President Grant leads the way with the wife of the oldest Senator present on his arm—not the oldest Senator in years but the one who has enjoyed the longest term of office. The President is followed by the other guests, whilst Mrs. Grant, assisted by the husband of the woman who honors the President by her exclusive attention, brings up the rear, and after a slight confusion the guests are comfortably seated.
When no parson is present the divine blessing is omitted, unless it be the Quaker thankfulness—the silence of the heart. In the beginning of the feast fruit, flowers, and sweetmeats grace the table, whilst bread and butter only give a Spartan simplicity to the “first course,” which is composed of a French vegetable soup, and according to the description by those who have tasted it, no soup, foreign or domestic, has ever been known to equal it. It is said to be a little smoother than peacock’s brains, but not quite so exquisitely flavored as a dish of nightingale’s tongues, and yet “Professor Melah” is the only man in the nation who holds in his hands the recipe for this aristocratic stew.
The ambrosial soup is followed by a French croquet of meat. Four admirably trained servants remove the plates between each course, and their motions are as perfect as clockwork. These servants are clad in garments of faultless cut, which serve to heighten to the last degree their sable complexion. White kid gloves add the finishing touch to this part of the entertainment. The third “course” of the dinner is composed of a fillet of beef, flanked on each side by potatoes the size of a walnut, with plenty of mushrooms to keep them company. The next course is dainty in the extreme. It is made up entirely of luscious leg of partridges, and baptized by a French name entirely beyond my comprehension. It will readily be seen that a full description of the twenty-nine courses would be altogether too much for the healthy columns of a newspaper to bear, so we pass to the dessert, not omitting to say that the meridian or noon of the feast is marked by the guests being served bountifully with frozen punch. As a general rule, wine is served about every third course. Six wineglasses of different sizes and a small bouquet of flowers are placed before each guest at the beginning.
The dessert is inaugurated by the destruction of a rice pudding, but not the kind which prompted the little boy to run away to the North Pole because his mother “would have rice pudding for dinner.” It is not the same dish which our Chinese brethren swallow with the aid of chop-sticks, but it is such a pudding as would make our grandmothers clap their hands with joy. Charles Lamb has made roast pig classic; Professor Melah’s rice pudding is worthy to be embalmed in romance or story, or at least to be illustrated in Harper’s Weekly. This Presidential dish cannot be described except by the pen of genius, therefore it can only be added that no plebeian pies or other pastry are allowed to keep its company. After the rice pudding, canned peaches, pears, and quinces are served. Then follow confectionery, nuts, ice-cream, coffee, and chocolate, and with these warm, soothing drinks the Presidential entertainment comes to an end, and the host and his guests repair to the Red Room, and after fifteen minutes spent in conversation the actors in a state dinner rapidly disappear.
Whilst we are discussing state dinners it may as well be remembered that private citizens in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, in some respects have equalled if not surpassed the White House in the elegance of their entertainments. In New York perfumed fountains exhale their liquid delights in the centre of the table, and this is as far ahead of that old mirror arrangement as the genuine surpasses the imitation. No fault, however, should be found with Professor Melah, for as far as he goes, no officer of the Government performs his duty better. At the same time it would be well for the Professor to remember that at an entertainment honored by the presence of women something besides the sense of taste and vision must be gratified. He should imitate the Japanese in the perfection of his surprises. He must make pastries out of which live birds will spring. Such a dish as this is none too dainty to set before President Grant and his friends.
When Mrs. Lincoln lived in the White House she dearly loved to have everybody know that she kept house in the Executive Mansion. If an entertainment was to be given she didn’t mind lending a helping hand, just as she would have done in that modest home in the “prairie land.” Martha Patterson saw that the milk-pans were kept sweet and clean, a matter of just as much importance in the White House as in the humblest wayside cottage; but now that this order of things which commenced with Martha Washington and ended with another Martha has passed away, and the Government employs a man to look after this beloved household, is it not a duty devolving particularly upon the press to see that this officer performs his duty with military strategy and perfection? Who has the authority to punish this man in case the President’s digestive organs are impaired? Napoleon lost a battle on account of a vicious dumpling. The greatest divorce case on record was founded on the following touching epistle: “Dear Mrs. B.: Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick.”
There are no entertainments in England like the state dinners in the United States. The Queen has her drawing-room receptions, which are not unlike the afternoon receptions of Mrs. Grant excepting the rigidity and frozen formality. A woman must have a court dress in order to be presented to Victoria; but a working woman in her serge can take the President by the hand. The Queen asks whomsoever she pleases, informally, to her palace, but she leaves “cabinet dinners” to her Prime Minister and the Speaker of the House of Commons.
Women are never included in these official dinners, but the same evening the wife of the minister or Speaker holds a reception, to which the families of the guest are invited, and the day closes with the feeling that all have been entertained. It will be remembered that Mrs. Thornton asked gentlemen only to meet the Prince at dinner, but in the evening the ladies were assembled to honor the royal guest. At a regal entertainment only gold, silver, and glass are to be seen on the tables. The King of little Hanover is said to have six million dollars’ worth of silver to set before his guests. The King of Prussia has for table ornaments mountains of silver from three to five feet high, with deer climbing them, and huntsmen following, all composed of that precious metal. It is next to an impossibility for a mere traveler to be introduced to the King of Prussia. He cannot be presented through the American minister, as it is practiced in France and England. If the traveler is a distinguished citizen of this country the case is different, and Prussian majesty allows itself to be approached. Men in official life are invited to dine at the royal table in Prussia, but a woman in high life must await the coming of a court ball, and then, if her rank is strong enough, she is shown into the royal dining-hall and has the supreme honor of hearing his majesty say: “How many wax candles do you think I am burning to-night?” The old King of Prussia was burning waxen tapers by the thousands, and he wanted his generosity appreciated. Century after century the etiquette of England and Prussia have followed in the same groove. Certain rank has certain privileges as well defined as the night and day. In France this stony rigidity is somewhat relaxed; but the length to which this letter has already attained prevents any further allusion to the subject.
Olivia.