Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 60, No. 372, October 1846

The table was perfectly well spread, somewhat in the modern style, which eschews the exhibition of dishes, and presents fruits and flowers. Some lighter provision was there, in the shape of plates of sliced sausages and so forth, but the dishes of resistance were in reserve. There was an unexceptionable array of plate, and crockery, and neatness. The dining-room was worthy of the occasion. It is a large and lofty apartment, containing little more furniture than a few convenient couches and chairs. The walls are profusely ornamented with arms of various kinds, hung round tastefully, so that it has the air of a tent or guard-room. There is a small apartment leading into it, which contains a really valuable and curious collection of arms, trophies of victory, and associated with strange legends. It contains many guns, with beautifully inlaid stocks, and several rare and valuable swords of the most costly kind, such as you might seek in vain in the Bezenstein of Constantinople. Among others was one assumed to be the sword of Scanderbeg: strange if the sword, once so fatal to the Turks in political rebellion, should be pursuing its work no less truculently now in religious strife! Our host was seated, waiting our arrival, having adapted his dress to the civilities of life, by rejecting his hussar pelisse, and assuming another vest: he still retained his kid gloves. The waiters were a most formidable group, and such as could hardly have been expected to condescend to a servile office. They were chosen from among his body guard, and were conspicuous for their stature. They wore, even in this hour of security and presumed relaxation, their weighty cuirasses, formed of steel plates that shone brilliantly. Their presence must secure the Vladika against the treachery to which the banquets of the great have been sometimes exposed.

One little trait of the ecclesiastic peeped out in the disposition of the table, which showed that our host had not quite lost the esprit du corps: a clergyman who was of our party, and who had been introduced as a churchman, was placed in the second place of honour after our captain. The party generally arranged themselves at will, and throughout the affair, though there was all due observance, we were not oppressed with ceremony. The dinner went off like most dinners, and our host did the honours with unexceptionable grace. The cookery was in the Turkish style, both as to composition and quantity – and we all voted his wines very good. Champagne flowed abundantly, and unexpectedly. The Vladika talked in a gentle manner of the most ungentle subject. War was the subject on which he descanted with pleasure and judgment, and on which those who sat near him endeavoured to draw him out. But he also proved himself conversant with several subjects, and inquisitive on European affairs. His hostility to the Turks was obviously a matter of deep reality – his hatred was evident in the description which he gave of them as bad, wicked men, who observed no faith, and with whom terms were impossible. The Albanians especially were marked by his animadversions. Our clergyman nearly produced an explosion by an ill-timed remark. As he listened open-mouthed to the right reverend lecturer on war, he was betrayed into an expression of his sense of the incongruity. The brow of the Bishop was for a moment darkened, and his lip curled in contempt, of which, perhaps, the social blunder was not undeserving. "And would not you fight," said he, "if you were attacked by pirates?" The wrath of such a man was to be deprecated. It would have been awkward to see the head of our companion decorating the fatal white tower, and a nod to one of the martial waiters would have done the business. We changed the subject, and asked what was the Montenegro flag? "The cross," said he, "as befits; what else should Christians carry against infidels?" We ventured to inquire whether he, on occasion, wore the robes, and executed the office of bishop, as we had seen a portrait of him in the episcopal robes. "Very seldom," he told us: "and that only of necessity." He excused the practice of exposing the heads on the tower by the plea of necessity. It was necessary for the people, who were accustomed to the spectacle, and whose zeal demanded and was enlivened by the visible incentive. He gave us the account of a visit paid to him by the only lady who has penetrated thus far. He was at the time in the field, engaged in active operations against the enemy, and the lady, for the sake of an interview, ventured even within range of the Turkish battery. He expressed his astonishment that a lady should venture into such a scene, and asked her what could have induced her so to peril her life. "Curiosity," said the lady: "I am an Englishwoman;" and this fact of her nationality seems quite to have satisfied him. She farther won his admiration by partaking of lunch coolly, under only partial shelter from the surrounding danger.

