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impostors revisited – oder warum Hochstapler hochstapeln. Eine Annäherung
Juni 16th, 2009 | stazol
IMPOSTORS REVISITED – oder warum Hochstapler hochstapeln. Eine Annäherung
“Übrigens erscheint die Prahlerei als eine Vorspiegelung nicht vorhandener Vorzüge, der Prahler aber als einer, der, auf dem Hafendamm stehend, den Fremden erzählt, dass er viel Geld auf dem Meer habe. Und er schildert genau die Bedeutung des Seezinses und wieviel er gewann und verlor. Und während er so den Mund vollnimmt, schickt er einen Sklaven zur Bank, wo er eine Drachme als Guthaben hat” (Theophrast, Charaktere, um 300 v.Chr.)
„The charges carry maximum prison terms totaling 150 years, and dozens of Mr. Madoff’s victims have urged Judge Denny Chin of the Federal District Court in Manhattan to give him the maximum sentence.
Mr. Madoff is scheduled to be sentenced on June 29.“ (New York Times, 19th of June 2008)
„Ich sag es dir: ein Kerl, der spekuliert,
Ist wie ein Tier, auf dürrer Heide
Von einem bösen Geist im Kreis herum geführt.
Und rings umher liegt schöne grüne Weide. (Mephisto)
Es gibt 65 000 000 000 und einen Grund, den kleinen Bernie Madoff zu hassen: Die Summe von 65 000 000 000 Dollar in Worten, man fasst es kaum, fünfundsechzig Milliarden Dollar. Im Amerikanischen spricht man sogar von 65 Billionen, 1 Billion ist im Angelsächsischen unsere Milliarde – diese schier unfassbare Summe, jenseits jeglicher Vorstellungskraft, hat er seine Opfer gekostet – doch der eine übrige Grund ihn zu hassen, ist sein Lächeln, als er am 11. Dezember 2008 in New York City vor Gericht erscheinen muss: Endlich hat der Staat, haben die obersten Finanzbehörden sich durchgerungen, ihn, dein kleinen Bernie aus dem Verkehr zu ziehen, den Jungen aus Queens, der es so weit gebracht hat, und nun als vielleicht grösster alleiniger Profiteur der gesamten Finanzkrise in die Wirtschaftsgeschichte eingehen wird. Und noch immer ist ihm das Glück hold – er darf mit einer Fussangel, elektronisch überwacht, in sein 7,4-Millionen-Dollar Penthouse, seinen Hausarrest absitzen, bis auf weiteres. Madoff gehört zu den ganz Grossen in einer Kette von Grossen, Grösseren und auch mal Kleinen, den Luden, Spielern und Heiratsschwindlern – auch der teuflische Mephisto war wohl so einer (Wenn du nicht irrst, kommst du nicht zu Verstand!
Willst du entstehn, entsteh auf eigne Hand!) - doch eins sind sie allesamt: Hochstapler.
Es gibt sie überall: Der in Deutschland zur Zeit brisanteste Fall ist der eines Weinhändlers, der gutunterrichteten Kreisen zufolge über sieben Jahre lang antiquarische Etikette drucken liess (den Namen zu nennen ist wohl unnötig, ausserdem ist der Mann sehr klagefreudig…), um aus billigem Fusel jahrhundertalte Qualitätsweine zu fingieren, was Hélène der Rothschild bis auf den heutigen Tag entsetzt – man schätzt, dass der Gute sich so etwa 90 Millionen Euro erschwindelte.
Doch vielleicht gelingt es uns, am Fall Bernie Madoff, auch aus Gründen der Aktualität, einige der typischen Charakteristika herauszuarbeiten, zu isolieren also, um eine Analyse des typus generalis des Hochstaplers vornehmen zu können. Dies ist keine einfache Aufgabe, und vielleicht gelingt es auch nicht immer sofort, die roten Fäden zu einer Typologie zusammenzuweben, aber das Erkennen eines Hochstaplers ist ja schliesslich auch für Aussenstehende ein durchaus schwieriges Unterfangen. Beginnen wir unsere Suche also beim
Finanzier:
Wie bloss hat Madoff sich in seine so gewinnbringende Position gebracht? Nun, etwa so:
1. Man sucht sich als Amerikaner jüdischen Glaubens – und schon hier sei vor Antisemitismus gewarnt, im Madoff-Fall sind die Rollen klar geteilt, oder eben vereint, doch weiter – man sucht sich Vertraute in seiner Glaubensgemeinschaft, Geldgeber, die nach dem Motto „Oh, Bernie ist so bescheiden, so still, so nett und ausserdem gehört er zu unserer Mischpoke” handeln. Eines seiner Opfer wird später sagen, ob all des vernichteten Privatvermögens in jüdischer Hand: „Was Hitler nicht geschafft hat, hat Madoff geschafft!“
2. Man mache sich rar: Wer zu Bernie vorgelassen wird, wenn überhaupt bei seiner exclusiven Clientel, der hat es geschafft, der gehört zum erlauchten Kreise. Dort, wo der Magier 16 bis 18 Prozent Rendite verspricht. Selten unter 100 000 Dollar Einlage, so wie es Carmen del`Orifcie, immer noch eine der schönsten Frauen der Welt, geschah. Das Geld hatte sie von ihrem Freund geschenkt bekommt, in Bernies Allerheiligstem, dem „immaculate office“, ein weisses Refugium im 18 Stock des Lipstick Building in Manhattan, natürlich an bester Adresse. Carmens gesamtes Vermögen ist, als sie am 11. Dezember 2008 den Fernseher einschaltet, auf einen Schlag dahin. Und sie ist nicht allein. Mit der Ausnahme allerdings, einem für sie denn doch glücklichen Umstand: Viele andere Opfer mussten mit 10 Millionen einsteigen, Madoff hatte etwa im Palm Beach Golfclub eine Art, seine Investoren auf ihr Vermögen einzuschätzen. „Es war tough“, sagt einer von ihnen, der nicht genannt werden will, „aber wir wollten da rein.“ Auch er verlor alles.“That ganef, that thief, that nasty son of a bitch.”, flucht eine der Witwen von Palm Beach, sie hat den Mund eines Truckdrivers, aber sie hat wenigstens noch ein Dach über dem Kopf. Viele andere Witwen haben selbst das verloren, alte Frauen, denen ihre sterbenden Gatten auf dem Totenbett noch das Versprechen abnahmen, mit ihrem Geld immer bei “Bernie” zu bleiben. „Wir reden von einer Ära, in der die Männer sagten, „Schatz, ich werde mich um dich kümmern. ‘Don’t worry, my little darling, I’ll always take care of you.’, sagt Muriel Siebert, die erste Frau an der New York Stock Exchange. All sie hat Madoff betrogen.
3. Man schütte hohe Dividenden aus. Irwin Salbe hatte einen Account über vier Generationen mit Madoff. Die Gewinne kommen ja. Bis auf einmal der ganze Schwindel implodiert. Andernorts haben drei Generationen von Frauen in einem Haus drei Generationen von Schmuck auf den Tisch gelegt. Sie müssen ihn verkaufen.
4. Man schmiere Politiker. Madoff hatte sehr vielen Senatoren Parteispenden zukommen lassen. Überdies, und das wird die Ermittler später noch sagen lassen, wie clever der kleine Bernie schon in den 60ern war, arbeitet er damals bereits mit den Börsenregulationsbehörden zusammen: “Und natürlich vertrauten die ihm irgendwann”, wie jemand aus informierten Kreisen feststellt, “man kann davon ausgehen, dass er dank dieses Vertrauensverhältnisses von früher einer genaueren Untersuchung nie unterzogen wurde.”
5. Man lasse sich nicht in die Karten gucken. Einige Broker konfrontieren Madoff mit seinen seltsamen „Puts und Calls“, und er herrscht sie an, er wisse, was er tue. Sie investieren dennoch bei ihm.
6. Man vertraue auf die Dummheit einer Herde Vieh: Als der erste kritische Artikel über Madoff erscheint und alle Welt vor dem Financier (darf man ihn überhaupt so nennen?) warnt, erntet die Autorin nur Spott. Man sei neidisch auf ihn. Manchmal kommen Antisemitismen – „Ich antisemitisch? Ich bin nicht nur Jüdin, ich lebe in Israel!“ sagt die Journalistin. Sie weist Madoff im persönlichen Gespräch Unregelmässigkeiten in seinem Finanzgebahren nach und er wechselt sofort das Thema. Er betont, wieviel Glück sie damit hätte, dass er ihr Geld verwalten würde.
7. Man suche sich einen Frontmann, gerne in Form eines Ziehvaters: Für Madoff ist das Carl J. Shapiro, ein Mann, der mit Textilien reich geworden ist und nun zu den Superreichen gehört, weil Madoff schon seit 1969 für ihn arbeitet. Jedenfalls wispert man sich das im Country Club zu. Und jeder will daran teilhaben. Shapiro wird das Opfer mit den grössten persönlichen Verlusten sein, er verliert eine halbe Milliarde Dollar. „Es war wie bei Fiddler on the Roof (Anatevka)“, sagt etwa Richard Rampell, ein accountant. „Die Reichen glauben, sie wissen alles und nichts kann ihnen etwas anhaben.“ Robert Jaffe, Shapiro´s Schwiegersohn, wird zu so etwas wie einem Zugpferd für Madoff, das perfekte Aushängeschild, ein Gentleman-Millionär samt Roadster und zurückgegeeltem Haar, eine makellose Projektionsfläche, der personifizierte Erfolgstyp, natürlich dank Bernie Madoff. Er wird Madoff die Kunden zuschanzen, während der sich weiterhin reserviert zeigen kann, schliesslich ist nicht jeder seiner feinen Methoden würdig. Sowas wirkt, das Schneeballsystem gewinnt an Dynamik.
8. Man täusche sich selbst, damit wird man noch glaubwürdiger: Zwei Tage vor der Festnahme prostet er noch Untergebenen zu, man werde ein wunderbares Jahr haben, da ist ihm schon der letzte grosse Fonds in Höhe von 500 Millionen, von fünf besonders exclusiven „Freunden“ finanziert, zusammengebrochen.“Er muss einen psychopathischen Charakter haben“ sagt Julia Fenwick, die dem Umtrunk beiwohnt. In seinem Buch “Self-Deception” schreibt der Neuropsychologe Herbert Fingarette (Humanities Press, New York 1969): “For example, it is quite natural for the selfdeceiver as one who doesn´t perceive his own fakery” (Dem Selbstbetrüger ist es ganz natürlich, seine eigene Fälschung nicht zu erkennen) – was die These nahelegt, dass der Hochstapler irgendwann ein Niveau erreicht, bei dem er den Überblick über echt oder falsch verliert. Doch zu Fingarette und seinen Studien später mehr. Weiter in unserer Analyse. Gregg O. McCrary, ein ehemaliger F.B.I. Agent, der Täterprofile zusammenstellt, sagt: “Einige der Charakteristika, die Psychopathen haben, sind Lügen, Manipulation, die Fähigkeit zu Täuschen, Gefühle von Grandiosität und Kaltblütigkeit ihren Opfern gegenüber.” Der Profiler, der, wie er einschränkend bemerkt, Madoff allerdings nie getroffen hat, konstatiert, dass jener offenbar viele der für Psychopathen typischen destruktiven Eigenschaften hat, die für die meisten seiner Opfer heute unerklärlich sind: “Menschen wie er gleichen Chamäleons. Sie sind sehr gut im Management ihrer Aussenwirkung. Sie managen den Eindruck, den man von ihnen hat. Sie wissen, was die Leute wollen, und genau das geben sie ihnen.” – eine Einschätzung, die offenbar für alle Hochstapler jedweder Couleur gilt.
65 000 000 001 Gründe gibt es, Bernie Madoff zu hassen. Aber ist es denn alleine seine Schuld, dass ihm soviele Klienten scheinbar blind vertraut haben? Hat sie nicht auch die Gier überwältigt, obwohl sie wussten, dass Traumrenditen von 20 Prozent eigentlich einfach zu gut waren, um wahr zu sein? Bernie wird es uns nicht erzählen. Er sitzt in seinem 7,4 Millionen Duplex-Penthouse, East 64th Street Ecke Lexington, und wartet einfach ab. Und denkt vielleicht an seine Brüder im Geiste.
