore 
 his ruffles to shreds, and flung down his diamond 
 repeater on the floor, and stamped upon it. ' What, 
 madam, ^ said he, * you have given tltat fan away? 
 the fan that / gave you ? — gave you too before I did 
 you the honour of marrying you ; very well — very 
 well, madam, now I know how to estimate the regard 
 you entertain for me ; but as you have no respect 
 for me, I must have a double portion for myself; and 
 all I have to say is, madam, that you either get back 
 
 that fan from the French Jezebel — yes 1 may 
 
 and will say Jezebel here in my own room, where, 
 thank God, I am again a free-born Englishman, and 
 have not my Lord Albemarle to come his ambassa- 
 dorial airs over me ; well then, harkee, madam, you 
 will either get that fan, (which you ought to value 
 more than your life — more than your life, do you hear 
 me, madam ?J from the Jezebel who swindled you out 
 of it, or you and I part, never to meet again ; I se- 
 parate from you, madam, I put you away ! so choose 
 
 1 2
 
 172 
 
 between me and this d d French woman/ I 
 
 flung myself on my knees before my lord ; I conjured 
 him, in the name of our unborn child, to have pity 
 on me ; but he pushed me away, and told me not to 
 approach him till 1 had got back the fan, and so 
 saying, he rushed from me, and locked himself into 
 his dressing - room. Now really, Evelyn, poor 
 Madame d'Esparbe did not, as my lord called it, in 
 the least swindle me out of my fan, for I gave it to 
 her quite of my own accord, nay more, I even pressed 
 her to take it ; so how to ask for it back, I really 
 know not." 
 
 " And you want me to ask Madame d'Esparbe for 
 it? is not that it ?'' asked Evelyn. 
 
 ** Not exactly," replied Lady Coventry, — for the 
 most gauche and silly people have a vague glimmer- 
 ing of tact, when their own immediate or vital interest 
 is concerned — and Lady Coventry had an intuitive 
 sense of the terrible ridicule both she and "/?2?/ lord^' 
 would be subjected to from the Espiegle Parisienne, 
 should the cause of her wanting back her so earnestly 
 pressed gift transpire. 
 
 " Well, but you want the fan back, do you not ?" 
 said Evelyn, who perceived her friend's hesitation and 
 dilemma. 
 
 " Certainly I want it back,'^ said Lady Coventry, 
 again bursting into tears, " since my lord will not 
 live with me on any other terms ; but tl.is is \\hat I 
 was thinking — and yet I scarcely like to ask you, as
 
 THE pei-:r's daughters. 17'^ 
 
 I know you are very straight-laced, and seldom or 
 ever go near her.'^ 
 
 '' Who ? Madame d'Esparbe?" interrupted Lady 
 Evelyn. 
 
 " No. Madame de Pompadour." 
 " Why? but what has she to do with it?" 
 *' You know," resumed Lady Coventry, " that her 
 word is law with Madame d'Esparbe ; now I thought 
 if you would but go to Madame de Pompadour, and 
 entreat her to get back this unlucky fan, without 
 entering into any particulars, but merely saying, that I 
 had given it by mistake, not perceiving that it was 
 one I value very much, having been a love-gift of my 
 lord's." 
 
 Lady Evelyn considered a few minutes, and then 
 said, making a very pretty and captivating little wry 
 mouth : — "Well, there is no use in calling oneself a 
 friend, if one can only sail together in smooth water, 
 and ' part company^' (as papa would say), at the first 
 ^squall;' neither is there any use in my being a 
 sailor's daughter if I cannot manage to weather a 
 storm ; so cheer up, Maria, I will go to Madame de 
 Pompadour this very morning, this very minute, nay 
 more, I'll do the thing handsomely, and take Maud 
 with me ; that will flatter her, and put her in good 
 humour, for I have never allowed my sister to cross 
 the threshold of the Hotel d'Evereux before ; but 
 for the short time my mission will occupy, it is to be 
 hoped its moral jnalaria will not be very injurious to
 
 174 
 
 her ; besides, when one is at Romej one must do as 
 Rome does, and all Rome, aUas all Europe, especially 
 the Anglo- Romans, go to Madame de Pompadour's. 
 So vogue la goitre ! I'll go too for the nonce/' 
 
 '* Dear Evelyn ! how kind you are/^ said Lady 
 Coventry, embracing her. *' Tm sure my lord ought 
 not to say that all clever people are ill-natured. '^ 
 
 *' And is it vice versa too?^' laughed Lady Evelyn, 
 " for if so, I'm sure ' my lord ' must be the cleverest 
 man in Europe ; but Maria, I've been thinking that 
 if we say that you gave Madame d'Esparbe that fan 
 by mistake, you should send her another in its 
 stead." 
 
 " Well, I was thinking so too," said poor Lady 
 Coventry, with a very vacant, disconsolate look ; "but 
 I really dare not do so, for my lord is so very angry 
 if I give away the least thing, as he says, if he mar- 
 ried me, he did not marry all my friends and ac- 
 quaintance.'' 
 
 ''Ah, yes, it does so often happen," said the 
 wicked Evelyn, with ludicrous solemnity, and a deep 
 sigh, "that one's friends and acquaintance are so 
 greatly to be envied from being so much better off 
 than oneself! rnais revenous a nos moutons — or at 
 least to the sheep upon our fans, of which 1 have a 
 most beautiful pair, the property of an enamoured 
 shepherd and shepherdess, upon my last Watteau; 
 which are all perfectly at your service to send to 
 Madame d'Esparbe.'' So saying, Lady Evelyn rang
 
 THE peer's daughters. 173 
 
 the bell, which, ere Lady Coventry had concluded 
 her thanks, was answered. ''Jennings/^ said the 
 former, " let Lady Maud be told that I wish her, (if 
 not otherwise engaged), to go with me for some dress 
 visits this morning ; and order the coach immediately, 
 and the servants are to wear their state liveries, as I 
 am going to the Hotel d'Evereux ; also tell iVugustine 
 to wait in my room, as I am going to dress, and she 
 may put me out my crcpuscule des montagnes lustering 
 night-gown,* and my suit of pearls and sapphires." 
 
 A few minutes after, Maud De Vere made her ap- 
 pearance ; and so exact and perfect was her likeness 
 to her sister, that had it not been for the difference 
 in the colours of their dress, and a knot of black rib- 
 bon which Evelyn always wore upon the left sleeve 
 of every dress, when they went out together, it would 
 have been quite impossible to have distinguished 
 them asunder. 
 
 Their mutual salutations over, Lady Coventry 
 soon put Maud aa fait to the affair of the fan, and 
 passing over as lightly as possible the sorry rule of 
 '^ my lord' in the business, expatiated at length upon 
 Evelyn's kindness, in order to put an end to which, 
 the subject of her eulogium said : — 
 
 " You wont mind remaining in the coachj shall 
 you, Maria? while Maud and 1 are besieging the 
 
 • What in modern parlance would be called an evening or dinner 
 dress. All full dress gowns were at that time called night-gowns, 
 while what we call such were denominated bed-gear.
 
 176 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 Pompadour ; for once armed with credentials from 
 her, 1 should Hke to go on to Madame d'Esparbe's, 
 and get \ou the fan, so that I might be sure you r e 
 turned liome in peace." 
 
 *' Oh dear, no, I shall not mind it in the leasts on 
 the contrary, I shall like it, for, as you may suppose, 
 1 shall be so anxious to know whether you succeed, 
 for I really dare not go home without it ; indeed, my 
 
 dear, dear, kind Evelyn, I never can sufficiently " 
 
 and here poor Lady Coventry was recommencing her 
 thanks, when the door opened from the bedroom, 
 and Mademoiselle Augustine announced, with all the 
 solemnity of office, ^' que la toilette de mi ladi ttait 
 tout afaitprete.'^ 
 
 A quarter of an hour after Evelyn was herself 
 quite ready ; and the ponderous gilt coach a short 
 time from thence, announcing its own arrival by the 
 terrible noise it made in rumbling through the Porte 
 Cochere. The three ladies descended, and the coach 
 steps being lowered by three snowily powdered and 
 brilliantly laced footmen uith satin muffs, (as it was 
 summer), which \Aere more in the way of sachets to 
 perfume their gloves than anything else, and bou- 
 quets so enormous, that nothing in our degenerate 
 days can they be likened to, save the unique and 
 immortal one of " the proud young porter,'' 
 in "Lord Bateman's'^ establishment; '^ the loving 
 ballads,'' and not the present peers Men entendu. No 
 sooner had the word of command of *^ a V Hotel
 
 177 
 
 d'EvereuXi" echoed through the court, than like the 
 aforesaid ^^ proud young porter /' (although on a very 
 different occasion, as poor Lady Coventry felt much 
 more like Lord Bateman's " other bride/' being sent 
 '^ back in a coach and three," than " the fair Sophia," 
 triumphantly forcing her way into Lord Bateman's 
 presence,) '' avai/, avay, and avay, venf they ! 
 
 I 3
 
 178 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Phryne had talents for mankind, 
 Open she was and unconfined, 
 
 Like some free port of trade ; 
 Merchants unloaded here their freight, 
 And agents from each foreign state 
 
 Here first theirjentry made. 
 
 Her learning and good breeding such, 
 Whether the Italian, or the Dutch, 
 
 Spaniards or French came to her ; 
 To all obliging she'd appear : 
 'Twas ' Si Signor,' 'twas ' yaw Mynheer/ 
 
 'Twas 'sil Y0U8 plait. Monsieur.' 
 
 Obscure by birth, renowned by crimes, 
 Still changing names, religion, climes, 
 
 At length she doth subside ; 
 In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades. 
 She shines the first of battered jades, 
 
 And flutters in her pride. 
 
 So have I known those insects fair, 
 (Which curious Germans hold so rare). 
 
 Still vary shapes and dyes ; 
 Still gain new titles with new forms ; 
 First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms 
 
 Then painted butterflies." 
 
 Pope's imitation of Loan Dorset. 
 
 From the entrance of what is now the Place de la 
 Concorde to the Hotel d'Evereux, (the present
 
 THE PEER'S DAUr.HTERS. 179 
 
 Ely see Bourbon* in the Champs Ely see), there were 
 to be seen every Thursday and Sunday morning 
 about noon, (those being the days of Madame de 
 Pompadour's levees,) such a string of state carriages 
 or rather of gilt coaches and sedan chairs, five deep, 
 as rendered the then terribly ill-paved streets of 
 Paris, almost impassible to those less favoured 
 mortals who were not honoured (?) with the entree of 
 the Hotel d'Evereux, and who, moreover, were from 
 necessity not choice disciples of the peripatetic 
 school of philosophy, and truly it requires so much 
 of the latter commodity to wade through dirty- 
 crowded, ill-paved streets, that every man so com- 
 pelled is very like to '* become his own Aristotle,'' 
 It was neither at the Tuilleries or the Louvre, nor 
 yet before the gilded gates of the Versailles, or those of 
 the Palais Royal, and ambassadors, or home and 
 foreign ministers, that the equipages of all the 
 haute volee of society, and diplomacy, were to be 
 seen, but before the doors of the primum mobile of all 
 these, Madame de Pompadour. Through her agency, 
 
 * Ona change tout cela ! Since this was written, it is now tiie Elysee 
 National ; but who knows, ere this is printed, it may be the Elysee 
 Quarante Franct:, not only as an ingenious enigma oi tlie names 
 of the present president of the French republic, Louis Napo- 
 leon, but also as a method of insuring that sum at least to the repub- 
 lic, which is 80 constantly giving change. But what further changes 
 of name, this very charming residence may incur, before these volumeR 
 are prihlishcd, it is quite beyond the powers of human calculation to 
 guess at. Perhaps the Elysee Imperial, the Elysee tout fe que Von 
 vent, or the Elysee sauve qui pent I
 
 180 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 or rather by her fiat, were treaties with foreign 
 powers ratified or violated. Was a commission in the 
 3Ionsquetaires, noir, or gris vacant, it was neither pri- 
 ority of merit or birth that obtained it, but the good 
 fortune of having the favourite's influence. Had 
 some poor shopkeeper of the Rue St. Denis incur- 
 red the bastille, either for having demanded the pay- 
 ment of his long standing bill of some grand seigneur, 
 or cudgelling Lebel in the act of carrying off his 
 daughter for the pare aux cerfs, there was no legisla- 
 tive justice to appeal to ; it was at the feet of Ma- 
 dame de Pompadour that the distracted wife or mo- 
 ther, had to throw herself to sue for protection, (for 
 mercy and justice were, it is true, to be found ac- 
 cording to their alphabetical rank in the columns of 
 the Dictionaire de L'Academie Frauqaise, but were 
 utterly unknown out of it), and was she not retained 
 on the other side, this protection they might be for- 
 tunate enough to obtain ; for, in playing at royalty, 
 patronage \A as one of Madame de Pompadour's fa- 
 vourite moves, from its being perhaps one of the 
 best, if not the best type oi power ; and when the 
 state and the revenue were not totally drained, 
 (v\hich they generally were.) by the abuse she made 
 of her vicegerent omnipotence, in favour of her own 
 shameless and insatiate relations, she was no nig- 
 gard of royalty's best privilege; not indeed that she 
 ever laboured under that plethora of givingness, (for 
 generosity is too god-like a quality to be profaned,)
 
 THE peer's daughters. 181 
 
 and good nature, which distinguished her successor 
 Madame Du Barri, who, at all events, possessed the 
 one virtue, and it is no small one, of never repaying 
 evil with evil. On the contrary, she was the first al- 
 ways to intercede for her enemies and traducers, and 
 that with such cordial sincerity, that she generally 
 obtained the mercy she sought. Not one of the or- 
 ganizers or actors in the numerous conspiracies got 
 up against her, had ever paid the forfeit of their ill- 
 will, by an imprisonment of long or short duration. 
 How ditFerent from the luckless wight, who had the 
 misfortune even unintentionally to offend the imperi- 
 ous Pompadour; imprisonment and confiscation were 
 often among the least of the penalties inflicted upon 
 them. But what enhanced Madame Du Barri's cle- 
 mency was, that it was by no means negative or pas- 
 sive, but was accompanied by real generosity, that, 
 which includes true elevation of soul, proved by 
 ^elf-sacrifice ; for Louis Quinze was too eminently 
 selfish and insensible, not to possess in a supreme 
 degree the master vice of all narrow and shallow 
 minds, — avarice, with its small change of stingi- 
 ness. And if anything could endanger her empire 
 over bim, or cause it to totter to its fall, it was the 
 constant and daring demands upon his coffers which 
 she made, not only for objects of charity, for which 
 lie was incapable of sharing her sympathy, but what 
 puzzled and exasperated him infinitely more, to heap 
 benefits upon her v:orst enemies. How often when
 
 182 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 stamping with rage upon some scurrilous and dis- 
 gusting hrocheur against du Barri, Louis Quinze 
 has seized a pen, to write a lettre-de- cachet for its 
 author, as the most aggrieved party threw her arm 
 round his neck, that beautiful arm which would 
 have been a powerful arm for virtue itself! and, 
 taking the pen out of his hand, and filling it with 
 kisses instead, said, — 
 
 '' Voi tu la France ! the writer of that I have found 
 out is starving, and so are his family; and, poor wretch ! 
 he has been made a tool of; 1 can well guess by 
 whom. If you send him to the bastille, not only 
 will all his family be ruined, but, who knows but he 
 may write more libels against me than ever : so, to 
 please your little Jeanne, don't write a nasty lettre- 
 de-cachet, I hate them, but write an order to the Con- 
 troleur general for a pretty Httle pension of a thou- 
 sand crowns for him." 
 
 ^^ Mais tu es folle Jeanne' was always the begin- 
 ningof the king's refusal; but, he was generally forced, 
 at the end, to obey. Poor du Barri ! may the evil thou 
 didst, have perished on the scaffold with thee, and 
 the good, (\\ hich was much even out of thy very evil) 
 rise to Heaven as a memorial, recommending thee to 
 mercy ! that mercy which thou never withheld while 
 here, may it be returned to thee above ! I am no 
 theologian, but if I have read my Bible aright, this 
 poor Magdalen approached nearer to a Christian 
 woman than many of those immaculate virtues, en-
 
 THE peer's daughters. 183 
 
 shrined for their better security in gorgon caskets, 
 who then, and now, not able to find stones enough 
 for the purpose, in the exterior world, had, and have, 
 recourse to their own hearts to lapidate her, as the 
 Chevalier de Boufilers said, ''since it was the destiny 
 of France, despite the salique law, to be governed 
 by Lais's, Venus and the Fates, owed the country a 
 du Barri, to atone to it for a Pompadour ;" for the 
 latter was the worst sort of courtesan, a courtesan at 
 heart ; with her, all was the cold calculation, the 
 filthy lucre of her loathsome trade, every feeling, 
 every sentiment, every principle, nay, even every 
 other vice, was sacrificed, by turns, to that one great 
 autocrat of all vice — ambition. Wealth, was with 
 her, the means of every end ; therefore, gold to her 
 was always welcome, no matter how foul the sewer 
 from whence it flowed. Commercial speculations, 
 those great arteries of nations, were far from being as 
 well understood then as they are now ; and yet, even 
 now, what fatal blunders are daily making in this 
 branch of financial anatomy; but the?i, both England 
 and France were sutfering from the effects of those 
 two fearful monetary Saint Bartholomews, Law's 
 scheme and the South-sea bubble ; and, as in the case 
 of its sanguinary sectarian prototype, persons of 
 different religious presuasions divided into closer, 
 more private, and personal cliques than heretofore ; 
 so, after Law's great national bankruptcy, commer- 
 cial speculations in France had almost entirely
 
 184 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 (Jvvindled down into the secret machinations of indi- 
 vidual monopoly ; enterprises, the patents for which, 
 were obtained through the abuse of the royal pre- 
 rogative, while money and credit, their marrow and 
 sinews, were furnished chiefly by the Jews and their 
 dupes. Transactions of this description were an 
 immense source of wealth to the favorite ; and, how- 
 ever flagrant the peculation they might inculpate, it 
 never deterred her from embarking in them, provided 
 sufficient and certain gain was guaranteed to her. 
 Like all ambitious people, Madame de Pompadour 
 was the omnipresence of her self ; and, far worse 
 sacrifices she daily offered up to the idol me, than 
 the pecuniary ones just alluded to; for, jealous and 
 alarmed as she was at even the shadow of a rival to 
 her power near the king, Lebel, himself, was not 
 more villainously zealous and undaunted in minister- 
 ing to his horrible vices. In short, it may be truly 
 said, that beyond her bland and captivating exterior, 
 she had unsexed herself of every womanly virtue 
 and grace, contriving, at a later period, to pollute 
 even the holiest of human sorrows — that of a mother 
 for the loss of her child ; for not only was her first 
 gush of grief at the death of little Alexandrine more 
 a burst of rage, that one of the chief springs of the 
 complicated mechanism of her vast ambition should 
 have snapped, and so endangered the rest ; but, for 
 years after, when the forgotten and mercifully taken 
 child slept calmly in its quiet and sinless grave, every
 
 185 
 
 bad and vindictive passion of her mother found vent 
 in a violent fit of tears, which were always sacrile-: 
 giously voted a tribute to the memory of her child, 
 and not only gained whatever present point she had 
 in view, but obtained the most servile flattery and 
 attention from her royal puppet ; for, Louis Quinze, 
 like all weak and grossly selfish men, whether under 
 the despotic sway of mistress or wife, would do, or 
 accede to anything, to get out of the bore of tears 
 and temper, those so frequently moral synonymes 
 in the home department of female administration. 
 Moreover, all people of weak intellect and strong 
 passions, who have seldom any feeling of their own, 
 think it incumbent upon them to get a reputation 
 for it, by shewing a vast concern for that of the one 
 person in authority over them, especially when it is 
 duly announced with all the "pomp and circum- 
 stance " of scenes and hysterics. But even the 
 premature wrinkles, the discolored skin, and the false 
 teeth, that these unamiable and unwomanly vices 
 entailed upon Madame de Pompadour, were also laid 
 to the charge of poor little Alexandrine. Not only 
 was the Marquise a sort of diplomatic Saint Paul, 
 having the care of all the cabinets upon her ; but not 
 a single affair or contretemp in society from a dtjuner 
 to a duel, or an infringement of etiquette to an im- 
 prisonment for life ; in short, no one event, from the 
 greatest to the smallest, (as we have seen in the 
 matter of Lady Coventry's fan), could be- adjusted
 
 186 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 without the mediation of Madame de Pompadour ; 
 for which reason, the wits of the day had given the 
 Hotel d'Evereux, the sobriquet of " Le Ministere 
 de Vinterieur et des affaires etrangeres ;'' while La 
 Muette, where most of the commercial schemes were 
 set on foot, they called " La Bourse." The re- 
 ception rooms at the Hotel d'Evereux were on the 
 ground floor, and were reached, from the vestibule, 
 by four immensely wide and snowily white marble 
 steps, covered by way of carpet with deep blue (but 
 not purple) velvet, embroidered with gold fieurs-de- 
 lis ; for Madame de Pompadour affected regality in 
 all things ; rising from out these steps was a double 
 row of white carara marble pillars, fluted with gold, 
 and richly gilt Corinthian capitals, and, on each step, 
 and from the broad projecting surface of the wall, 
 were gilt vases of the rarest and most fragrant ex- 
 otics. Here bloomed, in all its native luxuriance, the 
 wild myrtle of Syria; there breathed forth its per- 
 fumed sighs the delicate rose of Palestine, with its 
 red buds and white flowers, as if even they grew 
 pale and sickened at a further knowledge of life. 
 Here, too, even the classic Acanthus, so little pro- 
 digal of its flowers, deigned to bloom, solemnly 
 grand, as if Tully's breath still stirred its leaves, and 
 listening senates heard the immortal echoes they re- 
 turned. Even that stern republican of plants, the 
 Centenary Aloe, here donned all the gaudy pride of 
 its double jubilee, and, from its rarity, " shone out
 
 187 
 
 the pink of fashion.*' The hall was literally lined 
 with laquais in the Pompadour livery, which only 
 differed from the royal livery by being orange and 
 purple, instead of scarlet and purple ; and was so far 
 infinitely more costly, that not only were the garters 
 buckled with diamond buckles, but the piece of gold 
 lace that went through them was also tagged with 
 brilliants; and the clocks upon the curiously fine 
 silk stockings were embroidered in gold. Beside 
 this legion of footmen was another squadron, of what 
 now a days would be called servants in plain clothes, 
 but which, in those days, were certainly anything 
 but plain, as they consisted of the most costly lace 
 and embroidery. This regiment of servants arose 
 from the fact, of no strange domestic ever being 
 permitted to cross the threshold of the Viccrregal 
 Hotel d'Evereux ; as the favorite piqued herself 
 upon having sufficient attendants, had her guests 
 amounted to as many thousands as they did hun- 
 dreds. Each of the two large ante-rooms which 
 preceded the chamhre a coucher, where she received, 
 were also filled with pages and gentlemen ushers; 
 the costume of these pages was, blue velvet and 
 silver, svith a small gold salver, upon which, was a 
 napkin trimmed with the most costly point c?' Alenqon, 
 (by way of badge) ever in their right hand, in case 
 any card or letter had to be presented to their sove- 
 reign lady. Each of these pages was invariably 
 preceded by a gentleman usher, with snow white
 
 188 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 gauntlets edged with silver lace, (then called blonde 
 argentee) and, bearing in his hand, an equally snow 
 white wand of frosted silver; this usher always ap- 
 proached Madame de Pompadour, and, in a low 
 voice, informed her that a page had either a letter 
 to present, or a person to announce. Each of the 
 folding-doors of this suite of apartments at the 
 Hotel d'Evereux, including those of the bed-cham- 
 ber, were of beautifully fillagreed gilt bronze lined 
 with plate glass ; but, as massive velvet curtains 
 (again jleur-de-Liste) hung on either side, no room 
 was visible from the other but by the joint agree- 
 ment of their respective occupants. Nothing was 
 perhaps more emblematic of the times than the 
 incongruous mixture of the most over strained regal 
 pomp and court etiquette with all the sans gtne and 
 licentious laisser aller of a j)^tite inaison, which pre- 
 sented itself upon entering Madame de Pompadour's 
 salle de reception^ alias bedroom. The bedstead itself 
 of Sevres china, mounted in silver gilt, in an alcove 
 of looking-glasses and blue Jieur-de-lisee velvet. 
 The sheets and pillow cases of exquisitely fine Hol- 
 land, called, at the time, toille des hois, and trimmed 
 with the most costly Valenciennes ; which, with the 
 counterpane, (that was of blue velvet lined with 
 white satin, embroidered with golden Jieurs-de-lgs, and 
 the royal arms of France in the centre), was always 
 left in a sort of studied, and therefore, by no means, 
 ungraceful disorder. Near the bed, stood a colossal
 
 189 
 
 nautilus shell, of frosted silver, filled with rose 
 water and can de ninon, this was the bath ; and the 
 linen belonging to it was also trimmed with the most 
 delicate lace. The prie Dieu, which, like the coverlet, 
 was of blue velvet, glittering with the armorial bear- 
 ings of France, was, with the faiiteiuls and tahourets, 
 studded with diamond headed nails,* while the foot- 
 stools of the same velvet were mounted (no doubt 
 by way of devise jjcn^lante.^ upon large silver gilt 
 crowns, which gave the Prince de Soubise an op- 
 portunity of every day repeating the same fade, and 
 fulsome compliment, ''Ah ! Madame, happy France, 
 to have her crown at your feet." On the right hand 
 side, along the wall, from the bed, ran a large white 
 marble slab, supported by golden eagles, and, covered 
 with gold basons, ewers, fiacons, and candelabras, 
 while, on the left hand, almost in the centre of this 
 very large room, and, opposite the bed, was the toilette, 
 with its magnificent guipeur over blue satin, its gold 
 mounted looking-glass with its filigreed frame of 
 birds, branches, and temples, and its profusion of 
 large coffer-shaped gold boxes, with strings of Orient 
 pearls, rivieres of diamonds, emeralds, rubies and 
 
 * This appears to have been the last chef-d'oeuvre of extravagance 
 achieved at ihe time, as all the chairs of Mademoiselle Guimard, the 
 actress, had large diamond nails, while her bedstead, toilette, ward- 
 robes, &c."&c., were of the most costly blue bird pattern Sevres china ; 
 the combined gift of four of her adorers, of the highest noblesse in 
 France ; which gift being elaborately mounted in massive bilver gill, 
 caused their respective ruin.
 
 190 THE peer's DAUGtiTEES. 
 
 sapphires, falling over their sides, in most admired 
 and picturesque disorder ; w hile, at each side of the 
 table, was a large hat-shaped, or Florentine, gold 
 filigree basket, filled with the freshest and most ex- 
 quisite flowers, which, put to shame the borrowed 
 sweets of all the essences by which they were sur- 
 rounded. Before this toilet, sat, but half turned 
 away from it, Madame de Pompadour, one tire 
 woman, arranging an imaginary pin in her hair ; 
 another, smoothing an anonymous pucker in her 
 sleeve ; and a third, arranging on the arm of the 
 chair an apocryphal peignoir. While the tutelary 
 deity of the place, not to seem idle, or, perhaps, to 
 give a color to the many extraordinary things she 
 said and heard, held her own rouge in one hand, and 
 the hare's foot in the other, which played the part 
 of sceptre by no means badly, whenever she was 
 ^'graciously pleased^' to motion to any of her at- 
 tendant satellites with it to advance or retire ; the 
 favored few among the former were generally honored 
 with a seat in her immediate vicinity, while those 
 among the latter, stood in bevies round the room. 
 From the opposite side of the alcove to that where 
 stood the washing slab, was an immense large Indian 
 screen of Japan, mother of pearl, and gold, inclosing, 
 as it were, the toilet table, and excluding every pos- 
 sible draught from the door ; so that each arrival had 
 to walk down this very long room, behind this 
 screen, and then walk up it on the other side, before
 
 THE peer's daughters. 191 
 
 they were ushered into the presence of this semi- 
 regal lady. Upon the particular morning which the 
 reader has taken the trouble of accompanying us to 
 one of these levees, Lord Albemarle was in posses- 
 sion of the fauteiul, on Madame de Pompadour's 
 right, his feet elongated, with the most perfect sans 
 gene, his diamond snuff box and ^^ clouded cane'^ in 
 his right hand, while his left was buried in his point 
 lace jabot, and his well powdered head leant back, 
 whispering something in the lady's ear, to which her 
 reply was a rather affected little laugh, a threatening 
 shake of the hare's foot at him, and a half loud ex- 
 clamation of " JEst il malin !" Next to Lord Albe- 
 marle, upon another chair, turned almost so as to 
 face that of Madame de Pompadour, was Lord Bo- 
 lingbroke, then at Paris in pursuit of his second 
 wife, the Marquise de la Villette, Madame de Main- 
 tenon's niece ; while, over the chair of the Dame du 
 Chduteau, leant the old Marechal Due de Richelieu, 
 who called himself her editor, from the honorable 
 fact of his having placed her in her present position. 
 The lady being again engaged in listening to a 
 whisper from Lord Albemarle, w^hich, this time, no 
 longer elicited a laugh, but, on the contrary, a frown, 
 with a half uttered — " Is it possible ?" Lord Bo- 
 lingbroke, not to be de trop, turned to the Due de 
 Richelieu, and said, 
 
 "Really, Maiechal, I wish you would give me 
 vour receipt, for I remember you, all last winter,
 
 193 
 
 severe as it was, with the same thin stockings you 
 have now, scorning even a velvet coat ; and yet> you 
 are younger than any of us ; decidedly, nature favors 
 you in a most peculiar manner.'^ 
 
 " It is true," replied the Marechal, with a self 
 sufficient smile, and the running accompaniment of 
 a lengthily respired pinch of snuff; " it is true that, 
 that amiable old dowager, has not been more cruel 
 to me than the rest of her sex ; but, with regard to 
 my chausseiir, I have one very simple expedient for 
 defying cold or damp, which is quite at your service, 
 it is nothing; more than wearino- socks of some sort 
 of fish skin, that of the sturgeon, I believe, prepared 
 with Indian gums and spices in some peculiar man- 
 ner, which Zamora the Jew gets me from Peters- 
 burg." 
 
 " So, that you really are our Triton ? 
 
 '■• Frons hominem praefert, in piscem delinit alvus," '* 
 
 laughed Lord Bolingbroke. 
 
