The day fixed for the grand festival was at this period drawing near; the number invited increased daily, while the temple only occupied the same space of ground. The places were measured to an inch, and it was found that it would just hold fifty-four with ease, or sixty if they were packed like sardines in a tin box. The number was therefore limited to fifty. To do the thing well for such a party in the Crimea, required both judgment and perseverance. In the intervals between the hours of duty, I laid out my plans, how I should not only please, but also astonish my illustrious guests. A number of regiments were daily leaving; and this caused fresh invitations to be made and issued, in order to fill up the vacancies. At last the day arrived. The morning was very wet, and the sky clouded; two of my men were ill, as was usually the case when anything of importance was about to take place; and consequently the commencement was inauspicious. Owing to the rain, to my great annoyance, the muddy soil of the Crimea accumulated in the hut, caused by the ingress and egress of half-a-dozen soldiers, who had been kindly granted for a few hours to fetch some green plants from a distant ravine to ornament my fête champêtre and harmonical soirée. It was nevertheless very refreshing to see for the first time on the rocky summit of Cathcart’s Hill the green branches of the valley and the wild flowers of the fields. In less than two hours, the entrance of the villarette, which before only presented the appearance of a comfortable lucifer match box, or fifth-rate kiosque à la Turque, assumed quite a rural aspect. My six brave fellows had mounted, not to the assault, but on ladders and cross-beams, those indispensable ornaments in such a villarette, and, as if by enchantment, had transformed it into a perfumed bosquet, or retreat worthy of the goddess Flora. Bunches of flowers, wild lilac, green branches, and evergreens were profusely spread all over both the interior and the exterior of my villarette. These were interspersed with small flags—red, blue, green, and yellow paper lanterns. These decorations gave it quite a fairy appearance. Wax lights were profusely distributed all round; and in the centre hung a chandelier of original shape, constructed by the celebrated Tom Shell-proof, of Snow-hill, London. The entrance was ornamented by a bold bunch of evergreens and many-coloured flowers. Twelve glass lamps, procured at an immense expense for this occasion only, were carefully cleaned, trimmed, and hung along the front and roof of the hut. They had been painted in blue stripes with ultramarine, by the celebrated theatrical artist, Corporal Stainer. By twelve o’clock the interior was finished—tables, benches, sideboards and all. The only thing to be done was to clear out about half a ton of mud, as that sadly interfered with the general appearance of the now enchanting spot.
All was progressing satisfactorily in the cooking department; the weather began to clear up, and at length everything seemed to smile upon my final and most difficult undertaking. Had this festival proved a failure, my guests, who would, no doubt, have been polite enough not to say anything on the point before me, must have formed a very unfavourable opinion of my gastronomic knowledge, which I should not have had another chance of retrieving. It was therefore of the utmost importance that a failure should not occur, or even be thought of. To my sorrow, I suddenly perceived that the turf which had been freshly put down a few days previous in my grand green grass-plot and avenue had turned quite yellow, from the effects of a burning sun. My outside illumination—viz., lamps made out of ration fat, which then could only be obtained by purchase (the soldiers knowing the value of it)—would not consequently produce the effect I intended—the reflection of light upon the green turf. Ambitious as I was of producing quite a novel impression upon the minds of my guests, I felt much vexed at this failure. While deeply pondering over the affair, in walked Colonel de Bathe, with a most extraordinary long face. He said, “You see me quite in despair: we have lost Major Neville and his brother, two of our best madrigal singers, and I really do not think we can sing at all. You have spoken so highly of our singing-club, and the company you have invited will all be disappointed.”
“Do come, colonel,” I replied, “and, if necessary, I will sing myself.”
“I will come; but we shall be very imperfect.”
“Never mind: we will make up for that by wit, bon-mots, and frolic.”
I succeeded in reassuring the worthy colonel, and he left, promising to come early. A few minutes afterwards, a man entered, and informed me that I could not have the knives, forks, crockery, glasses, &c., which Mr. Crockford had promised, as they had not been returned from Kamara. He added that they would probably be back in the evening or early the next morning. The French rolls I had ordered at Little Kamiesch the day before could not be made in time, and the baker sent to know if common bread would not do as well. “I should think it would,” said I, in no pleasant mood. No more American ice was to be had at Kamiesch; and this was indispensable for the crowning triumph of the affair, upon which I relied so much—viz., my new cup à la Marmora. There were, in addition, innumerable culinary vexations. It was by no means certain that the promised band from the Rifles would favour me by attending, as Lord Alexander Russell was absent, and General Garrett did not like to grant the necessary permission in his absence, and no one knew when his lordship would return.
Let me observe, the way I first saw the grass turn was not under the influence of my friend, merry champagne. Not at all; but it had playfully acted upon my mind, and given me an entirely new and original idea. No matter how ridiculous it may appear to my reader, it was original. This was to go to the theatre and get a pot of opal green colour, and set some military artists to paint the grass, which was quickly done to perfection. In fact, it was so well executed, that the horses picketed near were actually taken in, and played all manner of capers to get loose and have a feed. My guests were astonished, and could not account for the sudden change, having noticed how brown it looked in the morning. Well, reader, what think you followed this sudden bright green inspiration? Why, the arrival of the crockery, &c., bread, and the American ice, two fresh waiters, and Mr. Crockford’s cook, who rendered great assistance.
Twilight was conquered by ration fat, lampion-shells were profusely and artistically placed on the then green grass, tables sumptuously laid out, the chandelier and wax lights ignited, the globe lamps in front of the villarette blazing in volcanic splendour, the band of the Rifles playing, and the noble company as nobly arriving. O Vatel! you felt gloriously, for your banquet had succeeded; and while your wealthy patron, the Prince de Condé, was receiving from Louis XIV. the praise due to your genius, you were no more. All honour to your manes! I, like you, immortal Vatel, had all the horrors of an unexpected failure before my eyes. The idea of suicide did not come into my mind, as it did to yours, noble defunct and incomparable chef! probably because I had not the honour of wearing the sword of the courtier. Though I had a stock of guns, swords, bayonets, &c., the idea of suicide never struck me, inasmuch as all these weapons were taken as trophies from the Russians, who were now friends and brothers, and those emblems of carnage would have been disgraced if soiled with the blood of so humble an individual as myself. On the contrary, though inclined to despair, I lost no time, but opened a bottle of champagne for a friend who had just popped in. At the second glass—mirabile dictu!—the thick curtain which shaded my brow vanished; the unsightly brown grass turned green, and everything appeared couleur de rose; and though no material amelioration had yet taken place, I felt that success was certain. Nil desperandum! How many men who have ceased to live through an anticipated failure would now be living had they struggled against adverse fate, and not been led away by the dread of an imaginary evil!