The most picturesque part of our day's experience was the evening assembly. Between the lights we sallied forth, headed by the chief, to look about us. For our amusement he made the people exhibit their prowess in jumping, which was something marvellous. The wonder was enhanced by the comparison of Frank activity which our Italian friend insisted on affording. But Bacchus, who inspirited to the attempt, could not invigorate to the execution; and the good-natured barbarians were amused at the puny effort which set off their own achievements. After showing us the neighbouring lands, the Vladika conducted us back to the palace, where we were promised the spectacle of a Montenegro soirée. It seems that custom has established a public reception of evenings, and that any person may at this time attend without invitation. The whole thing put one in mind of Donald Bean Lean's cavern, or rather, perhaps, of Ali Baba. The picturesque ornaments of the walls waxed romantic in the lamp-light; and costumes of many sorts were moving about, or grouped in the chamber. We were invited to play at different games that were going on, but preferred to remain quiet in corners, where we enjoyed pipes and coffee, and observed the group. Among the servants was a Greek, for whom it might have been supposed that his own country would have been sufficiently lawless. The body-guard who, during dinner, had acted as servants, were now gentlemen; and very splendid gentlemen they made. The universal passion of gaming is not without a place here; it occupied the greater part of the company. The Vladika sat smoking, overlooking the noisy group, and talking with our captain. There were some who did not lay aside their arms even in this hour and place – one big fellow was pointed out to me who would not stir from one room to another unarmed; so ever present to his fancy was the idea of the Turks.

Our host throughout the evening maintained the character of a hospitable and dignified entertainer; comporting himself with that due admixture of conscious dignity and affability, which seems necessary to the courtesy of princes. He occasionally addressed himself to one or other of us, and always seemed to answer with pleasure the questions that we ventured to put to him. It was with reluctance that we took our leave. The night passed comfortably at our several locandas, and not one of us had to speak in the morning of those wretched vermin that plague the Mediterranean. A capital breakfast put us in condition for an early start, and the hospitable spirit of the Vladika was manifested in the refusal of the landladies to produce any bill. With difficulty we managed to press on them a present. The Vladika, attended by his former suite, accompanied our departure, which was honoured with the ceremonies that had marked our entrance. He did not leave us till arrived at the spot where the day before we had met him.

As we halted here, and dismounted for a moment, the Vladika took from an attendant a specimen of their guns, with inlaid stocks, and with graceful action presented it to the captain as a memorial of his visit.

The whole party remounted. The Vladika waved to us his parting salute. "Farewell, gentlemen; remember Montenegro!"

ELINOR TRAVIS

A Tale in Three Chapters

Chapter the Last

I resolved to seek Rupert Sinclair no more, and I kept my word with cruel fidelity. But what could I do? Had I not seen him with my own eyes – had I not passed within a few feet of him, and beheld him, to my indignation and bitter regret, avoiding his house, sneaking basely from it, and retreating into the next street, because that house contained his wife and her paramour? Yes —paramour! I disbelieved the world no longer. There could be no doubt of the fact. True, it was incomprehensible – as incomprehensible as terrible! Rupert Sinclair, pure, sensitive, high-minded, and incorrupt, was incapable of any act branded by dishonour, and yet no amount of dishonour could be greater than that attached to the conduct which I had heard of and then witnessed. So it was – a frightful anomaly! a hideous discrepancy! Such as we hear of from time to time, and are found within the experience of every man, unhinging his belief, giving the lie to virtue, staggering the fixed notions of the confiding young, and confirming the dark conclusions of cold and incredulous age.

I hated London. The very air impure with the weight of the wickedness which I knew it to contain; and I resolved to quit the scene without delay. As for the mansion in Grosvenor Square, and its aristocratic inhabitants, I had never visited then with my own free will, or for my own profit and advantage: I forsook them without a sigh. For Rupert's sake I had submitted to insult from the overbearing lackeys of Railton House, and suffered the arrogance of the proud and imbecile lord himself. Much more I could have borne gladly and cheerfully to have secured his happiness, and to have felt that he was still as pure as I had known him in his youth.

