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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:18:18 -0700 |
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diff --git a/2072-h/2072-h.htm b/2072-h/2072-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99d5b36 --- /dev/null +++ b/2072-h/2072-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13663 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Michael, by E. F. Benson + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael, by E. F. Benson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Michael + +Author: E. F. Benson + +Release Date: May 13, 2006 [EBook #2072] +Last Updated: November 1, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MICHAEL *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MICHAEL + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by E. F. Benson + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Though there was nothing visibly graceful about Michael Comber, he + apparently had the art of giving gracefully. He had already told his + cousin Francis, who sat on the arm of the sofa by his table, that there + was no earthly excuse for his having run into debt; but now when the + moment came for giving, he wrote the cheque quickly and eagerly, as if + thoroughly enjoying it, and passed it over to him with a smile that was + extraordinarily pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “There you are, then, Francis,” he said; “and I take it from you that that + will put you perfectly square again. You’ve got to write to me, remember, + in two days’ time, saying that you have paid those bills. And for the + rest, I’m delighted that you told me about it. In fact, I should have been + rather hurt if you hadn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Francis apparently had the art of accepting gracefully, which is more + difficult than the feat which Michael had so successfully accomplished. + </p> + <p> + “Mike, you’re a brick,” he said. “But then you always are a brick. Thanks + awfully.” + </p> + <p> + Michael got up, and shuffled rather than walked across the room to the + bell by the fireplace. As long as he was sitting down his big arms and + broad shoulders gave the impression of strength, and you would have + expected to find when he got up that he was tall and largely made. But + when he rose the extreme shortness of his legs manifested itself, and he + appeared almost deformed. His hands hung nearly to his knees; he was + heavy, short, lumpish. + </p> + <p> + “But it’s more blessed to give than to receive, Francis,” he said. “I have + the best of you there.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s pretty blessed to receive when you are in a tight place, as I + was,” he said, laughing. “And I am so grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know you are. And it’s that which makes me feel rather cheap, + because I don’t miss what I’ve given you. But that’s distinctly not a + reason for your doing it again. You’ll have tea, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Francis, getting up, also, and leaning his elbow on the + chimney-piece, which was nearly on a level with the top of Michael’s head. + And if Michael had gracefulness only in the art of giving, Francis’s + gracefulness in receiving was clearly of a piece with the rest of him. He + was tall, slim and alert, with the quick, soft movements of some wild + animal. His face, brown with sunburn and pink with brisk-going blood, was + exceedingly handsome in a boyish and almost effeminate manner, and though + he was only eighteen months younger than his cousin, he looked as if nine + or ten years might have divided their ages. + </p> + <p> + “But you are a brick, Mike,” he said again, laying his long, brown hand on + his cousin’s shoulder. “I can’t help saying it twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Twice more than was necessary,” said Michael, finally dismissing the + subject. + </p> + <p> + The room where they sat was in Michael’s flat in Half Moon Street, and + high up in one of those tall, discreet-looking houses. The windows were + wide open on this hot July afternoon, and the bourdon hum of London, where + Piccadilly poured by at the street end, came in blended and blunted by + distance, but with the suggestion of heat, of movement, of hurrying + affairs. The room was very empty of furniture; there was a rug or two on + the parquet floor, a long, low bookcase taking up the end near the door, a + table, a sofa, three or four chairs, and a piano. Everything was plain, + but equally obviously everything was expensive, and the general impression + given was that the owner had no desire to be surrounded by things he did + not want, but insisted on the superlative quality of the things he did. + The rugs, for instance, happened to be of silk, the bookcase happened to + be Hepplewhite, the piano bore the most eminent of makers’ names. There + were three mezzotints on the walls, a dragon’s-blood vase on the high, + carved chimney-piece; the whole bore the unmistakable stamp of a fine, + individual taste. + </p> + <p> + “But there’s something else I want to talk to you about, Francis,” said + Michael, as presently afterwards they sat over their tea. “I can’t say + that I exactly want your advice, but I should like your opinion. I’ve done + something, in fact, without asking anybody, but now that it’s done I + should like to know what you think about it.” + </p> + <p> + Francis laughed. + </p> + <p> + “That’s you all over, Michael,” he said. “You always do a thing first, if + you really mean to do it—which I suppose is moral courage—and + then you go anxiously round afterwards to see if other people approve, + which I am afraid looks like moral cowardice. I go on a different plan + altogether. I ascertain the opinion of so many people before I do anything + that I end by forgetting what I wanted to do. At least, that seems a + reasonable explanation for the fact that I so seldom do anything.” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked affectionately at the handsome boy who lounged long-legged + in the chair opposite him. Like many very shy persons, he had one friend + with whom he was completely unreserved, and that was this cousin of his, + for whose charm and insouciant brilliance he had so adoring an admiration. + </p> + <p> + He pointed a broad, big finger at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but when you are like that,” he said, “you can just float along. + Other people float you. But I should sink heavily if I did nothing. I’ve + got to swim all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are in the army,” said Francis. “That’s as much swimming as + anyone expects of a fellow who has expectations. In fact, it’s I who have + to swim all the time, if you come to think of it. You are somebody; I’m + not!” + </p> + <p> + Michael sat up and took a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “But I’m not in the army any longer,” he said. “That’s just what I am + wanting to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Francis laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he asked. “Have you been cashiered or shot or + something?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I wrote and resigned my commission yesterday,” said Michael. + “If you had dined with me last night—as, by the way, you promised to + do—I should have told you then.” + </p> + <p> + Francis got up and leaned against the chimney-piece. He was conscious of + not thinking this abrupt news as important as he felt he ought to think + it. That was characteristic of him; he floated, as Michael had lately told + him, finding the world an extremely pleasant place, full of warm currents + that took you gently forward without entailing the slightest exertion. But + Michael’s grave and expectant face—that Michael who had been so + eagerly kind about meeting his debts for him—warned him that, + however gossamer-like his own emotions were, he must attempt to ballast + himself over this. + </p> + <p> + “Are you speaking seriously?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Quite seriously. I never did anything that was so serious.” + </p> + <p> + “And that is what you want my opinion about?” he asked. “If so, you must + tell me more, Mike. I can’t have an opinion unless you give me the reasons + why you did it. The thing itself—well, the thing itself doesn’t seem + to matter so immensely. The significance of it is why you did it.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s big, heavy-browed face lightened a moment. “For a fellow who + never thinks,” he said, “you think uncommonly well. But the reasons are + obvious enough. You can guess sufficient reasons to account for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s hear them anyhow,” said Francis. + </p> + <p> + Michael clouded again. + </p> + <p> + “Surely they are obvious,” he said. “No one knows better than me, unless + it is you, that I’m not like the rest of you. My mind isn’t the build of a + guardsman’s mind, any more than my unfortunate body is. Half our work, as + you know quite well, consists in being pleasant and in liking it. Well, + I’m not pleasant. I’m not breezy and cordial. I can’t do it. I make a task + of what is a pastime to all of you, and I only shuffle through my task. + I’m not popular, I’m not liked. It’s no earthly use saying I am. I don’t + like the life; it seems to me senseless. And those who live it don’t like + me. They think me heavy—just heavy. And I have enough sensitiveness + to know it.” + </p> + <p> + Michael need not have stated his reasons, for his cousin could certainly + have guessed them; he could, too, have confessed to the truth of them. + Michael had not the light hand, which is so necessary when young men work + together in a companionship of which the cordiality is an essential part + of the work; neither had he in the social side of life that particular and + inimitable sort of easy self-confidence which, as he had said just now, + enables its owner to float. Except in years he was not young; he could not + manage to be “clubable”; he was serious and awkward at a supper party; he + was altogether without the effervescence which is necessary in order to + avoid flatness. He did his work also in the same conscientious but leaden + way; officers and men alike felt it. All this Francis knew perfectly well; + but instead of acknowledging it, he tried quite fruitlessly to smooth it + over. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you exaggerating?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t tone it down, Francis!” he said. “Even if I was exaggerating—which + I don’t for a moment admit—the effect on my general efficiency would + be the same. I think what I say is true.” + </p> + <p> + Francis became more practical. + </p> + <p> + “But you’ve only been in the regiment three years,” he said. “It won’t be + very popular resigning after only three years.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing much to lose on the score of popularity,” remarked + Michael. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing pertinent that could be consoling here. + </p> + <p> + “And have you told your father?” asked Francis. “Does Uncle Robert know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I wrote to father this morning, and I’m going down to Ashbridge + to-morrow. I shall be very sorry if he disapproves.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll be sorry,” said Francis. + </p> + <p> + “I know, but it won’t make any difference to my action. After all, I’m + twenty-five; if I can’t begin to manage my life now, you may be sure I + never shall. But I know I’m right. I would bet on my infallibility. At + present I’ve only told you half my reasons for resigning, and already you + agree with me.” + </p> + <p> + Francis did not contradict this. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s hear the rest, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You shall. The rest is far more important, and rather resembles a + sermon.” + </p> + <p> + Francis appropriately sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s this,” said Michael. “I’m twenty-five, and it is time that I + began trying to be what perhaps I may be able to be, instead of not trying + very much—because it’s hopeless—to be what I can’t be. I’m + going to study music. I believe that I could perhaps do something there, + and in any case I love it more than anything else. And if you love a + thing, you have certainly a better chance of succeeding in it than in + something that you don’t love at all. I was stuck into the army for no + reason except that soldiering is among the few employments which it is + considered proper for fellows in my position—good Lord! how awful it + sounds!—proper for me to adopt. The other things that were open were + that I should be a sailor or a member of Parliament. But the soldier was + what father chose. I looked round the picture gallery at home the other + day; there are twelve Lord Ashbridges in uniform. So, as I shall be Lord + Ashbridge when father dies, I was stuck into uniform too, to be the + ill-starred thirteenth. But what has it all come to? If you think of it, + when did the majority of them wear their smart uniforms? Chiefly when they + went on peaceful parades or to court balls, or to the Sir Joshua Reynolds + of the period to be painted. They’ve been tin soldiers, Francis! You’re a + tin soldier, and I’ve just ceased to be a tin soldier. If there was the + smallest chance of being useful in the army, by which I mean standing up + and being shot at because I am English, I would not dream of throwing it + up. But there’s no such chance.” + </p> + <p> + Michael paused a moment in his sermon, and beat out the ashes from his + pipe against the grate. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow the chance is too remote,” he said. “All the nations with armies + and navies are too much afraid of each other to do more than growl. Also I + happen to want to do something different with my life, and you can’t do + anything unless you believe in what you are doing. I want to leave behind + me something more than the portrait of a tin soldier in the dining-room at + Ashbridge. After all, isn’t an artistic profession the greatest there is? + For what counts, what is of value in the world to-day? Greek statues, the + Italian pictures, the symphonies of Beethoven, the plays of Shakespeare. + The people who have made beautiful things are they who are the benefactors + of mankind. At least, so the people who love beautiful things think.” + </p> + <p> + Francis glanced at his cousin. He knew this interesting vital side of + Michael; he was aware, too, that had anybody except himself been in the + room, Michael could not have shown it. Perhaps there might be people to + whom he could show it but certainly they were not those among whom + Michael’s life was passed. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said encouragingly. “You’re ripping, Mike.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the nuisance of it is that the things I am ripping about appear to + father to be a sort of indoor game. It’s all right to play the piano, if + it’s too wet to play golf. You can amuse yourself with painting if there + aren’t any pheasants to shoot. In fact, he will think that my wanting to + become a musician is much the same thing as if I wanted to become a + billiard-marker. And if he and I talked about it till we were a hundred + years old, he could never possibly appreciate my point of view.” + </p> + <p> + Michael got up and began walking up and down the room with his slow, + ponderous movement. + </p> + <p> + “Francis, it’s a thousand pities that you and I can’t change places,” he + said. “You are exactly the son father would like to have, and I should so + much prefer being his nephew. However, you come next; that’s one comfort.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You see, the fact is that he doesn’t like me,” he said. “He has no + sympathy whatever with my tastes, nor with what I am. I’m an awful trial + to him, and I don’t see how to help it. It’s pure waste of time, my going + on in the Guards. I do it badly, and I hate it. Now, you’re made for it; + you’re that sort, and that sort is my father’s sort. But I’m not; no one + knows that better than myself. Then there’s the question of marriage, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Michael gave a mirthless laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I’m twenty-five, you see,” he said, “and it’s the family custom for the + eldest son to marry at twenty-five, just as he’s baptised when he’s a + certain number of weeks old, and confirmed when he is fifteen. It’s part + of the family plan, and the Medes and Persians aren’t in it when the + family plan is in question. Then, again, the lucky young woman has to be + suitable; that is to say, she must be what my father calls ‘one of us.’ + How I loathe that phrase! So my mother has a list of the suitable, and + they come down to Ashbridge in gloomy succession, and she and I are sent + out to play golf together or go on the river. And when, to our unutterable + relief, that is over, we hurry back to the house, and I escape to my + piano, and she goes and flirts with you, if you are there. Don’t deny it. + And then another one comes, and she is drearier than the last—at + least, I am.” + </p> + <p> + Francis lay back and laughed at this dismal picture of the rejection of + the fittest. + </p> + <p> + “But you’re so confoundedly hard to please, Mike,” he said. “There was an + awfully nice girl down at Ashbridge at Easter when I was there, who was + simply pining to take you. I’ve forgotten her name.” + </p> + <p> + Michael clicked his fingers in a summary manner. + </p> + <p> + “There you are!” he said. “You and she flirted all the time, and three + months afterwards you don’t even remember her name. If you had only been + me, you would have married her. As it was, she and I bored each other + stiff. There’s an irony for you! But as for pining, I ask you whether any + girl in her senses could pine for me. Look at me, and tell me! Or rather, + don’t look at me; I can’t bear to be looked at.” + </p> + <p> + Here was one of Michael’s morbid sensitivenesses. He seldom forgot his own + physical appearance, the fact of which was to him appalling. His stumpy + figure with its big body, his broad, blunt-featured face, his long arms, + his large hands and feet, his clumsiness in movement were to him of the + nature of a constant nightmare, and it was only with Francis and the ease + that his solitary presence gave, or when he was occupied with music that + he wholly lost his self-consciousness in this respect. It seemed to him + that he must be as repulsive to others as he was to himself, which was a + distorted view of the case. Plain without doubt he was, and of heavy and + ungainly build; but his belief in the finality of his uncouthness was + morbid and imaginary, and half his inability to get on with his fellows, + no less than with the maidens who were brought down in single file to + Ashbridge, was due to this. He knew very well how light-heartedly they + escaped to the geniality and attractiveness of Francis, and in the clutch + of his own introspective temperament he could not free himself from the + handicap of his own sensitiveness, and, like others, take himself for + granted. He crushed his own power to please by the weight of his judgments + on himself. + </p> + <p> + “So there’s another reason to complain of the irony of fate,” he said. “I + don’t want to marry anybody, and God knows nobody wants to marry me. But, + then, it’s my duty to become the father of another Lord Ashbridge, as if + there had not been enough of them already, and his mother must be a + certain kind of girl, with whom I have nothing in common. So I say that if + only we could have changed places, you would have filled my niche so + perfectly, and I should have been free to bury myself in Leipzig or + Munich, and lived like the grub I certainly am, and have drowned myself in + a sea of music. As it is, goodness knows what my father will say to the + letter I wrote him yesterday, which he will have received this morning. + However, that will soon be patent, for I go down there to-morrow. I wish + you were coming with me. Can’t you manage to for a day or two, and help + things along? Aunt Barbara will be there.” + </p> + <p> + Francis consulted a small, green morocco pocket-book. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t to-morrow,” he said, “nor yet the day after. But perhaps I could + get a few days’ leave next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Next week’s no use. I go to Baireuth next week.” + </p> + <p> + “Baireuth? Who’s Baireuth?” asked Francis. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a man I know. His other name was Wagner, and he wrote some tunes.” + </p> + <p> + Francis nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I’ve heard of him,” he said. “They’re rather long tunes, aren’t + they? At least I found them so when I went to the opera the other night. + Go on with your plans, Mike. What do you mean to do after that?” + </p> + <p> + “Go on to Munich and hear the same tunes over, again. After that I shall + come back and settle down in town and study.” + </p> + <p> + “Play the piano?” asked Francis, amiably trying to enter into his cousin’s + schemes. + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt that will come into it,” he said. “But it’s rather as if you + told somebody you were a soldier, and he said: ‘Oh, is that quick march?’” + </p> + <p> + “So it is. Soldiering largely consists of quick march, especially when + it’s more than usually hot.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shall learn to play the piano,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “But you play so rippingly already,” said Francis cordially. “You played + all those songs the other night which you had never seen before. If you + can do that, there is nothing more you want to learn with the piano, is + there?” + </p> + <p> + “You are talking rather as father will talk,” observed Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Am I? Well, I seem to be talking sense.” + </p> + <p> + “You weren’t doing what you seemed, then. I’ve got absolutely everything + to learn about the piano.” + </p> + <p> + Francis rose. + </p> + <p> + “Then it is clear I don’t understand anything about it,” he said. “Nor, I + suppose, does Uncle Robert. But, really, I rather envy you, Mike. Anyhow, + you want to do and be something so much that you are gaily going to face + unpleasantnesses with Uncle Robert about it. Now, I wouldn’t face + unpleasantnesses with anybody about anything I wanted to do, and I suppose + the reason must be that I don’t want to do anything enough.” + </p> + <p> + “The malady of not wanting,” quoted Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve got that malady. The ordinary things that one naturally does + are all so pleasant, and take all the time there is, that I don’t want + anything particular, especially now that you’ve been such a brick—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop it,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Right; I got it in rather cleverly. I was saying that it must be rather + nice to want a thing so much that you’ll go through a lot to get it. Most + fellows aren’t like that.” + </p> + <p> + “A good many fellows are jelly-fish,” observed Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. I’m one, you know. I drift and float. But I don’t think I + sting. What are you doing to-night, by the way?” + </p> + <p> + “Playing the piano, I hope. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that two fellows are dining with me, and I thought perhaps you would + come. Aunt Barbara sent me the ticket for a box at the Gaiety, too, and we + might look in there. Then there’s a dance somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks very much, but I think I won’t,” said Michael. “I’m rather looking + forward to an evening alone.” + </p> + <p> + “And that’s an odd thing to look forward to,” remarked Francis. + </p> + <p> + “Not when you want to play the piano. I shall have a chop here at eight, + and probably thump away till midnight.” + </p> + <p> + Francis looked round for his hat and stick. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” he said. “I ought to have gone long ago, but I didn’t want + to. The malady came in again. Most of the world have got it, you know, + Michael.” + </p> + <p> + Michael rose and stood by his tall cousin. + </p> + <p> + “I think we English have got it,” he said. “At least, the English you and + I know have got it. But I don’t believe the Germans, for instance, have. + They’re in deadly earnest about all sorts of things—music among + them, which is the point that concerns me. The music of the world is + German, you know!” + </p> + <p> + Francis demurred to this. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “This thing at the Gaiety is ripping, I + believe. Do come and see.” + </p> + <p> + Michael resisted this chance of revising his opinion about the German + origin of music, and Francis drifted out into Piccadilly. It was already + getting on for seven o’clock, and the roadway and pavements were full of + people who seemed rather to contradict Michael’s theory that the nation + generally suffered from the malady of not wanting, so eagerly and + numerously were they on the quest for amusement. Already the street was a + mass of taxicabs and private motors containing, each one of them, men and + women in evening dress, hurrying out to dine before the theatre or the + opera. Bright, eager faces peered out, with sheen of silk and glitter of + gems; they all seemed alert and prosperous and keen for the daily hours of + evening entertainment. A crowd similar in spirit pervaded the pavements, + white-shirted men with coat on arm stepped in and out of swinging club + doors and the example set by the leisured class seemed copiously copied by + those whom desks and shops had made prisoners all day. The air of the + whole town, swarming with the nation that is supposed to make so grave an + affair of its amusements, was indescribably gay and lighthearted; the + whole city seemed set on enjoying itself. The buses that boomed along were + packed inside and out, and each was placarded with advertisement of some + popular piece at theatre or music-hall. Inside the Green Park the grass + was populous with lounging figures, who, unable to pay for indoor + entertainment, were making the most of what the coolness of sunset and + grass supplied them with gratis; the newsboards of itinerant sellers + contained nothing of more serious import than the result of cricket + matches; and, as the dusk began to fall, street lamps and signs were lit, + like early rising stars, so that no hint of the gathering night should be + permitted to intrude on the perpetually illuminated city. All that was + sordid and sad, all that was busy (except on these gay errands of + pleasure) was shuffled away out of sight, so that the pleasure seekers + might be excused for believing that there was nothing in the world that + could demand their attention except the need of amusing themselves + successfully. The workers toiled in order that when the working day was + over the fruits of their labour might yield a harvest of a few hours’ + enjoyment; silkworms had spun so that from carriage windows might glimmer + the wrappings made from their cocoons; divers had been imperilled in deep + seas so that the pearls they had won might embellish the necks of these + fair wearers. + </p> + <p> + To Francis this all seemed very natural and proper, part of the recognised + order of things that made up the series of sensations known to him as + life. He did not, as he had said, very particularly care about anything, + and it was undoubtedly true that there was no motive or conscious purpose + in his life for which he would voluntarily have undergone any important + stress of discomfort or annoyance. It was true that in pursuance of his + profession there was a certain amount of “quick marching” and drill to be + done in the heat, but that was incidental to the fact that he was in the + Guards, and more than compensated for by the pleasures that were also + naturally incidental to it. He would have been quite unable to think of + anything that he would sooner do than what he did; and he had sufficient + of the ingrained human tendency to do something of the sort, which was a + matter of routine rather than effort, than have nothing whatever, except + the gratification of momentary whims, to fill his day. Besides, it was one + of the conventions or even conditions of life that every boy on leaving + school “did” something for a certain number of years. Some went into + business in order to acquire the wealth that should procure them leisure; + some, like himself, became soldiers or sailors, not because they liked + guns and ships, but because to boys of a certain class these professions + supplied honourable employment and a pleasant time. Without being in any + way slack in his regimental duties, he performed them as many others did, + without the smallest grain of passion, and without any imaginative + forecast as to what fruit, if any, there might be to these hours spent in + drill and discipline. He was but one of a very large number who do their + work without seriously bothering their heads about its possible meaning or + application. His particular job gave a young man a pleasant position and + an easy path to general popularity, given that he was willing to be + sociable and amused. He was extremely ready to be both the one and the + other, and there his philosophy of life stopped. + </p> + <p> + And, indeed, it seemed on this hot July evening that the streets were + populated by philosophers like unto himself. Never had England generally + been more prosperous, more secure, more comfortable. The heavens of + international politics were as serene as the evening sky; not yet was the + storm-cloud that hung over Ireland bigger than a man’s hand; east, west, + north and south there brooded the peace of the close of a halcyon day, and + the amazing doings of the Suffragettes but added a slight incentive to the + perusal of the morning paper. The arts flourished, harvests prospered; the + world like a newly-wound clock seemed to be in for a spell of serene and + orderly ticking, with an occasional chime just to show how the hours were + passing. + </p> + <p> + London was an extraordinarily pleasant place, people were friendly, + amusements beckoned on all sides; and for Francis, as for so many others, + but a very moderate amount of work was necessary to win him an approved + place in the scheme of things, a seat in the slow-wheeling sunshine. It + really was not necessary to want, above all to undergo annoyances for the + sake of what you wanted, since so many pleasurable distractions, enough to + fill day and night twice over, were so richly spread around. + </p> + <p> + Some day he supposed he would marry, settle down and become in time one of + those men who presented a bald head in a club window to the gaze of + passers-by. It was difficult, perhaps, to see how you could enjoy yourself + or lead a life that paid its own way in pleasure at the age of forty, but + that he trusted that he would learn in time. At present it was sufficient + to know that in half an hour two excellent friends would come to dinner, + and that they would proceed in a spirit of amiable content to the Gaiety. + After that there was a ball somewhere (he had forgotten where, but one of + the others would be sure to know), and to-morrow and to-morrow would be + like unto to-day. It was idle to ask questions of oneself when all went so + well; the time for asking questions was when there was matter for + complaint, and with him assuredly there was none. The advantages of being + twenty-three years old, gay and good-looking, without a care in the world, + now that he had Michael’s cheque in his pocket, needed no comment, still + less complaint. He, like the crowd who had sufficient to pay for a + six-penny seat at a music-hall, was perfectly content with life in + general; to-morrow would be time enough to do a little more work and glean + a little more pleasure. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed an admirable England, where it was not necessary even to + desire, for there were so many things, bright, cheerful things to distract + the mind from desire. It was a day of dozing in the sun, like the + submerged, scattered units or duets on the grass of the Green Park, of + behaving like the lilies of the field. . . . Francis found he was rather + late, and proceeded hastily to his mother’s house in Savile Row to array + himself, if not “like one of these,” like an exceedingly well-dressed + young man, who demanded of his tailor the utmost of his art; with the + prospect, owing to Michael’s generosity, of being paid to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Michael, when his cousin had left him, did not at once proceed to his + evening by himself with his piano, though an hour before he had longed to + be alone with it and a pianoforte arrangement of the Meistersingers, of + which he had promised himself a complete perusal that evening. But + Francis’s visit had already distracted him, and he found now that + Francis’s departure took him even farther away from his designed evening. + Francis, with his good looks and his gay spirits, his easy friendships and + perfect content (except when a small matter of deficit and dunning letters + obscured the sunlight for a moment), was exactly all that he would have + wished to be himself. But the moment he formulated that wish in his mind, + he knew that he would not voluntarily have parted with one atom of his own + individuality in order to be Francis or anybody else. He was aware how + easy and pleasant life would become if he could look on it with Francis’s + eyes, and if the world would look on him as it looked on his cousin. There + would be no more bother. . . . In a moment, he would, by this exchange, + have parted with his own unhappy temperament, his own deplorable body, and + have stepped into an amiable and prosperous little neutral kingdom that + had no desires and no regrets. He would have been free from all wants, + except such as could be gratified so easily by a little work and a great + capacity for being amused; he would have found himself excellently fitting + the niche into which the rulers of birth and death had placed him: an + eldest son of a great territorial magnate, who had what was called a stake + in the country, and desired nothing better. + </p> + <p> + Willingly, as he had said, would he have changed circumstances with + Francis, but he knew that he would not, for any bait the world could draw + in front of him, have changed natures with him, even when, to all + appearance, the gain would so vastly have been on his side. It was better + to want and to miss than to be content. Even at this moment, when Francis + had taken the sunshine out of the room with his departure, Michael clung + to his own gloom and his own uncouthness, if by getting rid of them he + would also have been obliged to get rid of his own temperament, unhappy as + it was, but yet capable of strong desire. He did not want to be content; + he wanted to see always ahead of him a golden mist, through which the + shadows of unconjecturable shapes appeared. He was willing and eager to + get lost, if only he might go wandering on, groping with his big hands, + stumbling with his clumsy feet, desiring . . . + </p> + <p> + There are the indications of a path visible to all who desire. Michael + knew that his path, the way that seemed to lead in the direction of the + ultimate goal, was music. There, somehow, in that direction lay his + destiny; that was the route. He was not like the majority of his sex and + years, who weave their physical and mental dreams in the loom of a girl’s + face, in her glance, in the curves of her mouth. Deliberately, owing + chiefly to his morbid consciousness of his own physical defects, he had + long been accustomed to check the instincts natural to a young man in this + regard. He had seen too often the facility with which others, more + fortunate than he, get delightedly lost in that golden haze; he had + experienced too often the absence of attractiveness in himself. How could + any girl of the London ballroom, he had so frequently asked himself, + tolerate dancing or sitting out with him when there was Francis, and a + hundred others like him, so pleased to take his place? Nor, so he told + himself, was his mind one whit more apt than his body. It did not move + lightly and agreeably with unconscious smiles and easy laughter. By nature + he was monkish, he was celibate. He could but cease to burn incense at + such ineffectual altars, and help, as he had helped this afternoon, to + replenish the censers of more fortunate acolytes. + </p> + <p> + This was all familiar to him; it passed through his head unbidden, when + Francis had left him, like the refrain of some well-known song, occurring + spontaneously without need of an effort of memory. It was a possession of + his, known by heart, and it no longer, except for momentary twinges, had + any bitterness for him. This afternoon, it is true, there had been one + such, when Francis, gleeful with his cheque, had gone out to his dinner + and his theatre and his dance, inviting him cheerfully to all of them. In + just that had been the bitterness—namely, that Francis had so + overflowing a well-spring of content that he could be cordial in bidding + him cast a certain gloom over these entertainments. Michael knew, quite + unerringly, that Francis and his friends would not enjoy themselves quite + so much if he was with them; there would be the restraint of polite + conversation at dinner instead of completely idle babble, there would be + less outspoken normality at the Gaiety, a little more decorum about the + whole of the boyish proceedings. He knew all that so well, so terribly + well. . . . + </p> + <p> + His servant had come in with the evening paper, and the implied suggestion + of the propriety of going to dress before he roused himself. He decided + not to dress, as he was going to spend the evening alone, and, instead, he + seated himself at the piano with his copy of the Meistersingers and, + mechanically at first, with the ragged cloud-fleeces of his reverie + hanging about his brain, banged away at the overture. He had extraordinary + dexterity of finger for one who had had so little training, and his hands, + with their great stretch, made light work of octaves and even tenths. His + knowledge of the music enabled him to wake the singing bird of memory in + his head, and before long flute and horn and string and woodwind began to + make themselves heard in his inner ear. Twice his servant came in to tell + him that his dinner was ready, but Michael had no heed for anything but + the sounds which his flying fingers suggested to him. Francis, his father, + his own failure in the life that had been thrust on him were all gone; he + was with the singers of Nuremberg. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The River Ashe, after a drowsy and meandering childhood, passed peacefully + among the sedges and marigolds of its water meadows, suddenly and somewhat + disconcertingly grows up and, without any period of transition and + adolescence, becomes, from being a mere girl of a rivulet, a male and + full-blooded estuary of the sea. At Coton, for instance, the tips of the + sculls of a sauntering pleasure-boat will almost span its entire width, + while, but a mile farther down, you will see stone-laden barges and tall, + red-winged sailing craft coming up with the tide, and making fast to the + grey wooden quay wall of Ashbridge, rough with barnacles. For the reeds + and meadow-sweet of its margin are exchanged the brown and green growths + of the sea, with their sharp, acrid odour instead of the damp, fresh smell + of meadow flowers, and at low tide the podded bladders of brown weed and + long strings of marine macaroni, among which peevish crabs scuttle + sideways, take the place of the grass and spires of loosestrife; and over + the water, instead of singing larks, hang white companies of chiding + seagulls. Here at high tide extends a sheet of water large enough, when + the wind blows up the estuary, to breed waves that break in foam and spray + against the barges, while at the ebb acres of mud flats are disclosed on + which the boats lean slanting till the flood lifts them again and makes + them strain at the wheezing ropes that tie them to the quay. + </p> + <p> + A year before the flame of war went roaring through Europe in unquenchable + conflagration it would have seemed that nothing could possibly rouse + Ashbridge from its red-brick Georgian repose. There was never a town so + inimitably drowsy or so sternly uncompetitive. A hundred years ago it must + have presented almost precisely the same appearance as it did in the + summer of 1913, if we leave out of reckoning a few dozen of modern upstart + villas that line its outskirts, and the very inconspicuous railway station + that hides itself behind the warehouses near the river’s bank. Most of the + trains, too, quite ignore its existence, and pass through it on their way + to more rewarding stopping-places, hardly recognising it even by a spurt + of steam from their whistles, and it is only if you travel by those that + require the most frequent pauses in their progress that you will be + enabled to alight at its thin and depopulated platform. + </p> + <p> + Just outside the station there perennially waits a low-roofed and sanguine + omnibus that under daily discouragement continues to hope that in the + long-delayed fulness of time somebody will want to be driven somewhere. + (This nobody ever does, since the distance to any house is so small, and a + porter follows with luggage on a barrow.) It carries on its floor a + quantity of fresh straw, in the manner of the stage coaches, in which the + problematic passenger, should he ever appear, will no doubt bury his feet. + On its side, just below the window that is not made to open, it carries + the legend that shows that it belongs to the Comber Arms, a hostelry so + self-effacing that it is discoverable only by the sharpest-eyed of + pilgrims. Narrow roadways, flanked by proportionately narrower pavements, + lie ribbon-like between huddled shops and squarely-spacious Georgian + houses; and an air of leisure and content, amounting almost to + stupefaction, is the moral atmosphere of the place. + </p> + <p> + On the outskirts of the town, crowning the gentle hills that lie to the + north and west, villas in acre plots, belonging to business men in the + county town some ten miles distant, “prick their Cockney ears” and are + strangely at variance with the sober gravity of the indigenous houses. So, + too, are the manners and customs of their owners, who go to Stoneborough + every morning to their work, and return by the train that brings them home + in time for dinner. They do other exotic and unsuitable things also, like + driving swiftly about in motors, in playing golf on the other side of the + river at Coton, and in having parties at each other’s houses. But apart + from them nobody ever seems to leave Ashbridge (though a stroll to the + station about the time that the evening train arrives is a recognised + diversion) or, in consequence, ever to come back. Ashbridge, in fact, is + self-contained, and desires neither to meddle with others nor to be + meddled with. + </p> + <p> + The estuary opposite the town is some quarter of a mile broad at high + tide, and in order to cross to the other side, where lie the woods and + park of Ashbridge House, it is necessary to shout and make staccato + prancings in order to attract the attention of the antique ferryman, who + is invariably at the other side of the river and generally asleep at the + bottom of his boat. If you are strong-lunged and can prance and shout for + a long time, he may eventually stagger to his feet, come across for you + and row you over. Otherwise you will stand but little chance of arousing + him from his slumbers, and you will stop where you are, unless you choose + to walk round by the bridge at Coton, a mile above. + </p> + <p> + Periodical attempts are made by the brisker inhabitants of Ashbridge, who + do not understand its spirit, to substitute for this aged and ineffectual + Charon someone who is occasionally awake, but nothing ever results from + these revolutionary moves, and the requests addressed to the town council + on the subject are never heard of again. “Old George” was ferryman there + before any members of the town council were born, and he seems to have + established a right to go to sleep on the other side of the river which is + now inalienable from him. Besides, asleep or awake, he is always perfectly + sober, which, after all, is really one of the first requirements for a + suitable ferryman. Even the representations of Lord Ashbridge himself who, + when in residence, frequently has occasion to use the ferry when crossing + from his house to the town, failed to produce the smallest effect, and he + was compelled to build a boathouse of his own on the farther bank, and be + paddled across by himself or one of the servants. Often he rowed himself, + for he used to be a fine oarsman, and it was good for the lounger on the + quay to see the foaming prow of his vigorous progress and the dignity of + physical toil. + </p> + <p> + In all other respects, except in this case of “Old George,” Lord + Ashbridge’s wishes were law to the local authorities, for in this tranquil + East-coast district the spirit of the feudal system with a beneficent lord + and contented tenants strongly survived. It had triumphed even over such + modern innovations as railroads, for Lord Ashbridge had the undoubted + right to stop any train he pleased by signal at Ashbridge station. This he + certainly enjoyed doing; it fed his sense of the fitness of things to + progress along the platform with his genial, important tiptoe walk, and + elbows squarely stuck out, to the carriage that was at once reserved for + him, to touch the brim of his grey top-hat (if travelling up to town) to + the obsequious guard, and to observe the heads of passengers who wondered + why their express was arrested, thrust out of carriage windows to look at + him. A livened footman, as well as a valet, followed him, bearing a coat + and a rug and a morning or evening paper and a dispatch-box with a large + gilt coronet on it, and bestowed these solaces to a railway journey on the + empty seats near him. And not only his sense of fitness was hereby fed, + but that also of the station-master and the solitary porter and the + newsboy, and such inhabitants of Ashbridge as happened to have strolled on + to the platform. For he was THEIR Earl of Ashbridge, kind, courteous and + dominant, a local king; it was all very pleasant. + </p> + <p> + But this arrest of express trains was a strictly personal privilege; when + Lady Ashbridge or Michael travelled they always went in the slow train to + Stoneborough, changed there and abided their time on the platform like + ordinary mortals. Though he could undoubtedly have extended his rights to + the stopping of a train for his wife or son, he wisely reserved this for + himself, lest it should lose prestige. There was sufficient glory already + (to probe his mind to the bottom) for Lady Ashbridge in being his wife; it + was sufficient also for Michael that he was his son. + </p> + <p> + It may be inferred that there was a touch of pomposity about this + admirable gentleman, who was so excellent a landlord and so hard working a + member of the British aristocracy. But pomposity would be far too + superficial a word to apply to him; it would not adequately connote his + deep-abiding and essential conviction that on one of the days of Creation + (that, probably, on which the decree was made that there should be Light) + there leaped into being the great landowners of England. + </p> + <p> + But Lord Ashbridge, though himself a peer, by no means accepted the + peerage en bloc as representing the English aristocracy; to be, in his + phrase, “one of us” implied that you belonged to certain well-ascertained + families where brewers and distinguished soldiers had no place, unless it + was theirs already. He was ready to pay all reasonable homage to those who + were distinguished by their abilities, their riches, their exalted + positions in Church and State, but his homage to such was transfused with + a courteous condescension, and he only treated as his equals and really + revered those who belonged to the families that were “one of us.” + </p> + <p> + His wife, of course, was “one of us,” since he would never have permitted + himself to be allied to a woman who was not, though for beauty and wisdom + she might have been Aphrodite and Athene rolled compactly into one + peerless identity. As a matter of fact, Lady Ashbridge had not the + faintest resemblance to either of these effulgent goddesses. In person she + resembled a camel, long and lean, with a drooping mouth and tired, patient + eyes, while in mind she was stunned. No idea other than an obvious one + ever had birth behind her high, smooth forehead, and she habitually + brought conversation to a close by the dry enunciation of something + indubitably true, which had no direct relation to the point under + discussion. But she had faint, ineradicable prejudices, and instincts not + quite dormant. There was a large quantity of mild affection in her nature, + the quality of which may be illustrated by the fact that when her father + died she cried a little every day after breakfast for about six weeks. + Then she did not cry any more. It was impossible not to like what there + was of her, but there was really very little to like, for she belonged + heart and soul to the generation and the breeding among which it is enough + for a woman to be a lady, and visit the keeper’s wife when she has a baby. + </p> + <p> + But though there was so little of her, the balance was made up for by the + fact that there was so much of her husband. His large, rather flamboyant + person, his big white face and curling brown beard, his loud voice and his + falsetto laugh, his absolutely certain opinions, above all the fervency of + his consciousness of being Lord Ashbridge and all which that implied, + completely filled any place he happened to be in, so that a room empty + except for him gave the impression of being almost uncomfortably crowded. + This keen consciousness of his identity was naturally sufficient to make + him very good humoured, since he was himself a fine example of the type + that he admired most. Probably only two persons in the world had the power + of causing him annoyance, but both of these, by an irony of fate that it + seemed scarcely possible to consider accidental, were closely connected + with him, for one was his sister, the other his only son. + </p> + <p> + The grounds of their potentiality in this respect can be easily stated. + Barbara Comber, his sister (and so “one of us”), had married an extremely + wealthy American, who, in Lord Ashbridge’s view, could not be considered + one of anybody at all; in other words, his imagination failed to picture a + whole class of people who resembled Anthony Jerome. He had hoped when his + sister announced her intention of taking this deplorable step that his + future brother-in-law would at any rate prove to be a snob—he had a + vague notion that all Americans were snobs—and that thus Mr. Jerome + would have the saving grace to admire and toady him. But Mr. Jerome showed + no signs of doing anything of the sort; he treated him with an austere and + distant politeness that Lord Ashbridge could not construe as being founded + on admiration and a sense of his own inferiority, for it was so clearly + founded on dislike. That, however, did not annoy Lord Ashbridge, for it + was easy to suppose that poor Mr. Jerome knew no better. But Barbara + annoyed him, for not only had she shown herself a renegade in marrying a + man who was not “one of us,” but with all the advantages she had enjoyed + since birth of knowing what “we” were, she gloried in her new relations, + saying, without any proper reticence about the matter, that they were Real + People, whose character and wits vastly transcended anything that Combers + had to show. + </p> + <p> + Michael was an even more vexatious case, and in moments of depression his + father thought that he would really turn in his grave at the dismal idea + of Michael having stepped into his honourable shoes. Physically he was + utterly unlike a Comber, and his mind, his general attitude towards life + seemed to have diverged even farther from that healthy and unreflective + pattern. Only this morning his father had received a letter from him that + summed Michael up, that fulfilled all the doubts and fears that had hung + about him; for after three years in the Guards he had, without + consultation with anybody, resigned his commission on the inexplicable + grounds that he wanted to do something with his life. To begin with that + was rankly heretical; if you were a Comber there was no need to do + anything with your life; life did everything for you. . . . And what this + un-Comberish young man wanted to do with his life was to be a musician. + That musicians, artists, actors, had a right to exist Lord Ashbridge did + not question. They were no doubt (or might be) very excellent people in + their way, and as a matter of fact he often recognised their existence by + going to the opera, to the private view of the Academy, or to the play, + and he took a very considerable pride of proprietorship in his own + admirable collection of family portraits. But then those were pictures of + Combers; Reynolds and Romney and the rest of them had enjoyed the + privilege of perpetuating on their canvases these big, fine men and + charming women. But that a Comber—and that one positively the next + Lord Ashbridge—should intend to devote his energies to an artistic + calling, and allude to that scheme as doing something with his life, was a + thing as unthinkable as if the butler had developed a fixed idea that he + was “one of us.” + </p> + <p> + The blow was a recent one; Michael’s letter had only reached his father + this morning, and at the present moment Lord Ashbridge was attempting over + a cup of tea on the long south terrace overlooking the estuary to convey—not + very successfully—to his wife something of his feelings on the + subject. She, according to her custom, was drinking a little hot water + herself, and providing her Chinese pug with a mixture of cream and + crumbled rusks. Though the dog was of undoubtedly high lineage, Lord + Ashbridge rather detested her. + </p> + <p> + “A musical career!” he exclaimed, referring to Michael’s letter. “What + sort of a career for a Comber is a musical career? I shall tell Michael + pretty roundly when he arrives this evening what I think of it all. We + shall have Francis next saying that he wants to resign, too, and become a + dentist.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge considered this for a moment in her stunned mind. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Robert, I hope not,” she said. “I do not think it the least + likely that Francis would do anything of the kind. Look, Petsy is better; + she has drunk her cream and rusks quite up. I think it was only the heat.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a little good-humoured giggle of falsetto laughter. + </p> + <p> + “I wish, Marion,” he said, “that you could manage to take your mind off + your dog for a moment and attend to me. And I must really ask you not to + give your Petsy any more cream, or she will certainly be sick.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge gave a little sigh. + </p> + <p> + “All gone, Petsy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad it has all gone,” said he, “and we will hope it won’t return. + But about Michael now!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge pulled herself together. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, poor Michael!” she said. “He is coming to-night, is he not? But just + now you were speaking of Francis, and the fear of his wanting to be a + dentist!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am now speaking of Michael’s wanting to be a musician. Of course + that is utterly out of the question. If, as he says, he has sent in his + resignation, he will just have to beg them to cancel it. Michael seems not + to have the slightest idea of the duties which his birth and position + entail on him. Unfitted for the life he now leads . . . waste of time. . . + . Instead he proposes to go to Baireuth in August, and then to settle down + in London to study!” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge recollected the almanac. + </p> + <p> + “That will be in September, then,” she said. “I do not think I was ever in + London in September. I did not know that anybody was.” + </p> + <p> + “The point, my dear, is not how or where you have been accustomed to spend + your Septembers,” said her husband. “What we are talking about is—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about,” said she. “We + are talking about Michael not studying music all September.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge got up and began walking across the terrace opposite the + tea-table with his elbows stuck out and his feet lifted rather high. + </p> + <p> + “Michael doesn’t seem to realise that he is not Tom or Dick or Harry,” + said he. “Music, indeed! I’m musical myself; all we Combers are musical. + But Michael is my only son, and it really distresses me to see how little + sense he has of his responsibilities. Amusements are all very well; it is + not that I want to cut him off his amusements, but when it comes to a + career—” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge was surreptitiously engaged in pouring out a little more + cream for Petsy, and her husband, turning rather sooner than she had + expected, caught her in the act. + </p> + <p> + “Do not give Petsy any more cream,” he said, with some asperity; “I + absolutely forbid it.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Petsy!” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “I ask you to attend to me, Marion,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But I am attending to you very well, Robert,” said she, “and I understand + you perfectly. You do not want Michael to be a musician in September and + wear long hair and perhaps play at concerts. I am sure I quite agree with + you, for such a thing would be as unheard of in my family as in yours. But + how do you propose to stop it?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall use my authority,” he said, stepping a little higher. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, I am sure you will. But what will happen if Michael doesn’t + pay any attention to your authority? You will be worse off than ever. Poor + Michael is very obedient when he is told to do anything he intends to do, + but when he doesn’t agree it is difficult to do anything with him. And, + you see, he is quite independent of you with my mother having left him so + much money. Poor mamma!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge felt strongly about this. + </p> + <p> + “It was a most extraordinary disposition of her property for your mother + to make,” he observed. “It has given Michael an independence which I much + deplore. And she did it in direct opposition to my wishes.” + </p> + <p> + This touched on one of the questions about which Lady Ashbridge had her + convictions. She had a mild but unalterable opinion that when anybody + died, all that they had previously done became absolutely flawless and + laudable. + </p> + <p> + “Mamma did as she thought right with her property,” she said, “and it is + not for us to question it. She was conscientiousness itself. You will have + to excuse my listening to any criticism you may feel inclined to make + about her, Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, my dear. I only want you to listen to me about Michael. You + agree with me on the impossibility of his adopting a musical career. I + cannot, at present, think so ill of Michael as to suppose that he will + defy our joint authority.” + </p> + <p> + “Michael has a great will of his own,” she remarked. “He gets that from + you, Robert, though he gets his money from his grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + The futility of further discussion with his wife began to dawn on Lord + Ashbridge, as it dawned on everybody who had the privilege of conversing + with her. Her mind was a blind alley that led nowhere; it was clear that + she had no idea to contribute to the subject except slightly pessimistic + forebodings with which, unfortunately, he found himself secretly disposed + to agree. He had always felt that Michael was an uncomfortable sort of + boy; in other words, that he had the inconvenient habit of thinking things + out for himself, instead of blindly accepting the conclusions of other + people. + </p> + <p> + Much as Lord Ashbridge valued the sturdy independence of character which + he himself enjoyed displaying, he appreciated it rather less highly when + it was manifested by people who were not sensible enough to agree with + him. He looked forward to Michael’s arrival that evening with the feeling + that there was a rebellious standard hoisted against the calm blue of the + evening sky, and remembering the advent of his sister he wondered whether + she would not join the insurgent. Barbara Jerome, as has been remarked, + often annoyed her brother; she also genially laughed at him; but Lord + Ashbridge, partly from affection, partly from a loyal family sense of + clanship, always expected his sister to spend a fortnight with him in + August, and would have been much hurt had she refused to do so. Her + husband, however, so far from spending a fortnight with his + brother-in-law, never spent a minute in his presence if it could possibly + be avoided, an arrangement which everybody concerned considered to be + wise, and in the interests of cordiality. + </p> + <p> + “And Barbara comes this evening as well as Michael, does she not?” he + said. “I hope she will not take Michael’s part in his absurd scheme.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given Barbara the blue room,” said Lady Ashbridge, after a little + thought. “I am afraid she may bring her great dog with her. I hope he will + not quarrel with Petsy. Petsy does not like other dogs.” + </p> + <p> + The day had been very hot, and Lord Ashbridge, not having taken any + exercise, went off to have a round of golf with the professional of the + links that lay not half a mile from the house. He considered exercise an + essential part of the true Englishman’s daily curriculum, and as necessary + a contribution to the traditional mode of life which made them all what + they were—or should be—as a bath in the morning or attendance + at church on Sunday. He did not care so much about playing golf with a + casual friend, because the casual friend, as a rule, casually beat him—thus + putting him in an un-English position—and preferred a game with this + first-class professional whose duty it was—in complete violation of + his capacities—to play just badly enough to be beaten towards the + end of the round after an exciting match. It required a good deal of + cleverness and self-control to accomplish this, for Lord Ashbridge was a + notably puerile performer, but he generally managed it with tact and + success, by dint of missing absurdly easy putts, and (here his skill came + in) by pulling and slicing his ball into far-distant bunkers. Throughout + the game it was his business to keep up a running fire of admiring + ejaculations such as “Well driven, my lord,” or “A fine putt, my lord. Ah! + dear me, I wish I could putt like that,” though occasionally his chorus of + praise betrayed him into error, and from habit he found himself saying: + “Good shot, my lord,” when my lord had just made an egregious mess of + things. But on the whole he devised so pleasantly sycophantic an + atmosphere as to procure a substantial tip for himself, and to make Lord + Ashbridge conscious of being a very superior performer. Whether at the + bottom of his heart he knew he could not play at all, he probably did not + inquire; the result of his matches and his opponent’s skilfully-showered + praise was sufficient for him. So now he left the discouraging + companionship of his wife and Petsy and walked swingingly across the + garden and the park to the links, there to seek in Macpherson’s applause + the self-confidence that would enable him to encounter his republican + sister and his musical son with an unyielding front. + </p> + <p> + His spirits mounted rapidly as he went. It pleased him to go jauntily + across the lawn and reflect that all this smooth turf was his, to look at + the wealth of well-tended flowers in his garden and know that all this + polychromatic loveliness was bred in Lord Ashbridge’s borders (and was + graciously thrown open to the gaze of the admiring public on Sunday + afternoon, when they were begged to keep off the grass), and that Lord + Ashbridge was himself. He liked reminding himself that the towering elms + drew their leafy verdure from Lord Ashbridge’s soil; that the rows of + hen-coops in the park, populous and cheeping with infant pheasants, + belonged to the same fortunate gentleman who in November would so + unerringly shoot them down as they rocketted swiftly over the highest of + his tree-tops; that to him also appertained the long-fronted Jacobean + house which stood so commandingly upon the hill-top, and glowed with all + the mellowness of its three-hundred-years-old bricks. And his satisfaction + was not wholly fatuous nor entirely personal; all these spacious dignities + were insignia (temporarily conferred on him, like some order, and + permanently conferred on his family) of the splendid political + constitution under which England had made herself mistress of an empire + and the seas that guarded it. Probably he would have been proud of + belonging to that even if he had not been “one of us”; as it was, the high + position which he occupied in it caused that pride to be slightly mixed + with the pride that was concerned with the notion of the Empire belonging + to him and his peers. + </p> + <p> + But though he was the most profound of Tories, he would truthfully have + professed (as indeed he practised in the management of his estates) the + most Liberal opinions as to schemes for the amelioration of the lower + classes. Only, just as the music he was good enough to listen to had to be + played for him, so the tenants and farmers had to be his dependents. He + looked after them very well indeed, conceiving this to be the prime duty + of a great landlord, but his interest in them was really proprietary. It + was of his bounty, and of his complete knowledge of what his duties as + “one of us” were, that he did so, and any legislation which compelled him + to part with one pennyworth of his property for the sake of others less + fortunate he resisted to the best of his ability as a theft of what was + his. The country, in fact, if it went to the dogs (and certain recent + legislation distinctly seemed to point kennelwards), would go to the dogs + because ignorant politicians, who were most emphatically not “of us,” + forced him and others like him to recognise the rights of dependents + instead of trusting to their instinctive fitness to dispense benefits not + as rights but as acts of grace. If England trusted to her aristocracy (to + put the matter in a nutshell) all would be well with her in the future + even as it had been in the past, but any attempt to curtail their + splendours must inevitably detract from the prestige and magnificence of + the Empire. . . . And he responded suitably to the obsequious salute of + the professional, and remembered that the entire golf links were his + property, and that the Club paid a merely nominal rental to him, just the + tribute money of a penny which was due to Caesar. + </p> + <p> + For the next hour or two after her husband had left her, Lady Ashbridge + occupied herself in the thoroughly lady-like pursuit of doing nothing + whatever; she just existed in her comfortable chair, since Barbara might + come any moment, and she would have to entertain her, which she frequently + did unawares. But as Barbara continued not to come, she took up her + perennial piece of needlework, feeling rather busy and pressed, and had + hardly done so when her sister-in-law arrived. + </p> + <p> + She was preceded by an enormous stag-hound, who, having been shut up in + her motor all the way from London, bounded delightedly, with the sense of + young limbs released, on to the terrace, and made wild leaps in a circle + round the horrified Petsy, who had just received a second saucerful of + cream. Once he dashed in close, and with a single lick of his tongue swept + the saucer dry of nutriment, and with hoarse barkings proceeded again to + dance corybantically about, while Lady Ashbridge with faint cries of + dismay waved her embroidery at him. Then, seeing his mistress coming out + of the French window from the drawing-room, he bounded calf-like towards + her, and Petsy, nearly sick with cream and horror, was gathered to Lady + Ashbridge’s bosom. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Barbara,” she said, “how upsetting your dog is! Poor Petsy’s + heart is beating terribly; she does not like dogs. But I am very pleased + to see you, and I have given you the blue room.” + </p> + <p> + It was clearly suitable that Barbara Jerome should have a large dog, for + both in mind and body she was on the large scale herself. She had a + pleasant, high-coloured face, was very tall, enormously stout, and moved + with great briskness and vigour. She had something to say on any subject + that came on the board; and, what was less usual in these days of + universal knowledge, there was invariably some point in what she said. She + had, in the ordinary sense of the word, no manners at all, but essentially + made up for this lack by her sincere and humourous kindliness. She saw + with acute vividness the ludicrous side of everybody, herself included, + and to her mind the arch-humourist of all was her brother, whom she was + quite unable to take seriously. She dressed as if she had looted a + milliner’s shop and had put on in a great hurry anything that came to + hand. She towered over her sister-in-law as she kissed her, and Petsy, + safe in her citadel, barked shrilly. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, which is the blue room?” she said. “I hope it is big enough for + Og and me. Yes, that is Og, which is short for dog. He takes two + mutton-chops for dinner, and a little something during the night if he + feels disposed, because he is still growing. Tony drove down with me, and + is in the car now. He would not come in for fear of seeing Robert, so I + ventured to tell them to take him a cup of tea there, which he will drink + with the blinds down, and then drive back to town again. He has been made + American ambassador, by the way, and will go in to dinner before Robert. + My dear, I can think of few things which Robert is less fitted to bear + than that. However, we all have our crosses, even those of us who have our + coronets also.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge’s hospitable instincts asserted themselves. “But your + husband must come in,” she said. “I will go and tell him. And Robert has + gone to play golf.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I am quite sure Tony won’t come in,” she said. “I promised him he + shouldn’t, and he only drove down with me on the express stipulation that + no risks were to be run about his seeing Robert. We must take no chances, + so let him have his tea quietly in the motor and then drive away again. + And who else is there? Anybody? Michael?” + </p> + <p> + “Michael comes this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad; I am particularly fond of Michael. Also he will play to us + after dinner, and though I don’t know one note from another, it will + relieve me of sitting in a stately circle watching Robert cheat at + patience. I always find the evenings here rather trying; they remind me of + being in church. I feel as if I were part of a corporate body, which leads + to misplaced decorum. Ah! there is the sound of Tony’s retreating motor; + his strategic movement has come off. And now give me some news, if you can + get in a word. Dear me, there is Robert coming back across the lawn. What + a mercy that Tony did not leave the motor. Robert always walks as if he + was dancing a minuet. Look, there is Og imitating him! Or is he stalking + him, thinking he is an enemy. Og, come here!” + </p> + <p> + She whistled shrilly on her fingers, and rose to greet her brother, whom + Og was still menacing, as he advanced towards her with staccato steps. + Barbara, however, got between Og and his prey, and threw her parasol at + him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, how are you?” she said. “And how did the golf go? And did you + beat the professional?” + </p> + <p> + He suspected flippancy here, and became markedly dignified. + </p> + <p> + “An excellent match,” he said, “and Macpherson tells me I played a very + sound game. I am delighted to see you, Barbara. And did Michael come down + with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I drove from town. It saves time, but not expense, with your awful + trains.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are well, and Mr. Jerome?” he asked. He always called his + brother-in-law Mr. Jerome, to indicate the gulf between them. Barbara gave + a little spurt of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, his excellency is quite well,” she said. “You must call him + excellency now, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! That is a great step.” + </p> + <p> + “Considering that Tony began as an office-boy. How richly rewarding you + are, my dear. And shan’t I make an odd ambassadress! I haven’t been to a + Court since the dark ages, when I went to those beloved States. We will + practise after dinner, dear, and you and Marion shall be the King and + Queen, and I will try to walk backwards without tumbling on my head. You + will like being the King, Robert. And then we will be ourselves again, all + except Og, who shall be Tony and shall go out of the room before you.” + </p> + <p> + He gave his treble little giggle, for on the whole it answered better not + to be dignified with Barbara, whenever he could remember not to be; and + Lady Ashbridge, still nursing Petsy, threw a bombshell of the obvious to + explode the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Og has two mutton-chops for his dinner,” she said, “and he is growing + still. Fancy!” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge took a refreshing glance at the broad stretch of country + that all belonged to him. + </p> + <p> + “I am rather glad to have this opportunity of talking to you, my dear + Barbara,” he said, “before Michael comes.” + </p> + <p> + “His train gets in half an hour before dinner” said Lady Ashbridge. “He + has to change at Stoneborough.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. I heard from Michael this morning, saying that he has resigned + his commission in the Guards, and is going to take up music seriously.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara gave a delighted exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “But how perfectly splendid!” she said. “Fancy a Comber doing anything + original! Michael and I are the only Combers who ever have, since Combers + ‘arose from out the azure main’ in the year one. I married an American; + that’s something, though it’s not up to Michael!” + </p> + <p> + “That is not quite my view of it,” said he. “As for its being original, it + would be original enough if Marion eloped with a Patagonian.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge let fall her embroidery at this monstrous suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “You are talking very wildly, Robert,” she said, in a pained voice. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, get on with your sacred carpet,” said he. “I am talking to + Barbara. I have already ascertained your—your lack of views on the + subject. I was saying, Barbara, that mere originality is not a merit.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you never said that,” remarked Lady Ashbridge. + </p> + <p> + “I should have if you had allowed me to. And as for your saying that he + has done it, Barbara, that is very wide of the mark, and I intend shall + continue to be so.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear great Bashaw, that is just what you said to me when I told you I was + going to marry his Excellency. But I did. And I think it is a glorious + move on Michael’s part. It requires brain to find out what you like, and + character to go and do it. Combers haven’t got brains as a rule, you see. + If they ever had any, they have degenerated into conservative instincts.” + </p> + <p> + He again refreshed himself with the landscape. The roofs of Ashbridge were + visible in the clear sunset. . . . Ashbridge paid its rents with + remarkable regularity. + </p> + <p> + “That may or may not be so,” he said, forgetting for a moment the danger + of being dignified. “But Combers have position.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara controlled herself admirably. A slight tremor shook her, which he + did not notice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” she said. “I allow that Combers have had for many generations + a sort of acquisitive cunning, for all we possess has come to us by + exceedingly prudent marriages. They have also—I am an exception here—the + gift of not saying very much, which certainly has an impressive effect, + even when it arises from not having very much to say. They are sticky; + they attract wealth, and they have the force called vis inertiae, which + means that they invest their money prudently. You should hear Tony—well, + perhaps you had better not hear Tony. But now here is Michael showing that + he has got tastes. Can you wonder that I’m delighted? And not only has he + got tastes, but he has the strength of character to back them. Michael, in + the Guards too! It was a perfect farce, and he’s had the sense to see it. + He hated his duties, and he hated his diversions. Now Francis—” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid Michael has always been a little jealous of Francis,” + remarked his father. + </p> + <p> + This roused Barbara; she spoke quite seriously: + </p> + <p> + “If you really think that, my dear,” she said, “you have the distinction + of being the worst possible judge of character that the world has ever + known. Michael might be jealous of anybody else, for the poor boy feels + his physical awkwardness most sensitively, but Francis is just the one + person he really worships. He would do anything in the world for him.” + </p> + <p> + The discussion with Barbara was being even more fruitless than that with + his wife, and Lord Ashbridge rose. + </p> + <p> + “All I can do, then, is to ask you not to back Michael up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, he won’t need backing up. He’s a match for you by himself. But + if Michael, after thoroughly worsting you, asks me my opinion, I shall + certainly give it him. But he won’t ask my opinion first. He will strew + your limbs, Robert, over this delightful terrace.” + </p> + <p> + “Michael’s train is late,” said Lady Ashbridge, hearing the stable clock + strike. “He should have been here before this.