AN EVENING AT THE PRESIDENT'S.
There was a sound of revelry by night--
"Columbia's" capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry: and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell.
--_Byron_.
The carriage rolled along Pennsylvania Avenue. The weather had changed
since sunset, and the evening was misty with a light, drizzling rain.
Yet still the scene was a gay, busy, and enlivening one; the gas lamps
that lighted the Avenue gleamed brightly through the rain drops like
smiles through tears; the sidewalks were filled with pedestrians, and
the middle of the street with vehicles, all going in one direction, to
the President's palace.
A decorously slow drive of fifteen minutes brought our party through
this gay scene to a gayer one at the north gate of the President's park,
where a great crowd of carriages were drawn up, waiting their turn to
drive in.
The gates were open and lighted by four tall lamps placed upon the
posts, and which illuminated the whole scene.
Judge Merlin's carriage drew up on the outskirts of this crowd of
vehicles, to wait his turn to enter; but he soon found himself enclosed
in the center of the assemblage by other carriages that had come after
his own. He had to wait full fifteen minutes before he could fall into
the procession that was slowly making its way through the right-hand
gate, and along the lighted circular avenue that led up to the front
entrance of the palace. Even on this misty night the grounds were gayly
illuminated and well filled. But crowded as the scene was, the utmost
order prevailed. The carriages that came up the right-hand avenue, full
of visitors, discharged them at the entrance hall and rolled away empty
down the left-hand avenue, so that there was a continuous procession of
full carriages coming up one way and empty carriages going down the
other.
At length Judge Merlin's carriage, coming slowly along in the line, drew
up in its turn before the front of the mansion. The whole façade of the
White House was splendidly illuminated, as if to express in radiant
light a smiling welcome. The halls were occupied by attentive officers,
who received the visitors and ushered them into cloakrooms. Within the
house also, great as the crowd of visitors was, the most perfect order
prevailed.
Judge Merlin and his party were received by a civil, respectable
official, who directed them to a cloakroom, and they soon found
themselves in a close, orderly crowd moving thitherward. When the
gentlemen had succeeded in conveying their ladies safely to this bourne
and seen them well over its threshold, they retired to the receptacle
where they were to leave their hats and overcoats before coming back to
take their parties into the saloon.
In the ladies' cloakroom Claudia and her chaperone found themselves in a
brilliant, impracticable crowd. There were about half-a-dozen tall
dressing glasses in the place, and about half-a-hundred young ladies
were trying to smooth braids and ringlets and adjust wreaths and
coronets by their aid. And there were about half-a-hundred more in the
center of the room; some taking off opera cloaks, shaking out flounces,
and waiting their turns to go to the mirrors; and some, quite ready and
waiting the appearance of their escort at the door to take them to the
saloon; and beside these some were coming in and some were passing out
continually; and through the open doors the crowds of those newly
arriving and the crowds of those passing on to the reception rooms, were
always visible.
Claudia looked upon this seething multitude with a shudder.
"What a scene!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, but with it all, what order! There has never been such order and
system in these crowded receptions as now under the management of Mrs.
----," said Mrs. Middleton, naming the accomplished lady who, that
season, ruled the domestic affairs of the White House.
As Mrs. Middleton and Claudia had finished their toilets, to the
sticking of the very last pin, before leaving their dressing rooms at
home, they had now nothing to do but to give their opera cloaks to a
woman in attendance, and then stand near the door to watch for the
appearance of Judge Merlin and Mr. Middleton. They had but a few minutes
to wait. The gentlemen soon came and gave their arms to their ladies and
led them to join the throng that were slowly making its way through the
crowded halls and anterooms towards the audience chamber, where the
President received his visitors. It was a severe ordeal, the passage of
those halls. Our party, like all their companions, were pressed forward
in the crowd until they were fairly pushed into the presence chamber,
known as the small crimson drawing room, in which the President and his
family waited to receive their visitors.
