permitted you to put yourself down on the passport as valet in the foolish way you have. You would have enjoyed yourself as much as I probably shall, and have been in your proper position in society.”
“Then I’m not sorry at all, O’Donahue, and I’ll tell you why. I should have enjoyed myself, I do not doubt—but I should have enjoyed myself too much; and, after dining with ambassadors, and princes, and counts, and all that thing—should I ever have gone back comfortable and contented to Mrs McShane, and the cook’s shop? No, no—I’m not exactly reconciled, as it is; and if I were to be drinking champagne, and ’ating French kickshaws with the Russian nobility for three or four months, dancing perhaps with princesses, and whispering in the ears of duchesses, wouldn’t my nose turn up with contempt at the beefsteak pie, and poor Mrs McShane, with all her kind smiles, look twice as corpulent as ever? No, no, I’m better here, and I’m a wise man, although I say it myself.”
“Well, perhaps you are, McShane; but still I do not like that I should be spending your money in this way without your having your share of it at least.”
“My share of it—now, O’Donahue, suppose I had come over here on my own account, where should I have been? I could not have mustered up the amiable impudence you did, to persuade the commander-in-chief to give me letters to the ambassador: nor could I have got up such a turn-out, nor have fitted the turn-out so well as you do. I should have been as stupid as an owl, just doing what I have done the whole of the blessed morning for want of your company—looking after one of the floating bridges across the river, and spitting into the stream, just to add my mite to the Baltic Sea.”
“I’m sorry you were not better amused.”
“I was amused; for I was thinking of the good-humoured face of Mrs McShane, which was much better than being in high company, and forgetting her entirely. Let me alone for amusing myself after my own fashion, O’Donahue, and that’s all I wish. I suppose you have heard nothing in your travels about your Powlish princess?”
“Of course not; it will require some tact to bring in her name—I must do it as if by mere accident.”
“Shall I ask the courier if she is an acquaintance of his?”
“An acquaintance, McShane?”
“I don’t mean on visiting terms; but if he knows anything about the family, or where they live?”
“No, McShane, I think you had better not; we do not know much of him at present. I shall dine at the ambassador’s tomorrow, and there will be a large party.”
During the day invitations for evening parties were brought in from the Prince Gallitzin and Princess Woronzoff.
“The plot thickens fast, as the saying is,” observed McShane; “you’ll be certain to meet your fair lady at some of these places.”
“That is what I trust to do,” replied O’Donahue; “if not, as soon as I’m intimate, I shall make inquiries about her; but we must first see how the land lies.”
O’Donahue dined at the ambassador’s, and went to the other parties, but did not meet with the object of his search. Being a good musician, he was much in request in so musical a society as that of Saint Petersburg. The emperor was still at his country palace, and O’Donahue had been more than a fortnight at the capital without there being an opportunity for the ambassador to present him at court.
Dimitri, the person whom O’Donahue engaged as courier, was a very clever, intelligent fellow; and as he found that O’Donahue had all the liberality of an Irishman, and was in every respect a most indulgent master, he soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the more peculiar intimacy between O’Donahue and McShane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri in forming a good opinion of the former, as the hauteur and distance generally preserved by the English towards their domestics are very displeasing to the Continental servants, who, if permitted to be familiar, will not only serve you more faithfully, but be satisfied with more moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English and French pretty well, German and Russian of course perfectly. He was a Russian by birth, had been brought up at the Foundling Hospital, at Moscow, and therefore was not a serf. He soon became intimate with McShane: and as soon as the latter discovered that there was no intention on the part of Dimitri to be dishonest, he was satisfied, and treated him with cordiality.
“Tell your master this,” said Dimitri, “never to give his opinion on political matters before any one while in Petersburg, or he will be reported to the government, and will be looked upon with suspicion. All the servants and couriers here, indeed every third person you meet, is an agent of police.”
“Then it’s not at all unlikely that you are one yourself,” replied McShane.
“I am so,” replied Dimitri, coolly, “and all the better for your master. I shall be ordered to make my report in a few days, and I shall not fail to do so.”
“And what will they ask you?” said McShane.
“They will ask me first who and what your master is? Whether I have discovered from you, if he is of family and importance in his own country? whether he has expressed any political opinions? and whether I have discovered the real business which brought him here?”
“And what will you reply to all this?” answered McShane.
“Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew what he wishes me to say, for he is a gentleman whom I am very fond of, and that’s the truth; perhaps you can tell me?”
“Why, yes, I know a good deal about him, that’s certain. As for his family, there’s not a better in Ireland or England, for he’s royal if he had his right.”
“What!” exclaimed Dimitri.
“As sure as I’m sitting in this old arm-chair, didn’t he bring letters from the brother of the present king? does that go for nothing in this country of yours? or do you value men by the length of their beards?”
“Men are valued here not by their titles, but by their rank as officers. A general is a greater man than a prince,” replied Dimitri.
“With all my heart, for then I’m somebody,” replied McShane.
“You?” replied the courier.
“I mean my master,” returned McShane, correcting himself; “for he’s an officer, and a good one, too.”
“Yes, that may be; but you said yourself,” replied the courier, laughing. “My good friend, a valet to any one in Petersburg is no better than one of the mujiks who work in the streets. Well, I know that our master is an officer, and of high rank; as for his political opinions, I have never heard him express any, except his admiration of the city, and of course of the emperor.”
“Most decidedly; and of the empress also,” replied McShane.
“That is not at all necessary,” continued Dimitri, laughing. “In fact, he has no business to admire the empress.”
“But he admires the government and the laws,” said McShane; “and you may add, my good fellow—the army and the navy—by the powers, he’s all admiration, all over!—you may take my word for it.”
“Well, I will do so; but then there is one other question to reply to, which is, why did he come here? what is his business?”
“To look about him, to be sure; to spend his money like a gentleman; to give his letters of introduction; and to amuse himself,” replied McShane. “But this is dry talking, so, Dimitri, order a bottle of champagne, and then we’ll wet our whistle before we go on.”
“Champagne! will your master stand that?” inquired Dimitri.
“Stand it? to be sure, and he’d be very angry if he thought I did not make myself comfortable. Tell them to put it down in the bill for me; if they doubt the propriety, let them ask my master.”
Dimitri went and ordered the champagne. As soon as they had a glass, Dimitri observed, “Your master is a fine liberal fellow, and I would serve him to the last day of my life; but you see that the reasons you give for your master being here are the same as are given by everybody else, whether they come as