Wie etwa den
Schönen:
Felix Krull zum Beispiel, der Held aus Thomas Manns letztem Schelmenroman, „Bekenntnisse des Hochstaplers Felix Krull“, ohne den ein Traktat über diese Berufsgruppe einfach unvollständig wäre: Schon im Kinderwagen stellt sich der kleine Felix vor, er sei der erlauchte Hohenzollern-Kaiser und vergiesst – von seinem Wahlonkel Schimmelpreester ermutigt – schon dicke Tränen. Zu grosser körperlicher Schönheit herangewachsen – sie ist die vielleicht leichteste Verführung zum Hochstapeln, da der Mensch sich der Schönheit und ihren ästhetischen Aspekten kaum zu entziehen weiss, man denke nur an die Kate Mosses und Naomi Campbells, an Claudia Cardinale, aber auch Alain Delon und Warren Beatty (der dem Vernehmen nach in Hollywood einen schwierigen Stand als Schauspieler hatte, weil er einfach zu gut aussah, ja, auch das gibt es) – zu voller jugendlichen Blüte herangewachsen jedenfalls, verführt Felix erst sein Kindermädchen, dann eine Industriellengattin, die während des Aktes von seinen „Hermesbeinen“ schwärmt: “O Süssester…) O Engel du der Liebe, Ausgeburt der Lust! Ah, ah du junger Teufel, glatter Knabe, wie du das kannst…“ Undsoweiterundsoweiter…. Und Krull ganz lapidar „Sie verging, wir vergingen.“
Er darf sie sogar um ihren Schmuck erleichtern, er gibt sich dann später mit Billigung seines Gönners als Marquis aus, alles scheint ihm zu gelingen, zuzufliegen gewissermassen, auch dies wohl ein Charakteristikum des Hochstapelns: Es scheint ja alles so einfach, die Welt will betrogen sein, Lüge häuft sich auf Lüge, rasch nur, rasch, Erfolg nun haben und sein Glück machen, solange die Mitmenschen sich blenden lassen… dass der Schönling, wohl ein Alters-Alter-Ego des Autors selbst, seine Memoiren auf „jungfräulichem Papier“ IM GEFÄNGNIS schreibt, wird nur dem sehr aufmerksamen Leser klar, denn sogar der Leser des Romans will lieber getäuscht sich sehen eigentlich und an ein Wunder glauben, so einfach arbeitet das Hirn.
Ein Zeitgenosse Krulls, hätte es letzteren denn gegeben, war der sehr reale Starits Rasputin, für manche ein
Heiliger,
für manche die Ausgeburt der Bosheit schlechthin, der für einen Grossteil der Anfänge der Oktoberrevolution verantwortlich sein dürfte, die seine Gönner, unter anderem die etwas einfältig-religiöse Zarin hinweggefegt hat. Zu seiner besten Zeit nutzte er die Leuchtkraft seiner Augen, und Photographien aus jener Zeit zeigen einen wirklich bemerkenswerten Blick, um die Menschen zu beeinflussen – auch dies eine Konstante im Wirken der Betrüger, fast immer ist da ein gewisser körperlicher Aspekt, der hervorsticht, bei Bernie Madoff scheint es dagegen eher seine absolute Unauffälligkeit gewesen zu sein. Rasputin jedenfalls hat wohl auch sehr empathische Wirkung und kann, nun hypnotisch fast, seine Opfer Dinge glauben machen, die sie wohl bei klarem Verstand (da ist er wieder, der Stolperstein Common Sense, der sich bei Hochstaplern fast immer automatisch auszuschalten scheint) nie auch nur erwogen hätten. Oder wie Fürst Jusupow selbst berichtet: „Mehr als einmal habe ich Angst gehabt, besiegt zu werden. Die grausamen Augen Rasputins waren Blutegel, geduckt in der Höhlung grundloser Löcher. Ein Fluidum rann daraus, so dicht und so roh, dass es mir mit den Händen greifbar schien. Die besessene Kraft drang durch alle Poren in mich ein und liess alle Energie schwinden. Ich fühlte, dass ich am Rande eines Abgrunds walte. Schon fühlte ich unkörperliche Nadeln mir die Haut durchstechen.“ Undsoweiterundsoweiter. Dass es sich hierbei um die Aufzeichnungen eines etwas hypersensiblen jungen Prinzen handelt, der schon seit Kindesbeinen einer der reichsten Männer des ganzen russischen Reiches ist, es sei nur nebenbei bemerkt. Irgendwann jedenfalls besetzt Rasputin hohe Regierungsämter mit Analphabeten, stellt Empfehlungsbriefe für Schauspielerinnen, ihm sind Frauen oft zu willen, am Theater aus und wird schliesslich vom Prinzen Jusupow und zwei Komplizen zu den Klängen des Yankee Doodles ermordet. Der Aristokrat ruft noch „Lang lebe Russland, lang lebe der Zar!” ins Dunkel der Petersburger Nacht – Rasputin ist inwischen erschossen, erschlagen und mit mehr Arsen vergiftet, als es für eine Kompanie gebraucht hätte, immer wieder ist da noch Leben in dem Starits, zum Entsetzen seiner Killer – doch da ist es für den russischen Adel schon zu spät.
Es bleibt festzuhalten, in ihrer unbedingten Bereitschaft, sich soviel Sand in die Augen träufeln zu lassen, bis sie erblinden – nun, darin unterscheiden sich jüdische Finanziers, Investoren allgemein, verprellte Geliebte und russische Grossfürstinnen im besonderen nur marginal.
Dass auch Kleider Leute machen, ist vielleicht am schönsten im “Hauptmann von Köpenick” zu sehen, der in einer Reihe von Hochstaplern natürlich nicht fehlen darf – bei ihm ist es ein alter Armeemantel mit Messingknöpfen, der auf den verzückt-bourgoisen Obrigkeitsgehorsam des späten Kaiserreiches trifft, was uns zu einem wichtigen Punkt bringt, der im Falle Madoffs schon angedeutet wurde:
Der Hochstapler muss ein Medium vorfinden, dass ihm seine Trickserei ermöglicht, eben das Gegenüber, das glauben WILL, oft wider besseres Wissen. Madame Diane Philibert, vom jungen Krull so nachhaltig befriedigt, WILL mit Hermes ins Bett. Die Zarin WILL an die Wundertätigkeit des Starits glauben, weil er ihre einzige Hoffnung gegen die Hämophilie des Kronprinzen ist. Madoffs Investoren WOLLEN glauben, dass der leichte Reichtum nur einen Schmetterlingsflügelschlag weit entfernt ist.
Und Thomas Ripleys Opfer, jenes Gentlemans unter den
Mördern,
eine der vielleicht charmantesten Erfindungen Patricia Highsmiths? Sie WOLLEN ermordet werden….
Nun ja, das führt vielleicht ewas zu weit. Wie fängt eigentlich Thomas Ripleys Ära als Gentlemanverbrecher an? Wir erinnern uns: Er leiht sich eine Collegejacke für ein Konzert, und das Wappen von Princeton lässt ein reiches Ehepaar, die Reeder Greenleaf, in dem Glauben, er sei ein Kommilitone ihres Sohnes Dickie. Ripley wird gewissermassen unschuldig zum Hochstapler, und erst, nachdem er merkt, wie einfach ihm das Betrügen fällt, beginnt seine eigentliche Laufbahn, und er ist nicht mehr zu bremsen. Das erste seiner Opfer jedenfalls, und das ist signifikant, ist eigentlich ein Objekt seiner Begierde, oder, wenn wir etwas gnädiger in unserer Einschätzung sind, seiner Liebe: Der Millionenerbe einer Reederei eben, Dickie Greenleaf, der alles hat, was Ripley eben nicht hat. Attraktivität, Geld, eine schöne Freundin, ein hübsches Feriendomizil und eine Yacht. Ripley reagiert darauf wie eine Motte zum Licht – er will das alles haben, und noch viel mehr. Dass die Geschichte auch die einer homosexuellen Beziehung ist, die leider unerwidert bleibt, wird dabei selten beachtet. Sie soll uns allerdings ein wenig weiter beschäftigen, weil darin eine für den Hochstapler typische Eigenschaft sich ausbildet: Die der Isoliertheit von der Welt. Die Geschichte spielt schliesslich in den Fünfziger Jahren, in denen die gleichgeschlechtliche Liebe noch unter der kritischen Sanktion der Gesellschaft steht, wenn man es einmal zurückhaltend ausdrücken möchte. Ripley ist also, und dies mag zu dem eingangs erwähnten pyschopathischen Zug des Hochstaplers gehören, isoliert von der Welt. Er sieht sich als Einzelkämpfer, und will sich recht eigentlich am Universum rächen: Es ist interessant, festzustellen, dass der Typus des „Impostors“ (engl. Hochstapler, lat. Betrüger), an sich recht eigentlich nur Rechte einfordert, die andere, die ihn Umgebenden, gleichsam als Geschenk des Himmels – und darin liegt die Ungerechtigkeit des Ganzen – schon haben: Reichtum, gesellschaftliche Stellung, Erfolg, Liebe, Schönheit – der Hochstapler sieht sich als Opfer, und er kann nichts daran finden, andere eben dazu zu machen, es ist gleichsam nur eine Wiederherstellung der göttlichen Balance, der Gerechtigkeit an sich, ein allumfassendes „ich will auch, was ihr habt“. (Thomas Ripley geht eben soweit, dass er die Rolle seines Opfers Dickie SELBST übernimmt, er trägt seine Ringe, und muss diese, weil sie Verdacht erregen würden, mit Dickies Verlobter in der Oper überraschend konfrontiert, hinter seinem Rücken (!!!) überstürzt abziehen). Man erlöst sich gewissermassen selbst, und hier kommt der Betrüger dem Gott am nächsten – nicht umsonst ist Hermes, der Götterbote, auch der Gott der Diebe und eben der der Wissenschaft. Dies Prinzip, vielmehr die Annäherung an das Prinzip Hochstapler, immer ist in diesem Analysefeld alles immer nur Annäherung – gilt genauso für Felix Krull, der auch keine Ruhe findet, und nicht die geringsten Skrupel entwickelt seinen Opfern gegenüber, es gilt für den unverstandenen, in Armut vor sich hinvegetierenden “Heiligen” Starits Gregory Rasputin – und eben für den kleinen Bernie Madoff aus Queens. Doch zurück zu John Ripley.
Zunächst besetzt er also die Begehrlichkeit mit Zuneigung, und als diese nicht erwiedert wird, auch nicht nach Monaten, explodiert er bei einer gemeinsamen Bootstour (Dicke wirft ihm, in der Filmfassung unter Regie von Anthony Minghella ausserordentlich gut in Szene gesetzt vom Briten Jude Law, John Ripley „Langeweile“ vor, das tödlichste Urteil für einen Hochstapler überhaupt) und bringt seinen Antagonisten um – Bernie Madoff will vor allem eines: reich sein. Seine Anbiederung an potentielle Investoren wie etwa Shapiro geht soweit, dass diese ihn als “surrogate son”, als Ersatzsohn bezeichnen – er “bringt” die Milliardäre “um”, in dem er ihr Vermögen verschleudert. Rasputin will die Nähe zur Zarenfamilie – die bald darauf, auch von seinen Machenschaften beeinflusst, von den Roten erschossen wird. Und Felix Krull sieht, selbst im eisigen Schneetreiben stehend, ein junges Geschwisterpaar auf dem Balkon eines Luxushotels, des „Frankfurter Hof“: “Beide waren sie bildhübsch, – nicht zu sagen, wie hübsch, der Jüngling um nichts weniger als das Mädchen. Für den Abend gekleidet schon beide, trug jener Perlen in der Hemdbrust, diese eine Diamantagraffe in ihrem reichen und dunklen, wohlfrisierten Haar und eine andere an der Brust…” Dort will er hin: „Fort waren sie, die entzückenden Phantasmagorie eines Augenblicks, entschwunden auf Nimmerwiedersehen. Aber noch lange stand ich und blickte, aufrecht an einem Laternenpfahl, zu ihrem Balkon empor, indem ich ihr Dasein im Geist zu durchdringen suchte; und nicht nur diese Nacht, sondern in so mancher folgenden noch, wenn ich ermüdet vom Wandern und Schauen auf meiner Küchenbank lag, handelten meine Träume von ihnen.“ Vom Mord sieht der „glückliche“ Felix, und das ist wohl der literarischen Wohlgesittetheit Thomas Manns zu danken, allerdings ab. Geht man jedoch davon aus, dass Krull ein alter ego Manns ist, lässt sich bemerken, das jener in seinen Tagebüchern jedes Mal bemerkt, wenn er Konfitüre konsumiert – der eigentlich verarmte Lübecker Patriziersohn geht im wiedergefundenen sozialen Status auf, und langweilt mit Beschreibungen seines elfenbeinernen Spazierstocks (dessen Sprung am Griff ihm am Tage der Hiroshimabombe mehr Zeilen wert ist, als die Atombombe selbst) – doch das nur nebenbei. Kommen wir nun also zu den womöglich mächtigsten aller Hochstapler, den
Politikern
Ein Hochstapler par excellence, vielleicht einer der ersten dokumentierten Fälle der Geschichte überhaupt, dürfte der Pharao Echnaton gewesen sein. Einer plötzlichen Eingebung folgend, in der ihm ohne weitere Umstände der einzige und alleinige Gott Aton erscheint, die Sonne selbst, veranlasst ihn nicht nur die allmächtige Priesterkaste des Reichsgottes Amun in die politische Bedeutungslosigkeit zu verdammen – er verlegt sogar die Reichshauptstadt von Luxor nach Amarna, eine Stadt, die er aus dem Boden stampfen lässt. Dass ihm wahrscheinlich der Monotheismus zu verdanken ist, den das Judentum und alle darauffolgenden Religionen übernimmt, gilt inzwischen als wissenschaftliche Tatsache.