Yes, there he stood, the majestic old man, with his kingly gray head
bared, and his stately form clothed in the republican citizen's dress of
simple black. There he stood, fresh from the victories of a score of
well-fought fields, receiving the meed of honor won by his years, his
patriotism, and his courage. A crowd of admirers perpetually passed
before him; by the orderly arrangement of the ushers they came up on the
right-hand side, bowed or courtesied before him, received a cordial
shake of the hand, a smile, and a few kind words, and then passed on to
the left towards the great saloon commonly known as the East Room.
Perhaps never has any President since Washington made himself so much
beloved by the people as did General ---- during his short
administration. Great love-compelling power had that dignified and
benignant old man! Fit to be the chief magistrate of a great, free
people he was! At least so thought Judge Merlin's daughter, as she
courtesied before him, received the cordial shake of his hand, heard the
kind tones of his voice say, "I am very glad to see you, my dear," and
passed on with the throng who were proceeding toward the East Room.
Once arrived in that magnificent room, they found space enough even for
that vast crowd to move about in. This room is too well known to the
public to need any labored description. For the information of those who
have never seen it, it is sufficient to say that its dimensions are
magnificent, its decorations superb, its furniture luxurious, and its
illuminations splendid. Three enormous chandeliers, like constellations,
flooded the scene with light, and a fine brass band, somewhere out of
sight, filled the air with music. A brilliant company enlivened, but did
not crowd, the room. There were assembled beautiful girls, handsome
women, gorgeous old ladies; there were officers of the army and of the
navy in their full-dress uniforms; there were the diplomatic corps of
all foreign nations in the costumes of their several ranks and
countries; there were grave senators and wise judges and holy divines;
there were Indian chiefs in their beads and blankets; there were
adventurous Poles from Warsaw; exiled Bourbons from Paris; and Comanché
braves from the Cordilleras! There was, in fact, such a curious
assemblage as can be met with nowhere on the face of the earth but in
the east drawing room of our President's palace on a great reception
evening!
Into this motley but splendid assemblage Judge Merlin led his beautiful
daughter. At first her entrance attracted no attention; but when one,
and then another, noticed the dazzling new star of beauty that had so
suddenly risen above their horizon, a whisper arose that soon grew into
a general buzz of admiration that attended Claudia in her progress
through the room and heralded her approach to those at the upper end.
And--
"Who is she?" "Who can she be?" were the low-toned questions that
reached her ear as her father led her to a sofa and rested her upon it.
But these questions came only from those who were strangers in
Washington. Of course all others knew the person of Judge Merlin, and
surmised the young lady on his arm to be his daughter.
Soon after the judge and his party were seated, his friends began to
come forward to pay their respects to him, and to be presented to his
beautiful daughter.
Claudia received all these with a self-possession, grace, and
fascination peculiarly her own.
There was no doubt about it--Miss Merlin's first entrance into society
had been a great success; she had made a sensation.
Among those presented to Miss Merlin on that occasion was the Honorable
---- ----, the British minister. He was young, handsome, accomplished,
and a bachelor. Consequently he was a target for all the shafts of Cupid
that ladies' eyes could send.
He offered his arm to Miss Merlin for a promenade through the room. She
accepted it, and became as much the envy of every unmarried lady present
as if the offer made and accepted had been for a promenade through life.
No such thought, however, was in the young English minister's mind; for
after making the circuit of the room two or three times, he brought his
companion back, and, with a smile and a bow, left her in the care of her
father.
But if the people were inclined to feed their envy, they found plenty of
food for that appetite. A few minutes after Miss Merlin had resumed her
seat a general buzz of voices announced some new event of interest. It
turned out to be the entrance of the President and his family into the
East Room.
For some good reason or other, known only to his own friendly heart, the
President, sauntering leisurely, dispensing bows, smiles, and kind words
as he passed, went straight up to the sofa whereon his old friend, Judge
Merlin, sat, took a seat beside him, and entered into conversation.
Ah! their talk was not about state affairs, foreign or domestic policy,
duties, imports, war, peace--no! their talk was of their boyhood's days,
spent together; of the holidays they had had; of the orchards they had
robbed; of the well-merited thrashings they had got; and of the good old
schoolmaster, long since dust and ashes, who had lectured and flogged
them!