 *' Excusez,'' rejoined the Marechal, '' but as my 
 nephew, Fronsac, took the trouble of informing his 
 tutor, at only ten years of age, when that old peda- 
 gogue was tormenting the poor child about the clas- 
 sics — I never learnt Latin, which has not prevented 
 my being on the best possible terms with all the 
 prettiest women in France ;" and this speech, he 
 terminated with another pinch of snuff. 
 
 * Human the upper parts, a fish below.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 193 
 
 "Ah! qe coqiiin de Fransac,'' said Lord Boling- 
 broke, with a more genuine laugh than generally 
 echoed through those rooms. 
 
 Here a tremendous crash was heard in the court- 
 yard, and, amid a Babel of voices, rose paramount 
 some very distinct English 'd—ns " and awkward 
 rascals.^' 
 
 '' Ciel,'' cried Madame de Pompadour, " what is 
 the matter?" 
 
 Those who had hastened to the windows, informed 
 her that the noise arose from the breaking of a car- 
 riage window ; out of which carriage, four servants 
 were lifting a most extraordinary monster, and, that 
 from a basket which had been upset, pine apples were 
 rolling all about the court." 
 
 In the midst of the various conjectures, as to the 
 why and wherefore of this extraordinary scene ? 
 Madame d'Esparbe, who had her entrees at the 
 Hotel d'Evereux, now made her appearance through 
 a side door, near the alcove of the bed, laughing to 
 tdat degree, that she found poor- Lady Coventry's 
 fan exceedingly useful to hide her face ; that luckless 
 fan, (as her last new toy) being the one selected by 
 her for her morning's toilette. 
 
 '■^ Ah ! CMre Henriette,'^ said Madame de Pom- 
 padour, transferring the hare's foot to the same hand 
 that held the rouge, and, extending the other to her 
 friend ; '* You are just arrived ; de grace, tell me 
 what is the occasion of all this uproar in the court." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 
 
 '* Why, my dear," replied Madame d'Esparbe, as 
 soon as she could speak for laughing, but still press- 
 ing her left hand against her side, " it appears that 
 some of your numerous slaves have sent you, as a 
 pretty little galanterie, a whole menagerie, consisting 
 of two most extraordinary looking bipeds, who seem 
 to be acting as bear leaders to another huge animal, 
 even fatter than themselves ; they seemed savagely 
 angry with all the servants, at a large basket having 
 come undone, and its whole contents, a quantity of 
 pine-apples, running races round the court. De 
 Grammont, who happened to come up at the mo- 
 ment, declared that the two bipeds were EngHshmen ; 
 but I did not think what they were saying sounded 
 like English, and still less like French. However, de 
 Grammont says, that the English have no tongues, 
 and, consequently, no language, all their powers of 
 articulation being limited to two sounds, oh ! and 
 d — n ! and that they only pretend to have a lan- 
 guage, and to understand each other out of national 
 pride ! Is it true, Milord Albemarle, que vous autres 
 Anglois have no language ?'' 
 
 " None at least, Madame, in which to express our 
 admiration of French wit and beauty," replied Lord 
 Albemarle, rising from his chair, and bowing to the 
 very ground. 
 
 " Tres jolt /" said Madame de Pompadour with a 
 patronising little tap on the ambassador's arm, 
 blushing at the same time for her friend^s ill- breed-
 
 THE peer's daughters. 195 
 
 ing, as she often had occasion to do for that of her 
 lover. ** Tres joli, on volt, Milord, que voire diplo- 
 matie ne vous fait pas fauteV^ and then, in order to 
 change the conversation, she added, taking Lady 
 Coventry's fan out of Madame d'Esparbe's hand ; 
 
 " Oh, the pretty fan ! I'm sure Henriefte, from 
 your description, that qe hon Monsieur TaafF has re- 
 turned to Paris, laden as usual with pine-apples for 
 me, and turtle for his majesty, who is so fond of it ; 
 and 1 have no doubt, that the other stranger was his 
 chef, as he is always obliged to bring an English 
 cook with him, as they alone know how to dress 
 turtle." 
 
 " At all events, belle Marquise,^' said Lord Albe- 
 marle, '' it seems that Madame d'Esparbe's portrait 
 was not so flattered as to prevent your recognising 
 the original. '^ 
 
 " Original, c'est Men le mot !" said the Marechalde 
 Richelieu, *' Car qe drole de corps de Taaff en est le 
 Prince P' 
 
 " I wonder ^if he has brought an English cook 
 with him !'' soliloquised " the all accomplished St. 
 John" with an intensity of look and tone, which 
 proved, that at least some of his ''thoughls in exile" 
 had been bestowed upon gastronomy. 
 
 *' Lo I your wonder solves itself," said Lord Albe- 
 marle, looking down the room, up which were ad- 
 vancing, by forced strides, the subjects of their con- 
 versation. TaafF, so well known theu, so httle known
 
 196 THE PEER^S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 now, for tempus edax rerurn ; and therefore it hath de- 
 voured both TaafF and his turtles, the celebrity of 
 the one and the calipash of the other. TaafF, we 
 say, had attained that monopoly of height which 
 amounts to awkwardness ; his shoulders were high, 
 and all his limbs loosely and clumsily put together, 
 terminating in very flat splay feet, so that George 
 Selwyn was wont to compare him to a giblet pie, 
 saying that he always appeared to have many more 
 legs, necks, and wings, than belonged to one goose. 
 His face had not two consecutive features, his eyes 
 being ten times too «^ood for his nose, and his mouth 
 three times too bad for his very fine teeth ; in short, 
 it appeared like a little colony of ill-assorted mar- 
 riages ; nevertheless, there was such a strong expres- 
 sion of goodness, and good-nature in it, that it acted 
 like a loadstone, even to the most pohshed substances. 
 His brown lanky hair was badly, that is scarcely, 
 powdered ; and amid this gaiaxy of splendid brocade, 
 velvet, embroidery, and jewels, he seemed as if, has- 
 tily banished from the paradise of his morning 
 slumbers, he had rushed for shelter into that lanky, 
 badly made, loosely hanging, mulberry-coloured 
 cloath coat, the skirts of which now flapped against 
 his calves, waging a sort of civil war with his sword, 
 which, with the blustering insolence of its calling, 
 was every moment attempting to force its way be- 
 tween them, and by so doing imminently endangering 
 its wearer's equilibrium. And the huge steel but-
 
 THE peek's daughters. 197 
 
 tons about it, instead of embellishing, only made it 
 look like an ambulating buffet of pewter plates. 
 After him he towed another personage, of equal but 
 very different sort of gaucherie ; for awkwardness, 
 like vulgarity, has a hundred different genus's, and 
 a thousand different shades. This person, who was 
 no other than Edward Montague, Lady Mary Wort- 
 ley's eccentric son, had only the somewhat pedantic 
 sort of awkwardness, or rather want of ease, which 
 the affectation of living out of the world is sure to 
 engender in men, who, like Edward Montague, even 
 carry into their solitude all the jjrofligacy of dissipa- 
 tion. As Taaff approached nearer to Madame de 
 Pompadour, \\e began to spur on his strides, by a 
 little sort of hop, which considerably increased the 
 mirth of the spectators. 
 
 "^/z, cher Monsieur Taaff J'' exclaimed the lady, 
 extending both hands to him, ** I knew it was you." 
 
 " Bone jour, Madam le Marquesse, bieng aise vous 
 voir encoi^e" said Taaff, seizing both the proffered 
 hands, and shaking them as one pugilist would those 
 of another, preparatory to a set to ; and then added, 
 lowering his voice almost to a whisper, *^ c'est tout 
 droit y ' ' (a free translation we presume of it's all right), 
 ^\jay le tortoo, (tortu or turtle) pour le roy." 
 
 " Really," said Madame de Pompadour, in vain 
 trying to stifle her laughter, and turning to Lord 
 Albemarle the better to conceal it, ''your excel- 
 lency is not half grateful enough to Monsieur Taaff,
 
 198 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 for so nobly vindicating the fan^^e of your English 
 cuisine in France. His majesty says they must really 
 be a great people if all their ^/«^5 are equal to their 
 soupe a la tortu. Even Monsieur de Bechamelle, 
 after in vain trying to detect a fault in it, has been 
 unable to suggest a single improvement. So I re- 
 peat, my lord, that you are not half grateful enough 
 to qe hon Monsieur TaaffP 
 
 " All, Madame, I fear that gratitude like charity, 
 begins at home ; and you see TaafF,^' continued Lord 
 Albemarle, " as you have never brought me a single 
 turtle, in all your numerous journeys, / owe you 
 nothing.^' 
 
 " Then egad, my lord, I'm the luckiest man in 
 Paris," rejoined TaafF, his large ears growing as red 
 as cherries, quite as much at his own temerity in 
 having uttered a bon mot, as having blurted out so 
 home a truth. And his confusion was only increased 
 by compunctious regret, when Lord Albemarle being 
 the first to join in the laugh at his own expense, 
 good-liumouredly held out his hand to him, saying, 
 
 " Well, at all events, TaafF, / owe you one for that. 
 Ah ! how do, Montague ?" continued he, addressing 
 that half evaporated looking individual. " As you are 
 staying in the same hotel, can you give me any ti- 
 dings of that mad brute Coventry ? after the dis- 
 graceful scene he favoured us with last night at the 
 Cosse Brisacs." 
 
 *' Only that he finished it by storming his poor
 
 199 
 
 wife into a fainting fit, when he got home/' replied 
 Montague. 
 
 *' Poor thing ! I pity her," rejoined Lord Albe- 
 marle, " silly as she is, with her eternal gratitude to 
 my lord, for the honour he did her in marrying her ; 
 but I must say, our government, if it means to sup- 
 port the dignity of the nation, at foreign courts, 
 ought to provide in every European capital, where 
 they send a plenipotentiary, an amateur mad-house, 
 or refuge for destitute English good breeding ; for, 
 no sooner do any of our beloved compatriots quit a 
 continental town, but it is sure to swarm with their 
 posthumous barbarisms/' 
 
 *' Pooh ! pooh I" cried Taaff, *^ only send them to 
 Coventry, instead of letting Coventry come abroad, 
 and it will be all right.'' 
 
 *' Ha ! ha ! ha ! which of the sisters do you think 
 the handsomest ?'' said Lord Albemarle to Mon- 
 tague. 
 
 '' Oh ! Lady Coventry, by a great deal ; she's 
 gloriously beautiful !'' 
 
 '' But so silly.'' 
 
 *' / don't dislike silly women, they are always the 
 most tractable," rejoined Montague with a laugh. 
 
 ** But she is so totally uneducated," persisted Lord 
 Albemarle. 
 
 " Ah ! that runs in the family, and arises from their 
 exceeding honesty and generosity,'' said Taaff.
 
 200 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 " What on earth do you mean ?" asked Lords Al- 
 bemarle, Bolingbroke, and Edward Montague, in a 
 breath. 
 
 " Why,'' repUed TaafF, holding out his right hand 
 at arm's length while he spoke, and apparently gazing 
 with as much admiration upon a large hole in his 
 very shabby ruffle, as another man might have done 
 at one of those superb diamond rings then so much 
 in vogue, '^ I was both at school and at college with 
 two cousins of hers, Arthur and Langly Gunning, 
 and from both, they not only took away nothing, but 
 did not even make the slightest use of one of the 
 things which their sire had lawfully paid for." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! by Jove, TaafF, you are coming 
 out in a new character ; where have you picked up 
 all the wit vihich you have lavished on us this morn- 
 ing?" said Lord Bolingbroke. 
 
 " Perhaps, my lord, I may have robbed you in the 
 crowd ?'' bowed TaafF, " as we have not yet heard the 
 sound of your voice.'* 
 
 " Bravo, TaafF, well hit;" cried Lord Albemarle, 
 "for 
 
 *' ' As in smooth oil the razor best is whet, 
 So wit is bj politeness sharpest set ; 
 Their want of edge from their offence is seen, 
 Both pains us least, when exquisitely keen.' " 
 
 "Ah, here come," said Lord Bohngbroke, *^two 
 Houris, who, in my opinion, beat the Gunnings hol- 
 low."
 
 THE pter's daughters. 201 
 
 <' Who are they?'' 
 
 " Why Vernon Howards wife and her sister." 
 
 '' They certainly are transcendant !'' said the three 
 men simultaneously ; *' but which is which ?" asked 
 Montague, 'Mbr though differently dressed, it is im- 
 possible to distinguish one from the other. I never 
 saw such an extraordinary likeness in my life.'' 
 
 " Yes, they are twins, but the one in the crepuscule 
 dcs montagnes coloured dress is Lady Evelyn, 
 Howard's wife; and the one in the white lustering, with 
 blue aile de ztphyr ponpons, is her sister, Lady Maud 
 de Vere," said Lord Bolingbroke. '• Besides," added 
 he, " Lady Evelyn always wears a knot of black rib- 
 bon on her left shoulder, to distinguish her from her 
 sister — at least she used to do so as a girl, when I 
 was in the habit of meeting them at Lady Glens- 
 borough's.'^ 
 
 No sooner had the page in waiting announced to 
 Madame de Pompadour the names of Lady Evelyn 
 and her sister, than a look of delighted surprise, 
 which she found it impossible to suppress, lit up her 
 face, and a sort of nervous pleasure fluttered round 
 her heart, as round that of some humble inferior, 
 when distmguished by the public and flattering no- 
 tice of their superiors ; and in truth, among all 
 earthly distinctions and lines of demarcation, w^hat 
 could be more superior to a woman of Madame de 
 Pompadour's stamp, than one like Lady Evelyn 
 Howard, of real virtue and unblemished reputation, 
 
 K 3
 
 202 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 of genius, science, rank, wealth, beauty, fashion? 
 She had always a bi'iUiant and numerous attendance, 
 but, as may be imagined, notwithstanding the des- 
 potism of fashion, the really good and spotless of her 
 own sex, only paid her angel visits, " few, and far 
 between/' Involuntarity she rose from her seat, and 
 extending a hand to Evelyn and Maud, said in the 
 exaggerated strain of compliment then so prevalent, 
 
 " Ah, no wonder the morning has been so lovely ; 
 I see it is the beautiful Lady Evelyn Howard, and 
 her equally beautiful sister, w^ho have shone upon it 
 like two additional sunbeams ; but it would be still 
 more kind, if you sometimes came to me of an 
 evening. '^ 
 
 *' I had a favour to ask, Madame,^' replied Evelyn. 
 
 " Ah,'' interrupted the old Marechal de Richelieu, 
 looking at her as Jupiter may have done at Antiope, 
 " famed as the Hotel d'Evereux is for the rigid justice 
 of its decrees, yet no doubt la belle 'ladi* is aware 
 that it is 7iot quite an Areopagus, where petitions are 
 onli/ heard at night, for fear that judgment should be 
 biassed by the beauty of the petitioner." 
 
 ^Silence! 3Iojisieur le Duc^^ said Madame de 
 Pompadour with a frown, fearing that the old Mare- 
 chal's usual style of conversation might shock Evelyn 
 into never returning; "silence! and advance that 
 chair for mi ladi ; here, chtre lady, continued she, 
 placing her hand upon the chair, while every one
 
 203 
 
 else fell back, " only let me know if there is anything 
 1 caii have the pleasure of doing for you." 
 
 No sooner had Evelyn taken her seat beside Ma- 
 dame de Pompadour, than Maud, who had fallen 
 back with the rest of tlie circle, received at one and 
 the same time the chair and the salutations of Lord 
 Bolingbroke. 
 
 " I perceive/' said he, leaning over the chair he 
 had just abdicated, '^ that when once perfection is 
 attained, nothing can add to or diminish from it ; 
 but I may be allowed to felicitate Lady Maud de 
 Vere upon her most charming toilette^ 
 
 " Ah yes," replied Maud, unaffectedly casting a 
 quiet glance over her really pretty costume ; '^Vertaud 
 dresses me, and I think she has good taste.'' 
 
 " At all events she has a most attractive affiche/' 
 said Lord Bolingbroke ; but perceiving that this di- 
 rect and personal compliment tinged Maud's beauti- 
 ful cl;eeks with a somewhat deeper dye, he added, " Is 
 this your debut at the Hotel d'Evereux ?" 
 
 ^' My dtbut," said she, " therefore 1 shall trust to 
 you to be ray siffleur, and make me au fait to all the 
 people ; who, for example, is the person on your 
 right, talking to Lord Albemarle ?'' 
 
 '* Oh, that is Edward Montague, Lady Mary 
 Wortleys son ; I wonder you never met him at Lady 
 Glensborough's, he is one of her men.'' 
 
 " He is so seldom in England, you know." 
 
 "True."
 
 204 
 
 ** Is he like his mother?" 
 
 "Why he is, and he is not. You are aware, I 
 suppose, that Lady Mary is in Paris just now ?" 
 
 '* No, I was not." 
 
 ''/ know it to my sorrow," said Lord Boling- 
 broke, with a shrug, " for she has intrusted to my 
 especial care about the contents of three milHners' 
 shops to take back to Lady Mar — " 
 
 '^Do tell me about Lady Mary," said Maud ; " is 
 she as clever and agreeable as they say?" 
 
 " Clever, decidedly,'' rejoined Lord BoHngbroke, 
 " but I confess that 
 
 *" Though Artemesia talks by fits 
 Of councils, classics, fathers, wits ; 
 Reads IMalbranche, Boyle, and Locke ; 
 'Twere well if she would pare her nails, 
 And wear a cleaner smock !' " 
 
 "Ah/Maughed Maud, ^' I'm afraid that wicked 
 wit, your friend Pope, has corrupted you ! and that 
 you espouse his quarrel ?" 
 
 " Wellj as a jns aller, I'm not sure that I would 
 not rather do that than espouse Lady Mary. Do 
 you know — "' continued Lord Bolingbroke, lowering 
 his voice, (rather apropos de hottes, it must be con- 
 fessed, but evidently to make the opportunity he was 
 sure of never finding with Maud de Vere, who de- 
 tested her brother-in-law with that deep, strong, pro- 
 phetic, magnifying power of aversion, which nature, 
 as a safeguard, seems to have implanted in every
 
 205 
 
 sister-in-law's, daughter-in-law's, and son-in-law's 
 breast;) "Do you know that poor fellow, Howard, 
 is in a terrible scrape ? he lost ten thousand pounds 
 to Glensborough three weeks ago at Wills's, on a 
 beggarly game of ombre ; his father won't pay 
 another sou for him, and unless your angelic sister 
 comes to his assistance, I really don't know what he 
 will do." 
 
 " I am astounded, my Lord Bolingbroke/' replied 
 Maud, with that sort of petrifying dignity which she 
 so well knew how to assume, " that you should have 
 ventured to mention Mr. Vernon Howard's name 
 even to me.' but I must beg — nay, command, you 
 not in your ill-judged zeal for your very worthless 
 friend, to outrage my sister's feelings by even al- 
 Itiding to him or his difficulties, which are as unprin- 
 cipled, as hopeless, and as uninteresting as himself." 
 And here Maud's fan (which generally had a sine- 
 cure,) became violently agitated. 
 
 "Ten thousand pardons, dear Lady Maud," said 
 Lord Bolingbroke, bowing over his hands, which he 
 had crossed supplicatingly on his breast ; " nothing 
 was farther from my intention than to offend, much 
 less to wound ; I am fully aware of what just cause 
 of complaint your angehc sister has against the per- 
 son 1 ventured to alhide to ; and yet methinks, the 
 man's insanity of bad taste, in neglecting such con- 
 centrated perfection — a masterpiece, w hich thegods 
 themselves would scarcely be worthy of — to follow
 
 206 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 in the wake of a Glensborough, whom he might be 
 sure of hereafter, that is, if he persists in going to 
 the d — 1 as he is now doing. '^ 
 
 " Ah ! my lord," said Maud, shaking her head, 
 " I wonder when men will leave off their cruel per- 
 sifflage of calling us angels, and, treating us like 
 slaves ; I begin to think," continued she, with an 
 arch smile, " that your friend, Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montague is right ; and that the Turkish women 
 are the only ones who are really free and well treated ; 
 at all events, for them the tariff is laid down and 
 never swerved from, they have all they are promised, 
 without fraud or chicanery." 
 
 " You can hardly call that fraud or chicanery, 
 most beautiful Solon," replied Lord Bolingbroke, 
 " which has not fraud or deceit for its intent, and 
 men, while they are vowing eternal love, religiously 
 believe that they shall love eternally." 
 
 " Strange, that the ever changing practical expe- 
 rience they have had to the contrary, should not en- 
 lighten them into a little more good faith," retorted 
 Maud, somewhat sarcastically. 
 
 " The fact is," said Lord Bolingbroke, laughing, 
 " that the language of love and the genius of the 
 Hebrew language, coincide remarkably in one par- 
 ticular ; when the Hebrews mean to imply, that a 
 thing certainly will he, they substitute the present 
 for the future tense ; therefore, instead of saying
 
 THE peer's daughters. 207 
 
 * the Kingdom of God will come/ relying on the 
 certainty of that event, they would say ' the King- 
 dom of God is come ;' so, in like manner, Love, to 
 make sure of his future, always confounds it into a 
 synonyme with \\\^ present.'* 
 
 '* Well," laughed Maud, '* a mauvaise cause hon 
 avocat, and you have clearly proved love to be such 
 a perfect Jew, that he over- reaches every one, him- 
 self included !'' 
 
 Here their conversation was interrupted by Ma- 
 dame de Pompadour's rising, and everybody's doing 
 the same, as if she had been genuine royalty. 
 
 " Chere Henriette/* said the vice-qaeen, beckoning 
 Madame d'Esparbe towards her, "here is this 
 chere bonne miladi Howard, who has come not in- 
 deed from miladi Coventry, who, of course, does not 
 like to take back what she has given ; but to say, 
 that ce belle ladi is greatly distressed at having given 
 you last night, by mistake, at Madame de Cosse 
 Brisac's, a fan, which was a gage d amour ; and 
 wants to know if you would have any objection to 
 accept qe beau Watteau (which is infinitely hand- 
 somer,) in its stead; for," continued Madame de 
 Pompadour, " look here, at each rivet are two ex- 
 quisite Httle Petitots, set round with brilliants ; one 
 of the miniatures is Ninon, and the other, La 
 Chatre. So, in giving up that very ordinary fan for 
 this magnificent one, cest bien le cas de dire a qe
 
 208 
 
 pauvre Ladi Coventry, 'ah! qu^el hon billet a La 
 Chatrey^ ha! ha! ha!" 
 
 " Why, yes," said the Marechal de Richeheu, 
 with a shrug, " poor La Chatre^s bills are, I believe, 
 those always in the most general circulation at 
 Paris." 
 
 Madame d^Esparbe, who had by this time perfectly 
 convinced herself that the fan now offered in ex- 
 change, was worth, at least, three times as much as 
 the one given her by Lady Coventry on the preced- 
 ing evening, advanced towards Lady Evelyn with a 
 graceful ctirtesy, and, as sentimental a look, as it was 
 within the utmost stretch of her features to assume, 
 and said, with a profound sigh, as she presented Lady 
 Coventry's fan to her, 
 
 " JJn gage d" amour ! Ah! Madame, qa se comprende 
 si hien.^' 
 
 "Yes," replied poor Lady Evelyn, innocently, 
 
 * A common saying in France when any one is taken in while 
 reaping a seeming advantage -, and, which had its origin in the fol- 
 lowing circumstance. When the Vicomte de la Chatre was Ninon de 
 L'Enclos' lover, he was obliged to absent himself upon military duty 
 for three months ; from the multiplicity of his predecessors, he feared 
 his successors, and, by way of guarantee against so much dreaded 
 an event, the poor Vicomte made Ninon give him a promise in 
 writing, drawn up in the form of a bank cheque, that, for the inter- 
 minable space of three months she would remain faithful to him. 
 However, poor La Chatre had scarcely been a- fortnight away before 
 the Marquis de Villars supplanted him ; and, on the first evening of 
 his inauguration in drinking to Ninon's health at supper, he was 
 startled by her going off into an immoderate fit of laughter, as she 
 raised the glass of champagne to her lips, and exclaimed, "Ah! 
 gu'el hon billet a La Chatre /" From thence the proverb.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 209 
 
 and totally ignorant of the way in which she was 
 about to lower Lady Coventry in public estimation. 
 " Yes, it was a gift of Lord Coventry's to her before 
 their marriage." 
 
 " del ! de cet honeur de- Coventry ! son Mari P' 
 cried Madame d'Esparbe, as if an adder had stung 
 her, and, holding the splendid fan she had just re- 
 ceived before her face, as in the act of shutting out 
 some loathsome object. " Fie done ■' est il possible ?'' 
 and then going off into an unrestrained laugh, 
 added — 
 
 " Well, decidedly, there are only you English who 
 wear their sentiments wrong side out." 
 
 '' Perhaps, Henriette," said Madame de Pompa- 
 dour, again blushing for her friend, and, kindly 
 taking Evelyn's hand, and pressing it within both 
 her own, with what Burke has so happily designated 
 " that unhought grace of life" which the French 
 then so eminently possessed, and which they have 
 not yet quite lost ; though, thanks to their Anglo- 
 mania, it is greatly diminished. ^' Perhaps, Hen- 
 riette, true sentiment is so fine a tissue, of such 
 pure and unalloyed gold, that, like that exquisite 
 Damascus brocade, only manufactured for the sultan, 
 it has no shreds or inequalities, so, that being 
 equally beautiful on both sides, it is merely a matter 
 of choice on which side it shall be worn." 
 
 '* You forget, belle Marquise," said the Marechal 
 de Richelieu, '' that when this said pure gold tissue
 
 210 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 is imported into France, it is then additionally em- 
 bellished by being embroidered with choice bouquets, 
 called, a la Pompadour." 
 
 *' Ah, then^^ said Evelyn, gracefully curtseying 
 her adieux to the dame du Chateau, and, deUghted 
 at carrying off Lady Coventry's fan so successfully ; 
 then there can be no doubt, qu a La Pompadour 
 c'est le plus beau cote,'* 
 
 " Mille et 3Iille graces charmante miladi P cried 
 Madame de Pompadour, seizing both Evelyn's 
 hands ; and, more delighted at anything in the shape 
 of a compHment from her than at all the rest of 
 the adulation daily lavished on her. 
 
 Maud followed Evelyn, and Lord Bolingbroke 
 followed Maud ; and all three descended the white 
 marble velvet covered steps, into the vestibule of the 
 Hotel d'Evereux. Lord Bolingbroke, after he had 
 ordered Lady Evelyn Howard's coach to be called, 
 loudly vociferated for his own, " Buchinghamy^ as 
 be affectedly persisted in calling his sedan chair, 
 because those gilt cases for human beings had been 
 invented by George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, 
 and yet, why not a Buckingham as well as a 
 Brougham ? indeed, for our own part, we think it 
 was a very ugly business, when all England altereil 
 their carriage, to ape that of the latter named noble 
 lord ; and that the " chair " had infinitely the best 
 of it when the handsome Duke lent it his counte- 
 nance. " ^0 much for Buckingham."
 
 THE peer's daughters. 211 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Car il entrevit, bientot la belle Eve, et s'en e'prit comme se 
 prennent les esprits Melancoliques, et Medatifs, L'et nunc et semper 
 et in secula seculorum de la liturgie est la devise de ^es sublimes, 
 Poetes inconuus ; dont les CEuvres consistent en de magnifiques 
 epopees, enfantees et perdues, entre deux cceurs!" — Balzac. 
 
 As Lord Bolingbroke was still calling for his "Buck- 
 ingham/' and standing between Lady Evelyn and 
 Lady Maud, the contents of a very magnificent gilt 
 and enamelled coach, with gorgeously harnessed, 
 high stepping, thorough-bred English horses, which 
 had just set down its contents at the Hotel d'Evereux) 
 entered the vestibule; which proved to be the Comte 
 de Saint Germain and Raphael Valasquez. 
 
 " By the rood ! or rather by the wand," cried Lord 
 Bolingbroke, " here comes one of the wonders of the 
 world, though neither the Colossus of Rhodes, the 
 sepulchre of Mausolus, the palace of Cyrus, the 
 pyramids of Egypt, the statue of Jupiter, the temple 
 of Diana, or the walls of Babylon, but the far-famed
 
 212 
 
 Comte de Saint Germain himself! compared to whom 
 Methuselah, in the parochial returns of chronology; 
 will be registered as having died a baby. And Nar- 
 guile, his mysterious Arab page too, ever in the back 
 ground of the picture." 
 
 '' Oh, do shew him to me/' said Evelyn ; '' how I 
 should like to know him." 
 
 " Would that I were the favoured mortal to whom 
 the envied privilege were granted, of so easily and 
 so speedily realizing all Lady Evelyn Howard's 
 wishes," bowed Lord Bolingbroke ; and then added 
 after he had descended two steps to meet Saint Ger- 
 main, "Ah! my dear count, delighted to see you; 
 so much so, that I really don't know how to make the 
 pleasure reciprocal, unless in constituting you my 
 debtor for life, by presenting you to these two ladies : 
 Monsieur Le Comte de St. Germain, Lady Evelyn 
 Howard, her sister Lady Maud de Vere." 
 
 Saint Germain bowed gracefully to the two ladies, 
 and then turning to Lord Bolingbroke, said in the 
 purest English without the slightest accent, but with 
 all the high flown gallantry of the time : 
 
 " Well, my lord, since you have usurped the office 
 of St. Peter, and introduce people to heaven, I can- 
 not be so selfish as to enter Paradise alone, and leave 
 my poor friend here at the threshold, so pray show 
 the same favour ex officio to Don Raphael Valas- 
 quez." 
 