Ein etwas späterer Hochstapler auf dem ägyptischen Thron ist Ramses II. Seinen Krieg gegen die Hethiter, gipfelnd in seinem Feldzug gegen Quadesh – eine vollendete militärische Niederlage eigentlich, durch klassischen Hochmut, katastrophale Führung seiner Infanterie und Unfähigkeit in seinem taktischen Führungsstil à la “Ich bin der Pharao, jetzt kommst du”. In Wahrheit verliert er die Schlacht und deutet sie in propagandistischer Höchstleistung zu einem Sieg ohne Parallele um. Von der Nilmündung bis nach Assuan lässt er sich als Herrscher in den geduldigen Sandstein hauen, der in der einen Hand zahllose Feinde hält, in der anderen eine tödliche Keule schwingt. Seinem Geltungsdrang werden die königlichen Steinmetze nicht nur durch beispiellose Kolossalstatuen gerecht, sondern auch durch einen plötzlichen Stilwechsel in den steinern-schriftlichen Hieroglyphen: In seiner Amtszeit geht der Stelenschreiber vom Hochrelief ins Bas-relief über – so kann man die Namenskartuschen seiner Vorgänger mal eben in “Ramses II” ummeisseln. Einen alle sieben Jahre stattfindenden Ritus, bei dem der Pharao vor der versammelten Priesterschaft seine Regierungsfähigkeit durch einen Tanz zu demonstrieren hat, meistert er noch achtzigjährig bravourös: “Er warf die Beine über den Kopf, wie ein Gott”, durch einen Spazierstock gestützt, vermerken die Chronisten der damaligen Zeit atemlos auf ihren Papyrii.
Alkibiades, ein Geliebter des Sokrates, nutzt seine ebenfalls gottgleiche Schönheit und seinen persönlichen Charme im antiken Athen auch vermittels eines lang im Sand schleifenden Purpurmantels und “goldener Sandalen” – ein früher Publicity-Gag – derart geschickt, dass man ihn irgendwann zum Oberbefehlshaber der griechischen Flotte kürt, was natürlich in einer nautischen Katastrophe endet.
Alexander der Grosse wird seinen Status als Herrscher der Welt ein wenig später dadurch manifestieren, dass er sich in der ägyptischen Oase Shiwa von den dortigen Priestern des Amuns (der musste für so einiges herhalten) als dessen Sohn zu dessen Stellvertreter auf Erden erklären lässt. Ein Vorgang, den er erst billigend zur Kenntnis nimmt, um ihn, wie seine Biographin Mary Renault später schreiben wird, “irgendwann selbst zu glauben” – der Hochstapler überzeugt sich seiner eigenen Hybris.
Sich auf Gott selbst berufen, wir kennen es auch schon von Rasputin, und wir bemerken mit Erschrecken, dass das nach landläufiger, jedoch zur Debatte stehender, Meinung schöne Geschlecht unter den Hochstaplern aus untersuchenswerten Gründen bislang kaum repräsentiert ist. Nun, das wollen wir ändern:
Frauen
Johanna von Orléans oder auch Jeanne d´Arc folgt in ihrem Kreuzzug gegen die bösen Engländer angeblich auch einer direkten Gotteserscheinung, an die bis auf den heutigen Tag je nach Zugehörigkeit zur katholischen Kirche oder skeptischer Philosophie noch heute geglaubt wird, oder auch nicht.
Im Film Yentl, mit der göttlichen Barbra Streisand verfilmt, will eine junge Polin jüdischen Glaubens einfach nur ihren Anspruch auf Bildung erfüllt sehen, was ihr als Frau in einer jüdisch-orthodoxen Gesellschaft nur möglich ist, indem sie sich als Mann ausgibt. Für die damalige Zeit, man schreibt etwa die Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts, unerhört, aus der heutigen Perspektive und natürlich dem der westlichen Zivilisation, eine lässliche Sünde, auch wenn der Wunsch, das Geschlecht zu wechseln, schon seit Theiresias belegt ist: Der Philosoph darf, von den Göttern erwählt, sieben Jahre lang als Frau verbringen, um zu wissen, was diese fühlen. Der Seher erkauft sich die himmlische Gunst allerdings im Gegenzug für immerwährende Blindheit. Auch der wohl ausreichend dokumentierte, und deswegen hier nur gestreifte Fall der einzigen Päbstin, muss in dieser Reihe genannt werden. Noch heute ist der Geschlechterwechsel allerdings, selbst wenn die Genetik dafür spricht, wie diverse Beispiele aus der neueren deutschen Sportlergeschichte belegen, noch mit einem Haut Gout behaftet. „The sex-changing impostor“ ist also womöglich ein Sonderfall.
Bis in die Siebziger Jahre behauptet eine gewisse Anna Andersen, die einzige überlebende Tochter des Zaren, Grossfürstin Anastasia zu sein – ein Anspruch, der inzwischen durch eine überzeugende DNA-Analyse der sterblichen Überreste der Zarenfamilie als widerlegt gelten darf, wie der englische Autor Robert Massie in seinem Buch “Die Romanows” erschöpfend beschreibt. (Es ist ein interessanter Umstand, dass sich die Hochstapler verschiedenster Couleur um den letzten Herrscher aller Reussen gleichsam sammeln…)
Und ist es nicht, wenn man das sagen darf, quasi eine Pflicht der Damen, solange hochzustapeln, vermittels Schönheitswässerchen, Designerkleidung und Schmuck, als Heiratsgut für die prospektiven Ehemänner zu gelten, solange, bis sie den wohlversorgten und möglichst ewigen Bund eingehen? Ist es häretisch, soetwas zu vermuten?
Was bleibt also abschliessend zu sagen? Das Phänomen des Hochstapelns scheint eine Konstante der menschlichen Zivilisation, zeitunabhängig, geschlechtsneutral, alt wie die Menschheit, immer wieder auftretend, nie ganz versiegend, verheissungsvoll verführerisch, unaufhaltsam, solange eben Menschen träumen. Und dies – seien wir einmal ehrlich – hat doch auch etwas Tröstliches?
HARALD NICOLAS STAZOL
Geschützt: 10001000
April 26th, 2009 | stazol
aus gegebenem Anlass: Shakespeares Sonnett 126
April 8th, 2009 | stazol
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy pow’r
Dost hold time’s fickly glass, his sickle hour,
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st
Thy lovers withering, as they sweet self grow’st -
If nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose: that her skill
May time disgrace, and wretched minute kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure;
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure.
Her audit, though delayed, answered muxt be,
And her quietus is to render thee.
“Lord Darlington´s Death” has been published
März 17th, 2009 | stazol
though I want to leave these photos on top of the site, so feel free to punch Lord Darlington´s Death into the search option and enjoy a narration about love, real love, as only aristocrats can understand, they think…
Lord Darlington´s Death
März 14th, 2009 | stazol
Lord Darlington was well amused. He had been to his club and had encountered, for the first time, between tea and whiskey, an unknown person, unmistakingly a new butler, of exceeding beauty. The Lord was saved, he had been bored for over a year and now saw his first chance to be captured by beauty. He had observed the acolyte and been well pleased. The butler was elegant in his bearings, had a nicely modulated voice, a perfect accent and wonderful hands. Lord Darlington had gone over four whiskeys only to see the new, brandnew, butler serving him. Ond once even with a smile. Lord Darlington had not been smiled at for well a decade, or he had not registered it, for society was truly content with his social and cordial disposition. He very seldom smiled. His lips were full on disdain on the world, but this time! Oh, this time he smiled back, a blushing youth again at Eton, a flowering, a butterfly´s air movement on his heart. In short, it was a miracle. He sent the carriage away and walked through Green park, as he had done since June 1889, when he was as happy – and as well in love. He felt inspired and full of live and his very steps had a new rhythm, it seemed to him. He bought flowers on his way, striding to Buckingham Palace to see the Prince of Wales, an intimate friend. He was delighted, felt elated, was about to dance a little. And the passers-by wondered at the usual so solemn lord, whom they had not seen as spirited in well some years. The next days he visited his club on a regular basis. He choose a sofa right in the best lit corner, eagerly awaiting the butlers return. And yes, there he was, smoothly attending to the gentlemen‘s wishes. Darlington now ordered tea and some cake, then cigarettes, then a gin tonic, slowly running out of pretexts to be served at all. He asked for the Times, and after some thoughtless reading joined some acquaintances for a party of bridge. At midnight he ordered the carriage, found his home in Belgravia and, before falling asleep, thought of ways how to engage Anthony (he had finally been able to listen to the butler being addressed as such) in some conversation. He decided to act. He had anticipated a long stay in the country, at Darlington hall. He wondered how to impart the news to Anthony, whom he intended to ask whether he would work for him. Darlington hesitated. He had long been alone. His marriage had failed. His two sons were estranged to him, and his ex-wife squandered his money and his nerves. “How to do it, and not be plain, and what if he should say no”. His anxiousness increased from day to day. Then, one afternoon, he saw his chance. He had been to Parliament to hear the Prime Minister debate for the increasement of the fleet, the new politic toward India and relations to France. He waited for the moment, he felt like a boy on a cricket field, seen by everyone, and he was ashamed for his weakness, because so he felt, weak to continue a life empty for him, an endless stream of tea-parties, tennis and the races. Like a beggar he went to the club, requesting nothing more for his destiny than to be accepted. He had chosen a blue Pinstripe and had a dandy dandelion in his buttonhole. He sweated. He did not dare to challenge the steps to the club, shortly greeting Baron Rothschild, barely hearing what he said. Lord Darlington was rejuvenated, he hummed a tune, something from Tchaikovsky, if he was not mistaken.
He entered through the wooden revolving door, was greeted by the footman, went up to the concierge to immerse himself in correspondence (“The house is ready, the hunt will be organized, a ball threatens, attended by all neighbours, boring as they may be. But I will not go alone. I will not take no for an answer.”) He took the elevator to the library and, to calm himself down, he read a German poet, August von Platen:
August von Platen (1796-1835)
Tristan
Wer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen,
Ist dem Tode schon anheimgegeben,
Wird für keinen Dienst auf Erden taugen,
Und doch wird er vor dem Tode beben,
Wer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen!
Ewig währt für ihn der Schmerz der Liebe,
Denn ein Tor nur kann auf Erden hoffen,
Zu genügen einem solchen Triebe:
Wen der Pfeil des Schönen je getroffen,
Ewig währt für ihn der Schmerz der Liebe
Ach, er möchte wie ein Quell versiechen,
Jedem Hauch der Luft ein Gift entsaugen,
Und den Tod aus jeder Blume riechen:
Wer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen,
Ach, er möchte wie ein Quell versiechen!
