by H. G. Wells
The Vicar, who was presently captured and set down next to LadyHammergallow, kept an anxious eye ever Angelward while she told himparticulars of the incomes made by violinists--particulars which, forthe most part, she invented as she went along. She had been a littleruffled by the incident of the glasses, but had decided that it camewithin the limits of permissible originality.
So figure to yourself the Green Saloon at Siddermorton Park; an Angelthinly disguised in clerical vestments and with a violin in his hands,standing by the grand piano, and a respectable gathering of quiet nicepeople, nicely dressed, grouped about the room. Anticipatory gabble--onehears scattered fragments of conversation.
"He is _incog._"; said the very eldest Miss Papaver to Mrs Pirbright."Isn't it quaint and delicious. Jessica Jehoram says she saw him atVienna, but she can't remember the name. The Vicar knows all about him,but he is so close----"
"How hot and uncomfortable the dear Vicar is looking," said MrsPirbright. "I've noticed it before when he sits next to LadyHammergallow. She simply will _not_ respect his cloth. She goes on----"
"His tie is all askew," said the very eldest Miss Papaver, "and hishair! It really hardly looks as though he had brushed it all day."
"Seems a foreign sort of chap. Affected. All very well in adrawing-room," said George Harringay, sitting apart with the youngerMiss Pirbright. "But for my part give me a masculine man and a femininewoman. What do you think?"
"Oh!--I think so too," said the younger Miss Pirbright.
"Guineas and guineas," said Lady Hammergallow. "I've heard that some ofthem keep quite stylish establishments. You would scarcely creditit----"
"I love music, Mr Angel, I adore it. It stirs something in me. I canscarcely describe it," said Mrs Jehoram. "Who is it says that deliciousantithesis: Life without music is brutality; music without lifeis---- Dear me! perhaps you remember? Music without life----it's RuskinI think?"
"I'm sorry that I do not," said the Angel. "I have read very few books."
"How charming of you!" said Mrs Jehoram. "I wish I didn't. I sympathisewith you profoundly. I would do the same, only we poor women----Isuppose it's originality we lack---- And down here one is driven to themost desperate proceedings----"
"He's certainly very _pretty_. But the ultimate test of a man is hisstrength," said George Harringay. "What do you think?"
"Oh!--I think so too," said the younger Miss Pirbright.
"It's the effeminate man who makes the masculine woman. When the gloryof a man is his hair, what's a woman to do? And when men go runningabout with beautiful hectic dabs----"
"Oh George! You are so dreadfully satirical to-day," said the youngerMiss Pirbright. "I'm _sure_ it isn't paint."
"I'm really not his guardian, my dear Lady Hammergallow. Of course it'svery kind indeed of you to take such an interest----"
"Are you really going to improvise?" said Mrs Jehoram in a state ofcooing delight.
"_SSsh!_" said the curate from Iping Hanger.
Then the Angel began to play, looking straight before him as he did so,thinking of the wonderful things of the Angelic Land, and yet insensiblyletting the sadness he was beginning to feel, steal over the fantasia hewas playing. When he forgot his company the music was strange and sweet;when the sense of his surroundings floated into his mind the music grewcapricious and grotesque. But so great was the hold of the Angelic musicupon the Vicar that his anxieties fell from him at once, so soon as theAngel began to play. Mrs Jehoram sat and looked rapt and sympathetic ashard as she could (though the music was puzzling at times) and tried tocatch the Angel's eye. He really had a wonderfully mobile face, and thetenderest shades of expression! And Mrs Jehoram was a judge. GeorgeHarringay looked bored, until the younger Miss Pirbright, who adoredhim, put out her mousy little shoe to touch his manly boot, and then heturned his face to catch the feminine delicacy of her coquettish eye,and was comforted. The very eldest Miss Papaver and Mrs Pirbright satquite still and looked churchy for nearly four minutes.
Then said the eldest Miss Papaver in a whisper, "I always Enjoy violinmusic so much." And Mrs Pirbright answered, "We get so little Nice musicdown here." And Miss Papaver said, "He plays Very nicely." And MrsPirbright, "Such a Delicate Touch!" And Miss Papaver, "Does Willie keepup his lessons?" and so to a whispered conversation.