Claudia listened, and loved the old man more, that he could turn from
the memory of his bloody victories, the presence of his political cares,
and the prospects of a divided cabinet, to refresh himself with the
green reminiscences of his boyhood's days. It was impossible for the
young girl to feel so much sympathy without betraying it and attracting
the attention of the old man. He looked at her. He had shaken hands with
her, and said that he was glad to see her, when she was presented to him
in his presence chamber; but he had not really seen her; she had been
only one of the passing crowd of courtesiers for whom he felt a
wholesale kindness and expressed a wholesale good-will; now, however, he
looked at her--now he saw her.
Sixty-five years had whitened the hair of General ----, but he was not
insensible to the charms of beauty; nor unconscious of his own power of
conferring honor upon beauty.
Rising, therefore, with all the stately courtesy of the old school
gentleman, he offered his arm to Miss Merlin for a promenade through the
rooms.
With a sweet smile, Claudia arose, and once more became the cynosure of
all eyes and the envy of all hearts. A few turns through the rooms, and
the President brought the beauty back, seated her, and took his own seat
beside her on the sofa.
But the cup of bitterness for the envious was not yet full. Another hum
and buzz went around the room, announcing some new event of great
interest; which seemed to be a late arrival of much importance.
Presently the British minister and another gentleman were seen
approaching the sofa where sat the President, Judge Merlin, Miss
Merlin, and Mr. and Mrs. Middleton. They paused immediately before the
President, when the minister said:
"Your Excellency, permit me to present to you the Viscount Vincent, late
from London."
The President arose and heartily shook hands with the young foreigner,
cordially saying:
"I am happy to see you, my lord; happy to welcome you to Washington."
The viscount bowed low before the gray-haired old hero, saying, in a low
tone:
"I am glad to see the President of the United States; but I am proud to
shake the hand of the conqueror of--of--"
The viscount paused, his memory suddenly failed him, for the life and
soul of him he could not remember the names of those bloody fields where
the General had won his laurels.
The President gracefully covered the hesitation of the viscount and
evaded the compliment at the same time by turning to the ladies of his
party and presenting his guest, saying:
"Mrs. Middleton, Lord Vincent. Miss Merlin, Lord Vincent."
The viscount bowed low to these ladies, who courtesied in turn and
resumed their seats.
"My old friend, Judge Merlin, Lord Vincent," then said the plain,
matter-of-fact old President.
The judge and the viscount simultaneously bowed, and then, these
formalities being over, seats were found for the two strangers, and the
whole group fell into an easy chat--subject of discussion the old
question that is sure to be argued whenever the old world and the new
meet--the rival merits of monarchies and republics. The discussion grew
warm, though the disputants remained courteous. The viscount grew bored,
and gradually dropped out of the argument, leaving the subject in the
hands of the President and the minister, who, of course, had taken
opposite sides, the minister representing the advantages of a
monarchical form of government, and the President contending for a
republican one. The viscount noticed that a large portion of the company
were promenading in a procession round and round the room to the music
of one of Beethoven's grand marches. It was monotonous enough; but it
was better than sitting there and listening to the vexed question
whether "the peoples" were capable of governing themselves. So he turned
to Miss Merlin with a bow and smile, saying:
"Shall we join the promenade? Will you so far honor me?"
"With pleasure, my lord," replied Miss Merlin.
And he rose and gave her his arm, and they walked away. And for the
third time that evening Claudia became the target of all sorts of
glances--glances of admiration, glances of hate. She had been led out by
the young English minister; then by the old President; and now she was
promenading with the lion of the evening, the only titled person at this
republican court, the Viscount Vincent. And she a newcomer, a mere girl,
not twenty years old! It was intolerable, thought all the ladies, young
and old, married or single.
