CONTENTS
[ PREFACE. ]
[ THE FORTUNES OF GLENCORE ]
[ CHAPTER I. ] A LONELY LANDSCAPE
[ CHAPTER II. ] GLENCORE CASTLE
[ CHAPTER III. ] BILLY TRAYNOR—POET, PEDLAR, AND PHYSICIAN
[ CHAPTER IV. ] A VISITOR
[ CHAPTER V. ] COLONEL HARCOUUT'S LETTER
[ CHAPTER VI. ] QUEER COMPANIONSHIP
[ CHAPTER VII. ] A GREAT DIPLOMATIST
[ CHAPTER VIII. ] THE GREAT MAN'S ARRIVAL
[ CHAPTER IX. ] A MEDICAL VISIT
[ CHAPTER X. ] A DISCLOSURE
[ CHAPTER XI. ] SOME LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF DIPLOMATIC LIFE
[ CHAPTER XII. ] A NIGHT AT SEA
[ CHAPTER XIII. ] A “VOW” ACCOMPLISHED
[ CHAPTER XIV. ] BILLY TRAYNOR AND THE COLONEL
[ CHAPTER XV. ] A SICK BED
[ CHAPTER XVI. ] THE “PROJECT”
[ CHAPTER XVII. ] A TÊTE-À-TÊTE
[ CHAPTER XVIII. ] BILLY TRAYNOR AS ORATOR
[ CHAPTER XIX. ] THE CASCINE AT FLORENCE
[ CHAPTER XX. ] THE VILLA FOSSOMBRONI
[ CHAPTER XXI. ] SOME TRAITS OF LIFE
[ CHAPTER XXII. ] AN UPTONIAN DESPATCH
[ CHAPTER XXIII. ] THE TUTOR AND HIS PUPIL
[ CHAPTER XXIV. ] HOW A “RECEPTION” COMES TO ITS CLOSE
[ CHAPTER XXV. ] A DUKE AND HIS MINISTER
[ CHAPTER XXVI. ] ITALIAN TROUBLES
[ CHAPTER XXVII. ] CARRARA
[ CHAPTER XXVIII. ] A NIGHT SCENE
[ CHAPTER XXIX. ] A COUNCIL OF STATE
[ CHAPTER XXX. ] THE LIFE THEY LED AT MASSA
[ CHAPTER XXXI. ] AT MASSA
[ CHAPTER XXXII. ] THE PAVILION IN THE GARDEN
[ CHAPTER XXXIII. ] NIGHT THOUGHTS
[ CHAPTER XXXIV. ] A MINISTER'S LETTER
[ CHAPTER XXXV. ] HARCOURT'S LODGINGS
[ CHAPTER XXXVI. ] A FEVERED MIND
[ CHAPTER XXXVII. ] THE VILLA AT SORRENTO
[ CHAPTER XXXVIII. ] A DIPLOMATIST'S DINNER
[ CHAPTER XXXIX. ] A VERY BROKEN NARRATIVE
[ CHAPTER XL. ] UPTONISM
[ CHAPTER XLI. ] AN EVENING IN FLORENCE
[ CHAPTER XLIII. ] MADAME DE SABBLOUKOFF IN THE MORNING
[ CHAPTER XLIII. ] DOINGS IN DOWNING STREET
[ CHAPTER XLIV. ] THE SUBTLETIES OF STATECRAFT
[ CHAPTER XLV. ] SOME SAD REVERIES
[ CHAPTER XLVI. ] THE FLOOD IN THE MAGRA
[ CHAPTER XLVII. ] A FRAGMENT OF A LETTER
[ CHAPTER XLVIII. ] HOW A SOVEREIGN TREATS WITH HIS MINISTER
[ CHAPTER XLIX. ] SOCIAL DIPLOMACIES
[ CHAPTER L. ] ANTE-DINNER REFLECTIONS
[ CHAPTER LI. ] CONFLICTING THOUGHTS
[ CHAPTER LII. ] MAJOR SCARESBY'S VISIT
[ CHAPTER LIII. ] A MASK IN CARNIVAL TIME
[ CHAPTER LIV. ] THE END
PREFACE.
I am unwilling to suffer this tale to leave my hands without a word of explanation to my reader. If I have never disguised from myself the grounds of any humble success I have attained to as a writer of fiction; if I have always had before me the fact that to movement and action, the stir of incident, and a certain light-heartedness and gayety of temperament, more easy to impart to others than to repress in one's self, I have owed much, if not all, of whatever popularity I have enjoyed, I have yet felt, or fancied that I felt, that it would be in the delineation of very different scenes, and the portraiture of very different emotions, that I should reap what I would reckon as a real success. This conviction, or impression if you will, has become stronger with years and with the knowledge of life; years have imparted, and time has but confirmed me in, the notion that any skill I possess lies in the detection of character, and the unravelment of that tangled skein which makes up human motives.
I am well aware that no error is more common than to mistake one's own powers; nor does anything more contribute to this error than a sense of self-depreciation for what the world has been pleased to deem successful in us. To test my conviction, or to abandon it as a delusion forever, I have written the present story of “Glencore.”
I make but little pretension to the claim of interesting; as little do I aspire to the higher credit of instructing. All I have attempted-all I have striven to accomplish-is the faithful portraiture of character, the close analysis of motives, and correct observation as to some of the manners and modes of thought which mark the age we live in.
Opportunities of society as well as natural inclination have alike disposed me to such studies. I have stood over the game of life very patiently for many a year, and though I may have grieved over the narrow fortune which has prevented me from “cutting in,” I have consoled myself by the thought of all the anxieties defeat might have cost me, all the chagrin I had suffered were I to have risen a loser. Besides this, I have learned to know and estimate what are the qualities which win success in life, and what the gifts by which men dominate above their fellows.
If in the world of well-bred life the incidents and events be fewer, because the friction is less than in the classes where vicissitudes of fortune are more frequent, the play of passion, the moods of temper, and the changeful varieties of nature are often very strongly developed, shadowed and screened though they be by the polished conventionalities of society. To trace and mark these has long constituted one of the pleasures of my life; if I have been able to impart even a portion of that gratification to my reader, I will not deem the effort in vain, nor the “Fortunes of Glencore” a failure.