_An Epicurean Feast_
THE Duke of St. James dines to-day with Mr. Annesley. Men and things
should be our study; and it is universally acknowledged that a dinner
is the most important of affairs, and a dandy the most important of
individuals. If we liked, we could give you a description of the fête
which should make all your mouths water; but everyone cooks now, and
ekes out his page by robbing Jarrin and by rifling Ude.
Charles Annesley was never seen to more advantage than when a host. Then
his superciliousness would, if not vanish, at least subside. He was not
less calm, but somewhat less cold, like a summer lake. Therefore we will
have an eye upon his party; because, to dine with dandies should be a
prominent feature in your career, and must not be omitted in this sketch
of the ‘Life and Times’ of our young hero. The party was of that
number which at once secures a variety of conversation and the
impossibility of two persons speaking at the same time. The guests were
his Grace, Lord Squib, and Lord Darrell. The repast, like everything
connected with Mr. Annesley, was refined and exquisite, rather slight
than solid, and more novel than various. There was no affectation of
_gourmandise_, the vice of male dinners. Your imagination and your sight
were not at the same time dazzled and confused by an agglomeration of
the peculiar luxuries of every clime and every season. As you mused over
a warm and sunny flavour of a brown soup, your host did not dilate upon
the milder and moonlight beauties of a white one. A gentle dallying with
a whiting, that chicken of the ocean, was not a signal for a panegyric
of the darker attraction of a _matelotte à la royale_. The disappearance
of the first course did not herald a catalogue of discordant dainties.
You were not recommended to neglect the _croquettes_ because the
_boudins_ might claim attention; and while you were crowning your
important labours with a quail you were not reminded that the _pâté de
Troyes_, unlike the less reasonable human race, would feel offended if
it were not cut. Then the wines were few. Some sherry, with a pedigree
like an Arabian, heightened the flavour of the dish, not interfered with
it; as a toady keeps up the conversation which he does not distract. A
goblet of Graffenburg, with a bouquet like woman’s breath, made you,
as you remembered some liquid which it had been your fate to fall
upon, suppose that German wines, like German barons, required some
discrimination, and that hock, like other titles, was not always the
sign of the high nobility of its owner. A glass of claret was the third
grace. But, if we had been there, we should have devoted ourselves
to one of the sparkling sisters; for one wine, like one woman, is
sufficient to interest one’s feelings for four-and-twenty hours.
Fickleness we abhor.
‘I observed you riding to-day with the gentle Leonora, St. James,’ said
Mr. Annesley.
‘No! her sister.’
‘Indeed! Those girls are uncommonly alike. The fact is, now, that
neither face nor figure depends upon nature.’
‘No,’ said Lord Squib; ‘all that the artists of the present day want is
a model. Let a family provide one handsome sister, and the hideousness
of the others will not prevent them, under good management, from being
mistaken, by the best judges, for the beauty, six times in the same
hour.’
‘You are trying, I suppose, to account for your unfortunate error at
Cleverley’s, on Monday, Squib?’ said Lord Darrell, laughing.
‘Pooh! all nonsense.’
‘What was it?’ said Mr. Annesley.
‘Not a word true,’ said Lord Squib, stifling curiosity.
‘I believe it,’ said the Duke, without having heard a syllable. ‘Come,
Darrell, out with it!’
‘It really is nothing very particular, only it is whispered that Squib
said something to Lady Clever-ley which made her ring the bell, and
that he excused himself to his Lordship by protesting that, from their
similarity of dress and manner and strong family likeness, he had
mistaken the Countess for her sister.’
_Omnes_. ‘Well done, Squib! And were you introduced to the right
person?’
‘Why,’ said his Lordship, ‘fortunately I contrived to fall out about the
settlements, and so I escaped.’
‘So the chaste Diana is to be the new patroness?’ said Lord Darrell.
‘So I understand,’ rejoined Mr. Annesley. ‘This is the age of unexpected
appointments.’
‘_On dit_ that when it was notified to the party most interested, there
was a rider to the bill, excluding my Lord’s relations.’
‘Ha, ha, ha,’ faintly laughed Mr. Annesley. ‘What have they been doing
so remarkable?’
‘Nothing,’ said Lord Squib. ‘That is just their fault. They have
every recommendation; but when any member of that family is in a room,
everybody feels so exceedingly sleepy that they all sink to the ground.
