“A person of such a strong mind as Lord Oldborough could emancipate himself from any slavery — even that of habit.”
“Yes, if he wished to break through it — but he does not.”
“Can he have utterly—”
“Lost his taste for freedom? you would say. Yes — utterly. I see you pity me,” said his lordship with a bitter smile; “and,” added he, rising proudly, “I am unused to be pitied, and I am awkward, I fear, under the obligation.” Resuming his friendly aspect, however, in a moment or two, he followed Mr. Percy, who had turned to examine a fine picture.
“Yes; a Corregio. You are not aware, my dear sir,” continued he, “that between the youth you knew at Paris, and the man who has now the honour to speak to you, there is nothing in common — absolutely nothing — except regard for Mr. Percy. You had always great knowledge of character, I remember; but with respect to my own, you will recollect that I have the advantage of possessing la carte du pays. You are grown quite a philosopher, I find; and so am I, in my own way. In short, to put the question between us at rest for ever, there is nothing left for me in life but ambition. Now let us go to Corregio, or what you please.”
Mr. Percy followed his lordship’s lead immediately to Italy, to France, to Paris, and talking over old times and youthful days, the conversation grew gay and familiar. Lord Oldborough seemed enlivened and pleased, and yet, as if it were a reminiscence of a former state of existence, he often repeated, “Ah! those were young days — very young: I was a boy then — quite a boy.” At last Mr. Percy touched upon love and women, and, by accident, mentioned an Italian lady whom they had known abroad. — A flash of pale anger, almost of frenzy, passed across Lord Oldborough’s countenance: he turned short, darted full on Mr. Percy a penetrating, imperious, interrogative look. — Answered by the innocence, the steady openness of Mr. Percy’s countenance, Lord Oldborough grew red instantly, and, conscious of his unusual change of colour, stood actually abashed. A moment afterward, commanding his agitation, he forced his whole person to an air of tranquillity — took up the red book which lay upon his table, walked deliberately to a window, and, looking earnestly through his glass, asked if Mr. Percy could recollect who was member for some borough in the neighbourhood? The conversation after this languished; and though some efforts were made, it never recovered the tone of ease and confidence. Both parties felt relieved from an indefinable sort of constraint by the return of the other gentlemen. Mr. Falconer begged Mr. Percy to go and look at a carriage of a new construction, which the colonel had just brought from town; and the colonel accompanying Mr. Percy, the stage was thus left clear for the commissioner to open his business about M. de Tourville’s packet. He did it with so much address, and with so little circumlocution, that Lord Oldborough immediately comprehended how important the papers might be to him, and how necessary it was to secure the decipherer. When Mr. Percy returned, he found the commissioner and his lordship in earnest and seemingly confidential conversation. Both Mr. Falconer and Mr. Percy were now pressed to stay to dine and to sleep at Clermont-park; an invitation which Mr. Percy declined, but which the commissioner accepted.
In the evening, when the company who had dined at Clermont-park were settled to cards and music, Lord Oldborough, after walking up and down the room with the commissioner in silence for some minutes, retired with him into his study, rang, and gave orders that they should not be interrupted on any account till supper. The servant informed his lordship that such and such persons, whom he had appointed, were waiting.—”I cannot possibly see them till to-morrow,” naming the hour. The servant laid on the table before his lordship a huge parcel of letters. Lord Oldborough, with an air of repressed impatience, bid the man send his secretary, Mr. Drakelow, — looked over the letters, wrote with a pencil, and with great despatch, a few words on the back of each — met Mr. Drakelow as he entered the room — put the unfolded letters all together into his hands—”The answers on the back — to be made out in form — ready for signature at six to-morrow.”
“Yes, my lord. May I ask—”
“Ask nothing, sir, if you please — I am busy — you have your directions.”
Mr. Drakelow bowed submissive, and made his exit with great celerity.
“Now to our business, my dear sir,” said his lordship, seating himself at the table with Mr. Falconer, who immediately produced M. de Tourville’s papers.
