The Complete Works. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
singers also rose, and fixed their eyes stolidly, but desperately, on the conductor, who hardly ventured to look at them. The dialogue commenced, but the the attention of the audience was presently diverted by the appearance of Jack himself, who was seen to cross the room with an angry countenance, and go out. The conclusion of the dialogue was unbroken silence, in the midst of which the popular baritone sat down with an air of relief.
“I find that the music is beginning to grow upon me, said Mrs Hoskyn.
“Do you?” said Hoskyn. “I wish it would grow quicker. I’m only joking,” he added, seeing that she was disappointed. “It’s splendid. I wish I knew enough about it to like it; but I can see that it has the real classical style. When those brass things come in, it’s magnificent.”
Two eminent songstresses now came forward as Asia and Panthea; and the audience prepared themselves for the relief of a pretty duet. But Asia and Panthea sang as strangely as Prometheus, in spite of which they gained some slow, uncertain, grudging applause. The Race of the Hours, which followed, was of great length, progressing from a lugubrious midnight hour in E flat minor to a sunrise in A major, and culminating with a jubilant clangor of orchestra and chorus which astounded the audience, and elicited a partly hysterical mixture of hand clapping and protesting hisses.
“How stupid these people are!” exclaimed Mrs Adrian Herbert. “What imbecility! They do not know that it is good music. Heaven!”
“I must confess that, to my ear, there is not a note of music in it,” said Adrian.
“Is it possible!” said Aurélie. “But it is superb! Splendid!”
“It is ear splitting,” said Adrian. “Your ears are hardier than mine, perhaps. I hope we shall hear some melody in the next part, by way of variety.”
“Without doubt we shall. It is a work full of melody.”
Herbert was confirmed in his opinion by the final number, entitled, “Antiphony of the Earth and Moon,” which was listened to in respectful bewilderment by the audience, and executed with symptoms of exhaustion by the chorus.
“By George,” said Hoskyn, joining heartily in some applause which began in the cheaper seats, “that sounded stupendous. I’d like to hear it again.”
The clapping, though not enthusiastic, was now general, all being goodnaturedly willing that the composer should be called forward in acknowledgment of his efforts, if not of his success. Jack, who had returned to hear the “Race of the Hours,” again arose; and those who knew him clapped more loudly, thinking that he was on his way to the orchestra. It proved that he was on his way to the door; for he went out as ungraciously as before.
“How disappointing.”said Mary. “He is so hasty.
“Serves them right,”said Hoskyn. “I like his pluck; and you make take my word for it, Mary, that is a sterling piece of music. It reminds me of the Pacific railroad.”
“Of course it is. Even you can see that,” said Mary, who did not quite see it herself. “It is mere professional jealousy that prevents the people here from applauding properly, They are all musicians of some kind or another.”
“They are going to give us ten minutes law before they begin again. Let us take a walk round, and find what Nanny thinks.”
Meanwhile Aurélie was almost in tears. Mr Phipson had just come up to them, shaking his head sadly. “As I feared,” he said. “As I feared.”
“It is a shame,” she said indignantly, “a shame unworthy of the English people. Of what use is it to write music for such a world?”
“It is far above their heads,” said Phipson. “I told him so.”
“And their insolence is far beneath his feet,” said Aurélie. “Oh, it is a scene to plunge an artist in despair.”
“It does not plunge me into despair,” said Adrian, with quiet conviction. “The work has failed; and I venture to say that it deserved to fail.”
“It is unworthy of you to say so,” exclaimed Aurélie passionately, throwing herself back in her seat and turning away from him.
“Deserved is perhaps a hard word under the circumstances, Mr Herbert,” said Phipson. “The work is a very remarkable one, and far beyond the comprehension of the public. Jack has been much too bold. Even our audiences will not listen with patience to movements of such length and complication. I greatly regret what has happened; for the people who are attracted by our concerts are representative of the highest musical culture in England. A work which fails here from its abstruseness has not the ghost of a chance of success elsewhere. Ah! Here is Mary.”
Some introductions followed. Hoskyn shook Adrian’s hand cordially, and made a low bow to Aurélie, whom he stole an occasional glance at, but did not at first venture to address. Aurélie looked at Mary’s dress with wonder.
“I am greatly annoyed by the way Mr Jack has been treated,” said Mary. “An audience of working people could not be more insensible to his genius than the people here have shewn themselves tonight.”
My wife is quite angry with me because I, too, am insensible to the beauties of Mr Jack’s composition,” said Herbert
“You always were,” said Mary. “Mr Hoskyn is delighted with Prometheus.”
“Is Mr Hoskyn musical?”
“More so than you, it appears, since he can appreciate Mr Jack.”
“Phipson then struck in on the merits of the music; and he, Mary, and Adrian, being old friends, fell into conversation together, to the exclusion of the husband and wife so recently added to their circle. Hoskyn, under these circumstances, felt bound to entertain Aurélie.
“I consider that we have had a most enjoyable evening,” he said. “I think there can be no doubt that Jack’s music is first rate of its kind.”
“Ah? Monsieur Jacque’s music. You find it goodh.”
“Very good indeed,”said Hoskyn, speaking loudly, as if to a deaf person. “Jilitrouvsplongdeed,” he added rashly.
“You are right, monsieur,” said Aurélie, speaking rapidly in French. “But it seems to me that there is unworthy — something infamous, in the icy stupidity of these people here: Of what use is it to compose great works when one is held in contempt because of them? It is necessary to be a trader here in order to have success. Commerce is the ruin of England. It renders the people quite inartistic.
“Jinipweevoocomprongder,” murmured Hoskyn. “The fact is,” he added, more boldly, “I only dropped a French word to help you out a little; but you mustn’t take advantage of that to talk to me out of my native language. I can speak French pretty well; but I never could understand other people speaking it.”
“Ah,” said Aurélie, who listened to his English with strained attention. “You understand me not very goodh. It is like me with English. But in this moment I make much progress. I have lesson every day from Monsieur Herbert.”
“You speak very well. Vooparlaytraybyang—” tootafaycumoononglays. Jinisoray — I mean I should not know from your speaking that you were a foreigner — oonaytronzhare.”
“Vraiment?” cried Aurélie, greatly pleased.
“Vraymong, “ said Hoskyn, nodding emphatically.
“It is sthrench. There is only a few months since I know not a word of the English.”
“You see you knew the universal language before.”
“Comment? La langue universelle?”
“I mean music. Music!” he repeated, seeing her still bewildered.
“Ah, yes,” said Aurélie, her puzzled expression vanishing. “You call music the universal language. It is true. You say very goodh.”
“It must be easy