Authors: Albert Cohen
And he was indeed smiling at Naileater, who was of his family, of his people, and he loved him, claimed him as his own, gloried in him as proudly as in the greatest and noblest of his race, men with a mission, sublime and as numberless as the sands on the shore of the sea of centuries. He loved everything in his people, willed himself to love everything about them, their failings and their splendour, the pitiful among them and the princes. For such is love. Perhaps he alone in all the world loved his people with the love that is true, the love that sees through eyes of sadness, eyes that know. Yes, he would display this sorry specimen to the daughter of the Gentiles so that she would learn whence he, Solal, came. He held out the letter to Naileater, who promptly took it. Now in a position of strength, with the letter safely tucked away in the pocket of his frock-coat, the sponge sat down, crossed his legs financially, and spoke in a quite altered, extremely businesslike voice.
'And now, if you will, we must settle the material details, gentle, genial Excellency. I refer to the little matter of expenses, so that I may do you honour, to wit: car allowance, opera hat better suited to the occasion, silk socks, sum set aside for a haircut.'
'But you no longer have any hair worth cutting, Naileater.'
'Oh yes I have, Excellency, I've still a few hairs left, very fine and quite visible close to! So let's see, scalp massage at the barber's, shampoo of beard, manicure, costly unguents designed to send forth diplomatic waftures, large selection of ties so that I may lay them out on my bed and choose the best, assorted vestimentary refinements, in short improvements which dandify! I am in your hands, Excellency, for I shall incur many expenses.'
'O Bey of Liars, O Prince of Impostors! You know very well that you will incur no expenses whatsoever,' said Solal.
'Great Lord,' began Naileater after a fit of self-induced coughing intended to give him time to come up with a reply, 'your perspicacity has stopped my cough dead in its gristly tracks and, struck dumb with shame, I humbly confess! You are right: I shall incur no expenses whatsoever! Therefore I thank you for the unexpected conferment of titles which, though unlovely, yet contain a promise of a happy outcome, and I await penitently the granting not of innocently mendacious expenses but of a handsome gift from the generous hand of affection which opens hearts and repays kin in kind!' He smiled and was irresistible, entrancing and suddenly utterly feminine. With three fingers, he blew a kiss to the great lord. 'Thank you, and may blessings drop upon you,' he said, reaching for the banknote. 'Is the young woman beautiful?' he asked with a fond, paternal smile, wanting to end on a note of intimacy.
'How do you know she's young?'
'Put it down, Great One, to my long acquaintance with the human heart, and a quivering sensibility. Well, Excellency, is she beautiful?'
'Incredibly. The letter will allow me to see her one last time. After that, never more.'
'May I say, Highness, that I don't believe a word of it?' replied Naileater knowingly. He bowed then left the room, fanning himself with the banknote.
Outside, holding the precious letter in his hand, he pondered ways of saving himself the taxi fare to Cologny. One good idea might be to flag down the first car that came along, explain that he'd forgotten his wallet, and say that he was on a mercy mission to a brother-in-law, as dear to him as his own brother, who was being operated on at that very moment, for removal of a kidney, in a clinic at Cologny! Perhaps not: all things considered, he wouldn't save himself much that way. Besides, he didn't have to worry about saving anything. His Excellency had given him a thousand-franc note and he still had several gold louis left. So, take one of those taxis yonder and drive straight to Cologny! But first stop by the hotel to pick up the tennis-racket and golf club, which would make a good impression on the young woman. And change hats, wear the black topper, which was more finely attuned to official protocol. Perfect! He began walking, whistling to himself as he went, grey top-hat set at a jaunty angle and cane twirling, master of his fate and captain of the universe: a head of mission.
On the corner of a street, sitting on a collapsible chair with his back to a garage wall, a blind man was playing palsied music on an accordion to which no one was listening. Naileater paused, searched his pockets, tossed a gold louis in the bowl which the beggar's poodle was holding in its jaws, walked on, stopped again, consulted his instinct, did an about turn, added the banknote, and stroked the dog. Then, in plenipotentiary haste, he set off at a run, lavallière flying in the breeze, towards the taxi rank. But why on earth were all these fools staring at him in that curious way? Hadn't they ever seen a frock-coat?