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara had still a word to say, and disregarded this quencher. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t think, Robert,” she said, “that because Michael resists your + wishes and authority, he will be enjoying himself. He will hate doing it, + but that will not stop him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge was not a bully; he had merely a profound sense of his own + importance. + </p> + <p> + “We will see about resistance,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Barbara was not so successful on this occasion, and exploded loudly: + </p> + <p> + “You will, dear, indeed,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Michael meantime had been travelling down from London without perturbing + himself over the scene with his father which he knew lay before him. This + was quite characteristic of him; he had a singular command over his + imagination when he had made up his mind to anything, and never indulged + in the gratuitous pain of anticipation. Today he had an additional bulwark + against such self-inflicted worries, for he had spent his last two hours + in town at the vocal recital of a singer who a month before had stirred + the critics into rhapsody over her gift of lyric song. Up till now he had + had no opportunity of hearing her; and, with the panegyrics that had been + showered on her in his mind, he had gone with the expectation of + disappointment. But now, an hour afterwards, the wheels of the train sang + her songs, and in the inward ear he could recapture, with the vividness of + an hallucination, the timbre of that wonderful voice and also the sweet + harmonies of the pianist who accompanied her. + </p> + <p> + The hall had been packed from end to end, and he had barely got to his + seat, the only one vacant in the whole room, when Miss Sylvia Falbe + appeared, followed at once by her accompanist, whose name occurred nowhere + on the programme. Two neighbours, however, who chatted shrilly during the + applause that greeted them, informed him that this was Hermann, “dear + Hermann; there is no one like him!” But it occurred to Michael that the + singer was like him, though she was fair and he dark. But his perception + of either of them visually was but vague; he had come to hear and not to + see. Neither she nor Hermann had any music with them, and Hermann just + glanced at the programme, which he put down on the top of the piano, + which, again unusually, was open. Then without pause they began the set of + German songs—Brahms, Schubert, Schumann—with which the recital + opened. And for one moment, before he lost himself in the ecstasy of + hearing, Michael found himself registering the fact that Sylvia Falbe had + one of the most charming faces he had ever seen. The next he was swallowed + up in melody. + </p> + <p> + She had the ease of the consummate artist, and each note, like the gates + of the New Jerusalem, was a pearl, round and smooth and luminous almost, + so that it was as if many-coloured light came from her lips. Nor was that + all; it seemed as if the accompaniment was made by the song itself, coming + into life with the freshness of the dawn of its creation; it was + impossible to believe that one mind directed the singer and another the + pianist, and if the voice was an example of art in excelsis, not less + exalted was the perfection of the player. Not for a moment through the + song did he take his eyes off her; he looked at her with an intensity of + gaze that seemed to be reading the emotion with which the lovely melody + filled her. For herself, she looked straight out over the hall, with grey + eyes half-closed, and mouth that in the pauses of her song was large and + full-lipped, generously curving, and face that seemed lit with the light + of the morning she sang of. She was the song; Michael thought of her as + just that, and the pianist who watched and understood her so unerringly + was the song, too. They had for him no identity of their own; they were as + remote from everyday life as the mind of Schumann which they made so + vivid. It was then that they existed. + </p> + <p> + The last song of the group she sang in English, for it was “Who is + Sylvia?” There was a buzz of smiles and whispers among the front row in + the pause before it, and regaining her own identity for a moment, she + smiled at a group of her friends among whom clearly it was a cliche + species of joke that she should ask who Sylvia was, and enumerate her + merits, when all the time she was Sylvia. Michael felt rather impatient at + this; she was not anybody just now but a singer. And then came the divine + inevitable simplicity of perfect words and the melody preordained for + them. The singer, as he knew, was German, but she had no trace of foreign + accent. It seemed to him that this was just one miracle the more; she had + become English because she was singing what Shakespeare wrote. + </p> + <p> + The next group, consisting of modern French songs, appeared to Michael + utterly unworthy of the singer and the echoing piano. If you had it in you + to give reality to great and simple things, it was surely a waste to + concern yourself with these little morbid, melancholy manikins, these + marionettes. But his emotions being unoccupied he attended more to the + manner of the performance, and in especial to the marvellous technique, + not so much of the singer, but of the pianist who caused the rain to fall + and the waters reflect the toneless grey skies. He had never, even when + listening to the great masters, heard so flawless a comprehension as this + anonymous player, incidentally known as Hermann, exhibited. As far as mere + manipulation went, it was, as might perhaps be expected, entirely + effortless, but effortless no less was the understanding of the music. It + happened. . . . It was like that. + </p> + <p> + All of this so filled Michael’s mind as he travelled down that evening to + Ashbridge, that he scarcely remembered the errand on which he went, and + when it occurred to him it instantly sank out of sight again, lost in the + recollection of the music which he had heard to-day and which belonged to + the art that claimed the allegiance of his soul. The rattle of the wheels + was alchemised into song, and as with half-closed eyes he listened to it, + there swam across it now the full face of the singer, now the profile of + the pianist, that had stood out white and intent against the dark + panelling behind his head. He had gleaned one fact at the box-office as he + hurried out to catch his train: this Hermann was the singer’s brother, a + teacher of the piano in London, and apparently highly thought of. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + Michael’s train, as his mother had so infallibly pronounced, was late, and + he had arrived only just in time to hurry to his room and dress quickly, + in order not to add to his crimes the additional one of unpunctuality, for + unpunctuality, so Lord Ashbridge held, was the politeness not only of + kings, but of all who had any pretence to decent breeding. His father gave + him a carefully-iced welcome, his mother the tip of her long, camel-like + lips, and they waited solemnly for the appearance of Aunt Barbara, who, it + would seem, had forfeited her claims to family by her marriage. A + man-servant and a half looked after each of them at dinner, and the twelve + Lord Ashbridges in uniform looked down from their illuminated frames on + their degenerate descendant. + </p> + <p> + The only bright spot in this portentous banquet was Aunt Barbara, who had + chosen that evening, with what intention may possibly be guessed, to put + on an immense diamond tiara and a breastplate of rubies, while Og, after + one futile attempt to play with the footmen, yielded himself up to the + chilling atmosphere of good breeding, and ate his mutton-chops with great + composure. But Aunt Barbara, fortified by her gems, ate an excellent + dinner, and talked all the time with occasional bursts of unexplained + laughter. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards, when Michael was left alone with his father, he found that his + best efforts at conversation elicited only monosyllabic replies, and at + last, in the despairing desire to bring things to a head, he asked him if + he had received his letter. An affirmative monosyllable, followed by the + hissing of Lord Ashbridge’s cigarette end as he dropped it into his coffee + cup, answered him, and he perceived that the approaching storm was to be + rendered duly impressive by the thundery stillness that preceded it. Then + his father rose, and as he passed Michael, who held the door open for him, + said: + </p> + <p> + “If you can spare the time, Michael, I would like to have a talk with you + when your mother and aunt have gone to bed.” + </p> + <p> + That was not very long delayed; Michael imagined that Aunt Barbara must + have had a hint, for before half-past ten she announced with a skilfully + suppressed laugh that she was about to retire, and kissed Michael + affectionately. Both her laugh and her salute were encouraging; he felt + that he was being backed up. Then a procession of footmen came into the + room bearing lemonade and soda water and whiskey and a plate of plain + biscuits, and the moment after he was alone with his father. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge rose and walked, very tall and majestic, to the fireplace, + where he stood for a moment with his back to his son. Then he turned + round. + </p> + <p> + “Now about this nonsense of your resigning your commission, Michael,” he + said. “I don’t propose to argue about it, and I am just going to tell you. + If, as you have informed me, you have actually sent it in, you will write + to-morrow with due apologies and ask that it may be withdrawn. I will see + your letter before you send it.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had intended to be as quiet and respectful as possible, consistent + with firmness, but a sentence here gave him a spasm of anger. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” he said, “by saying ‘if I have sent it + in.’ You have received my letter in which I tell you that I have done so.” + </p> + <p> + Already, even at the first words, there was bad blood between them. + Michael’s face had clouded with that gloom which his father would + certainly call sulky, and for himself he resented the tone of Michael’s + reply. To make matters worse he gave his little falsetto cackle, which no + doubt was intended to convey the impression of confident good humour. But + there was, it must be confessed, very little good humour about it, though + he still felt no serious doubt about the result of this interview. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid, perhaps, then, that I did not take your letter quite + seriously, my dear Michael,” he said, in the bantering tone that froze + Michael’s cordiality completely up. “I glanced through it; I saw a lot of + nonsense—or so it struck me—about your resigning your + commission and studying music; I think you mentioned Baireuth, and + settling down in London afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I said all that,” said Michael. “But you make a mistake if you do + not see that it was written seriously.” + </p> + <p> + His father glanced across at him, where he sat with his heavy, plain face, + his long arms and short legs, and the sight merely irritated him. With his + passion for convention (and one of the most important conventions was that + Combers should be fine, strapping, normal people) he hated the thought + that it was his son who presented that appearance. And his son’s mind + seemed to him at this moment as ungainly as his person. Again, very + unwisely, he laughed, still thinking to carry this off by the high hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I can’t take that rubbish seriously,” he said. “I am asking your + permission now to inquire, without any nonsense, into what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + Michael frowned. He felt the insincerity of his father’s laugh, and + rebelled against the unfairness of it. The question, he knew well, was + sarcastically asked, the flavour of irony in the “permission to inquire” + was not there by accident. To speak like that implied contempt of his + opposition; he felt that he was being treated like a child over some + nursery rebellion, in which, subsequently, there is no real possibility of + disobedience. He felt his anger rising in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “If you refer to it as rubbish, sir, there is the end of the matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I thought we should soon agree,” said Lord Ashbridge, chuckling. + </p> + <p> + “You mistake me,” said Michael. “There is the end of the matter, because I + won’t discuss it any more, if you treat me like this. I will say good + night, if you intend to persist in the idea that you can just brush my + resolves away like that.” + </p> + <p> + This clearly took his father aback; it was a perfectly dignified and + proper attitude to take in the face of ridicule, and Lord Ashbridge, + though somewhat an adept at the art of self-deception—as, for + instance, when he habitually beat the golf professional—could not + disguise from himself that his policy had been to laugh and blow away + Michael’s absurd ideas. But it was abundantly clear at this moment that + this apparently easy operation was out of his reach. + </p> + <p> + He got up with more amenity in his manner than he had yet shown, and laid + his hand on Michael’s shoulder as he stood in front of him, evidently + quite prepared to go away. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear Michael. This won’t do,” he said. “I thought it best to + treat your absurd schemes with a certain lightness, and I have only + succeeded in irritating you.” + </p> + <p> + Michael was perfectly aware that he had scored. And as his object was to + score he made another criticism. + </p> + <p> + “When you say ‘absurd schemes,’ sir,” he said, with quiet respect, “are + you not still laughing at them?” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge again retreated strategically. + </p> + <p> + “Very well; I withdraw absurd,” he said. “Now sit down again, and we will + talk. Tell me what is in your mind.” + </p> + <p> + Michael made a great effort with himself. He desired, in the secret, real + Michael, to be reasonable and cordial, to behave filially, while all the + time his nerves were on edge with his father’s ridicule, and with his + instinctive knowledge of his father’s distaste for him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s like this, father,” he said. “I’m doing no good as I am. I + went into the Guards, as you know, because it was the right thing to do. A + business man’s son is put into business for the same reason. And I’m not + good at it.” + </p> + <p> + Michael paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “My heart isn’t in it,” he said, “and I dislike it. It seems to me + useless. We’re for show. And my heart is quite entirely in music. It’s the + thing I care for more than anything else.” + </p> + <p> + Again he paused; all that came so easily to his tongue when he was + speaking to Francis was congealed now when he felt the contempt with + which, though unexpressed, he knew he inspired his father. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge waited with careful politeness, his eyes fixed on the + ceiling, his large person completely filling his chair, just as his + atmosphere filled the room. He said nothing at all until the silence rang + in Michael’s ears. + </p> + <p> + “That is all I can tell you,” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge carefully conveyed the ash from his cigarette to the + fireplace before he spoke. He felt that the time had come for his most + impressive effort. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, listen to me,” he said. “What you suffer from, Michael, + is a mere want of self-confidence and from modesty. You don’t seem to + grasp—I have often noticed this—who you are and what your + importance is—an importance which everybody is willing to recognise + if you will only assume it. You have the privileges of your position, + which you don’t sufficiently value, but you have, also, the + responsibilities of it, which I am afraid you are inclined to shirk. You + haven’t got the large view; you haven’t the sense of patriotism. There are + a great many things in my position—the position into which you will + step—which I would much sooner be without. But we have received a + tradition, and we are bound to hand it on intact. You may think that this + has nothing to do with your being in the Guards, but it has. We”—and + he seemed to swell a little—“we are bound in honour to take the lead + in the service of our country, and we must do it whether we like it or + not. We have to till, with our own efforts, ‘our goodly heritage.’ You + have to learn the meaning of such words as patriotism, and caste, and + duty.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge thought that he was really putting this very well indeed, + and he had the sustaining consciousness of sincerity. He entirely believed + what he said, and felt that it must carry conviction to anyone who + listened to it with anything like an open mind. The only thing that he did + not allow for was that he personally immensely enjoyed his social and + dominant position, thinking it indeed the only position which was really + worth having. This naturally gave an aid to comprehension, and he did not + take into account that Michael was not so blessed as he, and indeed lacked + this very superior individual enlightenment. But his own words kindled the + flame of this illumination, and without noticing the blank stolidity of + Michael’s face he went on with gathering confidence: + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you are high-minded, my dear Michael,” he said. “And it is to + your high-mindedness that I—yes, I don’t mind saying it—that I + appeal. In a moment of unreflectiveness you have thrown overboard what I + am sure is real to you, the sense, broadly speaking, that you are English + and of the highest English class, and have intended to devote yourself to + more selfish and pleasure-loving aims, and to dwell in a tinkle of + pleasant sounds that please your ear; and I’m sure I don’t wonder, + because, as your mother and I both know, you play charmingly. But I feel + confident that your better mind does not really confuse the mere + diversions of life with its serious issues.” + </p> + <p> + Michael suddenly rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Father, I’m afraid this is no use at all,” he said. “All that I feel, and + all that I can’t say, I know is unintelligible to you. You have called it + rubbish once, and you think it is rubbish still.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge’s eloquence was suddenly arrested. He had been cantering + gleefully along, and had the very distinct impression of having run up + against a stone wall. He dismounted, hurt, but in no way broken. + </p> + <p> + “I am anxious to understand you, Michael,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father, but you don’t,” said he. “You have been explaining me all + wrong. For instance, I don’t regard music as a diversion. That is the only + explanation there is of me.” + </p> + <p> + “And as regards my wishes and my authority?” asked his father. + </p> + <p> + Michael squared his shoulders and his mind. + </p> + <p> + “I am exceedingly sorry to disappoint you in the matter of your wishes,” + he said; “but in the matter of your authority I can’t recognise it when + the question of my whole life is at stake. I know that I am your son, and + I want to be dutiful, but I have my own individuality as well. That only + recognises the authority of my own conscience.” + </p> + <p> + That seemed to Lord Ashbridge both tragic and ludicrous. Completely + subservient himself to the conventions which he so much enjoyed, it was + like the defiance of a child to say such things. He only just checked + himself from laughing again. + </p> + <p> + “I refuse to take that answer from you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I have no other to give you,” said Michael. “But I should like to say + once more that I am sorry to disobey your wishes.” + </p> + <p> + The repetition took away his desire to laugh. In fact, he could not have + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to threaten you, Michael,” he said. “But you may know that I + have a very free hand in the disposal of my property.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a threat?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “It is a hint.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, father, I can only say that I should be perfectly satisfied with + anything you may do,” said Michael. “I wish you could leave everything you + have to Francis. I tell you in all sincerity that I wish he had been my + elder brother. You would have been far better pleased with him.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge’s anger rose. He was naturally so self-complacent as to be + seldom disposed to anger, but its rarity was not due to kindliness of + nature. + </p> + <p> + “I have before now noticed your jealousy of your cousin,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + Michael’s face went white. + </p> + <p> + “That is infamous and untrue, father,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge turned on him. + </p> + <p> + “Apologise for that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Michael looked up at his high towering without a tremor. + </p> + <p> + “I wait for the withdrawal of your accusation that I am jealous of + Francis,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. Lord Ashbridge stood there in swollen and + speechless indignation, and Michael faced him undismayed. . . . And then + suddenly to the boy there came an impulse of pure pity for his father’s + disappointment in having a son like himself. He saw with the candour which + was so real a part of him how hopeless it must be, to a man of his + father’s mind, to have a millstone like himself unalterably bound round + his neck, fit to choke and drown him. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, I am not jealous of Francis, father,” he said, “and I speak quite + truthfully when I say how I sympathise with you in having a son like me. I + don’t want to vex you. I want to make the best of myself.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge stood looking exactly like his statue in the market-place + at Ashbridge. + </p> + <p> + “If that is the case, Michael,” he said, “it is within your power. You + will write the letter I spoke about.” + </p> + <p> + Michael paused a moment as if waiting for more. It did not seem to him + possible that his appeal should bear no further fruit than that. But it + was soon clear that there was no more to come. + </p> + <p> + “I will wish you good night, father,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sunday was a day on which Lord Ashbridge was almost more himself than + during the week, so shining and public an example did he become of the + British nobleman. Instead of having breakfast, according to the + middle-class custom, rather later than usual, that solid sausagy meal was + half an hour earlier, so that all the servants, except those whose + presence in the house was imperatively necessary for purposes of lunch, + should go to church. Thus “Old George” and Lord Ashbridge’s private boat + were exceedingly busy for the half-hour preceding church time, the last + boat-load holding the family, whose arrival was the signal for service to + begin. Lady Ashbridge, however, always went on earlier, for she presided + at the organ with the long, camel-like back turned towards the + congregation, and started playing a slow, melancholy voluntary when the + boy who blew the bellows said to her in an ecclesiastical whisper: “His + lordship has arrived, my lady.” Those of the household who could sing + (singing being construed in the sense of making a loud and cheerful noise + in the throat) clustered in the choir-pews near the organ, while the + family sat in a large, square box, with a stove in the centre, amply + supplied with prayer-books of the time when even Protestants might pray + for Queen Caroline. Behind them, separated from the rest of the church by + an ornamental ironwork grille, was the Comber chapel, in which + antiquarians took nearly as much pleasure as Lord Ashbridge himself. Here + reclined a glorious company of sixteenth century knights, with their + honourable ladies at their sides, unyielding marble bolsters at their + heads, and grotesque dogs at their feet. Later, when their peerage was + conferred, they lost a little of their yeoman simplicity, and became + peruked and robed and breeched; one, indeed, in the age of George III., + who was blessed with poetical aspirations, appeared in bare feet and a + Roman toga with a scroll of manuscript in his hand; while later again, + mere tablets on the walls commemorated their almost uncanny virtues. + </p> + <p> + And just on the other side of the grille, but a step away, sat the + present-day representatives of the line, while Lady Ashbridge finished the + last bars of her voluntary, Lord Ashbridge himself and his sister, large + and smart and comely, and Michael beside them, short and heavy, with his + soul full of the aspirations his father neither could nor cared to + understand. According to his invariable custom, Lord Ashbridge read the + lessons in a loud, sonorous voice, his large, white hands grasping the + wing-feathers of the brass eagle, and a great carnation in his buttonhole; + and when the time came for the offertory he put a sovereign in the open + plate himself, and proceeded with his minuet-like step to go round the + church and collect the gifts of the encouraged congregation. He followed + all the prayers in his book, he made the responses in a voice nearly as + loud as that in which he read the lessons; he sang the hymns with a + curious buzzing sound, and never for a moment did he lose sight of the + fact that he was the head of the Comber family, doing his duty as the + custom of the Combers was, and setting an example of godly piety. + Afterwards, as usual, he would change his black coat, eat a good lunch, + stroll round the gardens (for he had nothing to say to golf on Sunday), + and in the evening the clergyman would dine with him, and would be + requested to say grace both before and after the meal. He knew exactly the + proper mode of passing the Sunday for the landlord on his country estate, + and when Lord Ashbridge knew that a thing was proper he did it with + invariable precision. + </p> + <p> + Michael, of course, was in disgrace; his father, pending some further + course of action, neither spoke to him nor looked at him; indeed, it + seemed doubtful whether he would hand him the offertory plate, and it was + perhaps a pity that he unbent even to this extent, for Michael happened to + have none of the symbols of thankfulness about his person, and he saw a + slight quiver pass through Aunt Barbara’s hymn-book. After a rather + portentous lunch, however, there came some relief, for his father did not + ask his company on the usual Sunday afternoon stroll, and Aunt Barbara + never walked at all unless she was obliged. In consequence, when the + thunderstorm had stepped airily away across the park, Michael joined her + on the terrace, with the intention of talking the situation over with her. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara was perfectly willing to do this, and she opened the + discussion very pleasantly with peals of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I delight in you,” she said; “and altogether this is the most + entertaining day I have ever spent here. Combers are supposed to be very + serious, solid people, but for unconscious humour there isn’t a family in + England or even in the States to compare with them. Our lunch just now; if + you could put it into a satirical comedy called The Aristocracy it would + make the fortune of any theatre.” + </p> + <p> + A dawning smile began to break through Michael’s tragedy face. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it was rather funny,” he said. “But really I’m wretched about + it, Aunt Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, what is there to be wretched about? You might have been wretched + if you had found you couldn’t stand up to your father, but I gather, + though I know nothing directly, that you did. At least, your mother has + said to me three times, twice on the way to church and once coming back: + ‘Michael has vexed his father very much.’ And the offertory plate, my + dear, and, as I was saying, lunch! I am in disgrace too, because I said + perfectly plainly yesterday that I was on your side; and there we were at + lunch, with your father apparently unable to see either you or me, and + unconscious of our presence. Fancy pretending not to see me! You can’t + help seeing me, a large, bright object like me! And what will happen next? + That’s what tickles me to death, as they say on my side of the Atlantic. + Will he gradually begin to perceive us again, like objects looming through + a fog, or shall we come into view suddenly, as if going round a corner? + And you are just as funny, my dear, with your long face, and air of + depressed determination. Why be heavy, Michael? So many people are heavy, + and none of them can tell you why.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible not to feel the unfreezing effect of this. Michael + thawed to it, as he would have thawed to Francis. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps they can’t help it, Aunt Barbara,” he said. “At least, I know I + can’t. I really wish I could learn how to. I—I don’t see the funny + side of things till it is pointed out. I thought lunch a sort of hell, you + know. Of course, it was funny, his appearing not to see either of us. But + it stands for more than that; it stands for his complete misunderstanding + of me.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara had the sense to see that the real Michael was speaking. When + people were being unreal, when they were pompous or adopting attitudes, + she could attend to nothing but their absurdity, which engrossed her + altogether. But she never laughed at real things; real things were not + funny, but were facts. + </p> + <p> + “He quite misunderstands,” went on Michael, with the eagerness with which + the shy welcome comprehension. “He thinks I can make my mind like his if I + choose; and if I don’t choose, or rather can’t choose, he thinks that his + wishes, his authority, should be sufficient to make me act as if it was. + Well, I won’t do that. He may go on,”—and that pleasant smile lit up + Michael’s plain face—“he may go on being unaware of my presence as + long as he pleases. I am very sorry it should be so, but I can’t help it. + And the worst of it is, that opposition of that sort—his sort—makes + me more determined than ever.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And your friends?” she asked. “What will they think?” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked at her quite simply and directly. + </p> + <p> + “Friends?” he said. “I haven’t got any.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear, that’s nonsense!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wish it was. Oh, Francis is a friend, I know. He thinks me an odd old + thing, but he likes me. Other people don’t. And I can’t see why they + should. I’m sure it’s my fault. It’s because I’m heavy. You said I was, + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I was a great ass,” remarked Aunt Barbara. “You wouldn’t be heavy + with people who understood you. You aren’t heavy with me, for instance; + but, my dear, lead isn’t in it when you are with your father.” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do, if I’m like that?” asked the boy. + </p> + <p> + She held up her large, fat hand, and marked the points off on her fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Three things,” she said. “Firstly, get away from people who don’t + understand you, and whom, incidentally, you don’t understand. Secondly, + try to see how ridiculous you and everybody else always are; and, thirdly, + which is much the most important, don’t think about yourself. If I thought + about myself I should consider how old and fat and ugly I am. I’m not + ugly, really; you needn’t be foolish and tell me so. I should spoil my + life by trying to be young, and only eating devilled codfish and drinking + hot plum-juice, or whatever is the accepted remedy for what we call + obesity. We’re all odd old things, as you say. We can only get away from + that depressing fact by doing something, and not thinking about ourselves. + We can all try not to be egoists. Egoism is the really heavy quality in + the world.” + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment in this inspired discourse and whistled to Og, who had + stretched his weary limbs across a bed of particularly fine geraniums. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she said, pointing, “if your dog had done that, you would be + submerged in depression at the thought of how vexed your father would be. + That would be because you are thinking of the effect on yourself. As it’s + my dog that has done it—dear me, they do look squashed now he has + got up—you don’t really mind about your father’s vexation, because + you won’t have to think about yourself. That is wise of you; if you were a + little wiser still, you would picture to yourself how ridiculous I shall + look apologising for Og. Kindly kick him, Michael; he will understand. + Naughty! And as for your not having any friends, that would be exceedingly + sad, if you had gone the right way to get them and failed. But you + haven’t. You haven’t even gone among the people who could be your friends. + Your friends, broadly speaking, must like the same sort of things as you. + There must be a common basis. You can’t even argue with somebody, or + disagree with somebody unless you have a common ground to start from. If I + say that black is white, and you think it is blue, we can’t get on. It + leads nowhere. And, finally—” + </p> + <p> + She turned round and faced him directly. + </p> + <p> + “Finally, don’t be so cross, my dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But am I?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You don’t know it, or else probably, since you are a very decent + fellow, you wouldn’t be. You expect not to be liked, and that is cross of + you. A good-humoured person expects to be liked, and almost always is. You + expect not to be understood, and that’s dreadfully cross. You think your + father doesn’t understand you; no more he does, but don’t go on thinking + about it. You think it is a great bore to be your father’s only son, and + wish Francis was instead. That’s cross; you may think it’s fine, but it + isn’t, and it is also ungrateful. You can have great fun if you will only + be good-tempered!” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know that—about Francis, I mean?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Does it happen to be true? Of course it does. Every cross young man + wishes he was somebody else.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite that,” began Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t interrupt. It is sufficiently accurate. And you think about your + appearance, my dear. It will do quite well. You might have had two noses, + or only one eye, whereas you have two rather jolly ones. And do try to see + the joke in other people, Michael. You didn’t see the joke in your + interview last night with your father. It must have been excruciatingly + funny. I don’t say it wasn’t sad and serious as well. But it was funny + too; there were points.” + </p> + <p> + Michael shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t see them,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But I should have, and I should have been right. All dignity is funny, + simply because it is sham. When dignity is real, you don’t know it’s + dignity. But your father knew he was being dignified, and you knew you + were being dignified. My dear, what a pair of you!” + </p> + <p> + Michael frowned. + </p> + <p> + “But is nothing serious, then?” he asked. “Surely it was serious enough + last night. There was I in rank rebellion to my father, and it vexed him + horribly; it did more, it grieved him.” + </p> + <p> + She laid her hand on Michael’s knee. + </p> + <p> + “As if I didn’t know that!” she said. “We’re all sorry for that, though I + should have been much sorrier if you had given in and ceased to vex him. + But there it is! Accept that, and then, my dear, swiftly apply yourself to + perceive the humour of it. And now, about your plans!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to Baireuth on Wednesday, and then on to Munich,” began + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “That, of course. Perhaps you may find the humour of a Channel crossing. I + look for it in vain. Yet I don’t know. . . . The man who puts on a + yachting-cap, and asks if there’s a bit of a sea on. It proves to be the + case, and he is excessively unwell. I must look out for him next time I + cross. And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall settle in town and study. Oh, here’s my father coming home.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge approached down the terrace. He stopped for a moment at the + desecrated geranium bed, saw the two sitting together, and turned at right + angles and went into the house. Almost immediately a footman came out with + a long dog-lead and advanced hesitatingly to Og. Og was convinced that he + had come to play with him, and crouched and growled and retreated and + advanced with engaging affability. Out of the windows of the library + looked Lord Ashbridge’s baleful face. . . . Aunt Barbara swayed out of her + chair, and laid a trembling hand on Michael’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go and apologise for Og,” she said. “I shall do it quite + sincerely, my dear. But there are points.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Michael practised a certain mature and rather elderly precision in the + ordinary affairs of daily life. His habits were almost unduly tidy and + punctual; he answered letters by return of post, he never mislaid things + nor tore up documents which he particularly desired should be preserved; + he kept his gold in a purse and his change in a trousers-pocket, and in + matters of travelling he always arrived at stations with plenty of time to + spare, and had such creature comforts as he desired for his journey in a + neat Gladstone bag above his head. He never travelled first-class, for the + very simple and adequate reason that, though very well off, he preferred + to spend his money in ways that were more productive of usefulness or + pleasure; and thus, when he took his place in the corner of a second-class + compartment of the Dover-Ostend express on the Wednesday morning + following, he was the only occupant of it. + </p> + <p> + Probably he had never felt so fully at liberty, nor enjoyed a keener zest + for life and the future. For the first time he had asserted his own + indisputable right to stand on his own feet, and though he was genuinely + sorry for his father’s chagrin at not being able to tuck him up in the + family coach, his own sense of independence could not but wave its + banners. There had been a second interview, no less fruitless than the + first, and Lord Ashbridge had told him that when next his presence was + desired at home, he would be informed of the fact. His mother had cried in + a mild, trickling fashion, but it was quite obvious that in her heart of + hearts she was more concerned with a bilious attack of peculiar intensity + that had assailed Petsy. She wished Michael would not be so disobedient + and vex his father, but she was quite sure that before long some formula, + in diplomatic phrase, would be found on which reconciliation could be + based; whereas it was highly uncertain whether any formula could be found + that would produce the desired effect on Petsy, whose illness she + attributed to the shock of Og’s sudden and disconcerting appearance on + Saturday, when all Petsy’s nervous force was required to digest the + copious cream. Consequently, though she threw reproachful glances at + Michael, those directed at Barbara, who was the cause of the acuter + tragedy, were pointed with more penetrating blame. Indeed, it is + questionable whether Lady Ashbridge would have cried at all over Michael’s + affairs had not Petsy’s also been in so lamentable and critical a state. + </p> + <p> + Just as the train began to move out of the station a young man rushed + across the platform, eluded the embrace of the guard who attempted to stop + him with amazing agility, and jumped into Michael’s compartment. He + slammed the door after him, and leaned out, apparently looking for + someone, whom he soon saw. + </p> + <p> + “Just caught it, Sylvia,” he shouted. “Send on my luggage, will you? It’s + in the taxi still, I think, and I haven’t paid the man. Good-bye, + darling.” + </p> + <p> + He waved to her till the curving line took the platform out of sight, and + then sat down with a laugh, and eyes of friendly interest for Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Narrow squeak, wasn’t it?” he said gleefully. “I thought the guard had + collared me. And I should have missed Parsifal.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had recognised him at once as he rushed across the platform; his + shouting to Sylvia had but confirmed the recognition; and here on the day + of his entering into his new kingdom of liberty was one of its citizens + almost thrown into his arms. But for the moment his old invincible habit + of shyness and sensitiveness forbade any responsive lightness of welcome, + and he was merely formal, merely courteous. + </p> + <p> + “And all your luggage left behind,” he said. “Won’t you be dreadfully + uncomfortable?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncomfortable? Why?” asked Falbe. “I shall buy a handkerchief and a + collar every day, and a shirt and a pair of socks every other day till it + arrives.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt a sudden, daring impulse. He remembered Aunt Barbara’s + salutary remarks about crossness being the equivalent of thinking about + oneself. And the effort that it cost him may be taken as the measure of + his solitary disposition. + </p> + <p> + “But you needn’t do that,” he said, “if—if you will be good enough + to borrow of me till your things come.” + </p> + <p> + He blurted it out awkwardly, almost brusquely, and Falbe looked slightly + amused at this wholly surprising offer of hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “But that’s awfully good of you,” he said, laughing and saying nothing + direct about his acceptance. “It implies, too, that you are going to + Baireuth. We travel together, then, I hope, for it is dismal work + travelling alone, isn’t it? My sister tells me that half my friends were + picked up in railway carriages. Been there before?” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt himself lured from the ordinary aloofness of attitude and + demeanour, which had been somewhat accustomed to view all strangers with + suspicion. And yet, though till this moment he had never spoken to him, he + could hardly regard Falbe as a stranger, for he had heard him say on the + piano what his sister understood by the songs of Brahms and Schubert. He + could not help glancing at Falbe’s hands, as they busied themselves with + the filling and lighting of a pipe, and felt that he knew something of + those long, broad-tipped fingers, smooth and white and strong. The man + himself he found to be quite different to what he had expected; he had + seen him before, eager and intent and anxious-faced, absorbed in the task + of following another mind; now he looked much younger, much more boyish. + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s my first visit to Baireuth,” he said, “and I can’t tell you how + excited I am about it. I’ve been looking forward to it so much that I + almost expect to be disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe blew out a cloud of smoke and laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re safe enough,” he said. “Baireuth never disappoints. It’s one + of the facts—a reliable fact. And Munich? Do you go to Munich + afterwards?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe clicked with his tongue + </p> + <p> + “Lucky fellow,” he said. “How I wish I was. But I’ve got to get back again + after my week. You’ll spend the mornings in the galleries, and the + afternoons and evenings at the opera. O Lord, Munich!” + </p> + <p> + He came across from the other side of the carriage and sat next Michael, + putting his feet up on the seat opposite. + </p> + <p> + “Talk of Munich,” he said. “I was born in Munich, and I happen to know + that it’s the heavenly Jerusalem, neither more nor less.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the heavenly Jerusalem is practically next door to Baireuth,” said + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I know; but it can’t be managed. However, there’s a week of unalloyed + bliss between me now and the desolation of London in August. What is so + maddening is to think of all the people who could go to Munich and don’t.” + </p> + <p> + Michael held debate within himself. He felt that he ought to tell his new + acquaintance that he knew who he was, that, however trivial their + conversation might be, it somehow resembled eavesdropping to talk to a + chance fellow-passenger as if he were a complete stranger. But it required + again a certain effort to make the announcement. + </p> + <p> + “I think I had better tell you,” he said at length, “that I know you, that + I’ve listened to you at least, at your sister’s recital a few days ago.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe turned to him with the friendliest pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! were you there?” he asked. “I hope you listened to her, then, not to + me. She sang well, didn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “But divinely. At the same time I did listen to you, especially in the + French songs. There was less song, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And more accompaniment!” he said. “Perhaps you play?” + </p> + <p> + Michael was seized with a fit of shyness at the idea of talking to Falbe + about himself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I just strum,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the journey their acquaintanceship ripened; and casually, in + dropped remarks, the two began to learn something about each other. + Falbe’s command of English, as well as his sister’s, which was so complete + that it was impossible to believe that a foreigner was speaking, was + explained, for it came out that his mother was English, and that from + infancy they had spoken German and English indiscriminately. His father, + who had died some dozen years before, had been a singer of some note in + his native land, but was distinguished more for his teaching than his + practice, and it was he who had taught his daughter. Hermann Falbe himself + had always intended to be a pianist, but the poverty in which they were + left at his father’s death had obliged him to give lessons rather than + devote himself to his own career; but now at the age of thirty he found + himself within sight of the competence that would allow him to cut down + his pupils, and begin to be a pupil again himself. + </p> + <p> + His sister, moreover, for whom he had slaved for years in order that she + might continue her own singing education unchecked, was now more than + able, especially after these last three months in London, where she had + suddenly leaped into eminence, to support herself and contributed to the + expenses of their common home. But there was still, so Michael gathered, + no great superabundance of money, and he guessed that Falbe’s inability to + go to Munich was due to the question of expense. + </p> + <p> + All this came out by inference and allusion rather than by direct + information, while Michael, naturally reticent and feeling that his own + uneventful affairs could have no interest for anybody, was less + communicative. And, indeed, while shunning the appearance of + inquisitiveness, he was far too eager to get hold of his new acquaintance + to think of volunteering much himself. Here to him was this citizen of the + new country who all his life had lived in the palace of art, and that in + no dilettante fashion, but with set aim and serious purpose. And Falbe + abounded in such topics; he knew the singers and the musicians of the + world, and, which was much more than that, he was himself of them; humble, + no doubt, in circumstances and achievement as yet, but clearly to Michael + of the blood royal of artistry. That was the essential thing about him as + regards his relations with his fellow-traveller, though, when next morning + the spires of Cologne and the swift river of his Fatherland came into + sight, he burst out into a sort of rhapsody of patriotism that mockingly + covered a great sincerity. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! beloved land!” he cried. “Soil of heaven and of divine harmony! Hail + to thee! Hail to thee! Rhine, Rhine deep and true and steadfast.” . . . + And he waved his hat and sang the greeting of Brunnhilde. Then he turned + laughingly to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I am sufficiently English to know how ridiculous that must seem to you,” + he said, “for I love England also, and the passengers on the boat would + merely think me mad if I apostrophised the cliffs of Dover and the mud of + the English roads. But here I am a German again, and I would willingly + kiss the soil. You English—we English, I may say, for I am as much + English as German—I believe have got the same feeling somewhere in + our hearts, but we lock it up and hide it away. Pray God I shall never + have to choose to which nation I belong, though for that matter there in + no choice in it at all, for I am certainly a German subject. Guten Tag, + Koln; let us instantly have our coffee. There is no coffee like German + coffee, though the French coffee is undeniably pleasanter to the mere + superficial palate. But it doesn’t touch the heart, as everything German + touches my heart when I come back to the Fatherland.” + </p> + <p> + He chattered on in tremendous high spirits. + </p> + <p> + “And to think that to-night we shall sleep in true German beds,” he said. + “I allow that the duvet is not so convenient as blankets, and that there + is a watershed always up the middle of your bed, so that during the night + your person descends to one side while the duvet rolls down the other; but + it is German, which makes up for any trifling inconvenience. Baireuth, + too; perhaps it will strike you as a dull and stinking little town, and so + I dare say it is. But after lunch we shall go up the hillside to where the + theatre stands, at the edge of the pine-woods, and from the porch the + trumpets will give out the motif of the Grail, and we shall pass out of + the heat into the cool darkness of the theatre. Aren’t you thrilled, + Comber? Doesn’t a holy awe pervade you! Are you worthy, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + All this youthful, unrestrained enthusiasm was a revelation to Michael. + Intentionally absurd as Falbe’s rhapsody on the Fatherland had been, + Michael knew that it sprang from a solid sincerity which was not ashamed + of expressing itself. Living, as he had always done, in the rather formal + and reticent atmosphere of his class and environment, he would have + thought this fervour of patriotism in an English mouth ridiculous, or, if + persevered in, merely bad form. Yet when Falbe hailed the Rhine and the + spires of Cologne, it was clear that there was no bad form about it at + all. He felt like that; and, indeed, as Michael was beginning to perceive, + he felt with a similar intensity on all subjects about which he felt at + all. There was something of the same vivid quality about Aunt Barbara, but + Aunt Barbara’s vividness was chiefly devoted to the hunt of the + absurdities of her friends, and it was always the concretely ridiculous + that she pursued. But this handsome, vital young man, with his eagerness + and his welcome for the world, who had fallen with so delightful a + cordiality into Michael’s company, had already an attraction for him of a + sort he had never felt before. + </p> + <p> + Dimly, as the days went by, he began to conjecture that he who had never + had a friend was being hailed and halloed to, was being ordered, if not by + precept, at any rate by example, to come out of the shell of his reserve, + and let himself feel and let himself express. He could see how utterly + different was Falbe’s general conception and practice of life from his + own; to Michael it had always been a congregation of strangers—Francis + excepted—who moved about, busy with each other and with affairs that + had no allure for him, and were, though not uncivil, wholly alien to him. + He was willing to grant that this alienation, this absence of comradeship + which he had missed all his life, was of his own making, in so far as his + shyness and sensitiveness were the cause of it; but in effect he had never + yet had a friend, because he had never yet taken his shutters down, so to + speak, or thrown his front door open. He had peeped out through chinks, + and felt how lonely he was, but he had not given anyone a chance to get + in. + </p> + <p> + Falbe, on the other hand, lived at his window, ready to hail the + passer-by, even as he had hailed Michael, with cheerful words. There he + lounged in his shirt-sleeves, you might say, with elbows on the + window-sill; and not from politeness, but from good fellowship, from the + fact that he liked people, was at home to everybody. He liked people; + there was the key to it. And Michael, however much he might be capable of + liking people, had up till now given them no sign of it. It really was not + their fault if they had not guessed it. + </p> + <p> + Two days passed, on the first of which Parsifal was given, and on the + second Meistersinger. On the third there was no performance, and the two + young men had agreed to meet in the morning and drive out of the town to a + neighbouring village among the hills, and spend the day there in the + woods. Michael had looked forward to this day with extraordinary pleasure, + but there was mingled with it a sort of agony of apprehension that Falbe + would find him a very boring companion. But the precepts of Aunt Barbara + came to his mind, and he reflected that the certain and sure way of + proving a bore was to be taken up with the idea that he might be. And + anyhow, Falbe had proposed the plan himself. + </p> + <p> + They lunched in a little restaurant near a forest-enclosed lake, and since + the day was very hot, did no more than stroll up the hill for a hundred + yards, where they would get some hint of breeze, and disposed themselves + at length on the carpet of pine-needles. Through the thick boughs overhead + the sunlight reached them only in specks and flakes, the wind was but as a + distant sea in the branches, and Falbe rolled over on to his face, and + sniffed at the aromatic leaves with the gusto with which he enjoyed all + that was to him enjoyable. + </p> + <p> + “Ah; that’s good, that’s good!” he said. “How I love smells—clean, + sharp smells like this. But they’ve got to be wild; you can’t tame a smell + and put it on your handkerchief; it takes the life out of it. Do you like + smells, Comber?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I really never thought about it,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Think now, then, and tell me,” said Falbe. “If you consider, you know + such a lot about me, and, as a matter of fact, I know nothing whatever + about you. I know you like music—I know you like blue trout, because + you ate so many of them at lunch to-day. But what else do I know about + you? I don’t even know what you thought of Parsifal. No, perhaps I’m wrong + there, because the fact that you’ve never mentioned it probably shows that + you couldn’t. The symptom of not understanding anything about Parsifal is + to talk about it, and say what a tremendous impression it has made on + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you’ve guessed right there,” said Michael. “I couldn’t talk about it; + there’s nothing to say about it, except that it is Parsifal.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true. It becomes part of you, and you can’t talk of it any more + than you can talk about your elbows and your knees. It’s one of the things + that makes you. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He turned over on to his back, and laid his hands palm uppermost over his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “That’s part of the glory of it all,” he said; “that art and its emotions + become part of you like the food you eat and the wine you drink. Art is + always making us; it enters into our character and destiny. As long as you + go on growing you assimilate, and thank God one’s mind or soul, or + whatever you like to call it, goes on growing for a long time. I suppose + the moment comes to most people when they cease to grow, when they become + fixed and hard; and that is what we mean by being old. But till then you + weave your destiny, or, rather, people and beauty weave it for you, as + you’ll see the Norns weaving, and yet you never know what you are making. + You make what you are, and you never are because you are always becoming. + You must excuse me; but Germans are always metaphysicians, and they can’t + help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on; be German,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Lieber Gott! As if I could be anything else,” said Falbe, laughing. “We + are the only nation which makes a science of experimentalism; we try + everything, just as a puppy tries everything. It tries mutton bones, and + match-boxes, and soap and boots; it tries to find out what its tail is + for, and bites it till it hurts, on which it draws the conclusion that it + is not meant to eat. Like all metaphysicians, too, and dealers in the + abstract, we are intensely practical. Our passion for experimentalism is + dictated by the firm object of using the knowledge we acquire. We are + tremendously thorough; we waste nothing, not even time, whereas the + English have an absolute genius for wasting time. Look at all your games, + your sports, your athletics—I am being quite German now, and + forgetting my mother, bless her!—they are merely devices for getting + rid of the hours, and so not having to think. You hate thought as a + nation, and we live for it. Music is thought; all art is thought; + commercial prosperity is thought; soldiering is thought.” + </p> + <p> + “And we are a nation of idiots?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No; I didn’t say that. I should say you are a nation of sensualists. You + value sensation above everything; you pursue the enjoyable. You are a + nation of children who are always having a perpetual holiday. You go + straying all over the world for fun, and annex it generally, so that you + can have tiger-shooting in India, and lots of gold to pay for your + tiger-shooting in Africa, and fur from Canada for your coats. But it’s all + a game; not one man in a thousand in England has any idea of Empire.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think you are wrong there,” said Michael. “You believe that only + because we don’t talk about it. It’s—it’s like what we agreed about + Parsifal. We don’t talk about it because it is so much part of us.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I deny it; I deny it flatly,” he said. “I know where I get my power of + foolish, unthinking enjoyment from, and it’s from my English blood. I + rejoice in my English blood, because you are the happiest people on the + face of the earth. But you are happy because you don’t think, whereas the + joy of being German is that you do think. England is lying in the shade, + like us, with a cigarette and a drink—I wish I had one—and a + golf ball or the world with which she has been playing her game. But + Germany is sitting up all night thinking, and every morning she gives an + order or two.” + </p> + <p> + Michael supplied the cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean she is thinking about England’s golf ball?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course she is! What else is there to think about?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s impossible that there should be a European war,” said Michael, + “for that is what it will mean!” + </p> + <p> + “And why is a European war impossible?” demanded Falbe, lighting his + cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “It’s simply unthinkable!” + </p> + <p> + “Because you don’t think,” he interrupted. “I can tell you that the + thought of war is never absent for a single day from the average German + mind. We are all soldiers, you see. We start with that. You start by being + golfers and cricketers. But ‘der Tag’ is never quite absent from the + German mind. I don’t say that all you golfers and cricketers wouldn’t make + good soldiers, but you’ve got to be made. You can’t be a golfer one day + and a soldier the next.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “As for that,” he said, “I made an uncommonly bad soldier. But I am an + even worse golfer. As for cricket—” + </p> + <p> + Falbe again interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then at last I know two things about you,” he said. “You were a + soldier and you can’t play golf. I have never known so little about + anybody after three—four days. However, what is our proverb? ‘Live + and learn.’ But it takes longer to learn than to live. Eh, what nonsense I + talk.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with a sudden irritation, and the laugh at the end of his speech + was not one of amusement, but rather of mockery. To Michael this mood was + quite inexplicable, but, characteristically, he looked about in himself + for the possible explanation of it. + </p> + <p> + “But what’s the matter?” he asked. “Have I annoyed you somehow? I’m + awfully sorry.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe did not reply for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “No, you’ve not annoyed me,” he said. “I’ve annoyed myself. But that’s the + worst of living on one’s nerves, which is the penalty of Baireuth. There + is no charge, so to speak, except for your ticket, but a collection is + made, as happens at meetings, and you pay with your nerves. You must + cancel my annoyance, please. If I showed it I did not mean to.” + </p> + <p> + Michael pondered over this. + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t leave it like that,” he said at length. “Was it about the + possibility of war, which I said was unthinkable?” + </p> + <p> + Falbe laughed and turned on his elbow towards Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear chap,” he said. “You may believe it to be unthinkable, and I + may believe it to be inevitable; but what does it matter what either of us + believes? Che sara sara. It was quite another thing that caused me to + annoy myself. It does not matter.” + </p> + <p> + Michael lay back on the soft slope. + </p> + <p> + “Yet I insist on knowing,” he said. “That is, I mean, if it is not + private.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe lay quietly with his long fingers in the sediment of pine-needles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, as it is not private, and as you insist,” he said, “I will + certainly tell you. Does it not strike you that you are behaving like an + absolute stranger to me? We have talked of me and my home and my plans all + the time since we met at Victoria Station, and you have kept complete + silence about yourself. I know nothing of you, not who you are, or what + you are, or what your flag is. You fly no flag, you proclaim no identity. + You may be a crossing-sweeper, or a grocer, or a marquis for all I know. + Of course, that matters very little; but what does matter is that never + for a moment have you shown me not what you happen to be, but what you + are. I’ve got the impression that you are something, that there’s a real + ‘you’ in your inside. But you don’t let me see it. You send a polite + servant to the door when I knock. Probably this sounds very weird and + un-English to you. But to my mind it is much more weird to behave as you + are behaving. Come out, can’t you. Let’s look at you.” + </p> + <p> + It was exactly that—that brusque, unsentimental appeal—that + Michael needed. He saw himself at that moment, as Falbe saw him, a shelled + and muffled figure, intangible and withdrawn, but observing, as it were, + through eye-holes, and giving nothing in exchange for what he saw. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s quite true what you tell me. I’m like that. + But it really has never struck me that anybody cared to know.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe ceased digging his excavation in the pine-needles and looked up on + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, man!” he said; “people care if you’ll only allow them to. The + indifference of other people is a false term for the secretiveness of + oneself. How can they care, unless you let them know what there is to care + for?” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m completely uninteresting,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’ll judge of that,” said Falbe. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, and with diffident pauses, Michael began to speak of himself, + feeling at first as if he was undressing in public. But as he went on he + became conscious of the welcome that his story received, though that + welcome only expressed itself in perfectly unemotional monosyllables. He + might be undressing, but he was undressing in front of a fire. He knew + that he uncovered himself to no icy blast or contemptuous rain, as he had + felt when, so few days before, he had spoken of himself and what he was to + his father. There was here the common land of music to build upon, whereas + to Lord Ashbridge that same soil had been, so to speak, the territory of + the enemy. And even more than that, there was the instinct, the certain + conviction that he was telling his tale to sympathetic ears, to which the + mere fact that he was speaking of himself presupposed a friendly hearing. + Falbe, he felt, wanted to know about him, regardless of the nature of his + confessions. Had he said that he was an undetected kleptomaniac, Falbe + would have liked to know, have been pleased at any tidings, provided only + they were authentic. This seemed to reveal itself to him even as he spoke; + it had been there waiting for him to claim it, lying there as in a poste + restante, only ready for its owner. + </p> + <p> + At the end Falbe gave a long sigh. + </p> + <p> + “And why the devil didn’t you give me any hint of it before?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think it mattered,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you are amazingly wrong. Good Lord, it’s about the most + interesting thing I’ve ever heard. I didn’t know anybody could escape from + that awful sort of prison-house in which our—I’m English now—in + which our upper class immures itself. Yet you’ve done it. I take it that + the thing is done now?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going back into the prison-house again, if you mean that,” said + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “And will your father cut you off?” asked he. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I haven’t the least idea,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t you going to inquire?” + </p> + <p> + Michael hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m sure I’m not,” he said. “I can’t do that. It’s his business. I + couldn’t ask about what he had done, or meant to do. It’s a sort of pride, + I suppose. He will do as he thinks proper, and when he has thought, + perhaps he will tell me what he intends.” + </p> + <p> + “But, then, how will you live?” asked Falbe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot to tell you that. I’ve got some money, quite a lot, I mean, + from my grandmother. In some ways I rather wish I hadn’t. It would have + been a proof of sincerity to have become poor. That wouldn’t have made the + smallest difference to my resolution.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And so you are rich, and yet go second-class,” he said. “If I were rich I + would make myself exceedingly comfortable. I like things that are good to + eat and soft to touch. But I’m bound to say that I get on quite + excellently without them. Being poor does not make the smallest difference + to one’s happiness, but only to the number of one’s pleasures.” + </p> + <p> + Michael paused a moment, and then found courage to say what for the last + two days he had been longing to give utterance to. + </p> + <p> + “I know; but pleasures are very nice things,” he said. “And doesn’t it + seem obvious now that you are coming to Munich with me? It’s a purely + selfish suggestion on my part. After being with you it will be very stupid + to be alone there. But it would be so delightful if you would come.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe looked at him a moment without speaking, but Michael saw the light + in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And what if I have my pride too?” he said. “Then I shall apologise for + having made the proposal,” said Michael simply. + </p> + <p> + For just a second more Falbe hesitated. Then he held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you most awfully,” he said. “I accept with the greatest + pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Michael drew a long breath of relief. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” he said. “So that’s settled. It’s really nice of you.” + </p> + <p> + The heat of the day was passing off, and over the sun-bleached plain the + coolness of evening was beginning to steal. Overhead the wind stirred more + resonantly in the pines, and in the bushes birds called to each other. + Presently after, they rose from where they had lain all the afternoon and + strolled along the needled slope to where, through a vista in the trees, + they looked down on the lake and the hamlet that clustered near it. Down + the road that wound through the trees towards it passed labourers going + homeward from their work, with cheerful guttural cries to each other and a + herd of cows sauntered by with bells melodiously chiming, taking leisurely + mouthfuls from the herbage of the wayside. In the village, lying low in + the clear dusk, scattered lights began to appear, the smoke of evening + fires to ascend, and the aromatic odour of the burning wood strayed + towards them up the wind. + </p> + <p> + Falbe, whose hand lay in the crook of Michael’s arm, pointed downwards to + the village that lay there sequestered and rural. + </p> + <p> + “That’s Germany,” he said; “it’s that which lies at the back of every + German heart. There lie the springs of the Rhine. It’s out of that + originally that there came all that Germany stands for, its music, its + poetry, its philosophy, its kultur. All flowed from these quiet uplands. + It was here that the nation began to think and to dream. To dreamt! It’s + out of dreams that all has sprung.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And then next week when we go to Munich, you will find me saying that + this, this Athens of a town, with its museums and its galleries and its + music, is Germany. I shall be right, too. Out of much dreaming comes the + need to make. It is when the artist’s head and heart are full of his + dreams that his hands itch for the palette or the piano. Nuremberg! Cannot + we stop a few hours, at least, in Nuremberg, and see the meadow by the + Pegnitz where the Meistersingers held their contest of song and the + wooden, gabled house where Albrecht Durer lived? That will teach you + Germany, too. The bud of their dream was opening then; and what flower, + even in the magnificence of its full-blowing, is so lovely? Albrecht + Durer, with his deep, patient eyes, and his patient hands with their + unerring stroke; or Bach, with the fugue flowing from his brain through + his quick fingers, making stars—stars fixed forever in the heaven of + harmony! Don’t tell me that there is anything in the world more wonderful! + We may have invented a few more instruments, we may have experimented with + a few more combinations of notes, but in the B minor Mass, or in the music + of the Passion, all is said. And all that came from the woods and the + country and the quiet life in little towns, when the artist did his work + because he loved it, and cared not one jot about what anybody else thought + about it. We are a nation of thinkers and dreamers.” + </p> + <p> + Michael hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + “But you said not long ago that you were also the most practical nation,” + he said. “You are a nation of soldiers, also.” + </p> + <p> + “And who would not willingly give himself for such a Fatherland?” said + Falbe. “If need be, we will lay our lives down for that, and die more + willingly than we have lived. God grant that the need comes not. But + should it come we are ready. We are bound to be ready; it would be a crime + not to be ready—a crime against the Fatherland. We love peace, but + the peace-lovers are just those who in war are most terrible. For who are + the backbone of war when war comes? The women of the country, my friend, + not the ministers, not the generals and the admirals. I don’t say they + make war, but when war is made they are the spirit of it, because, more + than men, they love their homes. There is not a woman in Germany who will + not send forth brother and husband and father and child, should the day + come. But it will not come from our seeking.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to Michael, his face illuminated by the red glow of the sinking + sun. + </p> + <p> + “Germany will rise as one man if she’s told to,” he said, “for that is + what her unity and her discipline mean. She is patient and peaceful, but + she is obedient.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed northwards. + </p> + <p> + “It is from there, from Prussia, from Berlin,” he said, “that the word + will come, if they who rule and govern us, and in whose hands are all + organisation and equipment, tell us that our national existence compels us + to fight. They rule. The Prussians rule; there is no doubt of that. From + Germany have come the arts, the sciences, the philosophies of the world, + and not from there. But they guard our national life. It is they who watch + by the Rhine for us, patient and awake. Should they beckon us one night, + on some peaceful August night like this, when all seems so tranquil, so + secure, we shall go. The silent beckoning finger will be obeyed from one + end of the land to the other, from Poland on the east to France on the + west.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away quickly. + </p> + <p> + “It does not bear thinking of,” he said; “and yet there are many, oh, so + many, who night and day concern themselves with nothing else. Let us be + English again, and not think of anything serious or unpleasant. Already, + as you know, I am half English; there is something to build upon. Ah, and + this is the sentimental hour, just when the sun begins to touch the + horizon line of the stale, weary old earth and turns it into rosy gold and + heals its troubles and its weariness. Schon, Schon!” + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment bareheaded to the breeze, and made a great florid + salutation to the sun, now only half-disk above the horizon. + </p> + <p> + “There! I have said my evensong,” he remarked, “like a good German, who + always and always is ridiculous to the whole world, except those who are + German also. Oh, I can see how we look to the rest of the world so well. + Beer mug in one hand, and mouth full of sausage and song, and with the + other hand, perhaps, fingering a revolver. How unreal it must seem to you, + how affected, and yet how, in truth, you miss it all. Scratch a Russian, + they say, and you find a Tartar; but scratch a German and you find two + things—a sentimentalist and a soldier. Lieber Gott! No, I will say, + Good God! I am English again, and if you scratch me you will find a golf + ball.” + </p> + <p> + He took Michael’s arm again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ve spent one day together,” he said, “and now we know something + of who we are. I put this day in the bank; it’s mine or yours or both of + ours. I won’t tell you how I’ve enjoyed it, or you will say that I have + enjoyed it because I have talked almost all the time. But since it’s the + sentimental hour I will tell you that you mistake. I have enjoyed it + because I believe I have found a friend.