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"And what did Aunt Barbara say?"
"Just what you are going to," said Sylvia; "namely, that I had
better make up my mind what I mean to say when Michael says what he
means to say."
She shifted round so as to face her brother as he stood in front of
the fire, and pulled his trouser-leg more neatly over the top of
his shoe.
"But what's to happen if I can't make up my mind?" she said. "I
needn't tell you how much I like Michael; I believe I like him as
much as I possibly can. But I don't know if that is enough.
Hermann, is it enough? You ought to know. There's no use in you
unless you know about me."
She put out her arm, and clasped his two legs in the crook of her
elbow. That expressed their attitude, what they were to each
other, as absolutely as any physical demonstration allowed. Had
there not been the difference of sex which severed them she could
never have got the sense of support that this physical contact gave
her; had there not been her sisterhood to chaperon her, so to
speak, she could never have been so at ease with a man. The two
were lover-like, without the physical apexes and limitations that
physical love must always bring with it. The complement of sex
that brought them so close annihilated the very existence of sex.
They loved as only brother and sister can love, without trouble.
MICHAEL
96
The closer contact of his fire-warmed trousers to the calf of his
leg made Hermann step out of her encircling arm without any
question of hurting her feelings.
"I won't be burned," he said. "Sorry, but I won't be burned. It
seems to me, Sylvia, that you ought to like Michael a little more
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and a little less."
"It's no use saying what I ought to do," she said. "The idea of
what I 'ought' doesn't come in. I like him just as much as I like
him, neither more nor less."
He clawed some more cushions together, and sat down on the floor by
her. She raised herself a little and rested her body against his
folded knees.
"What's the trouble, Sylvia?" he said.
"Just what I've been trying to tell you."
"Be more concrete, then. You're definite enough when you sing."
She sighed and gave a little melancholy laugh.
"That's just it," she said. "People like you and me, and Michael,
too, for that matter, are most entirely ourselves when we are at
our music. When Michael plays for me I can sing my soul at him.
While he and I are in music, if you understand--and of course you
do--we belong to each other. Do you know, Hermann, he finds me
when I'm singing, without the slightest effort, and even you, as
you have so often told me, have to search and be on the lookout.
And then the song is over, and, as somebody says, 'When the feast
is finished and the lamps expire,' then--well, the lamps expire,
and he isn't me any longer, but Michael, with the--the ugly face,
and--oh, isn't it horrible of me--the long arms and the little
stumpy legs--if only he was rather different in things that don't
matter, that CAN'T matter! But--but, Hermann, if only Michael was
rather like you, and you like Michael, I should love you exactly as
much as ever, and I should love Michael, too."
She was leaning forward, and with both hands was very carefully
tying and untying one of Hermann's shoelaces.
"Oh, thank goodness there is somebody in the world to whom I can
say just whatever I feel, and know he understands," she said. "And
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I know this, too--and follow me here, Hermann--I know that all that
doesn't really matter; I am sure it doesn't. I like Michael far
too well to let it matter. But there are other things which I
don't see my way through, and they are much more real--"
She was silent again, so long that Hermann reached out for a
cigarette, lit it, and threw away the match before she spoke.
"There is Michael's position," she said. "When Michael asks me if
I will have him, as we both know he is going to do, I shall have to
make conditions. I won't give up my career. I must go on working--
MICHAEL
97
in other words, singing--whether I marry him or not. I don't call
it singing, in my sense of the word, to sing 'The Banks of Allan
Water' to Michael and his father and mother at Ashbridge, any more
than it is being a politician to read the morning papers and argue
about the Irish question with you. To have a career in politics
means that you must be a member of Parliament--I daresay the House
of Lords would do--and make speeches and stand the racket. In the
same way, to be a singer doesn't mean to sing after dinner or to go
squawking anyhow in a workhouse, but it means to get up on a
platform before critical people, and if you don't do your very best
be damned by them. If I marry Michael I must go on singing as a
professional singer, and not become an amateur--the Viscountess
Comber, who sings so charmingly. I refuse to sing charmingly; I
will either sing properly or not at all. And I couldn't not sing.
I shall have to continue being Miss Falbe, so to speak."
"You say you insist on it," said Hermann; "but whether you did or
not, there is nothing more certain than that Michael would."
"I am sure he would. But by so doing he would certainly quarrel
irrevocably with his people. Even Aunt Barbara, who, after all, is
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very liberally minded, sees that. They can none of them, not even
she, who are born to a certain tradition imagine that there are
other traditions quite as stiff-necked. Michael, it is true, was
born to one tradition, but he has got the other, as he has shown
very clearly by refusing to disobey it. He will certainly, as you
say, insist on my endorsing the resolution he has made for himself.
What it comes to is this, that I can't marry him without his
father's complete consent to all that I have told you. I can't
have my career disregarded, covered up with awkward silences,
alluded to as a painful subject; and, as I say, even Aunt Barbara [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]