The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II

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Meanwhile Randal Leslie gave a dinner at the Clarendon Hotel (an
extravagance most contrary to his habits), and invited Frank, Mr.
Borrowell, and Baron Levy.

But this house-spider, which glided with so much ease after its flies,
through webs so numerous and mazy, had yet to amuse Madame di Negra with
assurances that the fugitives sought for would sooner or later be
discovered. Though Randal baffled and eluded her suspicion that he was
already acquainted with the exiles, ("the persons he had thought of were,"
he said, "quite different from her description;" and he even presented to
her an old singing-master, and a sallow-faced daughter, as the Italians
who had caused his mistake), it was necessary for Beatrice to prove the
sincerity of the aid she had promised to her brother, and to introduce
Randal to the Count. It was no less desirable to Randal to know, and even
win the confidence of this man--his rival.

The two met at Madame di Negra's house. There is something very strange,
and almost mesmerical, in the _rapport_ between two evil natures. Bring
two honest men together, and it is ten to one if they recognize each other
as honest; differences in temper, manner, even politics, may make each
misjudge the other. But bring together two men, unprincipled and
perverted--men who, if born in a cellar, would have been food for the hulks
or gallows--and they recognize each other by instant sympathy. The eyes of
Franzini, Count of Peschiera, and Randal Leslie no sooner met, than a
gleam of intelligence shot from both. They talked on indifferent
subjects--weather, gossip, politics--what not. They bowed and they smiled;
but, all the while, each was watching, plumbing the other's heart; each
measuring his strength with his companion; each inly saying, "This is a
very remarkable rascal; am I a match for him?" It was at dinner they met;
and, following the English fashion, Madame di Negra left them alone with
their wine.

Then, for the first time, Count di Peschiera cautiously and adroitly made
a covered push towards the object of the meeting.

"You have never been abroad, my dear sir? You must contrive to visit me at
Vienna. I grant the splendor of your London world; but, honestly speaking,
it wants the freedom of ours--a freedom which unites gayety with polish.
For as your society is mixed, there are pretension and effort with those
who have no right to be in it, and artificial condescension and chilling
arrogance with those who have to keep their inferiors at a certain
distance. With us, all being of fixed rank and acknowledged birth,
familiarity is at once established." "Hence," added the Count, with his
French lively smile--"hence there is no place like Vienna for a young
man--no place like Vienna for _bonnes fortunes_."

"Those make the paradise of the idle," replied Randal, "but the purgatory
of the busy. I confess frankly to you, my dear Count, that I have as
little of the leisure which becomes the aspirer to _bonnes fortunes_ as I
have the personal graces which obtain them without an effort;" and he
inclined his head as in compliment.

"So," thought the Count, "woman is not his weak side. What is?"

"_Morbleu!_ my dear Mr. Leslie--had I thought as you do some years since, I
had saved myself from many a trouble. After all, Ambition is the best
mistress to woo; for with her there is always the hope, and never the
possession."

"Ambition, Count," replied Randal, still guarding himself in dry
sententiousness, "is the luxury of the rich, and the necessity of the
poor."

"Aha," thought the Count, "it comes, as I anticipated from the first--comes
to the bribe." He passed the wine to Randal, filling his own glass, and
draining it carelessly: "_Sur mon ame, mon cher_," said the Count, "luxury
is ever pleasanter than necessity; and I am resolved at least to give
ambition a trial--_je vais me refugier dans le sein du bonheur
domestique_--a married life and a settled home. _Peste!_ If it were not for
ambition, one would die of ennui. Apropos, my dear sir, I have to thank
you for promising my sister your aid in finding a near and dear kinsman of
mine, who has taken refuge in your country, and hides himself even from
me."

"I should be most happy to assist in your search. As yet, however, I have
only to regret that all my good wishes are fruitless. I should have
thought, however, that a man of such rank had been easily found, even
through the medium of your own ambassador."

