Kitabı oku: «That Boy Of Norcott's», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XI. A BIRTHDAY DINNER

The eventful day arrived at last, and now, as I write, I can bring up before me the whole of that morning, so full of exciting sensations and of pleasurable surprises. I wandered about from room to room, never sated with the splendors around me. Till then I had not seen the gorgeous furniture uncovered, nor had I the faintest idea of the beauty and richness of the silk hangings, or the glittering elegance of those lustres of pure Venetian glass. Perhaps nothing, however, astonished me so much as the array of gold and silver plate in the dining-room. Our every-day dinners had been laid out with what had seemed to me a most costly elegance; but what were they to this display of splendid centrepieces and massive cups and salvers large as shields! Of flowers, the richest and rarest, wagon-loads poured in; and at last I saw the horses taken out, and carts full of carnations and geraniums left unloaded in the stable-yard. Ice, too, came in the same profusion: those squarely cut blocks, bright as crystal, and hollowed out to serve as wine-coolers, and take their place amidst the costlier splendors of gold and silver.

It is rare to hear the servant class reprove profusion; but here I overheard many a comment on the reckless profligacy of outlay which had provided for this occasion enough for a dozen such. It was easy to see, they said, that Mr. Clere-mont did not pay; and this sneer sunk deep into my mind, increasing the dislike I already felt for him.

Nor was it the house alone was thus splendidly prepared for reception; but kiosks and tents were scattered through the grounds, in each of which, as if by magic, supper could be served on the instant. Upwards of thirty additional servants were engaged, all of whom were dressed in our state livery, white, with silver epaulettes, and the Norcott crest embroidered on the arm. These had been duly drilled by Mr. Cleremont, and were not, he said, to be distinguished by the most critical eye from the rest of the household.

Though there was movement everywhere, and everywhere activity, there was little or no confusion. Cleremont was an adept in organization, and already his skill and cleverness had spread discipline through the mass. He was a despot, however, would not permit the slightest interference with his functions, nor accept a suggestion from any one. “Captain Hotham gives no orders here,” I heard him say; and when standing under my window, and I am almost sure seeing me, he said, “Master Digby has nothing to do with, the arrangements any more than yourself.”

I had determined that day to let nothing irritate or vex me; that I would give myself up to unmixed enjoyment, and make this birthday a memorable spot in life, to look back on with undiluted delight. I could have been more-certain to carry out this resolve if I could only have seen and spoken with Madame Cleremont; but she did not leave her room the whole day. A distinguished hairdresser had arrived with a mysterious box early in the morning, and after passing two hours engaged with her, had returned for more toilet requirements. In fact, from the coming and going of maids and dressmakers, it was evident that the preparations of beauty were fully equal to those that were being made by cooks and confectioners.

My father, too, was invisible; his breakfast was served in his own room; and when Cleremont wished to communicate with him, he had to do so in writing: and these little notes passed unceasingly between them till late in the afternoon.

“What’s up now?” I heard Hotham say, as Cleremont tore up a note in pieces and flung the fragments from him with impatience.

“Just like him. I knew exactly how it would be,” cried the other. “He sent a card of invitation to the Duc de Bredar without first making a visit; and here comes the Duc’s chasseur to say that his Excellency has not the honor of knowing the gentleman who has been so gracious as to ask him to dinner.”

“Norcott will have him out for the impertinence,” said Hotham.

“And what will that do? Will the shooting him or the being shot make this dinner go off as we meant it, eh? Is that for me, Nixon? Give it here.” He took a note as he spoke, and tore it open. ‘La Marquise de Carnac is engaged,’ not a word more. The world is certainly progressing in politeness. Three cards came back this day with the words ‘Sent by mistake’ written on them. Norcott does not know it yet, nor shall he till to-morrow.”

“Is it true that the old Countess de Joievillars begged to know who was to receive the ladies invited?”

“Yes, it is true; and I told her a piece of her own early history in return, to assure her that no accident of choice should be any bar to the hope of seeing her.”

“What was the story?”

“I’d tell it if that boy of Norcott’s was not listening there at that window.”

“Yes, sir,” cried I; “I have heard every word, and mean to repeat it to my father when I see him.” “Tell him at the same time, then, that his grand dinner of twenty-eight has now come down to seventeen, and I ‘m not fully sure of three of these.”

I went down into the dining-room, and saw that places had been laid for twenty-eight, and as yet no alteration had been made in the table, so that it at once occurred to me this speech of Cleremont’s was a mere impertinence, – one of those insolent sallies he was so fond of. Nixon, too, had placed the name of each guest on his napkin, and he, at least, had not heard of any apologies.

