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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2072-0.txt b/2072-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..103479f --- /dev/null +++ b/2072-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11645 @@ +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 + + + + + +MICHAEL + +by E. F. Benson + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +“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.” + +Francis apparently had the art of accepting gracefully, which is more +difficult than the feat which Michael had so successfully accomplished. + +“Mike, you’re a brick,” he said. “But then you always are a brick. +Thanks awfully.” + +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. + +“But it’s more blessed to give than to receive, Francis,” he said. “I +have the best of you there.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“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. + +“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.” + +“Twice more than was necessary,” said Michael, finally dismissing the +subject. + +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. + +“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.” + +Francis laughed. + +“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.” + +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. + +He pointed a broad, big finger at him. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +Michael sat up and took a cigarette. + +“But I’m not in the army any longer,” he said. “That’s just what I am +wanting to tell you.” + +Francis laughed. + +“What do you mean?” he asked. “Have you been cashiered or shot or +something?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Are you speaking seriously?” he asked. + +“Quite seriously. I never did anything that was so serious.” + +“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.” + +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.” + +“Let’s hear them anyhow,” said Francis. + +Michael clouded again. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Aren’t you exaggerating?” he asked. + +Michael shook his head. + +“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.” + +Francis became more practical. + +“But you’ve only been in the regiment three years,” he said. “It won’t +be very popular resigning after only three years.” + +“I have nothing much to lose on the score of popularity,” remarked +Michael. + +There was nothing pertinent that could be consoling here. + +“And have you told your father?” asked Francis. “Does Uncle Robert +know?” + +“Yes; I wrote to father this morning, and I’m going down to Ashbridge +to-morrow. I shall be very sorry if he disapproves.” + +“Then you’ll be sorry,” said Francis. + +“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.” + +Francis did not contradict this. + +“Let’s hear the rest, then,” he said. + +“You shall. The rest is far more important, and rather resembles a +sermon.” + +Francis appropriately sat down again. + +“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.” + +Michael paused a moment in his sermon, and beat out the ashes from his +pipe against the grate. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Go on,” he said encouragingly. “You’re ripping, Mike.” + +“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.” + +Michael got up and began walking up and down the room with his slow, +ponderous movement. + +“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.” + +He paused a moment. + +“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.” + +Michael gave a mirthless laugh. + +“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.” + +Francis lay back and laughed at this dismal picture of the rejection of +the fittest. + +“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.” + +Michael clicked his fingers in a summary manner. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Francis consulted a small, green morocco pocket-book. + +“Can’t to-morrow,” he said, “nor yet the day after. But perhaps I could +get a few days’ leave next week.” + +“Next week’s no use. I go to Baireuth next week.” + +“Baireuth? Who’s Baireuth?” asked Francis. + +“Oh, a man I know. His other name was Wagner, and he wrote some tunes.” + +Francis nodded. + +“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?” + +“Go on to Munich and hear the same tunes over, again. After that I shall +come back and settle down in town and study.” + +“Play the piano?” asked Francis, amiably trying to enter into his +cousin’s schemes. + +Michael laughed. + +“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?’” + +“So it is. Soldiering largely consists of quick march, especially when +it’s more than usually hot.” + +“Well, I shall learn to play the piano,” said Michael. + +“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?” + +“You are talking rather as father will talk,” observed Michael. + +“Am I? Well, I seem to be talking sense.” + +“You weren’t doing what you seemed, then. I’ve got absolutely everything +to learn about the piano.” + +Francis rose. + +“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.” + +“The malady of not wanting,” quoted Michael. + +“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--” + +“Stop it,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +“A good many fellows are jelly-fish,” observed Michael. + +“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?” + +“Playing the piano, I hope. Why?” + +“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.” + +“Thanks very much, but I think I won’t,” said Michael. “I’m rather +looking forward to an evening alone.” + +“And that’s an odd thing to look forward to,” remarked Francis. + +“Not when you want to play the piano. I shall have a chop here at eight, +and probably thump away till midnight.” + +Francis looked round for his hat and stick. + +“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.” + +Michael rose and stood by his tall cousin. + +“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!” + +Francis demurred to this. + +“Oh, I don’t think so,” he said. “This thing at the Gaiety is ripping, I +believe. Do come and see.” + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Lady Ashbridge considered this for a moment in her stunned mind. + +“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.” + +He gave a little good-humoured giggle of falsetto laughter. + +“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.” + +Lady Ashbridge gave a little sigh. + +“All gone, Petsy,” she said. + +“I am glad it has all gone,” said he, “and we will hope it won’t return. +But about Michael now!” + +Lady Ashbridge pulled herself together. + +“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!” + +“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!” + +Lady Ashbridge recollected the almanac. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about,” said she. “We +are talking about Michael not studying music all September.” + +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. + +“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--” + +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. + +“Do not give Petsy any more cream,” he said, with some asperity; “I +absolutely forbid it.” + +Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug. + +“Poor Petsy!” she observed. + +“I ask you to attend to me, Marion,” he said. + +“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?” + +“I shall use my authority,” he said, stepping a little higher. + +“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!” + +Lord Ashbridge felt strongly about this. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Michael has a great will of his own,” she remarked. “He gets that from +you, Robert, though he gets his money from his grandmother.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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.” + +Barbara laughed. + +“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?” + +“Michael comes this evening.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“My dear, how are you?” she said. “And how did the golf go? And did you +beat the professional?” + +He suspected flippancy here, and became markedly dignified. + +“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?” + +“No. I drove from town. It saves time, but not expense, with your awful +trains.” + +“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. + +“Yes, his excellency is quite well,” she said. “You must call him +excellency now, my dear.” + +“Indeed! That is a great step.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Og has two mutton-chops for his dinner,” she said, “and he is growing +still. Fancy!” + +Lord Ashbridge took a refreshing glance at the broad stretch of country +that all belonged to him. + +“I am rather glad to have this opportunity of talking to you, my dear +Barbara,” he said, “before Michael comes.” + +“His train gets in half an hour before dinner” said Lady Ashbridge. “He +has to change at Stoneborough.” + +“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.” + +Barbara gave a delighted exclamation. + +“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!” + +“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.” + +Lady Ashbridge let fall her embroidery at this monstrous suggestion. + +“You are talking very wildly, Robert,” she said, in a pained voice. + +“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.” + +“No, you never said that,” remarked Lady Ashbridge. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +He again refreshed himself with the landscape. The roofs of Ashbridge +were visible in the clear sunset. . . . Ashbridge paid its rents with +remarkable regularity. + +“That may or may not be so,” he said, forgetting for a moment the danger +of being dignified. “But Combers have position.” + +Barbara controlled herself admirably. A slight tremor shook her, which +he did not notice. + +“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--” + +“I am afraid Michael has always been a little jealous of Francis,” + remarked his father. + +This roused Barbara; she spoke quite seriously: + +“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.” + +The discussion with Barbara was being even more fruitless than that with +his wife, and Lord Ashbridge rose. + +“All I can do, then, is to ask you not to back Michael up,” he said. + +“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.” + +“Michael’s train is late,” said Lady Ashbridge, hearing the stable clock +strike. “He should have been here before this.” + +Barbara had still a word to say, and disregarded this quencher. + +“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.” + +Lord Ashbridge was not a bully; he had merely a profound sense of his +own importance. + +“We will see about resistance,” he said. + +Barbara was not so successful on this occasion, and exploded loudly: + +“You will, dear, indeed,” she said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael had intended to be as quiet and respectful as possible, +consistent with firmness, but a sentence here gave him a spasm of anger. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes. I said all that,” said Michael. “But you make a mistake if you do +not see that it was written seriously.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“If you refer to it as rubbish, sir, there is the end of the matter.” + +“Ah! I thought we should soon agree,” said Lord Ashbridge, chuckling. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael was perfectly aware that he had scored. And as his object was to +score he made another criticism. + +“When you say ‘absurd schemes,’ sir,” he said, with quiet respect, “are +you not still laughing at them?” + +Lord Ashbridge again retreated strategically. + +“Very well; I withdraw absurd,” he said. “Now sit down again, and we +will talk. Tell me what is in your mind.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael paused a moment. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“That is all I can tell you,” he said at length. + +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. + +“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.” + +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: + +“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.” + +Michael suddenly rose to his feet. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I am anxious to understand you, Michael,” he said. + +“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.” + +“And as regards my wishes and my authority?” asked his father. + +Michael squared his shoulders and his mind. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I refuse to take that answer from you,” he said. + +“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.” + +The repetition took away his desire to laugh. In fact, he could not have +laughed. + +“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.” + +“Is that a threat?” asked Michael. + +“It is a hint.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“I have before now noticed your jealousy of your cousin,” he observed. + +Michael’s face went white. + +“That is infamous and untrue, father,” he said. + +Lord Ashbridge turned on him. + +“Apologise for that,” he said. + +Michael looked up at his high towering without a tremor. + +“I wait for the withdrawal of your accusation that I am jealous of +Francis,” he replied. + +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. + +“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.” + +Lord Ashbridge stood looking exactly like his statue in the market-place +at Ashbridge. + +“If that is the case, Michael,” he said, “it is within your power. You +will write the letter I spoke about.” + +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. + +“I will wish you good night, father,” he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Aunt Barbara was perfectly willing to do this, and she opened the +discussion very pleasantly with peals of laughter. + +“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.” + +A dawning smile began to break through Michael’s tragedy face. + +“I suppose it was rather funny,” he said. “But really I’m wretched about +it, Aunt Barbara.” + +“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.” + +It was impossible not to feel the unfreezing effect of this. Michael +thawed to it, as he would have thawed to Francis. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara nodded. + +“And your friends?” she asked. “What will they think?” + +Michael looked at her quite simply and directly. + +“Friends?” he said. “I haven’t got any.” + +“Ah, my dear, that’s nonsense!” she said. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“But what am I to do, if I’m like that?” asked the boy. + +She held up her large, fat hand, and marked the points off on her +fingers. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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--” + +She turned round and faced him directly. + +“Finally, don’t be so cross, my dear,” she said. + +“But am I?” asked he. + +“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!” + +“How did you know that--about Francis, I mean?” asked Michael. + +“Does it happen to be true? Of course it does. Every cross young man +wishes he was somebody else.” + +“No, not quite that,” began Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael shook his head. + +“I didn’t see them,” he said. + +“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!” + +Michael frowned. + +“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.” + +She laid her hand on Michael’s knee. + +“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!” + +“I shall go to Baireuth on Wednesday, and then on to Munich,” began +Michael. + +“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?” + +“Then I shall settle in town and study. Oh, here’s my father coming +home.” + +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. + +“I shall go and apologise for Og,” she said. “I shall do it quite +sincerely, my dear. But there are points.” + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Narrow squeak, wasn’t it?” he said gleefully. “I thought the guard had +collared me. And I should have missed Parsifal.” + +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. + +“And all your luggage left behind,” he said. “Won’t you be dreadfully +uncomfortable?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“But you needn’t do that,” he said, “if--if you will be good enough to +borrow of me till your things come.” + +He blurted it out awkwardly, almost brusquely, and Falbe looked slightly +amused at this wholly surprising offer of hospitality. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +Falbe blew out a cloud of smoke and laughter. + +“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?” + +“Yes. I hope so.” + +Falbe clicked with his tongue + +“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!” + +He came across from the other side of the carriage and sat next Michael, +putting his feet up on the seat opposite. + +“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.” + +“Well, the heavenly Jerusalem is practically next door to Baireuth,” + said Michael. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Falbe turned to him with the friendliest pleasure. + +“Ah! were you there?” he asked. “I hope you listened to her, then, not +to me. She sang well, didn’t she?” + +“But divinely. At the same time I did listen to you, especially in the +French songs. There was less song, you know.” + +Falbe laughed. + +“And more accompaniment!” he said. “Perhaps you play?” + +Michael was seized with a fit of shyness at the idea of talking to Falbe +about himself. + +“Oh, I just strum,” he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +He chattered on in tremendous high spirits. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +“I--I really never thought about it,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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. . . .” + +He turned over on to his back, and laid his hands palm uppermost over +his eyes. + +“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.” + +“Go on; be German,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +“And we are a nation of idiots?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Falbe sat up. + +“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.” + +Michael supplied the cigarette. + +“Do you mean she is thinking about England’s golf ball?” asked Michael. + +“Why, of course she is! What else is there to think about?” + +“Oh, it’s impossible that there should be a European war,” said Michael, +“for that is what it will mean!” + +“And why is a European war impossible?” demanded Falbe, lighting his +cigarette. + +“It’s simply unthinkable!” + +“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.” + +Michael laughed. + +“As for that,” he said, “I made an uncommonly bad soldier. But I am an +even worse golfer. As for cricket--” + +Falbe again interrupted. + +“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.” + +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. + +“But what’s the matter?” he asked. “Have I annoyed you somehow? I’m +awfully sorry.” + +Falbe did not reply for a moment. + +“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.” + +Michael pondered over this. + +“But I can’t leave it like that,” he said at length. “Was it about the +possibility of war, which I said was unthinkable?” + +Falbe laughed and turned on his elbow towards Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael lay back on the soft slope. + +“Yet I insist on knowing,” he said. “That is, I mean, if it is not +private.” + +Falbe lay quietly with his long fingers in the sediment of pine-needles. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Falbe ceased digging his excavation in the pine-needles and looked up on +Michael. + +“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?” + +“But I’m completely uninteresting,” said Michael. + +“Yes; I’ll judge of that,” said Falbe. + + +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. + +At the end Falbe gave a long sigh. + +“And why the devil didn’t you give me any hint of it before?” he asked. + +“I didn’t think it mattered,” said Michael. + +“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?” + +“I’m not going back into the prison-house again, if you mean that,” said +Michael. + +“And will your father cut you off?” asked he. + +“Oh, I haven’t the least idea,” said Michael. + +“Aren’t you going to inquire?” + +Michael hesitated. + +“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.” + +“But, then, how will you live?” asked Falbe. + +“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.” + +Falbe laughed. + +“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.” + +Michael paused a moment, and then found courage to say what for the last +two days he had been longing to give utterance to. + +“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.” + +Falbe looked at him a moment without speaking, but Michael saw the light +in his eyes. + +“And what if I have my pride too?” he said. “Then I shall apologise for +having made the proposal,” said Michael simply. + +For just a second more Falbe hesitated. Then he held out his hand. + +“I thank you most awfully,” he said. “I accept with the greatest +pleasure.” + +Michael drew a long breath of relief. + +“I am glad,” he said. “So that’s settled. It’s really nice of you.” + +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. + +Falbe, whose hand lay in the crook of Michael’s arm, pointed downwards +to the village that lay there sequestered and rural. + +“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.” + +He laughed. + +“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.” + +Michael hesitated a moment. + +“But you said not long ago that you were also the most practical +nation,” he said. “You are a nation of soldiers, also.” + +“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.” + +He turned to Michael, his face illuminated by the red glow of the +sinking sun. + +“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.” + +He pointed northwards. + +“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.” + +He turned away quickly. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +He took Michael’s arm again. + +“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.” + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Falbe was not attending particularly. + +“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.” + +“Yes; what of the black notes?” asked Michael. + +“Oh! they’re black. The rest are white. I beg your pardon!” + +Michael laughed. + +“When you have finished drivelling,” he said, “you might let me know.” + +“I have finished drivelling, Michael. I was thinking about something +else.” + +“Not really?” + +“Really.” + +“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.” + +Falbe hesitated. + +“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.” + +“Go on!” said Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael turned round. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“But I haven’t touched a piano for a week,” said Michael. + +“It doesn’t matter whether you’ve touched a piano for a year.” + +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. + +“Completely out of tune,” he said; “but that doesn’t matter. Now then!” + +“But what am I to play?” asked Michael. + +“Anything you like.” + +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. + +He struck a chord, and heard it jangle dissonantly. + +“Oh, it’s not fair,” he said. + +“Get on!” said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +Falbe got up and, coming over to the piano, struck the bass note +himself. + +“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.” + +He paused a moment, again striking the dumb note, as if to make sure +that it was soundless. + +“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.” + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Tristan und Isolde was given on the third day of their stay there, and +Falbe, reading the morning German paper, found news. + +“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.” + +Michael looked up with some slight anxiety. + +“Ought I to write my name or anything?” he asked. “He has stayed several +times with my father.” + +“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. + +“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.” + +Michael crunched one of the inimitable breakfast rusks in his teeth. + +“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.” + +“I heard the ‘Song to Aegir’ once,” remarked Falbe, with a perfectly +level intonation. + +“I was--er--luckier,” said Michael politely, “because on that occasion I +heard it twice. It was encored.” + +“And what did it sound like the second time?” asked Falbe. + +“Much as before,” said Michael. + +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. + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +“Oh, Hermann,” he said, “what years I’ve wasted!” + +Falbe laughed. + +“You’ve wasted more than you know yet,” he said. “Hallo!” + +A very resplendent officer had come clanking down the gangway next them. +He put his heels together and bowed. + +“Lord Comber, I think?” he said in excellent English. + +Michael roused himself. + +“Yes?” he said. + +“His Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to desire you to come and +speak to him,” he said. + +“Now?” said Michael. + +“If you will be so good,” and he stood aside for Michael to pass up the +stairs in front of him. + +In the wide corridor behind he joined him again. + +“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.” + +Michael followed him down the steps to the front of the box. + +“Lord Comber, All-highest,” he said, and instantly stood back. + +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. + +“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?” + +He indicated a chair to Michael, who, as advised, instantly took it, +though the Emperor remained a moment longer standing. + +“I left him in very good health, Your Majesty,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“And you, you are in the Guards, I think?” he said. + +“No, sir; I have just resigned my commission,” said Michael. + +“Why? Why is that? Have many of your officers been resigning?” + +“I am studying music, Your Majesty,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +He turned round quickly to one of his staff who had approached him. + +“Well, what is it?” he said. + +Count von Bergmann bowed low. + +“The Herr-Director,” he said, “humbly craves to know whether it is Your +Majesty’s pleasure that the opera shall proceed.” + +The Kaiser laughed. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He gave a little giggle, which reminded Michael of his father. + +“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.” + +At the end the Emperor rose and again held out his hand. + +“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.” + +As Michael left the box he ran into the Herr-Director, who had been +summoned to get a few hints. + +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? + +This was too much for Michael. + +“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?” + +Falbe shook his handsome head, and gesticulated with his fine hands. + +“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.” + +He poured out a glass of wine and drank it with a “Hoch!” + +“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.” + +Michael laughed. + +“I suppose I must have no imagination,” he said. “I don’t picture it +even now when you point it out.” + +Falbe pointed an impressive forefinger. + +“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.” + +“Oh, he made them, anyhow,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +“Against whom?” asked Michael. “Who is the enemy?” + +Falbe hesitated. + +“There is no enemy at present,” he said, “but the enemy potentially is +any who tries to thwart our peaceful expansion.” + +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. + +“Oh, let’s drop it,” he said. “I really didn’t come to Munich to talk +politics, of which I know nothing whatever.” + +Falbe nodded. + +“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?” + +“Yes, of his beloved England,” said Michael. “He was extremely cordial +about our relations.” + +“Good. I like that,” said Falbe briskly. + +“And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the winter,” + added Michael, sliding off on to other topics. + +Falbe smiled. + +“I like that less,” he said, “since that will mean you will not be in +London.” + +“But I didn’t commit myself,” said Michael, smiling back; “though I can +say ‘beloved Germany’ with equal sincerity.” + +Falbe got up. + +“I would wish that--that you were Kaiser of England,” he said. + +“God forbid!” said Michael. “I should not have time to play the piano.” + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael felt all his old unfitness for dreadful crowds return to him. + +“Oh, I’m so bad at that sort of thing,” he said. “I am a frightful +kill-joy, Hermann.” + +Hermann sat down on the treble part of his piano. + +“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.” + +“I didn’t mean to be rude,” said Michael. + +“Then we must suppose you were rude by accident. That is the worst sort +of rudeness.” + +“I’m sorry; I’ll come,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael slipped despairingly from his seat. + +“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.” + +Falbe looked at him encouragingly. + +“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.” + +“Is that it?” said Michael. + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Falbe got down a volume of Bach and opened it at random. + +“There,” he said, “begin at the top of the page.” + +“But I can’t,” said Michael. “I shall have to spell it out.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Go on, go on!” he shouted. “I thought it was Bach, and it is clearly +Strauss’s Don Quixote.” + +Michael, flushed and determined, with grave, set mouth, ploughed his way +through amazing dissonances, and at the end joined Falbe’s laughter. + +“Oh dear,” he said. “Very funny. But don’t laugh so at me, Hermann.” + +Falbe dried his eyes. + +“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.” + +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. + +Falbe stopped him at the end of the first two lines. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Do you find difficulty in memorising?” he asked. + +This was discouraging; Michael believed that he remembered easily; he +also believed that he had long known this by heart. + +“No; I thought I knew it,” he said. + +“Try again.” + +This time Falbe stood by him, and suddenly put his finger down into the +middle of Michael’s hands, striking a note. + +“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?” + +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. + +“You told me to harmonise that Christmas carol,” he remarked, rather +shortly. + +Falbe put his hand on his shoulder. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I’m doing the best I can,” he said. “It’s rather discouraging.” + +He moved his big shoulders slightly, as if to indicate that Hermann’s +hand was not wanted there. Hermann kept it there. + +“It might be discouraging,” he said, “if you were doing your best.” + +Michael’s ill-temper oozed from him. + +“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?” + +Falbe laughed. + +“Very well indeed,” he said. “Now for ‘Good King Wenceslas.’ Wasn’t +it--” + +“Yes; I got awfully interested over it, Hermann. I thought I would try +and work it up into a few variations.” + +“Let’s hear,” said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +Michael flushed with pleasure. + +“Oh, they sang themselves,” he said, “and I learned them. But will it +really do? Is there anything in it?” + +“Yes, old boy, there’s King Wenceslas in it, and you’ve dressed him up +well. Play that last one again.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael gasped. + +“You don’t mean that?” he said. + +“Certainly I do. It’s a fine bit of stuff.” + +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. + +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. + +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: + + VARIATIONS ON AN AIR. + + By + + Michael Comber. + +He paused a moment, then took up his pen again. + +“Dedicated to Sylvia Falbe,” he wrote at the top. + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. . . . + +“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!” + +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. + +“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. + +Aunt Barbara made the best of it: shook hands in her jolly manner, and +burst into laughter. + +“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!” + +Presently they were seated at dinner, and Aunt Barbara could not help +enlarging a little on her own discomfiture. + +“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!” + +“I went with Mr. Falbe,” said Michael. + +“Ah, Mr. Falbe has not asked me yet. I may have to revise what I say,” + said Aunt Barbara daringly. + +“I didn’t ask Michael,” said Hermann. “I got into his carriage as the +train was moving; and my luggage was left behind.” + +“I was left behind,” said Sylvia, “which was worse. But I sent Hermann’s +luggage.” + +“So expeditiously that it arrived the day before we left for Munich,” + remarked Hermann. + +“And that’s all the gratitude I get. But in the interval you lived upon +Lord Comber.” + +“I do still in the money I earn by giving him music lessons. Mike, have +you finished the Variations yet?” + +“Variations--what are Variations?” asked Aunt Barbara. + +“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.” + +“Should I like them? Will Mr. Falbe play them to me?” asked she. + +“I daresay he will if he can. But I thought you loathed music.” + +“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.” + +Michael turned to Sylvia. + +“I want to ask your leave for something I have already done,” he said. + +“And if I don’t give it you?” + +“Then I shan’t tell you what it is.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I’ve dedicated the Variations to you,” he said. + +Sylvia flushed with pleasure. + +“Oh, but that’s absolutely darling of you,” she said. “Have you, really? +Do you mean it?” + +“If you’ll allow me.” + +“Allow you? Hermann, the Variations are mine. Isn’t it too lovely?” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Did he? The Emperor came to Munich for a day during them. He was at the +opera,” said Michael. + +“You didn’t speak to him, I suppose?” she asked. + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara became infinitely more interested. + +“Tell me all about it, Michael,” she said. “What did he talk about?” + +“Everything, as far as I can remember, England, Ashbridge, armies, +navies, music. Hermann says he cast pearls before swine--” + +“And his tone, his attitude?” she asked. + +“Towards us?--towards England? Immensely friendly, and most inquisitive. +I was never asked so many questions in so short a time.” + +Aunt Barbara suddenly turned to Falbe. + +“And you?” she asked. “Were you with Michael?” + +“No, Lady Barbara. I had no pearls.” + +“And are you naturalised English?” she asked. + +“No; I am German.” + +She slid swiftly off the topic. + +“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.” + +This did not express quite accurately Lady Barbara’s intentions, for she +chiefly wanted to find out what she thought of Sylvia. + +“And you are great friends, you three?” she said as they settled +themselves for the prolonged absence of the two men. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Sylvia became quite grave. + +“Oh, I do hope he likes us,” she said. “He is so likable himself.” + +Barbara nodded + +“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.” + +“I think he told Hermann,” said she. “His father didn’t approve, did +he?” + +“Approve? My dear, if you knew my brother you would know that the only +things he approves of are those which Michael isn’t.” + +Sylvia spread her fine hands out to the blaze, warming them and shading +her face. + +“Michael always seems to us--” she began. “Ah, I called him Michael by +mistake.” + +“Then do it on purpose next time,” remarked Barbara. “What does Michael +seem?” + +“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.” + +“And Michael always seems--” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“Oh, I sing a little,” said Sylvia. + +“That is the first unnatural thing you have said. I somehow feel that +you sing a great deal.” + +Aunt Barbara suddenly got up. + +“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?” + +Sylvia laughed. + +“Do you know, I’m afraid I must be,” she said. “Isn’t it dreadful to +have to say that after your description?” + +Aunt Barbara sat down again, in a sort of calm despair. + +“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.” + +Sylvia laughed. + +“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.’” + +“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.” + +“But that’s quite good enough for me,” said Sylvia. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I wish you had, Hermann,” he said. “I know you’ll bungle those tenths.” + +Falbe moved to the piano-seat. + +“Oh, let’s have a shot at it,” he said. “If Lady Barbara won’t mind, +play that one through to me first, Mike.