"Our own ambassador is no very warm friend of mine; and the rank would be
no clue, for it is clear that my kinsman has never assumed it since he
quitted his country."

"He quitted it, I understand, not exactly from choice," said Randal,
smiling. "Pardon my freedom and curiosity, but will you explain to me a
little more than I learn from English rumor (which never accurately
reports upon foreign matters still more notorious), how a person who had
so much to lose, and so little to win, by revolution, could put himself
into the same crazy boat with a crew of hare-brained adventurers and
visionary professors?

"Professors!" repeated the Count; "I think you have hit on the very answer
to your question; not but what men of high birth were as mad as the
_canaille_. I am the more willing to gratify your curiosity, since it will
perhaps serve to guide your kind search in my favor. You must know, then,
that my kinsman was not born the heir to the rank he obtained. He was but
a distant relation to the head of the house which he afterwards
represented. Brought up in an Italian university, he was distinguished for
his learning and his eccentricities. There, too, I suppose, brooding over
old wives' tales about freedom, and so forth, he contracted his
_carbonaro_, chimerical notions for the independence of Italy. Suddenly,
by three deaths, he was elevated, while yet young, to a station and honors
which might have satisfied any man in his senses. _Que diable!_ what could
the independence of Italy do for _him_! He and I were cousins; we had
played together as boys; but our lives had been separated till his
succession to rank brought us necessarily together. We became exceedingly
intimate. And you may judge how I loved him," said the Count, averting his
eyes slightly from Randal's quiet, watchful gaze, "when I add, that I
forgave him for enjoying a heritage that, but for him, had been mine."

"Ah, you were next heir?"

"And it is a hard trial to be very near a great fortune, and yet just miss
it."

"True," cried Randal, almost impetuously. The Count now raised his eyes,
and again the two men looked into each other's souls.

"Harder still, perhaps," resumed the Count, after a short pause--"harder
still might it have been to some men to forgive the rival as well as the
heir."

"Rival! How?"

"A lady, who had been destined by her parents to myself, though we had
never, I own, been formally betrothed, became the wife of my kinsman."

"Did he know of your pretensions?"

"I do him the justice to say he did not. He saw and fell in love with the
young lady I speak of. Her parents were dazzled. Her father sent for me.
He apologized--he explained; he set before me, mildly enough, certain
youthful imprudences or errors of my own, as an excuse for his change of
mind; and he asked me not only to resign all hope of his daughter, but to
conceal from her new suitor that I had ever ventured to hope."

"And you consented?"

"I consented."

"That was generous. You must indeed have been much attached to your
kinsman. As a lover I cannot comprehend it; perhaps, my dear Count, you
may enable me to understand it better--as a man of the world."

"Well," said the Count, with his most _roue_ air, "I suppose we _are_ both
men of the world?"

"_Both!_ certainly," replied Randal, just in the tone which Peachum might
have used in courting the confidence of Lockit.

"As a man of the world, then, I own," said the Count, playing with the
rings on his fingers, "that if I could not marry the lady myself (and that
seemed to me clear), it was very natural that I should wish to see her
married to my wealthy kinsman."

"Very natural; it might bring your wealthy kinsman and yourself still
closer together."

"This is really a very clever fellow!" thought the Count, but he made no
direct reply.

"_Enfin_, to cut short a long story, my cousin afterwards got entangled in
attempts, the failure of which is historically known. His projects were
detected--himself denounced. He fled, and the Emperor, in sequestrating his
estates, was pleased, with rare and singular clemency, to permit me, as
his nearest kinsman, to enjoy the revenues of half those estates during
the royal pleasure; nor was the other half formally confiscated. It was no
doubt his Majesty's desire not to extinguish a great Italian name; and if
my cousin and his child died in exile, why, of that name, I, a loyal
subject of Austria--I, Franzini, Count di Peschiera, would become the
representative. Such, in a similar case, has been sometimes the Russian
policy towards Polish insurgents."

