________________________________________________
_ High up in the old carved roof, meanwhile, the spiders of centuries
still hung their flaunting webs with a profusion that old Doctor
Grimshawe would have been ravished to see; but even this was to be
remedied, for one day, on looking in, Redclyffe found the great hall
dim with floating dust, and down through it came great floating masses
of cobweb, out of which the old Doctor would have undertaken to
regenerate the world; and he saw, dimly aloft, men on ladders sweeping
away these accumulations of years, and breaking up the haunts and
residences of hereditary spiders.
The stately old hall had been in process of cleaning and adapting to
the banquet purposes of the nineteenth century, which it was accustomed
to subserve, in so proud a way, in the sixteenth. It was, in the first
place, well swept and cleansed; the painted glass windows were cleansed
from dust, and several panes, which had been unfortunately broken and
filled with common glass, were filled in with colored panes, which the
Warden had picked up somewhere in his antiquarian researches. They were
not, to be sure, just what was wanted; a piece of a saint, from some
cathedral window, supplying what was lacking of the gorgeous purple of
a mediaval king; but the general effect was rich and good, whenever the
misty English atmosphere supplied sunshine bright enough to pervade it.
Tapestry, too, from antique looms, faded, but still gorgeous, was hung
upon the walls. Some suits of armor, that hung beneath the festal
gallery, were polished till the old battered helmets and pierced
breastplates sent a gleam like that with which they had flashed across
the battle-fields of old. [Endnote: 1.]
So now the great day of the Warden's dinner had arrived; and, as may be
supposed, there were fiery times in the venerable old kitchen. The
cook, according to ancient custom, concocted many antique dishes, such
as used to be set before kings and nobles; dainties that might have
called the dead out of their graves; combinations of ingredients that
had ceased to be put together for centuries; historic dishes, which had
long, long ceased to be in the list of revels. Then there was the
stalwart English cheer of the sirloin, and the round; there were the
vast plum-puddings, the juicy mutton, the venison; there was the game,
now just in season,--the half-tame wild fowl of English covers, the
half-domesticated wild deer of English parks, the heathcock from the
far-off hills of Scotland, and one little prairie hen, and some canvas-
back ducks--obtained, Heaven knows how, in compliment to Redclyffe--
from his native shores. O, the old jolly kitchen! how rich the flavored
smoke that went up its vast chimney! how inestimable the atmosphere of
steam that was diffused through it! How did the old men peep into it,
even venture across the threshold, braving the hot wrath of the cook
and his assistants, for the sake of imbuing themselves with these rich
and delicate flavors, receiving them in as it were spiritually; for,
received through the breath and in the atmosphere, it was really a
spiritual enjoyment. The ghosts of ancient epicures seemed, on that day
and the few preceding ones, to haunt the dim passages, snuffing in with
shadowy nostrils the rich vapors, assuming visibility in the congenial
medium, almost becoming earthly again in the strength of their earthly
longings for one other feast such as they used to enjoy.
Nor is it to be supposed that it was only these antique dainties that
the Warden provided for his feast. No; if the cook, the cultured and
recondite old cook, who had accumulated within himself all that his
predecessors knew for centuries,--if he lacked anything of modern
fashion and improvement, he had supplied his defect by temporary
assistance from a London club; and the bill of fare was provided with
dishes that Soyer would not have harshly criticised. The ethereal
delicacy of modern taste, the nice adjustment of flowers, the French
style of cookery, was richly attended to; and the list was long of
dishes with fantastic names, fish, fowl, and flesh; and
_entremets_, and "sweets," as the English call them, and sugared
cates, too numerous to think of.
The wines we will not take upon ourselves to enumerate; but the juice,
then destined to be quaffed, was in part the precious vintages that had
been broached half a century ago, and had been ripening ever since; the
rich and dry old port, so unlovely to the natural palate that it
requires long English seasoning to get it down; the sherry, imported
before these modern days of adulteration; some claret, the Warden said
of rarest vintage; some Burgundy, of which it was the quality to warm
the blood and genialize existence for three days after it was drunk.
