English
Whenthelastladyhaddisappeared,andtheEarltakinghisplaceattheheadofthetable,hadissuedthemilitaryorder“Gentlemen!Closeuptheranks,ifyouplease!”
andwhen,inobediencetohiscommand,wehadgatheredourselvescompactlyroundhim,thepompousmangaveadeepsighofrelief,filledhisglasstothebrim,pushedonthewine,andbeganoneofhisfavouriteorations.“Theyarecharming,nodoubt!Charming,butveryfrivolous.
Theydragusdown,sotospeak,toalowerlevel.They—”
“Donotallpronounsrequireantecedentnouns?”theEarlgentlyenquired.
“Pardonme,”saidthepompousman,withloftycondescension.“Ihadoverlookedthenoun.Theladies.Weregrettheirabsence.Yetweconsoleourselves.Thoughtisfree.
Withthem,wearelimitedtotrivialtopics—ArtLiterature,Politics,andsoforth.
Onecanbeartodiscusssuchpaltrymatterswithalady.
Butnoman,inhissenses—”(helookedsternlyroundthetable,asifdefyingcontradiction)“—everyetdiscussedWINEwithalady!”
Hesippedhisglassofport,leanedbackinhischair,andslowlyraisedituptohiseye,soastolookthroughitatthelamp.“Thevintage,myLord?”heenquired,glancingathishost.
TheEarlnamedthedate.
“SoIhadsupposed.Butonelikestobecertain.Thetintis,perhaps,slightlypale.Butthebodyisunquestionable.Andasforthebouquet—”
Ah,thatmagicBouquet!Howvividlythatmagicwordrecalledthescene!
Thelittlebeggarboyturninghissomersaultintheroad—thesweetlittlecrippledmaideninmyarms—themysteriousevanescentnursemaid—allrushedtumultuouslyintomymind,likethecreaturesofadream:andthroughthismentalhazetherestillboomedon,likethetollingofabell,thesolemnvoiceofthegreatconnoisseurofWINE!
Evenhisutteranceshadtakenonthemselvesastrangeanddream-likeform.
“No,”heresumed—andwhyisit,Ipausetoask,that,intakingupthebrokenthreadofadialogue,onealwaysbeginswiththischeerlessmonosyllable?
Aftermuchanxiousthought,Ihavecometotheconclusionthattheobjectinviewisthesameasthatoftheschoolboy,whenthesumheisworkinghasgotintoahopelessmuddle,andwhenindespairhetakesthesponge,washesitallout,andbeginsagain.
Justinthesamewaythebewilderedorator,bythesimpleprocessofdenyingeverythingthathasbeenhithertoasserted,makesacleansweepofthewholediscussion,andcan“startfair”withafreshtheory.
“No,”heresumed:“there’snothinglikecherry-jam,afterall.That’swhatIsay!”
“Notforallqualities!”aneagerlittlemanshrillyinterposed.
“ForrichnessofgeneraltoneIdon’tsaythatithasarival.
Butfordelicacyofmodulation—forwhatonemaycallthe‘harmonics’offlavour—givemegoodoldraspberry-jam—”
“Allowmeoneword!”Thefatred-facedman,quitehoarsewithexcitement,brokeintothedialogue.
“It’stooimportantaquestiontobesettledbyAmateurs!
IcangiveyoutheviewsofaProfessional—perhapsthemostexperiencedjam-tasternowliving.
Why,I’veknownhimfixtheageofstrawberry-jam,toaday—andweallknowwhatadifficultjamitistogiveadateto—onasingletasting!
Well,Iputtohimtheveryquestionyouarediscussing.
Hiswordswere’cherry-jamisbest,formerechiaroscuroofflavour:raspberry-jamlendsitselfbesttothoseresolveddiscordsthatlingersolovinglyonthetongue:but,forrapturousbitternessofsaccharineperfection,it’sapricot-jamfirstandtherestnowhere!’Thatwaswellput,wasn’tit?”
“Consummatelyput!”shriekedtheeagerlittleman.
“Iknowyourfriendwell,”saidthepompousman.“Asajam-taster,hehasnorival!YetIscarcelythink—”
Butherethediscussionbecamegeneral:andhiswordswerelostinaconfusedmedleyofnames,everyguestsoundingthepraisesofhisownfavouritejam.
