It was my father's pleasure to celebrate my sixteenth birthday with
great splendor. The whole house was to be thrown open; and not only the
house, but the conservatory and the grounds were to be illuminated. The
festivities were to comprise a grand dinner and a reception afterwards,
which was to become a ball, as if by an impromptu.
As the society of the Villa habitually was made up of a certain number
of intimates, relieved, from time to time, by such strangers as
were presented, and as my father never dined out, or went into the
fashionable world of the place, it was somewhat of a bold step at once
to invite a number of persons with whom we had no more than bowing
acquaintance, and to ask to his table ministers, envoys, court
officials, and grand chamberlains for the first time. It was said, I
know not how truthfully, that Cleremont did his utmost to dissuade him
from the project at first, by disparaging the people for whom he was
putting himself to such cost, and, finding this line of no avail, by
openly saying that what between the refusals of some, the excuses of
others, and the actual absence of many whose presence he was led to
expect, my father was storing up for himself an amount of disappointment
and outrage that would drive him half desperate. It was not, of course,
very easy to convey this to my father. It could only be done by a
dropping word or a half-expressed doubt. And when the time came to make
out the lists and issue the invitations, no real step had been taken to
turn him from his plan.
The same rumor which ascribed to Cleremont the repute of attempting to
dissuade my father from his project, attributed to Madame Cleremont a
most eager and warm advocacy of the intended _fête_. From the marked
coldness and reserve, however, which subsisted between my father and
her, it was too difficult to imagine in what way her influence could be
exercised.
And for my own part, though I heard the list of the company canvassed
every day at luncheon, and discussed at dinner, I don't remember
an occasion where Madame ever uttered a word of remark, or even a
suggestion in the matter. Hotham, who had come back on a short leave,
was full of the scheme. With all a sailor's love of movement and bustle,
he mixed himself up with every detail of it. He wrote to Paris and
London for all the delicacies of the “comestible” shops. He established
“estafettes” on every side to bring in fresh flowers and fruit; with
his own hands he rigged out tents and marquees for the regimental bands,
which were to be stationed in different parts of the grounds; and all
the devices of Bengal lights and fireworks he took into his especial
charge.
Indeed, Nixon told me that his functions did not stop here, but that he
had charged himself with the care of Madame Cleremont's toilette, for
whom he had ordered the most splendid ball-dress Paris could produce.
“Naturally, Master Digby, it is Sir Roger pays,” added he; “and perhaps
one of these days he'll be surprised to find that diamond loops and
diamond bouquets should figure in a milliner's bill. But as she is to
receive the company, of course it's all right.”
“And why does Mr. Cleremont seem to dislike it all so much?” asked I.
“Chiefly, I believe, because _she_ likes it.” And then, as though he had
said more than he intended, he added: “Oh, it's easy to see he likes to
keep this house as much his own as he can. He does n't want Sir Roger
to have other people about him. He's almost the master here now; but
if your father begins to mix with the world, and have strangers here,
Cleremont's reign would soon be over.”
Though there was much in this speech to suggest thought and speculation,
nothing in it struck me so forcibly as the impertinence of calling Mr.
Cleremont Cleremont, and it was all I could do to suppress the rebuke
that was on my lips.
“If your father comes through for a thousand pounds, sir,” continued he,
“I 'll say he's lucky. If Sir Roger would leave it to one person to give
the orders,--I don't mean myself,--though by right it is my business;
instead of that, there's the Captain sending for this, and Cleremont for
the other, and you 'll see there will be enough for three entertainments
when it's all over. Could you just say a word to him, sir?”
“Not for the world, Nixon. Papa is very kind to me and good-natured,
but I 'll not risk any liberty with him; and what's more, I 'd be right
sorry to call Mr. Cleremont Cleremont before him, as you have done twice
within the last five minutes.”
“Lord bless you, Master Digby! I 've known him these fifteen years. I
knew him when he came out, just a boy like, to Lord Colthorpe's embassy.
He and I is like pals.”
“You have known _me_ also as a boy, Nixon,” said I, haughtily; “and yet,
I promise you, I 'll not permit you to speak of me as Norcott, when I am
a man.”