He closed his eyes. He was 21 again, at university, rowing his beloved upriver, a summer‘s day, hot and humid, followed by a picnic and some chat, and a kiss. Only one. It was the first and the last kiss he had ever received. He would kiss again, he said to himself. And he would stop to live a sham, a caricature of himself, depriving himself of his utmost feelings, of the depth in life that he had so long, oh! so long forgotten. He had wasted far too much time. He had endured a thirst unquenchable, he had hungered, he had burnt his money, oh! there was enough left, no worries. He decided to buy an apartment in Paris. Darlington went into the drawing room. There he was, Anthony, smiling again. Darlington beckoned him to come. Anthony came. “Your lordship looks well today”, he said. “Oh I am happy”, Darlington replied. He let his eyes wander. He stared Anthony directly into the eyes. He felt tears up welling, threatening to spoil the scene. The eyes were blue and asking. “Anthony, I have a very urgent request. I want to employ you. I have to employ you. It is my urgent wish. Please, please don‘t turn me down. You have made me happy, so happy. I would double your earnings, of course. And accompany me on a world tour. Bombay perhaps, for a month.” He looked to the floor. “You can think about it, of course. Please do. But you have to accept. You have to. I am relying on it.“ Anthony was dumbfounded. He could not believe his ears. He staggered a bit. He took a step away. He sighed. And then he said: “Yes, milord. I shall be happy to accept. I will quit here immediately. And I will travel with you. And live with you. Thank you so much milord.” And so Lord Darlington was saved. He hardly believed his luck. He shook hands. He muttered “thank you”. He fell back into his chair and planned to furnish Anthony‘s rooms brandnew. A week passed. They had not spoken about money. It was not necessary. And on April the first Anthony moved into 212, Belgrave Square. Oh, this were happy times for Lord Darlington, and for Anthony as well. The whole household, the cook, Sally, an Irishwoman of sometimes stern reactions, the chauffeur, Jack, a solemn, quiet man, Andrew, the gardener, the footmen, they all fell for Anthony, then in the prime of his youth. It was as if a new, warm breeze swept through the house, as if the ice that had covered Darlingtons home had melted away and the first flowers came through a now friendlier earth. Anthony was adapting splendidly to his recent position, and Darlington could sometimes lay awake in his bedroom, awaiting Anthony to fold back the drapes and open the window and ask for his lordships plans for today and which suit he chose for the events of the day. Then he took his tea, while Anthony prepared the clothes, matched the ties and polished shoes, lightly chatting away about some news in society and the court curricula and sometimes one of the dreams he had had. Darlington went to his business, drove out to the shipyards, visited the bank to fix some urgent necessities. The complete renovation of Darlington Hall, Payment for the new yacht and the ordering of a new, private rail car, for he intended to follow the orient express in autumn, going down to Eypt, there meeting with the boat and then sailing to Athens, Venice, Genoa, Cannes and the through the Gate of Gibraltar, to Biarritz, and then back to Paris, for the races in Chantilly. He would send some horses that had done well in Ascot. He sold some property in Scotland and invested heavily in Suez-Bonds (not knowing that he would be richer than the Hanover -Windsors, when the Channel was finished and profits rolled in). He bought art. A Chinese vase, a sculpture of Apollo only just arrived from Delphi. A Venetian chandelier, for the entree of the Belgrave House. A KPM tea-set in bleu mourant, formerly in possession of Frederick the Great, it was also Darlington‘s favourite colour and he decided to redo the bleu salon. He would give a party. He was surprised at himself. A party? He would invite all his friends and society, he would ask the Prime Minister and the Prince of Wales. Yes, he thought, I shall give a party. He went down Regent Street, when he saw Mrs. Dalloway. Clarissa I must tell you all. I am a new man. Larissa plainly had seen the change, even heard about it. She replied, I know, it is the new butler. Oh shame on you, Harold. You take youth for granted. You are feeding on youth. I love you for it, but it is a dangerous hobby. You can loose all. Darlington told her about the party. Clarissa Dalloway was amazed. Of course, she said, we shall come, it will be a pleasure, oh how delightful. Maybe I shall have a party myself. And then, after a fortnight, Belgravia House was ablaze with diamonds and their ladies, was the centre of town, a dance with the Prime Minister, a chat with the future king. And Anthony was everywhere at once. He poured drinks, offered coffee and tea, was all politeness to the ladies, saw to everything, always keeping an adoring eye on Darlington himself. He is delightful, Darlington, they said. How do you find these youths. You should be so happy, and we are even happier, for you are now well kept. But be careful, Harold, lest you loose your heart. And Darlington knew, this hope was in vain, he had already lost it.
He danced with Clarissa and she whispered, you fool, you adorable fool. We shall see, we shall see, what society says about you. I think you have charmed them all.
He is straight of the Norman conquest, the purest Norman I have seen for years, blue-blooded chap, he is, analyzed Professor Chatham, a Darwinian fellow from Cambridge. The blazing blue eyes, his straight jaw, his red lips, the shine of his skin, his height, hair blond as an autumn leaf, a Norman, I declare. And I am conquested finally, Darlington thought.
And then his ex-wife entered the room. He had not invited her, but she came with a young actor, and was instantly forgiven. So this is your new part of the collection. Congratulations. Now you make yourself a fool of the entire empire. We shall sail to Canada next week, Darlington fired back. And I forbid you to speak like that. He is my butler, and that is that. And the woman he had loved turned away in tears and left the room, joining some mutual friends.
It was a scandal outright. The never tounge-tied pythons of society spat venom. And Darlington knew what they were. They were jealous. That was all. Who wouldn‘t t have Anthony around him. They envied him. And his Lordship relished in it.
The renovations at Darlington Hall had been completed, and on a perfect autumn day, a day in which summer greets for a last time and the sun long conquers the sky, they travelled thereto, for it pleased Darlington to show Anthony all his possessions, his passions, his delights in gardening. And not for long the pillared portico of Darlington Hall commandeered its Hill amidst Beeches and Willow, the lake glistening, its fountains ablaze and its huge household bowing on the steps, happy for his lordship to return.
He gave a ball. For all the countryside, all the Earls, Sirs and Lords around, for it was hunting season, and the ladies had been desperate for some entertainment. He danced a lot, there was a recital of a German opera singer and some piano playing, it was a gay circle that revolved around him, and, of course, around Anthony. He took the ball by storm. The ladies were charmed to death by his manners, and Darlington shone like a new coin and bowed to everyone and made all of them feel at home. He thought of Jane Austen and her happy country balls. They would stay till Christmas, and then return to London, and the for spring to Paris.
In Paris, he took Anthony in the Opera, and then back to the Ritz, where they dined together as friends, class distinctions all dead. It was perhaps a mistake of Darlington, but soon in Cannes they were back to the old arrangement, Anthony taking command of the seaside villa that Darlington, inexplicably, had not visited in years. He went to the casino and lost a fortune, but he did not heed, and there was money enough. His Canadian Railway Bonds had developed into tenfold their initial worth, and Darlington had a new Swimming Pool installed.
And at night, when all was silent, Darlington awoke to a splashing sound. He went to the balcony, and there he was: Anthony, taking a night swim, glistening in the moonlight like a fish. Darlington went to bed again and slept till the next afternoon, when he was awakened by his butler, urging him to have tea. Now he went for a swim, asking for Gin Tonics. Suddenly his friend Lord Elfinstone was announced. Darlington had him asked for drinks at the pool, took a towel and had himself dressed in a seersucker suit, and then met his friend. Hardy, he said, how nice of you to come. Do stay a bit. Stay for a week. I‘ll have your luggage sent from the Palace Hotel. I don‘t take no for an answer. And lets go to the Casino tonight, I beg you, it is so much fun to loose money with his friends
And they went, leaving a worried Anthony behind, who didn‘t especially like these types of his Lordships friends. When they came home in the wee hours of the morning, they were in high spirits, asking for more and laughing like schoolboys. Darlington had not had so much fun in years. He motioned to Anthony, thank you, that would be all, but Anthony insisted to wait on his guests as long as they stayed, and had some extra rooms made ready.
Breakfast was a late affair, but the joyous atmosphere remained, and when the young German tycoon from next door made his entry, the day was in safe hands. The sun triumphed over the evening star still and they had had dinner on the grass and suddenly the wish for the pool was everywhere. When Darlington had left the party and all had gone to bed, he had a cigarette on his balcony. And sure as the gods wished there the splash was again, Anthony, swimming like a giant golden fish, ever so gracefully. And the next morning his Lordship smiled and said to him, you are a good swimmer, my dear Anthony. And Anthony blushed. It was so hot between the bed sheets, your lordship, I had to cool down a little. Pray, do, as you please, Darlington said. And from then on stayed up late, to see his butler swim.
It was an untenable situation. Society had a field day. If you go on like this, one anonymous letter said, you shall be destroyed in London. And Darlington laughed lightly, crumbled up the paper and lit it in an ashtray. Another letter, announcing lady Darlington with her new lover for next Monday, in three days time, was surely more alarming.
When his ex-wife appeared with her newest acquisition, both their friends warned them openly. A gentleman under the same roof with his ex-wife s lover AND his ex-wife was regarded as amoral throughout. To Darlington it seemed, that time itself stood still. They were a handsome couple, and of course he signed some checks to keep them on travelling to Brussels, under the condition that both departed immediately. So calm, if not reason, were restored to him.
From Cannes, they went on to Grasse, through a flowering countryside, with fields of roses accompanying their slow ascent to the ville, and Darlington fell so in love with that place and its perfumes that he enquired after a small house in the vicinity. He needed to be alone and took up rooms at Grasses best hotel, the Hotel des Parfums.
There, a kind of depression fell on the lord. He felt exhausted. And the more Anthony tried to lift his spirits, he failed. It is all in vain, thought, London will kill me. If I ever go there again. Nobody will understand me. I am ridiculed already. But with the ridiculousness of his situation he could live. Without Anthony, he could no longer.
And after some deep thought and unanswered letters, he awoke one morning to a new decision. He would face them all and not heed his own destruction in society, should this be his fate. And to Anthony he said: Are you happy, my boy. And the boy said, I could not be happier my lord. And that was that.
They returned to London in October, and found it much changed. He was greeted in his club by severe nods, and one evening, a certain general t. came to his lordships attention and enquired after his butler. Was he not perfect to join the army, to be drafted, to be trained in service. And Darlington said, well, a war Anthony would not survive, he would not survive. And with a puzzled face the general withdrew and shook his head.
The Prince of Wales drew him aside at Ascot and enquired after his health, and his ex wife, and whether he considered marrying again. And Darlington answered, as long as your Highness refrains, I consider it my duty to follow your example. He did not see the signs. And he did not wonder to be excluded from some dinner parties he had been a regular to. It was as if a mist settled around him. And he did not care.
He rode out one morning and met Mr. Dalloway, who barely greeted him and his seat in the House of Lords was soon ignored, as if his noble friends were shunning him. And then there was a letter sent to Anthony, urging him to leave his position, beseeching him to not fall for the corrupted whims of an ageing dandy. He had shown it to him and Darlington stared out of the window and said faintly, they hate happiness, wherever the see it. A gentleman must not be happy, to be part of society. Happiness is condemned by everyone. Happiness is amoral. And Anthony withdrew.
But life at Darlington Hall was as easy as ever. Darlington had gone early into the country this year, and he could rely on the allegiance of his household, and the deep understanding that bound his tenants to his family, and the general feeling that a Lord could be as eccentric as he pleased.
Darlington settled down a bit. He slowed down even his very movements, getting grace fuller and barely alluding to his old schoolboy days. He felt like in a dream. He wrote to his sister, after years of silence, and invited her to stay a fortnight with her extended family. It was unheard of. The household reacted with surprising efficiency, ordering food all around and to have fowl and deer, they sent out a hunt. The house was aired, the guest tracts were cleaned, the silver polished, wine and porcelain found. A family! After all these years! And young children, a menace that Darlington always had had difficulties with.
And Anthony? He had disappeared into an office, paying bills, ordering the refreshments, upping the wine cellar. It was a change for the lord, but he complied. There was no one better, and the whole household was relieved. At last! A trustworthy, hardworking butler. But through all his ordeals, he stood by the chair in front of the fire where his lordship required brandy and some conversation, and Anthony kept him all informed about proceedings.
Agatha, his sister, arrived with five boys and her husband, a humourless stock-trader from the city, who had given his lordship often his sound advice without his wife‘s knowing. They were heartingly received and welcomed, and the dinner following the visitors getting settled down and changing for the occasion, in long evening robes, dripping with jewels, the husband and his lordship in smokings. It was a delighting affair, lasting the whole evening. Anthony saw to everyone everywhere, showering the guests in the fulfilment of their wishes. A complete success, Darlington thought, and rejoined the children in his old playroom, where they fell on his little soldiers, like their forebears might have done in battle. Good stock, Darlington perceived.
His sons came, after they had heard about the stay of their aunt, and both of them talked to their father during a crocket game, something they had longed for years.
Perhaps he would buy some property in Scotland, to be even safer against indiscretions. But it would be a flight. Give them no room, Darlington thought. Fight back.
The children adored Anthony, and their mother was surely charmed. Only the stock broker held himself back with any comments and kept his moral dark thoughts to himself. But when they left, Darlington felt ready for Bath. Or Eastbourne, for Darlington loved the sea. He spent lavishly on a new carriage and they stayed at the Grand Hotel, as in the lords youth, overlooking the see like a white palace and a landmark on the shore, freshly after Victoria Regina and the Coronation, with his mother. His father would come down from the city and spend the weekends, always having his special train ready to depart on short notice to the cabinet meetings. Those were the days of Darlington‘s golden youth, when he was just another chap of high aristocracy, adored by everyone and always being witty and swimming out into the waves to exhaustion. He felt elated. His friends found him in highest spirits. Anthony went quite golden in the sun, and they had dinner on the terrace Darlington being waited upon, and being one in ten aristocrats who had brought their own servants.
Then an invitation arrived, beckoning Darlington to the Rothschild in Paris, for the wedding of their youngest daughter, Rebecca, and, with a relish, Darlington accepted. They would go to Paris, stay at the Meurice, tour the Louvre and then go on to Biarritz.
The wedding was a grand affair. The Présidente de la Republique had given a special permission to invite to the Petit Trianon at Versailles, and both bride and groom were of such startling happiness that Darlington waltzed with the young bride twice.
Darlington had not been at his house in Paris for years. He had sent an urgent message to his French lawyer in order to pay some staff and, miraculously, his French staff had the place aired and cleaned to his lordships full satisfaction. Paris society was much more open than London‘s and reacted to Darlington‘s presence with acute kindness and a tide of invitations, all of which the lord accepted with a flourish, and a quantity of flowers and little presents for the salons in the afternoons and evenings. The British ambassador gave his spring ball and there Darlington was presented to all the available beauties of the season, charming them without committing himself and being very vague generally. “He is the most desirable bachelor of this summer” the presiding ladies concluded and, “it would be a shame if we lost him to an American heiress”. And Darlington took the compliments as his understatement allowed, smiling a lot and feeling youthful without being too open about it. Anthony in the meantime took lessons in French, for he felt that maybe the lords restlessness would decrease and they would stay perhaps some time longer in France.