Atlength,throughthedin,ourhost’svoicemadeitselfheard.“Letusjointheladies!”
Thesewordsseemedtorecallmetowakinglife;andIfeltsurethat,forthelastfewminutes,Ihadrelapsedintothe“eerie”state.
“Astrangedream!”Isaidtomyselfaswetroopedupstairs.
“Grownmendiscussing,asseriouslyasiftheyweremattersoflifeanddeath,thehopelesslytrivialdetailsofmeredelicacies,thatappealtonohigherhumanfunctionthanthenervesofthetongueandpalate!
Whatahumiliatingspectaclesuchadiscussionwouldbeinwakinglife!”
When,onourwaytothedrawing-room,Ireceivedfromthehousekeepermylittlefriends,cladinthedaintiestofeveningcostumes,andlooking,intheflushofexpectantdelight,moreradiantlybeautifulthanIhadeverseenthembefore.
Ifeltnoshockofsurprise,butacceptedthefactwiththesameunreasoningapathywithwhichonemeetstheeventsofadream,andwasmerelyconsciousofavagueanxietyastohowtheywouldacquitthemselvesinsonovelascene—forgettingthatCourt-lifeinOutlandwasasgoodtrainingastheycouldneedforSocietyinthemoresubstantialworld.
Itwouldbebest,Ithought,tointroducethemassoonaspossibletosomegood-naturedlady-guest,andIselectedtheyoungladywhosepiano-forte-playinghadbeensomuchtalkedof.“Iamsureyoulikechildren,”Isaid.
“MayIintroducetwolittlefriendsofmine?ThisisSylvie—andthisisBruno.”
TheyoungladykissedSylvieverygraciously.ShewouldhavedonethesameforBruno,buthehastilydrewbackoutofreach.“Theirfacesarenewtome,”shesaid.“Wheredoyoucomefrom,mydear?”
Ihadnotanticipatedsoinconvenientaquestion;and,fearingthatitmightembarrassSylvie,Iansweredforher.“Theycomefromsomedistance.Theyareonlyherejustforthisoneevening.”
“Howfarhaveyoucome,dear?”theyoungladypersisted.
Sylvielookedpuzzled.“Amileortwo,Ithink,”shesaiddoubtfully.
“Amileorthree,”saidBruno.
“Youshouldn’tsay‘amileorthree’,”Sylviecorrectedhim.
Theyoungladynoddedapproval.“Sylvie’squiteright.Itisn’tusualtosay‘amileorthree’.”
“Itwouldbeusual—ifwesaiditoftenenough,”saidBruno.
Itwastheyounglady’sturntolookpuzzlednow.“He’sveryquick,forhisage!”shemurmured.“You’renotmorethanseven,areyou,dear?”sheaddedaloud.
“I’mnotsomanyasthat,”saidBruno.“I’mone.Sylvie’sone.Sylvieandmeistwo.Sylvietaughtmetocount.”
“Oh,Iwasn’tcountingyou,youknow!”theyoungladylaughinglyreplied.
“Hasn’toolearnttocount?”saidBruno.
Theyoungladybitherlip.“Dear!Whatembarrassingquestionshedoesask!”shesaidinahalf-audible“aside”.
“Bruno,youshouldn’t!”Sylviesaidreprovingly.
“Shouldn’twhat?”saidBruno.
“Youshouldn’task—thatsortofquestions.”
“Whatsortofquestions?”Brunomischievouslypersisted.
“Whatshetoldyounot,”Sylviereplied,withashyglanceattheyounglady,andlosingallsenseofgrammarinherconfusion.
“Ooca’n’tpronounceit!”Brunotriumphantlycried.Andheturnedtotheyounglady,forsympathyinhisvictory.“Iknewedshecouldn’tpronounce‘umbrellasting’!”
Theyoungladythoughtitbesttoreturntothearithmeticalproblem.“WhenIaskedifyouwereseven,youknow,Ididn’tmean‘howmanychildren?’Imeant‘howmanyyears—’”
“Onlygottwoears,”saidBruno.“Nobody’sgotsevenears.”
