Vivian Grey

“I thought that his Highness had been here.” said the huntsman.

“No one has passed us,” said Vivian.

“We heard a bugle to the right,” said Essper George.

“I am afraid his Serene Highness must be in distress. The whole suite are off the scent. It must have been his bugle, for the regulations of this forest are so strict that no one dare sound a blast but his Serene Highness.” Away galloped the huntsman.

“Next time I must give you up, Essper,” said Vivian.

“One more blast, good master!” begged Essper, in a supplicating voice. “This time to the left; the confusion will be then complete.”

“I command you not,” and so they rode on in silence. But it was one of those days when Essper could neither be silent nor subdued. Greatly annoyed at not being permitted to play his bugle, he amused himself imitating the peculiar sound of every animal that he met; a young fawn and various birds already followed him, and even a squirrel had perched on his horse’s neck. And now they came to a small farmhouse, which was situated in the forest: the yard here offered great amusement to Essper. He neighed, and half a dozen horses’ heads immediately appeared over the hedge; another neigh, and they were following him in the road. A dog rushed out to seize the dangerous stranger and recover his charge, but Essper gave an amicable bark, and in a second the dog was jumping by his side and engaged in earnest and friendly conversation. A loud and continued grunt soon brought out the pigs, and meeting three or four cows returning home, a few lowing sounds soon seduced them from keeping their appointment with the dairymaid. A stupid jackass, who stared with astonishment at the procession, was saluted with a lusty bray, which immediately induced him to swell the ranks; and, as Essper passed the poultry-yard, he so deceitfully informed its inhabitants that they were about to be fed, that broods of ducks and chickens were immediately after him. The careful hens were terribly alarmed at the danger which their offspring incurred from the heels and hoofs of the quadrupeds; but while they were in doubt and despair a whole flock of stately geese issued in solemn pomp from another gate of the farmyard, and commenced a cackling conversation with the delighted Essper. So contagious is the force of example, and so great was the confidence which the hens placed in these pompous geese, who were not the first fools whose solemn air has deceived a few old females, that as soon as they perceived them in the train of the horseman they also trotted up to pay their respects at his levée.

But it was not a moment for mirth; for rushing down the road with awful strides appeared two sturdy and enraged husbandmen, one armed with a pike and the other with a pitchfork, and accompanied by a frantic female, who never for a moment ceased hallooing “Murder, rape, and fire!” everything but “theft.”

“Now, Essper, here’s a pretty scrape!”

“Stop, you rascals!” hallooed Adolph, the herdsman.

“Stop, you gang of thieves!” hallooed Wilhelm, the ploughman.

“Stop, you bloody murderers!” shrieked Phillippa, the indignant mistress of the dairy and the poultry-yard.

“Stop, you villains!” hallooed all three. The villains certainly made no attempt to escape, and in half a second the enraged household of the forest farmer would have seized on Essper George; but just at this crisis he uttered loud sounds in the respective language of every bird and beast about him, and suddenly they all turned round and counter-marched. Away rushed the terrified Adolph, the herdsman, while one of his own cows was on his back. Still quicker scampered off the scared Wilhelm, the ploughman, while one of his own steeds kicked him in his rear. Quicker than all these, shouting, screaming, shrieking, dashed back the unhappy mistress of the hen-roost, with all her subjects crowding about her; some on her elbow, some on her head, her lace cap destroyed, her whole dress disordered. The movements of the crowd were so quick that they were soon out of sight.

“A trophy!” called out Essper, as he jumped off his horse and picked up the pike of Adolph, the herdsman.

“A boar-spear, or I am no huntsman,” said Vivian: “give it me a moment!” He threw it up into the air, caught it with ease, poised it with the practiced skill of one well used to handle the weapon, and with the same delight imprinted on his countenance as greets the sight of an old friend.

“This forest, Essper, and this spear, make me remember days when I was vain enough to think that I had been sufficiently visited with sorrow. Ah! little did I then know of human misery, although I imagined I had suffered so much!”

As he spoke, the sounds of a man in distress were heard from the right side of the road.

“Who calls?” cried Essper. A shout was the only answer. There was no path, but the underwood was low, and Vivian took his horse, an old forester, across it with ease. Essper’s jibbed; Vivian found himself in a small green glade of about thirty feet square. It was thickly surrounded with lofty trees, save at the point where he had entered; and at the farthest corner of it, near some grey rocks, a huntsman was engaged in a desperate contest with a wild boar.