Given in my honor, as this dinner was, I felt a most intense interest in its success. I was standing, as it were, on the threshold of life, and regarded the mode in which I should be received as an augury of good or evil. My father’s supremacy at home, the despotism he wielded, and the respect and deference he exacted, led me to infer that he exercised the same influence on the world at large; and that, as I had often heard, the only complaint against him in society was his exclusiveness. I canvassed these thoughts with myself for hours, as I sat alone in my room waiting till it was time to dress.

At last eight o’clock struck, and I went down into the drawing-room. Hotham was there, in a window recess, conversing in whispers with an Italian count, – one of our intimates, but of whom I knew nothing. They took no notice of me, so that I took up a paper and began to read. Cleremont came in soon after with a bundle of notes in his hand. “Has your father come down?” asked he, hastily; and then, without waiting for my reply, he turned and left the room. Madame next appeared. I have no words for my admiration of her, as, splendidly dressed and glittering with diamonds, she swept proudly in. That her beauty could have been so heightened by mere toilette seemed incredible, and as she read my wonderment in my face she smiled, and said: —

“Yes, Digby, I am looking my very best to fête your birthday.”

I would have liked to have told her how lovely she appeared to me, but I could only blush and gaze wonder-ingly on her.

“Button this glove, dear,” said she, handing to me her wrist all weighted and jingling with costly bracelets; and while, with trembling fingers, I was trying to obey her, my father entered and came towards us. He made her a low but very distant bow, tapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and then moved across to an arm-chair and sat down.

Cleremont now came in, and, drawing a chair beside my father’s, leaned over and said something in a whisper. Not seeming to attend to what he was saying, my father snatched, rather than took, the bundle of letters he held in his hand, ran his eyes eagerly over some of them, and then, crushing the mass in his grasp, he threw it into the fire.

“It is forty minutes past eight,” said he, calmly, but with a deadly pallor in his face. “Can any one tell me if that clock be right?”

“It is eight or ten minutes slow,” said Hotham.

“Whom do we wait for, Cleremont?” asked my father again.

“Steinmetz was de service with the King, but would come if he got free; and there’s Rochegude, the French Secretary, was to replace his chief. I ‘m not quite sure about the Walronds, but Craydon told me positively to expect him.”

“Do me the favor to ring the bell and order dinner,” said my father; and he spoke with measured calm.

“Won’t you wait a few minutes?” whispered Cleremont. “The Duke de Frialmont, I’m sure, will be here.”

“No, sir; we live in a society that understands and observes punctuality. No breach of it is accidental. Dinner, Nixon!” added he as the servant appeared.

The folding-doors were thrown wide almost at once, and dinner announced. My father gave his arm to Madame Cleremont, who actually tottered as she walked beside him, and as she sat down seemed on the verge of fainting. Just as we took our places, three young men, somewhat overdressed, entered hurriedly, and were proceeding to make their apologies for being late; but my father, with a chilling distance, assured them they were in excellent time, and motioned them to be seated.

Of the table laid for twenty-eight guests, nine places were occupied; and these, by some mischance, were scattered here and there with wide intervals. Madame Cleremont sat on my father’s right, and three empty places flanked his left hand.

I sat opposite my father, with two vacant seats on either side of me; Hotham nearest to me, and one of the strangers beside him. They conversed in a very low tone, but short snatches and half sentences reached me; and I heard the stranger say, “It was too bold a step; women are sure to resent such attempts.” Madame Cleremont’s name, too, came up three or four times; and the stranger said, “It’s my first dinner here, and the Bredars will not forgive me for coming.”

“Well, there’s none of them has such a cook as Norcott,” said Hotham.

“I quite agree with you; but I ‘d put up with a worse dinner for better company.”

I looked round at this to show I had heard the remark, and from that time they conversed in a whisper.

My father never uttered a word during the dinner. I do not know if he ate, but he helped himself and affected to eat. As for Madame, how she sat out those long two hours, weak and fainting as she was, I cannot tell. I saw her once try to lift her glass to her lips, but her hand trembled so, she set it down untasted, and lay back in her chair, like one dying out of exhaustion.

