The Great Day arrived at last; and Mr. Richard Avenel, from his
dressing-room window, looked on the scene below as Hannibal or Napoleon
looked from the Alps on Italy. It was a scene to gratify the thought of
conquest, and reward the labors of ambition. Placed on a little eminence
stood the singers from the mountains of the Tyrol, their high-crowned
hats and filagree buttons and gay sashes gleaming in the sun. Just seen
from his place of watch, though concealed from the casual eye, the
Hungarian musicians lay in ambush amidst a little belt of laurels and
American shrubs. Far to the right lay what had once been called
(_horresco referens_) the duckpond, where--_Dulce sonant tenui gutture
carmen aves_. But the ruthless ingenuity of the head artificer had
converted the duckpond into a Swiss lake, despite grievous wrong and
sorrow to the _assuetum innocuumque genus_--the familiar and harmless
habitants, who had been all expatriated and banished from their native
waves. Large poles twisted with fir branches, stuck thickly around the
lake, gave to the waters the becoming Helvetian gloom. And here, beside
three cows all bedecked with ribbons, stood the Swiss maidens destined
to startle the shades with the _Ranz des Vaches_. To the left, full upon
the sward, which it almost entirely covered, stretched the great Gothic
marquee, divided into two grand sections--one for the _dancing_, one for
the _dejeune_.
The day was propitious--not a cloud in the sky. The musicians were
already tuning their instruments; figures of waiters--hired of
Gunter--trim and decorous, in black trowsers and white waistcoats,
passed to and fro the space between the house and the marquee. Richard
looked and looked; and as he looked he drew mechanically his razor
across the strop; and when he had looked his fill, he turned reluctantly
to the glass and shaved! All that blessed morning he had been too busy,
till then, to think of shaving.
There is a vast deal of character in the way that a man performs that
operation of shaving! You should have seen Richard Avenel shave! You
could have judged at once how he would shave his neighbors, when you saw
the celerity, the completeness with which he shaved himself--a
forestroke and a backstroke, and _tondenti barba cadebat_! Cheek and
chin were as smooth as glass. You would have buttoned up your pockets
instinctively if you had seen him. But the rest of Mr. Avenel's toilet
was not completed with correspondent dispatch. On his bed, and on his
chairs, and on his sofa, and on his drawers, lay trowsers and vests, and
cravats, enough to distract the choice of a Stoic. And first one pair of
trowsers was tried on, and then another--and one waistcoat, and then a
second, and then a third. Gradually that _chef d'oeuvre_ of
civilization--a _man dressed_--grew into development and form; and,
finally. Mr. Richard Avenel emerged into the light of day. He had been
lucky in his costume--he felt it. It might not suit every one in color
or cut, but it suited him. And this was his garb. On such occasions,
what epic poet would not describe the robe and tunic of a hero?
His surtout--in modern phrase, his frock-coat--was blue, a rich blue, a
blue that the royal brothers of George the Fourth were wont to favor.
And the surtout, single-breasted, was thrown open gallantly; and in the
second button-hole thereof was a moss rose. The vest was white, and the
trowsers a pearl-gray, with what tailors style "a handsome fall over the
boot." A blue and white silk cravat, tied loose and debonair; an ample
field of shirt front, with plain gold studs; a pair of lemon-colored kid
gloves, and a white hat, placed somewhat too knowingly on one side,
complete the description, and "give the world assurance of the man."
And, with his light, firm, well-shaped figure, his clear complexion, his
keen bright eye, and features that bespoke the courage, precision, and
alertness of his character--that is to say, features bold, not large,
well-defined and regular--you might walk long through town or country
before you would see a handsomer specimen of humanity than our friend
Richard Avenel.
Handsome, and feeling that he was handsome; rich, and feeling that he
was rich; lord of the fete, and feeling that he was lord of the fete,
Richard Avenel stepped out upon his lawn.
And now the dust began to rise along the road, and carriages, and gigs,
and chaises, and flies, might be seen at near intervals and in quick
procession. People came pretty much about the same time--as they do in
the country--heaven reward them for it!
Richard Avenel was not quite at his ease at first in receiving his
guests, especially those whom he did not know by sight. But when the
dancing began, and he had secured the fair hand of Mrs. M'Catchley for
the initiatory quadrille, his courage and presence of mind returned to
him; and, seeing that many people whom he had not received at all seemed
to enjoy themselves very much, he gave up the attempt to receive those
who came after,--and that was a great relief to all parties.
Meanwhile Leonard looked on the animated scene with a silent melancholy,
which he in vain endeavored to shake off--a melancholy more common
amongst very young men in such scenes than we are apt to suppose.
Somehow or other the pleasure was not congenial to him; he had no Mrs.
M'Catchley to endear it--he knew very few people--he was shy--he felt
his position with his uncle was equivocal--he had not the habit of
society--he heard incidentally many an ill-natured remark upon his uncle
and the entertainment--he felt indignant and mortified. He had been a
great deal happier eating his radishes, and reading his book, by the
little fountain in Riccabocca's garden. He retired to a quiet part of
the grounds, seated himself under a tree, leant his cheek on his hand,
and mused. He was soon far away;--happy age, when, whatever the present,
the future seems so fair and so infinite!
But now the _dejeune_ had succeeded the earlier dances; and, as
champagne flowed royally, it is astonishing how the entertainment
brightened.
The sun was beginning to slope towards the west, when, during a
temporary cessation of the dance, all the guests had assembled in such
space as the tent left on the lawn, or thickly filled the walks
immediately adjoining it. The gay dresses of the ladies, the joyous
laughter heard every where, and the brilliant sun light over all,
conveyed even to Leonard the notion, not of mere hypocritical pleasure,
but actual healthful happiness. He was attracted from his reverie, and
timidly mingled with the groups. But Richard Avenel, with the fair Mrs.
M'Catchley--her complexion more vivid, and her eyes more dazzling, and
her step more elastic than usual, had turned from the gayety just as
Leonard had turned towards it, and was now on the very spot (remote,
obscure, shaded by the few trees above five years old Mr. Avenel's
property boasted) which the dreamer had deserted.
And then! Ah! then! moment so meet for the sweet question of questions,
place so appropriate for the delicate, bashful, murmured popping
thereof!--suddenly from the sward before, from the groups beyond, there
floated to the ears of Richard Avenel an indescribable mingled ominous
sound--a sound as of a general titter--a horrid, malignant, but low
cachination. And Mrs. M'Catchley, stretching forth her parasol,
exclaimed, "Dear me, Mr. Avenel, what can they be all crowding there
for?"
There are certain sounds and certain sights--the one indistinct, the
other vaguely conjecturable--which, nevertheless, we know by an
instinct, bode some diabolical agency at work in our affairs. And if any
man gives an entertainment, and hears afar a general ill-suppressed
derisive titter, and sees all his guests hurrying towards one spot, I
defy him to remain unmoved and uninquisitive. I defy him still more to
take that precise occasion (however much he may have before designed it)
to drop gracefully on his right knee before the handsomest Mrs.
M'Catchley in the universe, and--pop the question! Richard Avenel
blurted out something very like an oath; and, half guessing that
something must have happened that it would not be pleasing to bring
immediately under the notice of Mrs. M'Catchley, he said, hastily,
"Excuse me! I'll just go and see what is the matter--pray, stay till I
come back." With that he sprang forth; in a minute he was in the midst
of the group, that parted aside with the most obliging complacency to
make way for him.
"But what's the matter?" he asked, impatiently, yet fearfully. Not a
voice answered. He strode on, and beheld his nephew in the arms of a
woman!
"God bless my soul!" said Richard Avenel.