A Luncheon at M. de Talleyrand’s on his Birthday—M. de Talleyrand and the MS.—The Princesse-MarÉchale Lubomirska—The New Arrivals—Chaos of Claims—The Indemnities of the King of Denmark—Rumours of the Congress—Arrival of Wellington at Vienna—The Carnival—FÊte of the Emperor of Austria—A Masked Rout—The Diadem, or Vanity Punished—A Million—Gambling and Slavery: a Russian Anecdote.

Among the memories of the Congress which I recall with the utmost gratitude is that of a very familiar—I might almost say a family-fÊte at M. de Talleyrand’s. It was a luncheon, partaken of solely by his ambassadorial staff, a few of his intimate friends, and a still smaller number of notable Frenchmen, then in Vienna. This matutinal entertainment was given in honour of his birthday; the prince was entering on his sixty-first year. Those who are fond of collecting the smallest particulars about a celebrated man have not forgotten to note the minute details of the Prince de Talleyrand’s toilet, and the ‘coquettishness’ of his rising. In fact, it partook of the peculiarities both of Mazarin’s and of Madame de Pompadour’s. Somewhat anxious to study its details, I followed to the great man’s bedroom MM. Boyne de Faye and Rouen, who were going to present their good wishes to their illustrious patron.

At that moment the model diplomatist pushed his head between the heavy curtains of his bed. A small number of the most privileged were already assembled. Wrapped in a plaited and goffered muslin peignoir, the prince proceeded to attend to his luxuriant hair, which he surrendered, not like the man in La Fontaine’s fable, to two women, but to two hairdressers, who, after a great deal of brandishing of arms and combs, ended by producing the ensemble of wavy hair with which everybody is familiar. Then came the barber’s turn, dispensing at the end a cloud of powder; the head and the hands being finished, they proceeded to the toilet of the feet, a somewhat less recreative detail, considering the by no means pleasant smell of the BarÈge Water employed to strengthen his lame leg. When all this was accomplished with the greatest care, we, though not valets, were enabled to judge the hero of diplomacy in his dressing-gown. To me personally, he looked better than in his ministerial court-dress. He looked the natural man: the model of that noble and courteous manner is no longer anything but a memory. When all those ablutions of water and perfume were terminated, his head servant, whose only function consisted in superintending the whole, came forward to tie his stock into a very smart knot. Then came the other parts of the adjustment. I am bound to say that all these transformations were carried out with the ease of a grand seigneur, and a nonchalance never over-stepping the good form which only permitted us to see the man, without having to trouble about his metamorphosis. At table, M. de Talleyrand not only showed his customary grace and urbanity, but he was in reality more amiable than in his reception-rooms, where, in spite of his free and easy demeanour, one always felt conscious that he kept a check upon himself. It was no longer that habitual silence which, as has been said, he had transformed into the art of eloquence, just as he had transformed his experience into a kind of divination. Though less profound, his talk was perhaps all the more charming. It came straight from the heart, and flowed without restraint.

Although Madame de PÉrigord was present, the duties of the table entirely devolved upon the prince. He served all the dishes, suggested all the wines, addressing each guest in a few sprightly and kindly words. If, perchance, some one attempted to turn the conversation into the channel of politics, which in Vienna is a very habitual weakness, at that very moment he began to talk of this or that thing so utterly foreign to the question just broached as to cause one to think that diplomacy was altogether antipathetic to him. He told us that he was so fond of receiving birthday wishes that, as a rule, he kept up two days, the Saint Charles and the Saint Maurice, without forgetting his real birthday.

‘Those two saints,’ he added, ‘would always prove the best landmarks in my recollections, if ever the fancy took me to write my own life. With their aid I could co-ordinate all my years, happy or sad, and I should be able to say where I was on the days of their appearance in the calendar.’

Madame de PÉrigord told us that she had received that very morning a Latin manuscript on the history of Courland. It was dedicated by the author to Prince Louis, the husband of her mother.

