The quartett was abandoned. Arabella had departed with a firm countenance to combat Mrs. Chump.
Emilia sat by her harp. The saloon was critically still; so still that Adela fancied she heard a faint Irish protest from the parlour. Wilfrid was perhaps the most critical auditor present: for he doubted whether she could renew that singular charm of her singing in the pale lighted woods. The first smooth contralto notes took him captive. He scarcely believed that this could be the raw girl whom his sisters delicately pitied.
A murmur of plaudits, the low thunder of gathering acclamation, went round. Lady Gosstre looked a satisfied, This will do. Wilfrid saw Emilias eyes appeal hopefully to Mr. Pericles. The connoisseur shrugged. A pain lodged visibly on her black eyebrows. She gripped her harp, and her eyelids appeared to quiver as she took the notes. Again, and still singing, she turned her head to him. The eyes of Mr. Pericles were white, as if upraised to intercede for her with the Powers of Harmony. Her voice grew unnerved. On a sudden she excited herself to pitch and give volume to that note which had been the enchantment of the night in the woods. It quavered. One might have thought her caught by the throat.
Emilia gazed at no one now. She rose, without a word or an apology, keeping her eyes down.
Fiasco! cruelly cried Mr. Pericles.
That was better to her than the silly kindness of the people who deemed it well to encourage her with applause. Emilia could not bear the clapping of hands, and fled.
CHAPTER V
The night was warm under a slowly-floating moon. Full of compassion for the poor girl, who had moved him if she had failed in winning the assembly, Wilfrid stepped into the garden, where he expected to find her, and to be the first to pet and console her. Threading the scented shrubs, he came upon a turn in one of the alleys, from which point he had a view of her figure, as she stood near a Portugal laurel on the lawn. Mr. Pericles was by her side. Wilfrids intention was to join them. A loud sob from Emilia checked his foot.
You are cruel, he heard her say.
If it is good, I tell it you; if it is bad; abominable, I tell it you, juste ze same, responded Mr. Pericles.
The others did not think it very bad.
Ah! bah! Mr. Pericles cut her short.
Had they been talking of matters secret and too sweet, Wilfrid would have retired, like a man of honour. As it was, he continued to listen. The tears of his poor little friend, moreover, seemed to hold him there in the hope that he might afford some help.
Yes; I do not care for the others, she resumed. You praised me the night I first saw you.
It is perhaps zat you can sing to z moon, returned Mr. Pericles. But, what! a singer, she must sing in a house. To-night it is warm, to-morrow it is cold. If you sing through a cold, what noise do we hear? It is a nose, not a voice. It is a trompet.
Emilia, with a whimpering firmness, replied: You said I am lazy. I am not.
Not lazy, Mr. Pericles assented.
Do I care for praise from people who do not understand music? It is not true. I only like to please them.
Be a street-organ, Mr. Pericles retorted.
I must like to see them pleased when I sing, said Emilia desperately.
And you like ze clap of ze hands. Yez. It is quite natural. Yess. You are a good child, it is clear. But, look. You are a voice uncultivated, sauvage. You go wrong: I hear you: and dese claps of zese noodels send you into squeaks and shrills, and false! false away you go. It is a gallop ze wrong way.
Here Mr. Pericles attempted the most horrible reproduction of Emilias failure. She cried out as if she had been bitten.
What am I to do? she asked sadly.
Not now, Mr. Pericles answered. You live in London?at where?
Must I tell you?
Certainly, you must tell me.
But, I am not going there; I mean, not yet.
You are going to sing to z moon through z nose. Yez. For how long?
These ladies have asked me to stay with them. They make me so happy. When I leave themthen!
Emilia sighed.
And zen? quoth Mr. Pericles.
Then, while my money lasts, I shall stay in the country.
How much money?
How much money have I? Emilia frankly and accurately summed up the condition of her treasury. Four pounds and nineteen shillings.
Hom! it is spent, and you go to your father again?
Yes.
To ze old Belloni?
My father.
No! cried Mr. Pericles, upon Emilias melancholy utterance. He bent to her ear and rapidly spoke, in an undertone, what seemed to be a vivid sketch of a new course of fortune for her. Emilia gave one joyful outcry; and now Wilfrid retreated, questioning within himself whether he should have remained so long. But, as he argued, if he was convinced that the rascally Greek fellow meant mischief to her, was he not bound to employ every stratagem to be her safeguard? The influence of Mr. Pericles already exercised over her was immense and mysterious. Within ten minutes she was singing triumphantly indoors. Wilfrid could hear that her voice was firm and assured. She was singing the song of the woods. He found to his surprise that his heart dropped under some burden, as if he had no longer force to sustain it.
