by F. Anstey
CHAPTER XVI
A KILLING FROST
Fortunately for Ventimore, the momentary dismay he had felt onfinding himself deserted by his unfathomable Jinnee at the veryoutset of the ceremony passed unnoticed, as the Prime Warden of theCandlestick-makers' Company immediately came to his rescue by brieflyintroducing him to the Lord Mayor, who, with dignified courtesy, haddescended to the lowest step of the dais to receive him.
"Mr. Ventimore," said the Chief Magistrate, cordially, as he pressedHorace's hand, "you must allow me to say that I consider this one of thegreatest privileges--if not _the_ greatest privilege--that have fallento my lot during a term of office in which I have had the honour ofwelcoming more than the usual number of illustrious visitors."
"My Lord Mayor," said Horace, with absolute sincerity, "you reallyoverwhelm me. I--I only wish I could feel that I had done anything todeserve this--this magnificent compliment!"
"Ah!" replied the Lord Mayor, in a paternally rallying tone. "Modest, mydear sir, I perceive. Like all truly great men! A most admirable trait!Permit me to present you to the Sheriffs."
The Sheriffs appeared highly delighted. Horace shook hands with both ofthem; indeed, in the flurry of the moment he very nearly offered to doso with the Sword and Mace bearers as well, but their hands were, as ithappened, otherwise engaged.
"The actual presentation," said the Lord Mayor, "takes place in theGreat Hall, as you are doubtless aware."
"I--I have been given to understand so," said Horace, with a sinkingheart--for he had begun to hope that the worst was over.
"But before we adjourn," said his host, "you will let me tempt you topartake of some slight refreshment--just a snack?"
Horace was not hungry, but it occurred to him that he might get throughthe ceremony with more credit after a glass of champagne; so he acceptedthe invitation, and was conducted to an extemporised buffet at one endof the Library, where he fortified himself for the impending ordeal witha _caviare_ sandwich and a bumper of the driest champagne in theCorporation cellars.
"They talk of abolishing us," said the Lord Mayor, as he took an anchovyon toast; "but I maintain, Mr. Ventimore--I maintain that we, with ourancient customs, our time-honoured traditions, form a link with thepast, which a wise statesman will preserve, if I may employ a somewhatvulgar term, untinkered with."
Horace agreed, remembering a link with a far more ancient past withwhich he devoutly wished he had refrained from tinkering.
"Talking of ancient customs," the Lord Mayor continued, with an oddblend of pride and apology, "you will shortly have an illustration ofour antiquated procedure, which may impress you as quaint."
Horace, feeling absolutely idiotic, murmured that he felt sure it woulddo that.
"Before presenting you for the freedom, the Prime Warden and fiveofficials of the Candlestick-makers' Company will give their testimonyas compurgators in your favour, making oath that you are 'a man of goodname and fame,' and that (you will be amused at this, Mr.Ventimore)--that you 'do desire the freedom of this city, whereby todefraud the Queen or the City.' Ha, ha! Curious way of putting it, is itnot?"
"Very," said Horace, guiltily, and not a little concerned on theofficial's account.
"A mere form!" said the Lord Mayor; "but I for one, Mr. Ventimore--I forone should be sorry to see the picturesque old practices die out. To mymind," he added, as he finished a _pate de foie gras_ sandwich, "themodern impatience to sweep away all the ancient landmarks (whether theybe superannuated or not) is one of the most disquieting symptoms of theage. You won't have any more champagne? Then I think we had better bemaking our way to the Great Hall for the Event of the Day."
"I'm afraid," said Horace, with a sudden consciousness of hisincongruously Oriental attire--"I'm afraid this is not quite the sort ofdress for such a ceremony. If I had known----"
"Now, don't say another word!" said the Lord Mayor. "Your costume isvery nice--very nice indeed, and--and most appropriate, I am sure. But Isee the City Marshal is waiting for us to head the procession. Shall welead the way?"
The band struck up the March of the Priests from _Athalie_, and Horace,his head in a whirl, walked with his host, followed by the City LandsCommittee, the Sheriffs, and other dignitaries, through the Art Galleryand into the Great Hall, where their entrance was heralded by a flourishof trumpets.
The Hall was crowded, and Ventimore found himself the object of apopular demonstration which would have filled him with joy and pride ifhe could only have felt that he had done anything whatever to justifyit, for it was ridiculous to suppose that he had rendered himself apublic benefactor by restoring a convicted Jinnee to freedom and societygenerally.