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Hermann Falbe had just gone back to his lodgings at the end of the Richard + Wagner Strasse late on the night of their last day at Baireuth, and + Michael, who had leaned out of his window to remind him of the hour of + their train’s departure the next morning, turned back into the room to + begin his packing. That was not an affair that would take much time, but + since, on this sweltering August night, it would certainly be a process + that involved the production of much heat, he made ready for bed first, + and went about his preparations in pyjamas. The work of dropping things + into a bag was soon over, and finding it impossible to entertain the idea + of sleep, he drew one of the stiff, plush-covered arm-chairs to the window + and slipped the rein from his thoughts, letting them gallop where they + pleased. + </p> + <p> + In all his life he had never experienced so much sheer emotion as the last + week had held for him. He had enjoyed his first taste of liberty; he had + stripped himself naked to music; he had found a friend. Any one of these + would have been sufficient to saturate him, and they had all, in the + decrees of Fate, come together. His life hitherto had been like some dry + sponge, dusty and crackling; now it was plunged in the waters of three + seas, all incomparably sweet. + </p> + <p> + He had gained his liberty, and in that process he had forgotten about + himself, the self which up till now had been so intolerable a burden. At + school, and even before, when first the age of self-consciousness dawned + upon him, he had seen himself as he believed others saw him—a queer, + awkward, ill-made boy, slow at his work, shy with his fellows, incapable + at games. Walled up in this fortress of himself, this gloomy and + forbidding fastness, he had altogether failed to find the means of access + to others, both to the normal English boys among whom his path lay, and + also to his teachers, who, not unnaturally, found him sullen and + unresponsive. There was no key among the rather limited bunches at their + command which unlocked him, nor at home had anything been found which + could fit his wards. It had been the business of school to turn out boys + of certain received types. There was the clever boy, the athletic boy, the + merely pleasant boy; these and the combinations arrived at from these + types were the output. There was no use for others. + </p> + <p> + Then had succeeded those three nightmare years in the Guards, where, with + his more mature power of observation, he had become more actively + conscious of his inability to take his place on any of the recognised + platforms. And all the time, like an owl on his solitary perch, he had + gazed out lonelily, while the other birds of day, too polite to mock him, + had merely passed him by. One such, it is true—his cousin—had + sat by him, and the poor owl’s heart had gone out to him. But even + Francis, so he saw now, had not understood. He had but accepted the fact + of him without repugnance, had been fond of him as a queer sort of kind + elder cousin. + </p> + <p> + Then there was Aunt Barbara. Aunt Barbara, Michael allowed, had understood + a good deal; she had pointed out with her unerringly humourous finger the + obstacles he had made for himself. + </p> + <p> + But could Aunt Barbara understand the rapture of living which this one + week of liberty had given him? That Michael doubted. She had only pointed + out the disabilities he made for himself. She did not know what he was + capable of in the way of happiness. But he thought, though without + self-consciousness, how delightful it would be to show himself, the new, + unshelled self, to Aunt Barbara again. + </p> + <p> + A laughing couple went tapping down the street below his window, boy and + girl, with arms and waists interlaced. They were laughing at nothing at + all, except that they were boy and girl together and it was all glorious + fun. But the sight of them gave Michael a sudden spasm of envy. With all + this enlightenment that had come to him during this last week, there had + come no gleam of what that simplest and commonest aspect of human nature + meant. He had never felt towards a girl what that round-faced German boy + felt. He was not sure, but he thought he disliked girls; they meant + nothing to him, anyhow, and the mere thought of his arm round a girl’s + waist only suggested a very embarrassing attitude. He had nothing to say + to them, and the knowledge of his inability filled him with an + uncomfortable sense of his want of normality, just as did the + consciousness of his long arms and stumpy legs. + </p> + <p> + There was a night he remembered when Francis had insisted that he should + go with him to a discreet little supper party after an evening at the + music-hall. There were just four of them—he, Francis, and two + companions—and he played the role of sour gooseberry to his cousin, + who, with the utmost gaiety, had proved himself completely equal to the + inauspicious occasion, and had drank indiscriminately out of both the + girls’ glasses, and lit cigarettes for them; and, after seeing them both + home, had looked in on Michael, and gone into fits of laughter at his + general incompatibility. + </p> + <p> + The steps and conversation passed round the corner, and Michael, + stretching his bare toes on to the cool balcony, resumed his researches—those + joyful, unegoistic researches into himself. His liberty was bound up with + his music; the first gave the key to the second. Often as he had rested, + so to speak, in oases of music in London, they were but a pause from the + desert of his uncongenial life into the desert again. But now the desert + was vanished, and the oasis stretched illimitable to the horizon in front + of him. That was where, for the future, his life was to be passed, not + idly, sitting under trees, but in the eager pursuit of its unnumbered + paths. It was that aspect of it which, as he knew so well, his father, for + instance, would never be able to understand. To Lord Ashbridge’s mind, + music was vaguely connected with white waistcoats and opera glasses and + large pink carnations; he was congenitally incapable of viewing it in any + other light than a diversion, something that took place between nine and + eleven o’clock in the evening, and in smaller quantities at church on + Sunday morning. He would undoubtedly have said that Handel’s Messiah was + the noblest example of music in the world, because of its subject; music + did not exist for him as a separate, definite and infinite factor of life; + and since it did not so exist for himself, he could not imagine it + existing for anybody else. That Michael correctly knew to be his father’s + general demeanour towards life; he wanted everybody in their respective + spheres to be like what he was in his. They must take their part, as he + undoubtedly did, in the Creation-scheme when the British aristocracy came + into being. + </p> + <p> + A fresh factor had come into Michael’s conception of music during these + last seven days. He had become aware that Germany was music. He had + naturally known before that the vast proportion of music came from + Germany, that almost all of that which meant “music” to him was of German + origin; but that was a very different affair from the conviction now borne + in on his mind that there was not only no music apart from Germany, but + that there was no Germany apart from music. + </p> + <p> + But every moment he spent in this wayside puddle of a town (for so + Baireuth seemed to an unbiased view), he became more and more aware that + music beat in the German blood even as sport beat in the blood of his own + people. During this festival week Baireuth existed only because of that; + at other times Baireuth was probably as non-existent as any dull and minor + town in the English Midlands. But, owing to the fact of music being for + these weeks resident in Baireuth, the sordid little townlet became the + capital of the huge, patient Empire. It existed just now simply for that + reason; to-night, with the curtain of the last act of Parsifal, it had + ceased to exist again. It was not that a patriotic desire to honour one of + the national heroes in the home where he had been established by the mad + genius of a Bavarian king that moved them; it was because for the moment + that Baireuth to Germans meant Germany. From Berlin, from Dresden, from + Frankfurt, from Luxemburg, from a hundred towns those who were most + typically German, whether high or low, rich or poor, made their joyous + pilgrimage. Joy and solemnity, exultation and the yearning that could + never be satisfied drew them here. And even as music was in Michael’s + heart, so Germany was there also. They were the people who understood; + they did not go to the opera as a be-diamonded interlude between a dinner + and a dance; they came to this dreadful little town, the discomforts of + which, the utter provinciality of which was transformed into the air of + the heavenly Jerusalem, as Hermann Falbe had said, because their souls + were fed here with wine and manna. He would find the same thing at Munich, + so Falbe had told him, the next week. + </p> + <p> + The loves and the tragedies of the great titanic forces that saw the + making of the world; the dreams and the deeds of the masters of Nuremberg; + above all, sacrifice and enlightenment and redemption of the soul; how, + except by music, could these be made manifest? It was the first and only + and final alchemy that could by its magic transformation give an answer to + the tremendous riddles of consciousness; that could lift you, though + tearing and making mincemeat of you, to the serenity of the Pisgah-top, + whence was seen the promised land. It, in itself, was reality; and the + door-keeper who admitted you into that enchanted realm was the spirit of + Germany. Not France, with its little, morbid shiverings, and its + meat-market called love; not Italy, with its melodious declamations and + tawdry tunes; not Russia even, with the wind of its impenetrable winters, + its sense of joys snatched from its eternal frosts gave admittance there; + but Germany, “deep, patient Germany,” that sprang from upland hamlets, and + flowed down with ever-broadening stream into the illimitable ocean. + </p> + <p> + Here, then, were two of the initiations that had come, with the swiftness + of the spate in Alpine valleys at the melting of the snow, upon Michael; + his own liberty, namely, and this new sense of music. He had groped, he + felt now, like a blind man in that direction, guided only by his instinct, + and on a sudden the scales had fallen from his eyes, and he knew that his + instinct had guided him right. But not less epoch-making had been the dawn + of friendship. Throughout the week his intimacy with Hermann Falbe had + developed, shooting up like an aloe flower, and rising into sunlight above + the mists of his own self-occupied shyness, which had so darkly beset him + all life long. He had given the best that he knew of himself to his + cousin, but all the time there had never quite been absent from his mind + his sense of inferiority, a sort of aching wonder why he could not be more + like Francis, more careless, more capable of enjoyment, more of a normal + type. But with Falbe he was able for the first time to forget himself + altogether; he had met a man who did not recall him to himself, but took + him clean out of that tedious dwelling which he knew so well and, indeed, + disliked so much. He was rid for the first time of his morbid + self-consciousness; his anchor had been taken up from its dragging in the + sand, and he rode free, buoyed on waters and taken by tides. It did not + occur to him to wonder whether Falbe thought him uncouth and awkward; it + did not occur to him to try to be pleasant, a job over which poor Michael + had so often found himself dishearteningly incapable; he let himself be + himself in the consciousness that this was sufficient. + </p> + <p> + They had spent the morning together before this second performance of + Parsifal that closed their series, in the woods above the theatre, and + Michael, no longer blurting out his speeches, but speaking in the quiet, + orderly manner in which he thought, discussed his plans. + </p> + <p> + “I shall come back to London with you after Munich,” he said, “and settle + down to study. I do know a certain amount about harmony already; I have + been mugging it up for the last three years. But I must do something as + well as learn something, and, as I told you, I’m going to take up the + piano seriously.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe was not attending particularly. + </p> + <p> + “A fine instrument, the piano,” he remarked. “There is certainly something + to be done with a piano, if you know how to do it. I can strum a bit + myself. Some keys are harder than others—the black notes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; what of the black notes?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! they’re black. The rest are white. I beg your pardon!” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “When you have finished drivelling,” he said, “you might let me know.” + </p> + <p> + “I have finished drivelling, Michael. I was thinking about something + else.” + </p> + <p> + “Not really?” + </p> + <p> + “Really.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was impolite of you, but you haven’t any manners. I was talking + about my career. I want to do something, and these large hands are really + rather nimble. But I must be taught. The question is whether you will + teach me.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you,” he said, “till I have heard you play. It’s like this: + I can’t teach you to play unless you know how, and I can’t tell if you + know how until I have heard you. If you have got that particular sort of + temperament that can put itself into the notes out of the ends of your + fingers, I can teach you, and I will. But if you haven’t, I shall feel + bound to advise you to try the Jew’s harp, and see if you can get it out + of your teeth. I’m not mocking you; I fancy you know that. But some + people, however keenly and rightly they feel, cannot bring their feelings + out through their fingers. Others can; it is a special gift. If you + haven’t got it, I can’t teach you anything, and there is no use in wasting + your time and mine. You can teach yourself to be frightfully nimble with + your fingers, and all the people who don’t know will say: ‘How divinely + Lord Comber plays! That sweet thing; is it Brahms or Mendelssohn?’ But I + can’t really help you towards that; you can do that for yourself. But if + you’ve got the other, I can and will teach you all that you really know + already.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just the devil with the piano,” said Falbe. “It’s the easiest + instrument of all to make a show on, and it is the rarest sort of person + who can play on it. That’s why, all those years, I have hated giving + lessons. If one has to, as I have had to, one must take any awful miss + with a pigtail, and make a sham pianist of her. One can always do that. + But it would be waste of time for you and me; you wouldn’t want to be made + a sham pianist, and simply I wouldn’t make you one.” + </p> + <p> + Michael turned round. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he said, “the suspense is worse than I can bear. Isn’t there + a piano in your room? Can’t we go down there, and have it over?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you wish. I can tell at once if you are capable of playing—at + least, whether I think you are capable of playing—whether I can + teach you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I haven’t touched a piano for a week,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter whether you’ve touched a piano for a year.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had not been prevented by the economy that made him travel + second-class from engaging a carriage by the day at Baireuth, since that + clearly was worth while, and they found it waiting for them by the + theatre. There was still time to drive to Falbe’s lodging and get through + this crucial ordeal before the opera, and they went straight there. A very + venerable instrument, which Falbe had not yet opened, stood against the + wall, and he struck a few notes on it. + </p> + <p> + “Completely out of tune,” he said; “but that doesn’t matter. Now then!” + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to play?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down at the far end of the room, put his long legs up on to another + chair and waited. Michael sent a despairing glance at that gay face, + suddenly grown grim, and took his seat. He felt a paralysing conviction + that Falbe’s judgment, whatever that might turn out to be, would be right, + and the knowledge turned his fingers stiff. From the few notes that Falbe + had struck he guessed on what sort of instrument his ordeal was to take + place, and yet he knew that Falbe himself would have been able to convey + to him the sense that he could play, though the piano was all out of tune, + and there might be dumb, disconcerting notes in it. There was justice in + Falbe’s dictum about the temperament that lay behind the player, which + would assert itself through any faultiness of instrument, and through, so + he suspected, any faultiness of execution. + </p> + <p> + He struck a chord, and heard it jangle dissonantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s not fair,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Get on!” said Falbe. + </p> + <p> + In spite of Germany there occurred to Michael a Chopin prelude, at which + he had worked a little during the last two months in London. The notes he + knew perfectly; he had believed also that he had found a certain + conception of it as a whole, so that he could make something coherent out + of it, not merely adding bar to correct bar. And he began the soft + repetition of chord-quavers with which it opened. + </p> + <p> + Then after stumbling wretchedly through two lines of it, he suddenly + forgot himself and Falbe, and the squealing unresponsive notes. He heard + them no more, absorbed in the knowledge of what he meant by them, of the + mood which they produced in him. His great, ungainly hands had all the + gentleness and self-control that strength gives, and the finger-filling + chords were as light and as fine as the settling of some poised bird on a + bough. In the last few lines of the prelude a deep bass note had to be + struck at the beginning of each bar; this Michael found was completely + dumb, but so clear and vivid was the effect of it in his mind that he + scarcely noticed that it returned no answer to his finger. . . . At the + end he sat without moving, his hands dropped on to his knees. + </p> + <p> + Falbe got up and, coming over to the piano, struck the bass note himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew it was dumb,” he said, “but you made me think it wasn’t. . . + . You got quite a good tone out of it.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, again striking the dumb note, as if to make sure that + it was soundless. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’ll teach you,” he said. “All the technique you have got, you know, + is wrong from beginning to end, and you mustn’t mind unlearning all that. + But you’ve got the thing that matters.” + </p> + <p> + All this stewed and seethed in Michael’s mind as he sat that night by the + window looking out on to the silent and empty street. His thoughts flowed + without check or guide from his will, wandering wherever their course + happened to take them, now lingering, like the water of a river in some + deep, still pool, when he thought of the friendship that had come into his + life, now excitedly plunging down the foam of swift-flowing rapids in the + exhilaration of his newly-found liberty, now proceeding with steady + current at the thought of the weeks of unremitting industry at a beloved + task that lay in front of him. He could form no definite image out of + these which should represent his ordinary day; it was all lost in a bright + haze through which its shape was but faintly discernible; but life lay in + front of him with promise, a thing to be embraced and greeted with welcome + and eager hands, instead of being a mere marsh through which he had to + plod with labouring steps, a business to be gone about without joy and + without conviction in its being worth while. + </p> + <p> + He wondered for a moment, as he rose to go to bed, what his feelings would + have been if, at the end of his performance on the sore-throated and + voiceless piano, Falbe had said: “I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything with + you.” As he knew, Falbe intended for the future only to take a few pupils, + and chiefly devote himself to his own practice with a view to emerging as + a concert-giver the next winter; and as Michael had sat down, he + remembered telling himself that there was really not the slightest chance + of his friend accepting him as a pupil. He did not intend that this + rejection should make the smallest difference to his aim, but he knew that + he would start his work under the tremendous handicap of Falbe not + believing that he had it in him to play, and under the disappointment of + not enjoying the added intimacy which work with and for Falbe would give + him. Then he had engaged in this tussle with refractory notes till he + quite lost himself in what he was playing, and thought no more either of + Falbe or the piano, but only of what the melody meant to him. But at the + end, when he came to himself again, and sat with dropped hands waiting for + Falbe’s verdict, he remembered how his heart seemed to hang poised until + it came. He had rehearsed again to himself his fixed determination that he + would play and could play, whatever his friend might think about it; but + there was no doubt that he waited with a greater suspense than he had ever + known in his life before for that verdict to be made known to him. + </p> + <p> + Next day came their journey to Munich, and the installation in the best + hotel in Europe. Here Michael was host, and the economy which he practised + when he had only himself to provide for, and which made him go + second-class when travelling, was, as usual, completely abandoned now that + the pleasure of hospitality was his. He engaged at once the best double + suite of rooms that the hotel contained, two bedrooms with bathrooms, and + an admirable sitting-room, looking spaciously out on to the square, and + with brusque decision silenced Falbe’s attempted remonstrance. “Don’t + interfere with my show, please,” he had said, and proceeded to inquire + about a piano to be sent in for the week. Then he turned to his friend + again. “Oh, we are going to enjoy ourselves,” he said, with an + irresistible sincerity. + </p> + <p> + Tristan und Isolde was given on the third day of their stay there, and + Falbe, reading the morning German paper, found news. + </p> + <p> + “The Kaiser has arrived,” he said. “There’s a truce in the army manoeuvres + for a couple of days, and he has come to be present at Tristan this + evening. He’s travelled three hundred miles to get here, and will go back + to-morrow. The Reise-Kaiser, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked up with some slight anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Ought I to write my name or anything?” he asked. “He has stayed several + times with my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he? But I don’t suppose it matters. The visit is a widely-advertised + incognito. That’s his way. God be with the All-highest,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shan’t” said Michael. “But it would shock my father dreadfully if + he knew. The Kaiser looks on him as the type and model of the English + nobleman.” + </p> + <p> + Michael crunched one of the inimitable breakfast rusks in his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, what a day we had when he was at Ashbridge last year,” he said. “We + began at eight with a review of the Suffolk Yeomanry; then we had a + pheasant shoot from eleven till three; then the Emperor had out a steam + launch and careered up and down the river till six, asking a thousand + questions about the tides and the currents and the navigable channels. + Then he lectured us on the family portraits till dinner; after dinner + there was a concert, at which he conducted the ‘Song to Aegir,’ and then + there was a torch-light fandango by the tenants on the lawn. He was on his + holiday, you must remember.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard the ‘Song to Aegir’ once,” remarked Falbe, with a perfectly level + intonation. + </p> + <p> + “I was—er—luckier,” said Michael politely, “because on that + occasion I heard it twice. It was encored.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did it sound like the second time?” asked Falbe. + </p> + <p> + “Much as before,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + The advent of the Emperor had put the whole town in a ferment. Though the + visit was quite incognito, an enormous military staff which had been + poured into the town might have led the thoughtful to suspect the Kaiser’s + presence, even if it had not been announced in the largest type in the + papers, and marchings and counter-marchings of troops and sudden bursts of + national airs proclaimed the august presence. He held an informal review + of certain Bavarian troops not out for manoeuvres in the morning, visited + the sculpture gallery and pinacothek in the afternoon, and when Hermann + and Michael went up to the theatre they found rows of soldiers drawn up, + and inside unusual decorations over a section of stalls which had been + removed and was converted into an enormous box. This was in the centre of + the first tier, nearly at right angles to where they sat, in the front row + of the same tier; and when, with military punctuality, the procession of + uniforms, headed by the Emperor, filed in, the whole of the crowded house + stood up and broke into a roar of recognition and loyalty. + </p> + <p> + For a minute, or perhaps more, the Emperor stood facing the house with his + hand raised in salute, a figure the uprightness of which made him look + tall. His brilliant uniform was ablaze with decorations; he seemed every + inch a soldier and a leader of men. For that minute he stood looking + neither to the right nor left, stern and almost frowning, with no shadow + of a smile playing on the tightly-drawn lips, above which his moustache + was brushed upwards in two stiff protuberances towards his eyes. He was + there just then not to see, but to be seen, his incognito was momentarily + in abeyance, and he stood forth the supreme head of his people, the + All-highest War Lord, who had come that day from the field, to which he + would return across half Germany tomorrow. It was an impressive and + dignified moment, and Michael heard Falbe say to himself: “Kaiserlich! + Kaiserlich!” + </p> + <p> + Then it was over. The Emperor sat down, beckoned to two of his officers, + who had stood in a group far at the back of the box, to join him, and with + one on each side he looked about the house and chatted to them. He had + taken out his opera-glass, which he adjusted, using his right hand only, + and looked this way and that, as if, incognito again, he was looking for + friends in the house. Once Michael thought that he looked rather long and + fixedly in his direction, and then, putting down his glass, he said + something to one of the officers, this time clearly pointing towards + Michael. Then he gave some signal, just raising his hand towards the + orchestra, and immediately the lights were put down, the whole house + plunged in darkness, except where the lamps in the sunk orchestra faintly + illuminated the base of the curtain, and the first longing, unsatisfied + notes of the prelude began. + </p> + <p> + The next hour passed for Michael in one unbroken mood of absorption. The + supreme moment of knowing the music intimately and of never having seen + the opera before was his, and all that he had dreamed of or imagined as to + the possibilities of music was flooded and drowned in the thing itself. + You could not say that it was more gigantic than The Ring, more human than + the Meistersingers, more emotional than Parsifal, but it was utterly and + wholly different to anything else he had ever seen or conjectured. Falbe, + he himself, the thronged and silent theatre, the Emperor, Munich, Germany, + were all blotted out of his consciousness. He just watched, as if + discarnate, the unrolling of the decrees of Fate which were to bring so + simple and overpowering a tragedy on the two who drained the love-potion + together. And at the end he fell back in his seat, feeling thrilled and + tired, exhilarated and exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hermann,” he said, “what years I’ve wasted!” + </p> + <p> + Falbe laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve wasted more than you know yet,” he said. “Hallo!” + </p> + <p> + A very resplendent officer had come clanking down the gangway next them. + He put his heels together and bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Comber, I think?” he said in excellent English. + </p> + <p> + Michael roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “His Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to desire you to come and + speak to him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Now?” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “If you will be so good,” and he stood aside for Michael to pass up the + stairs in front of him. + </p> + <p> + In the wide corridor behind he joined him again. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to introduce myself as Count von Bergmann,” he said, “and one of + His Majesty’s aides-de-camp. The Kaiser always speaks with great pleasure + of the visits he has paid to your father, and he saw you immediately he + came into the theatre. If you will permit me, I would advise you to bow, + but not very low, respecting His Majesty’s incognito, to seat yourself as + soon as he desires it, and to remain till he gives you some speech of + dismissal. Forgive me for going in front of you here. I have to introduce + you to His Majesty’s presence.” + </p> + <p> + Michael followed him down the steps to the front of the box. + </p> + <p> + “Lord Comber, All-highest,” he said, and instantly stood back. + </p> + <p> + The Emperor rose and held out his hand, and Michael, bowing over it as he + took it, felt himself seized in the famous grip of steel, of which its + owner as well as its recipient was so conscious. + </p> + <p> + “I am much pleased to see you, Lord Comber,” said he. “I could not resist + the pleasure of a little chat with you about our beloved England. And your + excellent father, how is he?” + </p> + <p> + He indicated a chair to Michael, who, as advised, instantly took it, + though the Emperor remained a moment longer standing. + </p> + <p> + “I left him in very good health, Your Majesty,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I am glad to hear it. I desire you to convey to him my friendliest + greetings, and to your mother also. I well remember my last visit to his + house above the tidal estuary at Ashbridge, and I hope it may not be very + long before I have the opportunity to be in England again.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke in a voice that seemed rather hoarse and tired, but his manner + expressed the most courteous cordiality. His face, which had been as still + as a statue’s when he showed himself to the house, was now never in repose + for a moment. He kept turning his head, which he carried very upright, + this way and that as he spoke; now he would catch sight of someone in the + audience to whom he directed his glance, now he would peer over the edge + of the low balustrade, now look at the group of officers who stood apart + at the back of the box. + </p> + <p> + His whole demeanour suggested a nervous, highly-strung condition; the + restlessness of it was that of a man overstrained, who had lost the + capability of being tranquil. Now he frowned, now he smiled, but never for + a moment was he quiet. Then he launched a perfect hailstorm of questions + at Michael, to the answers to which (there was scarcely time for more than + a monosyllable in reply) he listened with an eager and a suspicious + attention. They were concerned at first with all sorts of subjects: + inquired if Michael had been at Baireuth, what he was going to do after + the Munich festival was over, if he had English friends here. He inquired + Falbe’s name, looked at him for a moment through his glasses, and desired + to know more about him. Then, learning he was a teacher of the piano in + England, and had a sister who sang, he expressed great satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I like to see my subjects, when there is no need for their services at + home,” he said, “learning about other lands, and bringing also to other + lands the culture of the Fatherland, even as it always gives me pleasure + to see the English here, strengthening by the study of the arts the bonds + that bind our two great nations together. You English must learn to + understand us and our great mission, just as we must learn to understand + you.” + </p> + <p> + Then the questions became more specialised, and concerned the state of + things in England. He laughed over the disturbances created by the + Suffragettes, was eager to hear what politicians thought about the state + of things in Ireland, made specific inquiries about the Territorial Force, + asked about the Navy, the state of the drama in London, the coal strike + which was threatened in Yorkshire. Then suddenly he put a series of + personal questions. + </p> + <p> + “And you, you are in the Guards, I think?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; I have just resigned my commission,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Why is that? Have many of your officers been resigning?” + </p> + <p> + “I am studying music, Your Majesty,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you came to Germany to do it. Berlin? You ought to spend + a couple of months in Berlin. Perhaps you are thinking of doing so.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round quickly to one of his staff who had approached him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Count von Bergmann bowed low. + </p> + <p> + “The Herr-Director,” he said, “humbly craves to know whether it is Your + Majesty’s pleasure that the opera shall proceed.” + </p> + <p> + The Kaiser laughed. + </p> + <p> + “There, Lord Comber,” he said, “you see how I am ordered about. They wish + to cut short my conversation with you. Yes, Bergmann, we will go on. You + will remain with me, Lord Comber, for this act.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately after the lights were lowered again, the curtain rose, and a + most distracting hour began for Michael. His neighbour was never still for + a single moment. Now he would shift in his chair, now with his hand he + would beat time on the red velvet balustrade in front of him, and a stream + of whispered appreciation and criticism flowed from him. + </p> + <p> + “They are taking the opening scene a little too slow,” he said. “I shall + call the director’s attention to that. But that crescendo is well done; + yes, that is most effective. The shawl—observe the beautiful lines + into which the shawl falls as she waves it. That is wonderful—a very + impressive entry. Ah, but they should not cross the stage yet; it is more + effective if they remain longer there. Brangane sings finely; she warns + them that the doom is near.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a little giggle, which reminded Michael of his father. + </p> + <p> + “Brangane is playing gooseberry, as you say in England,” he said. “A big + gooseberry, is she not? Ah, bravo! bravo! Wunderschon! Yes, enter King + Mark from his hunting. Very fine. Say I was particularly pleased with the + entry of King Mark, Bergmann. A wonderful act! Wagner never touched + greater heights.” + </p> + <p> + At the end the Emperor rose and again held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am pleased to have seen you, Lord Comber,” he said. “Do not forget my + message to your father; and take my advice and come to Berlin in the + winter. We are always pleased to see the English in Germany.” + </p> + <p> + As Michael left the box he ran into the Herr-Director, who had been + summoned to get a few hints. + </p> + <p> + He went back to join Falbe in a state of republican irritation, which the + honour that had been done him did not at all assuage. There was an hour’s + interval before the third act, and the two drove back to their hotel to + dine there. But Michael found his friend wholly unsympathetic with his + chagrin. To him, it was quite clear, the disappointment of not having been + able to attend very closely to the second act of Tristan was negligible + compared to the cause that had occasioned it. It was possible for the + ordinary mortal to see Tristan over and over again, but to converse with + the Kaiser was a thing outside the range of the average man. And again in + this interval, as during the act itself, Michael was bombarded with + questions. What did the Kaiser say? Did he remember Ashbridge? Did Michael + twice receive the iron grip? Did the All-highest say anything about the + manoeuvres? Did he look tired, or was it only the light above his head + that made him appear so haggard? Even his opinion about the opera was of + interest. Did he express approval? + </p> + <p> + This was too much for Michael. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hermann,” he said, “we alluded very cautiously to the ‘Song to + Aegir’ this morning, and delicately remarked that you had heard it once + and I twice. How can you care what his opinion of this opera is?” + </p> + <p> + Falbe shook his handsome head, and gesticulated with his fine hands. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand,” he said. “You have just been talking to him + himself. I long to hear his every word and intonation. There is the + personality, which to us means so much, in which is summed up all Germany. + It is as if I had spoken to Rule Britannia herself. Would you not be + interested? There is no one in the world who is to his country what the + Kaiser is to us. When you told me he had stayed at Ashbridge I was + thrilled, but I was ashamed lest you should think me snobbish, which + indeed I am not. But now I am past being ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + He poured out a glass of wine and drank it with a “Hoch!” + </p> + <p> + “In his hand lies peace and war,” he said. “It is as he pleases. The + Emperor and his Chancellor can make Germany do exactly what they choose, + and if the Chancellor does not agree with the Emperor, the Emperor can + appoint one who does. That is what it comes to; that is why he is as vast + as Germany itself. The Reichstag but advises where he is concerned. Have + you no imagination, Michael? Europe lies in the hand that shook yours.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must have no imagination,” he said. “I don’t picture it even + now when you point it out.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe pointed an impressive forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “But for him,” he said, “England and Germany would have been at each + other’s throats over the business at Agadir. He held the warhounds in + leash—he, their master, who made them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he made them, anyhow,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. It is his business to be ready for any attack on the part of + those who are jealous at our power. The whole Fatherland is a sword in his + hand, which he sheathes. It would long ago have leaped from the scabbard + but for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Against whom?” asked Michael. “Who is the enemy?” + </p> + <p> + Falbe hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “There is no enemy at present,” he said, “but the enemy potentially is any + who tries to thwart our peaceful expansion.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the whole subject tasted bitter to Michael. He recalled, + instinctively, the Emperor’s great curiosity to be informed on English + topics by the ordinary Englishman with whom he had acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let’s drop it,” he said. “I really didn’t come to Munich to talk + politics, of which I know nothing whatever.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That is what I have said to you before,” he remarked. “You are the most + happy-go-lucky of the nations. Did he speak of England?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of his beloved England,” said Michael. “He was extremely cordial + about our relations.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. I like that,” said Falbe briskly. + </p> + <p> + “And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the winter,” added + Michael, sliding off on to other topics. + </p> + <p> + Falbe smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I like that less,” he said, “since that will mean you will not be in + London.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t commit myself,” said Michael, smiling back; “though I can + say ‘beloved Germany’ with equal sincerity.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe got up. + </p> + <p> + “I would wish that—that you were Kaiser of England,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “God forbid!” said Michael. “I should not have time to play the piano.” + </p> + <p> + During the next day or two Michael often found himself chipping at the + bed-rock, so to speak, of this conversation, and Falbe’s revealed attitude + towards his country and, in particular, towards its supreme head. It + seemed to him a wonderful and an enviable thing that anyone could be so + thoroughly English as Falbe certainly was in his ordinary, everyday life, + and that yet, at the back of this there should lie so profound a + patriotism towards another country, and so profound a reverence to its + ruler. In his general outlook on life, his friend appeared to be entirely + of one blood with himself, yet now on two or three occasions a chance + spark had lit up this Teutonic beacon. To Michael this mixture of + nationalities seemed to be a wonderful gift; it implied a widening of + one’s sympathies and outlook, a larger comprehension of life than was + possible to any of undiluted blood. + </p> + <p> + For himself, like most young Englishmen of his day, he was not conscious + of any tremendous sense of patriotism like this. Somewhere, deep down in + him, he supposed there might be a source, a well of English waters, which + some explosion in his nature might cause to flood him entirely, but such + an idea was purely hypothetical; he did not, in fact, look forward to such + a bouleversement as being a possible contingency. But with Falbe it was + different; quite a small cause, like the sight of the Rhine at Cologne, or + a Bavarian village at sunset, or the fact of a friend having talked with + the Emperor, was sufficient to make his innate patriotism find outlet in + impassioned speech. He wondered vaguely whether Falbe’s explanation of + this—namely, that nationally the English were prosperous, + comfortable and insouciant—was perhaps sound. It seemed that the + notion was not wholly foundationless. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + Michael had been practising all the morning of a dark November day, had + eaten a couple of sandwiches standing in front of his fire, and observed + with some secret satisfaction that the fog which had lifted for an hour + had come down on the town again in earnest, and that it was only + reasonable to dismiss the possibility of going out, and spend the + afternoon as he had spent the morning. But he permitted himself a few + minutes’ relaxation as he smoked his cigarette, and sat down by the + window, looking out, in Lucretian mood, on to the very dispiriting + conditions that prevailed in the street. + </p> + <p> + Though it was still only between one and two in the afternoon, the densest + gloom prevailed, so that it was impossible to see the outlines even of the + houses across the street, and the only evidence that he was not in some + desert spot lay in the fact of a few twinkling lights, looking incredibly + remote, from the windows opposite and the gas-lamps below. Traffic seemed + to be at a standstill; the accustomed roar from Piccadilly was dumb, and + he looked out on to a silent and vapour-swathed world. This isolation from + all his fellows and from the chances of being disturbed, it may be added, + gave him a sense of extreme satisfaction. He wanted his piano, but no + intrusive presence. He liked the sensation of being shut up in his own + industrious citadel, secure from interruption. + </p> + <p> + During the last two months and a half since his return from Munich he had + experienced greater happiness, had burned with a stronger zest for life + than during the whole of his previous existence. Not only had he been + working at that which he believed he was fitted for, and which gave him + the stimulus which, one way or another, is essential to all good work, but + he had been thrown among people who were similarly employed, with whom he + had this great common ground of kinship in ambition and aim. No more were + the days too long from being but half-filled with work with which he had + no sympathy, and diversions that gave him no pleasure; none held + sufficient hours for all that he wanted to put into it. And in this busy + atmosphere, where his own studies took so much of his time and energy, and + where everybody else was in some way similarly employed, that dismal + self-consciousness which so drearily looked on himself shuffling along + through fruitless, uncongenial days was cracking off him as the chestnut + husk cracks when the kernel within swells and ripens. + </p> + <p> + Apart from his work, the centre of his life was certainly the household of + the Falbes, where the brother and sister lived with their mother. She + turned out to be in a rather remote manner “one of us,” and had about her, + very faint and dim, like an antique lavender bag, the odour of Ashbridge. + She lived like the lilies of the field, without toiling or spinning, + either literally or with the more figurative work of the mind; indeed, she + can scarcely be said to have had any mind at all, for, as with drugs, she + had sapped it away by a practically unremitting perusal of all the fiction + that makes the average reader wonder why it was written. In fact, she + supplied the answer to that perplexing question, since it was clearly + written for her. She was not in the least excited by these tales, any more + than the human race are excited by the oxygen in the air, but she could + not live without them. She subscribed to three lending libraries, which, + by this time had probably learned her tastes, for if she ever by + ill-chance embarked on a volume which ever so faintly adumbrated the + realities of life, she instantly returned it, as she found it painful; + and, naturally, she did not wish to be pained. This did not, however, + prevent her reading those that dealt with amiable young men who fell in + love with amiable young women, and were for the moment sundered by + red-haired adventuresses or black-haired moneylenders, for those she found + not painful but powerful, and could often remember where she had got to in + them, which otherwise was not usually the case. She wore a good deal of + lace, spoke in a tired voice, and must certainly have been of the type + called “sweetly pretty” some quarter of a century ago. She drank hot water + with her meals, and continually reminded Michael of his own mother. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia and Hermann certainly did all that could be done for her; in other + words, they invariably saw that her water was hot, and her stock of novels + replenished. But when that was accomplished, there really appeared to be + little more that could be done for her. Her presence in a room counted for + about as much as a rather powerful shadow on the wall, unexplained by any + solid object which could have made it appear there. But most of the day + she spent in her own room, which was furnished exactly in accordance with + her twilight existence. There was a writing-table there, which she never + used, several low arm-chairs (one of which she was always using), by each + of which was a small table, on to which she could put the book that she + was at the moment engaged on. Lace hangings, of the sort that prevent + anybody either seeing in or out, obscured the windows; and for decoration + there were china figures on the chimney-piece, plush-rimmed plates on the + walls, and a couple of easels, draped with chiffon, on which stood + enlarged photographs of her husband and her children. + </p> + <p> + There was, it may be added, nothing in the least pathetic about her, for, + as far as could be ascertained, she had everything she wanted. In fact, + from the standpoint of commonsense, hers was the most successful + existence; for, knowing what she liked, she passed her entire life in its + accomplishment. The only thing that caused her emotion was the energy and + vitality of her two children, and even then that emotion was but a mild + surprise when she recollected how tremendous a worker and boisterous a + gourmand of life was her late husband, on the anniversary of whose death + she always sat all day without reading any novels at all, but devoted what + was left of her mind to the contemplation of nothing at all. She had + married him because, for some inscrutable reason, he insisted on it; and + she had been resigned to his death, as to everything else that had ever + happened to her. + </p> + <p> + All her life, in fact, she had been of that unchangeable, drab quality in + emotional affairs which is characteristic of advanced middle-age, when + there are no great joys or sorrows to look back on, and no expectation for + the future. She had always had something of the indestructible quality of + frail things like thistledown or cottonwool; violence and explosion that + would blow strong and distinct organisms to atoms only puffed her a yard + or two away where she alighted again without shock, instead of injuring or + annihilating her. . . . Yet, in the inexplicable ways of love, Sylvia and + her brother not only did what could be done for her, but regarded her with + the tenderest affection. What that love lived on, what was its daily food + would be hard to guess, were it not that love lives on itself. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the house, apart from the vacuum of Mrs. Falbe’s rooms, + conducted itself, so it seemed to Michael, at the highest possible + pressure. Sylvia and her brother were both far too busy to be restless, + and if, on the one hand, Mrs. Falbe’s remote, impenetrable life was + inexplicable, not less inexplicable was the rage for living that possessed + the other two. From morning till night, and on Sundays from night till + morning, life proceeded at top speed. + </p> + <p> + As regards household arrangements, which were all in Sylvia’s hands, there + were three fixed points in the day. That is to say, that there was lunch + for Mrs. Falbe and anybody else who happened to be there at half-past one; + tea in Mrs. Falbe’s well-liked sitting-room at five, and dinner at eight. + These meals—Mrs. Falbe always breakfasted in her bedroom—were + served with quiet decorum. Apart from them, anybody who required anything + consulted the cook personally. Hermann, for instance, would have spent the + morning at his piano in the vast studio at the back of their house in + Maidstone Crescent, and not arrived at the fact that it was lunch time + till perhaps three in the afternoon. Unless then he settled to do without + lunch altogether, he must forage for himself; or Sylvia, having to sing at + a concert at eight, would return famished and exultant about ten; she + would then proceed to provide herself, unless she supped elsewhere, with a + plate of eggs and bacon, or anything else that was easily accessible. It + was not from preference that these haphazard methods were adopted; but + since they only kept two servants, it was clear that a couple of women, + however willing, could not possibly cope with so irregular a commissariat + in addition to the series of fixed hours and the rest of the household + work. As it was, two splendidly efficient persons, one German, the other + English, had filled the posts of parlourmaid and cook for the last eight + years, and regarded themselves, and were regarded, as members of the + family. Lucas, the parlourmaid, indeed, from the intense interest she took + in the conversation at table, could not always resist joining in it, and + was apt to correct Hermann or his sister if she detected an inaccuracy in + their statements. “No, Miss Sylvia,” she would say, “it was on Thursday, + not Wednesday,” and then recollecting herself, would add, “Beg your + pardon, miss.” + </p> + <p> + In this milieu, as new to Michael as some suddenly discovered country, he + found himself at once plunged and treated with instant friendly intimacy. + Hermann, so he supposed, must have given him a good character, for he was + made welcome before he could have had time to make any impression for + himself, as Hermann’s friend. On the first occasion of his visiting the + house, for the purpose of his music lesson, he had stopped to lunch + afterwards, where he met Sylvia, and was in the presence of (you could + hardly call it more than that) their mother. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe had faded away in some mist-like fashion soon after, but it was + evident that he was intended to do no such thing, and they had gone into + the studio, already comrades, and Michael had chiefly listened while the + other two had violent and friendly discussions on every subject under the + sun. Then Hermann happened to sit down at the piano, and played a Chopin + etude pianissimo prestissimo with finger-tips that just made the notes to + sound and no more, and Sylvia told him that he was getting it better; and + then Sylvia sang “Who is Sylvia?” and Hermann told her that she shouldn’t + have eaten so much lunch, or shouldn’t have sung; and then, by transitions + that Michael could not recollect, they played the Hailstone Chorus out of + Israel in Egypt (or, at any rate, reproduced the spirit of it), and both + sang at the top of their voices. Then, as usually happened in the + afternoon, two or three friends dropped in, and though these were all + intimate with their hosts, Michael had no impression of being out in the + cold or among strangers. And when he left he felt as if he had been + stretching out chilly hands to the fire, and that the fire was always + burning there, ready for him to heat himself at, with its welcoming flames + and core of sincere warmth, whenever he felt so disposed. + </p> + <p> + At first he had let himself do this much less often than he would have + liked, for the shyness of years, his over-sensitive modesty at his own + want of charm and lightness, was a self-erected barrier in his way. He + was, in spite of his intimacy with Hermann, desperately afraid of being + tiresome, of checking by his presence, as he had so often felt himself do + before, the ease and high spirits of others. But by degrees this broke + down; he realised that he was now among those with whom he had that + kinship of the mind and of tastes which makes the foundation on which + friendship, and whatever friendship may ripen into, is securely built. + Never did the simplicity and sincerity of their welcome fail; the + cordiality which greeted him was always his; he felt that it was intended + that he should be at home there just as much as he cared to be. + </p> + <p> + The six working days of the week, however, were as a rule too full both + for the Falbes and for Michael to do more than have, apart from the music + lessons, flying glimpses of each other; for the day was taken up with + work, concerts and opera occurred often in the evening, and the shuttles + of London took their threads in divergent directions. But on Sunday the + house at Maidstone Crescent ceased, as Hermann said, to be a junction, and + became a temporary terminus. + </p> + <p> + “We burst from our chrysalis, in fact,” he said. “If you find it clearer + to understand this way, we burst from our chrysalis and become a + caterpillar. Do chrysalides become caterpillars! We do, anyhow. If you + come about eight you will find food; if you come later you will also find + food of a sketchier kind. People have a habit of dropping in on Sunday + evening. There’s music if anyone feels inclined to make any, and if they + don’t they are made to. Some people come early, others late, and they stop + to breakfast if they wish. It’s a gaudeamus, you know, a jolly, a + jamboree. One has to relax sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt all his old unfitness for dreadful crowds return to him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m so bad at that sort of thing,” he said. “I am a frightful + kill-joy, Hermann.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann sat down on the treble part of his piano. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the most conceited thing I’ve heard you say yet,” he remarked. + “Nobody will pay any attention to you; you won’t kill anybody’s joy. Also + it’s rather rude of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t mean to be rude,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Then we must suppose you were rude by accident. That is the worst sort of + rudeness.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry; I’ll come,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right. You might even find yourself enjoying it by accident, you + know. If you don’t, you can go away. There’s music; Sylvia sings quite + seriously sometimes, and other people sing or bring violins, and those who + don’t like it, talk—and then we get less serious. Have a try, + Michael. See if you can’t be less serious, too.” + </p> + <p> + Michael slipped despairingly from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “If only I knew how!” he said. “I believe my nurse never taught me to + play, only to remember that I was a little gentleman. All the same, when I + am with you, or with my cousin Francis, I can manage it to a certain + extent.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe looked at him encouragingly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re getting on,” he said. “You take yourself more for granted than + you used to. I remember you when you used to be polite on purpose. It’s + doing things on purpose that makes one serious. If you ever play the fool + on purpose, you instantly cease playing the fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that it?” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course. So come on Sunday, and forget all about it, except + coming. And now, do you mind going away? I want to put in a couple of + hours before lunch. You know what to practise till Tuesday, don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + That was the first Sunday evening that Michael had spent with his friends; + after that, up till this present date in November, he had not missed a + single one of those gatherings. They consisted almost entirely of men, and + of the men there were many types, and many ages. Actors and artists, + musicians and authors were indiscriminately mingled; it was the strangest + conglomeration of diverse interests. But one interest, so it seemed to + Michael, bound them all together; they were all doing in their different + lives the things they most delighted in doing. There was the key that + unlocked all the locks—namely, the enjoyment that inspired their + work. The freemasonry of art and the freemasonry of the eager mind that + looks out without verdict, but with only expectation and delight in + experiment, passed like an open secret among them, secret because none + spoke of it, open because it was so transparently obvious. And since this + was so, every member of that heterogeneous community had a respect for his + companions; the fact that they were there together showed that they had + all passed this initiation, and knew what for them life meant. + </p> + <p> + Very soon after dinner all sitting accommodation, other than the floor, + was occupied; but then the floor held the later comers, and the smoke from + many cigarettes and the babble of many voices made a constantly-ascending + incense before the altar dedicated to the gods that inspire all enjoyable + endeavour. Then Sylvia sang, and both those who cared to hear exquisite + singing and those who did not were alike silent, for this was a prayer to + the gods they all worshipped; and Falbe played, and there was a quartet of + strings. + </p> + <p> + After that less serious affairs held the rooms; an eminent actor was + pleased to parody another eminent actor who was also present. This led to + a scene in which each caricatured the other, and a French poet did + gymnastic feats on the floor and upset a tray of soda-water, and a German + conductor fluffed out his hair and died like Marguerite. And when in the + earlier hours of the morning part of the guests had gone away, and part + were broiling ham in the kitchen, Sylvia sang again, quite seriously, and + Michael, in Hermann’s absence, volunteered to play her accompaniment for + her. She stood behind him, and by a finger on his shoulder directed him in + the way she would have him go. Michael found himself suddenly and + inexplicably understanding this; her finger, by its pressure or its light + tapping, seemed to him to speak in a language that he found himself + familiar with, and he slowed down stroking the notes, or quickened with + staccato touch, as she wordlessly directed him. + </p> + <p> + Out of all these things, which were but trivialities, pleasant, unthinking + hours for all else concerned, several points stood out for Michael, points + new and illuminating. The first was the simplicity of it all, the + spontaneousness with which pleasure was born if only you took off your + clothes, so to speak, and left them on the bank while you jumped in. All + his life he had buttoned his jacket and crammed his hat on to his head. + The second was the sense, indefinable but certain, that Hermann and Sylvia + between them were the high priests of this memorable orgie. + </p> + <p> + He himself had met, at dreadful, solemn evenings when Lady Ashbridge and + his father stood at the head of the stairs, the two eminent actors who had + romped to-night, and found them exceedingly stately personages, just as no + doubt they had found him an icy and awkward young man. But they, like him, + had taken their note on those different occasions from their environment. + Perhaps if his father and mother came here . . . but Michael’s imagination + quailed before such a supposition. + </p> + <p> + The third point, which gradually through these weeks began to haunt him + more and more, was the personality of Sylvia. He had never come across a + girl who in the least resembled her, probably because he had not attempted + even to find in a girl, or to display in himself, the signals, winked + across from one to the other, of human companionship. Always he had found + a difficulty in talking to a girl, because he had, in his + self-consciousness, thought about what he should say. There had been the + cabalistic question of sex ever in front of him, a thing that troubled and + deterred him. But Sylvia, with her hand on his shoulder, absorbed in her + singing, and directing him only as she would have pressed the pedal of the + piano if she had been playing to herself, was no more agitating than if + she had been a man; she was just singing, just using him to help her + singing. And even while Michael registered to himself this charming + annihilation of sex, which allowed her to be to him no more than her + brother was—less, in fact, but on the same plane—she had come + to the end of her song, patted him on the back, as she would have patted + anybody else, with a word of thanks, and, for him, suddenly leaped into + significance. It was not only a singer who had sung, but an individual one + called Sylvia Falbe. She took her place, at present a most inconspicuous + one, on the back-cloth before which Michael’s life was acted, towards + which, when no action, so to speak, was taking place, his eyes naturally + turned themselves. His father and mother were there, Francis also and Aunt + Barbara, and of course, larger than the rest, Hermann. Now Sylvia was + discernible, and, as the days went by and their meetings multiplied, she + became bigger, walked into a nearer perspective. It did not occur to + Michael, rightly, to imagine himself at all in love with her, for he was + not. Only she had asserted herself on his consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Not yet had she begun to trouble him, and there was no sign, either + external or intimate, in his mind that he was sickening with the splendid + malady. Indeed, the significance she held for him was rather that, though + she was a girl, she presented none of the embarrassments which that sex + had always held for him. She grew in comradeship; he found himself as much + at ease with her as with her brother, and her charm was just that which + had so quickly and strongly attracted Michael to Hermann. She was vivid in + the same way as he was; she had the same warm, welcoming kindliness—the + same complete absence of pose. You knew where you were with her, and + hitherto, when Michael was with one of the young ladies brought down to + Ashbridge to be looked at, he only wished that wherever he was he was + somewhere else. But with Sylvia he had none of this self-consciousness; + she was bonne camarade for him in exactly the same way as she was bonne + camarade to the rest of the multitude which thronged the Sunday evenings, + perfectly at ease with them, as they with her, in relationship entirely + unsentimental. + </p> + <p> + But through these weeks, up to this foggy November afternoon, Michael’s + most conscious preoccupation was his music. Falbe’s principles in teaching + were entirely heretical according to the traditional school; he gave + Michael no scale to play, no dismal finger-exercise to fill the hours. + </p> + <p> + “What is the good of them?” he asked. “They can only give you nimbleness + and strength. Well, you shall acquire your nimbleness and strength by + playing what is worth playing. Take good music, take Chopin or Bach or + Beethoven, and practise one particular etude or fugue or sonata; you may + choose anything you like, and learn your nimbleness and strength that way. + Read, too; read for a couple of hours every day. The written language of + music must become so familiar to you that it is to you precisely what a + book or a newspaper is, so that whether you read it aloud—which is + playing—or sit in your arm-chair with your feet on the fender, + reading it not aloud on the piano, but to yourself, it conveys its + definite meaning to you. At your lessons you will have to read aloud to + me. But when you are reading to yourself, never pass over a bar that you + don’t understand. It has got to sound in your head, just as the words you + read in a printed book really sound in your head if you read carefully and + listen for them. You know exactly what they would be like if you said them + aloud. Can you read, by the way? Have a try.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe got down a volume of Bach and opened it at random. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “begin at the top of the page.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can’t,” said Michael. “I shall have to spell it out.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just what you mustn’t do. Go ahead, and don’t pause till you get + to the bottom of the page. Count; start each bar when it comes to its + turn, and play as many notes as you can in it.” + </p> + <p> + This was a dismal experience. Michael hitherto had gone on the painstaking + and thorough plan of spelling out his notes with laborious care. Now + Falbe’s inexorable voice counted for him, until it was lost in + inextinguishable laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, go on!” he shouted. “I thought it was Bach, and it is clearly + Strauss’s Don Quixote.” + </p> + <p> + Michael, flushed and determined, with grave, set mouth, ploughed his way + through amazing dissonances, and at the end joined Falbe’s laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear,” he said. “Very funny. But don’t laugh so at me, Hermann.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe dried his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And what was it?” he said. “I declare it was the fourth fugue. An + entirely different conception of it! A thoroughly original view! Now, what + you’ve got to do, is to repeat that—not the same murder I mean, but + other murders—for a couple of hours a day. . . . By degrees—you + won’t believe it—you will find you are not murdering any longer, but + only mortally wounding. After six months I dare say you won’t even be + hurting your victims. All the same, you can begin with less muscular + ones.” + </p> + <p> + In this way Michael’s musical horizons were infinitely extended. Not only + did this system of Falbe’s of flying at new music, and going recklessly + and regardlessly on, give quickness to his brain and finger, make his wits + alert to pick up the new language he was learning, but it gloriously + extended his vision and his range of country. He ran joyfully, though with + a thousand falls and tumbles, through these new and wonderful vistas; he + worshipped at the grave, Gothic sanctuaries of Beethoven, he roamed + through the enchanted garden of Chopin, he felt the icy and eternal frosts + of Russia, and saw in the northern sky the great auroras spread themselves + in spear and sword of fire; he listened to the wisdom of Brahms, and + passed through the noble and smiling country of Bach. All this, so to + speak, was holiday travel, and between his journeys he applied himself + with the same eager industry to the learning of his art, so that he might + reproduce for himself and others true pictures of the scenes through which + he scampered. Here Falbe was not so easily moved to laughter; he was as + severe with Michael as he was with himself, when it was the question of + learning some piece with a view to really playing it. There was no + light-hearted hurrying on through blurred runs and false notes, slurred + phrases and incomplete chords. Among these pieces which had to be properly + learned was the 17th Prelude of Chopin, on hearing which at Baireuth on + the tuneless and catarrhed piano Falbe had agreed to take Michael as a + pupil. But when it was played again on Falbe’s great Steinway, as a + professed performance, a very different standard was required. + </p> + <p> + Falbe stopped him at the end of the first two lines. + </p> + <p> + “This won’t do, Michael,” he said. “You played it before for me to see + whether you could play. You can. But it won’t do to sketch it. Every note + has got to be there; Chopin didn’t write them by accident. He knew quite + well what he was about. Begin again, please.” + </p> + <p> + This time Michael got not quite so far, when he was stopped again. He was + playing without notes, and Falbe got up from his chair where he had the + book open, and put it on the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Do you find difficulty in memorising?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + This was discouraging; Michael believed that he remembered easily; he also + believed that he had long known this by heart. + </p> + <p> + “No; I thought I knew it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Try again.” + </p> + <p> + This time Falbe stood by him, and suddenly put his finger down into the + middle of Michael’s hands, striking a note. + </p> + <p> + “You left out that F sharp,” he said. “Go on. . . . Now you are leaving + out that E natural. Try to get it better by Thursday, and remember this, + that playing, and all that differentiates playing from strumming, only + begins when you can play all the notes that are put down for you to play + without fail. You’re beginning at the wrong end; you have admirable + feeling about that prelude, but you needn’t think about feeling till + you’ve got all the notes at your fingers’ ends. Then and not till then, + you may begin to remember that you want to be a pianist. Now, what’s the + next thing?” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt somewhat squashed and discouraged. He had thought he had + really worked successfully at the thing he knew so well by sight. His + heavy eyebrows drew together. + </p> + <p> + “You told me to harmonise that Christmas carol,” he remarked, rather + shortly. + </p> + <p> + Falbe put his hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Michael,” he said, “you’re vexed with me. Now, there’s nothing + to be vexed at. You know quite well you were leaving out lots of notes + from those jolly fat chords, and that you weren’t playing cleanly. Now I’m + taking you seriously, and I won’t have from you anything but the best you + can do. You’re not doing your best when you don’t even play what is + written. You can’t begin to work at this till you do that.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had a moment’s severe tussle with his temper. He felt vexed and + disappointed that Hermann should have sent him back like a schoolboy with + his exercise torn over. Not immediately did he confess to himself that he + was completely in the wrong. + </p> + <p> + “I’m doing the best I can,” he said. “It’s rather discouraging.” + </p> + <p> + He moved his big shoulders slightly, as if to indicate that Hermann’s hand + was not wanted there. Hermann kept it there. + </p> + <p> + “It might be discouraging,” he said, “if you were doing your best.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s ill-temper oozed from him. + </p> + <p> + “I’m wrong,” he said, turning round with the smile that made his ugly face + so pleasant. “And I’m sorry both that I have been slack and that I’ve been + sulky. Will that do?” + </p> + <p> + Falbe laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Very well indeed,” he said. “Now for ‘Good King Wenceslas.’ Wasn’t it—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I got awfully interested over it, Hermann. I thought I would try and + work it up into a few variations.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s hear,” said Falbe. + </p> + <p> + This was a vastly different affair. Michael had shown both ingenuity and a + great sense of harmonic beauty in the arrangement of the very simple + little tune that Falbe had made him exercise his ear over, and the + half-dozen variations that followed showed a wonderfully mature handling. + The air which he dealt with haunted them as a sort of unseen presence. It + moved in a tiny gavotte, or looked on at a minuet measure; it wailed, yet + without being positively heard, in a little dirge of itself; it broadened + into a march, it shouted in a bravura of rapid octaves, and finally + asserted itself, heard once more, over a great scale base of bells. + </p> + <p> + Falbe, as was his habit when interested, sat absolutely still, but + receptive and alert, instead of jerking and fidgeting as he had done over + Michael’s fiasco in the Chopin prelude, and at the end he jumped up with a + certain excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what you’ve done?” he said. “You’ve done something that’s + really good. Faults? Yes, millions; but there’s a first-rate imagination + at the bottom of it. How did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + Michael flushed with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they sang themselves,” he said, “and I learned them. But will it + really do? Is there anything in it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, old boy, there’s King Wenceslas in it, and you’ve dressed him up + well. Play that last one again.” + </p> + <p> + The last one was taxing to the fingers, but Michael’s big hands banged out + the octave scale in the bass with wonderful ease, and Falbe gave a great + guffaw of pleasure at the rollicking conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “Write them all down,” he said, “and try if you can hear it singing half a + dozen more. If you can, write them down also, and give me leave to play + the lot at my concert in January.” + </p> + <p> + Michael gasped. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean that?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do. It’s a fine bit of stuff.” + </p> + <p> + It was with these variations, now on the point of completion that Michael + meant to spend his solitary and rapturous evening. The spirits of the air—whatever + those melodious sprites may be—had for the last month made + themselves very audible to him, and the half-dozen further variations that + Hermann had demanded had rung all day in his head. Now, as they neared + completion, he found that they ceased their singing; their work of + dictation was done; he had to this extent expressed himself, and they + haunted him no longer. At present he had but jotted down the skeleton of + bars that could be filled in afterwards, and it gave him enormous pleasure + to see the roles reversed and himself out of his own brain, setting Falbe + his task. + </p> + <p> + But he felt much more than this. He had done something. Michael, the dumb, + awkward Michael, was somehow revealed on those eight pages of music. All + his twenty-five years he had stood wistfully inarticulate, unable, so it + had seemed to him, to show himself, to let himself out. And not till now, + when he had found this means of access, did he know how passionately he + had desired it, nor how immensely, in the process of so doing, his desire + had grown. He must find out more ways, other channels of projecting + himself. The need for that, as of a diver throwing himself into the empty + air and the laughing waters below him, suddenly took hold of him. + </p> + <p> + He took a clean sheet of music paper, into which he placed his pages, and + with a pleasurable sense of pomp wrote in the centre of it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VARIATIONS ON AN AIR. + + By + + Michael Comber. +</pre> + <p> + He paused a moment, then took up his pen again. + </p> + <p> + “Dedicated to Sylvia Falbe,” he wrote at the top. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Michael had been so engrossingly employed since his return to London in + the autumn that the existence of other ties and other people apart from + those immediately connected with his work had worn a very shadow-like + aspect. He had, it is true, written with some regularity to his mother, + finding, somewhat to his dismay, how very slight the common ground between + them was for purposes of correspondence. He could outline the facts that + he had been to several concerts, that he had seen much of his + music-master, that he had been diligent at his work, but he realised that + there was nothing in detail about those things that could possibly + interest her, and that nothing except them really interested him. She on + her side had little to say except to record the welfare of Petsy, to + remark on the beauty of October, and tell him how many shooting parties + they had had. + </p> + <p> + His correspondence with his father had been less frequent, and absolutely + one-sided, since Lord Ashbridge took no notice at all of his letters. + Michael regretted this, as showing that he was still outcast, but it + cannot be said to have come between him and the sunshine, for he had begun + to manufacture the sunshine within, that internal happiness which his + environment and way of life produced, which seemed to be independent of + all that was not directly connected with it. But a letter which he + received next morning from his mother stated, in addition to the fact that + Petsy had another of her tiresome bilious attacks (poor lamb), that his + father and she thought it right that he should come down to Ashbridge for + Christmas. It conveyed the sense that at this joyful season a truce, + probably limited in duration, and, even while it lasted, of the nature of + a strongly-armed neutrality, was proclaimed, but the prospect was not + wholly encouraging, for Lady Ashbridge added that she hoped Michael would + not “go on” vexing his father. What precisely Michael was expected to do + in order to fulfil that wish was not further stated, but he wrote + dutifully enough to say that he would come down at Christmas. + </p> + <p> + But the letter rekindled his dormant sense of there being other people in + the world beside his immediate circle; also, indefinably, it gave him the + sense that his mother wanted him. That should be so then, and sequentially + he remembered with a pang of self-reproach that he had not as much as + indicated his presence in London to Aunt Barbara, or set eyes on her since + their meeting in August. He knew she was in London, since he had seen her + name in some paragraph in the papers not long before, and instantly wrote + to ask her to dine with him at a near date. Her answer was characteristic. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I’ll dine with you, my dear,” she wrote; “it will be + delightful. And what has happened to you? Your letter actually conveyed a + sense of cordiality. You never used to be cordial. And I wish to meet some + of your nice friends. Ask one or two, please—a prima donna of some + kind and a pianist, I think. I want them weird and original—the + prima donna with short hair, and the pianist with long. In Tony’s new + station in life I never see anybody except the sort of people whom your + father likes. Are you forgiven yet, by the way?” + </p> + <p> + Michael found himself on the grin at the thought of Aunt Barbara suddenly + encountering the two magnificent Falbes (prima donna and pianist exactly + as she had desired) as representing the weird sort of people whom she + pictured his living among, and the result quite came up to his + expectations. As usual, Aunt Barbara was late, and came in talking rapidly + about the various causes that had detained her, which her fruitful + imagination had suggested to her as she dressed. In order, perhaps, to + suit herself to the circle in which she would pass the evening, she had + put on (or, rather, it looked as if her maid had thrown at her) a very + awful sort of tea-gown, brown and prickly-looking, and adapted to Bohemian + circles. She, with the same lively imagination, had pictured Michael in a + velveteen coat and soft shirt, the pianist as very small, with spectacles + and long hair, and the prima donna a full-blown kind of barmaid with Roman + pearls. . . . + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, I know I am late,” she began before she was inside the + door, “but Og had so much to say, and there was a block at Hyde Park + Corner. My dear Michael, how smart you look!” + </p> + <p> + She came round the corner of the screen and the Falbes burst upon her, + Hermann and Sylvia standing by the fire. For the short, spectacled pianist + there was this very tall, English-looking young man, upright and + soldierly, with his handsome, boyish face and well-fitting clothes. That + was bad enough, but infinitely worse was she who was to have been the + full-blown barmaid. Instead was this magnificent girl, nearly as tall as + her brother, with her small oval face crowning the column of her neck, her + eyes merry, her mouth laughing at some brotherly retort that Hermann had + just made. Aunt Barbara took her in with one second’s survey—her + face, her neck, her beautiful dress, her whole air of ease and + good-breeding, and gave a despairing glance at her own prickly tea-gown. + For the moment, amiably accustomed as she was to laugh at herself, she did + not find it humourous. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sylvia Falbe, Aunt Barbara,” said Michael with a little tremor in + his voice; “and Mr. Hermann Falbe, Lady Barbara Jerome,” he added, rather + as if he expected nobody to believe it. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara made the best of it: shook hands in her jolly manner, and + burst into laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, I could slay you,” she said; “but before I do that I must tell + your friends all about it. This horrible nephew of mine, Miss Falbe, + promised me two weird musicians, and I expected—I really can’t tell + you what I expected—but there were to be spectacles and velveteen + coats and the general air of an afternoon concert at Clapham Junction. But + it is nice to be made such a fool of. I feel precisely like an elderly and + sour governess who has been ordered to come down to dinner so that there + shan’t be thirteen. Give me your arm, Mr. Falbe, and take me in to dinner + at once, where I may drown my embarrassment in soup. Or does Michael go in + first? Go on, wretch!” + </p> + <p> + Presently they were seated at dinner, and Aunt Barbara could not help + enlarging a little on her own discomfiture. + </p> + <p> + “It is all your fault, Michael,” she said. “You have been in London all + these weeks without letting me know anything about you or your friends, or + what you were doing; so naturally I supposed you were leading some obscure + kind of existence. Instead of which I find this sort of thing. My dear, + what good soup! I shall see if I can’t induce your cook to leave you. But + bachelors always have the best of everything. Now tell me about your visit + to Germany. Which was the point where we parted—Baireuth, wasn’t it? + I would not go to Baireuth with anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “I went with Mr. Falbe,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Falbe has not asked me yet. I may have to revise what I say,” + said Aunt Barbara daringly. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t ask Michael,” said Hermann. “I got into his carriage as the + train was moving; and my luggage was left behind.” + </p> + <p> + “I was left behind,” said Sylvia, “which was worse. But I sent Hermann’s + luggage.” + </p> + <p> + “So expeditiously that it arrived the day before we left for Munich,” + remarked Hermann. + </p> + <p> + “And that’s all the gratitude I get. But in the interval you lived upon + Lord Comber.” + </p> + <p> + “I do still in the money I earn by giving him music lessons. Mike, have + you finished the Variations yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Variations—what are Variations?” asked Aunt Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, two days ago. Variations are all the things you think about on the + piano, Aunt Barbara, when you are playing a tune made by somebody else.” + </p> + <p> + “Should I like them? Will Mr. Falbe play them to me?” asked she. + </p> + <p> + “I daresay he will if he can. But I thought you loathed music.” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly depends on who makes it,” said Aunt Barbara. “I don’t like + ordinary music, because the person who made it doesn’t matter to me. But + if, so to speak, it sounds like somebody I know, it is a different + matter.” + </p> + <p> + Michael turned to Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “I want to ask your leave for something I have already done,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “And if I don’t give it you?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shan’t tell you what it is.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia looked at him with her candid friendly eyes. Her brother always + told her that she never looked at anybody except her friends; if she was + engaged in conversation with a man she did not like, she looked at his + shirt-stud or at a point slightly above his head. + </p> + <p> + “Then, of course, I give in,” she said. “I must give you leave if + otherwise I shan’t know what you have done. But it’s a mean trick. Tell me + at once.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve dedicated the Variations to you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia flushed with pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but that’s absolutely darling of you,” she said. “Have you, really? + Do you mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “If you’ll allow me.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow you? Hermann, the Variations are mine. Isn’t it too lovely?” + </p> + <p> + It was at this moment that Aunt Barbara happened to glance at Michael, and + it suddenly struck her that it was a perfectly new Michael whom she looked + at. She knew and was secretly amused at the fiasco that always attended + the introduction of amiable young ladies to Ashbridge, and had warned her + sister-in-law that Michael, when he chose the girl he wanted, would + certainly do it on his own initiative. Now she felt sure that Michael, + though he might not be aware of it himself, was, even if he had not + chosen, beginning to choose. There was that in his eyes which none of the + importations to Ashbridge had ever seen there, that eager deferential + attention, which shows that a young man is interested because it is a girl + he is talking to. That, she knew, had never been characteristic of + Michael; indeed, it would not have been far from the truth to say that the + fact that he was talking to a girl was sufficient to make his countenance + wear an expression of polite boredom. Then for a while, as dinner + progressed, she doubted the validity of her conclusion, for the Michael + who was entertaining her to-night was wholly different from the Michael + she had known and liked and pitied. She felt that she did not know this + new one yet, but she was certain that she liked him, and equally sure that + she did not pity him at all. He had found his place, he had found his + work; he evidently fitted into his life, which, after all, is the surest + ground of happiness, and it might be that it was only general joy, so to + speak, that kindled that pleasant fire in his face. And then once more she + went back to her first conclusion, for talking to Michael herself she saw, + as a woman so infallibly sees, that he gave her but the most superficial + attention—sufficient, indeed, to allow him to answer intelligently + and laugh at the proper places, but his mind was not in the least occupied + with her. If Sylvia moved his glance flickered across in her direction: it + was she who gave him his alertness. Aunt Barbara felt that she could have + told him truthfully that he was in love with her, and she rather thought + that it would be news to him; probably he did not know it yet himself. And + she wondered what his father would say when he knew it. + </p> + <p> + “And then Munich,” she said, violently recalling Michael’s attention + towards her. “Munich I could have borne better than Baireuth, and when Mr. + Falbe asks me there I shall probably go. Your Uncle Tony was in Germany + then, by the way; he went over at the invitation of the Emperor to the + manoeuvres.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? The Emperor came to Munich for a day during them. He was at the + opera,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “You didn’t speak to him, I suppose?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he sent for me, and talked a lot. In fact, he talked too much, + because I didn’t hear a note of the second act.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara became infinitely more interested. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me all about it, Michael,” she said. “What did he talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything, as far as I can remember, England, Ashbridge, armies, navies, + music. Hermann says he cast pearls before swine—” + </p> + <p> + “And his tone, his attitude?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Towards us?—towards England? Immensely friendly, and most + inquisitive. I was never asked so many questions in so short a time.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara suddenly turned to Falbe. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” she asked. “Were you with Michael?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Lady Barbara. I had no pearls.” + </p> + <p> + “And are you naturalised English?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No; I am German.” + </p> + <p> + She slid swiftly off the topic. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wonder I ask, with your talking English so perfectly?” she said. + “You should hear me talking French when we are entertaining Ambassadors + and that sort of persons. I talk it so fast that nobody can understand a + word I say. That is a defensive measure, you must observe, because even if + I talked it quite slowly they would understand just as little. But they + think it is the pace that stupefies them, and they leave me in a curious, + dazed condition. And now Miss Falbe and I are going to leave you two. Be + rather a long time, dear Michael, so that Mr. Falbe can tell you what he + thinks of me, and his sister shall tell me what she thinks of you. + Afterwards you and I will tell each other, if it is not too fearful.” + </p> + <p> + This did not express quite accurately Lady Barbara’s intentions, for she + chiefly wanted to find out what she thought of Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “And you are great friends, you three?” she said as they settled + themselves for the prolonged absence of the two men. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia smiled; she smiled, Aunt Barbara noticed, almost entirely with her + eyes, using her mouth only when it came to laughing; but her eyes smiled + quite charmingly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s always rather a rash thing to pronounce on,” she said. “I can tell + you for certain that Hermann and I are both very fond of him, but it is + presumptuous for us to say that he is equally devoted to us.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, there is no call for modesty about it,” said Barbara. “Between + you—for I imagine it is you who have done it—between you you + have made a perfectly different creature of the boy. You’ve made him + flower.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia became quite grave. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I do hope he likes us,” she said. “He is so likable himself.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara nodded + </p> + <p> + “And you’ve had the good sense to find that out,” she said. “It’s + astonishing how few people knew it. But then, as I said, Michael hadn’t + flowered. No one understood him, or was interested. Then he suddenly made + up his mind last summer what he wanted to do and be, and immediately did + and was it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he told Hermann,” said she. “His father didn’t approve, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Approve? My dear, if you knew my brother you would know that the only + things he approves of are those which Michael isn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia spread her fine hands out to the blaze, warming them and shading + her face. + </p> + <p> + “Michael always seems to us—” she began. “Ah, I called him Michael + by mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Then do it on purpose next time,” remarked Barbara. “What does Michael + seem?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but don’t let him know I called him Michael,” said Sylvia in some + horror. “There is nothing so awful as to speak of people formally to their + faces, and intimately behind their backs. But Hermann is always talking of + him as Michael.” + </p> + <p> + “And Michael always seems—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; he always seems to me to have been part of us, of Hermann and + me, for years. He’s THERE, if you know what I mean, and so few people are + there. They walk about your life, and go in and out, so to speak, but + Michael stops. I suppose it’s because he is so natural.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara had been a diplomatist long before her husband, and fearful + of appearing inquisitive about Sylvia’s impression of Michael, which she + really wanted to inquire into, instantly changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, everybody who has got definite things to do is natural,” she said. + “It is only the idle people who have leisure to look at themselves in the + glass and pose. And I feel sure that you have definite things to do and + plenty of them, my dear. What are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I sing a little,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “That is the first unnatural thing you have said. I somehow feel that you + sing a great deal.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara suddenly got up. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you are not THE Miss Falbe, are you, who drove London crazy with + delight last summer. Don’t tell me you are THE Miss Falbe?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I’m afraid I must be,” she said. “Isn’t it dreadful to have + to say that after your description?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara sat down again, in a sort of calm despair. + </p> + <p> + “If there are any more shocks coming for me to-night,” she said, “I think + I had better go home. I have encountered a perfectly new nephew Michael. I + have dressed myself like a suburban housekeeper to meet a Poiret, so don’t + deny it, and having humourously told Michael I wished to see a prima donna + and a pianist, he takes me at my word and produces THE Miss Falbe. I’m + glad I knew that in time; I should infallibly have asked you to sing, and + if you had done so—you are probably good-natured enough to have done + even that—I should have given the drawing-room gasp at the end, and + told your brother that I thought you sang very prettily.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But really it wasn’t my fault, Lady Barbara,” she said. “When we met I + couldn’t have said, ‘Beware! I am THE Miss Falbe.’” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear; but I think you ought, somehow, to have conveyed the + impression that you were a tremendous swell. You didn’t. I have been + thinking of you as a charming girl, and nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “But that’s quite good enough for me,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + The two young men joined them after this, and Hermann speedily became + engrossed in reading the finished Variations. Some of these pleased him + mightily; one he altogether demurred to. + </p> + <p> + “It’s just a crib, Mike,” he said. “The critics would say I had forgotten + it, and put in instead what I could remember of a variation out of the + Handel theme. That next one’s, oh, great fun. But I wish you would + remember that we all haven’t got great orang-outang paws like you.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara stopped in the middle of her sentence; she knew Michael’s old + sensitiveness about these physical disabilities, and she had a moment’s + cold horror at the thought of Falbe having said so miserably tactless a + thing to him. But the horror was of infinitesimal duration, for she heard + Michael’s laugh as they leaned over the top of the piano together. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had, Hermann,” he said. “I know you’ll bungle those tenths.” + </p> + <p> + Falbe moved to the piano-seat. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let’s have a shot at it,” he said. “If Lady Barbara won’t mind, play + that one through to me first, Mike.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, presently, Hermann,” he said. “It makes such an infernal row that you + can’t hear anything else afterwards. Do sing, Miss Sylvia; my aunt won’t + really mind—will you, Aunt Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + “Michael, I have just learned that this is THE Miss Falbe,” she said. “I + am suffering from shock. Do let me suffer from coals of fire, too.” + </p> + <p> + Michael gently edged Hermann away from the music-stool. Much as he enjoyed + his master’s accompaniment he was perfectly sure that he preferred, if + possible, to play for Sylvia himself than have the pleasure of listening + to anybody else. + </p> + <p> + “And may I play for you, Miss Sylvia?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, will you? Thanks, Lord Comber.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann moved away. + </p> + <p> + “And so Mr. Hermann sits down by Lady Barbara while Lord Comber plays for + Miss Sylvia,” he observed, with emphasis on the titles. + </p> + <p> + A sudden amazing boldness seized Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvia, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Michael,” answered the girl, laughing. + </p> + <p> + She came and stood on the left of the piano, slightly behind him. + </p> + <p> + “And what are we going to have?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “It must be something we both know, for I’ve brought no music,” said she. + </p> + <p> + Michael began playing the introduction to the Hugo Wolff song which he had + accompanied for her one Sunday night at their house. He knew it perfectly + by heart, but stumbled a little over the difficult syncopated time. This + was not done without purpose, for the next moment he felt her hand on his + shoulder marking it for him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Now you’ve got it.” And Michael smiled + sweetly at his own amazing ingenuity. + </p> + <p> + Hermann put down the Variations, which he still had in his hand, when + Sylvia’s voice began. Unaccustomed as she was to her accompanist, his + trained ear told him that she was singing perfectly at ease, and was + completely at home with her player. Occasionally she gave Michael some + little indication, as she had done before, but for the most part her + fingers rested immobile on his shoulder, and he seemed to understand her + perfectly. Somehow this was a surprise to him; he had not known that + Michael possessed that sort of second-sight that unerringly feels and + translates into the keys the singer’s mood. For himself he always had to + attend most closely when he was playing for his sister, but familiar as he + was with her singing, he felt that Michael divined her certainly as well + as himself, and he listened to the piano more than to the voice. + </p> + <p> + “You extraordinary creature,” he said when the song was over. “Where did + you learn to accompany?” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been surprised + when he thought himself private. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’ve played it before for Miss—I mean for Sylvia,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, awfully,” he said. “And I’m greedy. May we have one more?” + </p> + <p> + He slid into the opening bars of “Who is Sylvia?” That song, since he had + heard her sing it at her recital in the summer, had grown in significance + to him, even as she had. It had seemed part of her then, but then she was + a stranger. To-night it was even more intimately part of her, and she was + a friend. + </p> + <p> + Hermann strolled across to the fireplace at the end of this, and lit a + cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “My sister’s a blatant egoist, Lady Barbara,” he said. “She loves singing + about herself. And she lays it on pretty thick, too, doesn’t she? Now, + Sylvia, if you’ve finished—quite finished, I mean—do come and + sit down and let me try these Variations—” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we surrender, Michael?” asked the girl. “Or shall we stick to the + piano, now we’ve got it? If Hermann once sits down, you know, we shan’t + get him away for the rest of the evening. I can’t sing any more, but we + might play a duet to keep him out.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann rushed to the piano, took his sister by the shoulders, and pushed + her into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “You sit there,” he said, “and listen to something not about yourself. + Michael, if you don’t come away from that piano, I shall take Sylvia home + at once. Now you may all talk as much as you like; you won’t interrupt me + one atom—but you’ll have to talk loud in certain parts.” + </p> + <p> + Then a feat of marvellous execution began. Michael had taken an evil + pleasure in giving his master, for whom he slaved with so unwearied a + diligence, something that should tax his powers, and he gave a great crash + of laughter when for a moment Hermann was brought to a complete standstill + in an octave passage of triplets against quavers, and the performer + exultantly joined in it, as he pushed his hair back from his forehead, and + made a second attempt. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t decent to ask a fellow to read that,” he shouted. “It’s a crime; + it’s a scandal.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, nobody asked you to read it,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, you chit! Mike, come here a minute. Sit down one second and play + that. Promise to get up again, though, immediately. Just these three bars—yes, + I see. An orang-outang apparently can do it, so why not I? Am I not much + better than they? Go away, please; or, rather, stop there and turn over. + Why couldn’t you have finished the page with the last act, and started + this one fresh, instead of making this Godforsaken arrangement? Now!” + </p> + <p> + A very simple little minuet measure followed this outrageous passage, and + Hermann’s exquisite lightness of touch made it sound strangely remote, as + if from a mile away, or a hundred years ago, some graceful echo was evoked + again. Then the little dirge wept for the memories of something that had + never happened, and leaving out the number he disapproved of, as + reminiscent of the Handel theme, Hermann gathered himself up again for the + assertion of the original tune, with its bars of scale octaves. The + contagious jollity of it all seized the others, and Sylvia, with full + voice, and Aunt Barbara, in a strange hooting, sang to it. + </p> + <p> + Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his seat, + rolling up the music. + </p> + <p> + “I go straight home,” he said, “and have a peaceful hour with it. Michael, + old boy, how did you do it? You’ve been studying seriously for a few + months only, and so this must all have been in you before. And you’ve come + to the age you are without letting any of it out. I suppose that’s why it + has come with a rush. You knew it all along, while you were wasting your + time over drilling your toy soldiers. Come on, Sylvia, or I shall go + without you. Good night, Lady Barbara. Half-past ten to-morrow, Michael.” + </p> + <p> + Protest was clearly useless; and, having seen the two off, Michael came + upstairs again to Aunt Barbara, who had no intention of going away just + yet. + </p> + <p> + “And so these are the people you have been living with,” she said. “No + wonder you had not time to come and see me. Do they always go that sort of + pace—it is quicker than when I talk French.” + </p> + <p> + Michael sank into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, that’s Hermann all over,” he said. “But—but just think + what it means to me! He’s going to play my tunes at his concert. Michael + Comber, Op. 1. O Lord! O Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “And you just met him in the train?” said Aunt Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. I + didn’t much notice Sylvia then.” + </p> + <p> + This and the inference that naturally followed was as much as could be + expected, and Aunt Barbara did not appear to wait for anything more on the + subject of Sylvia. She had seen sufficient of the situation to know where + Michael was most certainly bound for. Yet the very fact of Sylvia’s + outspoken friendliness with him made her wonder a little as to what his + reception would be. She would hardly have said so plainly that she and her + brother were devoted to him if she had been devoted to him with that + secret tenderness which, in its essentials, is reticent about itself. Her + half-hour’s conversation with the girl had given her a certain insight + into her; still more had her attitude when she stood by Michael as he + played for her, and put her hand on his shoulder precisely as she would + have done if it had been another girl who was seated at the piano. Without + doubt Michael had a real existence for her, but there was no sign whatever + that she hailed it, as a girl so unmistakably does, when she sees it as + part of herself. + </p> + <p> + “More about them,” she said. “What are they? Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + He outlined for her, giving the half-English, half-German parentage, the + shadow-like mother, the Bavarian father, Sylvia’s sudden and comet-like + rising in the musical heaven, while her brother, seven years her senior, + had spent his time in earning in order to give her the chance which she + had so brilliantly taken. Now it was to be his turn, the shackles of his + drudgery no longer impeded him, and he, so Michael radiantly prophesied, + was to have his rocket-like leap to the zenith, also. + </p> + <p> + “And he’s German?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Wasn’t he rude about my being a toy soldier? But that’s the natural + German point of view, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Michael strolled to the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Hermann’s so funny,” he said. “For days and weeks together you would + think he was entirely English, and then a word slips from him like that, + which shows he is entirely German. He was like that in Munich, when the + Emperor appeared and sent for me.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara drew her chair a little nearer the fire, and sat up. + </p> + <p> + “I want to hear about that,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But I’ve told you; he was tremendously friendly in a national manner.” + </p> + <p> + “And that seemed to you real?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael considered. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that it did,” he said. “It all seemed to me rather feverish, + I think.” + </p> + <p> + “And he asked quantities of questions, I think you said.” + </p> + <p> + “Hundreds. He was just like what he was when he came to Ashbridge. He + reviewed the Yeomanry, and shot pheasants, and spent the afternoon in a + steam launch, apparently studying the deep-water channel of the river, + where it goes underneath my father’s place; and then in the evening there + was a concert.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara did not heed the concert. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean the channel up from Harwich,” she asked, “of which the + Admiralty have the secret chart?” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy they have,” said Michael. “And then after the concert there was + the torchlight procession, with the bonfire on the top of the hill.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t there. What else?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that’s all,” said Michael. “But what are you driving at, Aunt + Barbara?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I’m driving at this,” she said. “The Germans are accumulating a vast + quantity of knowledge about England. Tony, for instance, has a German + valet, and when he went down to Portsmouth the other day to see the + American ship that was there, he took him with him. And the man took a + camera and was found photographing where no photography is allowed. Did + you see anything of a camera when the Emperor came to Ashbridge?” + </p> + <p> + Michael thought. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one of his staff was clicking away all day,” he said. “He sent a lot + of them to my mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And, we may presume, kept some copies himself,” remarked Aunt Barbara + drily. “Really, for childish simplicity the English are the biggest fools + in creation.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that the Germans are a very knowledge-seeking people, and that we + gratify their desires in a very simple fashion. Do you think they are so + friendly, Michael? Do you know, for instance, what is a very common toast + in German regimental messes? They do not drink it when there are + foreigners there, but one night during the manoeuvres an officer in a mess + where Tony was dining got slightly ‘on,’ as you may say, and suddenly + drank to ‘Der Tag.’” + </p> + <p> + “That means ‘The Day,’” said Michael confidently. + </p> + <p> + “It does; and what day? The day when Germany thinks that all is ripe for a + war with us. ‘Der Tag’ will dawn suddenly from a quiet, peaceful night, + when they think we are all asleep, and when they have got all the + information they think is accessible. War, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had never in his life seen his aunt so serious, and he was amazed + at her gravity. + </p> + <p> + “There are hundreds and hundreds of their spies all over England,” she + said, “and hundreds of their agents all over America. Deep, patient + Germany, as Carlyle said. She’s as patient as God and as deep as the sea. + They are working, working, while our toy soldiers play golf. I agree with + that adorable pianist; and, what’s more, I believe they think that ‘Der + Tag’ is near to dawn. Tony says that their manoeuvres this year were like + nothing that has ever been seen before. Germany is a fighting machine + without parallel in the history of the world.” + </p> + <p> + She got up and stood with Michael near the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “And they think their opportunity is at hand,” she said, “though not for a + moment do they relax their preparations. We are their real enemy, don’t + you see? They can fight France with one hand and Russia with the other; + and in a few months’ time now they expect we shall be in the throes of an + internal revolution over this Irish business. They may be right, but there + is just the possibility that they may be astoundingly wrong. The fact of + the great foreign peril—this nightmare, this Armageddon of European + war—may be exactly that which will pull us together. But their + diplomatists, anyhow, are studying the Irish question very closely, and + German gold, without any doubt at all, is helping the Home Rule party. As + a nation we are fast asleep. I wonder what we shall be like when we wake. + Shall we find ourselves already fettered when we wake, or will there be + one moment, just one moment, in which we can spring up? At any rate, + hitherto, the English have always been at their best, not their worst, in + desperate positions. They hate exciting themselves, and refuse to do it + until the crisis is actually on them. But then they become disconcertingly + serious and cool-headed.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think the Emperor—” began Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I think the Emperor is the hardest worker in all Germany,” said Barbara. + “I believe he is trying (and admirably succeeding) to make us trust his + professions of friendship. He has a great eye for detail, too; it seemed + to him worth while to assure you even, my dear Michael, of his regard and + affection for England. He was always impressing on Tony the same thing, + though to him, of course, he said that if there was any country nearer to + his heart than England it was America. Stuff and nonsense, my dear!” + </p> + <p> + All this, though struck in a more serious key than was usual with Aunt + Barbara, was quite characteristic of her. She had the quality of mind + which when occupied with one idea is occupied with it to the exclusion of + all others; she worked at full power over anything she took up. But now + she dismissed it altogether. + </p> + <p> + “You see what a diplomatist I have become,” she said. “It is a fascinating + business: one lives in an atmosphere that is charged with secret affairs, + and it infects one like the influenza. You catch it somehow, and have a + feverish cold of your own. And I am quite useful to him. You see, I am + such a chatterbox that people think I let out things by accident, which I + never do. I let out what I want to let out on purpose, and they think they + are pumping me. I had a long conversation the other day with one of the + German Embassy, all about Irish affairs. They are hugely interested about + Irish affairs, and I just make a note of that; but they can make as many + notes as they please about what I say, and no one will be any the wiser. + In fact, they will be the foolisher. And now I suppose I had better take + myself away.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do anything of the kind,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “But I must. And if when you are down at Ashbridge at Christmas you find + strangers hanging about the deep-water reach, you might just let me know. + It’s no use telling your father, because he will certainly think they have + come to get a glimpse of him as he plays golf. But I expect you’ll be too + busy thinking about that new friend of yours, and perhaps his sister. What + did she tell me we had got to do? ‘To her garlands let us bring,’ was it + not? You and I will both send wreaths, Michael, though not for her + funeral. Now don’t be a hermit any more, but come and see me. You shall + take your garland girl into dinner, if she will come, too; and her brother + shall certainly sit next me. I am so glad you have become yourself at + last. Go on being yourself more and more, my dear: it suits you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + Some fortnight later, and not long before Michael was leaving town for his + Christmas visit to Ashbridge, Sylvia and her brother were lingering in the + big studio from which the last of their Sunday evening guests had just + departed. The usual joyous chaos consequent on those entertainments + reigned: the top of the piano was covered with the plates and glasses of + those who had made an alfresco supper (or breakfast) of fried bacon and + beer before leaving; a circle of cushions were ranged on the floor round + the fire, for it was a bitterly cold night, and since, for some reason, a + series of charades had been spontaneously generated, there was lying about + an astonishing collection of pillow-cases, rugs, and table-cloths, and + such articles of domestic and household use as could be converted into + clothes for this purpose. But the event of the evening had undoubtedly + been Hermann’s performance of the “Wenceslas Variations”; these he had now + learned, and, as he had promised Michael, was going to play them at his + concert in the Steinway Hall in January. To-night a good many musician + friends had attended the Sunday evening gathering, and there had been no + two opinions about the success of them. + </p> + <p> + “I was talking to Arthur Lagden about them,” said Falbe, naming a + prominent critic of the day, “and he would hardly believe that they were + an Opus I., or that Michael had not been studying music technically for + years instead of six months. But that’s the odd thing about Mike; he’s so + mature.” + </p> + <p> + It was not unusual for the brother and sister to sit up like this, till + any hour, after their guests had gone; and Sylvia collected a bundle of + cushions and lay full length on the floor, with her feet towards the fire. + For both of them the week was too busy on six days for them to indulge + that companionship, sometimes full of talk, sometimes consisting of those + dropped words and long silences, on which intimacy lives; and they both + enjoyed, above all hours in the week, this time that lay between the + friendly riot of Sunday evening and the starting of work again on Monday. + There was between them that bond which can scarcely exist between husband + and wife, since it almost necessarily implies the close consanguinity of + brother and sister, and postulates a certain sort of essential community + of nature, founded not on tastes, nor even on affection, but on the fact + that the same blood beats in the two. Here an intense affection, too + strong to be ever demonstrative, fortified it, and both brother and sister + talked to each other, as if they were speaking to some physically + independent piece of themselves. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia had nothing apparently to add on the subject of Michael’s maturity. + Instead she just raised her head, which was not quite high enough. + </p> + <p> + “Stuff another cushion under my head, Hermann,” she said. “Thanks; now I’m + completely comfortable, you will be relieved to hear.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann gazed at the fire in silence. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a weight off my mind,” he said. “About Michael now. He’s been + suppressed all his life, you know, and instead of being dwarfed he has + just gone on growing inside. Good Lord! I wish somebody would suppress me + for a year or two. What a lot there would be when I took the cork out + again. We dissipate too much, Sylvia, both you and I.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little grunt, which, from his knowledge of her inarticulate + expressions, he took to mean dissent. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you mean we don’t,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How much one dissipates is determined for one just as is the shape + of your nose or the colour of your eyes. By the way, I fell madly in love + with that cousin of Michael’s who came with him to-night. He’s the most + attractive creature I ever saw in my life. Of course, he’s too beautiful: + no boy ought to be as beautiful as that.” + </p> + <p> + “You flirted with him,” remarked Hermann. “Mike will probably murder him + on the way home.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia moved her feet a little farther from the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “Funny?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Instantly Falbe knew that her mind was occupied with exactly the same + question as his. + </p> + <p> + “No, not funny at all,” he said. “Quite serious. Do you want to talk about + it or not?” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little groan. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want to, but I’ve got to,” she said. “Aunt Barbara—we + became Sylvia and Aunt Barbara an hour or two ago, and she’s a dear—Aunt + Barbara has been talking to me about it already.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did Aunt Barbara say?” + </p> + <p> + “Just what you are going to,” said Sylvia; “namely, that I had better make + up my mind what I mean to say when Michael says what he means to say.” + </p> + <p> + She shifted round so as to face her brother as he stood in front of the + fire, and pulled his trouser-leg more neatly over the top of his shoe. + </p> + <p> + “But what’s to happen if I can’t make up my mind?” she said. “I needn’t + tell you how much I like Michael; I believe I like him as much as I + possibly can. But I don’t know if that is enough. Hermann, is it enough? + You ought to know. There’s no use in you unless you know about me.” + </p> + <p> + She put out her arm, and clasped his two legs in the crook of her elbow. + That expressed their attitude, what they were to each other, as absolutely + as any physical demonstration allowed. Had there not been the difference + of sex which severed them she could never have got the sense of support + that this physical contact gave her; had there not been her sisterhood to + chaperon her, so to speak, she could never have been so at ease with a + man. The two were lover-like, without the physical apexes and limitations + that physical love must always bring with it. The complement of sex that + brought them so close annihilated the very existence of sex. They loved as + only brother and sister can love, without trouble. + </p> + <p> + The closer contact of his fire-warmed trousers to the calf of his leg made + Hermann step out of her encircling arm without any question of hurting her + feelings. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t be burned,” he said. “Sorry, but I won’t be burned. It seems to + me, Sylvia, that you ought to like Michael a little more and a little + less.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s no use saying what I ought to do,” she said. “The idea of what I + ‘ought’ doesn’t come in. I like him just as much as I like him, neither + more nor less.” + </p> + <p> + He clawed some more cushions together, and sat down on the floor by her. + She raised herself a little and rested her body against his folded knees. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the trouble, Sylvia?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Just what I’ve been trying to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Be more concrete, then. You’re definite enough when you sing.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed and gave a little melancholy laugh. + </p> + <p> + “That’s just it,” she said. “People like you and me, and Michael, too, for + that matter, are most entirely ourselves when we are at our music. When + Michael plays for me I can sing my soul at him. While he and I are in + music, if you understand—and of course you do—we belong to + each other. Do you know, Hermann, he finds me when I’m singing, without + the slightest effort, and even you, as you have so often told me, have to + search and be on the lookout. And then the song is over, and, as somebody + says, ‘When the feast is finished and the lamps expire,’ then—well, + the lamps expire, and he isn’t me any longer, but Michael, with the—the + ugly face, and—oh, isn’t it horrible of me—the long arms and + the little stumpy legs—if only he was rather different in things + that don’t matter, that CAN’T matter! But—but, Hermann, if only + Michael was rather like you, and you like Michael, I should love you + exactly as much as ever, and I should love Michael, too.” + </p> + <p> + She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully tying and + untying one of Hermann’s shoelaces. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank goodness there is somebody in the world to whom I can say just + whatever I feel, and know he understands,” she said. “And I know this, too—and + follow me here, Hermann—I know that all that doesn’t really matter; + I am sure it doesn’t. I like Michael far too well to let it matter. But + there are other things which I don’t see my way through, and they are much + more real—” + </p> + <p> + She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a cigarette, + lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “There is Michael’s position,” she said. “When Michael asks me if I will + have him, as we both know he is going to do, I shall have to make + conditions. I won’t give up my career. I must go on working—in other + words, singing—whether I marry him or not. I don’t call it singing, + in my sense of the word, to sing ‘The Banks of Allan Water’ to Michael and + his father and mother at Ashbridge, any more than it is being a politician + to read the morning papers and argue about the Irish question with you. To + have a career in politics means that you must be a member of Parliament—I + daresay the House of Lords would do—and make speeches and stand the + racket. In the same way, to be a singer doesn’t mean to sing after dinner + or to go squawking anyhow in a workhouse, but it means to get up on a + platform before critical people, and if you don’t do your very best be + damned by them. If I marry Michael I must go on singing as a professional + singer, and not become an amateur—the Viscountess Comber, who sings + so charmingly. I refuse to sing charmingly; I will either sing properly or + not at all. And I couldn’t not sing. I shall have to continue being Miss + Falbe, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you insist on it,” said Hermann; “but whether you did or not, + there is nothing more certain than that Michael would.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure he would. But by so doing he would certainly quarrel + irrevocably with his people. Even Aunt Barbara, who, after all, is very + liberally minded, sees that. They can none of them, not even she, who are + born to a certain tradition imagine that there are other traditions quite + as stiff-necked. Michael, it is true, was born to one tradition, but he + has got the other, as he has shown very clearly by refusing to disobey it. + He will certainly, as you say, insist on my endorsing the resolution he + has made for himself. What it comes to is this, that I can’t marry him + without his father’s complete consent to all that I have told you. I can’t + have my career disregarded, covered up with awkward silences, alluded to + as a painful subject; and, as I say, even Aunt Barbara seemed to take it + for granted that if I became Lady Comber I should cease to be Miss Falbe. + Well, there she’s wrong, my dear; I shall continue to be Miss Falbe + whether I’m Lady Comber, or Lady Ashbridge, or the Duchess of anything you + please. And—here the difficulty really comes in—they must all + see how right I am. Difficulty, did I say? It’s more like an + impossibility.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann threw the end of his cigarette into the ashes of the dying fire. + </p> + <p> + “It’s clear, then,” he said, “you have made up your mind not to marry + him.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hermann, you fail me,” she said. “If I had made up my mind not to I + shouldn’t have kept you up an hour talking about it.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched his hands out towards the embers already coated with grey + ash. + </p> + <p> + “Then it’s like that with you,” he said, pointing. “If there is the fire + in you, it is covered up with ashes.” + </p> + <p> + She did not reply for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I think you’ve hit it there,” she said. “I believe there is the fire; + when, as I said, he plays for me I know there is. But the ashes? What are + they? And who shall disperse them for me?” + </p> + <p> + She stood up swiftly, drawing herself to her full height and stretching + her arms out. + </p> + <p> + “There’s something bigger than we know coming,” she said. “Whether it’s + storm or sunshine I have no idea. But there will be something that shall + utterly sever Michael and me or utterly unite us.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you care which it is?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I care,” said she. + </p> + <p> + He held out his hands to her, and she pulled him up to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to say, then, when he asks you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him he must wait.” + </p> + <p> + He went round the room putting out the electric lamps and opening the big + skylight in the roof. There was a curtain in front of this, which he + pulled aside, and from the frosty cloudless heavens the starshine of a + thousand constellations filtered down. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a lot to ask of any man,” he said. “If you care, you care.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you were a girl you would know exactly what I mean,” she said. + “They may know they care, but, unless they are marrying for perfectly + different reasons, they have to feel to the end of their fingers that they + care before they can say ‘Yes.’” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door for her to pass out, and they walked up the passage + together arm-in-arm. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps Michael won’t ask you,” he said, “in which case all bother + will be saved, and we shall have sat up talking till—Sylvia, did you + know it is nearly three—sat up talking for nothing!” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia considered this. + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks!” she said. + </p> + <p> + And Hermann was inclined to agree with her. + </p> + <p> + This view of the case found confirmation next day, for Michael, after his + music lesson, lingered so firmly and determinedly when the three chatted + together over the fire that in the end Hermann found nothing to do but to + leave them together. Sylvia had given him no sign as to whether she wished + him to absent himself or not, and he concluded, since she did not put an + end to things by going away herself, that she intended Michael to have his + say. + </p> + <p> + The latter rose as the door closed behind Hermann, and came and stood in + front of her. And at the moment Sylvia could notice nothing of him except + his heaviness, his plainness, all the things that she had told herself + before did not really matter. Now her sensation contradicted that; she was + conscious that the ash somehow had vastly accumulated over her fire, that + all her affection and regard for him were suddenly eclipsed. This was a + complete surprise to her; for the moment she found Michael’s presence and + his proximity to her simply distasteful. + </p> + <p> + “I thought Hermann was never going,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For a second or two she did not reply; it was clearly no use to continue + the ordinary banter of conversation, to suggest that as the room was + Hermann’s he might conceivably be conceded the right to stop there if he + chose. There was no transition possible between the affairs of every day + and the affair for which Michael had stopped to speak. She gave up all + attempt to make one; instead, she just helped him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Michael?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Then to her, at any rate, Michael’s face completely changed. There burned + in it all of a sudden the full glow of that of which she had only seen + glimpses. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His shyness, his awkwardness, had all vanished; the time had come for him + to offer to her all that he had to offer, and he did it with the charm of + perfect manliness and simplicity. + </p> + <p> + “Whether you can accept me or not,” he said, “I have just to tell you that + I am entirely yours. Is there any chance for me, Sylvia?” + </p> + <p> + He stood quite still, making no movement towards her. She, on her side, + found all her distaste of him suddenly vanished in the mere solemnity of + the occasion. His very quietness told her better than any protestations + could have done of the quality of what he offered, and that quality vastly + transcended all that she had known or guessed of him. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, Michael,” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + She came a step forward, and without any sense of embarrassment found that + she, without conscious intention, had put her hands on his shoulders. The + moment that was done she was conscious of the impulse that made her do it. + It expressed what she felt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I feel like that to you,” she said. “You’re a dear. I expect you + know how fond I am of you, and if you don’t I assure you of it now. But I + have got to give you more than that.” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked up at her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sylvia,” he said, “much more than that.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes ago only she had not liked him at all; now she liked him + immensely. + </p> + <p> + “But how, Michael?” she asked. “How can I find it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s I who have got to find it for you,” he said. “That is to say, if + you want it to be found. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him gravely, without the tremor of a smile in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What does that mean exactly?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “It is very simple. Do you want to love me?” + </p> + <p> + She did not move her hands; they still rested on his shoulders like things + at ease, like things at home. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose I want to,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And is that the most you can do for me at present?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + That reached her again; all the time the plain words, the plain face, the + quiet of him stabbed her with daggers of which he had no idea. She was + dismayed at the recollection of her talk with her brother the evening + before, of the ease and certitude with which she had laid down her + conditions, of not giving up her career, of remaining the famous Miss + Falbe, of refusing to take a dishonoured place in the sacred circle of the + Combers. Now, when she was face to face with his love, so ineloquently + expressed, so radically a part of him, she knew that there was nothing in + the world, external to him and her, that could enter into their + reckonings; but into their reckonings there had not entered the one thing + essential. She gave him sympathy, liking, friendliness, but she did not + want him with her blood. And though it was not humanly possible that she + could want him with more than that, it was not possible that she could + take him with less. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is the most I can do for you at present,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Still quite quietly he moved away from her, so that he stood free of her + hands. + </p> + <p> + “I have been constantly here all these last months,” he said. “Now that + you know what I have told you, do you want not to see me?” + </p> + <p> + That stabbed her again. + </p> + <p> + “Have I implied that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not directly. But I can easily understand its being a bore to you. I + don’t want to bore you. That would be a very stupid way of trying to make + you care for me. As I said, that is my job. I haven’t accomplished it as + yet. But I mean to. I only ask you for a hint.” + </p> + <p> + She understood her own feeling better than he. She understood at least + that she was dealing with things that were necessarily incalculable. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t give you a hint,” she said. “I can’t make any plans about it. If + you were a woman perhaps you would understand. Love is, or it isn’t. That + is all I know about it.” + </p> + <p> + But Michael persisted. + </p> + <p> + “I only know what you have taught me,” he said. “But you must know that.” + </p> + <p> + In a flash she became aware that it would be impossible for her to behave + to Michael as she had behaved to him for several months past. She could + not any longer put a hand on his shoulder, beat time with her fingers on + his arm, knowing that the physical contact meant nothing to her, and all—all + to him. The rejection of him as a lover rendered the sisterly attitude + impossible. And not only must she revise her conduct, but she must revise + the mental attitude of which it was the physical counterpart. Up till this + moment she had looked at the situation from her own side only, had felt + that no plans could be made, that the natural thing was to go on as + before, with the intimacy that she liked and the familiarity that was the + obvious expression of it. But now she began to see the question from his + side; she could not go on doing that which meant nothing particular to + her, if that insouciance meant something so very particular to him. She + realised that if she had loved him the touch of his hand, the proximity of + his face would have had significance for her, a significance that would + have been intolerable unless there was something mutual and secret between + them. It had seemed so easy, in anticipation, to tell him that he must + wait, so simple for him just—well, just to wait until she could make + up her mind. She believed, as she had told her brother, that she cared for + Michael, or as she had told him that she wanted to—the two were to + the girl’s mind identical, though expressed to each in the only terms that + were possible—but until she came face to face with the picture of + the future, that to her wore the same outline and colour as the past, she + had not known the impossibility of such a presentment. The desire of the + lover on Michael’s part rendered unthinkable the sisterly attitude on + hers. That her instinct told her, but her reason revolted against it. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we go on as we were, Michael?” she said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, of course not that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She moved a step towards him. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t think of you in any other way,” she said, as if making an appeal. + </p> + <p> + He stood absolutely unresponsive. Something within him longed that she + should advance a step more, that he should again have the touch of her + hands on his shoulders, but another instinct stronger than that made him + revoke his desire, and if she had moved again he would certainly have + fallen back before her. + </p> + <p> + “It may seem ridiculous to you,” he said, “since you do not care. But I + can’t do that. Does that seem absurd to you I? I am afraid it does; but + that is because you don’t understand. By all means let us be what they + call excellent friends. But there are certain little things which seem + nothing to you, and they mean so much to me. I can’t explain; it’s just + the brotherly relation which I can’t stand. It’s no use suggesting that we + should be as we were before—” + </p> + <p> + She understood well enough for his purposes. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Michael paused for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I think I’ll be going now,” he said. “I am off to Ashbridge in two days. + Give Hermann my love, and a jolly Christmas to you both. I’ll let you know + when I am back in town.” + </p> + <p> + She had no reply to this; she saw its justice, and acquiesced. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, then,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + He walked home from Chelsea in that utterly blank and unfeeling + consciousness which almost invariably is the sequel of any event that + brings with it a change of attitude towards life generally. Not for a + moment did he tell himself that he had been awakened from a dream, or + abandon his conviction that his dream was to be made real. The rare, quiet + determination that had made him give up his stereotyped mode of life in + the summer and take to music was still completely his, and, if anything, + it had been reinforced by Sylvia’s emphatic statement that “she wanted to + care.” Only her imagining that their old relations could go on showed him + how far she was from knowing what “to care” meant. At first without + knowing it, but with a gradually increasing keenness of consciousness, he + had become aware that this sisterly attitude of hers towards him had meant + so infinitely much, because he had taken it to be the prelude to something + more. Now he saw that it was, so to speak, a piece complete in itself. It + bore no relation to what he had imagined it would lead into. No curtain + went up when the prelude was over; the curtain remained inexorably hanging + there, not acknowledging the prelude at all. Not for a moment did he + accuse her of encouraging him to have thought so; she had but given him a + frankness of comradeship that meant to her exactly what it expressed. But + he had thought otherwise; he had imagined that it would grow towards a + culmination. All that (and here was the change that made his mind blank + and unfeeling) had to be cut away, and with it all the budding branches + that his imagination had pictured as springing from it. He could not be + comrade to her as he was to her brother—the inexorable demands of + sex forbade it. + </p> + <p> + He went briskly enough through the clean, dry streets. The frost of last + night had held throughout the morning, and the sunlight sparkled with a + rare and seasonable brightness of a traditional Christmas weather. + Hecatombs of turkeys hung in the poulterers’ windows, among sprigs of + holly, and shops were bright with children’s toys. The briskness of the + day had flushed the colour into the faces of the passengers in the street, + and the festive air of the imminent holiday was abroad. All this Michael + noticed with a sense of detachment; what had happened had caused a veil to + fall between himself and external things; it was as if he was sealed into + some glass cage, and had no contact with what passed round him. This + lasted throughout his walk, and when he let himself into his flat it was + with the same sense of alienation that he found his cousin Francis + gracefully reclining on the sofa that he had pulled up in front of the + fire. + </p> + <p> + Francis was inclined to be querulous. + </p> + <p> + “I was just wondering whether I should give you up,” he said. “The hour + that you named for lunch was half-past one. And I have almost forgotten + what your clock sounded like when it struck two.” + </p> + <p> + This also seemed to matter very little. + </p> + <p> + “Did I ask you to lunch?” he said. “I really quite forgot; I can’t even + remember doing it now.” + </p> + <p> + “But there will be lunch?” asked Francis rather anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Of course. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Michael came and stood in front of the fire, and looked with a sudden + spasm of envy on the handsome boy who lay there. If he himself had been + anything like that + </p> + <p> + —“I was distinctly chippy this morning,” remarked Francis, “and so I + didn’t so much mind waiting for lunch. I attribute it to too much beer and + bacon last night at your friend’s house. I enjoyed it—I mean the + evening, and for that matter the bacon—at the time. It really was + extremely pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + He yawned largely and openly. + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea you could frolic like that, Mike,” he said. “It was quite a + new light on your character. How did you learn to do it? It’s quite a new + accomplishment.” + </p> + <p> + Here again the veil was drawn. Was it last night only that Falbe had + played the Variations, and that they had acted charades? Francis proceeded + in bland unconsciousness. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know Germans could be so jolly,” he continued. “As a rule I + don’t like Germans. When they try to be jolly they generally only succeed + in being top-heavy. But, of course, your friend is half-English. Can’t he + play, too? And to think of your having written those ripping tunes. His + sister, too—no wonder we haven’t seen much of you, Mike, if that’s + where you’ve been spending your time. She’s rather like the new girl at + the Gaiety, but handsomer. I like big girls, don’t you? Oh, I forgot, you + don’t like girls much, anyhow. But are you learning your mistake, Mike? + You looked last night as if you were getting more sensible.” + </p> + <p> + Michael moved away impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shut it, Francis,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + Francis raised himself on his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what’s up?” he asked. “Won’t she turn a favourable eye?” + </p> + <p> + Michael wheeled round savagely. + </p> + <p> + “Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety lady,” he + remarked. + </p> + <p> + This brought Francis to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” he said. “I was only indulging in badinage until lunch was + ready.” + </p> + <p> + Michael could not make up his mind to tell his cousin what had happened; + but he was aware of having spoken more strongly than the situation, as + Francis knew of it, justified. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s have lunch, then,” he said. “We shall be better after lunch, as + one’s nurse used to say. And are you coming to Ashbridge, Francis?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I’ve been talking to Aunt Bar about it this morning. We’re both + coming; the family is going to rally round you, Mike, and defend you from + Uncle Robert. There’s sure to be some duck shooting, too, isn’t there?” + </p> + <p> + This was a considerable relief to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s ripping,” he said. “You and Aunt Barbara always make me feel + that there’s a good deal of amusement to be extracted from the world.” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure there is. Isn’t that what the world is for? Lunch and + amusement, and dinner and amusement. Aunt Bar told me she dined with you + the other night, and had a quantity of amusement as well as an excellent + dinner. She hinted—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Barbara’s always hinting,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I know. After all, everything that isn’t hints is obvious, and so there’s + nothing to say about it. Tell me more about the Falbes, Mike. Will they + let me go there again, do you think? Was I popular? Don’t tell me if I + wasn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Michael smiled at this egoism that could not help being charming. + </p> + <p> + “Would you care if you weren’t?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Very much. One naturally wants to please delightful people. And I think + they are both delightful. Especially the girl; but then she starts with + the tremendous advantage of being—of being a girl. I believe you are + in love with her, Mike, just as I am. It’s that which makes you so grumpy. + But then you never do fall in love. It’s a pity; you miss a lot of jolly + trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt a sudden overwhelming desire to make Francis stop this + maddening twaddle; also the events of the morning were beginning to take + on an air of reality, and as this grew he felt the need of sympathy of + some kind. Francis might not be able to give him anything that was of any + use, but it would do no harm to see if his cousin’s buoyant unconscious + philosophy, which made life so exciting and pleasant a thing to him, would + in any way help. Besides, he must stop this light banter, which was like + drawing plaster off a sore and unhealed wound. + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right,” he said. “I am in love with her. Furthermore, I + asked her to marry me this morning.” + </p> + <p> + This certainly had an effect. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said Francis. “And do you mean to say she refused you?” + </p> + <p> + “She didn’t accept me,” said Michael. “We—we adjourned.” + </p> + <p> + “But why on earth didn’t she take you?” asked Francis. + </p> + <p> + All Michael’s old sensitiveness, his self-consciousness of his plainness, + his awkwardness, his big hands, his short legs, came back to him. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you could see well enough if you look at me,” he said, + “without my telling you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that silly old rot,” said Francis cheerfully. “I thought you had + forgotten all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I almost had—in fact I quite had until this morning,” said Michael. + “If I had remembered it I shouldn’t have asked her.” + </p> + <p> + He corrected himself. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think that’s true,” he said. “I should have asked her, + anyhow; but I should have been prepared for her not to take me. As a + matter of fact, I wasn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Francis turned sideways to the table, throwing one leg over the other. + </p> + <p> + “That’s nonsense,” he said. “It doesn’t matter whether a man’s ugly or + not.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t as long as he is not,” remarked Michael grimly. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter much in any case. We’re all ugly compared to girls; and + why ever they should consent to marry any of us awful hairy things, + smelling of smoke and drink, is more than I can make out; but, as a matter + of fact, they do. They don’t mind what we look like; what they care about + is whether we want them. Of course, there are exceptions—” + </p> + <p> + “You see one,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t. Good Lord, you’ve only asked her once. You’ve got to make + yourself felt. You’re not intending to give up, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t give up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, just hold on. She likes you, doesn’t she?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Michael, without hesitation. “But that’s a long way from + the other thing.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s on the same road.” + </p> + <p> + Michael got up. + </p> + <p> + “It may be,” he said, “but it strikes me it’s round the corner. You can’t + even see one from the other.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly not. But you never know how near the corner really is. Go for + her, Mike, full speed ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there are hundreds of ways. I’m not sure that one of the best isn’t + to keep away for a bit. Even if she doesn’t want you just now, when you + are there, she may get to want you when you aren’t. I don’t think I should + go on the mournful Byronic plan if I were you; I don’t think it would suit + your style; you’re too heavily built to stand leaning against the + chimney-piece, gazing at her and dishevelling your hair.” + </p> + <p> + Michael could not help laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for God’s sake, don’t make a joke of it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? It isn’t a tragedy yet. It won’t be a tragedy till she marries + somebody else, or definitely says no. And until a thing is proved to be + tragic, the best way to deal with it is to treat it like a comedy which is + going to end well. It’s only the second act now, you see, when everything + gets into a mess. By the merciful decrees of Providence, you see, girls on + the whole want us as much as we want them. That’s what makes it all so + jolly.” + </p> + <p> + Michael went down next day to Ashbridge, where Aunt Barbara and Francis + were to follow the day after, and found, after the freedom and interests + of the last six months, that the pompous formal life was more intolerable + than ever. He was clearly in disgrace still, as was made quite clear to + him by his father’s icy and awful politeness when it was necessary to + speak to him, and by his utter unconsciousness of his presence when it was + not. This he had expected. Christmas had ushered in a truce in which no + guns were discharged, but remained sighted and pointed, ready to fire. + </p> + <p> + But though there was no change in his father, his mother seemed to Michael + to be curiously altered; her mind, which, as has been already noticed, was + usually in a stunned condition, seemed to have awakened like a child from + its sleep, and to have begun vaguely crying in an inarticulate discomfort. + It was true that Petsy was no more, having succumbed to a bilious attack + of unusual severity, but a second Petsy had already taken her place, and + Lady Ashbridge sat with him—it was a gentleman Petsy this time—in + her lap as before, and occasionally shed a tear or two over Petsy II. in + memory of Petsy I. But this did not seem to account for the wakening up of + her mind and emotions into this state of depression and anxiety. It was as + if all her life she had been quietly dozing in the sun, and that the place + where she sat had passed into the shade, and she had awoke cold and + shivering from a bitter wind. She had become far more talkative, and + though she had by no means abandoned her habit of upsetting any + conversation by the extreme obviousness of her remarks, she asked many + more questions, and, as Michael noticed, often repeated a question to + which she had received an answer only a few minutes before. During dinner + Michael constantly found her looking at him in a shy and eager manner, + removing her gaze when she found it was observed, and when, later, after a + silent cigarette with his father in the smoking-room, during which Lord + Ashbridge, with some ostentation, studied an Army List, Michael went to + his bedroom, he was utterly astonished, when he gave a “Come in” to a + tapping at his door, to see his mother enter. Her maid was standing behind + her holding the inevitable Petsy, and she herself hovered hesitatingly in + the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “I heard you come up, Michael,” she said, “and I wondered if it would + annoy you if I came in to have a little talk with you. But I won’t come in + if it would annoy you. I only thought I should like a little chat with + you, quietly, secure from interruptions.” + </p> + <p> + Michael instantly got up from the chair in front of his fire, in which he + had already begun to see images of Sylvia. This intrusion of his mother’s + was a thing utterly unprecedented, and somehow he at once connected its + innovation with the strange manner he had remarked already. But there was + complete cordiality in his welcome, and he wheeled up a chair for her. + </p> + <p> + “But by all means come in, mother,” he said. “I was not going to bed yet.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid. + </p> + <p> + “And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge took the dog. + </p> + <p> + “There, that is nice,” she said. “I told them to see you had a good fire + on this cold night. Has it been very cold in London?” + </p> + <p> + This question had already been asked and answered twice, now for the third + time Michael admitted the severity of the weather. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you wrap up well,” she said. “I should be sorry if you caught + cold, and so, I am sure, your father would be. I wish you could make up + your mind not to vex him any more, but go back into the Guards.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid that’s impossible, mother,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if it’s impossible there is no use in saying anything more about + it. But it vexed him very much. He is still vexed with you. I wish he was + not vexed. It is a sad thing when father and son fall out. But you do wrap + up, I hope, in the cold weather?” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt a sudden pang of anxiety and alarm. Each separate thing that + his mother said was sensible enough, but in the sum they were nonsense. + </p> + <p> + “You have been in London since September,” she went on. “That is a long + time to be in London. Tell me about your life there. Do you work hard? Not + too hard, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “No! hard enough to keep me busy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me about it all. I am afraid I have not been a very good mother to + you; I have not entered into your life enough. I want to do so now. But I + don’t think you ever wanted to confide in me. It is sad when sons don’t + confide in their mothers. But I daresay it was my fault, and now I know so + little about you.” + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment, stroking her dog’s ears, which twitched under her + touch. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are happy, Michael,” she said. “I don’t think I am so happy as + I used to be. But don’t tell your father; I feel sure he does not notice + it, and it would vex him. But I want you to be happy; you used not to be + when you were little; you were always sensitive and queer. But you do seem + happier now, and that’s a good thing.” + </p> + <p> + Here again this was all sensible, when taken in bits, but its aspect was + different when considered together. She looked at Michael anxiously a + moment, and then drew her chair closer to him, laying her thin, veined + hand, sparkling with many rings, on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn’t I who made you happier,” she said, “and that’s so dreadful. + I never made anybody happy. Your father always made himself happy, and he + liked being himself, but I suspect you haven’t liked being yourself, poor + Michael. But now that you’re living the life you chose, which vexes your + father, is it better with you?” + </p> + <p> + The shyness had gone from the gaze that he had seen her direct at him at + dinner, which fugitively fluttered away when she saw that it was observed, + and now that it was bent so unwaveringly on him he saw shining through it + what he had never seen before, namely, the mother-love which he had missed + all his life. Now, for the first time, he saw it; recognising it, as by + divination, when, with ray serene and untroubled, it burst through the + mists that seemed to hang about his mother’s mind. Before, noticing her + change of manner, her restless questions, he had been vaguely alarmed, and + as they went on the alarm had become more pronounced; but at this moment, + when there shone forth the mother-instinct which had never come out or + blossomed in her life, but had been overlaid completely with routine and + conventionality, rendering it too indolent to put forth petals, Michael + had no thought but for that which she had never given him yet, and which, + now it began to expand before him, he knew he had missed all his life. + </p> + <p> + She took up his big hand that lay on his knee and began timidly stroking + it. + </p> + <p> + “Since you have been away,” she said, “and since your father has been + vexed with you, I have begun to see how lonely you must have been. What + taught me that, I am afraid, was only that I have begun to feel lonely, + too. Nobody wants me; even Petsy, when she died, didn’t want me to be near + her, and then it began to strike me that perhaps you might want me. There + was no one else, and who should want me if my son did not? I never gave + you the chance before, God forgive me, and now perhaps it is too late. You + have learned to do without me.” + </p> + <p> + That was bitterly true; the truth of it stabbed Michael. On his side, as + he knew, he had made no effort either, or if he had they had been but + childish efforts, easily repulsed. He had not troubled about it, and if + she was to blame, the blame was his also. She had been slow to show the + mother-instinct, but he had been just as wanting in the tenderness of the + son. + </p> + <p> + He was profoundly touched by this humble timidity, by the sincerity, vague + but unquestionable, that lay behind it. + </p> + <p> + “It’s never too late, is it?” he said, bending down and kissing the thin + white hands that held his. “We are in time, after all, aren’t we?” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little shiver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t kiss my hands, Michael,” she said. “It hurts me that you should + do that. But it is sweet of you to say that I am not too late, after all. + Michael, may I just take you in my arms—may I?” + </p> + <p> + He half rose. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mother, how can you ask?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Then let me do it. No, my darling, don’t move. Just sit still as you are, + and let me just get my arms about you, and put my head on your shoulder, + and hold me close like that for a moment, so that I can realise that I am + not too late.” + </p> + <p> + She got up, and, leaning over him, held him so for a moment, pressing her + cheek close to his, and kissing him on the eyes and on the mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is nice,” she said. “It makes my loneliness fall away from me. I + am not quite alone any more. And now, if you are not tired will you let me + talk to you a little more, and learn a little more about you?” + </p> + <p> + She pulled her chair again nearer him, so that sitting there she could + clasp his arm. + </p> + <p> + “I want your happiness, dear,” she said, “but there is so little now that + I can do to secure it. I must put that into other hands. You are + twenty-five, Michael; you are old enough to get married. All Combers marry + when they are twenty-five, don’t they? Isn’t there some girl you would + like to be yours? But you must love her, you know, you must want her, you + mustn’t be able to do without her. It won’t do to marry just because you + are twenty-five.” + </p> + <p> + It would no more have entered into Michael’s head this morning to tell to + his mother about Sylvia than to have discussed counterpoint with her. But + then this morning he had not been really aware that he had a mother. But + to tell her now was not unthinkable, but inevitable. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is a girl whom I can’t do without,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge’s face lit up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, tell me about her—tell me about her,” she said. “You want her, + you can’t do without her; that is the right wife for you.” + </p> + <p> + Michael caught at his mother’s hand as it stroked his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “But she is not sure that she can do with me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Her face was not dimmed at this. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you may be sure she doesn’t know her own mind,” she said. “Girls so + often don’t. You must not be down-hearted about it. Who is she? Tell me + about her.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s the sister of my great friend, Hermann Falbe,” he said, “who + teaches me music.” + </p> + <p> + This time the gladness faded from her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, it will vex your father again,” she said, “that you should + want to marry the sister of a music-teacher. It will never do to vex him + again. Is she not a lady?” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But certainly she is,” he said. “Her father was German, her mother was a + Tracy, just as well-born as you or I.” + </p> + <p> + “How odd, then, that her brother should have taken to giving music + lessons. That does not sound good. Perhaps they are poor, and certainly + there is no disgrace in being poor. And what is her name?” + </p> + <p> + “Sylvia,” said Michael. “You have probably heard of her; she is the Miss + Falbe who made such a sensation in London last season by her singing.” + </p> + <p> + The old outlook, the old traditions were beginning to come to the surface + again in poor Lady Ashbridge’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear!” she said. “A singer! That would vex your father terribly. + Fancy the daughter of a Miss Tracy becoming a singer. And yet you want her—that + seems to me to matter most of all.” + </p> + <p> + Then came a step at the door; it opened an inch or two, and Michael heard + his father’s voice. + </p> + <p> + “Is your mother with you, Michael?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + At that Lady Ashbridge got up. For one second she clung to her son, and + then, disengaging herself, froze up like the sudden congealment of a + spring. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Robert,” she said. “I was having a little talk to Michael.” + </p> + <p> + “May I come in?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s our secret,” she whispered to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come in, father,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear,” he said, not unkindly, “it’s time for you to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + She had become the mask of herself again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Robert,” she said. “I suppose it must be late. I will come. Oh, + there’s Petsy. Will you ring, Michael? then Fedden will come and take him + to bed. He sleeps with Fedden.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + Michael, in desperate conversational efforts next morning at breakfast, + mentioned the fact that the German Emperor had engaged him in a + substantial talk at Munich, and had recommended him to pass the winter at + Berlin. It was immediately obvious that he rose in his father’s + estimation, for, though no doubt primarily the fact that Michael was his + son was the cause of this interest, it gave Michael a sort of testimonial + also to his respectability. If the Emperor had thought that his taking up + a musical career was indelibly disgraceful—as Lord Ashbridge himself + had done—he would certainly not have made himself so agreeable. On + anyone of Lord Ashbridge’s essential and deep-rooted snobbishness this + could not fail to make a certain effect; his chilly politeness to Michael + sensibly thawed; you might almost have detected a certain cordiality in + his desire to learn as much as possible of this gratifying occurrence. + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to go to Berlin?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to,” said Michael; “my master is in London.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be inclined to reconsider that, Michael,” said the father. “The + Emperor knows what he is talking about on the subject of music.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge looked up from the breakfast she was giving Petsy II. His + dietary was rather less rich than that of the defunct, and she was afraid + sometimes that his food was not nourishing enough. + </p> + <p> + “I remember the concert we had here,” she said. “We had the ‘Song to + Aegir’ twice.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge gave her a quick glance. Michael felt he would not have + noticed it the evening before. + </p> + <p> + “Your memory is very good, my dear,” he said with encouragement. + </p> + <p> + “And then we had a torchlight procession,” she remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. You remember it perfectly. And about his visit here, Michael. + Did he talk about that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very warmly; also about our international relations.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge gave a little giggle. + </p> + <p> + “I must tell Barbara that,” he said. “She has become a sort of Cassandra, + since she became a diplomatist, and sits on her tripod and prophesies + woe.” + </p> + <p> + “She asked me about it,” said Michael. “I don’t think she believes in his + sincerity.” + </p> + <p> + He giggled again. + </p> + <p> + “That’s because I didn’t ask her down for his visit,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He rose. + </p> + <p> + “And what are you going to do, my dear?” he said to his wife. + </p> + <p> + She looked across to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Michael will come for a stroll with me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt he will. I shall have a round of golf, I think, on this fine + morning. I should like to have a word with you, Michael, when you’ve + finished your breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + The moment he had gone her whole manner changed: it was suffused with the + glow that had lit her last night. + </p> + <p> + “And we shall have another talk, dear?” she said. “It was tiresome being + interrupted last night. But your father was better pleased with you this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s understanding of the situation grew clearer. Whatever was the + change in his mother, whatever, perhaps, it portended, it was certainly + accompanied by two symptoms, the one the late dawning of mother-love for + himself, the other a certain fear of her husband; for all her married life + she had been completely dominated by him, and had lived but in a twilight + of her own; now into that twilight was beginning to steal a dread of him. + His pleasure or his vexation had begun to affect her emotionally, instead + of being as before, merely recorded in her mind, as she might have + recorded an object quite exterior to herself, and seen out of the window. + Now it was in the room with her. Even as Michael left her to speak with + him, the consciousness of him rose again in her, making her face anxious. + </p> + <p> + “And you’ll try not to vex him, won’t you?” she said. + </p> + <p> + His father was in the smoking-room, standing enormously in front of the + fire, and for the first time the sense of his colossal fatuity struck + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “There are several things I want to tell you about,” he said. “Your + career, first of all. I take it that you have no intention of deferring to + my wishes on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “No, father, I am afraid not,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to understand, then, that, though I shall not speak to you + again about it, my wishes are no less strong than they were. It is + something to me to know that a man whom I respect so much as the Emperor + doesn’t feel as I do about it, but that doesn’t alter my view.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “The next is about your mother,” he said. “Do you notice any change in + her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Can you describe it at all?” + </p> + <p> + Michael hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “She shows quite a new affection for myself,” he said. “She came and + talked to me last night in a way she had never done before.” + </p> + <p> + The irritation which Michael’s mere presence produced on his father was + beginning to make itself felt. The fact that Michael was squat and + long-armed and ugly had always a side-blow to deal at Lord Ashbridge in + the reminder that he was his father. He tried to disregard this—he + tried to bring his mind into an impartial attitude, without seeing for a + moment the bitter irony of considering impartiality the ideal quality when + dealing with his son. He tried to be fair, and Michael was perfectly + conscious of the effort it cost him. + </p> + <p> + “I had noticed something of the sort,” he said. “Your mother was always + asking after you. You have not been writing very regularly, Michael. We + know little about your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I have written to my mother every week,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + The magical effects of the Emperor’s interest were dying out. Lord + Ashbridge became more keenly aware of the disappointment that Michael was + to him. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been so fortunate, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Michael remembered his mother’s anxious face, but he could not let this + pass. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” he said, “but you never answered any of my letters. I thought + it quite probable that it displeased you to hear from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have expressed my displeasure if I had felt it,” said his father + with all the pomposity that was natural to him. + </p> + <p> + “That had not occurred to me,” said Michael. “I am afraid I took your + silence to mean that my letters didn’t interest you.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, and his rebellion against the whole of his father’s + attitude flared up. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, I had nothing particular to say,” he said. “My life is passed in + the pursuit of which you entirely disapprove.” + </p> + <p> + He felt himself back in boyhood again with this stifling and leaden + atmosphere of authority and disapproval to breathe. He knew that Francis + in his place would have done somehow differently; he could almost hear + Aunt Barbara laughing at the pomposity of the situation that had suddenly + erected itself monstrously in front of him. The fact that he was Michael + Comber vexed his father—there was no statement of the case so + succinctly true. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge moved away towards the window, turning his back on Michael. + Even his back, his homespun Norfolk jacket, his loose knickerbockers, his + stalwart calves expressed disapproval; but when his father spoke again he + realised that he had moved away like that, and obscured his face for a + different reason. + </p> + <p> + “Have you noticed anything else about your mother?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + That made Michael understand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, father,” he said. “I daresay I am wrong about it—” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally I may not agree with you; but I should like to know what it + is.” + </p> + <p> + “She’s afraid of you,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge continued looking out of the window a little longer, + letting his eyes dwell on his own garden and his own fields, where towered + the leafless elms and the red roofs of the little town which had given him + his own name, and continued to give him so satisfactory an income. There + presented itself to his mind his own picture, painted and framed and + glazed and hung up by himself, the beneficent nobleman, the conscientious + landlord, the essential vertebra of England’s backbone. It was really + impossible to impute blame to such a fine fellow. He turned round into the + room again, braced and refreshed, and saw Michael thus. + </p> + <p> + “It is quite true what you say,” he said, with a certain pride in his own + impartiality. “She has developed an extraordinary timidity towards me. I + have continually noticed that she is nervous and agitated in my presence—I + am quite unable to account for it. In fact, there is no accounting for it. + But I am thinking of going up to London before long, and making her see + some good doctor. A little tonic, I daresay; though I don’t suppose she + has taken a dozen doses of medicine in as many years. I expect she will be + glad to go up, for she will be near you. The one delusion—for it is + no less than that—is as strange as the other.” + </p> + <p> + He drew himself up to his full magnificent height. + </p> + <p> + “I do not mean that it is not very natural she should be devoted to her + son,” he said with a tremendous air. + </p> + <p> + What he did mean was therefore uncertain, and again he changed the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “There is a third thing,” he said. “This concerns you. You are of the age + when we Combers usually marry. I should wish you to marry, Michael. During + this last year your mother has asked half a dozen girls down here, all of + whom she and I consider perfectly suitable, and no doubt you have met more + in London. I should like to know definitely if you have considered the + question, and if you have not, I ask you to set about it at once.” + </p> + <p> + Michael was suddenly aware that never for a moment had Sylvia been away + from his mind. Even when his mother was talking to him last night Sylvia + had sat at the back, in the inmost place, throned and secure. And now she + stepped forward. Apart from the impossibility of not acknowledging her, he + wished to do it. He wanted to wear her publicly, though she was not his; + he wanted to take his allegiance oath, though his sovereign heeded not. + </p> + <p> + “I have considered the question,” he said, “and I have quite made up my + mind whom I want to marry. She is Miss Falbe, Miss Sylvia Falbe, of whom + you may have heard as a singer. She is the sister of my music-master, and + I can certainly marry nobody else.” + </p> + <p> + It was not merely defiance of the dreadful old tradition, which Lord + Ashbridge had announced in the manner of Moses stepping down from Sinai, + that prompted this appalling statement of the case; it was the joy in the + profession of his love. It had to be flung out like that. Lord Ashbridge + looked at him a moment in dead silence. + </p> + <p> + “I have not the honour of knowing Miss—Miss Falbe, is it?” he said; + “nor shall I have that honour.” + </p> + <p> + Michael got up; there was that in his father’s tone that stung him to + fury. + </p> + <p> + “It is very likely that you will not,” he said, “since when I proposed to + her yesterday she did not accept me.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow Lord Ashbridge felt that as an insult to himself. Indeed, it was a + double insult. Michael had proposed to this singer, and this singer had + not instantly clutched him. He gave his dreadful little treble giggle. + </p> + <p> + “And I am to bind up your broken heart?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael drew himself up to his full height. This was an indiscretion, for + it but made his father recognise how short he was. It brought farce into + the tragic situation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by no means,” he said. “My heart is not going to break yet. I don’t + give up hope.” + </p> + <p> + Then, in a flash, he thought of his mother’s pale, anxious face, her + desire that he should not vex his father. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” he said, “but that is the case. I wish—I wish you + would try to understand me.” + </p> + <p> + “I find you incomprehensible,” said Lord Ashbridge, and left the room with + his high walk and his swinging elbows. + </p> + <p> + Well, it was done now, and Michael felt that there were no new vexations + to be sprung on his father. It was bound to happen, he supposed, sooner or + later, and he was not sorry that it had happened sooner than he expected + or intended. Sylvia so held sway in him that he could not help + acknowledging her. His announcement had broken from him irresistibly, in + spite of his mother’s whispered word to him last night, “This is our + secret.” It could not be secret when his father spoke like that. . . . And + then, with a flare of illumination he perceived how intensely his father + disliked him. Nothing but sheer basic antipathy could have been + responsible for that miserable retort, “Am I to bind up your broken + heart?” Anger, no doubt, was the immediate cause, but so utterly + ungenerous a rejoinder to Michael’s announcement could not have been + conceived, except in a heart that thoroughly and rootedly disliked him. + That he was a continual monument of disappointment to his father he knew + well, but never before had it been quite plainly shown him how essential + an object of dislike he was. And the grounds of the dislike were now + equally plain—his father disliked him exactly because he was his + father. On the other hand, the last twenty-four hours had shown him that + his mother loved him exactly because he was her son. When these two new + and undeniable facts were put side by side, Michael felt that he was an + infinite gainer. + </p> + <p> + He went rather drearily to the window. Far off across the field below the + garden he could see Lord Ashbridge walking airily along on his way to the + links, with his head held high, his stick swinging in his hand, his two + retrievers at his heels. No doubt already the soothing influences of + Nature were at work—Nature, of course, standing for the portion of + trees and earth and houses that belonged to him—and were expunging + the depressing reflection that his wife and only son inspired in him. And, + indeed, such was actually the case: Lord Ashbridge, in his amazing + fatuity, could not long continue being himself without being cheered and + invigorated by that fact, and though when he set out his big white hands + were positively trembling with passion, he carried his balsam always with + him. But he had registered to himself, even as Michael had registered, the + fact that he found his son a most intolerable person. And what vexed him + most of all, what made him clang the gate at the end of the field so + violently that it hit one of his retrievers shrewdly on the nose, was the + sense of his own impotence. He knew perfectly well that in point of view + of determination (that quality which in himself was firmness, and in those + who opposed him obstinacy) Michael was his match. And the annoying thing + was that, as his wife had once told him, Michael undoubtedly inherited + that quality from him. It was as inalienable as the estates of which he + had threatened to deprive his son, and which, as he knew quite well, were + absolutely entailed. Michael, in this regard, seemed no better than a + common but successful thief. He had annexed his father’s firmness, and at + his death would certainly annex all his pictures and trees and acres and + the red roofs of Ashbridge. + </p> + <p> + Michael saw the gate so imperially slammed, he heard the despairing howl + of Robin, and though he was sorry for Robin, he could not help laughing. + He remembered also a ludicrous sight he had seen at the Zoological Gardens + a few days ago: two seals, sitting bolt upright, quarrelling with each + other, and making the most absurd grimaces and noises. They neither of + them quite dared to attack the other, and so sat with their faces close + together, saying the rudest things. Aunt Barbara would certainly have seen + how inimitably his father and he had, in their interview just now, + resembled the two seals. + </p> + <p> + And then he became aware that all the time, au fond, he had thought about + nothing but Sylvia, and of Sylvia, not as the subject of quarrel, but as + just Sylvia, the singing Sylvia, with a hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The winter sun was warm on the south terrace of the house, when, an hour + later, he strolled out, according to arrangement, with his mother. It had + melted the rime of the night before that lay now on the grass in threads + of minute diamonds, though below the terrace wall, and on the sunk rims of + the empty garden beds it still persisted in outline of white heraldry. A + few monthly roses, weak, pink blossoms, weary with the toil of keeping + hope alive till the coming of spring, hung dejected heads in the sunk + garden, where the hornbeam hedge that carried its russet leaves unfallen, + shaded them from the wind. Here, too, a few bulbs had pricked their way + above ground, and stood with stout, erect horns daintily capped with rime. + All these things, which for years had been presented to Lady Ashbridge’s + notice without attracting her attention; now filled her with minute + childlike pleasure; they were discoveries as entrancing and as magical as + the first finding of the oval pieces of blue sky that a child sees one + morning in a hedge-sparrow’s nest. Now that she was alone with her son, + all her secret restlessness and anxiety had vanished, and she remarked + almost with glee that her husband had telephoned from the golf links to + say that he would not be back for lunch; then, remembering that Michael + had gone to talk to his father after breakfast, she asked him about the + interview. + </p> + <p> + Michael had already made up his mind as to what to say here. Knowing that + his father was anxious about her, he felt it highly unlikely that he would + tell her anything to distress her, and so he represented the interview as + having gone off in perfect amity. Later in the day, on his father’s + return, he had made up his mind to propose a truce between them, as far as + his mother was concerned. Whether that would be accepted or not he could + not certainly tell, but in the interval there was nothing to be gained by + grieving her. + </p> + <p> + A great weight was lifted off her mind. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear, that is good,” she said. “I was anxious. So now perhaps we + shall have a peaceful Christmas. I am glad your Aunt Barbara and Francis + are coming, for though your aunt always laughs at your father, she does it + kindly, does she not? And as for Francis—my dear, if God had given + me two sons, I should have liked the other to be like Francis. And shall + we walk a little farther this way, and see poor Petsy’s grave?” + </p> + <p> + Petsy’s grave proved rather agitating. There were doleful little stories + of the last days to be related, and Petsy II. was tiresome, and insisted + on defying the world generally with shrill barkings from the top of the + small mound, conscious perhaps that his helpless predecessor slept below. + Then their walk brought them to the band of trees that separated the links + from the house, from which Lady Ashbridge retreated, fearful, as she + vaguely phrased it, “of being seen,” and by whom there was no need for her + to explain. Then across the field came a group of children scampering home + from school. They ceased their shouting and their games as the others came + near, and demurely curtsied and took off their caps to Lady Ashbridge. + </p> + <p> + “Nice, well-behaved children,” said she. “A merry Christmas to you all. I + hope you are all good children to your mothers, as my son is to me.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed his arm, nodded and smiled at the children, and walked on with + him. And Michael felt the lump in his throat. + </p> + <p> + The arrival of Aunt Barbara and Francis that afternoon did something, by + the mere addition of numbers to the party, to relieve the tension of the + situation. Lord Ashbridge said little but ate largely, and during the + intervals of empty plates directed an impartial gaze at the portraits of + his ancestors, while wholly ignoring his descendant. But Michael was too + wise to put himself into places where he could be pointedly ignored, and + the resplendent dinner, with its six footmen and its silver service, was + not really more joyless than usual. But his father’s majestic displeasure + was more apparent when the three men sat alone afterwards, and it was in + dead silence that port was pushed round and cigarettes handed. Francis, it + is true, made a couple of efforts to enliven things, but his remarks + produced no response whatever from his uncle, and he subsided into + himself, thinking with regret of what an amusing evening he would have had + if he had only stopped in town. But when they rose Michael signed to his + cousin to go on, and planted himself firmly in the path to the door. It + was evident that his father did not mean to speak to him, but he could not + push by him or walk over him. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing I want to say to you, father,” said he. “I have told + my mother that our interview this morning was quite amicable. I do not see + why she should be distressed by knowing that it was not.” + </p> + <p> + His father’s face softened a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I agree to that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + As far as that went, the compact was observed, and whenever Lady Ashbridge + was present her husband made a point of addressing a few remarks to + Michael, but there their intercourse ended. Michael found opportunity to + explain to Aunt Barbara what had happened, suggesting as a consolatory + simile the domestic difficulties of the seals at the Zoological Gardens, + and was pleased to find her recognise the aptness of this description. But + heaviest of all on the spirits of the whole party sat the anxiety about + Lady Ashbridge. There could be no doubt that some cerebral degeneration + was occurring, and Lady Barbara’s urgent representation to her brother had + the effect of making him promise to take her up to London without delay + after Christmas, and let a specialist see her. For the present the pious + fraud practised on her that Michael and his father had had “a good talk” + together, and were excellent friends, sufficed to render her happy and + cheerful. She had long, dim talks, full of repetition, with Michael, whose + presence appeared to make her completely content, and when he was out or + away from her she would sit eagerly waiting for his return. Petsy, to the + great benefit of his health, got somewhat neglected by her; her whole + nature and instincts were alight with the mother-love that had burnt so + late into flame, with this tragic accompaniment of derangement. She seemed + to be groping her way back to the days when Michael was a little boy, and + she was a young woman; often she would seat herself at her piano, if + Michael was not there to play to her, and in a thin, quavering voice sing + the songs of twenty years ago. She would listen to his playing, beating + time to his music, and most of all she loved the hour when the day was + drawing in, and the first shadow and flame of dusk and firelight; then, + with her hand in his, sitting in her room, where they would not be + interrupted, she would whisper fresh inquiries about Sylvia, offering to + go herself to the girl and tell her how lovable her suitor was. She lived + in a dim, subaqueous sort of consciousness, physically quite well, and + mentally serene in the knowledge that Michael was in the house, and would + presently come and talk to her. + </p> + <p> + For the others it was dismal enough; this shadow, that was to her a watery + sunlight, lay over them all—this, and the further quarrel, unknown + to her, between Michael and his father. When they all met, as at meal + times, there was the miserable pretence of friendliness and comfortable + ease kept up, for fear of distressing Lady Ashbridge. It was dreary work + for all concerned, but, luckily, not difficult of accomplishment. A little + chatter about the weather, the merest small change of conversation, + especially if that conversation was held between Michael and his father, + was sufficient to wreathe her in smiles, and she would, according to + habit, break in with some wrecking remark, that entailed starting this + talk all afresh. But when she left the room a glowering silence would + fall; Lord Ashbridge would pick up a book or leave the room with his + high-stepping walk and erect head, the picture of insulted dignity. + </p> + <p> + Of the three he was far most to be pitied, although the situation was the + direct result of his own arrogance and self-importance; but arrogance and + self-importance were as essential ingredients of his character as was + humour of Aunt Barbara’s. They were very awkward and tiresome qualities, + but this particular Lord Ashbridge would have no existence without them. + He was deeply and mortally offended with Michael; that alone was + sufficient to make a sultry and stifling atmosphere, and in addition to + that he had the burden of his anxiety about his wife. Here came an extra + sting, for in common humanity he had, by appearing to be friends with + Michael, to secure her serenity, and this could only be done by the + continued profanation of his own highly proper and necessary attitude + towards his son. He had to address friendly words to Michael that really + almost choked him; he had to practise cordiality with this wretch who + wanted to marry the sister of a music-master. Michael had pulled up all + the old traditions, that carefully-tended and pompous flower-garden, as if + they had been weeds, and thrown them in his father’s face. It was indeed + no wonder that, in his wife’s absence, he almost burst with indignation + over the desecrated beds. More than that, his own self-esteem was hurt by + his wife’s fear of him, just as if he had been a hard and unkind husband + to her, which he had not been, but merely a very self-absorbed and + dominant one, while the one person who could make her quite happy was his + despised son. Michael’s person, Michael’s tastes, Michael’s whole presence + and character were repugnant to him, and yet Michael had the power which, + to do Lord Ashbridge justice, he would have given much to be possessed of + himself, of bringing comfort and serenity to his wife. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of the day following Christmas the two cousins had been + across the estuary to Ashbridge together. Francis, who, in spite of his + habitual easiness of disposition and general good temper, had found the + conditions of anger and anxiety quite intolerable, had settled to leave + next day, instead of stopping till the end of the week, and Michael + acquiesced in this without any sense of desertion; he had really only + wondered why Francis had stopped three nights, instead of finding urgent + private business in town after one. He realised also, somewhat with + surprise, that Francis was “no good” when there was trouble about; there + was no one so delightful when there was, so to speak, a contest of who + should enjoy himself the most, and Francis invariably won. But if the + subject of the contest was changed, and the prize given for the individual + who, under depressing circumstances, should contrive to show the greatest + serenity of aspect, Francis would have lost with an even greater margin. + Michael, in fact, was rather relieved than otherwise at his cousin’s + immediate departure, for it helped nobody to see the martyred St. + Sebastian, and it was merely odious for St. Sebastian himself. In fact, at + this moment, when Michael was rowing them back across the full-flooded + estuary, Francis was explaining this with his customary lucidity. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t do any good here, Mike,” he said. “Uncle Robert doesn’t speak to + me any more than he does to you, except when Aunt Marion is there. And + there’s nothing going on, is there? I practically asked if I might go + duck-shooting to-day, and Uncle Robert merely looked out of the window. + But if anybody, specially you, wanted me to stop, why, of course I would.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully. Gosh, look at those ducks! They’re just wanting to be + shot. But there it is, then. Certainly Uncle Robert doesn’t want me, nor + Aunt Marion. I say, what do they think is the matter with her?” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked round, then took, rather too late, another pull on his + oars, and the boat gently grated on the pebbly mud at the side of the + landing-place. Francis’s question, the good-humoured insouciance of it + grated on his mind in rather similar fashion. + </p> + <p> + “We don’t know yet,” he said. “I expect we shall all go back to town in a + couple of days, so that she may see somebody.” + </p> + <p> + Francis jumped out briskly and gracefully, and stood with his hands in his + pockets while Michael pushed off again, and brought the boat into its + shed. + </p> + <p> + “I do hope it’s nothing serious,” he said. “She looks quite well, doesn’t + she? I daresay it’s nothing; but she’s been alone, hasn’t she, with Uncle + Robert all these weeks. That would give her the hump, too.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt a sudden spasm of impatience at these elegant and consoling + reflections. But now, in the light of his own increasing maturity, he saw + how hopeless it was to feel Francis’s deficiencies, his entire lack of + deep feeling. He was made like that; and if you were fond of anybody the + only possible way of living up to your affection was to attach yourself to + their qualities. + </p> + <p> + They strolled a little way in silence. + </p> + <p> + “And why did you tell Uncle Robert about Sylvia Falbe?” asked Francis. “I + can’t understand that. For the present, anyhow, she had refused you. There + was nothing to tell him about. If I was fond of a girl like that I should + say nothing about it, if I knew my people would disapprove, until I had + got her.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes you would,” he said, “if you were to use your own words, fond of + her ‘like that.’ You couldn’t help it. At least, I couldn’t. It’s—it’s + such a glory to be fond like that.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. + </p> + <p> + “We won’t talk about it,” he said—“or, rather, I can’t talk about + it, if you don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “But she had refused you,” said the sensible Francis. + </p> + <p> + “That makes no difference. She shines through everything, through the + infernal awfulness of these days, through my father’s anger, and my + mother’s illness, whatever it proves to be—I think about them really + with all my might, and at the end I find I’ve been thinking about Sylvia. + Everything is she—the woods, the tide—oh, I can’t explain.” + </p> + <p> + They had walked across the marshy land at the edge of the estuary, and now + in front of them was the steep and direct path up to the house, and the + longer way through the woods. At this point the estuary made a sudden turn + to the left, sweeping directly seawards, and round the corner, immediately + in front of them was the long reach of deep water up which, even when the + tide was at its lowest, an ocean-going steamer could penetrate if it knew + the windings of the channel. To-day, in the windless, cold calm of + mid-winter, though the sun was brilliant in a blue sky overhead, an opaque + mist, thick as cotton-wool, lay over the surface of the water, and, taking + the winding road through the woods, which, following the estuary, turned + the point, they presently found themselves, as they mounted, quite clear + of the mist that lay below them on the river. Their steps were noiseless + on the mossy path, and almost immediately after they had turned the + corner, as Francis paused to light a cigarette, they heard from just below + them the creaking of oars in their rowlocks. It caught the ears of them + both, and without conscious curiosity they listened. On the moment the + sound of rowing ceased, and from the dense mist just below them there came + a sound which was quite unmistakable, namely, the “plop” of something + heavy dropped into the water. That sound, by some remote form of + association, suddenly recalled to Michael’s mind certain questions Aunt + Barbara had asked him about the Emperor’s stay at Ashbridge, and his own + recollection of his having gone up and down the river in a launch. There + was something further, which he did not immediately recollect. Yes, it was + the request that if when he was here at Christmas he found strangers + hanging about the deep-water reach, of which the chart was known only to + the Admiralty, he should let her know. Here at this moment they were + overlooking the mist-swathed water, and here at this moment, unseen, was a + boat rowing stealthily, stopping, and, perhaps, making soundings. + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand on Francis’s arm with a gesture for silence, then, + invisible below, someone said, “Fifteen fathoms,” and again the oars + creaked audibly in the rowlocks. + </p> + <p> + Michael took a step towards his cousin, so that he could whisper to him. + </p> + <p> + “Come back to the boat,” he said. “I want to row round and see who that + is. Wait a moment, though.” + </p> + <p> + The oars below made some half-dozen strokes, and then were still again. + Once more there came the sound of something heavy dropped into the water. + </p> + <p> + “Someone is making soundings in the channel there,” he said. “Come.” + </p> + <p> + They went very quietly till they were round the point, then quickened + their steps, and Michael spoke. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the uncharted channel,” he said; “at least, only the Admiralty + have the soundings. The water’s deep enough right across for a ship of + moderate draught to come up, but there is a channel up which any + man-of-war can pass. Of course, it may be an Admiralty boat making fresh + soundings, but not likely on Boxing Day.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do?” asked Francis, striding easily along by + Michael’s short steps. + </p> + <p> + “Just see if we can find out who it is. Aunt Barbara asked me about it. + I’ll tell you afterwards. Now the tide’s going out we can drop down with + it, and we shan’t be heard. I’ll row just enough to keep her head + straight. Sit in the bow, Francis, and keep a sharp look-out.” + </p> + <p> + Foot by foot they dropped down the river, and soon came into the thick + mist that lay beyond the point. It was impossible to see more than a yard + or two ahead, but the same dense obscurity would prevent any further range + of vision from the other boat, and, if it was still at its work, the sound + of its oars or of voices, Michael reflected, might guide him to it. From + the lisp of little wavelets lapping on the shore below the woods, he knew + he was quite close in to the bank, and close also to the place where the + invisible boat had been ten minutes before. Then, in the bewildering, + unlocalised manner in which sound without the corrective guidance of sight + comes to the ears, he heard as before the creaking of invisible oars, + somewhere quite close at hand. Next moment the dark prow of a rowing-boat + suddenly loomed into sight on their starboard, and he took a rapid stroke + with his right-hand scull to bring them up to it. But at the same moment, + while yet the occupants of the other boat were but shadows in the mist, + they saw him, and a quick word of command rang out. + </p> + <p> + “Row—row hard!” it cried, and with a frenzied churning of oars in + the water, the other boat shot by them, making down the estuary. Next + moment it had quite vanished in the mist, leaving behind it knots of + swirling water from its oar-blades. + </p> + <p> + Michael started in vain pursuit; his craft was heavy and clumsy, and from + the retreating and faint-growing sound of the other, it was clear that he + could get no pace to match, still less to overtake them. Soon he pantingly + desisted. + </p> + <p> + “But an Admiralty boat wouldn’t have run away,” he said. “They’d have + asked us who the devil we were.” + </p> + <p> + “But who else was it?” asked Francis. + </p> + <p> + Michael mopped his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Barbara would tell you,” he said. “She would tell you that they were + German spies.” + </p> + <p> + Francis laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Or Timbuctoo niggers,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “And that would be an odd thing, too,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + But at that moment he felt the first chill of the shadow that menaced, if + by chance Aunt Barbara was right, and if already the clear tranquillity of + the sky was growing dim as with the mist that lay that afternoon on the + waters of the deep reach, and covered mysterious movements which were + going on below it. England and Germany—there was so much of his life + and his heart there. Music and song, and Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + Michael had heard the verdict of the brain specialist, who yesterday had + seen his mother, and was sitting in his room beside his unopened piano + quietly assimilating it, and, without making plans of his own initiative, + contemplating the forms into which the future was beginning to fall, + mapping itself out below him, outlining itself as when objects in a room, + as the light of morning steals in, take shape again. And even as they take + the familiar shapes, so already he felt that he had guessed all this in + that week down at Ashbridge, from which he had returned with his father + and mother a couple of days before. + </p> + <p> + She was suffering, without doubt, from some softening of the brain; + nothing of remedial nature could possibly be done to arrest or cure the + progress of the disease, and all that lay in human power was to secure for + her as much content and serenity as possible. In her present condition + there was no question of putting her under restraint, nor, indeed, could + she be certified by any doctor as insane. She would have to have a trained + attendant, she would live a secluded life, from which must be kept as far + as possible anything that could agitate or distress her, and after that + there was nothing more that could be done except to wait for the + inevitable development of her malady. This might come quickly or slowly; + there was no means of forecasting that, though the rapid deterioration of + her brain, which had taken place during those last two months, made it, on + the whole, likely that the progress of the disease would be swift. It was + quite possible, on the other hand, that it might remain stationary for + months. . . . And in answer to a question of Michael’s, Sir James had + looked at him a moment in silence. Then he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Both for her sake and for the sake of all of you,” he had said, “one + hopes that it will be swift.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge had just telephoned that he was coming round to see + Michael, a message that considerably astonished him, since it would have + been more in his manner, in the unlikely event of his wishing to see his + son, to have summoned him to the house in Curzon Street. However, he had + announced his advent, and thus, waiting for him, and not much concerning + himself about that, Michael let the future map itself. Already it was + sharply defined, its boundaries and limits were clear, and though it was + yet untravelled it presented to him a familiar aspect, and he felt that he + could find his allotted road without fail, though he had never yet + traversed it. It was strongly marked; there could be no difficulty or + question about it. Indeed, a week ago, when first the recognition of his + mother’s condition, with the symptoms attached to it, was known to him, he + had seen the signpost that directed him into the future. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge made his usual flamboyant entry, prancing and swinging his + elbows. Whatever happened he would still be Lord Ashbridge, with his grey + top-hat and his large carnation and his enviable position. + </p> + <p> + “You will have heard what Sir James’s opinion is about your poor mother,” + he said. “It was in consequence of what he recommended when he talked over + the future with me that I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Michael guessed very well what this recommendation was, but with a certain + stubbornness and sense of what was due to himself, he let his father + proceed with the not very welcome task of telling him. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, Michael,” he said, “I have a favour to ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + The fact of his being Lord Ashbridge, and the fact of Michael being his + unsatisfactory son, stiffened him, and he had to qualify the favour. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I should not say I am about to ask you a favour,” he corrected + himself, “but rather to point out to you what is your obvious duty.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly it struck Michael that his father was not thinking about Lady + Ashbridge at all, nor about him, but in the main about himself. All had to + be done from the dominant standpoint; he owed it to himself to alleviate + the conditions under which his wife must live; he owed it to himself that + his son should do his part as a Comber. There was no longer any possible + doubt as to what this favour, or this direction of duty, must be, but + still Michael chose that his father should state it. He pushed a chair + forward for him. + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you sit down?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I would rather stand. Yes; it is not so much a favour as the + indication of your duty. I do not know if you will see it in the same + light as I; you have shown me before now that we do not take the same + view.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt himself bristling. His father certainly had the effect of + drawing out in him all the feelings that were better suppressed. + </p> + <p> + “I think we need not talk of that now, sir,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly it is not the subject of my interview with you now. The fact is + this. In some way your presence gives a certain serenity and content to + your mother. I noticed that at Ashbridge, and, indeed, there has been some + trouble with her this morning because I could not take her to come to see + you with me. I ask you, therefore, for her sake, to be with us as much as + you can, in short, to come and live with us.” + </p> + <p> + Michael nodded, saluting, so to speak, the signpost into the future as he + passed it. + </p> + <p> + “I had already determined to do that,” he said. “I had determined, at any + rate, to ask your permission to do so. It is clear that my mother wants + me, and no other consideration can weigh with that.” + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge still remained completely self-sufficient. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you take that view of it,” he said. “I think that is all I have + to say.” + </p> + <p> + Now Michael was an adept at giving; as indicated before, when he gave, he + gave nobly, and he could not only outwardly disregard, but he inwardly + cancelled the wonderful ungenerosity with which his father received. That + did not concern him. + </p> + <p> + “I will make arrangements to come at once,” he said, “if you can receive + me to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “That will hardly be worth while, will it? I am taking your mother back to + Ashbridge tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Michael got up in silence. After all, this gift of himself, of his time, + of his liberty, of all that constituted life to him, was made not to his + father, but to his mother. It was made, as his heart knew, not + ungrudgingly only, but eagerly, and if it had been recommended by the + doctor that she should go to Ashbridge, he would have entirely disregarded + the large additional sacrifice on himself which it entailed. Thus it was + not owing to any retraction of his gift, or reconsideration of it, that he + demurred. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will—will meet me half-way about this, sir,” he said. + “You must remember that all my work lies in London. I want, naturally, to + continue that as far as I can. If you go to Ashbridge it is completely + interrupted. My friends are here too; everything I have is here.” + </p> + <p> + His father seemed to swell a little; he appeared to fill the room. + </p> + <p> + “And all my duties lie at Ashbridge,” he said. “As you know, I am not of + the type of absentee landlords. It is quite impossible that I should spend + these months in idleness in town. I have never done such a thing yet, nor, + I may say, would our class hold the position they do if we did. We shall + come up to town after Easter, should your mother’s health permit it, but + till then I could not dream of neglecting my duties in the country.” + </p> + <p> + Now Michael knew perfectly well what his father’s duties on that + excellently managed estate were. They consisted of a bi-weekly interview + in the “business-room” (an abode of files and stags’ heads, in which Lord + Ashbridge received various reports of building schemes and repairs), of a + round of golf every afternoon, and of reading the lessons and handing the + offertory-box on Sunday. That, at least, was the sum-total as it presented + itself to him, and on which he framed his conclusions. But he left out + altogether the moral effect of the big landlord living on his own land, + and being surrounded by his own dependents, which his father, on the other + hand, so vastly over-estimated. It was clear that there was not likely to + be much accord between them on this subject. + </p> + <p> + “But could you not go down there perhaps once or twice a week, and get + Bailey to come and consult you here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Lord Ashbridge held his head very high. + </p> + <p> + “That would be completely out of the question,” he said. + </p> + <p> + All this, Michael felt, had nothing to do with the problem of his mother + and himself. It was outside it altogether, and concerned only his father’s + convenience. He was willing to press this point as far as possible. + </p> + <p> + “I had imagined you would stop in London,” he said. “Supposing under these + circumstances I refuse to live with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I should draw my own conclusion as to the sincerity of your profession of + duty towards your mother.” + </p> + <p> + “And practically what would you do?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Your mother and I would go to Ashbridge tomorrow all the same.” + </p> + <p> + Another alternative suddenly suggested itself to Michael which he was + almost ashamed of proposing, for it implied that his father put his own + convenience as outweighing any other consideration. But he saw that if + only Lord Ashbridge was selfish enough to consent to it, it had manifest + merits. His mother would be alone with him, free of the presence that so + disconcerted her. + </p> + <p> + “I propose, then,” he said, “that she and I should remain in town, as you + want to be at Ashbridge.” + </p> + <p> + He had been almost ashamed of suggesting it, but no such shame was + reflected in his father’s mind. This would relieve him of the perpetual + embarrassment of his wife’s presence, and the perpetual irritation of + Michael’s. He had persuaded himself that he was making a tremendous + personal sacrifice in proposing that Michael should live with them, and + this relieved him of the necessity. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, Michael,” he said, with the first hint of cordiality that + he had displayed, “that is very well thought of. Let us consider; it is + certainly the case that this derangement in your poor mother’s mind has + caused her to take what I might almost call a dislike to me. I mentioned + that to Sir James, though it was very painful for me to do so, and he said + that it was a common and most distressing symptom of brain disease, that + the sufferer often turned against those he loved best. Your plan would + have the effect of removing that.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment, and became even more sublimely fatuous. + </p> + <p> + “You, too,” he said, “it would obviate the interruption of your work, + about which you feel so keenly. You would be able to go on with it. Of + myself, I don’t think at all. I shall be lonely, no doubt, at Ashbridge, + but my own personal feelings must not be taken into account. Yes; it seems + to me a very sensible notion. We shall have to see what your mother says + to it. She might not like me to be away from her, in spite of her apparent—er—dislike + of me. It must all depend on her attitude. But for my part I think very + well of your scheme. Thank you, Michael, for suggesting it.” + </p> + <p> + He left immediately after this to ascertain Lady Ashbridge’s feelings + about it, and walked home with a complete resumption of his usual + exuberance. It indeed seemed an admirable plan. It relieved him from the + nightmare of his wife’s continual presence, and this he expressed to + himself by thinking that it relieved her from his. It was not that he was + deficient in sympathy for her, for in his self-centred way he was fond of + her, but he could sympathise with her just as well at Ashbridge. He could + do no good to her, and he had not for her that instinct of love which + would make it impossible for him to leave her. He would also be spared the + constant irritation of having Michael in the house, and this he expressed + to himself by saying that Michael disliked him, and would be far more at + his ease without him. Furthermore, Michael would be able to continue his + studies . . . of this too, in spite of the fact that he had always done + his best to discourage them, he made a self-laudatory translation, by + telling himself that he was very glad not to have to cause Michael to + discontinue them. In fine, he persuaded himself, without any difficulty, + that he was a very fine fellow in consenting to a plan that suited him so + admirably, and only wondered that he had not thought of it himself. There + was nothing, after his wife had expressed her joyful acceptance of it, to + detain him in town, and he left for Ashbridge that afternoon, while + Michael moved into the house in Curzon Street. + </p> + <p> + Michael entered upon his new life without the smallest sense of having + done anything exceptional or even creditable. It was so perfectly obvious + to him that he had to be with his mother that he had no inclination to + regard himself at all in the matter; the thing was as simple as it had + been to him to help Francis out of financial difficulties with a gift of + money. There was no effort of will, no sense of sacrifice about it, it was + merely the assertion of a paramount instinct. The life limited his + freedom, for, for a great part of the day he was with his mother, and + between his music and his attendance on her, he had but little leisure. + Occasionally he went out to see his friends, but any prolonged absence on + his part always made her uneasy, and he would often find her, on his + return, sitting in the hall, waiting for him, so as to enjoy his presence + from the first moment that he re-entered the house. But though he found no + food for reflection in himself, Aunt Barbara, who came to see them some + few days after Michael had been installed here, found a good deal. + </p> + <p> + They had all had tea together, and afterwards Lady Ashbridge’s nurse had + come down to fetch her upstairs to rest. And then Aunt Barbara surprised + Michael, for she came across the room to him, with her kind eyes full of + tears, and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I must say it once,” she said, “and then you will know that it + is always in my mind. You have behaved nobly, Michael; it’s a big word, + but I know no other. As for your father—” + </p> + <p> + Michael interrupted her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t understand him,” he said. “At least, that’s the best way to + look at it. Let’s leave him out.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “After all, it is a much better plan than our living all three of us at + Ashbridge. It’s better for my mother, and for me, and for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but how he could consent to the better plan,” she said. “Well, + let us leave him out. Poor Robert! He and his golf. My dear, your father + is a very ludicrous person, you know. But about you, Michael, do you think + you can stand it?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I can,” he said. “Indeed, I don’t think I’ll accept that + statement of it. It’s—it’s such a score to be able to be of use, you + know. I can make my mother happy. Nobody else can. I think I’m getting + rather conceited about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear; I find you insufferable,” remarked Aunt Barbara + parenthetically. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must just bear it. The thing is”—Michael took a moment to + find the words he searched for—“the thing is I want to be wanted. + Well, it’s no light thing to be wanted by your mother, even if—” + </p> + <p> + He sat down on the sofa by his aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Barbara, how ironically gifts come,” he said. “This was rather a + sinister way of giving, that my mother should want me like this just as + her brain was failing. And yet that failure doesn’t affect the quality of + her love. Is it something that shines through the poor tattered fabric? + Anyhow, it has nothing to do with her brain. It is she herself, somehow, + not anything of hers, that wants me. And you ask if I can stand it?” + </p> + <p> + Michael with his ugly face and his kind eyes and his simple heart seemed + extraordinarily charming just then to Aunt Barbara. She wished that Sylvia + could have seen him then in all the unconsciousness of what he was doing + so unquestioningly, or that she could have seen him as she had with his + mother during the last hour. Lady Ashbridge had insisted on sitting close + to him, and holding his hand whenever she could possess herself of it, of + plying him with a hundred repeated questions, and never once had she made + Michael either ridiculous or self-conscious. And this, she reflected, went + on most of the day, and for how many days it would go on, none knew. Yet + Michael could not consider even whether he could stand it; he rejected the + expression as meaningless. + </p> + <p> + “And your friends?” she said. “Do you manage to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, occasionally,” said Michael. “They don’t come here, for the + presence of strangers makes my mother agitated. She thinks they have some + design of taking her or me away. But she wants to see Sylvia. She knows + about—about her and me, and I can’t make up my mind what to do about + it. She is always asking if I can’t take her to see Sylvia, or get her to + come here.” + </p> + <p> + “And why not? Sylvia knows about your mother, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect so. I told Hermann. But I am afraid my mother will—well, + you can’t call it arguing—but will try to persuade her to have me. I + can’t let Sylvia in for that. Nor, if it comes to that, can I let myself + in for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you impress on your mother that she mustn’t?” + </p> + <p> + Michael leaned forward to the fire, pondering this, and stretching out his + big hands to the blaze. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I might,” he said. “I should love to see Sylvia again, just see her, + you know. We settled that the old terms we were on couldn’t continue. At + least, I settled that, and she understood.” + </p> + <p> + “Sylvia is a gaby,” remarked Aunt Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I’m rather glad you think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, get her to come,” said she. “I’m sure your mother will do as you tell + her. I’ll be here too, if you like, if that will do any good. By the way, + I see your Hermann’s piano recital comes off to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. My mother wants to go to that, and I think I shall take her. Will + you come too, Aunt Barbara, and sit on the other side of her? My + ‘Variations’ are going to be played. If they are a success, Hermann tells + me I shall be dragged screaming on to the platform, and have to bow. Lord! + And if they’re not, well, ‘Lord’ also.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, of course I’ll come. Let me see, I shall have to lie, as I + have another engagement, but a little thing like that doesn’t bother me.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she clapped her hands together. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I quite forgot,” she said. “Michael, such excitement. You + remember the boat you heard taking soundings on the deep-water reach? Of + course you do! Well, I sent that information to the proper quarter, and + since then watch has been kept in the woods just above it. Last night only + the coastguard police caught four men at it—all Germans. They tried + to escape as they did before, by rowing down the river, but there was a + steam launch below which intercepted them. They had on them a chart of the + reach, with soundings, nearly complete; and when they searched their + houses—they are all tenants of your astute father, who merely + laughed at us—they found a very decent map of certain private areas + at Harwich. Oh, I’m not such a fool as I look. They thanked me, my dear, + for my information, and I very gracefully said that my information was + chiefly got by you.” + </p> + <p> + “But did those men live in Ashbridge?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and your father will have four decorous houses on his hands. I am + glad: he should not have laughed at us. It will teach him, I hope. And + now, my dear, I must go.” + </p> + <p> + She stood up, and put her hand on Michael’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “And you know what I think of you,” she said. “To-morrow evening, then. I + hate music usually; but then I adore Mr. Hermann. I only wish he wasn’t a + German. Can’t you get him to naturalise himself and his sister?” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t ask that if you had seen him in Munich,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not. Patriotism is such a degrading emotion when it is not + English.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s “Variations” came some half-way down the programme next evening, + and as the moment for them approached, Lady Ashbridge got more and more + excited. + </p> + <p> + “I hope he knows them by heart properly, dear,” she whispered to Michael. + “I shall be so nervous for fear he’ll forget them in the middle, which is + so liable to happen if you play without your notes.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laid his hand on his mother’s. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, mother,” he said, “you mustn’t talk while he’s playing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was only whispering. But if you tell me I mustn’t—” + </p> + <p> + The hall was crammed from end to end, for not only was Hermann a person of + innumerable friends, but he had already a considerable reputation, and, + being a German, all musical England went to hear him. And to-night he was + playing superbly, after a couple of days of miserable nervousness over his + debut as a pianist; but his temperament was one of those that are strung + up to their highest pitch by such nervous agonies; he required just that + to make him do full justice to his own personality, and long before he + came to the “Variations,” Michael felt quite at ease about his success. + There was no question about it any more: the whole audience knew that they + were listening to a master. In the row immediately behind Michael’s party + were sitting Sylvia and her mother, who had not quite been torn away from + her novels, since she had sought “The Love of Hermione Hogarth” underneath + her cloak, and read it furtively in pauses. They had come in after + Michael, and until the interval between the classical and the modern + section of the concert he was unaware of their presence; then idly turning + round to look at the crowded hall, he found himself face to face with the + girl. + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea you were there,” he said. “Hermann will do, won’t he? I + think—” + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly the words of commonplace failed him, and he looked at + her in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were back,” she said. “Hermann told me about—everything.” + </p> + <p> + Michael glanced sideways, indicating his mother, who sat next him, and was + talking to Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “I wondered whether perhaps you would come and see my mother and me,” he + said. “May I write?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him with the friendliness of her smiling eyes and her grave + mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Is it necessary to ask?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Michael turned back to his seat, for his mother had had quite enough of + her sister-in-law, and wanted him again. She looked over her shoulder for + a moment to see whom Michael was talking to. + </p> + <p> + “I’m enjoying my concert, dear,” she said. “And who is that nice young + lady? Is she a friend of yours?” + </p> + <p> + The interval was over, and Hermann returned to the platform, and waiting + for a moment for the buzz of conversation to die down, gave out, without + any preliminary excursion on the keys, the text of Michael’s “Variations.” + Then he began to tell them, with light and flying fingers, what that + simple tune had suggested to Michael, how he imagined himself looking on + at an old-fashioned dance, and while the dancers moved to the graceful + measure of a minuet, or daintily in a gavotte, the tune of “Good King + Wenceslas” still rang in his head, or, how in the joy of the sunlight of a + spring morning it still haunted him. It lay behind a cascade of foaming + waters that, leaping, roared into a ravine; it marched with flying banners + on some day of victorious entry, it watched a funeral procession wind by, + with tapers and the smell of incense; it heard, as it got nearer back to + itself again, the peals of Christmas bells, and stood forth again in its + own person, decorated and emblazoned. + </p> + <p> + Hermann had already captured his audience; now he held them tame in the + hollow of his hand. Twice he bowed, and then, in answer to the demand, + just beckoned with his finger to Michael, who rose. For a moment his + mother wished to detain him. + </p> + <p> + “You’re not going to leave me, my dear, are you?” she asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + He waited to explain to her quietly, left her, and, feeling rather dazed, + made his way round to the back and saw the open door on to the platform + confronting him. He felt that no power on earth could make him step into + the naked publicity there, but at the moment Hermann appeared in the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Mike,” he said, laughing. “Thank the pretty ladies and + gentlemen! Lord, isn’t it all a lark!” + </p> + <p> + Michael advanced with him, stared and hoped he smiled properly, though he + felt that he was nailing some hideous grimace to his face; and then just + below him he saw his mother eagerly pointing him out to a total stranger, + with gesticulation, and just behind her Sylvia looking at her, and not at + him, with such tenderness, such kindly pity. There were the two most + intimately bound into his life, the mother who wanted him, the girl whom + he wanted; and by his side was Hermann, who, as Michael always knew, had + thrown open the gates of life to him. All the rest, even including Aunt + Barbara, seemed of no significance in that moment. Afterwards, no doubt, + he would be glad they were pleased, be proud of having pleased them; but + just now, even when, for the first time in his life, that intoxicating + wine of appreciation was given him, he stood with it bubbling and yellow + in his hand, not drinking of it. + </p> + <p> + Michael had prepared the way of Sylvia’s coming by telling his mother the + identity of the “nice young lady” at the concert; he had also impressed on + her the paramount importance of not saying anything with regard to him + that could possibly embarrass the nice young lady, and when Sylvia came to + tea a few days later, he was quite without any uneasiness, while for + himself he was only conscious of that thirst for her physical presence, + the desire, as he had said to Aunt Barbara, “just to see her.” Nor was + there the slightest embarrassment in their meeting! it was clear that + there was not the least difficulty either for him or her in being natural, + which, as usually happens, was the complete solution. + </p> + <p> + “That is good of you to come,” he said, meeting her almost at the door. + “My mother has been looking forward to your visit. Mother dear, here is + Miss Falbe.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge was pathetically eager to be what she called “good.” + Michael had made it clear to her that it was his wish that Miss Falbe + should not be embarrassed, and any wish just now expressed by Michael was + of the nature of a divine command to her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is a pleasure,” she said, looking across to Michael with the + eyes of a dog on a beloved master. “And we are not strangers quite, are + we, Miss Falbe? We sat so near each other to listen to your brother, who I + am sure plays beautifully, and the music which Michael made. Haven’t I got + a clever son, and such a good one?” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia was unerring. Michael had known she would be. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, you have,” she said, sitting down by her. “And Michael mustn’t + hear what we say about him, must he, or he’ll be getting conceited.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge laughed. + </p> + <p> + “And that would never do, would it?” she said, still retaining Sylvia’s + hand. Then a little dim ripple of compunction broke in her mind. + “Michael,” she said, “we are only joking about your getting conceited. + Miss Falbe and I are only joking. And—and won’t you take off your + hat, Miss Falbe, for you are not going to hurry away, are you? You are + going to pay us a long visit.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had not time to remind his mother that ladies who come to tea do + not usually take their hats off, for on the word Sylvia’s hands were busy + with her hatpins. + </p> + <p> + “I’m so glad you suggested that,” she said. “I always want to take my hat + off. I don’t know who invented hats, but I wish he hadn’t.