Chapter 4– Supplication of the Naked Idol

The two glasses of brandy before dinner calmed Edmund somewhat and he was able to tell the tale.  The gentleman in question had dropped by his studio one afternoon.  He had mentioned the name of a mutual friend who had recommended Edmund.  After viewing the work Edmund had in the studio, he inquired if Edmund accepted commissions.  A large advance had been handed over, along with the mysterious sketches, and a date set for final approval.  That had been three weeks ago and, true to his word, the gentlemen had not stopped in once to see the progress.  Discussion of the mystery of the man's identity and the 'tempting Thalia', as we had come to call her, carried us through dinner and Edmund promised to send word after the gentlemen's visit the next day.

A week passed with no word and I was beginning to wonder what had happened when, at last, a note came to my London estate, Melmoth House (1).

Dorian-

Our mysterious gentleman has a name – and not only a name but a title as well. Lord Godalming loved the muses and has commissioned a second work with 'Thalia'.  This time she is to be Elaine –bedecked in ribbons and embroidery – it will take me an age and half to paint! I weep thinking of the difficulty in rendering authentic reflections.  I am afraid I will have no time for dining as his Lordship has given me only another three weeks to complete a work much more detailed than the last.  I am painting my fingers to the bone as it is,  pausing only to eat and sleep.  What a celebration we will have when I finish!

Until that day  –

Edmund(2)

Lord Godalming, indeed! While not personally acquainted with him, I knew the Lord to be well connected in society and well thought of in the House of Lords.  This boded quite well for Edmund's rise to prominence.  Buoyed by these thoughts and consumed with the flurry of activity Advent (3) always brings, the weeks passed quickly, three becoming five before I noticed.  The new year was scarcely a week old when the note arrived.  It read only,

Another success and a surprise! Elaine has come at last – not only in dreams.  I can hardly work fast enough to capture all the facets of such a muse.  She bewitches my every hour and I think I have never been as content as I am now . Thank you for all you have given me, for I would not have lasted till now, without your support..  Truly, I can never repay you.

Edmund Winters

How dare he! Arrogant, presumptuous dabbler!

My fist had crumpled the note even as its implication was sinking in.  If rage could be made manifest, surely the hateful sheet would have burst into flame, not that any fire could purge those words from my mind.  Too far gone was I, lost in the worship of Shelley's naked idol of revenge (4).  Civility be damned! Decorum be damned!  But mostly, I wanted Edmund damned.

The audacity – mind-boggling audacity! Just who did he think he was?  And who the hell did he think he was dealing with? As if I would slink away, tail tucked between my legs, just because this Lord's mistress, if she even merited that title, was being capricious in her favors.

The final line rankled especially, mawkish in its sincerity, as if an anemic thanks would blur the clear dismissal therein.  Tossing the wadded paper into the fire, I took up my walking stick and gloves.  Dear little Edmund had some learning to do about biting the hand that fed one.  He would realize his error soon enough, as had others before him; for while I could use my wealth and influence to bring a talent up in the world, I had no qualms about reversing the fortunes of anyone foolish enough to merit my displeasure.

Never known for my patience, I nearly flew down the stairs, waving my man away as he hastily held out my cloak.  In the carriage house, I descended on a poor stable boy, snatching the reins of the horse he was leading before he even realized I was there.  I was in the saddle, out the gates and, probably, half-way across London before my servants found their tongues.  Every eye was on me as I thundered through the streets, unsurprisingly.  For while the spectacle of a gentlemen galloping full tilt was not an everyday sight, I know some eyes - well actually most eyes, ignoring proper levels of affected humility in favor of truth - most eyes were drawn to the vision of a raven-haired avenging angel, incandescent with wrath, disturbingly alluring, in spite of the animosity surrounding him.

At last, I neared Edmund's grubby little flat.  I leapt from the horse, handing the reins to the nearest urchin.

"You – ," I barked at the grubby creature,  "and He," pointing to the horse, head hanging and sides heaving, "had better be right here when I return."

The boy's mouth started to twist into a sneer before I fixed him with a particularly irritated glare.  He let the sneer drop but still had to add his bit of insolence, though its effectiveness was marred by his truly wretched imitation of the English Language.

"Oh yes, Your Highness. At once, Your Highness." he bent in a mocking bow. "And what's in it for me, Your High- ".

My sword was out of my cane and his cap off his head, dangling on sword-point just inches from his face, before he could finish. 

"You, you lucky thing," my voice slipping into a growl,  "You get a tomorrow – I am clear?"

He squeaked a 'Yes sir' out of a throat clenched in fear.  I flipped his filthy chapeau back at him, returned my sword to concealment, and got on with the business at hand.  Reaching Edmund's flat, I eschewed knocking entirely, kicking the door open with a loud bang.

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(1) After his incarceration, Oscar Wilde lived in France under the name of Sebastian Melmoth.  Melmoth was the title character in a gothic novel, Melmoth the Wanderer by Maturin, which tells the woeful tale of a man who trades his soul for immortality and then wanders the earth searching for anyone willing to trade places with him, as this is the only means of escaping the bargain.

(2) The tales of The Lady of Shalott and that of Elaine, both  told by Tennyson, are similar enough that the names are often used interchangeably.  The Lady is often painted gazing into a mirror,

                                                       "And moving thro' a mirror clear

                                                        That hangs before her all the year

                                                        Shadows of the world appear". (The Lady of Shallot)

(3) The Church of England celebrates Advent for approximately four weeks from the fourth Sunday before Christmas until Christmas Day.

(4) Here Dorian refers to Percy Bysshe Shelley's A Defense of Poetry wherein he writes,

"Every epoch, under names more or less specious, has deified its peculiar errors; Revenge is the naked idol of the worship of a semi-barbarous age: and Self-deceit is the veiled image of unknown evil, before which luxury and satiety lie prostrate".