Chapter VII

thsofhissoul.Hebeattimetotheswinging,vulgartunes,andhisfacewastransfiguredwhenthebandplayedapatrioticmarchwithagreatbrayingofbrassandbeatingofdrums.Hewhistledandhummeditfordaysafterwards.“Ilovemusic,”hetoldBerthaintheentracte.“Don’tyou?” Withatendersmilesheconfessedshedid,andforfearofhurtingEdward’sfeelingsdidnotsuggestthatthemusicinquestionmadeheralmostvomit.Whatmattereditifhistasteinthatrespectwerenotbeyondreproachafteralltherewassomethingtobesaidforthehonest,homelymelodiesthattouchedthepeople’sheart.ItisonlybyaconventionthatthePastoralSymphonyisthoughtbetterartthanTarara-boom-deay.Perhaps,intwoorthreehundredyears,wheneverythingisdonebyelectricityandeveryoneisequal,whenweareallhappysocialists,withgoodeducationsandbettermorals,Beethoven’scomplexitywillbelikeamassofwickedness,andonlytheplain,honesthomelinessofthecomicsongwillappealtooursimplefeelings. “Whenwegethome,”saidCraddock,“IwantyoutoplaytomeI’msofondofit.” “Ishallloveto,”shemurmured.Shethoughtofthelongwintereveningswhichtheywouldspendatthepiano,herhusbandbyhersidetoturntheleaves,whiletohisastonishedearssheunfoldedthemanifoldrichesofthegreatcomposers.Shewasconvincedthathistastewasreallyexcellent. “Ihavelotsofmusicthatmymotherusedtoplay,”hesaid.“ByJove,Ishallliketohearitagain—someofthoseoldtunesIcanneverhearoftenenough—TheLastRoseofSummer,andHome,SweetHome,andalotmorelikethat.” “ByJove,thatshowwasripping,”saidCraddock,whentheywerehavingsupper“Ishouldliketoseeitagainbeforewegoback.” “We’lldowhateveryoulike,mydearest.” “Ithinkaneveninglikethatdoesyougood.Itbucksmeupdoesn’tityou?” “Itdoesmegoodtoseeyouamused,”repliedBertha,diplomatically. Theperformancehadappearedtohervulgar,butinthefaceofherhusband’senthusiasmshecouldonlyaccuseherselfofaridiculoussqueamishness.Whyshouldshesetherselfupasajudgeofthesethings?Wasitnotsomewhatvulgartofindvulgarityinwhatgavesuchpleasuretotheunsophisticated?Shewaslikethenouveaurichewhoisdistressedattheuniversallackofgentilitybutshewastiredofanalysisandsubtlety,andalltheconcomitantsofdecadentcivilisation. “Forgoodness’ssake,”shethought,“letusbesimpleandeasilyamused.” Sherememberedthefouryoungladieswhohadappearedinflesh-colouredtightsandnothingelseworthmentioning,anddancedasingularlyungracefuljig,whichtheaudience,initsdelight,hadinsistedonhavingtwicerepeated. Withnobusinesstodoandnofriendstovisit,thereissomedifficultyinknowinghowtospendone’stimeinLondon.BerthawouldhavebeencontenttositalldaywithEdwardintheprivatesitting-room,contemplatinghimandherextremefelicity.ButCraddockhadthefineenergyoftheAnglo-Saxonrace,thatdesiretobealwaysdoingsomethingwhichhasmadetheEnglishathletes,andmissionaries,andmembersofParliament. Afterhisfirstmouthfulofbreakfastheinvariablyasked,“Whatshallwedoto-day?”AndBertharansackedherbrainandaBaedekertofindsightstovisit,fortotreatLondonasaforeigntownandsystematicallytoexploreitwastheironlyresource.TheywenttotheTowerofLondonandgapedatthecrownsandsceptres,attheinsigniaofthevariousordersto