michael-第22部分

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〃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　airwhatever　those　melodious　sprites　may　behad　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　originalthe　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　surveyher　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　expectedI　really　can't　tell　you　what　I　expectedbut　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　b