‘A manuscript!’ interrupted the prince, somewhat excitedly. ‘That reminds me of one of the most curious circumstances of my life. When, after my return from America, I was in Hamburg, I made the acquaintance of a gentleman who, like myself, lodged at the inn of the RÖmische Kaiser. We had met at the table d’hÔte, and he had asked me to read the manuscript of a work of his—I no longer remember the subject. I accepted the ordeal, and went to my room. It so happened that on that same day I had been to MM. de Chapeau-Rouge, my bankers, and taken from the remains of a very small credit about fifteen louis. When I got to my room, I opened the manuscript to read it, and between its leaves I deposited my small treasure, wrapped in a sheet of paper. At six in the morning there was a violent knocking at my door, and my author rushed in to inform me that he was going to take ship at that very moment for London, and that he would be pleased to have his manuscript. Half awake and half asleep, I made him a sign to take his manuscript, which was lying on his table, and half sarcastically called to him, “A pleasant journey.” Then I turned round in my bed and fell asleep again. Alas, the wretch took my money with him, and chance did for him what no publisher would have done for his manuscript. I never saw him again, or my fifteen louis, and was obliged to return to my bankers in a sad frame of mind to withdraw the rest left to me, promising myself that they would not catch me examining manuscripts again.’

We went into a small drawing-room, where on a table were all the presents that had been sent from Paris. There were some from the Duchesse de Luynes, from the Princesse de VaudÉmont, from Mme. Jyskewicz, and from many other ladies, who, knowing his fondness for those delicate attentions, never failed to send them at the three periods to which he had referred during luncheon. On a couch were laid out all his orders, and there were enough and to spare. Odd to relate, the most brilliant ones in the way of precious stones had been given by the minor princes.

M. de Talleyrand went on chatting to us for a little while, his most casual sentences being marked by a graceful unaffectedness, so strongly contrasting with his diplomatic reputation. His expressions were, however, always simple; they, as it were, derived their value from the attitude and the courtesy of the grand seigneur, which were not at fault.

When he finally left us to go to M. de Metternich’s, I was not at all in agreement with what was said about him. People pretended that M. de Talleyrand in his dressing-gown was, as far as intellectual conversation went, a different man from M. de Talleyrand in Court dress; in a word, that the latter was practically indispensable to him. Personally, I have seen him in the political drawing-rooms of Paris, London, and Vienna, and only once was I received amidst his nearest and dearest. Well, among my recollections of that celebrated man, the last-mentioned is unquestionably the most constantly present to my mind, and also the most vivid.

Among the drawing-rooms capable of vying with that of M. de Talleyrand in the matter of ‘exquisite form,’ elegance, and delicate observance of society’s unwritten code, one was bound to name, first of all, that of the Princesse-MarÉchale Lubomirska.101 Having taken up her residence in Vienna, she appears to have accepted the task of keeping open house for all the strangers who wished to be presented to her. No one could convey a more exact idea of the fabulous existence of all those Polish grandees in their most splendid days. She, as it were, combined within herself all that was known about the grandeur of the Potockis and the Czartoryskis, the magnificence of the Radziwills, the noble splendour of the Lubomirskis, and of all the others, the recollection of whom has become imperishable. Her palace situated near the fortifications, her servants, the footing of her establishment, in fact everything, represented a partly European, partly Asiatic whole. Being particularly intimate with her grandson Frederick, I had been welcomed as an old acquaintance.

The month of February, which had brought us back a few rays of sunshine, had also brought back to the Graben the swarm of idlers and newsmongers who had been dislodged by the cold and the snow. Added to this, there was a considerable influx of newcomers, more numerous perhaps than in the first days of the Congress. These had been attracted to Vienna by the carnival. The promenades, the public places, and the fortifications were positively swarming with people, and the theatres, balls and entertainments, somewhat neglected during the few previous weeks, had recovered all their former favour. It was a revival of pleasure, and as if the whole of Europe had made it a point to send representatives to this joyous pilgrimage at Vienna, there was no longer a mention of the termination of the Congress, so often foretold and so often denied.

It was really the realisation of the Prince de Ligne’s words: ‘The Congress does not march along; it dances along’; and they might easily have written up the words they painted in large characters on the site of the dismantled Bastille, ‘Dancing going on here.’

