MR. RIDLEY went home from that first party with his head as clear
and his pulse as cool as when he came. The wine had not tempted him
very strongly, though its odor had been fragrant to his nostrils,
and the sparkle in the glasses pleasant to his sight. Appetite had
not aroused itself nor put on its strength, but lay half asleep,
waiting for some better opportunity, when the sentinels should be
weaker or off their guard.
It had been much harder for him to refuse the invitation of his host
than to deny the solicitations of the old desire. He had been in
greater danger from pride than from appetite; and there remained
with him a sense of being looked down upon and despised by the
wealthy and eminent citizen who had honored him with an invitation,
and who doubtless regarded his refusal to take wine with him as
little less than a discourtesy. There were moments when he almost
regretted that refusal. The wine which had been offered was of the
purest quality, and he remembered but too well the theory advanced
by Mr. Elliott, that the moderate use of pure wine would restore the
normal taste and free a man whose appetite had been vitiated from
its enslaving influence. His mind recurred to that thought very
often, and the more he dwelt upon it, the more inclined he was to
accept it as true. If it were indeed so, then he might be a man
among men again.
Mr. Ridley did not feel as comfortable in his mind after as before
this party, nor was he as strong as before. The enemy had found a
door unguarded, had come in stealthily, and was lying on the alert,
waiting for an opportunity.
A few weeks afterward came another invitation. It was accepted. Mrs.
Ridley was not really well enough, to go out, but for her husband's
sake she went with him, and by her presence and the quiet power she
had over him held him back from the peril he might, standing alone,
have tempted.
A month later, and cards of invitation were received from Mr. and
Mrs. Spencer Birtwell. This was to be among the notable
entertainments of the season. Mr. Birtwell was a wealthy banker who,
like other men, had his weaknesses, one of which was a love of
notoriety and display. He had a showy house and attractive
equipages, and managed to get his name frequently chronicled in the
newspapers, now as the leader in some public enterprise or charity,
now as the possessor of some rare work of art, and now as the
princely capitalists whose ability and sagacity had lifted him from
obscurity to the proud position he occupied. He built himself a
palace for a residence, and when it was completed and furnished
issued tickets of admission, that the public might see in what
splendor he was going to live. Of course the newspapers described
everything with a minuteness of detail and a freedom of remark that
made some modest and sensitive people fancy that Mr. Birtwell must
be exceedingly annoyed. But he experienced no such feeling. Praise
of any kind was pleasant to his ears; you could not give him too
much, nor was he over-nice as to the quality. He lived in the eyes
of his fellow-citizens, and in all his walk and conversation, he
looked to their good opinion.
Such was Mr. Birtwell, at whose house a grand entertainment was to
be given. Among the large number of invited guests were included Mr.
and Mrs. Ridley. But it so happened that Mrs. Ridley could not go. A
few days before the evening on which this party was to be given a
new-born babe had been laid on her bosom.
"Good-night, dear, and God bless you!" Mr. Ridley had said, in a
voice that was very tender, as he stooped over and kissed his wife.
No wonder that all the light went out of her face the moment she was
alone, nor that a shadow fell quickly over it, nor that from beneath
the fringes of her shut eyelids tears crept slowly and rested upon
her cheeks. If her husband had left her for the battlefield, she
could not have felt a more dreadful impression of danger, nor have
been oppressed by a more terrible fear for his safety. No wonder
that her nurse, coming into the chamber a few minutes after Mr.
Ridley went out, found her in a nervous chill.
The spacious and elegant drawing-rooms of Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell were
crowded with the elite of the city, and the heart of the former
swelled with pride as he received his guests and thought of their
social, professional or political distinction, the lustre of which
he felt to be, for the time, reflected upon himself. It was good to
be in such company, and to feel that he was equal with the best. He
had not always been the peer of such men. There had been an era of
obscurity out of which he had slowly emerged, and therefore he had
the larger pride and self-satisfaction in the position he now held.
Mrs. Birtwell was a woman of another order. All her life she had
been used to the elegancy that a wealthy parentage gave, and to
which her husband had been, until within a few years, an entire
stranger. She was "to the manner born," he a parvenu with a restless
ambition to outshine. Familiarity with things luxurious and costly
had lessened their value in her eyes, and true culture had lifted
her above the weakness of resting in or caring much about them,
while their newness and novelty to Mr. Birtwell made enjoyment keen,
and led him on to extravagant and showy exhibitions of wealth that
caused most people to smile at his weakness, and a good many to ask
who he was and from whence he came that he carried himself so
loftily. Mrs. Birtwell did not like the advanced position to which
her husband carried her, but she yielded to his weak love of
notoriety and social eclat as gracefully as possible, and did her
best to cover his too glaring violations of good taste and
conventional refinement. In this she was not always successful.