 " Most happy," said Lord Bolingbroke ; and Va-
 
 THE peer's daughters. 213 
 
 lasquez, whose eyes had been riveted on Maud, ever 
 since he had entered the hall, was, in his turn, pre- 
 sented to the sisters ; but beyond a profound bow, 
 he found it impossible to improve upon the oppor- 
 tunity, so unexpectedly offered to him, though so 
 eagerly demanded of ^thalides by him ; that very 
 morning his soul was so plunged into the profound- 
 est depths of Maudes deep, earnest, yet most loving 
 eyes, that Evelyn in her darker dress, seemed to 
 him but as Maud's shadow, he was a long time be- 
 fore he could understand her as a separate incarna- 
 tion ; and then he was angry with her for having 
 stolen Maud's image, an image, whose reflection he 
 would have contined to his own heart. And in the 
 intensity of his idolatrous monopoly, he parodied 
 the aspiration of Caligula, and wished that all the 
 mirrors in the world had but one frame, that he 
 might shiver them at one blowt, and so prevent 
 their stereotyping this hallowed Odyssey of Ids life ! 
 All this was felt, thought, and weighed, in the elec- 
 tric flash of a single instant, for there are moments, 
 which fall into the heart, containing the quintessence 
 of our whole lives, and from that mysterious alembic, 
 distil drop by drop, the fate and feelings of our fu- 
 ture years. Maud, on her side, found no more 
 words than Valasquez. On seeing him, her heart 
 had made a sudden bound as towards one, long lost 
 now found, and then it was still, and hushed, in its own 
 luxurious happiness ; for, however exteriorly people
 
 214 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 may meet for the first time, yet from the moment 
 they love, they feel, that they have long been linked and 
 blent together in that mysterious inner world, which 
 forms the nucleus of every life, that soft shadowy 
 world whose vague is more definite and 7'eaL (because 
 innate and self-existing) than all the positive of outer 
 life, which is but a rough mosaic of hard fragments, 
 that world in fact of which mind is the kingdom, and 
 imagination the sovereign. Through this wide world 
 Maud and Raphael had long sought each other, 
 like those white sea birds, which, soaring high in the 
 heavens, seem to fill their wings with sun-light, only to 
 cast it down upon the bosom of the waters. So their 
 bright shadows had often fallen like stolen rays from 
 heaven, upon the vast deep of their own hearts. No 
 wonder then that, when they now met in the corpo- 
 real forms of the exterior world, that their spirits 
 recognised each other, and mingled in a single 
 glance ; no wonder either, that each spirit thought it 
 had now found its rest ; the mistake was the more 
 natural, as their dream had just begun. 
 
 The whole of that morning Valasquez had been 
 in a state of feverish excitement. Saint Germain's 
 warning to him about his love for Evelyn, coupled 
 with the fatal termination of his own loves with 
 Neroli, seemed to croak like a raven at Raphael's 
 heart. But still love, with his axe of gilded so- 
 phistry, was ever in advance, hewing down every 
 impediment raised by principle, or stumbUng block
 
 THE peer's daughters. 21 5 
 
 pointed out by fear. When, therefore, he discovered 
 that the image he had worshipped was personified 
 in Maud, and that Maud was free ! the intoxicating 
 delight that thrilled through his soul, was alas ! not 
 even the reaction of virtue, but the intense avarice 
 of passion, the autocrat selfishness of love, exulting 
 over the exclusiveness of his monopoly, like those 
 magnates in the Catholic church who have a separate 
 altar to themselves, where the tapers are ever lit, 
 on which the offerings are always laid, before which 
 the incense is always burning, but at which none hut 
 themselves are allowed to kneel. Here then had Va- 
 lasquez, in his wild fanaticism of heart, found his most 
 ecstatic visions realised ; the vestal deity without 
 a worshipper, the love without the lover, the sacred 
 chaplet of hopes and prayers, which none had ever 
 told or pressed before. But we must return to the 
 rest of the group, still standing on the steps. Eve- 
 lyn was too well bred to broach any but the most 
 common-place topics to Saint Germain, and did not, 
 like " Sa Majestt tres Casserole," (as the Comte al- 
 ways called Louis Quinze,) immediately begin set- 
 ting him to excavate Brantome and Froissart, so 
 that the on dits of the day moved in rotation between 
 him, herself, and Lord Bolingbroke. 
 
 '' By the bye," said the latter, " I heard it whis- 
 pered about here to-day, that poor de Nesmond, who 
 was Chevalier de Guet, last night got into some scrape 
 in a street brawl, and slept for change of ill luck at
 
 216 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 the bastile ; but I should scarcely think it could 
 be true, for two reasons : — first, and that might 
 suffice, he is one of the Pompadour's enfants 
 cMris ; and next, his Imperial Majesty Dage did me 
 the immortal honour of dressing my hair this morn- 
 ing, and had it been the case, I think he would not 
 have failed to announce it, as he says de Nesmond 
 owes him for thirteen duchesses, ten marchionesses, 
 three-and-twenty countesses, and two grizettes a day 
 for three years ; thereby signifying the quality and 
 number of his conquests on those days when he, 
 Dage, condescended to turn their heads, by having 
 turned the Vicomte's curls." 
 
 " It is, nevertheless, so true," replied Saint Ger- 
 main, " that I have come here this morning expressly 
 to try and see what effect Quesnay's favourite remedy 
 of counter irritation, may have upon the king, by 
 setting La belle at him to counteract Lebel ; far, un- 
 fortunately, he it was who was de Nesmond's anta- 
 gonist, and the latter has wounded him in the arm 
 in this midnight encounter." 
 
 *' Then, I fear,'^ said Lord Bolingbroke shaking his 
 head, " that the poor Vicomte has but a bad chance !" 
 
 Here Lady Evelyn Howard's coach w^as loudly 
 called through the vestibule, as stopping the way, and 
 Saint Germain and Lord Bolingbroke, each offering 
 her their hand to conduct her to it, for leaning 
 then was not the fashion, Valasquez tendered his to
 
 THE PEKll's DAUGFITERS. 21 7 
 
 Maud, and all gloved though they were, both of 
 them trembled as their hands met. 
 
 No sooner was Evelyn within sight of the carriage, 
 from the window of which lent Lady Coventry's pale 
 and anxious flice, than she held up the fan trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "Ten thousand million of thanks, my dearest 
 Evelyn !" cried the enraptured beauty, seizing and 
 pressing it to her lips. '' I can never be grateful 
 enough to you, for now I really feel as if I was mar- 
 ried again." 
 
 " Well, my dear, all I can say is," rejoined Evelyn 
 with a laugh, " if you are not more grateful for your 
 widowhood, than to go and marry again immediately, 
 you did not deserve to have it.'^ 
 
 The three gentlemen after having seen the sisters 
 into their carriage, bowed their adieux and retired. 
 Lord Bolingbroke ordering his chair to the Cafe 
 Procope, and Valasquez, much to his annoyance, re- 
 ascending the steps to accompany Saint Germain to 
 Madame de Pompadour, on his mission about Mon- 
 sieur de Nesmond ; for he felt as if it were sacrilege 
 to think of Maud in such a crowd, and had need to 
 be alone, to breathe freely the rarified and intoxicat- 
 ing atmosphere of his new existence. As Evelyn's 
 carriage was about to drive off, TaafF and Edward 
 Montague shuffled up to it, bowing to Lady Coven- 
 try, who, after she had introduced them to her two 
 companions, began stammering out some awkward 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 excuses about the scene at the Duchesse de Cosse 
 Brissac's on the preceding evening, concluding with 
 this pithy sentence : 
 
 '* Well, I know it was very wrong of me to pro- 
 voke my lord in public, and I'm sure that ill-natured 
 old duchess, and all the French, thought that I had 
 disgraced myself." 
 
 " On the contrary, my dear Lady Coventry," said 
 TaafF, having recourse to his pocket-handkerchief to 
 hide the broad smile that lit up his whole face, "on 
 the contrary, since you alone in the whole affair got 
 off with flying colours." 
 
 "La! do you think so? well I'm very glad — 
 but—" 
 
 " Decidedly,'' interrupted Taaff. " Thanks to my 
 lord, w ho had the worst of it, and there was the rw&." 
 
 "Oh, T know what you mean now; about the 
 rouge," pouted Lady Coventry. 
 
 " The fact is," said TaafF good-naturedly, " Lord 
 Coventry does not wish to become the covetous man, 
 for fear of turning the whole world into the envious 
 man, and having found you all 
 
 • That 3'outhful poets fancy when they love,' 
 He did not wish you to become 
 
 * All that painting can express.'" 
 
 ** No, 1 know he does not," said Lady Coventry, 
 whimpering, " and therefore it was very wrong of me 
 to do it ; but I'll never put on rouge again as long 
 as I live, and so I hope my lord will forgive me."
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 219 
 
 " I'm sure he will," said TaafF, *' if you only deter- 
 mine to keep within the pale of his authority." 
 
 Perceiving that Taaff would have willingly gone on 
 amusing himself, at poor Lady Coventry's expense, for 
 three hours longer, and that Edward Montague was 
 gazing at her with as much intense admiration as if she 
 had been talking pearls and diamonds, Evelyn bowed 
 to them both, and ordered the carriage to drive on to 
 the Hotel de L'Ecu d'Or, which was the one at 
 which the Coventry s were staying. 
 
 Meanwhile, after a two hours' conference with 
 Madame de Pompadour, Saint Germain and Valas- 
 quez left the Hotel d'Evereux ; the former in pos- 
 session of her promise that, whether the king liked 
 it or not, or whether Lebel hved or died, Monsieur 
 de Nesmond should be released from the Bastile 
 that night. 
 
 L 2
 
 220 THE PEER*S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Longas in flectum ducere voces." 
 
 Virgil. 
 
 " Ah ! crudele genus, nee fidum femina nomen ! 
 
 Ah pereat, didicit fallere si qua virum. 
 Tunc ego nee cithara poteram gaudere sonora, 
 
 Nee similes chordis reddere voce sonos." 
 
 Tihid. lib. iii. Ei. 4. 
 
 " * No man would live his life over again,' is an old and true 
 saying, which all can resolve for themselves. At the same time, there 
 are probably moments in most men's lives, which they would live over 
 the rest of life to regain." Lord Byron. 
 
 Upon the same night on which Saint Germain had 
 procured the Vicomte de Nesmond's Uberation from 
 the Bastile, between the hours of eleven and twelve, 
 the former alone, on foot, and closely muffled in a 
 long riding-cloak, pursued his way up the Rue de 
 Betizy, which at that time was still in existence, in 
 exactly the same state it had been in on the fearful 
 night of the St. Bartholomew, save that the lower 
 part of the Hotel Coligny,* was then let out into 
 large warehouses, or rather cellars, to druggists and 
 distillers, and the upper stories into garrets to the 
 poorest and lowest sort of people ; in short, from its 
 
 * The same that was afterwards known as the Hotel St. Pierre.
 
 221 
 
 grass-grown court to its ponderously-leaded roof, 
 this once maguilicent hotel was in every way shorn 
 of its beams ; and if the spirit of the murdered ad- 
 miral ever haunted its desolate immensity, it must 
 have been as De Thou describes him, returning from 
 his visit to the Due d'Anjou, on the fatal morning of 
 the 22nd of August, with ^^ pedes iter faciens lentius 
 incedebat."^ It was to this house that Saint Ger- 
 main was now going, but when he reached it, he was 
 obliged to lean for support against the pillar of the 
 old torch- extinguisher; a shudder came over him, 
 the icy drops of mortal agony rolled from his fore- 
 head like rain : the last time he had stood at that 
 door was with the wise and benevolent De Thou, 
 then a young man of nineteen, arrived at Paris for 
 the first time in the suite of the King of Navarre ! 
 the last time he was in that street, he had heard the 
 great admiral's dignified, but feeble voice, saying to 
 the plebeian monster, Beme, ere the latter plunged 
 his hired steel into one of France's noblest hearts : 
 *' Young man, you ought to have respected my age and 
 my infirmity ; hut you will only shorten my life by a 
 few days or hours.'' The last time he had entered 
 that court, he had sickened at the hoarse, broken 
 voice of the Due de Guise, drunk as it were with 
 blood, calling up to know if the deed were done? he 
 had seen, at this royal butcher's order, Coligny's 
 mangled corse thrown from the window into that 
 
 * Thuani Historia, iii, 122.
 
 222 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 very court I he had heard the former question if the 
 disfigured mass before him was really the remains of 
 his victim ? and when, with his own merciless hand, 
 he had wiped away the blood from the great man's 
 face, and could no longer doubt, he had seen him 
 kick that noble head with his sacrilegious foot, and 
 order his band of assassins " Forward." Here, 
 too, on the fatal night of the 24th, had he seen the 
 helpless infant of the woman Charpentier playing 
 with the beard of its murderer, and Monsieur de 
 Nan9ayj the captain of the guard, in vain trying to 
 rescue it ! Well might De Thou, when he came to 
 this horrible epoch of the history of the fearful tinies 
 in which he lived, revolt from dipping his pen in so 
 much blood, and let it drop,— to fill up the hiatus at 
 a later period with these prophetic words of Statius :* 
 
 " Excidat ilia dies sevo, 
 Nee postera credant 
 Ssecula — nos certe faeiaraus 
 Et obruta multa 
 Nocte tegi patiamur crimina gentis I" 
 
 **Tushj fool that I am," exclaimed Saint Germain, 
 wiping the large drops from his forehead. *' Thei/ 
 have long attained to their glorious rest ; and even 
 the wicked Catherine and the weak Charles have 
 passed to their dread account ! the former ever 
 struggling on through countless ages in an unfathom- 
 able sea of human blood, her self-constructed hell ! 
 
 * Silv. V.
 
 TMK peek's DALGilTERS. 223 
 
 and the lattcr's poor, feeble, halting, vacillating, 
 thread-bare soul, lacerated in endless agonies against 
 his mother's foul treachery and fellifluous deceit, 
 now turned into black gigantic rocks in that infernal 
 seal — of «// that doomed crowd — the murdered and 
 the murderers - I alone remain ! my hearing as acute, 
 my si^ht as clear, as when on that accursed night, 
 flushed from the demoniac banquet at the Hotel de 
 Villa, I rushed to the windows with the fiend Catherine 
 and the fool Charles, and looked out upon the Place 
 de Grtve, to see Cavagnes and Briquemant, after the 
 treacherous mockery of their second trial, sitting on 
 their hurdles, awaiting their certain death ! which, 
 unjust and ignominious as it was, was better far than 
 
 life under such a dynasty ! under any dynasty? — 
 
 oh ! horrible vitality of memory ! it seems, too, but 
 yesterday since I accompanied Madame de Tombon- 
 neau on foot, with Philhpe de Mornay and Roche- 
 foucauld, to de THopital's house at Vignay, on the 
 night that La Rochefoucauld was not to be fooled 
 by Charles's ' petit foucauld's' and other ' baliver- 
 neries' as he called them ; and now, now, they are 
 all mute and cold as these stones upon which they 
 then trod so stealthily, for fear of arousing their 
 slumbering fate — for all men's fates slept lightly 
 then — and mine sleeps still; but / must wake, and 
 watch each plunge of its grim, ghastly night-irare. 
 So courage ! that I may vault into the saddle of my 
 destiny, and not fall short of it in the foul, stagnant
 
 224 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 gulf which stands between the present and the fu- 
 ture !' Saint Germain slouched his hat over 
 
 his face, drew a long, painful breath, and then gave 
 one loud knock upon the ponderous door, which 
 instantly turned on its rusty hinges sufficiently wide 
 to admit of his entering, which he did, and passing 
 the once grand staircase, (the iron splendour of 
 whose balustrades still displayed the arms of Coligny 
 — the glory of their gilding passed away), he tra- 
 versed the desolate court till he came to a narrow 
 staircase on the opposite side, which had once led 
 to the servants' apartments from the offices, but 
 now conducted to those miserable garrets in the very 
 roof, tenanted as we have before said by the lowest 
 sort of rabble. A dim. rank oil lamp flared at this 
 entrance, just sufficient to make '' darkness visible;" 
 the stone of these stairs was so worn, that their in- 
 equalities became almost dangerous, being indented 
 into deep grooves here and there, the size of small 
 basons ; the banister was composed of a thick but 
 old and very dirty cable. Without touching this 
 feeble and uninviting support, Saint Germain now 
 ascended these steps, slowly, yet clearing four at a 
 time, till he reached the fifth story, where he could 
 not stand upright, on account of the gable-end of the 
 roof, which skirted the right side of an old, worm- 
 eaten, un painted oak door, from beneath the bottom 
 of w^hich, athwart its jagged and pointed ends, 
 streamed a faint Ught ; from a broken bull's eye in
 
 THE peer's daughters. 225 
 
 the roof the night-wind blew coldly down ; Saint 
 Germain bared his now burning forehead to its re- 
 freshing breath, and after inhaling it for a few 
 seconds, he arranged his dress, and with it that ex- 
 terior calm which never appeared to forsake him ; — 
 these preliminaries settled, he gave three sharp, dis- 
 tinct knocks upon the old door before him, when a 
 hoarse yet shrill voice from within immediately 
 answered, 
 
 " In a minute, my master — in a minute ;" and 
 then a loud yawn was heard, the creaking of a bed- 
 stead, and the sound of a person, whose movements 
 were anything but sylph-like, springing to the floor. 
 Two minutes after, a rusty iron bolt was slid back 
 inside the door, which was then cautiously opened, 
 and the dim rays of a small night-lamp, standing on 
 a joint- stool by the miserable flock bed opposite the 
 door, discovered the hideous form of Marie Cadel, 
 by no means embellished by her night costume, 
 which consisted of a blue and green striped woollen 
 petticoat, a very dirty and much patched knit red 
 worsted camisole or jacket, and a red and yellow cot- 
 ton handkerchief tied round her head, from which 
 her coarse gray hair was escaping in all directions 
 over her black and shrivelled neck ; her naked feet 
 were thrust into two old slip-shod shoes, and no 
 sooner had she opened the door sufficiently wide to 
 let Sainl Germain pass, than she hastily shut and 
 re-bolted it. Opposite to the flock bed, which this 
 
 L 3
 
 22G THE PEERS DAUGHTERS, 
 
 Hecate had lately pressed, was another, but it was 
 not only untenanted then, but had evidently not 
 been slept in that night; as on a high-backed chair 
 beside the dying embers of the fire sat and slept the 
 beautiful Corella. Her head was thrown back, her 
 mantilla over it, but not so as to cover her face — her 
 bare and beautiful arms were crossed upon her bo- 
 som, pressed to which, in one of her hands, she held 
 the sprig of heath, which Saint Germain had worn 
 and lost after leaving Ramponneau's the night be- 
 fore. He perceived it at a glance, and gave a melan- 
 choly and contemptuous smile, as people are wont 
 to do when they are hearing professions of devotion 
 and attachment from those whose deceit they have 
 proved — whose friendship they have "weighed in 
 the balance, and found wanting.'' Still his eyes 
 wandered over Corella's form— in spite of himself as 
 it were — paying their forced tribute of admiration to 
 the exquisite vision of beauty before him, rendered 
 still more strangely, nay, almost awfully beautiful, 
 by the ignoble and incongruous frame- work with 
 which it was surrounded. It was even strange to 
 him, to whom all things were familiar, for it was as 
 if a star had fallen from heaven into chaos ! a rich 
 carcanet from the neck of a vestal queen into her 
 city's filthiest mire ! or an image of the Madonna 
 amid the orgies of Tartarus ! Slowly withdrawing 
 his gaze. Saint Germain turned from Corella with a 
 sigh, and taking ofiP his gloves and flinging them
 
 THE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. 227 
 
 upon a large, heavy, worm-eaten, dresser-like oak 
 table in the centre of the room, he drew the only- 
 chair it possessed, (except the one in which Corella 
 was sleeping) to it; and seating himself in it, took 
 off his hat, which he laid beside his gloves, shook 
 back his luxuriant curls, threw off his cloak, and, 
 folding his arms, commanded Marie Cadel to listen 
 to him — 
 
 " Heaven ! and Saint Medard !" screamed the 
 beldam, holding the lamp before his face, " It is not 
 Monsieur Lebel I — but — yes — it is — it must be all 
 right ; of course you come from him ? as no one else 
 living, except my master Zamora, knows where to 
 find us ; so now to business, as 1 had the honour of 
 teUing Monsieur Lebel last night, and for the last 
 time, Zamora, who is not a Jew for nothing, won't 
 take a denier less than the tw^o thousand louis ; so if 
 you have not got them with you, you may as well go 
 back to those who sent you, for the girl is not to 
 budge from this at one sou under; but if you have 
 them, chink them out; and let us hear their pretty 
 music. You need not be afraid of disturbing the 
 game," added the hag, pointing to Corella, '• for, 
 knowing the trouble we bhould have with her, I took 
 care to send her into dream-land till twelve o'clock 
 to-morrow, when she may wake up and enjoy all the 
 beauties of the scenery of the Pare aux cerfs ! — ha ! 
 ha! ha!'^
 
 228 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 " Ha ! ha I ha !" echoed in fiendish yet grotesque 
 sounds, as if from underneath Corella's bed. 
 
 *• Mercy upon me, what was that ?" said Marie 
 Cadelj seizing a brandy bottle and rosary from the 
 chimney-piece at the same time, and pouring out a 
 glass from the former, which she swallowed at one 
 draught, while she began muttering an " ave'' over 
 the other. 
 
 '^ What was it ? an echo,'^ said Saint Germain 
 calmly. *' Did you never hear one before ? but again 
 I say listen to me, I am not Lebel, neither come I 
 from him, nor yet from his employer, but I come to 
 take Corella, and that by my own authority." 
 
 ''Your own authority, forsooth, I like that, and 
 marry, who may you be ? to put between the king 
 himself, and upset all his plans, with no more care 
 than if they were a set of nine pins." 
 
 "Who I am is of httle import," rephed Saint 
 Germain, " but," added he, withdrawing an em- 
 broidered satin letter case, from a side pocket, within 
 the breast of his coat, and selecting a slip of parch- 
 ment from it, folded in four, with two leaden seals 
 appended from it, by means of one crimson and one 
 purple ribbon, and containing several signatures, 
 and tsvo or three printed stamps, being nothing more 
 nor less than the arms and seals of the holy inquisi- 
 tion, *' but, what I have power to do does concern you ; 
 so pray gratify your very legitimate curiosity, by 
 glancing your eye over this document ;" and he
 
 THE peer's daughters. 229 
 
 handed the parchment across the table to the old 
 woman, who had no sooner perceived the seals, as 
 Saint Germain withdrew it from the letter-case, than 
 she had begun to shudder ; and now both her with- 
 ered hands trembled so violently as she seized it, 
 that it was some minutes before she could decipher 
 the contents, when she began muttering half aloud : 
 
 " The woman calling herself Marie Cadel, and now 
 in the employment of the Jew Abdias Zamora at 
 Paris, but born at Estremadura, and baptized in 
 the holy church of San Antonio, with the names of 
 Mariquita-Estella Josse y Cayda, shall, at the sight 
 of these presents, instantly deliver up to the bearer, 
 the Senora Roseida de Pajaio, the daughter of Don 
 Aschanio-di Alcantaro, and Donna Inez his wife, 
 or be instantly summoned before the tribunal of 
 our holy inquisition, there to answer for having 
 stolen away the aforesaid Senorina Roseida, the 
 sole heiress of Don Aschanio, at the age of two 
 years, selling her to the Jew Zamora ; and, for the 
 last six months forcing her under the name of Co- 
 rella, to follow the calling of an itinerant cantatrice, 
 in all the cafts and cabarets of the aforesaid city of 
 Paris, and furthermore — " 
 
 But here the hag let drop the parchment, and 
 falling on her knees before Saint Germain, exclaimed 
 wringing her hands, and in the most abject tone, — 
 
 "All! most noble Sefior, anything, everything 
 you please ; consider yourself master here ; only
 
 230 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 command, and mine be it to obey. But, but, — in- 
 deed, sweet sir ; yon hussy, no, I beg her and your 
 pardon, I did't mean that. If I give up the Senora 
 Roseida, or if I detain her, either way, she will be 
 the death of me ; for on the one side I have the 
 holy inquisition, mercy, my joints crack, and my 
 bones feel crushed to a jelly at the very thought of 
 it ; and, on the other hand, Zamora will think no 
 more of flinging me into the Seine with a paving 
 stone round my neck by way of necklace, than he 
 would a kitten, when he hears that Corella is gone ! 
 and the two thousand louis that he made so sure 
 of for to-morrow morning are not forthcoming." 
 
 ^' As you appear to entertain certain prejudices 
 against cold bathing, and are equally wanting in faith 
 as to the efficacy of the stretching and shampooing 
 system, carried out by the doctors of the holy inqui- 
 sition, 1 really see nothing for the good of your 
 health, but travelling, change of air, and change of 
 scene ; for which reason I have provided you with a 
 passport for England, and a carriage to convey you 
 thither, which now awaits you at Saint Denis," said 
 Saint Germain, handing her the passport as he spoke. 
 
 " England I" shrieked Marie Cadel, " what shall I 
 do there, in a country of Huguenots and heretics?" 
 (and here she piously crossed herself.) ^' How can 
 a poor woman like me, who cannot speak their jar- 
 gon, tell them what I want, or find out what they 
 want ?'
 
 THE PEER^S DAUGHTERS. 231 
 
 *' You shall want nothing from them or they from 
 you ; for, in order that you shall no longer pursue 
 your infamous calling, here are eighty guineas in 
 gold ; every three months the same sum shall be 
 transmitted to you ; but the moment you relapse 
 into any of your present iniquities, or hold any 
 communion with such as Zamora, for the same pur- 
 poses, that moment this pension shall cease.*' 
 
 The old woman's eyes almost sparkled at the sight 
 and sound of the gold, as she stretched out her hand 
 to seize it; but with the insatiable cupidity of long 
 habit, thinking to drive a still better bargain, she 
 laid it down, and shaking her head, said with a sigh : 
 
 " Ah ! most noble Senor, it is evident you have not 
 had much to do with the fair sex, or you would 
 know how subject we all are to vapours, or low- 
 spirits, which are sure to be brought on by our 
 being made to act against our will ; now I am par- 
 ticularly troubled with this complaint, and I do be- 
 lieve you are signing my death warrant, in banishing 
 me to a country where the only national amusements 
 are, praying, and hanging; and where the climate 
 consists of smoke, fog, and frost, or, by way of change, 
 rain, hail, and snow. For I once heard a sermon at 
 Madrid, in which the archbishop told us that, ever 
 since the English king, Henry the Eighth, had cut 
 off the head of the church in the way of business, 
 by for reswearing his allegiance to the pope, and his 
 wives' heads for amusement, the sun has been so
 
 232 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 angry, that he has never been to England once, which 
 is the reason I suppose why the English pass their 
 lives in running after him all over the rest of the 
 world. But I have other reasons for not wishing to 
 go to that desert island. Once from under my care, 
 I fear that sleeping beauty there may blab, and so 
 in time get me into trouble with Don Aschanio, and 
 Donna Inez, who, no doubt, w^ould pursue me to the 
 uttermost ends of the earth, and — " 
 
 "Do you not know," interrupted Saint Germain, 
 "that in stealing the child, you killed the mother, 
 who died of a broken heart three months after, and 
 Don Aschanio, having been the following year (least 
 he should marry again), denounced by his amiable 
 brother to the holy inquisition for some imagi- 
 nary oifence, lingered in one of its dungeons for six 
 months, and then died raving mad. So you see you 
 finished your work most completely." 
 
 '^ Madre de Dio .''^ exclaimed the hag, clasping 
 her hands, her shrivelled and disgusting lips turning 
 livid, while her under jaw trembled, " is it possible ? 
 and, that 1 should have done all this for that wretch 
 Don Enriquo, who, instead of making me as rich as 
 an hidalgo, for the rest of my life, as he promised 
 to do, went and denounced me to the inquisition, so 
 that I had to fly for my life, and a nice life I've had 
 of it ; for, with the exception of the inquisition, 
 which being a Jew he has no influence with, Za- 
 mora requires quite the same hard work of villainy in
 
 THE peer's daughters. 233 
 
 his service ; and truly in the devil's service there are 
 no holidays ; and he is about as generous a paymaster 
 as Don Enriquo, and yet,'^ continued Marie Cadel, 
 filling out another glass of brandy, and attempting 
 to whimper, 'Mt is not in the nature of anything in 
 a beard and whiskers to comprehend what the feel- 
 ings of a grandmother are ; they are even stronger 
 than a mother's, aye, as much stronger as the best 
 Cognac is to Ramponneau's Macon, at four sous a 
 bottle ; and here have I been slaving all my life, in 
 order to give a future career to my poor Xintro, 
 whom, 1 suppose, nature intended for a pedlar, by 
 the pack she fastened on his back, and I've no doubt 
 his wits are safely wrapped up in it, as they are not 
 in his head. And it is for that reason that during 
 his minority, I was glad even to let him fill a very 
 subordinate situation in the household of Zamora, as 
 professor of errands, knife-grinding, breakage, short 
 commons, and souffre douleur general ; but now he is 
 nineteen, and it is not right to let him waste his 
 energies in trimming flower-pots, feeding starlings, 
 and winding silk for pretty mistress Zillah, not that 
 I am afraid of the women making a fool of him, as 
 nature has been beforehand with them, but it is my 
 duty to see after his interests, and make him as 
 happy as I can." 
 
 " Glad to hear it, granddam, glad to hear it, for 
 I've work for you, granddam, better than trimming 
 flower-pots, feeding starlings, or winding silk ; wind-
 
 234 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 ing plots, granddam, winding plots, that no one else 
 has sense enough to wind but poor Xintro, who is 
 now good Xintro ! dear Xintro ! and who would not 
 be wise with ihatV 
 
 This was all uttered in a hoarse, rapid, broken 
 voice ; and then, after a loud shake, such as dogs 
 give thennselves, Xintro issued from under Corel la's 
 bed, and after jumping round the room on all fours, 
 with the exact movements of a frog, he sprang upon 
 the table, and, seizing Marie Cidel by the shoulder, 
 gave her a letter, and said, ^' read this, granddam, 
 and you are to do it quick, quick !" 
 
 " Deuce take the imp, how he frightened me," 
 cried the old^ woman, shaking off the dwarf. "That's 
 the way he does," added she, addressing Saint Ger- 
 main, " he'll make half his journies through Paris 
 over the tops of the houses, and never meets with a 
 single accident, which is more than can be said when 
 he goes like other mortals through the streets ; for 
 there he is always getting knocked down and run 
 over ; however, Naught is never in danger, for, like 
 any other worm, cut him in two, and he only seems 
 to have the more life in him. Well, what is it, my 
 cherubim without wings,'' continued she, patting 
 his hideous head ; " but never mind the wings, as 
 the preachers say, there is compensation in all fates, 
 and you can sit down and rest yourself, my Xin, 
 which is more than the poor cherubims have the 
 means of doing, however much they may have the
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 235 
 
 inclination. What is it ? tell granddam, what she is 
 to do for her Lily of the valley ?" 
 
 *^ What's written here? quick, quick," said the 
 dwarf, pointing with his skiny finger to the letter he 
 had given the old woman, and, apparently little 
 touched by the caresses and flattering epithets be- 
 stowed on him. 
 