The Curate from Iping Hanger sat (he felt) in full view of the company.He had one hand curled round his ear, and his eyes hard and staringfixedly at the pedestal of the Hammergallow Sevres vase. He supplied, bythe movements of his mouth, a kind of critical guide to any of thecompany who were disposed to avail themselves of it. It was a generousway he had. His aspect was severely judicial, tempered by starts ofevident disapproval and guarded appreciation. The Vicar leaned back inhis chair and stared at the Angel's face, and was presently rapt away ina wonderful dream. Lady Hammergallow, with quick jerky movements of thehead and a low but insistent rustling, surveyed and tried to judge ofthe effect of the Angelic playing. Mr Rathbone-Slater stared verysolemnly into his hat and looked very miserable, and Mrs Rathbone-Slatermade mental memoranda of Mrs Jehoram's sleeves. And the air about themall was heavy with exquisite music--for all that had ears to hear.
"Scarcely affected enough," whispered Lady Hammergallow hoarsely,suddenly poking the Vicar in the ribs. The Vicar came out of Dreamlandsuddenly. "Eigh?" shouted the Vicar, startled, coming up with a jump."Sssh!" said the Curate from Iping Hanger, and everyone looked shockedat the brutal insensibility of Hilyer. "So unusual of the Vicar," saidthe very eldest Miss Papaver, "to do things like that!" The Angel wenton playing.
The Curate from Iping Hanger began making mesmeric movements with hisindex finger, and as the thing proceeded Mr Rathbone-Slater gotamazingly limp. He solemnly turned his hat round and altered his view.The Vicar lapsed from an uneasy discomfort into dreamland again. LadyHammergallow rustled a great deal, and presently found a way of makingher chair creak. And at last the thing came to an end. Lady Hammergallowexclaimed "De--licious!" though she had never heard a note, and beganclapping her hands. At that everyone clapped except Mr Rathbone-Slater,who rapped his hat brim instead. The Curate from Iping Hanger clappedwith a judicial air.
"So I said (_clap, clap, clap_), if you cannot cook the food my way(_clap, clap, clap_) you must _go_," said Mrs Pirbright, clappingvigorously. "(This music is a delightful treat.)"
"(It is. I always _revel_ in music,)" said the very eldest Miss Papaver."And did she improve after that?"
"Not a bit of it," said Mrs Pirbright.
The Vicar woke up again and stared round the saloon. Did other peoplesee these visions, or were they confined to him alone? Surely they mustall see ... and have a wonderful command of their feelings. It wasincredible that such music should not affect them. "He's a trifle_gauche_," said Lady Hammergallow, jumping upon the Vicar's attention."He neither bows nor smiles. He must cultivate oddities like that. Everysuccessful executant is more or less _gauche_."
"Did you really make that up yourself?" said Mrs Jehoram, sparkling hereyes at him, "as you went along. Really, it is _wonderful_! Nothing lessthan wonderful."
"A little amateurish," said the Curate from Iping Hanger to MrRathbone-Slater. "A great gift, undoubtedly, but a certain lack ofsustained training. There were one or two little things ... I would liketo talk to him."
"His trousers look like concertinas," said Mr Rathbone-Slater. "He oughtto be told _that_. It's scarcely decent."
"Can you do Imitations, Mr Angel?" said Lady Hammergallow.
"Oh _do_, do some Imitations!" said Mrs Jehoram. "I adore Imitations."
"It was a fantastic thing," said the Curate of Iping Hanger to theVicar of Siddermorton, waving his long indisputably musical hands as hespoke; "a little involved, to my mind. I have heard it beforesomewhere--I forget where. He has genius undoubtedly, but occasionallyhe is--loose. There is a certain deadly precision wanting. There areyears of discipline yet."
"I _don't_ admire these complicated pieces of music," said GeorgeHarringay. "I have simple t
astes, I'm afraid. There seems to me no_tune_ in it. There's nothing I like so much as simple music. Tune,simplicity is the need of the age, in my opinion. We are so over subtle.Everything is far-fetched. Home grown thoughts and 'Home, Sweet Home'for me. What do you think?"
"Oh! I think so--_quite_," said the younger Miss Pirbright.
"Well, Amy, chattering to George as usual?" said Mrs Pirbright, acrossthe room.
"As usual, Ma!" said the younger Miss Pirbright, glancing round with abright smile at Miss Papaver, and turning again so as not to lose thenext utterance from George.
