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Updated: June 25, 2025
Mrs Brindley had been looking through the Signal. 'I don't see anything about Simon Fuge here, said she. 'Oh, nonsense! said her husband. 'Buchanan's sure to have got something in about it. Let's look. He received the paper from his wife, but failed to discover in it a word concerning the death of Simon Fuge. 'Dashed if I don't ring Buchanan up and ask him what he means!
All that I saw around me was a violent negation of Simon Fuge, that entity of rare, fine, exotic sensibilities, that perfectly mad gourmet of sensations, that exotic seer of beauty. I caught sight of my acquaintance and host, Mr Robert Brindley, coming towards me on the platform.
There was nearly a column about it, signed with initials, and the subheading of the article ran, 'Sudden death of a great painter'. That was characteristic of the Gazette. That Simon Fuge was indeed a great painter is now admitted by most dilettantes, though denied by a few. But to the great public he was not one of the few great names. To the great public he was just a medium name.
Upon my soul, as I stood on that dirty platform, in a milieu of advertisements of soap, boots, and aperients, I began to believe that Simon Fuge never had lived, that he was a mere illusion of his friends and his small public.
Mr Colclough, throwing the score of the Sinfonia Domestica into the tonneau of the immense car, put on a pair of gloves and began to circulate round the machine, tapping here, screwing there, as chauffeurs will. Then he bent down in front to start the engine. 'By the way, Ol, Mr Brindley shouted from the doorway, 'it seems Simon Fuge is dead.
But for us he was simply a man who came of a family that had a bad reputation for talking too much and acting the goat! 'Well, I said, We shall see in fifty years. 'That's just what we shan't, said he. 'We shall be where Simon Fuge is dead! However, perhaps we are proud of him. But you don't expect us to show it, do you? That's not our style.
He certainly offered him the most touching compliment, as it was also the wisest and most paternal counsel, when he besought him, as one goddess-born, to quit the convivial society of deep-drinkers: "Heu, fuge nate dea, teque his, ait, eripe malis."
'By the way, doc., said Mr Brindley, in the doctor's wide porch, 'I forgot to tell you that Simon Fuge is dead. 'Is he? said the doctor. 'Yes. You've got a couple of his etchings, haven't you? 'No, said the doctor. 'I had. But I sold them several months ago. 'Oh! said Mr Brindley negligently; 'I didn't know. Well, so long!
Most characteristic of all are the half-Greek formations, such as -ferritribax-, -plagipatida-, -pugilice-, or in the -Miles Gloriosus- : -Fuge! euscheme hercle astitit sic dulice et comoedice! III. VIII. Greece Free
'Mrs Brindley has been telling me that Simon Fuge is dead, said Mrs Colclough brightly, as though Mrs Brindley had been telling her that the price of mutton had gone down. I perceived that those two had been talking over Simon Fuge, after their fashion. 'Oh yes, I responded. 'Have you got that newspaper in your pocket, Mr Loring? asked Mrs Brindley. I had.
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