ODE TO A DINNER-GONG
"The tocsin of the soul--the dinner-bell."
So said, admiringly, the late Lord Byron, But he had never heard _your_ noisy knell, O blatant bellowing thing of bra.s.s or iron, Or surely he had metrically cursed Your nerve-distracting Corybantic clangour.
Would his fine indignation could have versed My utter hate, my agonising anger.
Alas! is gusto then so great a sin, Is feeding man so terrible a sinner That such a worse than _Duncan_-raising din Must summon him to--dinner?
[Ill.u.s.tration: DOWN A PEG.--_Mr. Gifted Hopkins (minor poet, essayist, critic, golfer, fin-de-siecle idol, &c.)._ "Oh, Mrs. Smart--a--I"ve been thinking, for the last twenty minutes, of something to say to you!"
_Mrs. Smart (cheerfully)._ "Please go on thinking, Mr. Hopkins,--and I"ll go on talking to Professor Brayne in the meantime."]
[Ill.u.s.tration: PAST AND PRESENT.--_Serious and much-married man._ "My dear friend, I _was_ astonished to hear of _your_ dining at Madame Troisetoiles!--a "woman with a past" you know!"
_The Friend_ (_bachelor "unattached"_). "Well, you see, old man, she got a first-rate _chef_, so it isn"t her "past," but her "re-past" that _I_ care about."]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A CONNOISSEUR.--_Sir Pompey Bedell._ "This bottle of Romanee-conti seems rather cloudy, Brown! It _ought_ to be all right. I know it stands me in _twelve guineas a dozen_!"
_The New Butler._ "There certainly _his_ some sediment, Sir Pompey; but it"s of no consequence whatever! I tried a bottle of it _myself_ the other day, and found it first-rate!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: A PIOUS FRAUD!
"Hullo, Monty, what have you got in your b.u.t.ton-hole? You don"t mean to say you"ve joined the blue ribbon army?"
"Yes; for this night only. Going to dine with Jakes. Don"t want to hurt poor old Jakes" feelings--don"t want to be poisoned by his beastly wine.
See?"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: IN THE DAYS OF THE CRINOLINE--DINING UNDER DIFFICULTIES]
[Ill.u.s.tration: REPLETION.--_Robert._ "Pudding or cheese, sir?"
_Abstracted Editor._ "Owing to pressure of other matter, "regret we are unable to find room for it!"]
[Ill.u.s.tration: _Brown_ (_who has been dining at the club with Jones_).
"Just come in a minute, old fellow, and have a night-cap."
_Jones._ "I"m afraid it"s getting a little late. Let"s see how"s the enemy."
_Brown._ "Oh! that"s all right. _She"s_ in bed."]
[Ill.u.s.tration: INNOCENTS IN THE CITY
_Mrs. Fitznoodle_ (_evidently not well versed in the delicacies of a Guildhall feast_). "Freddy, dear, can you tell me what _is_ the difference between "calipash" and "calipee"?"
_Colonel Fitznoodle_ (_hesitating, and looking round for an answer_). "Certainly, my dear. Exactly the difference there is between "Gog" and "Magog"!"]
DINNERS AND DINERS
(_With apologies to the P-ll M-ll G-z-tte_)
It had been my good fortune to give to Mademoiselle Faustine, a charming little actress, a tip for the Welter Plate last spring. What more natural than that I should ask her to give me a dinner as some slight return? She readily accepted, and asked me to name the day. Glancing at the sixth volume of my engagement book, I found my first vacant date was June 18, "97. This was fortunate, as it is hardly possible--except at Voisin"s--to get a decent dinner unless you order it a year in advance.
"Where shall we dine?" asked Faustine.
"There is only one place where people _do_ dine," I answered, a little reproachfully. "The Bon Marche. I will order the dinner."
So the place and the date were fixed.
As Faustine was a quarter of an hour late--I had not seen her since our arrangement--I waited in the alabaster portico of the Bon Marche, chatting amiably to the courteous commissionaire, an old comrade of mine in the Wimbledon days. Jules, the courteous _chef_, was _au desespoir_.
Why had I not given him more notice? Madame was fifteen minutes late. If he had only known! In a year and fifteen minutes it is possible to cook a dinner. In a year--no. I tried to calm the worthy fellow--an old ally of mine in the Crimean war. In vain; he complained the sardines were spoiling. So I went into the dining-room, nodding courteously to eight princes of the blood, neither of whom appeared, for the moment, to recognise me.
As I seated myself, the entire staff, headed by a bra.s.s band, brought me my _sardines a l"huile_. These are a _specialite_ of the house, and are never--should never be, at least--eaten with the tin. The _potage a la pota.s.se_ was quite excellent. I congratulated the courteous _chef_, pointing out to him the desirability of mixing, sometimes, a little anti-pyrine into the pota.s.sium--both drugs far too rarely used in modern cookery. Then came the question of wine. This I solved for the moment by ordering two Jeroboams of Stereoscopic Company et Fils; a _cuvee_ of "80, absolutely _reservee_ for my own use. As I had engaged the entire staff of waiters, a crown prince, who was entertaining one of our leading bicyclists, rose to leave, with his guest. I smiled and nodded to them as they pa.s.sed, which appeared to hasten their departure.
The _moulin a vent_ was delicious, but the _dindon decousu_ I could not pa.s.s. No self-respecting _gourmet_ will pa.s.s everything at a dinner.
Gontran, the kindly _maitre d"hotel_, was almost in tears, but I consoled him by observing that the ostriches were cooked to a turn, and the _bombe glacee a l"anarchiste_ faultless.
But my hostess? Where was she? Where was Mademoiselle Faustine? I had quite forgotten her! I beckoned to Hagenbock, the press representative of the restaurant, who informed me she had been dead eight months! I, who read nothing but menus, had omitted to notice this in the papers. I was greatly pained. The shock unnerved me--I could eat no more. Besides, who was now to pay the bill?
I reproduce the bill.
Couverts, 5. Diners, 36 8_s._ Pain, 2_s._ Champagne, 47. Liqueurs, 15_s._ Addition, 3_s._
In all, 89 8_s._--(This is one of the few restaurants where a charge is made for the addition.)
"Make out the bill," said I, "in francs, and send it to the executors of Mademoiselle Faustine."
II.