Prince Koslowski kept me posted in all the particulars of the endless sittings. ‘Are the other arbiters agreed?’ he said, in answer to my question. ‘Not in the least. The Polish question has been settled; but all the others are as far as ever from being settled. The fate of Saxony and of its king is by no means decided. Prussia asks for the ancient Belgian provinces, the territory of Treves and Cologne. France, who is not at all anxious for that neighbour, does not want Prussia on the left bank of the Rhine. On the other hand, she insists upon the throne of Naples being restored to the Bourbon branch. Take it all in all, it is nothing but a tangled skein. And to crown it all, the King of Denmark is joining the throng, and is asking for what each sovereign is pleased to call his indemnities.’

‘That is certainly an imprudent request. Frederick ought to think himself very lucky to have passed unperceived amidst this chaos of pretensions.’

In fact, among all those sovereigns who were to leave Vienna with the spoils of some of their neighbours, the King of Denmark alone was fated to remain strictly within his old territorial limits. Consequently everybody repeated his reply to Alexander when they parted. ‘Sire,’ said the czar, ‘you carry all hearts away with you.’ ‘All hearts possibly, but not a single soul,’ answered the king, with a significant smile. To understand the witty allusion of the word, I must again remind the reader that the word ‘soul’ means ‘subject,’ and that all the decisions of the Congress were based upon the number of inhabitants of the countries that changed rulers. From that point of view, the King of Denmark had been the least well treated.

‘And now the Duke of Wellington has come to Vienna. He arrived yesterday, and the diplomatists depend much upon his co-operation. They hope that the esteem in which the sovereigns hold him will remove many difficulties retarding the progress of the deliberations, and that he will be able to obtain sacrifices which seem beyond the power of Lord Castlereagh.

‘Milord, it is said, takes his departure loaded, not with diplomatic trophies, but with presents. To the orders which he still lacked, and which the sovereigns, large and small, have now promptly sent him, the Empress of Austria has added two magnificent vases from the porcelain works. My lady will be very pleased with this imperial gift.

‘Are you going to the rout to-night?’ asked the prince, leaving me. ‘Wellington is going, and of course all Vienna will be there.’

Odd to relate, in a town at that moment sheltering all the illustrious men of Europe, the arrival of Wellington had set both the Court and the diplomatic centres agog—the Court, because it supplied something new, for which they were really at a loss; diplomacy, because it was assured that he came to replace Castlereagh, whose policy was generally blamed, and because it was no small thing to have to treat with a new colleague. Mr. Wellesley-Pole, a member of the House of Commons and a relative of the duke, arrived at the same time. He was one of the most brilliant Englishmen in Vienna, the owner of an immense rent-roll, and endowed with a varied and deep knowledge. He was an honour to the nation he represented. Curiosity, therefore, was excited to the highest degree. Everybody wished to know a man to whom the fortunes of war had been so constantly favourable, who, by his doggedness and perseverance, had been able to hold in check the genius of Napoleon. The sovereigns called upon him, and he was literally loaded with honours. In the evening, when the rumour ran that he was going to the rout, between seven and eight thousand spectators rushed into the place. When he made his appearance, accompanied by Lord Castlereagh, a masked lady, supposed to be Lady Castlereagh, hanging on his arm, the whole of the crowd rushed towards them. They were probably accustomed to that kind of reception, and must have felt flattered at such a proof of popularity. Finally, not the least curious result of his arrival was the fluctuation in the public securities, which caused a loss and gain of several millions in a few days; for in Vienna as elsewhere, stock gambling seized the slightest occasion to bring about those rapid fluctuations.

The birthday fÊte of the Emperor of Austria, which happened to come amidst all these rejoicings, was spent in the privacy of his family. His health did not permit it to be celebrated with all the pomp generally displayed. The reception, in spite of its being less numerous, nevertheless presented a most rare spectacle. Nearly all its members called each other ‘brother’ or ‘cousin,’ and those brothers were the most powerful sovereigns of Europe. In the morning, Emperor Alexander had preceded them all, wearing the uniform of an Austrian general, and giving his arm to his charming wife. He tendered his wishes and offered his bouquet with that cordial simplicity that adds so delightfully to the expressions of friendship. For some time those monarchs had each adopted a particular society in which they lived on a most familiar footing. Nevertheless, when they assembled together their affectionate familiarity was very genuine.

The masked routs were more numerously attended than ever. Griffiths and I went one evening to one of those gatherings, which might fitly be termed the magic-lanterns of the Congress, in virtue of the number and variety of the personages present. The crowd was so considerable that, after having opened all the rooms, they were obliged to shut the outer doors and to refuse admission to a great number. Nothing could convey an idea of the happy-go-lucky animation presiding at this gathering of so many diverse elements. In the crowd I ran up against Prince Koslowski.