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge looked at her masses of bright hair, and could not help + telegraphing a note of admiration, as it were, to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that’s more comfortable,” she said. “You look as if you weren’t + going away next minute. When I like to see people, I hate their going + away. I’m afraid sometimes that Michael will go away, but he tells me he + won’t. And you liked Michael’s music, Miss Falbe? Was it not clever of him + to think of all that out of one simple little tune? And he tells me you + sing so nicely. Perhaps you would sing to us when we’ve had tea. Oh, and + here is my sister-in-law. Do you know her—Lady Barbara? My dear, + what is your husband’s name?” + </p> + <p> + Seeing Sylvia uncovered, Lady Barbara, with a tact that was creditable to + her, but strangely unsuccessful, also began taking off her hat. Her + sister-in-law was too polite to interfere, but, as a matter of fact, she + did not take much pleasure in the notion that Barbara was going to stay a + very long time, too. She was fond of her, but it was not Barbara whom + Michael wanted. She turned her attention to the girl again. + </p> + <p> + “My husband’s away,” she said, confidentially; “he is very busy down at + Ashbridge, and I daresay he won’t find time to come up to town for many + weeks yet. But, you know, Michael and I do very well without him, very + well, indeed, and it would never do to take him away from his duties—would + it, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + Here was a shoal to be avoided. + </p> + <p> + “No, you mustn’t think of tempting him to come up to town,” said Michael. + “Give me some tea for Aunt Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + This answer entranced Lady Ashbridge; she had to nudge Michael several + times to show that she understood the brilliance of it, and put lump after + lump of sugar into Barbara’s cup in her rapt appreciation of it. But very + soon she turned to Sylvia again. + </p> + <p> + “And your brother is a friend of Michael’s, too, isn’t he?” she said. + “Some day perhaps he will come to see me. We don’t see many people, + Michael and I, for we find ourselves very well content alone. But perhaps + some day he will come and play his concert over again to us; and then, + perhaps, if you ask me, I will sing to you. I used to sing a great deal + when I was younger. Michael—where has Michael gone?” + </p> + <p> + Michael had just left the room to bring some cigarettes in from next door, + and Lady Ashbridge ran after him, calling him. She found him in the hall, + and brought him back triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Now we will all sit and talk for a long time,” she said. “You one side of + me, Miss Falbe, and Michael the other. Or would you be so kind as to sing + for us? Michael will play for you, and would it annoy you if I came and + turned over the pages? It would give me a great deal of pleasure to turn + over for you, if you will just nod each time when you are ready.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia got up. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course,” she said. “What have you got, Michael? I haven’t + anything with me.” + </p> + <p> + Michael found a volume of Schubert, and once again, as on the first time + he had seen her, she sang “Who is Sylvia?” while he played, and Lady + Ashbridge had her eyes fixed now on one and now on the other of them, + waiting for their nod to do her part; and then she wanted to sing herself, + and with some far-off remembrance of the airs and graces of twenty-five + years ago, she put her handkerchief and her rings on the top of the piano, + and, playing for herself, emitted faint treble sounds which they knew to + be “The Soldier’s Farewell.” + </p> + <p> + Then presently her nurse came for her to lie down before dinner, and she + was inclined to be tearful and refuse to go till Michael made it clear + that it was his express and sovereign will that she should do so. Then + very audibly she whispered to him. “May I ask her to give me a kiss?” she + said. “She looks so kind, Michael, I don’t think she would mind.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia went back home with a little heartache for Michael, wondering, if + she was in his place, if her mother, instead of being absorbed in her + novels, demanded such incessant attentions, whether she had sufficient + love in her heart to render them with the exquisite simplicity, the tender + patience that Michael showed. Well as she knew him, greatly as she liked + him, she had not imagined that he, or indeed any man could have behaved + quite like that. There seemed no effort at all about it; he was not trying + to be patient; he had the sense of “patience’s perfect work” natural to + him; he did not seem to have to remind himself that his mother was ill, + and thus he must be gentle with her. He was gentle with her because he was + in himself gentle. And yet, though his behaviour was no effort to him, she + guessed how wearying must be the continual strain of the situation itself. + She felt that she would get cross from mere fatigue, however excellent her + intentions might be, however willing the spirit. And no one, so she had + understood from Barbara, could take Michael’s place. In his occasional + absences his mother was fretful and miserable, and day by day Michael left + her less. She would sit close to him when he was practising—a thing + that to her or to Hermann would have rendered practice impossible—and + if he wrestled with one hand over a difficult bar, she would take the + other into hers, would ask him if he was not getting tired, would + recommend him to rest for a little; and yet Michael, who last summer had + so stubbornly insisted on leading his own life, and had put his + determination into effect in the teeth of all domestic opposition, now + with more than cheerfulness laid his own life aside in order to look after + his mother. Sylvia felt that the real heroisms of life were not so much + the fine heady deeds which are so obviously admirable, as such serene + steadfastness, such unvarying patience as that which she had just seen. + </p> + <p> + Her whole soul applauded Michael, and yet below her applause was this + heartache for him, the desire to be able to help him to bear the burden + which must be so heavy, though he bore it so blithely. But in the very + nature of things there was but one way in which she could help him, and in + that she was powerless. She could not give him what he wanted. But she + longed to be able to. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + It was a morning of early March, and Michael, looking out from the + dining-room window at the house in Curzon Street, where he had just + breakfasted alone, was smitten with wonder and a secret ecstasy, for he + suddenly saw and felt that it was winter no longer, but that spring had + come. For the last week the skies had screamed with outrageous winds and + had been populous with flocks of sullen clouds that discharged themselves + in sleet and snowy rain, and half last night, for he had slept very badly, + he had heard the dashing of showers, as of wind-driven spray, against the + window-panes, and had listened to the fierce rattling of the frames. + Towards morning he had slept, and during those hours it seemed that a new + heaven and a new earth had come into being; vitally and essentially the + world was a different affair altogether. + </p> + <p> + At the back of the house on to which these windows looked was a garden of + some half acre, a square of somewhat sooty grass, bounded by high walls, + with a few trees at the further end. Into it, too, had the message that + thrilled through his bones penetrated, and this little oasis of doubtful + grass and blackened shrubs had a totally different aspect to-day from that + which it had worn all those weeks. The sparrows that had sat with + fluffed-up feathers in corners sheltered from the gales, were suddenly + busy and shrilly vocal, chirruping and dragging about straws, and flying + from limb to limb of the trees with twigs in their beaks. For the first + time he noticed that little verdant cabochons of folded leaf had globed + themselves on the lilac bushes below the window, crocuses had budded, and + in the garden beds had shot up the pushing spikes of bulbs, while in the + sooty grass he could see specks and patches of vivid green, the first + growth of the year. + </p> + <p> + He opened the window and strolled out. The whole taste and savour of the + air was changed, and borne on the primrose-coloured sunshine came the + smell of damp earth, no longer dead and reeking of the decay of autumn, + but redolent with some new element, something fertile and fecund, + something daintily, indefinably laden with the secret of life and + restoration. The grey, lumpy clouds were gone, and instead chariots of + dazzling white bowled along the infinite blue expanse, harnessed to the + southwest wind. But, above all, the sparrows dragged straws to and fro, + loudly chirruping. All spring was indexed there. + </p> + <p> + For a moment Michael was entranced with the exquisite moment, and stood + sunning his soul in spring. But then he felt the fetters of his own + individual winter heavy on him again, and he could only see what was + happening without feeling it. For that moment he had felt the leap in his + blood, but the next he was conscious again of the immense fatigue that for + weeks had been growing on him. The task which he had voluntarily taken on + himself had become no lighter with habit, the incessant attendance on his + mother and the strain of it got heavier day by day. For some time now her + childlike content in his presence had been clouded and, instead, she was + constantly depressed and constantly querulous with him, finding fault with + his words and his silences, and in her confused and muffled manner blaming + him and affixing sinister motives to his most innocent actions. But she + was still entirely dependent on him, and if he left her for an hour or + two, she would wait in an agony of anxiety for his return, and when he + came back overwhelmed him with tearful caresses and the exaction of + promises not to go away again. Then, feeling certain of him once more, she + would start again on complaints and reproaches. Her doctor had warned him + that it looked as if some new phase of her illness was approaching, which + might necessitate the complete curtailment of her liberty; but day had + succeeded to day and she still remained in the same condition, neither + better nor worse, but making every moment a burden to Michael. + </p> + <p> + It had been necessary that Sylvia should discontinue her visits, for some + weeks ago Lady Ashbridge had suddenly taken a dislike to her, and, when + she came, would sit in silent and lofty displeasure, speaking to her as + little as possible, and treating her with a chilling and awful politeness. + Michael had enough influence with his mother to prevent her telling the + girl what her crime had been, which was her refusal to marry him; but, + when he was alone with his mother, he had to listen to torrents of these + complaints. Lady Ashbridge, with a wealth of language that had lain + dormant in her all her life, sarcastically supposed that Miss Falbe was a + princess in disguise (“very impenetrable disguise, for I’m sure she + reminds me of a barmaid more than a princess”), and thought that such a + marriage would be beneath her. Or, another time, she hinted that Miss + Falbe might be already married; indeed, this seemed a very plausible + explanation of her attitude. She desired, in fact, that Sylvia should not + come to see her any more, and now, when she did not, there was scarcely a + day in which Lady Ashbridge would not talk in a pointed manner about + pretended friends who leave you alone, and won’t even take the trouble to + take a two-penny ‘bus (if they are so poor as all that) to come from + Chelsea to Curzon Street. + </p> + <p> + Michael knew that his mother’s steps were getting nearer and nearer to + that border line which separates the sane from the insane, and with all + the wearing strain of the days as they passed, had but the one desire in + his heart, namely, to keep her on the right side for as long as was + humanly possible. But something might happen, some new symptom develop + which would make it impossible for her to go on living with him as she did + now, and the dread of that moment haunted his waking hours and his dreams. + Two months ago her doctor had told him that, for the sake of everyone + concerned, it was to be hoped that the progress of her disease would be + swift; but, for his part, Michael passionately disclaimed such a wish. In + spite of her constant complaints and strictures, she was still possessed + of her love for him, and, wearing though every day was, he grudged the + passing of the hours that brought her nearer to the awful boundary line. + Had a deed been presented to him for his signature, which bound him + indefinitely to his mother’s service, on the condition that she got no + worse, his pen would have spluttered with his eagerness to sign. + </p> + <p> + In consequence of his mother’s dislike to Sylvia, Michael had hardly seen + her during this last month. Once, when owing to some small physical + disturbance, Lady Ashbridge had gone to bed early on a Sunday evening, he + had gone to one of the Falbes’ weekly parties, and had tried to fling + himself with enjoyment into the friendly welcoming atmosphere. But for the + present, he felt himself detached from it all, for this life with his + mother was close round him with a sort of nightmare obsession, through + which outside influence and desire could only faintly trickle. He knew + that the other life was there, he knew that in his heart he longed for + Sylvia as much as ever; but, in his present detachment, his desire for her + was a drowsy ache, a remote emptiness, and the veil that lay over his + mother seemed to lie over him also. Once, indeed, during the evening, when + he had played for her, the veil had lifted and for the drowsy ache he had + the sunlit, stabbing pang; but, as he left, the veil dropped again, and he + let himself into the big, mute house, sorry that he had left it. In the + same way, too, his music was in abeyance: he could not concentrate himself + or find it worth while to make the effort to absorb himself in it, and he + knew that short of that, there was neither profit nor pleasure for him in + his piano. Everything seemed remote compared with the immediate + foreground: there was a gap, a gulf between it and all the rest of the + world. + </p> + <p> + His father wrote to him from time to time, laying stress on the extreme + importance of all he was doing in the country, and giving no hint of his + coming up to town at present. But he faintly adumbrated the time when in + the natural course of events he would have to attend to his national + duties in the House of Lords, and wondered whether it would not (about + then) be good for his wife to have a change, and enjoy the country when + the weather became more propitious. Michael, with an excusable + unfilialness, did not answer these amazing epistles; but, having basked in + their unconscious humour, sent them on to Aunt Barbara. Weekly reports + were sent by Lady Ashbridge’s nurse to his father, and Michael had nothing + whatever to add to these. His fear of him had given place to a quiet + contempt, which he did not care to think about, and certainly did not care + to express. + </p> + <p> + Every now and then Lady Ashbridge had what Michael thought of as a good + hour or two, when she went back to her content and childlike joy in his + presence, and it was clear, when presently she came downstairs as he still + lingered in the garden, reading the daily paper in the sun, that one of + these better intervals had visited her. She, too, it appeared, felt the + waving of the magic wand of spring, and she noted the signs of it with a + joy that was infinitely pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, “what a beautiful morning! Is it wise to sit out of + doors without your hat, Michael? Shall not I go and fetch it for you? No? + Then let us sit here and talk. It is spring, is it not? Look how the birds + are collecting twigs for their nests! I wonder how they know that the time + has come round again. Sweet little birds! How bold and merry they are.” + </p> + <p> + She edged her way a little nearer him, so that her shoulder leaned on his + arm. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I wish you were going to nest, too,” she said. “I wonder—do + you think I have been ill-natured and unkind to your Sylvia, and that + makes her not come to see me now? I do remember being vexed at her for not + wanting to marry you, and perhaps I talked unkindly about her. I am sorry, + for my being cross to her will do no good; it will only make her more + unwilling than ever to marry a man who has such an unpleasant mamma. Will + she come to see me again, do you think, if I ask her?” + </p> + <p> + These good hours were too rare in their appearances and swift in their + vanishings to warrant the certainty that she would feel the same this + afternoon, and Michael tried to turn the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, we shall have to think about that, mother,” he said. “Look, there is + a quarrel going on between those two sparrows. They both want the same + straw.” + </p> + <p> + She followed his pointing finger, easily diverted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wish they would not quarrel,” she said. “It is so sad and stupid to + quarrel, instead of being agreeable and pleasant. I do not like them to do + that. There, one has flown away! And see, the crocuses are coming up. + Indeed it is spring. I should like to see the country to-day. If you are + not busy, Michael, would you take me out into the country? We might go to + Richmond Park perhaps, for that is in the opposite direction from + Ashbridge, and look at the deer and the budding trees. Oh, Michael, might + we take lunch with us, and eat it out of doors? I want to enjoy as much as + I can of this spring day.” + </p> + <p> + She clung closer to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Everything seems so fragile, dear,” she whispered. “Everything may break. + . . . Sometimes I am frightened.” + </p> + <p> + The little expedition was soon moving, after a slight altercation between + Lady Ashbridge and her nurse, whom she wished to leave behind in order to + enjoy Michael’s undiluted society. But Miss Baker, who had already spoken + to Michael, telling him she was not quite happy in her mind about her + patient, was firm about accompanying them, though she obligingly effaced + herself as far as possible by taking the box-seat by the chauffeur as they + drove down, and when they arrived, and Michael and his mother strolled + about in the warm sunshine before lunch, keeping carefully in the + background, just ready to come if she was wanted. But indeed it seemed as + if no such precautions were necessary, for never had Lady Ashbridge been + more amenable, more blissfully content in her son’s companionship. The + vernal hour, that first smell of the rejuvenated earth, as it stirred and + awoke from its winter sleep had reached her no less than it had reached + the springing grass and the heart of buried bulbs, and never perhaps in + all her life had she been happier than on that balmy morning of early + March. Here the stir of spring that had crept across miles of smoky houses + to the gardens behind Curzon Street, was more actively effervescent, and + the “bare, leafless choirs” of the trees, which had been empty of song all + winter, were once more resonant with feathered worshippers. Through the + tussocks of the grey grass of last year were pricking the vivid shoots of + green, and over the grove of young birches and hazel the dim, purple veil + of spring hung mistlike. Down by the water-edge of the Penn ponds they + strayed, where moor-hens scuttled out of rhododendron bushes that overhung + the lake, and hurried across the surface of the water, half swimming, half + flying, for the shelter of some securer retreat. There, too, they found a + plantation of willows, already in bud with soft moleskin buttons, and a + tortoiseshell butterfly, evoked by the sun from its hibernation, settled + on one of the twigs, opening and shutting its diapered wings, and + spreading them to the warmth to thaw out the stiffness and inaction of + winter. Blackbirds fluted in the busy thickets, a lark shot up near them + soaring and singing till it became invisible in the luminous air, a + suspended carol in the blue, and bold male chaffinches, seeking their + mates with twittered songs, fluttered with burr of throbbing wings. All + the promise of spring was there—dim, fragile, but sure, on this day + of days, this pearl that emerged from the darkness and the stress of + winter, iridescent with the tender colours of the dawning year. + </p> + <p> + They lunched in the open motor, Miss Baker again obligingly removing + herself to the box seat, and spreading rugs on the grass sat in the + sunshine, while Lady Ashbridge talked or silently watched Michael as he + smoked, but always with a smile. The one little note of sadness which she + had sounded when she said she was frightened lest everything should break, + had not rung again, and yet all day Michael heard it echoing somewhere + dimly behind the song of the wind and the birds, and the shoots of growing + trees. It lurked in the thickets, just eluding him, and not presenting + itself to his direct gaze; but he felt that he saw it out of the corner of + his eye, only to lose it when he looked at it. And yet for weeks his + mother had never seemed so well: the cloud had lifted off her this + morning, and, but for some vague presage of trouble that somehow haunted + his mind, refusing to be disentangled, he could have believed that, after + all, medical opinion might be at fault, and that, instead of her passing + more deeply into the shadows as he had been warned was inevitable, she + might at least maintain the level to which she had returned to-day. All + day she had been as she was before the darkness and discontent of those + last weeks had come upon her: he who knew her now so well could certainly + have affirmed that she had recovered the serenity of a month ago. It was + so much, so tremendously much that she should do this, and if only she + could remain as she had been all day, she would at any rate be happy, + happier, perhaps, than she had consciously been in all the stifled years + which had preceded this. Nothing else at the moment seemed to matter + except the preservation to her of such content, and how eagerly would he + have given all the service that his young manhood had to offer, if by that + he could keep her from going further into the bewildering darkness that he + had been told awaited her. + </p> + <p> + There was some little trouble, though no more than the shadow of a passing + cloud, when at last he said that they must be getting back to town, for + the afternoon was beginning to wane. She besought him for five minutes + more of sitting here in the sunshine that was still warm, and when those + minutes were over, she begged for yet another postponement. But then the + quiet imposition of his will suddenly conquered her, and she got up. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you shall do what you like with me,” she said, “for you have + given me such a happy day. Will you remember that, Michael? It has been a + nice day. And might we, do you think, ask Miss Falbe to come to tea with + us when we get back? She can but say ‘no,’ and if she comes, I will be + very good and not vex her.” + </p> + <p> + As she got back into the motor she stood up for a moment, her vague blue + eyes scanning the sky, the trees, the stretch of sunlit park. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, lake, happy lake and moor-hens,” she said. “Good-bye, trees and + grass that are growing green again. Good-bye, all pretty, peaceful + things.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had no hesitation in telephoning to Sylvia when they got back to + town, asking her if she could come and have tea with his mother, for the + gentle, affectionate mood of the morning still lasted, and her eagerness + to see Sylvia was only equalled by her eagerness to be agreeable to her. + He was greedy, whenever it could be done, to secure a pleasure for his + mother, and this one seemed in her present mood a perfectly safe one. + Added to that impulse, in itself sufficient, there was his own longing to + see her again, that thirst that never left him, and soon after they had + got back to Curzon Street Sylvia was with them, and, as before, in + preparation for a long visit, she had taken off her hat. To-day she + divested herself of it without any suggestion on Lady Ashbridge’s part, + and this immensely pleased her. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Michael,” she said. “Miss Falbe means to stop a long time. That is + sweet of her, is it not? She is not in such a hurry to get away today. + Sugar, Miss Falbe? Yes, I remember you take sugar and milk, but no cream. + Well, I do think this is nice!” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia had seen neither mother nor son for a couple of weeks, and her eyes + coming fresh to them noticed much change in them both. In Lady Ashbridge + this change, though marked, was indefinable enough: she seemed to the girl + to have somehow gone much further off than she had been before; she had + faded, become indistinct. It was evident that she found, except when she + was talking to Michael, a far greater difficulty in expressing herself, + the channels of communication, as it were, were getting choked. . . . With + Michael, the change was easily stated, he looked terribly tired, and it + was evident that the strain of these weeks was telling heavily on him. And + yet, as Sylvia noticed with a sudden sense of personal pride in him, not + one jot of his patient tenderness for his mother was abated. Tired as he + was, nervous, on edge, whenever he dealt with her, either talking to her, + or watching for any little attention she might need, his face was alert + with love. But she noticed that when the footman brought in tea, and in + arranging the cups let a spoon slip jangling from its saucer, Michael + jumped as if a bomb had gone off, and under his breath said to the man, + “You clumsy fool!” Little as the incident was, she, knowing Michael’s + courtesy and politeness, found it significant, as bearing on the evidence + of his tired face. Then, next moment his mother said something to him, and + instantly his love transformed and irradiated it. + </p> + <p> + To-day, more than ever before, Lady Ashbridge seemed to exist only through + him. As Sylvia knew, she had been for the last few weeks constantly + disagreeable to him; but she wondered whether this exacting, meticulous + affection was not harder to bear. Yet Michael, in spite of the nervous + strain which now showed itself so clearly, seemed to find no difficulty at + all in responding to it. It might have worn his nerves to tatters, but the + tenderness and love of him passed unhampered through the frayed + communications, for it was he himself who was brought into play. It was of + that Michael, now more and more triumphantly revealed, that Sylvia felt so + proud, as if he had been a possession, an achievement wholly personal to + her. He was her Michael—it was just that which was becoming evident, + since nothing else would account for her claim of him, unconsciously + whispered by herself to herself. + </p> + <p> + It was not long before Lady Ashbridge’s nurse appeared, to take her + upstairs to rest. At that her patient became suddenly and unaccountably + agitated: all the happy content of the day was wiped off her mind. She + clung to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Michael,” she said, “they mustn’t take me away. I know they are + going to take me away from you altogether. You mustn’t leave me.” + </p> + <p> + Nurse Baker came towards her. + </p> + <p> + “Now, my lady, you mustn’t behave like that,” she said. “You know you are + only going upstairs to rest as usual before dinner. You will see Lord + Comber again then.” + </p> + <p> + She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “No, Michael, no!” she repeated. “I’m going to be taken away from you. And + look, Miss—ah, my dear, I have forgotten your name—look, she + has got no hat on. She was going to stop with me a long time. Michael, + must I go?” + </p> + <p> + Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye of + the trained attendant. + </p> + <p> + Then she spoke to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Lord Comber will just step outside with me,” she said, “we’ll + see if we can arrange for you to stop a little longer.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ll come back, Michael,” said she. + </p> + <p> + Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with + infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I will,” he said. “And won’t you give Miss Falbe another + cup of tea?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ll do that,” she said. “And by the time I’ve done that you will be + back again, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door without + shutting it. + </p> + <p> + “There’s something I don’t like about her this evening,” she said. “All + day I have been rather anxious. She must be watched very carefully. Now I + want you to get her to come upstairs, and I’ll try to make her go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry. + </p> + <p> + “What do you expect?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t expect anything, but we must be prepared. A change comes very + quickly.” + </p> + <p> + Michael nodded, and they went back together. + </p> + <p> + “Now, mother darling,” he said, “up you go with Nurse Baker. You’ve been + out all day, and you must have a good rest before dinner. Shall I come up + and see you soon?” + </p> + <p> + A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but where am I going to?” she said. “How do I know Nurse Baker will + take me to my own room?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I promise you she will,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + That instantly reassured her. Mood after mood, as Michael saw, were + passing like shadows over her mind. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s enough!” she said. “Good-bye, Miss—there! the name’s + gone again! But won’t you sit here and have a talk to Michael, and let him + show you over the house to see if you like it against the time—Oh, + Michael said I mustn’t worry you about that. And won’t you stop and have + dinner with us, and afterwards we can sing.” + </p> + <p> + Michael put his arm around her. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll talk about that while you’re resting,” he said. “Don’t keep Nurse + Baker waiting any longer, mother.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “No, no; mustn’t keep anybody waiting,” she said. “Your father taught me + to be punctual.” + </p> + <p> + When they had left the room together, Sylvia turned to Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, my dear,” she said, “I think you are—well, I think you are + Michael.” + </p> + <p> + She saw that at the moment he was not thinking of her at all, and her + heart honoured him for that. + </p> + <p> + “I’m anxious about my mother to-night,” he said. “She has been so—I + suppose you must call it—well all day, but the nurse isn’t easy + about her.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly all his fears and his fatigue and his trouble looked out of his + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I’m frightened,” he said, “and it’s so unutterably feeble of me. And I’m + tired: you don’t know how tired, and try as I may I feel that all the time + it is no use. My mother is slipping, slipping away.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, no wonder you are tired,” she said. “Michael, can’t anybody + help? It isn’t right you should do everything.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “They can’t help,” he said. “I’m the only person who can help her. And I—” + </p> + <p> + He stood up, bracing mind and body. + </p> + <p> + “And I’m so brutally proud of it,” he said. “She wants me. Well, that’s a + lot for a son to be able to say. Sylvia, I would give anything to keep + her.” + </p> + <p> + Still he was not thinking of her, and knowing that, she came close to him + and put her arm in his. She longed to give him some feeling of + comradeship. She could be sisterly to him over this without suggesting to + him what she could not be to him. Her instinct had divined right, and she + felt the answering pressure of his elbow that acknowledged her sympathy, + welcomed it, and thought no more about it. + </p> + <p> + “You are giving everything to keep her,” she said. “You are giving + yourself. What further gift is there, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + He kept her arm close pressed by him, and she knew by the frankness of + that holding caress he was thinking of her still either not at all, or, + she hoped, as a comrade who could perhaps be of assistance to courage and + clear-sightedness in difficult hours. She wanted to be no more than that + to him just now; it was the most she could do for him, but with a desire, + the most acute she had ever felt for him, she wanted him to accept that—to + take her comradeship as he would have surely taken her brother’s. Once, in + the last intimate moments they had had together, he had refused to accept + that attitude from her—had felt it a relationship altogether + impossible. She had seen his point of view, and recognised the justice of + the embarrassment. Now, very simply but very eagerly, she hoped, as with + some tugging strain, that he would not reject it. She knew she had missed + this brother, who had refused to be brother to her. But he had been about + his own business, and he had been doing his own business, with a quiet + splendour that drew her eyes to him, and as they stood there, thus linked, + she wondered if her heart was following. . . . She had seen, last + December, how reasonable it was of him to refuse this domestic sort of + intimacy with her; now, she found herself intensely longing that he would + not persist in his refusal. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Michael awoke to the fact of her presence, and abruptly he moved + away from her. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Sylvia,” he said. “I know I have your—your good wishes. But—well, + I am sure you understand.” + </p> + <p> + She understood perfectly well. And the understanding of it cut her to the + quick. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got any right to behave like that to me, Michael?” she asked. + “What have I done that you should treat me quite like that?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, completely recalled in mind to her alone. All the hopes + and desires of the autumn smote him with encompassing blows. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, every right,” he said. “I wasn’t heeding you. I only thought of my + mother, and the fact that there was a very dear friend by me. And then I + came to myself: I remembered who the friend was.” + </p> + <p> + They stood there in silence, apart, for a moment. Then Michael came + closer. The desire for human sympathy, and that the sympathy he most + longed for, gripped him again. + </p> + <p> + “I’m a brute,” he said. “It was awfully nice of you to—to offer me + that. I accept it so gladly. I’m wretchedly anxious.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her. + </p> + <p> + “Take my arm again,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She felt the crook of his elbow tighten again on her wrist. She had not + known before how much she prized that. + </p> + <p> + “But are you sure you are right in being anxious, Mike?” she asked. “Isn’t + it perhaps your own tired nerves that make you anxious?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ve been tired a long time, you see, and I + never felt about my mother like this. She has been so bright and content + all day, and yet there were little lapses, if you understand. It was as if + she knew: she said good-bye to the lake and the jolly moor-hens and the + grass. And her nurse thinks so, too. She called me out of the room just + now to tell me that. . . . I don’t know why I should tell you these + depressing things.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you?” she asked. “But I do. It’s because you know I care. Otherwise + you wouldn’t tell me: you couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the balance quavered in his mind between Sylvia the beloved + and Sylvia the friend. It inclined to the friend. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s why,” he said. “And I reproach myself, you know. All these + years I might, if I had tried harder, have been something to my mother. I + might have managed it. I thought—at least I felt—that she + didn’t encourage me. But I was a beast to have been discouraged. And now + her wanting me has come just when it isn’t her unclouded self that wants + me. It’s as if—as if it had been raining all day, and just on sunset + there comes a gleam in the west. And so soon after it’s night.” + </p> + <p> + “You made the gleam,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “But so late; so awfully late.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he stood stiff, listening to some sound which at present she did + not hear. It sounded a little louder, and her ears caught the running of + footsteps on the stairs outside. Next moment the door opened, and Lady + Ashbridge’s maid put in a pale face. + </p> + <p> + “Will you go to her ladyship, my lord?” she said. “Her nurse wants you. + She told me to telephone to Sir James.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia moved with him, not disengaging her arm, towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, may I wait?” she said. “You might want me, you know. Please let + me wait.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge’s room was on the floor above, and Michael ran up the + intervening stairs three at a time. He knocked and entered and wondered + why he had been sent for, for she was sitting quietly on her sofa near the + window. But he noticed that Nurse Baker stood very close to her. Otherwise + there was nothing that was in any way out of the ordinary. + </p> + <p> + “And here he is,” said the nurse reassuringly as he entered. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge turned towards the door as Michael came in, and when he met + her eyes he knew why he had been sent for, why at this moment Sir James + was being summoned. For she looked at him not with the clouded eyes of + affection, not with the mother-spirit striving to break through the + shrouding trouble of her brain, but with eyes of blank non-recognition. + She saw him with the bodily organs of her vision, but the picture of him + was conveyed no further: there was a blank wall behind her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Michael did not hesitate. It was possible that he still might be something + to her, that he, his presence, might penetrate. + </p> + <p> + “But you are not resting, mother,” he said. “Why are you sitting up? I + came to talk to you, as I said I would, while you rested.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly into those blank, irresponsive eyes there leaped recognition. He + saw the pupils contract as they focused themselves on him, and hand in + hand with recognition there leaped into them hate. Instantly that was + veiled again. But it had been there, and now it was not banished; it + lurked behind in the shadows, crouching and waiting. + </p> + <p> + She answered him at once, but in a voice that was quite toneless. It + seemed like that of a child repeating a lesson which it had learned by + heart, and could be pronounced while it was thinking of something quite + different. + </p> + <p> + “I was waiting till you came, my dear,” she said. “Now I will lie down. + Come and sit by me, Michael.” + </p> + <p> + She watched him narrowly while she spoke, then gave a quick glance at her + nurse, as if to see that they were not making signals to each other. There + was an easy chair just behind her head, and as Michael wheeled it up near + her sofa, he looked at the nurse. She moved her hand slightly towards the + left, and interpreting this, he moved the chair a little to the left, so + that he would not sit, as he had intended, quite close to the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “And you enjoyed your day in the country, mother?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him sideways and slowly. Then again, as if recollecting a + task she had committed to memory, she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so much,” she said. “All the trees and the birds and the sunshine. I + enjoyed them so much.” + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Bring your chair a little closer, my darling,” she said. “You are so far + off. And why do you wait, nurse? I will call you if I want you.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt one moment of sickening spiritual terror. He understood quite + plainly why Nurse Baker did not want him to go near to his mother, and the + reason of it gave him this pang, not of nervousness but of black horror, + that the sane and the sensitive must always feel when they are brought + intimately in contact with some blind derangement of instinct in those + most nearly allied to them. Physically, on the material plane, he had no + fear at all. + </p> + <p> + He made a movement, grasping the arm of his chair, as if to wheel it + closer, but he came actually no nearer her. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you go away, nurse?” said Lady Ashbridge, “and leave my son and + me to talk about our nice day in the country?” + </p> + <p> + Nurse Baker answered quite naturally. + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk, too, my lady,” she said. “I went with you and Lord + Comber. We all enjoyed it together.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Michael that his mother made some violent effort towards + self-control. He saw one of her hands that were lying on her knee clench + itself, so that the knuckles stood out white. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we will all talk together, then,” she said. “Or—er—shall + I have a little doze first? I am rather sleepy with so much pleasant air. + And you are sleepy, too, are you not, Michael? Yes, I see you look sleepy. + Shall we have a little nap, as I often do after tea? Then, when I am fresh + again, you shall come back, nurse, and we will talk over our pleasant + day.” + </p> + <p> + When he entered the room, Michael had not quite closed the door, and now, + as half an hour before, he heard steps on the stairs. A moment afterwards + his mother heard them too. + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” she said. “Who is coming now to disturb me, just when I + wanted to have a nap?” + </p> + <p> + There came a knock at the door. Nurse Baker did not move her head, but + continued watching her patient, with hands ready to act. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” she said, not looking round. + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge’s face was towards the door. As Sir James entered, she + suddenly sprang up, and in her right hand that lay beside her was a knife, + which she had no doubt taken from the tea-table when she came upstairs. + She turned swiftly towards Michael, and stabbed at him with it. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a trap,” she cried. “You’ve led me into a trap. They are going to + take me away.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had thrown up his arm to shield his head. The blow fell between + shoulder and elbow, and he felt the edge of the knife grate on his bone. + </p> + <p> + And from deep in his heart sprang the leaping fountains of compassion and + love and yearning pity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Michael was sitting in the big studio at the Falbes’ house late one + afternoon at the end of June, and the warmth and murmur of the full-blown + summer filled the air. The day had so far declined that the rays of the + sun, level in its setting, poured slantingly in through the big window to + the north, and shining through the foliage of the plane-trees outside made + a diaper of rosy illuminated spots and angled shadows on the whitewashed + wall. As the leaves stirred in the evening breeze, this pattern shifted + and twinkled; now, as the wind blew aside a bunch of foliage, a lake of + rosy gold would spring up on the wall; then, as the breath of movement + died, the green shadows grew thicker again faintly stirring. Through the + window to the south, which Hermann had caused to be cut there, since the + studio was not used for painting purposes, Michael could see into the + patch of high-walled garden, where Mrs. Falbe was sitting in a low basket + chair, completely absorbed in a book of high-born and ludicrous + adventures. She had made a mild attempt when she found that Michael + intended to wait for Sylvia’s return to entertain him till she came; but, + with a little oblique encouragement, remarking on the beauty and warmth of + the evening, and the pleasure of sitting out of doors, Michael had induced + her to go out again, and leave him alone in the studio, free to live over + again that which, twenty-four hours ago, had changed life for him. + </p> + <p> + He reconstructed it as he sat on the sofa and dwelt on the pearl-moments + of it. Just this time yesterday he had come in and found Sylvia alone. She + had got up, he remembered, to give him greeting, and just opposite the + fireplace they had come face to face. She held in her hand a small white + rose which she had plucked in the tiny garden here in the middle of + London. It was not a very fine specimen, but it was a rose, and she had + said in answer to his depreciatory glance: “But you must see it when I + have washed it. One has to wash London flowers.” + </p> + <p> + Then . . . the miracle happened. Michael, with the hand that had just + taken hers, stroked a petal of this prized vegetable, with no thought in + his mind stronger than the thoughts that had been indigenous there since + Christmas. As his finger first touched the rim of the town-bred petals, + undersized yet not quite lacking in “rose-quality,” he had intended + nothing more than to salute the flower, as Sylvia made her apology for it. + “One has to wash London flowers.” But as he touched it he looked up at + her, and the quiet, usual song of his thoughts towards her grew suddenly + loud and stupefyingly sweet. It was as if from the vacant hive-door the + bees swarmed. In her eyes, as they met his, he thought he saw an + expectancy, a welcome, and his hand, instead of stroking the rose-petals, + closed on the rose and on the hand that held it, and kept them close + imprisoned and strongly gripped. He could not remember if he had spoken + any word, but he had seen that in her face which rendered all speech + unnecessary, and, knowing in the bones and the blood of him that he was + right, he kissed her. And then she had said, “Yes, Michael.” + </p> + <p> + His hand still was tight on hers that held the crumpled rose, and when he + opened it, lover-like, to stroke and kiss it, there was a spot of blood in + the palm of it, where a rose-thorn had pricked her, just one drop of + Sylvia’s blood. As he kissed it, he had wiped it away with the tip of his + tongue between his lips, and she smiling had said, “Oh, Michael, how + silly!” + </p> + <p> + They had sat together on the sofa where this afternoon he sat alone + waiting for her. Every moment of that half hour was as distinct as the + outline of trees and hills just before a storm, and yet it was still + entirely dream-like. He knew it had happened, for nothing but the + happening of it would account now for the fact of himself; but, though + there was nothing in the world so true, there was nothing so incredible. + Yet it was all as clean-cut in his mind as etched lines, and round each + line sprang flowers and singing birds. For a long space there was silence + after they had sat down, and then she said, “I think I always loved you, + Michael, only I didn’t know it. . . .” Thereafter, foolish love talk: he + had claimed a superiority there, for he had always loved her and had + always known it. Much time had been wasted owing to her ignorance . . . + she ought to have known. But all the time that existed was theirs now. In + all the world there was no more time than what they had. The crumpled rose + had its petals rehabilitated, the thorn that had pricked her was peeled + off. They wondered if Hermann had come in yet. Then, by some vague process + of locomotion, they found themselves at the piano, and with her arm around + his neck Sylvia has whispered half a verse of the song of herself. . . . + </p> + <p> + They became a little more definite over lover-confessions. Michael had, so + to speak, nothing to confess: he had loved all along—he had wanted + her all along; there never had been the least pretence or nonsense about + it. Her path was a little more difficult to trace, but once it had been + traversed it was clear enough. She had liked him always; she had felt + sister-like from the moment when Hermann brought him to the house, and + sister-like she had continued to feel, even when Michael had definitely + declared there was “no thoroughfare” there. She had missed that + relationship when it stopped: she did not mind telling him that now, since + it was abandoned by them both; but not for the world would she have + confessed before that she had missed it. She had loved being asked to come + and see his mother, and it was during those visits that she had helped to + pile the barricade across the “sister-thoroughfare” with her own hands. + She began to share Michael’s sense of the impossibility of that road. They + could not walk down it together, for they had to be either more or less to + each other than that. And, during these visits, she had begun to + understand (and her face a little hid itself) what Michael’s love meant. + She saw it manifested towards his mother; she was taught by it; she + learned it; and, she supposed, she loved it. Anyhow, having seen it, she + could not want Michael as a brother any longer, and if he still wanted + anything else, she supposed (so she supposed) that some time he would + mention that fact. Yes: she began to hope that he would not be very long + about it. . . . + </p> + <p> + Michael went over this very deliberately as he sat waiting for her + twenty-four hours later. He rehearsed this moment and that over and over + again: in mind he followed himself and Sylvia across to the piano, not + hurrying their steps, and going through the verse of the song she sang at + the pace at which she actually sang it. And, as he dreamed and + recollected, he heard a little stir in the quiet house, and Sylvia came. + </p> + <p> + They met just as they met yesterday in front of the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael, have you been waiting long?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, hours, or perhaps a couple of minutes. I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but which? If hours, I shall apologise, and then excuse myself by + saying that you must have come earlier than you intended. If minutes I + shall praise myself for being so exceedingly punctual.” + </p> + <p> + “Minutes, then,” said he. “I’ll praise you instead. Praise is more + convincing if somebody else does it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you aren’t somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you done all the + things you told me you were going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia released her hands from his. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, then,” she said. “You’ve seen your father?” + </p> + <p> + There was no cloud on Michael’s face. There was such sunlight where his + soul sat that no shadow could fall across it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I saw him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He captured Sylvia’s hand again. + </p> + <p> + “And what is more he saw me, so to speak,” he said. “He realised that I + had an existence independent of him. I used to be a—a sort of clock + to him; he could put its hands to point to any hour he chose. Well, he has + realised—he has really—that I am ticking along on my own + account. He was quite respectful, not only to me, which doesn’t matter, + but to you—which does.” Michael laughed, as he plaited his fingers + in with hers. + </p> + <p> + “My father is so comic,” he said, “and unlike most great humourists his + humour is absolutely unconscious. He was perfectly well aware that I meant + to marry you, for I told him that last Christmas, adding that you did not + mean to marry me. So since then I think he’s got used to you. Used to you—fancy + getting used to you!” + </p> + <p> + “Especially since he had never seen me,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “That makes it less odd. Getting used to you after seeing you would be + much more incredible. I was saying that in a way he had got used to you, + just as he’s got used to my being a person, and not a clock on his + chimney-piece, and what seems to have made so much difference is what Aunt + Barbara told him last night, namely, that your mother was a Tracy. Sylvia, + don’t let it be too much for you, but in a certain far-away manner he + realises that you are ‘one of us.’ Isn’t he a comic? He’s going to make + the best of you, it appears. To make the best of you! You can’t beat that, + you know. In fact, he told me to ask if he might come and pay his respects + to your mother to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + “And what about my singing, my career?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “He was funny about that also,” he said. “My father took it absolutely for + granted that having made this tremendous social advance, you would bury + your past, all but the Tracy part of it, as if it had been something + disgraceful which the exalted Comber family agreed to overlook.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I told him that, of course, you would do as you pleased about + that, but that for my part I should urge you most strongly to do nothing + of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + “And he?” + </p> + <p> + “He got four inches taller. What is so odd is that as long as I never + opposed my father’s wishes, as long as I was the clock on the chimney + piece, I was terrified at him. The thought of opposing myself to him made + my knees quake. But the moment I began doing so, I found there was nothing + to be frightened at.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room. + </p> + <p> + “But what am I to do about it, Michael?” she asked. “Oh, I blush when I + think of a conversation I had with Hermann about you, just before + Christmas, when I knew you were going to propose to me. I said that I + could never give up my singing. Can you picture the self-importance of + that? Why, it doesn’t seem to me to matter two straws whether I do or not. + Naturally, I don’t want to earn my living by it any more, but whether I + sing or not doesn’t matter. And even as the words are in my mouth I try to + imagine myself not singing any more, and I can’t. It’s become part of me, + and while I blush to think of what I said to Hermann, I wonder whether + it’s not true.” + </p> + <p> + She came and sat down by him again. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you have got enough artistic instinct to understand that, + Michael,” she said, “and to know what a tremendous help it is to one’s art + to be a professional, and to be judged seriously. I suppose that, ideally, + if one loves music as I do one ought to be able to do one’s very best, + whether one is singing professionally or not, but it is hardly possible. + Why, the whole difference between amateurs and professionals is that + amateurs sing charmingly and professionals just sing. Only they sing as + well as they possibly can, not only because they love it, but because if + they don’t they will be dropped on to, and if they continue not singing + their best, will lose their place which they have so hardly won. I can see + myself, perhaps, not singing at all, literally never opening my lips in + song again, but I can’t see myself coming down to the Drill Hall at + Brixton, extremely beautifully dressed, with rows of pearls, and arriving + rather late, and just singing charmingly. It’s such a spur to know that + serious musicians judge one’s performance by the highest possible + standard. It’s so relaxing to think that one can easily sing well enough, + that one can delight ninety-nine hundredths of the audience without any + real effort. I could sing ‘The Lost Chord’ and move the whole Drill Hall + at Brixton to tears. But there might be one man there who knew, you or + Hermann or some other, and at the end he would just shrug his shoulders + ever so slightly, and I would wish I had never been born.” + </p> + <p> + She paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll not sing any more at all, ever,” she said, “or I must sing to those + who will take me seriously and judge me ruthlessly. To sing just well + enough to please isn’t possible. I’ll do either you like.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe strayed in at this moment with her finger in her book, but + otherwise as purposeless as a wandering mist. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid it might be going to get chilly,” she remarked. “After a hot + day there is often a cool evening. Will you stop and dine, Lord—I + mean, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + “Please; certainly!” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Then I hope there will be something for you to eat. Sylvia, is there + something to eat? No doubt you will see to that, darling. I shall just + rest upstairs for a little before dinner, and perhaps finish my book. So + pleased you are stopping.” + </p> + <p> + She drifted towards the studio door, in thistledown fashion catching at + corners a little, and then moving smoothly on again, talking gently half + to herself, half to the others. + </p> + <p> + “And Hermann’s not in yet, but if Lord—I mean, Michael, is going to + stop here till dinnertime, it won’t matter whether Hermann comes in in + time to dress or not, as Michael is not dressed either. Oh, there is the + postman’s knock! What a noise! I am not expecting any letters.” + </p> + <p> + The knock in question, however, proved to be Hermann, who, as was + generally the case, had forgotten his latchkey. He ran into his mother at + the studio door, and came and sat down, regardless of whether he was + wanted or not, between the two on the sofa, and took an arm of each. + </p> + <p> + “I probably intrude,” he said, “but such is my intention. I’ve just seen + Lady Barbara, who says that the shock has not been too much for Mike’s + father. That is a good thing; she says he is taking nourishment much as + usual. I suppose I oughtn’t to jest on so serious a subject, but I took my + cue from Lady Barbara. It appears that we have blue blood too, Sylvia, and + we must behave more like aristocrats. A Tracy in the time of King John + flirted, if no more, with a Comber. And what about your career, Sylvia? + Are you going to continue to urge your wild career, or not? I ask with a + purpose, as Blackiston proposes we should give a concert together in the + third week in July. The Queen’s Hall is vacant one afternoon, and he + thinks we might sing and play to them. I’m on if you are. It will be about + the last concert of the season, too, so we shall have to do our best. + Otherwise we, or I, anyhow, will start again in the autumn with a black + mark. By the way, are you going to start again in the autumn? It wouldn’t + surprise me one bit to hear that you and Mike had been talking about just + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be too clever to live, Hermann,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t propose to die, if you mean that. Oh, Blackiston had another + suggestion also. He wanted to know if we would consider making a short + tour in Germany in the autumn. He says that the beloved Fatherland is + rather disposed to be interested in us. He thinks we should have good + audiences at Leipzig, and so on. There’s a tendency, he says, to recognise + poor England, a cordial intention, anyhow. I said that in your case there + might be domestic considerations which—But I think I shall go in any + case. Lord, fancy playing in Germany to Germans again. Fancy being + listened to by a German audience; fancy if they approved.” + </p> + <p> + Michael leaned forward, putting his elbow into Hermann’s chest. Early + December had already been mentioned as a date for their marriage, and as a + pre-nuptial journey, this seemed to him a plan ecstatically ideal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sylvia,” he said. “The answer is yes. I shall come with you, you + know. I can see it; a triumphal procession, you two making noises, and me + listening. A month’s tour, Hermann. Middle of October till middle of + November. Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + All his tremendous pride in her singing, dormant for the moment under the + wonder of his love, rose to the surface. He knew what her singing meant to + her, and, from their conversation together just now, how keen was her + eagerness for the strict judgment of those who knew, how she loved that + austere pinnacle of daylight. Here was an ideal opportunity; never yet, + since she had won her place as a singer, had she sung in Germany, that + Mecca of the musical artist, and in her case, the land from which she + sprung. Had the scheme implied a postponement of their marriage, he would + still have declared himself for it, for he unerringly felt for her in + this; he knew intuitively what delicious beckoning this held for her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he repeated, “I must have you do that, Sylvia. I don’t care + what Hermann wants or what you want. I want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but who’s to do the playing and the singing?” asked Hermann. “Isn’t + it a question, perhaps, for—” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt quite secure about the feelings of the other two, and rudely + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “It’s a question for me. When the Fatherland hears that I + am there it will no doubt ask me to play and sing instead of you two. + Lord! Fancy marrying into such a distinguished family. I burst with + pride!” + </p> + <p> + It required, then, little debate, since all three were agreed, before + Hermann was empowered with authority to make arrangements, and they + remained simultaneously talking till Mrs. Falbe, again drifting in, + announced that the bell for dinner had sounded some minutes before. She + had her finger in the last chapter of “Lady Ursula’s Ordeal,” and laid it + face downwards on the table to resume again at the earliest possible + moment. This opportunity was granted her when, at the close of dinner, + coffee and the evening paper came in together. This Hermann opened at the + middle page. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he said. “That’s horrible! The Heir Apparent of the Austrian + Emperor has been murdered at Serajevo. Servian plot, apparently.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a dreadful thing,” said Mrs. Falbe, opening her book. “Poor man, + what had he done?” + </p> + <p> + Hermann took a cigarette, frowning. + </p> + <p> + “It may be a match—” he began. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe diverted her attention from “Lady Ursula” for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “They are on the chimney-piece, dear,” she said, thinking he spoke of + material matches. + </p> + <p> + Michael felt that Hermann saw something, or conjectured something ominous + in this news, for he sat with knitted brow reading, and letting the match + burn down. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it seems that Servian officers are implicated,” he said. “And there + are materials enough already for a row between Austria and Servia without + this.” + </p> + <p> + “Those tiresome Balkan States,” said Mrs. Falbe, slowly immersing herself + like a diving submarine in her book. “They are always quarrelling. Why + doesn’t Austria conquer them all and have done with it?” + </p> + <p> + This simple and striking solution of the whole Balkan question was her + final contribution to the topic, for at this moment she became completely + submerged, and cut off, so to speak, from the outer world, in the lucent + depths of Lady Ursula. + </p> + <p> + Hermann glanced through the other pages, and let the paper slide to the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “What will Austria do?” he said. “Supposing she threatens Servia in some + outrageous way and Russia says she won’t stand it? What then?” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked across to Sylvia; he was much more interested in the way + she dabbled the tips of her hands in the cool water of her finger bowl + than in what Hermann was saying. Her fingers had an extraordinary life of + their own; just now they were like a group of maidens by a fountain. . . . + But Hermann repeated the question to him personally. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose there will be a lot of telegraphing,” he said, “and perhaps + a board of arbitration. After all, one expected a European conflagration + over the war in the Balkan States, and again over their row with Turkey. I + don’t believe in European conflagrations. We are all too much afraid of + each other. We walk round each other like collie dogs on the tips of their + toes, gently growling, and then quietly get back to our own territories + and lie down again.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, there’s that wonderful fire-engine in Germany ready to turn + the hose on conflagrations.” + </p> + <p> + “What fire-engine?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “The Emperor, of course. We should have been at war ten times over but for + him.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia dried her finger-tips one by one. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Barbara doesn’t quite take that view of him, does she, Mike?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael suddenly remembered how one night in the flat Aunt Barbara had + suddenly turned the conversation from the discussion of cognate topics, on + hearing that the Falbes were Germans, only to resume it again when they + had gone. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t fancy she does,” he said. “But then, as you know, Aunt Barbara + has original views on every subject.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann did not take the possible hint here conveyed to drop the matter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what do you think about him?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Hermann,” he said, “how often have you told me that we English + don’t pay the smallest attention to international politics. I am aware + that I don’t; I know nothing whatever about them.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann shook off the cloud of preoccupation that so unaccountably, to + Michael’s thinking, had descended on him, and walked across to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Well, long may ignorance be bliss,” he said. “Lord, what a divine + evening! ‘Uber allen gipfeln ist Ruhe.’ At least, there is peace on the + only summits visible, which are house roofs. There’s not a breath of wind + in the trees and chimney-pots; and it’s hot, it’s really hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid there was going to be a chill at sunset,” remarked Mrs. + Falbe subaqueously. + </p> + <p> + “Then you were afraid even where no fear was, mother darling,” said he, + “and if you would like to sit out in the garden I’ll take a chair out for + you, and a table and candles. Let’s all sit out; it’s a divine hour, this + hour after sunset. There are but a score of days in the whole year when + the hour after sunset is warm like this. It’s such a pity to waste one + indoors. The young people”—and he pointed to Sylvia and Michael—“will + gaze into each other’s hearts, and Mamma’s will beat in unison with Lady + Ursula’s, and I will sit and look at the sky and become profoundly + sentimental, like a good German.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann and Michael bestirred themselves, and presently the whole little + party had encamped on chairs placed in an oasis of rugs (this was done at + the special request of Mrs. Falbe, since Lady Ursula had caught a chill + that developed into consumption) in the small, high-walled garden. Beyond + at the bottom lay the road along the embankment and the grey-blue Thames, + and the dim woods of Battersea Park across the river. When they came out, + sparrows were still chirping in the ivy on the studio wall and in the tall + angle-leaved planes at the bottom of the little plot, discussing, no + doubt, the domestic arrangements for their comfort during the night. But + presently a sudden hush fell upon them, and their shrillness was sharp no + more against the drowsy hum of the city. The sky overhead was of veiled + blue, growing gradually more toneless as the light faded, and was + unflecked by any cloud, except where, high in the zenith, a fleece of rosy + vapour still caught the light of the sunken sun, and flamed with the soft + radiance of some snow-summit. Near it there burned a molten planet, + growing momentarily brighter as the night gathered and presently beginning + to be dimmed again as a tawny moon three days past the full rose in the + east above the low river horizon. Occasionally a steamer hooted from the + Thames and the noise of churned waters sounded, or the crunch of a motor’s + wheels, or the tapping of the heels of a foot passenger on the pavement + below the garden wall. But such evidence of outside seemed but to + accentuate the perfect peace of this secluded little garden where the four + sat: the hour and the place were cut off from all turmoil and activities: + for a moment the stream of all their lives had flowed into a backwater, + where it rested immobile before the travel that was yet to come. So it + seemed to Michael then, and so years afterwards it seemed to him, as + vividly as on this evening when the tawny moon grew golden as it climbed + the empty heavens, dimming the stars around it. + </p> + <p> + What they talked of, even though it was Sylvia who spoke, seemed external + to the spirit of the hour. They seemed to have reached a point, some + momentary halting-place, where speech and thought even lay outside, and + the need of the spirit was merely to exist and be conscious of its + existence. Sometimes for a moment his past life with its self-repression, + its mute yearnings, its chrysalis stirrings, formed a mist that dispersed + again, sometimes for a moment in wonder at what the future held, what joys + and troubles, what achings, perhaps, and anguishes, the unknown knocked + stealthily at the door of his mind, but then stole away unanswered and + unwelcome, and for that hour, while Mrs. Falbe finished with Lady Ursula, + while Hermann smoked and sighed like a sentimental German, and while he + and Sylvia sat, speaking occasionally, but more often silent, he was in + some kind of Nirvana for which its own existence was everything. Movement + had ceased: he held his breath while that divine pause lasted. + </p> + <p> + When it was broken, there was no shattering of it: it simply died away + like a long-drawn chord as Mrs. Falbe closed her book. + </p> + <p> + “She died,” she said, “I knew she would.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann gave a great shout of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Darling mother, I’m ever so much obliged,” he said. “We had to return to + earth somehow. Where has everybody else been?” + </p> + <p> + Michael stirred in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “How dull! Oh, I suppose that’s not polite to Sylvia. I’ve been in Leipzig + and in Frankfort and in Munich. You and Sylvia have been there, too, I may + tell you. But I’ve also been here: it’s jolly here.” + </p> + <p> + His sentimentalism had apparently not quite passed from him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, we’ve stolen this hour!” he said. “We’ve taken it out of the + hurly-burly and had it to ourselves. It’s been ripping. But I’m back from + the rim of the world. Oh, I’ve been there, too, and looked out over the + immortal sea. Lieber Gott, what a sea, where we all come from, and where + we all go to! We’re just playing on the sand where the waves have cast us + up for one little hour. Oh, the pleasant warm sand and the play! How I + love it.” + </p> + <p> + He got out of his chair stretching himself, as Mrs. Falbe passed into the + house, and gave a hand on each side to Michael and Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it was a good thing I just caught that train at Victoria nearly a + year ago,” he said. “If I had been five seconds later, I should have + missed it, and so I should have missed my friend, and Sylvia would have + missed hers, and Mike would have missed his. As it is, here we all are. + Behold the last remnant of my German sentimentality evaporates, but I am + filled with a German desire for beer. Let us come into the studio, liebe + Kinder, and have beer and music and laughter. We cannot recapture this + hour or prolong it. But it was good, oh, so good! I thank God for this + hour.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia put her hand on her brother’s arm, looking at him with just a shade + of anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing wrong, Hermann?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Wrong? There is nothing wrong unless it is wrong to be happy. But we have + to go forward: my only quarrel with life is that. I would stop it now if I + could, so that time should not run on, and we should stay just as we are. + Ah, what does the future hold? I am glad I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia laughed. + </p> + <p> + “The immediate future holds beer apparently,” she said. “It also hold a + great deal of work for you and me, if it is to hold Leipzig and Frankfort + and Munich. Oh, Hermann, what glorious days!” + </p> + <p> + They walked together into the studio, and as they entered Hermann looked + back over her into the dim garden. Then he pulled down the blind with a + rattle. + </p> + <p> + “‘Move on there!’ said the policeman,” he remarked. “And so they moved + on.” + </p> + <p> + The news about the murder of the Austrian Grand Duke, which, for that + moment at dinner, had caused Hermann to peer with apprehension into the + veil of the future, was taken quietly enough by the public in general in + England. It was a nasty incident, no doubt, and the murder having been + committed on Servian soil, the pundits of the Press gave themselves an + opportunity for subsequently saying that they were right, by conjecturing + that Austria might insist on a strict inquiry into the circumstances, and + the due punishment of not only the actual culprits but of those also who + perhaps were privy to the plot. But three days afterwards there was but + little uneasiness; the Stock Exchanges of the European capitals—those + highly sensitive barometers of coming storm—were but slightly + affected for the moment, and within a week had steadied themselves again. + From Austria there came no sign of any unreasonable demand which might + lead to trouble with Servia, and so with Slavonic feeling generally, and + by degrees that threatening of storm, that sudden lightning on the horizon + passed out of the mind of the public. There had been that one flash, no + more, and even that had not been answered by any growl of thunder; the + storm did not at once move up and the heavens above were still clear and + sunny by day, and starry-kirtled at night. But here and there were those + who, like Hermann on the first announcement of the catastrophe, scented + trouble, and Michael, going to see Aunt Barbara one afternoon early in the + second week of July, found that she was one of them. + </p> + <p> + “I distrust it all, my dear,” she said to him. “I am full of uneasiness. + And what makes me more uneasy is that they are taking it so quietly at the + Austrian Embassy and at the German. I dined at one Embassy last night and + at the other only a few nights ago, and I can’t get anybody—not even + the most indiscreet of the Secretaries—to say a word about it.” + </p> + <p> + “But perhaps there isn’t a word to be said,” suggested Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t believe that. Austria cannot possibly let an incident of that + sort pass. There is mischief brewing. If she was merely intending to + insist—as she has every right to do—on an inquiry being held + that should satisfy reasonable demands for justice, she would have + insisted on that long ago. But a fortnight has passed now, and still she + makes no sign. I feel sure that something is being arranged. Dear me, I + quite forgot, Tony asked me not to talk about it. But it doesn’t matter + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you mean by something being arranged?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were alone. + </p> + <p> + “I mean this: that Austria is being persuaded to make some outrageous + demand, some demand that no independent country could possibly grant.” + </p> + <p> + “But who is persuading her?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you—like all the rest of England—are fast asleep. + Who but Germany, and that dangerous monomaniac who rules Germany? She has + long been wanting war, and she has only been delaying the dawning of Der + Tag, till all her preparations were complete, and she was ready to hurl + her armies, and her fleet too, east and west and north. Mark my words! She + is about ready now, and I believe she is going to take advantage of her + opportunity.” + </p> + <p> + She leaned forward in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “It is such an opportunity as has never occurred before,” she said, “and + in a hundred years none so fit may occur again. Here are we—England—on + the brink of civil war with Ireland and the Home Rulers; our hands are + tied, or, rather, are occupied with our own troubles. Anyhow, Germany + thinks so: that I know for a fact among so much that is only conjecture. + And perhaps she is right. Who knows whether she may not be right, and that + if she forces on war whether we shall range ourselves with our allies?” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you piling up a European conflagration rather in a hurry, Aunt + Barbara?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “There will be hurry enough for us, for France and Russia and perhaps + England, but not for Germany. She is never in a hurry: she waits till she + is ready.” + </p> + <p> + A servant brought in tea and Lady Barbara waited till he had left the room + again. + </p> + <p> + “It is as simple as an addition sum,” she said, “if you grant the first + step, that Austria is going to make some outrageous demand of Servia. What + follows? Servia refuses that demand, and Austria begins mobilisation in + order to enforce it. Servia appeals to Russia, invokes the bond of blood, + and Russia remonstrates with Austria. Her representations will be of no + use: you may stake all you have on that; and eventually, since she will be + unable to draw back she, too, will begin in her slow, cumbrous manner, + hampered by those immense distances and her imperfect railway system, to + mobilise also. Then will Germany, already quite prepared, show her hand. + She will demand that Russia shall cease mobilisation, and again will + Russia refuse. That will set the military machinery of France going. All + the time the governments of Europe will be working for peace, all, that + is, except one, which is situated at Berlin.