The Greatest Showman #1320 - It Doesn't Matter

Richard de Ville, Earl of Oxford, decides to leave London.

The day after the grand private party, he packed his bags and made preparations to travel, even skipping the upcoming anniversary celebration for Les Miserables.

This move shocked many.

You see, much of the buzz surrounding the party stemmed from the one-year anniversary of Les Miserables. Now, the Earl of Oxford, the very person who had celebrated the occasion, was abandoning all the planned commemorative activities to leave? The situation was ripe for gossip.

Especially considering the party's electric atmosphere, with the thrilling and deafening notes of that song sung aloud, which spread throughout London's upper class in less than 12 hours. Everyone was eager to discuss it. And now, as the host of the event, Richard was suddenly leaving. Could this be his way of expressing dissatisfaction with Renly? Or perhaps he felt ashamed and was choosing to flee?

Gossip spread like wildfire.

Rumors about the party began to swirl—Viscount John de Beaufort had erupted in anger, yelling and even fighting, creating a scene so ugly that he later let it slide. There were stories of Renly trying to seduce Princess Beatrice in private, and the Duke of Cambridge intervening, uttering harsh words. The youngest son of the Hamilton family, a former friend of Renly, had severed ties after the party, and others like the youngest sons of the Dormers and Dunlops had been pulled into the drama.

The rumor mill churned relentlessly.

Never underestimate the power of gossip, especially among the nobility. Often, those at the top of society engage in conversations laced with venom, rife with class discrimination. A single piece of gossip can easily tarnish a reputation and, in some cases, destroy an entire family's honor.

However, the rumors didn't last long. Before leaving for the port in Liverpool, Richard encountered another countess. They spoke, and Richard, to everyone's surprise, spoke with nothing but admiration for Renly.

"I never realized how sharp people's eyes could be. Renly is a great actor, but beyond that, he has such a noble and pure soul," he said.

"After watching his performance, I felt so small and humble, tearful, even ashamed. Compared to him, I am nothing. I need to leave this place, get out of here. The faces here are twisted, and I finally understand why Renly chose to leave London instead of staying in the West End. It's just horrifying."

"Terrifying," Richard repeated three times.

What Richard feared, rejected, and avoided wasn't Renly, but the so-called nobility.

These words stung, silencing the gossipers. Those who had spread rumors now stood embarrassed. Within hours, they all quieted down, unwilling to be labeled as the "terrifying and twisted" faces that Richard had described.

Slowly, the truth started to emerge.

Renly's performance at the private party had not been an occasion for mockery. Instead, the looks of contempt, exclusion, and disdain began to feel shameful. The noble masks of arrogance began to burn away.

The truth about Renly's rise, his challenges with George and Elizabeth, the indifference of the Hall family, and the ridicule of high society began to circulate. The noble façade began to crumble, revealing the ugliness behind it.

The nobility were not blind; they simply chose to ignore the dirt and darkness beneath the surface, pretending to maintain a pristine image of peace and dignity. They kept to their comfortable world, safeguarding their face and reputation.

But Renly had exposed the cracks.

He not only performed at the private party but also sang "This Is Me," stripping away the masks and revealing the truth to the world. He stood boldly in the sun, asserting his presence. He wasn't a subject for gossip or ridicule—he was a living, breathing person. He was an actor. A real actor.

He may not fit the traditional mold of the aristocracy, but he possessed the same elegance and composure. Through his talent and hard work, he had carved out a place in the arts, earning applause and admiration, deserving far more respect than many who called themselves nobility.

"I know I deserve to be loved, and there's nothing I don't deserve!"

The chorus of that song was deafening. It wasn't just a message to George and Elizabeth, but a declaration to the entire upper class.

From the Les Miserables Almeida production to the growing recognition of his potential, from the backing of the London Drama Society to the praise of the Earl of Oxford—everything was coming together. His performance of "This Is Me" had stirred ripples throughout the upper class. The party aftermath had rippled outward, with the intensity growing like waves in a storm. One stone had set off a tidal wave that swept across the upper crust.

Just as it always happens in history, reformers and conservatives clashed again.

In every era, there are those who resist change, determined to cling to tradition. Anything that threatens tradition is swiftly quashed, especially by the elite who fear losing their power and influence. They'll stop at nothing to protect their privileged position.

Then, there are those who push for change—youthful visionaries who seek to break free of the old ways. They fight for progress, for a new world, and hope to usher in a new era.

Renly was the embodiment of this change.

For the traditionalists, Renly represented a threat. If one Renly could emerge, there could be countless others, and the noble traditions would crumble. For the reformists, Renly's arrival signaled a new era. History was moving forward, and instead of resisting it, they could embrace it.

History, it seems, always repeats itself.

Humanity insists on studying history, hoping to learn from it and avoid past mistakes. But in truth, history keeps repeating itself. It's only when a moment of crisis arises—when change is unstoppable—that we awaken.

The controversy around Renly's rise grew louder, sharper, and more divisive. It became the hottest topic in all of London's upper class.

For the past year, the overwhelming success of Les Miserables had made Renly an accepted presence. People were curious about him, but it was only an illusion of acceptance, much like the Earl of Oxford's party, which appeared vibrant but was, at its core, just a spectacle.

Now, the truth was out.

As the buzz intensified, a pivotal moment arrived.

When Matthew Dunlop went to the High Kensington District Court, he bumped into some colleagues who asked for his opinion on the ongoing controversy. Surprisingly, Matthew remained indifferent and casually replied, "I don't care. Because none of this matters to Renly."

In that instant, memories flooded back to everyone—just like the song "This Is Me"—this was Renly. No matter how the world criticized, rejected, or resisted, it didn't matter. He had already made his mark.

The judgment of high society meant nothing. Opposition, support, protest, disdain, exclusion—it couldn't hurt Renly. Nothing could change him.

It was that simple.

After answering, Matthew smiled calmly and added, "I still need to meet with the judge. Let's talk later." His words were delivered as if the conversation had been nothing more than a discussion about the weather.

This was the final blow—a slap to the face of the so-called nobles. The pain was so intense that it left them speechless.

The controversy continued, but it was losing steam. Gradually, it began to fade. Whether the aristocracy accepted it or not, they could not change the reality. As Matthew had said, the judgments, the opinions, the prejudices—all of it meant nothing to Renly. After his performance at the party, he had already moved on.

Renly's journey had taken him to Cannes, a small town on the French Riviera, where the film festival was about to start, but his story had already begun to spread far and wide.