THE ESSENTIAL GEORGE BERNARD SHAW COLLECTION. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ says absurd things. Recollect that she is as yet only a child. She says you have betrayed your real opinion of her at last. I told her that circumstances seemed at the time to prove that she had acted foolishly, but that you now admitted your error.”

      “And then—”

      “Then she said that her maid might have doubted her, and afterwards admitted her error on the same ground. Oh, she is a strange creature, is Aurélie. What can one do with such a terrible child? She is positive that she will never speak to you again; and I fear she is in earnest. I can do no more. I have argued — implored — wept; but she is an ingrate, a heart of marble.”

      Here there was a tap at the door; and a servant appeared.

      “Madame Herbert wishes you to accompany her to the pianoforte place, madame. She is going thither to practise.”

      Herbert only looked downcast; and Madame Szczympliça left the room stifling a sob. Herbert knew not what to do. A domestic quarrel involving the interference of a motherin-law had always seemed to him an incident common among vulgar people, but quite foreign to his own course of life; and now that it had actually occurred to him, he felt humiliated. He found a little relief as the conviction grew upon him that he, and not Aurélie, was to blame. There was nothing new to him in the reflexion that he had been weak and hasty: there would be pleasure in making reparation, in begging her forgiveness, in believing in and loving her more than ever. But this would be on condition that she ultimately forgave him, of which he did not feel at all sure, as indeed he never felt sure of her on any point, not even that she had really loved him.

      In this state of mind he saw her carriage arrive, and heard her descend the stairs and pass the door of the room where he was. Whilst he was hesitating as to whether he should go out and speak to her then, she drove away; and the opportunity, now that it was lost, seemed a precious one. He went downstairs, and asked the old woman when she expected Madame Herbert to return. Not until six o’clock, she told him. he resigned himself to eight hours’ suspense, and went to the Luxembourg, where he enjoyed such pleasure as he could obtain by admiring the works of men who could paint better than he. It was a long day; but it came to an end at last.

      “I will announce you, monsieur,” said the old woman hastily, as she admitted him at half-past six.

      “No,” he said firmly, resolved not to give Aurélie an opportunity of escaping from him. “I will announce myself.” And he passed the portress, who seemed disposed, but afraid, to bar his path. As he went up, he heard the pianoforte played in a style which he hardly recognized. The touch was hard and impatient; and false notes were struck, followed by almost violent repetitions of the passage in which they occurred. He stood at the door a moment, listening.

      “My child,” said Madame Sczympliça’s voice: “that is not practice. You become worse every moment: and you are spoiling the instrument.”

      “Let me alone. It is a detestable piano; and I hope I may break it.”

      Herbert’s courage sank at the angry tone of his wife’s voice.

      “You let yourself be put out by nothing at all. Do I not tell you that everybody thought you played like an angel?”

      “I will not be told so again. I played vilely. I will give up music. I hate it: and I never shall be able to play. I have tried and failed. It was a mistake for me ever to have attempted it.”

      At this moment Adrian, hearing the footsteps of the old woman, who was coming up to listen at the keyhole, entered the room. Madame Sczympliça stared at him in consternation. He walked quickly across the room, and sat down close to his wife at the pianoforte.

      “Aurélie,” he said: “you must forgive me.”

      “Never, never, never,” she cried, turning quickly round so as to confront him. “I have this day disgraced myself: and it is your fault.”

      “My fault, Aurélie?”

      “Do not call me Aurélie. Now you smile because you have had your revenge. Am I not unhappy enough without being forced to see and speak to you, who have made me unhappy? Go: disembarrass me, or I will myself seek some other roof. What madness possessed me, an artist, to marry? Did I not know that it is ever the end of an artist’s career?”

      “You cannot believe, “ he said, much agitated, “that I would wilfully cause you a moment’s pain. I love—”

      “Ah, yes, you love me. It is because you love me that you insult me. It is because you love me that you are ashamed of me and reproach me with playing for hire. It is because you love me that I have failed before the whole world, and lost the fruit of long years of work. You will find my mother’s scissors in that box. Why do you not cut off my fingers, since you have paralysed them?”

      Adrian, shuddering in every fibre at the suggestion, caught her proffered fingers and squeezed them in his hands. “My darling,” he said: “you pain me acutely by your reproaches. Will you not forgive me?”

      “You waste your breath,” she said obdurately, disengaging herself petulantly. “I am not listening to you.” And she began to play again.

      “Aurélie,” he said presently.

      She played attentively, and did not seem to hear him.

      “Aurélie,” he repeated urgently. No answer. “Do cease that horrible thing, my darling, and listen to me.”

      This stopped her. She turned with tears in her eyes, and exclaimed, “Yes, it is horrible. Everything that I touch is horrible now.” She shut the piano as she spoke. “I will never open it more. Mamma.”

      “My angel,” replied Madame Sczympliça, starting.

      “Tell them to send for it tomorrow. I do not want even to see it when I come down in the morning.”

      “But,” said Herbert, “you quite misunderstand me. Can you suppose that I think your playing horrible, or that, if I thought it, I would be so brutal as to say so.

      “You do think it horrible. Everyone finds it horrible. So you are right.”

      “It was only what you were playing”

      “I was one of Chopin’s studies. You used to like Chopin. You would do better to be silent: every word you utter betrays your real thoughts.”

      Herbert gently reopened the pianoforte. “If it were the singing of angels, Aurélie, it would be horrible to me as long as it delayed the assurance I am waiting for — of your forgiveness.”

      “You shall never have it. Nor do I believe that you care for it.”

      “Never is a long word. You have said it very often this evening, Aurélie. You will never play again. You will never speak to me again. You will never forgive me.”

      “Do not argue with me. You fatigue me.” She turned away, and began to improvise, looking upward at the cornice with a determined expression which gradually faded and vanished. Herbert, discouraged by her last retort, did not venture to interrupt her until the last trace of displeasure had disappeared from her face. Then he pleaded in a low voice. “Aurélie.” The frown reappeared instantly. “Do not stop playing. I only wish to assure you that I was not jealous this morning.”

      “O СКАЧАТЬ