"Conversation Between Two Gentlemen - Henry Mulgrew(1858)" by Dex
All recognizable characters and settings belong to Marvel; I am using
Them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The
Plot and original characters, however belong to me. Any and all feedback
is appreciated at dexf@sympatico.ca. Redistribution of this tale for
profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting
me first to obtain my permission. This story uses terms and denotations
that may be found racial offensive to some. Reader discretion is advised.
"My dear boy; this is perhaps your best effort yet, save for that ghastly
pallor you've inflicted dear Nathaniel with. Truly, he more resembles the
pallid marbles busts of Hephestus then the ruddy industrial health of
Britain." Lord Thomas Graves smiled indulgently at his newest favorite,
Who blushed infusively at the mild rebuke.
"But, truly, then our dear Essex would marked in soot black, like the
savages of Africa. Indeed, a continence of alabaster white is most
superior to a baked glaze of muddy black."
"Tom, you are awful, you realize that?" Nathaniel said from his elegant
sprawl on the divan of Persian saddlebags. "Henry's work has always been
insouciant in execution. This must assuredly meet his normal exceptional
level of genius."
"You gentlemen are too cruel," Henry Mulgrew said, repacking his oils and
brushes.
"All art is cruel, Henry. It is arts very nature to be so. You have
captured us in a moment, like bugs in amber. That moment is forever lost
to us, and cannot be regained. Therefore, you have taken a time of
perfection from us, to mount as your own. Does that deserve kindness?"
Lord Thomas said, a thin smile quirking his equally thin features. Henry
Mulgrew broke into light laughter, larks twitter, his features crude but
Deep in the bloom of youth.
"Then, Lord Graves, damn your forgiveness. I take your youth; your
attractiveness with the glee of the armed bandit and mock your protests."
"What an abominable artist you have discovered, Tom. He'll steal your
fair looks and then your soul in his canvas." Essex sipped his dry sack.
"Nonsense, Nathaniel. My soul has already been promised to others; the
chief of those being Dionysus." Graves waved his hand grandly, his
curiously musical voice echoing in the solarium. "And now, Henry, what
have you decided to do with this masterpiece? It's not often that we get
the esteemed Master Essex out of his dreary laboratory."
"I think it deserves the Grosvenor, at the very least." Essex commented,
finally joining the pair before the easel. It was painted in the style of
Manet and Millais; a combination of realism and frenetic energy in the
Piece. The broad span of light from the solarium had indeed rendered
Essex a figure in stark illumination, a figure more white and black then
Flesh.
"I was thinking the Paris Exhibition, myself. A centrepiece for my show."
"Absolutely not, Henry. I must have it, at any cost." Lord Thomas said.
He toyed with a pearl button in apparent contemplation before again
Raising his long lashed eyes to the painter. "Indeed, I must. It will be
my moment, for all the eternities. A frozen segment of time, handed to me
like Pandora's box, in which time remains as I will it."
"Lord Thomas, you would honour me to take it."
"I shall honour you then, Henry, and place a frame around my praise. You
are now a man of honour, abet with clearly defined limits; a nicety which
few men can claim to have. Yes, an honour of dark walnut and gilt for
you, Henry Mulgrew, save that you never stand on it. Standing on your
honour would damage it permanently, and see it hung in disrepair in a
forgotten corner." Lord Thomas Graves said, his thin face set in solemn
gravity, but his light eyes sparkling.
"Too much! It is too much, Lord Thomas!" Henry cried, gathering his
paints into a case of red lacquer. "You must not torment me so."
"Do not fear, Mister Mulgrew. Tom is merely playing with you, in his
rather cruel manner. He adores your piece." Nathaniel Essex said to the
man, toying with his cup.
"Please, Nathaniel, it is Thomas. Tom is so dreadfully common, like the
theft of letters steals away my very presence from Lord Graves to Tom of
London; be he coalblack, porter, or gentleman." Lord Thomas straightened
With a smile. "Now, Henry, I simply adore the work. Name your price to my
Servant and he will see to the accounting. Does it need any more work?"
"Only a veneer over the oils, which must wait until they are drier. May I
leave it here, Lord Thomas?"
"Indeed, I would have it no other way. When shall you be returning?"
"It will need a day to cure properly."
"Tuesday then. I'll send a hansom to collect you in the afternoon. We can
dine later, and take in the theatre. No doubt something will be
scheduled. I had an appointment with my dear uncle, but I can wire him
with news that I am ill, to free my evening." He said with a wave of his
hand, the gold and opal ring on his hand collecting and releasing the
light in a fractured series of scintillating beams.
"I don't wish to impose."