‘To watch on all sides this exchange of sweet smiles and sweet looks, and hand-pressures sweeter still, one might call the Vienna rout an exchange for the traffic of amorous assets.’

‘Beaumarchais said that before you about the OpÉra of Paris, but you could add, as an appendix, that all such kinds of assets are marketable on all the dancing exchanges of Europe.

‘Just watch that young woman, so simply disguised as a Calabrian peasant,’ the prince went on. ‘She seems to remember how dearly her mother once paid for an impulse of vanity. That mother, who was distantly related to my family, found out that an imperial diadem may often cruelly hurt the head, even if politics are altogether foreign to the attempt to wear it.’

The lady was pretty, the anecdote promised to be interesting. I asked my bright interlocutor to tell it to me. He complied with my wish.

‘One day Empress Catherine made up her mind to clean the enormous mass of jewels of all kinds buried in the coffers that, since the reign of Peter the Great, had swallowed up enormous treasures of which there seem to be scarcely any knowledge in the palace. Dreading some theft during that general overhaul, the emperor appointed two captains of the guards to superintend the work. The father of our pretty mask was one of them. The view of all this wealth produced such a fascination in the eyes and the minds of the two inspectors that they also conceived the fatal idea of robbery. They agreed to abstract part of those treasures, hoping that the theft would pass unperceived. The spoil was divided between them. The one to whom came a lot of pearls lost no time in sending them to Amsterdam by a man in his trust. There, sold secretly, the money he received was employed by him in the repurchase of some family estates, which, however, he had the prudence to settle on his son. The other, whose share consisted of diamonds, waited for spring to proceed to England, promising himself to dispose of them to greater advantage than through the intermediary of an agent.

‘Among the number of stolen objects there was a diadem whose value exceeded a hundred thousand roubles. All these objects had been carefully hidden in the remotest corner of his apartments. Fatality, however, always dogs crime, and his wife discovered the hiding-place. In vain did her husband swear to her that the diadem did not belong to him, and that it was entrusted to his honour to keep for awhile. She begged of him, not to give it to her, but to let her wear it, if only for a moment, at one of the Court balls. He resisted, but she worried, begged, and wept to that extent that the captain, madly in love with his wife, unhappily gave in, trusting that the jewel, which had not seen daylight for perhaps a hundred years, would escape recognition by a person of the new generation. The young woman, who did not perceive that this diadem was metaphorically searing her forehead, got as far as the ball-room of the Hermitage. I need scarcely tell you of the looks of admiration and envy that marked her appearance. Up till then everything had gone well, but just amidst her greatest triumph old Mme. Pratazoff, standing behind the chair of the empress, hears Catherine go into raptures about the brilliancy of those stones.

‘“Madame,” says her confidante, bending over her, “there is no occasion for your majesty to be astonished. That diadem belonged to your majesty’s aunt, the empress. I have seen her wear it a score of times.”

‘The words supplied, as it were, a flash of light to Catherine, who got up, drew near to the young woman, who, delighted with her triumph, had, like Cinderella, forgotten her promise only to wear the jewel for a moment.

‘“May I ask you, madame,” said the empress, “who is the jeweller who mounted these stones?”

‘The young woman, in her confusion, names the first jeweller she can think of. The empress, after a few insignificant remarks, leaves her, and meanwhile the young woman continues to dance with the ill-fated diadem fastened to her head, more threatening than the sword of Damocles, The empress at once sends an aide-de-camp to inquire of the jeweller in question since when, and for whom, he had mounted that diadem. The jeweller of course denies all knowledge of the affair. The reply comes back immediately. Once more the empress interrogates the young woman.

‘“You have played the fool with me. Your jeweller denies having sold you this diadem. I am determined to know whence it came to you.”

