I must admit that he was an admirable host. Without appearing at all
to exert himself, he made every one feel at his ease, filled up every
gap in the conversation with some droll anecdote or personal
reminiscence, and still contrived to make us all imagine that we were
entertaining instead of being entertained. The supper was a miracle of
culinary skill, and the wines had a most refined and aristocratic
flavor. He ate and drank with the deliberation and relish of a man
who, without being exactly a gourmand, nevertheless counted the art of
dining among the fine arts, and prided himself on being something of a
connoisseur. Nothing, I suppose, could have ruined me more hopelessly
in his estimation than if I had betrayed unfamiliarity with table
etiquette,--if, for instance, I poured Rhine wine into the white
glasses, or sherry or Madeira into the blue.
As the hours of the night advanced, Dannevig's brilliancy rose to an
almost dangerous height, which, as it appeared to us, could end in
nothing short of an explosion. And the explosion came at last in the
shape of a speech which I shall quote as nearly as the long lapse of
years will permit.
After some mysterious pantomimic play directed toward a singularly
noiseless and soft-mannered butler, our host arose, assumed an
attitude as if he were about to address the universe, and spoke as
follows:
"Gentlemen! As our distinguished friend here (all Americans, as you
are aware, are born sovereigns and accordingly distinguished) is about
to leave us, the spirit moves me to give voice to the feeling which
animates us all at this peculiar juncture of events.
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