"I wonder if you and Mr Angel could manage a duet?" said LadyHammergallow to the Curate from Iping Hanger, who was lookingpreternaturally gloomy.
"I'm sure I should be delighted," said the Curate from Iping Hanger,brightening up.
"Duets!" said the Angel; "the two of us. Then he can play. Iunderstood--the Vicar told me--"
"Mr Wilmerdings is an accomplished pianist," interrupted the Vicar.
"But the Imitations?" said Mrs Jehoram, who detested Wilmerdings.
"Imitations!" said the Angel.
"A pig squeaking, a cock crowing, you know," said Mr Rathbone-Slater,and added lower, "Best fun you can get out of a fiddle--_my_ opinion."
"I really don't understand," said the Angel. "A pig crowing!"
"You don't like Imitations," said Mrs Jehoram. "Nor do I--really. Iaccept the snub. I think they degrade...."
"Perhaps afterwards Mr Angel will Relent," said Lady Hammergallow, whenMrs Pirbright had explained the matter to her. She could scarcely credither ear-trumpet. When she asked for Imitations she was accustomed to getImitations.
Mr Wilmerdings had seated himself at the piano, and had turned to afamiliar pile of music in the recess. "What do you think of thatBarcarole thing of Spohr's?" he said over his shoulder. "I suppose youknow it?" The Angel looked bewildered.
He opened the folio before the Angel.
"What an odd kind of book!" said the Angel. "What do all those crazydots mean?" (At that the Vicar's blood ran cold.)
"What dots?" said the Curate.
"There!" said the Angel with incriminating finger.
"Oh _come_!" said the Curate.
There was one of those swift, short silences that mean so much in asocial gathering.
Then the eldest Miss Papaver turned upon the Vicar. "Does not Mr Angelplay from ordinary.... Music--from the ordinary notation?"
"I have never heard," said the Vicar, getting red now after the firstshock of horror. "I have really never seen...."
The Angel felt the situation was strained, though what was straining ithe could not understand. He became aware of a doubtful, an unfriendlylook upon the faces that regarded him. "Impossible!" he heard MrsPirbright say; "after that _beautiful_ music." The eldest Miss Papaverwent to Lady Hammergallow at once, and began to explain into herear-trumpet that Mr Angel did not wish to play with Mr Wilmerdings, andalleged an ignorance of written music.
"He cannot play from Notes!" said Lady Hammergallow in a voice ofmeasured horror. "Non--sense!"
"Notes!" said the Angel perplexed. "Are these notes?"
"It's carrying the joke too far--simply because he doesn't want to playwith Wilmerdings," said Mr Rathbone-Slater to George Harringay.
There was an expectant pause. The Angel perceived he had to be ashamedof himself. He was ashamed of himself.
"Then," said Lady Hammergallow, throwing her head back and speaking withdeliberate indignation, as she rustled forward, "if you cannot play withMr Wilmerdings I am afraid I cannot ask you to play again." She made itsound like an ultimatum. Her glasses in her hand quivered violently withindignation. The Angel was now human enough to appreciate the fact thathe was crushed.
"What is it?" said little Lucy Rustchuck in the further bay.
"He's refused to play with old Wilmerdings," said Tommy Rathbone-Slater."What a lark! The old girl's purple. She thinks heaps of that ass,Wilmerdings."
"Perhaps, Mr Wilmerdings, you will favour us with that deliciousPolonaise of Chopin's," said Lady Hammergallow. Everybody else washushed. The indignation of Lady Hammergallow inspired much the samesilence as a coming earthquake or an eclipse. Mr Wilmerdings perceivedhe would be doing a real social service to begin at once, and (be itentered to his credit now that his account draws near its settlement) hedid.
"If a man pretend to practise an Art," said George Harringay, "he oughtat least to have the conscience to study the elements of it. What doyou...."
"Oh! I think so too," said the younger Miss Pirbright.
The Vicar felt that the heavens had fallen. He sat crumpled up in hischair, a shattered man. Lady Hammergallow sat down next to him withoutappearing to see him. She was breathing heavily, but her face wasterribly calm. Everyone sat down. Was the Angel grossly ignorant or onlygrossly impertinent? The Angel was vaguely aware of some frightfuloffence, aware that in some mysterious way he had ceased to be thecentre of the gathering. He saw reproachful despair in the Vicar's eye.He drifted slowly towards the window in the recess and sat down on thelittle octagonal Moorish stool by the side of Mrs Jehoram. And under thecircumstances he appreciated at more than its proper value Mrs Jehoram'skindly smile. He put down the violin in the window seat.