By-and-by some of the members of the company issued forth. Carriages were heard on the gravel, and young men in couples, preparing to light the ensign of happy release from the ladies (or of indemnification for their absence, if you please), strolled about the grounds.
Did you see that little passage between Laura Tinley and Bella Pole? said one, and forthwith mimicked them: Laura commencing:-We must have her over to us. I fear we have pre-engaged her.Oh, but you, dear, will do us the favour to come, too? I fear, dear, our immediate engagements will preclude the possibility.Surely, dear Miss Pole, we may hope that you have not abandoned us?That, my dear Miss Tinley, is out of the question.May we not name a day?If it depends upon us, frankly, we cannot bid you do so.
The other joined him in laughter, adding: Frankly s capital! What absurd creatures women are! How the deuce did you manage to remember it all?
My sister was at my elbow. She repeated it, word for word.
Pon my honour, women are wonderful creatures!
The two young men continued their remarks, with a sense of perfect consistency.
Lady Gosstre, as she was being conducted to her carriage, had pronounced aloud that Emilia was decidedly worth hearing.
Shes better worth knowing, said Tracy Runningbrook. I see you are all bent on spoiling her. If you were to sit and talk with her, you would perceive that shes meant for more than to make a machine of her throat. What a throat it is! She has the most comical notion of things. I fancy Im looking at the budding of my own brain. Shes a born artist, but Im afraid everybodys conspiring to ruin her.
Surely, said Adela, we shall not do that, if we encourage her in her Art.
He means another kind of art, said Lady Gosstre. The term artist, applied to our sex, signifies Frenchwoman with him. He does not allow us to be anything but women. As artists then we are largely privileged, I assure you.
Are we placed under a professor to learn the art? Adela inquired, pleased with the subject under such high patronage.
Each new experience is your accomplished professor, said Tracy. One Ill call Cleopatra a professor: shes but an illustrious example.
Each new experience is your accomplished professor, said Tracy. One Ill call Cleopatra a professor: shes but an illustrious example.
Imp! you are corrupt. With which my lady tapped farewell on his shoulder. Leaning from the carriage window, she said: I suppose I shall see you at Richford? Merthyr Powys is coming this week. And that reminds me: he would be the man to appreciate your born artist. Bring her to me. We will have a dinner. I will despatch a formal invitation to-morrow. The seasons bad out of town for getting decent people to meet you. I will do my best.
She bowed to Adela and Tracy. Mr. Pole, who had hovered around the unfamiliar dialogue to attend the great lady to the door, here came in for a recognition, and bowed obsequiously to the back of the carriage.
Arabella did not tell her sisters what weapons she had employed to effect the rout of Mrs. Chump. She gravely remarked that the woman had consented to go, and her sisters thanked her. They were mystified by Lauras non-recognition of Emilia, and only suspected Wilfrid so faintly that they were able to think they did not suspect him at all. On the whole, the evening had been a success. It justified the ladies in repeating a well-known Brookfield phrase: We may be wrong in many things, but never in our judgement of the merits of any given person. In the case of Tracy Runningbrook, they had furnished a signal instance of their discernment. Him they had met at the house of a friend of the Tinleys (a Colonels wife distantly connected with great houses). The Tinleys laughed at his flaming head and him, but the ladies of Brookfield had ears and eyes for a certain tone and style about him, before they learnt that he was of the blood of dukes, and would be a famous poet. When this was mentioned, after his departure, they had made him theirs, and the Tinleys had no chance. Through Tracy, they achieved their introduction to Lady Gosstre. And now they were to dine with her. They did not say that this was through Emilia. In fact, they felt a little that they had this evening been a sort of background to their prodigy: which was not in the design. Having observed, She sang deliciously, they dismissed her, and referred to dresses, gaucheries of members of the company, pretensions here and there, Lady Gosstres walk, the way to shuffle men and women, how to start themes for them to converse upon, and so forth. Not Juno and her Court surveying our mortal requirements in divine independence of fatigue, could have been more considerate for the shortcomings of humanity. And while they were legislating this and that for others, they still accepted hints for their own improvement, as those who have Perfection in view may do. Lady Gosstres carriage of her shoulders, and general manner, were admitted to be worthy of study. And did you notice when Laura Tinley interrupted her conversation with Tracy Runningbrook, how quietly she replied to the fact and nothing else, so that Laura had not another word?And did you observe her deference to papa, as host?And did you not see, on more than one occasion, with what consummate ease she would turn a current of dialogue when it had gone far enough? They had all noticed, seen, and observed. They agreed that there was a quality beyond art, beyond genius, beyond any special cleverness; and that was, the great social quality of taking, as by nature, without assumption, a queenly position in a circle, and making harmony of all the instruments to be found in it. High praise of Lady Gosstre ensued. The ladies of Brookfield allowed themselves to bow to her with the greater humility, owing to the secret sense they nursed of overtopping her still in that ineffable Something which they alone possessed: a casket little people will be wise in not hurrying our Father Time to open for them, if they would continue to enjoy the jewel they suppose it to contain. Finally, these energetic young ladies said their prayers by the morning twitter of the birds, and went to their beds, less from a desire for rest than because custom demanded it.