‘The severe tone put an end to the young woman’s faint show of confidence. She stammered and stuttered, and Catherine’s suspicions were soon changed into certainties. The order was immediately given to arrest the two unworthy inspectors. Both, judged and proved guilty, were sent to Siberia; but by a strange freak, he who had sold the pearls in Holland, and transmitted their proceeds to his son, was left in possession, while the diamonds found in the house of the other were carefully brought back to the treasury. When, after some years of expiation the empress pardoned the two culprits, the first might well lay the flattering unction to his soul that justice was, after all, only a fable. The other would for ever curse his want of firmness, which had cost him his reputation and his future career. As for the young woman, she dearly paid for the short-lived satisfaction of her vanity, and the momentary gratification of outvying her rivals.’

After having made the round of the rooms once or twice, Griffiths and I left the Burg early. It was a beautiful evening, and we walked back to the Jaeger-Zeil. Passing before the mansion of the Comte de Rosenberg, we noticed that it was ablaze with light. Servants in resplendent livery crossed the courts carrying salvers with ices and fruits, while from the inside arose the strains of a harmonious band and the sound of many joyous voices.

‘It seems to me,’ I said to my companion, ‘that your countryman, Mr. Raily, treats his royal guest more sumptuously than usual to-day. If he goes on in that way his credit of a million at Arnstein’s won’t go far.’

‘When that’s gone there will be more,’ replied Griffiths. ‘The career of professional gamesters is so thoroughly made up of unforeseen events and strange episodes, fortune comes so often to their aid, that the words “ruin,” “chance,” “audacity,” “opulence” are practically present in every line of their biography. Sometimes among all this there is also a flash of generosity, of devotion, and of downright magnanimity on their part. If the common observer had the clue to the enigma of these existences, then assuredly would vanish the fantastic prestige he fancies he sees in the fate of those Bohemians of Courts, of gambling hells, and palaces. ‘The origin of that credit of a million of florins is connected with a fact which Mr. Rally has told me since our last visit to him,—a fact which marvellously characterises the infinite possibilities of gambling. One morning, an elegant carriage, with four superbly caparisoned horses, their manes flowing in the wind, stopped at the door of Mr. Rally’s temporary residence in Moscow. A man of about thirty, with a frank and open countenance, alighted from it. He sends in his name, and presents himself, with those easy manners which are always a passport for a man who has no other recommendation. “Pray excuse my visit,” he said to Mr. Rally in very pure French, “but I have had the advantage of meeting you now and again in public, and I have presumed upon the circumstance to call upon you. I hope you will excuse the liberty.” When he had seated himself he went on. “The matter I wish to speak to you about is of the highest importance to me, but allow me to ask you for a promise that, whether you consent or refuse to render me the service I have come to ask, you will keep the secret.” Mr. Rally promised at once, and the young man went on. “My name is Soueskof-Feodorowich. I am a merchant of the first class. You are no doubt aware of the rank we occupy among the bourgeoisie. I live in your neighbourhood, but my business house and my habitual home are at Toula. You are, I have been told, an English gentleman who has taken up his quarters for a few months in Moscow, and, like most of your distinguished countrymen, you play heavily and in the noblest manner. That is what is done in Russia, and, for the matter of that, everywhere. But I have been told moreover, monsieur, that you play carefully, and allow me to congratulate you on the fact, for this gives you a great guarantee against being duped. You’ll excuse me if I add that this reputation induced me to present myself to you.” Mr. Rally was somewhat surprised at this preamble, but before he could translate his surprise into words his visitor resumed, “I, monsieur, never gamble. I do not even know a game, but I come in furtherance of an attempt, the success of which will depend upon you, in which gambling will play a part. I have heard you praised for your noble character; I have perfect faith in it, and I have come to place in your hands a possession prized highly by every Englishman—namely, liberty. That word, from my lips, may seem strange to you. The first gift of God after life is liberty. Well, sir, that liberty, without which life is nothing, I am for ever deprived of. I speak of it as the blind hankers after the light. I am a serf, and perhaps it is reserved for you to efface from my forehead that ignominious stigma, that mark of opprobrium which the law compels us to engrave on our doors, that scutcheon of infamy which we inherit from generation to generation, like the sign that God’s finger set on the brow of Cain. My request to you is this. In this vortex which one calls grand society you no doubt meet now and again the Comte K——, an ensign in the regiment of Chevalier Guards. He is one of the young men most in renown at the English Club. He astonishes by his audacity, his display, and his arrogance the most adventurous gamblers!”

‘“It is true,” said Raily, “ours is a very intimate acquaintance.”