That is the reason that there are so many ottomans at Heavyside House.’
‘Is it true,’ asked the Duke, ‘that his Grace really has a flapper?’
‘Unquestionably,’ said Lord Squib. ‘The other day I was announced,
and his attendant was absent. He had left his instrument on a sofa. I
immediately took it up, and touched my Lord upon his hump. I never knew
him more entertaining. He really was quite lively.’
‘But Diana is a favourite goddess of mine,’ said Annesley; ‘taste that
hock.’
‘Superb! Where did you get it?’
‘A present from poor Raffenburg.’
‘Ah! where is he now?’
‘At Paris, I believe.’
‘Paris! and where is she?’
‘I liked Raffenburg,’ said Lord Squib; ‘he always reminded me of a
country innkeeper who supplies you with pipes and tobacco gratis,
provided that you will dine with him.’
‘He had unrivalled meerschaums,’ said Mr. Annesley, ‘and he was most
liberal. There are two. You know I never use them, but they are handsome
furniture.’
‘Those Dalmaines are fine girls,’ said the Duke of St. James.
‘Very pretty creatures! Do you know, Duke,’ said Annesley, ‘I think the
youngest one something like Miss Dacre.’
‘Indeed! I cannot say the resemblance struck me.’
‘I see old mother Dalmaine dresses her as much like the Doncaster belle
as she possibly can.’
‘Yes, and spoils her,’ said Lord Squib; ‘but old mother Dalmaine, with
all her fuss, was ever a bad cook, and overdid everything.’
‘Young Dalmaine, they say,’ observed Lord Darrell, ‘is in a sort of a
scrape.’
‘Ah! what?’
‘Oh! some confusion at head-quarters. A great tallow-chandler’s son got
into the regiment, and committed some heresy at mess.’
‘I do not know the brother,’ said the Duke.
‘You are fortunate, then. He is unendurable. To give you an idea of him,
suppose you met him here (which you never will), he would write to you
the next day, “My dear St. James.”’
‘My tailor presented me his best compliments, the other morning,’ said
the Duke.
‘The world is growing familiar,’ said Mr. Annesley.
‘There must be some remedy,’ said Lord Darrell.
‘Yes!’ said Lord Squib, with indignation. ‘Tradesmen now-a-days console
themselves for not getting their bills paid by asking their customers to
dinner.’
‘It is shocking,’ said Mr. Annesley, with a forlorn air. ‘Do you know,
I never enter society now without taking as many preliminary precautions
as if the plague raged in all our chambers. In vain have I hitherto
prided myself on my existence being unknown to the million. I never now
stand still in a street, lest my portrait be caught for a lithograph;
I never venture to a strange dinner, lest I should stumble upon a
fashionable novelist; and even with all this vigilance, and all this
denial, I have an intimate friend whom I cannot cut, and who, they say,
writes for the Court Journal.’
‘But why cannot you cut him?’ asked Lord Darrell.
‘He is my brother; and, you know, I pride myself upon my domestic
feelings.’
‘Yes!’ said Lord Squib, ‘to judge from what the world says, one would
think, Annesley, you were a Brummel!’
‘Squib, not even in jest couple my name with one whom I will not call a
savage, merely because he is unfortunate.’
‘What did you think of little Eugenie, Annesley, last night?’ asked the
Duke.
‘Well, very well, indeed; something like Brocard’s worst.’
‘I was a little disappointed in her début, and much interested in her
success. She was rather a favourite of mine in Paris, so I invited her
to the Alhambra yesterday, with Claudius Piggott and some more. I had
half a mind to pull you in, but I know you do not much admire Piggott.’
‘On the contrary, I have been in Piggott’s company without being much
offended.’
‘I think Piggott improves,’ said Lord Darrell. ‘It was those waistcoats
which excited such a prejudice against him when he first came over.’
‘What! a prejudice against Peacock Piggott!’ said Lord Squib; ‘pretty
Peacock Piggott! Tell it not in Gath, whisper it not in Ascalon; and,
above all, insinuate it not to Lady de Courcy.’
‘There is not much danger of my insinuating anything to her,’ said Mr.
Annesley.
‘Your compact, I hope, is religiously observed,’ said the Duke.