The huntsman was on his right knee, and held his spear with both hands at the furious beast. It was an animal of extraordinary size and power. Its eyes glittered like fire. On the turf to its right a small grey mastiff, of powerful make, lay on its back, bleeding profusely, with its body ripped open. Another dog, a fawn-coloured bitch, had seized on the left ear of the beast; but the under tusk of the boar, which was nearly a foot long, had penetrated the courageous dog, and the poor creature writhed in agony, even while it attempted to wreak its revenge upon its enemy. The huntsman was nearly exhausted. Had it not been for the courage of the fawn-coloured dog, which, clinging to the boar, prevented it making a full dash at the man, he must have been gored. Vivian was off his horse in a minute, which, frightened at the sight of the wild boar, dashed again over the hedge.

“Keep firm, sir!” said he; “do not move. I will amuse him behind, and make him turn.”

A graze of Vivian’s spear on its back, though it did not materially injure the beast, for there the boar is nearly in vulnerable, annoyed it; and dashing off the fawn-coloured dog with great force, it turned on its new assailant. Now there are only two places in which the wild boar can be assailed with any effect; and these are just between the eyes and between the shoulders. Great caution, however, is necessary in aiming these blows, for the boar is very adroit in transfixing the weapon on his snout or his tusks; and if once you miss, particularly if you are not assisted by dogs, which Vivian was not, ‘tis all over with you; for the enraged animal rushes in like lightning, and gored you must be.

But Vivian was fresh and cool. The animal suddenly stood still and eyed its new enemy. Vivian was quiet, for he had no objection to give the beast an opportunity of retreating to its den. But retreat was not its object; it suddenly darted at the huntsman, who, however, was not off his guard, though unable, from a slight wound in his knee, to rise. Vivian again annoyed the boar at the rear, and the animal soon returned to him. He made a feint, as if he were about to strike his pike between its eyes. The boar, not feeling a wound which had not been inflicted, and very irritated, rushed at him, and he buried his spear a foot deep between its shoulders. The beast made one fearful struggle, and then fell down quite dead. The fawn-coloured bitch, though terribly wounded, gave a loud bark; and even the other dog, which Vivian thought had been long dead, testified its triumphant joy by an almost inarticulate groan. As soon as he was convinced that the boar was really dead, Vivian hastened to the huntsman, and expressed his hope that he was not seriously hurt.

“A trifle, which our surgeon, who is used to these affairs, will quickly cure. Sir! we owe you our life!” said the huntsman, with great dignity, as Vivian assisted him in rising from the ground. He was a tall man, of distinguished appearance; but his dress, which was the usual hunting costume of a German nobleman, did not indicate his quality.

“Sir, we owe you our life!” repeated the stranger; “five minutes more, and our son must have reigned in Little Lilliput.”

“I have the honour, then, of addressing your Serene Highness. Far from being indebted to me, I feel that I ought to apologise for having so unceremoniously joined your sport.”

“Nonsense, man! We have killed in our time too many of these gentry to be ashamed of owning that, had it not been for you, one of them would at last have revenged the species. But many as are the boars that we have killed or eaten, we never saw a more furious or powerful animal than the present. Why, sir, you must be one of the best hands at the spear in all Christendom!”

“Indifferently good, your Highness: your Highness forgets that the animal was already exhausted by your assault.”

“Why, there is something in that; but it was neatly done, man; it was neatly done. You are fond of the sport, we think?”

“I have had some practice, but illness has so weakened me that I have given up the forest.”

“Pity! and on a second examination we observe that you are no hunter. This coat is not for the free forest; but how came you by the pike?”

“I am travelling to the next post town, to which I have sent on my luggage. I am getting fast to the south; and as for this pike, my servant got it this morning from some peasant in a brawl, and was showing it to me when I heard your Highness call. I really think now that Providence must have sent it. I certainly could not have done you much service with my riding whip. Hilloa! Essper, where are you?”

“Here, noble sir! here, here. Why, what have you got there? The horses have jibbed, and will not stir. I can stay no longer: they may go to the devil!” So saying, Vivian’s valet dashed over the underwood, and leaped al the foot of the Prince.

“In God’s name, is this thy servant?” asked his Highness.

