As may be imagined, I had had enough, and more than enough, of the man, of his breakfast, of his code of morals, and of his bill-book, and I bade him good-bye with the firm intention of never seeing him again.
Another Englishman who at that time contended with Mr. Foneron for the honour of entertaining both strangers and his countrymen was Mr. Raily. Thanks to his enormous expenditure, he was, according to some, soon enabled to beat the exquisite comfort of the family dinners of his rival. Not feeling particularly anxious to swell the number of Mr. Raily’s guests, I had persistently neglected every opportunity of procuring for myself invitations, of which Mr. Raily was not sparing.
‘I wish you to make his acquaintance,’ Griffiths said to me one day: ‘an observer must see everything and study everything. Mr. Raily, as well as several other “characters,” will figure very well in your recollections; at any rate, there will be the merit of variety.’
I let Griffiths have his way, only asking him a few questions on the personage we were going to visit.
‘Mr. Raily,’ answered Griffiths, ‘seems to me one of those mysterious and strange individuals, like the Comte de Saint Germain[98] and Cagliostro, who appear to me to live upon everything except their incomes. When you have seen him, I’ll give you a more detailed biography. In all my journeys I have invariably met him living upon a footing either implying the possession of great wealth or the clever means of getting it. The first time I met him was at Lord Cornwallis’s in India; since then I have seen him in Hamburg, in Sweden, in Moscow, in Paris at the period of the Peace of Amiens, when he told me he had just arrived from Spain. And now, he is here in Vienna, where he outshines the most opulent. One is almost tempted to say that he seeks to forget or to hide the origin of his wealth. His dinners are much run after; his guests are of the highest rank, for he seems to set particular store upon their quality and titles. A duke seated at his board fills him with joy, an excellency produces merely a glowing sensation of comfort; but a royal highness produces a kind of feeling no mortal pen can describe. If etiquette permitted their majesties to visit him, Mr. Raily would in a few days be bereft of his reason. You shall judge of it for yourself, for I dare say he’ll invite us, if only from sheer ostentation.’
Mr. Raily had taken up his temporary quarters in the magnificent mansion of the Comte de Rosenberg. He welcomed us with the exaggerated courtesy common to all those who are not affable either by instinct or constant habit. He was very important about his house, the furniture, his horses and carriages and the servants, which provided, as it were, the conversational transition to the dinners, and became a bore to the guests. He enumerated the highnesses and the celebrities that had partaken of his hospitality, or were about to do so, and, as Griffiths had foreseen, wound up by saying:
‘If you do not mind an invitation at such a short notice, gentlemen, I shall be delighted if you’ll dine with me to-day with the hereditary princes of Bavaria and Würtemberg, the Grand-Duke of Baden, Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, several ambassadors and chargés and other personages of distinction whom you doubtless know.’
Feeling that the gathering would present a piquant picture, Griffiths promptly accepted; and we left the happy master of the house superintending the preparations for his serenissimo banquet. At six o’clock we were once more in the magnificent apartments, and dinner was served shortly after. The table had been laid in a long gallery, at the end of which there was a kind of English sideboard, i.e. a buffet in tiers. The plate, both gold and silver, and the crystal on it attested wealth rather than taste. The host, positively beaming, had the Prince Royal of Bavaria on his right, and the Prince Royal of Würtemberg on his left; the rest, highnesses, generals, ministers, etc., took their seats according to their own sweet pleasure. A lucky chance placed me next to Admiral Sidney Smith, and his interesting conversation, ranging over a period of ever so many years, opportunely broke the monotony of the banquet. For though it is difficult to imagine a more sumptuous banquet than that, the hours went wearily, and, in spite of the abundance and the delicacy of the dishes, the aroma of the wines, and the profusion of everything, the guests seemed anxious to come to the end of it all. No one tried to enliven the conversation, or to make it general. The majority of the eminent personages whom curiosity or the importunity of their host had gathered round the table seemed, as it were, more or less embarrassed by their position. As for Mr. Raily himself, he felt convinced that a repast graced almost exclusively by princes, diplomatists, and grand seigneurs must necessarily be one of the finest things the world had to