The Collected Works of George Bernard Shaw: Plays, Novels, Articles, Letters and Essays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ to distraction. You shall see Mister Herbert supplanting me in her affections.”

      “I shall stay with Mrs. Phipson. Do not let me detain you, if you wish to go.”

      “You are going to be ill-natured and spoil our evening, eh?”

      Mary suppressed an exclamation of impatience, and rose. “If you insist on it, of course I will come. Mrs. Phipson: I am going to walk through the rooms with Mr Jack.”

      Mrs Phipson, from mere habit, looked doubtful the propriety of the arrangement; but Jack walked off with Mary before anything further passed. In the next room they found a dense crowd and a very warm atmosphere. A violinist stood tuning his instrument near the pianoforte at which the young Polish lady sat. Close by was Adrian Herbert, looking intently at her.

      “Aha!” said Jack, following his companion’s look, “Mister Adrian’s thoughts have come to an anchor at last.” As he spoke, the music began.

      “What are they playing?” said Mary with affected indifference.

      “The Kreutzer Sonata.”

      “Oh! I am so glad.”

      “Are you indeed? What a thing it is to be fond of music! Do you know that we shall have to stand here mumchance for the next twenty minutes listening to them?”

      “Surely if I can enjoy the Kreutzer Sonata, you can. You are only pretending to be unmusical.”

      “I wish they had chosen something shorter. However, since we are here, we had better hold our tongues and listen.”

      The Sonata proceeded; and Adrian listened, rapt. He did not join in the applause between the movements: it jarred on him.

      Why don’t you teach yourself to play like that?” said Jack to Mary.

      “I suppose because I have no genius,” she replied, not pleased by the question.

      “Genius! Pshaw! What are you clapping your hands for?”

      “You seem to be in a humor for asking unnecessary questions tonight, Mr Jack. I applaud Herr Josefs because I admire his playing.”

      “And Mademoiselle. How do you like her?”

      “She is very good, of course. But I really do not see that she is so much superior to other pianists as you seem to consider her. I enjoy Josefs’ playing more than hers.”

      “Indeed,” said Jack. “Ho! Ho! Do you see that hoary-headed villain looking across at us? That is the man who protested against my fantasia as a work of the devil; and now he is coming to ask me to play.”

      “And will you play?”

      “Yes. I promised Miss Szczympliça that I would.”

      “Then you had better take me back to Mrs Phipson.”

      “What! You will not wait and listen to me?”

      “It cannot possibly matter to you whether I listen or not. I cannot stand here alone.”

      “Then come back to Mrs. Phipson. I will not play.”

      “Now pray do not be so disagreeable, Mr Jack. I wish to go back because no one wants me here.”

      “Either you will stay where you are, or I will not play.”

      “I shall do as I please, Mr Jack. You have Mademoiselle Sczympliça to play for. I cannot stay here alone.”

      “Mr Herbert will take care of you.”

      “I do not choose to disturb Mr Herbert.”

      “Well, well, here is your brother. Hush! — if you call him Charlie aloud here, he will be sulky. Mr Sutherland.”

      “What’s the matter?” said Charlie gratefully. Jack handed Mary over to him and presently went to the piano at the invitation of the old gentleman he had pointed out, who wore a gold badge on his coat as one of the stewards of the entertainment. He had composed a symphony — his second — that year for the Antient Orpheus: a laborious, conscientious, arid symphony, full of unconscious pickings and stealings from Mendelssohn, his favorite master, scrupulously worked up into the strictest academic form. It was a theme from this symphony that Jack now sounded on the pianoforte with one finger.

      “That is not very polite.” said Mr Phipson, after explaining this to the Polish lady. “Poor Maclagen! He does not seem to like having his theme treated in that fashion.”

      “If he intends it derisively,” said Adrian indignantly, “it is in execrable taste. Mr Maclagan ought to leave the room.”

      “You think like me, Monsieur Herbert,” said Mademoiselle Szczympliça “All must be forgiven to Monsieur Jacques; but he should not insult those who are less fortunately gifted than he. Besides, it is an old man.”

      Jack then began improvising on the theme with a capriciousness of which the humor was lost on the majority of the guests. He treated it with an eccentricity which burlesqued his own style, and then with a pedantry which burlesqued that of the composer. At last, abandoning this ironical vein when it had culminated in an atrociously knock-kneed fugato, he exercised his musical fancy in earnest, and succeeded so well that Maclagan felt tempted to rewrite the middle section of the movement from which the subject was taken. The audience professed to be delighted, and were in truth dazzled when Jack finished by a commonplace form of variation in which he made a prodigious noise with his left hand, embroidered by showers of arpeggios with his right.

      “ Magnificent!” said Mr Phipson, applauding. “Splendid.”

      “Ah!” said Mdlle Szczympliça, sighing, “if I had but his strength, I should fear no competitor.”

      “Is it possible,” said Herbert, “that you, who play so beautifully, can envy such a man as that. I would rather hear you play for one minute than listen to him for an hour.”

      She shrugged her shoulders. “Alas!” she said, “you know what I can do; and you are so good as to flatter me that I do it well. But I! I know what I cannot do.”

      “How are you, Mademoiselle?” said Jack, approaching them without staying to answer several persons who were congratulating him. “Good evening, Mr Herbert. Ah, Mr Phipson.”

      “Mademoiselle Szczympliça has been paying you a high compliment — I fully agree with Mr Herbert that it is an exaggerated one,” said Phipson, “She wishes she could play like you.”

      “And so Mr Herbert thinks ‘God forbid! does he? Well, he is right Why do you want to trample on the pianoforte as I do, Fraulein, when you can do so much better? What would you think of a skiff on the waters envying the attempts of a cavalry charger to swim?”

      “I see from your playing how far I fall short in the last movement of the fantasia, Monsieur Jacqes. I am not strong enough to play it as you think it should be played. Ah yes, yes, yes; but I know — I know.”

      “No, Mademoiselle; nor are you strong enough to dance the wardance as an Iroquois Indian thinks it should be danced. The higher you attain, the more you leave below you. Eh, СКАЧАТЬ