“In good faith am I,” said Essper; “his valet, his cook, and his secretary, all in one; and also his Jagd Junker, or Gentilhomme de la Chasse, as a puppy with a bugle horn told me this morning.”

“A merry knave!” said the Prince; “and talking of a puppy with a bugle horn reminds us how unaccountably we have been deserted to-day by a suite that never yet were wanting. We are indeed astonished. Our bugle, we fear, has turned traitor.” So saying, the Prince executed a blast with great skill, which Vivian immediately recognised as the one which Essper George had imitated.

“And now, my good friend,” said the Prince, “we cannot hear of your passing through our land without visiting our good castle. We would that we could better testify the obligation that we feel under to you in any other way than by the offer of an hospitality which all gentlemen, by right, can command. But your presence would, indeed, give us sincere pleasure. You must not refuse us. Your looks, as well as your prowess, prove your blood; and we are quite sure no cloth-merchant’s order will suffer by your not hurrying to your proposed point of destination. We are not wrong, we think, though your accent is good, in supposing that we are conversing with an English gentleman. But here they come.”

As he spoke, three or four horsemen, at the head of whom was the young huntsman whom the travellers had met in the morning, sprang into the glade.

“Why, Arnelm!” said the Prince, “when before was the Jagd Junker’s ear so bad that he could not discover his master’s bugle, even though the wind were against him?”

“In truth, your Highness, we have heard bugles enough this morning. Who is violating the forests laws we know not; but that another bugle is sounding, and played; St. Hubert forgive me for saying so; with as great skill as your Highness’, is certain. Myself, Von Neuwied, and Lintz have been galloping over the whole forest. The rest, I doubt not, will be up directly.” The Jagd Junker blew his own bugle.

In the course of five minutes, about twenty other horsemen, all dressed in the same uniform, had arrived; all complaining of their wild chases after the Prince in every other part of the forest.

“It must be the Wild Huntsman himself!” swore an old hand. This solution of the mystery satisfied all.

“Well, well!” said the Prince; “whoever it may be, had it not been for the timely presence of this gentleman, you must have changed your green jackets for mourning coats, and our bugle would have sounded no more in the forest of our fathers. Here, Arnelm! cut up the beast, and remember that the left shoulder is the quarter of honour, and belongs to this stranger, not less honoured because unknown.”

All present took off their caps and bowed to Vivian, who took this opportunity of informing the Prince who he was.

“And now,” continued his Highness, “Mr. Grey will accompany us to our castle; nay, sir, we can take no refusal. We will send on to the town for your luggage. Arnelm, do you look to this! And, honest friend,” said the Prince, turning to Essper George, “we commend you to the special care of our friend Von Neuwied; and so, gentlemen, with stout hearts and spurs to your steeds, to the castle.”

CHAPTER III

The cavalcade proceeded for some time at a brisk but irregular pace, until they arrived at a less wild and wooded part of the forest. The Prince of Little Lilliput reined in his steed as he entered a broad avenue of purple beeches, at the end of which, though at a considerable distance, Vivian perceived the towers and turrets of a Gothic edifice glittering in the sunshine.

“Welcome to Turriparva!” said his Highness.

“I assure your Highness,” said Vivian, “that I view with no unpleasant feeling the prospect of a reception in any civilised mansion; for to say the truth, for the last eight-and-forty hours Fortune has not favoured me either in my researches after a bed, or that which some think still more important than repose.”

“Is it so?” said the Prince. “Why, we should have thought by your home thrust this morning that you were as fresh as the early lark. In good faith, it was a pretty stroke! And whence come you, then, good sir?”

“Know you a most insane and drunken idiot who styles himself the Grand Duke of Johannisberger?”

“No, no!” said the Prince, staring in Vivian’s face earnestly, and then laughing. “And you have actually fallen among that mad crew. A most excellent adventure! Arnelm! why, man, where art thou? Ride up! Behold in the person of this gentleman a new victim to the overwhelming hospitality of our Uncle of the Wines. And did they confer a title on you on the spot? Say, art thou Elector, or Palsgrave, or Baron; or, failing in thy devoirs, as once did our good cousin Arnelm, confess that thou wert ordained with becoming reverence the Archprimate of Puddledrink. Eh! Arnelm, is not that the style thou bearest at the Palace of the Wines?”

