Corsini, strangely inspired, played as one possessed. And Papa Péron caught every inflection, every subtle change of key. Never, during the brief performance, was there a single discord. All the time the Frenchman, old in years, had followed every mood of the younger musician.
Papa Péron dropped his slender, artistic hands on the last chord. My young friend, you are great, he said quietly. Success to you is only a matter of time. Another glass of Chambertin?
Nello drained it; he felt strangely elated. Ah, Monsieur, but your accompaniment was half the battle. When I faltered, you stimulated me. You must have been a magnificent pianist.
Anita broke in in her gentle voice. The daughter of an English mother, she spoke the tongue of her adopted country very fluently.
You put great heart into us, Monsieur. But when you speak of success, I remember that we have earned just about three shillings to-night.
Péron, the optimist, waved his hand airily. Look up to the stars, my child, and hope. I have a little influence left yet. Perhaps I can put you on the right track; take you at least out of these miserable streets. Sit down for another ten minutes; make a second supper if you like. He guessed that they had not fully satisfied their hunger.
But this they resolutely declined. He waved them to their chairs.
Five minutes, then. Tell me a little something of your history. I am sure it has been a tragic one.
And Corsini, departing from his usual mood of reticence, imparted to the old Frenchman the details of his career.
His father, the elder Corsini, had been first violin at the Politeama Theatre in Florence, while comparatively a young man. He had quarrelled violently with the manager and been dismissed. Confident in his ability, he had come over to England to seek his fortune afresh. Here he had met and fallen violently in love with a young English girl, some few years his junior. She was a pianist by profession, in a small way. She attended at dances, played accompaniments at City dinners. Her income was a very meagre one. She was the product of one of the numerous schools that turn out such performers by the dozen.
They married, and Corsini soon discovered that he was not the great man he imagined himself to be. Also, he was of a frail and weakly constitution. Ten years after his marriage he died of rapid consumption. Madame Corsini was left with two children on her hands.
She was a devoted mother. Nello dwelt on this episode of their sad life with tears in his eyes. She worked hard for a miserable pittance; and then she was worn out with the strain. Nello and his sister, Anita, were left orphans. Nello had been taught the rudiments of the violin by his father; all the rest he had picked up himself.
After his mothers death the rest was a nightmare. He had done his best for himself and his sister. That best had landed them in this snow-laden street to-night.
Papa Péron listened quietly to this young violinists recital, but he made little comment. Here was one of the numerous tragedies that were occurring every day in every populous city.
He rose and shook hands with the two. You have a lodging to go to, my poor children? he asked anxiously.
With a deep blush, Corsini assured him that they had a lodging to go to; he did not dare to give him the address. Dean Street was a comparatively aristocratic abode. Papa Pérons humbly furnished room seemed a Paradise. And the piano was good that must have been saved from the prosperous day and was his own. No Soho landlady would provide such a piano as that.
Péron shook them warmly by the hand. You must come and see me to-morrow. I shall be in all the morning. I shall think things over between now and then. I am a poor man myself, but I may be able to help you with introductions. I must get you out of these miserable streets.
They walked home, wondering about Papa Péron. Who could he be? Anita inclined to the belief that he was a miser. Nello had his doubts.
Still very hungry, they bought some sausages on their way home and devoured them before they went to bed. They still had a substantial balance on hand, according to the thrifty Anita.
And the next morning, Nello was round at Dean Street to learn what Papa Péron had thought of in the meanwhile.
CHAPTER II
The old Frenchman had heard Corsinis knock at the door. He stood at the entrance to his shabby sitting-room, the only article of furniture being the piano, his kind old lined face illumined with smiles.
Courage, my young friend. I did not sleep very well after the excitement of your visit. Inspiration came to me in the middle of the night. You see that letter? He pointed to a small desk standing against the wall. Go and see to whom it is addressed.
Nello obeyed him. His eyes sparkled as he read the name on the envelope. Mr. Gay, the leader of the orchestra at the Parthenon.
Papa Péron nodded his leonine head, bristling with its snow-white locks. A friend of mine. He is a composer as well as chef dorchestre. I have corrected many of his proof sheets for a firm I work for.
