“But that must be remedied,” he said. “I will see to it that that is remedied. How I wish he was here to-night, for he glories in the splendour of such houses as yours. Ah, excuse me, but I think the Princess is attempting to catch your eye. I could quarrel with her for that.”
He made his formal bow to her, with heels clicked together as they all rose, and waited napkin in hand while the ladies passed out. The information he had gained from her was not in itself of very great importance, but it served to confirm, in its small manner, the conclusion to which more solid evidence had brought him, namely, that the country was on the verge of serious disturbances. Then his host came round the table and recommended another glass of port before a cigar.
All that evening Aline Gurtner walked upon air. There could be no comparison between this entertainment and that given by any other hostess in London, because none came within measurable distance of it: from this colossal foreground all else retired into remote horizons. Thanks to her audacious wisdom in only asking in quite a few after-dinner guests, the concert never lost a charming air of informality, and it appeared merely as if among her guests there just happened to be a few people who sang, a world-wide composer who conducted a first performance of one of his compositions for the band, who (most conveniently) happened to be stationed on the raised dais at one end of the largest ball-room in London. When Kuhlmann’s turn came, he merely left the sofa on which he was sitting with Lady Grote, and returned there when he had sung: Saalfeld made a little bow to the Princess, when he was wanted to conduct his symphonic poem, and she promised to keep his place for him, which she did, though allowing Lady Gurtner to occupy it while he was on the platform.
A ten minutes’ interval was necessary for the band to bestow themselves in the gallery, while curtains were drawn across the stage for the erection of the scenery for Endymion, and people got up and moved about and were attracted into fresh groupings. Then the first magical chords sounded, and in the depth of Bakst’s forest, with its monstrous flowers and its erotic trees, the intoxicating little drama full of boundings and gestures and postures of suggested and veiled lasciviousness, stripped off the broadcloth lendings of civilization and Grundyism and swept everyone back under the spell of a pagan and Hellenic night. Satyrs and Hamadryads lurked behind the trees, eyes gleamed from behind the flowers, limbs burned behind the leaves, and when it was over and the lights were turned up again, Lady Gurtner’s guests felt that their souls had come out of them, and joined the invisible watchers who peopled the enchanted woods. The first impulse was not to applaud, but to be sure that you had all your clothes on....
So much cerebral excitement had, of course, produced a desire for further sustenance, and at the conclusion of this there was something substantial ready in the dining-room, where for the long table had been substituted a quantity of small round tables. It was still barely after midnight, and after the departure of the Princess, most of the guests dispersed in quest of some ball until it was time to eat again and eventually go to bed about four in the morning; for the last days of the London season had come, and there was nothing more important in the world than to escape missing anything that might amuse. Very soon now would come the annual dispersal, and the more healthy and active would be invigorating themselves on moor and Highland river, while the gouty and dyspeptic would seek the restoration necessary to enable them to renew their youth and appetites by the sad waters of Marienbad. Others would make little imitation Londons on the East coast, others would flock to Baireuth and Munich, and all would do their very best to suck out the final ounce of sweetness from life.
But, above everything, it was important to lose no time: even for the young the years sped too fast, while elderly hands clutched impotently at the shower of golden leaves blown past them on the wings of the wind of autumn. Indeed, there was no time to lose for anybody who wanted a run for his or somebody else’s money. Money and time and health—here were the great Trinity of human needs.
Though Aline Gurtner was anxious to “go on” to a dance, the events of the evening had been quite sufficiently gratifying to enable her to wait without impatience till the last of the guests had gone. There was no fleck or flaw in her triumphant satisfaction, for apart from the brilliant success of her party, there had been several gratifying little items thrown in. The Princess had asked her to lunch on Saturday, bidding her steel herself for a very dull hour or two in her poky little house, and had thanked her for the most delicious evening. “And Endymion, oh,” she said, “I was shocked! So naughty! Good-night, de-ar.”
Then Lady Grote, who mattered almost more, had been immensely cordial.
“My dear Aline,” she said, calling her by her Christian name for the first time, “if you weren’t such a darling, I should be furious with you for giving the only party that ever happened. Good-night, and a thousand thanks. You must come to me at Grote as soon as you get back from Baireuth. Yes, I am giving Mr. Kuhlmann a lift. He is not going on to any stupid dance any more than I am. Anything more this evening would simply bore me. After the best, bed. Good-night, Aline.”
And then, even outshining those gratifying things was the remembrance of the German Ambassador’s promise to remedy the fact of her never having met the Emperor. Though she was not aware of having any Hohenzollern blood in her wholesome comely body, she felt some call of it to that serene philosophical country from which her father had come. She delighted in the fact that the Kaiser’s compassionate heart would be wrung with grief when he heard tidings of the unrest in Ireland, that the knightliest of mankind would nobly sorrow when he was told that trouble was anticipated in the land from which his mother came.