‘“Oh, it is, after all, without importance, I dare say, for the real basis of it—esteem—is wanting. You cannot possibly esteem the comte, and in this you are only following common opinion. His vanity, which he mistakes for pride, his impertinence, which he mistakes for courage, his cackle, which he mistakes for learning, are all he possesses. Beyond that he has absolutely nothing: neither heart nor soul, nor bowels. Such creatures may become acquaintances, they can never be our friends.” “Your portrait is the reverse of flattering,” said Raily; “but what does it all amount to?” “It amounts to this, monsieur; I am bound to tell you with shame on my face and hell in my heart that I am that man’s slave, that he is my master.” His excitement got the better of him for a moment, then he went on. “The comte’s father lived on one of his estates near Orel. My father, who while very young had become attached to him personally, served him most faithfully—so faithfully, in fact, that the old man at his death left him a considerable sum of money, without, however, giving him his liberty. Like many other serfs, my father employed the money in trafficking in furs and skins with Eastern Russia. Having been very successful in trade, his fortune increased rapidly; and as a matter of course, his establishment assumed a proportionate footing. While I was still a mere lad, my father gave shelter to a victim of the French Revolution, many of whom exile had brought to our country. M. de B——, a man of great parts, looked to my education. He was like a second father to me, and whatever I am, I practically owe to him. Being aware of our position, he often suggested to me to put an end to it, by accompanying him to some foreign land. I should, however, have had to leave my own country; my father would have been responsible for my doings; and the least punishment that he would have suffered would have been to leave his magnificent home in order to resume his labour as a serf. Another cause, based upon something more powerful than reason, bound me to this ignominious vassalage—love. I loved, monsieur, and was beloved; and though I recoiled from the thought of associating with my fate a young and well-born woman, who in uniting herself to me would have ceased to be free, I cherished the flattering hope that time would abolish those iniquitous laws, that sooner or later Emperor Alexander, the moral regenerator of his country—as his illustrious ancestor Peter the Great was the regenerator of his people—that Alexander would break our iron yoke, that he would treat us like the peasants living on the shores of the Baltic, or like the serfs on some of his own imperial domains; that, in fact, ere long the country would be indebted to him for the moral emancipation of forty millions of thinking beings, whose intelligence is crushed in the vice of an arbitrary power. Our masters, however, would sooner forgive him the greatest excesses of that arbitrary power than the exercise of that same power in favour of the humbler class of his subjects. In short, I hoped that, free at last, I should be able to lead Eudoxia to the altar, not sullied with the woollen band of the slave, but beaming beneath the white and pure wreath attached to the head of the free wife. Up to this day, I have hoped in vain. My father died; I not only continued his commerce, but extended it to the East; and in a few years doubled the very considerable fortune he left me.”

‘“Why not propose to the comte to buy your freedom?” remarked Mr. Raily.

‘“He would refuse. He is not one of the owners who would support a rational system of emancipation,” was the answer, followed by a most sombre picture of the condition of the serfs; and he finally added, “Well, monsieur, the end of all this wretchedness, the possession of the woman I worship, who’ll die of grief if we cannot be united—in short, liberty, all this I may possibly owe to you; and in that case you will have been to me more than a man, more than a friend, you will have been nothing less than a god.” “What am I to do?” asked Mr. Raily. “I am disposed to help you, but you must explain?” “You are fond of gaming, monsieur. What’s merely a pastime with you, is a frantic passion with the Comte K——. He sacrifices everything to it; and it will infallibly lead to his ruin. Nothing, therefore, will be easier than to get him to play with you. Get him to stake a small estate he has on the banks of the Volga; it’s a village counting no more than fifty households, and the industry of which consists in making nails. That estate he’ll not sell at any price; but for that, it would have been mine long ago. But in the feverish excitement of the game, he may be brought to stake it, he may lose it, and all my hope is there. If that village, where my father and I were born, where the rest of my relations are living—if that estate becomes mine, we shall all be free. And now, monsieur, you have my secret, and you are the arbiter of my fate. If you consent to come to my aid, your word will be sufficient for me, and you may raise your stakes to any amount, double them, increase them fourfold, as long as you get your final triumph. You have got an unlimited credit on my bank, and I wish you to make use of it unreservedly. Whatever may be your luck, if it remained persistently contrary—even if it ruined me—I should still be eternally grateful to you for having understood me, for having listened to my prayer, and for having attempted to make me happy and free.”