A few words and a faint attempt to laugh once or twice broke the dead silence of the entertainment, which proceeded, however, in all its stately detail, course after course, till the dessert was handed round, and Tokay, in small gilt glasses, was served; then my father rose slowly, and, drawing himself up to his full height, looked haughtily around him. “May I ask my illustrious friends,” said he, “who have this day so graciously honored me with their presence, to drink the health of my son, whose birthday we celebrate. There is no happier augury on entering life than to possess the friendship and good-will of those who stand foremost in the world’s honor. It is his great privilege to be surrounded this day by beauty and by distinction. The great in the arts of peace and war, and that loveliness which surpasses in its fascination all other rewards, are around me, and I call upon these to drink to the health of Digby Norcott.”

All rose and drank; Hotham lifted his glass high in air and tried a cheer, but none joined him; his voice died away, and he sat down; and for several minutes an unbroken silence prevailed.

My father at last leaned over towards Madame, and I. heard the word “coffee.” She arose and took his arm, and we all followed them to the drawing-room.

“I ‘m right glad it’s over,” said Hotham, as he poured his brandy over his coffee. “I’ve sat out a court-martial that wasn’t slower than that dinner.”

“But what’s the meaning of it all?” asked another. “Why and how came all these apologies?”

“You ‘d better ask Cleremont, or rather his wife,” muttered Hotham, and moved away.

“You ought to get into the open air; that’s the best thing for you,” I heard Cleremont say to his wife; but there was such a thorough indifference in the tone, it sounded less like a kindness than a sarcasm. She, however, drew a shawl around her, and moved down the steps into the garden. My father soon after retired to his own room, and Cleremont laughingly said, “There are no women here, and we may have a cigar;” and he threw his case across the table. The whole party were soon immersed in smoke.

I saw that my presence imposed some restraint on the conversation, and soon sought my room with a much sadder spirit and a heavier heart than I had left it two hours before.

CHAPTER XII. THE BALL

Musing and thinking and fretting together, I had fallen asleep on my sofa, and was awakened by Mr. Nixon lighting my candles, and asking me, in a very mild voice, if I felt unwell.

“No, nothing of the kind.”

“Won’t you go down, sir, then? It’s past eleven now, and there ‘s a good many people below.”

“Who have come?” asked I, eagerly.

“Well, sir,” said he, with a certain degree of hesitation, “they ‘re not much to talk about There’s eight or nine young gentlemen of the embassies – attachés like – and there’s fifteen or twenty officers of the Guides, and there’s some more that look like travellers out of the hotels; they ain’t in evening-dress.”

“Are there no ladies?”

“Yes; I suppose we must call them ladies, sir. There’s Madame Rigault and her two daughters.”

“The pastrycook?”

“Yes, sir; and there are the Demoiselles Janson, of the cigar-shop, and stunningly dressed they are too! Amber satin with black lace, and Spanish veils on their heads. And there’s that little Swedish girl – I believe she’s a Swede – that sells the iced drinks.”

“But what do you mean? These people have not been invited. How have they come here?”

“Well, sir, I must n’t tell you a lie; but I hope you ‘ll not betray me if I speak in confidence to you. Here’s how it all has happened. The swells all refused: they agreed together that they ‘d not come to dinner, nor come in the evening. Mr. Cleremont knows why; but it ain’t for me to say it.”

“But I don’t know, and I desire to know!” cried I, haughtily.

“Well, indeed, sir, it’s more than I can tell you. There ‘a people here not a bit correcter than herself that won’t meet her.”

“Meet whom?”

“Madame, sir, – Madame Cleremont.”

“Don’t dare to say another word,” cried I, passionately. “If you utter a syllable of disrespect to that name, I ‘ll fling you out of the window.”

“Don’t be afraid, Master Digby, I know my station, and I never forget it, sir. I was only telling you what you asked me, not a word more. The swells sent back your father’s cards, and there’s more than three hundred of them returned.”

“And where’s papa now?’ *

“In bed, sir. He told his valet he was n’t to be disturbed, except the house took fire.”

“Is Madame Cleremont below?”

“No, sir; she’s very ill. The doctor has been with her, and he’s coming again to-night.”

“And are these people – this rabble that you talk of – received as my papa’s guests?”

“Only in a sort of a way, sir,” said he, smiling. “You see that when Mr. Cleremont perceived that there was nothing but excuses and apologies pouring in, he told me to close the house, and that we ‘d let all the bourgeois people into the grounds, and give them a jolly supper and plenty of champagne; and he sent word to a many of the young officers to come up and have a lark; and certainly, as the supper was there, they might as well eat it. The only puzzle is now, won’t there be too many, for he sent round to all Sir Roger’s tradespeople, – all at least that has good-looking daughters, – and they’re pourin’ in by tens and fifteens, and right well dressed and well got up too.”

“And what will papa say to all this to-morrow?”