And then something unexpected happened: The Princess of Angoulème, Claire, fell in love. She was twenty-five, a beauty renown in society, unmarried and portrayed by countless painters since her youth, and she set it in her little head to woe and seduce the new arrival from London with all her grace and trickery and decisiveness that she could master, and she appeared at every party, salon and ball where Darlington was received, and tried to enchant him with her lively chatter and grace and wit, and Darlington responded in kind, without realizing that he was the only person of her attention. She managed to get an invitation to the British embassy‘s garden party and there, escaping her chaperone, the Duchesse d´Orléans, the princesse thrust, at an unregarded moment, a letter in Darlingtons hand, in which she poured out all the sentiments, hopes, desires and emotions of her young life, and hoped to touch Darlingtons heart.
And indeed she did. He sent her flowers and asked her out for a ride, and delighted in her careless chatter, and when he gave a little reception in his refurbished house for the Crème de la crème of Parisian Society. He did not forget the jeunesse dorée, all the Princesses friends and some revolutionary poets, and he saw to the wellbeing of all his guests, and showered Claire with pleasantries and small signs of his attachment – and Anthony saw all this but was silent, and a trifle sad, and his thoughts became darker, and his attentions to his lordship waned a little, but Darlington did not heed, for he thought that his butler‘s affections were unshaken and indeed unshakeable, and he was right to a certain extent, for Anthony was very loyal, and he had only Darlington‘s happiness in mind.
One morning Darlington awoke and had his coffee and his morning papers and, after some time, while getting dressed, asked Anthony out of a sudden feeling: “Anthony, my dear, what if I would marry again? Would I be happier and have a new purpose in life, and start all over again, and have, perhaps, some more children? What would you think? I have been so lonely but for you, and I am thankful for your service an for having been a good counsellor and friend, but what I fear the most is my heritage and inheritance going to my ex-wife, her lovers and my notorious sons, and be lost, or squandered in no time, and my seat in Parliament would be lost, and all my doings and honours forgotten. Would not there be a ghist of fresh air through the Princesse, and my life changed thoroughly, and all our fortunes bettered and more joyous, and I might be content in old age?” And Anthony was silent and brushed his lordships new tweeds, and after a while he answered, “your wish is my desire, and I would do everything to your pleasure, but a matter of such importance must be considered carefully, and perhaps your lordship needs some more time for so decisive a step, for a young girls heart might be broken easily, and, if I daresay so, your lordships heart also”. And he left the matter at that and resolved to prepare himself with all due respect to a change in the household and the situation in general, and did so in great secrecy and without giving himself away. And he increased his considerations for his future new mistresses wellbeing, and had flowers sent to her every day, choosing the bouquets himself, when Darlington was busy or simply forgot to do so, which was seldom but happened from time to time.
Anthony decided to be very attentive whenever the Princesse visited Darlington, and he tried to judge her soul from afar, and when he had the opportunity, very discreetly always and with great care. And in due course he could find nothing amiss in her behaviour, and he ventured with great care to win her affection and trust, and never missed the moment when he thought it better to leave the new-found lovers to themselves, whenever decency allowed it: When, for example, Darlington showed her the winter garden, or went to a walk with his newfound object of desire, for Claire was desirable indeed.
Darlington was torn apart between the possibilities that the new relationship would offer and his reluctance to give up his bachelorhood. And every morning he asked himself, and his butler, what he should do with his future. And after some time society judged it necessary that Darlington paid a visit to the aging Prince d´Angoulème, Claire‘s father, in the Faubourg, to discuss the matter and propose in the accepted fashion: “You love my daughter?”, the prince asked over some cognac, and Darlington answered: “Very much so. She is a treasure of my life, and I shall provide well for her.” And the Prince was content, and accepted his lordship, on one condition – the marriage should be postponed for a year, so that the lovers would have time enough to consider the matter with utmost care, and search their feelings, and guarantee their affections for each other, and be sure about there steps, for the outcome would be all-important.
The rumour about the betrothal reached London in no time, supposedly over the British envoy in Paris, and one morning a letter from Clarissa Dalloway arrived for Lord Darlington, which ran as follows: “My dear, I have heard about your plans and am delighted. But are you really prepared for the necessities of a marriage to a girl so much younger than you? Think of the consequences. And, to be quite honest, what about your butler, the source of your pleasure so far?” Indeed, Darlington thought, indeed. He was shaken between acceptance of the situation as it was and changing his life. One year was perhaps the right thing to do, he thought. Twelve Months, we shall see - and then Darlington took a decision.
Claire was a stunning beauty. She had a fragile bearing, and all her dresses complimented her bosom, her taille, which would have done a Medici honour. Her hands were white as her porcelain skin, and the rosy cheeks needed no Make up. It was at the time no easy task for a young girl to enter a room gracefully in one all-encompassing gesture, lending her hand for the gentlemen to be kissed, greeting the hostess and acquaintances in due order, then tiptoeing to a sofa while balancing a cup of tea and perhaps a rose-coloured petit four, then be seated, with a completely straight back and in the very minute starting a witty dialogue, all that in a dress with a five-foot satin train and high heels and a well showing décolleté, well adorned with rubies or sapphires, and last but not least a bouquet of spring flowers, which court etiquette required during Victoria‘s reign. She was remarkable for her education and she had heard mathematics and physics at the Sorbonne, being one of the first females to be allowed to do so, doubtlessly through the good contacts of her father to the university – he was a world-renown geologist – and some substantial contributions to diverse science projects in her families name. She was well versed in poetry and music, playing the harpsichord and – she sang very beautifully. She danced to the delight of her various companions, and some officers held bets about the duration of a waltz: the record lay with a dragoon, who waltzed with her for seventeen minutes straight. Oh, and how she laughed, she laughed like a butterfly‘s dance in the evening breeze, a colibri`s flight. Darlington knew all this well.
Yet he hesitated. His life would change in extremis, and he feared his new found happiness could diminish, could disappear into the nothingness of his earlier days, but for Anthony‘s kindness. But Claire reminded him of Marie-Antoinette, her light-footed ways and the sheer delight that she shone in. Yet Darlington hesitated.
Another matter suddenly dawned upon the lord and his life: The Prime Minister requested his attendance to a conference of European officials, who would convene in Geneva for a prolonged talk of European peace-keeping and the general outlook on the future of political factions of the continent. At first, Darlington did not feel up to the occasion and felt that his possibilities of influencing the matter in favour of the British Empire seemed to him diminished, since he felt his own being much more of a cosmopolite than favouring a single nation‘s need and its strategic needs. But in an afterthought he suddenly relished in the thought of seeing Lake Geneva again, and the Montblanc, and the shore where his confidante, the Empress of Austria-Hungary, Sisi, had met her fate in such tragic circumstances.
The preparations for the journey were extensive. Darlington was required to visit the conference for about a month, the minimum of time that was expected for the discussions. Anthony was busy as ever: He had a villa to rent, a building that had to meet all the requirements of a representative lodging, a home that was able to give room for larger dinner parties and receptions as well as intimate meetings for some of the most important politicians of the present time – he found a little palais on the quai d´x, whose occupants had left for a world tour, and he travelled a week early, to prepare the house just in time. His lordship was not amused about this, but he saw the reasonableness of the parting with his butler, and it gave him some space to deal with the princess on his own.
One night, Darlington had a dream. He had been late to bed, after a night in the opera, and some champagne, and a conversation with a dear friend, Spencer Elphinstone, whose daughter had married a young American, about her father was not too happy: “Too bad, an American, of all possible sons-in-law, an American! He asked me where I had bought my furniture. Bought! My furniture! It was outrageous! And, my friend, when are you to marry again? I hear a lot about a certain girl, and you seem to be a perfect match! Some children perhaps? Oh, I met your son in Newcastle, he bought a horse, quite the sportsman he is.” And Darlington felt his thoughts drain away. He didn‘t know how he had gotten home in the first place, and after he went to bed, he slept sound and fast, and then he dreamt.
He was on a white cliff, very high up at some seaside resort, and he looked down the cliff and saw a swimmer. In the waves, the youth struggled to come ashore, and it seemed to Darlington that the tide was rolling out, and the swimmer was loosing his strength. Darlington stood high up on the rocks and felt lost, for he couldn‘t help the swimmer, as was his wont. And then he saw a woman plunging out into the whiteness, after she had run from the white sands into the rolling sea, and she swam out to the swimming youth, and she struggled out to him, and she saved his life, just like that, and Darlington was happy, but he could not move. And then the pair came up on the shore, and it was Anthony, and it was the princess, and they came up to the lord and went past him, and Darlington could not speak, and they did no see him. And then, against the setting sun, they kissed each other, and Darlington felt a sudden sadness, and he was desperate to see them both embracing, and he could not do anything about it. And then Darlington woke in cold sweat, and after some time he cried, and cried, as he had not cried since his boyhood, when his father had died, and the principal of Eton had informed him of his father‘s death, on a cold summer morning. He was exempt from the lessons for a week, and he did not recover during those days, but cried until the hospital ward had given him something to calm him down. And then he slept for three days, and when he woke again, he knew, he was a man, and his childhood was over forever – he simply knew it. When Darlington stopped crying he went down the stairs and found his father‘s portrait in the library. And in the morning the maid found him fast asleep on a couch amidst his books, and she was very worried, and let him sleep till midday, when he was expected for a ride out with the Princess in the Bois de Boulogne. But he could not go to see her, and he sent a message and some flowers and had himself excused, and for the first time in a long time he had a bottle of whiskey for dinner, and after that he laughed hysterically, and the whole household was worried for some days, until the doctor came. And the doctor saw that something deeply troubled his Lordship, and after some deliberation the old gentleman sent a telegram to Geneva.
When Anthony had read the cable, he decided to take the night train to Paris, and in the morning he arrived, and found the house in an eerie silence. He went down to the servants quarters and opened the door to the kitchen and there met the cook. “Oh, monsieur”, she cried, “monsieur, enfin” and then she told everything that she knew of her master‘s illness, and that he had taken to bed for more than a week, and was very ill, and all the doctors who had come could not find a reason for his Lordships ailment. “You are our last hope, monsieur!”
“Has he asked for me”, Anthony enquired, and deep down he was desperate. And when it was time for his Lordships breakfast, he went up the stairs with his tray and knocked on the door to Darlington‘s bedroom. And when he opened the curtains, he turned and saw Darlington‘s face, and Anthony waited. He sat next to the bed and waited for more than an hour, and he was worried even more. And then he did something that he never had done before. He touched Darlington. He took his Lordships hands and held them. And Darlington moved his head in Anthony‘s direction and opened his eyes. And after some moments, the dullness in Darlington‘s eyes brightened, and he smiled, and he whispered; “Anthony, you have left me all alone, and this was no good idea. I have had some bad dreams. And now I would like to have some tea.” And some tea he got indeed.
Darlington recovered quite quickly, to the amazement of his servants, and the doctor proclaimed him fit for travelling in some days. So everything was packed and the house closed for the season. The only problem remained: What to do with the princess? Darlington called at her villa and was duly received with a certain coldness by the master of the house, her father, who seemed to be a bit reserved about his visitor. No, the princess had gone out for the day, and would not see him. So Darlington decided to write her a letter, and of its content we shall be silent. But after all he had gained some time for his decision, and there were other pressing matters, namely the upcoming conference. The Pullman was ordered, and in due course Darlington boarded his private compartment and went off to Geneva.
There he was received by the British Ambassador, who took him into confidence in a private conversation, and warned him of the German envoys, whose harsh and untrusting representation of the Kaiser‘s wishes and ambitions even now was a smoking gun to the peace in Europe for the time being. Darlington met his duties as a counsellor for the British and received the dispatches of her Majesty‘s government in their red boxes, and read them, and acted accordingly, mainly through his manners to other diplomats, and his elegance, and his tolerance for other views. In the evenings, he usually gave dinner to the ambassadors who had held the most distinguished opinions and mixed them with the most extreme opinion-leaders and tried to counsel between them and offer his advice, and every night he wrote a report to the British Authorities, and at night Anthony was most courteous and saw to it that his lordship had all that he needed, including some sandwiches and a Gin and Tonic.
Anthony was worried all the same, for he perceived that Darlington‘s fragile health was perhaps too threatened by his ordeals. He saw to it that daily visits were severely restricted and that the conferences Darlington visited would not be too overbearing, and that his lordship did not exceed his timetables. There were to be no meetings before breakfast, and indeed not before ten o‘clock, and Anthony cared for enough spare time for his master in order to give him ample space for recovering, especially on weekends.