It is not at this period of our story necessary to state precisely their contents; it is sufficient to say, that they opened to Lord Oldborough a scene of diplomatic treachery abroad, and of ungrateful duplicity at home. From some of the intercepted letters he discovered that certain of his colleagues, who appeared to be acting along with him with the utmost cordiality, were secretly combined against him; and were carrying on an underplot, to deprive him at once of popularity, favour, place, and power. The strength, firmness, hardness of mind, which Lord Oldborough exhibited at the moment of this discovery, perfectly amazed Mr. Falconer. His lordship gave no sign of astonishment, uttered no indignant exclamation, nor betrayed any symptoms of alarm; but he listened with motionless attention, when Mr. Falconer from time to time interrupted his reading, and put himself to great expense of face and lungs to express his abhorrence of “such inconceivable treachery.” Lord Oldborough maintained an absolute silence, and waiting till the commissioner had exhausted himself in invective, would point with his pencil to the line in the paper where he had left off, and calmly say—”Have the goodness to go on — Let us proceed, sir, if you please.”
The commissioner went on till he came to the most important and interesting point, and then glancing his eye on his intended patron’s profile, which was towards him, he suddenly stopped. Lord Oldborough, raising his head from the hand on which it leaned, turned his full front face upon Mr. Falconer.
“Let me hear the whole, if you please, sir. — To form a judgment upon any business, it is necessary to have the whole before us. — You need not fear to shock my feelings, sir. I wish always to see men and things as they are.” Mr. Falconer still hesitating, and turning over the leaves—”As my friend in this business, Mr. Falconer,” continued his lordship, “you will comprehend that the essential point is to put me as soon as possible in possession of the facts — then I can decide, and act. If it will not fatigue you too much, I wish to go through these papers before I sleep.”
“Fatigue! Oh, my lord, I am not in the least — cannot be fatigued! But the fact is, I cannot go on; for the next pages I have not yet deciphered — the cipher changes here.”
Lord Oldborough looked much disappointed and provoked; but, after a few minutes’ pause, calmly said, “What time will it take, sir, to decipher the remainder?”
The commissioner protested he did not know — could not form an idea — he and his son had spent many hours of intense labour on the first papers before he could make out the first cipher — now this was a new one, probably more difficult, and whether he could make it out at all, or in what time, he was utterly unable to say. Lord Oldborough replied, “Let us understand one another at once, Commissioner Falconer, if you please. My maxim, and the maxim of every man in public life is, or ought to be — Serve me, and I will serve you. I have no pretensions to Mr. Falconer’s friendship on any other grounds, I am sensible; nor on any other terms can he have a claim to whatever power of patronage I possess. But I neither serve nor will be served by halves: my first object is to make myself master, as soon as possible, of the contents of the papers in your hands; my next to secure your inviolable secrecy on the whole transaction.”
The commissioner was going to make vows of secrecy and protestations of zeal, but Lord Oldborough cut all that short with “Of course — of course,” pronounced in the driest accent, and went on with, “Now, sir, you know my object; will you do me the honour to state yours? — you will excuse my abruptness — time in some circumstances is every thing — Do me and yourself the justice to say at once what return I can make for the service you have done or m
ay do me and government.”
“My only hesitation in speaking, my lord, was—”
“Have no hesitation in speaking, I beseech you, sir.”
I beseech, in tone, was in effect, I command you, sir; — and Mr. Falconer, under the influence of an imperious and superior mind, came at once to that point, which he had not intended to come to for a month, or to approach till after infinite precaution and circumlocution.
“My object is to push my son Cunningham in the diplomatic line, my lord — and I wish to make him one of your secretaries.”
The commissioner stopped short, astonished to find that the truth, and the whole truth, had absolutely passed his lips, and in such plain words; but they could not be recalled: he gasped for breath — and began an apologetical sentence about poor Mr. Drakelow, whom he should be sorry to injure or displace.