“Andyoubelongtothislittlegirl?”theyoungladycontinued,skilfullyevadingtheanatomicalproblem.
“NoIdoosn’tbelongtoher!”saidBruno.“Sylviebelongstome!”Andheclaspedhisarmsroundherasheadded“Shearemyverymine!”
“And,doyouknow,”saidtheyounglady,“I’vealittlesisterathome,exactlylikeyoursister?I’msurethey’dloveeachother.”
“They’dbeveryextremelyusefultoeachother,”Brunosaid,thoughtfully.“Andtheywouldn’twantnolooking-glassestobrushtheirhairwiz.”
“Whynot,mychild?”
“Why,eachonewoulddofortheotherone’slooking-glassa-course!”criedBruno.
ButhereLadyMuriel,whohadbeenstandingby,listeningtothisbewilderingdialogue,interruptedittoaskiftheyoungladywouldfavouruswithsomemusic;andthechildrenfollowedtheirnewfriendtothepiano.
Arthurcameandsatdownbyme.“Ifrumourspeakstruly,”hewhispered,“wearetohavearealtreat!”Andthen,amidabreathlesssilence,theperformancebegan.
ShewasoneofthoseplayerswhomSocietytalksofas“brilliant”,andshedashedintotheloveliestofHaydn’sSymphoniesinastylethatwasclearlytheoutcomeofyearsofpatientstudyunderthebestmasters.
Atfirstitseemedtobetheperfectionofpiano-forte-playing;butinafewminutesIbegantoaskmyself,wearily,“Whatisitthatiswanting?Whydoesonegetnopleasurefromit?”
ThenIsetmyselftolistenintentlytoeverynote;andthemysteryexplaineditself.
Therewasanalmostperfectmechanicalcorrectness—andtherewasnothingelse!
Falsenotes,ofcourse,didnotoccur:sheknewthepiecetoowellforthat;buttherewasjustenoughirregularityoftimetobetraythattheplayerhadnoreal“ear”formusic—justenoughinarticulatenessinthemoreelaboratepassagestoshowthatshedidnotthinkheraudienceworthtakingrealpainsfor—justenoughmechanicalmonotonyofaccenttotakeallsouloutoftheheavenlymodulationsshewasprofaning—inshort,itwassimplyirritating;and,whenshehadrattledoffthefinaleandhadstruckthefinalchordasif,theinstrumentbeingnowdonewith,itdidn’tmatterhowmanywiresshebroke,Icouldnotevenaffecttojoininthestereotyped“Oh,thankyou!”
whichwaschorusedaroundme.
LadyMurieljoinedusforamoment.“Isn’titbeautiful?”shewhisperedtoArthur,withamischievoussmile.
“No,itisn’t!”saidArthur.Butthegentlesweetnessofhisfacequiteneutralizedtheapparentrudenessofthereply.
“Suchexecution,youknow!”shepersisted.
“That’swhatshedeserves,”Arthurdoggedlyreplied:“butpeoplearesoprejudicedagainstcapital—”
“Nowyou’rebeginningtotalknonsense!”LadyMurielcried.“ButyoudolikeMusic,don’tyou?Yousaidsojustnow.”
“DoIlikeMusic?”theDoctorrepeatedsoftlytohimself.“MydearLadyMuriel,thereisMusicandMusic.Yourquestionispainfullyvague.Youmightaswellask‘DoyoulikePeople?’“
LadyMurielbitherlip,frowned,andstampedwithonetinyfoot.
Asadramatic,representationofill-temper,itwasdistinctlynotasuccess.
However,ittookinoneofheraudience,andBrunohastenedtointerpose,aspeacemakerinarisingquarrel,withtheremark“IlikesPeoples!”
Arthurlaidalovinghandonthelittlecurlyhead.“What?AllPeoples?”heenquired.
“NotallPeoples,”Brunoexplained.“OnlybutSylvie—andLadyMuriel—andhim—”(pointingtotheEarl)‘andoo—andoo!”
“Youshouldn’tpointatpeople,”saidSylvie.“It’sveryrude.”