Corsini pricked up his ears at this statement. He and his sister had been curious as to the old mans profession. The mystery was solved. He was no miser, no millionaire, just a music publishers hack. And once, according to his own statement, he had been a famous pianist, with a renown equal to that of Bauquel.
I have asked him to give you the first vacancy in his orchestra. He will do it to oblige me, for I have helped him a little given him some ideas. It is one of the best theatre orchestras in London. The pay, alas! will not be good, but it will take you out of those miserable streets. Go to his private address this morning; I am sure he will see you at once.
How can I thank you? began the young man; but Péron stopped him with an imperious wave of his long, thin hand.
Tut, tut, my child! I want no thanks. I have taken a fancy to you and that dear little sister of yours. Now, listen; I have another scheme on hand.
Rapidly the genial old man unfolded his plans.
In my room there are two beds. The landlady has a little attic to let, by no means a grand apartment, but it will serve for your sister. You can share my room. Three people can live almost as cheaply as two. There was a knowing smile on the wrinkled face, as the genial Papa enunciated this profound economic truth. Come and live here. You can practise on the violin while I play your accompaniments.
But Monsieur, at the moment, we have no money, stammered the embarrassed violinist. Mr. Gay may not have a vacancy for some little time.
Papa Péron frowned ever so little. He did not easily brook contradiction. You are making difficulties where none exist. You must lodge somewhere. My landlady only asks five shillings a week for the attic. You share my bedroom and sitting-room. As for the food, you will be my guests till you earn something. Do not say me nay, he ended fiercely. I am resolved that you shall play no more in those miserable gutters. It is finished. You come here to-night.
There was no resisting this imperious old man with the frail figure and the snow-white abundant hair. Nello promised that he and his sister would move into Dean Street that afternoon. In the meantime, he would take the letter of introduction to Mr. Gay, who had lodgings in Gower Street, no great distance.
Mr. Gay was a fat, rubicund man with a somewhat faded and slatternly wife. He read Pérons note and a genial smile lit up his massive face.
Good! he cried heartily. My old friend vouches for you, and you have come in the very nick of time. One of my men is leaving in a couple of days got a better berth. You can take his place. But before we settle, you may as well give me a taste of your quality. We go in for rather high-class music at the Parthenon. Play me Gounods Ave Maria, I always test a man with that.
Good! he cried heartily. My old friend vouches for you, and you have come in the very nick of time. One of my men is leaving in a couple of days got a better berth. You can take his place. But before we settle, you may as well give me a taste of your quality. We go in for rather high-class music at the Parthenon. Play me Gounods Ave Maria, I always test a man with that.
He called to the slatternly woman who was crouching over the fire. Ada, please go to the piano and play the accompaniment for this young man.
Mrs. Gay complied with the request. Nello played the beautiful piece with all his soul. Gay listened, attentively. When it was finished, he applauded loudly.
By Jove, you are great! Péron was right. He has not exaggerated. You have had no chance, eh?
Nello stammered that he had had no chances. He did not dare confess to this prosperous person, composer as well as conductor of an orchestra, that, lately, he had been playing in the streets for a living to pay for his miserable lodging and scanty food.
They arranged terms with many apologies on the part of Mr. Gay.
It is an insult to a man of your talent to offer such a miserable pittance. But my hands are tied, and tied very strictly, I can tell you. Turn up at the Parthenon on Friday night; you will soon get something better. You can read music quickly?
Nello assured him on that point. He could read music as easily as his newspaper. The terms which Mr. Gay offered him were riches compared to the few coppers he had earned in the streets.
That same afternoon he and the joyful Anita presented themselves in Dean Street, with their few belongings. Papa Péron furnished a royal supper and broached another bottle of the very excellent Chambertin.
There was, however, still the question of clothes. Nello had nothing but what he stood up in, and the Parthenon was a very swagger theatre. Péron was equal to the emergency. He took the young man round to a neighbouring costumiers, and secured a dress-suit on the hire-purchase system, at a very small outlay of ready money which he advanced. For, although the good Papa was not rich, he was very thrifty, and usually had a shot in the locker.
It was a very happy ménage; the old Frenchman was kindness and geniality itself. He seemed to grow younger in the society of his youthful friends.
And in time the mystery that had seemed to surround him vanished, his means of livelihood became revealed. He was on the staff of a couple of big music publishers. He corrected their proof sheets, he occasionally advised on compositions of budding composers; but needless to say, at this hack work his remuneration was very modest.
