THE GRAND ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY THE BARON AT ANDERBURY HOUSE, AND HIS
ANNOUNCEMENT.
The baron made quick work of it, for in five days after the one on
which he took Anderbury House, he gave his first entertainment. Money
works wonders, and in the baron’s hands it seemed to have lost none of
its magical power; for Anderbury House in that time was furnished like
a palace; rich and costly were the decorations—the ornamental parts
were bold and florid.
The house and grounds were of a most magnificent character, though
they had been viewed as separate features; but when considered as one,
as that which was part and parcel of one great whole, it was truly
princely.
Great care, labour, and expense had been exerted to make the mansion
one befitting the habitation of a prince; and the baron himself was
looked upon as little less than a prince; his disregard of money, his
liberality, all concurred in making him looked upon as one of the most
popular men in that neighbourhood.
Indeed, none such as he had ever been seen or heard of in that quarter.
He was safe to be considered as one of the grandees of the day.
Anderbury House was now a theme of conversation with every one in the
whole town. His magnificence, liberality, and all things connected with
him, were all well calculated to cause a feeling of prejudice to be
made in his favour.
When people saw the men that were at work, the loads of articles
which were sent there, they were amazed, and could hardly credit their
senses. Then they all considered how very rich he must be to be able
to spend so much in furniture, in hangings, in beautifying, and in
ornamental work, which must have been very heavy.
The baron was fully determined to do all he had intended to do in the
way of opening his first grand entertainment with great eclat, and in a
manner that would take the whole country by surprise.
The day came; the house was furnished, decorated, filled with servants,
and everything that could make it appear as though it had been for
years in that state.
It is surprising how soon a place can be made to lose all signs of its
ever having been uninhabited, and the fact of human beings being in a
place soon wears away the look of desolation by which it is otherwise
enveloped; but how much easier must it have been, with ample means, for
a man like the baron to cause such a house as that of Anderbury House
to become what it was.
The great wonder being, not what was done with ample means, but the
short time in which it had all been collected together, which was done
with such celerity and such small signs of bustle and disturbance, that
it appeared as if performed by the wand of a magician, so sudden and so
quiet was it done, comparatively.
At the end of five days there was a number of invitations fairly
written out and directed, by order of the baron, to the principal
inhabitants and gentry of the place to visit Anderbury House, and
partake of a grand banquet given by the baron to them and his friends
on that occasion.
The day was named, and the information supplied by Mr. Leek to the
baron, was of a character that to that individual was extremely
valuable, and of which he freely availed himself.
It must not be imagined that the worthy Mr. Leek was in any way
oblivious of the promise or obligation into which he had entered with
Mrs. Williams, whose name he had taken very great care to insert in the
list of invitations that the baron had sent out.
The evening arrived, and the carriages drove up to Anderbury House in
rapid succession. There were few or none who knew the baron; they were
all, however, anxious, most anxious to see who and what the baron was,
who occupied the estate.
The title and name sounded well, and that was what dwelt upon people’s
minds, and made an impression upon them, and they freely accepted the
invitations, especially when they inquired among themselves what was
the extent of invitations that had been issued, and they were confined
wholly to the _elite_ of the place.
What was thought or said upon the occasion, it would be difficult to
say, because it was so various, and there were none who could in any
way form an opinion at all, that wore any appearance of probability
about it.
But there was a rumour spread about that he was a foreigner who had
immense riches, desirous of marrying an Englishwoman, and yet unable to
obtain introductions in the usual way, or else he was merely acting in
accordance with the customs and habits of his own country.
The carriage drive of Anderbury House was completely occupied by the
strings of carriages that had taken up and set down for two hours or
more, as rapidly as they could.
The fine apartments that Anderbury House contained, that were destined
to be used for the occasion, were indeed a splendid suit of rooms; but
they were now lit up with chandeliers, and adorned with glasses, and
mirrors, and pictures.
As for the ornamental part of the mansion, it was superb. Nothing had
been spared in expense, and by the way in which that was laid out,
it was evident the baron was a man of taste and judgment, and had
converted a nobleman’s residence into a palace.
• • • • •
The gentry came dashing up to the door. The place was crowded, and many
were announced, and met and welcomed by the baron, who gave them a
cordial and distinguished greeting.
There were many persons present; they were astonished at the display
of magnificence and wealth of the baron; they were delighted by his
reception of them—his conversation, and general manners; and many,
too, were much astonished by the splendid entertainment which he had
provided for them.
All that art or the season could produce was there—superb wines and
liqueurs—fruits—to an extent they had never before contemplated or
thought of.
Anderbury House was without a rival.
The wines were good, and they warmed the blood; and courtesies and
civilities of life were by the aid of the alchemy of old port, splendid
and sparkling champagne, sherries, Burgundies, and other wines, soon
turned into friendships and cordialities.
“Baron,” said one of the guests, “you have a superb place, and you
certainly are the proper individual to own such a place.”