Then there was a rich liquid contributed to this department by
Redclyffe himself; for, some weeks since, when the banquet first loomed
in the distance, he had (anxious to evince his sense of the Warden's
kindness) sent across the ocean for some famous Madeira which he had
inherited from the Doctor, and never tasted yet. This, together with
some of the Western wines of America, had arrived, and was ready to be
broached.
The Warden tested these modern wines, and recognized a new flavor, but
gave it only a moderate approbation; for, in truth, an elderly
Englishman has not a wide appreciation of wines, nor loves new things
in this kind more than in literature or life. But he tasted the
Madeira, too, and underwent an ecstasy, which was only alleviated by
the dread of gout, which he had an idea that this wine must bring on,--
and truly, if it were so splendid a wine as he pronounced it, some pain
ought to follow as the shadow of such a pleasure.
As it was a festival of antique date, the dinner hour had been fixed
earlier than is usual at such stately banquets; namely, at six o'clock,
which was long before the dusky hour at which Englishmen love best to
dine. About that period, the carriages drove into the old courtyard of
the Hospital in great abundance; blocking up, too, the ancient portal,
and remaining in a line outside. Carriages they were with armorial
bearings, family coaches in which came Englishmen in their black coats
and white neckcloths, elderly, white-headed, fresh-colored, squat; not
beautiful, certainly, nor particularly dignified, nor very well
dressed, nor with much of an imposing air, but yet, somehow or other,
producing an effect of force, respectability, reliableness, trust,
which is probably deserved, since it is invariably experienced. Cold
they were in deportment, and looked coldly on the stranger, who, on his
part, drew himself up with an extra haughtiness and reserve, and felt
himself in the midst of his enemies, and more as if he were going to do
battle than to sit down to a friendly banquet. The Warden introduced
him, as an American diplomatist, to one or two of the gentlemen, who
regarded him forbiddingly, as Englishmen do before dinner.
Not long after Redclyffe had entered the reception-room, which was but
shortly before the hour appointed for the dinner, there was another
arrival betokened by the clatter of hoofs and grinding wheels in the
courtyard; and then entered a gentleman of different mien from the
bluff, ruddy, simple-minded, yet worldly Englishmen around him. He was
a tall, dark man, with a black moustache and almost olive skin, a
slender, lithe figure, a flexible face, quick, flashing, mobile. His
deportment was graceful; his dress, though it seemed to differ in
little or nothing from that of the gentlemen in the room, had yet a
grace and picturesqueness in his mode of wearing it. He advanced to the
Warden, who received him with distinction, and yet, Redclyffe fancied,
not exactly with cordiality. It seemed to Redclyffe that the Warden
looked round, as if with the purpose of presenting Redclyffe to this
gentleman, but he himself, from some latent reluctance, had turned away
and entered, into conversation with one of the other gentlemen, who
said now, looking at the new-comer, "Are you acquainted with this last
arrival?"
"Not at all," said Redclyffe. "I know Lord Braithwaite by sight,
indeed, but have had no introduction. He is a man, certainly, of
distinguished appearance."
"Why, pretty well," said the gentleman, "but un-English, as also are
his manners. It is a pity to see an old English family represented by
such a person. Neither he, his father, nor grandfather was born among
us; he has far more Italian blood than enough to drown the slender
stream of Anglo-Saxon and Norman. His modes of life, his prejudices,
his estates, his religion, are unlike our own; and yet here he is in
the position of an old English gentleman, possibly to be a peer. You,
whose nationality embraces that of all the world, cannot, I suppose,
understand this English feeling." [Endnote: 2.]
"Pardon me," said Redclyffe, "I can perfectly understand it. An
American, in his feelings towards England, has all the jealousy and
exclusiveness of Englishmen themselves,--perhaps, indeed, a little
exaggerated."
"I beg your pardon," said the Englishman, incredulously, "I think you
cannot possibly understand it!" [Endnote: 3.]
