"Well," said Erskine, lighting a cigarette, "I must begin by telling you
about Cyril Graham himself. He and I were at the same house at Eton. I
was a year or two older than he was, but we were immense friends, and did
all our work and all our play together. There was, of course, a good
deal more play than work, but I cannot say that I am sorry for that. It
is always an advantage not to have received a sound commercial education,
and what I learned in the playing fields at Eton has been quite as useful
to me as anything I was taught at Cambridge. I should tell you that
Cyril's father and mother were both dead. They had been drowned in a
horrible yachting accident off the Isle of Wight. His father had been in
the diplomatic service, and had married a daughter, the only daughter, in
fact, of old Lord Crediton, who became Cyril's guardian after the death
of his parents. I don't think that Lord Crediton cared very much for
Cyril. He had never really forgiven his daughter for marrying a man who
had not a title. He was an extraordinary old aristocrat, who swore like
a costermonger, and had the manners of a farmer. I remember seeing him
once on Speech-day. He growled at me, gave me a sovereign, and told me
not to grow up 'a damned Radical' like my father. Cyril had very little
affection for him, and was only too glad to spend most of his holidays
with us in Scotland. They never really got on together at all. Cyril
thought him a bear, and he thought Cyril effeminate. He was effeminate,
I suppose, in some things, though he was a very good rider and a capital
fencer. In fact he got the foils before he left Eton. But he was very
languid in his manner, and not a little vain of his good looks, and had a
strong objection to football. The two things that really gave him
pleasure were poetry and acting. At Eton he was always dressing up and
reciting Shakespeare, and when he went up to Trinity he became a member
of the A.D.C. his first term. I remember I was always very jealous of
his acting. I was absurdly devoted to him; I suppose because we were so
different in some things. I was a rather awkward, weakly lad, with huge
feet, and horribly freckled. Freckles run in Scotch families just as
gout does in English families. Cyril used to say that of the two he
preferred the gout; but he always set an absurdly high value on personal
appearance, and once read a paper before our debating society to prove
that it was better to be good-looking than to be good. He certainly was
wonderfully handsome. People who did not like him, Philistines and
college tutors, and young men reading for the Church, used to say that he
was merely pretty; but there was a great deal more in his face than mere
prettiness. I think he was the most splendid creature I ever saw, and
nothing could exceed the grace of his movements, the charm of his manner.
He fascinated everybody who was worth fascinating, and a great many
people who were not. He was often wilful and petulant, and I used to
think him dreadfully insincere. It was due, I think, chiefly to his
inordinate desire to please. Poor Cyril! I told him once that he was
contented with very cheap triumphs, but he only laughed. He was horribly
spoiled. All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled. It is the secret of
their attraction.
"However, I must tell you about Cyril's acting. You know that no
actresses are allowed to play at the A.D.C. At least they were not in my
time. I don't know how it is now. Well, of course, Cyril was always
cast for the girls' parts, and when _As You Like It_ was produced he
played Rosalind. It was a marvellous performance. In fact, Cyril Graham
was the only perfect Rosalind I have ever seen. It would be impossible
to describe to you the beauty, the delicacy, the refinement of the whole
thing. It made an immense sensation, and the horrid little theatre, as
it was then, was crowded every night. Even when I read the play now I
can't help thinking of Cyril. It might have been written for him. The
next term he took his degree, and came to London to read for the
diplomatic. But he never did any work. He spent his days in reading
Shakespeare's Sonnets, and his evenings at the theatre. He was, of
course, wild to go on the stage. It was all that I and Lord Crediton
could do to prevent him. Perhaps if he had gone on the stage he would be
alive now. It is always a silly thing to give advice, but to give good
advice is absolutely fatal. I hope you will never fall into that error.
If you do, you will be sorry for it."--_The Portrait of Mr. W. H_.