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt inclined to laugh at this rapid and disastrous sequence of + ominous forebodings; it was so completely characteristic of Aunt Barbara + to take the most violent possible view of the situation, which no doubt + had its dangers. And what Michael felt was felt by the enormous majority + of English people. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It will happen quickly,” she said. “There is that little cloud in the + east like a man’s hand today, and rather like that mailed fist which our + sweet peaceful friend in Germany is so fond of talking about. But it will + spread over the sky, I tell you, like some tropical storm. France is + unready, Russia is unready; only Germany and her marionette, Austria, the + strings of which she pulls, is ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on prophesying,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could. Ever since that Sarajevo murder I have thought of nothing + else day and night. But how events will develop then I can’t imagine. What + will England do? Who knows? I only know what Germany thinks she will do, + and that is, stand aside because she can’t stir, with this Irish + mill-stone round her neck. If Germany thought otherwise, she is perfectly + capable of sending a dozen submarines over to our naval manoeuvres and + torpedoing our battleships right and left.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed outright at this. + </p> + <p> + “While a fleet of Zeppelins hovers over London, and drops bombs on the War + Office and the Admiralty,” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + But Aunt Barbara was not in the least diverted by this. + </p> + <p> + “And if England stands aside,” she said, “Der Tag will only dawn a little + later, when Germany has settled with France and Russia. We shall live to + see Der Tag, Michael, unless we are run over by motor-buses, and pray God + we shall see it soon, for the sooner the better. Your adorable Falbes, + now, Sylvia and Hermann. What do they think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Hermann was certainly rather—rather upset when he read of the + Sarajevo murders,” he said. “But he pins his faith on the German Emperor, + whom he alluded to as a fire-engine which would put out any + conflagration.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara rose in violent incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “Pish and bosh!” she remarked. “If he had alluded to him as an incendiary + bomb, there would have been more sense in his simile.” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, he and Sylvia are planning a musical tour in Germany in the + autumn,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “‘It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,’” remarked Aunt Barbara + enigmatically. + </p> + <p> + “Why Tipperary?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s just a song I heard at a music-hall the other night. There’s a + jolly catchy tune to it, which has rung in my head ever since. That’s the + sort of music I like, something you can carry away with you. And your + music, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather in abeyance. There are—other things to think about.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara got up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, tell me more about them,” she said. “I want to get this nightmare out + of my head. Sylvia, now. Sylvia is a good cure for the nightmare. Is she + kind as she is fair, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + Michael was silent for a moment. Then he turned a quiet, radiant face to + her. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t talk about it,” he said. “I can’t get accustomed to the wonder of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do. That’s a completely satisfactory account. But go on.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How can I?” he asked. “There’s no end and no beginning. I can’t ‘go on’ + as you order me about a thing like that. There is Sylvia; there is me.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be content with that, then,” she said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “We are,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + Lady Barbara waited a moment without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “And your mother?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “She still refuses to see me,” he said. “She still thinks it was I who + made the plot to take her away and shut her up. She is often angry with + me, poor darling, but—but you see it isn’t she who is angry: it’s + just her malady.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear,” said Lady Barbara. “I am so glad you see it like that.” + </p> + <p> + “How else could I see it? It was my real mother whom I began to know last + Christmas, and whom I was with in town for the three months that followed. + That’s how I think of her: I can’t think of her as anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “And how is she otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + Again he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “She is wretched, though they say that all she feels is dim and veiled, + that we mustn’t think of her as actually unhappy. Sometimes there are good + days, when she takes a certain pleasure in her walks and in looking after + a little plot of ground where she gardens. And, thank God, that sudden + outburst when she tried to kill me seems to have entirely passed from her + mind. They don’t think she remembers it at all. But then the good days are + rare, and are growing rarer, and often now she sits doing nothing at all + but crying.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Barbara laid her hand on him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Michael paused for a moment, his brown eyes shining. + </p> + <p> + “If only she could come back just for a little to what she was in + January,” he said. “She was happier then, I think, than she ever was + before. I can’t help wondering if anyhow I could have prolonged those + days, by giving myself up to her more completely.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, you needn’t wonder about that,” said Aunt Barbara. “Sir James + told me that it was your love and nothing else at all that gave her those + days.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s lips quivered. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you what they were to me,” he said, “for she and I found + each other then, and we both felt we had missed each other so much and so + long. She was happy then, and I, too. And now everything has been taken + from her, and still, in spite of that, my cup is full to overflowing.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s how she would have it, Michael,” said Barbara. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that. I remind myself of that.” + </p> + <p> + Again he paused. + </p> + <p> + “They don’t think she will live very long,” he said. “She is getting + physically much weaker. But during this last week or two she has been less + unhappy, they think. They say some new change may come any time: it may be + only the great change—I mean her death; but it is possible before + that that her mind will clear again. Sir James told me that occasionally + happened, like—like a ray of sunlight after a stormy day. It would + be good if that happened. I would give almost anything to feel that she + and I were together again, as we were.” + </p> + <p> + Barbara, childless, felt something of motherhood. Michael’s simplicity and + his sincerity were already known to her, but she had never yet known the + strength of him. You could lean on Michael. In his quiet, undemonstrative + way he supported you completely, as a son should; there was no possibility + of insecurity. . . . + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, my dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + One close thundery morning about a week later, Michael was sitting at his + piano in his shirtsleeves, busy practising. He was aware that at the other + end of the room the telephone was calling for him, but it seemed to be of + far greater importance at the minute to finish the last page of one of the + Bach fugues, than to attend to what anybody else might have to say to him. + Then it suddenly flashed across him that it might be Sylvia who wanted to + speak to him, or that there might be news about his mother, and his + fingers leaped from the piano in the middle of a bar, and he ran and slid + across the parquet floor. + </p> + <p> + But it was neither of these, and compared to them it was a case of “only” + Hermann who wanted to see him. But Hermann, it appeared, wanted to see him + urgently, and, if he was in (which he was) would be with him in ten + minutes. + </p> + <p> + But the Bach thread was broken, and Michael, since it was not worth while + trying to mend it for the sake of these few minutes, sat down by the open + window, and idly took up the morning paper, which as yet he had not + opened, since he had hurried over breakfast in order to get to his piano. + The music announcements on the outside page first detained him, and seeing + that the concert by the Falbes, which was to take place in five or six + days, was advertised, he wondered vaguely whether it was about that that + Hermann wanted to see him, and, if so, why he could not have said whatever + he had to say on the telephone, instead of cutting things short with the + curt statement that he wished to see him urgently, and would come round at + once. Then remembering that Francis had been playing cricket for the + Guards yesterday, he turned briskly over to the last page of sporting + news, and found that his cousin had distinguished himself by making no + runs at all, but by missing two expensive catches in the deep field. From + there, after a slight inspection of a couple of advertisement columns, he + worked back to the middle leaf, where were leaders and the news of nations + and the movements of kings. All this last week he had scanned such items + with a growing sense of amusement in the recollection of Hermann’s + disquiet over the Sarajevo murders, and Aunt Barbara’s more detailed and + vivid prognostications of coming danger, for nothing more had happened, + and he supposed—vaguely only, since the affair had begun to fade + from his mind—that Austria had made inquiries, and that since she + was satisfied there was no public pronouncement to be made. + </p> + <p> + The hot breeze from the window made the paper a little unmanageable for a + moment, but presently he got it satisfactorily folded, and a big black + headline met his eye. A half-column below it contained the demands which + Austria had made in the Note addressed to the Servian Government. A glance + was sufficient to show that they were framed in the most truculent and + threatening manner possible to imagine. They were not the reasonable + proposals that one State had a perfect right to make of another on whose + soil and with the connivance of whose subjects the murders had been + committed; they were a piece of arbitrary dictation, a threat levelled + against a dependent and an inferior. + </p> + <p> + Michael had read them through twice with a growing sense of uneasiness at + the thought of how Lady Barbara’s first anticipations had been fulfilled, + when Hermann came in. He pointed to the paper Michael held. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have seen it,” he said. “Perhaps you can guess what I wanted to + see you about.” + </p> + <p> + “Connected with the Austrian Note?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not the vaguest idea.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann sat down on the arm of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Mike, I’m going back to Germany to-day,” he said. “Now do you understand? + I’m German.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that Germany is at the back of this?” + </p> + <p> + “It is obvious, isn’t it? Those demands couldn’t have been made without + the consent of Austria’s ally. And they won’t be granted. Servia will + appeal to Russia. And . . . and then God knows what may happen. In the + event of that happening, I must be in my Fatherland ready to serve, if + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you think it possible you will go to war with Russia?” asked + Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think it possible, and, if I am right, if there is that + possibility, I can’t be away from my country.” + </p> + <p> + “But the Emperor, the fire-engine whom you said would quench any + conflagration?” + </p> + <p> + “He is away yachting. He went off after the visit of the British fleet to + Kiel. Who knows whether before he gets back, things may have gone too far? + Can’t you see that I must go? Wouldn’t you go if you were me? Suppose you + were in Germany now, wouldn’t you hurry home?” + </p> + <p> + Michael was silent, and Hermann spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “And if there is trouble with Russia, France, I take it, is bound to join + her. And if France joins her, what will England do?” + </p> + <p> + The great shadow of the approaching storm fell over Michael, even as + outside the sultry stillness of the morning grew darker. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you think that?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + Hermann put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Mike, you’re the best friend I have,” he said, “and soon, please God, you + are going to marry the girl who is everything else in the world to me. You + two make up my world really—you two and my mother, anyhow. No other + individual counts, or is in the same class. You know that, I expect. But + there is one other thing, and that’s my nationality. It counts first. + Nothing, nobody, not even Sylvia or my mother or you can stand between me + and that. I expect you know that also, for you saw, nearly a year ago, + what Germany is to me. Perhaps I may be quite wrong about it all—about + the gravity, I mean, of the situation, and perhaps in a few days I may + come racing home again. Yes, I said ‘home,’ didn’t I? Well, that shows you + just how I am torn in two. But I can’t help going.” + </p> + <p> + Hermann’s hand remained on his shoulder gently patting it. To Michael the + world, life, the whole spirit of things had suddenly grown sinister, of + the quality of nightmare. It was true that all the ground of this ominous + depression which had darkened round him, was conjectural and speculative, + that diplomacy, backed by the horror of war which surely all civilised + nations and responsible govermnents must share, had, so far from saying + its last, not yet said its first word; that the wits of all the Cabinets + of Europe were at this moment only just beginning to stir themselves so as + to secure a peaceful solution; but, in spite of this, the darkness and the + nightmare grew in intensity. But as to Hermann’s determination to go to + Germany, which made this so terribly real, since it was beginning to enter + into practical everyday life, he had neither means nor indeed desire to + combat it. He saw perfectly clearly that Hermann must go. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to dissuade you,” he said, “not only because it would be + useless, but because I am with you. You couldn’t do otherwise, Hermann.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that I could. Sylvia agrees too.” + </p> + <p> + A terrible conjecture flashed through Michael’s mind. + </p> + <p> + “And she?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She can’t leave my mother, of course,” said Hermann, “and, after all, I + may be on a wild goose chase. But I can’t risk being unable to get to + Germany, if—if the worst happens.” + </p> + <p> + The ghost of a smile played round his mouth for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “And I’m not sure that she could leave you, Mike,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Somehow this, though it gave Michael a moment of intensest relief to know + that Sylvia remained, made the shadow grow deeper, accentuated the lines + of the storm which had begun to spread over the sky. He began to see as + nightmare no longer, but as stern and possible realities, something of the + unutterable woe, the divisions, the heart-breaks which menaced. + </p> + <p> + “Hermann, what do you think will happen?” he said. “It is incredible, + unfaceable—” + </p> + <p> + The gentle patting on his shoulder, that suddenly and poignantly reminded + him of when Sylvia’s hand was there, ceased for a moment, and then was + resumed. + </p> + <p> + “Mike, old boy,” said Hermann, “we’ve got to face the unfaceable, and + believe that the incredible is possible. I may be all wrong about it, and, + as I say, in a few days’ time I may come racing back. But, on the other + hand, this may be our last talk together, for I go off this afternoon. So + let’s face it.” + </p> + <p> + He paused a moment. + </p> + <p> + “It may be that before long I shall be fighting for my Fatherland,” he + said. “And if there is to be fighting, it may be that Germany will before + long be fighting England. There I shall be on one side, and, since + naturally you will go back into the Guards, you will be fighting on the + other. I shall be doing my best to kill Englishmen, whom I love, and they + will be doing their best to kill me and those of my blood. There’s the + horror of it, and it’s that we must face. If we met in a bayonet charge, + Mike, I should have to do my best to run you through, and yet I shouldn’t + love you one bit the less, and you must know that. Or, if you ran me + through, I shall have to die loving you just the same as before, and + hoping you would live happy, for ever and ever, as the story-books say, + with Sylvia.” + </p> + <p> + “Hermann, don’t go,” said Michael suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Mike, you didn’t mean that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Michael looked at him for a moment in silence. + </p> + <p> + “No, it is unsaid,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + Hermann looked round as the clock on the chimney-piece chimed. + </p> + <p> + “I must be going,” he said, “I needn’t say anything to you about Sylvia, + because all I could say is in your heart already. Well, we’ve met in this + jolly world, Mike, and we’ve been great friends. Neither you nor I could + find a greater friend than we’ve been to each other. I bless God for this + last year. It’s been the happiest in my life. Now what else is there? Your + music: don’t ever be lazy about your music. It’s worth while taking all + the pains you can about it. Lord! do you remember the evening when I first + tried your Variations? . . . Let me play the last one now. I want + something jubilant. Let’s see, how does it go?” + </p> + <p> + He held his hands, those long, slim-fingered hands, poised for a moment + above the keys, then plunged into the glorious riot of the full chords and + scales, till the room rang with it. The last chord he held for a moment, + and then sprang up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s good,” he said. “And now I’m going to say good-bye, and go + without looking round.” + </p> + <p> + “But might I see you off this afternoon?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No, please don’t. Station partings are fussy and disagreeable. I want to + say good-bye to you here in your quiet room, just as I shall say goodbye + to Sylvia at home. Ah, Mike, yes, both hands and smiling. May God give us + other meetings and talks and companionship and years of love, my best of + friends. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as he had said, he walked to the door without looking round, and + next moment it had closed behind him. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the next week the tension of the situation grew ever greater, + strained towards the snapping-point, while the little cloud, the man’s + hand, which had arisen above the eastern horizon grew and overspread the + heavens in a pall that became ever more black and threatening. For a few + days yet it seemed that perhaps even now the cataclysm might be averted, + but gradually, in spite of all the efforts of diplomacy to loosen the + knot, it became clear that the ends of the cord were held in hands that + did not mean to release their hold till it was pulled tight. Servia + yielded to such demands as it was possible for her to grant as an + independent State; but the inflexible fingers never abated one jot of + their strangling pressure. She appealed to Russia, and Russia’s + remonstrance fell on deaf ears, or, rather, on ears that had determined + not to hear. From London and Paris came proposals for conference, for + arbitration, with welcome for any suggestion from the other side which + might lead to a peaceful solution of the disputed demands, already + recognised by Europe as a firebrand wantonly flung into the midst of + dangerous and inflammable material. Over that burning firebrand, + preventing and warding off all the eager hands that were stretched to put + it out, stood the figure of the nation at whose bidding it had been flung + there. + </p> + <p> + Gradually, out of the thunder-clouds and gathering darkness, vaguely at + first and then in definite and menacing outline, emerged the inexorable, + flint-like face of Germany, whose figure was clad in the shining armour so + well known in the flamboyant utterances of her War Lord, which had been + treated hitherto as mere irresponsible utterances to be greeted with a + laugh and a shrugged shoulder. Deep and patient she had always been, and + now she believed that the time had come for her patience to do its perfect + work. She had bided long for the time when she could best fling that + lighted brand into the midst of civilisation, and she believed she had + calculated well. She cared nothing for Servia nor for her ally. On both + her frontiers she was ready, and now on the East she heeded not the + remonstrance of Russia, nor her sincere and cordial invitation to friendly + discussion. She but waited for the step that she had made inevitable, and + on the first sign of Russian mobilisation she, with her mobilisation ready + to be completed in a few days, peremptorily demanded that it should cease. + On the Western frontier behind the Rhine she was ready also; her armies + were prepared, cannon fodder in uncountable store of shells and cartridges + was prepared, and in endless battalions of men, waiting to be discharged + in one bull-like rush, to overrun France, and holding the French armies, + shattered and dispersed, with a mere handful of her troops, to hurl the + rest at Russia. + </p> + <p> + The whole campaign was mathematically thought out. In a few months at the + outside France would be lying trampled down and bleeding; Russia would be + overrun; already she would be mistress of Europe, and prepared to attack + the only country that stood between her and world-wide dominion, whose + allies she would already have reduced to impotence. Here she staked on an + uncertainty: she could not absolutely tell what England’s attitude would + be, but she had the strongest reason for hoping that, distracted by the + imminence of civil strife, she would be unable to come to the help of her + allies until the allies were past helping. + </p> + <p> + For a moment only were seen those set stern features mad for war; then, + with a snap, Germany shut down her visor and stood with sword unsheathed, + waiting for the horror of the stupendous bloodshed which she had made + inevitable. Her legions gathered on the Eastern front threatening war on + Russia, and thus pulling France into the spreading conflagration and into + the midst of the flame she stood ready to cast the torn-up fragments of + the treaty that bound her to respect the neutrality of Belgium. + </p> + <p> + All this week, while the flames of the flung fire-brand began to spread, + the English public waited, incredulous of the inevitable. Michael, among + them, found himself unable to believe even then that the bugles were + already sounding, and that the piles of shells in their wicker-baskets + were being loaded on to the military ammunition trains. But all the + ordinary interests in life, all the things that busily and contentedly + occupied his day, one only excepted, had become without savour. A dozen + times in the morning he would sit down to his piano, only to find that he + could not think it worth while to make his hands produce these meaningless + tinkling sounds, and he would jump up to read the paper over again, or + watch for fresh headlines to appear on the boards of news-vendors in the + street, and send out for any fresh edition. Or he would walk round to his + club and spend an hour reading the tape news and waiting for fresh slips + to be pinned up. But, through all the nightmare of suspense and + slowly-dying hope, Sylvia remained real, and after he had received his + daily report from the establishment where his mother was, with the + invariable message that there was no marked change of any kind, and that + it was useless for him to think of coming to see her, he would go off to + Maidstone Crescent and spend the greater part of the day with the girl. + </p> + <p> + Once during this week he had received a note from Hermann, written at + Munich, and on the same day she also had heard from him. He had gone back + to his regiment, which was mobilised, as a private, and was very busy with + drill and duties. Feeling in Germany, he said, was elated and triumphant: + it was considered certain that England would stand aside, as the quarrel + was none of hers, and the nation generally looked forward to a short and + brilliant campaign, with the occupation of Paris to be made in September + at the latest. But as a postscript in his note to Sylvia he had added: + </p> + <p> + “You don’t think there is the faintest chance of England coming in, do + you? Please write to me fully, and get Mike to write. I have heard from + neither of you, and as I am sure you must have written, I conclude that + letters are stopped. I went to the theatre last night: there was a + tremendous scene of patriotism. The people are war-mad.” + </p> + <p> + Since then nothing had been heard from him, and to-day, as Michael drove + down to see Sylvia, he saw on the news-boards that Belgium had appealed to + England against the violation of her territory by the German armies en + route for France. Overtures had been made, asking for leave to pass + through the neutral territory: these Belgium had rejected. This was given + as official news. There came also the report that the Belgian + remonstrances would be disregarded. Should she refuse passage to the + German battalions, that could make no difference, since it was a matter of + life and death to invade France by that route. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia was out in the garden, where, hardly a month ago, they had spent + that evening of silent peace, and she got up quickly as Michael came out. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear,” she said, “I am glad you have come. I have got the horrors. + You saw the latest news? Yes? And have you heard again from Hermann? No, I + have not had a word.” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her and sat down. + </p> + <p> + “No, I have not heard either,” he said. “I expect he is right. Letters + have been stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think will be the result of Belgium’s appeal?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Who can tell? The Prime Minister is going to make a statement on Monday. + There have been Cabinet meetings going on all day.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him in silence. + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Quite suddenly, at her question, Michael found himself facing it, even as, + when the final catastrophe was more remote, he had faced it with Falbe. + All this week he knew he had been looking away from it, telling himself + that it was incredible. Now he discovered that the one thing he dreaded + more than that England should go to war, was that she should not. The + consciousness of national honour, the thing which, with religion, + Englishmen are most shy of speaking about, suddenly asserted itself, and + he found on the moment that it was bigger than anything else in the world. + </p> + <p> + “I think we shall go to war,” he said. “I don’t see personally how we can + exist any more as a nation if we don’t. We—we shall be damned if we + don’t, damned for ever and ever. It’s moral extinction not to.” + </p> + <p> + She kindled at that. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” she said, “that’s what I have been telling myself; but, oh, + Mike, there’s some dreadful cowardly part of me that won’t listen when I + think of Hermann, and . . .” + </p> + <p> + She broke off a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Michael,” she said, “what will you do, if there is war?” + </p> + <p> + He took up her hand that lay on the arm of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “My darling, how can you ask?” he said. “Of course I shall go back to the + army.” + </p> + <p> + For one moment she gave way. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she said. “You mustn’t do that.” + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly she stopped. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I ask your pardon,” she said. “Of course you will. I know that + really. It’s only this stupid cowardly part of me that—that + interrupted. I am ashamed of it. I’m not as bad as that all through. I + don’t make excuses for myself, but, ah, Mike, when I think of what Germany + is to me, and what Hermann is, and when I think what England is to me, and + what you are! It shan’t appear again, or if it does, you will make + allowance, won’t you? At least I can agree with you utterly, utterly. It’s + the flesh that’s weak, or, rather, that is so strong. But I’ve got it + under.” + </p> + <p> + She sat there in silence a little, mopping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “How I hate girls who cry!” she said. “It is so dreadfully feeble! Look, + Mike, there are some roses on that tree from which I plucked the one you + didn’t think much of. Do you remember? You crushed it up in my hand and + made it bleed.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I have got some faint recollection of it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia had got hold of her courage again. + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” she asked. “What a wonderful memory. And that quiet evening + out here next day. Perhaps you remember that too. That was real: that was + a possession that we shan’t ever part with.” + </p> + <p> + She pointed with her finger. + </p> + <p> + “You and I sat there, and Hermann there,” she said. “And mother sat—why, + there she is. Mother darling, let’s have tea out here, shall we? I will go + and tell them.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe had drifted out in her usual thistledown style, and shook hands + with Michael. + </p> + <p> + “What an upset it all is,” she said, “with all these dreadful rumours + going about that we shall be at war. I fell asleep, I think, a little + after lunch, when I could not attend to my book for thinking about war.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t the book interesting?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “No, not very. It is rather painful. I do not know why people write about + painful things when there are so many pleasant and interesting things to + write about. It seems to me very morbid.” + </p> + <p> + Michael heard something cried in the streets, and at the same moment he + heard Sylvia’s step quickly crossing the studio to the side door that + opened on to it. In a minute she returned with a fresh edition of an + evening paper. + </p> + <p> + “They are preparing to cross the Rhine,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe gave a little sigh. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, I am sure,” she said, “what you are in such a state about, + Sylvia. Of course the Germans want to get into France the easiest and + quickest way, at least I’m sure I should. It is very foolish of Belgium + not to give them leave, as they are so much the strongest.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother darling, you don’t understand one syllable about it,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “Very likely not, dear, but I am very glad we are an island, and that + nobody can come marching here. But it is all a dreadful upset, Lord—I + mean Michael, what with Hermann in Germany, and the concert tour + abandoned. Still, if everything is quiet again by the middle of October, + as I daresay it will be, it might come off after all. He will be on the + spot, and you and Michael can join him, though I’m not quite sure if that + would be proper. But we might arrange something: he might meet you at + Ostend.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid it doesn’t look very likely,” remarked Michael mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, and are you pessimistic too, like Sylvia? Pray don’t be pessimistic. + There is a dreadful pessimist in my book, who always thinks the worst is + going to happen.” + </p> + <p> + “And does it?” asked Michael. + </p> + <p> + “As far as I have got, it does, which makes it all the worse. Of course I + am very anxious about Hermann, but I feel sure he will come back safe to + us. I daresay France will give in when she sees Germany is in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe pulled the shattered remnants of her mind together. In her + heart of hearts she knew she did not care one atom what might happen to + armies and navies and nations, provided only that she had a quantity of + novels to read, and meals at regular hours. The fact of being on an island + was an immense consolation to her, since it was quite certain that, + whatever happened, German armies (or French or Soudanese, for that matter) + could not march here and enter her sitting-room and take her books away + from her. For years past she had asked nothing more of the world than that + she should be comfortable in it, and it really seemed not an unreasonable + request, considering at how small an outlay of money all the comfort she + wanted could be secured to her. The thought of war had upset her a good + deal already: she had been unable to attend to her book when she awoke + from her after-lunch nap; and now, when she hoped to have her tea in + peace, and find her attention restored by it, she found the general + atmosphere of her two companions vaguely disquieting. She became a little + more loquacious than usual, with the idea of talking herself back into a + tranquil frame of mind, and reassuring to herself the promise of a + peaceful future. + </p> + <p> + “Such a blessing we have a good fleet,” she said. “That will make us safe, + won’t it? I declare I almost hate the Germans, though my dear husband was + one himself, for making such a disturbance. The papers all say it is + Germany’s fault, so I suppose it must be. The papers know better than + anybody, don’t they, because they have foreign correspondents. That must + be a great expense!” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia felt she could not endure this any longer. It was like having a raw + wound stroked. . . . + </p> + <p> + “Mother, you don’t understand,” she said. “You don’t appreciate what is + happening. In a day or two England will be at war with Germany.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe’s book had slipped from her knee. She picked it up and flapped + the cover once or twice to get rid of dust that might have settled there. + </p> + <p> + “But what then?” she said. “It is very dreadful, no doubt, to think of + dear Hermann being with the German army, but we are getting used to that, + are we not? Besides, he told me it was his duty to go. I do not think for + a moment that France will be able to stand against Germany. Germany will + be in Paris in no time, and I daresay Hermann’s next letter will be to say + that he has been walking down the boulevards. Of course war is very + dreadful, I know that. And then Germany will be at war with Russia, too, + but she will have Austria to help her. And as for Germany being at war + with England, that does not make me nervous. Think of our fleet, and how + safe we feel with that! I see that we have twice as many boats as the + Germans. With two to one we must win, and they won’t be able to send any + of their armies here. I feel quite comfortable again now that I have + talked it over.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia caught Michael’s eye for a moment over the tea-urn. She felt he + acquiesced in what she was intending to say. + </p> + <p> + “That is good, then,” she said. “I am glad you feel comfortable about it, + mother dear. Now, will you read your book out here? Why not, if I fetch + you a shawl in case you feel cold?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and the + unclouded sky. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I shall even want a shawl, dear,” she said. “Listen, how + the newsboys are calling! is it something fresh, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + A moment’s listening attention was sufficient to make it known that the + news shouted outside was concerned only with the result of a county + cricket match, and Michael, as well as Sylvia, was conscious of a certain + relief to know that at the immediate present there was no fresh clang of + the bell that was beating out the seconds of peace that still remained. + Just for now, for this hour on Saturday afternoon, there was a respite: no + new link was forged in the intolerable sequence of events. But, even as he + drew breath in that knowledge, there came the counter-stroke in the sense + that those whose business it was to disseminate the news that would cause + their papers to sell, had just a cricket match to advertise their wares. + Now, when the country and when Europe were on the brink of a bloodier war + than all the annals of history contained, they, who presumably knew what + the public desired to be informed on, thought that the news which would + sell best was that concerned with wooden bats and leather balls, and + strong young men in flannels. Michael had heard with a sort of tender + incredulity Mrs. Falbe’s optimistic reflections, and had been more than + content to let her rest secure in them; but was the country, the heart of + England, like her? Did it care more for cricket matches, as she for her + book, than for the maintenance of the nation’s honour, whatever that + championship might cost? . . . And the cry went on past the garden-walk. + “Fine innings by Horsfield! Result of the Oval match!” + </p> + <p> + And yet he had just had his tea as usual, and eaten a slice of cake, and + was now smoking a cigarette. It was natural to do that, not to make a fuss + and refuse food and drink, and it was natural that people should still be + interested in cricket. And at the moment his attitude towards Mrs. Falbe + changed. Instead of pity and irritation at her normality, he was suddenly + taken with a sense of gratitude to her. It was restful to suspense and + jangled nerves to see someone who went on as usual. The sun shone, the + leaves of the plane-trees did not wither, Mrs. Falbe read her book, the + evening paper was full of cricket news. . . . And then the reaction from + that seized him again. Supposing all the nation was like that. Supposing + nobody cared. . . . And the tension of suspense strained more tightly than + ever. + </p> + <p> + For the next forty-eight hours, while day and night the telegraph wires of + Europe tingled with momentous questions and grave replies, while Ministers + and Ambassadors met and parted and met again, rumours flew this way and + that like flocks of wild-fowl driven backwards and forwards, settling for + a moment with a stir and splash, and then with rush of wings speeding back + and on again. A huge coal strike in the northern counties, fostered and + financed by German gold, was supposed to be imminent, and this would put + out of the country’s power the ability to interfere. The Irish Home Rule + party, under the same suasion, was said to have refused to call a truce. A + letter had been received in high quarters from the German Emperor avowing + his fixed determination to preserve peace, and this was honey to Lord + Ashbridge. Then in turn each of these was contradicted. All thought of the + coal strike in this crisis of national affairs was abandoned; the Irish + party, as well as the Conservatives, were of one mind in backing up the + Government, no matter what postponement of questions that were vital a + month ago, their cohesion entailed; the Emperor had written no letter at + all. But through the nebulous mists of hearsay, there fell solid the first + drops of the imminent storm. Even before Michael had left Sylvia that + afternoon, Germany had declared war on Russia, on Sunday Belgium received + a Note from Berlin definitely stating that should their Government not + grant the passage to the German battalions, a way should be forced for + them. On Monday, finally, Germany declared war on France also. + </p> + <p> + The country held its breath in suspense at what the decision of the + Government, which should be announced that afternoon, should be. One fact + only was publicly known, and that was that the English fleet, only lately + dismissed from its manoeuvres and naval review, had vanished. There were + guard ships, old cruisers and what not, at certain ports, torpedo-boats + roamed the horizons of Deal and Portsmouth, but the great fleet, the swift + forts of sea-power, had gone, disappearing no one knew where, into the + fine weather haze that brooded over the midsummer sea. There perhaps was + an indication of what the decision would be, yet there was no certainty. + At home there was official silence, and from abroad, apart from the three + vital facts, came but the quacking of rumour, report after report, each + contradicting the other. + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly came certainty, a rainbow set in the intolerable cloud. On + Monday afternoon, when the House of Commons met, all parties were known to + have sunk their private differences and to be agreed on one point that + should take precedence of all other questions. Germany should not, with + England’s consent, violate the neutrality of Belgium. As far as England + was concerned, all negotiations were at an end, diplomacy had said its + last word, and Germany was given twenty-four hours in which to reply. + Should a satisfactory answer not be forthcoming, England would uphold the + neutrality she with others had sworn to respect by force of arms. And at + that one immense sigh of relief went up from the whole country. Whatever + now might happen, in whatever horrors of long-drawn and bloody war the + nation might be involved, the nightmare of possible neutrality, of + England’s repudiating the debt of honour, was removed. The one thing worse + than war need no longer be dreaded, and for the moment the future, hideous + and heart-rending though it would surely be, smiled like a land of + promise. + </p> + <p> + Michael woke on the morning of Tuesday, the fourth of August, with the + feeling of something having suddenly roused him, and in a few seconds he + knew that this was so, for the telephone bell in the room next door sent + out another summons. He got straight out of bed and went to it, with a + hundred vague shadows of expectation crossing his mind. Then he learned + that his mother was gravely ill, and that he was wanted at once. And in + less than half an hour he was on his way, driving swiftly through the + serene warmth of the early morning to the private asylum where she had + been removed after her sudden homicidal outburst in March. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Michael was sitting that same afternoon by his mother’s bedside. He had + learned the little there was to be told him on his arrival in the morning; + how that half an hour before he had been summoned, she had had an attack + of heart failure, and since then, after recovering from the acute and + immediate danger, she had lain there all day with closed eyes in a state + of but semi-conscious exhaustion. Once or twice only, and that but for a + moment she had shown signs of increasing vitality, and then sank back into + this stupor again. But in those rare short intervals she had opened her + eyes, and had seemed to see and recognise him, and Michael thought that + once she had smiled at him. But at present she had spoken no word. All the + morning Lord Ashbridge had waited there too, but since there was no change + he had gone away, saying that he would return again later, and asking to + be telephoned for if his wife regained consciousness. So, but for the + nurse and the occasional visits of the doctor, Michael was alone with his + mother. + </p> + <p> + In this long period of inactive waiting, when there was nothing to be + done, Michael did not seem to himself to be feeling very vividly, and but + for one desire, namely, that before the end his mother would come back to + him, even if only for a moment, his mind felt drugged and stupefied. + Sometimes for a little it would sluggishly turn over thoughts about his + father, wondering with a sort of blunt, remote contempt how it was + possible for him not to be here too; but, except for the one great longing + that his mother should cleave to him once more in conscious mind, he + observed rather than felt. The thought of Sylvia even was dim. He knew + that she was somewhere in the world, but she had become for the present + like some picture painted in his mind, without reality. Dim, too, was the + tension of those last days. Somewhere in Europe was a country called + Germany, where was his best friend, drilling in the ranks to which he had + returned, or perhaps already on his way to bloodier battlefields than the + world had ever dreamed of; and somewhere set in the seas was Germany’s + arch-foe, who already stood in her path with open cannon mouths pointing. + But all this had no real connection with him. From the moment when he had + come into this quiet, orderly room and saw his mother lying on the bed, + nothing beyond those four walls really concerned him. + </p> + <p> + But though the emotional side of his mind lay drugged and insensitive to + anything outside, he found himself observing the details of the room where + he waited with a curious vividness. There was a big window opening down to + the ground in the manner of a door on to the garden outside, where a + smooth lawn, set with croquet hoops and edged with bright flower-beds, + dozed in the haze of the August heat. Beyond was a row of tall elms, + against which a copper beech glowed metallically, and somewhere out of + sight a mowing-machine was being used, for Michael heard the click of its + cropping journey, growing fainter as it receded, followed by the pause as + it turned, and its gradual crescendo as it approached again. Otherwise + everything outside was strangely silent; as the hot hours of midday and + early afternoon went by there was no note of bird-music, nor any sound of + wind in the elm-tops. Just a little breeze stirred from time to time, + enough to make the slats of the half-drawn Venetian blind rattle faintly. + Earlier in the day there had come in from the window the smell of dew-damp + earth, but now that had been sucked up by the sun. + </p> + <p> + Close beside the window, with her back to the light and facing the bed, + which projected from one of the side walls out into the room, sat Lady + Ashbridge’s nurse. She was reading, and the rustle of the turned page was + regular; but regular and constant also were her glances towards the bed + where her patient lay. At intervals she put down her book, marking the + place with a slip of paper, and came to watch by the bed for a moment, + looking at Lady Ashbridge’s face and listening to her breathing. Her eye + met Michael’s always as she did this, and in answer to his mute question, + each time she gave him a little head-shake, or perhaps a whispered word or + two, that told him there was no change. Opposite the bed was the empty + fireplace, and at the foot of it a table, on which stood a vase of roses. + Michael was conscious of the scent of these every now and then, and at + intervals of the faint, rather sickly smell of ether. A Japan screen, + ornamented with storks in gold thread, stood near the door and + half-concealed the washing-stand. There was a chest of drawers on one side + of the fireplace, a wardrobe with a looking-glass door on the other, a + dressing-table to one side of the window, a few prints on the plain blue + walls, and a dark blue drugget carpet on the floor; and all these ordinary + appurtenances of a bedroom etched themselves into Michael’s mind, biting + their way into it by the acid of his own suspense. + </p> + <p> + Finally there was the bed where his mother lay. The coverlet of blue silk + upon it he knew was somehow familiar to him, and after fitful gropings in + his mind to establish the association, he remembered that it had been on + the bed in her room in Curzon Street, and supposed that it had been + brought here with others of her personal belongings. A little core of + light, focused on one of the brass balls at the head of the bed, caught + his eye, and he saw that the sun, beginning to decline, came in under the + Venetian blind. The nurse, sitting in the window, noticed this also, and + lowered it. The thought of Sylvia crossed his brain for a moment; then he + thought of his father; but every train of reflection dissolved almost as + soon as it was formed, and he came back again and again to his mother’s + face. + </p> + <p> + It was perfectly peaceful and strangely young-looking, as if the cool, + soothing hand of death, which presently would quiet all trouble for her, + had been already at work there erasing the marks that the years had graven + upon it. And yet it was not so much young as ageless; it seemed to have + passed beyond the register and limitations of time. Sometimes for a moment + it was like the face of a stranger, and then suddenly it would become + beloved and familiar again. It was just so she had looked when she came so + timidly into his room one night at Ashbridge, asking him if it would be + troublesome to him if she sat and talked with him for a little. The mouth + was a little parted for her slow, even breathing; the corners of it + smiled; and yet he was not sure if they smiled. It was hard to tell, for + she lay there quite flat, without pillows, and he looked at her from an + unusual angle. Sometimes he felt as if he had been sitting there watching + for uncounted years; and then again the hours that he had been here + appeared to have lasted but for a moment, as if he had but looked once at + her. + </p> + <p> + As the day declined the breeze of evening awoke, rattling the blind. By + now the sun had swung farther west, and the nurse pulled the blind up. + Outside in the bushes in the garden the call of birds to each other had + begun, and a thrush came close to the window and sang a liquid phrase, and + then repeated it. Michael glanced there and saw the bird, + speckle-breasted, with throat that throbbed with the notes; and then, + looking back to the bed, he saw that his mother’s eyes were open. + </p> + <p> + She looked vaguely about the room for a moment, as if she had awoke from + some deep sleep and found herself in an unfamiliar place. Then, turning + her head slightly, she saw him, and there was no longer any question as to + whether her mouth smiled, for all her face was flooded with deep, serene + joy. + </p> + <p> + He bent towards her and her lips parted. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, my dear,” she said gently. + </p> + <p> + Michael heard the rustle of the nurse’s dress as she got up and came to + the bedside. He slipped from his chair on to his knees, so that his face + was near his mother’s. He felt in his heart that the moment he had so + longed for was to be granted him, that she had come back to him, not only + as he had known her during the weeks that they had lived alone together, + when his presence made her so content, but in a manner infinitely more + real and more embracing. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been sitting here all the time while I slept, dear?” she asked. + “Have you been waiting for me to come back to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you have come,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, and the mother-love, which before had been veiled and + clouded, came out with all the tender radiance of evening sun, with the + clear shining after rain. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn’t fail me, my darling,” she said. “You were so patient + with me in the trouble I have been through. It was a nightmare, but it has + gone.” + </p> + <p> + Michael bent forward and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, mother,” he said, “it has all gone.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Is your father here?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No; but he will come at once, if you would like to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, send for him, dear, if it would not vex him to come,” she said; “or + get somebody else to send; I don’t want you to leave me.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to,” said he. + </p> + <p> + The nurse went to the door, gave some message, and presently returned to + the other side of the bed. Then Lady Ashbridge spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Is this death?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael raised his eyes to the figure standing by the bed. She nodded to + him. + </p> + <p> + He bent forward again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear mother,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For a moment her eyes dilated, then grew quiet again, and the smile + returned to her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not frightened, Michael,” she said, “with you there. It isn’t lonely + or terrible.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head. + </p> + <p> + “My son!” she said in a voice loud and triumphant. Then her head fell back + again, and she lay with face close to his, and her eyelids quivered and + shut. Her breath came slow and regular, as if she slept. Then he heard + that she missed a breath, and soon after another. Then, without struggle + at all, her breathing ceased. . . . And outside on the lawn close by the + open window the thrush still sang. + </p> + <p> + It was an hour later when Michael left, having waited for his father’s + arrival, and drove to town through the clear, falling dusk. He was + conscious of no feeling of grief at all, only of a complete pervading + happiness. He could not have imagined so perfect a close, nor could he + have desired anything different from that imperishable moment when his + mother, all trouble past, had come back to him in the serene calm of love. + . . . + </p> + <p> + As he entered London he saw the newsboards all placarded with one fact: + England had declared war on Germany. + </p> + <p> + He went, not to his own flat, but straight to Maidstone Crescent. With + those few minutes in which his mother had known him, the stupor that had + beset his emotions all day passed off, and he felt himself longing, as he + had never longed before, for Sylvia’s presence. Long ago he had given her + all that he knew of as himself; now there was a fresh gift. He had to give + her all that those moments had taught him. Even as already they were + knitted into him, made part of him, so must they be to her. . . . And when + they had shared that, when, like water gushing from a spring she flooded + him, there was that other news which he had seen on the newsboards that + they had to share together. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia had been alone all day with her mother; but, before Michael + arrived, Mrs. Falbe (after a few more encouraging remarks about war in + general, to the effect that Germany would soon beat France, and what a + blessing it was that England was an island) had taken her book up to her + room, and Sylvia was sitting alone in the deep dusk of the evening. She + did not even trouble to turn on the light, for she felt unable to apply + herself to any practical task, and she could think and take hold of + herself better in the dark. All day she had longed for Michael to come to + her, though she had not cared to see anybody else, and several times she + had rung him up, only to find that he was still out, supposedly with his + mother, for he had been summoned to her early that morning, and since then + no news had come of him. Just before dinner had arrived the announcement + of the declaration of war, and Sylvia sat now trying to find some escape + from the encompassing nightmare. She felt confused and distracted with it; + she could not think consecutively, but only contemplate shudderingly the + series of pictures that presented themselves to her mind. Somewhere now, + in the hosts of the Fatherland, which was hers also, was Hermann, the + brother who was part of herself. When she thought of him, she seemed to be + with him, to see the glint of his rifle, to feel her heart on his heart, + big with passionate patriotism. She had no doubt that patriotism formed + the essence of his consciousness, and yet by now probably he knew that the + land beloved by him, where he had made his home, was at war with his own. + She could not but know how often his thoughts dwelled here in the dark + quiet studio where she sat, and where so many days of happiness had been + passed. She knew what she was to him, she and her mother and Michael, and + the hosts of friends in this land which had become his foe. Would he have + gone, she asked herself, if he had guessed that there would be war between + the two? She thought he would, though she knew that for herself she would + have made it as hard as possible for him to do so. She would have used + every argument she could think of to dissuade him, and yet she felt that + her entreaties would have beaten in vain against the granite of his and + her nationality. Dimly she had foreseen this contingency when, a few days + ago, she had asked Michael what he would do if England went to war, and + now that contingency was realised, and Hermann was even now perhaps on his + way to violate the neutrality of the country for the sake of which England + had gone to war. On the other side was Michael, into whose keeping she had + given herself and her love, and on which side was she? It was then that + the nightmare came close to her; she could not tell, she was utterly + unable to decide. Her heart was Michael’s; her heart was her brother’s + also. The one personified Germany for her, the other England. It was as if + she saw Hermann and Michael with bayonet and rifle stalking each other + across some land of sand-dunes and hollows, creeping closer to each other, + always closer. She felt as if she would have gladly given herself over to + an eternity of torment, if only they could have had one hour more, all + three of them, together here, as on that night of stars and peace when + first there came the news which for the moment had disquieted Hermann. + </p> + <p> + She longed as with thirst for Michael to come, and as her solitude became + more and more intolerable, a hundred hideous fancies obsessed her. What if + some accident had happened to Michael, or what, if in this tremendous + breaking of ties that the war entailed, he felt that he could not see her? + She knew that was an impossibility; but the whole world had become + impossible. And there was no escape. Somehow she had to adjust herself to + the unthinkable; somehow her relations both with Hermann and Michael had + to remain absolutely unshaken. Even that was not enough: they had to be + strengthened, made impregnable. + </p> + <p> + Then came a knock on the side door of the studio that led into the street: + Michael often came that way without passing through the house, and with a + sense of relief she ran to it and unlocked it. And even as he stepped in, + before any word of greeting had been exchanged, she flung herself on him, + with fingers eager for the touch of his solidity. . . . + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear,” she said. “I have longed for you, just longed for you. I + never wanted you so much. I have been sitting in the dark desolate—desolate. + And oh! my darling, what a beast I am to think of nothing but myself. I am + ashamed. What of your mother, Michael?” + </p> + <p> + She turned on the light as they walked back across the studio, and Michael + saw that her eyes, which were a little dazzled by the change from the dark + into the light, were dim with unshed tears, and her hands clung to him as + never before had they clung. She needed him now with that imperative need + which in trouble can only turn to love for comfort. She wanted that only; + the fact of him with her, in this land in which she had suddenly become an + alien, an enemy, though all her friends except Hermann were here. And + instantaneously, as a baby at the breast, she found that all his strength + and serenity were hers. + </p> + <p> + They sat down on the sofa by the piano, side by side, with hands + intertwined before Michael answered. He looked up at her as he spoke, and + in his eyes was the quiet of love and death. + </p> + <p> + “My mother died an hour ago,” he said. “I was with her, and as I had + longed might happen, she came back to me before she died. For two or three + minutes she was herself. And then she said to me, ‘My son,’ and soon she + ceased breathing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael,” she said, and for a little while there was silence, and in + turn it was her presence that he clung to. Presently he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Sylvia, I’m so frightfully hungry,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve eaten + anything since breakfast. May we go and forage?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you poor thing!” she cried. “Yes, let’s go and see what there is.” + </p> + <p> + Instantly she busied herself. + </p> + <p> + “Hermann left the cellar key on the chimney-piece, Michael,” she said. + “Get some wine out, dear. Mother and I don’t drink any. And there’s some + ham, I know. While you are getting wine, I’ll broil some. And there were + some strawberries. I shall have some supper with you. What a good thought! + And you must be famished.” + </p> + <p> + As they ate they talked perfectly simply and naturally of the hundred + associations which this studio meal at the end of the evening called up + concerning the Sunday night parties. There was an occasion on which + Hermann tried to recollect how to mull beer, with results that smelled + like a brickfield; there was another when a poached egg had fallen, + exploding softly as it fell into the piano. There was the occasion, the + first on which Michael had been present, when two eminent actors imitated + each other; another when Francis came and made himself so immensely + agreeable. It was after that one that Sylvia and Hermann had sat and + talked in front of the stove, discussing, as Sylvia laughed to remember, + what she would say when Michael proposed to her. Then had come the break + in Michael’s attendances and, as Sylvia allowed, a certain falling-off in + gaiety. + </p> + <p> + “But it was really Hermann and I who made you gay originally,” she said. + “We take a wonderful deal of credit for that.” + </p> + <p> + All this was as completely natural for them as was the impromptu meal, and + soon without effort Michael spoke of his mother again, and presently + afterwards of the news of war. But with him by her side Sylvia found her + courage come back to her; the news itself, all that it certainly implied, + and all the horror that it held, no longer filled her with the sense that + it was impossibly terrible. Michael did not diminish the awfulness of it, + but he gave her the power of looking out bravely at it. Nor did he shrink + from speaking of all that had been to her so grim a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t heard from Hermann?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. And I suppose we can’t hear now. He is with his regiment, that’s all; + nor shall we hear of him till there is peace again.” + </p> + <p> + She came a little closer to him. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, I have to face it, that I may never see Hermann again,” she + said. “Mother doesn’t fear it, you know. She—the darling—she + lives in a sort of dream. I don’t want her to wake from it. But how can I + get accustomed to the thought that perhaps I shan’t see Hermann again? I + must get accustomed to it: I’ve got to live with it, and not quarrel with + it.” + </p> + <p> + He took up her hand, enclosing it in his. + </p> + <p> + “But, one doesn’t quarrel with the big things of life,” he said. “Isn’t it + so? We haven’t any quarrel with things like death and duty. Dear me, I’m + afraid I’m preaching.” + </p> + <p> + “Preach, then,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s just that. We don’t quarrel with them: they manage themselves. + Hermann’s going managed itself. It had to be.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice quivered as she spoke now. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going?” she asked. “Will that have to be?” + </p> + <p> + Michael looked at her a moment with infinite tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, of course it will,” he said. “Of course, one doesn’t know + yet what the War Office will do about the Army. I suppose it’s possible + that they will send troops to France. All that concerns me is that I shall + rejoin again if they call up the Reserves.” + </p> + <p> + “And they will?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should think that is inevitable. And you know there’s something + big about it. I’m not warlike, you know, but I could not fail to be a + soldier under these new conditions, any more than I could continue being a + soldier when all it meant was to be ornamental. Hermann in bursts of pride + and patriotism used to call us toy-soldiers. But he’s wrong now; we’re not + going to be toy-soldiers any more.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer him, but he felt her hand press close in the palm of + his. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you how I dreaded we shouldn’t go to war,” he said. “That + has been a nightmare, if you like. It would have been the end of us if we + had stood aside and seen Germany violate a solemn treaty.” + </p> + <p> + Even with Michael close to her, the call of her blood made itself audible + to Sylvia. Instinctively she withdrew her hand from his. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don’t understand Germany at all,” she said. “Hermann always felt + that too. He told me he felt he was talking gibberish to you when he spoke + of it. It is clearly life and death to Germany to move against France as + quickly as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “But there’s a direct frontier between the two,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, but an impossible one.” + </p> + <p> + Michael frowned, drawing his big eyebrows together. + </p> + <p> + “But nothing can justify the violation of a national oath,” he said. + “That’s the basis of civilisation, a thing like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But if it’s a necessity? If a nation’s existence depends on it?” she + asked. “Oh, Michael, I don’t know! I don’t know! For a little I am + entirely English, and then something calls to me from beyond the Rhine! + There’s the hopelessness of it for me and such as me. You are English; + there’s no question about it for you. But for us! I love England: I + needn’t tell you that. But can one ever forget the land of one’s birth? + Can I help feeling the necessity Germany is under? I can’t believe that + she has wantonly provoked war with you.” + </p> + <p> + “But consider—” said he. + </p> + <p> + She got up suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t argue about it,” she said. “I am English and I am German. You + must make the best of me as I am. But do be sorry for me, and never, never + forget that I love you entirely. That’s the root fact between us. I can’t + go deeper than that, because that reaches to the very bottom of my soul. + Shall we leave it so, Michael, and not ever talk of it again? Wouldn’t + that be best?” + </p> + <p> + There was no question of choice for Michael in accepting that appeal. He + knew with the inmost fibre of his being that, Sylvia being Sylvia, nothing + that she could say or do or feel could possibly part him from her. When he + looked at it directly and simply like that, there was nothing that could + blur the verity of it. But the truth of what she said, the reality of that + call of the blood, seemed to cast a shadow over it. He knew beyond all + other knowledge that it was there: only it looked out at him with a + shadow, faint, but unmistakable, fallen across it. But the sense of that + made him the more eagerly accept her suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, darling, we’ll never speak of it again,” he said. “That would be + much wisest.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Ashbridge’s funeral took place three days afterwards, down in + Suffolk, and those hours detached themselves in Michael’s mind from all + that had gone before, and all that might follow, like a little piece of + blue sky in the midst of storm clouds. The limitations of man’s + consciousness, which forbid him to think poignantly about two things at + once, hedged that day in with an impenetrable barrier, so that while it + lasted, and afterwards for ever in memory, it was unflecked by trouble or + anxiety, and hung between heaven and earth in a serenity of its own. + </p> + <p> + The coffin lay that night in his mother’s bedroom, which was next to + Michael’s, and when he went up to bed he found himself listening for any + sound that came from there. It seemed but yesterday when he had gone + rather early upstairs, and after sitting a minute or two in front of his + fire, had heard that timid knock on the door, which had meant the opening + of a mother’s heart to him. He felt it would scarcely be strange if that + knock came again, and if she entered once more to be with him. From the + moment he came upstairs, the rest of the world was shut down to him; he + entered his bedroom as if he entered a sanctuary that was scented with the + incense of her love. He knew exactly how her knock had sounded when she + came in here that night when first it burned for him: his ears were alert + for it to come again. Once his blind tapped against the frame of his open + window, and, though knowing it was that, he heard himself whisper—for + she could hear his whisper—“Come in, mother,” and sat up in his deep + chair, looking towards the door. But only the blind tapped again, and + outside in the moonlit dusk an owl hooted. + </p> + <p> + He remembered she liked owls. Once, when they lived alone in Curzon + Street, some noise outside reminded her of the owls that hooted at + Ashbridge—she had imitated their note, saying it sounded like sleep. + . . . She had sat in a chintz-covered chair close to him when at Christmas + she paid him that visit, and now he again drew it close to his own, and + laid his hand on its arm. Petsy II. had come in with her, and she had + hoped that he would not annoy Michael. + </p> + <p> + There were steps in the passage outside his room, and he heard a little + shrill bark. He opened his door and found his mother’s maid there, trying + to entice Petsy away from the room next to his. The little dog was curled + up against it, and now and then he turned round scratching at it, asking + to enter. “He won’t come away, my lord,” said the maid; “he’s gone back a + dozen times to the door.” + </p> + <p> + Michael bent down. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Petsy,” he said, “come to bed in my room.” + </p> + <p> + The dog looked at him for a moment as if weighing his trustworthiness. + Then he got up and, with grotesque Chinese high-stepping walk, came to + him. + </p> + <p> + “He’ll be all right with me,” he said to the maid. + </p> + <p> + He took Petsy into his room next door, and laid him on the chair in which + his mother had sat. The dog moved round in a circle once or twice, and + then settled himself down to sleep. Michael went to bed also, and lay + awake about a couple of minutes, not thinking, but only being, while the + owls hooted outside. + </p> + <p> + He awoke into complete consciousness, knowing that something had aroused + him, even as three days ago when the telephone rang to summon him to his + mother’s deathbed. Then he did not know what had awakened him, but now he + was sure that there had been a tapping on his door. And after he had sat + up in bed completely awake, he heard Petsy give a little welcoming bark. + Then came the noise of his small, soft tail beating against the cushion in + the chair. + </p> + <p> + Michael had no feeling of fright at all, only of longing for something + that physically could not be. And longing, only longing, once more he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Come in, mother.” + </p> + <p> + He believed he heard the door whisper on the carpet, but he saw nothing. + Only, the room was full of his mother’s presence. It seemed to him that, + in obedience to her, he lay down completely satisfied. . . . He felt no + curiosity to see or hear more. She was there, and that was enough. + </p> + <p> + He woke again a little after dawn. Petsy between the window and the door + had jumped on to his bed to get out of the draught of the morning wind. + For the door was opened. + </p> + <p> + That morning the coffin was carried down the long winding path above the + deep-water reach, where Michael and Francis at Christmas had heard the + sound of stealthy rowing, and on to the boat that awaited it to ferry it + across to the church. There was high tide, and, as they passed over the + estuary, the stillness of supreme noon bore to them the tolling of the + bell. The mourners from the house followed, just three of them, Lord + Ashbridge, Michael, and Aunt Barbara, for the rest were to assemble at the + church. But of all that, one moment stood out for Michael above all + others, when, as they entered the graveyard, someone whom he could not see + said: “I am the Resurrection and the Life,” and he heard that his father, + by whom he walked, suddenly caught his breath in a sob. + </p> + <p> + All that day there persisted that sense of complete detachment from all + but her whose body they had laid to rest on the windy hill overlooking the + broad water. His father, Aunt Barbara, the cousins and relations who + thronged the church were no more than inanimate shadows compared with her + whose presence had come last night into his room, and had not left him + since. The affairs of the world, drums and the torch of war, had passed + for those hours from his knowledge, as at the centre of a cyclone there + was a windless calm. To-morrow he knew he would pass out into the tumult + again, and the minutes slipped like pearls from a string, dropping into + the dim gulf where the tempest raged. . . . + </p> + <p> + He went back to town next morning, after a short interview with his + father, who was coming up later in the day, when he told him that he + intended to go back to his regiment as soon as possible. But, knowing that + he meant to go by the slow midday train, his father proposed to stop the + express for him that went through a few minutes before. Michael could + hardly believe his ears. . . . + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + It was but a day or two after the outbreak of the war that it was believed + that an expeditionary force was to be sent to France, to help in arresting + the Teutonic tide that was now breaking over Belgium; but no public and + authoritative news came till after the first draft of the force had + actually set foot on French soil. From the regiment of the Guards which + Michael had rejoined, Francis was among the first batch of officers to go, + and that evening Michael took down the news to Sylvia. Already stories of + German barbarity were rife, of women violated, of defenceless civilians + being shot down for no object except to terrorise, and to bring home to + the Belgians the unwisdom of presuming to cross the will of the sovereign + people. To-night, in the evening papers, there had been a fresh batch of + these revolting stories, and when Michael entered the studio where Sylvia + and her mother were sitting, he saw the girl let drop behind the sofa the + paper she had been reading. He guessed what she must have found there, for + he had already seen the paper himself, and her silence, her distraction, + and the misery of her face confirmed his conjecture. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought you a little news to-night,” he said. “The first draft from + the regiment went off to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe put down her book, marking the place. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that does look like business, then,” she said, “though I must say I + should feel safer if they didn’t send our soldiers away. Where have they + gone to?” + </p> + <p> + “Destination unknown,” said Michael. “But it’s France. My cousin has + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Francis?” asked Sylvia. “Oh, how wicked to send boys like that.” + </p> + <p> + Michael saw that her nerves were sharply on edge. She had given him no + greeting, and now as he sat down she moved a little away from him. She + seemed utterly unlike herself. + </p> + <p> + “Mother has been told that every Englishman is as brave as two Germans,” + she said. “She likes that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear,” observed Mrs. Falbe placidly. “It makes one feel safer. I saw + it in the paper, though; I read it.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia turned on Michael. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the evening paper?