“Don’t you know, sir, that Sir Roger seldom looks back,” said he, with a cunning look; “he’ll not be disturbed to-night, for the house is shut up, and the bands are playing, one at the lake, the other at the end of the long walk, and the suppers will be served here and there, where they can cheer and drink toasts without annoying any one.”

“It’s a downright infamy!” cried I.

“It ain’t the correct thing, sure enough, sir, there’s none of us could say that, but it will be rare fun; and, as Captain Hotham said, ‘the women are a precious sight better looking than the countesses.’”

“Where is Mr. Eccles?”

“I saw him waltzing, sir, or maybe it was the polka, with Madame Robineau just as I was coming up to you.”

“I’ll go down and tell Mr. Cleremont to dismiss his friends,” cried I, boiling over with anger. “Papa meant this fête to celebrate my birthday. I ‘ll not accept such rabble congratulations. If Mr. Cleremont must have an orgie, let him seek for another place to give it in.”

“Don’t go, master, don’t, I entreat you,” cried he, imploringly. “You ‘ll only make a row, sir, and bring down Sir Roger, and then who’s to say what will happen? He ‘ll have a dozen duels on his hands in half as many minutes. The officers won’t stand being called to account, and Sir Roger is not the man to be sweet-tempered with them.”

“And am I to see my father’s name insulted, and his house dishonored by such a canaille crew as this?”

“Just come down and see them, Master Digby; prettier, nicer girls you never saw in your life, and pretty behaved, too. Ask Mr. Eccles if he ever mixed with a nicer company. There, now, sir, slip on your velvet jacket, – it looks nicer than that tail-coat, – and come down. They ‘ll be all proud and glad to see you, and won’t she hold her head high that you ask to take a turn of a waltz with you!”

“And how should I face my father to-morrow?” said I, blushing deeply.

“Might I tell you a secret, Master Digby?” said he, leaning over the table, and speaking almost in my ear.

“Go on,” said I, dryly.

“I know well, sir, you ‘ll never throw me over, and what I ‘m going to tell you is worth gold to you.”

“Go on,” cried I, for he had ceased to speak.

“Here it is, then,” said he, with an effort “The greatest sorrow your father has, Master Digby, is that he thinks you have no spirit in you, – that you ‘re a mollyoot. As he said one day to Mr. Cleremont, ‘You must teach him everything, he has no “go” in himself; there ‘s nothing in his nature but what somebody else put into it.’”

“He never said that!”

“I pledge you my oath he did.”

“Well, if he did, he meant it very differently from what you do.”

“There’s no two meanings to it. There’s a cheer!” cried he, running over to the window and flinging it wide. “I wonder who’s come now? Oh, it’s the fireworks are beginning.”

“I ‘ll go down,” said I; but out of what process of reasoning came that resolve I am unable to tell.

“Maybe they won’t be glad to see you!” cried he, as he helped me on with my jacket and arranged the heron’s feathers in my velvet cap. I was half faltering in my resolution, when I bethought me of that charge of feebleness of character Nixon had reported to me, and I determined, come what might, I would show that I had a will and could follow it. In less than five minutes after, I was standing under the trees in the garden, shaking hands with scores of people I never saw before, and receiving the very politest of compliments and good wishes from very pretty lips, aided by very expressive eyes.

“Here’s Mademoiselle Pauline Delorme refuses to dance with me,” cried Eccles, “since she has seen the head of the house. Digby, let me present you.” And with this he led me up to a very beautiful girl, who, though only the daughter of a celebrated restaurateur of Brussels, might have been a princess, so far as look and breeding and elegance were concerned.

“This is to be the correct thing,” cried Cleremont “We open with a quadrille; take your partners, gentlemen, and to your places.”

Nothing could be more perfectly proper and decorous than this dance. It is possible, perhaps, that we exceeded a little on the score of reverential observances: we bowed and courtesied at every imaginable opportunity, and with an air of homage that smacked of a court; and if we did raise our eyes to each other, as we recovered from the obeisance, it was with a look of the softest and most subdued deference. I really began to think that the only hoydenish people I had ever seen were ladies and gentlemen. As for Eccles, he wore an air of almost reverential gravity, and Hotham was sternly composed. At last, however, we came to the finish, and Cleremont, clapping his hands thrice, called out “grand rond,” and, taking his partner’s arm within his own, led off at a galop; the music striking up one of Strauss’s wildest, quickest strains. Away he went down an alley, and we all after him, stamping and laughing like mad. The sudden revulsion from the quiet of the moment before was electric; no longer arm-in-arm, but with arms close clasped around the waist, away we went over the smooth turf with a wild delight to which the music imparted a thrilling ecstasy. Now through the dense shade we broke into a blaze of light, where a great buffet stood; and round this we all swarmed at once, and glasses were filled with champagne, and vivas shouted again and again, and I heard that my health was toasted, and a very sweet voice – the lips were on my ear – whispered I know not what, but it sounded very like wishing me joy and love, while others were deafening me about long life and happiness.