"I comprehend perfectly; and I can also conceive that you, in profiting so
largely, though so justly, by the fall of your kinsman, may have been
exposed to much unpopularity--even to painful suspicion."

"_Entre nous, mon cher_, I care not a stiver for popularity; and as to
suspicion, who is he that can escape from the calumny of the envious? But,
unquestionably, it would be most desirable to unite the divided members of
our house; and this union I can now effect, by the consent of the Emperor
to my marriage with my kinsman's daughter. You see, therefore, why I have
so great an interest in this research?"

"By the marriage articles you could no doubt secure the retention of the
half you hold; and if you survive your kinsman, you would enjoy the whole.
A most desirable marriage; and, if made, I suppose that would suffice to
obtain your cousin's amnesty and grace?"

"You say it."

"But even without such marriage, since the Emperor's clemency has been
extended to so many of the proscribed, it is perhaps probable that your
cousin might be restored?"

"It once seemed to me possible," said the Count, reluctantly; "but since I
have been in England, I think not. The recent revolution in France, the
democratic spirit rising in Europe, tend to throw back the cause of a
proscribed rebel. England swarms with revolutionists; my cousin's
residence in this country is in itself suspicious. The suspicion is
increased by his strange seclusion. There are many Italians here who would
aver that they had met with him, and that he was still engaged in
revolutionary projects."

"Aver--untruly."

"_Ma foi_--it comes to the same thing; _les absens ont toujours tort_. I
speak to a man of the world. No; without some such guarantee for his
faith, as his daughter's marriage with myself would give, his recall is
improbable. By the heaven above us, it shall be _impossible_!" The Count
rose as he said this--rose as if the mask of simulation had fairly fallen
from the visage of crime--rose tall and towering, a very image of masculine
power and strength, beside the slight bended form and sickly face of the
intellectual schemer. Randal was startled; but, rising also, he said
carelessly--

"What if this guarantee can no longer be given?--what if, in despair of
return, and in resignation to his altered fortunes, your cousin has
already married his daughter to some English suitor?"

"Ah, that would indeed be, next to my own marriage with her, the most
fortunate thing that could happen to myself."

"How? I don't understand!"

"Why, if my cousin has so abjured his birthright, and forsworn his rank--if
this heritage, which is so dangerous from its grandeur, pass, in case of
his pardon, to some obscure Englishman--a foreigner--a native of a country
that has no ties with ours--a country that is the very refuge of levellers
and Carbonari--_mort dema vie_--do you think that such would not annihilate
all chance of my cousin's restoration, and be an excuse even to the eyes
of Italy for formally conferring the sequestered estates on an Italian?
No; unless, indeed, the girl were to marry an Englishman of such name and
birth and connection as would in themselves be a guarantee, (and how in
poverty is this likely?) I should go back to Vienna with a light heart, if
I could say, 'My kinswoman is an Englishman's wife--shall her children be
the heirs to a house so renowned for its lineage, and so formidable for
its wealth?' _Parbleu!_ if my cousin were but an adventurer, or merely a
professor, he had been pardoned long ago. The great enjoy the honor not to
be pardoned easily."

Randal fell into deep but brief thought. The Count observed him, not face
to face, but by the reflection of an opposite mirror. "This man knows
something; this man is deliberating; this man can help me," thought the
Count.

But Randal said nothing to confirm these hypotheses. Recovering from his
abstraction, he expressed courteously his satisfaction at the Count's
prospects, either way. "And since, after all," he added, "you mean so well
to your cousin, it occurs to me that you might discover him by a very
simple English process."

"How?"

"Advertise that, if he will come to some place appointed, he will hear of
something to his advantage."

The Count shook his head. "He would suspect me, and not come."

"But he was intimate with you. He joined an insurrection;--you were more
prudent. You did not injure him, though you may have benefited yourself.
Why should he shun you?"