“So it would seem, your Highness. I think the title was conferred on me the same night that your Highness mistook the Grand Duke’s proboscis for Oberon’s horn, and committed treason not yet pardoned.”

“Good! good! thou hast us there. Truly a good memory is often as ready a friend as a sharp wit. Wit is not thy strong point, friend Arnelm; and yet it is strange that in the sharp encounter of ready tongues and idle logomachies thou hast sometimes the advantage. But, nevertheless, rest assured, good cousin Arnelm, that wit is not thy strong point.”

“It is well for me that all are not of the same opinion as your Serene Highness,” said the young Jagd Junker, somewhat nettled; for he prided himself on his repartees.

The Prince was much diverted with Vivian’s account of his last night’s adventure; and our hero learnt from his Highness that his late host was no less a personage than the cousin of the Prince of Little Lilliput, an old German Baron, who passed his time, with some neighbours of congenial temperament, in hunting the wild boar in the morning, and speculating on the flavours of the fine Rhenish wines during the rest of the day. “He and his companions,” continued the Prince, “will enable you to form some idea of the German nobility half a century ago. The debauch of last night was the usual carouse which crowned the exploits of each day when we were a boy. The revolution has rendered all these customs obsolete. Would that it had not sent some other things equally out of fashion!”

At this moment the Prince sounded his bugle, and the gates of the castle, which were not more than twenty yards distant, were immediately thrown open. The whole cavalcade set spurs to their steeds, and dashed at full gallop over the hollow-sounding drawbridge into the courtyard of the castle. A crowd of serving-men, in green liveries, instantly appeared, and Arnelm and Von Neuwied, jumping from their saddles, respectively held the stirrup and the bridle of the Prince as he dismounted.

“Where is Master Rodolph?” asked his Highness, with a loud voice.

“So please your Serene Highness, I am here!” answered a very thin treble; and, bustling through the surrounding crowd, came forward the owner of the voice. Master Rodolph was not much above five feet high, but he was nearly as broad as he was long. Though more than middle-aged, an almost infantile smile played upon his broad fair face, to which his small turn-up nose, large green goggle-eyes, and unmeaning mouth gave no expression. His long hair hung over his shoulders, the flaxen locks in some places maturing into grey. In compliance with the taste of his master, this most unsportsman-like-looking steward was clad in a green jerkin, on the right arm of which was embroidered a giant’s head, the crest of the Little Lilliputs.

“Truly, Rodolph, we have received some scratch in the chase to-day, and need your assistance. The best of surgeons, we assure you, Mr. Grey, if you require one: and look you that the blue chamber be prepared for this gentleman; and we shall have need of our cabinet this evening. See that all this be done, and inform Prince Maximilian that we would speak with him. And look you, Master Rodolph, there is one in this company; what call you your servant’s name, sir? Essper George! ‘tis well: look you, Rodolph, see that our friend Essper George be well provided for. We know that we can trust him to your good care. And now, gentlemen, at sunset we meet in the Giants’ Hall.” So saying, his Highness bowed to the party; and taking Vivian by the arm, and followed by Arnelm and Von Neuwied, he ascended a stair case which opened into the court, and then mounted into a covered gallery which ran round the whole building. The interior wall of the gallery was alternately ornamented with stags’ heads or other trophies of the chase, and coats of arms blazoned in stucco. The Prince did the honours of the castle to Vivian with great courtesy. The armoury and the hall, the knights chamber, and even the donjon-keep, were all examined; and when Vivian had sufficiently admired the antiquity of the structure and the beauty of the situation, the Prince, having proceeded down a long corridor, opened the door into a small chamber, which he introduced to Vivian as his cabinet. The furniture of this room was rather quaint, and not unpleasing. The wainscot and ceiling were painted alike, of a light green colour, and were richly carved and gilt. The walls were hung with green velvet, of which material were also the chairs, and a sofa, which was placed under a large and curiously-cut looking glass. The lower panes of the windows of this room were of stained glass, of vivid tints; but the upper panes were untinged, in order that the light should not be disturbed which fell through them upon two magnificent pictures; one a hunting-piece, by Schneiders, and the other a portrait of an armed chieftain on horseback, by Lucas Cranach.