Darlington worked hard and fought well, and his health had much improved. he was very busy with his reports and the Prime Minister sent him a letter of great politeness, asking him to continue with his work, and whether he would consider himself able to join the Empire‘s diplomatic service, a post in Washington would be free shortly. The Lord pondered the question, but refrained from a direct answer and played for time.
And then the Princess arrived. She took a suite at the Hotel de la Paix and word got around that she intended to stay as long as the conference was in session, and she went to the theatre and the opera, and showed, to the amazement of the general public, the latest fashion of Paris during her outings, and she took Geneva‘s society by storm. Her style was widely copied by the women of importance, and her schedule increased with every day. She was sure that she would meet Darlington in no time at all, and she made sure to be invited to the British embassy‘s ball at the end of the week, and prepared to be in presence on her own, to charm the attendants of the engagement, and she would not have it that Darlington tried to avoid her. On the second day of her stay she sent word to his residence, and it was with sheer luck that Anthony intercepted her note to the lord, and he undertook it himself to let Darlington know of her presence in the right moment, for he feared that his lordship would be too distracted by her and that he would react in an unforeseeable manner, and be disturbed in his activities. One evening before the ball he informed his master of the princesses‘ presence at tomorrows ball, and Darlington took the news without to be too troubled, and indeed he was delighted by the idea to meet her again, and he sent some flowers to the hotel, and he pondered to send her a tiara in his families possession from one of his Geneva bank vaults, a diamond studded dream that had not been worn for considerable time, since his mother had died, for her last official function, as a compliment to the princesses taste and as an adornment to the ball‘s exuberance and its dazzling English ladies. He called at the Hotel and after being admitted to her presence, he produced the etui of the jewels and asked her to have the grace to accept them for the evening, and she accepted but showed no other sign of her being in love of her English admirer.
The donation of the Darlington Tiara in society was seen as a sure sign of an official engagement to the Lord, and Darlington had not thought of this symbolism, and this was due to his being distracted by some more important issues, but even the Princess seemed to be assured that she was courted by him even during the ball, for he asked her for every dance, which was duly reported in the press, and indeed they made a spectacular pair, and it was noted that Darlington had not been seen in more splendid countenance since he had arrived in Switzerland – even the French ambassador took the princess by his side and uttered under his breath “your grace has been the best influence in the history of French diplomacy and the English for some time”, and she took the compliment slightly offhand. She did not quite understand what the envoy had meant with his words for she thought only of her own happiness – she loved social functions in general and the ball provided her to exude all her charm, and she took the general adoration of her beauty and manners with the delight of every young girl that was the centre of a season.
When Darlington came to his library, he had some champagne and sat down in front of the fireplace. Anthony was present, and while Darlington opened some letters and invitations, he asked his butler offhandedly: They have offered me a position in America, how would you be pleased by some time in Washington? And Anthony did not answer, as he was not expected to, but to himself he thought, wherever, if we go together. He had had a cousin who had gone to the new world, and he knew not much about it, apart from that it was reputed to be free and all men there were indeed created equal, and that there were no class distinctions, and of the wild west he had heard, and that the land rolled on to the pacific in mind-boggling dimensions. And Darlington nodded off in his chair and asked himself just before whether a flight to the States would rescue him from the princesse´s attention.
He was found lifeless in a guild blue fauteuil that had belonged to the salons of Marie-Antoinette. He had been smoking a cigarette, whose ashes had accumulated now on the Chinese rug.
Antoine found him, thinking his Lordship had just a deep thought. He might have dozed off, in his darkblue smokingjacket, the bow tie and his velvet shoes.
Darlingtons face, rigid, but still supple somehow, wore an air of astonishement, of suprise.
Antoine knew this expression well.
Darlington was, or had been, as even Antoine, blind with tears, suddenly became aware of, wearing it when he was raging with wrath at a dinner guest who had dared to interrupt him.
Clearly his life had been far too amusing, to be ended by something as trivial as death.
Darlington´s quest
Dezember 31st, 2008 | stazol
Lord Darlington was well amused. He had been to his club and had encountered, for the first time, between tea and whiskey, an unknown person, unmistakingly a new butler, of exceeding beauty. The Lord was saved, he had been bored for over a year and now saw his first chance to be captured by beauty. He had observed the acolyte and been well pleased. The butler was elegant in his bearings, had a nicely modulated voice, a perfect accent and wonderful hands. Lord Darlington had gone over four whiskeys only to see the new, brandnew, butler serving him. Ond once even with a smile. Lord Darlington had not been smiled at for well a decade, or he had not registered it, for society was truly content with his social and cordial disposition. He very seldom smiled. His lips were full on disdain on the world, but this time! Oh, this time he smiled back, a blushing youth again at Eton, a flowering, a butterfly´s air movement on his heart. In short, it was a miracle. He sent the carriage away and walked through Green park, as he had done since June 1889, when he was as happy – and as well in love. He felt inspired and full of live and his very steps had a new rhythm, it seemed to him. He bought flowers on his way, striding to Buckingham Palace to see the Prince of Wales, an intimate friend. He was delighted, felt elated, was about to dance a little. And the passers-by wondered at the usual so solemn lord, whom they had not seen as spirited in well some years. The next days he visited his club on a regular basis. He choose a sofa right in the best lit corner, eagerly awaiting the butlers return. And yes, there he was, smoothly attending to the gentlemen‘s wishes. Darlington now ordered tea and some cake, then cigarettes, then a gin tonic, slowly running out of pretexts to be served at all. He asked for the Times, and after some thoughtless reading joined some acquaintances for a party of bridge. At midnight he ordered the carriage, found his home in Belgravia and, before falling asleep, thought of ways how to engage Anthony (he had finally been able to listen to the butler being addressed as such) in some conversation. He decided to act. He had anticipated a long stay in the country, at Darlington hall. He wondered how to impart the news to Anthony, whom he intended to ask whether he would work for him. Darlington hesitated. He had long been alone. His marriage had failed. His two sons were estranged to him, and his ex-wife squandered his money and his nerves. “How to do it, and not be plain, and what if he should say no”. His anxiousness increased from day to day. Then, one afternoon, he saw his chance. He had been to Parliament to hear the Prime Minister debate for the increasement of the fleet, the new politic toward India and relations to France. He waited for the moment, he felt like a boy on a cricket field, seen by everyone, and he was ashamed for his weakness, because so he felt, weak to continue a life empty for him, an endless stream of tea-parties, tennis and the races. Like a beggar he went to the club, requesting nothing more for his destiny than to be accepted. He had chosen a blue Pinstripe and had a dandy dandelion in his buttonhole. He sweated. He did not dare to challenge the steps to the club, shortly greeting Baron Rothschild, barely hearing what he said. Lord Darlington was rejuvenated, he hummed a tune, something from Tchaikovsky, if he was not mistaken.He entered through the wooden revolving door, was greeted by the footman, went up to the concierge to immerse himself in correspondence (“The house is ready, the hunt will be organized, a ball threatens, attended by all neighbours, boring as they may be. But I will not go alone. I will not take no for an answer.”) He took the elevator to the library and, to calm himself down, he read a German poet, August von Platen:August von Platen (1796-1835)TristanWer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen,Ist dem Tode schon anheimgegeben,
Wird für keinen Dienst auf Erden taugen,
Und doch wird er vor dem Tode beben,
Wer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen!
Ewig währt für ihn der Schmerz der Liebe,
Denn ein Tor nur kann auf Erden hoffen,
Zu genügen einem solchen Triebe:
Wen der Pfeil des Schönen je getroffen,
Ewig währt für ihn der Schmerz der Liebe
Ach, er möchte wie ein Quell versiechen,
Jedem Hauch der Luft ein Gift entsaugen,
Und den Tod aus jeder Blume riechen:
Wer die Schönheit angeschaut mit Augen,
Ach, er möchte wie ein Quell versiechen!
He closed his eyes. He was 21 again, at university, rowing his beloved upriver, a summer‘s day, hot and humid, followed by a picnic and some chat, and a kiss. Only one. It was the first and the last kiss he had ever received. He would kiss again, he said to himself. And he would stop to live a sham, a caricature of himself, depriving himself of his utmost feelings, of the depth in life that he had so long, oh! so long forgotten. He had wasted far too much time. He had endured a thirst unquenchable, he had hungered, he had burnt his money, oh! there was enough left, no worries. He decided to buy an apartment in Paris. Darlington went into the drawing room. There he was, Anthony, smiling again. Darlington beckoned him to come. Anthony came. “Your lordship looks well today”, he said. “Oh I am happy”, Darlington replied. He let his eyes wander. He stared Anthony directly into the eyes. He felt tears up welling, threatening to spoil the scene. The eyes were blue and asking. “Anthony, I have a very urgent request. I want to employ you. I have to employ you. It is my urgent wish. Please, please don‘t turn me down. You have made me happy, so happy. I would double your earnings, of course. And accompany me on a world tour. Bombay perhaps, for a month.” He looked to the floor. “You can think about it, of course. Please do. But you have to accept. You have to. I am relying on it.“ Anthony was dumbfounded. He could not believe his ears. He staggered a bit. He took a step away. He sighed. And then he said: “Yes, milord. I shall be happy to accept. I will quit here immediately. And I will travel with you. And live with you. Thank you so much milord.” And so Lord Darlington was saved. He hardly believed his luck. He shook hands. He muttered “thank you”. He fell back into his chair and planned to furnish Anthony‘s rooms brandnew. A week passed. They had not spoken about money. It was not necessary. And on April the first Anthony moved into 212, Belgrave Square. Oh, this were happy times for Lord Darlington, and for Anthony as well. The whole household, the cook, Sally, an Irishwoman of sometimes stern reactions, the chauffeur, Jack, a solemn, quiet man, Andrew, the gardener, the footmen, they all fell for Anthony, then in the prime of his youth. It was as if a new, warm breeze swept through the house, as if the ice that had covered Darlingtons home had melted away and the first flowers came through a now friendlier earth. Anthony was adapting splendidly to his recent position, and Darlington could sometimes lay awake in his bedroom, awaiting Anthony to fold back the drapes and open the window and ask for his lordships plans for today and which suit he chose for the events of the day. Then he took his tea, while Anthony prepared the clothes, matched the ties and polished shoes, lightly chatting away about some news in society and the court curricula and sometimes one of the dreams he had had. Darlington went to his business, drove out to the shipyards, visited the bank to fix some urgent necessities. The complete renovation of Darlington Hall, Payment for the new yacht and the ordering of a new, private rail car, for he intended to follow the orient express in autumn, going down to Eypt, there meeting with the boat and then sailing to Athens, Venice, Genoa, Cannes and the through the Gate of Gibraltar, to Biarritz, and then back to Paris, for the races in Chantilly. He would send some horses that had done well in Ascot. He sold some property in Scotland and invested heavily in Suez-Bonds (not knowing that he would be richer than the Hanover -Windsors, when the Channel was finished and profits rolled in). He bought art. A Chinese vase, a sculpture of Apollo only just arrived from Delphi. A Venetian chandelier, for the entree of the Belgrave House. A KPM tea-set in bleu mourant, formerly in possession of Frederick the Great, it was also Darlington‘s favourite colour and he decided to redo the bleu salon. He would give a party. He was surprised at himself. A party? He would invite all his friends and society, he would ask the Prime Minister and the Prince of Wales. Yes, he thought, I shall give a party. He went down Regent Street, when he saw Mrs. Dalloway. Clarissa I must tell you all. I am a new man. Larissa plainly had seen the change, even heard about it. She replied, I know, it is the new butler. Oh shame on you, Harold. You take youth for granted. You are feeding on youth. I love you for it, but it is a dangerous hobby. You can loose all. Darlington told her about the party. Clarissa Dalloway was amazed. Of course, she said, we shall come, it will be a pleasure, oh how delightful. Maybe I shall have a party myself. And then, after a fortnight, Belgravia House was ablaze with diamonds and their ladies, was the centre of town, a dance with the Prime Minister, a chat with the future king. And Anthony was everywhere at once. He poured drinks, offered coffee and tea, was all politeness to the ladies, saw to everything, always keeping an adoring eye on Darlington himself. He is delightful, Darlington, they said. How do you find these youths. You should be so happy, and we are even happier, for you are now well kept. But be careful, Harold, lest you loose your heart. And Darlington knew, this hope was in vain, he had already lost it.
He danced with Clarissa and she whispered, you fool, you adorable fool. We shall see, we shall see, what society says about you. I think you have charmed them all.
He is straight of the Norman conquest, the purest Norman I have seen for years, blue-blooded chap, he is, analyzed Professor Chatham, a Darwinian fellow from Cambridge. The blazing blue eyes, his straight jaw, his red lips, the shine of his skin, his height, hair blond as an autumn leaf, a Norman, I declare. And I am conquested finally, Darlington thought.