 " Ah, but," said Marie Cadel, as she wiped her 
 spectacles with her petticoat, previous to perusing 
 the letter ; " Have you brought me any sunbeams 
 from Zaraora? for my resources are getting very 
 low, and need replenishing,'^ continued she, taking 
 up the brandy bottle, and, looking at it through the 
 light. 
 
 " None from ^iw," replied Xintro, shaking his 
 head, and making a noise like the ricket of a phea- 
 sant ; " you know, granddam, he always pays to- 
 morrow ; but this from her, and double this, when 
 you have done all that's in that letter;" and the 
 dwarf sighed profoundly, two large stag-like tears 
 for a moment rolled Uke light through his dim eyes, 
 and his head sank on his shoulders, as he flung at 
 the old woman a small but vvell filled silken purse, 
 through w^hose green and silver net work the closely 
 piled bright gold pieces were visible, 
 
 ' Poor fool ! ' soliloquised Saint Germain, looking 
 almost tenderly at the dwarf, "thou, even thou, too, 
 art stirred and deitate with this eternal mystery of 
 love, which runs hke wild-fire through the world,
 
 236 TfiE peer's daughters. 
 
 lighting up the darkest souls, purifying the foulest, 
 and beautifying even such as thou ! and, oh ! it is 
 well, that mortals are thus sometimes fed with 
 angel's food, or else, would they grow too weary in 
 earth's barren wilderness/' 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! master Zamora ! now I think your turn 
 is come!" cried Marie Cadel, rubbing her hands as 
 she laid down the letter she had been reading, and 
 thrust into her bosom another letter that she had 
 found within it. " Zillah, your beautiful Zillah ! 
 that Lebel was never to dream was in 'existence, and 
 who was to be married to her rich uncle, your rich 
 brother, old Isaac Zamora of Antwerp, (your coffers 
 and his having long been enamoured of each other), 
 to play you such a trick, as to turn Christian, and 
 under your very roof, attend all Louis Racine's pro- 
 fanities just to meet a foreign gallant, who, for aught 
 she can tell, may be already provided with a wife, 
 though, of course, he tells her he is not. Well, well, 
 let me see, how can I manage it, and I going heyond 
 seas ; and, yet it would grieve me sorely to go without 
 paying you, master Zamora, since you will not pay 
 me ; ah ! I have it, she is quite as anxious to keep 
 your dainty Zillah out of Lebel's way, that is, out of 
 his master's way, as you can be ; to be sure, this 
 heretic gentleman, for I'm sorry to say he is a heretic, 
 that Zillah is so much interested about, is in want 
 of a terrible large sum of money; and, unfortunately, 
 this atrophy of the purse having such a universal
 
 THE peer's daughters. 237 
 
 epidemic among the gentlemen of the present day, 
 it does not always excite the commiseration and 
 sympathy it deserves, Uautre would not have hesi- 
 tated ; but this one, though, for good reason, she 
 sets great store by Louis Qidnze^ yet, loves Quinze 
 Louis infinitely more, much less fifteen thousand; 
 then too, I am no great scribe, pooh, never mind, 
 people can always decipher their own interest, how- 
 ever badly scribbled it may be, or in whatever 
 tongue.'' 
 
 And, as she concluded this monologue, she took 
 down from the high mantel-piece an old small leaden 
 inkstand with one very short stump of a pen sticking 
 in it, next from between the mattresses of her bed, 
 or, more properly speaking, from between the flock 
 bed and the paliass, she drew forth an old black 
 leather portfolio, filled with discoloured letters and 
 papers, of all sizes and qualities ; from among them, 
 she selected a sheet of paper, which might have been 
 called fair, inasmuch as that it was not written upon. 
 Next, she filled out another glass of brandy, and 
 these preliminaries ended, she drew the joint stool 
 from the bed side, seated herself before the table, 
 and seizing the pen almost at its very nib, between 
 her hornv fingers, began making a most disagreeable 
 noise over the paper, which, ultimately, terminated 
 in about six lines of some very apocryphal hiero- 
 glyphics. When she had finished her labours, and 
 strewed some of the wood ashes over them from the grate,
 
 238 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 as she was folding it, an unlucky jerk of her elbow 
 upset some of the contents of the glass of brandy 
 on the paper. 
 
 "Ah!'^ cried she, pouring it on the floor, "the 
 two sources of life, brandy and blood, are soon spilt; 
 but no matter, shell know at once by its not smelling 
 of rose musquee, that it does not come from a talons 
 rouge, so that will spare her a disappointment. Here 
 Xintro, my lily, listen to thy granddam's last re- 
 quest, though, I am happy to say, it is not her dying 
 one." 
 
 But the dwarf gave no sign of attention or intel- 
 ligence ; hke an arrow that is sped and spent, he ap- 
 peared both powerless and motionless. 
 
 " Xintro, my cherubim," cried Marie Cadel, in 
 a louder key, laying her left hand on the dwarfs 
 right shoulder, and tapping his left cheek with the 
 elegant billet-doux which she had just concluded, 
 and, whose secrets she had placed under the formid- 
 able guardianship of a large yellow wafer ; " Xintro, 
 here is mistress Zillah's business all at a stand-still, 
 if you do not rouse up and finish it." 
 
 " Zillah ! what of her V said the dwarf, springing 
 to the floor. " I know it all, and the wisest can't know 
 more than all — can they ? Well, I know she don't 
 love me," added he, putting up his hands, and stop- 
 ping both his ears, "because I'm a fool — and a dwarf 
 — and a hunchback— there— there — there, I don't 
 want to hear all that, but 1 can do for her what the
 
 THE peer's daughters. 239 
 
 king could not do, she told me so ; and then, I shall 
 be greater than the king, and when I'm greater than 
 the king, it will be a rare day for Paris: for, do you 
 know what I'll do? still what the king could not do, 
 and all for her ! I'll put my body (because it's the 
 least) into the great bell of Saint Germain LWuxer- 
 rois, and my soul into the great bell of Notre Dame, 
 and, both body and soul, shall ring out such a peal 
 for Zillah's wedding, that the bridegroom shall die 
 of fear, and the angels shall come down from Heaven 
 to know what is the matter ! and when they hear it 
 is I, clever Xintro, greater than the king, who has 
 done all this, they will be so pleased, that they shall 
 make me be lutiful as themselves ; flinging me this 
 great wealth of Heaven, less grudgingly than Zamora 
 does a sou, when he is pleased with me. And when 
 1 have put my beauty on, and let its graceful folds 
 fall round me like a mantle, made of the blue of a 
 deep summer sky, whose lining is the sun, oh ! then 
 will Zillah love me, but love me back as if she'd al- 
 ways loved me; and, arm in arm, we'll then go 
 flaunting by the river side, and, for a merry pass- 
 time, 1 can play at foot-ball with the dead bride- 
 groom's head, until it rolls into the water, and goes 
 down — down— down, and, she or 1, will never see it 
 more /" 
 
 " Ah, very true, and very likely to happen, my 
 Cupid,'' said Marie Cadel, with a yawn ; '* but, in 
 order that you may not be baulked of this pretty
 
 240 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 little game of foot- ball, and ring down the angels 
 the sooner, and, that the good Parisians, who dearly 
 love a ftte, may not be kept waiting for such a gala ; 
 you, I say, must do all mistress Zillah's bidding.'^ 
 
 "Do! have I not done all? well, I'll do it over 
 again, if she says I must ; and yet, I'm very tired, 
 and very cold," said the poor dwarf; in confirmation 
 ofwhich, warm as the night was, his teeth chattered 
 in his head. 
 
 " No,^' resumed Marie Cadel, " you must take 
 
 this letter either to , yet, I fear," added she 
 
 again seizing the pen, and, re-inclosing the first 
 letter she had written, in another sheet of paper, 
 " that he never will understand all this from me, so 
 I had better send the letter to Zillah, explaining my 
 plan to her, and let her get the letter conveyed, and 
 she will be sure to take care that it reaches its des- 
 tination." 
 
 So saying, she wrote her instructions to Zillah 
 upon the sheet in which she had re-inclosed the 
 letter ; and, after sealing them, she again addressed 
 herself to the dwarf. 
 
 "Here, mon petit courrier des^ dames/' said she, 
 "give this letter to Zillah, as soon as possible to- 
 night, mind you, if you can ; and — '' 
 
 " To Zillah ?" interrupted Xintro, his attention 
 now firmly fixed ; " then I must see her to-night ;" 
 added he, seizing the letter, and concealing it in 
 his vest.
 
 241 
 
 " Aye, that must you ; and now,'' continued Marie 
 Cadel, putting the right sleeve of her red knit jacket 
 before her eyes, in place of the tears which, even she 
 thought ought to be there. " Good bye, my lily, 
 you will be alone in this wide world of Zaraoras, 
 and Don Enriquos ; or, of Jews and Judases ; to 
 speak in plain French, without your poor granddam 
 to counsel, to console, or to castigate you, as your 
 necessities may require; and, alas! alas! as there 
 is nothing so empty as good wishes, all 1 have to 
 leave you, as a stock in trade wherewith to begin 
 the world, is my blessing ; and the only friend I 
 regret in Paris, this bottle." 
 
 But without waiting for either, and accompanied 
 by a loud peal of thunder, which had burst open the 
 small lattice window in the gable just above the old 
 woman's bed, and vivid rays of forked lightning, 
 which now illumined the whole garret, Xintro 
 sprang like a cat through the window, and darting 
 almost as rapidly as the lightning itself, from tile to 
 tile, and from gutter to gutter, was soon out of 
 sight. 
 
 Saint Germain, who for the last few minutes had 
 been plunged into a profound reverie, now roused 
 himself, and passing his hand tightly over his eyes, 
 as persons are wont to do who unwillingly quit their 
 visions to grapple with unwelcome realities, he bade 
 Marie Cadel prepare instantly to quit her present 
 abode, and set forward to the Porte Saint Denis, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 where a vehicle was in waiting to convey her to 
 Calais. 
 
 " Ouf I" said the old woman, with a sort of school- 
 boy shake of resistance, all the while making her 
 preparatives for travelling; which injustice we must 
 confess were of a far shorter and simpler nature than 
 those of the ''fair sex'' generally, with whose amiable 
 little weaknesses and witcheries she was so fond of 
 assimilating her own peculiarities, as all Marie 
 Cadel's cap-cases, imperials, cartons, and dressing- 
 boxes resolved themselves into one large blue and 
 red-checked cotton handkerchief, which she had 
 spread upon the table, and into which she had tossed 
 a couple of shifts, which certainly were not of toille 
 des rois, neither were they trimmed with Dresden 
 lace ; but as all things have their uses in this world, 
 they might have done admirably to repair the main- 
 top-sail of the vessel in which she was to cross the 
 channel, should any accident chance to befal it. 
 Next into this wardrobeial ark (into which every 
 thing entered in pairs) were thrown a couple of pairs 
 of stockings, which even Queen Elizabeth, unspoilt 
 as she was in those matters, would scarcely have pro- 
 nounced to be " marvellous dainty wear.'' When her 
 whole troiLSseauh^di paired off m this way, she placed 
 the before-mentioned old black leather portfolio upon 
 the top of them as a sur tout, and having secured the 
 four corners in two very gordian knots, and concealed 
 the bag of guineas in her bosom, she gave anotiier
 
 243 
 
 sonorous '' ouf," adding, as she put her arms a kiiubo, 
 and looked Saint Germain full in the face — 
 
 '' Look-'ee, Senor, I am not sure now, that all this 
 is not some plot laid by a set of Freloquets, to com- 
 promise my reputation with Zamora ; we poor 
 women have such uneven odds against the machina- 
 tions of your sex ; and no later than last night 
 Corella was conjured away from me before my very 
 eyes ; and how she got back at last, not knowing her 
 way about Paris, any more than a tame jack-daw, 
 remains to me a mystery, for nothing could I get 
 out of her ; as even before I sent her to sleep she 
 has appeared in a dream ever since, and has done 
 nothing but look at and kiss that sprig of heather 
 which she still holds, all of which makes me think 
 that the devil had a hand in the business, and that 
 this is some charm he had given her ; and so now I 
 should just like to know, my master, what security 
 I have that all this is not some plot to spite either 
 Ziraora or Lebel, or to commit Use inajeste in steal- 
 ing away yonder pretty sleeper, for whom the king 
 was to pay, as kings ought to pay, and the end of 
 which will be, that I shall have to pay for all." 
 
 Saint Germain's only reply to this harangue was 
 to unrol the subpoena of the holy office with one 
 hand. v». hile he pointed to the door with the other; 
 and this was sufficient, for with a most audible 
 shudder Marie Cadel seized her bundle, merely say- 
 ing to Corella on her way to the door — 
 
 M 2
 
 244 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 ^' Ah, poor little fool, you know I always sent you 
 to mass, and instilled virtuous maxims into you, for 
 it's astonishing how fine sentiments get one on in the 
 world, for virtue without them is like what an inn 
 would be that had no sign, who is to know what the 
 house is without? Indeed, fine sentiments are like 
 the bill of fare of the same inn, every thing may be 
 wanting in the larder, down to the commonest ne- 
 cessaries, provided all imaginable good things are 
 duly set forth in the bill of fare ; and, above all, 
 remember our good old Spanish proverb, ' La 
 proheza no est villeza, ma^ es ramo le picardia,"^ so 
 get rich, if you icoiild he honest.' " 
 
 And with this, and an " addios Senor," she dis- 
 appeared, slamming the door after her, resolving, 
 in her own mind, to make her escape to the 
 Spanish frontier; but no sooner had she reached 
 the street and crossed the threshold of the Porte 
 Cochere, than two gens d' armes seized her, and 
 addressing her by name, commanded her to follow 
 them to the Porte St. Denis, which she at first 
 stoutly resisted, but findmg all her struggles, both 
 of speech and action unavailing, she at length yielded, 
 and passing a hand through an arm of each of the 
 gens d'-armes, declared, with a hoarse laugh, that it 
 was quite impossible any longer to resist Vamiable 
 galanterie de ces Messieurs, merely reqiiesting, as they 
 hurried her into a fiacre that they had in waiting at 
 
 * Povert}' is not baseness, but it is a branch of knavery.
 
 245 
 
 the corner of the Rue Fosspes St. Germain, to be 
 permitted to stop at a post office, as she had a love 
 letter to forward, and the young man would be in 
 despair if he did not receive it ; ^^ Since inexorable 
 fate, orentlemen/' concluded the hag, ('* which has 
 nevertheless taken your two captivating forms,) will 
 prevent his having the unspeakable happiness of 
 seeing me !'* 
 
 After Marie Cadel had closed the door of her late 
 habitation, which she had now left for ever, troubling 
 herself very little about her arrears of rent, as she 
 knew Zamora would have to liquidate them, and 
 therefore only wishing for his sake that instead of 
 the miserable garret she was deserting, it had been 
 one of the whilom splendid suite of apartments on 
 the other side of the court, that his coffers, at least, 
 might the more deeply feel her departure. The 
 blue and lurid lightning continued to flit in fantastic 
 zig-zags round the room, illuminating for less than 
 an instant every crevice of this miserable garret, and 
 playing like a halo round the angelically beautiful 
 face of the sleeping Corella. Still Saint Germain 
 had relapsed into his reverie, from which neither the 
 intolerable smell of the expiring lamp, which the old 
 woman had left upon the table, nor the total dark- 
 ness which reigned around, (except when the light- 
 ning occasioned a momentary flash,) seemed to 
 arouse him. He had remained in this deep absorption, 
 unconscious of all exterior objects for more than half
 
 246 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 an hour, when strains of such exquisite yet subdued 
 melody burst from Corella, that they at once roused 
 him : he sprang to his feet, and perceiving the dark- 
 ness they were in, touched the spring of a ring he 
 wore, and immediately the diamond of which it was 
 composed darted forth rays of such intense bril- 
 liancy, that the whole room became as fully illumi- 
 nated as though a thousand wax lights had been 
 burning round it. Corella, as if affected by this 
 sudden blaze of light, turned her head so as to con- 
 ceal her face more within the folds of her mantilla, 
 and her voice gradually mellowed into the deep 
 minor of an old Moorish ballad, which even at that 
 time was so rare in Spain, as to have been almost 
 unknown for the last three ceaturies ; the Moorish 
 words of which she now distinctly sang, and whose 
 refrain may be translated as follows : — were 
 
 Oh, thou gentle summer air, 
 
 Be thou kindi, as thou a7't fair^ 
 
 Learn to murmur like the dove^ 
 
 And hear my soul unto my love ; 
 
 Hear my vow, and hear my sigh. 
 
 Tell her without her I die, 
 
 MiRAMOLiN * / would not be. 
 
 So SHE hui deign to look on me ; 
 
 But if her heart be like Sierra Nevada^j' 
 
 Then woe ! woe ! is me, and woe t(f Granada ! 
 
 At this air, at these words, Saint Germain's whole 
 
 * The great Moorish chief and first king, who reigned with U')- 
 rivalled splendour in Africa, when the Moors first took possession of 
 Spain. 
 
 + The snow mountains opposite the Alhambra.
 
 247 
 
 being was convulsed like an embodied earthquake. 
 Neroli ! burst from him in an agony of conflicting 
 tortures, and rushing to Corella, he placed his hand 
 before her mouth, to hush the sounds that were 
 issuing from it, as he exclaimed, — 
 
 '' Oh, no, in mercy not that, not that !'' and as he 
 spoke, a dark shadow fell between him and her ; and 
 if a shadow can grapple, that shadow surely grappled 
 with Saint Germain till he grew dark as it. 
 
 Corella struggled, but still she did not waken ; 
 but a slight uneasy murmuring succeeded the plain- 
 tive and mysterious strains, which had stirred Saint 
 Germain into such a fearful paroxysm of excitement, 
 and being still under its influence, he wildly tore off 
 her mantilla, strained back her hair with both his 
 hands, gazed breathlessly with open mouth and 
 widely distended eyes, on her beautiful and uncon- 
 scious face, and meeting no answer to his burning 
 thoughts there, rudely seized her delicate wrists, and 
 clenching them convulsively, (till the intensity of the 
 pain he excited caused her to knit her brows and 
 utter a low and lengthened moan,) he frantically 
 exclaimed — 
 
 ** Oh, not again ! thou canst not die twice ! Neroli ! 
 wy Neroli ! answer me, does not the deep undying 
 love of ages deserve one word ? Other men count 
 by years, and note them by their own incessant 
 change ; but /, have not I loved thee through one 
 vast cycle, wrought from out eternity ? My heart
 
 248 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 stood still at thine, and when thine stopped, alas ! 
 the main spring of my life was snapped, and never 
 since, through all these weary long revolving years, 
 have its mute pulses pointed to ov.e hour of love !*^ 
 And again Saint Germain gazed wildly in Corella's 
 face, which he held within his hands, till suddenly 
 they dropped powerlessly down, — he staggered hke 
 a man faint from the loss of blood flowing from a 
 wound, or reeling under a violent and sudden blow, 
 and leaning against the wall, closed his eyes for 
 some seconds, and then murmured with the phantom 
 calmness of exhaustion — 
 
 '^ Oh, memory, thou pitiless necromancer, wilt 
 thou never cease from desecrating the hallowed sepul- 
 chre of the past ? and with thy sacrilegious sorceries 
 kneading death's long-mouldered dust with these 
 blood-like, elastic, but impermanent fluids, into the 
 warm and yielding semblances of life I out upon thy 
 unsentient shadows ! and leave me in peace the stony 
 mystery of ray being free from the maddening 
 mockery of these saxifragous spells. 1 have no lite 
 in life ! then why, with thy wizard and galvanic 
 tiltres, stir into form and motion the marrowless 
 tenants of the tomb, till from their power to torture, 
 I must needs believe they live l^' 
 
 A deep sigh which burst from Ccrella aroused 
 Saint Germain to a consciousness of where he was 
 and what had brought him there. '* I'm glad I do 
 not know his name/' murmured she, ** I can love
 
 249 
 
 him as well without a name, and I should be sorry 
 the spirits of the air of this world should ever steal 
 it from off my lips ; and in heaven the angels will 
 know who I pray for, so that my prayers are but 
 heard I" and with another sigh she ceased to utter 
 further sounds. 
 
 Saint Germain passed his right hand through his 
 luxuriant hair, and the fingers of the other across his 
 eyes; and with these two gestures seemed to fling 
 the past from him, as a lion would shake the dew 
 from off his mane, and folding his arms, he looked 
 firmly round, as with the heroic bearing of a con- 
 queror he appeared resolutely to plant his standard 
 on the present ! 
 
 '' Poor girl I'' said he, looking at Corella calmly 
 and critically, as he would at a beautiful statue, save 
 that the insensibility of the marble was his, not her's^ 
 " thou art very beautiful, and holy as beautiful ; for 
 on the pure shrine of thy young heart thy vestal 
 lamp of life still burns, and before it kneel those twin 
 seraphs, (doomed to an early death) Innocence and 
 Love; since now, as ever, around them hover that 
 fell triumvirate of passion, sin, and sorrow, gloating 
 with a serpent eye upon their future prey !" 
 
 " He told me that my horizon was bright," again 
 murmured Corella. 
 
 *' Aye, as all horizons are at their base, but capped 
 with clouds," answered Saint Germain. " But the 
 night wears ; and what fate has decreed, that must I 
 
 M 3
 
 250 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 do :" and so saying, he passed one arm round Co- 
 rdials waistj and the other under her ancles, to lift 
 her from the chair. As his hand pressed against it, 
 her heart beat more quickly, and her sweet breath 
 came, like a kiss stealing through a sigh, across his 
 cheek ; he felt the electric fluid of her love for him — 
 passing over him, for it could not enter into his soul 
 nor mingle with his being. Again he replaced the 
 beautiful burden, and looking intently on her, ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 *' Oh ! for one hour of human life, that I might /eW 
 thy love, or even thy loveliness, which albeit will be 
 longer-lived; but no, it may not be: Time, like an 
 elephant, has trampled down my heart, and crushed 
 its every throb !^' And once more Saint Germain took 
 her in his arms like a child, and covering her with 
 her mantilla, to protect her from the night air, car- 
 ried her carefully down the narrow and broken stairs ; 
 and when he arrived at the last step, previous to 
 crossing the court with his sleeping burden, he 
 turned the luminous facets of his ring inwards, so 
 that he quitted the Hotel Coligny in the same pro- 
 found obscurity in which he had entered it ; merely 
 stopping for half a second before the porter's lodge, 
 till in answer to his cry of '^ cordon^' the ponderous 
 door once more turned upon its rusty hinges, to ad- 
 mit of his gaining the street ; at the end of which, 
 one of the huge Berlines, or travelling carriages of 
 the time, was stationed, with four post horses, which,
 
 THE peer's daughters. 251 
 
 like the same poor weary, wretched animals of the 
 present day in France, looked ready to drop from 
 exhaustion even before they started upon their jour- 
 ney. In this carriage were seated an Abb^ and a 
 sister of charity, evidently awaiting the arrival of 
 some other person or persons. No sooner, therefore, 
 was Saint Germain in sight, than the Abbe alighted, 
 and helped to place the still sleeping girl in the car- 
 riage beside the nun, who put one arm round her 
 neck to draw her towards her, so as that her shoulder 
 might serve as a pillow to Corella ; after which, 
 Saint Germain drew the Abbe aside, and said in a 
 low voice not to be overheard by the postillions, 
 
 " You will have the goodness, Monsieur L'Abb^, 
 to give this letter to Madame — the superior of the 
 Convent of the Visitation at Caen ; it contains all 
 my instructions touching the young person just con- 
 fided to your charge — Mademoiselle Roseide de Pa- 
 jesse — for the next two years, and you will remember 
 that, from a recent illness, she has had a slight 
 alienation of intellect, which has taken the turn of 
 fancying herself an itinerant singer under the care, 
 or rather in the power, of a horrible old woman ; 
 she also fancies that her name is Corella, instead of 
 Roseide, the orphan daughter of the late Comte and 
 Comtesse de Pajesse ; from these fancies you must 
 try by gentleness and care to wean her/' 
 
 The Abbe, who had been all this time standing 
 with his hat in his hand, bowing at the conclusion
 
 252 THE peer's daughters, 
 
 of every sentence Saint Germain had uttered, now 
 with a lower bow than all the rest, observed, 
 
 *' And Monsieur le Comte would not prefer that 
 Mademoiselle should finish her education in Paris ? 
 at the Sacre Coeur, for example ?*' 
 
 " I have quite as great a respect for the Sacre 
 Cceur, Monsieur L'Abbe Gontrin, as you have ; but 
 having had the honour of formerly being personally 
 known to the Marquise de la Cheiardie, the present 
 superior of the ' Visitation ' at Caen, I prefer that 
 Mademoiselle de Pajesse should finish her education 
 under the auspices of that exemplary lady/' 
 
 "Ofcourse— itisjustas Monsieur le Comte pleases; 
 I merely ventured to suggest the Sacre Coeur for his 
 approval or rejection," said the Abbe, returning 
 Saint Germain's bow of adieu, and getting into the 
 carriage, which, amid the loud cracking of the pos- 
 tillions' whips, then drove off, while Saint Germain 
 pursued his way on foot, out of the Faubourg bearing 
 his name, till he came to the Place Louis XV., which 
 was then an unfinished open space, much incum- 
 bered with building rubbish, which had been greatly 
 added to by the recent erection of the equestrian 
 statue of that monarch, surrounded by the virtues, 
 which still ornaments this square, and which gave 
 rise to so many pasquinades at the time, such as 
 that all Paris might see that Louis XV. trampled all 
 the virtues under foot, and the following, which was 
 among the best.
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 253 
 
 " O la belle statue I 6 le beau piedestal ! 
 '' Les vertus sout a pied, le vice est a cheval !"* 
 
 Saint Germain paused, and turning his back upon 
 the Champs Elysee, looked forward through the 
 darkness, and gazing upwards at the statue of the 
 then reigning monarch, exclaimed with a sort of 
 prophetic shudder: 
 
 " Horrible to think that your long comedy of 
 vice, will be succeeded by so terrible a tragedy of 
 crime. Even now I see the thirsty earth of this 
 fated and unfinished ground, drunk with the blood 
 of thousands, and unable to contain its cannibal li- 
 bations, disgorging them into yon recoiling river. 
 Even 710W I see thy lovely head, daughter of a long 
 line of kings, roll from what then will be the only 
 permanent institution in France — its scaffold ! and the 
 imperial fluid of thy delicate veins, turned into mire 
 to splash its lowest rabble ! and yet of mere abstract 
 horrors, I have seen worse than this, for have I 
 not still with all the acute reality of the present, un- 
 softened by one single shadow of the past, the 
 sounds and sights of the Saint Bartholomew before 
 me, and the, if possible, worse, because more pro- 
 longed, more systenjatic, and more minutely detailed 
 horrors of the siege of Paris, when men turned 
 ghools, and sought their revolting food within the 
 grave, living upon the dead! In short, when gaunt, 
 
 • Oh, the beautiful statue, the fine pedestal. 
 Virtue on foot, and vice on horseback I
 
 254 
 
 relentless famine, fate's most destructive despot, 
 reigned supreme, and banished nature even from her 
 greatest, and her last stronghold a mother s heart ; and 
 women did devour their own children, not with 
 kisses, but with hunger ; and dead dogs' bones were 
 prized as gold, that they might be ground down, 
 and travestied into bread, to lure on the flagging 
 life of scarcely breathing men. All this have I seen, 
 all this have I suffered, and yet it is not enough. 
 But men will never learn, their ignorance is great, 
 because their faith is little. Truly said the blessed 
 Redeemer of the world, " If they believe not Moses 
 and the Prophets, neither would they believe one 
 risen from the dead ;" else might / teach them ; 
 I could weep for very pity, to think that not a 
 human ant in all those houses, in all this city, but 
 thinks that their particular grain of sand is the uni- 
 verse ; and so in sooth it is to them, their daily 
 quantum of love, hate, fear, sorrow, treachery, dis- 
 appointment, success, ambition, loss or gain, all 
 form some epoch, era, crisis, or revolution, in their 
 separate and individual world. / smile at the little- 
 ness of their greatness, because I have seen the in- 
 fancy, youth, maturity, decrepitude, and dissolution of 
 nations ; and I know that all abstract eras are nothing 
 in themselves, but in proportion to the moral influ- 
 ences they leave after them. Posterity cares little 
 for the under current of intrigue that preceded the 
 passing of the magna charta, or of John's feel-
 
 THE peer's daughters. 255 
 
 ings when it was wrested from him, or the personal 
 triumph of the bold barons who wrested it ; but they 
 care much for the immunities it has secured to 
 them. The victims of the Saint Bartholomew are 
 now only thought of as so many hundred dead 
 bodies ; but the horrible influences of Catherine's 
 treachery and Charles's weakness, extending far be- 
 yond the terrible devastation, and unnatural out- 
 rages resulting from the league, lived long after them. 
 What would future generations have cared that Ma- 
 zarin should have stinted Louis Quatorze in food, 
 and clean linen, had the only results of the Cardinal's 
 parsimony been, the monarch's capacity for despatch- 
 ino:, as a prelude to the rest of his dinner, fourteen 
 plates of soup, and never wearing the same shirt 
 twice, but requiring seven hundred and thirty of 
 those garments, for the annual supply of his toilet. 
 But France does care and long will owe the crafty 
 Italian a grudge, that his meanness should have 
 been the germ of the grand monarques boundless ex- 
 travagance and sensuality ; and his injudicious and 
 tyrannical restraint imposed upon Anne of Austria's 
 son, as well as upon herself, the latent cause of 
 * Lttat c^est mot /' The preceptors of princes have 
 a fearful responsibility, for a monarch is the fate of 
 millions. But if nations are so long and hard to 
 teach, what wonder that individuals should be so ? 
 if men, instead of always magnifying them, would 
 but lessen their present evils, by comparing them
 
 256 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 with their past, all human grievances would soon 
 find the level of their insignificance, because of their 
 instability ; for all abstract events have merely a 
 chronological importance for good or evil. How 
 often do the tears of the child, become the smiles of 
 the adult ? In riper years we laugh at the trifling 
 causes of our infantine disappointments ; not so at 
 the motives of those causes, for motive is the soul of 
 all action, and though unknown or unperceived at 
 the time of the act itself, lives for ever, and its fatal 
 or salutary moral influences, endure long after the 
 mere act was forgotten. Thus the man or woman 
 laughs, it is true at the idea, that being refused a 
 cherry or a toy, could make them some few years 
 back so very miserable ; but not so if the cherry or 
 the toy was refused them through injustice, temper, 
 or caprice, or from an unfulfilled promise, for then 
 the evil influence of those faults have, in some way 
 or other, given a fatal colouring to all their after life. 
 In like manner, though neither the same gifts nor 
 games that made us so supremely happy as a child, 
 could impart a single joy, when that great moth 
 maturity i has eaten off the gloss of our hearts ; yet 
 the kind word and kinder look, that procured or ac- 
 companied those trifling gifts and childish games, 
 linger for ever in the bottom of our bitter cup of 
 life, and, when stirred by memory, makes even its 
 worst gall palatable. But these are thoughts for 
 men ; and what am I to them, or they to me ?
 
