“Leopold, King of the Belgians.”
“But, my dear Monsieur Adams, you have come to waste your time; he is already exposed. Expose Leopold, King of the Belgians! Say at once that you are going to expose the sun. He doesn’t care. He exposes himself. His public and his private life are common property.”
“You mean to say that everyone knows what I know?”
“Precisely, and perhaps even more, but everyone has not seen what you have seen, and that’s all the difference.”
“How so?”
“In this way, monsieur; let us suppose that you have just seen a child run over in the Rue de la Paix. You come in here and tell me of it; the horror of it is in your mind, but you cannot convey that horror to me, simply because I have not seen what you have seen. Still, you can convey a part of it, for I know the Rue de la Paix, it is close to me, outside my door, and I know French children.
“You come to me and tell me of hideous sights you have seen in Africa. That does not move me a tenth so much, for Africa is very far away—it is, in fact, for me a geographical expression; the people are niggers I have never seen, dwelling in a province I have never heard of. You come to seek sympathy for this people amongst the French public? Well, I tell you frankly you are like a man searching in a dark room for a black hat that is not there.”
“Nevertheless I shall search.”
“As monsieur wills, only don’t knock yourself against the chairs and tables. Ah, monsieur, monsieur, you are young and a medical man. Remain so, and don’t lose your years and your prospects fighting the impossible. Now listen to me, for it is old Schaunard of the Rue de la Paix who is speaking to you. The man you would expose, as you term it, is a king to begin with; to go on with, he is far and away the cleverest king in Christendom. That man has brains enough to run what you in America call a department store. Every little detail of his estate out there, even to the cap guns and rifles of the troops, he looks after himself; that’s why it pays. It is a bad-smelling business, but it doesn’t poison the nose of Europe, because it is so far away. Still, smells are brought over in samples by missionaries and men like you, and people say ‘Faugh!’ Do you think he did not take that into his consideration when he planned the affair and laid down the factory? If you think so, you would be vastly mistaken. He has agents everywhere—I have met them, apologists everywhere—in the Press, in Society, in the Church. The Roman Catholic Church is entirely his; he is triple-ringed with politicians, priests, publicists, and financiers, all holding their noses to keep out the stench and all singing the Laus Leopold at the top of their voices.
“Ah! you don’t know Europe. I do, from the Ballplatz to Willhelmstrasse, from the Winter Palace to the Elysée, my trade has brought me everywhere, and if you could see with my eyes, you would see the great, smooth plain of ice you hope to warm with your poor breath in the name of Humanity.”