And then his ex-wife entered the room. He had not invited her, but she came with a young actor, and was instantly forgiven. So this is your new part of the collection. Congratulations. Now you make yourself a fool of the entire empire. We shall sail to Canada next week, Darlington fired back. And I forbid you to speak like that. He is my butler, and that is that. And the woman he had loved turned away in tears and left the room, joining some mutual friends.
It was a scandal outright. The never tounge-tied pythons of society spat venom. And Darlington knew what they were. They were jealous. That was all. Who wouldn‘t t have Anthony around him. They envied him. And his Lordship relished in it.
The renovations at Darlington Hall had been completed, and on a perfect autumn day, a day in which summer greets for a last time and the sun long conquers the sky, they travelled thereto, for it pleased Darlington to show Anthony all his possessions, his passions, his delights in gardening. And not for long the pillared portico of Darlington Hall commandeered its Hill amidst Beeches and Willow, the lake glistening, its fountains ablaze and its huge household bowing on the steps, happy for his lordship to return.
He gave a ball. For all the countryside, all the Earls, Sirs and Lords around, for it was hunting season, and the ladies had been desperate for some entertainment. He danced a lot, there was a recital of a German opera singer and some piano playing, it was a gay circle that revolved around him, and, of course, around Anthony. He took the ball by storm. The ladies were charmed to death by his manners, and Darlington shone like a new coin and bowed to everyone and made all of them feel at home. He thought of Jane Austen and her happy country balls. They would stay till Christmas, and then return to London, and the for spring to Paris.
In Paris, he took Anthony in the Opera, and then back to the Ritz, where they dined together as friends, class distinctions all dead. It was perhaps a mistake of Darlington, but soon in Cannes they were back to the old arrangement, Anthony taking command of the seaside villa that Darlington, inexplicably, had not visited in years. He went to the casino and lost a fortune, but he did not heed, and there was money enough. His Canadian Railway Bonds had developed into tenfold their initial worth, and Darlington had a new Swimming Pool installed.
And at night, when all was silent, Darlington awoke to a splashing sound. He went to the balcony, and there he was: Anthony, taking a night swim, glistening in the moonlight like a fish. Darlington went to bed again and slept till the next afternoon, when he was awakened by his butler, urging him to have tea. Now he went for a swim, asking for Gin Tonics. Suddenly his friend Lord Elfinstone was announced. Darlington had him asked for drinks at the pool, took a towel and had himself dressed in a seersucker suit, and then met his friend. Hardy, he said, how nice of you to come. Do stay a bit. Stay for a week. I‘ll have your luggage sent from the Palace Hotel. I don‘t take no for an answer. And lets go to the Casino tonight, I beg you, it is so much fun to loose money with his friends
And they went, leaving a worried Anthony behind, who didn‘t especially like these types of his Lordships friends. When they came home in the wee hours of the morning, they were in high spirits, asking for more and laughing like schoolboys. Darlington had not had so much fun in years. He motioned to Anthony, thank you, that would be all, but Anthony insisted to wait on his guests as long as they stayed, and had some extra rooms made ready.
Breakfast was a late affair, but the joyous atmosphere remained, and when the young German tycoon from next door made his entry, the day was in safe hands. The sun triumphed over the evening star still and they had had dinner on the grass and suddenly the wish for the pool was everywhere. When Darlington had left the party and all had gone to bed, he had a cigarette on his balcony. And sure as the gods wished there the splash was again, Anthony, swimming like a giant golden fish, ever so gracefully. And the next morning his Lordship smiled and said to him, you are a good swimmer, my dear Anthony. And Anthony blushed. It was so hot between the bed sheets, your lordship, I had to cool down a little. Pray, do, as you please, Darlington said. And from then on stayed up late, to see his butler swim.
It was an untenable situation. Society had a field day. If you go on like this, one anonymous letter said, you shall be destroyed in London. And Darlington laughed lightly, crumbled up the paper and lit it in an ashtray. Another letter, announcing lady Darlington with her new lover for next Monday, in three days time, was surely more alarming.
When his ex-wife appeared with her newest acquisition, both their friends warned them openly. A gentleman under the same roof with his ex-wife s lover AND his ex-wife was regarded as amoral throughout. To Darlington it seemed, that time itself stood still. They were a handsome couple, and of course he signed some checks to keep them on travelling to Brussels, under the condition that both departed immediately. So calm, if not reason, were restored to him.
From Cannes, they went on to Grasse, through a flowering countryside, with fields of roses accompanying their slow ascent to the ville, and Darlington fell so in love with that place and its perfumes that he enquired after a small house in the vicinity. He needed to be alone and took up rooms at Grasses best hotel, the Hotel des Parfums.
There, a kind of depression fell on the lord. He felt exhausted. And the more Anthony tried to lift his spirits, he failed. It is all in vain, thought, London will kill me. If I ever go there again. Nobody will understand me. I am ridiculed already. But with the ridiculousness of his situation he could live. Without Anthony, he could no longer.
And after some deep thought and unanswered letters, he awoke one morning to a new decision. He would face them all and not heed his own destruction in society, should this be his fate. And to Anthony he said: Are you happy, my boy. And the boy said, I could not be happier my lord. And that was that.
They returned to London in October, and found it much changed. He was greeted in his club by severe nods, and one evening, a certain general t. came to his lordships attention and enquired after his butler. Was he not perfect to join the army, to be drafted, to be trained in service. And Darlington said, well, a war Anthony would not survive, he would not survive. And with a puzzled face the general withdrew and shook his head.
The Prince of Wales drew him aside at Ascot and enquired after his health, and his ex wife, and whether he considered marrying again. And Darlington answered, as long as your Highness refrains, I consider it my duty to follow your example. He did not see the signs. And he did not wonder to be excluded from some dinner parties he had been a regular to. It was as if a mist settled around him. And he did not care.
He rode out one morning and met Mr. Dalloway, who barely greeted him and his seat in the House of Lords was soon ignored, as if his noble friends were shunning him. And then there was a letter sent to Anthony, urging him to leave his position, beseeching him to not fall for the corrupted whims of an ageing dandy. He had shown it to him and Darlington stared out of the window and said faintly, they hate happiness, wherever the see it. A gentleman must not be happy, to be part of society. Happiness is condemned by everyone. Happiness is amoral. And Anthony withdrew.
But life at Darlington Hall was as easy as ever. Darlington had gone early into the country this year, and he could rely on the allegiance of his household, and the deep understanding that bound his tenants to his family, and the general feeling that a Lord could be as eccentric as he pleased.
Darlington settled down a bit. He slowed down even his very movements, getting grace fuller and barely alluding to his old schoolboy days. He felt like in a dream. He wrote to his sister, after years of silence, and invited her to stay a fortnight with her extended family. It was unheard of. The household reacted with surprising efficiency, ordering food all around and to have fowl and deer, they sent out a hunt. The house was aired, the guest tracts were cleaned, the silver polished, wine and porcelain found. A family! After all these years! And young children, a menace that Darlington always had had difficulties with.
And Anthony? He had disappeared into an office, paying bills, ordering the refreshments, upping the wine cellar. It was a change for the lord, but he complied. There was no one better, and the whole household was relieved. At last! A trustworthy, hardworking butler. But through all his ordeals, he stood by the chair in front of the fire where his lordship required brandy and some conversation, and Anthony kept him all informed about proceedings.
Agatha, his sister, arrived with five boys and her husband, a humourless stock-trader from the city, who had given his lordship often his sound advice without his wife‘s knowing. They were heartingly received and welcomed, and the dinner following the visitors getting settled down and changing for the occasion, in long evening robes, dripping with jewels, the husband and his lordship in smokings. It was a delighting affair, lasting the whole evening. Anthony saw to everyone everywhere, showering the guests in the fulfilment of their wishes. A complete success, Darlington thought, and rejoined the children in his old playroom, where they fell on his little soldiers, like their forebears might have done in battle. Good stock, Darlington perceived.
His sons came, after they had heard about the stay of their aunt, and both of them talked to their father during a crocket game, something they had longed for years.
Perhaps he would buy some property in Scotland, to be even safer against indiscretions. But it would be a flight. Give them no room, Darlington thought. Fight back.
The children adored Anthony, and their mother was surely charmed. Only the stock broker held himself back with any comments and kept his moral dark thoughts to himself. But when they left, Darlington felt ready for Bath. Or Eastbourne, for Darlington loved the sea. He spent lavishly on a new carriage and they stayed at the Grand Hotel, as in the lords youth, overlooking the see like a white palace and a landmark on the shore, freshly after Victoria Regina and the Coronation, with his mother. His father would come down from the city and spend the weekends, always having his special train ready to depart on short notice to the cabinet meetings. Those were the days of Darlington‘s golden youth, when he was just another chap of high aristocracy, adored by everyone and always being witty and swimming out into the waves to exhaustion. He felt elated. His friends found him in highest spirits. Anthony went quite golden in the sun, and they had dinner on the terrace Darlington being waited upon, and being one in ten aristocrats who had brought their own servants.
Then an invitation arrived, beckoning Darlington to the Rothschild in Paris, for the wedding of their youngest daughter, Rebecca, and, with a relish, Darlington accepted. They would go to Paris, stay at the Meurice, tour the Louvre and then go on to Biarritz.
The wedding was a grand affair. The Présidente de la Republique had given a special permission to invite to the Petit Trianon at Versailles, and both bride and groom were of such startling happiness that Darlington waltzed with the young bride twice.
Darlington had not been at his house in Paris for years. He had sent an urgent message to his French lawyer in order to pay some staff and, miraculously, his French staff had the place aired and cleaned to his lordships full satisfaction. Paris society was much more open than London‘s and reacted to Darlington‘s presence with acute kindness and a tide of invitations, all of which the lord accepted with a flourish, and a quantity of flowers and little presents for the salons in the afternoons and evenings. The British ambassador gave his spring ball and there Darlington was presented to all the available beauties of the season, charming them without committing himself and being very vague generally. “He is the most desirable bachelor of this summer” the presiding ladies concluded and, “it would be a shame if we lost him to an American heiress”. And Darlington took the compliments as his understatement allowed, smiling a lot and feeling youthful without being too open about it. Anthony in the meantime took lessons in French, for he felt that maybe the lords restlessness would decrease and they would stay perhaps some time longer in France.
And then something unexpected happened: The Princess of Angoulème, Claire, fell in love. She was twenty-five, a beauty renown in society, unmarried and portrayed by countless painters since her youth, and she set it in her little head to woe and seduce the new arrival from London with all her grace and trickery and decisiveness that she could master, and she appeared at every party, salon and ball where Darlington was received, and tried to enchant him with her lively chatter and grace and wit, and Darlington responded in kind, without realizing that he was the only person of her attention. She managed to get an invitation to the British embassy‘s garden party and there, escaping her chaperone, the Duchesse d´Orléans, the princesse thrust, at an unregarded moment, a letter in Darlingtons hand, in which she poured out all the sentiments, hopes, desires and emotions of her young life, and hoped to touch Darlingtons heart.
And indeed she did. He sent her flowers and asked her out for a ride, and delighted in her careless chatter, and when he gave a little reception in his refurbished house for the Crème de la crème of Parisian Society. He did not forget the jeunesse dorée, all the Princesses friends and some revolutionary poets, and he saw to the wellbeing of all his guests, and showered Claire with pleasantries and small signs of his attachment – and Anthony saw all this but was silent, and a trifle sad, and his thoughts became darker, and his attentions to his lordship waned a little, but Darlington did not heed, for he thought that his butler‘s affections were unshaken and indeed unshakeable, and he was right to a certain extent, for Anthony was very loyal, and he had only Darlington‘s happiness in mind.
One morning Darlington awoke and had his coffee and his morning papers and, after some time, while getting dressed, asked Anthony out of a sudden feeling: “Anthony, my dear, what if I would marry again? Would I be happier and have a new purpose in life, and start all over again, and have, perhaps, some more children? What would you think? I have been so lonely but for you, and I am thankful for your service an for having been a good counsellor and friend, but what I fear the most is my heritage and inheritance going to my ex-wife, her lovers and my notorious sons, and be lost, or squandered in no time, and my seat in Parliament would be lost, and all my doings and honours forgotten. Would not there be a ghist of fresh air through the Princesse, and my life changed thoroughly, and all our fortunes bettered and more joyous, and I might be content in old age?” And Anthony was silent and brushed his lordships new tweeds, and after a while he answered, “your wish is my desire, and I would do everything to your pleasure, but a matter of such importance must be considered carefully, and perhaps your lordship needs some more time for so decisive a step, for a young girls heart might be broken easily, and, if I daresay so, your lordships heart also”. And he left the matter at that and resolved to prepare himself with all due respect to a change in the household and the situation in general, and did so in great secrecy and without giving himself away. And he increased his considerations for his future new mistresses wellbeing, and had flowers sent to her every day, choosing the bouquets himself, when Darlington was busy or simply forgot to do so, which was seldom but happened from time to time.