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“And may I play for you, Miss Sylvia?” he asked. + +“Yes, will you? Thanks, Lord Comber.” + +Hermann moved away. + +“And so Mr. Hermann sits down by Lady Barbara while Lord Comber plays +for Miss Sylvia,” he observed, with emphasis on the titles. + +A sudden amazing boldness seized Michael. + +“Sylvia, then,” he said. + +“All right, Michael,” answered the girl, laughing. + +She came and stood on the left of the piano, slightly behind him. + +“And what are we going to have?” asked Michael. + +“It must be something we both know, for I’ve brought no music,” said +she. + +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. + +“Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Now you’ve got it.” And Michael smiled +sweetly at his own amazing ingenuity. + +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. + +“You extraordinary creature,” he said when the song was over. “Where did +you learn to accompany?” + +Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been surprised +when he thought himself private. + +“Oh, I’ve played it before for Miss--I mean for Sylvia,” he said. + +Then he turned to the girl. + +“Thanks, awfully,” he said. “And I’m greedy. May we have one more?” + +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. + +Hermann strolled across to the fireplace at the end of this, and lit a +cigarette. + +“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--” + +“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.” + +Hermann rushed to the piano, took his sister by the shoulders, and +pushed her into a chair. + +“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.” + +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. + +“It isn’t decent to ask a fellow to read that,” he shouted. “It’s a +crime; it’s a scandal.” + +“My dear, nobody asked you to read it,” said Sylvia. + +“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!” + +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. + +Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his seat, +rolling up the music. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael sank into a chair. + +“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!” + +“And you just met him in the train?” said Aunt Barbara. + +“Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. I +didn’t much notice Sylvia then.” + +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. + +“More about them,” she said. “What are they? Who are they?” + +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. + +“And he’s German?” she asked. + +“Yes. Wasn’t he rude about my being a toy soldier? But that’s the +natural German point of view, I suppose.” + +Michael strolled to the fireplace. + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara drew her chair a little nearer the fire, and sat up. + +“I want to hear about that,” she said. + +“But I’ve told you; he was tremendously friendly in a national manner.” + +“And that seemed to you real?” she asked. + +Michael considered. + +“I don’t know that it did,” he said. “It all seemed to me rather +feverish, I think.” + +“And he asked quantities of questions, I think you said.” + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara did not heed the concert. + +“Do you mean the channel up from Harwich,” she asked, “of which the +Admiralty have the secret chart?” + +“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.” + +“I wasn’t there. What else?” + +“I think that’s all,” said Michael. “But what are you driving at, Aunt +Barbara?” + +She was silent a moment. + +“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?” + +Michael thought. + +“Yes; one of his staff was clicking away all day,” he said. “He sent a +lot of them to my mother.” + +“And, we may presume, kept some copies himself,” remarked Aunt Barbara +drily. “Really, for childish simplicity the English are the biggest +fools in creation.” + +“But do you mean--” + +“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.’” + +“That means ‘The Day,’” said Michael confidently. + +“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.” + +Michael had never in his life seen his aunt so serious, and he was +amazed at her gravity. + +“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.” + +She got up and stood with Michael near the fireplace. + +“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.” + +“And you think the Emperor--” began Michael. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Don’t do anything of the kind,” said Michael. + +“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.” + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“Stuff another cushion under my head, Hermann,” she said. “Thanks; now +I’m completely comfortable, you will be relieved to hear.” + +Hermann gazed at the fire in silence. + +“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.” + +She gave a little grunt, which, from his knowledge of her inarticulate +expressions, he took to mean dissent. + +“I suppose you mean we don’t,” he remarked. + +“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.” + +“You flirted with him,” remarked Hermann. “Mike will probably murder him +on the way home.” + +Sylvia moved her feet a little farther from the blaze. + +“Funny?” she asked. + +Instantly Falbe knew that her mind was occupied with exactly the same +question as his. + +“No, not funny at all,” he said. “Quite serious. Do you want to talk +about it or not?” + +She gave a little groan. + +“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.” + +“And what did Aunt Barbara say?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“What’s the trouble, Sylvia?” he said. + +“Just what I’ve been trying to tell you.” + +“Be more concrete, then. You’re definite enough when you sing.” + +She sighed and gave a little melancholy laugh. + +“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.” + +She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully tying +and untying one of Hermann’s shoelaces. + +“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--” + +She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a cigarette, +lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke. + +“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.” + +“You say you insist on it,” said Hermann; “but whether you did or not, +there is nothing more certain than that Michael would.” + +“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.” + +Hermann threw the end of his cigarette into the ashes of the dying fire. + +“It’s clear, then,” he said, “you have made up your mind not to marry +him.” + +She shook her head. + +“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.” + +He stretched his hands out towards the embers already coated with grey +ash. + +“Then it’s like that with you,” he said, pointing. “If there is the fire +in you, it is covered up with ashes.” + +She did not reply for a moment. + +“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?” + +She stood up swiftly, drawing herself to her full height and stretching +her arms out. + +“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.” + +“Do you care which it is?” he asked. + +“Yes, I care,” said she. + +He held out his hands to her, and she pulled him up to his feet. + +“What are you going to say, then, when he asks you?” he said. + +“Tell him he must wait.” + +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. + +“That’s a lot to ask of any man,” he said. “If you care, you care.” + +“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.’” + +He opened the door for her to pass out, and they walked up the passage +together arm-in-arm. + +“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!” + +Sylvia considered this. + +“Fiddlesticks!” she said. + +And Hermann was inclined to agree with her. + + +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. + +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. + +“I thought Hermann was never going,” he said. + +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. + +“What is it, Michael?” she asked. + +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. + +“You know,” he said. + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“I don’t know, Michael,” she said at length. + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael looked up at her. + +“Yes, Sylvia,” he said, “much more than that.” + +A few minutes ago only she had not liked him at all; now she liked him +immensely. + +“But how, Michael?” she asked. “How can I find it?” + +“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?” + +She looked at him gravely, without the tremor of a smile in her eyes. + +“What does that mean exactly?” she said. + +“It is very simple. Do you want to love me?” + +She did not move her hands; they still rested on his shoulders like +things at ease, like things at home. + +“Yes, I suppose I want to,” she said. + +“And is that the most you can do for me at present?” he asked. + +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. + +“Yes, that is the most I can do for you at present,” she said. + +Still quite quietly he moved away from her, so that he stood free of her +hands. + +“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?” + +That stabbed her again. + +“Have I implied that?” she asked. + +“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.” + +She understood her own feeling better than he. She understood at least +that she was dealing with things that were necessarily incalculable. + +“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.” + +But Michael persisted. + +“I only know what you have taught me,” he said. “But you must know +that.” + +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. + +“Can’t we go on as we were, Michael?” she said. + +He looked at her incredulously. + +“Oh, no, of course not that,” he said. + +She moved a step towards him. + +“I can’t think of you in any other way,” she said, as if making an +appeal. + +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. + +“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--” + +She understood well enough for his purposes. + +“I see,” she said. + +Michael paused for a moment. + +“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.” + +She had no reply to this; she saw its justice, and acquiesced. + +“Good-bye, then,” said Michael. + + +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. + +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. + +Francis was inclined to be querulous. + +“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.” + +This also seemed to matter very little. + +“Did I ask you to lunch?” he said. “I really quite forgot; I can’t even +remember doing it now.” + +“But there will be lunch?” asked Francis rather anxiously. + +“Of course. It’ll be ready in ten minutes.” + +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 + +--“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.” + +He yawned largely and openly. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael moved away impatiently. + +“Oh, shut it, Francis,” he observed. + +Francis raised himself on his elbow. + +“Why, what’s up?” he asked. “Won’t she turn a favourable eye?” + +Michael wheeled round savagely. + +“Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety lady,” + he remarked. + +This brought Francis to his feet. + +“Sorry,” he said. “I was only indulging in badinage until lunch was +ready.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +This was a considerable relief to Michael. + +“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.” + +“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--” + +“Oh, Aunt Barbara’s always hinting,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael smiled at this egoism that could not help being charming. + +“Would you care if you weren’t?” he asked. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You’re quite right,” he said. “I am in love with her. Furthermore, I +asked her to marry me this morning.” + +This certainly had an effect. + +“Good Lord!” said Francis. “And do you mean to say she refused you?” + +“She didn’t accept me,” said Michael. “We--we adjourned.” + +“But why on earth didn’t she take you?” asked Francis. + +All Michael’s old sensitiveness, his self-consciousness of his +plainness, his awkwardness, his big hands, his short legs, came back to +him. + +“I should think you could see well enough if you look at me,” he said, +“without my telling you.” + +“Oh, that silly old rot,” said Francis cheerfully. “I thought you had +forgotten all about it.” + +“I almost had--in fact I quite had until this morning,” said Michael. +“If I had remembered it I shouldn’t have asked her.” + +He corrected himself. + +“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.” + +Francis turned sideways to the table, throwing one leg over the other. + +“That’s nonsense,” he said. “It doesn’t matter whether a man’s ugly or +not.” + +“It doesn’t as long as he is not,” remarked Michael grimly. + +“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--” + +“You see one,” said Michael. + +“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?” + +“I couldn’t give up.” + +“Well then, just hold on. She likes you, doesn’t she?” + +“Certainly,” said Michael, without hesitation. “But that’s a long way +from the other thing.” + +“It’s on the same road.” + +Michael got up. + +“It may be,” he said, “but it strikes me it’s round the corner. You +can’t even see one from the other.” + +“Possibly not. But you never know how near the corner really is. Go for +her, Mike, full speed ahead.” + +“But how?” + +“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.” + +Michael could not help laughing. + +“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t make a joke of it,” he said. + +“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.” + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“But by all means come in, mother,” he said. “I was not going to bed +yet.” + +Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid. + +“And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?” she asked. + +“Of course not.” + +Lady Ashbridge took the dog. + +“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?” + +This question had already been asked and answered twice, now for the +third time Michael admitted the severity of the weather. + +“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.” + +“I’m afraid that’s impossible, mother,” he said. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +“No! hard enough to keep me busy,” he said. + +“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.” + +She paused a moment, stroking her dog’s ears, which twitched under her +touch. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +She took up his big hand that lay on his knee and began timidly stroking +it. + +“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.” + +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. + +He was profoundly touched by this humble timidity, by the sincerity, +vague but unquestionable, that lay behind it. + +“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?” + +She gave a little shiver. + +“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?” + +He half rose. + +“Oh, mother, how can you ask?” he said. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +She pulled her chair again nearer him, so that sitting there she could +clasp his arm. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Yes, there is a girl whom I can’t do without,” he said. + +Lady Ashbridge’s face lit up. + +“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.” + +Michael caught at his mother’s hand as it stroked his sleeve. + +“But she is not sure that she can do with me,” he said. + +Her face was not dimmed at this. + +“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.” + +“She’s the sister of my great friend, Hermann Falbe,” he said, “who +teaches me music.” + +This time the gladness faded from her. + +“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?” + +Michael laughed. + +“But certainly she is,” he said. “Her father was German, her mother was +a Tracy, just as well-born as you or I.” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +The old outlook, the old traditions were beginning to come to the +surface again in poor Lady Ashbridge’s mind. + +“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.” + +Then came a step at the door; it opened an inch or two, and Michael +heard his father’s voice. + +“Is your mother with you, Michael?” he asked. + +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. + +“Yes, Robert,” she said. “I was having a little talk to Michael.” + +“May I come in?” + +“It’s our secret,” she whispered to Michael. + +“Yes, come in, father,” he said. + +Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway. + +“Come, my dear,” he said, not unkindly, “it’s time for you to go to +bed.” + +She had become the mask of herself again. + +“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.” + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +“And you mean to go to Berlin?” he asked. + +“I’m afraid I shan’t be able to,” said Michael; “my master is in +London.” + +“I should be inclined to reconsider that, Michael,” said the father. +“The Emperor knows what he is talking about on the subject of music.” + +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. + +“I remember the concert we had here,” she said. “We had the ‘Song to +Aegir’ twice.” + +Lord Ashbridge gave her a quick glance. Michael felt he would not have +noticed it the evening before. + +“Your memory is very good, my dear,” he said with encouragement. + +“And then we had a torchlight procession,” she remarked. + +“Quite so. You remember it perfectly. And about his visit here, Michael. +Did he talk about that?” + +“Yes, very warmly; also about our international relations.” + +Lord Ashbridge gave a little giggle. + +“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.” + +“She asked me about it,” said Michael. “I don’t think she believes in +his sincerity.” + +He giggled again. + +“That’s because I didn’t ask her down for his visit,” he said. + +He rose. + +“And what are you going to do, my dear?” he said to his wife. + +She looked across to Michael. + +“Perhaps Michael will come for a stroll with me,” she said. + +“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.” + +The moment he had gone her whole manner changed: it was suffused with +the glow that had lit her last night. + +“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.” + + +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. + +“And you’ll try not to vex him, won’t you?” she said. + +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. + +“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.” + +“No, father, I am afraid not,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +“I understand,” said Michael. + +“The next is about your mother,” he said. “Do you notice any change in +her?” + +“Yes,” said Michael. + +“Can you describe it at all?” + +Michael hesitated. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I have written to my mother every week,” said Michael. + +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. + +“I have not been so fortunate, then,” he said. + +Michael remembered his mother’s anxious face, but he could not let this +pass. + +“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.” + +“I should have expressed my displeasure if I had felt it,” said his +father with all the pomposity that was natural to him. + +“That had not occurred to me,” said Michael. “I am afraid I took your +silence to mean that my letters didn’t interest you.” + +He paused a moment, and his rebellion against the whole of his father’s +attitude flared up. + +“Besides, I had nothing particular to say,” he said. “My life is passed +in the pursuit of which you entirely disapprove.” + +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. + +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. + +“Have you noticed anything else about your mother?” he asked. + +That made Michael understand. + +“Yes, father,” he said. “I daresay I am wrong about it--” + +“Naturally I may not agree with you; but I should like to know what it +is.” + +“She’s afraid of you,” said Michael. + +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. + +“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.” + +He drew himself up to his full magnificent height. + +“I do not mean that it is not very natural she should be devoted to her +son,” he said with a tremendous air. + +What he did mean was therefore uncertain, and again he changed the +subject. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I have not the honour of knowing Miss--Miss Falbe, is it?” he said; +“nor shall I have that honour.” + +Michael got up; there was that in his father’s tone that stung him to +fury. + +“It is very likely that you will not,” he said, “since when I proposed +to her yesterday she did not accept me.” + +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. + +“And I am to bind up your broken heart?” he asked. + +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. + +“Oh, by no means,” he said. “My heart is not going to break yet. I don’t +give up hope.” + +Then, in a flash, he thought of his mother’s pale, anxious face, her +desire that he should not vex his father. + +“I am sorry,” he said, “but that is the case. I wish--I wish you would +try to understand me.” + +“I find you incomprehensible,” said Lord Ashbridge, and left the room +with his high walk and his swinging elbows. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A great weight was lifted off her mind. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +She pressed his arm, nodded and smiled at the children, and walked on +with him. And Michael felt the lump in his throat. + +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. + +“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.” + +His father’s face softened a moment. + +“Yes, I agree to that,” he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“But I don’t,” said Michael. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +They strolled a little way in silence. + +“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.” + +Michael laughed. + +“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.” + +He stopped. + +“We won’t talk about it,” he said--“or, rather, I can’t talk about it, +if you don’t understand.” + +“But she had refused you,” said the sensible Francis. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +Michael took a step towards his cousin, so that he could whisper to him. + +“Come back to the boat,” he said. “I want to row round and see who that +is. Wait a moment, though.” + +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. + +“Someone is making soundings in the channel there,” he said. “Come.” + +They went very quietly till they were round the point, then quickened +their steps, and Michael spoke. + +“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.” + +“What are you going to do?” asked Francis, striding easily along by +Michael’s short steps. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +“But an Admiralty boat wouldn’t have run away,” he said. “They’d have +asked us who the devil we were.” + +“But who else was it?” asked Francis. + +Michael mopped his forehead. + +“Aunt Barbara would tell you,” he said. “She would tell you that they +were German spies.” + +Francis laughed. + +“Or Timbuctoo niggers,” he remarked. + +“And that would be an odd thing, too,” said Michael. + +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. + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +“Both for her sake and for the sake of all of you,” he had said, “one +hopes that it will be swift.” + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“In fact, Michael,” he said, “I have a favour to ask of you.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Won’t you sit down?” he said. + +“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.” + +Michael felt himself bristling. His father certainly had the effect of +drawing out in him all the feelings that were better suppressed. + +“I think we need not talk of that now, sir,” he remarked. + +“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.” + +Michael nodded, saluting, so to speak, the signpost into the future as +he passed it. + +“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.” + +Lord Ashbridge still remained completely self-sufficient. + +“I am glad you take that view of it,” he said. “I think that is all I +have to say.” + +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. + +“I will make arrangements to come at once,” he said, “if you can receive +me to-day.” + +“That will hardly be worth while, will it? I am taking your mother back +to Ashbridge tomorrow.” + +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. + +“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.” + +His father seemed to swell a little; he appeared to fill the room. + +“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.” + +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. + +“But could you not go down there perhaps once or twice a week, and get +Bailey to come and consult you here?” he asked. + +Lord Ashbridge held his head very high. + +“That would be completely out of the question,” he said. + +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. + +“I had imagined you would stop in London,” he said. “Supposing under +these circumstances I refuse to live with you?” + +“I should draw my own conclusion as to the sincerity of your profession +of duty towards your mother.” + +“And practically what would you do?” asked Michael. + +“Your mother and I would go to Ashbridge tomorrow all the same.” + +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. + +“I propose, then,” he said, “that she and I should remain in town, as +you want to be at Ashbridge.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He paused a moment, and became even more sublimely fatuous. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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--” + +Michael interrupted her. + +“Oh, I don’t understand him,” he said. “At least, that’s the best way to +look at it. Let’s leave him out.” + +He paused a moment. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +He smiled at her. + +“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.” + +“Yes, dear; I find you insufferable,” remarked Aunt Barbara +parenthetically. + +“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--” + +He sat down on the sofa by his aunt. + +“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?” + +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. + +“And your friends?” she said. “Do you manage to see them?” + +“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.” + +“And why not? Sylvia knows about your mother, I suppose.” + +“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.” + +“Can’t you impress on your mother that she mustn’t?” + +Michael leaned forward to the fire, pondering this, and stretching out +his big hands to the blaze. + +“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.” + +“Sylvia is a gaby,” remarked Aunt Barbara. + +“I’m rather glad you think so.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Suddenly she clapped her hands together. + +“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.” + +“But did those men live in Ashbridge?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +She stood up, and put her hand on Michael’s arm. + +“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?” + +“You wouldn’t ask that if you had seen him in Munich,” said Michael. + +“I suppose not. Patriotism is such a degrading emotion when it is not +English.” + + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael laid his hand on his mother’s. + +“Hush, mother,” he said, “you mustn’t talk while he’s playing.” + +“Well, I was only whispering. But if you tell me I mustn’t--” + +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. + +“I had no idea you were there,” he said. “Hermann will do, won’t he? I +think--” + +And then suddenly the words of commonplace failed him, and he looked at +her in silence. + +“I knew you were back,” she said. “Hermann told me about--everything.” + +Michael glanced sideways, indicating his mother, who sat next him, and +was talking to Barbara. + +“I wondered whether perhaps you would come and see my mother and me,” he +said. “May I write?” + +She looked at him with the friendliness of her smiling eyes and her +grave mouth. + +“Is it necessary to ask?” she said. + +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. + +“I’m enjoying my concert, dear,” she said. “And who is that nice young +lady? Is she a friend of yours?” + +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. + +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. + +“You’re not going to leave me, my dear, are you?” she asked anxiously. + +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. + +“Come on, Mike,” he said, laughing. “Thank the pretty ladies and +gentlemen! Lord, isn’t it all a lark!” + +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. + + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Sylvia was unerring. Michael had known she would be. + +“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.” + +Lady Ashbridge laughed. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Lady Ashbridge looked at her masses of bright hair, and could not help +telegraphing a note of admiration, as it were, to Michael. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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?” + +Here was a shoal to be avoided. + +“No, you mustn’t think of tempting him to come up to town,” said +Michael. “Give me some tea for Aunt Barbara.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +Sylvia got up. + +“Why, of course,” she said. “What have you got, Michael? I haven’t +anything with me.” + +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.” + +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.” + + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER XI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +She edged her way a little nearer him, so that her shoulder leaned on +his arm. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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.” + +She followed his pointing finger, easily diverted. + +“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.” + +She clung closer to Michael. + +“Everything seems so fragile, dear,” she whispered. “Everything may +break. . . . Sometimes I am frightened.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +Nurse Baker came towards her. + +“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.” + +She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael’s shoulder. + +“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?” + +Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye +of the trained attendant. + +Then she spoke to Michael. + +“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.” + +“And you’ll come back, Michael,” said she. + +Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with +infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge’s hand. + +“Why, of course I will,” he said. “And won’t you give Miss Falbe another +cup of tea?” + +Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment. + +“Yes, I’ll do that,” she said. “And by the time I’ve done that you will +be back again, won’t you?” + +Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door without +shutting it. + +“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.” + +Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry. + +“What do you expect?” he said. + +“I don’t expect anything, but we must be prepared. A change comes very +quickly.” + +Michael nodded, and they went back together. + +“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?” + +A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge’s face. + +“Yes, but where am I going to?” she said. “How do I know Nurse Baker +will take me to my own room?” + +“Because I promise you she will,” said Michael. + +That instantly reassured her. Mood after mood, as Michael saw, were +passing like shadows over her mind. + +“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.” + +Michael put his arm around her. + +“We’ll talk about that while you’re resting,” he said. “Don’t keep Nurse +Baker waiting any longer, mother.” + +She nodded and smiled. + +“No, no; mustn’t keep anybody waiting,” she said. “Your father taught me +to be punctual.” + +When they had left the room together, Sylvia turned to Michael. + +“Michael, my dear,” she said, “I think you are--well, I think you are +Michael.” + +She saw that at the moment he was not thinking of her at all, and her +heart honoured him for that. + +“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.” + +Suddenly all his fears and his fatigue and his trouble looked out of his +eyes. + +“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.” + +“But, my dear, no wonder you are tired,” she said. “Michael, can’t +anybody help? It isn’t right you should do everything.” + +He shook his head, smiling. + +“They can’t help,” he said. “I’m the only person who can help her. And +I--” + +He stood up, bracing mind and body. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You are giving everything to keep her,” she said. “You are giving +yourself. What further gift is there, Michael?” + +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. + +Suddenly Michael awoke to the fact of her presence, and abruptly he +moved away from her. + +“Thanks, Sylvia,” he said. “I know I have your--your good wishes. +But--well, I am sure you understand.” + +She understood perfectly well. And the understanding of it cut her to +the quick. + +“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?” + +He looked at her, completely recalled in mind to her alone. All the +hopes and desires of the autumn smote him with encompassing blows. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +He looked up at her. + +“Take my arm again,” he said. + +She felt the crook of his elbow tighten again on her wrist. She had not +known before how much she prized that. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +“Don’t you?” she asked. “But I do. It’s because you know I care. +Otherwise you wouldn’t tell me: you couldn’t.” + +For a moment the balance quavered in his mind between Sylvia the beloved +and Sylvia the friend. It inclined to the friend. + +“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.” + +“You made the gleam,” said Sylvia. + +“But so late; so awfully late.” + +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. + +“Will you go to her ladyship, my lord?” she said. “Her nurse wants you. +She told me to telephone to Sir James.” + +Sylvia moved with him, not disengaging her arm, towards the door. + +“Michael, may I wait?” she said. “You might want me, you know. Please +let me wait.” + + +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. + +“And here he is,” said the nurse reassuringly as he entered. + +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. + +Michael did not hesitate. It was possible that he still might be +something to her, that he, his presence, might penetrate. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“I was waiting till you came, my dear,” she said. “Now I will lie down. +Come and sit by me, Michael.” + +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. + +“And you enjoyed your day in the country, mother?” asked Michael. + +She looked at him sideways and slowly. Then again, as if recollecting a +task she had committed to memory, she answered. + +“Yes, so much,” she said. “All the trees and the birds and the sunshine. +I enjoyed them so much.” + +She paused a moment. + +“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.” + +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. + +He made a movement, grasping the arm of his chair, as if to wheel it +closer, but he came actually no nearer her. + +“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?” + +Nurse Baker answered quite naturally. + +“I want to talk, too, my lady,” she said. “I went with you and Lord +Comber. We all enjoyed it together.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“What is that?” she said. “Who is coming now to disturb me, just when I +wanted to have a nap?” + +There came a knock at the door. Nurse Baker did not move her head, but +continued watching her patient, with hands ready to act. + +“Come in,” she said, not looking round. + +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. + +“It’s a trap,” she cried. “You’ve led me into a trap. They are going to +take me away.” + +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. + +And from deep in his heart sprang the leaping fountains of compassion +and love and yearning pity. + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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.” + +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.” + +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!” + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +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. + +They met just as they met yesterday in front of the fireplace. + +“Oh, Michael, have you been waiting long?” she said. + +“Yes, hours, or perhaps a couple of minutes. I don’t know.” + +“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.” + +“Minutes, then,” said he. “I’ll praise you instead. Praise is more +convincing if somebody else does it.” + +“Yes, but you aren’t somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you done all +the things you told me you were going to do?” + +“Yes.” + +Sylvia released her hands from his. + +“Tell me, then,” she said. “You’ve seen your father?” + +There was no cloud on Michael’s face. There was such sunlight where his +soul sat that no shadow could fall across it. + +“Oh, yes, I saw him,” he said. + +He captured Sylvia’s hand again. + +“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. + +“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!” + +“Especially since he had never seen me,” said the girl. + +“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. + +“And what about my singing, my career?” she asked. + +Michael laughed again. + +“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.” + +“And what did you say?” + +“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.” + +“And he?” + +“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.” + +Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room. + +“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.” + +She came and sat down by him again. + +“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.” + +She paused a moment. + +“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.” + +Mrs. Falbe strayed in at this moment with her finger in her book, but +otherwise as purposeless as a wandering mist. + +“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?” + +“Please; certainly!” said Michael. