LORD MALVIN
If Sir William Gouldesbrough represented all that was most brilliant,
modern, and daring in the scientific world of Europe, Lord Malvin stood
as its official figure-head. He was the "grand old man" of science, and
was regarded by every one as a final court of appeal in all such
matters.
He was of a great age, almost eighty, in fact, yet his health was
perfect, his intellect unimpaired, and his interest in human events as
keen and vigorous as that of a man but half his age and in the full
prime and meridian of life.
In science, he represented what the President of the Royal Academy
represents in art, or the Lord Chief Justice in the law, and although he
had almost ceased independent investigations, he was always appealed to
and consulted when anything new and revolutionary in science was
discovered or promulgated by any of the younger men.
The younger men themselves, while allowing their chief's vast knowledge
and experience, his real and undeniable eminence, were apt to call him
conservative, and to hint that he was of an alien generation. They would
say that his judgment was sometimes obscured by his veneration and love
for the past, and because he found himself unable to leap so rapidly to
conclusions as they did, they put him down as an old fogey who had done
valuable and remarkable work in his time, but who ought to be content
with his peerage and immense fortune and retire to the planting of
cabbages or the growing of roses in the country.
In the public eye, nevertheless, Lord Malvin remained as familiar and
necessary a part of the English landscape as St. Paul's; and, whenever a
great man died and the newspapers enumerated the few remaining veterans
of the Commonwealth, Lord Malvin was usually the first to be mentioned.
For many years there had been an antagonism between Lord Malvin and Sir
William Gouldesbrough. It was not personal so much as scientific, an
abstract and intellectual antagonism. When Sir William's star first
began to rise above the horizon--he was only Mr. Gouldesbrough
then--Lord Malvin had recognized his talent as an inventor, but
deprecated many of his theories. These ideas, these possibilities for
the future which Gouldesbrough was fond of giving to the world in
lectures and reviews, seemed horribly dangerous, subversive, and
fantastic to the older man.
He said so in no uncertain voice, and for some years, though he was
always kind and civil to Gouldesbrough, he certainly did much to
discount the rising star's power of illumination.
But as time went on, each daring theory put forth by Gouldesbrough
passed into the realm of actual fact. Lord Malvin saw that Sir William
had been almost invariably right. He saw that the new man not only told
the world that some day this or that marvel would come to pass, but
immediately afterwards set to work and himself made it come to pass!
Lord Malvin was a noble man as well as a nobleman--sometimes a rare
combination to-day--and he confessed himself in the wrong. Directly he
saw that he had been mistaken, and that Sir William was no charlatan,
but one of the most daring and brilliant scientists the world had ever
known, the peer gave the newer man all the weight of his support.
Nevertheless, while forced by circumstance and Gouldesbrough's
justification of his own ideas into a scientific brotherhood, Lord
Malvin, who constantly met the other, found a new problem confronting
him.
While he had not believed in Gouldesbrough's theories, Lord Malvin had
rather liked him personally.
Now that he was compelled to believe in Gouldesbrough's theories, Lord
Malvin found that he experienced a growing dislike for the man himself.
And as he was a fair and honourable man, Lord Malvin did everything he
possibly could to rid himself of this prejudice, with the result that
while his efforts to do so were quite unavailing, he redoubled his
kindness and attentions to the man he disliked.
All the scientific world knew that Sir William was perfecting some
marvellous discovery. In Berlin, Paris, Petersburg, Vienna, and Buda
Pesth, learned savants were writing to their _confrères_ in London to
know what this might be. The excitement was intense, the rumours were
endless, and it is not too much to say that the whole scientific
intellect of the globe was roused and waiting.
Now when a number of leading brains are agitated upon one subject,
something of that agitation begins to stir and move in the outside
world.
Already some hints had got about, and the press of Europe and America
was scenting some extraordinary news.
The whole business had at length culminated in the giving of a great
reception by Lord Malvin.
Everybody who mattered was asked, not only in the scientific but also in
the general world.
And everybody knew, that not only was the reception given in Sir William
Gouldesbrough's honour, but that he would say something more or less
definite about what he had in hand.
In short, a pronouncement was to be made, and the ears of every one were
tingling to hear it.
Among the idle and frivolous section of society the promised revelation
had become the topic of the hour. Everything else was quite forgotten.
Gerald Rathbone's disappearance was already a thing of the past. Eustace
Charliewood's suicide had not lasted for the proverbial nine days as a
subject of talk. But here was something _quite_ new! Something all the
more attractive because of its mystery.
Some people said that Sir William had invented a way in which any one
might become invisible for a few pence.
This suggested delightful possibilities to every one, save only the
newly rich, whose whole endeavour was to be seen.
On the other hand there was a considerable section of people who
asserted that Sir William had succeeded in supplying the lesion in the
brain of the ape, and that now that intelligent animal would be able to
talk, own property, and become recognized as a British citizen. Every
one began to read the _Jungle Book_ again, and a serious proposal was
made in an Imperialistic Journal that England might thus colonize and
secure the unexplored forests of Central Africa, by means of drilling
and civilizing the monkeys of the interior.
A Gorilla-General was to be appointed, who should know the English
language, but no other, and it was thought that by this means the
British dominions and population would be enormously increased. The
"Smart Set" especially welcomed this recruitment of their numbers.
In city circles both these conjectures were scouted.
The well-informed insisted that Sir William had discovered a method of
solidifying alcohol, so that in future one would buy one's whiskey in
chunks, and one's champagne in sticks like barley sugar.