"Nonsense. I dined with my uncle on Friday, and joining the family more
then once a week is simply excessive. More so since the dialogue is to be
the very same as it always is. Admiral Graves shall place his hands on
the table and begin to attack the Tory backbenches, and thunder about his
youth in the service of England. Notable, but has a disheartening effect
on the digestion. Should he speak too long, I'm forced to assume the
position of Tartuffe in agreement, if for no other reason then the
consulatory effect on the humours." Graves eased himself back into a
chaise lounge, edged in braidets of gold thread. "It is a shame that one
can not choose the family into which one is born. In my life, the only
single factor that resists my capacity to change is my essential
Graves-ness. I would appeal to the church, but I fear they'd make a fuss
About my requests for retroactive reincarnation into a more suiting
Family. I suppose one must suffer their Graves in one way or another unt!
il the grave, in which the Graves is left, for other natures."
"You astound me, sir. I cannot fathom the words that flow from your lips.
Like the paint from my brush, it lives in rich bold colours that dazzle
The mind and stir the imagination." Henry Mulgrew said, putting on his
Longcoat of grey wool. "I must leave lest I become as entranced with your
Art as you are with mine, and find myself demanding it framed for my own."
A sharp bark of laughter met his comments from the two men, and Henry
Mulgrew, with a final look at his work, left the house. Lord Thomas
Graves watched him leave the house, turning back to his guest when the
Heavy inlayed doors had swung shut.
"We were discussing Mister Darwin, I believe, were we not, Essex?" Lord
Thomas smiled at him over the back of the divan.
"Quite right, Thomas. I wanted to talk about his evolutionary chain from--"
"In good time, Nathaniel. I believe luncheon is in order. Will you
accompany me to the club? I'm afraid that nothing here is to my taste. My
manservant's mother died last night, leaving me in wretched shape for
entertaining." Lord Thomas Graves stood and pulled on his overcoat. Essex
followed, mimicking the movements of his host. Nathaniel Essex and Thomas
Graves were complete polar extremes in temperament and humour, but
Somehow, during the early days of Eton, they had been united in
Friendship. Essex drawn on his own overcoat and hat, before picking up
The ebony cane with the silver head that Rebecca had purchased for him.
The head was a sumptuous cloisonne silver knob, that fitted Essex hand as
if made for him especially.
They left into the street, climbing into Lord Graves' waiting hansom, and
Pulled into the thronging mass of London Proper. They plodded past laden
Tram carts coming up from the docks, swarmed over by rough porters like
Ants on a piece of forgotten meat. Traffic slowed them past South Audley
Street, bringing the hansom to a near standstill despite the efforts of
Lord Grave's coachman.
"It's terribly trying to be consistently thwarted in one's endeavors by
the packed mass of humanity, wouldn't you say, Nathaniel?" Lord Thomas
said, peering idly out the window at the throng of Londoners that
streamed past the hansom. Essex followed his look, seeing old matrons in
faded violet hats and crude young men in thigh vests and flat Topper caps.
"I don't know, Tom. As a scientist, it's my job to toil for that which
will raise them up. Ennoble this mass to greatness one day."
"And is that the true reason? Come, dear Essex. Surely you don't believe
the trollop with her nutbrown teeth and gnarled hair is the true
inheritor of your genius? Or that fishmonger with the expansive waist and
nose like a smashed tomato perhaps? Are these your true masters in science?"
"I had not considered it in that light."
"No. Scientists have a wonderful sense of cultural myopia when confronted
with the heirs of their labours. Herakles did his Labours at the will of
the gods, Nathaniel. You squander yours for these scraps?"
"Come now, Tom. My work will one day touch every man, for the meanest
orphans to the greatest king. That is hardly a small inheritance."
"Yes, but a thinned one. You don't wish to work for something better,
Nathaniel?"
"What, science for only the nobility, Tom? Indeed, that would be a great
boon if we could prevent the flaws inbreeding leaves them with." Essex
smiled coldly. "Erase the genetic errors, wash away the factor that cause
such disastrous infirmities against the noble children."
"You cut to the mark, Nathaniel. It's the first time I've heard passion
stir your voice since I was able to pry you away from your deary estate.
So, tell me why holding your genius for those who deserve it is so
Horrific a possibility?"
"It's vulger and cruel. It's un-British. We are not the doomed nobles of
Versailles, stuffing and hoarding while the country moans, Tom. We are a
People of Parliament, and civilized manners. The very touch makes me shiver."
"Yes, it's curious that to be British must be treated like a rash.
Endured always, not matter how we wish to relieve ourselves of it, and
According ourselves false honour for that endurance."