CHAPTER 25
On opening his front door, Monsieur Deume recoiled at the sight of the astounding apparition, a tall figure in formal dress, his chest bisected diagonally by the grand sash normally worn only by Presidents of the French Republic, who handed him his top-hat.
'Cloakroom,' said Naileater. 'My topper must be deposited in the cloakroom, in accordance with what the English call the diplomatic drill via the usual channels,' he explained to the inwardly panicking little man with the goatee whom he read, at first glance, as one of nature's innocents. 'And take care now, don't damage it, it's brand-new. How are you? I myself am exceedingly well. In my person, my good man,' he went on at an amazing rate of knots while continuing to twirl his golf club, 'you see before you the principal privy secretary of my august master His Excellency Solal of the Solals, and in the social vortex that is London I am yclept Sir Pinhas Hamlet, ABC, GHQ, QED, DDT, such an agreeable habit the English have of putting letters after one's name, it gives one a certain importance, but I also hold the office of Grand Marshal of the King's Household, thereby attracting cabals and jealousies beyond number, and furthermore I rank joint first among peers of the realm, yes, my good man, I, whom you see standing before you, and moreover I am sole and legal owner of half of Shropshripshire wherein, bounded by a river the name of which slips my memory for the moment, is situate my splendid private and personal estate which goes by the name of Gentleham Hall, Gent's for short, famed for its stupendous castle proudly bristling with forty bell-towers, revered seat of my forefathers, where, settled of a morning in a Louis XIV armchair beneath a picture painted by an old master, I indulge myself unstintingly with repeated helpings of bacon and eggs, after which, full to my brimmy-brim-brim, I always put in an hour riding around Gent's on a dapple-grey charger, oh Shropshripshire of my oligarchical youth! noble Shropshripshire where I attended to my studies dressed in a fetching Eton jacket, white collar and top-hat, the habit of which, as you will observe, I have kept to this day, but come, my good man, cast not your eyes down in this shamefaced manner, be not froward with me, and furthermore I have received the Order of the Garter, I'm wearing it now under my trousers, my favourite club is the Crosse and Blackwell's Marmalade, I drop in for little chats with the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cantab to his chums, and a dozen lords of the realm who are my equals, my peers and my friends, my regular address is number ten, Downing Street, and I may also be reached next door at number eleven, the home of the Chancellor of the Exchessor, my good friend Lord Robert Cecil, whom I call Bob and invariably address in English as I do my gracious sovereign the Queen, whom I accompany in my grey topper to the fashionable racecourses which we both love, Royal Ascot, the Derby at Epsom, Epsom Downs, ups and downs, that is the question, Bank of England and House of Lords in tomato sauce, fish and chips in Buckingham Palace, yours sincerely, God save the King, don't you agree?'
'I ... er ... don't quite follow,' said Monsieur Deume with a bemused smile which pleased the Gentleman of Gent's and earned him a pat on the back.
'Do not take it to heart, young man, it's a little foible we English aristocrats have of suddenly breaking into a tongue which, though made glorious by Shakespeare, remains unintelligible to persons of small schooling. Rest assured that I think none the worse of you and let us come to the point forthwith. I have here a letter, which I extract from the recesses of my frock-coat, sent by my lord and master, he who is a prince in his own palace, he whose lordly vassal I am. You may examine the official envelope, which is blazoned with its place of origin and source most high, to wit, the three words League of Nations embossed thereon regardless of expense! You may look, but you must not touch! As you see, it is addressed to the lady
wife of Adrien Deume Esquire. Now that proofs of my veracity have been furnished, hie thee to this lady and inform her that I shall wait here for her to present herself in person so that I may proceed to deliver the said missive into her hands according to due protocol and also indulge in a little light banter in the best possible taste. (Delighted with his performance, he fanned himself with his tennis-racket.) Stay not but go in search of her without further humming and hawing!'
'I'm most awfully sowwy, but she's out shopping.'
'Very well, I shall decide upon what course of action to take when I have seen the lie of the land. To begin with we must become acquainted. Who are you? The butler in mufti?'
'I am Monsieur Deume. The father-in-law,' came the fearful reply. A gulp followed hard on its heels.
'Ah! A member of the family? What medals have you got?'
'I'm sowwy to say I haven't got any,' said the old man, moistening his lips and essaying a sheepish smile.
