"All the English (not foreign) editors and journalists!" said Lucio with
an air of pious rapture--"and why? Because they are so good, so just, so
unprejudiced! Their foreign brethren will be reserved for the eternal
dance of devils of course--but the Britishers will pace the golden
streets singing Alleluia! I assure you I consider British journalists
generally the noblest examples of incorruptibility in the world--they
come next to the clergy as representatives of virtue, and exponents of
the three evangelical counsels,--voluntary poverty, chastity, and
obedience!" Such mockery glittered in his eyes, that the light in them
might have been the reflection of clashing steel. "Be consoled,
Geoffrey," he resumed--"your fame is honourably won. You have simply,
through me, approached one critic who writes in about twenty newspapers
and influences others to write in other twenty,--that critic being a
noble creature, (all critics are noble creatures) has a pet 'society'
for the relief of authors in need (a noble scheme you will own) and to
this charity I subscribe out of pure benevolence, five hundred pounds.
Moved by my generosity and consideration, (particularly as I do not ask
what becomes of the five hundred) McWhing 'obliges' me in a little
matter. The editors of the papers for which he writes accept him as a
wise and witty personage; _they_ know nothing about the charity or the
cheque,--it is not necessary for them to know. The whole thing is really
quite a reasonable business arrangement;--it is only a self-tormenting
analyst like you who would stop to think of such a trifle a second
time."
"If McWhing really and conscientiously admired my book for itself;" I
began.
"Why should you imagine he does not?" asked Lucio--"Myself, I believe
that he is a perfectly sincere and honorable man. I think he means all
he says and writes. I consider that if he had found your work not worthy
of his commendation, he would have sent me back that cheque for five
hundred pounds, torn across in a noble scorn!"
And with this, throwing himself back in his chair, he laughed till the
tears came into his eyes.
But I could not laugh; I was too weary and depressed. A heavy sense of
despair was on my mind; I felt that the hope which had cheered me in my
days of poverty,--the hope of winning real Fame, so widely different a
thing to notoriety, had vanished. There was some quality in the subtle
glory which could not be won by either purchase or influence. The praise
of the press could not give it. Mavis Clare, working for her bread, had
it,--I, with millions of money, had not. Like a fool I had thought to
buy it; I had yet to learn that all the best, greatest, purest and
worthiest things in life are beyond all market-value and that the gifts
of the gods are not for sale.
About a fortnight after the publication of my book, we went to Court, my
comrade and I, and were presented by a distinguished officer connected
with the immediate and intimate surroundings of the Royal household. It
was a brilliant scene enough,--but, without doubt, the most brilliant
personage there was Rimânez. I was fairly startled at the stately and
fascinating figure he made in his court suit of black velvet and steel
ornaments; accustomed as I was to his good looks, I had never seen them
so enhanced by dress as on this occasion. I had been tolerably well
satisfied with my own appearance in the regulation costume till I saw
him; then my personal vanity suffered a decided shock, and I realized
that I merely served as a foil to show off and accentuate the superior
attractions of my friend. But I was not envious of him in any way,--on
the contrary I openly expressed the admiration I frankly felt.
He seemed amused. "My dear boy, it is all flunkeydom;" he said--"All
sham and humbug. Look at this--" and he drew his light court rapier from
its sheath--"There is no real use in this flimsy blade,--it is merely an
emblem of dead chivalry. In old times, if a man insulted you, or
insulted a woman you admired, out flashed a shining point of tempered
Toledo steel that could lunge--so!" and he threw himself into a fencing
attitude of incomparable grace and ease--"and you pricked the blackguard
neatly through the ribs or arm and gave him cause to remember you. But
now--" and he thrust the rapier back in its place--"men carry toys like
these as a melancholy sign to show what bold fellows they were once, and
what spiritless cravens they are now,--relying no more on themselves for
protection, but content to go about yelling 'Police! Police!' at the
least threat of injury to their worthless persons. Come, it's time we
started, Geoffrey!--let us go and bow our heads before another human
unit formed precisely like ourselves, and so act in defiance of Death
and the Deity, who declare all men to be equal!"
We entered our carriage and were soon on our way to St James's Palace.
"His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is not exactly the Creator of
the universe;"--said Lucio suddenly, looking out of the window as we
approached the line of soldiery on guard outside.
"Why no!" I answered laughing--"What do you say that for?"
"Because there is as much fuss about him as if he were,--in fact, more.
The Creator does not get half as much attention bestowed upon Him as
Albert Edward. We never attire ourselves in any special way for entering
the presence of God; we don't put so much as a clean mind on."
"But then,"--I said indifferently--"God is _non est_,--and Albert Edward
is _est_."
He smiled,--and his eyes had a scornful gleam in their dark centres.
"That is your opinion?" he queried--"Well, it is not original,--many
choice spirits share it with you. There is at least one good excuse for
people who make no preparation to enter the presence of God,--in going
to church, which is called the 'house of God,' they do not find God at
all; they only discover the clergyman. It is somewhat of a
disappointment."
