So he gave himself up to
gymnastics with enthusiasm, expending his youthful vigour against his
drill professor, and the Japanese who taught him jiu-jitsu. The boy's
strength became quite remarkable. But his pale face, disproportionately
long arms, and reputation for austerity, had made him the mark, from
the very first days of his diplomatic career, for the gossips, ballad
makers, and authors of questionable cabaret skits.
The day he heard that he was serving as Turk's head in a Brussels
music-hall, he went instantly behind the scenes of the theatre and
demanded to see the Director, who was in conversation with the author
of the piece. He went right up to them. "I," he said, raising his hat
politely, "am Count Albert Styvens. I shall be very glad to have you
suppress the scene, which, I understand, is intended to caricature
me."
The Manager, a prosperous brewer, who had become proprietor of a
theatre for the pleasure of producing revues, which if not witty were
certainly vulgar, shrugged his heavy shoulders.
"You expect me to lose money! That act is one of the best we have
got."
"And you, sir?" Albert turned on the author, a man of doubtful
reputation, always on the alert for any occasion of scandal in others.
"Oh! of course I am sorry to offend you, but I can't take off the
piece."
The last word was not out of his mouth when the Count grabbed both of
them by the napes of their necks and knocked their heads together till
the blood spurted from their surprised faces.
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