"Why, you are younger than I,"--I said--"or if not, you look it."
"Ah, my looks belie me!" he returned gaily--"I am like several of the
most noted fashionable beauties,--much riper than I seem. But come, read
the introductory missive I have brought you,--I shall not be satisfied
till you do."
Thus requested, and wishing to prove myself as courteous as I had
hitherto been brusque, I at once opened my friend's note and read as
follows,--
Dear Geoffrey.
The bearer of this, Prince Rimânez, is a very distinguished scholar
and gentleman, allied by descent to one of the oldest families in
Europe, or for that matter, in the world. You, as a student and
lover of ancient history, will be interested to know that his
ancestors were originally princes of Chaldea, who afterwards settled
in Tyre,--from thence they went to Etruria and there continued
through many centuries, the last scion of the house being the very
gifted and genial personage who, as my good friend, I have the
pleasure of commending to your kindest regard. Certain troublous and
overpowering circumstances have forced him into exile from his
native province, and deprived him of a great part of his
possessions, so that he is, to a considerable extent a wanderer on
the face of the earth, and has travelled far and seen much, and has
a wide experience of men and things. He is a poet and musician of
great skill, and though he occupies himself with the arts solely for
his own amusement, I think you will find his practical knowledge of
literary matters eminently useful to you in your difficult career. I
must not forget to add that in all matters scientific he is an
absolute master. Wishing you both a cordial friendship, I am, dear
Geoffrey,
Yours sincerely
John Carrington.
The signature of 'Boffles' had evidently been deemed out of place this
time and somehow I was foolishly vexed at its omission. There seemed to
be something formal and stiff in the letter, almost as if it had been
written to dictation, and under pressure. What gave me this idea I know
not. I glanced furtively at my silent companion,--he caught my stray
look and returned it with a curiously grave fixity. Fearing lest my
momentary vague distrust of him had been reflected in my eyes I made
haste to speak--
"This letter, prince, adds to my shame and regret that I should have
greeted you in so churlish a manner this evening. No apology can
condone my rudeness,--but you cannot imagine how mortified I felt and
still feel, to be compelled to receive you in this miserable den,--it is
not at all the sort of place in which I should have liked to welcome
you...." And I broke off with a renewed sense of irritation, remembering
how actually rich I now was, and that in spite of this, I was obliged to
seem poor. Meanwhile the prince waived aside my remarks with a light
gesture of his hand.
"Why be mortified?" he demanded. "Rather be proud that you can dispense
with the vulgar appurtenances of luxury. Genius thrives in a garret and
dies in a palace,--is not that the generally accepted theory?"
"Rather a worn-out and mistaken one I consider,"--I replied; "Genius
might like to try the effect of a palace for once,--it usually dies of
starvation."
"True!--but in thus dying, think how many fools it afterwards fattens!
There is an all-wise Providence in this, my dear sir! Schubert perished
of want,--but see what large profits all the music-publishers have made
since out of his compositions! It is a most beautiful dispensation of
nature,--that honest folk should be sacrificed in order to provide for
the sustenance of knaves!"
He laughed, and I looked at him in a little surprise. His remark touched
so near my own opinions that I wondered whether he were in jest or
earnest.
"You speak sarcastically of course?" I said--"You do not really believe
what you say?"
"Oh, do I not!" he returned, with a flash of his fine eyes that was
almost lightning-like in its intensity--"If I could not believe the
teaching of my own experience, what would be left to me? I always
realize the '_needs must_' of things--how does the old maxim go--'needs
must when the devil drives.' There is really no possible contradiction
to offer to the accuracy of that statement. The devil drives the world,
whip in hand,--and oddly enough, (considering that some belated folk
still fancy there is a God somewhere) succeeds in managing his team
with extraordinary ease!" His brow clouded and the bitter lines about
his mouth deepened and hardened,--anon he laughed again lightly and
continued--"But let us not moralize,--morals sicken the soul both in
church and out of it,--every sensible man hates to be told what he
_could_ be and what he _won't_ be. I am here to make friends with you if
you permit,--and to put an end to ceremony, will you accompany me back
to my hotel where I have ordered supper?"
By this time I had become indescribably fascinated by his easy manner,
handsome presence and mellifluous voice,--the satirical turn of his
humour suited mine,--I felt we should get on well together,--and my
first annoyance at being discovered by him in such poverty-stricken
circumstances somewhat abated.
"With pleasure!" I replied--"But first of all, you must allow me to
explain matters a little. You have heard a good deal about my affairs
from my friend John Carrington, and I know from his private letter to me
that you have come here out of pure kindness and goodwill. For that
generous intention I thank you! I know you expected to find a poor
wretch of a literary man struggling with the direst circumstances of
disappointment and poverty,--and a couple of hours ago you would have
amply fulfilled that expectation. But now, things have changed,--I have
received news which completely alters my position,--in fact I have had a
very great and remarkable surprise this evening...."
"An agreeable one I trust?" interposed my companion suavely.