‘Raily promised everything, and the two men parted, and that will explain to you how he and the Comte K—— soon confronted each other at the gaming table. Manoeuvring very cleverly, the Englishman at the outset suffered defeat upon defeat. His adversary, intoxicated by his success, literally clung to him like his shadow. He followed him everywhere—at the hunt, at the ball, at the promenade: he never left him. No courtier of Versailles or St. James’s was more exact at the rising and retiring of a sovereign. The game of faro, then very fashionable at Moscow, was, as a matter of course, that selected by the two antagonists. The comte held the bank. The sum lost by Raily already amounted to fifty thousand roubles. The Russian had tasted blood and liked it, but at last it came to the other one to deal the cards, and from that moment the luck turned. One day after dinner the game went so much in Mr. Raily’s favour that he won everything the Comte K—— possessed in roubles, in paper-money, in objects of art, even to the holy images, richly chased in gold and precious stones, on which Russians set such store. Raily won everything; and when daylight appeared the heap of riches lay around the table which had served for their game. Nevertheless, the comte proposed to continue the game, but only in ‘white money’; that is, figures serving as stakes drawn in chalk on the cloth, and in reality meaning credit. Mr. Raily pretended to have had enough of the game, and to ring for his servants to take to his carriage all that was portable of his rich and extensive loot. Seeing which, the comte renewed his insistences to persuade him to stay. He prayed so humbly, then so passionately, for his revenge, that Raily judged the occasion favourable and the moment decisive to carry out the promise he had given to his young protÉgÉ. Gold, jewels, and bank notes, everything was placed on the table. Then Raily turned to his adversary. “You see, comte,” he said, “that I play the game in no niggardly spirit, and I will give you a new proof of it. I have taken a fancy to be a Russian landowner, if only for the strangeness of the fact. You have got a small estate on the banks of the Volga. If you like, I will stake all that’s there against it.” If at that moment Lucifer had offered the comte to stake his soul against a ducat, he would not have hesitated to accept. Without replying, the comte rushes to his writing-table, takes from it the title-deeds of his property, and flings them with a kind of feverish joy on the gold covering the table. The chances still remained in favour of Mr. Raily. The game had not been resumed ten minutes ere he was the master of that Promised Land, and the much desired aim had been attained. Taking up the contract which entitled him to the property and the fifty thousand roubles he had lost previously, he said, “Now, comte, I’ll play you double or quits for the rest.” The comte named the colour, and was right this time. “Take back all this,” said the Englishmen; “my night has been sufficiently well paid.” Then they parted the best friends in the world, the Russian enchanted with his prompt and generous revenge, Raily delighted at the prospect of the happiness he was to confer on his new friend. That very day the lucky gambler wrote to FÉodor, sending him back his fifty thousand roubles, and informing him that he held at his disposal the title-deeds of the estate on the Volga. A few hours later FÉodor stood in his presence, holding by the hand a young girl, beautiful, fresh, fair, like all the girls of the north, whom he presented to him. It was Eudoxia, she who loved him, she whom he had loved so much. Both fell at Mr. Raily’s feet. “You are our master, our father,” they said. “Give us your blessing, and finish your sublime work of regeneration.” Raily extends his hands, takes them in his arms, he himself surprised at the tears coursing freely down his cheeks. “Let him owe his happiness to you alone,” he said, addressing Eudoxia, and handing her the title-deeds of the property. “An iniquitous law, a law iniquitous even in its foresight, forbids an emancipated slave to possess property. But you are free, madame, and noble, and the same law nevertheless permits that the serf of your lands, raised to the rank of your husband, becomes also freed from this unjust exclusion. You are now a landowner in virtue of these title-deeds—take FÉodor to the altar; henceforth he will bear no chains but yours.” “Monsieur,” said the young merchant, “she and I will never be strong enough to remain under the burden of such a gratitude all our lives. You must, therefore, accept some feeble tribute of our feelings towards you, for it is only on that condition that you can really make us happy.” Mr. Raily a few days before leaving Moscow received a pocket-book, which contained a million roubles, with the following words inscribed upon it: “To the free man who has made me a free man.”