like them. His shoes would hardly hold walnuts without leaking, but he
liked to put his feet up on the mantelpiece and contemplate them.
He wore a dim glass breastpin, which he called a “morphylitic diamond”–
whatever that may mean–and said only two of them had ever been found
–the Emperor of China had the other one.
Afterward, in London, it was a pleasure to me to see this fantastic
vagabond come marching into the lobby of the hotel in his grand-ducal
way, for he always had some new imaginary grandeur to develop–there was
nothing stale about him but his clothes. If he addressed me when
strangers were about, he always raised his voice a little and called me
“Sir Richard,” or “General,” or “Your Lordship”–and when people began to
stare and look deferential, he would fall to inquiring in a casual way
why I disappointed the Duke of Argyll the night before; and then remind
me of our engagement at the Duke of Westminster’s for the following day.
I think that for the time being these things were realities to him. He
once came and invited me to go with him and spend the evening with the
Earl of Warwick at his town house. I said I had received no formal
invitation. He said that that was of no consequence, the Earl had no
formalities for him or his friends. I asked if I could go just as I was.
He said no, that would hardly do; evening dress was requisite at night in
any gentleman’s house. He said he would wait while I dressed, and then
we would go to his apartments and I could take a bottle of champagne and
a cigar while he dressed. I was very willing to see how this enterprise
would turn out, so I dressed, and we started to his lodgings. He said if
I didn’t mind we would walk. So we tramped some four miles through the
mud and fog, and finally found his “apartments”; they consisted of a
single room over a barber’s shop in a back street. Two chairs, a small
table, an ancient valise, a wash-basin and pitcher (both on the floor in
a corner), an unmade bed, a fragment of a looking-glass, and a flower-
pot, with a perishing little rose geranium in it, which he called a
century plant, and said it had not bloomed now for upward of two
centuries–given to him by the late Lord Palmerston (been offered a
prodigious sum for it)–these were the contents of the room. Also a
brass candlestick and a part of a candle. Rogers lit the candle, and
told me to sit down and make myself at home. He said he hoped I was
thirsty, because he would surprise my palate with an article of champagne
that seldom got into a commoner’s system; or would I prefer sherry, or
port? Said he had port in bottles that were swathed in stratified
cobwebs, every stratum representing a generation. And as for his cigars-
-well, I should judge of them myself. Then he put his head out at the
door and called:
“Sackville!” No answer.
“Hi-Sackville!” No answer.
“Now what the devil can have become of that butler? I never allow a
servant to–Oh, confound that idiot, he’s got the keys. Can’t get into
the other rooms without the keys.”
(I was just wondering at his intrepidity in still keeping up the delusion
of the champagne, and trying to imagine how he was going to get out of
the difficulty.)
Now he stopped calling Sackville and began to call “Anglesy.” But
Anglesy didn’t come. He said, “This is the second time that that equerry
has been absent without leave. To-morrow I’ll discharge him.” Now he
began to whoop for “Thomas,” but Thomas didn’t answer. Then for
“Theodore,” but no Theodore replied.
“Well, I give it up,” said Rogers. “The servants never expect me at this
hour, and so they’re all off on a lark. Might get along without the
equerry and the page, but can’t have any wine or cigars without the
butler, and can’t dress without my valet.”
I offered to help him dress, but he would not hear of it; and besides, he