 257 
 
 I cannot change thena, nor they me ; and yet I 
 would serve them if I could, even though my re- 
 compense should be the same that it has ever been 
 to all who have essayed that difficult task.'' 
 
 Here a carriage coming along full gallop, obliged 
 Saint Germain to step on one side, and effectually 
 roused him from his reverie. Having an appoint- 
 ment with the Vidame de Poitier, he gathered his 
 cloak about him, and turning down what is now 
 the Rue de Rivoli, but was then the Rue Malpla- 
 quet, repaired to the Hotel de Lusignon, the doors 
 of which were ordered by their eccentric master to 
 be open to him at all hours. There, in the vesti- 
 bule, he found Narguile, his Arab page, awaiting 
 him, who, after a profound Salam, or rather pros- 
 tration, presented him with a large packet, highly 
 perfumed with amulets, and enveloped according 
 to the Moorish custom, in a silk and silver brocade. 
 
 '* Ha ! at last,^' said Saint Germain, glancing his 
 eye rapidly over it, " is the courier gone ?" 
 
 " No, Cid, he waits."
 
 258 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " His principle of action once explore, 
 
 That instant 'tis his principle no more, 
 
 Nor will life's stream for observation stay 
 
 It hurries all too fast to mark their way : 
 
 In vain sedate reflections we would make, 
 
 When half our knowledge we must snatch— not take, 
 
 Oft in the passion's wild rotation toss'd, 
 
 Our spring of action to ourselves is lost ; 
 
 Tired, not determined, to the last we wield, 
 
 And what comes last is master of the field." 
 
 Pope, Moral Essays, Epist. I. 
 
 Before a pleasant house on the Mall in Saint 
 James's Park, about eleven o'clock in the day, stood 
 a carriage or rather coach, elaborately gilt and em- 
 blazoned, the steps of which were lowered ; and one 
 of the two footmen, stood at each side of the door, 
 awaiting the arrival of an old gentleman who came 
 slowly, and with infirm steps down the garden, 
 leading from his house into the park, and getting 
 but badly along notwithstanding the aid of two ser- 
 vants, and a large pear-shaped, gold-headed cane. 
 This old gentleman was Lord Athenreagh, who, a
 
 THE peer's daughters. 259 
 
 few weeks before, had had a paralytic stroke, which 
 had considerably aged him, and in some degree im- 
 paired his intellect ; but there is an intellect of 
 heart, commonly knoun by the name of benevo- 
 lence, which nothing can deteriorate where it has 
 once attained to any degree of pre-eminence. And 
 this it was which had made Lord Athenreagh keep his 
 attack of paralysis a profound secret from his daugh- 
 ters, though his own man, (who had lived with him 
 upwards of fifty years, having been sent by his mo- 
 ther to sea with him when only a midshipman), 
 strongly urged that the young ladies might be in- 
 formed of it, as he was very sure they would not 
 remain an hour abroad if they knew it. 
 
 "No,— and for that very reason they shall not 
 know it, Latimer,^' said Lord Athenreagh ; '* for 
 poor Evelyn is unhappy enough in having such a 
 husband, and Maud poor girl ! is unhappy because 
 Evelyn is so ; therefore, in heaven's name, if Paris is 
 pleasanter than London, as every one says it is, let 
 the poor things stay there ; for squalls come on soon 
 enough ; and an old hulk like me, must be content 
 to go into dock when it's time's come, and not ex- 
 pect to tow all the small craft after it." 
 
 So silenced, Latimer dared not disobey orders ; 
 but he dreaded Evelyn and Maud's displeasure, in 
 keeping them ignorant of their father's state of 
 health, quite as much as, on the other hand, he did 
 the admiral's, as, from long habit, he always called
 
 260 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 his master. According to a custom, very common 
 among naval and military men at that time, Lord 
 Athenreagh always wore his uniform, and his star 
 and ribbon of the Bath, even of a morning, reserving 
 the Garter alone for dress and great occasions ; on 
 the morning in question, upon which we have seen 
 him, slowly walking towards his carriage; this was 
 his costume, save that his toilet, always scrupulously 
 neat^ was, perhaps, a little more soignee than usual, 
 certainly, an additional fall of powder had frosted 
 his hair, and something like pleasure tvvinkled in his 
 kind, though, lack-lustre eyes. 
 
 "Thank you Tarlton," said he, to the butler, 
 when that functionary, with the aid of Latimer, had 
 almost lifted him into the carriage, the latter, fol- 
 lowing and taking his place opposite his master. 
 *^ Thank you, let me see — my letter— oh, yes, I have 
 it — and my spectacles — " 
 
 " In your left waistcoat pocket, my lord," replied 
 Latimer. 
 
 "And my snuff-box ?" 
 
 " In your right waistcoat pocket, my lord." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, much obleeged to you, it's all 
 right ; now, to my Lady Glensborough's." 
 
 " Lady Glensborough's," shouted the tallest of 
 the two footmen, over the great gilt raised pie, which, 
 in those days, was called a carriage ; for, being the 
 greater man of the two, cubitically speaking, he had
 
 THE peer's daughters. 261 
 
 established it in to a right to give the word of com- 
 mand. 
 
 Though all London was aware of Lady Glens- 
 borough's real character, and, more especially, of the 
 shameful part she had acted in Lady Evelyn De 
 Vere's marriage ; yet, Lord Athenreagh was only 
 aware that all London went to her house, as she gave, 
 what at that time, were called the best " assemblies.'^ 
 It is true, he had heard certain scandalous reports 
 about her, but those he attributed to envy, as she 
 was undeniably, a very beautiful and fascinating 
 woman ; and his answers to the two old dowagers, 
 who had undertaken to enlighten him on this sub- 
 ject, was "Then more shame for you to go to all her 
 ^ assemblies,' and to take your daughters there ;" 
 and, when at last, some other " d — d good natured 
 friend " undertook to condole with him upon Lady 
 Glensborough's iniquity, in getting Evelyn to marry 
 her paramour, Vernon Howard, he flew into a violent 
 passion, for. with his pureness and singleness of 
 mind, that fact was sufficient refutation of all the 
 scandal about that lady and his son-in-law ; for, like 
 all persons of few ideas, Lord Athenreagh's brain 
 was of weak digestion, so that he never could admit 
 but of one notion at a time ; but of that one, he was 
 so tenacious, that it was next to an impossibility, 
 after it had once got into his head, ever to get it out; 
 his idea was, that no woman who really loved a man, 
 would be zealous to promote his marriage with ano-
 
 262 THE peer's DAIGKTERS. 
 
 ther ; and, so far, he was right; no woman \^ ho 
 really loved, would ; but love a La Glenshorough, he 
 was far too right-minded to understand. From this 
 out, another idea took possession of him, namely, 
 that poor Lady Glensborough was a martyr to ca- 
 lumny ; it was not her fault if Evelyn's marriage 
 had turned out badly ; and Vernon Howard was not 
 even in England now, another strong proof of her 
 innocence ; and, therefore, it behoved him. Lord 
 Athenreagh, to shew her, and above all, to shew that 
 hasty slanderous envious world, how highly he esti- 
 mated Lady Glensborough's character in every way; 
 '' and had I a hundred daughters, my dear Duchess," 
 said he, one day, to the old Duchess of Marlborough, 
 " I don't know any one to whose care I would so soon 
 confide them as Lady Glensborough's." 
 
 *• Nay, confine your if to fifty," replied Sarah, 
 with a toss of her head, "for then, in case Lady 
 Glensborough should find fifty Vernon Howards 
 for them, like the daughters of Danaus, they might 
 do you the favour of murdering their husbands." 
 
 *' Well, you will at least, allow that she has the 
 most perfect manners of any woman in England ?*' 
 persisted Lord Athenreagh. 
 
 ** Aye, very likely," said the Duchess, blowing 
 out one of the two candles \t hich burnt before her, 
 saying that the light hurt her eyes, (for this con- 
 versation had taken place in her own house )y '* very
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 263 
 
 likely no one complains of the manner, it is the matter 
 that is in fault there." 
 
 If ever the eastern idea of the angels taking the 
 black drop out of the heart of a mortal at their birth, 
 had been practically illustrated, it was in the instance 
 of Lord Athenreagh ; and without this black drop, 
 a man can have few hatreds, and fewer prejudices ; 
 of the tbrmer, he had none ; of the latter, but two ; 
 the first, (and by far the strongest), his idea of the 
 inferiority of the army con) pared to the navy, and 
 his aversion to ''Papists;" with this clause in re- 
 g:ard to the latter, " that certainly, poor creatures ! 
 they were more to be pitied than blamed, as they 
 were brought up so ; and there was a great deal in 
 that. And now, acting fully up to his profession, of 
 deferring to Lady Glensborough's judgment in all 
 points, poor Lord Athenreagh was pursuing his un- 
 conscious way to Arlington Street, as the innocent 
 bird walks into the mouth of the rattlesnake ; that 
 morning he had received a letter from Maud, asking 
 his consent to her marriage with Raphael Valasquez, 
 setting forth his good and noble qualities, with all 
 the eloquence of love, and all the force of truth. 
 Moreover, from the time he could think for himself, 
 he had renounced the CatlioHc faith, and therefore, 
 she was sure her dear, good, kind papa, could have 
 no possible objection, especially as he was very rich, 
 too rich indeed, for Maud did not know the use of 
 bO much money ; oh, yes, she forgot all the miUions
 
 264 
 
 who were not rich ; and, so she was very glad, as 
 with so many to provide for, it was impossible to 
 have too much, or indeed, enough money. This was 
 accompanied by another letter from Valasquez him- 
 self; written in admirable English, exempt from all 
 the " wrotes" for written, and " leases " for were, 
 of which, even Pope, Swift and Gay themselves, 
 were then guilty ; and not omitting a single shot in 
 any victory, of which Lord Athenreagh had been the 
 hero, even when those victories had been at the ex- 
 pense of Spain. 
 
 " Egad ! this seems a proper sort of fellow enough," 
 said Lord Athenreagh, his eyes twinkling with de- 
 light, when he had finished the letter ; and no papist 
 — that's good — e-hem — e-hem — Raphael Valasquez 
 — don't much like the name, a little too like that of 
 a Spanish galleon for an English admiral's daughter; 
 and sure enough, by what he says, and by what 
 Maud says, he seems to have the doubloons for 
 ballast; but, if the girl likes him, and he's all she 
 says ? — But, for that matter, Evelyn liked that rascal 
 Howard, and to hear her talk about him, one would 
 have thought nature could not afford to make another 
 man so perfect, and so had thrown the mould over- 
 board. Ah ! that's the way with them all when they 
 are in love — well, well, it's so long since I've been 
 on that station, that I know nothing about it ; I 
 must ask Lady Glensborough, I'd as soon think of 
 sailing without a compass as of embarking in an
 
 THE peer's daughters. 265 
 
 affair of this sort without her advice ; clever woman, 
 clever woman, and so attached to my girls, all ill 
 nature what they say of her ; I donH mind it, and 
 I'll show them I don't;" and thereupon, Lord Athen- 
 reagh hastily finished his chocolate, and rang, to 
 order the carriage to the door instantly, in order to 
 go to Lady Glenborough's, whither we will follow 
 him. The coachman had received orders to drive 
 fast ; and had, therefore, improved upon the usual 
 family coach pace, by, at least, three snail's gallops 
 and a half, still. Lord Athenreagh declared, that he 
 was not going three knots an hour, and was obliged 
 to have frequent recourse to those particular para- 
 graphs in Valasquez's letter, which spoke of a cer- 
 tain briUiant action which he had fought off the 
 coast of Malabar, 
 
 " Ah ! yes! that was when 1 commanded the Prince 
 of Denmark, and a first-rate vessel she was," soli- 
 loquised Lord Athenreagh, and then Raphael's 
 letter was again folded, and complacently returned 
 to his pocket ; and the check was once more pulled, 
 and the coachman received fresh injunctions to 
 make haste. At length, they reached ArUngton 
 Street ; but, unfortunately, Lady Glensborough lived 
 next door to Sir Robert Walpole ; and that very 
 morning a huge cart load of packing-cases had ar- 
 rived from Florence, via Deal, from Sir Horace Mann 
 to his friend, Horace Walpole ; and the street was 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 2GG THE peer's daughters. 
 
 so cambered, that no carringe could get quile up to 
 Lady Glensborough's door, as a copy of Guido 
 Rene's Cleopatra and a Bianca Capello by Titian, 
 stopped the way. 
 
 " Never mind/^ said Lord Athenreagh, '* I'll get 
 out ;" and accordingly out he was lifted, somewhat 
 more carefully than were the marbles and bronzes 
 by the porters out of the cart next door, though 
 Mr. Walpole himself stood in his dressing-gown and 
 slippers, his hair unpowdered, a newspaper in his 
 hand, and a little Pomeranean dog at his heels, at 
 the entry, superintending their unpacking, and every 
 minute calling to the aforesaid dog '* Patapan'' to 
 come away from this, that, and the other. 
 
 "Ah, good day, Mr. Walpole ; glad to see you; 
 thought you were down at — I forget the name of the 
 place ; but that pretty toy you think of buying from 
 Mrs. Chevenix'-' — 
 
 " Strawberry Hill? — No, my lord, which I'm glad 
 of, as it has procured me the pleasure of seeing you, 
 though I'm scarcely fit to have that honour, for, as 
 you perceive, I'm not yet dressed, having been up at 
 a tire in Goodman's Fields, till four this morning. 
 Magnificent sight ! I doubt if twenty ships of the 
 line giving a broad-side all at once could have pro- 
 duced a finer effect; but I will not keep you stand- 
 ing, for I see that you are now, as ever, the favourite 
 of the Fates, and that while I am fain to put up with 
 the stale portraits of long departed beauties," con-
 
 THE peer's daucuters. 267 
 
 tinued Walpole, pointing to the packing cases that 
 strewed the pavement, "you have appointments to 
 keep with living ones, who infinitely surpass them, 
 were it only from the fact of their being alive." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! cunning dog !" laughed Lord 
 Athenreagh ; "talking of my poor little rendezvovs^ 
 when you live next door, and can have as many as 
 you please.'' 
 
 "' ' The nearer the church the farther from God,' 
 you know ; and I suppose it is the same with all the 
 divinities, as it is really an age since I have seen 
 Lady Glensborough ; so, to make my peace with her, 
 do give her these lines, which I have just been sent, 
 upon the rumour of her friend and mine, Pigwiggins, 
 being about to be made a peer.'' 
 
 Lord Athenreagh took the lines* in question, 
 
 * Here are the lines written upon Horace Walpole, Sir Robert 
 Walpole's brotiier, (better known then as Pigwiggin,) Avhen there 
 was a report that he was to be created a peer. 
 
 " Take a man who by nature's a true son of earth, 
 By rapine enriched, though a beggar by birth, 
 In genius the lowest, ill bred, and obscene, 
 In morals most wicked, most nasty in mien, 
 By Jionc ever trusted, yet ever employed, 
 In blunders most fertile, of merit quite void, 
 An ape in the senate, abroad a buffoon ; 
 The scorn and the jest of all courts but his own, 
 A slave to that power which ne'er made him a friend, 
 And proud of that cunning which ne'er gained an end ; 
 A dupe in each treaty, a Swiss in each vote, 
 In person between a baboon and a stote ; 
 Such our ministry's found, and they're sure to commend him, 
 Bat as sure does the curse of each good man attend him, 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE PEliR'S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 while Horace Walpole, with the good breeding of 
 the day, which extended itself to old men as well as 
 young women, (aye, and to old women, too,) offered 
 Lord Athenreagh his arm, and after having con- 
 ducted him as far as Lady Glensborough's drawing- 
 room door, (with a slower pace than even Latimer 
 adopted,) ran down stairs again to superintend his 
 beloved packing cases, and all his bronze beatitudes. 
 Lady Glensborough was in her dressing-room, 
 and between dressing and breakfasting, was trying to 
 answer a long letter she had (by the same post which 
 brought Maud's to her father,) received from Vernon 
 Howard, filled with the most passionate protestations 
 of everlasting love, and sanguine hopes of soon, very 
 soon, being able to pay Lord Glensborough the ten 
 thousand pounds he had staked, and lost to him on a 
 single game of ombre, at Wills's, two months back ; 
 but touching the how or when he was to obtain this 
 money, Mr. Vernon Howard preserved a discreet 
 silence, merely launching out into ecstasies at the 
 prospect of so soon being able to return to London, 
 and once more " breathe out his soul at the feet of his 
 adored Lucy, the only woman he had ever loved!'' Lady 
 Glensborough was in the act of again conning over 
 
 Thus fully prepared, add the grace of the throne, 
 The folly of monarchs and screen of a crown ; 
 Take a king for his purpose, without ears or eyes. 
 And a long fool's cap roll stuffed brim full of lies ; 
 These mingle together, and then you shall hear, 
 That the thing which was ass, has become now a peer." 
 Modem diplomacy could shew a pendant to this portrait !
 
 THE pf.er's daughters. 269 
 
 this abstruse passage in Mr. Howard's letter, as a 
 theologian might some paradoxical dogma in the 
 Fathers, which 'not knowing exactly how to inter- 
 pret, found it on that account somewhat difficult to 
 believe, when a knock came to the door, and a ser- 
 vant announced to Mrs. Bridget, her maid, that 
 Lord Athenreagh was in the drawing-room, and if it 
 did not disturb her, wished to speak to her ladyship 
 on particular business. At this unwelcome inter* 
 ruption, Lady Glensborough thrust Vernon Howard's 
 letter into her bosom, and the one she was writing 
 to him into a green ivory and silver desk, (a pre- 
 sent from a correspondent,) which she locked, and 
 at Lord Athenreagh's name blushing actually through 
 her rouge (for Lord Glensborough had by no means 
 the same aversion to that then thought indispensable 
 addition to a lady's toilet that Lord Coventry had : 
 and indeed if he had, it would only have been a de- 
 ception the more that he would have had to submit 
 to ; and when one lives upon them, one more can 
 make no great difFeren'^e. 
 
 ** Plague on the tiresome old man, what can he 
 want at such an hour V muttered the lady, with any 
 thing but the tone and look of an angel ; and then 
 turning to her maid, said aloud, *' Dear Lord Athen- 
 reagh ! I must not keep him waiting. Bridget, give 
 me another Belinda, for this is all rumpled." 
 
 Ever since the *^ Rape of the Lock^' had appeared 
 cambric peignoirs, trimmed with lace, which before
 
 2/0 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 had gone by the ungainly name of '•' wrappers,'^ had 
 been called Belindas, in reference to the heroine of 
 that most charming poem, being described as 
 
 " First robed in white the nymph intent adores, 
 With head uncovered the cosmetic powers." 
 
 And strange to say that the fashion of this name 
 had not even passed away with the old reign ; and 
 from the same cause (the popularity of the above 
 poem) there was not a puppy dog in England, at 
 least in London, that did not answer to the name of 
 " Shock.'' ThQ peignoir arranged, a very pretty little 
 morning cap was most becomingly and coquetishly 
 put on ; and Shock (much against his will) was 
 called from the pillow, where he was sleeping with a 
 degree of profundity that would have made the for- 
 tune of any philosopher who had applied it to sci- 
 entific purposes, and bade to follow his mistress, 
 who was too good a diplomatist not to know the 
 invaluable resource of a lap-dog, and, above all, of a 
 lap-dog's ear, in every knotty or difficult pass of con- 
 versation. With a last look at her glass to see that 
 her ^''charming woman^^ face (which she never en- 
 tered the drawing-room without,) had all its dulci. 
 fluous expressions duly harmonised, Lady Glens- 
 borough opened a door of her dressing-room which 
 led into a boudoir that terminated the suite of re- 
 ception rooms. Traversing this boudoir, she went 
 into the third drawing-room next it, where Lord 
 Athenreagh was seated in a hergtre, and advancing
 
 271 
 
 towards him with her blandest manner, and taking 
 him by both hands, which she gently pressed, so as 
 to frustrate his attempt to rise, said — 
 
 " Dear Lord Athenreagh, how very kind of you 
 to come to me at this early hour, when you were 
 sure of finding me at home ; and I think the more 
 of your prevena?ice just now, as you 'rise upon the 
 ruins of another^s fame/ for my ' bear and ragged 
 staff,' as 1 call Swift (on account of the Grub Street 
 legion he always has about him when he is in Lon- 
 don) half promised to breakfast with me this morn- 
 ing, and the wretch never came.'^ 
 
 *' Well, my dear lady," said Lord Athenreagh, 
 smiling, ** of course I behave better, for heaven 
 knows / am not Swift, as, though Horace Walpole 
 \Nas good enough to give me his arm, I was nearly 
 half an hour getting up your stairs. Oh, by the way, 
 here is a portrait of Pigwiggin, that he has sent 
 you." 
 
 "Well, never mind, dear Lord Athenreagh," said 
 Lady Glensborough, coaxingly, " you are slow and 
 sure, and that is much better ; but as you sent me 
 word that you wanted to speak to me on business, 
 we had better guard against being interrupted ; and 
 if my ourson should take it into his head to come at 
 last, he must wait in his turn." And so saying. Lady 
 Glensborough rang the bell, which was no sooner 
 answered, than she said to the servant, *' Should 
 Dean Swift, or, indeed, any one else, call this morn-
 
 272 
 
 ing, don't shew them in here, but into the front 
 drawing-room^ and I will go to them/' "Now, my 
 dear lord," added she, as soon as the servant had 
 closed the door, " I am all ears, — I hope it is news 
 of dear Evelyn and Maud that you have for me.'^ 
 
 " That is it, and good news, too — at least of Maud, 
 for Evelyn, poor thing " 
 
 *' Ah ! indeed it is very sad," interrupted Lady 
 Glensborough, with a deep sigh, and casting up her 
 beautiful eyes with a look she had studied from 
 Correggio's Magdalen. 
 
 " Wretches !" thought Lord Athenreagh, 'Ho accuse 
 that woman, who feels so deeply for my poor Evelyn ;" 
 and then added aloud, taking Lady Glensborough's 
 hand, and pressing it within both of his, " Never 
 mind, dearest Lady Glensborough, what's done can- 
 not be helped, and it vras neither your fault nor 
 mine, and we must now only hope for compensation 
 in Maud's marriage." 
 
 "Is Maud going to be married?" exclaimed Lady 
 Glensborough, with a look of well-acted dehght, for 
 she had resolved in her own mind that Maud never 
 should marry U she could prevent it ; and then being 
 just the sort of girl to die for love, (if that complaint 
 did ever really kill???) her fortune must go to her 
 sister, and then sooner or later Vernon Howard 
 must benefit by it ; such, at least, were the testa- 
 mentary arrangements which this amiable lady had 
 made for Maud de Vere.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 273 
 
 ** Yes, my very dear Lady Glensborough, and well 
 married too, if all these letters say be true ; read — 
 read." 
 
 And Lady Glensborough took the proffered letters, 
 and read each of them twice over — Lord Athenreagh 
 narrowly watching her countenance during the pe- 
 rusal ; but it would have required a much keener 
 sight, both moral and physical, than he possessed, 
 to have seen a single feeling approaching to the truth 
 depicted in the involutions of that impassible face. 
 
 '' Poor girl !" said she, letting the letters fall list- 
 lessly on her lap, and soliloquising as if in spite of 
 herself. *• Poor girl ! so fond of him as she appears ! 
 it is a thousand pities; true, indeed, ^ the course of 
 true love never yet ran smooth.' What a fatality, 
 that it should be this Valasquez of all people in the 
 world." 
 
 Now Lady Glensborough had never even heard 
 the name of Valasquez before, except when Lord 
 Glensborough had at a sale of some of the late Duke 
 of Marlborough's things, purchased two Spanish 
 pictures, by the artist nearly of that name ; but this 
 exclamation was merely a match thrown at random 
 into the combustible chaos of poor Lord Athenreagh's 
 mind, and she had not long to wait for the desired 
 explosion. 
 
 '* What," said the poor old man, trembling vio- 
 lently, " do you then know anything against this 
 Valasquez ?" 
 
 N 3
 
 274 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 
 
 ''Why not exactly against him," replied Lady 
 Glensborough, boldly, '' that is — at least — others — 
 might not think it against him, but I fear you would; 
 he is always conspiring with the Jesuits — and — '' 
 
 "The Jesuits?'' interrupted Lord Athenreagh, 
 " why Maud says, and he says himself, that ever 
 since he could think for himself, he has renounced 
 popery." 
 
 "Ah ! my dear Lord Athenreagh," said Lady 
 Glensborough, shaking her head ; " I should have 
 thought that a man of your penetration would have 
 known that once a papist, always a papist ; but it is 
 not only that — but — " 
 
 " But what ? my dear Lady Glensborough, you 
 alarm me." 
 
 "The fact is," said Lady Glensborough, jesuitically, 
 with another profound sigh, " poor Evelyn's unfor- 
 tunate marriage makes one dread anything hke — in 
 short makes one perhaps exaggerate — everything — 
 even mere trifles that — that in any man who was not 
 a pretender to our dear Maud's hand doubtless would 
 only appear instances of the common -place gallantry 
 of the day, especially in one figuring at the very dis- 
 solute court of Louis XV. — houever— " 
 
 "D— nit! beg your ladyship's pardon, but it is 
 enough to make one swear, I see it all, — a Ubertine 
 and a papist," exclaimed Lord Athenreagh, with the 
 clear perception of a man who is shown a whale
 
 THE t'EER's DAUGHTERS. 275 
 
 through a magnifying glass ; " yes — yes — he shall 
 have no daughter of mine.'' 
 
 *'Nay, dear Lord Athenreagh," soothed Lady 
 Glensborough, in her most siren voice, ^' you know 
 we must never believe more than half what we hear ; 
 and I earnestly hope that all I have heard may be 
 too bad to be true." 
 
 " Zounds ! Madam, and suppose it is, and suppose 
 the fellow to be only half a papist, and only half a 
 libertine ; don't you think that two such halves will 
 make him on the whole no fit husband for my 
 daughter ? No, no, one sacrifice is surely enough 
 in the family ; let my poor Evelyn continue a 
 warning, for with my consent she never shall serve 
 as an example to her sister to plunge into the same 
 misery." 
 
 " But, dear Lord Athenreagh," remonstrated Lady 
 Glensborough, caressingly leaning over his chair, 
 and laying both her hands, which were clasped to- 
 gether, on his shoulder, " let me intreat you to do 
 nothing rashly ; consider how fondly attached poor 
 Maud appears to be to this Don Raphael ; and at 
 least do not go and totally reject him merely from 
 what I have heard .'" {said would have been the pro- 
 per word, but that, from being the truth, Lady 
 Glensborough studiously avoided,) *' but at least 
 write to Paris, and make more minute inquiries ; 
 about him first, for so rtpendu as he is in society ^
 
 276 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 there, you can have no difficulty in finding plenty of 
 people who can tell you all about him.'^ 
 
 " And who am I to ask ? Maud of course would 
 say he was an angel, who doubtless, from the weight 
 of his superhuman virtues, had made a rent in the 
 clouds, and tumbled down to earth at her feet ; and 
 if he is so rich, that fellow Albemarle has of course 
 borrowed large sums from him, and as he must owe 
 every one, owes hira no doubt on that account the 
 best character under the sun. Then Edward Mon- 
 tague, a patent libertine himself, birds of a feather ? 
 No — no ! Or my Lord Bolingbroke, worse than a 
 papist, a sceptic, without even the excuse of being 
 sincere in his scepticism ; but denying God merely 
 to court the devil, in the shape of that d d French- 
 man who lives in Switzerland, I forget his name, 
 Vol — something, and swearing allegiance to the 
 pope at Twickenham, even if he denies the supremacy 
 of the pope at Rome ? Or Coventry, who would be 
 more likely to call this Valasquez out if he did not 
 make love to his wife than if he did ? No, no, my 
 dear Lady Glensborough, there is nothing for it but 
 for me to act upon what you have told me, and cut 
 the matter short by a flat refusal at once.'^ 
 
 The old man's cheek was flushed, and his eyes 
 unusually bright, from the febrile state of excitement 
 he had been thrown into at the idea of Maud, his 
 favourite daughter's, imaginary imminent danger. 
 Lady Glensborough was almost frightened at her
 
 THE peek's daughters. 2^7 
 
 work ; first, because she dreaded that with his usual 
 straight-forward, uncompromising frankness of cha- 
 racter, Lord Athenreagh would at once inform Maud 
 from whom he had gleaned these calumnies against 
 Valasquez, and so foil her at her own weapons ; and 
 next, it was so long since she had seen him so lucid 
 in remembering the attributes of the different per- 
 sons about whom he conversed, and so resolutely 
 determined upon any line of conduct, that she feared 
 this sudden and transient flash of more than ordinary 
 energy and intelligence, was merely the precursor of 
 another paralytic attack, and she dreaded lest her 
 house should become the theatre of it. 
 
 " Nay, my dear Lord Athenreagh, I shall never 
 forgive myself," said she, with an hysterical sob, and 
 hiding her tearless eyes behind the old man's chair, 
 " for having occasioned you this unnecessary excite- 
 ment." 
 
 " By no means unnecesary, my good lady," inter- 
 rupted Lord Athenreagh. 
 
 "Yes, very unnecessary," persisted Lady Glens- 
 borough ; "for our dear Maud is quite safe, as I 
 know her so well that I am very sure site will never 
 marry without your consent." 
 
 '* I hope not ; thanks to your kind warnings, and 
 my own timely precautions in writing to forbid this 
 affair going any further, as 1 shall do this very 
 morning." 
 
