A truly busy week was spent by me in preparations for departure: as I had to be presented at a private audience of the Court, to wait upon various high official personages, to receive instructions on many points, and, lastly, to preside at a parting dinner which I was to give to my literary brethren, before retiring from the guild forever.
Last dinners and leave-takings are generally sad affairs; this of mine was, however, an exception: it was a perfect orgie of wild and enthusiastic gayety. All the beauty which the theatres and the “artiste” class generally could boast, was united with the brilliancy and convivial excellence of the cleverest men in Paris,—the professional sayers of smart things, the ready-witted ones, whose epigrams were sufficient to smash a cabinet, or laugh down a new treaty; and all in high spirits, since what promoted me, also left a vacancy in the corps that gave many others a step in the ranks of letters.
What speeches were made in my honor, what toasts, prefaced by all the exaggeration of praise that would have been fulsome, save for the lurking diablerie of fun that every now and then burst forth in the midst of them! And then there were odes, and sonnets, and songs, in which my future achievements were pictured in a vein half-flattering, half-satirical,—that peculiar eau sucré, with a squeeze of lemon, that only a Frenchman knows how to concoct!
During one of my most triumphant moments, when two of the very prettiest actresses of the “Odéon” were placing a laurel crown upon my brow, a cabinet-messenger was announced, and presented me with an order to repair at once to the Tuileries with my official letter of appointment, as his Majesty, by some accident, had forgotten to append to it his signature. Apologizing to my worthy friends for a brief absence, which they assured me should be devoted to expatiating on those virtues of my character which my presence interdicted them from enlarging upon, I arose, and left the room. It was necessary to arrange the disorder of my dress and appearance, and I made a hurried dressing, bathing my temples in cold water, and composing myself, so far as might be, into a condition fit to meet the eyes of royalty,—two of my friends accompanying me the while, and lending their assistance to my toilet. They at length pronounced me perfect, and I drove off.
Although already past midnight, the King, with several members of the royal family, were seated at tea: two of the ministers, a few general officers, and a foreign ambassador being of the party.
Into this circle, in which there was nothing to inspire awe, save the actual rank of the illustrious personages themselves, I was now introduced by the Minister of War. “Le Comte de Creganne, please your Majesty,” said he, twice, ere the King heard him.
“Ah, very true,” said the King, turning round, and, with a smile of most cordial expression, adding, “My dear Count, it seems I had forgotten to sign your appointment,—a mistake that might have caused you some inconvenience and delay at Algiers. Pray let me amend this piece of forgetfulness.”
I bowed respectfully, and deposited before him the great square envelope, with the huge official seal annexed, that contained my nomination.