"The conspirators forgive none who do not conspire; besides, to speak
frankly, he thought I injured him."

"Could you not conciliate him through his wife--whom--you resigned to him?"

"She is dead--died before he left the country."

"Oh, that is unlucky! Still I think an advertisement might do good. Allow
me to reflect on that subject. Shall we now join Madame la Marquise?"

On re-entering the drawing-room, the gentlemen found Beatrice in full
dress, seated by the fire, and reading so intently that she did not remark
them enter.

"What so interests you, _ma soeur_?-the last novel by Balzac, no doubt?"

Beatrice started, and, looking up, showed eyes that were full of tears.
"Oh, no! no picture of miserable, vicious Parisian life. This is
beautiful; there is _soul_ here."

Randal took up the book which the Marchesa laid down; it was the same that
had charmed the circle at Hazeldean--charmed the innocent and
fresh-hearted--charmed now the wearied and tempted votaress of the world.

"Hum," murmured Randal; "the Parson, was right. This is power--a sort of a
power."

"How I should like to know the author! Who can he be--can you guess?"

"Not I. Some old pedant in spectacles."

"I think not--I am sure not. Here beats a heart I have ever sighed to find,
and never found."

"Oh, _naive enfant_!" cried the Count; "_comme son imagination s'egare en
reves enchantes_. And to think that, while you talk like an Arcadian, you
are dressed like a princess."

"Ah, I forgot--the Austrian ambassador's. I shall not go to-night. This
book unfits me for the artificial world."

"Just as you will, my sister. I shall go. I dislike the man, and he me;
but ceremonies before men!"

"You are going to the Austrian Embassy?" said Randal. "I too shall be
there. We shall meet." And he took his leave.

"I like your young friend prodigiously," said the Count, yawning. "I am
sure that he knows of the lost birds, and will stand to them like a
pointer, if I can but make it his interest to do so. We shall see."

CHAPTER IV.

Randal arrived at the ambassador's before the Count, and contrived to mix
with the young noblemen attached to the embassy, and to whom he was known.
Standing among these was a young Austrian, on his travels, of very high
birth, and with an air of noble grace that suited the ideal of the old
German chivalry. Randal was presented to him, and, after some talk on
general topics, observed, "By the way, Prince, there is now in London a
countryman of yours, with whom you are doubtless familiarly acquainted--the
Count di Peschiera."

"He is no countryman of mine. He is an Italian. I know him but by sight
and by name," said the Prince, stiffly.

"He is of very ancient birth, I believe."

"Unquestionably. His ancestors were gentlemen."

"And very rich."

"Indeed! I have understood the contrary. He enjoys, it is true, a large
revenue."

A young _attache_, less discreet than the Prince, here observed, "Oh,
Peschiera!--Poor fellow, he is too fond of play to be rich."

"And there is some chance that the kinsman whose revenue he holds, may
obtain his pardon, and re-enter into possession of his fortunes--so I hear,
at least," said Randal, artfully.

"I shall be glad if it be true," said the Prince with decision; "and I
speak the common sentiment at Vienna. That kinsman had a noble spirit, and
was, I believe, equally duped and betrayed. Pardon me, sir; but we
Austrians are not so bad as we are painted. Have you ever met in England
the kinsman you speak of?"

"Never, though he is supposed to reside here; and the Count tells me that
he has a daughter."

"The Count--ha! I heard something of a scheme--a wager of that--that
Count's--a daughter. Poor girl! I hope she will escape his pursuit; for, no
doubt, he pursues her."

"Possibly she may already have married an Englishman."

"I trust not," said the Prince, seriously; "that might at present be a
serious obstacle to her father's return."

"You think so?"

"There can be no doubt of it," interposed the _attache_ with a grand and
positive air; "unless, indeed, the Englishman were of a rank equal to her
own."

Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the doors; for the
Count di Peschiera himself was announced; and as he entered, his presence
was so striking, and his beauty so dazzling, that whatever there might be
to the prejudice of his character, it seemed instantly effaced or
forgotten in that irresistible admiration which it is the prerogative of
personal attributes alone to create.

The Prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups that collected
round the Count, turned to Randal and said, "Can you tell me if a
distinguished countryman of yours is in England--Lord L'Estrange?"

"No, Prince--he is not. You know him?"

"Well."

"He is acquainted with the Count's kinsman; and perhaps from him you have
learned to think so highly of that kinsman?"

The Prince bowed, and answered as he moved away, "When a man of high honor
vouches for another, he commands the belief of all."

"Certainly," soliloquized Randal, "I must not be precipitate. I was very
nearly falling into a terrible trap. If I were to marry the girl, and
only, by so doing, settle away her inheritance on Peschiera!--How hard it
is to be sufficiently cautious in this world!"

While thus meditating, a member of Parliament tapped him on the shoulder.

"Melancholy, Leslie! I lay a wager I guess your thoughts."

"Guess," answered Randal.

"You were thinking of the place you are so soon to lose."

"Soon to lose!"

"Why, if ministers go out, you could hardly keep it, I suppose."

This ominous and horrid member of Parliament, Squire Hazeldean's favorite
county member, Sir John, was one of those legislators especially odious to
officials--an independent "large-acred" member, who would no more take
office himself than he would cut down the oaks in his park, and who had no
bowels of human feeling for those who had opposite tastes and less
magnificent means.

"Hem!" said Randal, rather surlily. "In the first place, Sir John,
ministers are not going out."

"Oh yes, they will go. You know I vote with them generally, and would
willingly keep them in; but they are men of honor and spirit; and if they
can't carry their measures, they must resign; otherwise, by Jove, I would
turn round and vote them out myself!"

"I have no doubt you would, Sir John; you are quite capable of it; that
rests with you and your constituents. But even if ministers did go out, I
am but a poor subaltern in a public office. I am no minister--why should I
go out too?"

"Why? Hang it, Leslie, you are laughing at me. A young fellow like you
could never be mean enough to stay in, under the very men who drove out
your friend Egerton!"

"It is not usual for those in the public offices to retire with every
change of Government."

"Certainly not; but always those who are the relations of a retiring
minister--always those who have been regarded as politicians, and who mean
to enter Parliament, as of course you will do at the next election. But
you know that as well as I do--you who are so decided a politician--the
writer of that admirable pamphlet! I should not like to tell my friend
Hazeldean, who has a sincere interest in you, that you ever doubted on a
question of honor as plain as your A, B, C."

"Indeed, Sir John," said Randal, recovering his suavity, while he inly
breathed a dire anathema on his county member, "I am so new to these
things, that what you say never struck me before. No doubt you must be
right; at all events, I cannot have a better guide and adviser than Mr.
Egerton himself."

"No, certainly--perfect gentleman, Egerton! I wish we could make it up with
him and Hazeldean."

_Randal_, (sighing)--"Ah, I wish we could!"

_Sir John._--"And some chance of it now; for the time is coming when all
true men of the old school must stick together."

_Randal._--"Wisely, and admirably said, my dear Sir John. But, pardon me, I
must pay my respects to the ambassador."

Randal escaped, and, passing on, saw the ambassador himself in the next
room, conferring in a corner with Audley Egerton. The ambassador seemed
very grave--Egerton calm and impenetrable, as usual. Presently the Count
passed by, and the ambassador bowed to him very stiffly. As Randal, some
time later, was searching for his cloak below, Audley Egerton unexpectedly
joined him. "Ah, Leslie," said the minister, with more kindness than
usual, "if you don't think the night air too cold for you, let us walk
home together. I have sent away the carriage."