His only consolation was that the English are a race not given toeffusiveness without very good reason, and that before the ceremony wasover he would be enabled to gather what were the particular serviceswhich had excited such unbounded enthusiasm.
Meanwhile he stood there on the crimson-draped and flower-bedecked dais,bowing repeatedly, and trusting that he did not look so forlornlyfoolish as he felt. A long shaft of sunlight struck down between theGothic rafters, and dappled the brown stone walls with patches of gold;the electric lights in the big hooped chandeliers showed pale and feebleagainst the subdued glow of the stained glass; the air was heavy withthe scent of flowers and essences. Then there was a rustle ofexpectation in the audience, and a pause, in which it seemed to Horacethat everybody on the dais was almost as nervous and at a loss what todo next as he was himself. He wished with all his soul that they wouldhurry the ceremony through, anyhow, and let him go.
At length the proceedings began by a sort of solemn affectation ofhaving merely met there for the ordinary business of the day, which toHorace just then seemed childish in the extreme; it was resolved that"items 1 to 4 on the agenda need not be discussed," which brought themto item 5.
Item 5 was a resolution, read by the Town Clerk, that "the freedom ofthe City should be presented to Horace Ventimore, Esq., Citizen andCandlestick-maker" (which last Horace was not aware of being, butsupposed vaguely that it had been somehow managed while he was at thebuffet in the Library), "in recognition of his services"--the resolutionran, and Horace listened with all his ears--"especially in connectionwith ..." It was most unfortunate--but at this precise point theofficial was seized with an attack of coughing, in which all was lostbut the conclusion of the sentence, " ... that have justly entitled himto the gratitude and admiration of his fellow-countrymen."
Then the six compurgators came forward and vouched for Ventimore'sfitness to receive the freedom. He had painful doubts whether theyaltogether understood what a responsibility they were undertaking--butit was too late to warn them and he could only trust that they knew moreof their business than he did.
After this the City Chamberlain read him an address, to which Horacelistened in resigned bewilderment. The Chamberlain referred to theunanimity and enthusiasm with which the resolution had been carried, andsaid that it was his pleasing and honourable duty, as the mouthpiece ofthat ancient City, to address what he described with some inadequacy as"a few words" to one by adding whose name to their roll of freemen theCorporation honoured rather themselves than the recipient of theirhomage.
It was flattering, but to Horace's ear the phrases sounded excessive,almost fulsome--though, of course, that depended very much on what hehad done, which he had still to ascertain. The orator proceeded to readhim the "Illustrious List of London's Roll of Fame," a recital whichmade Horace shiver with apprehension. For what names they were! Whatglorious deeds they had performed! How was it possible that he--plainHorace Ventimore, a struggling architect who had missed his one greatchance--could have achieved (especially without even being aware of it)anything that would not seem ludicrously insignificant by comparison?
He had a morbid fancy that the marble goddesses, or whoever they were,at the base of Nelson's monument opposite, were regarding him with stonydisdain and indignation; that the statue of Wellington knew him for anarrant impostor, and
averted his head with cold contempt; and that theeffigy of Lord Mayor Beckford on the right of the dais would come tolife and denounce him in another moment.
"Turning now to your own distinguished services," he suddenly heard theCity Chamberlain resuming, "you are probably aware, sir, that it iscustomary on these occasions to mention specifically the particularmerit which had been deemed worthy of civic recognition."
Horace was greatly relieved to hear it, for it struck him as a mostsensible and, in his own particular case, essential formality.
"But, on the present occasion, sir," proceeded the speaker, "I feel, asall present must feel, that it would be unnecessary--nay, almostimpertinent--were I to weary the public ear by a halting recapitulationof deeds with which it is already so appreciatively familiar." At thishe was interrupted by deafening and long-continued applause, at the endof which he continued: "I have only therefore, to greet you in the nameof the Corporation, and to offer you the right hand of fellowship as aFreeman, and Citizen, and Candlestick-maker of London."
As he shook hands he presented Horace with a copy of the Oath ofAllegiance, intimating that he was to read it aloud. Naturally,Ventimore had not the least objection to swear to be good and true toour Sovereign Lady Queen Victoria, or to be obedient to the Lord Mayor,and warn him of any conspiracies against the Queen's peace which mightchance to come under his observation; so he took the oath cheerfullyenough, and hoped that this was really the end of the ceremony.
