Count Altenberg, without design to injure Cunningham, had accidentally mentioned in the presence of the commissioner and of Lord Oldborough something of a transaction which was to be kept a profound secret from the minister, a private intrigue which Cunningham had been carrying on to get himself appointed envoy to the court of Denmark, by the interest of the opposite party, in case of a change of ministry. At the moment when this was alluded to by Count Altenberg, the commissioner was so dreadfully alarmed that he perspired at every pore; but perceiving that Lord Oldborough expressed no surprise, asked no explanation, never looked towards him with suspicion, nor even raised his eyes, Mr. Falconer flattered himself that his lordship was so completely engrossed in the operation of replacing a loose glass in his spectacles, that he had not heard or noticed one word the count had said. In this hope the commissioner was confirmed by Lord Oldborough’s speaking an instant afterwards precisely in his usual tone, and pursuing his previous subject of conversation, without any apparent interruption in the train of his ideas. Yet, notwithstanding that the commissioner fancied that he and his son had escaped, and were secure in each particular instance, he had a general feeling that Lord Oldborough was more reserved towards him; and he was haunted by a constant fear of losing, not his patron’s esteem or confidence, but his favour. Against this danger he constantly guarded. To flatter, to keep Lord Oldborough in good humour, to make himself agreeable and necessary by continual petty submissions and services, was the sum of his policy.
It was with this view that he determined to go into the country; and with this view he had consented to various expenses, which were necessary, as Mrs. Falconer declared, to make it practicable for her and her daughters to accompany him. Orders were sent to have a theatre at Falconer-court, which had been long disused, fitted up in the most elegant manner. The Miss Falconers had been in the habit of acting at Sir Thomas and Lady Flowerton’s private theatre at Richmond, and they were accomplished actresses. Count Altenberg had declared that he was particularly fond of theatrical amusements. That hint was sufficient. Besides, what a sensation the opening of a theatre at Falconer-court would create in the country! Mrs. Falconer observed that the only possible way to make the country supportable was to have a large party of town friends in your house—and this was the more necessary for her, as she was almost a stranger in her own county.
Alfred kept his promise, and sent Rosamond a list of the persons of whom the party was to consist. Opposite to several names he wrote—commonplace young—or, commonplace old ladies:—of the latter number were Lady Trant and Lady Kew: of the former were the Miss G——s, and others not worth mentioning. Then came the two Lady Arlingtons, nieces of the Duke of Greenwich.
“The Lady Arlingtons,” continues Alfred, “are glad to get to Mrs. Falconer, and Mrs. Falconer is glad to have them, because they are related to my lord duke. I have met them at Mrs. Falconer’s, at Lady Angelica Headingham’s, and often at Lady Jane Granville’s. The style and tone of the Lady Anne is languishing—of Lady Frances, lively: both seem mere spoilt selfish ladies of quality. Lady Anne’s selfishness is of the cold, chronic, inveterate nature; Lady Frances’ of the hot, acute, and tormenting species. She ‘loves everything by fits, and nothing long.’ Every body is an angel and a dear creature, while they minister to her fancies—and no longer. About these fancies she is restless and impatient to a degree which makes her sister look sick and scornful beyond description. Lady Anne neither fancies nor loves any thing or any body. She seems to have no object upon earth but to drink barley-water, and save herself from all manner of trouble or exertion, bodily or mental. So much for the Lady Arlingtons.
“Buckhurst Falconer cannot be of this party—Colonel Hauton has him at his regiment. But Buckhurst’s two friends, the Clays, are earnestly pressed into the service. Notwithstanding the fine sanctified speech Mrs. Falconer made me, about that sad affair of Lewis Clay with Lady Harriot H——, she invites him; and I have a notion, if Count Altenberg had not appeared, that she would have liked to have had him, or his brother, for her son-in-law. That you may judge how much my mother would like them for her sons-in-law, I will take the trouble to draw you portraits of both gentlemen.