The guests were by this time all assembled, and at the Warden's bidding
they moved from the reception-room to the dining-hall, in some order
and precedence, of which Redclyffe could not exactly discover the
principle, though he found that to himself--in his quality, doubtless,
of Ambassador--there was assigned a pretty high place. A venerable
dignitary of the Church--a dean, he seemed to be--having asked a
blessing, the fair scene of the banquet now lay before the guests,
presenting a splendid spectacle, in the high-walled, antique,
tapestried hall, overhung with the dark, intricate oaken beams, with
the high Gothic windows, through one of which the setting sunbeams
streamed, and showed the figures of kings and warriors, and the old
Braithwaites among them. Beneath and adown the hall extended the long
line of the tables, covered with the snow of the damask tablecloth, on
which glittered, gleamed, and shone a good quality of ancient ancestral
plate, and an _epergne_ of silver, extending down the middle; also
the gleam of golden wine in the decanters; and truly Redclyffe thought
that it was a noble spectacle, made so by old and stately associations,
which made a noble banquet of what otherwise would be only a vulgar
dinner. The English have this advantage and know how to make use of it.
They bring--in these old, time-honored feasts--all the past to sit down
and take the stately refreshment along with them, and they pledge the
historic characters in their wine.
A printed bill of fare, in gold letters, lay by each plate, on which
Redclyffe saw the company glancing with great interest. The first dish,
of course, was turtle soup, of which--as the gentleman next him, the
Mayor of a neighboring town, told Redclyffe--it was allowable to take
twice. This was accompanied, according to one of those rules which one
knows not whether they are arbitrary or founded on some deep reason, by
a glass of punch. Then came the noble turbot, the salmon, the sole, and
divers of fishes, and the dinner fairly set in. The genial Warden
seemed to have given liberal orders to the attendants, for they spared
not to offer hock, champagne, sherry, to the guests, and good bitter
ale, foaming in the goblet; and so the stately banquet went on, with
somewhat tedious magnificence; and yet with a fulness of effect and
thoroughness of sombre life that made Redclyffe feel that, so much
importance being assigned to it,--it being so much believed in,--it was
indeed a feast. The cumbrous courses swept by, one after another; and
Redclyffe, finding it heavy work, sat idle most of the time, regarding
the hall, the old decaying beams, the armor hanging beneath the
galleries, and these Englishmen feasting where their fathers had
feasted for so many ages, the same occasion, the same men, probably, in
appearance, though the black coat and the white neckcloth had taken the
place of ruff, embroidered doublet, and the magnificence of other ages.
After all, the English have not such good things to eat as we in
America, and certainly do not know better how to make them palatable.
[Endnote: 4.]
Well; but by and by the dinner came to a conclusion, as regarded the
eating part; the cloth was withdrawn; a dessert of fruits, fresh and
dried, pines, hothouse grapes, and all candied conserves of the Indies,
was put on the long extent of polished mahogany. There was a tuning up
of musicians, an interrogative drawing of fiddle-bows, and other
musical twangs and puffs; the decanters opposite the Warden and his
vice-president,--sherry, port, Redclyffe's Madeira, and claret, were
put in motion along the table, and the guests filled their glasses for
the toast which, at English dinner-tables, is of course the first to be
honored,--the Queen. Then the band struck up the good old anthem, "God
save the Queen," which the whole company rose to their feet to sing. It
was a spectacle both interesting and a little ludicrous to Redclyffe,--
being so apart from an American's sympathies, so unlike anything that
he has in his life or possibilities,--this active and warm sentiment of
loyalty, in which love of country centres, and assimilates, and
transforms itself into a passionate affection for a person, in whom
they love all their institutions. To say the truth, it seemed a happy
notion; nor could the American--while he comforted himself in the pride
of his democracy, and that he himself was a sovereign--could he help
envying it a little, this childlike love and reverence for a person
embodying all their country, their past, their earthly future. He felt
that it might be delightful to have a sovereign, provided that
sovereign were always a woman,--and perhaps a young and fine one. But,
indeed, this is not the difficulty, methinks, in English institutions
which the American finds it hardest to deal with. We could endure a
born sovereign, especially if made such a mere pageant as the English
make of theirs. What we find it hardest to conceive of is, the
satisfaction with which Englishmen think of a race above them, with
privileges that they cannot share, entitled to condescend to them, and
to have gracious and beautiful manners at their expense; to be kind,
simple, unpretending, because these qualities are more available than
haughtiness; to be specimens of perfect manhood;--all these advantages
in consequence of their position. If the peerage were a mere name, it
would be nothing to envy; but it is so much more than a name; it
enables men to be really so superior. The poor, the lower classes,
might bear this well enough; but the classes that come next to the
nobility,--the upper middle classes,--how they bear it so lovingly is
what must puzzle the American. But probably the advantage of the
peerage is the less perceptible the nearer it is looked at.
