Dan Simmons - The Fifth Heart

In no case was the spouse aware of the connections with others at the table.

That dinner had been fairly leaking with tensions, but Henry James found himself far more tense at this cozy dinner on Sunday, March 26, 1893, where the Hays—perhaps the least cruel couple James had ever known—were happily hosting their old friend Harry, Mr. Sigerson, Clarence King, and the Norwegian emissary and his wife and daughter.

The emissary, Mr. Helmer Halvorsen Vollebæk, was not the ambassador to the United States from the Kingdom of Scandinavia only because King Oskar II of Scandinavia preferred to have two emissaries in Washington at all times—one from Sweden and one from Norway, titularly united under Oskar II but still proud of separate origins—and currently the Swedish emissary was the official Scandinavian Ambassador. In two years, it would be Mr. Vollebæk’s turn.

James judged Vollebæk’s age at around 60, but his wife, Linnea, if James had heard correctly during introductions, must have been at least 20 years younger. Their daughter Oda, who was also present, was in her late adolescence and was reputed to be the most sought-after debutante on Embassy Row. They all spoke English flawlessly.

James was disappointed—or perhaps relieved, it was hard for him to record his emotions at the moment—when “Sigerson” was introduced to Mr. Vollebæk, and the two men clicked heels and bowed at the same moment, but exchanged greetings in English.

The early courses were passed in easy conversation. John and Clara Hay were experts at involving everyone at a table in conversation. The only element even approaching politics was the Vollebæks’ united enthusiasm at the pageantry of Grover Cleveland’s inauguration a few weeks earlier and their eagerness to look in on the Columbian Exposition—Chicago’s World’s Fair—in May before they returned to Norway for the summer. Miss Vollebæk appeared to have given her attention only to the many inaugural balls around the city that night and weekend of March 4.

“Oda is of the age now where every ball is an opportunity to meet eligible young men,” said Mrs. Linnea Vollebæk in her soft Scandinavian accent.

“Mother!” cried Oda, blushing fiercely.

“Well, it is true, is it not?” laughed her father. Emissary Vollebæk dabbed at his lips with the napkin. “My baby girl will soon be finding herself a husband.”

While Oda blushed more deeply, Clara Hay smiled and said, “Why, we have two of America’s most eligible bachelors at this table, Your Excellency.”

When Mr. Vollebæk raised an eyebrow in polite interrogation, Clara went on, “Mr. James and Mr. King have long been considered prize catches for the young lady who finally lands one or the other.”

“Is this true, Mr. James? Mr. King?” asked Mrs. Vollebæk in a tone that actually sounded interested. “Are you both still eligible bachelors?”

Henry James hated this. He always hated it when he was teased about this at someone’s table. He’d been irritated by it for decades, but at least he knew his response by heart.

Smiling softly and bowing his head ever so slightly as if he were being knighted by the Queen, James said, “Alas! I am on the cusp of turning fifty years old and at that age an old bachelor may no longer be called ‘eligible’, but, rather, ‘confirmed’. It appears all but certain now that the only marriage I shall enjoy in this lifetime is to my art.” When he saw a flicker of confusion in Mrs. Vollebæk’s lovely eyes, he added, “To my writing, that is, since I am only a poor scribbler and currently a playwright.”

“Mr. James, as I believe I mentioned to you, my darlings,” said Mr. Vollebæk, “is one of the greatest of all living American writers.”

James bowed his head again in response to the compliment, but smiled and said, “Based on sales of my work in recent years, my publisher—alas again, even my readership—might well disagree with you, sir. But I thank you for the generous words.”

“And how about you, Mr. King?” teased Mrs. Linnea Vollebæk as she leaned forward over the table the better to see the geologist/explorer. The emissary’s wife was still young enough to be attractive when she teased in a coquettish manner. “Are you wed to your profession?”

Clarence King raised his glass of wine to the lady. “Not in the least, ma’am. My problem is that I keep being introduced to the loveliest young ladies in New York, Boston, and Washington—including, of course, now to your truly beautiful daughter Oda . . .”

King raised the glass higher and then drank from it while poor Miss Vollebæk began blushing wildly again. “But, as our friend Harry puts it so well, alas!” continued King. “All of America’s and England’s . . . and Norway’s . . . finest beauties are so wonderfully pale , while some strange inclination in my make-up has made the dusky ladies of the South Seas the avatar and pinnacle of feminine beauty for me.”

John Hay began to laugh at this and most people at the table joined him.

“Have you been to the South Seas, Mr. King?” asked Mrs. Vollebæk.

“Alas, no,” said King with a mischievous smile. He was obviously enjoying tweaking at James for using the lady-poet’s word. “But Henry Adams and John La Farge spent a couple of years traveling from island to island in the Pacific, sending me long letters describing the beauty of the dusky ladies there.” He finished his wine. “Darn their mangy hides.”

John Hay nodded to a servant, and everyone’s wine glasses were refilled in an instant. “Clarence has been to Cuba and the Caribbean,” said Hay.

“And to Mexico and Central America and points south of there, but . . . alas . . .” He bowed his head in a caricature of defeat.

“To Mr. King finding his dusky beauty,” said little Oda as she raised her refilled glass, and after everyone laughed long and heartily at the young lady’s pluck, they toasted King.

The primary courses were arriving. James found himself agitated with impatience and his appetite depressed as he waited for the inevitable unveiling of “Jan Sigerson” as a humbug. He also realized that he was motioning for his own wine glass to be refilled more than was his usual practice at dinner.

Suddenly the focus turned to Clarence King again, and the men—and even Clara Hay—were taking turns trying to explain the 1872 Great Diamond Hoax (and King’s role as hero in it) to the female Vollebæks. Mr. Vollebæk required no tutorial since it turned out that his uncle had been in New York at the time and had been eager to be an investor in the “miraculous diamond mountain” somewhere in western Colorado. King’s first role had been in finding the mesa-shaped mountain and proving that it was all a hoax; the diamonds, rubies, and other gems found there were real enough, at least $30,000 worth, but they were low grade and purchased in London by the men “seeding” them, just as others had blasted real gold into played-out gold mines in Cripple Creek and elsewhere, to make millions from their $30,000 investment. Clarence King had saved Helmer Halvorsen Vollebæk’s Uncle Halvard—and scores of American millionaires and eager would-be investors—from losing their trousers in the hoax.

“But had not Mr. Tiffany of New York certified that the diamonds and other gems found on the mountain were worth huge fortunes?” asked Mrs. Vollebæk.

“He did indeed,” said King. “But it turned out—as I knew even while Mr. Tiffany was certifying them being worth millions—that the jeweler and his associates had no real experience with uncut diamonds.”

“When you found the mountain, Mr. King,” queried Miss Vollebæk in her delightfully accented tones, “what . . . how do Americans say it? . . . what ‘tipped you off’ that the stones had been planted there?”