 " There, my dear lord, I think you are quite right,
 
 278 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 but let me implore you not to mar all your just au- 
 thority by letting Maud even suspect that what you 
 have heard of this Don Raphael came from me ; for 
 that dear girl is so fully aware that my affection for 
 her renders me almost silly, and makes it impossible 
 for me to refuse her any thing, even when what she 
 asks, (as in the present instance), might be prejudicial 
 to her future welfare, that we should have no end 
 to letters intreating me not to believe what I had 
 heard, and to use my influence with you to obtain 
 your consent. No, my dear Lord Athenreagh, you 
 ^ must be cruel in order to be kind ;' for a moment 
 sink the father and resume the admiral, forget (if 
 possible) only for five minutes dear Maud's angel 
 face, and fancy her for that space of time some re- 
 fractory young midshipman, whom sterii duty compels 
 you to order to the mast-head for insuhordinate con- 
 duct ! It will soon be over, and then young De 
 Vere'wiJl dine with the admiral as if nothing had 
 happened ; and some years hence, he will thank us 
 for having reefed the main top-sail of his silly first 
 love, or in plain English, when in a few years hence, 
 Maud is the happy wife of some honourable man 
 who is worthy of her, and a certain gallant admiral 
 of my acquaintance, who shall be nameless, is shew- 
 ing his grand-children how to launch paper seventy- 
 fours on the lake at Athenreagh — then, and not till 
 then, will / triumphantly own that / was the sole 
 instigator of Middy Maud's punishment 5 for then I
 
 THE pekr's daughters. 279 
 
 > 
 
 shall expect the thanks of hotli houses for having 
 gained so signal a victory, under the before alluded 
 to gallant admiral." 
 
 And here Lady Glensborough, putting on Lord 
 Athenreagh's three-cornered hat, in which she looked 
 irresistibly beautiful and funny, and giving, through 
 the medium of one of her rings, as shrill a boatswain's 
 whistle as ever issued from the gig of a man o'war, 
 she saluted him by touching her hat in true military 
 style with the back of her right hand, and then fold- 
 ing her arms, stood as if waiting for orders before 
 him. The poor old man, completely cajoled and 
 captivated, and passing with the mobility of a child 
 from one range of feelings to another, leant back in, 
 his chair and laughed till he cried, saying as soon as 
 he could speak, 
 
 " I have often heard of sirens, but I never saw 
 one before ; and, egad ! I don't wonder at the best 
 ship that ever walked the waters being capsised the 
 moment they come alongside. Give me,'^ continued 
 he, seizing both Lady Glensborough's hands, and 
 covering them with kisses— "Give me pen, ink, and 
 paper, and you shall see that I can still write as good 
 a despatch as if it was dated from the quarter-deck 
 of the Prince of Denmark !" 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir," and the siren again touched her 
 hat, as she wheeled over a small secretaire to Lord 
 Athenreagh's chair, and spread out the writing ma- 
 terials before him ; and had just finished her ar-
 
 280 
 
 rangeraents by replacing his hat upon the chair from 
 whence she had taken it, and, putting with her own 
 fair hands, his feet upon the footstool, when the 
 door opened, and a servant announced that Dean 
 Swift was in the drawing-room, and was in a hurry." 
 *' Then tell him to wait," said Lady Glens- 
 borough, laughing ; " no, here Smith, say, I'll come 
 directly ; and now, my dear lord," continued she, 
 turning to Lord Athenreagh, " I'll leave you to 
 finish your despatch ; and when you have finished 
 it, let me know, and I'll come to you, but take your 
 time, for, when ever my bear is in a hurry, he always 
 stays three hours. '^ And so saying, she kissed her 
 hand, and passed on to the drawing-room to join 
 the Dean.
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 281 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour ? 
 What, tho' we wade in wealth, or, soar in fame ? 
 Earth's brightest station ends in ' Here he lies,' 
 And, ' Dust to dust ' concludes her noblest song." 
 
 Young. 
 
 As Lady Glensborough's small and lightly slippered 
 foot fell noiselessly within the pile of the Axminster 
 carpet, she entered the drawing-room unperceived 
 by Swift, who was standing in deep contemplation 
 before a Virgin and child, by Murillo, a recent pur- 
 chase of Lord Glensborough's, which he had not 
 before seen : his hat was on his ebony headed cane^ 
 and his chin resting ^on his hat, while his eyes, in 
 their upward gaze at the picture, seemed to grow 
 darker from the shadow of his heavy brows, which 
 rolled like black clouds above them ; when he at 
 length perceived Lady Glensborough, which he did 
 by her stooping down and walking round him ! while 
 she looked up at him as a dwarf would at a giant, 
 without even offering her the customary salutation 
 of a first meeting, he merely said, still looking at 
 the picture, 
 
 ''That is a most beautiful face, all high church-
 
 282 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 man though I be, I was very near offering it the 
 homage of an ave-maria." 
 
 " Stella /" laughed Lady Glensborough, putting 
 up her finger, threateningly. 
 
 The Dean knit his brows, turned away from the 
 picture, and flung himself into a bergere, while his 
 hostess took up her position upon an opposite sofa. 
 
 *' And so Mr. Dean, this is what you call coming 
 to breakfast?" said the latter. 
 
 '^ I do believe you are all alike, and that there is 
 not a woman amongst you, but what thinks that 
 men were sent into this world for no other purpose 
 but to dangle after them and their whims, separately 
 and collectively, from morning till night; and byway 
 of peroration, the Dean gave a most gratuitous kick 
 to poor Shock, who might have claimed an exemption 
 from this philippic on account of his sex ; but who 
 not having done so, now limped yelping into his mis- 
 tress's lap. 
 
 " To be sure we do," replied Lady Glensborough, 
 " but without entering into a discussion upon that 
 _^ long established fact, do oblige me, (as I have often 
 : ^-./^ begged of you to do before), by calling us, at least, 
 those who deserve the name, ladies, and not pois- 
 sarding the wdiole sex under the head of icomen. 
 This may be a very proper phraseology for your 
 deanery at Lilliput, but is exceedingly unbecoming 
 when you come to Brobdignag, especially when ap- 
 plied to uSj its queen!''
 
 THE pker's daughters. 283 
 
 "I stand corrected, '^ said Swift, rising, and bowing 
 with profound mock politeness; "for there can be 
 no doubt that Lady Glensborough will be a fine 
 lady all her life I whereas, in a very few years, she 
 must cease to be a fine woman /" 
 
 " Oh, you ugly wretch \" said Lady Glensborough, 
 laughing ; " as a woman I never could forgive you, 
 but, as a lady, I suppose I must ; so now tell me 
 what you have been doing all the morning ? as you 
 certainly cannot pretend to have been dangling after 
 mer 
 
 " No, but I have had almost as arduous a task,^' 
 rejoined Swift, gradually relaxing, and laughing in 
 his turn ; " for I've been to that confounded printer 
 with the last number of the Examiner ; and then I 
 looked in to see poor Patty Rolt, and not having a 
 farthing about me, I was obliged to return home and 
 get a guinea, for, it would be a sin to refuse it, 
 when it can, as with her, patch up twenty things." 
 
 " Dear me !'^ said Lady Glensborough, with a 
 sigh, " I wish / had Patty Rolfs guinea." 
 
 " If you had, you'd have but nineteen pounds 
 insteail of nineteen thousand a year; for poor Patty 
 has but eighteen pounds a year to live, or rather 
 to starve upon.^' 
 
 " For the sake of even numbers, do make it 
 twenty," said Lady Glensborough, tossing him a 
 couple of guineas.
 
 284 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 "I believe I forgot to tell you," said Swift, put- 
 ting the money into his pocket, and blowing his 
 nose, *' that you really do look very handsome this 
 morning." 
 
 '' I'm so perfectly aware of that," laughed Lady 
 Glensborough, '^ as it is a self-evident proposition, 
 that I would rather you should expound to me 
 something new and mysterious — like your morning's 
 proceedings for example ; for the printer and Patty 
 Rolt could not have employed your whole morning ; 
 unless indeed, you have been making love to Patty : 
 and then, instead of calling you plain Pan as I used* 
 thou god of shepherds, I'll call you after Horace 
 Walpole's dog Pattypan, as the servants call Pata- 
 pan." 
 
 *' As I am not a popish priest, I don't pretend to 
 work miracles ; and making love to poor Patty, would 
 be nothing short of one ; but as ill luck would have 
 it, on my way hither (for I did intend coming to 
 breakfast), I looked in upon her grace of Queens- 
 berry, who loas at breakfast ; and then it was — you 
 7nust stay — and Jervois put] a chair for the Dean — 
 and Jervois bring a flask of the grand Duke's wine 
 that my lord keeper sent, and the Strasbourg pasty 
 Jervois/ I have nothing to say against the grand 
 duke's wine, for it was excellent, and indeed, except 
 a certain Burgundy, called Romane, grown on, and 
 confined to, the Prince of Conde's estate at Dijon ; 
 which, the Regent Orleans once sent Queen Anne,
 
 THE peer's daughters. 285 
 
 I never tasted anything finer. But with that con- 
 founded pasty began the old bone of contention be- 
 tween me and the Duchess." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Dean, do obhge me, and don't 
 eat with your knife ; it is really dangerous to say 
 the least of it/' 
 
 " And I should feel equally obliged to your grace 
 not to make such cutting remarks. '^ 
 
 " Fie ! Dean, a pun is almost as bad as eating with 
 your knife ; I really wonder that Addison did not 
 shew you up in the Spectator for it.'' 
 
 " Steele, your grace means." 
 
 " Oh I Dean, Dean, you are incorrigible ; and if 
 you go on we shall be at daggers drawn." 
 
 *' A conteaux tires, more likely. And so we went 
 on sparring for a full hour, till, in a fit of despera- 
 tion, I rushed out of the house ; and, before a lucid 
 interval came on, I had been to Wilmot's, and had 
 actually laid out £.30 on silver forks ! had it been 
 any other woman in England I'd never have spoken 
 to her again ; but the Glueensbury, I respect, (in 
 spite of the forks), for she does know how to spell.'' 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! poor Pan, it certainly was rather 
 a dear dijuner a la fourchette, that her grace has 
 given you to-day ; but still, unless you swallowed 
 knife and all, I don't yet see the whole morning ac- 
 counted for." 
 
 " Here is the rest of it," said Swift, handing her 
 a small long yellowish looking envelope with a huge
 
 286 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 seal almost as big as the letter itself, in dingy look- 
 ing red wax. '^ A letter from Voltaire, which it will 
 take 7ne about a month to decipher ; and you look 
 sufficiently like Cleopatra this morning, (not the 
 woman herself, for J hate little dark skinny women, 
 but Guido's glorious idea of her), to be able perhaps 
 to make out these hieroglyphics !'* 
 
 Lady Glensborough took the letter, and, after 
 spelling it over for a few minutes, said, 
 
 " Oh! I see, he begins — My dear Dean, by having 
 robbed some church of its incense-burner, and 
 swinging it most manfully in your face ; for, he says 
 that, ' after having read your works, he is ashamed of 
 his own ;' now, do you believe that, Pan ?" paren- 
 thesised the fair reader, looking archly in Swift's 
 face, who was now patting Shock^s head, and twist- 
 ing his ears in the most affectionate manner possible, 
 having taking him vi et armes off of his mistress's 
 lap when he gave her the letter. 
 
 '' You will see why at the end," said Swift. 
 
 ^* Why I thought you had not read the letter," 
 said Lady Glensborough, now laughing out right, 
 as she saw through the little authorly vanity which 
 had made him give her the letter to read, under the 
 pretext of not being able to do so. 
 
 " Ah ! there you go, like a true woman pouncing 
 upon a conclusion ; the reason, I said you would see 
 why at the end, was, that the context of all writings, 
 if they have any context, (and no one can deny
 
 287 
 
 that Voltaire knows how to write), always explains 
 any abstract paragraph or proposition." 
 
 *' Then there can be no doubt," said Lady Glens- 
 borough, resuming her perusal of the letter with a 
 smile, *• that by the context, we shall see the Dean 
 of St. Patrick's superiority most clearly established, 
 e-hem ! Well, he next proceeds to expatiate upon 
 Madame du Chatelet's (la docte Emelie, as D'Alem- 
 bert calls her, more in ridicule than admiration), 
 great and unbounded admiration for Monsieur le 
 Do\ en Swift ; and that if he would but honour Paris 
 with his presence, it would be the proudest day of her 
 life to receive him with all the honour due to his great 
 celebrity ; and, as Paris once awarded the apple to 
 beauty, Monsieur Le Doyen luould find that Paris 
 had another still more golden, with which to do homage 
 to genius and wit like his.'' 
 
 " There ! what do you think of that, Monsieur le 
 Doyen?" laughed Lady Glensborough. 
 
 " Oh ! I have no doubt," said Swift, evidently well 
 pleased, by the additional twist that Shock's ears were 
 getting, but obliged out of compulsory modesty, 
 (the only surt authors are ever troubled with), to 
 laugh off this flattery, '' 1 have no doubt that the 
 ' Philosopher of Ferney' said to the prtcieuse of 
 Paris — 
 
 Come let us see nov? if between us, 
 We can't compare the dean to Venus ! 
 For^ when wits are running races 
 There is no flattery that disgraces.
 
 288 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 '^ Ha ! ha ! ha ! I should like to send them your 
 impromptu," said Lady Glensborough, "for in their 
 contest of wits, you would convince them that in 
 this instance at least, the race is to the swift ; but I 
 must go on with the letter. Here at the end, he 
 says, he should be so much obliged to you if you 
 would get up an Irish subscription for the Henriade" 
 
 '' Ah ! did I not tell you," said Swift, " that you 
 would find at the end an explanation of the supe- 
 riority of ray writings to his?" 
 
 '' I fear," replied Lady Glensborough that he 
 will find it easier to get the Irish to subscribe to that, 
 than to the Henriade/' 
 
 Here a servant brought in "a card ;" but, as in 
 those days people had not even dreamt of the paper 
 luxury, at which modern improvement has arrived, 
 although from a duchess, and one of the most lead- 
 ing personages of the time, this card was scribbled 
 in a rather large Italian hand, on the back of the ten 
 of hearts, and ran as follows : 
 
 " The Duchess of Queenshury's compliments to 
 Lady Glensborough, and hopes she rested well after 
 Lady Betty Germain s drum last night. If agreeable 
 to Lady Glensborough, the Duchess of Queensbury 
 will be happy to carry her Ladyship to Ranelagh in 
 her coach this evening." 
 
 '* Oh 1 dear, yes ! that will do very well," said 
 Lady Glensborough, opening a drawer, and taking 
 out a knave of clubs, whom, with the aid of a pen
 
 289 
 
 and ink, she immediately converted into her charge 
 d'affaires to the Duchess of Queensberry. "And 
 will you,'^ added she, as soon as she had rang and 
 dispatched him, " dine with us, Monsieur le Doyen, 
 and go with me and the Duchess to Ranelagh after." 
 
 " No, I can't to-day ; for I and Arbuthnot have 
 promised to sup with Pope at Twickenham, and, as 
 the carnival should precede Lent, we mean to dine 
 well first at Wills's." 
 
 ** What disgusting creatures you men are," said 
 Lady Glensborough. " You are always either dining 
 or supping with Pope, and yet, because the poor 
 little man cannot sit up drinking with you half the 
 night, you sneer at his hospitality." 
 
 *' No, my dear Lady Glensborough, at his want of 
 it." 
 
 ** What a shame !'^ exclaimed Lady Glensborough, 
 " for Lord Bolingbroke himself told me, that, though 
 he does go to bed early, he always says to his 
 guests, ' Gentlemen, I leave you to your wine.' " 
 
 " Yes, but unfortunately," said Swift, " he inva- 
 riably forgets to leave his wine to us !" 
 
 " Well, at all events he makes it up in grapes ; 
 for, I hear the fruit he gives you is splendid." 
 
 *^ It is certainly very fine, almost as fine as if it 
 was (like the wine) forbidden ; but cui bono ? Arbuth- 
 not wont eat it, and I can't." 
 
 " Oh ! that reminds me,^' said Lady Glensborough, 
 " that Lord Oxford told rae to ask you to tell me of 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 7 
 
 290 
 
 some impertinent grace you said the last time you 
 supped with Pope. Now, however good it was, that 
 is, however had it was, I frankly tell you beforehand, 
 that I think it was abominable of you to insult him 
 to his face ; and I sha'n't either admire your wicked 
 wit, or laugh at ft." 
 
 '' But I did not insult him to his face ; for, how- 
 ever I may despise him as an amphytrion, I revere 
 him as a poet, and a profound thinker ; and, as for 
 laughing, 1 don't want you to laugh, for God knows 
 it was no laughing matter to us." 
 
 *' Well, but let me hear the grace, and why you 
 should have selected that particular supper to honour 
 with a benediction, since according to you, they are 
 all equally scanty.'' 
 
 *' Yes, but that one was a &-grace, so I treated 
 it to a grace to balance the account. There was 
 Gay, Dodsley, a Monsieur D'Aubegni, a cousin of 
 the Marquise de la Villette, whom my Lord Boling- 
 broke sent over to Pope in a letter, Arbuthnot, and 
 myself; and the whole supper consisted of a not over 
 large dish of Thames' flounders, and a female pullet 
 of such antiquity, as to a^e, but of such recent and 
 sudden demise, that it was plain to the meanest ca- 
 pacity and the most unsuspicious nature, that an 
 ornithological St. Bartholomew had preceded our ar- 
 rival, (in the poultry yard) ; staring at the old hen, 
 were some half dozen of potatoes, which, had they 
 but done the same a few short hours before, I'm
 
 THE peer's daughters. 291 
 
 sure would have rejoiced her aged heart, and there 
 can be no question would have gone down better with 
 her, than they did with us. Ogling the flounders 
 were a few straggling pipes of maccaroni^ guiltless 
 of cheese, and which, had the same flounders per- 
 ceived while in their native elen}ent, thev would no 
 doubt have bit at, as some new and vestal bait. But, 
 alas ! we could not flounder on them under any such 
 delusion. Just as we were about to sit down. Pope 
 was called out ; he begged of us not to wait for him ; 
 and, turning to me, said, ' Dean, will you have the 
 goodness to give thanks.' As 1 really could not see 
 for what, and as 1 never speak against my conscience, 
 as soon as Pope had closed the door, not to keep 
 them waiting, as they were all still standing, I 
 merely said in rhyme, as there certainly was no reason 
 for a thanksgiving, 
 
 " ' Oh ! thou who blest the loaves and fishes, 
 Look down upon these ill-filled dishes ; 
 For, if our hunger ihey should feed, 
 
 'Twould be a miracle indeed I' " 
 
 • 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha 1 you really are too bad, and Ar- 
 buthnot and Dodsly no doubt rewarded you with a 
 loud laugh ; but was not poor innocent, honest Gay, 
 shocked beyond measure ?" 
 
 " Gay ! oh, dear, no, poor fellow, he is always la- 
 bouring under such a painful intensity about his own 
 
 affairs, that he never troubles himself about other 
 
 o 2
 
 262 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 peoples, or indeed sees, or hears, any thing that is 
 going on." 
 
 '* But if Pope had come back and found you all 
 laughing, how should you have managed to have ex- 
 plained the jest to him ?" 
 
 " Oh ! we provided against that contingency ; for 
 we English are, as the Turks say of us, a peoj^le who 
 carry our minds in our fingers ends ; and as Pope keeps 
 in a drawer of his side-board (God only knows why,) 
 the penknife with which Guiscard attempted to stab 
 Lord Oxford, I got it out to show to M. D'Aubegni ; 
 and when our host returned, we renewed our laugh- 
 ter, by asking him if he was hoarding up that wea- 
 pon for Lady Mary Wortley." 
 
 '* It appears to me,'' said Lady Glensborough, 
 *' that you authors possess in common with some 
 politicians that I could name, only that I never in- 
 terfere with my neigJihours, a certain recklessness of 
 soul, and callousness of sentiment, which render you 
 proof against all attacks." 
 
 " Nearly so, with the exception of those of the 
 gout and the spleen. But you cannot wonder at 
 either authors or politicians being such hardened 
 sinners, since we both associate so much with fine 
 ladies ; for as Cicero said to Atticus cceteris specimen 
 esto ; and Cicero was right, for there is nothing so 
 infectious as example.'^ 
 
 " You impertinent creature," said Lady Glens- 
 borough, rising, with a laugh, ** you shall do a double
 
 293 
 
 penance for that ; first, and that is of course the most 
 severe, I shall withdraw my society from you, as I 
 have a person on business waiting for me in the next 
 room ; and next I order you to go home, and write 
 me a copy of verses in your very best style." 
 
 " Pooh ! bad is the best you know," replied Swift ; 
 *' for, getting a verse out of me is like getting a 
 guinea out of me ; / find it so hard to get either, 
 that I am naturally reluctant to part with them." 
 
 ^' Then the greater will be your generosity, my 
 dear Dean." 
 
 " I've got the title and that's half the battle," said 
 Swift, drawing on his gloves, and taking his hat off 
 the sofa where he had laid it. 
 
 *' Let me hear," cried Lady'Glensborough, looking 
 back through the half open folding door before she 
 closed it.'* 
 
 *' The Dean's gratitude to a fine lady for 
 not taking up his whole morning." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! it's lucky that I am going,'' said 
 Lady Glensborough, as she closed the door ; " or 
 Ursa Major, in conjunction with Venics, might be as 
 dangerous as two comets clashing." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Lord Athenreagh was looking almost vacantly at 
 two letters which lay open before him, which vacant 
 look he transferred to Lady Glensborough when she 
 entered ; and then, as if vaguely taking up the chain 
 of his ideas, and re-linking her with the letters before
 
 294 THE peer's daughters, 
 
 him, he pointed to them, and pushing them away 
 with a deep sigh, murmured, 
 
 '* There — no papist — no Maud — no wedding/' 
 
 "Nay, dear Lord Athenreagh," said the lady, 
 taking the letters w^ith one hand, while she patted 
 his cheek like a child's with the other ; '* no papist, 
 if you will, that is all as it should be ; but no Maud 
 and no wedding does not follow. On the contrary, 
 I here make you promise to dance the first minuet 
 with me at Maud's wedding." 
 
 *'Eh? promise?" said the old man, looking up 
 vacantly in her face, and then again pomting to the 
 letters he had written, his expiring intellect evidently 
 clinging in its dying flicker to his last and strongest 
 impression. *' Promise ! oh, yes, I always do what 
 I promise — there — there — " 
 
 Lady Glensborough took the letters with a slight 
 elevation of the shoulders, and a faint breathing that 
 seemed like the echo of Lord Athenreagh's deep 
 sigh. The letter to Maud ran thus : 
 
 ''Dear daughter Maud,— I suppose you know 
 that I love you, therefore you cannot for a moment 
 but believe how much it pains me to refuse you any- 
 thing ; but I have cogent reasons why I cannot ac- 
 cept the proposals of this Don Raphael Valasquez 
 for you. At a future time you will acknowledge the 
 justice of my conduct, and thank me for it ; there- 
 fore, as you value my blessing, do not do in this in-
 
 295 
 
 stance what you never did before — disobey me. I 
 am old now, and somewhat broken in health, and I 
 am sure my own Maud would not willingly plant a 
 nettle upon her father's grave. Love to Evelyn, 
 who should be a warning to you. God bless you, 
 my dear child ! Continue to be, as you ever have 
 been, the joy and pride of your affectionate father, 
 
 " Athenrbagh.'' 
 
 To Don Raphael the letter was more laconic, and 
 as follows : 
 
 " Sir, — While I am duly sensible of, and beg fully 
 to acknowledge, the very flattering opinion you are 
 pleased to express of my daughter and myself, I 
 regret to say that I must unequivocally decline the 
 proposals you have done the latter the honour of 
 addressing to her, as I have other views for her, from 
 which nothing can induce me to swerve. 
 " I have the honour to be, Sir, 
 
 " Your faithful and obedient servant, 
 
 '' Athenreagh. 
 "To Don Raphael Valasquez.'' 
 
 When Lady Glensborough had read these letters, 
 it must be confessed that something like a pang shot 
 through her heart ; for she knew that they were the 
 death-warrants of the happiness of two people, one 
 of whom she had known since her childhood, and 
 professed to love ! (oh ! that oft profaned word, it is
 
 296 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 not only in the archives of Cupid that its countless 
 perjuries are registered.) But Lady Glensborough 
 mixed too much with philosophers not to be philo- 
 sophical ; and so she suddenly recollected that as 
 there always must be a certain number of miserable, 
 unhappy, and disappointed individuals, to keep steady 
 the equipoise of gravitation in this wretched little 
 molehill of a planet of ours, it could be of little mat- 
 ter in the great scheme (whether her's at the time 
 being or that of the universe) what the names of 
 those predestined miserables might chance to be. 
 Again, too, when Latimer shook his head, and looked 
 with tearful eyes on his kind old master's terribly 
 altered face, as he helped him down stairs, — and the 
 sound of Lord Athenreagh's carriage wheels drove 
 slowly away, Lady Glensborough, for half a second, 
 hid her face in her hands, and felt a sort of spurious 
 remorse — for every remorse is such, which bears no 
 fruit o? atonement » But over the deeply-frozen sur- 
 face of thoroughly worldly hearts all things glide, 
 even the most terrible, save when some hed^wy personal 
 blow falling on such, proves the sledge-hammer of 
 retribution, and, by shivering themselves into the 
 irreparable fragments of some gigantic evil, makes 
 even such human skolezite feel. Lady Glensborough 
 was never without a little gold box, filled with small 
 dark tablets, which Edward Montague had sent her 
 from Cairo, and to which she had given the name of 
 ^'Rtves de Paradis;' for in truth such was the effect
 
 THE peer's daughters. 297 
 
 which this sublimated opium or Hachis produced 
 upon her. Having taken a couple of these pastilles, 
 she soon forgot both Maud and Raphael, and war- 
 bling, in the most silvery voice, as if she had had a 
 bevy of diamond nightingales in her throat, a then 
 popular Cavatina called " Ah ! Perche, e quanta 
 geloso?'' began arranging and re-arranging the flowers 
 in every jardiniere, and seemed only to want wings 
 to fly from one to the other, or indeed wings would 
 have been but a troublesome appendage, as she felt 
 as if she could have flown without ; and then Bridget 
 was called, and a certain assassin of a " Chopeau de 
 Paille a la Fanchette,'* and a soupir d^ amour and 
 silver brocade was ordered for Ranelagh that eve- 
 ning ; after which the lines on Pigwiggin were read 
 and laughed over, and then a pen was seized, and 
 the following note written and dispatched to his 
 nephew : 
 
 ** 1 know that once upon a time in ancient Rome 
 there was a very agreeable man about town, of the 
 name of Horace ; and I have heard that we Cockneys 
 of the eighteenth century possess also a very agree- 
 able personage of the same name ; but / am of the 
 family of St. Thomas, and what I don't see^ I confess, 
 have great difficulty in believing. However, he is so 
 nearly related to Pigwiggin, whom they are going to 
 make a peer, that I should like, if possible, to make the 
 nephew appear too ; and in order that he may do so to 
 
 o 3
 
 298 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 the best advantage, there are two kill-joys, worthy 
 of a plunge in the thickest mud of the Dunciad, to 
 dine here to-day at three, by Lord Glensborough's 
 special invitation — for in his mania for curiosities he 
 spares neither age nor sex — there is still a cover to 
 which / shall be happy to give the title of Horace ; 
 and as a reward for being thus bound in calf, there 
 is a seat in the Duchess of Queensberry's coach, (if 
 Patapan and the packing-cases will allow their mas- 
 ter to come), and a whole evening at Ranelagh with 
 her grace, and his, as the case may be, 
 
 " Lucy Glensborough." 
 
 Ten minutes after Patapan came prancing in, with 
 an affirmative answer from his master tied to his 
 collar of silver bells ; and after he and Shock had had 
 a set-to, of which the Enghsh dog had infinitel)' the 
 best of it, and poor Patapan had been made a baronet 
 of, (for even in those days baronetcies were heginning 
 to go to the dogs,) and sent back to his master with 
 a bloody paw, Lady Glensborough cried and laughed, 
 and dressed and talked, till she forgot the old man 
 whom she had sent away with such a heavy heart and 
 such stony eyes ; and the young one, whose hot blood 
 she was about to stagnate, and the gentle girl into 
 whose soft bloom of beauty she had just wormed so 
 insidious a canker; — all this she forgot, — for nobody 
 knew it ! All they did know, was how beautiful ! 
 Lady Glensborough looked that night at Ranelagh,
 
 THE PEERS DAUGHTERS. 299 
 
 and ^vhat a dear ! delightful ! charming ! person she 
 was — especially as, just as she was setting out, Mr. 
 Richardson had sent her a presentation copy of 
 ^^ Pamela " splendidly bound, which she was enabled 
 to brandish in her rivals' faces — much to their an- 
 noyance ; more particularly to that of Lady Caroline 
 Petersham, who had only a much soiled library 
 copy.* 
 
 * " Such was the rage for ' Pamela,' " says a contemporary of 
 Richardson's, " that the town ladies carried the volumes with them to 
 Ranelagh Gardens, and held them up to one another in triumph. Pope 
 praised this novel as likely to do more good than twenty volumes of 
 sermons, and Dr. Sherlock recommended it from the pulpit." The 
 scenes in Pamela and Clarissa Harlowe, to modern notions, would be 
 a curious Index Expurgatorius !
 
 300 THE 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CAFE PROCOPE. 
 
 " In motu quietem.^' 
 
 " Here are men who have arrived at a pitch of being gravely and 
 seriously irreligious ; who spend their coolest hours and their calmest 
 thoughts in the service of infidelity, and are maliciously diligent to 
 pervert men from the acknowledgment of the truth, and by the very 
 arms of Heaven, reason, and understanding, to enlarge the bounds of 
 the Kingdom of Darkness." — Sherlock. 
 
 " Human learning in itself neither makes a man a believer nor an 
 unbeliever, but confirms him in truth or error, according to his pre- 
 judices, inclinations, or interests; at least it is commonly so, and 
 therefore we find, that in all ages such among the learned as devoted 
 themselves to support the credit and interest of theii' particular pro- 
 fessions, were always the most violent persecutors of the truth," — 
 Swedenborg. 
 
 *' By no means,'' said D'Alembert, as he withdrew 
 his fingers from his snuff-box to plunge them into 
 the sugar-basin, which he then politely pushed across 
 to Lord Bolingbroke and the Comte de Saint Ger- 
 main, who formed two of a partie Carrt with him 
 and Valasquez, at a small round marble table in the 
 Cafe Procope. 
 