“Never mind that now — time enough to think of Drakelow,” said Lord Oldborough, walking up and down the room — then stopping short, “I must see your son, sir.”
“I will bring him here to-morrow, if your lordship pleases.”
“As soon as possible! But he can come surely without your going for him — write, and beg that we may see him at breakfast — at nine, if you please.”
The letter was written, and despatched immediately. Lord Oldborough, whilst the commissioner was writing, noted down the heads of what he had learned from M. de Tourville’s packet: then locked up those of the papers which had been deciphered, put the others into Mr. Falconer’s charge, and recommended it to him to use all possible despatch in deciphering the remainder. — The commissioner declared he would sit up all night at the task; this did not appear to be more than was expected. — His lordship rung, and ordered candles in Mr. Falconer’s room, then returned to the company in the saloon, without saying another word. None could guess by his countenance or deportment that any unusual circumstance had happened, or that his mind was in the least perturbed. Mrs. Drakelow thought he was wholly absorbed in a rubber of whist, and Miss Drakelow at the same time was persuaded that he was listening to her music.
Punctual to the appointed hour — for ambition is as punctual to appointments as love — Mr. Cunningham Falconer made his appearance at nine, and was presented by his father to Lord Oldborough, who received him, not with any show of gracious kindness, but as one who had been forced upon him by circumstances, and whom, for valuable considerations, he had bargained to take into his service. To try the young diplomatist’s talents, Lord Oldborough led him first to speak on the subject of the Tourville papers, then urged him on to the affairs of Germany, and the general interests and policy of the different courts of Europe. Trembling, and in agony for his son, the commissioner stood aware of the danger of the youth’s venturing out of his depth, aware also of the danger of showing that he dared not venture, and incapable of deciding between these equal fears: but soon he was re-assured by the calmness of his son. Cunningham, who had not so much information or capacity, but who had less sensibility than his father, often succeeded where his father’s timidity prognosticated failure. Indeed, on the present occasion, the care which the young diplomatist took not to commit himself, the dexterity with which he “helped himself by countenance and gesture,” and “was judicious by signs,” proved that he was well skilled in all those arts of seeming wise, which have been so well noted for use by “the greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind.” Young though he was, Cunningham was quite sufficiently slow, circumspect, and solemn, to deserve to be ranked among those whom Bacon calls Formalists, “who do nothing, or little, very solemnly — who seem always to keep back somewhat; and when they know within themselves that they speak of what they do not know, would, nevertheless, seem to others to know that of which they may not well speak.”
Lord Oldborough listened to whatever he said, and marked all that he did not say with an air of attentive composure, which, as Mr. Falconer thought, augured well for his son; but now and then there was, for scarcely a definable portion of time, an expression of humour in his lordship’s eye, a sarcastic smile, which escaped the commissioner’s observation, and which, even if he had observed, he could not, with his limited knowledge of Lord Oldborough’s character, have rightly interpreted. If his lordship had expressed his thoughts, perhaps, they might have been, though in words less quaint, nearly the same as those of the philosophic statesman, who says, “It is a ridiculous thing, and fit for a satire to persons of judgment, to see what shifts these formalists have, and what prospectives to make superficies to seem body that hath depth and bulk.”
But Lord Oldborough philosophizing, and Lord Oldborough acting, were two different people. His perception of the ridicule of the young secretary’s solemnity, and of the insufficiency of his information and capacity, made no alteration in the minister’s determination. The question was not whether the individual was fit for this place, or that employment, but whether it was expedient he should have it for the security of political power. Waiving all delicacy, Lord Oldborough now, as in most other cases, made it his chief object to be understood and obeyed; therefore he applied directly to the universal motive, and spoke the universal language of interest.
“Mr. Falconer,” said he, “if you put me in possession of the remainder of M. de Tourville’s papers this night, I will to-morrow morning put this young gentleman into the hands of my present secretary, Mr. Drakelow, who will prepare him for the situation you desire. Mr. Drakelow himself will, probably, soon leave me, to be employed more advantageously for his majesty’s service, in some other manner.”
