A Love Story, by a Bushman | Page 7

the Beatrice Cenci of the
Barberini?"
The party were by this time assembled. Besides our immediate friends,
there was his Grace the Duke of Gatten, a good-natured fox-hunting
nobleman, whose estate adjoined Mr. Græme's; there was the Viscount
Chambéry, who had penned a pamphlet on finance--indited a folio on
architecture--and astonished Europe with an elaborate dissertation on
modern cookery; there was Charles Selby, the poet and essayist;
Daintrey, the sculptor--a wonderful Ornithologist--a deep read
Historian--a learned Orientalist--and a novelist, from France; whose
works exhibited such unheard of horrors, and made man and woman so
irremediably vicious, as to make this young gentleman celebrated, even
in Paris--that Babylonian sink of iniquity.
Dinner was announced, and our host, giving his arm very stoically to
Mrs. Glenallan, his love of former days, led the way to the dining-room.
Round the table were placed beautifully carved oaken fauteuils, of a
very old pattern. The service of plate was extremely plain, but of
massive gold. But the lamp! It was of magnificent dimensions! The
light chains hanging from the frescoed ceiling, the links of which were
hardly perceptible, were of silver, manufactured in Venice; the lower
part was of opal-tinted glass, exactly portraying some voluptuous couch,
on which the beautiful Amphitrite might have reclined, as she hastened
through beds of coral to crystal grot, starred with transparent stalactites.
In the centre of this shell, were sockets, whence verged small hollow
golden tubes, resembling in shape and size the stalks of a flower. At the
drooping ends of these, were lamps shaped and coloured to imitate the
most beauteous flowers of the parterre. This bouquet of light had been
designed by Mr. Græme. Few novelties had acquired greater celebrity
than the Græme astrale. The room was warmed by heating the pedestals

of the statues.
"Potage à la fantôme, and à l'ourika."
"I will trouble you, Græme," said my Lord Chambéry, "for the fantôme.
I have dined on la pritannière for the last three months, and a novel
soup is a novel pleasure."
Of the fish, the soles were à la Rowena, the salmon à l'amour. Emily
flirted with the wing of a chicken sauté au suprême, coquetted with
perdrix perdu masqué à la Montmorenci, and tasted a boudin à la
Diebitsch. The wines were excellent--the Geisenheim delicious--the
Champagne sparkling like a pun of Jekyll's. But nothing aroused the
attention of the Viscount Chambéry so much as a liqueur, which Mr.
Græme assured him was new, and had just been sent him by the Conte
de Desir. The dessert had been some time on the table, when the
Viscount addressed his host.
"Græme! I am delighted to find that you at length agree with me as to
the monstrous superiority of a French repast. Your omelette imaginaire
was faultless, and as for your liqueur, I shall certainly order a supply on
my return to Paris."
"That liqueur, my dear lord," replied Mr. Græme, "is good old cowslip
mead, with a flask of Maraschino di Zara infused in it. For the rest, the
dinner has been almost as imaginaire as the omelet. The greater part of
the recipes are in an old English volume in my library, or perhaps some
owe their origin to the fertile invention of my housekeeper. Let us style
them à la Dorothée."
"Capital! I thank you, Græme!" said his Grace of Gatten, as he shook
his host by the hand, till the tears stood in his eyes.
The prescient Chambéry had made a good dinner, and bore the joke
philosophically. Coffee awaited the gentlemen in a small octagonal
chamber, adjoining the music room. There stood Mr. Græme's three
favourite modern statues:--a Venus, by Canova--a Discobole, by
Thorwaldson--and a late acquisition--the Ariadne, of Dannecker.
"This is the work of an artist," said Mr. Græme, "little known in this
country, but in Germany ranking quite as high as Thorwaldson. This is
almost a duplicate of his Ariadne at Frankfort, but the marble is much
more pure. How wonderfully fine the execution! Pray notice the bold
profile of the face; how energetic her action as she sits on the panther!"
Mr. Græme touched the spring of a window frame. A curtain of

crimson gauze fell over a globe lamp, and threw a rich shade on the
marble. The features remained as finely chiselled, but their expression
was totally changed.
They adjourned to the music-room, which deserved its title. Save some
seats, which were artfully formed to resemble lyres, nothing broke the
continuity of music's tones, which ascended majestically to the lofty
dome, there to blend and wreath, and fall again. At one extremity of
music's hall was an organ; at the other a grand piano, built by a German
composer. Ranged on carved slabs, at intermediate distances, was
placed almost every instrument that may claim a votary. Of