To say that my suspicions were confirmed by public rumour, is to say nothing. The visits of Lord Minden were soon spoken of with a sneer and a grin by every one who could derive the smallest satisfaction from the follies and misfortunes of one who had borne himself too loftily in his prosperity to be spared in the hour of his trial. The fact, promulgated, spread like wildfire. The once fashionable and envied abode became deserted. There was a blot upon the door, which, like the plague-cross, scared even the most reckless and the boldest. The ambitious father lost sight of his ambition in the degradation that threatened his high name; and the half-conscientious, half-worldly mother forgot the instincts of her nature in the tingling consciousness of what the world would say. Rupert was left alone with the wife of his choice, the woman for whom he had sacrificed all – fortune, station, reputation – and for whom he was yet ready to lay down his life. Cruel fascination! fearful sorcery!

London was no place for such a man. Urged as much by the battling emotions of his own mind as by the intreaties of his wife, he determined to leave it for ever. And in truth the time had arrived. Inextricably involved, he could no longer remain with safety within reach of the strong arm of the law. His debts stared him in the face at every turn; creditors were clamorous and threatening; the horrible fact had been conveyed from the lips of serving-men to the ears of hungry tradesmen, who saw in the announcement nothing but peril to the accounts which they had been so anxious to run up, and now were equally sedulous in keeping down. It had always been known that Rupert Sinclair was not a rich man; it soon was understood that he was also a forsaken one. One morning three disreputable ill-looking characters were seen walking before the house of Mr Sinclair. When they first approached it, there was a sort of distant respect in their air very foreign to their looks and dress, which might indeed have been the result of their mysterious occupation, and no real respect at all. As they proceeded in their promenade, became familiar with the place, and attracted observation, their confidence increased, their respect retreated, and their natural hideous vulgarity shone forth. They whistled, laughed, made merry with the gentleman out of livery next door, and established a confidential communication with the housemaid over the way. Shortly one separated from the rest – turned into the mews at the corner of the street, and immediately returned with a bench that he had borrowed at a public-house. His companions hailed him with a cheer – the bench was placed before the door of Sinclair's house; the worthies sat and smoked, sang ribald songs, and uttered filthy jokes. A crowd collected, and the tale was told. Rupert had fled the country; the followers of a sheriff's officer had barricadoed his once splendid home, and, Cerberus-like, were guarding the entrance into wretchedness and gloom.

Heaven knows! there was little feeling in Lord Railton. Some, as I have already intimated, still existed in the bosom of his wife, whom providence had made mother to save her from an all-engrossing selfishness; but to do the old lord justice, he was shaken to the heart by the accumulated misfortunes of his child – not that he regarded those misfortunes in any other light than as bringing discredit on himself, and blasting the good name which it had been the boast of his life to uphold and keep clear of all attaint. But this bastard sympathy was sufficient to unman and crush him. He avoided the society of men, and disconnected himself from all public business. Twenty years seemed added to his life when he walked abroad with his head turned towards the earth, as though it were ashamed to confront the public gaze; the furrows of eighty winters were suddenly ploughed into a cheek that no harsh instrument had ever before impaired or visited. In his maturity he was called upon to pay the penalty of a life spent in royal and luxurious ease. He had borne no burden in his youth. It came upon him like an avalanche in the hour of his decline. It is not the strong mind that gives way in the fiery contest of life; the weakest vessel has the least resistance. About six months after Rupert had quitted England, slight eccentricities in the conduct of Lord Railton attracted the notice of his lordship's medical attendant, who communicated his suspicions to Lady Railton, and frightened her beyond all expression with hints at lunacy. Change of air and scene were recommended – a visit to Paris – to the German baths – any where away from England and the scene of trouble. The unhappy Lady Railton made her preparations in a day. Before any body had time to suspect the cause of the removal, the family was off, and the house in Grosvenor Square shut up.

They travelled to Wiesbaden, two servants only accompanied them, and a physician who had charge of his lordship, and towards whom her ladyship was far less patronising and condescending than she had been to the tutor of her son. If misfortune had not elevated her character, it had somewhat chastened her spirit, and taught her the dependency of man upon his fellow man, in spite of the flimsy barriers set up by vanity and pride. Lord Railton was already an altered man when he reached the capital of Nassau. The separation from every object that could give him pain had at once dispelled the clouds that pressed upon his mind; and the cheerful excitement of the journey given vigour and elasticity to his spirit. He enjoyed life again; and his faculties, mental and physical, were restored to him uninjured. Lady Railton would have wept with joy had she been another woman. As it was, she rejoiced amazingly.

