buttons and chains, the embarrassing spike
called in courtesy a sword, the comic bag-wig,
which we are accustomed to associate with that
striking solemnity, to be accounted for? Glories
of the "levy," incomparably unbecoming suits
—they touch a chord far off in this Eternal City!
Chamberlains these—a flock, a bevy; but the
court suits? They trouble me. For how could
they have compassed them, unless indeed it be
that one Nathan has an agency and fancy depôt
in the Old Jewry or Ghetto yonder? One
singles me out as his special prey, and being
entreated in a confidential manner to entrust to
him my name, and style, and titles, I break
them to him with the same caution and
diplomatic reserve which I can see is the correct
tone of the place. Being thus formally
consigned to this officer, we set out in a kind of
procession, down the galleries: Court Suit leading.
Wondrously it affects me to see the long
white spike embarrassing his movements,
precisely as in the dear old Dublin days the
guise of the lower limbs suggesting the usual
menial associations. But whither, O Chamberlain?

The procession moves forward, not gathering
as it goes, limited strictly to its original
elements: Court Suit pattering on in front:
victim following close. Through many brilliant
passages, through many scarlet-lined chambers,
no help from without; but glancing back, I see
in the far distance another victim following his
Court Suit meekly. I grow nervous. Whither,
again, O Chamberlain? This way. In here.
We are plunged suddenly into a bright glaring
room, all deep crimson and gold, and flooded
with the golden puppets; with gaudy military,
civil, ecclesiastical; with our own ball-room
uniform, and shot and sprinkled with glittering
ladies. Millennium for the Great Beflapped is
at hand. Gorgeous Buckram is rampant. It
seems to me an illimitable perspective of backs,
of the long blue backs, with the tails and the
flowered flaps, and the white trousers. All
seem to have been temporarily elected into
French mayors, and councillors "privés," and
deputies. Dive in now into the glowing
atmosphere—Court Suit still leading, and looking
round cautiously for his prisoner—past this
temporary mayor, who is at the doorway, with his
finger on the wooden chest of another mayor,
and the captive is led up straight into a clearing,
where the great Panjam is standing in all
his state. He stands in his embroidered prison
jacket, suffering the usual strangulation fixed
for solemn occasions. I see that he is a very
florid man, perhaps a little goggle-eyed, and
works his chin convulsively over the saw-edged
collar. Chest is so well wood-lined and thrust
forward, with such a crop of orders nailed firmly
down, that I manufacture a new ornithological
variety on the spot, and prefigure to myself a
Robin Bluebreast.

What was the fate of the name so privately
confided to the Court Suit I never could learn.
In what unrecognisable shape the mutilated
syllabic remains were laid to the ear of the
august diplomat, I cannot so much as speculate.
There was profound obeisance on one side, and
on the other reciprocal dippings of the head and
neck (attended with spasms of pain) of the fitful
jerky character peculiar to the Robin Bluebreast.

Court Suit, with yet something upon his mind,
has fluttered round to where a small lady, a
little bit faded yet not without a dignity of
hers, stands beside the noble Panjam. Yet,
she is not linked matrimonially to the noble
baron, but is only, as it were, lent for the
evening by a brother of the cloth—of gold.
A phantom ambassadress, to whom all comers
shall bow obsequiously. Noble cardinals
"receiving," invite a distinguished kinswoman to
stand in their brilliant chambers and play
hostess for them. Court Suit and his trust
being now parted for ever, he fades off into
space, and the Trust having passed through
his probation, it is hoped with tolerable credit,
backs gently in the compressed humanity, and
is absorbed into the gold-embroidered backs, the
buckram figures, the slowly turning kaleidoscope
of rustling silks and laces, cloths polychromatic,
and dazzling pendent jewels that
positively chink and tinkle.

A perfect Babel as to hum and chatter, every
one talking and whispering with a strained
earnestness as though he had his last worldly
directions to give before immediate execution,
and but two minutes for that mournful office.
Every one has a finger upon his neighbour's
breast, thus putting home to him what he has
to say. Every one is elbowing by every one else,
and begs pardon of every one else. Every one is
military, ecclesiastical, or diplomatic, and wears
the cloth of his order. The whole mass
scintillates and shifts, like a piece of shot silk. As
shifting humanity glints and is rent open, now
and then I see a white gauzy fringe or waistcoat
against the wall round the room: a fringe that
rustles and turns, and, in parts, flashes and
reflects. The noble Roman ladies have come to
see a diplomatic bureaucrat at home, and are
decked in their purple and fine linen, and gold
and jewels; they blaze with these adornments.
The family secretary has been summoned and has
given up the gems which he holds in trust, has
received receipt for the same, and will come for
them again to-morrow. I see perfect cables of
pearls, and lustrous chains of diamonds and
emeralds, coiled thickly round fragile necks. It
is gratifying to see here a sort of Indian idol—
a person of the most awful consideration, cream
of cream, princess and what not—decked
extravagantly, literally encrusted, with these
ornaments. Gratifying, I say, as a joss or idol
whose high priests shall be the Imaum
Hancock, or Dervishes Hunt and Roskell; but
otherwise a fearful little old lady, a perfect hag
of quality, whose abundant bejewelling only
brings out in more repelling hideousness the
tawny skin of her poor shrunk neck, crumpled
into a score of plaits and wrinkles. The earrings
swing heavily from her ears, a great tiara flashes
on her head, she has a stomacher for a jewelled