 '* By no means ; the past can be no possible guide 
 to us with regard to the new sera now about to dawn, 
 I will not say upon Europe, but upon the world ;
 
 THE peer's daughters. 301 
 
 for hitherto the philosophy of man has generally 
 been cultivated either by theologians, who were 
 ignorant of the body, or by physicians, who were 
 ignorant of the mind. It is true, that some of the 
 ancients, especially Aristotle, saw the necessity of 
 combining a knowledge of both, in order more com- 
 pletely to comprehend human nature. We have 
 combined both, and dived deep into the buried city, 
 which Aristotle only began to excavate.'^ 
 
 " Vous croyez ?" said Saint Germain, with an in- 
 credulous smile, sipping his truly Turkish coffee^ 
 and declining the sugar, over which the academi- 
 cian's snufF had ^^ cast a browner horror.'* 
 
 '^ Firmly,'' rejoined D'Alembert, ''though the 
 Comte de Saint Germain seems to doubt it." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Saint Germain, " I do not in 
 the least doubt that the master minds of the eighteenth 
 century have brought to a high, though still far short, 
 degree of perfection, the science of moral anatomy. I 
 only think that it is one thing to discover the seat 
 and cause of a disease, and another to strike out a 
 remedy for it so effectual, and at the same time so 
 innocuous, as to cure the malady without injuring 
 the constitution." 
 
 " Light, light, sir, is the true and only cure for 
 our social blindness ; and every man who is not a 
 bigot will wish its flood-gates to be opened upon the 
 peojjlc' 
 
 " My good Monsieur D'Alembert," resumed Saint
 
 302 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 Germain, calmly, '* I am no bigot ; and every man of 
 upright principles and sound sense, (and I hope I 
 may lay claim to the former, however questionable 
 you may deem my pretensions to the latter,) every 
 man, I say, of upright principles, must wish well to 
 the cause of freedom; but every man acquainted 
 with human nature and the principles of government, 
 must be aware of the terrible difficulties and immi- 
 nent perils that ever stand in the way of a first great 
 attempt to radically turn the strong current of abuses 
 and popular errors, to which the might of ages has 
 given a Herculean impetus. For when great changes 
 are made, whether moral, social, or political, the 
 passions, prejudices, and interests of many individuals 
 must be suddenly and violently affected, which will 
 engender secret and deadly discontents, and personal 
 struggles and aspirations, which, though suppressed 
 and smouldering for a time, cannot fail, sooner or 
 later, to produce national convulsions, which in their 
 turn entail frightful public calamity, that too often 
 reverses the most humane and beneficial intentions of 
 the reformer. Liberty, to be salutary and effectual, 
 should be of natural and progressive growth ; for 
 whenever she is sudden, excessive, and unusual, 
 starting in full maturity and armed cap a pie, like 
 Pallas from the front of Jove, she becomes a satur- 
 nalia to the rabble, where the lawless riot, and de- 
 bauchery of the unhappy Helots, ends in sanguinary 
 crimes and punishments ; and as reaction is one of
 
 THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 303 
 
 the primary laws of nature, the apparent calm which 
 succeeds all revolutions is but the prostration of 
 strength, which is only capable of producing one 
 etfect, that of completely nullifying the power, and 
 annihihiting the influence, of the country labouring 
 under it, upon all other nations. I quite admit that 
 you and your school have succeeded in removing the 
 cataract from the eye of Europe ; I only doubt the 
 prudence of opening the tlood-gates of light you 
 speak of, my good Monsieur D'Alembert, upon the 
 still weak and tender sight of the mass." 
 
 D'Alembert shrugged his shoulders as he seized 
 Valasquez' untasted cup of coffee, and drank it off by 
 mistake for his own, while Lord BoHngbroke, after 
 pointing with a smile to one of the garqons to supply 
 the place of the abstracted cup, observed, fiatically, 
 as he tapped his snuff-box, and then stroked the 
 shin of his right leg which lay across his left knee, 
 
 '*The fact is, Comte, that the real cataract upon the 
 eye of Europe is her priestcraft ; when we get that 
 off she'll see her way clearly enough. There is a 
 poor devil of the name of Foljam, who lives in the 
 Rue de Tourneau, that 1 am going to send to Vol- 
 taire next week, who has written a very clever eocposee 
 of the inconsistencies and contradictions of the 
 Fathers, especially those of Origin, who often mis- 
 quotes even liimself, and makes no mention whatever 
 of niany things that the others assert, as having 
 occurred in his time.''
 
 304 
 
 " Ohj for that matter/' said Saint Germain, 
 " Origin's citations cannot be reckoned as various 
 readings, because he generally writes in a hurry, and 
 quotes from memory ; as he does, for example, in his 
 book against Celsus, where he twice cites this passage 
 from the fourth chapter and twenty-first verse of 
 Galatians, ^ Ye that read the law, do you not hear 
 the law?' whereas the Scriptural reading is, ^lYe 
 that desire to be under the law, do ye not hear the law ? ' 
 But if his not mentioning things which other con- 
 temporary writers have asserted as facts, be a con- 
 vincing proof that sacred history is all a fable, then, 
 my lord, you must extend the same presumption to 
 profane history, for how many classical historians are 
 there who labour under the same omission on the 
 one side, and commission on the other. Livy, for 
 instance, tells us that Scipio having given orders that 
 Massiva should not be sold along with the other 
 African prisoners, sent him home to his uncle Masa- 
 nissa, honoured with presents,* and afterwards in- 
 forms us that Masanissa, in his interview with Scipio, 
 assured him that this conduct towards his nephew, 
 had made him long for an opportunity of becoming 
 an ally to the Romans. Now, why does Polybius 
 neither tell us of the fact of Scipio's granting Massiva 
 his liberty, nor yet of those words of Masanissa in 
 his interview with Scipio, after the defeat of Indi- 
 bilis, which refer to it. According to your mode of 
 
 * Liv. lib. 27.
 
 305 
 
 reasoning, Scipio was never capable of this generous 
 conduct towards Massiva, because Polybius has for- 
 gotten to mention it, or Livy was an impostor because 
 he has mentioned it." 
 
 " Ah, I thought we should have a sermon from 
 the Conite de Saint Germain/' said Lord Boling- 
 broke, with a half patronising, half contemptuous 
 smile, as he oiFered Saint Germain his snufF-box, that 
 universal pis aller, both of the wits and the witless of 
 the eighteenth century. 
 
 " Nay, not a sermon,*' said Saint Germain, re- 
 turning his smile in kind, for he hated getting into 
 theological discussions with any of the clique, as they 
 could not understand him, and he understood them 
 only too well. '* Not a sermon ; but if you insist upon 
 one, as the only novelty I have to offer you, my lord, 
 I will preach you one upon Monsieur D'Alembert's 
 new aera ; but as all things must have a little of the 
 old leaven in them, I shall take a heathen text. 
 
 " Pauci quos aequus amavit 
 Jupiter, et ardena evexit ad aethera -virtus. 
 Dis geniti potuere." 
 
 *' First, my brethren, cequus amavit Jupiter. They 
 must have happy natural dispositions, as the founda- 
 tion upon which so magnificent a superstructure is 
 to be raised. 
 
 " Secondly, ardens virtus. It is impossible for 
 people to be happy, if their minds are gnawed by the
 
 306 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 remembrance of an ill-spent life, or distracted with 
 unsatisfied desires and insubordinate passions. 
 
 "Thirdly and lastly jdisgenitii that vague expression 
 used by the antients to denote what we more simply 
 and comprehensively call men of good family 
 Though no descent, however illustrious, can com- 
 pensate for the want of personal merit, yet, where 
 that favourable circumstance concurs in persons, who 
 have the two foregoing necessary qualifications, it 
 contributes much to elevate the mind and assists it 
 to contemn low pursuits. These dis geniti are ge- 
 nerally so early initiated into the art of idleness, 
 that it becomes so habitual to them that they prac- 
 tise it with an ease and elegance that can scarcely 
 ever be attained by those to whom it does not come 
 as a birth-right, and are not ' to the manner born. 
 Such men, strange as it may seem, without them- 
 selves being aware of it, are a practical synopsis of 
 the theories of Epicurus and Erastothenes, and will, 
 in the exile and bitter privations likely to follow the 
 first explosion of M. D'Alembert's new aera, prove 
 themselves true philosophers, by the adaptation of 
 their energy and their endurance to the heavy burden 
 of their adverse circumstances. Whereas, your pseudo 
 philosophers, those, who as Donne, (the divine, not 
 the poet), happily expresses it, have ' embraced the 
 worst voluptuousness — an hydropique and immoderate 
 desire of human learning,' will fare badly indeed.
 
 307 
 
 succumbing under that fearful state of things which 
 they themselves have brought about/^ 
 
 " Naturally, or supernaturally," said DAlembert, 
 with a sneer, *' prophecy is the outward and visible 
 sign of the inward and spiritual grace of prescience ; 
 and every one is aware that Monsieur de Saint Ger- 
 main, from sources and arrangements best known to 
 himself, is on terms of intimacy with the remotest 
 past, and the most distant future, including every 
 branch of their numerous family, of small and great 
 events." 
 
 '*Ha! ha! ha!^^ laughed Lord Bolingbroke. 
 
 " How now. Monsieur D'Alembert?" cried Valas- 
 quez, with a smile of quiet contempt, that fully 
 avenged the rude personality of the academician's 
 words, and St. John's laugh, at St. Germain's ex- 
 pense. " You a philosopher ! and not know that it is 
 the fate of all extraordinary and precocious supe- 
 riority, whether moral, intellectual, or scientific, to 
 be lapidated with persecutions and misconstructions 
 by the age in which it lives — robbed and maligned 
 through many future ones ? One instance, being a re- 
 markable one, will suffice to illustrate my proposi- 
 tion. Do you not know that Roger Bacon has not 
 only treated of most metals and minerals, deeming 
 sulphur and mercury to be the chief principles of 
 them all, but that he also treats of almost every 
 operation now used in chemistry, and claimed by 
 different pilferers as modern inventions. He describes
 
 308 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 too, the method of making tinctures and elixirs ; he 
 mentions the incineration of fern from which the 
 English made glass. He was the miracle of the age 
 in which he lived, and perhaps, the greatest genius 
 for mechanical knowledge since the time of Archi- 
 medes ; he understood and explained the nature of 
 concave spherical glasses, upon which he wrote a 
 treatise, shewing their force in burning at a distance. 
 How far he advanced optics in all its branches, is 
 sufficiently evident from his book of perspective, 
 where he speaks of the reflection and refraction of 
 light, and describes the camera obscura, and all sorts 
 of glasses which magnify, or diminish objects, bring 
 them nearer to the eye, or remove them further off ; 
 among the rest, the use of the optic tube or tele- 
 scope, thought to be a more modern invention, was 
 plainly known to him. His mathematical instru- 
 ments cost £200 or £300]; and he says, that in 
 twenty years he spent £2000 upon them and books : 
 a sum so enormous for the time in which he lived, 
 and the matters upon which it was expended, that 
 the popular belief was, that the devil was at once his 
 preceptor and his banker. Fryar Bacon was like- 
 wise almost the only astronomer of his age ; accord- 
 ingly, he took notice of an error in the calendar, in 
 relation to the quantity of the solar year, which had 
 been increasing ever since the time of Julius Caesar, 
 and proposed a plan to Pope Clement IV. how it 
 should be corrected. But it was only 300 years
 
 309 
 
 after that Gregory XIII. followed this very plan in 
 the reformation of the Julian calendar; with this 
 difference, that Roger Bacon would have it begin 
 from the birth of our Saviour, whereas, the Gregorian 
 correction reaches no higher than the Nicene coun- 
 cil. But his penetrating genius did not stop there, 
 he entered into the depth of mechanical sciences, 
 and was so well acquainted with the force of elastic 
 bodies, that in imitation of Archytas, who constructed 
 a wooden dove that could fly, he made a flying chariot, 
 and had an art of putting statues in motion, and 
 producing articulate sounds out of a brazen head. 
 He also hit upon the secret of gunpowder, and de- 
 scribes the ingredients of its composition, and the 
 amazing effects of its power and light. These were 
 wonderful discoveries for so ignorant an age, the 
 more wonderful that he had neither teacher nor co- 
 adjutor ! and it is perhaps the most wonderful of all, 
 that such important discoveries should have lain so 
 long concealed, till others should start up in suc- 
 ceeding centuries, and shamelessly lay claim to their 
 invention, of which, Roger Bacon had alone the 
 right. For forty years he pursued these studies with 
 indefatigable intensity ; and, was that suspicious and 
 vituperated creature a very learned man, in a very 
 illiterate age ; and, because he performed extraor- 
 dinary things by the help of mathematics and che- 
 mistry, he was suspected of magic, and, persecuted 
 accordingly, especially by his own fraternity ; who,
 
 31vO THE PEER S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 not content ^vith the expulsion of his works from 
 their library, never rested till they got him impris- 
 oned. He had also some skill in physics ; and yet, 
 English historians scarcely mention this extraordi- 
 nary man, or his works, though surely, both he, and 
 they, deserved a place in their records, at least, as 
 much as the detail of a blazing star, and a bloody 
 shower, which they never fail to descant on at full 
 length. So, take my advice, my good Monsieur 
 D'Alembert, and believe, that however enlightened 
 we may deem ourselves and our age to be, there is 
 always, at least, one Friar Bacon in it, too far in ad- 
 vance of it, for either we, or it, to appreciate or com- 
 prehend." 
 
 Valasquez's cheek had become flushed in the ex- 
 citement of speaking, nor was this flush abated by 
 the almost paternal look of mingled affection - and 
 gratitude that glistened in the eye of Saint Germain, 
 while a quiet smile at the same time played round 
 the mouth of the latter, as it is wont to do round 
 that of a grown person who looks on at the plays 
 and disputes of children. D'Alembert, on the con- 
 trary, projected his head far in advance of his knees, 
 and, taking a most elaborate and sonorous pinch of 
 snuflf, after which, he ejaculated a long drawn 
 '*Ah!" said with an air of consummate self-suffi- 
 ciency and a telegraphic smile at Lord Bolingbroke, 
 as he threw himself back in his chair, folded his 
 arms, and closed his small twinkling eyes.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 311 
 
 "Ah! my good Don Raphael, precisely — so; and 
 we are now a Httle knot of Bacones in France, who 
 must submit to be persecuted, because we cannot 
 be understood ; but taking reacon and nature for our 
 chart and rudder, we fearfully push out to sea in 
 our Httle bark, to give battle to the whole fleet of 
 superstition ; in short, Seiior Valasquez, hke your 
 valiant countrymen, Don Martinez Yanez de Bar- 
 buda, Master of Alcantara, who, in 1390, attempted 
 with a small force to kill all the Moors in Spain, we 
 shall attempt, and, I have no doubt, succeed, in 
 demolishing all the bigots and bigotry in Europe 1" 
 
 •* If you would carry out your simile, don't forget, 
 M. DAlembert, that Don Martinez and his very 
 small band all perished in their attempt." 
 
 " Yes, but remember the inscription on his tomb,'' 
 rejoined D'Alembert ; " and it was almost compen- 
 sation for the defeat, to have the inscription that he 
 had for an epitaph : — ' Here lies he into whose great 
 heart fear never found entrance^ 
 
 " But perhaps," said Valasquez, smiling, it might — /\ 
 not be quite so glorious, though equally merited, to 
 incur the matter of fact bathos of the Emperor 
 Charles V.'s remark when he read it, which was — 
 * Ese fidalgo jamas dehio apagar Algerna candela con 
 sus dedos J ' or, in plain French, * Then, that gentle- 
 man never snuffed a candle with his fingers !' and 
 my fear is, that when France's 'knot of Bacons,'
 
 312 THE PEER^S DAUGHTERS. 
 
 as you are pleased to call them, shall attempt to 
 extinguish the only true light that shines upon our 
 world ; they will run a very great risk of burning 
 their fingers ! Luckily for the discomfited acade- 
 micianj who by no means relished this very close 
 following up of his comparison of himself and his 
 colleagues to Don Martinez Yanez, the door 
 opened, and the Vicomte de Nesmond made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " Ha ! the last hero of the bastile," exclaimed 
 D'Alembert and Lord Bolingbroke, in a breath, ex- 
 tending their hands to him as he entered. 
 
 •'Nay, honour where honour is due," said the 
 young man placing his hand on Saint Germain's 
 shoulder, from which touch the latter seemed in- 
 voluntarily to shrink. Here is the real hero of that 
 tragical interlude, I might have lingered there till 
 now but for him, and, faugh !'^ continued he with af- 
 fected disgust, throwing his perfumed gloves, and 
 laced pocket handkerchief at some distance from him 
 on the table, as he lifted up his sword so as to seat 
 himself in the chair, which one of the garqons had 
 placed for him — '* Faugh ! I still think I smell of 
 the mould of its dungeons." 
 
 " On the contrary," replied Saint Germain, " you 
 are as usual redolent of parfum de la cour. So 
 which way does the wind blow there ?" 
 ^fjA^" ^* Diantre! badly enough in truth,*' said the Vi- 
 comte ; "you remember Quesnays prophecies about
 
 THE peer's daughters. 313 
 
 five weeks ago, when we supped with the Pompa- 
 dour at La Muette. Well, every one of them have 
 come to pass ; and there is the Controleur General as 
 mad as JBicetre, and Sa Majestt trh Casserole, as M. 
 de Saint Germain most happily calls him, in such 
 an infernal humour, that he is past Pompadour or 
 Pare aux Cerfs ; and even King Dage has turned 
 restive ; for, when he was sent for this morning to 
 shave Monsieur de Sechelle's head, he flatly refused, 
 saying with his usual cool impudence, that he had 
 quite enough to do to attend to the heads of fools 
 and madmen figuring in the world, and that he 
 really could not waste his time upon that compara- 
 tively small class of exclnsives, who thought fit to 
 hide their madness or their folly, by withdrawing 
 from it ; therefore Louis XV. might shave Monsieur 
 de Sechelle, if he pleased, but he certainly should 
 not." 
 
 " 'Pon my word," cried D'Alembert, *' tliis is ter- 
 rible ! poor de Sechelle ! one would think that Vol- 
 taire too was a prophet ; for last winter, at Ferney, 
 when we were one evening; telling: stories about 
 robbers, and it came to his turn, he began, — ' Once 
 upon a time there was a Fermier General,' — and then 
 came to a full stop, adding, " my friends I beg your 
 pardon, but I have forgotten the rest ;' and so I 
 think he now will, the fine plan that de Sechelle 
 wanted him to forward to the King of Prussia." 
 " Well, I had thought of going to the Hotel D'Eve- 
 voL. ri. i»
 
 ii/t^^ 'Uk^ 
 
 314 
 
 reux after dinner ! and I shall now certainly do so, 
 if the Marquise is not in too great consternation with 
 all these untoward events to receive." 
 
 " Untoward indeed !" said de Nesmond, ^' for poor 
 little Alexandrine is seriously ill, and her mother is 
 so superstitious about Quesnay, whom she calls the 
 Prophet de Malheur, that she won't have him called 
 in; and yet if any one can save the child he can." 
 
 ''Aye, but nobody can save her," muttered Saint 
 Germain ; and then added aloud, as he rose, placed 
 his hat under his arm, and drew on his gloves, '' Ser- 
 viteur Messieurs J" 
 
 '^ I will go with you/' said Valasquez, striking his 
 diamond repeater, '' for I have an appointment at 
 six, and it now wants twenty minutes, my coach is 
 at the door, Comte, can I set you down? or is yours 
 there, or do you walk ?'' 
 
 ''I should, but for your obliging offer; but I'll 
 avail myself of that, if you'll kindly set me down 
 at the entrance of the Champs Elysees." 
 
 "With pleasure," replied Valasquez ; and so say- 
 ing, his carriage was called, and he and Saint Ger- 
 main got into it. 
 
 " I know not how it is," said the former, as soon 
 as the carriage had driven off, *' but it appears to 
 me that the Ophidian is a cheat, and jEthalides an 
 imposter, for I have been wretched almost ever 
 since I have possessed the one or commanded the 
 other.'
 
 THE PEER'S DAUGHTERS. 315 
 
 " Neither is the case," rejoined Saint Germain ; 
 " the only deceiver in the business is yourself, and 
 you were deceived with your eyes open, because you 
 would be deceived. I never told you that the Ophi- 
 dion could change one hair's breadth of any event ; 
 for what can counteract Omnipotence ? 1 only told 
 you that it would forewarn you of them, and by so 
 doing cast a darker shadow over your existence ; for 
 to foresee evils that we cannot avoid, is indeed to 
 rush out from the threshold of our own soul, to 
 meet misfortune half way, and so hasten her every 
 crisis, and in like manner to lessen and dilute the 
 zest of surprise from every joy. Neither did T tell 
 you that ^thaltdes could make or unmake circum- 
 stances ; I merely assured you of his obedience to all 
 your commands, from the smallest to the greatest. 
 But so it is ever, those who would alter God's work, 
 must end by finding, when it is too late, that He 
 knows best." 
 
 " Aye, I do indeed remember,'' said Valasquez 
 mournfully, " that you told me of the two currents 
 that should run parallel through my life, the one 
 bearing on its surface \\\^ present ov actual, the other 
 the future and inevitable. On the former I see 
 Maud, fond, beautiful, as she is, and all mine ; and 
 could I keep my vision fixed at that heavenward 
 focus, 1 should be happy, perhaps too happy ; but 
 ever and anon a mighty shadow falls upon all this, 
 and 1 7nust turn to see from whence it comes ; and 
 
 p 2
 
 316 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 then I behold Maud, forcibly torn from me by some 
 unseen power, and first violently struggling with the 
 tumultuous eddies of these dark waters^ and then 
 with clasped hands and upturned eyes, calmly sink- 
 ing beneath them, till her last look of love at me is 
 all that floats above them. This over I can see 
 nothing beyond. Oh ! tell me in mercy what comes 
 after, or I shall go mad.'' 
 
 '^ I cannot if I would,'' said Saint Germain, with a 
 sigh, " for heaven, aye, when it scourges is still mer- 
 ciful ; and even in that fearful whirlpool of the in- 
 evitahle that you would look upon, you will never 
 discover but one evil at a time, the one nearest at 
 hand ; for did not He who knew every pulse of the 
 human heart tell us that ' sufficient for the day is the 
 evil thereof;' and often do we not exclaim that we 
 cannot bear that ; howthen should we support more?" 
 ''But what? or who can separate Maud and I? 
 since she has told me she loves me.'' 
 "Perhaps her father." 
 
 '' Her father ? no, no ; for she is so sure of his 
 consent. He is, she assures me, the very kindest 
 and most indulgent of fathers ; indulgent to a fault, 
 for he liked not Lady Evelyn's marriage, and yet 
 he could not holdout against her entreaties. Surely 
 then, without arrogance, I may flatter myself that I 
 am a more worthy person than Mr. Vernon Howard, 
 and, therefore, w-hat possible reason could he have, 
 for the first time in his Ufe, running counter to the
 
 317 
 
 wishes of his favourite child, especially when she has 
 told him that her whole happiness depends upon his 
 acquiescence in them ?'* 
 
 " Reason !" replied Saint Germain shaking his 
 head, '' how many of us are there who act from rea- 
 son ? besides, age is sometimes as feeble in purpose 
 as it is in physical strength ; and, as Bossuet truly 
 observes, there is no weakness like the fear of ap- 
 pearing weak.* This fear is the incubus that gene- 
 rally hangs over the old ; indeed, most me7i are de- 
 ficient in moral courage, and many is the hero with 
 whose prowess the world has rung, that did not pos- 
 sess as much mental valour, as would enable a girl 
 of fifteen to come off creditably in her struggles 
 with the trials and trammels of any six hours of her 
 daily Ufe." 
 
 " But,'^ objected Valasquez, " Lord Athenreagh 
 is a widower — lives alone — has no essence of shrew, 
 or tincture of wife in the shape of a maiden sister. 
 No autocratic despot in the form of a servile and 
 fondly expectant nephew to struggle against, or to 
 succumb to ; in short, is free from that chevaux-de- 
 frise of collateral relations, which so often bars wife- 
 less and childless old men, so completely out of 
 their own will. Who then could possibly prejudice 
 him against me, or manoeuvre him into thwarting 
 Maud?'-' 
 
 * •' La plus dangereuse de toutes les faiblesses, et de craindre de 
 paraitre faible."
 
 318 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 " That'' said Saint Germain, " the future may or 
 may not inform you of ; for, for one person who lives 
 to elucidate the real influences of their fate iwo or 
 con in this world, thousands go to their graves, 
 putting the saddle on one of chance's wrong horses. 
 But," added he, evidently wishing to change the 
 conversation, '^you are going down to Louis Ra- 
 cine's to-night, are you not ?" 
 
 ** Heaven forbid !" exclaimed Valasquez, '* that I 
 ever should witness another of their abominations, 
 as I told de Richelieu at the last ; besides, I beheve 
 they hold their blasphemous orgies at the cemetery 
 of St. Medard to night ; but / am going down to 
 the Cul de Sac de Guemene." 
 
 *' Ah !'' cried Saint Germain, pulling his under 
 lip, and apparently continuing aloud his own thoughts, 
 " you will find poor Lady Evelyn in a great state of 
 nervous excitement, having received a threatening 
 note from her unworthy husband, teUing her that 
 his honour will be compromised if she does not re- 
 mit him fifteen thousand Louis before twelve o'clock 
 to-night ; and that if she has not the money, she 
 must get Zamora to advance it to her, upon some of 
 her jewels. Now assure her that her husband's 
 honour is not in the least danger. I do not speak 
 logically, because he has no honour, but literally, that 
 he will obtain the sum he requires, through another 
 channel ; and that before twelve o'clock to-night,
 
 THE pef<:r's daughters. 319 
 
 she will receive another note from him, announcing 
 to her that he has received this money.'' 
 
 Valasquez stared as if awaking from a dream, and 
 then said, " But if Lady Evelyn should ask me for 
 a satisfactory explanation of this assurance, what 
 am I to say ? for, being in total ignorance, not only 
 of the circumstance itself till you this moment men- 
 tioned it, but of all things relating to it, I should 
 be at a loss how to convince her that I was not an 
 impostor.^' 
 
 "Then you must become one," replied Saint Ger- 
 main, smiling ; ** assume the fiatical tone of an oracle, 
 and give her this assurance with all the confidence 
 possible. Truth is seldom imposing^ because it is 
 truth — whereas the charlatan fiction is so plausible, 
 that he generally obtains a diploma of faith vi et armis 
 from every one.'* 
 
 "But really ,'' hesitated Valasquez, as the carriage 
 now stopped at the corner of the Place Louis Quinze, 
 and the servants got down to open the door for Saint 
 Germain, during which time the coachman had some 
 difficulty to make the very spirited horses (those at 
 that time rare things in Paris) stand still — '^ Really, 
 if Lady Evelyn should press me upon this point, I 
 shall not know how to answer her.'' 
 
 " There is no necessity that yoa should. I answer 
 for everything. So now vale,'^ added Saint Germain, 
 extending his hand, in token of adieu to his com- 
 panion, as he backed out of the carriage, which in
 
 320 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 another minute was driving at a rapid pace down the 
 Rue Malplaquet, (now the Rue de Rivoli), on its way 
 to the Cul de Sac de Guemenee ; while Saint Ger- 
 main soon disappeared among the trees in the 
 Champs Elysees, which skirted the back of the Hotel 
 d'Evereux.
 
 321 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Every blade of grass has its share of the dews of heaven ; and 
 though the birds of the forest have no garners, the wide world is all 
 before them." — Chinese Proverb. 
 
 " That which toucheth vermilion is reddened, and he who toucheth 
 gold is supple."— /6/c?. 
 
 As Saint Germain pursued his way towards the back 
 entrance of the Hotel d'Evereux, which faced the 
 Rue St. Honore, he stopped every now and then, and 
 looked about him ; but seeing no one, or apparently 
 not the person he wanted, he resumed his onward 
 course, till he reached the court-yard of the Hotel 
 d'Evereux, where instead of entering at once he again 
 paused, and looked intently — not this time about 
 him — but at the roof of the house in every direction ; 
 at length, at the end of about five minutes, an excla- 
 mation of " Ha ! at last," escaped him ; and throwing 
 his voice, by the means of ventriloquism, to the top of 
 a chimney, round which a dark, mis-shapen mass, 
 something between a monkey and a muff, had just 
 executed a pirouette, which if not the most graceful, 
 was unquestionably among tl.c most agile, he said in 
 a distinct and sonorous whisper, 
 
 " Ho ! Xintro, come down here, quick, to the gate 
 
 p 3
 
 322 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 at the Rue St. Honore ; a friend of Zillah's has some- 
 thing to give you for her." 
 
 Had the dwarf been hke ordinary mortals, who 
 have, as it is often most falsely termed, their wits about 
 them, he would have been frightened, puzzled, and 
 deterred at this command. But having but one sane 
 chord in his whole construction, and that one being 
 not even in his brain, but in his heart, and vibrating 
 to no other touch but the voice of Zillah — to no other 
 sound but her name ; so far from being surprised at 
 now in particular hearing it, (as to him all nature 
 appeared but one continued echo, and reflection of 
 his own desert heart, with its one star, and its one 
 pulse, so that every sound was to him the name of 
 Zillah, and every object upon which his eyes rested 
 for a second to him assumed her form,) he there- 
 fore thought this mandate to descend from his ele- 
 vated position down to the common earth in her 
 interest, was at once the most natural and rational 
 occurrence in the world, so that in another moment 
 he had made a summerset back again to the other 
 side of the chimney, from whence he had only just 
 came, and err.bracing a round leaden spout which 
 ran down that side of the house^ and from w^hich (as 
 the shades of twihght were now falling) he was 
 scarcely distinguishable in colour, in less than three 
 minutes he had sHd to the ground, when Saint Ger- 
 main, again throwing his voice on that part of the 
 spout which touched Xintro's ear, as he was about
 
 THE peer's daughters. 323 
 
 to leap on the grass, bade him go on to the first large 
 lime-tree, in the avenue round the corner, whither 
 Saint Germain preceded him by half a second. 
 