The first day in Wiesbaden was an eventful one. Dinner was ordered, and his lordship was dressing, whilst Lady Railton amused herself in the charming gardens of the hotel at which they stopped. Another visitor was there – a lady younger than herself, but far more beautiful, and apparently of equal rank. One look proclaimed the stranger for a countrywoman, a second was sufficient for an introduction.

"This is a lovely spot," said Lady Railton, whose generally silent tongue was easily betrayed into activity on this auspicious morning.

"Do you think so?" answered the stranger, laughing as she spoke; "you are a new comer, and the loveliness of the spot is not yet darkened by the ugliness of the creatures who thrive upon it. Wait awhile."

"You have been here some time?" continued Lady Railton, inquiringly.

"Ja wohl!" replied the other, mimicking the accent of the German.

"And the loveliness has disappeared?"

"Ja wohl!" repeated the other with a shrug.

"You speak their language, I perceive?" said Lady Railton.

"I can say 'Ja wohl,' 'Brod,' and 'Guten morgen' – not another syllable. I was entrapped into those; but not another step will I advance. I take my stand at 'Guten morgen.'"

Lady Railton smiled.

"'Tis not a sweet language, I believe," she continued.

"As sweet as the people, believe me, who are the uncleanest race in Christendom. You will say so when you have passed three months at Wiesbaden."

"I have no hope of so prolonged a stay – rather, you would have me say 'no fear.'"

"Oh! pray remain and judge for yourself. Begin with his Highness the Duke, who dines every day with his subjects at the table-d'hôte of this hotel, and end with that extraordinary domestic animal, half little boy half old man, who fidgets like a gnome about him at the table. Enter into what they call the gaieties of this horrid place – eat their food – drink their wine – look at the gambling – talk to their greasy aristocracy – listen to their growl – contemplate the universal dirt, and form your own conclusions."

"I presume you are about to quit this happy valley!"

The lovely stranger shook her head.

"Ah no! Fate and – worse than fate! – a self-willed husband!"

"I perceive. He likes Germany, and you" —

"Submit!" said the other, finishing the sentence with the gentlest sigh of resignation.

"You have amusements here?"

"Oh, a mine of them! We are the fiercest gamesters in the world; we eat like giants; we smoke like furnaces, and dance like bears."

The ladies had reached the open window of the saal that led into the garden. They stopped. The dinner of one was about to be served up; the husband of the other was waiting to accompany her to the public gardens. They bowed and parted. A concert was held at the hotel that evening. The chief singers of the opera at Berlin, passing through the town, had signified their benign intention to enlighten the worthy denizens of Nassau, on the subject of "high art" in music. The applications for admission were immense. The chief seats were reserved by mine host, "as in private duty bound," for the visitors at his hotel; and the chiefest, as politeness and interest dictated, for the rich and titled foreigners: every Englishman being rich and noble in a continental inn.

The young physician recommended his lordship by all means to visit the concert. He had recommended nothing but enjoyment since they quitted London. His lordship's case was one, he said, requiring amusement; he might have added that his own case was another – requiring, further, a noble lord to pay for it. Lord Railton obeyed his medical adviser always when he suggested nothing disagreeable. Lady Railton was not sorry to have a view of German life, and to meet again her gay and fascinating beauty of the morning.