It must be confessed that Redclyffe, as he looked at this assembly of
peers and gentlemen, thought with some self-gratulation of the
probability that he had within his power as old a rank, as desirable a
station, as the best of them; and that if he were restrained from
taking it, it would probably only be by the democratic pride that made
him feel that he could not, retaining all his manly sensibility, accept
this gewgaw on which the ages--his own country especially--had passed
judgment, while it had been suspended over his head. He felt himself,
at any rate, in a higher position, having the option of taking this
rank, and forbearing to do so, than if he took it. [Endnote: 5.]
After this ensued a ceremony which is of antique date in old English
corporations and institutions, at their high festivals. It is called
the Loving Cup. A sort of herald or toast-master behind the Warden's
chair made proclamation, reciting the names of the principal guests,
and announcing to them, "The Warden of the Braithwaite Hospital drinks
to you in a Loving Cup"; of which cup, having sipped, or seemed to sip
(for Redclyffe observed that the old drinkers were rather shy of it) a
small quantity, he sent it down the table. Its progress was accompanied
with a peculiar entanglement of ceremony, one guest standing up while
another drinks, being pretty much as follows. First, each guest
receiving it covered from the next above him, the same took from the
silver cup its silver cover; the guest drank with a bow to the Warden
and company, took the cover from the preceding guest, covered the cup,
handed it to the next below him, then again removed the cover, replaced
it after the guest had drunk, who, on his part, went through the same
ceremony. And thus the cup went slowly on its way down the stately
hall; these ceremonies being, it is said, originally precautions
against the risk, in wild times, of being stabbed by the man who was
drinking with you, or poisoned by one who should fail to be your
taster. The cup was a fine, ancient piece of plate, massive, heavy,
curiously wrought with armorial bearings, in which the leopard's head
appeared. Its contents, so far as Redclyffe could analyze them by a
moderate sip, appeared to be claret, sweetened, with spices, and,
however suited to the peculiarity of antique palates, was not greatly
to Redclyffe's taste. [Endnote: 6.]
Redclyffe's companion just below him, while the Loving Cup was
beginning its march, had been explaining the origin of the custom as a
defence of the drinker in times of deadly feud; when it had reached
Lord Braithwaite, who drank and passed it to Redclyffe covered, and
with the usual bow, Redclyffe looked into his Lordship's Italian eyes
and dark face as he did so, and the thought struck him, that, if there
could possibly be any use in keeping up this old custom, it might be so
now; for, how intimated he could hardly tell, he was sensible in his
deepest self of a deadly hostility in this dark, courteous, handsome
face. He kept his eyes fixed on his Lordship as he received the cup,
and felt that in his own glance there was an acknowledgment of the
enmity that he perceived, and a defiance, expressed without visible
sign, and felt in the bow with which they greeted one another. When
they had both resumed their seats, Redclyffe chose to make this
ceremonial intercourse the occasion of again addressing him.
"I know not whether your Lordship is more accustomed than myself to
these stately ceremonials," said he.
"No," said Lord Braithwaite, whose English was very good. "But this is
a good old ceremony, and an ingenious one; for does it not twine us
into knotted links of love--this Loving Cup--like a wreath of
Bacchanals whom I have seen surrounding an antique vase. Doubtless it
has great efficacy in entwining a company of friendly guests into one
affectionate society."
"Yes; it should seem so," replied Redclyffe, with a smile, and again
meeting those black eyes, which smiled back on him. "It should seem so,
but it appears that the origin of the custom was quite different, and
that it was as a safeguard to a man when he drank with his enemy. What
a peculiar flavor it must have given to the liquor, when the eyes of
two deadly foes met over the brim of the Loving Cup, and the drinker
knew that, if he withdrew it, a dagger would be in his heart, and the
other watched him drink, to see if it was poison!"
"Ah!" responded his Lordship, "they had strange fashions in those rough
old times. Nowadays, we neither stab, shoot, nor poison. I scarcely
think we hate except as interest guides us, without malevolence."