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Don’t be too clever to live, Hermann,” said Sylvia. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Yes, but who’s to do the playing and the singing?” asked Hermann. +“Isn’t it a question, perhaps, for--” + +Michael felt quite secure about the feelings of the other two, and +rudely interrupted. + +“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!” + +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. + +“Hallo!” he said. “That’s horrible! The Heir Apparent of the Austrian +Emperor has been murdered at Serajevo. Servian plot, apparently.” + +“Oh, what a dreadful thing,” said Mrs. Falbe, opening her book. “Poor +man, what had he done?” + +Hermann took a cigarette, frowning. + +“It may be a match--” he began. + +Mrs. Falbe diverted her attention from “Lady Ursula” for a moment. + +“They are on the chimney-piece, dear,” she said, thinking he spoke of +material matches. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +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. + +Hermann glanced through the other pages, and let the paper slide to the +floor. + +“What will Austria do?” he said. “Supposing she threatens Servia in some +outrageous way and Russia says she won’t stand it? What then?” + +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. + +“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.” + +Hermann laughed. + +“Thank God, there’s that wonderful fire-engine in Germany ready to turn +the hose on conflagrations.” + +“What fire-engine?” asked Michael. + +“The Emperor, of course. We should have been at war ten times over but +for him.” + +Sylvia dried her finger-tips one by one. + +“Lady Barbara doesn’t quite take that view of him, does she, Mike?” she +asked. + +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. + +“I don’t fancy she does,” he said. “But then, as you know, Aunt Barbara +has original views on every subject.” + +Hermann did not take the possible hint here conveyed to drop the matter. + +“Well, then, what do you think about him?” he asked. + +Michael laughed. + +“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.” + +Hermann shook off the cloud of preoccupation that so unaccountably, +to Michael’s thinking, had descended on him, and walked across to the +window. + +“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.” + +“I was afraid there was going to be a chill at sunset,” remarked Mrs. +Falbe subaqueously. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“She died,” she said, “I knew she would.” + +Hermann gave a great shout of laughter. + +“Darling mother, I’m ever so much obliged,” he said. “We had to return +to earth somehow. Where has everybody else been?” + +Michael stirred in his chair. + +“I’ve been here,” he said. + +“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.” + +His sentimentalism had apparently not quite passed from him. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Sylvia put her hand on her brother’s arm, looking at him with just a +shade of anxiety. + +“Nothing wrong, Hermann?” she asked. + +“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.” + +Sylvia laughed. + +“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!” + +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. + +“‘Move on there!’ said the policeman,” he remarked. “And so they moved +on.” + + +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. + +“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.” + +“But perhaps there isn’t a word to be said,” suggested Michael. + +“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.” + +“But what do you mean by something being arranged?” asked Michael. + +She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were +alone. + +“I mean this: that Austria is being persuaded to make some outrageous +demand, some demand that no independent country could possibly grant.” + +“But who is persuading her?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +She leaned forward in her chair. + +“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?” + +Michael laughed. + +“But aren’t you piling up a European conflagration rather in a hurry, +Aunt Barbara?” he asked. + +“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.” + +A servant brought in tea and Lady Barbara waited till he had left the +room again. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick,” he said. + +“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.” + +“Go on prophesying,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +Michael laughed outright at this. + +“While a fleet of Zeppelins hovers over London, and drops bombs on the +War Office and the Admiralty,” he suggested. + +But Aunt Barbara was not in the least diverted by this. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara rose in violent incredulity. + +“Pish and bosh!” she remarked. “If he had alluded to him as an +incendiary bomb, there would have been more sense in his simile.” + +“Anyhow, he and Sylvia are planning a musical tour in Germany in the +autumn,” said Michael. + +“‘It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,’” remarked Aunt Barbara +enigmatically. + +“Why Tipperary?” asked Michael. + +“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?” + +“Rather in abeyance. There are--other things to think about.” + +Aunt Barbara got up. + +“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?” + +Michael was silent for a moment. Then he turned a quiet, radiant face to +her. + +“I can’t talk about it,” he said. “I can’t get accustomed to the wonder +of it.” + +“That will do. That’s a completely satisfactory account. But go on.” + +Michael laughed. + +“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.” + +“I must be content with that, then,” she said, smiling. + +“We are,” said Michael. + +Lady Barbara waited a moment without speaking. + +“And your mother?” she asked. + +He shook his head. + +“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.” + +“Yes, my dear,” said Lady Barbara. “I am so glad you see it like that.” + +“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.” + +“And how is she otherwise?” + +Again he shook his head. + +“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.” + +Aunt Barbara laid her hand on him. + +“Oh, my dear,” she said. + +Michael paused for a moment, his brown eyes shining. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Michael’s lips quivered. + +“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.” + +“That’s how she would have it, Michael,” said Barbara. + +“Yes, I know that. I remind myself of that.” + +Again he paused. + +“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.” + +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. . . . + +“God bless you, my dear,” she said. + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Ah, you have seen it,” he said. “Perhaps you can guess what I wanted to +see you about.” + +“Connected with the Austrian Note?” asked Michael. + +“Yes.” + +“I have not the vaguest idea.” + +Hermann sat down on the arm of his chair. + +“Mike, I’m going back to Germany to-day,” he said. “Now do you +understand? I’m German.” + +“You mean that Germany is at the back of this?” + +“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.” + +“You mean you think it possible you will go to war with Russia?” asked +Michael. + +“Yes, I think it possible, and, if I am right, if there is that +possibility, I can’t be away from my country.” + +“But the Emperor, the fire-engine whom you said would quench any +conflagration?” + +“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?” + +Michael was silent, and Hermann spoke again. + +“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?” + +The great shadow of the approaching storm fell over Michael, even as +outside the sultry stillness of the morning grew darker. + +“Ah, you think that?” asked Michael. + +Hermann put his hand on Michael’s shoulder. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I don’t see that I could. Sylvia agrees too.” + +A terrible conjecture flashed through Michael’s mind. + +“And she?” he asked. + +“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.” + +The ghost of a smile played round his mouth for a moment. + +“And I’m not sure that she could leave you, Mike,” he added. + +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. + +“Hermann, what do you think will happen?” he said. “It is incredible, +unfaceable--” + +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. + +“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.” + +He paused a moment. + +“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.” + +“Hermann, don’t go,” said Michael suddenly. + +“Mike, you didn’t mean that,” he said. + +Michael looked at him for a moment in silence. + +“No, it is unsaid,” he replied. + +Hermann looked round as the clock on the chimney-piece chimed. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Ah, that’s good,” he said. “And now I’m going to say good-bye, and go +without looking round.” + +“But might I see you off this afternoon?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +Then, as he had said, he walked to the door without looking round, and +next moment it had closed behind him. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + +“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.” + + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +He kissed her and sat down. + +“No, I have not heard either,” he said. “I expect he is right. Letters +have been stopped.” + +“And what do you think will be the result of Belgium’s appeal?” she +asked. + +“Who can tell? The Prime Minister is going to make a statement on +Monday. There have been Cabinet meetings going on all day.” + +She looked at him in silence. + +“And what do you think?” she asked. + +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. + +“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.” + +She kindled at that. + +“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 . . .” + +She broke off a moment. + +“Michael,” she said, “what will you do, if there is war?” + +He took up her hand that lay on the arm of his chair. + +“My darling, how can you ask?” he said. “Of course I shall go back to +the army.” + +For one moment she gave way. + +“No, no,” she said. “You mustn’t do that.” + +And then suddenly she stopped. + +“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.” + +She sat there in silence a little, mopping her eyes. + +“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.” + +He smiled. + +“I have got some faint recollection of it,” he said. + +Sylvia had got hold of her courage again. + +“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.” + +She pointed with her finger. + +“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.” + +Mrs. Falbe had drifted out in her usual thistledown style, and shook +hands with Michael. + +“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.” + +“Isn’t the book interesting?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +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. + +“They are preparing to cross the Rhine,” she said. + +Mrs. Falbe gave a little sigh. + +“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.” + +“Mother darling, you don’t understand one syllable about it,” said +Sylvia. + +“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.” + +“I’m afraid it doesn’t look very likely,” remarked Michael mildly. + +“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.” + +“And does it?” asked Michael. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +Sylvia felt she could not endure this any longer. It was like having a +raw wound stroked. . . . + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Sylvia caught Michael’s eye for a moment over the tea-urn. She felt he +acquiesced in what she was intending to say. + +“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?” + +Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and the +unclouded sky. + +“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?” + +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!” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He bent towards her and her lips parted. + +“Michael, my dear,” she said gently. + +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. + +“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?” + +“Yes, and you have come,” he said. + +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. + +“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.” + +Michael bent forward and kissed her. + +“Yes, mother,” he said, “it has all gone.” + +She was silent a moment. + +“Is your father here?” she said. + +“No; but he will come at once, if you would like to see him.” + +“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.” + +“I’m not going to,” said he. + +The nurse went to the door, gave some message, and presently returned to +the other side of the bed. Then Lady Ashbridge spoke again. + +“Is this death?” she asked. + +Michael raised his eyes to the figure standing by the bed. She nodded to +him. + +He bent forward again. + +“Yes, dear mother,” he said. + +For a moment her eyes dilated, then grew quiet again, and the smile +returned to her mouth. + +“I’m not frightened, Michael,” she said, “with you there. It isn’t +lonely or terrible.” + +She raised her head. + +“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. + + +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. . . . + +As he entered London he saw the newsboards all placarded with one fact: +England had declared war on Germany. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . . + +“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?” + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +“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. + +“Sylvia, I’m so frightfully hungry,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve eaten +anything since breakfast. May we go and forage?” + +“Oh, you poor thing!” she cried. “Yes, let’s go and see what there is.” + +Instantly she busied herself. + +“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.” + +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. + +“But it was really Hermann and I who made you gay originally,” she said. +“We take a wonderful deal of credit for that.” + +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. + +“You haven’t heard from Hermann?” he asked. + +“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.” + +She came a little closer to him. + +“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.” + +He took up her hand, enclosing it in his. + +“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.” + +“Preach, then,” she said. + +“Well, it’s just that. We don’t quarrel with them: they manage +themselves. Hermann’s going managed itself. It had to be.” + +Her voice quivered as she spoke now. + +“Are you going?” she asked. “Will that have to be?” + +Michael looked at her a moment with infinite tenderness. + +“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.” + +“And they will?” + +“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.” + +She did not answer him, but he felt her hand press close in the palm of +his. + +“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.” + +Even with Michael close to her, the call of her blood made itself +audible to Sylvia. Instinctively she withdrew her hand from his. + +“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.” + +“But there’s a direct frontier between the two,” said he. + +“No doubt, but an impossible one.” + +Michael frowned, drawing his big eyebrows together. + +“But nothing can justify the violation of a national oath,” he said. +“That’s the basis of civilisation, a thing like that.” + +“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.” + +“But consider--” said he. + +She got up suddenly. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Yes, darling, we’ll never speak of it again,” he said. “That would be +much wisest.” + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.” + +Michael bent down. + +“Come, Petsy,” he said, “come to bed in my room.” + +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. + +“He’ll be all right with me,” he said to the maid. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +“Come in, mother.” + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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. + +“I’ve brought you a little news to-night,” he said. “The first draft +from the regiment went off to-day.” + +Mrs. Falbe put down her book, marking the place. + +“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?” + +“Destination unknown,” said Michael. “But it’s France. My cousin has +gone.” + +“Francis?” asked Sylvia. “Oh, how wicked to send boys like that.” + +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. + +“Mother has been told that every Englishman is as brave as two Germans,” + she said. “She likes that.” + +“Yes, dear,” observed Mrs. Falbe placidly. “It makes one feel safer. I +saw it in the paper, though; I read it.” + +Sylvia turned on Michael. + +“Have you seen the evening paper?” she asked. + +Michael knew what was in her mind. + +“I just looked at it,” he said. “There didn’t seem to be much news.” + +“No, only reports, rumours, lies,” said Sylvia. + +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. + +“Oh, don’t go yet, mother,” she said. “It is very early.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +Sylvia gave a short laugh, which had no touch of merriment in it. + +“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.” + +Michael followed her lead. + +“Ah, do sing,” he said. “It’s weeks since I have heard you sing.” + +She went quickly over to the bookcase of music by the piano. + +“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.” + +Michael laughed. + +“But we’ve just settled that artists have no nationality, so I suppose +art hasn’t either,” he said. + +Sylvia pulled herself together, conscious of a want of control, and laid +her hand on Michael’s shoulder. + +“Oh, Michael, what should I do without you?” she said. “And yet--well, +let me sing.” + +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. + +“I can’t,” she said. “It’s no use.” + +He turned round to her. + +“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said. “But you know that.” + +She moved away from him, and walked down to the empty fireplace. + +“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?” + +“Yes, I saw them,” said Michael. “But it’s no use talking about them.” + +“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.” + +Michael felt profoundly uncomfortable. Some of these stories which +Sylvia called lies were vouched for, apparently, by respectable +testimony. + +“Why talk about them?” he said. “I’m sure we were wise when we settled +not to.” + +She shook her head. + +“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.” + +“I daresay the German Press is no better,” said Michael. + +“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.” + +Suddenly she stopped, and came a couple of steps nearer him. + +“Michael, it isn’t possible that you believe those things of us?” she +said. + +He got up. + +“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.” + +“You don’t feel the impossibility of it, then?” she asked. + +“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.” + +He held out his hand to her. She moved a step back from him. + +“Then you think, I suppose, that Hermann may be concerned in those +atrocities,” she said. + +Michael looked at her in amazement. + +“You are talking sheer nonsense, Sylvia,” he said. + +“Not at all. It is a logical inference, just an application of the +principle you have stated.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“Oh, pray put another name to it,” she said. + +“Very well. It was a wanton falsehood,” said Michael, “and you know it.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I beg your pardon, Michael,” she said. “I was atrocious. Will you +forgive me? Because I am so miserable.” + +He had nothing but love for her, love and its kinsman pity. + +“Oh, my dear, fancy you asking that!” he said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For a moment, as she greeted him and he kissed her silently, they +escaped from the encompassing horror. + +“Ah, you have come,” she said. “I thought perhaps you might. I have +wanted you dreadfully.” + +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. + +“I couldn’t go to bed without just seeing you,” he said. “I won’t keep +you up.” + +They stood with hands clasped. + +“But if you hadn’t come, Michael,” she said, “I should have understood.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +His servant came into the room with a pencilled note, which he opened. +It was from Sylvia. + +“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?” + +Though an hour before he had turned back on his way to go to Sylvia, he +did not hesitate now. + +“Yes, ask Miss Falbe to come up,” he said. + +She came up immediately, and once again as they met, the world and the +war stood apart from them. + +“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.” + +He smiled at her as they stood facing each other. + +“Thank you for coming,” he said; “I’m so glad you came. But I had to be +alone just a little.” + +“I didn’t do wrong?” she asked. + +“Indeed you didn’t. I did wrong not to come to you. I loved Francis, you +see.” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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--” + +She stopped suddenly. + +“That’s all, my dearest,” she added. “I will go away again now.” + +Across that shadow that had again fallen between them they looked and +yearned for each other. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“I know what you feel,” she said at length, “and I feel it also.” + +Her voice broke, and her hands felt for his again. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She took his hands again. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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. . . .” + +And then her voice began to falter. + +“If you loved me, you would do it,” she said. “If--” + +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. + +“Do you despise me, Michael?” she said. + +He gave a little sigh of utter content. + +“Oh, my dear, how I love you for suggesting such a sweet impossibility,” + he said. “But how you would despise me if I consented.” + +She did not answer. + +“Wouldn’t you?” he repeated. + +She gave a sorrowful semblance of a laugh. + +“I suppose I should,” she said. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Have they told you yet when you are going?” she said. + +“Not for certain. But--it will be before many days are passed. And the +question arises--will you marry me before I go?” + +She hid her face on his shoulder. + +“I will do what you wish,” she said. + +“But I want to know your wish.” + +She clung closer to him. + +“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.” + +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. + +“I agree with you,” he said. “We will settle it so, then.” + +She smiled at him. + +“How dreadfully business-like,” she said, with an attempt at lightness. + +“I know. It’s rather a good thing one has got to be business-like, +when--” + +That failed also, and he drew her to him and kissed her. + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“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.” + +That touched Michael absolutely in the right place. + +“Thanks awfully, sir,” he said. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?” + +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. + +“Lieber Gott, Michael!” he whispered, his breath whistling in his +throat. “Good morning, old boy!” + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +“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.” + +He had risen to greet her, and softly and gently she put her arms round +his neck, drawing his head to her. + +“Oh, my Michael!” she whispered. “You’ve come back to me. Lieber Gott, +how I have longed for you!” + +“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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“And what lots you must have to tell me,” she said. “I want to hear +all--all.” + +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. + +“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. + +“What is it?” she said. “Tell me, then.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +Then once more she laid her arm on his neck. + +“Michael, my heart!” she said. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael, by E. F. 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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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Benson + +Release Date: May 13, 2006 [EBook #2072] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MICHAEL *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +MICHAEL + +by E. F. Benson + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +"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." + +Francis apparently had the art of accepting gracefully, which is more +difficult than the feat which Michael had so successfully accomplished. + +"Mike, you're a brick," he said. "But then you always are a brick. +Thanks awfully." + +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. + +"But it's more blessed to give than to receive, Francis," he said. "I +have the best of you there." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"Twice more than was necessary," said Michael, finally dismissing the +subject. + +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. + +"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." + +Francis laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +He pointed a broad, big finger at him. + +"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." + +"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!" + +Michael sat up and took a cigarette. + +"But I'm not in the army any longer," he said. "That's just what I am +wanting to tell you." + +Francis laughed. + +"What do you mean?" he asked. "Have you been cashiered or shot or +something?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you speaking seriously?" he asked. + +"Quite seriously. I never did anything that was so serious." + +"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." + +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." + +"Let's hear them anyhow," said Francis. + +Michael clouded again. + +"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." + +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. + +"Aren't you exaggerating?" he asked. + +Michael shook his head. + +"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." + +Francis became more practical. + +"But you've only been in the regiment three years," he said. "It won't +be very popular resigning after only three years." + +"I have nothing much to lose on the score of popularity," remarked +Michael. + +There was nothing pertinent that could be consoling here. + +"And have you told your father?" asked Francis. "Does Uncle Robert +know?" + +"Yes; I wrote to father this morning, and I'm going down to Ashbridge +to-morrow. I shall be very sorry if he disapproves." + +"Then you'll be sorry," said Francis. + +"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." + +Francis did not contradict this. + +"Let's hear the rest, then," he said. + +"You shall. The rest is far more important, and rather resembles a +sermon." + +Francis appropriately sat down again. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment in his sermon, and beat out the ashes from his +pipe against the grate. + +"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." + +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. + +"Go on," he said encouragingly. "You're ripping, Mike." + +"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." + +Michael got up and began walking up and down the room with his slow, +ponderous movement. + +"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." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +Michael gave a mirthless laugh. + +"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." + +Francis lay back and laughed at this dismal picture of the rejection of +the fittest. + +"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." + +Michael clicked his fingers in a summary manner. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Francis consulted a small, green morocco pocket-book. + +"Can't to-morrow," he said, "nor yet the day after. But perhaps I could +get a few days' leave next week." + +"Next week's no use. I go to Baireuth next week." + +"Baireuth? Who's Baireuth?" asked Francis. + +"Oh, a man I know. His other name was Wagner, and he wrote some tunes." + +Francis nodded. + +"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?" + +"Go on to Munich and hear the same tunes over, again. After that I shall +come back and settle down in town and study." + +"Play the piano?" asked Francis, amiably trying to enter into his +cousin's schemes. + +Michael laughed. + +"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?'" + +"So it is. Soldiering largely consists of quick march, especially when +it's more than usually hot." + +"Well, I shall learn to play the piano," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"You are talking rather as father will talk," observed Michael. + +"Am I? Well, I seem to be talking sense." + +"You weren't doing what you seemed, then. I've got absolutely everything +to learn about the piano." + +Francis rose. + +"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." + +"The malady of not wanting," quoted Michael. + +"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--" + +"Stop it," said Michael. + +"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." + +"A good many fellows are jelly-fish," observed Michael. + +"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?" + +"Playing the piano, I hope. Why?" + +"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." + +"Thanks very much, but I think I won't," said Michael. "I'm rather +looking forward to an evening alone." + +"And that's an odd thing to look forward to," remarked Francis. + +"Not when you want to play the piano. I shall have a chop here at eight, +and probably thump away till midnight." + +Francis looked round for his hat and stick. + +"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." + +Michael rose and stood by his tall cousin. + +"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!" + +Francis demurred to this. + +"Oh, I don't think so," he said. "This thing at the Gaiety is ripping, I +believe. Do come and see." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge considered this for a moment in her stunned mind. + +"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." + +He gave a little good-humoured giggle of falsetto laughter. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge gave a little sigh. + +"All gone, Petsy," she said. + +"I am glad it has all gone," said he, "and we will hope it won't return. +But about Michael now!" + +Lady Ashbridge pulled herself together. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +Lady Ashbridge recollected the almanac. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about," said she. "We +are talking about Michael not studying music all September." + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Do not give Petsy any more cream," he said, with some asperity; "I +absolutely forbid it." + +Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug. + +"Poor Petsy!" she observed. + +"I ask you to attend to me, Marion," he said. + +"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?" + +"I shall use my authority," he said, stepping a little higher. + +"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!" + +Lord Ashbridge felt strongly about this. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Michael has a great will of his own," she remarked. "He gets that from +you, Robert, though he gets his money from his grandmother." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +Barbara laughed. + +"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?" + +"Michael comes this evening." + +"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!" + +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. + +"My dear, how are you?" she said. "And how did the golf go? And did you +beat the professional?" + +He suspected flippancy here, and became markedly dignified. + +"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?" + +"No. I drove from town. It saves time, but not expense, with your awful +trains." + +"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. + +"Yes, his excellency is quite well," she said. "You must call him +excellency now, my dear." + +"Indeed! That is a great step." + +"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." + +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. + +"Og has two mutton-chops for his dinner," she said, "and he is growing +still. Fancy!" + +Lord Ashbridge took a refreshing glance at the broad stretch of country +that all belonged to him. + +"I am rather glad to have this opportunity of talking to you, my dear +Barbara," he said, "before Michael comes." + +"His train gets in half an hour before dinner" said Lady Ashbridge. "He +has to change at Stoneborough." + +"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." + +Barbara gave a delighted exclamation. + +"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!" + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge let fall her embroidery at this monstrous suggestion. + +"You are talking very wildly, Robert," she said, in a pained voice. + +"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." + +"No, you never said that," remarked Lady Ashbridge. + +"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." + +"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." + +He again refreshed himself with the landscape. The roofs of Ashbridge +were visible in the clear sunset. . . . Ashbridge paid its rents with +remarkable regularity. + +"That may or may not be so," he said, forgetting for a moment the danger +of being dignified. "But Combers have position." + +Barbara controlled herself admirably. A slight tremor shook her, which +he did not notice. + +"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--" + +"I am afraid Michael has always been a little jealous of Francis," +remarked his father. + +This roused Barbara; she spoke quite seriously: + +"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." + +The discussion with Barbara was being even more fruitless than that with +his wife, and Lord Ashbridge rose. + +"All I can do, then, is to ask you not to back Michael up," he said. + +"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." + +"Michael's train is late," said Lady Ashbridge, hearing the stable clock +strike. "He should have been here before this." + +Barbara had still a word to say, and disregarded this quencher. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge was not a bully; he had merely a profound sense of his +own importance. + +"We will see about resistance," he said. + +Barbara was not so successful on this occasion, and exploded loudly: + +"You will, dear, indeed," she said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael had intended to be as quiet and respectful as possible, +consistent with firmness, but a sentence here gave him a spasm of anger. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes. I said all that," said Michael. "But you make a mistake if you do +not see that it was written seriously." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"If you refer to it as rubbish, sir, there is the end of the matter." + +"Ah! I thought we should soon agree," said Lord Ashbridge, chuckling. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael was perfectly aware that he had scored. And as his object was to +score he made another criticism. + +"When you say 'absurd schemes,' sir," he said, with quiet respect, "are +you not still laughing at them?" + +Lord Ashbridge again retreated strategically. + +"Very well; I withdraw absurd," he said. "Now sit down again, and we +will talk. Tell me what is in your mind." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"That is all I can tell you," he said at length. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +Michael suddenly rose to his feet. + +"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." + +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. + +"I am anxious to understand you, Michael," he said. + +"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." + +"And as regards my wishes and my authority?" asked his father. + +Michael squared his shoulders and his mind. + +"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." + +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. + +"I refuse to take that answer from you," he said. + +"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." + +The repetition took away his desire to laugh. In fact, he could not have +laughed. + +"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." + +"Is that a threat?" asked Michael. + +"It is a hint." + +"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." + +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. + +"I have before now noticed your jealousy of your cousin," he observed. + +Michael's face went white. + +"That is infamous and untrue, father," he said. + +Lord Ashbridge turned on him. + +"Apologise for that," he said. + +Michael looked up at his high towering without a tremor. + +"I wait for the withdrawal of your accusation that I am jealous of +Francis," he replied. + +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. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge stood looking exactly like his statue in the market-place +at Ashbridge. + +"If that is the case, Michael," he said, "it is within your power. You +will write the letter I spoke about." + +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. + +"I will wish you good night, father," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Aunt Barbara was perfectly willing to do this, and she opened the +discussion very pleasantly with peals of laughter. + +"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." + +A dawning smile began to break through Michael's tragedy face. + +"I suppose it was rather funny," he said. "But really I'm wretched about +it, Aunt Barbara." + +"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." + +It was impossible not to feel the unfreezing effect of this. Michael +thawed to it, as he would have thawed to Francis. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara nodded. + +"And your friends?" she asked. "What will they think?" + +Michael looked at her quite simply and directly. + +"Friends?" he said. "I haven't got any." + +"Ah, my dear, that's nonsense!" she said. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But what am I to do, if I'm like that?" asked the boy. + +She held up her large, fat hand, and marked the points off on her +fingers. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +She turned round and faced him directly. + +"Finally, don't be so cross, my dear," she said. + +"But am I?" asked he. + +"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!" + +"How did you know that--about Francis, I mean?" asked Michael. + +"Does it happen to be true? Of course it does. Every cross young man +wishes he was somebody else." + +"No, not quite that," began Michael. + +"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." + +Michael shook his head. + +"I didn't see them," he said. + +"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!" + +Michael frowned. + +"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." + +She laid her hand on Michael's knee. + +"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!" + +"I shall go to Baireuth on Wednesday, and then on to Munich," began +Michael. + +"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?" + +"Then I shall settle in town and study. Oh, here's my father coming +home." + +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. + +"I shall go and apologise for Og," she said. "I shall do it quite +sincerely, my dear. But there are points." + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Narrow squeak, wasn't it?" he said gleefully. "I thought the guard had +collared me. And I should have missed Parsifal." + +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. + +"And all your luggage left behind," he said. "Won't you be dreadfully +uncomfortable?" + +"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." + +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. + +"But you needn't do that," he said, "if--if you will be good enough to +borrow of me till your things come." + +He blurted it out awkwardly, almost brusquely, and Falbe looked slightly +amused at this wholly surprising offer of hospitality. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe blew out a cloud of smoke and laughter. + +"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?" + +"Yes. I hope so." + +Falbe clicked with his tongue + +"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!" + +He came across from the other side of the carriage and sat next Michael, +putting his feet up on the seat opposite. + +"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." + +"Well, the heavenly Jerusalem is practically next door to Baireuth," +said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe turned to him with the friendliest pleasure. + +"Ah! were you there?" he asked. "I hope you listened to her, then, not +to me. She sang well, didn't she?" + +"But divinely. At the same time I did listen to you, especially in the +French songs. There was less song, you know." + +Falbe laughed. + +"And more accompaniment!" he said. "Perhaps you play?" + +Michael was seized with a fit of shyness at the idea of talking to Falbe +about himself. + +"Oh, I just strum," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He chattered on in tremendous high spirits. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I--I really never thought about it," said Michael. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. . . ." + +He turned over on to his back, and laid his hands palm uppermost over +his eyes. + +"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." + +"Go on; be German," said Michael. + +"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." + +"And we are a nation of idiots?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +"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." + +Falbe sat up. + +"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." + +Michael supplied the cigarette. + +"Do you mean she is thinking about England's golf ball?" asked Michael. + +"Why, of course she is! What else is there to think about?" + +"Oh, it's impossible that there should be a European war," said Michael, +"for that is what it will mean!" + +"And why is a European war impossible?" demanded Falbe, lighting his +cigarette. + +"It's simply unthinkable!" + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"As for that," he said, "I made an uncommonly bad soldier. But I am an +even worse golfer. As for cricket--" + +Falbe again interrupted. + +"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." + +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. + +"But what's the matter?" he asked. "Have I annoyed you somehow? I'm +awfully sorry." + +Falbe did not reply for a moment. + +"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." + +Michael pondered over this. + +"But I can't leave it like that," he said at length. "Was it about the +possibility of war, which I said was unthinkable?" + +Falbe laughed and turned on his elbow towards Michael. + +"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." + +Michael lay back on the soft slope. + +"Yet I insist on knowing," he said. "That is, I mean, if it is not +private." + +Falbe lay quietly with his long fingers in the sediment of pine-needles. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe ceased digging his excavation in the pine-needles and looked up on +Michael. + +"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?" + +"But I'm completely uninteresting," said Michael. + +"Yes; I'll judge of that," said Falbe. + + +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. + +At the end Falbe gave a long sigh. + +"And why the devil didn't you give me any hint of it before?" he asked. + +"I didn't think it mattered," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"I'm not going back into the prison-house again, if you mean that," said +Michael. + +"And will your father cut you off?" asked he. + +"Oh, I haven't the least idea," said Michael. + +"Aren't you going to inquire?" + +Michael hesitated. + +"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." + +"But, then, how will you live?" asked Falbe. + +"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." + +Falbe laughed. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment, and then found courage to say what for the last +two days he had been longing to give utterance to. + +"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." + +Falbe looked at him a moment without speaking, but Michael saw the light +in his eyes. + +"And what if I have my pride too?" he said. "Then I shall apologise for +having made the proposal," said Michael simply. + +For just a second more Falbe hesitated. Then he held out his hand. + +"I thank you most awfully," he said. "I accept with the greatest +pleasure." + +Michael drew a long breath of relief. + +"I am glad," he said. "So that's settled. It's really nice of you." + +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. + +Falbe, whose hand lay in the crook of Michael's arm, pointed downwards +to the village that lay there sequestered and rural. + +"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." + +He laughed. + +"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." + +Michael hesitated a moment. + +"But you said not long ago that you were also the most practical +nation," he said. "You are a nation of soldiers, also." + +"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." + +He turned to Michael, his face illuminated by the red glow of the +sinking sun. + +"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." + +He pointed northwards. + +"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." + +He turned away quickly. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He took Michael's arm again. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe was not attending particularly. + +"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." + +"Yes; what of the black notes?" asked Michael. + +"Oh! they're black. The rest are white. I beg your pardon!" + +Michael laughed. + +"When you have finished drivelling," he said, "you might let me know." + +"I have finished drivelling, Michael. I was thinking about something +else." + +"Not really?" + +"Really." + +"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." + +Falbe hesitated. + +"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." + +"Go on!" said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael turned round. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"But I haven't touched a piano for a week," said Michael. + +"It doesn't matter whether you've touched a piano for a year." + +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. + +"Completely out of tune," he said; "but that doesn't matter. Now then!" + +"But what am I to play?" asked Michael. + +"Anything you like." + +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. + +He struck a chord, and heard it jangle dissonantly. + +"Oh, it's not fair," he said. + +"Get on!" said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +Falbe got up and, coming over to the piano, struck the bass note +himself. + +"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." + +He paused a moment, again striking the dumb note, as if to make sure +that it was soundless. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Tristan und Isolde was given on the third day of their stay there, and +Falbe, reading the morning German paper, found news. + +"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." + +Michael looked up with some slight anxiety. + +"Ought I to write my name or anything?" he asked. "He has stayed several +times with my father." + +"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. + +"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." + +Michael crunched one of the inimitable breakfast rusks in his teeth. + +"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." + +"I heard the 'Song to Aegir' once," remarked Falbe, with a perfectly +level intonation. + +"I was--er--luckier," said Michael politely, "because on that occasion I +heard it twice. It was encored." + +"And what did it sound like the second time?" asked Falbe. + +"Much as before," said Michael. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, Hermann," he said, "what years I've wasted!" + +Falbe laughed. + +"You've wasted more than you know yet," he said. "Hallo!" + +A very resplendent officer had come clanking down the gangway next them. +He put his heels together and bowed. + +"Lord Comber, I think?" he said in excellent English. + +Michael roused himself. + +"Yes?" he said. + +"His Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to desire you to come and +speak to him," he said. + +"Now?" said Michael. + +"If you will be so good," and he stood aside for Michael to pass up the +stairs in front of him. + +In the wide corridor behind he joined him again. + +"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." + +Michael followed him down the steps to the front of the box. + +"Lord Comber, All-highest," he said, and instantly stood back. + +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. + +"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?" + +He indicated a chair to Michael, who, as advised, instantly took it, +though the Emperor remained a moment longer standing. + +"I left him in very good health, Your Majesty," said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"And you, you are in the Guards, I think?" he said. + +"No, sir; I have just resigned my commission," said Michael. + +"Why? Why is that? Have many of your officers been resigning?" + +"I am studying music, Your Majesty," said Michael. + +"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." + +He turned round quickly to one of his staff who had approached him. + +"Well, what is it?" he said. + +Count von Bergmann bowed low. + +"The Herr-Director," he said, "humbly craves to know whether it is Your +Majesty's pleasure that the opera shall proceed." + +The Kaiser laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +He gave a little giggle, which reminded Michael of his father. + +"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." + +At the end the Emperor rose and again held out his hand. + +"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." + +As Michael left the box he ran into the Herr-Director, who had been +summoned to get a few hints. + +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? + +This was too much for Michael. + +"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?" + +Falbe shook his handsome head, and gesticulated with his fine hands. + +"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." + +He poured out a glass of wine and drank it with a "Hoch!" + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"I suppose I must have no imagination," he said. "I don't picture it +even now when you point it out." + +Falbe pointed an impressive forefinger. + +"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." + +"Oh, he made them, anyhow," said Michael. + +"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." + +"Against whom?" asked Michael. "Who is the enemy?" + +Falbe hesitated. + +"There is no enemy at present," he said, "but the enemy potentially is +any who tries to thwart our peaceful expansion." + +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. + +"Oh, let's drop it," he said. "I really didn't come to Munich to talk +politics, of which I know nothing whatever." + +Falbe nodded. + +"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?" + +"Yes, of his beloved England," said Michael. "He was extremely cordial +about our relations." + +"Good. I like that," said Falbe briskly. + +"And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the winter," +added Michael, sliding off on to other topics. + +Falbe smiled. + +"I like that less," he said, "since that will mean you will not be in +London." + +"But I didn't commit myself," said Michael, smiling back; "though I can +say 'beloved Germany' with equal sincerity." + +Falbe got up. + +"I would wish that--that you were Kaiser of England," he said. + +"God forbid!" said Michael. "I should not have time to play the piano." + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael felt all his old unfitness for dreadful crowds return to him. + +"Oh, I'm so bad at that sort of thing," he said. "I am a frightful +kill-joy, Hermann." + +Hermann sat down on the treble part of his piano. + +"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." + +"I didn't mean to be rude," said Michael. + +"Then we must suppose you were rude by accident. That is the worst sort +of rudeness." + +"I'm sorry; I'll come," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael slipped despairingly from his seat. + +"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." + +Falbe looked at him encouragingly. + +"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." + +"Is that it?" said Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe got down a volume of Bach and opened it at random. + +"There," he said, "begin at the top of the page." + +"But I can't," said Michael. "I shall have to spell it out." + +"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." + +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. + +"Go on, go on!" he shouted. "I thought it was Bach, and it is clearly +Strauss's Don Quixote." + +Michael, flushed and determined, with grave, set mouth, ploughed his way +through amazing dissonances, and at the end joined Falbe's laughter. + +"Oh dear," he said. "Very funny. But don't laugh so at me, Hermann." + +Falbe dried his eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +Falbe stopped him at the end of the first two lines. + +"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." + +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. + +"Do you find difficulty in memorising?" he asked. + +This was discouraging; Michael believed that he remembered easily; he +also believed that he had long known this by heart. + +"No; I thought I knew it," he said. + +"Try again." + +This time Falbe stood by him, and suddenly put his finger down into the +middle of Michael's hands, striking a note. + +"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?" + +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. + +"You told me to harmonise that Christmas carol," he remarked, rather +shortly. + +Falbe put his hand on his shoulder. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm doing the best I can," he said. "It's rather discouraging." + +He moved his big shoulders slightly, as if to indicate that Hermann's +hand was not wanted there. Hermann kept it there. + +"It might be discouraging," he said, "if you were doing your best." + +Michael's ill-temper oozed from him. + +"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?" + +Falbe laughed. + +"Very well indeed," he said. "Now for 'Good King Wenceslas.' Wasn't +it--" + +"Yes; I got awfully interested over it, Hermann. I thought I would try +and work it up into a few variations." + +"Let's hear," said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Michael flushed with pleasure. + +"Oh, they sang themselves," he said, "and I learned them. But will it +really do? Is there anything in it?" + +"Yes, old boy, there's King Wenceslas in it, and you've dressed him up +well. Play that last one again." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael gasped. + +"You don't mean that?" he said. + +"Certainly I do. It's a fine bit of stuff." + +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. + +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. + +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: + + VARIATIONS ON AN AIR. + + By + + Michael Comber. + +He paused a moment, then took up his pen again. + +"Dedicated to Sylvia Falbe," he wrote at the top. + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. . . . + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. + +Aunt Barbara made the best of it: shook hands in her jolly manner, and +burst into laughter. + +"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!" + +Presently they were seated at dinner, and Aunt Barbara could not help +enlarging a little on her own discomfiture. + +"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!" + +"I went with Mr. Falbe," said Michael. + +"Ah, Mr. Falbe has not asked me yet. I may have to revise what I say," +said Aunt Barbara daringly. + +"I didn't ask Michael," said Hermann. "I got into his carriage as the +train was moving; and my luggage was left behind." + +"I was left behind," said Sylvia, "which was worse. But I sent Hermann's +luggage." + +"So expeditiously that it arrived the day before we left for Munich," +remarked Hermann. + +"And that's all the gratitude I get. But in the interval you lived upon +Lord Comber." + +"I do still in the money I earn by giving him music lessons. Mike, have +you finished the Variations yet?" + +"Variations--what are Variations?" asked Aunt Barbara. + +"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." + +"Should I like them? Will Mr. Falbe play them to me?" asked she. + +"I daresay he will if he can. But I thought you loathed music." + +"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." + +Michael turned to Sylvia. + +"I want to ask your leave for something I have already done," he said. + +"And if I don't give it you?" + +"Then I shan't tell you what it is." + +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. + +"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." + +"I've dedicated the Variations to you," he said. + +Sylvia flushed with pleasure. + +"Oh, but that's absolutely darling of you," she said. "Have you, really? +Do you mean it?" + +"If you'll allow me." + +"Allow you? Hermann, the Variations are mine. Isn't it too lovely?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Did he? The Emperor came to Munich for a day during them. He was at the +opera," said Michael. + +"You didn't speak to him, I suppose?" she asked. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara became infinitely more interested. + +"Tell me all about it, Michael," she said. "What did he talk about?" + +"Everything, as far as I can remember, England, Ashbridge, armies, +navies, music. Hermann says he cast pearls before swine--" + +"And his tone, his attitude?" she asked. + +"Towards us?--towards England? Immensely friendly, and most inquisitive. +I was never asked so many questions in so short a time." + +Aunt Barbara suddenly turned to Falbe. + +"And you?" she asked. "Were you with Michael?" + +"No, Lady Barbara. I had no pearls." + +"And are you naturalised English?" she asked. + +"No; I am German." + +She slid swiftly off the topic. + +"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." + +This did not express quite accurately Lady Barbara's intentions, for she +chiefly wanted to find out what she thought of Sylvia. + +"And you are great friends, you three?" she said as they settled +themselves for the prolonged absence of the two men. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Sylvia became quite grave. + +"Oh, I do hope he likes us," she said. "He is so likable himself." + +Barbara nodded + +"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." + +"I think he told Hermann," said she. "His father didn't approve, did +he?" + +"Approve? My dear, if you knew my brother you would know that the only +things he approves of are those which Michael isn't." + +Sylvia spread her fine hands out to the blaze, warming them and shading +her face. + +"Michael always seems to us--" she began. "Ah, I called him Michael by +mistake." + +"Then do it on purpose next time," remarked Barbara. "What does Michael +seem?" + +"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." + +"And Michael always seems--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, I sing a little," said Sylvia. + +"That is the first unnatural thing you have said. I somehow feel that +you sing a great deal." + +Aunt Barbara suddenly got up. + +"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?" + +Sylvia laughed. + +"Do you know, I'm afraid I must be," she said. "Isn't it dreadful to +have to say that after your description?" + +Aunt Barbara sat down again, in a sort of calm despair. + +"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." + +Sylvia laughed. + +"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.'" + +"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." + +"But that's quite good enough for me," said Sylvia. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish you had, Hermann," he said. "I know you'll bungle those tenths." + +Falbe moved to the piano-seat. + +"Oh, let's have a shot at it," he said. "If Lady Barbara won't mind, +play that one through to me first, Mike." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"And may I play for you, Miss Sylvia?" he asked. + +"Yes, will you? Thanks, Lord Comber." + +Hermann moved away. + +"And so Mr. Hermann sits down by Lady Barbara while Lord Comber plays +for Miss Sylvia," he observed, with emphasis on the titles. + +A sudden amazing boldness seized Michael. + +"Sylvia, then," he said. + +"All right, Michael," answered the girl, laughing. + +She came and stood on the left of the piano, slightly behind him. + +"And what are we going to have?" asked Michael. + +"It must be something we both know, for I've brought no music," said +she. + +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. + +"Yes, that's right," she said. "Now you've got it." And Michael smiled +sweetly at his own amazing ingenuity. + +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. + +"You extraordinary creature," he said when the song was over. "Where did +you learn to accompany?" + +Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been surprised +when he thought himself private. + +"Oh, I've played it before for Miss--I mean for Sylvia," he said. + +Then he turned to the girl. + +"Thanks, awfully," he said. "And I'm greedy. May we have one more?" + +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. + +Hermann strolled across to the fireplace at the end of this, and lit a +cigarette. + +"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--" + +"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." + +Hermann rushed to the piano, took his sister by the shoulders, and +pushed her into a chair. + +"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." + +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. + +"It isn't decent to ask a fellow to read that," he shouted. "It's a +crime; it's a scandal." + +"My dear, nobody asked you to read it," said Sylvia. + +"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!" + +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. + +Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his seat, +rolling up the music. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael sank into a chair. + +"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!" + +"And you just met him in the train?" said Aunt Barbara. + +"Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. I +didn't much notice Sylvia then." + +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. + +"More about them," she said. "What are they? Who are they?" + +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. + +"And he's German?" she asked. + +"Yes. Wasn't he rude about my being a toy soldier? But that's the +natural German point of view, I suppose." + +Michael strolled to the fireplace. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara drew her chair a little nearer the fire, and sat up. + +"I want to hear about that," she said. + +"But I've told you; he was tremendously friendly in a national manner." + +"And that seemed to you real?" she asked. + +Michael considered. + +"I don't know that it did," he said. "It all seemed to me rather +feverish, I think." + +"And he asked quantities of questions, I think you said." + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara did not heed the concert. + +"Do you mean the channel up from Harwich," she asked, "of which the +Admiralty have the secret chart?" + +"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." + +"I wasn't there. What else?" + +"I think that's all," said Michael. "But what are you driving at, Aunt +Barbara?" + +She was silent a moment. + +"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?" + +Michael thought. + +"Yes; one of his staff was clicking away all day," he said. "He sent a +lot of them to my mother." + +"And, we may presume, kept some copies himself," remarked Aunt Barbara +drily. "Really, for childish simplicity the English are the biggest +fools in creation." + +"But do you mean--" + +"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.'" + +"That means 'The Day,'" said Michael confidently. + +"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." + +Michael had never in his life seen his aunt so serious, and he was +amazed at her gravity. + +"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." + +She got up and stood with Michael near the fireplace. + +"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." + +"And you think the Emperor--" began Michael. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Don't do anything of the kind," said Michael. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Stuff another cushion under my head, Hermann," she said. "Thanks; now +I'm completely comfortable, you will be relieved to hear." + +Hermann gazed at the fire in silence. + +"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." + +She gave a little grunt, which, from his knowledge of her inarticulate +expressions, he took to mean dissent. + +"I suppose you mean we don't," he remarked. + +"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." + +"You flirted with him," remarked Hermann. "Mike will probably murder him +on the way home." + +Sylvia moved her feet a little farther from the blaze. + +"Funny?" she asked. + +Instantly Falbe knew that her mind was occupied with exactly the same +question as his. + +"No, not funny at all," he said. "Quite serious. Do you want to talk +about it or not?" + +She gave a little groan. + +"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." + +"And what did Aunt Barbara say?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"What's the trouble, Sylvia?" he said. + +"Just what I've been trying to tell you." + +"Be more concrete, then. You're definite enough when you sing." + +She sighed and gave a little melancholy laugh. + +"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." + +She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully tying +and untying one of Hermann's shoelaces. + +"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--" + +She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a cigarette, +lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke. + +"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." + +"You say you insist on it," said Hermann; "but whether you did or not, +there is nothing more certain than that Michael would." + +"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." + +Hermann threw the end of his cigarette into the ashes of the dying fire. + +"It's clear, then," he said, "you have made up your mind not to marry +him." + +She shook her head. + +"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." + +He stretched his hands out towards the embers already coated with grey +ash. + +"Then it's like that with you," he said, pointing. "If there is the fire +in you, it is covered up with ashes." + +She did not reply for a moment. + +"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?" + +She stood up swiftly, drawing herself to her full height and stretching +her arms out. + +"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." + +"Do you care which it is?" he asked. + +"Yes, I care," said she. + +He held out his hands to her, and she pulled him up to his feet. + +"What are you going to say, then, when he asks you?" he said. + +"Tell him he must wait." + +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. + +"That's a lot to ask of any man," he said. "If you care, you care." + +"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.'" + +He opened the door for her to pass out, and they walked up the passage +together arm-in-arm. + +"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!" + +Sylvia considered this. + +"Fiddlesticks!" she said. + +And Hermann was inclined to agree with her. + + +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. + +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. + +"I thought Hermann was never going," he said. + +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. + +"What is it, Michael?" she asked. + +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. + +"You know," he said. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"I don't know, Michael," she said at length. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael looked up at her. + +"Yes, Sylvia," he said, "much more than that." + +A few minutes ago only she had not liked him at all; now she liked him +immensely. + +"But how, Michael?" she asked. "How can I find it?" + +"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?" + +She looked at him gravely, without the tremor of a smile in her eyes. + +"What does that mean exactly?" she said. + +"It is very simple. Do you want to love me?" + +She did not move her hands; they still rested on his shoulders like +things at ease, like things at home. + +"Yes, I suppose I want to," she said. + +"And is that the most you can do for me at present?" he asked. + +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. + +"Yes, that is the most I can do for you at present," she said. + +Still quite quietly he moved away from her, so that he stood free of her +hands. + +"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?" + +That stabbed her again. + +"Have I implied that?" she asked. + +"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." + +She understood her own feeling better than he. She understood at least +that she was dealing with things that were necessarily incalculable. + +"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." + +But Michael persisted. + +"I only know what you have taught me," he said. "But you must know +that." + +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. + +"Can't we go on as we were, Michael?" she said. + +He looked at her incredulously. + +"Oh, no, of course not that," he said. + +She moved a step towards him. + +"I can't think of you in any other way," she said, as if making an +appeal. + +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. + +"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--" + +She understood well enough for his purposes. + +"I see," she said. + +Michael paused for a moment. + +"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." + +She had no reply to this; she saw its justice, and acquiesced. + +"Good-bye, then," said Michael. + + +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. + +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. + +Francis was inclined to be querulous. + +"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." + +This also seemed to matter very little. + +"Did I ask you to lunch?" he said. "I really quite forgot; I can't even +remember doing it now." + +"But there will be lunch?" asked Francis rather anxiously. + +"Of course. It'll be ready in ten minutes." + +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 + +--"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." + +He yawned largely and openly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael moved away impatiently. + +"Oh, shut it, Francis," he observed. + +Francis raised himself on his elbow. + +"Why, what's up?" he asked. "Won't she turn a favourable eye?" + +Michael wheeled round savagely. + +"Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety lady," +he remarked. + +This brought Francis to his feet. + +"Sorry," he said. "I was only indulging in badinage until lunch was +ready." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +This was a considerable relief to Michael. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Oh, Aunt Barbara's always hinting," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael smiled at this egoism that could not help being charming. + +"Would you care if you weren't?" he asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"You're quite right," he said. "I am in love with her. Furthermore, I +asked her to marry me this morning." + +This certainly had an effect. + +"Good Lord!" said Francis. "And do you mean to say she refused you?" + +"She didn't accept me," said Michael. "We--we adjourned." + +"But why on earth didn't she take you?" asked Francis. + +All Michael's old sensitiveness, his self-consciousness of his +plainness, his awkwardness, his big hands, his short legs, came back to +him. + +"I should think you could see well enough if you look at me," he said, +"without my telling you." + +"Oh, that silly old rot," said Francis cheerfully. "I thought you had +forgotten all about it." + +"I almost had--in fact I quite had until this morning," said Michael. +"If I had remembered it I shouldn't have asked her." + +He corrected himself. + +"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." + +Francis turned sideways to the table, throwing one leg over the other. + +"That's nonsense," he said. "It doesn't matter whether a man's ugly or +not." + +"It doesn't as long as he is not," remarked Michael grimly. + +"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--" + +"You see one," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"I couldn't give up." + +"Well then, just hold on. She likes you, doesn't she?" + +"Certainly," said Michael, without hesitation. "But that's a long way +from the other thing." + +"It's on the same road." + +Michael got up. + +"It may be," he said, "but it strikes me it's round the corner. You +can't even see one from the other." + +"Possibly not. But you never know how near the corner really is. Go for +her, Mike, full speed ahead." + +"But how?" + +"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." + +Michael could not help laughing. + +"Oh, for God's sake, don't make a joke of it," he said. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"But by all means come in, mother," he said. "I was not going to bed +yet." + +Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid. + +"And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?" she asked. + +"Of course not." + +Lady Ashbridge took the dog. + +"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?" + +This question had already been asked and answered twice, now for the +third time Michael admitted the severity of the weather. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid that's impossible, mother," he said. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No! hard enough to keep me busy," he said. + +"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." + +She paused a moment, stroking her dog's ears, which twitched under her +touch. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +She took up his big hand that lay on his knee and began timidly stroking +it. + +"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." + +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. + +He was profoundly touched by this humble timidity, by the sincerity, +vague but unquestionable, that lay behind it. + +"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?" + +She gave a little shiver. + +"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?" + +He half rose. + +"Oh, mother, how can you ask?" he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +She pulled her chair again nearer him, so that sitting there she could +clasp his arm. + +"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." + +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. + +"Yes, there is a girl whom I can't do without," he said. + +Lady Ashbridge's face lit up. + +"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." + +Michael caught at his mother's hand as it stroked his sleeve. + +"But she is not sure that she can do with me," he said. + +Her face was not dimmed at this. + +"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." + +"She's the sister of my great friend, Hermann Falbe," he said, "who +teaches me music." + +This time the gladness faded from her. + +"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?" + +Michael laughed. + +"But certainly she is," he said. "Her father was German, her mother was +a Tracy, just as well-born as you or I." + +"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?" + +"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." + +The old outlook, the old traditions were beginning to come to the +surface again in poor Lady Ashbridge's mind. + +"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." + +Then came a step at the door; it opened an inch or two, and Michael +heard his father's voice. + +"Is your mother with you, Michael?" he asked. + +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. + +"Yes, Robert," she said. "I was having a little talk to Michael." + +"May I come in?" + +"It's our secret," she whispered to Michael. + +"Yes, come in, father," he said. + +Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway. + +"Come, my dear," he said, not unkindly, "it's time for you to go to +bed." + +She had become the mask of herself again. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +"And you mean to go to Berlin?" he asked. + +"I'm afraid I shan't be able to," said Michael; "my master is in +London." + +"I should be inclined to reconsider that, Michael," said the father. +"The Emperor knows what he is talking about on the subject of music." + +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. + +"I remember the concert we had here," she said. "We had the 'Song to +Aegir' twice." + +Lord Ashbridge gave her a quick glance. Michael felt he would not have +noticed it the evening before. + +"Your memory is very good, my dear," he said with encouragement. + +"And then we had a torchlight procession," she remarked. + +"Quite so. You remember it perfectly. And about his visit here, Michael. +Did he talk about that?" + +"Yes, very warmly; also about our international relations." + +Lord Ashbridge gave a little giggle. + +"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." + +"She asked me about it," said Michael. "I don't think she believes in +his sincerity." + +He giggled again. + +"That's because I didn't ask her down for his visit," he said. + +He rose. + +"And what are you going to do, my dear?" he said to his wife. + +She looked across to Michael. + +"Perhaps Michael will come for a stroll with me," she said. + +"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." + +The moment he had gone her whole manner changed: it was suffused with +the glow that had lit her last night. + +"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." + + +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. + +"And you'll try not to vex him, won't you?" she said. + +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. + +"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." + +"No, father, I am afraid not," said Michael. + +"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." + +"I understand," said Michael. + +"The next is about your mother," he said. "Do you notice any change in +her?" + +"Yes," said Michael. + +"Can you describe it at all?" + +Michael hesitated. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I have written to my mother every week," said Michael. + +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. + +"I have not been so fortunate, then," he said. + +Michael remembered his mother's anxious face, but he could not let this +pass. + +"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." + +"I should have expressed my displeasure if I had felt it," said his +father with all the pomposity that was natural to him. + +"That had not occurred to me," said Michael. "I am afraid I took your +silence to mean that my letters didn't interest you." + +He paused a moment, and his rebellion against the whole of his father's +attitude flared up. + +"Besides, I had nothing particular to say," he said. "My life is passed +in the pursuit of which you entirely disapprove." + +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. + +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. + +"Have you noticed anything else about your mother?" he asked. + +That made Michael understand. + +"Yes, father," he said. "I daresay I am wrong about it--" + +"Naturally I may not agree with you; but I should like to know what it +is." + +"She's afraid of you," said Michael. + +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. + +"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." + +He drew himself up to his full magnificent height. + +"I do not mean that it is not very natural she should be devoted to her +son," he said with a tremendous air. + +What he did mean was therefore uncertain, and again he changed the +subject. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I have not the honour of knowing Miss--Miss Falbe, is it?" he said; +"nor shall I have that honour." + +Michael got up; there was that in his father's tone that stung him to +fury. + +"It is very likely that you will not," he said, "since when I proposed +to her yesterday she did not accept me." + +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. + +"And I am to bind up your broken heart?" he asked. + +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. + +"Oh, by no means," he said. "My heart is not going to break yet. I don't +give up hope." + +Then, in a flash, he thought of his mother's pale, anxious face, her +desire that he should not vex his father. + +"I am sorry," he said, "but that is the case. I wish--I wish you would +try to understand me." + +"I find you incomprehensible," said Lord Ashbridge, and left the room +with his high walk and his swinging elbows. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A great weight was lifted off her mind. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +She pressed his arm, nodded and smiled at the children, and walked on +with him. And Michael felt the lump in his throat. + +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. + +"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." + +His father's face softened a moment. + +"Yes, I agree to that," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"But I don't," said Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +They strolled a little way in silence. + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +He stopped. + +"We won't talk about it," he said--"or, rather, I can't talk about it, +if you don't understand." + +"But she had refused you," said the sensible Francis. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Michael took a step towards his cousin, so that he could whisper to him. + +"Come back to the boat," he said. "I want to row round and see who that +is. Wait a moment, though." + +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. + +"Someone is making soundings in the channel there," he said. "Come." + +They went very quietly till they were round the point, then quickened +their steps, and Michael spoke. + +"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." + +"What are you going to do?" asked Francis, striding easily along by +Michael's short steps. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"But an Admiralty boat wouldn't have run away," he said. "They'd have +asked us who the devil we were." + +"But who else was it?" asked Francis. + +Michael mopped his forehead. + +"Aunt Barbara would tell you," he said. "She would tell you that they +were German spies." + +Francis laughed. + +"Or Timbuctoo niggers," he remarked. + +"And that would be an odd thing, too," said Michael. + +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. + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +"Both for her sake and for the sake of all of you," he had said, "one +hopes that it will be swift." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"In fact, Michael," he said, "I have a favour to ask of you." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Won't you sit down?" he said. + +"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." + +Michael felt himself bristling. His father certainly had the effect of +drawing out in him all the feelings that were better suppressed. + +"I think we need not talk of that now, sir," he remarked. + +"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." + +Michael nodded, saluting, so to speak, the signpost into the future as +he passed it. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge still remained completely self-sufficient. + +"I am glad you take that view of it," he said. "I think that is all I +have to say." + +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. + +"I will make arrangements to come at once," he said, "if you can receive +me to-day." + +"That will hardly be worth while, will it? I am taking your mother back +to Ashbridge tomorrow." + +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. + +"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." + +His father seemed to swell a little; he appeared to fill the room. + +"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." + +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. + +"But could you not go down there perhaps once or twice a week, and get +Bailey to come and consult you here?" he asked. + +Lord Ashbridge held his head very high. + +"That would be completely out of the question," he said. + +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. + +"I had imagined you would stop in London," he said. "Supposing under +these circumstances I refuse to live with you?" + +"I should draw my own conclusion as to the sincerity of your profession +of duty towards your mother." + +"And practically what would you do?" asked Michael. + +"Your mother and I would go to Ashbridge tomorrow all the same." + +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. + +"I propose, then," he said, "that she and I should remain in town, as +you want to be at Ashbridge." + +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. + +"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." + +He paused a moment, and became even more sublimely fatuous. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +Michael interrupted her. + +"Oh, I don't understand him," he said. "At least, that's the best way to +look at it. Let's leave him out." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He smiled at her. + +"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." + +"Yes, dear; I find you insufferable," remarked Aunt Barbara +parenthetically. + +"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--" + +He sat down on the sofa by his aunt. + +"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?" + +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. + +"And your friends?" she said. "Do you manage to see them?" + +"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." + +"And why not? Sylvia knows about your mother, I suppose." + +"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." + +"Can't you impress on your mother that she mustn't?" + +Michael leaned forward to the fire, pondering this, and stretching out +his big hands to the blaze. + +"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." + +"Sylvia is a gaby," remarked Aunt Barbara. + +"I'm rather glad you think so." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Suddenly she clapped her hands together. + +"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." + +"But did those men live in Ashbridge?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +She stood up, and put her hand on Michael's arm. + +"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?" + +"You wouldn't ask that if you had seen him in Munich," said Michael. + +"I suppose not. Patriotism is such a degrading emotion when it is not +English." + + +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. + +"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." + +Michael laid his hand on his mother's. + +"Hush, mother," he said, "you mustn't talk while he's playing." + +"Well, I was only whispering. But if you tell me I mustn't--" + +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. + +"I had no idea you were there," he said. "Hermann will do, won't he? I +think--" + +And then suddenly the words of commonplace failed him, and he looked at +her in silence. + +"I knew you were back," she said. "Hermann told me about--everything." + +Michael glanced sideways, indicating his mother, who sat next him, and +was talking to Barbara. + +"I wondered whether perhaps you would come and see my mother and me," he +said. "May I write?" + +She looked at him with the friendliness of her smiling eyes and her +grave mouth. + +"Is it necessary to ask?" she said. + +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. + +"I'm enjoying my concert, dear," she said. "And who is that nice young +lady? Is she a friend of yours?" + +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. + +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. + +"You're not going to leave me, my dear, are you?" she asked anxiously. + +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. + +"Come on, Mike," he said, laughing. "Thank the pretty ladies and +gentlemen! Lord, isn't it all a lark!" + +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. + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Sylvia was unerring. Michael had known she would be. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge looked at her masses of bright hair, and could not help +telegraphing a note of admiration, as it were, to Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +Here was a shoal to be avoided. + +"No, you mustn't think of tempting him to come up to town," said +Michael. "Give me some tea for Aunt Barbara." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia got up. + +"Why, of course," she said. "What have you got, Michael? I haven't +anything with me." + +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." + +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." + + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER XI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She edged her way a little nearer him, so that her shoulder leaned on +his arm. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +She followed his pointing finger, easily diverted. + +"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." + +She clung closer to Michael. + +"Everything seems so fragile, dear," she whispered. "Everything may +break. . . . Sometimes I am frightened." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Nurse Baker came towards her. + +"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." + +She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael's shoulder. + +"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?" + +Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet eye +of the trained attendant. + +Then she spoke to Michael. + +"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." + +"And you'll come back, Michael," said she. + +Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with +infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge's hand. + +"Why, of course I will," he said. "And won't you give Miss Falbe another +cup of tea?" + +Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment. + +"Yes, I'll do that," she said. "And by the time I've done that you will +be back again, won't you?" + +Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door without +shutting it. + +"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." + +Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry. + +"What do you expect?" he said. + +"I don't expect anything, but we must be prepared. A change comes very +quickly." + +Michael nodded, and they went back together. + +"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?" + +A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge's face. + +"Yes, but where am I going to?" she said. "How do I know Nurse Baker +will take me to my own room?" + +"Because I promise you she will," said Michael. + +That instantly reassured her. Mood after mood, as Michael saw, were +passing like shadows over her mind. + +"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." + +Michael put his arm around her. + +"We'll talk about that while you're resting," he said. "Don't keep Nurse +Baker waiting any longer, mother." + +She nodded and smiled. + +"No, no; mustn't keep anybody waiting," she said. "Your father taught me +to be punctual." + +When they had left the room together, Sylvia turned to Michael. + +"Michael, my dear," she said, "I think you are--well, I think you are +Michael." + +She saw that at the moment he was not thinking of her at all, and her +heart honoured him for that. + +"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." + +Suddenly all his fears and his fatigue and his trouble looked out of his +eyes. + +"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." + +"But, my dear, no wonder you are tired," she said. "Michael, can't +anybody help? It isn't right you should do everything." + +He shook his head, smiling. + +"They can't help," he said. "I'm the only person who can help her. And +I--" + +He stood up, bracing mind and body. + +"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." + +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. + +"You are giving everything to keep her," she said. "You are giving +yourself. What further gift is there, Michael?" + +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. + +Suddenly Michael awoke to the fact of her presence, and abruptly he +moved away from her. + +"Thanks, Sylvia," he said. "I know I have your--your good wishes. +But--well, I am sure you understand." + +She understood perfectly well. And the understanding of it cut her to +the quick. + +"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?" + +He looked at her, completely recalled in mind to her alone. All the +hopes and desires of the autumn smote him with encompassing blows. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +He looked up at her. + +"Take my arm again," he said. + +She felt the crook of his elbow tighten again on her wrist. She had not +known before how much she prized that. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Don't you?" she asked. "But I do. It's because you know I care. +Otherwise you wouldn't tell me: you couldn't." + +For a moment the balance quavered in his mind between Sylvia the beloved +and Sylvia the friend. It inclined to the friend. + +"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." + +"You made the gleam," said Sylvia. + +"But so late; so awfully late." + +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. + +"Will you go to her ladyship, my lord?" she said. "Her nurse wants you. +She told me to telephone to Sir James." + +Sylvia moved with him, not disengaging her arm, towards the door. + +"Michael, may I wait?" she said. "You might want me, you know. Please +let me wait." + + +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. + +"And here he is," said the nurse reassuringly as he entered. + +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. + +Michael did not hesitate. It was possible that he still might be +something to her, that he, his presence, might penetrate. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I was waiting till you came, my dear," she said. "Now I will lie down. +Come and sit by me, Michael." + +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. + +"And you enjoyed your day in the country, mother?" asked Michael. + +She looked at him sideways and slowly. Then again, as if recollecting a +task she had committed to memory, she answered. + +"Yes, so much," she said. "All the trees and the birds and the sunshine. +I enjoyed them so much." + +She paused a moment. + +"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." + +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. + +He made a movement, grasping the arm of his chair, as if to wheel it +closer, but he came actually no nearer her. + +"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?" + +Nurse Baker answered quite naturally. + +"I want to talk, too, my lady," she said. "I went with you and Lord +Comber. We all enjoyed it together." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"What is that?" she said. "Who is coming now to disturb me, just when I +wanted to have a nap?" + +There came a knock at the door. Nurse Baker did not move her head, but +continued watching her patient, with hands ready to act. + +"Come in," she said, not looking round. + +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. + +"It's a trap," she cried. "You've led me into a trap. They are going to +take me away." + +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. + +And from deep in his heart sprang the leaping fountains of compassion +and love and yearning pity. + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +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. + +They met just as they met yesterday in front of the fireplace. + +"Oh, Michael, have you been waiting long?" she said. + +"Yes, hours, or perhaps a couple of minutes. I don't know." + +"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." + +"Minutes, then," said he. "I'll praise you instead. Praise is more +convincing if somebody else does it." + +"Yes, but you aren't somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you done all +the things you told me you were going to do?" + +"Yes." + +Sylvia released her hands from his. + +"Tell me, then," she said. "You've seen your father?" + +There was no cloud on Michael's face. There was such sunlight where his +soul sat that no shadow could fall across it. + +"Oh, yes, I saw him," he said. + +He captured Sylvia's hand again. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"Especially since he had never seen me," said the girl. + +"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. + +"And what about my singing, my career?" she asked. + +Michael laughed again. + +"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." + +"And what did you say?" + +"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." + +"And he?" + +"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." + +Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room. + +"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." + +She came and sat down by him again. + +"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." + +She paused a moment. + +"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." + +Mrs. Falbe strayed in at this moment with her finger in her book, but +otherwise as purposeless as a wandering mist. + +"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?" + +"Please; certainly!" said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Don't be too clever to live, Hermann," said Sylvia. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes, but who's to do the playing and the singing?" asked Hermann. +"Isn't it a question, perhaps, for--" + +Michael felt quite secure about the feelings of the other two, and +rudely interrupted. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Hallo!" he said. "That's horrible! The Heir Apparent of the Austrian +Emperor has been murdered at Serajevo. Servian plot, apparently." + +"Oh, what a dreadful thing," said Mrs. Falbe, opening her book. "Poor +man, what had he done?" + +Hermann took a cigarette, frowning. + +"It may be a match--" he began. + +Mrs. Falbe diverted her attention from "Lady Ursula" for a moment. + +"They are on the chimney-piece, dear," she said, thinking he spoke of +material matches. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +Hermann glanced through the other pages, and let the paper slide to the +floor. + +"What will Austria do?" he said. "Supposing she threatens Servia in some +outrageous way and Russia says she won't stand it? What then?" + +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. + +"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." + +Hermann laughed. + +"Thank God, there's that wonderful fire-engine in Germany ready to turn +the hose on conflagrations." + +"What fire-engine?" asked Michael. + +"The Emperor, of course. We should have been at war ten times over but +for him." + +Sylvia dried her finger-tips one by one. + +"Lady Barbara doesn't quite take that view of him, does she, Mike?" she +asked. + +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. + +"I don't fancy she does," he said. "But then, as you know, Aunt Barbara +has original views on every subject." + +Hermann did not take the possible hint here conveyed to drop the matter. + +"Well, then, what do you think about him?" he asked. + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +Hermann shook off the cloud of preoccupation that so unaccountably, +to Michael's thinking, had descended on him, and walked across to the +window. + +"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." + +"I was afraid there was going to be a chill at sunset," remarked Mrs. +Falbe subaqueously. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She died," she said, "I knew she would." + +Hermann gave a great shout of laughter. + +"Darling mother, I'm ever so much obliged," he said. "We had to return +to earth somehow. Where has everybody else been?" + +Michael stirred in his chair. + +"I've been here," he said. + +"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." + +His sentimentalism had apparently not quite passed from him. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia put her hand on her brother's arm, looking at him with just a +shade of anxiety. + +"Nothing wrong, Hermann?" she asked. + +"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." + +Sylvia laughed. + +"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!" + +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. + +"'Move on there!' said the policeman," he remarked. "And so they moved +on." + + +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. + +"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." + +"But perhaps there isn't a word to be said," suggested Michael. + +"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." + +"But what do you mean by something being arranged?" asked Michael. + +She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were +alone. + +"I mean this: that Austria is being persuaded to make some outrageous +demand, some demand that no independent country could possibly grant." + +"But who is persuading her?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +She leaned forward in her chair. + +"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?" + +Michael laughed. + +"But aren't you piling up a European conflagration rather in a hurry, +Aunt Barbara?" he asked. + +"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." + +A servant brought in tea and Lady Barbara waited till he had left the +room again. + +"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." + +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. + +"Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick," he said. + +"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." + +"Go on prophesying," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael laughed outright at this. + +"While a fleet of Zeppelins hovers over London, and drops bombs on the +War Office and the Admiralty," he suggested. + +But Aunt Barbara was not in the least diverted by this. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara rose in violent incredulity. + +"Pish and bosh!" she remarked. "If he had alluded to him as an +incendiary bomb, there would have been more sense in his simile." + +"Anyhow, he and Sylvia are planning a musical tour in Germany in the +autumn," said Michael. + +"'It's a long, long way to Tipperary,'" remarked Aunt Barbara +enigmatically. + +"Why Tipperary?" asked Michael. + +"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?" + +"Rather in abeyance. There are--other things to think about." + +Aunt Barbara got up. + +"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?" + +Michael was silent for a moment. Then he turned a quiet, radiant face to +her. + +"I can't talk about it," he said. "I can't get accustomed to the wonder +of it." + +"That will do. That's a completely satisfactory account. But go on." + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +"I must be content with that, then," she said, smiling. + +"We are," said Michael. + +Lady Barbara waited a moment without speaking. + +"And your mother?" she asked. + +He shook his head. + +"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." + +"Yes, my dear," said Lady Barbara. "I am so glad you see it like that." + +"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." + +"And how is she otherwise?" + +Again he shook his head. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara laid her hand on him. + +"Oh, my dear," she said. + +Michael paused for a moment, his brown eyes shining. + +"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." + +"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." + +Michael's lips quivered. + +"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." + +"That's how she would have it, Michael," said Barbara. + +"Yes, I know that. I remind myself of that." + +Again he paused. + +"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." + +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. . . . + +"God bless you, my dear," she said. + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, you have seen it," he said. "Perhaps you can guess what I wanted to +see you about." + +"Connected with the Austrian Note?" asked Michael. + +"Yes." + +"I have not the vaguest idea." + +Hermann sat down on the arm of his chair. + +"Mike, I'm going back to Germany to-day," he said. "Now do you +understand? I'm German." + +"You mean that Germany is at the back of this?" + +"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." + +"You mean you think it possible you will go to war with Russia?" asked +Michael. + +"Yes, I think it possible, and, if I am right, if there is that +possibility, I can't be away from my country." + +"But the Emperor, the fire-engine whom you said would quench any +conflagration?" + +"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?" + +Michael was silent, and Hermann spoke again. + +"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?" + +The great shadow of the approaching storm fell over Michael, even as +outside the sultry stillness of the morning grew darker. + +"Ah, you think that?" asked Michael. + +Hermann put his hand on Michael's shoulder. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I don't see that I could. Sylvia agrees too." + +A terrible conjecture flashed through Michael's mind. + +"And she?" he asked. + +"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." + +The ghost of a smile played round his mouth for a moment. + +"And I'm not sure that she could leave you, Mike," he added. + +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. + +"Hermann, what do you think will happen?" he said. "It is incredible, +unfaceable--" + +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. + +"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." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +"Hermann, don't go," said Michael suddenly. + +"Mike, you didn't mean that," he said. + +Michael looked at him for a moment in silence. + +"No, it is unsaid," he replied. + +Hermann looked round as the clock on the chimney-piece chimed. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Ah, that's good," he said. "And now I'm going to say good-bye, and go +without looking round." + +"But might I see you off this afternoon?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +Then, as he had said, he walked to the door without looking round, and +next moment it had closed behind him. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He kissed her and sat down. + +"No, I have not heard either," he said. "I expect he is right. Letters +have been stopped." + +"And what do you think will be the result of Belgium's appeal?" she +asked. + +"Who can tell? The Prime Minister is going to make a statement on +Monday. There have been Cabinet meetings going on all day." + +She looked at him in silence. + +"And what do you think?" she asked. + +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. + +"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." + +She kindled at that. + +"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 . . ." + +She broke off a moment. + +"Michael," she said, "what will you do, if there is war?" + +He took up her hand that lay on the arm of his chair. + +"My darling, how can you ask?" he said. "Of course I shall go back to +the army." + +For one moment she gave way. + +"No, no," she said. "You mustn't do that." + +And then suddenly she stopped. + +"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." + +She sat there in silence a little, mopping her eyes. + +"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." + +He smiled. + +"I have got some faint recollection of it," he said. + +Sylvia had got hold of her courage again. + +"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." + +She pointed with her finger. + +"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." + +Mrs. Falbe had drifted out in her usual thistledown style, and shook +hands with Michael. + +"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." + +"Isn't the book interesting?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"They are preparing to cross the Rhine," she said. + +Mrs. Falbe gave a little sigh. + +"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." + +"Mother darling, you don't understand one syllable about it," said +Sylvia. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid it doesn't look very likely," remarked Michael mildly. + +"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." + +"And does it?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +Sylvia felt she could not endure this any longer. It was like having a +raw wound stroked. . . . + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia caught Michael's eye for a moment over the tea-urn. She felt he +acquiesced in what she was intending to say. + +"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?" + +Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and the +unclouded sky. + +"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?" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He bent towards her and her lips parted. + +"Michael, my dear," she said gently. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, and you have come," he said. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael bent forward and kissed her. + +"Yes, mother," he said, "it has all gone." + +She was silent a moment. + +"Is your father here?" she said. + +"No; but he will come at once, if you would like to see him." + +"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." + +"I'm not going to," said he. + +The nurse went to the door, gave some message, and presently returned to +the other side of the bed. Then Lady Ashbridge spoke again. + +"Is this death?" she asked. + +Michael raised his eyes to the figure standing by the bed. She nodded to +him. + +He bent forward again. + +"Yes, dear mother," he said. + +For a moment her eyes dilated, then grew quiet again, and the smile +returned to her mouth. + +"I'm not frightened, Michael," she said, "with you there. It isn't +lonely or terrible." + +She raised her head. + +"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. + + +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. . . . + +As he entered London he saw the newsboards all placarded with one fact: +England had declared war on Germany. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . . + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Sylvia, I'm so frightfully hungry," he said. "I don't think I've eaten +anything since breakfast. May we go and forage?" + +"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried. "Yes, let's go and see what there is." + +Instantly she busied herself. + +"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." + +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. + +"But it was really Hermann and I who made you gay originally," she said. +"We take a wonderful deal of credit for that." + +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. + +"You haven't heard from Hermann?" he asked. + +"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." + +She came a little closer to him. + +"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." + +He took up her hand, enclosing it in his. + +"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." + +"Preach, then," she said. + +"Well, it's just that. We don't quarrel with them: they manage +themselves. Hermann's going managed itself. It had to be." + +Her voice quivered as she spoke now. + +"Are you going?" she asked. "Will that have to be?" + +Michael looked at her a moment with infinite tenderness. + +"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." + +"And they will?" + +"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." + +She did not answer him, but he felt her hand press close in the palm of +his. + +"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." + +Even with Michael close to her, the call of her blood made itself +audible to Sylvia. Instinctively she withdrew her hand from his. + +"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." + +"But there's a direct frontier between the two," said he. + +"No doubt, but an impossible one." + +Michael frowned, drawing his big eyebrows together. + +"But nothing can justify the violation of a national oath," he said. +"That's the basis of civilisation, a thing like that." + +"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." + +"But consider--" said he. + +She got up suddenly. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Yes, darling, we'll never speak of it again," he said. "That would be +much wisest." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +Michael bent down. + +"Come, Petsy," he said, "come to bed in my room." + +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. + +"He'll be all right with me," he said to the maid. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Come in, mother." + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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. + +"I've brought you a little news to-night," he said. "The first draft +from the regiment went off to-day." + +Mrs. Falbe put down her book, marking the place. + +"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?" + +"Destination unknown," said Michael. "But it's France. My cousin has +gone." + +"Francis?" asked Sylvia. "Oh, how wicked to send boys like that." + +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. + +"Mother has been told that every Englishman is as brave as two Germans," +she said. "She likes that." + +"Yes, dear," observed Mrs. Falbe placidly. "It makes one feel safer. I +saw it in the paper, though; I read it." + +Sylvia turned on Michael. + +"Have you seen the evening paper?" she asked. + +Michael knew what was in her mind. + +"I just looked at it," he said. "There didn't seem to be much news." + +"No, only reports, rumours, lies," said Sylvia. + +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. + +"Oh, don't go yet, mother," she said. "It is very early." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Sylvia gave a short laugh, which had no touch of merriment in it. + +"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." + +Michael followed her lead. + +"Ah, do sing," he said. "It's weeks since I have heard you sing." + +She went quickly over to the bookcase of music by the piano. + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"But we've just settled that artists have no nationality, so I suppose +art hasn't either," he said. + +Sylvia pulled herself together, conscious of a want of control, and laid +her hand on Michael's shoulder. + +"Oh, Michael, what should I do without you?" she said. "And yet--well, +let me sing." + +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. + +"I can't," she said. "It's no use." + +He turned round to her. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said. "But you know that." + +She moved away from him, and walked down to the empty fireplace. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I saw them," said Michael. "But it's no use talking about them." + +"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." + +Michael felt profoundly uncomfortable. Some of these stories which +Sylvia called lies were vouched for, apparently, by respectable +testimony. + +"Why talk about them?" he said. "I'm sure we were wise when we settled +not to." + +She shook her head. + +"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." + +"I daresay the German Press is no better," said Michael. + +"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." + +Suddenly she stopped, and came a couple of steps nearer him. + +"Michael, it isn't possible that you believe those things of us?" she +said. + +He got up. + +"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." + +"You don't feel the impossibility of it, then?" she asked. + +"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." + +He held out his hand to her. She moved a step back from him. + +"Then you think, I suppose, that Hermann may be concerned in those +atrocities," she said. + +Michael looked at her in amazement. + +"You are talking sheer nonsense, Sylvia," he said. + +"Not at all. It is a logical inference, just an application of the +principle you have stated." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, pray put another name to it," she said. + +"Very well. It was a wanton falsehood," said Michael, "and you know it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I beg your pardon, Michael," she said. "I was atrocious. Will you +forgive me? Because I am so miserable." + +He had nothing but love for her, love and its kinsman pity. + +"Oh, my dear, fancy you asking that!" he said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For a moment, as she greeted him and he kissed her silently, they +escaped from the encompassing horror. + +"Ah, you have come," she said. "I thought perhaps you might. I have +wanted you dreadfully." + +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. + +"I couldn't go to bed without just seeing you," he said. "I won't keep +you up." + +They stood with hands clasped. + +"But if you hadn't come, Michael," she said, "I should have understood." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +His servant came into the room with a pencilled note, which he opened. +It was from Sylvia. + +"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?" + +Though an hour before he had turned back on his way to go to Sylvia, he +did not hesitate now. + +"Yes, ask Miss Falbe to come up," he said. + +She came up immediately, and once again as they met, the world and the +war stood apart from them. + +"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." + +He smiled at her as they stood facing each other. + +"Thank you for coming," he said; "I'm so glad you came. But I had to be +alone just a little." + +"I didn't do wrong?" she asked. + +"Indeed you didn't. I did wrong not to come to you. I loved Francis, you +see." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +She stopped suddenly. + +"That's all, my dearest," she added. "I will go away again now." + +Across that shadow that had again fallen between them they looked and +yearned for each other. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I know what you feel," she said at length, "and I feel it also." + +Her voice broke, and her hands felt for his again. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She took his hands again. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +And then her voice began to falter. + +"If you loved me, you would do it," she said. "If--" + +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. + +"Do you despise me, Michael?" she said. + +He gave a little sigh of utter content. + +"Oh, my dear, how I love you for suggesting such a sweet impossibility," +he said. "But how you would despise me if I consented." + +She did not answer. + +"Wouldn't you?" he repeated. + +She gave a sorrowful semblance of a laugh. + +"I suppose I should," she said. + +"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." + +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. + +"Have they told you yet when you are going?" she said. + +"Not for certain. But--it will be before many days are passed. And the +question arises--will you marry me before I go?" + +She hid her face on his shoulder. + +"I will do what you wish," she said. + +"But I want to know your wish." + +She clung closer to him. + +"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." + +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. + +"I agree with you," he said. "We will settle it so, then." + +She smiled at him. + +"How dreadfully business-like," she said, with an attempt at lightness. + +"I know. It's rather a good thing one has got to be business-like, +when--" + +That failed also, and he drew her to him and kissed her. + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +That touched Michael absolutely in the right place. + +"Thanks awfully, sir," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"Lieber Gott, Michael!" he whispered, his breath whistling in his +throat. "Good morning, old boy!" + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +He had risen to greet her, and softly and gently she put her arms round +his neck, drawing his head to her. + +"Oh, my Michael!" she whispered. "You've come back to me. Lieber Gott, +how I have longed for you!" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"And what lots you must have to tell me," she said. "I want to hear +all--all." + +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. + +"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. + +"What is it?" she said. "Tell me, then." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Then once more she laid her arm on his neck. + +"Michael, my heart!" she said. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Michael, by E. F. 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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. + +"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." + +Francis apparently had the art of accepting gracefully, which is +more difficult than the feat which Michael had so successfully +accomplished. + +"Mike, you're a brick," he said. "But then you always are a brick. +Thanks awfully." + +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. + +"But it's more blessed to give than to receive, Francis," he said. +"I have the best of you there." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"Twice more than was necessary," said Michael, finally dismissing +the subject. + +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. + +"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." + +Francis laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +He pointed a broad, big finger at him. + +"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." + +"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!" + +Michael sat up and took a cigarette. + +"But I'm not in the army any longer," he said. "That's just what I +am wanting to tell you." + +Francis laughed. + +"What do you mean?" he asked. "Have you been cashiered or shot or +something?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you speaking seriously?" he asked. + +"Quite seriously. I never did anything that was so serious." + +"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." + +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." + +"Let's hear them anyhow," said Francis. + +Michael clouded again. + +"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." + +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. + +"Aren't you exaggerating?" he asked. + +Michael shook his head. + +"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." + +Francis became more practical. + +"But you've only been in the regiment three years," he said. "It +won't be very popular resigning after only three years." + +"I have nothing much to lose on the score of popularity," remarked +Michael. + +There was nothing pertinent that could be consoling here. + +"And have you told your father?" asked Francis. "Does Uncle Robert +know?" + +"Yes; I wrote to father this morning, and I'm going down to +Ashbridge to-morrow. I shall be very sorry if he disapproves." + +"Then you'll be sorry," said Francis. + +"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." + +Francis did not contradict this. + +"Let's hear the rest, then," he said. + +"You shall. The rest is far more important, and rather resembles a +sermon." + +Francis appropriately sat down again. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment in his sermon, and beat out the ashes from +his pipe against the grate. + +"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." + +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. + +"Go on," he said encouragingly. "You're ripping, Mike." + +"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." + +Michael got up and began walking up and down the room with his +slow, ponderous movement. + +"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." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +Michael gave a mirthless laugh. + +"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." + +Francis lay back and laughed at this dismal picture of the +rejection of the fittest. + +"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." + +Michael clicked his fingers in a summary manner. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Francis consulted a small, green morocco pocket-book. + +"Can't to-morrow," he said, "nor yet the day after. But perhaps I +could get a few days' leave next week." + +"Next week's no use. I go to Baireuth next week." + +"Baireuth? Who's Baireuth?" asked Francis. + +"Oh, a man I know. His other name was Wagner, and he wrote some +tunes." + +Francis nodded. + +"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?" + +"Go on to Munich and hear the same tunes over, again. After that I +shall come back and settle down in town and study." + +"Play the piano?" asked Francis, amiably trying to enter into his +cousin's schemes. + +Michael laughed. + +"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?'" + +"So it is. Soldiering largely consists of quick march, especially +when it's more than usually hot." + +"Well, I shall learn to play the piano," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"You are talking rather as father will talk," observed Michael. + +"Am I? Well, I seem to be talking sense." + +"You weren't doing what you seemed, then. I've got absolutely +everything to learn about the piano." + +Francis rose. + +"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." + +"The malady of not wanting," quoted Michael. + +"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--" + +"Stop it," said Michael. + +"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." + +"A good many fellows are jelly-fish," observed Michael. + +"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?" + +"Playing the piano, I hope. Why?" + +"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." + +"Thanks very much, but I think I won't," said Michael. "I'm rather +looking forward to an evening alone." + +"And that's an odd thing to look forward to," remarked Francis. + +"Not when you want to play the piano. I shall have a chop here at +eight, and probably thump away till midnight." + +Francis looked round for his hat and stick. + +"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." + +Michael rose and stood by his tall cousin. + +"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!" + +Francis demurred to this. + +"Oh, I don't think so," he said. "This thing at the Gaiety is +ripping, I believe. Do come and see." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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 . . . + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge considered this for a moment in her stunned mind. + +"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." + +He gave a little good-humoured giggle of falsetto laughter. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge gave a little sigh. + +"All gone, Petsy," she said. + +"I am glad it has all gone," said he, "and we will hope it won't +return. But about Michael now!" + +Lady Ashbridge pulled herself together. + +"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!" + +"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!" + +Lady Ashbridge recollected the almanac. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Yes, dear, I know quite well what we are talking about," said she. +"We are talking about Michael not studying music all September." + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Do not give Petsy any more cream," he said, with some asperity; "I +absolutely forbid it." + +Lady Ashbridge quite composedly replaced the cream-jug. + +"Poor Petsy!" she observed. + +"I ask you to attend to me, Marion," he said. + +"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?" + +"I shall use my authority," he said, stepping a little higher. + +"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!" + +Lord Ashbridge felt strongly about this. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Michael has a great will of his own," she remarked. "He gets that +from you, Robert, though he gets his money from his grandmother." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +Barbara laughed. + +"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?" + +"Michael comes this evening." + +"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!" + +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. + +"My dear, how are you?" she said. "And how did the golf go? And +did you beat the professional?" + +He suspected flippancy here, and became markedly dignified. + +"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?" + +"No. I drove from town. It saves time, but not expense, with your +awful trains." + +"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. + +"Yes, his excellency is quite well," she said. "You must call him +excellency now, my dear." + +"Indeed! That is a great step." + +"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." + +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. + +"Og has two mutton-chops for his dinner," she said, "and he is +growing still. Fancy!" + +Lord Ashbridge took a refreshing glance at the broad stretch of +country that all belonged to him. + +"I am rather glad to have this opportunity of talking to you, my +dear Barbara," he said, "before Michael comes." + +"His train gets in half an hour before dinner" said Lady Ashbridge. +"He has to change at Stoneborough." + +"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." + +Barbara gave a delighted exclamation. + +"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!" + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge let fall her embroidery at this monstrous +suggestion. + +"You are talking very wildly, Robert," she said, in a pained voice. + +"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." + +"No, you never said that," remarked Lady Ashbridge. + +"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." + +"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." + +He again refreshed himself with the landscape. The roofs of +Ashbridge were visible in the clear sunset. . . . Ashbridge paid +its rents with remarkable regularity. + +"That may or may not be so," he said, forgetting for a moment the +danger of being dignified. "But Combers have position." + +Barbara controlled herself admirably. A slight tremor shook her, +which he did not notice. + +"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--" + +"I am afraid Michael has always been a little jealous of Francis," +remarked his father. + +This roused Barbara; she spoke quite seriously: + +"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." + +The discussion with Barbara was being even more fruitless than that +with his wife, and Lord Ashbridge rose. + +"All I can do, then, is to ask you not to back Michael up," he +said. + +"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." + +"Michael's train is late," said Lady Ashbridge, hearing the stable +clock strike. "He should have been here before this." + +Barbara had still a word to say, and disregarded this quencher. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge was not a bully; he had merely a profound sense of +his own importance. + +"We will see about resistance," he said. + +Barbara was not so successful on this occasion, and exploded +loudly: + +"You will, dear, indeed," she said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER III + + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael had intended to be as quiet and respectful as possible, +consistent with firmness, but a sentence here gave him a spasm of +anger. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes. I said all that," said Michael. "But you make a mistake if +you do not see that it was written seriously." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"If you refer to it as rubbish, sir, there is the end of the +matter." + +"Ah! I thought we should soon agree," said Lord Ashbridge, +chuckling. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael was perfectly aware that he had scored. And as his object +was to score he made another criticism. + +"When you say 'absurd schemes,' sir," he said, with quiet respect, +"are you not still laughing at them?" + +Lord Ashbridge again retreated strategically. + +"Very well; I withdraw absurd," he said. "Now sit down again, and +we will talk. Tell me what is in your mind." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"That is all I can tell you," he said at length. + +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. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +Michael suddenly rose to his feet. + +"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." + +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. + +"I am anxious to understand you, Michael," he said. + +"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." + +"And as regards my wishes and my authority?" asked his father. + +Michael squared his shoulders and his mind. + +"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." + +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. + +"I refuse to take that answer from you," he said. + +"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." + +The repetition took away his desire to laugh. In fact, he could +not have laughed. + +"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." + +"Is that a threat?" asked Michael. + +"It is a hint." + +"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." + +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. + +"I have before now noticed your jealousy of your cousin," he +observed. + +Michael's face went white. + +"That is infamous and untrue, father," he said. + +Lord Ashbridge turned on him. + +"Apologise for that," he said. + +Michael looked up at his high towering without a tremor. + +"I wait for the withdrawal of your accusation that I am jealous of +Francis," he replied. + +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. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge stood looking exactly like his statue in the market- +place at Ashbridge. + +"If that is the case, Michael," he said, "it is within your power. +You will write the letter I spoke about." + +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. + +"I will wish you good night, father," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Aunt Barbara was perfectly willing to do this, and she opened the +discussion very pleasantly with peals of laughter. + +"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." + +A dawning smile began to break through Michael's tragedy face. + +"I suppose it was rather funny," he said. "But really I'm wretched +about it, Aunt Barbara." + +"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." + +It was impossible not to feel the unfreezing effect of this. +Michael thawed to it, as he would have thawed to Francis. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara nodded. + +"And your friends?" she asked. "What will they think?" + +Michael looked at her quite simply and directly. + +"Friends?" he said. "I haven't got any." + +"Ah, my dear, that's nonsense!" she said. + +"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." + +"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." + +"But what am I to do, if I'm like that?" asked the boy. + +She held up her large, fat hand, and marked the points off on her +fingers. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +She turned round and faced him directly. + +"Finally, don't be so cross, my dear," she said. + +"But am I?" asked he. + +"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!" + +"How did you know that--about Francis, I mean?" asked Michael. + +"Does it happen to be true? Of course it does. Every cross young +man wishes he was somebody else." + +"No, not quite that," began Michael. + +"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." + +Michael shook his head. + +"I didn't see them," he said. + +"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!" + +Michael frowned. + +"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." + +She laid her hand on Michael's knee. + +"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!" + +"I shall go to Baireuth on Wednesday, and then on to Munich," began +Michael. + +"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?" + +"Then I shall settle in town and study. Oh, here's my father +coming home." + +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. + +"I shall go and apologise for Og," she said. "I shall do it quite +sincerely, my dear. But there are points." + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Narrow squeak, wasn't it?" he said gleefully. "I thought the +guard had collared me. And I should have missed Parsifal." + +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. + +"And all your luggage left behind," he said. "Won't you be +dreadfully uncomfortable?" + +"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." + +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. + +"But you needn't do that," he said, "if--if you will be good enough +to borrow of me till your things come." + +He blurted it out awkwardly, almost brusquely, and Falbe looked +slightly amused at this wholly surprising offer of hospitality. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe blew out a cloud of smoke and laughter. + +"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?" + +"Yes. I hope so." + +Falbe clicked with his tongue + +"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!" + +He came across from the other side of the carriage and sat next +Michael, putting his feet up on the seat opposite. + +"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." + +"Well, the heavenly Jerusalem is practically next door to +Baireuth," said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe turned to him with the friendliest pleasure. + +"Ah! were you there?" he asked. "I hope you listened to her, then, +not to me. She sang well, didn't she?" + +"But divinely. At the same time I did listen to you, especially in +the French songs. There was less song, you know." + +Falbe laughed. + +"And more accompaniment!" he said. "Perhaps you play?" + +Michael was seized with a fit of shyness at the idea of talking to +Falbe about himself. + +"Oh, I just strum," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He chattered on in tremendous high spirits. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I--I really never thought about it," said Michael. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. . . ." + +He turned over on to his back, and laid his hands palm uppermost +over his eyes. + +"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." + +"Go on; be German," said Michael. + +"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." + +"And we are a nation of idiots?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +"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." + +Falbe sat up. + +"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." + +Michael supplied the cigarette. + +"Do you mean she is thinking about England's golf ball?" asked +Michael. + +"Why, of course she is! What else is there to think about?" + +"Oh, it's impossible that there should be a European war," said +Michael, "for that is what it will mean!" + +"And why is a European war impossible?" demanded Falbe, lighting +his cigarette. + +"It's simply unthinkable!" + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"As for that," he said, "I made an uncommonly bad soldier. But I +am an even worse golfer. As for cricket--" + +Falbe again interrupted. + +"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." + +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. + +"But what's the matter?" he asked. "Have I annoyed you somehow? +I'm awfully sorry." + +Falbe did not reply for a moment. + +"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." + +Michael pondered over this. + +"But I can't leave it like that," he said at length. "Was it about +the possibility of war, which I said was unthinkable?" + +Falbe laughed and turned on his elbow towards Michael. + +"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." + +Michael lay back on the soft slope. + +"Yet I insist on knowing," he said. "That is, I mean, if it is not +private." + +Falbe lay quietly with his long fingers in the sediment of pine- +needles. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe ceased digging his excavation in the pine-needles and looked +up on Michael. + +"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?" + +"But I'm completely uninteresting," said Michael. + +"Yes; I'll judge of that," said Falbe. + + +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. + +At the end Falbe gave a long sigh. + +"And why the devil didn't you give me any hint of it before?" he +asked. + +"I didn't think it mattered," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"I'm not going back into the prison-house again, if you mean that," +said Michael. + +"And will your father cut you off?" asked he. + +"Oh, I haven't the least idea," said Michael. + +"Aren't you going to inquire?" + +Michael hesitated. + +"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." + +"But, then, how will you live?" asked Falbe. + +"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." + +Falbe laughed. + +"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." + +Michael paused a moment, and then found courage to say what for the +last two days he had been longing to give utterance to. + +"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." + +Falbe looked at him a moment without speaking, but Michael saw the +light in his eyes. + +"And what if I have my pride too?" he said. "Then I shall +apologise for having made the proposal," said Michael simply. + +For just a second more Falbe hesitated. Then he held out his hand. + +"I thank you most awfully," he said. "I accept with the greatest +pleasure." + +Michael drew a long breath of relief. + +"I am glad," he said. "So that's settled. It's really nice of +you." + +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. + +Falbe, whose hand lay in the crook of Michael's arm, pointed +downwards to the village that lay there sequestered and rural. + +"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." + +He laughed. + +"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." + +Michael hesitated a moment. + +"But you said not long ago that you were also the most practical +nation," he said. "You are a nation of soldiers, also." + +"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." + +He turned to Michael, his face illuminated by the red glow of the +sinking sun. + +"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." + +He pointed northwards. + +"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." + +He turned away quickly. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +He took Michael's arm again. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe was not attending particularly. + +"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." + +"Yes; what of the black notes?" asked Michael. + +"Oh! they're black. The rest are white. I beg your pardon!" + +Michael laughed. + +"When you have finished drivelling," he said, "you might let me +know." + +"I have finished drivelling, Michael. I was thinking about +something else." + +"Not really?" + +"Really." + +"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." + +Falbe hesitated. + +"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." + +"Go on!" said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael turned round. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"But I haven't touched a piano for a week," said Michael. + +"It doesn't matter whether you've touched a piano for a year." + +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. + +"Completely out of tune," he said; "but that doesn't matter. Now +then!" + +"But what am I to play?" asked Michael. + +"Anything you like." + +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. + +He struck a chord, and heard it jangle dissonantly. + +"Oh, it's not fair," he said. + +"Get on!" said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +Falbe got up and, coming over to the piano, struck the bass note +himself. + +"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." + +He paused a moment, again striking the dumb note, as if to make +sure that it was soundless. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Tristan und Isolde was given on the third day of their stay there, +and Falbe, reading the morning German paper, found news. + +"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." + +Michael looked up with some slight anxiety. + +"Ought I to write my name or anything?" he asked. "He has stayed +several times with my father." + +"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. + +"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." + +Michael crunched one of the inimitable breakfast rusks in his +teeth. + +"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." + +"I heard the 'Song to Aegir' once," remarked Falbe, with a +perfectly level intonation. + +"I was--er--luckier," said Michael politely, "because on that +occasion I heard it twice. It was encored." + +"And what did it sound like the second time?" asked Falbe. + +"Much as before," said Michael. + +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. + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, Hermann," he said, "what years I've wasted!" + +Falbe laughed. + +"You've wasted more than you know yet," he said. "Hallo!" + +A very resplendent officer had come clanking down the gangway next +them. He put his heels together and bowed. + +"Lord Comber, I think?" he said in excellent English. + +Michael roused himself. + +"Yes?" he said. + +"His Imperial Majesty has done me the honour to desire you to come +and speak to him," he said. + +"Now?" said Michael. + +"If you will be so good," and he stood aside for Michael to pass up +the stairs in front of him. + +In the wide corridor behind he joined him again. + +"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." + +Michael followed him down the steps to the front of the box. + +"Lord Comber, All-highest," he said, and instantly stood back. + +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. + +"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?" + +He indicated a chair to Michael, who, as advised, instantly took +it, though the Emperor remained a moment longer standing. + +"I left him in very good health, Your Majesty," said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"And you, you are in the Guards, I think?" he said. + +"No, sir; I have just resigned my commission," said Michael. + +"Why? Why is that? Have many of your officers been resigning?" + +"I am studying music, Your Majesty," said Michael. + +"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." + +He turned round quickly to one of his staff who had approached him. + +"Well, what is it?" he said. + +Count von Bergmann bowed low. + +"The Herr-Director," he said, "humbly craves to know whether it is +Your Majesty's pleasure that the opera shall proceed." + +The Kaiser laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +He gave a little giggle, which reminded Michael of his father. + +"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." + +At the end the Emperor rose and again held out his hand. + +"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." + +As Michael left the box he ran into the Herr-Director, who had been +summoned to get a few hints. + +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? + +This was too much for Michael. + +"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?" + +Falbe shook his handsome head, and gesticulated with his fine +hands. + +"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." + +He poured out a glass of wine and drank it with a "Hoch!" + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"I suppose I must have no imagination," he said. "I don't picture +it even now when you point it out." + +Falbe pointed an impressive forefinger. + +"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." + +"Oh, he made them, anyhow," said Michael. + +"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." + +"Against whom?" asked Michael. "Who is the enemy?" + +Falbe hesitated. + +"There is no enemy at present," he said, "but the enemy potentially +is any who tries to thwart our peaceful expansion." + +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. + +"Oh, let's drop it," he said. "I really didn't come to Munich to +talk politics, of which I know nothing whatever." + +Falbe nodded. + +"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?" + +"Yes, of his beloved England," said Michael. "He was extremely +cordial about our relations." + +"Good. I like that," said Falbe briskly. + +"And he recommended me to spend two months in Berlin in the +winter," added Michael, sliding off on to other topics. + +Falbe smiled. + +"I like that less," he said, "since that will mean you will not be +in London." + +"But I didn't commit myself," said Michael, smiling back; "though I +can say 'beloved Germany' with equal sincerity." + +Falbe got up. + +"I would wish that--that you were Kaiser of England," he said. + +"God forbid!" said Michael. "I should not have time to play the +piano." + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael felt all his old unfitness for dreadful crowds return to +him. + +"Oh, I'm so bad at that sort of thing," he said. "I am a frightful +kill-joy, Hermann." + +Hermann sat down on the treble part of his piano. + +"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." + +"I didn't mean to be rude," said Michael. + +"Then we must suppose you were rude by accident. That is the worst +sort of rudeness." + +"I'm sorry; I'll come," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael slipped despairingly from his seat. + +"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." + +Falbe looked at him encouragingly. + +"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." + +"Is that it?" said Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Falbe got down a volume of Bach and opened it at random. + +"There," he said, "begin at the top of the page." + +"But I can't," said Michael. "I shall have to spell it out." + +"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." + +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. + +"Go on, go on!" he shouted. "I thought it was Bach, and it is +clearly Strauss's Don Quixote." + +Michael, flushed and determined, with grave, set mouth, ploughed +his way through amazing dissonances, and at the end joined Falbe's +laughter. + +"Oh dear," he said. "Very funny. But don't laugh so at me, +Hermann." + +Falbe dried his eyes. + +"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." + +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. + +Falbe stopped him at the end of the first two lines. + +"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." + +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. + +"Do you find difficulty in memorising?" he asked. + +This was discouraging; Michael believed that he remembered easily; +he also believed that he had long known this by heart. + +"No; I thought I knew it," he said. + +"Try again." + +This time Falbe stood by him, and suddenly put his finger down into +the middle of Michael's hands, striking a note. + +"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?" + +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. + +"You told me to harmonise that Christmas carol," he remarked, +rather shortly. + +Falbe put his hand on his shoulder. + +"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." + +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. + +"I'm doing the best I can," he said. "It's rather discouraging." + +He moved his big shoulders slightly, as if to indicate that +Hermann's hand was not wanted there. Hermann kept it there. + +"It might be discouraging," he said, "if you were doing your best." + +Michael's ill-temper oozed from him. + +"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?" + +Falbe laughed. + +"Very well indeed," he said. "Now for 'Good King Wenceslas.' +Wasn't it--" + +"Yes; I got awfully interested over it, Hermann. I thought I would +try and work it up into a few variations." + +"Let's hear," said Falbe. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Michael flushed with pleasure. + +"Oh, they sang themselves," he said, "and I learned them. But will +it really do? Is there anything in it?" + +"Yes, old boy, there's King Wenceslas in it, and you've dressed him +up well. Play that last one again." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael gasped. + +"You don't mean that?" he said. + +"Certainly I do. It's a fine bit of stuff." + +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. + +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. + +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: + + + VARIATIONS ON AN AIR. + + By + + Michael Comber. + + +He paused a moment, then took up his pen again. + +"Dedicated to Sylvia Falbe," he wrote at the top. + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. . . . + +"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!" + +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. + +"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. + +Aunt Barbara made the best of it: shook hands in her jolly manner, +and burst into laughter. + +"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!" + +Presently they were seated at dinner, and Aunt Barbara could not +help enlarging a little on her own discomfiture. + +"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!" + +"I went with Mr. Falbe," said Michael. + +"Ah, Mr. Falbe has not asked me yet. I may have to revise what I +say," said Aunt Barbara daringly. + +"I didn't ask Michael," said Hermann. "I got into his carriage as +the train was moving; and my luggage was left behind." + +"I was left behind," said Sylvia, "which was worse. But I sent +Hermann's luggage." + +"So expeditiously that it arrived the day before we left for +Munich," remarked Hermann. + +"And that's all the gratitude I get. But in the interval you lived +upon Lord Comber." + +"I do still in the money I earn by giving him music lessons. Mike, +have you finished the Variations yet?" + +"Variations--what are Variations?" asked Aunt Barbara. + +"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." + +"Should I like them? Will Mr. Falbe play them to me?" asked she. + +"I daresay he will if he can. But I thought you loathed music." + +"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." + +Michael turned to Sylvia. + +"I want to ask your leave for something I have already done," he +said. + +"And if I don't give it you?" + +"Then I shan't tell you what it is." + +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. + +"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." + +"I've dedicated the Variations to you," he said. + +Sylvia flushed with pleasure. + +"Oh, but that's absolutely darling of you," she said. "Have you, +really? Do you mean it?" + +"If you'll allow me." + +"Allow you? Hermann, the Variations are mine. Isn't it too +lovely?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Did he? The Emperor came to Munich for a day during them. He was +at the opera," said Michael. + +"You didn't speak to him, I suppose?" she asked. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara became infinitely more interested. + +"Tell me all about it, Michael," she said. "What did he talk +about?" + +"Everything, as far as I can remember, England, Ashbridge, armies, +navies, music. Hermann says he cast pearls before swine--" + +"And his tone, his attitude?" she asked. + +"Towards us?--towards England? Immensely friendly, and most +inquisitive. I was never asked so many questions in so short a +time." + +Aunt Barbara suddenly turned to Falbe. + +"And you?" she asked. "Were you with Michael?" + +"No, Lady Barbara. I had no pearls." + +"And are you naturalised English?" she asked. + +"No; I am German." + +She slid swiftly off the topic. + +"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." + +This did not express quite accurately Lady Barbara's intentions, +for she chiefly wanted to find out what she thought of Sylvia. + +"And you are great friends, you three?" she said as they settled +themselves for the prolonged absence of the two men. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Sylvia became quite grave. + +"Oh, I do hope he likes us," she said. "He is so likable himself." + +Barbara nodded + +"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." + +"I think he told Hermann," said she. "His father didn't approve, +did he?" + +"Approve? My dear, if you knew my brother you would know that the +only things he approves of are those which Michael isn't." + +Sylvia spread her fine hands out to the blaze, warming them and +shading her face. + +"Michael always seems to us--" she began. "Ah, I called him +Michael by mistake." + +"Then do it on purpose next time," remarked Barbara. "What does +Michael seem?" + +"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." + +"And Michael always seems--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh, I sing a little," said Sylvia. + +"That is the first unnatural thing you have said. I somehow feel +that you sing a great deal." + +Aunt Barbara suddenly got up. + +"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?" + +Sylvia laughed. + +"Do you know, I'm afraid I must be," she said. "Isn't it dreadful +to have to say that after your description?" + +Aunt Barbara sat down again, in a sort of calm despair. + +"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." + +Sylvia laughed. + +"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.'" + +"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." + +"But that's quite good enough for me," said Sylvia. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I wish you had, Hermann," he said. "I know you'll bungle those +tenths." + +Falbe moved to the piano-seat. + +"Oh, let's have a shot at it," he said. "If Lady Barbara won't +mind, play that one through to me first, Mike." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"And may I play for you, Miss Sylvia?" he asked. + +"Yes, will you? Thanks, Lord Comber." + +Hermann moved away. + +"And so Mr. Hermann sits down by Lady Barbara while Lord Comber +plays for Miss Sylvia," he observed, with emphasis on the titles. + +A sudden amazing boldness seized Michael. + +"Sylvia, then," he said. + +"All right, Michael," answered the girl, laughing. + +She came and stood on the left of the piano, slightly behind him. + +"And what are we going to have?" asked Michael. + +"It must be something we both know, for I've brought no music," +said she. + +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. + +"Yes, that's right," she said. "Now you've got it." And Michael +smiled sweetly at his own amazing ingenuity. + +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. + +"You extraordinary creature," he said when the song was over. +"Where did you learn to accompany?" + +Suddenly Michael felt an access of shyness, as if he had been +surprised when he thought himself private. + +"Oh, I've played it before for Miss--I mean for Sylvia," he said. + +Then he turned to the girl. + +"Thanks, awfully," he said. "And I'm greedy. May we have one +more?" + +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. + +Hermann strolled across to the fireplace at the end of this, and +lit a cigarette. + +"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--" + +"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." + +Hermann rushed to the piano, took his sister by the shoulders, and +pushed her into a chair. + +"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." + +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. + +"It isn't decent to ask a fellow to read that," he shouted. "It's +a crime; it's a scandal." + +"My dear, nobody asked you to read it," said Sylvia. + +"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!" + +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. + +Then Hermann banged out the last chord, and jumped up from his +seat, rolling up the music. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael sank into a chair. + +"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!" + +"And you just met him in the train?" said Aunt Barbara. + +"Yes; second class, Victoria Station, with Sylvia on the platform. +I didn't much notice Sylvia then." + +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. + +"More about them," she said. "What are they? Who are they?" + +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. + +"And he's German?" she asked. + +"Yes. Wasn't he rude about my being a toy soldier? But that's the +natural German point of view, I suppose." + +Michael strolled to the fireplace. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara drew her chair a little nearer the fire, and sat up. + +"I want to hear about that," she said. + +"But I've told you; he was tremendously friendly in a national +manner." + +"And that seemed to you real?" she asked. + +Michael considered. + +"I don't know that it did," he said. "It all seemed to me rather +feverish, I think." + +"And he asked quantities of questions, I think you said." + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara did not heed the concert. + +"Do you mean the channel up from Harwich," she asked, "of which the +Admiralty have the secret chart?" + +"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." + +"I wasn't there. What else?" + +"I think that's all," said Michael. "But what are you driving at, +Aunt Barbara?" + +She was silent a moment. + +"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?" + +Michael thought. + +"Yes; one of his staff was clicking away all day," he said. "He +sent a lot of them to my mother." + +"And, we may presume, kept some copies himself," remarked Aunt +Barbara drily. "Really, for childish simplicity the English are +the biggest fools in creation." + +"But do you mean--" + +"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.'" + +"That means 'The Day,'" said Michael confidently. + +"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." + +Michael had never in his life seen his aunt so serious, and he was +amazed at her gravity. + +"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." + +She got up and stood with Michael near the fireplace. + +"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." + +"And you think the Emperor--" began Michael. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Don't do anything of the kind," said Michael. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Stuff another cushion under my head, Hermann," she said. "Thanks; +now I'm completely comfortable, you will be relieved to hear." + +Hermann gazed at the fire in silence. + +"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." + +She gave a little grunt, which, from his knowledge of her +inarticulate expressions, he took to mean dissent. + +"I suppose you mean we don't," he remarked. + +"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." + +"You flirted with him," remarked Hermann. "Mike will probably +murder him on the way home." + +Sylvia moved her feet a little farther from the blaze. + +"Funny?" she asked. + +Instantly Falbe knew that her mind was occupied with exactly the +same question as his. + +"No, not funny at all," he said. "Quite serious. Do you want to +talk about it or not?" + +She gave a little groan. + +"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." + +"And what did Aunt Barbara say?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"What's the trouble, Sylvia?" he said. + +"Just what I've been trying to tell you." + +"Be more concrete, then. You're definite enough when you sing." + +She sighed and gave a little melancholy laugh. + +"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." + +She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully +tying and untying one of Hermann's shoelaces. + +"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--" + +She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a +cigarette, lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke. + +"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." + +"You say you insist on it," said Hermann; "but whether you did or +not, there is nothing more certain than that Michael would." + +"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." + +Hermann threw the end of his cigarette into the ashes of the dying +fire. + +"It's clear, then," he said, "you have made up your mind not to +marry him." + +She shook her head. + +"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." + +He stretched his hands out towards the embers already coated with +grey ash. + +"Then it's like that with you," he said, pointing. "If there is +the fire in you, it is covered up with ashes." + +She did not reply for a moment. + +"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?" + +She stood up swiftly, drawing herself to her full height and +stretching her arms out. + +"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." + +"Do you care which it is?" he asked. + +"Yes, I care," said she. + +He held out his hands to her, and she pulled him up to his feet. + +"What are you going to say, then, when he asks you?" he said. + +"Tell him he must wait." + +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. + +"That's a lot to ask of any man," he said. "If you care, you +care." + +"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.'" + +He opened the door for her to pass out, and they walked up the +passage together arm-in-arm. + +"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!" + +Sylvia considered this. + +"Fiddlesticks!" she said. + +And Hermann was inclined to agree with her. + + +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. + +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. + +"I thought Hermann was never going," he said. + +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. + +"What is it, Michael?" she asked. + +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. + +"You know," he said. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"I don't know, Michael," she said at length. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael looked up at her. + +"Yes, Sylvia," he said, "much more than that." + +A few minutes ago only she had not liked him at all; now she liked +him immensely. + +"But how, Michael?" she asked. "How can I find it?" + +"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?" + +She looked at him gravely, without the tremor of a smile in her +eyes. + +"What does that mean exactly?" she said. + +"It is very simple. Do you want to love me?" + +She did not move her hands; they still rested on his shoulders like +things at ease, like things at home. + +"Yes, I suppose I want to," she said. + +"And is that the most you can do for me at present?" he asked. + +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. + +"Yes, that is the most I can do for you at present," she said. + +Still quite quietly he moved away from her, so that he stood free +of her hands. + +"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?" + +That stabbed her again. + +"Have I implied that?" she asked. + +"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." + +She understood her own feeling better than he. She understood at +least that she was dealing with things that were necessarily +incalculable. + +"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." + +But Michael persisted. + +"I only know what you have taught me," he said. "But you must know +that." + +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. + +"Can't we go on as we were, Michael?" she said. + +He looked at her incredulously. + +"Oh, no, of course not that," he said. + +She moved a step towards him. + +"I can't think of you in any other way," she said, as if making an +appeal. + +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. + +"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--" + +She understood well enough for his purposes. + +"I see," she said. + +Michael paused for a moment. + +"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." + +She had no reply to this; she saw its justice, and acquiesced. + +"Good-bye, then," said Michael. + + +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. + +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. + +Francis was inclined to be querulous. + +"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." + +This also seemed to matter very little. + +"Did I ask you to lunch?" he said. "I really quite forgot; I can't +even remember doing it now." + +"But there will be lunch?" asked Francis rather anxiously. + +"Of course. It'll be ready in ten minutes." + +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-- + +"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." + +He yawned largely and openly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Michael moved away impatiently. + +"Oh, shut it, Francis," he observed. + +Francis raised himself on his elbow. + +"Why, what's up?" he asked. "Won't she turn a favourable eye?" + +Michael wheeled round savagely. + +"Please remember you are talking about a lady, and not a Gaiety +lady," he remarked. + +This brought Francis to his feet. + +"Sorry," he said. "I was only indulging in badinage until lunch +was ready." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +This was a considerable relief to Michael. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Oh, Aunt Barbara's always hinting," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael smiled at this egoism that could not help being charming. + +"Would you care if you weren't?" he asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"You're quite right," he said. "I am in love with her. +Furthermore, I asked her to marry me this morning." + +This certainly had an effect. + +"Good Lord!" said Francis. "And do you mean to say she refused +you?" + +"She didn't accept me," said Michael. "We--we adjourned." + +"But why on earth didn't she take you?" asked Francis. + +All Michael's old sensitiveness, his self-consciousness of his +plainness, his awkwardness, his big hands, his short legs, came +back to him. + +"I should think you could see well enough if you look at me," he +said, "without my telling you." + +"Oh, that silly old rot," said Francis cheerfully. "I thought you +had forgotten all about it." + +"I almost had--in fact I quite had until this morning," said +Michael. "If I had remembered it I shouldn't have asked her." + +He corrected himself. + +"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." + +Francis turned sideways to the table, throwing one leg over the +other. + +"That's nonsense," he said. "It doesn't matter whether a man's +ugly or not." + +"It doesn't as long as he is not," remarked Michael grimly. + +"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--" + +"You see one," said Michael. + +"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?" + +"I couldn't give up." + +"Well then, just hold on. She likes you, doesn't she?" + +"Certainly," said Michael, without hesitation. "But that's a long +way from the other thing." + +"It's on the same road." + +Michael got up. + +"It may be," he said, "but it strikes me it's round the corner. +You can't even see one from the other." + +"Possibly not. But you never know how near the corner really is. +Go for her, Mike, full speed ahead." + +"But how?" + +"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." + +Michael could not help laughing. + +"Oh, for God's sake, don't make a joke of it," he said. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"But by all means come in, mother," he said. "I was not going to +bed yet." + +Lady Ashbridge looked round for her maid. + +"And will Petsy not annoy you if he sits quietly on my knee?" she +asked. + +"Of course not." + +Lady Ashbridge took the dog. + +"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?" + +This question had already been asked and answered twice, now for +the third time Michael admitted the severity of the weather. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid that's impossible, mother," he said. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"No! hard enough to keep me busy," he said. + +"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." + +She paused a moment, stroking her dog's ears, which twitched under +her touch. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +She took up his big hand that lay on his knee and began timidly +stroking it. + +"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." + +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. + +He was profoundly touched by this humble timidity, by the +sincerity, vague but unquestionable, that lay behind it. + +"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?" + +She gave a little shiver. + +"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?" + +He half rose. + +"Oh, mother, how can you ask?" he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +She pulled her chair again nearer him, so that sitting there she +could clasp his arm. + +"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." + +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. + +"Yes, there is a girl whom I can't do without," he said. + +Lady Ashbridge's face lit up. + +"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." + +Michael caught at his mother's hand as it stroked his sleeve. + +"But she is not sure that she can do with me," he said. + +Her face was not dimmed at this. + +"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." + +"She's the sister of my great friend, Hermann Falbe," he said, "who +teaches me music." + +This time the gladness faded from her. + +"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?" + +Michael laughed. + +"But certainly she is," he said. "Her father was German, her +mother was a Tracy, just as well-born as you or I." + +"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?" + +"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." + +The old outlook, the old traditions were beginning to come to the +surface again in poor Lady Ashbridge's mind. + +"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." + +Then came a step at the door; it opened an inch or two, and Michael +heard his father's voice. + +"Is your mother with you, Michael?" he asked. + +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. + +"Yes, Robert," she said. "I was having a little talk to Michael." + +"May I come in?" + +"It's our secret," she whispered to Michael. + +"Yes, come in, father," he said. + +Lord Ashbridge stood towering in the doorway. + +"Come, my dear," he said, not unkindly, "it's time for you to go to +bed." + +She had become the mask of herself again. + +"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." + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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. + +"And you mean to go to Berlin?" he asked. + +"I'm afraid I shan't be able to," said Michael; "my master is in +London." + +"I should be inclined to reconsider that, Michael," said the +father. "The Emperor knows what he is talking about on the subject +of music." + +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. + +"I remember the concert we had here," she said. "We had the 'Song +to Aegir' twice." + +Lord Ashbridge gave her a quick glance. Michael felt he would not +have noticed it the evening before. + +"Your memory is very good, my dear," he said with encouragement. + +"And then we had a torchlight procession," she remarked. + +"Quite so. You remember it perfectly. And about his visit here, +Michael. Did he talk about that?" + +"Yes, very warmly; also about our international relations." + +Lord Ashbridge gave a little giggle. + +"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." + +"She asked me about it," said Michael. "I don't think she believes +in his sincerity." + +He giggled again. + +"That's because I didn't ask her down for his visit," he said. + +He rose. + +"And what are you going to do, my dear?" he said to his wife. + +She looked across to Michael. + +"Perhaps Michael will come for a stroll with me," she said. + +"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." + +The moment he had gone her whole manner changed: it was suffused +with the glow that had lit her last night. + +"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." + + +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. + +"And you'll try not to vex him, won't you?" she said. + +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. + +"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." + +"No, father, I am afraid not," said Michael. + +"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." + +"I understand," said Michael. + +"The next is about your mother," he said. "Do you notice any +change in her?" + +"Yes," said Michael. + +"Can you describe it at all?" + +Michael hesitated. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I have written to my mother every week," said Michael. + +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. + +"I have not been so fortunate, then," he said. + +Michael remembered his mother's anxious face, but he could not let +this pass. + +"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." + +"I should have expressed my displeasure if I had felt it," said his +father with all the pomposity that was natural to him. + +"That had not occurred to me," said Michael. "I am afraid I took +your silence to mean that my letters didn't interest you." + +He paused a moment, and his rebellion against the whole of his +father's attitude flared up. + +"Besides, I had nothing particular to say," he said. "My life is +passed in the pursuit of which you entirely disapprove." + +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. + +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. + +"Have you noticed anything else about your mother?" he asked. + +That made Michael understand. + +"Yes, father," he said. "I daresay I am wrong about it--" + +"Naturally I may not agree with you; but I should like to know what +it is." + +"She's afraid of you," said Michael. + +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. + +"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." + +He drew himself up to his full magnificent height. + +"I do not mean that it is not very natural she should be devoted to +her son," he said with a tremendous air. + +What he did mean was therefore uncertain, and again he changed the +subject. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"I have not the honour of knowing Miss--Miss Falbe, is it?" he +said; "nor shall I have that honour." + +Michael got up; there was that in his father's tone that stung him +to fury. + +"It is very likely that you will not," he said, "since when I +proposed to her yesterday she did not accept me." + +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. + +"And I am to bind up your broken heart?" he asked. + +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. + +"Oh, by no means," he said. "My heart is not going to break yet. +I don't give up hope." + +Then, in a flash, he thought of his mother's pale, anxious face, +her desire that he should not vex his father. + +"I am sorry," he said, "but that is the case. I wish--I wish you +would try to understand me." + +"I find you incomprehensible," said Lord Ashbridge, and left the +room with his high walk and his swinging elbows. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +A great weight was lifted off her mind. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +She pressed his arm, nodded and smiled at the children, and walked +on with him. And Michael felt the lump in his throat. + +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. + +"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." + +His father's face softened a moment. + +"Yes, I agree to that," he said. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"But I don't," said Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +They strolled a little way in silence. + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +He stopped. + +"We won't talk about it," he said--"or, rather, I can't talk about +it, if you don't understand." + +"But she had refused you," said the sensible Francis. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Michael took a step towards his cousin, so that he could whisper to +him. + +"Come back to the boat," he said. "I want to row round and see who +that is. Wait a moment, though." + +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. + +"Someone is making soundings in the channel there," he said. +"Come." + +They went very quietly till they were round the point, then +quickened their steps, and Michael spoke. + +"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." + +"What are you going to do?" asked Francis, striding easily along by +Michael's short steps. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"But an Admiralty boat wouldn't have run away," he said. "They'd +have asked us who the devil we were." + +"But who else was it?" asked Francis. + +Michael mopped his forehead. + +"Aunt Barbara would tell you," he said. "She would tell you that +they were German spies." + +Francis laughed. + +"Or Timbuctoo niggers," he remarked. + +"And that would be an odd thing, too," said Michael. + +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. + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +"Both for her sake and for the sake of all of you," he had said, +"one hopes that it will be swift." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"In fact, Michael," he said, "I have a favour to ask of you." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Won't you sit down?" he said. + +"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." + +Michael felt himself bristling. His father certainly had the +effect of drawing out in him all the feelings that were better +suppressed. + +"I think we need not talk of that now, sir," he remarked. + +"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." + +Michael nodded, saluting, so to speak, the signpost into the future +as he passed it. + +"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." + +Lord Ashbridge still remained completely self-sufficient. + +"I am glad you take that view of it," he said. "I think that is all +I have to say." + +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. + +"I will make arrangements to come at once," he said, "if you can +receive me to-day." + +"That will hardly be worth while, will it? I am taking your mother +back to Ashbridge tomorrow." + +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. + +"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." + +His father seemed to swell a little; he appeared to fill the room. + +"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." + +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. + +"But could you not go down there perhaps once or twice a week, and +get Bailey to come and consult you here?" he asked. + +Lord Ashbridge held his head very high. + +"That would be completely out of the question," he said. + +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. + +"I had imagined you would stop in London," he said. "Supposing +under these circumstances I refuse to live with you?" + +"I should draw my own conclusion as to the sincerity of your +profession of duty towards your mother." + +"And practically what would you do?" asked Michael. + +"Your mother and I would go to Ashbridge tomorrow all the same." + +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. + +"I propose, then," he said, "that she and I should remain in town, +as you want to be at Ashbridge." + +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. + +"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." + +He paused a moment, and became even more sublimely fatuous. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +Michael interrupted her. + +"Oh, I don't understand him," he said. "At least, that's the best +way to look at it. Let's leave him out." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He smiled at her. + +"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." + +"Yes, dear; I find you insufferable," remarked Aunt Barbara +parenthetically. + +"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--" + +He sat down on the sofa by his aunt. + +"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?" + +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. + +"And your friends?" she said. "Do you manage to see them?" + +"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." + +"And why not? Sylvia knows about your mother, I suppose." + +"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." + +"Can't you impress on your mother that she mustn't?" + +Michael leaned forward to the fire, pondering this, and stretching +out his big hands to the blaze. + +"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." + +"Sylvia is a gaby," remarked Aunt Barbara. + +"I'm rather glad you think so." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Suddenly she clapped her hands together. + +"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." + +"But did those men live in Ashbridge?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +She stood up, and put her hand on Michael's arm. + +"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?" + +"You wouldn't ask that if you had seen him in Munich," said +Michael. + +"I suppose not. Patriotism is such a degrading emotion when it is +not English." + + +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. + +"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." + +Michael laid his hand on his mother's. + +"Hush, mother," he said, "you mustn't talk while he's playing." + +"Well, I was only whispering. But if you tell me I mustn't--" + +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. + +"I had no idea you were there," he said. "Hermann will do, won't +he? I think--" + +And then suddenly the words of commonplace failed him, and he +looked at her in silence. + +"I knew you were back," she said. "Hermann told me about-- +everything." + +Michael glanced sideways, indicating his mother, who sat next him, +and was talking to Barbara. + +"I wondered whether perhaps you would come and see my mother and +me," he said. "May I write?" + +She looked at him with the friendliness of her smiling eyes and her +grave mouth. + +"Is it necessary to ask?" she said. + +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. + +"I'm enjoying my concert, dear," she said. "And who is that nice +young lady? Is she a friend of yours?" + +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. + +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. + +"You're not going to leave me, my dear, are you?" she asked +anxiously. + +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. + +"Come on, Mike," he said, laughing. "Thank the pretty ladies and +gentlemen! Lord, isn't it all a lark!" + +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. + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Sylvia was unerring. Michael had known she would be. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge laughed. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Lady Ashbridge looked at her masses of bright hair, and could not +help telegraphing a note of admiration, as it were, to Michael. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +Here was a shoal to be avoided. + +"No, you mustn't think of tempting him to come up to town," said +Michael. "Give me some tea for Aunt Barbara." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia got up. + +"Why, of course," she said. "What have you got, Michael? I +haven't anything with me." + +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." + +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." + + +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. + +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. + + +CHAPTER XI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She edged her way a little nearer him, so that her shoulder leaned +on his arm. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +She followed his pointing finger, easily diverted. + +"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." + +She clung closer to Michael. + +"Everything seems so fragile, dear," she whispered. "Everything +may break. . . . Sometimes I am frightened." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Nurse Baker came towards her. + +"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." + +She shrank from her, shielding herself behind Michael's shoulder. + +"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?" + +Michael saw the nurse looking at her, watching her with that quiet +eye of the trained attendant. + +Then she spoke to Michael. + +"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." + +"And you'll come back, Michael," said she. + +Michael saw that the nurse wanted to say something to him, and with +infinite gentleness disentangled the clinging of Lady Ashbridge's +hand. + +"Why, of course I will," he said. "And won't you give Miss Falbe +another cup of tea?" + +Lady Ashbridge hesitated a moment. + +"Yes, I'll do that," she said. "And by the time I've done that you +will be back again, won't you?" + +Michael followed the nurse from the room, who closed the door +without shutting it. + +"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." + +Michael felt his mouth go suddenly dry. + +"What do you expect?" he said. + +"I don't expect anything, but we must be prepared. A change comes +very quickly." + +Michael nodded, and they went back together. + +"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?" + +A curious, sly look came into Lady Ashbridge's face. + +"Yes, but where am I going to?" she said. "How do I know Nurse +Baker will take me to my own room?" + +"Because I promise you she will," said Michael. + +That instantly reassured her. Mood after mood, as Michael saw, +were passing like shadows over her mind. + +"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." + +Michael put his arm around her. + +"We'll talk about that while you're resting," he said. "Don't keep +Nurse Baker waiting any longer, mother." + +She nodded and smiled. + +"No, no; mustn't keep anybody waiting," she said. "Your father +taught me to be punctual." + +When they had left the room together, Sylvia turned to Michael. + +"Michael, my dear," she said, "I think you are--well, I think you +are Michael." + +She saw that at the moment he was not thinking of her at all, and +her heart honoured him for that. + +"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." + +Suddenly all his fears and his fatigue and his trouble looked out +of his eyes. + +"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." + +"But, my dear, no wonder you are tired," she said. "Michael, can't +anybody help? It isn't right you should do everything." + +He shook his head, smiling. + +"They can't help," he said. "I'm the only person who can help her. +And I--" + +He stood up, bracing mind and body. + +"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." + +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. + +"You are giving everything to keep her," she said. "You are giving +yourself. What further gift is there, Michael?" + +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. + +Suddenly Michael awoke to the fact of her presence, and abruptly he +moved away from her. + +"Thanks, Sylvia," he said. "I know I have your--your good wishes. +But--well, I am sure you understand." + +She understood perfectly well. And the understanding of it cut her +to the quick. + +"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?" + +He looked at her, completely recalled in mind to her alone. All +the hopes and desires of the autumn smote him with encompassing +blows. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +He looked up at her. + +"Take my arm again," he said. + +She felt the crook of his elbow tighten again on her wrist. She +had not known before how much she prized that. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Don't you?" she asked. "But I do. It's because you know I care. +Otherwise you wouldn't tell me: you couldn't." + +For a moment the balance quavered in his mind between Sylvia the +beloved and Sylvia the friend. It inclined to the friend. + +"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." + +"You made the gleam," said Sylvia. + +"But so late; so awfully late." + +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. + +"Will you go to her ladyship, my lord?" she said. "Her nurse wants +you. She told me to telephone to Sir James." + +Sylvia moved with him, not disengaging her arm, towards the door. + +"Michael, may I wait?" she said. "You might want me, you know. +Please let me wait." + + +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. + +"And here he is," said the nurse reassuringly as he entered. + +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. + +Michael did not hesitate. It was possible that he still might be +something to her, that he, his presence, might penetrate. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I was waiting till you came, my dear," she said. "Now I will lie +down. Come and sit by me, Michael." + +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. + +"And you enjoyed your day in the country, mother?" asked Michael. + +She looked at him sideways and slowly. Then again, as if +recollecting a task she had committed to memory, she answered. + +"Yes, so much," she said. "All the trees and the birds and the +sunshine. I enjoyed them so much." + +She paused a moment. + +"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." + +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. + +He made a movement, grasping the arm of his chair, as if to wheel +it closer, but he came actually no nearer her. + +"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?" + +Nurse Baker answered quite naturally. + +"I want to talk, too, my lady," she said. "I went with you and +Lord Comber. We all enjoyed it together." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"What is that?" she said. "Who is coming now to disturb me, just +when I wanted to have a nap?" + +There came a knock at the door. Nurse Baker did not move her head, +but continued watching her patient, with hands ready to act. + +"Come in," she said, not looking round. + +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. + +"It's a trap," she cried. "You've led me into a trap. They are +going to take me away." + +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. + +And from deep in his heart sprang the leaping fountains of +compassion and love and yearning pity. + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +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." + +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." + +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!" + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +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. + +They met just as they met yesterday in front of the fireplace. + +"Oh, Michael, have you been waiting long?" she said. + +"Yes, hours, or perhaps a couple of minutes. I don't know." + +"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." + +"Minutes, then," said he. "I'll praise you instead. Praise is +more convincing if somebody else does it." + +"Yes, but you aren't somebody else. Now be sensible. Have you +done all the things you told me you were going to do?" + +"Yes." + +Sylvia released her hands from his. + +"Tell me, then," she said. "You've seen your father?" + +There was no cloud on Michael's face. There was such sunlight +where his soul sat that no shadow could fall across it. + +"Oh, yes, I saw him," he said. + +He captured Sylvia's hand again. + +"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. + +"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!" + +"Especially since he had never seen me," said the girl. + +"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. + +"And what about my singing, my career?" she asked. + +Michael laughed again. + +"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." + +"And what did you say?" + +"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." + +"And he?" + +"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." + +Sylvia got up and began walking up and down the long room. + +"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." + +She came and sat down by him again. + +"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." + +She paused a moment. + +"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." + +Mrs. Falbe strayed in at this moment with her finger in her book, +but otherwise as purposeless as a wandering mist. + +"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?" + +"Please; certainly!" said Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Don't be too clever to live, Hermann," said Sylvia. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes, but who's to do the playing and the singing?" asked Hermann. +"Isn't it a question, perhaps, for--" + +Michael felt quite secure about the feelings of the other two, and +rudely interrupted. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Hallo!" he said. "That's horrible! The Heir Apparent of the +Austrian Emperor has been murdered at Serajevo. Servian plot, +apparently." + +"Oh, what a dreadful thing," said Mrs. Falbe, opening her book. +"Poor man, what had he done?" + +Hermann took a cigarette, frowning. + +"It may be a match--" he began. + +Mrs. Falbe diverted her attention from "Lady Ursula" for a moment. + +"They are on the chimney-piece, dear," she said, thinking he spoke +of material matches. + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +Hermann glanced through the other pages, and let the paper slide to +the floor. + +"What will Austria do?" he said. "Supposing she threatens Servia +in some outrageous way and Russia says she won't stand it? What +then?" + +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. + +"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." + +Hermann laughed. + +"Thank God, there's that wonderful fire-engine in Germany ready to +turn the hose on conflagrations." + +"What fire-engine?" asked Michael. + +"The Emperor, of course. We should have been at war ten times over +but for him." + +Sylvia dried her finger-tips one by one. + +"Lady Barbara doesn't quite take that view of him, does she, Mike?" +she asked. + +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. + +"I don't fancy she does," he said. "But then, as you know, Aunt +Barbara has original views on every subject." + +Hermann did not take the possible hint here conveyed to drop the +matter. + +"Well, then, what do you think about him?" he asked. + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +Hermann shook off the cloud of preoccupation that so unaccountably, +to Michael's thinking, had descended on him, and walked across to +the window. + +"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." + +"I was afraid there was going to be a chill at sunset," remarked +Mrs. Falbe subaqueously. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"She died," she said, "I knew she would." + +Hermann gave a great shout of laughter. + +"Darling mother, I'm ever so much obliged," he said. "We had to +return to earth somehow. Where has everybody else been?" + +Michael stirred in his chair. + +"I've been here," he said. + +"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." + +His sentimentalism had apparently not quite passed from him. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia put her hand on her brother's arm, looking at him with just +a shade of anxiety. + +"Nothing wrong, Hermann?" she asked. + +"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." + +Sylvia laughed. + +"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!" + +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. + +"'Move on there!' said the policeman," he remarked. "And so they +moved on." + + +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. + +"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." + +"But perhaps there isn't a word to be said," suggested Michael. + +"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." + +"But what do you mean by something being arranged?" asked Michael. + +She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were +alone. + +"I mean this: that Austria is being persuaded to make some +outrageous demand, some demand that no independent country could +possibly grant." + +"But who is persuading her?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +She leaned forward in her chair. + +"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?" + +Michael laughed. + +"But aren't you piling up a European conflagration rather in a +hurry, Aunt Barbara?" he asked. + +"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." + +A servant brought in tea and Lady Barbara waited till he had left +the room again. + +"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." + +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. + +"Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick," he said. + +"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." + +"Go on prophesying," said Michael. + +"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." + +Michael laughed outright at this. + +"While a fleet of Zeppelins hovers over London, and drops bombs on +the War Office and the Admiralty," he suggested. + +But Aunt Barbara was not in the least diverted by this. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara rose in violent incredulity. + +"Pish and bosh!" she remarked. "If he had alluded to him as an +incendiary bomb, there would have been more sense in his simile." + +"Anyhow, he and Sylvia are planning a musical tour in Germany in +the autumn," said Michael. + +"'It's a long, long way to Tipperary,'" remarked Aunt Barbara +enigmatically. + +"Why Tipperary?" asked Michael. + +"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?" + +"Rather in abeyance. There are--other things to think about." + +Aunt Barbara got up. + +"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?" + +Michael was silent for a moment. Then he turned a quiet, radiant +face to her. + +"I can't talk about it," he said. "I can't get accustomed to the +wonder of it." + +"That will do. That's a completely satisfactory account. But go +on." + +Michael laughed. + +"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." + +"I must be content with that, then," she said, smiling. + +"We are," said Michael. + +Lady Barbara waited a moment without speaking. + +"And your mother?" she asked. + +He shook his head. + +"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." + +"Yes, my dear," said Lady Barbara. "I am so glad you see it like +that." + +"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." + +"And how is she otherwise?" + +Again he shook his head. + +"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." + +Aunt Barbara laid her hand on him. + +"Oh, my dear," she said. + +Michael paused for a moment, his brown eyes shining. + +"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." + +"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." + +Michael's lips quivered. + +"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." + +"That's how she would have it, Michael," said Barbara. + +"Yes, I know that. I remind myself of that." + +Again he paused. + +"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." + +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. . . . + +"God bless you, my dear," she said. + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, you have seen it," he said. "Perhaps you can guess what I +wanted to see you about." + +"Connected with the Austrian Note?" asked Michael. + +"Yes." + +"I have not the vaguest idea." + +Hermann sat down on the arm of his chair. + +"Mike, I'm going back to Germany to-day," he said. "Now do you +understand? I'm German." + +"You mean that Germany is at the back of this?" + +"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." + +"You mean you think it possible you will go to war with Russia?" +asked Michael. + +"Yes, I think it possible, and, if I am right, if there is that +possibility, I can't be away from my country." + +"But the Emperor, the fire-engine whom you said would quench any +conflagration?" + +"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?" + +Michael was silent, and Hermann spoke again. + +"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?" + +The great shadow of the approaching storm fell over Michael, even +as outside the sultry stillness of the morning grew darker. + +"Ah, you think that?" asked Michael. + +Hermann put his hand on Michael's shoulder. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I don't see that I could. Sylvia agrees too." + +A terrible conjecture flashed through Michael's mind. + +"And she?" he asked. + +"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." + +The ghost of a smile played round his mouth for a moment. + +"And I'm not sure that she could leave you, Mike," he added. + +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. + +"Hermann, what do you think will happen?" he said. "It is +incredible, unfaceable--" + +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. + +"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." + +He paused a moment. + +"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." + +"Hermann, don't go," said Michael suddenly. + +"Mike, you didn't mean that," he said. + +Michael looked at him for a moment in silence. + +"No, it is unsaid," he replied. + +Hermann looked round as the clock on the chimney-piece chimed. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Ah, that's good," he said. "And now I'm going to say good-bye, +and go without looking round." + +"But might I see you off this afternoon?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +Then, as he had said, he walked to the door without looking round, +and next moment it had closed behind him. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He kissed her and sat down. + +"No, I have not heard either," he said. "I expect he is right. +Letters have been stopped." + +"And what do you think will be the result of Belgium's appeal?" she +asked. + +"Who can tell? The Prime Minister is going to make a statement on +Monday. There have been Cabinet meetings going on all day." + +She looked at him in silence. + +"And what do you think?" she asked. + +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. + +"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." + +She kindled at that. + +"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 . . ." + +She broke off a moment. + +"Michael," she said, "what will you do, if there is war?" + +He took up her hand that lay on the arm of his chair. + +"My darling, how can you ask?" he said. "Of course I shall go back +to the army." + +For one moment she gave way. + +"No, no," she said. "You mustn't do that." + +And then suddenly she stopped. + +"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." + +She sat there in silence a little, mopping her eyes. + +"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." + +He smiled. + +"I have got some faint recollection of it," he said. + +Sylvia had got hold of her courage again. + +"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." + +She pointed with her finger. + +"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." + +Mrs. Falbe had drifted out in her usual thistledown style, and +shook hands with Michael. + +"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." + +"Isn't the book interesting?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"They are preparing to cross the Rhine," she said. + +Mrs. Falbe gave a little sigh. + +"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." + +"Mother darling, you don't understand one syllable about it," said +Sylvia. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid it doesn't look very likely," remarked Michael mildly. + +"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." + +"And does it?" asked Michael. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +Sylvia felt she could not endure this any longer. It was like +having a raw wound stroked. . . . + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Sylvia caught Michael's eye for a moment over the tea-urn. She +felt he acquiesced in what she was intending to say. + +"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?" + +Mrs. Falbe turned a questioning eye to the motionless trees and the +unclouded sky. + +"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?" + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He bent towards her and her lips parted. + +"Michael, my dear," she said gently. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, and you have come," he said. + +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. + +"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." + +Michael bent forward and kissed her. + +"Yes, mother," he said, "it has all gone." + +She was silent a moment. + +"Is your father here?" she said. + +"No; but he will come at once, if you would like to see him." + +"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." + +"I'm not going to," said he. + +The nurse went to the door, gave some message, and presently +returned to the other side of the bed. Then Lady Ashbridge spoke +again. + +"Is this death?" she asked. + +Michael raised his eyes to the figure standing by the bed. She +nodded to him. + +He bent forward again. + +"Yes, dear mother," he said. + +For a moment her eyes dilated, then grew quiet again, and the smile +returned to her mouth. + +"I'm not frightened, Michael," she said, "with you there. It isn't +lonely or terrible." + +She raised her head. + +"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. + + +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. . . . + +As he entered London he saw the newsboards all placarded with one +fact: England had declared war on Germany. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. . . . + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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. + +"Sylvia, I'm so frightfully hungry," he said. "I don't think I've +eaten anything since breakfast. May we go and forage?" + +"Oh, you poor thing!" she cried. "Yes, let's go and see what there +is." + +Instantly she busied herself. + +"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." + +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. + +"But it was really Hermann and I who made you gay originally," she +said. "We take a wonderful deal of credit for that." + +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. + +"You haven't heard from Hermann?" he asked. + +"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." + +She came a little closer to him. + +"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." + +He took up her hand, enclosing it in his. + +"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." + +"Preach, then," she said. + +"Well, it's just that. We don't quarrel with them: they manage +themselves. Hermann's going managed itself. It had to be." + +Her voice quivered as she spoke now. + +"Are you going?" she asked. "Will that have to be?" + +Michael looked at her a moment with infinite tenderness. + +"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." + +"And they will?" + +"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." + +She did not answer him, but he felt her hand press close in the +palm of his. + +"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." + +Even with Michael close to her, the call of her blood made itself +audible to Sylvia. Instinctively she withdrew her hand from his. + +"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." + +"But there's a direct frontier between the two," said he. + +"No doubt, but an impossible one." + +Michael frowned, drawing his big eyebrows together. + +"But nothing can justify the violation of a national oath," he +said. "That's the basis of civilisation, a thing like that." + +"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." + +"But consider--" said he. + +She got up suddenly. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Yes, darling, we'll never speak of it again," he said. "That +would be much wisest." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +Michael bent down. + +"Come, Petsy," he said, "come to bed in my room." + +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. + +"He'll be all right with me," he said to the maid. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Come in, mother." + +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. + +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. + + +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. + +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. . . . + +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. . . . + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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. + +"I've brought you a little news to-night," he said. "The first +draft from the regiment went off to-day." + +Mrs. Falbe put down her book, marking the place. + +"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?" + +"Destination unknown," said Michael. "But it's France. My cousin +has gone." + +"Francis?" asked Sylvia. "Oh, how wicked to send boys like that." + +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. + +"Mother has been told that every Englishman is as brave as two +Germans," she said. "She likes that." + +"Yes, dear," observed Mrs. Falbe placidly. "It makes one feel +safer. I saw it in the paper, though; I read it." + +Sylvia turned on Michael. + +"Have you seen the evening paper?" she asked. + +Michael knew what was in her mind. + +"I just looked at it," he said. "There didn't seem to be much +news." + +"No, only reports, rumours, lies," said Sylvia. + +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. + +"Oh, don't go yet, mother," she said. "It is very early." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +Sylvia gave a short laugh, which had no touch of merriment in it. + +"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." + +Michael followed her lead. + +"Ah, do sing," he said. "It's weeks since I have heard you sing." + +She went quickly over to the bookcase of music by the piano. + +"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." + +Michael laughed. + +"But we've just settled that artists have no nationality, so I +suppose art hasn't either," he said. + +Sylvia pulled herself together, conscious of a want of control, and +laid her hand on Michael's shoulder. + +"Oh, Michael, what should I do without you?" she said. "And yet-- +well, let me sing." + +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. + +"I can't," she said. "It's no use." + +He turned round to her. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," he said. "But you know that." + +She moved away from him, and walked down to the empty fireplace. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I saw them," said Michael. "But it's no use talking about +them." + +"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." + +Michael felt profoundly uncomfortable. Some of these stories which +Sylvia called lies were vouched for, apparently, by respectable +testimony. + +"Why talk about them?" he said. "I'm sure we were wise when we +settled not to." + +She shook her head. + +"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." + +"I daresay the German Press is no better," said Michael. + +"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." + +Suddenly she stopped, and came a couple of steps nearer him. + +"Michael, it isn't possible that you believe those things of us?" +she said. + +He got up. + +"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." + +"You don't feel the impossibility of it, then?" she asked. + +"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." + +He held out his hand to her. She moved a step back from him. + +"Then you think, I suppose, that Hermann may be concerned in those +atrocities," she said. + +Michael looked at her in amazement. + +"You are talking sheer nonsense, Sylvia," he said. + +"Not at all. It is a logical inference, just an application of the +principle you have stated." + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, pray put another name to it," she said. + +"Very well. It was a wanton falsehood," said Michael, "and you +know it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I beg your pardon, Michael," she said. "I was atrocious. Will +you forgive me? Because I am so miserable." + +He had nothing but love for her, love and its kinsman pity. + +"Oh, my dear, fancy you asking that!" he said. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +For a moment, as she greeted him and he kissed her silently, they +escaped from the encompassing horror. + +"Ah, you have come," she said. "I thought perhaps you might. I +have wanted you dreadfully." + +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. + +"I couldn't go to bed without just seeing you," he said. "I won't +keep you up." + +They stood with hands clasped. + +"But if you hadn't come, Michael," she said, "I should have +understood." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +His servant came into the room with a pencilled note, which he +opened. It was from Sylvia. + +"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?" + +Though an hour before he had turned back on his way to go to +Sylvia, he did not hesitate now. + +"Yes, ask Miss Falbe to come up," he said. + +She came up immediately, and once again as they met, the world and +the war stood apart from them. + +"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." + +He smiled at her as they stood facing each other. + +"Thank you for coming," he said; "I'm so glad you came. But I had +to be alone just a little." + +"I didn't do wrong?" she asked. + +"Indeed you didn't. I did wrong not to come to you. I loved +Francis, you see." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +She stopped suddenly. + +"That's all, my dearest," she added. "I will go away again now." + +Across that shadow that had again fallen between them they looked +and yearned for each other. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I know what you feel," she said at length, "and I feel it also." + +Her voice broke, and her hands felt for his again. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She took his hands again. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. . . ." + +And then her voice began to falter. + +"If you loved me, you would do it," she said. "If--" + +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. + +"Do you despise me, Michael?" she said. + +He gave a little sigh of utter content. + +"Oh, my dear, how I love you for suggesting such a sweet +impossibility," he said. "But how you would despise me if I +consented." + +She did not answer. + +"Wouldn't you?" he repeated. + +She gave a sorrowful semblance of a laugh. + +"I suppose I should," she said. + +"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." + +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. + +"Have they told you yet when you are going?" she said. + +"Not for certain. But--it will be before many days are passed. +And the question arises--will you marry me before I go?" + +She hid her face on his shoulder. + +"I will do what you wish," she said. + +"But I want to know your wish." + +She clung closer to him. + +"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." + +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. + +"I agree with you," he said. "We will settle it so, then." + +She smiled at him. + +"How dreadfully business-like," she said, with an attempt at +lightness. + +"I know. It's rather a good thing one has got to be business-like, +when--" + +That failed also, and he drew her to him and kissed her. + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +That touched Michael absolutely in the right place. + +"Thanks awfully, sir," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +"Lieber Gott, Michael!" he whispered, his breath whistling in his +throat. "Good morning, old boy!" + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +He had risen to greet her, and softly and gently she put her arms +round his neck, drawing his head to her. + +"Oh, my Michael!" she whispered. "You've come back to me. Lieber +Gott, how I have longed for you!" + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +"And what lots you must have to tell me," she said. "I want to +hear all--all." + +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. + +"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. + +"What is it?" she said. "Tell me, then." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Then once more she laid her arm on his neck. + +"Michael, my heart!" she said. + + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Michael by E. F. 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