The hall was crowded; and at an early hour of the evening the lovely stranger was established in the seat reserved for her amidst "the favoured guests." Her husband was with her, a tall pale man, troubled with grief or sickness, very young, very handsome, but the converse of his wife, who looked as blooming as a summer's morn, as brilliant and as happy. Not the faintest shadow of a smile swept across his pallid face. Laughter beamed eternally from her eyes, and was enthroned in dimples on her cheek. He was silent and reserved, always communing with himself, and utterly regardless of the doings of the world about him. She had eyes, ears, tongue, thought, feeling, sympathy only for the busy multitude, and seemed to care to commune with herself as little – as with her husband. A movement in the neighbourhood announced the arrival of fresh comers. Lord Railton appeared somewhat flustered and agitated by suddenly finding himself in a great company, and all the more nervous from a suspicion that he was regarded as insane by every one he passed: then came the young physician, as if from a bandbox, with a white cravat, white gloves, white waistcoat, white face, and a black suit of clothes, supporting his lordship, smiling upon him obsequiously, and giving him professional encouragement and approval: and lastly stalked her ladyship herself with the airs and graces of a fashionable duchess, fresh as imported, and looking down upon mankind with touching superciliousness and most amiable contempt. She caught sight of her friend of the morning on her passage, and they exchanged bland looks of recognition.

The youthful husband had taken no notice of the fresh arrival. Absorbed by his peculiar cares, whatever they might be, he sat perfectly still, unmoved by the preparations of the actors and the busy hum of the spectators. His head was bent towards the earth, to which he seemed fast travelling, and which, to all appearances, would prove a happier home for him than that he found upon its surface. Two or three songs had been given with wonderful effect. Every one had been encored, and bouquets had already been thrown to the prima donna of the Berlin opera. Never had Wiesbaden known such delight. Mine host, who stood at the entrance of the saal, perspiring with mingled pride and agitation, contemplated the scene with a joy that knew no bounds. He was very happy. Like Sir Giles Overreach, he was "joy all over." The young physician had just put an eye-glass to an eye that had some difficulty in screwing it on, with the intention of killing a young and pretty vocalist with one irresistible glance, when he felt his arm clenched by his patient with a passionate vigour that not only seriously damaged his intentions with respect to the young singer, but fairly threw him from his equilibrium. He turned round, and saw the unhappy nobleman, as he believed, in an epileptic fit. His eyes were fixed – his lip trembling – his whole frame quivering. His hand still grasped the arm of the physician, and grasped it the firmer the more the practitioner struggled for release. There was a shudder, a cry – the old man fell – and would have dropped to the floor had he not been caught by the expert and much alarmed physician. A scene ensued. The singer stopped, the audience rose – the fainting man was raised and carried out. The noise had attracted the notice of one who needed an extraordinary provocation to rouse him from his accustomed lethargy. As the invalid passed him, the husband of the merry beauty cast one glance towards his deathlike countenance. It was enough. No, not enough. Another directed to the unhappy lady who followed the stricken lord, was far more terrible, more poignant and acute. It sent a thousand daggers to his heart, every one wounding, hacking, killing. He sunk upon his seat, and covered his streaming eyes with wan and bloodless hands.

"Rupert!" said Elinor, whispering in his ear, "you are ill – let us go."

"Elinor, it's he, it's he!" he stammered in the same voice.

"Who?"

"My father!"

"And that lady?"

"My mother!"

"Good heaven! Lady Railton!"

"I have killed him," continued Rupert. "I have killed him!"

Before the confusion consequent upon the removal of Lord Railton had subsided, Elinor, with presence of mind, rose from her seat, and implored her husband to do the like. He obeyed, hardly knowing what he did, and followed her instinctively. Like a woman possessed, she ran from the scene, and did not stop until she reached her own apartments. Rupert kept at her side, not daring to look up. When he arrived at his room, he was not aware that he had passed his parents in his progress – that the eyes of his wife and his mother had again encountered, and that the sternest scowl of the latter had been met by the most indignant scorn of the former. To this pass had arrived the pleasant acquaintance established three hours before in the hotel garden.

Whilst Elinor Sinclair slept that melancholy night, Rupert watched at his father's door. He believed him to be mortally ill, and he accused himself in his sorrow of the fearful crime of parricide. He had made frequent inquiries, and to all one answer had been returned. The noble lord was still unconscious: her ladyship could not be seen. It was not until the dawn of morning that a more favourable bulletin was issued, and his lordship pronounced once more sensible and out of danger. Rupert withdrew – not to rest, but to write a few hurried lines to his mother – begging one interview, and conjuring her to concede it, even if she afterwards resolved to see him no more. The interview was granted.