Of course the best of liquors in lavish abundance were provided by
Mr. Birtwell for his guests. Besides the dozen different kinds of
wine that were on the supper-table, there was a sideboard for
gentlemen, in a room out of common observation, well stocked with
brandy, gin and whisky, and it was a little curious to see how
quickly this was discovered by certain of the guests, who scented it
as truly as a bee scents honey in a clover-field, and extracted its
sweets as eagerly.
Of the guests who were present we have now to deal chiefly with Mr.
Ridley, and only incidentally with the rest. Dr. Hillhouse was there
during the first part of the evening, but went away early--that, is,
before twelve o'clock. He remained long enough, however, to do full
justice to the supper and wines. His handsome and agreeable young
associate, Dr. Angler, a slight acquaintance with whom the reader
has already, prolonged his stay to a later hour.
The Rev. Dr. Elliott was also, among the guests, displaying his fine
social qualities and attracting about him the young and the old.
Everybody liked Dr. Elliott, he was so frank, so cordial, free and
sympathetic, and, withal, so intelligent. He did not bring the
clergyman with him into a gay drawing-room, nor the ascetic to a
feast. He could talk with the banker about finance, with the
merchant about trade, with the student or editor about science,
literature and the current events of the day, and with young men and
maidens about music and the lighter matters in which they happened
to be interested. And, moreover, he could enjoy a good supper and
knew the flavor of good wine. A man of such rare accomplishments
came to be a general favorite, and so you encountered Mr. Elliott at
nearly all the fashionable parties.
Mr. Ridley had met the reverend doctor twice, and had been much
pleased with him. What he had heard him say about the healthy or
rather saving influences of pure wine had taken a strong hold of his
thoughts, and he had often wished for an opportunity to talk with
him about it. On this evening he found that opportunity. Soon after
his arrival at the house of Mr. Birtwell he saw Mr. Elliott in one
of the parlors, and made his way into the little group which had
already gathered around the affable clergyman. Joining in the
conversation, which was upon some topic of the day, Mr. Ridley, who
talked well, was not long in awakening that interest in the mind of
Mr. Elliott which one cultivated and intelligent person naturally
feels for another; and in a little while, they had the conversation
pretty much to themselves. It touched this theme and that, and
finally drifted in a direction which enabled Mr. Ridley to refer to
what he had heard Mr. Elliott say about the healthy effect of pure
wine on the taste of men whose appetites had become morbid, and to
ask him if he had any good ground for his belief.
"I do not know that I can bring any proof of my theory," returned
Mr. Elliott, "but I hold to it on the ground of an eternal fitness
of things. Wine is good, and was given by God to make glad the
hearts of men, and is to be used temperately, as are all other
gifts. It may be abused, and is abused daily. Men hurt themselves by
excess of wine as by excess of food. But the abuse of a thing is no
argument against its use. If a man through epicurism or gormandizing
has brought on disease, what do you do with him? Deny him all food,
or give him of the best in such quantities as his nutritive system
can appropriate and change into healthy muscle, nerve and bone? You
do the latter, of course, and so would I treat the case of a man who
bad hurt himself by excess of wine. I would see that he had only the
purest and in diminished quantity, so that his deranged system might
not only have time but help in regaining its normal condition."
"And you think this could be safely done?" said Mr. Ridley.
"That is my view of the case."
"Then you do not hold to the entire abstinence theory?"
"No, sir; on that subject our temperance people have run into what
we might call fanaticism, and greatly weakened their influence. Men
should be taught self-control and moderation in the use of things.
If the appetite becomes vitiated through over-indulgence, you do not
change its condition by complete denial. What you want for radical
cure is the restoration of the old ability to use without abusing.
In other words, you want a man made right again as to his rational
power of self-control, by which he becomes master of himself in all
the degrees of his life, from the highest to the lowest."
"All very well," remarked Dr. Hillhouse, who had joined them while
Mr. Elliott was speaking. "But, in my experience, the rational
self-control of which you speak is one of the rarest things to be
met with in common life, and it may be fair to conclude that the man
who cannot exercise it before a dangerous habit has been formed will
not be very likely to exercise it afterward when anything is done to
favor that habit. Habits, Mr. Elliott, are dreadful hard things to
manage, and I do not know a harder one to deal with than the habit
of over-indulgence in wine or spirits. I should be seriously afraid
of your prescription. The temperate use of wine I hold to be good;
but for those who have once lost the power of controlling their
appetites I am clear in my opinion there is only one way of safety,
and that is the way of entire abstinence from any drink in which
there is alcohol, call it by what name you will; and this is the
view now held by the most experienced and intelligent men, in our
profession."