The decipherers, father and son, shut themselves up directly, and set to work with all imaginable zeal. The whole packet was nearly expounded before night, and the next morning Lord Oldborough performed his part of the agreement. He sent for Mr. Drakelow, and said, “Mr. Drakelow, I beg that, upon your return to town, you will be so good as to take this young gentleman, Mr. Cunningham Falconer, to your office. Endeavour to prepare him to supply your place with me whenever it may be proper for his majesty’s service, and for your interest, to send you to Constantinople, or elsewhere.”
Mr. Drakelow, though infinitely surprised and displeased, bowed all submission. Nothing else he knew was to be done with Lord Oldborough. His lordship, as soon as his secretary had left the room, turned to Cunningham, and said, “You will not mention anything concerning M. de Tourville’s intercepted papers to Mr. Drakelow, or to any other person. Affairs call me to town immediately: to-morrow morning at six, I set off. You will, if you please, sir, be ready to accompany me. I will not detain you longer from any preparations you may have to make for your journey.”
No sooner had the father and son quitted Lord Oldborough’s presence than Mr. Falconer exclaimed with exultation, “I long to see our good cousin Percy, that I may tell him how I have provided already for one of my sons.”
“But remember, sir,” said Cunningham, “that Mr. Percy is to know nothing of the Tourville packet.”
“To be sure not,” said Mr. Falconer; “he is to know nothing of the means, he is to see only the end — the successful end. Ha! cousin Percy, I think we know rather better than you do how to make something of every thing — even of a shipwreck.”
“To prevent his having any suspicions,” continued Cunningham, “it will be best to give Mr. Percy some probable reason for Lord Oldborough’s taking to us so suddenly. It will be well to hint that you have opportunities of obliging about the borough, or about the address at the county-meeting, or—”
“No, no; no particulars; never go to particulars,” said old Falconer: “stick to generals, and you are safe. Say, in general, that I had an opportunity of obliging government. Percy is not curious, especially about jobbing. He will ask no questions; or, if he should, I can easily put him upon a wrong scent. Now, Cunningham, listen to me: I have done my best, and have pushed you into a fine situation: but remember, you cannot get on in the diplomatic line without a certain degree of diplomatic information. I have pointed this out to you often; you ha
ve neglected to make yourself master of these things, and, for want of them in office, you will come, I fear, some day or other to shame.”
“Do not be afraid of that — no danger of my coming to shame any more than a thousand other people in office, who never trouble themselves about diplomatic information, and all that. There is always some clerk who knows the forms, and with those, and looking for what one wants upon the spur of the occasion in books and pamphlets, and so forth, one may go on very well — if one does but know how to keep one’s own counsel. You see I got through with Lord Oldborough to-day—”
“Ay — but I assure you I trembled for you, and I could have squeezed myself into an auger-hole once, when you blundered about that treaty of which I knew that you knew nothing.”
“Oh! sir, I assure you I had turned over the leaves. I was correct enough as to the dates; and, suppose I blundered, as my brother Buckhurst says, half the world never know what they are saying, and the other half never find it out. — Why, sir, you were telling me the other night such a blunder of Prince Potemkin’s—”
“Very true,” interrupted the commissioner; “but you are not Prince Potemkin, nor yet a prime minister; if you were, no matter how little you knew — you might get other people to supply your deficiencies. But now, in your place, and in the course of making your way upwards, you will be called upon to supply others with the information they may want. And you know I shall not be always at your elbow; therefore I really am afraid—”
“Dear sir, fear nothing,” said Cunningham: “I shall do as well as others do — the greatest difficulty is over. I have taken the first step, and it has cost nothing.”
“Well, get on, my boy — honestly, if you can — but get on.”
Complete Novels of Maria Edgeworth Page 97