“And why, my dear sir?” inquired the baron, blandly.
“Because you have the taste and heart to decorate and array the place
in a manner befitting its extent, and you have the hospitality of one
of the ancients of the east.”
“Ha! Ha! very good, my dear sir. You are kind, very kind; but I must
admit I do like to see neighbours act honestly, and in good faith with
each other; besides, I am of opinion that man is a social animal, and
one who lives only in society. I cannot be a hermit.”
“Right. If the world were all of your opinion—and I believe they are,
practice only is opposed—what a state of kindliness and comfort we
should all be in—I am sure of it.”
“Ay, so am I. Do you like music?”
“I do,” was the answer.
“Then you shall hear some. We shall have the dance presently, and then
there will be no heart that will not beat in unison with the harmonious
strain.”
“I think they deserve not to be here in the centre of happiness, if
they did not.”
“Ho! music, there!” said the baron, as he stamped on the floor of the
grand saloon, in which several hundred guests stood.
The call was answered by a loud crash of instrumental music, that came
suddenly and startlingly upon the ears of the guests; but then it was
followed by a lighter strain, with a pretty but marked melody, such a
one, that it instantly communicated to those present, the feeling of
being participators, and even actors, in the scene that was about to be
enacted upon the floor.
It required but very little exertion to form the dance, where every one
was willing and anxious to take their places. There was a slight degree
of excitement in the procuring of partners.
Here for a moment the baron was at fault; but, by some means that were
not at that moment explained, or even thought of, Mrs. Williams led
the beautiful Helen past the spot at the moment. He had spoken to her
before, and was well pleased with her. He perceived she was beautiful
and amiable. Her mother, too, was with her, and in another moment the
baron stepped forward, saying,—
“Madam, if the hand of your daughter is not already engaged, I beg
respectfully to claim it for the opening dance?”
Mrs. Williams curtseyed with condescension, saying, in reply,—
“Yes, my lord. My daughter is disengaged.”
“Miss Williams,” said the baron, with much deference, “may I request
the honour of your hand?”
Helen Williams curtseyed, and said she was not engaged, and accepted of
his offer with a smile, but with some diffidence.
The baron immediately led her to the top of the room, where, by this
time, there was a perfect lane for them to pass through, until they
reached the top.
All had taken their places by an instinctive sort of feeling that was
almost universal in the ball-room.
The signal was given, and then the baron led Helen down the first
dance, amidst the admiration of all, and the envy of not a few. The
giddy whirl of the dance, the throng of beauty, and the sweet but gay
notes of the bands, added to the _coup-d’œil_ of the scene—a scene of
so much happiness and gaiety, that there were few who could have looked
coldly upon It.
[Illustration: The baron dances with Helen.]
The baron, himself, appeared in the highest spirits, and with the
greatest hospitality he sought to administer to the wants of his
guests, every moment that he could abstract from the present leadership
of the dance.
He first visited one, and then the other, until he had made a fair
round, and then he found that the night was far advanced, and that, in
but a short time, he was convinced that daylight would come.
The guests were well pleased with the splendour of the entertainment,
and the profusion that was there. Nothing was wanting. All were well
pleased with the arrangements. Great care and great expense had been
gone to to gratify and pleasure them, and it had succeeded indeed; if
it had not, they would have been captious and ungrateful to an extreme.
The guests, however well pleased with their entertainment, were still
unable to bear up against the excitement and fatigue of pleasure for
hours, and the animal power fails.
Indeed, there is no one sense which may not be exhausted by an
overindulgence; even hearing will, as soon as any other, become
invariably tired by listening too long to music; ay, and even become
unable to distinguish between the different melodies; and the guests
began to flag, and to pay more attention to the side tables, and then
to look drowsy, while some few of the younger spirits appeared to have
the dance to themselves.
The baron now saw the proper moment had arrived for dismissing the
company; and, causing the music to cease, he advanced to the middle of
the room, and, waving his hand, said,—
“My honoured guests, the sun begins to peep over the hills, and the
bright car of Phœbus rapidly ascends the skies, telling us that another
day has begun. The happiest mortals must part, and so must we. Let me
thank you all for this kindness, for thus honouring my banquet with
your presence, and let me hope it may often be thus.
“Often, I say. Yes, fair ladies, your presence will always be a
distinguished honour. While I am a bachelor, I shall continue
these _fetes_ once a fortnight regularly, until somebody takes the
arrangement of such matters out of my hands, by legally assuming the
title of baroness.”
There was a long pause after this announcement, and then a sudden buzz
of admiration, which was heard on all sides; and the ladies looked
at each other, the baron, and the magnificent place they were in.
We cannot tell what passed in their minds, but a shrewd guess might
readily be formed, and to the performance of that task we leave the
reader. There were many courtesies before the separation was effected,
and an hour had passed before the Baron Stolmuyer of Saltzburgh found
himself alone.