(_A Study Translated into English from Zolaesque._)
EMILE was triumphant. The arm-chair of the Academy was still vacant.
He did not yet fill it. But, for all that, he was triumphant, for he
had performed a brave action. He had achieved a veritable success. It
was more than thousands from the coffers of the publishers, more
than pages of praises of the papers. It was a great event at length
wonderfully accomplished.
EMILE sat in his London lodgings satisfied with all his surroundings.
Of course, he was interviewed. He had been followed from France to
England, and had seen in an evening paper an account of the temporary
indisposition of one very dear to him on board the boat. He was
prepared for his visitor.
"I am very comfortable. I think England charming; love its fog, and am
deeply impressed with the LORD MAYOR. I soon had enough of the first
meeting of the Congress of the Institute, but thought the ball at
Guildhall excellent. I really have no more to say. Next please." But
his Interviewer was not to be discarded hurriedly. He stood to his
guns, or, rather, his reporter's book.
"Are you not proud of all your volumes? Do you not think that by
writing them you have achieved the success of the century?"
"I am certainly proud of my work. But my work is not my greatest
achievement. No, a thousand times no, it is not my greatest
achievement."
"Well what is?" asked the Interviewer; and then he added, "Please
look sharp about it, as I have to do the Archbishop of CANTERBURY, Mr.
MONTE CARLO WELLS, and Mr. BALFOUR, before I return to the office."
"Yes, I am prouder of this last feat," pursued the Master, ignoring
the presence of the Reporter, "than the rest put together. It has
taken me all my life to make up my mind to do it; but it is done at
last."
"Of what are you speaking?"
"Yes, what are my novels compared to the heroism of those sixty-five
minutes! That hour has been a bar to my compatriots. It has kept them
in France. And now I am their superior. I have at length the right to
boast a triumph!"
The Interviewer made an entry in his note-book, then he asked for
further explanation.
"And so you are prouder of this event than all your hard-earned fame.
And now tell me what event has so greatly moved you?"
"With pleasure. But listen. For twenty years I have laboured to
write the history of France in romance. And when I say the history of
France, I mean that part of the nation's story which has sprung from
the Third Empire."
"Yes, yes," interrupted the Interviewer; "and you have done it well.
But pardon me, I am pressed for time. His Grace of CANTERBURY awaits
me at Lambeth. Out with it! What is your special cause for pride?"
"Yes, I have been maligned, misunderstood, insulted, hated. But
men must now call me a man of great courage, a man of infinite
determination. For I have done it. Yes, after a lifetime of careful
consideration I have done it!"
"Done what?" asked the Interviewer, who was growing impatient.
Then came the reply, uttered in a tone of indescribable emotion:
"I have crossed the Channel!"
* * * * *
"MY CUMMERBUND."
_Sunday._--At Club. Conversation (learned) about epidemics. Heard
somebody (an authority of course on the subject) say, "Oh, rub plenty
of camphor into your cummerbund." Replied, "Yes; good idea." Wrote
it down. Was going to question him as to details, but found he had
quitted the club. Know what camphor is, not quite certain as to
"cummerbund." Think it's Indian. Called in at Oriental Club. Old
Oriental says, "Only natives wear cummerbunds." Oh, then "cummerbund"
is not something to eat or drink? "No; it's a kind of cloth. Get 'em
anywhere now." Anywhere? It appears I am behind the age. Everyone,
except myself apparently, knows all about a "cummerbund." It sounds a
bit Scotch; also German. "Cummer" Scotch; "Bund" German. German Bund.
To be obtained at hosier's, or at any emporium for Indian clothing.
Good.
_Monday._--Bought cummerbund. Bright colour; neat. Bought also large
bottle of camphor. Rubbed it in. Strong smell--more than strong. But
self-preservation is first law, &c., &c., so get accustomed to it.
After one day's wearing, don't notice saturated cummerbund. Quite
accustomed to it.