“French Clay and English Clay, as they have been named, are brothers, both men of large fortune, which their father acquired respectably by commerce, and which they are spending in all kinds of extravagance and profligacy, not from inclination, but merely to purchase admission into fine company. French Clay is a travelled coxcomb, who, à propos de bottes, begins with, ‘When I was abroad with the Princess Orbitella—’ But I am afraid I cannot speak of this man with impartiality, for I cannot bear to see an Englishman apeing a Frenchman. The imitation is always so awkward, so ridiculous, so contemptible. French Clay talks of tact, but without possessing any; he delights in what he calls persiflage, but in his persiflage, instead of the wit and elegance of Parisian raillery, there appears only the vulgar love and habit of derision. He is continually railing at our English want of savoir vivre, yet is himself an example of the ill-breeding which he reprobates. His manners have neither the cordiality of an Englishman nor the polish of a foreigner. To improve us in l’esprit de société, he would introduce the whole system of French gallantry—the vice without the refinement. I heard him acknowledge it to be ‘his principle’ to intrigue with every married woman who would listen to him, provided she has any one of his four requisites, wit, fashion, beauty, or a good table. He says his late suit in Doctors’-commons cost him nothing; for 10,000l. are nothing to him.
“Public virtue, as well as private, he thinks it a fine air to disdain, and patriotism and love of our country, he calls prejudices of which a philosopher ought to divest himself. Some charitable people say that he is not so unfeeling as he seems to be, and that above half his vices arise from affectation, and from a mistaken ambition to be what he thinks perfectly French.
“His brother, English Clay, is a cold, reserved, proud, dull-looking man, whom art, in despite of nature, strove, and strove in vain, to quicken into a ‘gay deceiver.’ He is a grave man of pleasure—his first care being to provide for his exclusively personal gratifications. His dinner is a serious, solemn business, whether it be at his own table or at a tavern, which last he prefers—he orders it so that his repast shall be the very best of its kind that money can procure. His next care is, that he be not cheated in what he is to pay. Not that he values money, but he cannot bear to be taken in. Then his dress, his horses his whole appointment and establishment, are complete, and accurately in the fashion of the day—no expense spared. All that belongs to Mr. Clay, of Clay-hall, is the best of its kind, or, at least, had from the best hand in England. Every thing about him is English; but I don’t know whether this arises from love of his country or contempt of his brother. English Clay is not ostentatious of that which is his own, but he is disdainful of all that belongs to another. The slightest deficiency in the appointments of his companions he sees, and marks by a wink to some bystander, or with a dry joke laughs the wretch to scorn. In company he delights to sit by silent and snug, sneering inwardly at those who are entertaining the company, and committing themselves. He never entertains, and is seldom entertained. His joys are neither convivial nor intellectual; he is gregarious, but not companionable; a hard drinker, but not social. Wine sometimes makes him noisy, but never makes him gay; and, whatever be his excesses, he commits them seemingly without temptation from taste or passion. He keeps a furiously expensive mistress, whom he curses, and who curses him, as Buckhurst informs me, ten times a day; yet he prides himself on being free and unmarried! Scorning and dreading women in general, he swears he would not marry Venus herself unless she had 100,000l. in each pocket; and now that no mortal Venus wears pockets, he thanks Heaven he is safe. Buckhurst, I remember, assured me that beneath this crust of pride there is some good-nature. Deep hid under a large mass of selfishness there may be some glimmerings of affection. He shows symptoms of feeling for his horses, and his mother, and his coachman, and his country. I do believe he would fight for old England, for it is his country, and he is English Clay. Affection for his coachman, did I say?—He shows admiration, if not affection, for every whip of note in town. He is their companion—no, their pupil, and, as Antoninus Pius gratefully prided himself in recording the names of those relations and friends from whom he learnt his several virtues, this man may boast to after-ages of having learnt from one coachman how to cut a fly off his near leader’s ear, how to tuck up a duck from another, and the true spit from a third—by-the-bye, it is said, but I don’t vouch for the truth of the story, that this last accomplishment cost him a tooth, which he had had drawn to attain it in perfection. Pure slang he could not learn from any one coachman, but from constantly frequenting the society of all. I recollect Buckhurst Falconer telling me that he dined once with English Clay, in company with a baronet, a viscount, an earl, a duke, and the driver of a mail-coach, to whom was given, by acclamation, the seat of honour. I am told there is a house, at which these gentlemen and noblemen meet regularly every week, where there are two dining-rooms divided by glass doors. In one room the real coachmen dined, in the other the amateur gentlemen, who, when they are tired of their own conversation, throw open the glass doors, that they may be entertained and edified by the coachmen’s wit and slang; in which dialect English Clay’s rapid proficiency has, it is said, recommended him to the best society, even more than his being the master of the best of cooks, and of Clay-hall.
“I have said so much more than I intended of both these brothers, that I have no room for more portraits; indeed, the other gentlemen are zeros.
“Yours affectionately,