 " So Xintro, my man," said he jocosely, as soon 
 as the dwarf appeared, *' Monsieur de Sechelle being 
 no longer Comptroleur-General, it seems, you have 
 had a fancy to take his place ; and like all successors, 
 but more especially ministerial ones, you are deter- 
 mined to take popularity by storm, in starting with 
 some miraculous achievement ! Monsieur de Sechelle 
 was in his way a first-rate alchymist, converting 
 penury itself into gold, and extracting immense sums 
 from the sweat of the poor man's brow ; but thou 
 bast done more, my Xintro, for thou hast actually 
 extracted gold from the rich courtesan's coffers — 
 those plethoric coffers which were never known to 
 yield one doit before, let who would try to bleed 
 them." 
 
 As Saint Germain was well aware, the dwarf did 
 not understand one syllable of this harangue, or else 
 he would not have uttered it, especially in so close a 
 vicinity to its subject. During the whole time hew^as 
 speaking, Xintro stood, with his vacant yet unquiet 
 eyes wandering over his countenance, as if in vain 
 trying to catch the meaning of his words. At 
 length, crossing his hands tightly over his chest, as 
 if to guard something concraled within his vest, he 
 exclaimed, in his hoarse, broken voice, 
 ''Zillah? you said Zillah."
 
 324 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 '* I did," rejoined Saint Germain ; " and it was to 
 serve Zillah that I have stopped you before you re- 
 turned to her ; first, give her this paper," and he 
 wrote a few hasty lines on a leaf of his pocket-book, 
 and handed them to the dwarf, who snatched them 
 eagerly and concealed them within his bosom ; " at 
 first she may weep and turn pale, but she'll thank 
 me after." 
 
 ^' Ho ! she'll weep, will she? and turn pale ?" al- 
 most shrieked the dwarf, as he stamped his feet, and 
 then added, as he rubbed his hands, and jumped as 
 if in triumph: '' Ha ! we'll see, we'll see, for Xintro's 
 king to prevent that too." 
 
 " And now," resumed Saint Germain, heedless of 
 the dwarf's words and gesticulations, "good Xintro, 
 T must have the bag of gold you got from Madame 
 de Pompadour not half an hour ago." 
 
 " Gold !'' screamed Xintro, hugging himself closer, 
 '' must ? me no musts. Who are you to speak to me 
 of gold ? it's not Zamora's gold ; he says he knows 
 how to make it. / know that he knows how to steal 
 it ; but being what is called a fool, you see, I know 
 how to do neither the one nor the other, ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Master Scarlet-heels, I've told you what /am ; now 
 tell me what you are, if you can ?" 
 
 " A friend of yours, and above all of Zillah's," re- 
 plied Saint Germain, fixing his large luminous eyes 
 full upon the dwarf's face ; and even he seemed to
 
 THE peer's daughters. 325 
 
 undergo the influence of their magnetic power, for 
 after a few seconds he answered, with a sigh, 
 
 " A friend I what coin is that ? I never had one, 
 and so should not know it if I saw it. I don't even 
 think cunning Jules Gluatremaine, who knows every- 
 thing, knows that. What is it? tell me/' 
 
 "A right excellent coin, truly; above all price 
 when genuine, a visible blessing, a tangible Pro- 
 vidence ; but when false, like all other base coin, 
 though it may pass current for a time, it must ulti- 
 mately lead either to sorrow or shame." 
 
 " Then PU none of it,'' said the dwarf, who only 
 retained the sound, and a glimmering of the sense of 
 the two last words. 
 
 " How now, wilt thou none of the true coin, good 
 Xintro?'' asked Saint Germain, soothingly. 
 
 *' Look ye, my master !" rejoined the dwarf, put- 
 ting on an expression of desperate cunning, and 
 folding his arms still tighter; " they call me Tool, 
 and with good reason, because I am not the same as 
 the other fools ; but fool or no fcol, I have lived 
 with Abdias Zamora for twelve years ; and I should 
 be worse than a fool, almost a philosopher, like 
 Monsieur Pont de Vesle, who gives Zamora the first 
 price he asks for every thing, and never beats him 
 down, if I did not know the head, reverse, and 
 legend of every coin in the realm, from a cavalot, and 
 salut d'or of Charlemagne, ajleurette of Charles VI., 
 a denier tournois, and a sol parisis of Henri HI., 
 
 ^^"/k ''nc^i / 
 
 - />^
 
 326 THE peer's daughters, 
 
 down to a double louis d'or of Louis XV., (though 
 albeit I see less of these latter than of any other,) so 
 let me see the head, reverse, and legend of this 
 friend you say you have for Zillah." 
 
 Saint Germain paused for a few seconds, evidently 
 puzzled by what means to reach the dwarf's feeble 
 and vacillating intelligence. At length he said — 
 
 *' Why, good Xintro, it is not exactly a coin — it is 
 a medal ; you have not, of course, been so long with 
 Zamora without know-ing the difference?" 
 
 '^ Aye, to be sure/' assented the latter, looking as 
 sapient as an owl, in all the beatitudes of an easy 
 digestion. *' ' Coins,' for so Pont de Vesle said to 
 Zamora this very morning, ' are things struck by a 
 monarch nominally for his people, but more fre- 
 quently struck out of them by the said monarch ; 
 whereas medals, (like the one Pont de Vesle bought 
 this morning for Madame Du Defiand, of Cardinal 
 de Richelieu's triumphal entry into Lyon.^ medals 
 are struck to flatter some one popular idol, with an 
 elaborate reverse, against their fortune changes ; all 
 this I learnt by heart this morning, so you can't sell 
 me there, ''^ 
 
 *' Well remembered," said Saint Germain ; " now 
 the medal that I allude to was struck to commemo- 
 rate a mission you undertook ^bout six weeks ago, 
 for Zillah, the head it bears is that of Marie Cadel: 
 the place where it was struck was up in the fifth 
 floor of a certain house in the Rue de Betizy, and
 
 THE peer's daughters. 327 
 
 the legend was a certain letter that Marie Cadel 
 wrote, that ycu were to give to Zillah.'^ 
 
 " Zillah ! the letter ! Marie Cadel ! the Rue de 
 Betizy ! Oh, I remember !" cried Xintro, and then 
 suddenly added, '' but Marie Cadel is gone, and the 
 Rue de Betizy is gone, for I have never been there 
 since ; and you, you are not the singing girl that 
 they said was so beautiful, — but that could not be, 
 for her name was not Zillah— it was something else 
 but I forget what. Then who are you? and what do 
 you know about all this?'' 
 
 " Look at me !" said Saint Germain, stepping on 
 one side into a broad flood of moonlight, and draw- 
 ing the dwarf along with him ; *' Do you not remem- 
 ber that I sat leaning on the table opposite to Marie 
 Cadel, and that when she gave you that letter for 
 Zillah, and you darted through the window, how 
 fearfully it thundered and lightened ? " 
 
 " Aye, it often does that here," said the dwarf, 
 holding his head between both his hands. 
 
 '* Now I know you will remember all this if you 
 try," resumed Saint Germain ; '' especially when I 
 repeat to you what has happened since. When you 
 got home that night you found Zillah waiting for 
 you ; when you gave her Marie Cadel's letter, she 
 tore it eagerly open, but when she had read it she 
 seemed distressed, and clasping her hands together, 
 said, ^ Oh, no, that will never do !' and the next day, 
 and every day since, she has sent you to try and sell
 
 328 
 
 that nenufar of large oriental pearls, with diamond 
 dew-drops upon it, which she wears at the high 
 festivals of her own religion ; and each succeeding 
 day, sell it to whom you would, her father has re- 
 purchased it, and bringing it back to her, sternly 
 demanded the twenty thousand hvres she had re- 
 ceived for it, adding, ' If thou wantedst money, even 
 for thy foolish charities, daughter, I will supply thee, 
 provided thou lettest me know for whom it is, and 
 that I be myself the bearer, for thanks are the least 
 one may be entitled to for such a sum ; but prithee 
 leave parting with thy jewels, lest the brethren 
 should begin to think that thou art a beggar and I a 
 bankrupt. Above all, that water-lily, which for 
 gems and workmanship has not its fellow in Europe, 
 and which cost me double the sum thou wouldst 
 fling it away for, when I bought it some score 
 years back from Aschanio Zitto, at Venice, who 
 tacked on ten ducats at every look I bestowed on it, 
 pretending it had belonged to Lucrezia Borgia, and 
 had been given to her by her father the pope, when 
 she married the Due d'Urbino.' And then, poor 
 Zillah, obliged each time to take back the lily and 
 refund the money, at length, in despair, said to you 
 this morning, ' Hark'ee, good Xintro, you know the 
 Hotel d'Evereux, in the Champs Elysees, and you 
 have heard of Madame de Pompadour ; well, you 
 must go at dusk, and wander round the house till 
 you find her dressing-room, which will not be diffi-
 
 329 
 
 cult, as it is on the ground-floor. Having done so, 
 you must effect an entrance, {hoio I leave to you, 
 kno^ving how clever you are in that way.) If she is 
 not there, you must wait till she comes ; of course 
 she will be frightened, but no matter, give her that 
 letter, and say you must have the money, or she must 
 take the consequences. If she hesitates, or remon- 
 strates, only point to the letter, and say the money 
 or Lehel's scheme ! you will remember that one 
 little sentence, will you not, good Xintro ? the money 
 or LeheVs scheme ; and then I think she will give it. 
 She must give it, or at least you must not return to 
 me without it. Well, all this you did, Xintro ; you 
 found the lady at a favourable time, at least favour- 
 able for your demand, for the heart hath two keys by 
 which it is easily opened ; the one of iron, which is 
 sorrow ; the other of gold, which is joy ; it was the 
 former that opened Madame de Pompadour's to- 
 night, though not easily, being somewhat rusty in 
 the wards from long disuse ; however, at length she 
 gave the money, and you disappeared with it in- 
 stantly, and had just reascended the house in your 
 way home, (as you prefer the slates to the stones,) 
 when I called you. You have the money there, 
 inside your vest, in a bag of peach-blossom silk, shot 
 with silver, and lined with white padusay damask. 
 That money I w^ant, good Xintro ; it is twenty 
 thousand louis in gold." 
 
 The dwarf, who had remained with his mouth 
 open during this astoundingly correct detail of his
 
 330 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 and Zillah's proceedings, now drew a long '^ ha,'^ as 
 if him^self out of breath at the rapidity of Saint 
 Germain's enunciation, and then said, — 
 
 '^ So you doj indeed, know all about it, and Zillah 
 has told you every thing. Ah, me I" added he, 
 gloomily, ** it is not well ; why should Zillah tell me 
 that her whole dependence was upon me, poor 
 Xintro, — good Xintro, as she called me, — that she 
 had no one to help her but me, when she goes and 
 asks you, — no, no, it is not well,"a nd he leant against 
 a tree with his folded arms, and rocked to and fro 
 like a ship in a storm. 
 
 *^ No, it would wo^ be well ifshe had done so,'' 
 said Saint Germain soothingly ; " but she has not. 
 You alone are there to serve her ; but you will best 
 do so by giving up to me the money you have just 
 received in that room," and he pointed to a room on 
 the ground-floor, through which some one was that 
 moment passing with a light. 
 
 " But, but,^' remonstrated Xintro, hugging the 
 money still tighter, and still unconvinced: "Zillah, 
 as you yourself have just repeated to me, said I must 
 not return to her without the money." 
 
 " She did so,'' assented Saint Germain, " nor shall 
 you," added he, withdrawing several rouleaux of 
 double Louis d'ors from his pocket, •' Vne mojiey is 
 what she wants, now in the bag, you extorted from 
 Madame de Pompadour ; there are only twenty 
 thousand Louis, whereas here are thirty thousand.
 
 331 
 
 Only think how pleased with you Zillah will be, for 
 bringing her ten thousand more than she hoped for, 
 and how she'll call you good Xintro, kind Xintro." 
 
 " Oh, stop ! stop !" cried the dwarf, taking the 
 peach-blossomed silk bag from his vest, and waiving 
 it about like a handkerchief, '^ don't say any more ; 
 let her say it, — here, take the gold, and welcome for 
 half that ; but stay, how do I know that the gold 
 you are going to give me is good, and that you are 
 not cheating her ?'' 
 
 " Nay,'' said Saint Germain taking off the dwarf's 
 cap, and filling it with the rouleaux, " undo all these, 
 and test every louis separately, as you do when you 
 go to receive money for Zamora ; and if you find 
 the shadow of a fly's wing of a flaw in any of them, 
 then it is no bargain/' 
 
 " Well spoken, master, that's fair, or seems so, 
 which is all a bargain need do, as Zamora says; so 
 now for the test,'' added Xintro, replacing the silk 
 bag in his bosom, and undoing the cork of a small 
 phial, of an amber- coloured liquid, which was sus- 
 pended by a bit of silver chain from one of his but- 
 ton-holes, as an ink-horn sometimes is to that of an 
 appraiser, as with a small camel's hair brush, that 
 was attached to the end of the cork, he touched 
 each piece of gold separately, and then tossed it 
 up, and catching it in his hand, pronounced the word 
 ^'' good,'' as he flung it back into his cap ; and tried 
 another and another, pronouncing the same verdict
 
 332 THE peer's daughters. 
 
 upon each, till he came to the last ; during which 
 operation, and the time it took him to replace each 
 fifty louis in their respective papers. Saint Ger- 
 main stood with his eyes calmly fixed upon the hea- 
 vens, as if he had a personal interest in the appear- 
 ance of every star, as they now began rapidly to suc- 
 ceed each other. And at X Intro's final ''^ good^' 
 without withdrawing, his eyes from their celestial 
 wanderings, he mechanically held out his hand, 
 within w^hich the dwarf now unhesitatingly placed 
 the silken bag of gold, and in another second he 
 had reclimbed the spout, andwas zigzagging his home- 
 ward course, through a labyrinth of chimnies. 
 
 ** Ah !" said Saint Germain, at length withdrawing 
 his eyes, and ending his meditations with a sigh : 
 " When man deserts the one star that leads to ye 
 aZZ, and wanders through that desert of mists and 
 mirages which he calls speculation ; then, indeed, 
 does his soul become a catena ahlata unco.''^ And 
 with this last reflection, he lowered his eyes to the 
 ground ; and folding his arms, retraced his steps till 
 he reached the front entrance of the Hotel D'Eve- 
 reux. How changed was it now from the insolent 
 splendour of its appearance on its gala and levee days ! 
 Its architectural magnificence, and interior decora- 
 tions, it is true, were still the same ; but only the 
 colossal elaborately gilt centre lamp was lighted in 
 the liall, so that even the plants from the partial 
 * A chain without a fastening.
 
 THE peer's daughters. 333 
 
 shoie into which they were thrown, looked drooping 
 and sad. Those among the numerous lackies who 
 were not sleeping, were iramoveably still and silent ; 
 and the suisse or porter stood with his gorgeous 
 livery and herculean club, behind the glass door, 
 ready to open it so as to prevent any one ringing, 
 or rather attempting to ring, as the bells were muf- 
 fled. For King Death is the only monarch, whose 
 autocratic pride disdains equally the herald strains 
 of the commanding clarion, the courtier-like softness 
 of the insinuating flute, or ths spirit stirring rtveil 
 of the " trumpet's lordly blowing/' No, his sole 
 pageants are pangs ; his sole troops tears; and his 
 dread sapeurs clear the way for his approach, by 
 felling, all sound, into one despotic and terrific Hush !
 
 NOTES, 
 
 Note (A) 
 
 It is a curious circumstance, with regard to that unaccountable, and 
 certainly unaccounted-for personage, the Count de Saint Germain, that 
 the sources of his immense wealth, remained with most other things 
 relating to him, an impenetrable mystery to his contemporaries, and 
 consequently to posterity. All that is certain is (for the fact is men- 
 tioned in all the memoirs and letters of the time) that during his in- 
 cessaut joumeyings through Europe, he arrived at every town on foot, 
 and unattended, yet the very next day always suav him domiciled in 
 one of the most magnificent residences of the capital he was in ; 
 with a truly princely retinue of servants and equipages, and a suitable 
 regality of expenditure in all things, and all this without the inter- 
 mediate aid of banker or agent of any description. The anecdote of 
 his removing the flaw from the diamond of Louis Quinze, without 
 diminishing from its weight, is historical, as are indeed all the mar- 
 vellous anecdotes related of him, which, incredible as they seem, have 
 more title to authenticity than if he had written any memoirs of him- 
 self, or published his autobiography, AAhich he never did. From what- 
 ever source he derived his vast Avealth, and his superhuman acquire- 
 ments, he had at all events the great merit of employing both for the 
 good of his fellow creature. Some of his contemporaries pretend that 
 he had lived at the time of our Saviour, and had known Pontius 
 Pilate ! first at Jerusalem^ and afterwards at Grenoble, where he was 
 banished, and these contemporaries have quoted as from Saint Ger- 
 main's own lips, — that " Pontius Pilate, previous to the publication of 
 the Scriptures, was a man so utterly insipid and insignificant," that 
 he, (Saint Germain) " had retained but a very slight recollection of 
 him." On the other hand, the sceptics of that time boldly pronounce 
 Saint Germain to have been an impostor, and the son of a Jewish 
 physician at Strasburg, his real name being Daniel Wolf, and that 
 when he gave himself out to be 1814 years of age I ! he WaS in reality
 
 NOTES. 335 
 
 but 68, having been born in 1704. One thing is certain, that he was 
 a man of extraordinary acquirements, and must have been gifted with 
 the most accurate and retentive memory — to have played his part 
 of superhuman longevity, without a single anachronism, as he did. He 
 died in 1 786. After being lost sight of for nine or ten years, and his 
 existence perfectly unknown, he reappeared in Germany, and was 
 recognized by his features, towards the end of the year 1759, when he 
 took up his abode in the states of the Margrave of Anspach, under 
 the Hungarian name of Zaraski. Soon it began to be whispered at 
 the Margrave's court, that the mysterious stranger, bearing the above 
 assumed name, Avas no other than the celebrated Comte de Saint Ger- 
 main ; but his highness having hinted as much to the soi-disant Za- 
 raski, the latter positively denied any identity with the supernatural 
 count ; whereat the margrave, greatly puzzled, resolved to elucidate 
 the affair, and for that purpose, to rely only on his own personal obser- 
 vations. These observations were long and minute; but the prince at 
 length, succeeding in procuring a portrait of the Comte de Saint Ger- 
 main, as he had appeared at the court of Louis XV., and which 
 picture Mademoiselle de Chatelet had preserved, this portrait proved 
 to be an accurate and startling resemblance of the pretended Zaraski ; 
 and what was almost incredible at this latter period (namely in 1776) 
 the original had all the freshness and youth of the picture painted in 
 1701 I and given in 1750 to Madame d'Urfe, the ancestress of Mon- 
 sieur de Chatelet. It is also to be remembered that Madame de 
 yegy saw this extraordinary man again at the court of Louis Quinze, 
 as fresh, and to all appearance as youthful, as when she had first seen 
 him at Venice, in the year 1700, when her husband had been am- 
 bassador there, and now again 76 years had gone over that face, with- 
 out leaving a trace of their passage ! thus puzzling conjecture, and 
 confounding human reason. At the termination of two journeys, 
 one into Italy, the other into Denmark, undertaken after his residence 
 at the court of Anspach, Saint Germain appeared at that of the 
 Elector of Hesse-Cassel, bearing letters from the King of Denmark, 
 brother in law of the elector, which insured the count a perfect recep- 
 tion from the latter prince, who gave him a suite of apartments in his 
 palace. This most mysterious personage arrived at Hesse in 1782, 
 as usual without equipage or retinue of any sort, but alone and on 
 foot'; nevertheless, he soon displayed a perfectly regal profusion of 
 diamonds and other precious stones in his dress, and lost no time 'in 
 adopting the same sumptuous and princely style of living, with which
 
 336 NOTES. 
 
 he had formerly dazzled and astounded the court of Versailles ; but 
 now, as then, without having a banker, or any other ostensible source, 
 from whence to draw the immense revenue requisite for so profuse an 
 expenditure, and yet paying ready-money for all things. Some French 
 travellers, who renewed their acquaintance with him at the electoral 
 court, found him in appearance precisely the same as they had first 
 known him thirty-two years before, at the CEil de Boeuf ; but with all 
 the good will in the world on his part, he found it impossible to re- 
 cognise those gentlemen, formerly gay, magnificent and dehonjiair, 
 now alas, gray, wrinkled, and decrepid. During the two latter years 
 of his life, the Count de Saint Germain appeared to be the victim of 
 a profound and insurmountable melancholy, and gradually symptom s 
 of pulminary consumption appeared, without however, in the slightest 
 degree, affecting the elasticity and freshness of his complexion and 
 features ; and death itself arrived without setting its usual livid seal 
 upon him; but nothing could exceed the mental terrors and phy- 
 sical agonies of his last moments. But whatever his feelings at his 
 exit may have been, they are, like his miraculously prolonged ex- 
 istence, a mystery ! as all his ravings were in a peculiar and unknown 
 language. He at length expired, after prolonged and unimaginable 
 sufferings, surrounded by his enthusiastic satellites, who seemed evi- 
 dently confounded at seeing their marvel share the common lot of 
 humanit}'." Chroniqiies de UQLil de Boeuf, vol. viii. pages 389, 
 390, 391. 
 
 Saint Germain is also accused of having sold a pretended rejuvinat- 
 ing elixir to the Duchesse d'Userf for two thousand louis. The Prince 
 de Craon, to turn the affair into ridicule, pretended to the duchesse 
 that two of her women had drunken this Enu de Juvance by mistake, 
 and were immediately transformed into little children of two years 
 old ! It is certain that the eighteenth century appears to have been 
 the golden age of this species of Charlatanerie ; for a few years after, 
 that arch quack, Alessandro Cagliostro, got immense sums of money, 
 and quantities of jewels out of Madame d'Urfe, for invoking shades 
 from Paracelses and IMoitomut, which were to reveal to her the lost 
 arcana-cana o^ i\\Q great work of alchymy. And at a later period Gasa 
 Nova, who only took from her precious stones for his revelations, one 
 of which consisted in persuading her that at 73 she would be enceitjte, 
 by the influence of the stars ! and certainly i/ old ladies at that age 
 sAomW be guilty of such a folly, it requires no conjuror to make one 
 believe that " their stars are more in fault than they !" He also gave
 
 NOTES. 337 
 
 her a rejuvenating elixir; but assuring her, that before it took effect, 
 she mu3t die first, (the only true part of the tale), and then she 
 would rise pha3nix-like, from her own ashes, blooming Avith eternal 
 youth ; but Madame du Chitelet, (La docte Emxlie), who was her 
 heir, interfered with these charming little arrangements, by having 
 Casa Nova banished. 
 
 Note (B) 
 
 In the book of prophecies, composed in the year 1542, by Pierre 
 Dieudonne Olivarius, Doctor in medicine, Chirurgien and Theolo- 
 gian, is the following curious — and up to the present time — most 
 extraordinarily verified prediction ; of which, from the old obsolete 
 French of the time in which it was written, I give an almost literal 
 translation. 
 
 " Italian Gaul about this time, (1779) will see born not far from 
 her bosom a supernatural being ; this man will emerge quite young 
 from the sea. and will come and take habits and language among the 
 Celtic Gauls, and will open to himself (still quite young, and through 
 a thousand obstacles), amid soldiers, a great career, and will become 
 their chief; this tortuous path will occasion him great work and 
 much trouble ; he will come warring near his native country by one 
 lustrdl (five years) and more. 
 
 " Bayond seas he will be seen warring with great glory and valour, 
 and will again wage war in the Roman territories. 
 
 " Will give laws to the Germans, will pacify troubles and terrors 
 among the Celtic Gauls, and so will, by them, be named king, but 
 after be called imperator, by great popular enthusiasm. 
 
 " Battling everywhere through the empire, will drive ( d^chas^tra j 
 out princes, nobles and kings, by two lustrals and more ; then he will 
 raise up more princes and nobles for life ; and, speaking from out 
 his high place, (parlaiit sur son estradej, will cry, O Sido^a .' O 
 Sacra ! 
 
 "■ Will be seen with an army forty-nine times twenty thousand 
 strong of infantry, who will carry arms and helmets of iron, (armes 
 ct cornets de ferj; he will have seven times, seven times seven thousand 
 horses, mounted by men who, more than the first, will carry great 
 swords, and lances, and corslets of brass. He will have seven limes, 
 seven times t>vo thousand men, who will work terrible machines, 
 which will vomit fire and sulphur, and death, the whole of his army 
 calculated will amount to for:y-nine times twenty thousand men. 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 33S NOTES, 
 
 " "WiU'carry on his dexter hand an eagle— sign of victories 3'et to- 
 come. 
 
 " Will give many countries to different nations, and to each one, 
 peace. 
 
 " Will return to the great town, (Paris) ordering many great things, 
 edifices, bridges, sea ports, aquaducts, canals, will achieve by himself 
 alone, at great cost, as much as a Roman ; and all within the domi- 
 nion of the Gauls. Will have wives, two ; a son, one only- 
 
 "Will go battling to where cross the lines of longitude, and 
 latitude, fiftj-'-five months ; there, his enemies will burn their great 
 town, (capital) but he will enter and leave it, while many of his will 
 be buried in the ruins and ashes ; and his army, having neither bread 
 nor water, and all this privation in the midst of the most intense 
 cold, which will be so disastrous, that more than a third of his forces 
 will perish; and even after, the half of what remain, he having no 
 control over them." 
 
 " Then the great man betrayed and abandoned by his sworn friends, 
 pursued in his turn with great losses by a great European population, 
 into his own great town, in his place will be put the kings of the 
 old blood of Capet. He, condemned to an exile in the sea, from 
 whence he came out so young, and near his native place, will remain 
 there for eleven moons with some of his followers, real friends, and 
 soldiers, who were only seven times, seven times, seven times the 
 number he had formerly. No sooner these eleven moons waned, but 
 he and his followers shall take ship, and again set foot upon this 
 Celtish Gallic land. And he will march upon the great town, where 
 is reseated the old blood of Capet, but, which rises, flies, carrying 
 with him : royal jewels and plate; while the great man puts things 
 back in their place, resumes his former power, and gives to the people 
 many admirable laws. But again driven away by a trinity of Euro- 
 pean powers, after three whole moons and the third of another the 
 old blood of Capet is again put in its place. And he, being thought 
 dead by his people and soldiers, they, during that time, wear him 
 as their penates next their hearU The Celtic Gauls, like wolves and 
 tigers, begin to prey upon each other once more ; and again, their 
 king, of the old race of Capet, is the puppet of black treacliery. and 
 will be dethroned by fire and iron ; but once more, a king, of the old 
 blood of Capet, will sit upon the throne. Three or more lustrals, 
 and peace shall be restored to the great town ; to which, the warrior's 
 ashes (who has died on a rock in the sea where he was banished),
 
 NOTES. 339 
 
 shall be brought back and received with as much euthusiasm as if 
 they were the living man. But when the old king of the collateral 
 line of Capet shall die ; then shall the Celtic Gauls, in the great 
 town, again war among themselves. When a young warrior shall 
 march upon them from the East, he will wear a lion and a cock upon 
 his armour, and his lance shall be given him by a great prince of the 
 East. He will be marvellously seconded by the people of Belgic 
 Gaul, who will unite themselves with the Parisians to quell the 
 troubles, re-unite the soldiers, and spread over them the olive-branch. 
 Again, battling seven times seven moons with great glory, a trinity of 
 European nations, with great fear and tribulation, will offer him their 
 sons as a hostage, and, will submit to his wise and just laws, which 
 shall revolutionize all Europe, socially ; and cause him to be adored 
 like a god upon earth, where peace and good will shall reign for a 
 thousand years." 
 
 This prophecy, which is too long to give the whole of, begins, by 
 stating — that if the world should not be destroyed by the conjunction 
 of two terrible comets, in or about the year 1792-3, then, will France 
 be the theatre of unimaginable atrocities, and drowned in her own 
 blood. And here, follow the most minute and circumstantial details 
 of the French revolution ; especially, the rise and fall of Robespierre. 
 
 At the same period, the celebrated Nostradamus also published 
 a similar prophecy ; but, much more curiously explicit touching 
 the events of the consulate and the empire ; distinctly stating 
 Napoleon's decline, after his divorce from Josephine, and predicting 
 that he would reap nothing but treachery from his Austrian alliance : 
 also asserting, that his son by the Austrian, would be called. King of 
 Rome, but would never reign. Then comes a full prediction of tlie 
 revolution of 1830; the advent of the Orleans dynasty; the death 
 of the poor and ever to be lamented Due d'Orleans, &(.'., finishing, 
 like the prophecy of Noel Olivarias, with the warrior from the East : 
 who is to be adored like a demi-god, and insure a thousand years 
 peace and good will to men. But Nostradamus, was a prophet even 
 in his own country, that is, in his own times; for, one day seeing the 
 young Frince of Beam walking with his governesses, he said : " This 
 little prince will sit upon the throne of France, and the title of 
 'great' will be prefixed to his name." This event was so little 
 probable at the time, that everybody laughed at it ; but when, despite 
 all the plots and cabals of Csttherine de Medici, the Bearnois reigned 
 not only on the throne of France, but, in the hearts of the peoples 
 
 Q 2
 
 340 NOTES. 
 
 as Henry IV., this prediction was remembered. On another occa- 
 sion, Nostradamus passing a young monk of the order of Cordeliers, 
 of the name of Felix Peretti, saluted him by going down upon one 
 knee. " Why such respect to poor Felix ?" asked the other Corde- 
 liers, laughing. "Because," replied Nostradamus, "I ought to 
 humble myself before a future Pope." The monks shrugged their 
 shoulders, and looked upon Nostradamus as a visionary. Neverthe- 
 less, Felix Pretti, in 1585, ascended the pontifical chair, under the 
 title of Sextus V. Nostradamus, with many other things, also foretold 
 the death of Henry II. of France; to whom, he had dedicated his 
 book of prophecies : for which, that monarch heaped favours upon 
 him. Here are the prophetic couplets, 
 
 " Le lion jeune le vieux surmontera, 
 En champ bellique, par singulier duel, 
 Dans cage d'or les yeux lui crevera, 
 Deux plaies une, puis mourir ; mort cruelle !" 
 And, as Henry II. was killed in a tournament the following year, 
 this prophecy, as well as the prophet, created much awe atid wonder. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
 J. BILLING, PEiNTiK AM) ST L KKOT VPE R. WOK NG, SIRREY.
 
 V 
 
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