Lord Malvin lived in Portland Place, in one of those great stone houses
which, however sombre without, are generally most pleasant and
attractive within. He was unmarried, and his niece Dorothea Backhouse
acted as hostess and generally controlled his domestic affairs.
The stately rooms were crowded with well-known people of all sorts and
conditions. Yet this assembly differed from others in a marked manner.
All the society people who lived solely for amusement had been invited,
and were there. But mingled with the butterflies, one saw the ants and
bees. By the carefully groomed, and not ill-looking face of a young and
fashionable man about town, could be seen the domed forehead, and the
face gashed and scored with thought, of some great savant or deep
thinker.
It was indeed an unusual assemblage that passed through the large and
brilliant rooms, laughing and talking. In the blue drawing-room, Kubelik
had just arrived and was beginning to play. Every one crushed in to hear
the young maestro. Melba was to sing a song, perhaps two, later on in
the evening, and the ball-room was filled with supper-tables.
In so much Lord Malvin's party did not differ in any way from that of
any other famous and wealthy London host. There was the same light and
sparkle of jewels. The warm air was laden with perfume, the same
beautiful and tired faces moved gracefully among all this luxury. But
the men and women who worked and thought for the world were in this
Portland Place palace also. They talked together in eager and animated
groups, they paid little or no attention to this or that delight which
had been provided for them. All these things were phantoms and unreal to
these people. The real things were taking place within the brain as they
conversed together. The army of intellect was massing within the citadel
of thought, to wrest new territory from the old queen nature, mistress
of the kingdom of the unknown.
Lord Malvin and his niece had received their guests at the head of the
grand staircase. Now, when almost every one had arrived, the great
scientist had withdrawn to an inner room at the end of a long series of
apartments, and stood there talking with a small knot of friends.
This inner drawing-room was the culminating part of the suite, the
throne room as it were; and the people standing there could look down a
long and crowded vista of light and movement, while the yearning and
sobbing of Kubelik's violin came to their ears in gusts and throbs of
delicious sound.
Lord Malvin, a tall, upright old man with a long white beard, a high
white brow beneath his velvet skull-cap, and wearing a row of orders,
was talking to Sir Harold Oliver. Sir Harold was the principal of a
great Northern University, a slim, hard-faced man of middle age, and the
pioneer in the movement which was allowing a place to both philosophy
and psychology in modern science.
A third person stood there also, a youngish man of middle height, Mr.
Donald Megbie, the well-known journalist and writer on social and
religious matters. Donald Megbie held rather a curious position in the
literary world. He was the friend of many great people, and more often
than not his pen was the vehicle chosen by them to first introduce
their ideas and discoveries to the general public. When it was time to
let the man in the street know of some stupendous discovery, Megbie was
called in, and his articles, always brilliant and interesting, explained
the matter in popular terms for the non-technical mind.
"So Gouldesbrough has not yet come?" Sir Harold Oliver said.
"Not yet," Lord Malvin answered. "I have had a telegram from him,
however, to say that he is compelled to be rather later than he had
expected. I have told the butler to wait in the hall for him, and to
bring him straight through here directly he arrives."
"A remarkable man," said Mr. Megbie, in that low and pleasant voice
which had become so familiar in high places--even in the private rooms
of cabinet ministers it was said--during the last few years.
"A man none of us can afford to ignore," Sir Harold answered with a
slight sigh of impatience.
Megbie smiled.
"My dear Donald," Sir Harold went on, "please don't smile in that
superior sort of manner. I know what you are thinking. You're thinking
'how these scientists love one another.' You are accusing me of envy,
jealousy and uncharitableness. I'm not jealous of Gouldesbrough, great
as his attainments are, and I'm sure I don't envy him."
"Any one might be forgiven a little envy on such an occasion as this,"
Megbie answered. "I confess that if I thought every one of importance in
London were met together in Lord Malvin's house to welcome _me_, to hear
what _I_ was going to do next, I should be rather more than pleased."
Lord Malvin smiled kindly, but the noble old face grew sad for a moment.
"Ah!" he said, "you are young, Mr. Megbie. I thought as you think when I
was your age. But one finds out the utter worthlessness of fame and
applause and so on, as one grows older. The work itself is the thing!
Yes! There, and therein only, lies the reward. All else is vain and
hollow. I am a very old man, and I am near my end. I suppose I may say
that such honours as can be given have fallen to my share. Yet I can
honestly say that I would give them all up, I would efface myself
utterly if I thought that I was on the brink of the discovery which I
believe William Gouldesbrough has made and will tell us something of
to-night!"
The other two started. A deep note of seriousness had come into the
voice of the venerable old man. It portended something, something vast
and far-reaching, and they all stood silent for a moment occupied with
their own thoughts.
The distant music of piano and violin rose higher and higher in keen
vibrating melody. There was a note of triumph in it which seemed to
accentuate the gravity and importance of Lord Malvin's words. The
triumphant notes of the man who was coming were singing and ringing
through the halls and chambers of this great house!
The music ceased suddenly, and there was a great clapping of hands.
At that moment the three men waiting in the inner room saw a tall, black
figure moving towards them, the figure of a man on whom people were
beginning to press and converge, a figure that smiled, bowed, stopped
continually to shake hands and receive greetings, and made a slow
progress towards them.
Sir William Gouldesbrough, the man of the future, radiant, honoured and
successful, was arriving to greet Lord Malvin, the man of the past.