But if the beautiful Claudia was the envy of all the women, the handsome
Vincent was not less the envy of all the men present. "Puppy";
"coxcomb"; "Jackanape"; "swell"; "Viscount, indeed! more probably some
foreign blackleg or barber"; "It is perfectly ridiculous the manner in
which American girls throw themselves under the feet of these titled
foreign paupers," were some of the low-breathed blessings bestowed upon
young Lord Vincent. And yet these expletives were not intended to be
half so malignant as they might have sounded. They were but the
impulsive expressions of transient vexation at seeing the very pearl of
beauty, on the first evening of her appearance, carried off by an alien.
In truth, the viscount and the heiress were a very handsome couple; and
notwithstanding all the envy felt for them, all eyes followed them with
secret admiration. The beautiful Claudia was a rare type of the young
American girl--tall, slender, graceful, dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a
rich, glowing bloom on cheeks and lips. And her snow white dress of
misty lace over shining satin, and her gleaming pearls and sparkling
diamonds, set off her beauty well. Vincent was a fine specimen of the
young English gentleman--tall, broad-chouldered, deep-chested; with a
stately head; a fair, roseate complexion; light-brown, curling hair and
beard; and clear, blue eyes. And his simple evening dress of speckless
black became him well. His manners were graceful, his voice pleasant,
and his conversation brilliant; but, alas, for Claudia! the greatest
charm he possessed for her was--his title! Claudia knew another,
handsomer, more graceful, more brilliant than this viscount; but that
other was unknown, untitled, and unnamed in the world. The viscount was
so engaged with his beautiful companion that it was some time before he
observed that the company was dropping off and the room was half empty.
He then led Miss Merlin back to her party, took a slight leave of them
all, bowed to the President, and departed.
Judge Merlin, who had only waited for his daughter, now arose to go. His
party made their adieus and left the saloon. As so many of the guests
had already gone, they found the halls and anterooms comparatively free
of crowds, and easily made their way to the gentlemen's cloakroom and
the ladies' dressing room, and thence to the entrance hall. Mr.
Middleton went out to call the carriage, which was near at hand. And the
whole party entered and drove homeward. The sky had not cleared, the
drizzle still continued; but the lamps gleamed brightly through the
raindrops, and the Avenue was as gay at midnight as it had been at
midday. As the carriage rolled along, Judge Merlin and Mr. and Mrs.
Middleton discussed the reception, the President, the company, and
especially the young English viscount.
"He is the son and heir of the Earl of Hurstmonceux, whose estates lie
somewhere in the rich county of Sussex. The title did not come to the
present earl in the direct line of descent. The late earl died
childless, at a very advanced age; and the title fell to his distant
relation, Lord Banff, the father of this young man, whose estates lie
away up in the north of Scotland somewhere. Thus the Scottish Lord Banff
became Earl of Hurstmonceux, and his eldest son, our new acquaintance,
took the second title in the family, and became Lord Vincent," said
Judge Merlin.
"The English minister gave you this information?" inquired Mr.
Middleton.
"Yes, he did; I suppose he thought it but right to put me in possession
of all such facts in relation to a young foreigner whom he had been
instrumental in introducing to my family. But, by the way,
Middleton--Hurstmonceux? Was not that the title of the young dowager
countess whom Brudenell married, and parted with, years ago?"
"Yes; and I suppose that she was the widow of that very old man, the
late Earl of Hurstmonceux, who died childless; in fact, she must have
been."
"I wonder whatever became of her?"
"I do not know; I know nothing whatever about the last Countess of
Hurstmonceux; but I know very well who has a fair prospect of becoming
the next Countess of Hurstmonceux, if She pleases!" replied Mr.
Middleton, with a merry glance at his niece.
Claudia, who had been a silent, thoughtful, and attentive listener to
their conversation, did not reply, but smothered a sigh and turned to
look out of the window. The carriage was just drawing up before their
own gate.
The whole face of the house was closed and darkened except one little
light that burned in a small front window at the very top of the house.
It was Ishmael's lamp; and, as plainly as if she had been in the room,
Claudia in imagination saw the pale young face bent studiously over the
volume lying open before him.
With another inward sigh Claudia gave her hand to her uncle, who had
left the carriage to help her out. And then the whole party entered the
house, where they were admitted by sleepy Jim.
And in another half hour they were all in repose.