I had no time to reply, as just then the carriage stopped, and we
alighted at the palace. Through the intervention of the high Court
official who presented us, we got a good place among the most
distinguished arrivals, and during our brief wait, I was considerably
amused by the study of their faces and attitudes. Some of the men looked
nervous,--others conceited; one or two Radical notabilities comported
themselves with an air as if they and they alone were to be honoured for
allowing Royalty to hold these functions at all; a few gentlemen had
evidently donned their Levée dress in haste and carelessness, for the
pieces of tissue-paper in which their steel or gilt coat-buttons had
been wrapped by the tailor to prevent tarnish, were still unremoved.
Discovering this fortunately before it was too late, they occupied
themselves by taking off these papers and casting them on the floor,--an
untidy process at best, and one that made them look singularly
ridiculous and undignified. Each man present turned to stare at Lucio;
his striking personality attracted universal attention. When we at last
entered the throne-room, and took our places in line, I was careful to
arrange that my brilliant companion should go up before me, as I had a
strong desire to see what sort of an effect his appearance would produce
on the Royal party. I had an excellent view of the Prince of Wales from
where I myself waited; he made an imposing and kingly figure enough, in
full uniform with his various Orders glittering on his broad breast; and
the singular resemblance discovered by many people in him to Henry VIII.
struck me more forcibly than I should have thought possible. His face
however expressed a far greater good-humour than the pictured lineaments
of the capricious but ever popular 'bluff King Hal,'--though on this
occasion there was a certain shade of melancholy, even sternness on his
brow, which gave a firmer character to his naturally mobile features,--a
shadow, as I fancied of weariness, tempered with regret,--the look of
one dissatisfied, yet resigned. A man of blunted possibilities he seemed
to me,--of defeated aims, and thwarted will. Few of the other members of
the Royal family surrounding him on the daïs, possessed the remarkable
attraction he had for any observant student of physiognomy,--most of
them were, or assumed to be, stiff military figures merely who bent
their heads as each guest filed past with an automatic machine-like
regularity implying neither pleasure, interest, nor good-will. But the
Heir-Apparent to the greatest Empire in the world expressed in his very
attitude and looks, an unaffected and courteous welcome to
all,--surrounded as he was, and as such in his position must ever be, by
toadies, parasites, sycophants, hypocritical self-seekers, who would
never run the least risk to their own lives to serve him, unless they
could get something personally satisfactory out of it, his presence
impressed itself upon me as full of the suggestion of dormant but none
the less resolute power. I cannot even now explain the singular
excitation of mind that seized me as our turn to be presented
arrived;--I saw my companion advance, and heard the Lord Chamberlain
announce his name;--'Prince Lucio Rimânez'; and then;--why then,--it
seemed as if all the movement in the brilliant room suddenly came to a
pause! Every eye was fixed on the stately form and noble countenance of
my friend as he bowed with such consummate courtliness and grace as made
all other salutations seem awkward by comparison. For one moment he
stood absolutely still in front of the Royal daïs,--facing the Prince as
though he sought to impress him with the fact of his presence
there,--and across the broad stream of sunshine which had been pouring
into the room throughout the ceremony, there fell the sudden shadow of a
passing cloud. A fleeting impression of gloom and silence chilled the
atmosphere,--a singular magnetism appeared to hold all eyes fixed on
Rimânez; and not a man either going or coming, moved. This intense hush
was brief as it was curious and impressive;--the Prince of Wales started
slightly, and gazed at the superb figure before him with an expression
of eager curiosity and almost as if he were ready to break the frigid
bonds of etiquette and speak,--then controlling himself with an evident
effort he gave his usual dignified acknowledgment of Lucio's profound
reverence, whereupon my comrade passed on,--slightly smiling. I followed
next,--but naturally made no impression beyond the fact of exciting a
smothered whisper from some-one among the lesser Royalties who caught
the name 'Geoffrey Tempest,' and at once murmured the magic words "Five
millions!"--words which reached my ears and moved me to the usual weary
contempt which was with me growing into a chronic malady. We were soon
out of the palace, and while waiting for our carriage in the covered
court-yard entrance, I touched Rimânez on the arm.
"You made a veritable sensation Lucio!"
"Did I?" He laughed. "You flatter me Geoffrey."
"Not at all. Why did you stop so long in front of the daïs?"
"To please my humour!" he returned indifferently--"And partly, to give
his Royal Highness the chance of remembering me the next time he sees
me."
"But he seemed to recognise you,"--I said--"Have you met him before?"
His eyes flashed. "Often! But I have never till now made a public
appearance at St James's. Court costume and 'company manners' make a
difference to the looks of most men,--and I doubt,--yes, I very much
doubt, whether, even with his reputed excellent memory for faces, the
Prince really knew me to-day for what I am!"