“No fear of that, sir, you may depend on 't,” said he, with humility;
but there was a malicious twinkle in his eye, and a firm compression of
the lip as he withdrew, that did not leave my mind the whole day after.
Indeed, I recognized that his face had assumed the selfsame look of
insolent familiarity it wore when he spoke of Cleremont.
The evening of that day was passed filling up the cards of
invitation,--a process which amused me greatly, affording, as it did, a
sort of current critique on the persons whose names came up for notice,
and certainly, if I were to judge of their eligibility only by what
I heard of their characters, I might well feel amazed why they were
singled out for attentions. They were marquises and counts, however,
chevaliers of various orders, grand cordons and “hautes charges,” so
that their trespasses or their shortcomings had all been enacted in the
world of good society, and with each other as accomplices or victims.
There were a number of contingencies, too, attached to almost every
name. There must be high play for the Russian envoy, flirting for the
French minister's wife, iced drinks for the Americans, and scandal and
Ostend oysters for everybody. There was scarcely a good word for any
one, and yet the most eager anxiety was expressed that they would all
come. Immense precautions had been taken to fix a day when there was
nothing going on at court or in the court circle. It was difficult
to believe that pleasure could be planned with such heart-burning and
bitterness. There was scarcely a detail that did not come associated
with something that reflected on the morals or the manners of the dear
friends we were entreating to honor us; and for the life of me I did not
know why such pains were taken to secure the presence of people for whom
none had a good wish nor a single kindly thought.
My father took very little part in the discussion; he sat there with a
sort of proud indifference, as though the matter had little interest for
him, and if a doubt were expressed as to the likelihood of this or that
person's acceptance, he would superciliously break in with, “He 'll
come, sir: I 'll answer for that. I have never yet played to empty
benches.”
This vain and haughty speech dwelt in my mind for many a day, and showed
me how my father deemed that it was not his splendid style of living,
his exquisite dinners, and his choice wines that drew guests around him,
but his own especial qualities as host and entertainer.
“But that it involves the bore of an audience, I'd ask the king; I could
give him some Château d'Yquem very unlike his own, and such as, I'll
venture to say, he never tasted,” said he, affectedly.
“So you are going to bring out the purple seal?” cried Cleremont.
“I might for royalty, sir; but not for such people as I read of in that
list there.”
“Why, here are two Dukes with their Duchesses, Marquises and Counts by
the score, half-a-dozen ministers plenipotentiary, and a perfect cloud
of chamberlains and court swells.”
“They 'd cut a great figure, I 've no doubt, Hotham, on the quarter-deck
of the 'Thunder Bomb,' where you eke out the defects of a bad band with
a salute from your big guns, and give your guests the national anthem
when they want champagne. Oh dear, there's no snob like a sailor!”
“Well, if they 're not good enough for you, why the devil do you ask
them?” cried Hotham, sturdily.
“Sir, if I were to put such a question to myself, I might shut up my
house to-morrow!” And with this very uncourteous speech he arose and
left the room.
We continued, however, to fill in the cards of invitation and address
the envelopes, but with little inclination to converse, and none
whatever to refer to what had passed.
“There,” cried Cleremont, as he checked off the list. “That makes very
close on seven hundred. I take it I may order supper for six hundred.”
Then turning half fiercely to me, he added: “Do you know, youngster,
that all this tomfoolery is got up for _you?_ It is by way of
celebrating your birthday we're going to turn the house out of the
windows!”
“I suppose my father has that right, sir.”
“Of course he has, just as he would have the right to make a ruin of the
place to-morrow if he liked it; but I don't fancy his friends would be
the better pleased with him for his amiable eccentricity: your father
pushes our regard for him very far sometimes.”
“I 'll tell him to be more cautious, sir, in future,” said I, moving
towards the door.
“Do so,” said he. “Good-night.”
I had scarcely taken my bedroom candle when I felt a hand on my
shoulder: I turned and saw Madame Cleremont standing very pale and in
great agitation at my side. “Oh, Digby,” said she, “don't make that man
your enemy whatever you do; he is more than a match for you, poor
child!” She was about to say more when we heard voices in the corridor,
and she hurried away and left me.