"Lord Thomas! You are not suggesting--"
"No, Nathaniel, I am not suggesting any sort of action against the
Empire. I would not trade my station for the French guillotinists or the
American natives. However, that does not blind me to the nature of my
Loyalties. Look quietly on your England, Nathaniel Essex, and consider
The recipients of your efforts."
Nathaniel Essex pondered Lord Graves words as he watched the crowd
Outside the hansom. In a cracked and broken alley gate, he watched a gang
of youths bring down a man, kicking and gouging as he fell. The shrill
whistle of the constabulary rang sharp in his ear as a female thief
scampered through the crowd, her skirts hiked in a most obscene fashion
to speed her escape. He heard cried for alms, food and baser pleasures
through the glass of the window, his hand resting lightly on his temple.
His dark eyes took in everything, as his mind worked feverishly.
Where these really the ones whom him research would be the great
Benefactor to? Would the slattern and the drunk care about his belief
That the same factors that caused evolutionary change could also cause
The great burdens of man; deformities, birth defects, brain fevers. Would
They care that his efforts cost him his son, and very nearly his wife as
Well. Nathaniel Essex turned his face towards the cushions, wishing to
Hide the anguish which twisted his features.
Lord Thomas Graves watched Essex with upmost satisfaction. He had always
Been enthralled by the workings of the mind, more so those of a great
Thinker and scientist like Nathaniel Essex. Graves vivisected minds in
The same manner that Essex vivisected animals for his experiments. How
Wonderful to understand what brewed dark inside the mind of the
Scientist. To note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotionally
Coloured life of the intellect - to observe where they met, and where
They separated, at what point that operated in tandem, and what point
They reacted as polar opposites. Yes, Essex could have his dreams of
Where man came from. Graves was only interested in what he was.
The attendant drew open the door of the hansom, breaking the revere of
The two men within. Nathaniel Essex eased himself out first, unable to
Look at the liveried attendant. Lord Graves followed with a small smile
Quirking his lips. They stepped to the walk, and Lord Thomas paused to
Point at a nearby gaslight being lit.
"Look at Lord Palmerston's gift to London, Nathaniel. A mere four years
past, that light would be a delicate island of light in an otherwise coal
black mist. Now, it has the ability to grey the walls around with soft
light. That is the march of progress, my friend. To create nature into
another environment entirely, and then seek to restore it to a semblance
of nature. Science is but the art of paradox."
"You are a positive Philistine, Lord Thomas. Shall we dine?"
"Indeed. The most direct route to social Conventry is to be delivered at
your club, and then seek to eschew it for the walk in front. Come, Nathaniel."
One of the club attendant ushered them to a private room, where they were
Seated. A second waiter appeared, when their meal on his moving tray.
Lord Thomas Graves inspected the wine bottle and nodded. The plates had
Been set and the attendants departed before either of them spoke again.
"Your esteemed Mister Darwin is speaking in Cambridge this weekend, I'm told."
"Yes, he is. Have you read the book, Thomas?"
"I have perused it, although doubtless with less scrutiny then yourself,
Essex." Lord Graves sipped his wine, ignoring his food in favour of
Diverting his full attention to Nathaniel Essex.
"It's an extraordinary work. Obviously influenced by the French
naturalists of the turn of the century, but unlike them, offering real
evidence to support his claims. Consider it, Thomas. The climb from the
earliest days of the earth to the position of man today; from trees to
far flung empires of steel and coal. Evolution. It's an astonishing process."
"Indeed, since it grasps your passions so tightly, Nathaniel. I wonder if
your wife is jealous of your new mistress."
"Rebecca is a God-fearing woman, and not tolerant to such beliefs which
may question Him."
"And as a woman, it's to be expected. They are wonderful creatures at a
distance, but when tied to them, a nature based on emotion is revealed.
Emotion is the diluting of passion, and the befuddling of intellect. One
Must never trade grand passions for minor feelings. It sullies the mind,
And gives rise to thoughts of shoe blacking, Parliamentary fares and
Politics. What do you think, Nathaniel? Do you believe in Him?"
"Most certainly I--"
"You see? You're allowing emotion to dilute passion; indignance clouding
your fine scientific mind. I do not ask Nathaniel Essex, man of society
in the British Empire, conditioned to his worship and morality. I ask the
man of scientific thought and reason, divorced from his morality and his
emotions. I ask his passion and his logic. Do you believe in God,
Nathaniel?" Lord Thomas examined the colour of the wine as Essex sat in
Silence, his face downturned.
"I-I don't know. When Adam died, I went to our chapel, where nine
generations of Essex's have prayed, and I asked God why my child need be
taken from me. The fever that took him - I could not stop it. I have
slaved and worked my entire life in the crucible of science, but I could
not save my own son. And God... He would not save him. Adam was not
worthy of his attention." Essex face was ugly with grief. Graves regarded
him quietly before taking the brandy decanter from the sideboard and
pouring a healthy measure for the scientist. Essex gulped at it, seeking
comfort in the fire it burned down his throat.
