michael-第21部分

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nt　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　wasless；　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　kindlinessthe　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　aloudwhich　is　playingor　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　thatnot　the　same　murder　I　mean；　but　other　murdersfor　a　couple　of　hours　a　day。　。　。　。　By　degreesyou　won't　believe　ityou　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　Falb