A movement in the company being observed, Mr. Elliott, instead of
replying, stepped toward a lady, and asked the pleasure of escorting
her to the supper-room. Dr. Hillhouse was equally courteous, and Mr.
Ridley, seeing the wife of General Logan, whom he had often met in
Washington, standing a little way off, passed to her side and
offered his arm, which was accepted.
There was a crowd and crush upon the stairs, fine gentlemen and
ladies seeming to forget their courtesy and good breeding in their
haste to be among the earliest who should reach the banqueting-hall.
This was long and spacious, having been planned by Mr. Birtwell with
a view to grand entertainments like the one he was now giving. In an
almost incredibly short space of time it was filled to suffocation.
Those who thought themselves among the first to move were surprised
to find the tables already surrounded by young men and women, who
had been more interested in the status of the supper-room than in
the social enjoyments of the parlors, and who had improved their
advanced state of observation by securing precedence of the rest,
and stood waiting for the signal to begin.
Mr. Birtwell had a high respect for the Church, and on an occasion
like this could do no less than honor one of its dignitaries by
requesting him to ask a blessing on the sumptuous repast he had
provided--on the rich food and the good wine and brandy he was about
dispensing with such a liberal hand. So, in the waiting pause that
ensued after the room was well filled, Mr. Elliott was called upon
to bless this feast, which he did in a raised, impressive and finely
modulated voice. Then came the rattle of plates and the clink of
glasses, followed by the popping of champagne and the multitudinous
and distracting Babel of tongues.
Mr. Ridley, who felt much inclined to favor the superficial and
ill-advised utterances of Mr. Elliott, took scarcely any heed of
what Dr. Hillhouse had replied. In fact, knowing that the doctor was
free with wine himself, he did not give much weight to what he said,
feeling that he was talking more for argument's sake than to express
his real sentiments.
A feeling of repression came over Mr. Ridley as he entered the
supper-room and his eyes ran down the table. Half of this sumptuous
feast was forbidden enjoyment. He must not taste the wine. All were
free but him. He could fill a glass for the elegant lady whose hand
was still upon his arm, but must not pledge her back except in
water. A sense of shame and humiliation crept into his heart. So he
felt when, in the stillness that fell upon the company, the voice of
Mr. Elliott rose in blessing on the good things now spread for them
in such lavish profusion. Only one sentence took hold on, Mr.
Ridley's mind. It was this: "Giver of all natural as well as
spiritual good things, of the corn and the wine equally with the
bread and the water of life, sanctify these bounties that come from
thy beneficent hand, and keep us from any inordinate or hurtful use
thereof."
Mr. Ridley drew a deeper breath. A load seemed taken from his bosom.
He felt a sense of freedom and safety. If the wine were pure, it was
a good gift of God, and could not really do him harm. A priest,
claiming to stand as God's representative among men, had invoked a
blessing on this juice of the grape, and given it by this act a
healthier potency. All this crowded upon him, stifling reason and
experience and hushing the voice of prudence.
And now, alas! he was as a feather on the surface of a wind-struck
lake, and given up to the spirit and pressure of the hour. The
dangerous fallacy to which Mr. Elliott had given utterance held his
thoughts to the exclusion of all other considerations. A clear path
out of the dreary wilderness in which he had been, straying seemed
to open before him, and he resolved to walk therein. Fatal delusion!
As soon as Mr. Ridley had supplied Mrs. General Locran with terrapin
and oysters and filled a plate for himself, he poured out two
glasses of wine and handed one of them to the lady, then, lifting
the other, he bowed a compliment and placed it to his lips. The lady
smiled on him graciously, sipping the wine and praising its flavor.
"Pure as nectar," was the mental response of Mr. Ridley as the
long-denied palate felt the first thrill of sweet satisfaction. He
had taken a single mouthful, but another hand seemed to grasp the
one that held the cup of wine and press it back to his lips, from
which it was not removed until empty.
The prescription of Mr. Elliott failed. Either the wine was not pure
or his theory was at fault. It was but little over an hour from the
fatal moment when Mr. Ridley put a glass of wine to his lips ere he
went out alone into the storm of a long-to-be-remembered night in a
state of almost helpless intoxication, and staggered off in the
blinding snow that soon covered his garments like a winding sheet.