"Then why believe in God still."
"I don't know if my belief is still for the God of the church, but a god
born from man."
"I don't quite follow."
"Are we the pinnacle of evolution, Thomas? There has been a thought that
has plagued my mind for months, but I refused to voice it, lest it
destroy my belief. Your words have brought it to the forefront of my
imagination. What if evolution is on-going?"
"You claim that we continue to evolve? The physical factors in Darwin's
work are hardly present, Essex."
"But what if that is only part of the process? If the creature possess a
packet of genetic information that is capable of not only slow hereditary
advancement but also rapid cataclysmic change? If so, then a man could
evolve ahead of others."
"Evolve to what?" Graves said, sipping his wine and smiling. His subtle
words had taken root and were producing most fantastic fruit in the mind
of Nathaiel Essex, and Graves eagerly awaited the harvest.
"God. If man can move past man, what is left? Men with the attributes of
the gods themselves. Who can challenge Him in his lofty perch. There is a
God, Thomas, and he is Man."
"Remarkable. So, you intend to challenge God himself in his own arena? In
the Lancashire manner, of course."
"Not challenge, Thomas. To demand answers from Him about the atrocities
He has blithely given us."
"Such is the true nature of science, Nathaniel." Graves noted the fevered
look in Essex's eyes, and poured him more brandy. "Science is the act of
challenging God on the business of creation, and outdoing him. Do you
intend to bring forward your new god soon?"
"I don't understand."
"Why, my dear Essex. Surely you have a plan to bring the gods to heel. If
your theory that change can be rapid is true, then surely there must be
examples somewhere of its change. Those forward of the scale you speak of."
"I had not considered it. If so, breeding two advanced specimens would
produce a more powerful child."
"And a more powerful child is your measure towards your goal. Have met my
cousin, the Earl of Trumshire? He has vast estates in America, you know.
Obsessed with the horse races. Claims that one day he'll have the finest
Stable of horses in America, which is almost was well considered there as
a pig farm. He claims that in five years, he'll be breeding his own
champions."
"No. What you suggest, its abominable."
"I do not suggest a thing, dear Nathaniel. But, a mind such as yours made
that jump immediately. You consider as we speak."
"The right subjects... no."
"Nathaniel, consider it not with your emotions, which weaken you, but
with your passions, which embody you. Do you wish to see your child; your
new Adam, bring the cause of your suffering to responsibility for His
actions?"
"Yes--" Essex choked out, his eyes bright with unshed tears and his voice
raw from the liquor. "I--I need backing. I need new facilities and--"
"Of course, Nathaniel. You always have my support. I shall send someone
to take your financial accounting in due time. Are you unwell?" Lord
Graves cocked his head to the side and watched Nathaniel tremble.
"I must go. I must make arrangements."
"Indeed. You must dine with me next Wednesday, Nathaniel. You can tell me
all about your project then."
"Yes, of course. Thank you, Thomas. I have no words to convey--"
"Then allow your actions to do so. The French are an ideal example of
words before action. Their's is a nation of fanciful poets and constantly
terrorized borders." Lord Graves said, as Nathaniel Essex drew on his
coat and left the room.
Lord Thomas Graves sat for a long time in the private room, his eyelids
Drooping to allow him to think. There was an irony in the fact that Essex
Will deny the conventions of man and take endless pains to create a new
Man, he thought, when he had accomplished that feat in mere hours. No,
Nathaniel Essex' was one of the foremost minds of the Empire today, and
What his efforts are so to produce would serve as most excellent distraction.
Graves returned to his home late in the evening, and found himself back
in his solarium. The lamps had all been lit, and a clear white light
illuminated the room. He found himself before the portrait that Mulgrew
had painted, minutely examining the bismuth-like cast to Essex' face. A
smile quicked his features again, and Graves muttered to himself.
"It is curious, Nathaniel, that the pure white pallor truly does suit you
far more effectively then the ruddy flash of humanity. I wonder if you
are to be like a marble statue or a ceramic cast; formed for one pure
purpose, divorced from the curse of humanity to accomplish it. I shall
ever consider your visage pale, and deem you my monument to the
perfection of passion. Mayhaps you, like passion, will outlive all things
of rude humanity. A curious fancy indeed."
Lord Thomas Graves took a lamp, and adjourned from the solarium to his
Chambers, to sleep, leaving behind the painting in the stark
Illumination, and his word hanging like motes in the air after him.
FIN