‘Yes, very well. There was a slight infraction once, but I sent Charles
Fitzroy as an ambassador, and war was not declared.’
‘Do you mean,’ asked Lord Squib, ‘when your cabriolet broke down before
her door, and she sent out to request that you would make yourself quite
at home?’
‘I mean that fatal day,’ replied Mr. Annesley. ‘I afterwards discovered
she had bribed my tiger.’
‘Do you know Eugenie’s sister, St. James?’ asked Lord Darrell.
‘Yes: she is very clever; very popular at Paris. But I like Eugenie,
because she is so good-natured. Her laugh is so hearty.’
‘So it is,’ said Lord Squib. ‘Do you remember that girl at Madrid,
Annesley, who used to laugh so?’
‘What, Isidora? She is coming over.’
‘But I thought it was high treason to plunder the grandees’ dovecotes?’
‘Why, all our regular official negotiations have failed. She is not
permitted to treat with a foreign manager; but the new ambassador has
a secretary, and that secretary has some diplomatic ability, and so
Isidora is to be smuggled over.’
‘In a red box, I suppose,’ said Lord Squib.
‘I rather admire our Adèle,’ said the Duke of St. James. ‘I really think
she dances with more _aplomb_ than any of them.’
‘Oh! certainly; she is a favourite of mine.’
‘But I like that wild little Ducis,’ said Lord Squib. ‘She puts me in
mind of a wild cat.’
‘And Marunia of a Bengal tiger,’ said his Grace.
‘She is a fine woman, though,’ said Lord Darrell.
‘I think your cousin, St. James,’ said Lord Squib, ‘will get into a
scrape with Marunia. I remember Chetwynd telling me, and he was not apt
to complain on that score, that he never should have broken up if it had
not been for her.’
‘But he was an extravagant fellow,’ said Mr. Annesley: ‘he called me in
at his _bouleversement_ for advice, as I have the reputation of a
good economist. I do not know how it is, though I see these things
perpetually happen; but why men, and men of small fortunes, should
commit such follies, really exceeds my comprehension. Ten thousand
pounds for trinkets, and nearly as much for old furniture!’
‘Chetwynd kept it up a good many years, though, I think,’ said Lord
Darrell. ‘I remember going to see his rooms when I first came over. You
recollect his pearl fountain of Cologne water?’
‘Millecolonnes fitted up his place, I think?’ asked the young Duke; ‘but
it was before my time.’
‘Oh! yes; little Bijou,’ said Annesley. ‘He has done you justice, Duke.
I think the Alhambra much the prettiest thing in town.’
‘I was attacked the other day most vigorously by Mrs. Dallington to
obtain a sight,’ said Lord Squib. ‘I referred her to Lucy Grafton. Do
you know, St. James, I have half a strange idea that there is a renewal
in that quarter?’
‘So they say,’ said the Duke; ‘if so, I confess I am surprised.’ But
they remembered Lord Darrell, and the conversation turned.
‘Those are clever horses of Lincoln Graves,’ said Mr. Annesley.
‘Neat cattle, as Bagshot says,’ observed Lord Squib.
‘Is it true that Bag is going to marry one of the Wrekins?’ asked the
Duke.
‘Which?’ asked Lord Squib; ‘not Sophy, surely I thought she was to be
your cousin. I dare say,’ he added, ‘a false report. I suppose, to use
a Bagshotism, his governor wants it; but I should think Lord Cub would
not yet be taken in. By-the-bye, he says you have promised to propose
him at White’s, St. James.’
‘Oppose him, I said,’ rejoined the Duke. ‘Bag really never understands
English. However, I think it as probable that he will lounge there as on
the Treasury bench. That was his “governor’s” last shrewd plan.’
‘Darrell,’ said Lord Squib, ‘is there any chance of my being a
commissioner for anything? It struck me last night that I had never been
in office.’
‘I do not think, Squib, that you ever will be in office, if even you be
appointed.’
‘On the contrary, my good fellow, my punctuality should surprise you. I
should like very much to be a lay lord, because I cannot afford to
keep a yacht, and theirs, they say, are not sufficiently used, for the
Admirals think it spooney, and the landlubbers are always sick.’
‘I think myself of having a yacht this summer,’ said the Duke of St.
