ria, Vivier was sent on a certain occasion with
despatches--not, I fancy, in the character of Vely Pacha's secretary,
the only quasi-diplomatic post he held, but partly to facilitate his
travelling, and partly, it may be, for some private political reason.
Instead of being delayed, questioned, and searched at the frontier, as
generally happened in those days--the days before 1859--Vivier was
treated by the Custom House officials, and by the police, with all
possible respect; and journeying as an honoured personage--an emissary
from the Emperor of the French--he in due time reached Vienna, where,
hastening to the palace, he made known the object of his visit. It seems
quite possible that the despatches carried by Vivier may have possessed
particular importance, and that Napoleon III had motives of his own for
not forwarding them through the ordinary diplomatic channels. Vivier
had, in any case, been instructed to deliver them to the Emperor in
person--one of those Emperors whom he numbered among his private
acquaintances.

A Court Chamberlain had hurried out to receive the distinguished
messenger, ready after a due interchange of compliments to usher him
into the Imperial presence.

"Your Excellency!" began the Chamberlain, in the most obsequious manner.

"I am not an Excellency!" replied Vivier.

"General, then--Monsieur le General?"

"I am not a General!"

"Colonel, perhaps, and aide-de-camp to his Imperial Majesty?"

"I am not in the army. I have no official rank--no rank of any kind
whatever."

"Good heavens! then what are you?" exclaimed the Chamberlain, indignant
with himself for having treated as high-born and high-placed one who was
apparently a mere nobody.

"I am a musician," said Vivier.

Bounding with rage, the Court functionary made an unbecoming gesture,
such as Mephistopheles, according to the stage directions, should make
in one of the passages of Goethe's _Faust_.

"Very well, my friend," said Vivier to himself, "I will tell the Emperor
of your rude behaviour; I will get you rapped on the knuckles" ("Je t'en
ferai donner sur les doigts"); and the uncourtly courtier was, in fact,
severely reprimanded.

At St. Petersburg Vivier took such liberties with the Emperor Nicholas
that, if half the stories of that monarch were true, the imprudent
Frenchman would have been arrested, knouted, and sent to Siberia.

He had just brought to perfection the art of blowing soap bubbles. The
whole secret of