And now the door opened, and Master Rodolph entered, carrying in his hand a white wand, and bowing very reverently as he ushered in servants bearing a cold collation. As he entered, it was with difficulty that he could settle his countenance into the due and requisite degree of gravity; and so often was the fat steward on the point of bursting into laughter, as he arranged the setting out of the refreshments on the table, that the Prince, with whom he was at the same time both a favourite and a butt, at last noticed his unusual and unmanageable risibility.

“Why, Rodolph, what ails thee? Hast thou just discovered the point of some good saying of yesterday?”

The steward could now contain his laughter no longer, and he gave vent to his emotion in a most treble “He! he! he!”

“Speak, man, in the name of St. Hubert, and on the word of as stout a huntsman as ever yet crossed horse. Speak, we say; what ails thee?”

“He! he! he! in truth, a most comical knave! I beg your Serene Highness ten thousand most humble pardons, but, in truth, a more comical knave did I never see. How call you him? Essper George, I think; he! he! he! In truth, your Highness was right when you styled him a merry knave; in truth, a most comical knave; he! he! a very funny knave! He says, your Highness, that I am like a snake in a consumption! he! he! he! In truth, a most comical knave!”

“Well, Rodolph, so long as you do not quarrel with his jokes, they shall pass as true wit. But why comes not our son? Have you bidden the Prince Maximilian to our presence?”

“In truth have I, your Highness; but he was engaged at the moment with Mr. Sievers, and therefore he could not immediately attend my bidding. Nevertheless, he bade me deliver to your Serene Highness his dutiful affection, saying that he would soon have the honour of bending his knee unto your Serene Highness.”

“He never said any such nonsense. At least, if he did, he must be changed since last we hunted.”

“In truth, your Highness, I cannot aver, upon my conscience as a faithful steward, that such were the precise words and exact phraseology of his Highness the Prince Maximilian. But in the time of the good Prince, your father, whose memory be ever blessed, such were the words and style of message which I was schooled and instructed by Mr. von Lexicon, your Serene Highness’ most honoured tutor, to bear unto the good Prince your father, whose memory be ever blessed, when I had the great fortune of being your Serene Highness’ most particular page, and it fell to my lot to have the pleasant duty of informing the good Prince your father, whose memory be ever blessed—”

“Enough! but Sievers is not Von Lexicon, and Maximilian, we trust, is—”

“Papa! papa! dearest papa!” shouted a young lad, as he dashed open the door, and, rushing into the room, threw his arms round the Prince’s neck.

“My darling!” said the father, forgetting at this moment of genuine feeling the pompous plural in which he had hitherto spoken of himself. The Prince fondly kissed his child. The boy was about ten years of age, exquisitely handsome. Courage, not audacity, was imprinted on his noble features.

“Papa! may I hunt with you to-morrow?”

“What says Mr. Sievers?”

“Oh! Mr. Sievers says I am excellent; I assure you, upon my honour, he does, I heard you come home; but though I was dying to see you, I would not run out till I had finished my Roman History. I say, papa! what a grand fellow Brutus was; what a grand thing it is to be a patriot! I intend to be a patriot myself, and to kill the Grand Duke of Reisenburg. Who is that?”

“My friend, Max, Mr. Grey. Speak to him.”

“I am happy to see you at Turriparva, sir,” said the boy, bowing to Vivian with dignity. “Have you been hunting with his Highness this morning?”

“I can hardly say I have.”

“Max, I have received a slight wound to-day. Do not look alarmed; it is slight. I only mention it because, had it not been for this gentleman, it is very probable you would never have seen your father again. He has saved my life!”

“Saved your life! saved my papa’s life!” said the young Prince, seizing Vivian’s hand. “Oh! sir, what can I do for you? Mr. Sievers!” said the boy, with eagerness, to a gentleman who entered the room; “Mr. Sievers! here is a young lord who has saved papa’s life!”

Mr. Sievers was a tall, thin man, about forty, with a clear sallow complexion, a high forehead, on which a few wrinkles were visible, bright keen eyes, and a quantity of grey curling hair, which was combed back off his forehead, and fell down over his shoulders. He was introduced to Vivian as the Prince’s particular friend; and then he listened, apparently with interest, to his Highness’ narrative of the morning’s adventure, his danger, and his rescue. Young Maximilian never took his large, dark-blue eyes off his father while he was speaking, and when he had finished the boy rushed to Vivian and threw his arms round his neck. Vivian was delighted with the affection of the child, who whispered to him in a low voice, “I know what you are!”