He had written to the manager explaining that he was ready to shed tears, and that he possessed a pocket handkerchief, but wanted something more.  “J’ai un mouchoir, mais pas de loge,” he said.  Yet his letter was left without a reply.  After waiting a day or two, and still receiving no answer, Vivier engaged the dirtiest crossing-sweeper he could find, made him put on a little extra mud, and sent him with a letter to Mr. Gye demanding “the return of his correspondence.”  The courteous manager of the Royal Italian Opera could scarcely have known that, besides being one of the finest musicians and quite the finest horn player of his day, Eugene Vivier was the most charming of men, and the spoiled child of nearly every Court in Europe.  Speaking to me once of the Emperor Napoleon, he said, in answer to a question I had put to him as to Napoleon III’s characteristics:  “He is the most gentlemanly Emperor I know.”

“What can I do for you?” said this gentlemanly Emperor one day, when Vivier had gone to see him at the Tuileries.

“Come out on the balcony with me, sire,” replied the genial cynic.  “Some of my creditors are sure to be passing, and it will do me good to be seen in conversation with your Majesty.”

Besides speaking to him familiarly within view of his creditors, the Emperor Napoleon III conferred on Vivier several well-paid sinecures.  He appointed him “Inspector of Mines,” which, from conscientious motives, knowing very little of mining, Vivier never inspected; and he was once accused by a facetious journal of having received the post of “Librarian to the Forest of Fontainebleau,” with its multitudinous leaves.

There were only two other Emperors at that time in Europe, and to one of them, the Emperor of Austria, 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.