“InBruno’sWorld,”Isaid,“thereareonlyfourPeople—worthmentioning!”
“InBruno’sWorld!”LadyMurielrepeatedthoughtfully.“Abrightandfloweryworld.
Wherethegrassisalwaysgreen,wherethebreezesalwaysblowsoftly,andtherain-cloudsnevergather;wheretherearenowildbeasts,andnodeserts”
“Theremustbedeserts,”Arthurdecisivelyremarked.“Atleastifitwasmyidealworld.”
“Butwhatpossibleuseisthereinadesert?”saidLadyMuriel.“Surelyyouwouldhavenowildernessinyouridealworld?”
Arthursmiled.“ButindeedIwould!”hesaid.“Awildernesswouldbemorenecessarythanarailway;andfarmoreconducivetogeneralhappinessthanchurch-bells!”
“Butwhatwouldyouuseitfor?”
“Topracticemusicin,”hereplied.“Alltheyoungladies,thathavenoearformusic,butinsistonlearningit,shouldbeconveyed,everymorning,twoorthreemilesintothewilderness.
Thereeachwouldfindacomfortableroomprovidedforher,andalsoacheapsecond-handpiano-forte,onwhichshemightplayforhours,withoutaddingoneneedlesspangtothesumofhumanmisery!”
LadyMurielglancedroundinalarm,lestthesebarbaroussentimentsshouldbeoverheard.
Butthefairmusicianwasatasafedistance.
“Atanyrateyoumustallowthatshe’sasweetgirl?”sheresumed.
“Oh,certainly.Assweetascausucre,ifyouchoose—andnearlyasinteresting!”
“Youareincorrigible!”saidLadyMuriel,andturnedtome.“IhopeyoufoundMrs.Millsaninterestingcompanion?”
“Oh,that’shername,isit?”Isaid.“Ifanciedtherewasmoreofit.”
“Sothereis:anditwillbe‘atyourproperperil’(whateverthatmaymean)ifyoueverpresumetoaddressheras‘Mrs.Mills’.Sheis‘Mrs.Ernest—Atkinson—Mills’!”
“Sheisoneofthosewould-begrandees,”saidArthur,“whothinkthat,bytackingontotheirsurnamealltheirspareChristian-names,withhyphensbetween,theycangiveitanaristocraticflavour.
Asifitwasn’ttroubleenoughtorememberonesurname!”
Bythistimetheroomwasgettingcrowded,astheguests,invitedfortheevening-party,werebeginningtoarrive,andLadyMurielhadtodevoteherselftothetaskofwelcomingthem,whichshedidwiththesweetestgraceimaginable.
SylvieandBrunostoodbyher,deeplyinterestedintheprocess.
“Ihopeyoulikemyfriends?”shesaidtothem.“Speciallymydearoldfriend,MeinHerr(What’sbecomeofhim,Iwonder?Oh,thereheis!),thatoldgentlemaninspectacles,withalongbeard!”
“He’sagrandoldgentleman!”Sylviesaid,gazingadmiringlyat“MeinHerr”,whohadsettleddowninacorner,fromwhichhismildeyesbeamedonusthroughagiganticpairofspectacles.“Andwhatalovelybeard!”
“Whatdoeshecallhis-self?”Brunowhispered.
“Hecallshimself‘MeinHerr’,”Sylviewhisperedinreply.
Brunoshookhisheadimpatiently.“That’swhathecallshishair,nothisself,oosilly!”Heappealedtome.“Whatdooshecallhisself,MisterSir?”
“That’stheonlynameIknowof,”Isaid.“Buthelooksverylonely.Don’tyoupityhisgreyhairs?”
“Ipitieshisself,”saidBruno,stillharpingonthemisnomer;“butIdoosn’tpityhishair,onebit.Hishairca’n’tfeel!”
“Wemethimthisafternoon,”saidSylvie.“We’dbeentoseeNero,andwe’dhadsuchfunwithhim,makinghiminvisibleagain!Andwesawthatniceoldgentlemanaswecameback.”
“Well,let’sgoandtalktohim,andcheerhimupalittle,”Isaid:“andperhapsweshallfindoutwhathecallshimself.”
Share this article to
FINISH