I do not remember – I do not want to remember – all the nonsense I talked, and with a volubility quite new to me; my brain felt on fire with a sort of wild ecstasy, and as homage and deference met me at every step, my every wish acceded to, and each fancy that struck me hailed at once as bright inspiration, no wonder was it if I lost myself in a perfect ocean of bliss. I told Pauline she should be the queen of the fête, and ordered a splendid wreath of flowers to be brought, which I placed upon her brow, and saluted her with her title, amidst the cheering shouts of willing toasters. Except to make a tour of a waltz or a polka with some one I knew, I would not permit her to dance with any but myself; and she, I must say, most graciously submitted to the tyranny, and seemed to delight in the extravagant expressions of my admiration for her.

If I was madly jealous of her, I felt the most overwhelming delight in the praises bestowed upon her beauty and her gracefulness. Perhaps the consciousness that I was a mere boy, and that thus a freedom might be used towards me that would have been reprehensible with one older, led her to treat me with a degree of intimacy that was positively captivating; and before our third waltz was over, I was calling her Pauline, and she calling me Digby, like old friends.

“Isn’t that boy of Norcott’s going it to-night?” I heard a man say as I swung past in a polka, and I turned fiercely to catch the speaker’s eye, and show him I meant to call him to book.

“Eccles, your pupil is a credit to you!” cried another.

“I’m a Dutchman if that fellow does n’t rival his father.”

“He ‘ll be far and away beyond him,” muttered another; “for he has none of Norcott’s crotchets, – he’s a scamp ‘ur et simple.’”

“Where are you breaking away from me, Digby?” said Pauline, as I tried to shake myself free of her.

“I want to follow those men. I have a word to say to them.”

“You shall do no such thing, dearest,” muttered she. “You have just told me I am to be your little wife, and I ‘m not going to see my husband rushing into a stupid quarrel.”

“And you are mine, then,” cried I, “and you will wear this ring as a betrothal? Come, let me take off your glove.”

“That will do, Digby; that’s quite enough for courtesy and a little too much for deference,” whispered Eccles in my ear; for I was kissing her hand about a hundred times over, and she laughing at my raptures as an excellent joke. “I think you ‘d better lead the way to supper.”

Secretly resolving that I would soon make very short work of Mr. Eccles and his admonitions, I gave him a haughty glance and moved on. I remember very little more than that I walked to the head of the table and placed Pauline on my right I know I made some absurd speech in return for their drinking my health, and spoke of us and what we– Pauline and myself – felt, and with what pleasure we should see our friends often around us, and a deal of that tawdry trash that conies into a brain addled with noise and heated with wine. I was frequently interrupted; uproarious cheers at one moment would break forth, but still louder laughter would ring out and convulse the whole assembly. Even addled and confused as I was, I could see that some were my partisans and friends, who approved of all I said, and wished me to give a free course to my feelings; and there were others – two or three – who tried to stop me; and one actually said aloud, “If that boy of Nor-cott’s is not suppressed, we shall have no supper.”

Recalled to my dignity as a host by this impertinence, I believe I put some restraint on my eloquence, and I now addressed myself to do the honors of the table. Alas, my attentions seldom strayed beyond my lovely neighbor, and I firmly believed that none could remark the rapture with which I gazed on her, or as much as suspected that I had never quitted the grasp of her hand from the moment we sat down.

“I suspect you ‘d better let Mademoiselle dance the cotillon with the Count Vauglas,” whispered Eccles in my ear.

“And why, sir?” rejoined I, half fiercely.

“I think you might guess,” said he, with a smile; “at least, you could if you were to get up.”

“And would she – would Pauline – I mean, would Mademoiselle Delorme – approve of this arrangement?”

“No, Monsieur Digby, not if it did not come from you. We shall sit in the shade yonder for half an hour or so, and then, when you are rested, we ‘ll join the cotillon.”

“Get that boy off to bed, Eccles,” said Cleremont, who did not scruple to utter the words aloud.

I started up to make an indignant rejoinder; some fierce insult was on my lips; but passion and excitement and wine mastered me, and I sank back on my seat overcome and senseless.