'I can see why you are sorry,' said the Garter. 'Nevertheless, I shall trust you, and into your keeping shall I give the letter for the lovely lady designated by name thereon. When she returns, give it to her and mind you don't dirty it or dare to open it in her absence by means which are contrary to post-office regulations and public order. Have you got that?'
'Yes.'
Naileater ran his eye over the unimposing figure who stood before him motionless and deferential, holding the letter with his fingertips for fear of crumpling it. What should he do now? Borrow ten francs for his taxi fare back and explain that persons of rank never carried money since doing so might be construed as vulgar? No, he was far too nice an old party for that. Suddenly an idea stirred in the deep waters of his brain. To entice it forth, he gave his furrowed pate a thoroughgoing rub and, behold!, it arose therefrom, freshly watered and bathed in beauty.
'The conveyance of the letter merely constitutes part one of my mission,' he said. 'There is more - and better — to come. Since in the event he was unable to be among you himself to break bread last evening for reasons of state, as he casually informed me in a moment of friendly badinage, as well he might, with the member of his inner circle that I am, my sovereign lord has mandated me to the same end, to wit, the breaking of bread in accordance with the practice of good company, please consult the manuals of protocol at the chapter en tided: "Concerning the Envoy Plenipotentiary: On Sipping and Supping". To abridge, His Excellency has entrusted to me, the above-mentioned, as his representative, a browsing mission and a sluicing mandate, which means in plain language more readily intelligible to the
hoi polloi
that I am here to ingest the odd morsel or two in his stead so that I may render him an account of same and report back. This is the correct form in official circles and among well-informed sources. My master had it in mind to dispatch me hither to partake of luncheon among you, which would have been more suitable, but we were delayed at the eleventh hour by a pressing summons to cheer up the poor old Emperor of Ethiopia who was crying his eyes out. But rest assured: I shall refresh the inner man in symbolic manner only. So, Father-in-Law, if you are not conversant with tea parties of the third party or if you feel constrained by avarice, I can very easily go away empty and unreplete. It was a gracious gesture by my master designed to favour you with an honour. What do you say?'
'I am most honoured, Mr Pwincipal Pwivate Secwetawy,' said old Monsieur Deume, who had by now regained something of his composure.
'Just call me my Lord.'
'Very honoured, my Lord, and thank you so much, but alas I am alone in the house, for both ladies are out and what's more we've been maidless since yesterday, she had to go home, feeling unwell, which obviously means I'm afwaid that in the matter of tea I'm going to have to ask you to wait a while.'
'A lacklustre start to the proceedings,' said Naileater, and he stuck his little finger in one ear and waggled it vigorously. 'My dear fellow, I see that the fashionable at-home is not exactly second nature to you. But no matter. I am a tolerant man. I shall direct your untutored steps and together we shall repair to the kitchen and see what's in the offing. Excellency I might be, yet for all that I care not a fig for protocol and shall help you to the utmost of my ability, since aristocrats are always able to make common cause with common folk. So cast out these black thoughts and, dispensing with ceremony, let us draw up a menu fit for teatime. But bring me my top-hat. There is a chill lurking in this gloomy hallway.'
Wearing his top-hat, he stepped into the kitchen, followed by Monsieur Deume, whom he instructed to sit while he studied the possibilities. Removing his frock-coat for greater freedom of movement but with the great sash (First Class) of the Legion of Honour still athwart his chest, he made for the fridge and attempted to open it. Monsieur Deume hurriedly explained, not without embarrassment, that his wife had had it fitted with a lock to which she alone held the key. He was really, truly sorry about this. Reading between the lines, Naileater consoled him with a pat on the cheek and said that they'd manage nevertheless.
'Worry not, my dear fellow. I shall now proceed to search the premises and shall achieve my ends. I have had a great deal of practice at this sort of thing.'
The disconcerted little seal watched the toings and froings of the whisding Garter as he set about a methodical search, opening drawers, peering into cupboards, and announcing his discoveries one after the other. Three tins of sardines! One of tuna-fish! Pretty unexciting fare for an hors-d'ceuvre, but no matter! A loaf of bread, not started! Coconut biscuits! A pot of jam! A tin of Milanese tripe! Another of cassoulet!