However, to his great chagrin and apprehension, the Lord Mayor rose withthe evident intention of making a speech. He said that the conclusion ofthe City to bestow the highest honour in their gift upon Mr. HoraceVentimore had been--here he hesitated--somewhat hastily arrived at.Personally, he would have liked a longer time to prepare, to make thedisplay less inadequate to, and worthier of, this exceptional occasion.He thought that was the general feeling. (It evidently was, judging fromthe loud and unanimous cheering). However, for reasons which--forreasons with which they were as well acquainted as himself, the noticehad been short. The Corporation had yielded (as they always did, as itwould always be their pride and pleasure to yield) to popular pressurewhich was practically irresistible, and had done the best they could inthe limited--he might almost say the unprecedentedly limited--periodallowed them. The proudest leaf in Mr. Ventimore's chaplet of laurelsto-day was, he would venture to assert, the sight of the extraordinaryenthusiasm and assemblage, not only in that noble hall, but in thethoroughfares of this mighty Metropolis. Under the circumstances, thiswas a marvellous tribute to the admiration and affection which Mr.Ventimore had succeeded in inspiring in the great heart of the people,rich and poor, high and low. He would not detain his hearers any longer;all that remained for him to do was to ask Mr. Ventimore's acceptance ofa golden casket containing the roll of freedom, and he felt sure thattheir distinguished guest, before proceeding to inscribe his name on theregister, would oblige them all by some account from his own lips of--ofthe events in which he had figured so prominently and so creditably.
Horace received the casket mechanically; there was a universal cry of"Speech!" from the audience, to which he replied by shaking his head inhelpless deprecation--but in vain; he found himself irresistibly pressedtowards the rail in front of the dais, and the roar of applause whichgreeted him saved him from all necessity of attempting to speak fornearly two minutes.
During that interval he had time to clear his brain and think what hehad better do or say in his present unenviable dilemma. For some timepast a suspicion had been growing in his mind, until it had now almostswollen into certainty. He felt that, before he compromised himself, orallowed his too generous entertainers to compromise themselvesirretrievably, it was absolutely necessary to ascertain his realposition, and, to do that, he must make some sort of speech. With thisresolve, all his nervousness and embarrassment and indecision meltedaway; he faced the assembly coolly and gallantly, convinced that hisbest alternative now lay in perfect candour.
"My Lord Mayor, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen," he began, in a clearvoice which penetrated to the farthest gallery and commanded instantattention. "If you expect to hear from me any description of what I'vedone to be received like this, I'm afraid you will be disappointed. Formy own belief is that I've done nothing whatever."
There was a general outcry of "No, no!" at this, and a fervid murmur ofprotest.
"It's all very well to say 'No, no,'" said Horace, "and I am extremelygrateful to you all for the interruption. Still, I can only repeat thatI am absolutely unaware of having ever rendered my Country, or thisgreat City, a single service deserving of the slightest acknowledgment.I wish I could feel I had--but the truth is that, if I have, the facthas entirely slipped from my memory."
Again there were murmurs, this time with a certain under-current ofirritation; and he could hear the Lord Mayor behind him remarking to theCity Chamberlain that this was not at all the kind of speech for theoccasion.
"I know what you're thinking," said Horace. "You're thinking this ismock modesty on my part. But it's nothing of the sort. _I_ don't knowwhat I've done--but I presume you are all better informed. Because theCorporation wouldn't have given me that very charming casket--youwouldn't all of you be here like this--unless you were under a strongimpression that I'd done _something_ to deserve it." At this there was afresh outburst of applause. "Just so," said Horace, calmly. "Well, now,will any of you be kind enough to tell me, in a few words, _what_ yousuppose I've done?"
There was a dead silence, in which every one looked at his or herneighbour and smiled feebly.
"My Lord Mayor," continued Horace, "I appeal to you to tell me and thisdistinguished assembly why on earth we're all here!"
The Lord Mayor rose. "I think it sufficient to say," he announced withdignity, "that the Corporation and myself were unanimously of opinionthat this distinction should be awarded--for reasons which it isunnecessary and--hum--ha--invidious to enter into here."