_Tuesday._--Went to see SMITH. "Hullo, old fellow," he says, "afraid
of moths in your clothes, eh?" Ask what he means. He mentions strong
smell of camphor. I explain my preventive measures. "Oh, that's all
very well!" he returns; "but the very best thing is to soak your shirt
in turpentine. I'm sure of it." Sure he is right, because he is a
student at Guy's. Thank him warmly for this life-saving hint. Rush
home; follow his advice. Beastly smell at first, but soon cease to
notice it. Continue wearing camphorated cummerbund also, as an extra
precaution. Call on Mrs. MONTGOMERY-MUMBY. Sweet girl her niece!
Somehow she seems to avoid me, a thing she never did before. So they
all do, and I have no one to talk to but a crippled uncle of
theirs, who apparently has a bad cold in his head, for he holds his
handkerchief to his nose all the time. JONES called. Says he has seen
SMITH. "By Jove!" he exclaims, "you've been going in for oil painting,
or chemistry, or something. There's a tremendous smell of turpentine."
I explain. "Oh, there's no harm in that," he says; "but a far better
thing is to wet your waistcoat with carbolic acid. Antiseptic, you
know." Now he is a student at Bart's, and probably knows as much as
SMITH. Thank him, and resolve to try his preventive in addition to
the other. Down to Eastbourne. Everyone clears out of railway carriage
soon after I get in, except one old man, who says he is a medical man,
and that a plentiful use of disinfectants is no doubt advisable.
_Wednesday._--Meet ROBINSON on the Parade. Says he saw SMITH on
Tuesday. Asks me what I think of the epidemic scare. Explain my
precautions. "Thought I noticed an awful smell," he says. "Hope
it's all right. As for me, I believe there's nothing like pouring
sulphuretted hydrogen all over the inside of your coat. Had it from
my uncle, who was Medical Officer of Health at Benares." An invaluable
suggestion; buy a bottle, and follow his directions when dressing
for dinner. Horrible stench, like rotten eggs! However, soon get
accustomed to it. To a dance at the CHOLMONDELEY-CHICKS'S. Never more
annoyed in my life. Every girl says she has no dance left. What
can have offended them all? The only partner I have is
CHOLMONDELEY-CHICK'S maiden aunt, and she faints in my arms after
going once round the room. However, I have a good supper, for the
dining-room is quite empty all the time I am in it, so I can get as
much as I like.
_Thursday._--Back to town. TOMKINS looks in. Says he saw SMITH the other
day. Then looks curiously all round room. "Do you keep eggs in this room?"
he asks; "hot weather turned 'em bad, eh?" Explain that I have used
sulphuretted hydrogen. "Those chemical things," he says, holding his nose,
"are not half so good as plain, homely preparations. The finest thing of
all is to soak all your clothes in gin and peppermint. Had it from a man
who ought to know, for he spent last autumn in Hamburg and used bottles
full." Thank him with sincere gratitude, and as soon as possible try this
new precaution. To theatre. People near me begin a great talking.
Commissionaire asks me to leave. Says "money will be returned." Hanged
if I go! I've paid for this seat. Then a fearful uproar starts. Do not
remember details of fight, but find myself "chucked" into the roadway.
Policeman picks me up as drunk and incapable. Spend night in police-cell.
* * * * Explanations magisterially accepted.... Apology given and taken.
Off (with the cummerbund), and away for a tour in the North.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A VERY GREAT MAN.
(_Cub Hunting._)
_Young Farmer._ "WELL, MASTER JACK! OUT AGAIN?"
_Master Jack._ "WHY, YES. FACT IS, YOU KNOW, ALWAYS LIKE TO GET
AS MUCH IN AS POSSIBLE BEFORE WE BEGIN TO ADVERTISE. BRINGS SUCH A
BEASTLY LOT O' DUFFERS OUT, DON'T YOU KNOW!"]
* * * * *