michael-第19部分

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utlook　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　thisnamely；　that　nationally　the　English　were　prosperous；　comfortable　and　insouciantwas　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　mealsMrs。　Falbe　always　breakfasted　in　her　bedroomwere　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