fame. I cannot convey to you who know him now--with his careworn face
and abrupt, dry manner, reduced by perpetual gladiatorship to the skin
and bone of his former self--what that man was when he first stepped
into the arena of life.

"You see, my listeners, that you have to recollect that we middle-aged
folks were young then; that is to say, we were as different from what we
are now as the green bough of summer is from the dry wood out of which
we make a ship or a gatepost. Neither man nor wood comes to the uses of
life till the green leaves are stripped and the sap gone. And then the
uses of life transform us into strange things with other names: the tree
is a tree no more, it is a gate or a ship; the youth is a youth no more,
but a one-legged soldier, a hollow-eyed statesman, a scholar spectacled
and slippered! When Micyllus"--here the hand slides into the waistcoat
again--"when Micyllus," said my father, "asked the cock that had once
been Pythagoras(2) if the affair of Troy was really as Homer told it,
the cock replied scornfully, 'How could Homer know anything about it?
At that time he was a camel in Bactria.' Pisistratus, according to the
doctrine of metempsychosis you might have been a Bactrian camel when
that which to my life was the siege of Troy saw Roland and Trevanion
before the walls.

"Handsome you can see that Trevanion has been: but the beauty of his
countenance then was in its perpetual play, its intellectual eagerness;
and his conversation was so discursive, so various, so animated, and
above all so full of the things of the day! If he had been a priest of
Serapis for fifty years he could not have known the anaglyph better.
Therefore he filled up every crevice and pore of that hollow society
with his broken, inquisitive, petulant light; therefore he was admired,
talked of, listened to, and everybody said, 'Trevanion is a rising man.'