This condescension in his patron was so singular that it quite startled
Randal, and gave him a presentiment of some evil. When they were in the
street, Egerton, after a pause, began--"My dear Mr. Leslie, it was my hope
and belief that I had provided for you at least a competence; and that I
might open to you, later, a career yet more brilliant. Hush! I don't doubt
your gratitude; let me proceed. There is a possible chance, after certain
decisions that the Government have come to, that we may be beaten in the
House of Commons, and of course resign. I tell you this beforehand, for I
wish you to have time to consider what, in that case, would be your best
course. My power of serving you would then probably be over. It would, no
doubt (seeing our close connection, and my views with regard to your
future being so well known)--be expected that you should give up the place
you hold, and follow my fortunes for good or ill. But as I have no
personal enemies with the opposite party--and as I have sufficient position
in the world to uphold and sanction your choice, whatever it may be, if
you think it more prudent to retain your place, tell me so openly, and I
think I can contrive that you may do it without loss of character and
credit. In that case confine your ambition merely to rising gradually in
your office, without mixing in politics. If, on the other hand, you should
prefer to take your chance of my return to office, and so resign your own;
and, furthermore, should commit yourself to a policy that may then be not
only in opposition, but unpopular; I will do my best to introduce you into
parliamentary life. I cannot say that I advise the latter."

Randal felt as a man feels after a severe fall--he was literally stunned.
At length he faltered out--"Can you think, sir, that I should ever desert
your fortunes--your party--your cause?"

"My dear Leslie," replied the minister, "you are too young to have
committed yourself to any men or to any party, except, indeed, in that
unlucky pamphlet. This must not be an affair of sentiment, but of sense
and reflection. Let us say no more on the point now; but, by considering
the _pros_ and _cons_, you can better judge what to do, should the time
for option suddenly arrive."

"But I hope that time may not come."

"I hope so too, and most sincerely," said the minister, with deliberate
and genuine emphasis.

"What could be so bad for the country?" ejaculated Randal. "It does not
seem to me possible in the nature of things, that you and your party
should ever go out."

"And when we are once out, there will be plenty of wiseacres to say it is
out of the nature of things that we should ever come in again. Here we are
at the door."

CHAPTER V.

Randal passed a sleepless night; but, indeed, he was one of those persons
who neither need, nor are accustomed to much sleep. However, towards
morning, when dreams are said to be prophetic, he fell into a most
delightful slumber--a slumber peopled by visions fitted to lure on, through
labyrinths of law, predestined chancellors, or wreck upon the rocks of
glory the inebriate souls of youthful ensigns--dreams from which Rood Hall
emerged crowned with the towers of Belvoir or Raby, and looking over
subject lands and manors wrested from the nefarious usurpation of
Thornhills and Hazeldeans--dreams in which Audley Egerton's gold and
power--rooms in Downing Street, and saloons in Grosvenor Square--had passed
away to the smiling dreamer, as the empire of Chaldaea passed to Darius the
Median. Why visions so belying the gloomy and anxious thoughts that
preceded them should visit the pillow of Randal Leslie, surpasses my
philosophy to conjecture. He yielded, however, passively to their spell,
and was startled to hear the clock strike eleven as he descended the
stairs to breakfast. He was vexed at the lateness of the hour, for he had
meant to have taken advantage of the unwonted softness of Egerton, and
drawn therefrom some promises or proffers to cheer the prospects which the
minister had so chillingly expanded before him the preceding night. And it
was only at breakfast that he usually found the opportunity of private
conference with his busy patron. But Audley Egerton would be sure to have
sallied forth--and so he had--only Randal was surprised to hear that he had
gone out in his carriage, instead of on foot, as was his habit. Randal
soon despatched his solitary meal, and with a new and sudden affection for
his office, thitherward bent his way. As he passed through Piccadilly, he
heard behind a voice that had lately become familiar to him, and turning
round, saw Baron Levy walking side by side, though not arm-in-arm, with a
gentleman almost as smart as himself, but with a jauntier step and a
brisker air--a step that, like Diomed's, as described by Shakspeare--

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