Anthony decided to be very attentive whenever the Princesse visited Darlington, and he tried to judge her soul from afar, and when he had the opportunity, very discreetly always and with great care. And in due course he could find nothing amiss in her behaviour, and he ventured with great care to win her affection and trust, and never missed the moment when he thought it better to leave the new-found lovers to themselves, whenever decency allowed it: When, for example, Darlington showed her the winter garden, or went to a walk with his newfound object of desire, for Claire was desirable indeed.
Darlington was torn apart between the possibilities that the new relationship would offer and his reluctance to give up his bachelorhood. And every morning he asked himself, and his butler, what he should do with his future. And after some time society judged it necessary that Darlington paid a visit to the aging Prince d´Angoulème, Claire‘s father, in the Faubourg, to discuss the matter and propose in the accepted fashion: “You love my daughter?”, the prince asked over some cognac, and Darlington answered: “Very much so. She is a treasure of my life, and I shall provide well for her.” And the Prince was content, and accepted his lordship, on one condition – the marriage should be postponed for a year, so that the lovers would have time enough to consider the matter with utmost care, and search their feelings, and guarantee their affections for each other, and be sure about there steps, for the outcome would be all-important.
The rumour about the betrothal reached London in no time, supposedly over the British envoy in Paris, and one morning a letter from Clarissa Dalloway arrived for Lord Darlington, which ran as follows: “My dear, I have heard about your plans and am delighted. But are you really prepared for the necessities of a marriage to a girl so much younger than you? Think of the consequences. And, to be quite honest, what about your butler, the source of your pleasure so far?” Indeed, Darlington thought, indeed. He was shaken between acceptance of the situation as it was and changing his life. One year was perhaps the right thing to do, he thought. Twelve Months, we shall see – and then Darlington took a decision.
Claire was a stunning beauty. She had a fragile bearing, and all her dresses complimented her bosom, her taille, which would have done a Medici honour. Her hands were white as her porcelain skin, and the rosy cheeks needed no Make up. It was at the time no easy task for a young girl to enter a room gracefully in one all-encompassing gesture, lending her hand for the gentlemen to be kissed, greeting the hostess and acquaintances in due order, then tiptoeing to a sofa while balancing a cup of tea and perhaps a rose-coloured petit four, then be seated, with a completely straight back and in the very minute starting a witty dialogue, all that in a dress with a five-foot satin train and high heels and a well showing décolleté, well adorned with rubies or sapphires, and last but not least a bouquet of spring flowers, which court etiquette required during Victoria‘s reign. She was remarkable for her education and she had heard mathematics and physics at the Sorbonne, being one of the first females to be allowed to do so, doubtlessly through the good contacts of her father to the university – he was a world-renown geologist – and some substantial contributions to diverse science projects in her families name. She was well versed in poetry and music, playing the harpsichord and – she sang very beautifully. She danced to the delight of her various companions, and some officers held bets about the duration of a waltz: the record lay with a dragoon, who waltzed with her for seventeen minutes straight. Oh, and how she laughed, she laughed like a butterfly‘s dance in the evening breeze, a colibri`s flight. Darlington knew all this well.
Yet he hesitated. His life would change in extremis, and he feared his new found happiness could diminish, could disappear into the nothingness of his earlier days, but for Anthony‘s kindness. But Claire reminded him of Marie-Antoinette, her light-footed ways and the sheer delight that she shone in. Yet Darlington hesitated.
Another matter suddenly dawned upon the lord and his life: The Prime Minister requested his attendance to a conference of European officials, who would convene in Geneva for a prolonged talk of European peace-keeping and the general outlook on the future of political factions of the continent. At first, Darlington did not feel up to the occasion and felt that his possibilities of influencing the matter in favour of the British Empire seemed to him diminished, since he felt his own being much more of a cosmopolite than favouring a single nation‘s need and its strategic needs. But in an afterthought he suddenly relished in the thought of seeing Lake Geneva again, and the Montblanc, and the shore where his confidante, the Empress of Austria-Hungary, Sisi, had met her fate in such tragic circumstances.
The preparations for the journey were extensive. Darlington was required to visit the conference for about a month, the minimum of time that was expected for the discussions. Anthony was busy as ever: He had a villa to rent, a building that had to meet all the requirements of a representative lodging, a home that was able to give room for larger dinner parties and receptions as well as intimate meetings for some of the most important politicians of the present time – he found a little palais on the quai d´x, whose occupants had left for a world tour, and he travelled a week early, to prepare the house just in time. His lordship was not amused about this, but he saw the reasonableness of the parting with his butler, and it gave him some space to deal with the princess on his own.
One night, Darlington had a dream. He had been late to bed, after a night in the opera, and some champagne, and a conversation with a dear friend, Spencer Elphinstone, whose daughter had married a young American, about her father was not too happy: “Too bad, an American, of all possible sons-in-law, an American! He asked me where I had bought my furniture. Bought! My furniture! It was outrageous! And, my friend, when are you to marry again? I hear a lot about a certain girl, and you seem to be a perfect match! Some children perhaps? Oh, I met your son in Newcastle, he bought a horse, quite the sportsman he is.” And Darlington felt his thoughts drain away. He didn‘t know how he had gotten home in the first place, and after he went to bed, he slept sound and fast, and then he dreamt.
He was on a white cliff, very high up at some seaside resort, and he looked down the cliff and saw a swimmer. In the waves, the youth struggled to come ashore, and it seemed to Darlington that the tide was rolling out, and the swimmer was loosing his strength. Darlington stood high up on the rocks and felt lost, for he couldn‘t help the swimmer, as was his wont. And then he saw a woman plunging out into the whiteness, after she had run from the white sands into the rolling sea, and she swam out to the swimming youth, and she struggled out to him, and she saved his life, just like that, and Darlington was happy, but he could not move. And then the pair came up on the shore, and it was Anthony, and it was the princess, and they came up to the lord and went past him, and Darlington could not speak, and they did no see him. And then, against the setting sun, they kissed each other, and Darlington felt a sudden sadness, and he was desperate to see them both embracing, and he could not do anything about it. And then Darlington woke in cold sweat, and after some time he cried, and cried, as he had not cried since his boyhood, when his father had died, and the principal of Eton had informed him of his father‘s death, on a cold summer morning. He was exempt from the lessons for a week, and he did not recover during those days, but cried until the hospital ward had given him something to calm him down. And then he slept for three days, and when he woke again, he knew, he was a man, and his childhood was over forever – he simply knew it. When Darlington stopped crying he went down the stairs and found his father‘s portrait in the library. And in the morning the maid found him fast asleep on a couch amidst his books, and she was very worried, and let him sleep till midday, when he was expected for a ride out with the Princess in the Bois de Boulogne. But he could not go to see her, and he sent a message and some flowers and had himself excused, and for the first time in a long time he had a bottle of whiskey for dinner, and after that he laughed hysterically, and the whole household was worried for some days, until the doctor came. And the doctor saw that something deeply troubled his Lordship, and after some deliberation the old gentleman sent a telegram to Geneva.
When Anthony had read the cable, he decided to take the night train to Paris, and in the morning he arrived, and found the house in an eerie silence. He went down to the servants quarters and opened the door to the kitchen and there met the cook. “Oh, monsieur”, she cried, “monsieur, enfin” and then she told everything that she knew of her master‘s illness, and that he had taken to bed for more than a week, and was very ill, and all the doctors who had come could not find a reason for his Lordships ailment. “You are our last hope, monsieur!”
“Has he asked for me”, Anthony enquired, and deep down he was desperate. And when it was time for his Lordships breakfast, he went up the stairs with his tray and knocked on the door to Darlington‘s bedroom. And when he opened the curtains, he turned and saw Darlington‘s face, and Anthony waited. He sat next to the bed and waited for more than an hour, and he was worried even more. And then he did something that he never had done before. He touched Darlington. He took his Lordships hands and held them. And Darlington moved his head in Anthony‘s direction and opened his eyes. And after some moments, the dullness in Darlington‘s eyes brightened, and he smiled, and he whispered; “Anthony, you have left me all alone, and this was no good idea. I have had some bad dreams. And now I would like to have some tea.” And some tea he got indeed.
Darlington recovered quite quickly, to the amazement of his servants, and the doctor proclaimed him fit for travelling in some days. So everything was packed and the house closed for the season. The only problem remained: What to do with the princess? Darlington called at her villa and was duly received with a certain coldness by the master of the house, her father, who seemed to be a bit reserved about his visitor. No, the princess had gone out for the day, and would not see him. So Darlington decided to write her a letter, and of its content we shall be silent. But after all he had gained some time for his decision, and there were other pressing matters, namely the upcoming conference. The Pullman was ordered, and in due course Darlington boarded his private compartment and went off to Geneva.
There he was received by the British Ambassador, who took him into confidence in a private conversation, and warned him of the German envoys, whose harsh and untrusting representation of the Kaiser‘s wishes and ambitions even now was a smoking gun to the peace in Europe for the time being. Darlington met his duties as a counsellor for the British and received the dispatches of her Majesty‘s government in their red boxes, and read them, and acted accordingly, mainly through his manners to other diplomats, and his elegance, and his tolerance for other views. In the evenings, he usually gave dinner to the ambassadors who had held the most distinguished opinions and mixed them with the most extreme opinion-leaders and tried to counsel between them and offer his advice, and every night he wrote a report to the British Authorities, and at night Anthony was most courteous and saw to it that his lordship had all that he needed, including some sandwiches and a Gin and Tonic.
Anthony was worried all the same, for he perceived that Darlington‘s fragile health was perhaps too threatened by his ordeals. He saw to it that daily visits were severely restricted and that the conferences Darlington visited would not be too overbearing, and that his lordship did not exceed his timetables. There were to be no meetings before breakfast, and indeed not before ten o‘clock, and Anthony cared for enough spare time for his master in order to give him ample space for recovering, especially on weekends.
Darlington worked hard and fought well, and his health had much improved. he was very busy with his reports and the Prime Minister sent him a letter of great politeness, asking him to continue with his work, and whether he would consider himself able to join the Empire‘s diplomatic service, a post in Washington would be free shortly. The Lord pondered the question, but refrained from a direct answer and played for time.
And then the Princess arrived. She took a suite at the Hotel de la Paix and word got around that she intended to stay as long as the conference was in session, and she went to the theatre and the opera, and showed, to the amazement of the general public, the latest fashion of Paris during her outings, and she took Geneva‘s society by storm. Her style was widely copied by the women of importance, and her schedule increased with every day. She was sure that she would meet Darlington in no time at all, and she made sure to be invited to the British embassy‘s ball at the end of the week, and prepared to be in presence on her own, to charm the attendants of the engagement, and she would not have it that Darlington tried to avoid her. On the second day of her stay she sent word to his residence, and it was with sheer luck that Anthony intercepted her note to the lord, and he undertook it himself to let Darlington know of her presence in the right moment, for he feared that his lordship would be too distracted by her and that he would react in an unforeseeable manner, and be disturbed in his activities. One evening before the ball he informed his master of the princesses‘ presence at tomorrows ball, and Darlington took the news without to be too troubled, and indeed he was delighted by the idea to meet her again, and he sent some flowers to the hotel, and he pondered to send her a tiara in his families possession from one of his Geneva bank vaults, a diamond studded dream that had not been worn for considerable time, since his mother had died, for her last official function, as a compliment to the princesses taste and as an adornment to the ball‘s exuberance and its dazzling English ladies. He called at the Hotel and after being admitted to her presence, he produced the etui of the jewels and asked her to have the grace to accept them for the evening, and she accepted but showed no other sign of her being in love of her English admirer.
The donation of the Darlington Tiara in society was seen as a sure sign of an official engagement to the Lord, and Darlington had not thought of this symbolism, and this was due to his being distracted by some more important issues, but even the Princess seemed to be assured that she was courted by him even during the ball, for he asked her for every dance, which was duly reported in the press, and indeed they made a spectacular pair, and it was noted that Darlington had not been seen in more splendid countenance since he had arrived in Switzerland – even the French ambassador took the princess by his side and uttered under his breath “your grace has been the best influence in the history of French diplomacy and the English for some time”, and she took the compliment slightly offhand. She did not quite understand what the envoy had meant with his words for she thought only of her own happiness – she loved social functions in general and the ball provided her to exude all her charm, and she took the general adoration of her beauty and manners with the delight of every young girl that was the centre of a season.
When Darlington came to his library, he had some champagne and sat down in front of the fireplace. Anthony was present, and while Darlington opened some letters and invitations, he asked his butler offhandedly: They have offered me a position in America, how would you be pleased by some time in Washington? And Anthony did not answer, as he was not expected to, but to himself he thought, wherever, if we go together. He had had a cousin who had gone to the new world, and he knew not much about it, apart from that it was reputed to be free and all men there were indeed created equal, and that there were no class distinctions, and of the wild west he had heard, and that the land rolled on to the pacific in mind-boggling dimensions. And Darlington nodded off in his chair and asked himself just before whether a flight to the States would rescue him from the princesse´s attention.
to be continued, March 17, 2007