James. ‘Be my captain, Squib.’
‘If you be serious I will commence my duties tomorrow.’
‘I am serious. I think it will be amusing. I give you full authority
to do exactly what you like, provided, in two months’ time, I have the
crack vessel in the club.’
‘I begin to press. Annesley, your dinner is so good that you shall be
purser; and Darrell, you are a man of business, you shall be his clerk.
For the rest, I think St. Maurice may claim a place, and----’
‘Peacock Piggott, by all means,’ said the Duke. ‘A gay sailor is quite
the thing.’
‘And Charles Fitzroy,’ said Annesley, ‘because I am under obligations to
him, and promised to have him in my eye.’
‘And Bagshot for a butt,’ said the Duke.
‘And Backbite for a buffoon,’ said Mr. Annesley.
‘And for the rest,’ said the young Duke, ‘the rest of the crew, I vote,
shall be women. The Dalmaines will just do.’
‘And the little Trevors,’ said Lord Darrell.
‘And Long Harrington,’ said Lord Squib. ‘She is my beauty.’
‘And the young Ducie,’ said Annesley. ‘And Mrs. Dallington of course,
and Caroline St. Maurice, and Charlotte Bloomerly; really, she was
dressed most prettily last night; and, above all, the queen bee of the
hive, May Dacre, eh! St. James? And I have another proposition,’ said
Annesley, with unusual animation. ‘May Dacre won the St. Leger, and
ruled the course; and May Dacre shall win the cup, and rule the waves.
Our yacht shall be christened by the Lady Bird of Yorkshire.’
‘What a delightful thing it would be,’ said the Duke of St. James, ‘if,
throughout life, we might always choose our crew; cull the beauties, and
banish the bores.’
‘But that is impossible,’ said Lord Darrell. ‘Every ornament of society
is counterbalanced by some accompanying blur. I have invariably observed
that the ugliness of a chaperon is exactly in proportion to the charms
of her charge; and that if a man be distinguished for his wit, his
appearance, his style, or any other good quality, he is sure to be
saddled with some family or connection, who require all his popularity
to gain them a passport into the crowd.’
‘One might collect an unexceptionable coterie from our present crowd,’
said Mr. Annesley. ‘It would be curious to assemble all the pet lambs of
the flock.’
‘Is it impossible?’ asked the Duke.
‘Burlington is the only man who dare try,’ said Lord Darrell.
‘I doubt whether any individual would have sufficient pluck,’ said Lord
Squib.
‘Yes,’ said the Duke, ‘it must, I think, be a joint-stock company to
share the glory and the odium. Let us do it!’
There was a start, and a silence, broken by Annesley in a low voice:
‘By Heavens it would be sublime, if practicable; but the difficulty does
indeed seem insurmountable.’
‘Why, we would not do it,’ said the young Duke, ‘if it were not
difficult. The first thing is to get a frame for our picture, to hit
upon some happy pretence for assembling in an impromptu style the young
and gay. Our purpose must not be too obvious. It must be something
to which all expect to be asked, and where the presence of all is
impossible; so that, in fixing upon a particular member of a family,
we may seem influenced by the wish that no circle should be neglected.
Then, too, it should be something like a water-party or a fête
champêtre, where colds abound and fits are always caught, so that a
consideration for the old and the infirm may authorise us not to invite
them; then, too----’
_Omnes_. ‘Bravo! bravo! St. James. It shall be! it shall be!’
‘It must be a fête champêtre,’ said Annesley, decidedly, ‘and as far
from town as possible.’
‘Twickenham is at your service,’ said the Duke.
‘Just the place, and just the distance. The only objection is, that, by
being yours, it will saddle the enterprise too much upon you. We must
all bear our share in the uproar, for, trust me, there will be one; but
there are a thousand ways by which our responsibility may be insisted
upon. For instance, let us make a list of all our guests, and then let
one of us act as secretary, and sign the invitations, which shall be
like tickets. No other name need appear, and the hosts will indicate
themselves at the place of rendezvous.’
‘My Lords,’ said Lord Squib, ‘I rise to propose the health of Mr.
Secretary Annesley, and I think if anyone carry the business through, it
will be he.’
‘I accept the trust. At present be silent as night; for we have much to
mature, and our success depends upon our secrecy.’