This singular conversation was interrupted by a toast, and the rising
of one of the guests to answer it. Several other toasts of routine
succeeded; one of which, being to the honor of the old founder of the
Hospital, Lord Braithwaite, as his representative, rose to reply,--
which he did in good phrases, in a sort of eloquence unlike that of the
Englishmen around him, and, sooth to say, comparatively unaccustomed as
he must have been to the use of the language, much more handsomely than
they. In truth, Redclyffe was struck and amused with the rudeness, the
slovenliness, the inartistic quality of the English speakers, who
rather seemed to avoid grace and neatness of set purpose, as if they
would be ashamed of it. Nothing could be more ragged than these
utterances which they called speeches; so patched, and darned; and yet,
somehow or other--though dull and heavy as all which seemed to inspire
them--they had a kind of force. Each man seemed to have the faculty of
getting, after some rude fashion, at the sense and feeling that was in
him; and without glibness, without smoothness, without form or
comeliness, still the object with which each one rose to speak was
accomplished,--and what was more remarkable, it seemed to be
accomplished without the speaker's having any particular plan for doing
it. He was surprised, too, to observe how loyally every man seemed to
think himself bound to speak, and rose to do his best, however unfit
his usual habits made him for the task. Observing this, and thinking
how many an American would be taken aback and dumbfounded by being
called on for a dinner speech, he could not but doubt the correctness
of the general opinion, that Englishmen are naturally less facile of
public speech than our countrymen.
"You surpass your countrymen," said Redclyffe, when his Lordship
resumed his seat, amid rapping and loud applause.
"My countrymen? I scarcely know whether yon mean the English or
Italians," said Lord Braithwaite. "Like yourself, I am a hybrid, with
really no country, and ready to take up with any."
"I have a country,--one which I am little inclined to deny," replied
Redclyffe, gravely, while a flush (perhaps of conscientious shame) rose
to his brow.
His Lordship bowed, with a dark Italian smile, but Redclyffe's
attention was drawn away from the conversation by a toast which the
Warden now rose to give, and in which he found himself mainly
concerned. With a little preface of kind words (not particularly aptly
applied) to the great and kindred country beyond the Atlantic, the
worthy Warden proceeded to remark that his board was honored, on this
high festival, with a guest from that new world; a gentleman yet young,
but already distinguished in the councils of his country; the bearer,
he remarked, of an honored English name, which might well claim to be
remembered here, and on this occasion, although he had understood from
his friend that the American bearers of this name did not count kindred
with the English ones. This gentleman, he further observed, with
considerable flourish and emphasis, had recently been called from his
retirement and wanderings into the diplomatic service of his country,
which he would say, from his knowledge, the gentleman was well
calculated to honor. He drank the health of the Honorable Edward
Redclyffe, Ambassador of the United States to the Court of Hohen-
Linden.
Our English cousins received this toast with the kindest enthusiasm, as
they always do any such allusion to our country; it being a festal
feeling, not to be used except on holidays. They rose, with glass in
hand, in honor of the Ambassador; the band struck up "Hail, Columbia";
and our hero marshalled his thoughts as well as he might for the
necessary response; and when the tumult subsided he arose.
His quick apprehending had taught him something of the difference of
taste between an English and an American audience at a dinner-table; he
felt that there must be a certain looseness, and carelessness, and
roughness, and yet a certain restraint; that he must not seem to aim at
speaking well, although, for his own ambition, he was not content to
speak ill; that, somehow or other, he must get a heartiness into his
speech; that he must not polish, nor be too neat, and must come with a
certain rudeness to his good points, as if he blundered on them, and
were surprised into them. Above all, he must let the good wine and
cheer, and all that he knew and really felt of English hospitality, as
represented by the kind Warden, do its work upon his heart, and speak
up to the extent of what he felt--and if a little more, then no great
harm--about his own love for the father-land, and the broader grounds
of the relations between the two countries. On this system, Redclyffe
began to speak; and being naturally and habitually eloquent, and of
mobile and ready sensibilities, he succeeded, between art and nature,
in making a speech that absolutely delighted the company, who made the
old hall echo, and the banners wave and tremble, and the board shake,
and the glasses jingle, with their rapturous applause. What he said--or
some shadow of it, and more than he quite liked to own--was reported in
the county paper that gave a report of the dinner; but on glancing over
it, it seems not worth while to produce this eloquent effort in our
pages, the occasion and topics being of merely temporary interest.