But he always appeared cheerful and resigned. He would drop fragmentary hints of a brilliant past, when money flowed like water, when he had mixed with illustrious personages. But he could never be induced to dwell very long on this period, would enter into no convincing details.
It is gone, it is a feverish dream, he would say with a somewhat theatrical wave of the hand. It was evidently a weakness of his to enshroud himself in an air of romance and mystery. What does it matter who and what I was? To-day I am Papa Péron, music publishers hack, earning a few shillings a week at a most uncongenial occupation. But, at my age, I want little.
Nello and his sister were happy too. The salary at the Parthenon was not magnificent, but it was a certainty, and they were frugal young people. No more playing in the sleet-driven streets, no more terrible uncertainty as to the nights lodging and the next days meal.
For a month they pursued this humble, but not uncomfortable life. And Nello, who had no opportunity of displaying his talent in this big orchestra, where he was one of many, played two or three hours a day to the brilliant accompaniment of the old Frenchman.
And then the clouds began to gather. Papa Péron was taken with a severe attack of bronchitis. Racked in spasms of severe coughing, he was unable to pursue his humble and not too remunerative occupation. He could no longer correct the proof sheets. The doctors visits, the necessity of extra and expensive nourishment, began to eat up his slender store. The few sovereigns he had hoarded for a rainy day began to melt rapidly.
This did not matter much for a while. The regular salary at the Parthenon sufficed, with Anitas skilful management, for the three; but there was no longer any question of putting by. Anita knew now that she had been very mistaken in thinking the poor old Papa was a miser. With tears in his poor old eyes, he had been forced to confess that he had come to his last sovereign.
And Anita had cried too. What does it matter, dear Papa? she said. She had grown very fond of the kind old man. You took us in when we were poor and friendless. Nello will work for you now, and I shall be very careful. You will see how well I can manage on a little.
And so good old Papa Péron had his beef-tea, his little drops of brandy, his expensive chicken. Whoever went without, he must not experience want. And the doctor was paid punctually.
But misfortunes never come single. One very frosty night, on coming out of the Parthenon, Nello fell on the slippery pavement and seriously hurt his left hand. He went to the doctor on his way home, and his worst fears were confirmed.
A longish job, I fear, Signor Corsini. The fingers are very much injured, and so is the arm. You are a musician, are you not?
A violinist, sir. If it had been the right arm instead of the left, I might have managed with the bow. But I cannot play a note.
Mr. Gay was informed of the accident, in a letter from Anita. He was genuinely sorry, but the theatre had to be served. He had to procure another violinist at once. For four miserable weeks Nello ate his heart out, and Papa Péron seemed to grow weaker every day.
When life and motion returned to the poor damaged fingers, there were only a few shillings left in the house. Péron had announced that if help did not come soon they must sell the piano, the one bit of property he owned in the world. So, at least, he averred.
Nello could play now. He went round at once to Gays lodging in Gower Street. Could he be taken on again? The kindly conductor hemmed and hawed; he was obviously very much embarrassed.
We had to fill up your place, my dear chap, and the new man has proved quite satisfactory. It is, of course, awfully hard on you. But, you see, I cant sack him to put you in his place.
Of course not, answered Nello quietly. Misery was gnawing at his heart, but he was just. The man who was taken on had possibly been in the same state of wretchedness as himself. He would hardly have cared to turn him out, if Gay had been willing.
And how is the dear old Papa? asked Gay, trying to relieve an awkward situation with the inquiry.
He is very ill; not far from death, I fear, was Nellos answer. And then the truth, which he could no longer conceal, flashed out. And very soon he will be close to starvation.
Gay looked shocked. He had experienced his ups and downs, but he had never been in such a tight corner as this. He fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced a sovereign, which he thrust into the other mans hand.
Terrible, terrible! I am sorry I cannot do more; but I am a poor man, too.
Nello took it, but his face burned, it was such obvious charity.
I accept it, Monsieur, with gratitude, and I thank you for the kind thought. But can you help me to find work? I want to earn money, not to beg it.
Sit down a moment while I think. The kind-hearted conductor was very distressed himself at the piteous state of affairs.