Three days later Emilia was a resident in the house, receiving lessons in demeanour from Cornelia, and in horsemanship from Wilfrid. She expressed no gratitude for kindnesses or wonder at the change in her fortune, save that pleasure sat like an inextinguishable light on her face. A splendid new harp arrived one day, ticketed, For Miss Emilia Belloni.
He does not know I have a second Christian name, was her first remark, after an examination of the instrument.
He? quoth Adela. May it not have been a ladys gift?
Emilia clearly thought not.
And to whom do you ascribe it?
Who sent it to me? Mr. Pericles, of course.
She touched the strings immediately, and sighed.
Are you discontented with the tone, child? asked Adela.
No. IIll guess what it cost!
Surely the ladies had reason to think her commonplace!
She explained herself better to Wilfrid, when he returned to Brookfield after a short absence. Showing the harp, See what Mr. Pericles thinks me worth! she said.
Not more than that? was his gallant rejoinder. Does it suit you?
Yes; in every way.
This was all she said about it.
In the morning after breakfast, she sat at harp or piano, and then ran out to gather wild flowers and learn the names of trees and birds. On almost all occasions Wilfrid was her companion. He laughed at the little sisterly revelations the ladies confided concerning her too heartily for them to have any fear that she was other than a toy to him. Few women are aware with how much ease sentimental men can laugh outwardly at what is internal torment. They had apprised him of their wish to know what her origin was, and of her peculiar reserve on that topic: whereat he assured them that she would have no secrets from him. His conduct of affairs was so open that none could have supposed the gallant cornet entangled in a maze of sentiment. For, veritably, this girl was the last sort of girl to please his fancy; and he saw not a little of fair ladies: by virtue of his heroic antecedents, he was himself well seen of them. The gallant cornet adored delicacy and a gilded refinement. The female flower could not be too exquisitely cultivated to satisfy him. And here he was, running after a little unformed girl, who had no care to conceal the fact that she was an animal, nor any notion of the necessity for doing so! He had good reason to laugh when his sisters talked of her. It was not a pleasant note which came from the gallant cornet then. But, in the meadows, or kindly conducting Emilias horse, he yielded pretty music. Emilia wore Arabellas riding-habit, Adelas hat, and Cornelias gloves. Politic as the ladies of Brookfield were, they were full of natural kindness; and Wilfrid, albeit a diplomatist, was not yet mature enough to control and guide a very sentimental heart. There was an element of dim imagination in all the family: and it was this that consciously elevated them over the world in prospect, and made them unconsciously subject to what I must call the spell of the poetic power.
Wilfrid in his soul wished that Emilia should date from the day she had entered Brookfield. But at times it seemed to him that a knowledge of her antecedents might relieve him from his ridiculous perplexity of feeling. Besides though her voice struck emotion, she herself was unimpressionable. Cold by nature, he said; looking at the unkindled fire. She shook hands like a boy. If her fingers were touched and retained, they continued to be fingers for as long as you pleased. Murmurs and whispers passed by her like the breeze. She appeared also to have no enthusiasm for her Art, so that not even there could Wilfrid find common ground. Italy, however, he discovered to be the subject that made her light up. Of Italy he would speak frequently, and with much simulated fervour.