Redclyffe sat down, and sipped his claret, feeling a little ashamed of
himself, as people are apt to do after a display of this kind.
"You know the way to the English heart better than I do," remarked his
Lordship, after a polite compliment to the speech. "Methinks these dull
English are being improved in your atmosphere. The English need a
change every few centuries,--either by immigration of new stock, or
transportation of the old,--or else they grow too gross and earthly,
with their beef, mutton, and ale. I think, now, it might benefit both
countries, if your New England population were to be reciprocally
exchanged with an equal number of Englishmen. Indeed, Italians might do
as well."
"I should regret," said Redclyffe, "to change the English, heavy as
they are."
"You are an admirable Englishman," said his Lordship. "For my part, I
cannot say that the people are very much to my taste, any more than
their skies and climate, in which I have shivered during the two years
that I have spent here."
Here their conversation ceased; and Redclyffe listened to a long train
of speechifying, in the course of which everybody, almost, was toasted;
everybody present, at all events, and many absent. The Warden's old
wine was not spared; the music rang and resounded from the gallery; and
everybody seemed to consider it a model feast, although there were no
very vivid signs of satisfaction, but a decorous, heavy enjoyment, a
dull red heat of pleasure, without flame. Soda and seltzer-water, and
coffee, by and by were circulated; and at a late hour the company began
to retire.
Before taking his departure, Lord Braithwaite resumed his conversation
with Redclyffe, and, as it appeared, with the purpose of making a
hospitable proposition.
"I live very much alone," said he, "being insulated from my neighbors
by many circumstances,--habits, religion, and everything else
peculiarly English. If you are curious about old English modes of life,
I can show you, at least, an English residence, little altered within a
century past. Pray come and spend a week with me before you leave this
part of the country. Besides, I know the court to which you are
accredited, and can give you, perhaps, useful information about it."
Redclyffe looked at him in some surprise, and with a nameless
hesitation; for he did not like his Lordship, and had fancied, in
truth, that there was a reciprocal antipathy. Nor did he yet feel that
he was mistaken in this respect; although his Lordship's invitation was
given in a tone of frankness, and seemed to have no reserve, except
that his eyes did not meet his like Anglo-Saxon eyes, and there seemed
an Italian looking out from within the man. But Redclyffe had a sort of
repulsion within himself; and he questioned whether it would be fair to
his proposed host to accept his hospitality, while he had this secret
feeling of hostility and repugnance,--which might be well enough
accounted for by the knowledge that he secretly entertained hostile
interests to their race, and half a purpose of putting them in force.
And, besides this,--although Redclyffe was ashamed of the feeling,--he
had a secret dread, a feeling that it was not just a safe thing to
trust himself in this man's power; for he had a sense, sure as death,
that he did not wish him well, and had a secret dread of the American.
But he laughed within himself at this feeling, and drove it down. Yet
it made him feel that there could be no disloyalty in accepting his
Lordship's invitation, because it was given in as little friendship as
it would be accepted.
"I had almost made my arrangements for quitting the neighborhood," said
he, after a pause; "nor can I shorten the week longer which I had
promised to spend with my very kind friend, the Warden. Yet your
Lordship's kindness offers we a great temptation, and I would gladly
spend the next ensuing week at Braithwaite Hall."
"I shall expect you, then," said Lord Braithwaite. "You will find me
quite alone, except my chaplain,--a scholar, and a man of the world,
whom you will not be sorry to know."
He bowed and took his leave, without shaking hands, as an American
would have thought it natural to do, after such a hospitable agreement;
nor did Redclyffe make any motion towards it, and was glad that his
Lordship had omitted it. On the whole, there was a secret
dissatisfaction with himself; a sense that he was not doing quite a
frank and true thing in accepting this invitation, and he only made
peace with himself on the consideration that Lord Braithwaite was as
little cordial in asking the visit as he in acceding to it. _
Read next: CHAPTER XX
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