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Michael knew what was in her mind. + </p> + <p> + “I just looked at it,” he said. “There didn’t seem to be much news.” + </p> + <p> + “No, only reports, rumours, lies,” said Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Falbe got up. It was her habit to leave the two alone together, since + she was sure they preferred that; incidentally, also, she got on better + with her book, for she found conversation rather distracting. But to-night + Sylvia stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t go yet, mother,” she said. “It is very early.” + </p> + <p> + It was clear that for some reason she did not want to be left alone with + Michael, for never had she done this before. Nor did it avail anything + now, for Mrs. Falbe, who was quite determined to pursue her reading + without delay, moved towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “But I am sure Michael wants to talk to you, dear,” she said, “and you + have not seen him all day. I think I shall go up to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia made no further effort to detain her, but when she had gone, the + silence in which they had so often sat together had taken on a perfectly + different quality. + </p> + <p> + “And what have you been doing?” she said. “Tell me about your day. No, + don’t. I know it has all been concerned with war, and I don’t want to hear + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I dined with Aunt Barbara,” said Michael. “She sent you her love. She + also wondered why you hadn’t been to see her for so long.” + </p> + <p> + Sylvia gave a short laugh, which had no touch of merriment in it. + </p> + <p> + “Did she really?” she asked. “I should have thought she could have + guessed. She set every nerve in my body jangling last time I saw her by + the way she talked about Germans. And then suddenly she pulled herself up + and apologised, saying she had forgotten. That made it worse! Michael, + when you are unhappy, kindness is even more intolerable than unkindness. I + would sooner have Lady Barbara abusing my people than saying how sorry she + is for me. Don’t let’s talk about it! Let’s do something. Will you play, + or shall I sing? Let’s employ ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + Michael followed her lead. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do sing,” he said. “It’s weeks since I have heard you sing.” + </p> + <p> + She went quickly over to the bookcase of music by the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Come, then, let’s sing and forget,” she said. “Hermann always said the + artist was of no nationality. Let’s begin quick. These are all German + songs: don’t let’s have those. Ah, and these, too! What’s to be done? All + our songs seem to be German.” + </p> + <p> + Michael laughed. + </p> + <p> + “But we’ve just settled that artists have no nationality, so I suppose art + hasn’t either,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sylvia pulled herself together, conscious of a want of control, and laid + her hand on Michael’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael, what should I do without you?” she said. “And yet—well, + let me sing.” + </p> + <p> + She had placed a volume of Schubert on the music-stand, and opening it at + random he found “Du Bist die Ruhe.” She sang the first verse, but in the + middle of the second she stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t,” she said. “It’s no use.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round to her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said. “But you know that.” + </p> + <p> + She moved away from him, and walked down to the empty fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t keep silence,” she said, “though I know we settled not to talk of + those things when necessarily we cannot feel absolutely at one. But, just + before you came in, I was reading the evening paper. Michael, how can the + English be so wicked as to print, and I suppose to believe, those awful + things I find there? You told me you had glanced at it. Well, did you + glance at the lies they tell about German atrocities?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I saw them,” said Michael. “But it’s no use talking about them.” + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t you indignant?” she said. “Doesn’t your blood boil to read of + such infamous falsehoods? You don’t know Germans, but I do, and it is + impossible that such things can have happened.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt profoundly uncomfortable. Some of these stories which Sylvia + called lies were vouched for, apparently, by respectable testimony. + </p> + <p> + “Why talk about them?” he said. “I’m sure we were wise when we settled not + to.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t live up to that wisdom,” she said. “When I think of this + war day and night and night and day, how can I prevent talking to you + about it? And those lies! Germans couldn’t do such things. It’s a campaign + of hate against us, set up by the English Press.” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay the German Press is no better,” said Michael. + </p> + <p> + “If that is so, I should be just as indignant about the German Press,” + said she. “But it is only your guess that it is so.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she stopped, and came a couple of steps nearer him. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, it isn’t possible that you believe those things of us?” she + said. + </p> + <p> + He got up. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, do leave it alone, Sylvia,” he said. “I know no more of the truth or + falsity of it than you. I have seen just what you have seen in the + papers.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t feel the impossibility of it, then?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t. There seems to have been sworn testimony. War is a cruel + thing; I hate it as much as you. When men are maddened with war, you can’t + tell what they would do. They are not the Germans you know, nor the + Germans I know, who did such things—not the people I saw when I was + with Hermann in Baireuth and Munich a year ago. They are no more the same + than a drunken man is the same as that man when he is sober. They are two + different people; drink has made them different. And war has done the same + for Germany.” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand to her. She moved a step back from him. + </p> + <p> + “Then you think, I suppose, that Hermann may be concerned in those + atrocities,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Michael looked at her in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “You are talking sheer nonsense, Sylvia,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. It is a logical inference, just an application of the + principle you have stated.” + </p> + <p> + Michael’s instinct was just to take her in his arms and make the final + appeal, saying, “We love each other, that’s all,” but his reason prevented + him. Sylvia had said a monstrous thing in cold blood, when she suggested + that he thought Hermann might be concerned in these deeds, and in cold + blood, not by appealing to her emotions, must she withdraw that. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not going to argue about it,” he said. “I want you to tell me at once + that I am right, that it was sheer nonsense, to put no other name to it, + when you suggested that I thought that of Hermann.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pray put another name to it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. It was a wanton falsehood,” said Michael, “and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + Truly this hellish nightmare of war and hate which had arisen brought with + it a brood not less terrible. A day ago, an hour ago he would have merely + laughed at the possibility of such a situation between Sylvia and himself. + Yet here it was: they were in the middle of it now. + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him flashing with indignation, and a retort as stinging + as his rose to her lips. And then quite suddenly, all her anger went from + her, as her, heart told her, in a voice that would not be silenced, the + complete justice of what he had said, and the appeal that Michael + refrained from making was made by her to herself. Remorse held her on its + spikes for her abominable suggestion, and with it came a sense of utter + desolation and misery, of hatred for herself in having thus quietly and + deliberately said what she had said. She could not account for it, nor + excuse herself on the plea that she had spoken in passion, for she had + spoken, as he felt, in cold blood. Hence came the misery in the knowledge + that she must have wounded Michael intolerably. + </p> + <p> + Her lips so quivered that when she first tried to speak no words would + come. That she was truly ashamed brought no relief, no ease to her + surrender, for she knew that it was her real self who had spoken thus + incredibly. But she could at least disown that part of her. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Michael,” she said. “I was atrocious. Will you forgive + me? Because I am so miserable.” + </p> + <p> + He had nothing but love for her, love and its kinsman pity. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, fancy you asking that!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Just for the moment of their reconciliation, it seemed to both that they + came closer to each other than they had ever been before, and the chance + of the need of any such another reconciliation was impossible to the verge + of laughableness, so that before five minutes were past he could make the + smile break through her tears at the absurdity of the moment that now + seemed quite unreal. Yet that which was at the root of their temporary + antagonism was not removed by the reconciliation; at most they had + succeeded in cutting off the poisonous shoot that had suddenly sprouted + from it. The truth of this in the days that followed was horribly + demonstrated. + </p> + <p> + It was not that they ever again came to the spoken bitterness of words, + for the sharpness of them, once experienced, was shunned by each of them, + but times without number they had to sheer off, and not approach the + ground where these poisoned tendrils trailed. And in that sense of having + to take care, to be watchful lest a chance word should bring the peril + close to them, the atmosphere of complete ease and confidence, in which + alone love can flourish, was tainted. Love was there, but its flowers + could not expand, it could not grow in the midst of this bitter air. And + what made the situation more and increasingly difficult was the fact that, + next to their love for each other, the emotion that most filled the mind + of each was this sense of race-antagonism. It was impossible that the news + of the war should not be mentioned, for that would have created an + intolerable unreality, and all that was in their power was to avoid all + discussion, to suppress from speech all the feelings with which the news + filled them. Every day, too, there came fresh stories of German + abominations committed on the Belgians, and each knew that the other had + seen them, and yet neither could mention them. For while Sylvia could not + believe them, Michael could not help doing so, and thus there was no + common ground on which they could speak of them. Often Mrs. Falbe, in + whose blood, it would seem, no sense of race beat at all, would add to the + embarrassment by childlike comments, saying at one time in reference to + such things that she made a point of not believing all she saw in the + newspapers, or at another ejaculating, “Well, the Germans do seem to have + behaved very cruelly again!” But no emotion appeared to colour these + speeches, while all the emotion of the world surged and bubbled behind the + silence of the other two. + </p> + <p> + Then followed the darkest days that England perhaps had ever known, when + the German armies, having overcome the resistance of Belgium, suddenly + swept forward again across France, pushing before them like the jetsam and + flotsam on the rim of the advancing tide the allied armies. Often in these + appalling weeks, Michael would hesitate as to whether he should go to see + Sylvia or not, so unbearable seemed the fact that she did not and could + not feel or understand what England was going through. So far from blaming + her for it, he knew that it could not be otherwise, for her blood called + to her, even as his to him, while somewhere in the onrush of those + advancing and devouring waves was her brother, with whom, so it had often + seemed to him, she was one soul. Thus, while in that his whole sympathy + and whole comprehension of her love was with him, there was as well all + that deep, silent English patriotism of which till now he had scarcely + been conscious, praying with mute entreaty that disaster and destruction + and defeat might overwhelm those advancing hordes. Once, when the anxiety + and peril were at their height, he made up his mind not to see her that + day, and spent the evening by himself. But later, when he was actually on + his way to bed, he knew he could not keep away from her, and though it was + already midnight, he drove down to Chelsea, and found her sitting up, + waiting for the chance of his coming. + </p> + <p> + For a moment, as she greeted him and he kissed her silently, they escaped + from the encompassing horror. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have come,” she said. “I thought perhaps you might. I have wanted + you dreadfully.” + </p> + <p> + The roar of artillery, the internecine strife were still. Just for a few + seconds there was nothing in the world for him but her, nor for her + anything but him. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn’t go to bed without just seeing you,” he said. “I won’t keep you + up.” + </p> + <p> + They stood with hands clasped. + </p> + <p> + “But if you hadn’t come, Michael,” she said, “I should have understood.” + </p> + <p> + And then the roar and the horror began again. Her words were the simplest, + the most directly spoken to him, yet could not but evoke the spectres that + for the moment had vanished. She had meant to let her love for him speak; + it had spoken, and instantly through the momentary sunlight of it, there + loomed the fierce and enormous shadow. It could not be banished from their + most secret hearts; even when the doors were shut and they were alone + together thus, it made its entrance, ghost-like, terrible, and all love’s + bolts and bars could not keep it out. Here was the tragedy of it, that + they could not stand embraced with clasped hands and look at it together + and so rob it of its terrors, for, at the sight of it, their hands were + loosened from each other’s, and in its presence they were forced to stand + apart. In his heart, as surely as he knew her love, Michael knew that this + great shadow under which England lay was shot with sunlight for Sylvia, + that the anxiety, the awful suspense that made his fingers cold as he + opened the daily papers, brought into it to her an echo of victorious + music that beat to the tramp of advancing feet that marched ever forward + leaving the glittering Rhine leagues upon leagues in their rear. The + Bavarian corps in which Hermann served was known to be somewhere on the + Western front, for the Emperor had addressed them ten days before on their + departure from Munich, and Sylvia and Michael were both aware of that. But + they who loved Hermann best could not speak of it to each other, and the + knowledge of it had to be hidden in silence, as if it had been some guilty + secret in which they were the terrified accomplices, instead of its being + a bond of love which bound them both to Hermann. + </p> + <p> + In addition to the national anxiety, there was the suspense of those whose + sons and husbands and fathers were in the fighting line. Columns of + casualty lists were published, and each name appearing there was a sword + that pierced a home. One such list, published early in September, was seen + by Michael as he drove down on Sunday morning to spend the rest of the day + with Sylvia, and the first name that he read there was that of Francis. + For a moment, as he remembered afterwards, the print had danced before his + eyes, as if seen through the quiver of hot air. Then it settled down and + he saw it clearly. + </p> + <p> + He turned and drove back to his rooms in Half Moon Street, feeling that + strange craving for loneliness that shuns any companionship. He must, for + a little, sit alone with the fact, face it, adjust himself to it. Till + that moment when the dancing print grew still again he had not, in all the + anxiety and suspense of those days, thought of Francis’s death as a + possibility even. He had heard from him only two mornings before, in a + letter thoroughly characteristic that saw, as Francis always saw, the + pleasant and agreeable side of things. Washing, he had announced, was a + delusion; after a week without it you began to wonder why you had ever + made a habit of it. . . . They had had a lot of marching, always in the + wrong direction, but everyone knew that would soon be over. . . . Wasn’t + London very beastly in August? . . . Would Michael see if he could get + some proper cigarettes out to him? Here there was nothing but little black + French affairs (and not many of them) which tied a knot in the throat of + the smoker. . . . And now Francis, with all his gaiety and his affection, + and his light pleasant dealings with life, lay dead somewhere on the sunny + plains of France, killed in action by shell or bullet in the midst of his + youth and strength and joy in life, to gratify the damned dreams of the + man who had been the honoured guest at Ashbridge, and those who had + advised and flattered and at the end perhaps just used him as their dupe. + To their insensate greed and swollen-headed lust for world-power was this + hecatomb of sweet and pleasant lives offered, and in their onward course + through the vines and corn of France they waded through the blood of the + slain whose only crime was that they had dared to oppose the will of + Germany, as voiced by the War Lord. And as milestones along the way they + had come were set the records of their infamy, in rapine and ruthless + slaughter of the innocent. Just at first, as he sat alone in his room, + Michael but contemplated images that seemed to form in his mind without + his volition, and, emotion-numb from the shock, they seemed external to + him. Sometimes he had a vision of Francis lying without mark or wound or + violence on him in some vineyard on the hill-side, with face as quiet as + in sleep turned towards a moonlit sky. Then came another picture, and + Francis was walking across the terrace at Ashbridge with his gun over his + shoulder, towards Lord Ashbridge and the Emperor, who stood together, just + as Michael had seen the three of them when they came in from the + shooting-party. As Francis came near, the Emperor put a cartridge into his + gun and shot him. . . . Yes, that was it: that was what had happened. The + marvellous peacemaker of Europe, the fire-engine who, as Hermann had said, + was ready to put out all conflagrations, the fatuous mountebank who + pretended to be a friend to England, who conducted his own balderdash + which he called music, had changed his role and shown his black heart and + was out to kill. + </p> + <p> + Wild panoramas like these streamed through Michael’s head, as if projected + there by some magic lantern, and while they lasted he was conscious of no + grief at all, but only of a devouring hate for the mad, lawless butchers + who had caused Francis’s death, and willingly at that moment if he could + have gone out into the night and killed a German, and met his death + himself in the doing of it, he would have gone to his doom as to a + bridal-bed. But by degrees, as the stress of these unsought imaginings + abated, his thoughts turned to Francis himself again, who, through all his + boyhood and early manhood, had been to him a sort of ideal and + inspiration. How he had loved and admired him, yet never with a touch of + jealousy! And Francis, whose letter lay open by him on the table, lay dead + on the battlefields of France. There was the envelope, with the red square + mark of the censor upon it, and the sheet with its gay scrawl in pencil, + asking for proper cigarettes. And, with a pang of remorse, all the more + vivid because it concerned so trivial a thing, Michael recollected that he + had not sent them. He had meant to do so yesterday afternoon but something + had put it out of his head. Never again would Francis ask him to send out + cigarettes. Michael laid his head on his arms, so that his face was close + to that pencilled note, and the relief of tears came to him. + </p> + <p> + Soon he raised himself again, not ashamed of his sorrow, but somehow + ashamed of the black hate that before had filled him. That was gone for + the present, anyhow, and Michael was glad to find it vanished. Instead + there was an aching pity, not for Francis alone nor for himself, but for + all those concerned in this hideous business. A hundred and a thousand + homes, thrown suddenly to-day into mourning, were there: no doubt there + were houses in that Bavarian village in the pine woods above which he and + Hermann had spent the day when there was no opera at Baireuth where a son + or a brother or a father were mourned, and in the kinship of sorrow he + found himself at peace with all who had suffered loss, with all who were + living through days of deadly suspense. There was nothing effeminate or + sentimental about it; he had never been manlier than in this moment when + he claimed his right to be one with them. It was right to pause like this, + with his hand clasped in the hands of friends and foes alike. But without + disowning that, he knew that Francis’s death, which had brought that home + to him, had made him eager also for his own turn to come, when he would go + out to help in the grim work that lay in front of him. He was perfectly + ready to die if necessary, and if not, to kill as many Germans as + possible. And somehow the two aspects of it all, the pity and the desire + to kill, existed side by side, neither overlapping nor contradicting one + another. + </p> + <p> + His servant came into the room with a pencilled note, which he opened. It + was from Sylvia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael, I have just called and am waiting to know if you will see + me. I have seen the news, and I want to tell you how sorry I am. But if + you don’t care to see me I know you will say so, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Though an hour before he had turned back on his way to go to Sylvia, he + did not hesitate now. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ask Miss Falbe to come up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She came up immediately, and once again as they met, the world and the war + stood apart from them. + </p> + <p> + “I did not expect you to come, Michael,” she said, “when I saw the news. I + did not mean to come here myself. But—but I had to. I had just to + find out whether you wouldn’t see me, and let me tell you how sorry I am.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled at her as they stood facing each other. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for coming,” he said; “I’m so glad you came. But I had to be + alone just a little.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t do wrong?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed you didn’t. I did wrong not to come to you. I loved Francis, you + see.” + </p> + <p> + Already the shadow threatened again. It was just the fact that he loved + Francis that had made it impossible for him to go to her, and he could not + explain that. And as the shadow began to fall she gave a little shudder. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Michael, I know you did,” she said. “It’s just that which concerns + us, that and my sympathy for you. He was such a dear. I only saw him, I + know, once or twice, but from that I can guess what he was to you. He was + a brother to you—a—a—Hermann.” + </p> + <p> + Michael felt, with Sylvia’s hand in his, they were both running + desperately away from the shadow that pursued them. Desperately he tried + with her to evade it. But every word spoken between them seemed but to + bring it nearer to them. + </p> + <p> + “I only came to say that,” she said. “I had to tell you myself, to see you + as I told you, so that you could know how sincere, how heartfelt—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all, my dearest,” she added. “I will go away again now.” + </p> + <p> + Across that shadow that had again fallen between them they looked and + yearned for each other. + </p> + <p> + “No, don’t go—don’t go,” he said. “I want you more than ever. We are + here, here and now, you and I, and what else matters in comparison of + that? I loved Francis, as you know, and I love Hermann, but there is our + love, the greatest thing of all. We’ve got it—it’s here. Oh, Sylvia, + we must be wise and simple, we must separate things, sort them out, not + let them get mixed with one another. We can do it; I know we can. There’s + nothing outside us; nothing matters—nothing matters.” + </p> + <p> + There was just that ray of sun peering over the black cloud that illumined + their faces to each other, while already the sharp peaked shadow of it had + come between them. For that second, while he spoke, it seemed possible + that, in the middle of welter and chaos and death and enmity, these two + souls could stand apart, in the passionate serene of love, and the moment + lasted for just as long as she flung herself into his arms. And then, even + while her face was pressed to his, and while the riotous blood of their + pressed lips sang to them, the shadow fell across them. Even as he + asserted the inviolability of the sanctuary in which they stood, he knew + it to be an impossible Utopia—that he should find with her the peace + that should secure them from the raging storm, the cold shadow—and + the loosening of her arms about his neck but endorsed the message of his + own heart. For such heavenly security cannot come except to those who have + been through the ultimate bitterness that the world can bring; it is not + arrived at but through complete surrender to the trial of fire, and as + yet, in spite of their opposed patriotism, in spite of her sincerest + sympathy with Michael’s loss, the assault on the most intimate lines of + the fortress had not yet been delivered. Before they could reach the peace + that passed understanding, a fiercer attack had to be repulsed, they had + to stand and look at each other unembittered across waves and billows of a + salter Marah than this. + </p> + <p> + But still they clung, while in their eyes there passed backwards and + forwards the message that said, “It is not yet; it is not thus!” They had + been like two children springing together at the report of some + thunder-clap, not knowing in the presence of what elemental outpouring of + force they hid their faces together. As yet it but boomed on the horizon, + though messages of its havoc reached them, and the test would come when it + roared and lightened overhead. Already the tension of the approaching + tempest had so wrought on them that for a month past they had been unreal + to each other, wanting ease, wanting confidence; and now, when the first + real shock had come, though for a moment it threw them into each other’s + arms, this was not, as they knew, the real, the final reconciliation, the + touchstone that proved the gold. Francis’s death, the cousin whom Michael + loved, at the hands of one of the nation to whom Sylvia belonged, had + momentarily made them feel that all else but their love was but external + circumstance; and, even in the moment of their feeling this, the shadow + fell again, and left them chilly and shivering. + </p> + <p> + For a moment they still held each other round the neck and shoulder, then + the hold slipped to the elbow, and soon their hands parted. As yet no word + had been said since Michael asserted that nothing else mattered, and in + the silence of their gradual estrangement the sanguine falsity of that + grew and grew and grew. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you feel,” she said at length, “and I feel it also.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice broke, and her hands felt for his again. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, where are you?” she cried. “No, don’t touch me; I didn’t mean + that. Let’s face it. For all we know, Hermann might have killed Francis. . + . . Whether he did or not, doesn’t matter. It might have been. It’s like + that.” + </p> + <p> + A minute before Michael, in soul and blood and mind and bones, had said + that nothing but Sylvia and himself had any real existence. He had clung + to her, even as she to him, hoping that this individual love would prove + itself capable of overriding all else that existed. But it had not needed + that she should speak to show him how pathetically he had erred. Before + she had made a concrete instance he knew how hopeless his wish had been: + the silence, the loosening of hands had told him that. And when she spoke + there was a brutality in what she said, and worse than the brutality there + was a plain, unvarnished truth. + </p> + <p> + There was no question now of her going away at once, as she had proposed, + any more than a boat in the rapids, roared round by breakers, can propose + to start again. They were in the middle of it, and so short a way ahead + was the cataract that ran with blood. On each side at present were fine, + green landing-places; he at the oar, she at the tiller, could, if they + were of one mind, still put ashore, could run their boat in, declining the + passage of the cataract with all its risks, its river of blood. There was + but a stroke of the oar to be made, a pull on a rope of the rudder, and a + step ashore. Here was a way out of the storm and the rapids. + </p> + <p> + A moment before, when, by their physical parting they had realised the + strength of the bonds that held them apart this solution had not occurred + to Sylvia. Now, critically and forlornly hopeful, it flashed on her. She + felt, she almost felt—for the ultimate decision rested with him—that + with him she would throw everything else aside, and escape, just escape, + if so he willed it, into some haven of neutrality, where he and she would + be together, leaving the rest of the world, her country and his, to fight + over these irreconcilable quarrels. It did not seem to matter what + happened to anybody else, provided only she and Michael were together, out + of risk, out of harm. Other lives might be precious, other ideals and + patriotisms might be at stake, but she wanted to be with him and nothing + else at all. No tie counted compared to that; there was but one life given + to man and woman, and now that her individual happiness, the individual + joy of her love, was at stake, she felt, even as Michael had said, that + nothing else mattered, that they would be right to realise themselves at + any cost. + </p> + <p> + She took his hands again. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, Michael,” she said. “I can’t bear any longer that these + horrors should keep rising up between us, and, while we are here in the + middle of it all, it can’t be otherwise. I ask you, then, to come away + with me, to leave it all behind. It is not our quarrel. Already Hermann + has gone; I can’t lose you too.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him for a moment, and then quickly away again, for she + felt her case, which seemed to her just now so imperative, slipping away + from her in that glance she got of his eyes, that, for all the love that + burned there, were blank with astonishment. She must convince him; but her + own convictions were weak when she looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t answer me yet,” she said. “Hear what I have to say. Don’t you see + that while we are like this we are lost to each other? And as you yourself + said just now, nothing matters in comparison to our love. I want you to + take me away, out of it all, so that we can find each other again. These + horrors thwart and warp us; they spoil the best thing that the world holds + for us. My patriotism is just as sound as yours, but I throw it away to + get you. Do the same, then. You can get out of your service somehow. . . + .” + </p> + <p> + And then her voice began to falter. + </p> + <p> + “If you loved me, you would do it,” she said. “If—” + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly she found she could say no more at all. She had hoped + that when she stated these things she would convince him, and, behold, all + she had done was to shake her own convictions so that they fell clattering + round her like an unstable card-house. Desperately she looked again at + him, wondering if she had convinced him at all, and then again she looked, + wondering if she should see contempt in his eyes. After that she stood + still and silent, and her face flamed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you despise me, Michael?” she said. + </p> + <p> + He gave a little sigh of utter content. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, how I love you for suggesting such a sweet impossibility,” + he said. “But how you would despise me if I consented.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She gave a sorrowful semblance of a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I should,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And I know you would. You would contrast me in your mind, whether you + wished to or not, with Hermann, with poor Francis, sorely to my + disadvantage.” + </p> + <p> + They sat silent a little, but there was another question Sylvia had to ask + for which she had to collect her courage. At last it came. + </p> + <p> + “Have they told you yet when you are going?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not for certain. But—it will be before many days are passed. And + the question arises—will you marry me before I go?” + </p> + <p> + She hid her face on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I will do what you wish,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know your wish.” + </p> + <p> + She clung closer to him. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, I don’t think I could bear to part with you if we were married,” + she said. “It would be worse, I think, than it’s going to be. But I intend + to do exactly what you wish. You must tell me. I’m going to obey you + before I am your wife as well as after.” + </p> + <p> + Michael had long debated this in his mind. It seemed to him that if he + came back, as might easily happen, hopelessly crippled, incurably invalid, + it would be placing Sylvia in an unfairly difficult position, if she was + already his wife. He might be hideously disfigured; she would be bound to + but a wreck of a man; he might be utterly unfit to be her husband, and yet + she would be tied to him. He had already talked the question over with his + father, who, with that curious posthumous anxiety to have a further direct + heir, had urged that the marriage should take place at once; but with his + own feeling on the subject, as well as Sylvia’s, he at once made up his + mind. + </p> + <p> + “I agree with you,” he said. “We will settle it so, then.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled at him. + </p> + <p> + “How dreadfully business-like,” she said, with an attempt at lightness. + </p> + <p> + “I know. It’s rather a good thing one has got to be business-like, when—” + </p> + <p> + That failed also, and he drew her to him and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + Michael was sitting in the kitchen of a French farm-house just outside the + village of Laires, some three miles behind the English front. The kitchen + door was open, and on the flagged floor was cast an oblong of + primrose-coloured November sunshine, warm and pleasant, so that the + bluebottle flies buzzed hopefully about it, settling occasionally on the + cracked green door, where they cleaned their wings, and generally + furbished themselves up, as if the warmth was that of a spring day that + promised summer to follow. They were there in considerable numbers, for + just outside in the cobbled yard was a heap of manure, where they hungrily + congregated. Against the white-washed wall of the house there lay a fat + sow, basking contentedly, and snorting in her dreams. The yard, bounded on + two sides by the house walls, was shut in on the third by a row of + farm-sheds, and the fourth was open. Just outside it stood a small copse + half flooded with the brimming water of a sluggish stream that meandered + by the side of the farm-road leading out of the yard, which turned to the + left, and soon joined the highway. This farm-road was partly under water, + though not deeply, so that by skirting along its raised banks it was + possible to go dry-shod to the highway underneath which the stream passed + in a brick culvert. + </p> + <p> + Through the kitchen window, set opposite the door, could be seen a broad + stretch of country of the fenland type, flat and bare, and intersected + with dykes, where sedges stirred slightly in the southerly breeze. Here + and there were pools of overflowed rivulets, and here and there were + plantations of stunted hornbeam, the russet leaves of which still clung + thickly to them. But in the main it was a bare and empty land, featureless + and stolid. + </p> + <p> + Just below the kitchen window there was a plot of cultivated ground, + thriftily and economically used for the growing of vegetables. Concession, + however, was made to the sense of brightness and beauty, for on each side + of the path leading up to the door ran a row of Michaelmas daisies, rather + battered by the fortnight of rain which had preceded this day of still + warm sun, but struggling bravely to shake off the effect of the adverse + conditions under which they had laboured. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen itself was extremely clean and orderly. Its flagged floor was + still damp and brown in patches from the washing it had received two hours + before; but the draught between open window and open door was fast drying + it. Down the centre of the room was a deal table without a cloth, on which + were laid some half-dozen places, each marked with a knife and fork and + spoon and a thick glass, ready for the serving of the midday meal. On the + white-washed walls hung two photographs of family groups, in one of which + appeared the father and mother and three little children, in the other the + same personages some ten years later, and a lithograph of the Blessed + Virgin. On each side of the table was a deal bench, at the head and foot + two wooden armchairs. A dresser stood against the wall, on the floor by + the oven was a frayed rug, and most important of all, to Michael’s mind, + was a big stewpot that stood on the top of the oven. From time to time a + fat, comfortable Frenchwoman bustled in, and took off the lid of this to + stir it, or placed on the dresser a plate of cheese, or a loaf of freshly + cooked brown bread. Two or three of Michael’s brother-officers were there, + one sitting in the patch of sunlight with his back against the green door, + another on the step outside. The post had come in not long before, and all + of them, Michael included, were occupied with letters and papers. + </p> + <p> + To-day there happened to be no letters for Michael, and the paper which he + glanced at seemed a very feeble effort in the way of entertainment. There + was no news in it, except news about the war, which here, out at the + front, did not interest him in the least. Perhaps in England people liked + to know that a hundred yards of trenches had been taken at one place, and + that three German attacks had failed at another; but when you were + actually engaged (or had been or would soon again be) in taking part in + those things, it seemed a waste of paper and compositor’s time to record + them. There was a column of letters also from indignant Britons, using + violent language about the crimes and treachery of Germany. That also was + uninteresting and far-fetched. Nothing that Germany had done mattered the + least. There was no use in arguing and slinging wild expressions about; it + was a stale subject altogether when you were within earshot of that + incessant booming of guns. All the morning that had gone on without break, + and no doubt they would get news of what had happened before they set out + again that evening for another spell in the trenches. But in all + probability nothing particular had happened. Probably the London papers + would record it next day, a further tediousness on their part. It would be + much more interesting to hear what was going on there, whether there were + any new plays, whether there had been any fresh concerts, what the weather + was like, or even who had been lunching at Prince’s, or dining at the + Carlton. + </p> + <p> + He put down his uninteresting paper, and strolled out into the farmyard, + stepping over the legs of the junior officer who blocked the doorway, and + did not attempt to move. On the doorstep was sitting a major of his + regiment, who, more politely, shifted his place a little so that Michael + should pass. Outside the smell of manure was acrid but not unpleasant, the + old sow grunted in her sleep, and one of the green shutters outside the + upper windows slowly blew to. There was someone inside the room + apparently, for the moment after a hand and arm bare to the elbow were + protruded, and fastened the latch of the shutter, so that it should not + move again. + </p> + <p> + A little further on was a rail that separated the copse from the roadway, + and here out of the wind Michael sat down, and lit a cigarette to stop his + yearning for the bubbling stewpot, which would not be broached for half an + hour yet. The day, he believed, was Wednesday, but the whole quiet of the + place, apart from that drowsy booming on the eastern horizon, made it feel + like Sunday. Nobody but the fat Frenchwoman who bustled about had anything + to do; there was a Sabbath leisure about everything, about the dozing sow, + the buzzing flies, the lounging figures that read letters and papers. When + last they were here, it is true, there were rather more of them. Eight + officers had been billeted here last week, before they had been in the + trenches and now there were but six. This evening they would set out again + for another forty-eight hours in that hellish inferno, but to-morrow a + fresh draft was arriving, so that when next they foregathered here, + whatever had happened in the interval, there would probably be at least + six of them. + </p> + <p> + It did not seem to matter much what six there would be, or whether there + would be more than six or less. All that mattered at this moment, as he + inhaled the first incense of his cigarette, was that the rain was over for + the present, that the sun shone from a blue sky, that he felt + extraordinarily well and tranquil, and that dinner would soon be ready. + But of all these agreeable things what pleased him most was the + tranquillity; to be alive here with the manure heap steaming in the sun, + and the sow asleep by the house wall, and swallows settling on the eaves, + was “Paradise enow.” Somewhere deep down in him were streams of yearning + and of horror, flowing like an underground river in the dark. He yearned + for Sylvia, he thought with horror of the two days in the trenches that + had preceded this rest in the white-washed farm-house, and with horror he + thought of the days and nights that would succeed it. But both horror and + yearnings were stupefied by the content that flooded the present moment. + No doubt it was reaction from what had gone before, but the reaction was + complete. Just now he asked for nothing but to sit in the sun and smoke + his cigarette, and wait for dinner. As far as he knew he did not think of + anything particular; he just existed in the sun. + </p> + <p> + The wind must have shifted a little, for before long it came round the + corner of the house, and slightly spoiled the mellow warmth of the + sunshine. This would never do. The Epicurean in him revolted at the idea + of losing a moment of this complete well-being, and arguing that if the + wind blew here, it must be dead calm below the kitchen window on the other + side of the house, he got off his rail and walked along the slippery bank + at the edge of the flooded road in order to go there. It was hard to keep + his footing here, and his progress was slow, but he felt he would take any + amount of trouble to avoid getting his feet wet in the flooded road. Then + there was a patch of kitchen-garden to cross, where the mud clung rather + annoyingly to his instep, and, having gained the garden path, he very + carefully wiped his boots and with a fallen twig dug away the clots of + soil that stuck to the instep. + </p> + <p> + He found that he had been quite right in supposing that the air would be + windless here, and full of great content he sat down with his back to the + house wall. A tortoise-shell butterfly, encouraged by the warmth, was + flitting about among the Michaelmas daisies that bordered the path and + settling on them, opening its wings to the genial sun. Two or three bees + buzzed there also; the summer-like tranquillity inserted into the middle + of November squalls and rain, deluded them as well as Michael into living + completely in the present hour. Gnats hovered about. One settled on + Michael’s hand, where he instantly killed it, and was sorry he had done + so. For the time the booming of guns which had sounded incessantly all the + morning to the east, stopped altogether, and absolute quiet reigned. Had + he not been so hungry, and so unable to get the idea of the stewpot out of + his head, Michael would have been content to sit with his back to the + sun-warmed wall for ever. + </p> + <p> + The high-road, raised and embanked above the low-lying fields, ran + eastwards in an undeviating straight line. Just opposite the farm were the + last outlying huts of the village, and from there onwards it lay + untenanted. But before many minutes were passed, the quiet of the autumn + noon began to be overscored by distant humming, faint at first, and then + quickly growing louder, and he saw far away a little brown speck coming + swiftly towards him. It turned out to be a dispatch-rider, mounted on a + motor-bicycle, who with a hoot of his horn roared westward through the + village. Immediately afterwards another humming, steadier and more + sonorous, grew louder, and Michael, recognising it, looked up + instinctively into the blue sky overhead, as an English aeroplane, flying + low, came from somewhere behind, and passed directly over him, going + eastwards. Before long it stopped its direct course, and began to mount in + spirals, and when at a sufficient height, it resumed its onward journey + towards the German lines. Then three or four privates, billeted in the + village, and now resting after duty in the trenches, strolled along the + road, laughing and talking. They sat down not a hundred yards from Michael + and one began to whistle “Tipperary.” Another and another took it up until + all four were engaged on it. It was not precisely in tune nor were the + performers in unison, but it produced a vaguely pleasant effect, and if + not in tune with the notes as the composer wrote them, the sight and sound + of those four whistling and idle soldiers was in tune with the air of + security of Sunday morning. + </p> + <p> + Something far down the road caught Michael’s eye, some moving line of + brown wagons. As they came nearer he saw that they were the + motor-ambulances of the Red Cross, moving slowly along the ruts and holes + which the traffic had worn, so that the occupants should suffer as little + jolting as was possible. They carried no doubt the wounded who had been + taken from the trenches last night, and now, after calling for them at the + first dressing station in the rear of the lines, were removing them to + hospital. As they passed the four men sitting by the roadside, one of them + shouted, “Cheer, oh, mates!” and then they fell to whistling “Tipperary” + again. Then, oh, blessed moment! the fat Frenchwoman looked out of the + kitchen window just above his head. + </p> + <p> + “Diner, m’sieu,” she said, and Michael, without another thought of + ambulance or aeroplane, scrambled to his feet. Somewhere in the middle + distance of his mind he was sorry that this tranquil morning was over, + just as below in the darkness of it there ran those streams of yearning + and of horror, but all his ordinary work-a-day self was occupied with the + immediate prospect of the stewpot. It was some sort of a ragout, he knew, + and he lusted for it. Red wine of the country would be there, and cheese + and new brown bread. . . . It surprised him to find how completely his + bodily needs and the pleasure of their gratification had possession of + him. + </p> + <p> + They were under orders to go back to the trenches shortly after sunset, + and when their meal was over there remained but an hour or two before they + had to start. The warmth and glory of the day was already gone, and + streamers of cloud were beginning to form over the open sky. All afternoon + these thickened till a dull layer of grey had thickly overspread the + heavens and below that arch of vapour that cut off the sun the wind was + blowing chilly. With that change in the weather, Michael’s mood changed + also, and the horror of the return to the trenches began to come to the + surface. He was not as yet aware of any physical fear of death or of + wound, rather, the feeling was one of some mental and spiritual shrinking + from the whole of this vast business of murder, where hundreds and + thousands of men along the battle front that stretched half-way across + Europe, were employed, day and night, without having any quarrel with each + other, in the unsleeping vigilant work of killing. Most of them in all + probability, were quite decent fellows, like those four who had whistled + “Tipperary” together, and yet they were spending months of young, sweet + life up to the knees in water, in foul and ill-smelling trenches in order + to kill others whom they had never seen except as specks on the sights of + their rifles. Somewhere behind that gruesome business, as he knew, there + stood the Cause, calm and serene, like some great statue, which made this + insensate murdering necessary; but just for an hour to-day, as he waited + till they had to be on the move again, he found himself unable to make + real to his own mind the existence of that cause, and could not see beyond + the bloody and hideous things that resulted from it. + </p> + <p> + Then, in this inaction of waiting, an attack of mere physical cowardice + seized him, and he found himself imagining the mutilation and torture that + perhaps awaited him personally in those deathly ditches. He tried to busy + himself with the preparation of the few things that he would take with + him, he tried to encourage himself by remembering that in his previous + experiences there he had not been conscious of any fear, by telling + himself that these were only the unreal anticipations that were always + ready to pounce on one even before such mildly alarming affairs as a visit + to the dentist; but in spite of his efforts, he found his hands growing + clammy and cold at the thoughts which beset his brain. What if there + happened to him what had happened to another junior officer who was close + to him at the moment, when a fragment of shell turned him from a big gay + boy into a writhing bundle at the bottom of the trench! He had lived for a + couple of hours like that, moaning and crying out, “For God’s sake kill + me!” What if, more mercifully, he was killed outright, so that he would + lie there in peace till next night they removed his body, or perhaps had + to bury him in the trench itself, with a dozen handfuls of soil cast over + him! At that he suddenly realised how passionately he wanted to live, to + escape from this infernal butchery, to be safe again, gloriously or + ingloriously, it mattered not which, to be with Sylvia once more. He told + himself that he had been an utter fool ever to re-enter the army again + like this. He could certainly have got some appointment as + dispatch-carrier or had himself attached to the headquarters staff, or + even have shuffled out of it altogether. . . . But, above all, he wanted + Sylvia; he wanted to be allowed to lead the ordinary human life, safely + and securely, with the girl he loved, and with the musical pursuits that + were his passion. He had hated soldiering in times of peace; he found now + that he was terrified of it in times of war. He felt physically sick, as + with cold hands and trembling knees he stood and waited, lighting + cigarettes and throwing them away, in front of the kitchen fire, where the + stewpot was already bubbling again for those lucky devils who would return + here to-night. + </p> + <p> + The Major of his company was sitting in the window watching him, though + Michael was unaware of it. Suddenly he got up, and came across to the + fire, and put his hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t mind it, Comber,” he said quietly. “We all get a touch of it + sometimes. But you’ll find it will pass all right. It’s the waiting doing + nothing that does it.” + </p> + <p> + That touched Michael absolutely in the right place. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully, sir,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. But it’s damned beastly while it lasts. You’ll be all right + when we move. Don’t forget to take your fur coat up if you’ve got one. We + shall have a cold night.” + </p> + <p> + Just after sunset they set out, marching in the gathering dusk down the + road eastwards, where in a mile or two they would strike the huge rabbit + warren of trenches that joined the French line to the north and south. + Once or twice they had to open out and go by the margin of the road to let + ambulances or commissariat wagon go by, but there was but little traffic + here, as the main lines of communication lay on other roads. High above + them, scarcely visible in the dusk, an English aeroplane droned back from + its reconnaissance, and once there was the order given to scatter over the + fields as a German Taube passed across them. This caused much laughter and + chaff among the men, and Michael heard one say, “Dove they call it, do + they? I’d like to make a pigeon-pie of them doves.” Soon they scrambled + back on to the road again, and the interminable “Tipperary” was resumed, + in whistle and song. Michael remembered how Aunt Barbara had heard it at a + music-hall, and had spoken of it as a new and catchy tune which you could + carry away with you. Nowadays, it carried you away. It had become the + audible soul of the British army. + </p> + <p> + The trench which Michael’s company were to occupy for the next forty-eight + hours was in the first firing-line, and to reach it they had to pass in + single file up a mile of communication trenches, from which on all sides, + like a vast rabbit warren, there opened out other galleries and passages + that led to different parts of this net-work of the lines. It ran not in a + straight line but in short sections with angles intervening, so under no + circumstances could any considerable length of it be enfiladed, and was + lit here and there by little oil lamps placed in embrasures in one or + other wall of it, or for some distance at a time it was dark except for + the vague twilight of the cloudy sky overhead. Then again, as they + approached the firing-line, it would suddenly become intensely bright, + when from the English lines, or from those of the Germans which lay not + more than two hundred yards in front of them, a fireball or star-shell was + sent up, that caused everything it shone upon to leap into vivid + illumination. Usually, when this happened, there came from one side or the + other a volley of rifle shots, that sounded like the crack of stock-whips, + and once or twice a bullet passed over their heads with the buzz as of + some vicious stinging insect. Here and there, where the bottom lay in soft + and clayey soil, they walked through mud that came half-way up to the + knee, and each foot had to be lifted with an effort, and was set free with + a smacking suck. Elsewhere, if the ground was gravelly, the rain which for + two days previously had been incessant, had drained off, and the going was + easy. But whether the path lay over dry or soft places the air was sick + with some stale odour which the breeze that swept across the lines from + the south-east could not carry away. There was a perpetual pervading reek + that flowed along from the entrance of trenches to right and left, that + reminded Michael of the smell of a football scrimmage on a wet day, laden + with the odours of sweat and dripping clothes, and something deadlier and + more acrid. Sometimes they passed under a section covered in with boards, + over which the earth and clods of turf had been replaced, so that + reconnoitring aeroplanes should not so easily spy it out, and here from + dark excavations the smell hung overpoweringly. Now and then the ground + over which they passed yielded uneasily to the foot, where lay, only + lightly covered over, some corpse which it had been impossible to remove, + and from time to time they passed a huddled bundle of khaki not yet taken + away. But except for the artillery duel that day they had heard going on + that morning, the last day or two had been quiet, and the wounded had all + been got out, and for the most part the dead also. + </p> + <p> + After a long tramp in this communication trench they made a sharp turn to + the right, and entered that which they were going to hold for the next + forty-eight hours. Here they relieved the regiment that had occupied it + till now, who filed out as they came in. Along it at intervals were + excavations dug out in the side, some propped up with boards and posts, + others, where the ground was of sufficiently holding character, just + scooped out. In front, towards the German lines ran a parapet of excavated + earth, with occasional peep-holes bored in it, so that the sentry going + his rounds could look out and see if there was any sign of movement from + opposite without showing his head above the entrenchment. But even this + was a matter of some risk, since the enemy had located these peep-holes, + and from time to time fired a shot from a fixed rifle that came straight + through them and buried its bullet in the hinder wall of the trench. Other + spy-holes were therefore being made, but these were not yet finished, and + for the present till they were dug, it was necessary to use the old ones. + The trench, like all the others, was excavated in short, zigzag lengths, + so that no point, either to right or left, commanded more than a score of + yards of it. + </p> + <p> + In front, from just outside the parapet to a depth of some twenty yards, + stretched the spider-web of wire entanglements, and a little farther down + on the right there had been a copse of horn-beam saplings. An attempt had + been made by the enemy during the morning to capture and entrench this, + thus advancing their lines, but the movement had been seen, and the + artillery fire, which had been so incessant all the morning, denoted the + searching of this and the rendering of it untenable. How thorough that + searching had been was clear, for that which had been an acre of wood was + now but a heap of timber fit only for faggots. Scarcely a tree was left + standing, and Michael, looking out of one of the peep-holes by the light + of a star-shell saw that the wire entanglements were thick with leaves + that the wind and the firing had detached from the broken branches. In + turn, the wire entanglements had come in for some shelling by the enemy, + and a squad of men were out now under cover of the darkness repairing + these. There was a slight dip in the ground here, and by crouching and + lying they were out of sight of the trenches opposite; but there were some + snipers in that which had been a wood, from whom there came occasional + shots. Then, from lower down to the right, there came a fusillade from the + English lines suddenly breaking out, and after a few minutes as suddenly + stopping again. But the sniping from the wood had ceased. + </p> + <p> + Michael did not come on duty till six in the morning, and for the present + he had nothing to do except eat his rations and sleep as well as he could + in his dug-out. He had plenty of room to stretch his legs if he sat half + upright, and having taken his Major’s advice in the matter of bringing his + fur coat with him, he found himself warm enough, in spite of the rather + bitter wind that, striking an angle in the trench wall, eddied sharply + into his retreat, to sleep. But not less justified than the advice to + bring his fur coat was his Major’s assurance that the attack of the + horrors which had seized him after dinner that day, would pass off when + the waiting was over. Throughout the evening his nerves had been perfectly + steady, and, when in their progress up the communication trench they had + passed a man half disembowelled by a fragment of a shell, and screaming, + or when, as he trod on one of the uneasy places an arm had stirred and + jerked up suddenly through the handful of earth that covered it, he had no + first-hand sense of horror: he felt rather as if those things were + happening not to him but to someone else, and that, at the most, they were + strange and odd, but no longer horrible. But now, when reinforced by food + again and comfortable beneath his fur cloak he let his mind do what it + would, not checking it, but allowing it its natural internal activity, he + found that a mood transcending any he had known yet was his. So far from + these experiences being terrifying, so far from their being strange and + unreal, they suddenly became intensely real and shone with a splendour + that he had never suspected. Originally he had been pitchforked by his + father into the army, and had left it to seek music. Sense of duty had + made it easy for him to return to it at a time of national peril; but + during all the bitter anxiety of that he had never, as in the light of the + perception that came to him now, as the wind whistled round him in the dim + lit darkness, had a glimpse of the glory of service to his country. Here, + out in this small, evil-smelling cavern, with the whole grim business of + war going on round him, he for the first time fully realised the reality + of it all. He had been in the trenches before, but until now that had + seemed some vague, evil dream, of which he was incredulous. Now in the + darkness the darkness cleared, and the knowledge that this was the very + thing itself, that a couple of hundred yards away were the lines of the + enemy, whose power, for the honour of England and for the freedom of + Europe, had to be broken utterly, filled him with a sense of firm, + indescribable joy. The minor problems which had worried him, the fact of + millions of treasure that might have fed the poor and needy over all + Britain for a score of years, being outpoured in fire and steel, the fact + of thousands of useful and happy lives being sacrificed, of widows and + orphans and childless mothers growing ever a greater company—all + these things, terrible to look at, if you looked at them alone, sank + quietly into their sad appointed places when you looked at the thing + entire. His own case sank there, too; music and life and love for which he + would so rapturously have lived, were covered up now, and at this moment + he would as rapturously have died, if, by his death, he could have served + in his own infinitesimal degree, the cause he fought for. + </p> + <p> + The hours went on, whether swiftly or slowly he did not consider. The wind + fell, and for some minutes a heavy shower of rain plumped vertically into + the trench. Once during it a sudden illumination blazed in the sky, and he + saw the pebbles in the wall opposite shining with the fresh-falling drops. + There were a dozen rifle-shots and he saw the sentry who had just passed + brushing the edge of his coat against Michael’s hand, pause, and look out + through the spy-hole close by, and say something to himself. Occasionally + he dozed for a little, and woke again from dreaming of Sylvia, into + complete consciousness of where he was, and of that superb joy that + pervaded him. By and by these dozings grew longer, and the intervals of + wakefulness less, and for a couple of hours before he was roused he slept + solidly and dreamlessly. + </p> + <p> + His spell of duty began before dawn, and he got up to go his rounds, + rather stiff and numb, and his sleep seemed to have wearied rather than + refreshed him. In that hour of early morning, when vitality burns lowest, + and the dying part their hold on life, the thrill that had possessed him + during the earlier hours of the night, had died down. He knew, having once + felt it, that it was there, and believed that it would come when called + upon; but it had drowsed as he slept, and was overlaid by the sense of the + grim, inexorable side of the whole business. A disconcerting bullet was + plugged through a spy-hole the second after he had passed it; it sounded + not angry, but merely business-like, and Michael found himself thinking + that shots “fired in anger,” as the phrase went, were much more likely to + go wide than shots fired calmly. . . . That, in his sleepy brain, did not + sound nonsense: it seemed to contain some great truth, if he could bother + to think it out. + </p> + <p> + But for that, all was quiet again, and he had returned to his dug-out, + just noticing that the dawn was beginning to break, for the clouds + overhead were becoming visible in outline with the light that filtered + through them, and on their thinner margin turning rose-grey, when the + alarm of an attack came down the line. Instantly the huddled, sleeping + bodies that lay at the side of the trench started into being, and in the + moment’s pause that followed, Michael found himself fumbling at the butt + of his revolver, which he had drawn out of its case. For that one moment + he heard his heart thumping in his throat, and felt his mouth grow dry + with some sudden panic fear that came from he knew not where, and invaded + him. A qualm of sickness took him, something gurgled in his throat, and he + spat on the floor of the trench. All this passed in one second, for at + once he was master of himself again, though not master of a savage joy + that thrilled him—the joy of this chance of killing those who fought + against the peace and prosperity of the world. There was an attack coming + out of the dark, and thank God, he was among those who had to meet it. + </p> + <p> + He gave the order that had been passed to him, and on the word, this + section of the trench was lined with men ready to pour a volley over the + low parapet. He was there, too, wildly excited, close to the spy-hole that + now showed as a luminous disc against the blackness of the trench. He + looked out of this, and in the breaking dawn he saw nothing but the dark + ground of the dip in front, and the level lines of the German trenches + opposite. Then suddenly the grey emptiness was peopled; there sprang from + the earth the advance line of the surprise, who began hewing a way through + the entanglements, while behind the silhouette of the trenches was broken + into a huddled, heaving line of men. Then came the order to fire, and he + saw men dropping and falling out of sight, and others coming on, and yet + again others. These, again, fell, but others (and now he could see the + gleam of bayonets) came nearer, bursting and cutting their way through the + wires. Then, from opposite to right and left sounded the crack of rifles, + and the man next to Michael gave one grunt, and fell back into the trench, + moving no more. + </p> + <p> + Just immediately opposite were the few dozen men whose part it was to cut + through the entanglements. They kept falling and passing out of sight, + while others took their places. And then, for some reason, Michael found + himself singling out just one of these, much in advance of the others, who + was now close to the parapet. He was coming straight on him, and with a + leap he cleared the last line of wire and towered above him. Michael shot + him with his revolver as he stood but three yards from him, and he fell + right across the parapet with head and shoulders inside the trench. And, + as he dropped, Michael shouted, “Got him!” and then he looked. It was + Hermann. + </p> + <p> + Next moment he had scaled the side of the trench and, exerting all his + strength, was dragging him over into safety. The advance of this section, + who were to rush the trench, had been stopped, and again from right and + left the rifle-fire poured out on the heads that appeared above the + parapet. That did not seem to concern him; all he had to do that moment + was to get Hermann out of fire, and just as he dragged his legs over the + parapet, so that his weight fell firm and solid on to him, he felt what + seemed a sharp tap on his right arm, and could not understand why it had + become suddenly powerless. It dangled loosely from somewhere above the + elbow, and when he tried to move his hand he found he could not. + </p> + <p> + Then came a stab of hideous pain, which was over almost as soon as he had + felt it, and he heard a man close to him say, “Are you hit, sir?” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that this surprise attack had failed, for five minutes + afterwards all was quiet again. Out of the grey of dawn it had come, and + before dawn was rosy it was over, and Michael with his right arm numb but + for an occasional twinge of violent agony that seemed to him more like a + scream or a colour than pain, was leaning over Hermann, who lay on his + back quite still, while on his tunic a splash of blood slowly grew larger. + Dawn was already rosy when he moved slightly and opened his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Lieber Gott, Michael!” he whispered, his breath whistling in his throat. + “Good morning, old boy!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + Three weeks later, Michael was sitting in his rooms in Half Moon Street, + where he had arrived last night, expecting Sylvia. Since that attack at + dawn in the trenches, he had been in hospital in France while his arm was + mending. The bone had not been broken, but the muscles had been so badly + torn that it was doubtful whether he would ever recover more than a very + feeble power in it again. In any case, it would take many months before he + recovered even the most elementary use of it. + </p> + <p> + Those weeks had been a long-drawn continuous nightmare, not from the + effect of the injury he had undergone, nor from any nervous breakdown, but + from the sense of that which inevitably hung over him. For he knew, by an + inward compulsion of his mind that admitted of no argument, that he had to + tell Sylvia all that had happened in those ten minutes while the grey + morning grew rosy. This sense of compulsion was deaf to all reasoning, + however plausible. He knew perfectly well that unless he told Sylvia who + it was whom he had shot at point-blank range, as he leaped the last wire + entanglement, no one else ever could. Hermann was buried now in the same + grave as others who had fallen that morning: his name would be given out + as missing from the Bavarian corps to which he belonged, and in time, + after the war was over, she would grow to believe that she would never see + him again. + </p> + <p> + But the sheer impossibility of letting this happen, though it entailed + nothing on him except the mere abstention from speech, took away the + slightest temptation that silence offered. He knew that again and again + Sylvia would refer to Hermann, wondering where he was, praying for his + safety, hoping perhaps even that, like Michael, he would be wounded and + thus escape from the inferno at the front, and it was so absolutely out of + the question that he should listen to this, try to offer little + encouragements, wonder with her whether he was not safe, that even in his + most depressed and shrinking hours he never for a moment contemplated + silence. Certainly he had to tell her that Hermann was dead, and to + account for the fact that he knew him to be dead. And in the long watches + of the wakeful night, when his mind moved in the twilight of drowsiness + and fever and pain, it was here that a certain temptation entered. For it + was easy to say (and no one could ever contradict him) that some man near + him, that one perhaps who had fallen back with a grunt, had killed Hermann + on the edge of the trench. Humanly speaking, there was no chance at all of + that innocent falsehood being disproved. In the scurry and wild confusion + of the attack none but he would remember exactly what had happened, and as + he thought of that tossing and turning, it seemed to one part of his mind + that the innocence of that falsehood would even be laudable, be heroic. It + would save Sylvia the horrible shock of knowing that her lover had killed + her brother; it would save her all that piercing of the iron into her soul + that must inevitably be suffered by her if she knew the truth. And who + could tell what effect the knowledge of the truth would have on her? + Michael felt that it was at the least possible that she could never bear + to see him again, still less sleep in the arms of the one who had killed + her brother. That knowledge, even if she could put it out of mind in pity + and sorrow for Michael, would surely return and return again, and tear her + from him sobbing and trembling. There was all to risk in telling her the + truth; sorrow and bitterness for her and for him separation and a lifelong + regret were piled up in the balance against the unknown weight of her + love. Indeed, there was love on both sides of that balance. Who could tell + how the gold weighed against the gold? + </p> + <p> + Yet, after those drowsy, pain-streaked nights, when the sober light of + dawn crept in at the windows, then, morning after morning, Michael knew + that the inward compulsion was in no way weakened by all the reasons that + he had urged. It remained ruthless and tender, a still small voice that + was heard after the whirlwind and the fire. For the very reason why he + longed to spare Sylvia this knowledge, namely, that they loved each other, + was precisely the reason why he could not spare her. Yet it seemed so + wanton, so useless, so unreasonable to tell her, so laden with a risk both + for him and her that no standard could measure. But he no more + contemplated—except in vain imagination—making up some + ingenious story of this kind which would account for his knowledge of + Hermann’s death than he contemplated keeping silence altogether. It was + not possible for him not to tell her everything, though, when he pictured + himself doing so, he found himself faced by what seemed an inevitable + impossibility. Though he did not see how his lips could frame the words, + he knew they had to. Yet he could not but remember how mere reports in the + paper, stories of German cruelty and what not, had overclouded the + serenity of their love. What would happen when this news, no report or + hearsay, came to her? + </p> + <p> + He had not heard her foot on the stairs, nor did she wait for his servant + to announce her; but, a little before her appointed time, she burst in + upon him midway between smiles and tears, all tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, my dear, my dear,” she cried, “what a morning for me! For the + first time to-day when I woke, I forgot about the war. And your poor arm? + How goes it? Oh, I will take care, but I must and will have you in my + arms.” + </p> + <p> + He had risen to greet her, and softly and gently she put her arms round + his neck, drawing his head to her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Michael!” she whispered. “You’ve come back to me. Lieber Gott, how + I have longed for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Lieber Gott!” When last had he heard those words? He had to tell her. He + would tell her in a minute or two. Perhaps she would never hold him like + that again. He could not part with her at the very moment he had got her. + </p> + <p> + “You look ever so well, Michael,” she said, “in spite of your wound. + You’re so brown and lean and strong. And oh, how I have wanted you! I + never knew how much till you went away.” + </p> + <p> + Looking at her, feeling her arms round him, Michael felt that what he had + to say was beyond the power of his lips to utter. And yet, here in her + presence, the absolute necessity of telling her climbed like some peak + into the ample sunrise far above the darkness and the mists that hung low + about it. + </p> + <p> + “And what lots you must have to tell me,” she said. “I want to hear all—all.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Michael put up his left hand and took away from his neck the arm + that encircled it. But he did not let go of it. He held it in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I have to tell you one thing at once,” he said. She looked at him, and + the smile that burned in her eyes was extinguished. From his gesture, from + his tone, she knew that he spoke of something as serious as their love. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she said. “Tell me, then.” + </p> + <p> + He did not falter, but looked her full in the face. There was no breaking + it to her, or letting her go through the gathering suspense of guessing. + </p> + <p> + “It concerns Hermann,” he said. “It concerns Hermann and me. The last + morning that I was in the trenches, there was an attack at dawn from the + German lines. They tried to rush our trench in the dark. Hermann led them. + He got right up to the trench. And I shot him. I did not know, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Michael could not bear to look at her any more. He put his arm on + the table by him and, leaning his head on it, covering his eyes he went + on. But his voice, up till now quite steady, faltered and failed, as the + sobs gathered in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “He fell across the parapet close to me,” he said. . . . “I lifted him + somehow into our trench. . . . I was wounded, then. . . . He lay at the + bottom of the trench, Sylvia. . . . And I would to God it had been I who + lay there. . . . Because I loved him. . . . Just at the end he opened his + eyes, and saw me, and knew me. And he said—oh, Sylvia, Sylvia!—he + said ‘Lieber Gott, Michael. Good morning, old boy.’ And then he died. . . + . I have told you.” + </p> + <p> + And at that Michael broke down utterly and completely for the first time + since the morning of which he spoke, and sobbed his heart out, while, + unseen to him, Sylvia sat with hands clasped together and stretched + towards him. Just for a little she let him weep his fill, but her yearning + for him would not be withstood. She knew why he had told her, her whole + heart spoke of the hugeness of it. + </p> + <p> + Then once more she laid her arm on his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Michael, my heart!” she said. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael, by E. F. 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