The Essential G. B. Shaw: Celebrated Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Essays & Articles. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ the score at once, or paying the first installment of five hundred pounds for it, as agreed upon. He added in a postscript that if they accepted the work, he should require strict fulfillment of the clause binding the Society to one public performance of it in London. The Society, which was old enough to have shelved certain works purchased from Beethoven for similar reasons those given to Jack, hesitated, quarreled internally, and at last resolved to hold a private rehearsal of the overture before deciding. Manlius made earnest efforts to comprehend and like this section of the work, which was to occupy half an hour in performance, and was, in fact, a symphony. He only partially succeeded, and he found the task of conducting the rehearsal unusually disagreeable. The players, confident and willing, did wonders in the estimation of Maclagan, but the first repetition broke down twice, and those who who were at fault lost temper and cursed mutinously within hearing of Manlius, who was himself confused and angry. When it was over at last, a dubious murmur rose from the stalls Where the Committee sat in judgment, and a few of the older members protested against a second trial. They were overruled, and the overture was repeated, this time without any stoppage.

      “Certainly,” said Mr Phipson, describing his sensations to Mary, “It contained grand traits. But these were only glimpses in the midst of chaos, I had to give in to Maclagan, acknowledging that the most favorable account I could give of it was that it impressed me as might the aberrations of a demented giant. He was quite frantic about it, and fairly talked us down with examples of false relations and incorrect progressions from every bar of the score. Old Brailsford, who is one of the old committee, turned up for the first time in years expressly to support Jack’s interests. He said it was the most infernal conglomeration of sounds he had ever listened to, and I must say many of us privately agreed with him.

      This conversation took place at the dinner table, and was prolonged by Mrs Phipson, who taunted her husband with his disregard of her warning not to pay five hundred pounds for what she termed a pig in a poke. She was a talkative woman, shallow, jolly, and unscrupulous, with a shrewd and selfish side to her character which indulgent people never saw. Mary saw it clearly; and as, to her taste, Mrs Phipson was vulgar, she was not very fond of her, and often felt indignant at her ridicule of her husband’s boastful but sincere love of music. On this occasion, seeing that Mr Phipson was getting sulky, and that his wife was perversely minded to make him worse, she left the table quietly without waiting for her hostess, and went upstairs alone to the drawingroom. There, to her surprise, she found a strange man, lounging on a sofa with an album in his hands.

      “I beg your pardon,” said Mary, retreating.

      “Not at all,” said the man, rising in disorder. “I hope I’m not in the way. Miss Sutherland, perhaps.”

      “Yes,” said Mary coldly; for she could not see him distinctly, and his manner of addressing her, though a little confused, struck her as being too familiar.

      “Very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Sutherland. Nanny wrote me word that you were staying here. I recognize you by your photograph too. I hope I don’t disturb you.” He added this doubtfully, her attitude being still anything but reassuring.

      “Not at all,” said Mary, taking the nearest seat, which happened to be a piece of furniture shaped like the letter S, with a seat in each loop, so that the occupants, placed opposite one another, could converse at their ease across the rail. She then settled her glasses deliberately upon her nose and looked at him with a certain hardihood of manner which came to her whenever she was seized with nervousness, and was determined not to give way to it. He was a tall, jovial looking man, not yet quite middleaged, stout, or florid, but, as she judged, within five years of being all three. He had sandy hair and a red beard, cleft into two long whiskers of the shape formerly known to fashion as “weepers.” His expression was goodnatured and, at this moment, conciliatory, as though he wished to disarm any further stiffness on her part. But she thought she saw also saw admiration in his eyes and she continued to gaze at him inflexibly. He looked wistfully at the conversation chair but sat down on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

      “This is a very convenient neighborhood, isn’t it?” he said.

      “Very.”’

      “Yes. T am sure you must find it so. You are within easy distance of both the parks, and all the theatres. Kensington is too far out of the way for my fancy. How long does it take to go from here to Covent Garden Market now, for instance?”

      “I am sorry I cannot tell you,” said Mary calmly, looking at him with unflinching eyes: “I never go there.”

      “Indeed! I wonder at that. You can get tremendous bargains in flowers, I believe, if you go there early in the morning. Do you like flowers?”

      “I do not share the fashionable mania for cut flowers. I like gardening.”

      “I quite agree with you, Miss Sutherland. I often think, when I see every little vase or knick-knack in a room stuffed with tulips and lilies and things, what a want of real taste it shews. I was looking at that beautiful painting over the music stand just before you came in. May I ask is it one of yours?”

      “Yes. If you look closely at it you will see my name written in large vermilion letters in the left hand corner.”

      I saw it. That’s how I knew it to be yours. It’s a capital picture: I often regret that I never learned to paint, though I know I should never have done it half as well as you. It’s a very nice occupation for a lady. It is mere child’s play to you, I suppose.”

      “I have given it up because I find it too difficult.”

      “But nobody could do it better than you. However, it runs away with your time, no doubt. Still, if I were you, I wouldn’t give it up altogether.”

      “You are fond of pictures, I presume.”

      “Yes. I have a great taste for them. I go to the National Gallery whenever I come to London, to have a look at Landseer’s pictures. I sometimes see young ladies copying the pictures there. Did you ever copy one of Landseer’s?”

      “No. Strange as it may appear to you, there are some pictures there which I prefer to Landseer’s.”

      “You understand the old masters, you see. I don’t, unfortunately. I should like to be able to talk to you about them; but if I tried it on, you would find out in no time that I know nothing about it. Put me into a gallery, and I can tell you what pictures I like: that’s about as far as I can go.”

      “I wish I could go as far.”

      “I am afraid you are chaffing me, Miss Sutherland.”

      Mary did not condescend to reply. The strange man, now somewhat discomfited, rose and stood with his back to the fireplace, as if to warm himself at the Japanese umbrella that protruded from it.

      “Beautiful weather,” he said after a pause.

      “Very beautiful indeed.” she replied, gravely. Then, to prevent herself from laughing at him, “Have you been long in London?”

      “Arrived yesterday.” he said, brightening. “I came straight from New York via Liverpool. I’m always traveling. Have you ever been to the States?”

      “No.”

      You should go there and see what real life is. We’re all asleep here. I only left England last March; and I’ve started six branches of our company since that, besides obtaining judgment against two scoundrels who infringed our patent. Quick work, that.”

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