Dovetailing with this was the fact that both Approbativeness, comprising “the desire for fame and acclaim,” and Self-esteem, were both overdeveloped: indeed, excessively so. And so was Firmness. No collywhobbler could have set out to steal a national treasure ... and done so. He was deficient in the quality of Conscientiousness, but in that of Hope, he had far too much. When the faculty of spirituality is excessive, as here, there is an inevitable tendency towards the fanatic.
All true, all — now — obvious. And all, so far, just so-much locking the stable-door after the horse was gone. What did it avail, here and now, to realize that Gogor’s sentiment of veneration was excessive? He might indeed be venerating the antique treasures. The point now was , where?
“Deficient in Benevolence.’” Very well, he would not fence the jewels in order to give the money to the poor. Indeed!
"Sublimity excessive, tending towards exaggeration.” Obviously. “Imitation, overdeveloped.” As true as anything could be true. Mirthfulness, entirely absent. Hmmm. No use to look for him enjoying a comedy turn in a music hall, then.
Well. Now for the Reasoning Faculties.
Excessive in Causalty: his
talents lay more towards the theoretical. He had little analytical ability, for his faculty of Comparison was weak. Deficient in Human Nature, he would have no discrimination — Eszterhazy sighed, shifted in his seat. So far, all of this seemed theoretical. “Merely average in the qualities of Time and Lanugage, deficient in that of Tune.” So no use expecting to find him at a concert, either. And surely a mere yawn and a nod of the head to see that, owing to a well-developed faculty of Eventuality, he, Gogor, would probably possess a great interest in history.
“Deficient in Cautiousness.” This might be to the good. He might very well tip his hand. “Acquisitiveness strongly but oddly developed.” This was but a double-confirmation of what had been disclosed in connection with Calculation. “Alimentiveness deficient,” eh. Merely eats to live. Not likely to haunt the better restaurants, nor send out for caviare, goose-liver, or champagne. Likely to drink little alcohol, or none. “Combativeness uncertain.” Would he fight for his “cause”? — or not? In the propensity towards “Destructiveness, very weak.” This was somewhat favorable, it seemed to add up to “Not Dangerous.”
And in Vitativeness, Gogor was merely average. He had had a bad lung, but he had recovered from it. Mm, well, so, nothing here, no point in posting watches before the apothecaries’.
And thus, so much for the Selfish Propensities. Now for the Social ones. And now for a quick prayer that Something, at least .Something, would turn up which would be of help —
“Continuity, overdeveloped.” Again: an indication of a possible fanatical devotion to some one thing. Inhabitiveness, or attachment to a place or cause, oddly developed. In other words — now we have all the other evidence — a tendency to form strong attachment to an odd cause. Bully. How often to plow this same furrow.
And now, oh God, only four left!
Adhesiveness (that is, friendship or affection) deficient.
Philoprogenitiveness, absent.
Conjugality, undeveloped.
Amativeness, very large.
And there it was. There it all was. And he might almost as well have skipped all the rest of it.
Eszterhazy clapped his hands in pleasure.
If one rules out Conjugality and Philoprogenitiveness, one rules out desire for home, wife, children. If even Adhesiveness is ruled out, a mistress is also ruled out. And so, what is left? Amativeness is left. In fact: “Amativeness is very large. ” Here we have a man with strong sexual passions, who has neither wife nor mistress. And so —
“Lord.”
Eszterhazy, slightly startled, looked up. “Ah, Herrek, what —? Ah, yes, I clapped, didn’t I. Ah ... no ... I had not meant — Wait! Herrek—”
“Lord.”
Eszterhazy thought for a moment. Then, “Herrek. In the lumber-room. The old pig-skin travelling-bag. The one with the- Paris stickers on it. Bring it, please. But, first — take the stickers off....”
“Lord.”
As the evening express from Praz was drawing into the Great Central Terminal, a man dressed in the height of the fashions of fifteen years earlier, and carrying a pig-skin travelling-bag of even earlier style, went up the side-steps to the central platform. He walked slowly across, mingling with the crowds getting off the express, and went down the main steps and out the main gates —
— and drew back, nervously, from what wits called “the artillery attack.”
"Fiacre, sir?Fiacre?"
"High-born Sir! This way! This way!"
“Fiacre, High-born Sir! Anywhere for a half-a-ducat!”
It seemed that half of the hackney-coaches in Bella had assembled in the wide street outside the station. And as though, now, half of their drivers had flung down their leathers and, leaping to the pavement, were intent on. rushing the newly arrived passengers into their hacks by main force and what was called “grabbage.” And now see a tall and stalwart figure, an ex-hussar by the height and carriage of him, and resplendent in the uniform of a railroad terminal commissionaire, approach the newly arrived provincial. “All right, Sir. Just please to tell me where it is as you’d like to go, and I’ll take care of everything.” And he seems to interpose himself between the newcomer and the mob of coachmen, who, seeing this, go bawling off and howling for other custom. Of which, after all, there seems no lack.
“Uh, I want, uh, I want to go, uh, to go, uh,” and he gropes in his pockets for an address which is not there. Of course not. It never is when wanted. The commissionaire looks at this familiar scene indulgently. And he glances, with the barest trace of a smile, hid before it begins to show, almost, at the faded dandy.
“Did you want to go to a hotel, Sir? I’m afraid one hears that the Grand Beatrix is full-up just now.”
Oh, what a relief for the visitor! Not to have to explain that he does not really want the famous (and justly so) Hotel Grand Beatrix, which would bankrupt him one day: besides being, really, much, much, much too, well, grand. And yet, how flattering to hear that he is obviously thought to be a Grand Beatrix type! “There is the Austerlitz and the Vienna, of course, Sir. Nice quiet places.” The commissionaire knows full well that the visitor does not w-ant a nice quiet place. “And there’s the Hotel de France, very reasonable rates, the gentry tells me, Sir. Of course,” here he gives a very slightly roguish look, “of course, some say it’s rather a bit too gay and fast there. But I daresay that the gentleman might not find it so.”
Hotel de France! Gay and fast! Almost before he knows it, the commissionaire’s whistle has blown, and there the gentleman is, and his luggage, too, luggage with not a single sticker to mar or mark its sturdy old sides, in a fiacre, and rattling over the stonepaved streets. But not rattling so very loudly. The stone paving-blocks are such smooth stone paving- blocks — quite unlike the streets of Praz, where ghastly primordial cobble-stones, shaped like eggs, constitute the paving of the central plaza and adjacent streets; and everywhere else the natural ..soil and earth allow the streets to be as dusty, or muddy, as it pleases the Good Lord to ordain.
The sides of the Hotel de France are painted with enormous letters, three stories in height, which inform the world that "Every room is furnished with the gas-light. ”