J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘Hello, ah hello. How are my dear friends. How good to see you. And how are you, my former little victim. The very worst you were. Yes, the very worst little pupil that I have ever had the insanity to try to teach. Who now looks so grown up. Have you yet got the élan of the gazelle, my little darling. O I know I push by accident of course that poor man’s fork into his head. But his elbow it is too far stuck out. But surely you have come to attend my marvellous party I am giving this evening to celebrate the opening of my new school. But of course my dear friends you are coming.’

Mr Arland and I sat there waiting till the Count was out of breath. Which was clearly not going to be tonight. As he shifted his weight from leg to leg, and continued to be heard by the entire dining room. Many of whom were whispering in somewhat awestruck tones that the Count had received thirty curtain calls when he last danced in Milan. I found the attention paid us quite pleasing. And even Mr Arland, not one to be showy or grand, was sitting just that little bit more upright. The Count’s blond handsome looks and white flashing teeth. And I could see at the table from whence he had come that there sat a dark haired woman of austere beauty.

‘O but I must go. But come. Of course you shall. And bring all your nice friends with you. And even those who may not be so nice.’

The Count reeled off an address which he said was merely around the corner. And dancingly returning across the dining room he executed an attitude alongée on point followed by a grand jeté. Some of the more cultivated and easily amused diners politely clapped but most ducked. The Count bowing before he sat down at his table across from the dark beauty. Who reached out to pat her hand on his and smilingly formed her lips into a kiss. And they kissed. While we retired to the lounge for coffee. I told Mr Arland how the Count used to scream at us, ‘Let us have for god’s sake the perpendicularity, the natural elegance the ethereal lightness, the carriage of the body and arms, the motions graceful and easy.’ But Mr Arland seemed rather in a dither. And said, completely straying from the point in question, that the Count was not so entitled, and might merely be a papal count but that there was no doubt but he was related to some very splendid people indeed and could, if one stretched the point, be considered ennobled.

‘Of course, I can’t bring you to a party, Kildare. Not that sort of party.’

‘What sort of party.’

‘Well I don’t really know, but I’m sure it’s that sort of party.’

‘Sir. O but you can.’

I insisted, when Mr Arland had said that we had already been too extravagant, that he should sample some of the house’s best brandy. And I had the waiter go fetch from their cellar such a suitably dusty bottle. Mr Arland said that kind of party could give one a reputation. And people like the Dublin actress attended them and that Ronald was a chancer and a notorious fortune hunter. And that he’d marry a witch if she had the price of a pint of stout and that he was most suitably nick named Rashers Ronald. And each time I reached to refill Mr Arland’s glass he would put his hand forward to the rim. But then he would smile.

‘Now now Kildare, you are a devil. I really have had quite enough.’

When I was sure that Mr Arland had indeed had a sufficiency, I had our coats fetched from our rooms and it was not at all difficult to get him out the door. To freshen up a bit with the night air. But I did indeed once or twice quite forcibly push him forward in front of me. Past the still begging tinkers who thrice blessed him. And the more he started to laugh, the more I pushed. Till I was really shoving him, right, as the saying goes, around the corner. But we had to walk yet another street. Which seemed quite pleasantly and thoroughly protestant. With a big grey Masonic lodge. And societies for the protection of Indigent Widows of the Gentry. Then crossing over into another narrow street we came to the door. Open on the latch.

Again I had to push Mr Arland forward. And also upwards as he kept stumbling still highly amused on the narrow stairs. Groping as we were noisily through musty blackness from landing to landing. Till at the very top we could hear voices and singing and light flooding out. We stood in the doorway. And then came the Count’s voice over the throng of assembled heads.

‘Hello my darlings. Come in come in. Of course you will know no one here. And it does not matter. Nobody I know admits knowing anyone else I know. Shall we just leave it that way and get you drinks.’

Candles burning in this low ceilinged room. Sound of corks popping. A bottle of stout shoved in my hand. Hanging between gilded framed mirrors, four illumined oil portraits of Popes of the Roman Catholic Church. One of St Gregory the Great. His light blue painted eyes staring out over the pillow stacked chaise longue. And there, away in a tapestried corner were the courtesan and her red haired friend Rashers Ronald from the Shelbourne rooms. While another blonde lady was eyeing me. Making me most uncomfortable And as I eyed her right back, she crossed the room towards me pushing between the tight packed people.

‘You’re a bit young aren’t you, dear boy, to be here amid all these flagrantly perverted people. But I like your eyes. Are you with your parents.’

‘I was in fact invited with my tutor.’

‘You were what.’

‘I suppose as part of my education. There he is, the tall gentleman talking with that lady who’s wearing that large blue hat.’

‘O you are a rich young man then are you. Having a tutor.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘O you must be. Although you certainly don’t look it. But you sound to the manner born. I am an impoverished artist late of Bloomsbury, Bloomsbury Place, Bloomsbury Square, London as it happens. And I want you to buy my paintings.’

‘I should be quite happy to see them but I do not have much money to buy.’

‘I think you must be lying or else you’re totally bereft of culture.’

‘And you madam are lacking in manners.’

Darcy Dancer stepping back a little from this lady whose face juts forward. And turning to apologize as his heels landed on a rather robust young woman’s toes. Who shoves him off. Right up against the artist advancing upon him in her green voluminous sweater. A look of some consternation in her eyes. Streaks of grey in her bundled blonde hair. Moist red lips and quite good quality teeth. A pronounced strong nose and flared nostrils and a blue vein throbbing on her temple. And pleasantly sweet smelling breath as it wafts on my face.

‘I say who the hell are you. I really want to know. I have a son older than you are and I would not let him attend such a gathering as this. But you do have rather feminine eyes. They attracted my attention the instant you walked into the room. Yes you’re quite extraordinary looking. Who are you.’

‘I’m from the country.’

‘That’s quite clear from that coat and suit you’re wearing, and your rather overly large ears. Not that I’m that pristine, but your hair is washed I hope. Let me smell. O I say it’s quite clean. At least you’re not one of those awfully dirty Anglo Irish always doing something greasy with axles or water pumps or if they’re not wringing chickens’ necks in the drawing room then they’re sticking their arms up cows’ arses.’

‘You are impertinent, madam.’

‘Impertinent. Good lord, you’ve got your damn nerve coming in here among many of my personal friends and telling me, a lady three times your age that I am impertinent. Who the hell are you.’

‘And you’ve already asked me that three times and I have my good reasons for declining to say.’

‘Cheeky little chap, aren’t you. It’s your immaturity of course. But I think I like you. Yes, there’s just the merest trace of hair on your upper lip. You shall have whiskers soon, won’t you. I am one of those dangerous women they call divorcees. Whose husband was a confirmed pederast. Which put it into my head to corrupt little boys such as you before he did.’