XXXV.
Mrs Jehoram and the Angel (apart)--Mr Wilmerdings playing.
"I have so longed for a quiet word with you," said Mrs Jehoram in a lowtone. "To tell you how delightful I found your playing."
"I am glad it pleased you," said the Angel.
"Pleased is scarcely the word," said Mrs Jehoram. "I wasmoved--profoundly. These others did not understand.... I was glad youdid not play with him."
The Angel looked at the mechanism called Wilmerdings, and felt glad too.(The Angelic conception of duets is a kind of conversation uponviolins.) But he said nothing.
"I worship music," said Mrs Jehoram. "I know nothing about ittechnically, but there is something in it--a longing, a wish...."
The Angel stared at her face. She met his eyes.
"You understand," she said. "I see you understand." He was certainly avery nice boy, sentimentally precocious perhaps, and with deliciouslyliquid eyes.
There was an interval of Chopin (Op. 40) played with immense precision.
Mrs Jehoram had a sweet face still, in shadow, with the light fallinground her golden hair, and a curious theory flashed across the Angel'smind. The perceptible powder only supported his view of somethinginfinitely bright and lovable caught, tarnished, coarsened, coated over.
"Do you," said the Angel in a low tone. "Are you ... separated from ..._your_ world?"
"As you are?" whispered Mrs Jehoram.
"This is so--cold," said the Angel. "So harsh!" He meant the wholeworld.
"I feel it too," said Mrs Jehoram, referring to Siddermorton Home.
"There are those who cannot live without sympathy," she said after asympathetic pause. "And times when one feels alone in the world.Fighting a battle against it all. Laughing, flirting, hiding the pain ofit...."
"And hoping," said the Angel with a wonderful glance.--"Yes."
Mrs Jehoram (who was an epicure of flirtations) felt the Angel was morethan redeeming the promise of his appearance. (Indisputably heworshipped her.) "Do _you_ look for sympathy?" she said. "Or have youfound it?"
"I think," said the Angel, very softly, leaning forward, "I think I havefound it."
Interval of Chopin Op. 40. The very eldest Miss Papaver and MrsPirbright whispering. Lady Hammergallow (glasses up) looking down thesaloon with an unfriendly expression at the Angel. Mrs Jehoram and theAngel exchanging deep and significant glances.
"Her name," said the Angel (Mrs Jehoram made a movement) "is Delia. Sheis...."
"Delia!" said Mrs Jehoram sharply, slowly realising a terriblemisunderstanding. "A fanciful name.... Why!... No! Not that littlehousemaid at the Vicarage--?..."
The Polonaise terminated with a flourish. The Angel was quite surprisedat the change in Mrs Jehoram's expression.
"_I never_ did!" said Mrs Jehoram recovering. "To make me yourconfidant in an intrigue with a servant. Really Mr Angel it's possibleto be too original...."
Then suddenly their colloquy was interrupted.
XXXVI.
This section is (so far as my memory goes) the shortest in the book.
But the enormity of the offence necessitates the separation of thissection from all other sections.
The Vicar, you must understand, had done his best to inculcate therecognised differentiae of a gentleman. "Never allow a lady to carryanything," said the Vicar. "Say, 'permit me' and relieve her." "Alwaysstand until every lady is seated." "Always rise and open a door for alady...." and so forth. (All men who have elder sisters know that code.)
And the Angel (who had failed to relieve Lady Hammergallow of herteacup) danced forward with astonishing dexterity (leaving Mrs Jehoramin the window seat) and with an elegant "permit me" rescued the tea-trayfrom Lady Hammergallow's pretty parlour-maid and vanished officiously infront of her. The Vicar rose to his feet with an inarticulate cry.
XXXVII.
"He's drunk!" said Mr Rathbone-Slater, breaking a terrific silence."That's the matter with _him_."
Mrs Jehoram laughed hysterically.
The Vicar stood up, motionless, staring. "Oh! I _forgot_ to explainservants to him!" said the Vicar to himself in a swift outbreak ofremorse. "I thought he _did_ understand servants."