offer. The coffee and ices were served in one of the great drawing-rooms, and, according to a Russian custom, which Mr. Raily had no doubt brought back with him from Moscow, several tables were covered with jewels, precious objects, and trifles from the many lands Mr. Raily had visited. As it happened, the display caused the impression of a bazaar rather than that of a drawing-room of good society. Nor did the music of a well-selected and numerous band succeed in checking the ennui and removing the constraint which had manifestly fallen upon everybody. It was nine o’clock when we rose from the table; at ten all these noble guests had left Mr. Raily’s. In an adjoining drawing-room, the host had put up some whist tables, which kept in countenance those most bored. A small group had gathered round a tall, upright old man, with a pair of bright eyes and a skin as dry as a chip. It was Mr. O’Bearn, who bore the reputation of being the oldest, and was probably still the foremost, gambler in Europe. He had made gaming the occupation of his life, his sole study; he had lived by it, and was still living by it. He was fond of recounting some of his gambling stories, and even his hopeless Irish accent could not rob them of their charm. ‘For many years,’ he said, ‘the Duke of H—— was anxious to pit himself against me. Personally, I was willing enough to give him that little gratification. He chose piquet; we began our game at nine in the evening, and the next morning when the sun streamed through the windows I had gained more gold off his grace than his father had ever gathered during his Governor-Generalship of India. After the last hand, which was for an enormous stake, and which, like the rest, he lost, the duke got up and said: “Mr. O’Bearn, I am afraid the whole of my fortune will not be sufficient to pay you. I’ll send you my steward, he’ll settle with you and hand you the titles to my estates.” “Very well, sir,” I answered, “these are the words of an honourable man. But do not for a moment imagine that I am going to let you ruin yourself in that way. It shall not be said of me that I reduced the bearer of one of our most historic names in the House of Lords to beggary. On the other hand, as I do not wish to have wasted my night, a thing I am not in the habit of doing, I’ll ask you to send for a priest and for a solicitor. Before the priest you shall take an oath never to touch another card in your life; the solicitor shall draw up a settlement giving me a thousand pounds sterling annually for life.” I need scarcely tell you,’ added the old gambler, ‘that my conditions were accepted and strictly carried out. The Duke of H—— has never touched a card since, and for nearly half a century I have been enjoying my income.’
Then the veteran gamester told us another story, not less characteristic. ‘Shortly before the Revolution, I came to Paris, and as usual took up my quarters at the Hôtel d’Angleterre. The play was very high there in those days. On the evening of my arrival, I went to the drawing-room. The tables were set out, and I sat down to one of them. Two gentlemen were playing piquet. The Duc de Gramont, who was then the king of fashion, the type of everything that was elegant and extravagant, took a seat opposite me. He looked very fixedly at me, and then, intentionally or not, he said: “We hear a great deal of Englishmen who risk enormous sums either at cards or betting. Here we never catch sight of them.” I did not answer, and a few moments later the game took an unexpected turn. “I’d bet on monsieur’s hands,” said the duc, pointing to one of the players. “Very well,” I replied, “I’ll take the other side for eight thousand pounds sterling.” “How much, monsieur, did you say?” asked the duc. I repeated the sum in French money, and the duc felt that he could not draw back. “I take the bet,” he said. In another moment I was the winner: the duc rose and came towards me, saying, “Milord——” “My name is Mr. O’Bearn,” I said; “I have no title. What is your pleasure?” “I may not be able to discharge this considerable sum at a moment’s notice.” “Pray do not mention it, your grace, take your own time. But please to remember that when I play, I always have the money handy in my valise.” A little while afterwards, he paid me,’ Mr. O’Bearn went on, ‘and from that moment he was perhaps a little less hasty in giving his opinions about the English. As for me, it has always been a delightful recollection, this deserved lesson to the Duc de Gramont.’
While Mr. O’Bearn was telling us his stories, the tables had gradually become deserted, and now the small group of his listeners took their leave on this or that pretext. We went away endeavouring to attract no notice, asking ourselves how people could take so much trouble and lavish so much money to arrive at a result absolutely nil. Each member of this gathering had appeared to ask himself during and after the dinner: ‘How and why am I here?’