"I am sorry," persisted Horace, "but I must press your lordship forthose reasons. I have an object.... Will the City Chamberlain oblige me,then?... No? Well, then, the Town Clerk?... No?--it's just as Isuspected: none of you can give me your reasons, and shall I tell youwhy? Because there _aren't_ any.... Now, do bear with me for a moment.I'm quite aware this is very embarrassing for all of you--but rememberthat it's infinitely more awkward for _me_! I really cannot accept thefreedom of the City under any suspicion of false pretences. It would bea poor reward for your hospitality, and base and unpatriotic into thebargain, to depreciate the value of so great a distinction by permittingit to be conferred unworthily. If, after you've heard what I am going totell you, you still insist on my accepting such an honour, of course Iwill not be so ungracious as to refuse it. But I really don't feel thatit would be right to inscribe my name on your Roll of Fame without somesort of explanation. If I did, I might, for anything I know,involuntarily be signing the death-warrant of the Corporation!"
There was a breathless hush upon this; the silence grew so intense thatto borrow a slightly involved metaphor from a distinguished friend ofthe writer's, you might have picked up a pin in it! Horace leanedsideways against the rail in an easy attitude, so as to face the LordMayor, as well as a portion of his audience.
"Before I go any farther," he said, "will your lordship pardon me if Isuggest that it might be as well to direct that all reporters presentshould immediately withdraw?"
The reporters' table was instantly in a stir of anger, and many of theguests expressed some dissatisfaction. "We, at least," said the LordMayor, rising, flushed with annoyance, "have no reason to dreadpublicity. I decline to make a hole-and-corner affair of this. I shallgive no such orders."
"Very well," said Horace, when the chorus of approval had subsided. "Mysuggestion was made quite as much in the Corporation's interests asmine. I merely thought that, when you all clearly understood how grosslyyou've been deluded, you might prefer to have the details kept out ofthe newspapers if possible. But if you particularly want them publ
ishedover the whole world, why, of course----"
An uproar followed here, under cover of which the Lord Mayor contrivedto give orders to have the doors fastened till further directions.
"Don't make this more difficult and disagreeable for me than it isalready!" said Horace, as soon as he could obtain a hearing again. "Youdon't suppose that I should have come here in this Tom-fool's dress,imposing myself on the hospitality of this great City, if I could havehelped it! If you've been brought here under false pretences, so have I.If you've been made to look rather foolish, what is _your_ situation tomine? The fact is, I am the victim of a headstrong force which I amutterly unable to control...."
Upon this a fresh uproar arose, and prevented him from continuing forsome time. "I only ask for fair play and a patient hearing!" he pleaded."Give me that, and I will undertake to restore you all to good humourbefore I have done."
They calmed down at this appeal, and he was able to proceed. "My case issimply this," he said. "A little time ago I happened to go to an auctionand buy a large brass bottle...."
For some inexplicable reason his last words roused the audience toabsolute frenzy; they would not hear anything about the brass bottle.Every time he attempted to mention it they howled him down, they hissed,they groaned, they shook their fists; the din was positively deafening.
Nor was the demonstration confined to the male portion of the assembly.One lady, indeed, who is a prominent leader in society, but whose nameshall not be divulged here, was so carried away by her feelings as tohurl a heavy cut-glass bottle of smelling-salts at Horace's offendinghead. Fortunately for him, it missed him and only caught one of theofficials (Horace was not in a mood to notice details very accurately,but he had a notion that it was the City Remembrancer) somewhere aboutthe region of the watch-pocket.
"_Will_ you hear me out?" Ventimore shouted. "I'm not trifling. Ihaven't told you yet what was inside the bottle. When I opened it, Ifound ..."
He got no farther--for, as the words left his lips, he felt himselfseized by the collar of his robe and lifted off his feet by an agency hewas powerless to resist.
Up and up he was carried, past the great chandeliers, between the carvedand gilded rafters, pursued by a universal shriek of dismay and horror.Down below he could see the throng of pale, upturned faces, and hear thewild screams and laughter of several ladies of great distinction inviolent hysterics. And the next moment he was in the glass lantern, andthe latticed panes gave way like tissue paper as he broke through intothe open air, causing the pigeons on the roof to whirr up in a flutterof alarm.
Of course, he knew that it was the Jinnee who was abducting him in thissensational manner, and he was rather relieved than alarmed by Fakrash'ssummary proceeding, for he seemed, for once, to have hit upon the bestway out of a situation that was rapidly becoming impossible.
