Young bloods - Scarrow Simon (читать книги полностью без сокращений txt) 📗

'I think so. I may be more intelligent than most, but that is not at the expense of empathy.'

'Well, when you're the great statesman, or some brilliant general, as I'm sure you will be, then we'll see the quality of your empathy.'

Richard reflected a moment before he responded, 'I don't deny I dream of achieving some kind of high office, and I will do all in my powers to achieve it. But there's no reason why you shouldn't cherish such ambitions.'

'Me?' Arthur turned to him with raised eyebrows and laughed. 'Me? Don't be a fool, Richard. I know I will achieve nothing. So why bother even trying? Why waste my time aiming for success I can never have?'

'You're wrong.That is precisely why you should aim to achieve it. Just suppose, for a moment, that you will never become my intellectual equal-'

'That's easy enough.'

'Quiet! Just suppose that it's true. And that you did win high office one day. Through sheer resolve and hard work. Wouldn't that eclipse any achievement of mine, with all my natural advantages?'

Arthur stared at his brother for an instant before his gaze dropped back into his lap and he shook his head. 'Fine words, Richard, but no more than words. I may be a fool, but even I know the world is not like that. I'm the younger son of a minor aristocrat, and what I lack in social position is made worse by having no compensating talent.'

'You have your music.'

'Precisely. I have my music.' Arthur stood up.'Now if you don't mind, I think my presence here is quite pointless. I'm going up to my room. To be with my music. Might as well get used to it.'

He left the hall and his footsteps rapidly diminished in the distance as his older brothers exchanged amused looks.

'Now, what was that all about?' asked William.

'Nothing.' For a moment Richard stared at the doorway through which his brother had left the hall, hoping that Arthur would change his mind. But there was no sound of returning footsteps. 'Forget about him. Now then, what's the score?'

Arthur felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he climbed the main staircase. He glanced round quickly but there was no one in sight, so he quickly cuffed the tears away. At the top, on each side of the landing, a corridor ran the length of the house. The rooms to the left were being prepared for guests and the muted voices of servants drifted down the corridor. Arthur turned right and headed for the family rooms. The door to the music room was open and light spilled across the floor. As he made to pass the entrance his father, still at the keys of the fortepiano, saw him.

'Arthur, not playing with the others?'

The boy shook his head.

Garrett stared at him. 'What's the matter?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

Arthur shook his head again and made to continue towards his room.

'Wait. Come in here.' Garrett stood up and dragged the music stool over to another chair beside a music stand.'I need your help.'

'My help?'

'Yes. Now come over here.'

Arthur slowly entered the music room and crossed to his father, who was busy sorting out some sheet music on the stand.

'There! That's the one. I'm including one of the pieces Buckleby has asked you to learn in our Christmas recital.Thought we could play it as a duet.'

'A duet? Me?'

Garrett laughed. 'Of course you. Do you think for a moment I'd trust those brothers of yours with something like this? All thumbs. Besides, I think it's time the public was made aware of your talent. So, I've taken the liberty of fetching your violin from your room.There, on the couch. Now, young man, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on this piece?'

He smiled, and Arthur could not help responding in kind.

'There. That's better. Now let's be about it.'

Arthur took up his violin and bow and moved over to the stand and assumed the correct posture under his father's approving gaze. Garrett seated himself to be on the same level as his son and readied his own instrument. He drew a deep breath, their eyes met and Garret mouthed, 'One… two… three…' and nodded.

As he played, Arthur's mind cleared of all thoughts as he concentrated on his fingers, moving swiftly and precisely along the neck of the instrument. In his other hand his fingers controlled the bow in finely calculated sweeps across the four strings. He had played the piece so many times that he knew it by heart. His eyes closed and his head was filled with the melody. And not just his head. His heart as well, swelling in sympathy to the notes that carried through the air so that the sound became a feeling, a mood that filled him with delight.

The piece came to an end and his bow ceased moving. Arthur opened his eyes and found his father looking at him in surprise and admiration.

'Why, Arthur, that was beautiful, quite beautiful. I'm so proud of you.' Then, as if embarrassed by his admission, Garrett shuffled through the sheets on the stand. 'Shall we play something else?'

'If you like, Father.'

'Yes, yes, I'd like that. Here, what about this? You know it?'

Arthur nodded.

'Ready then?'

They began. It was a light-hearted piece, technically challenging but ultimately quite trivial, and yet it lifted the young boy's heart. While it lasted he felt good here in the music room, playing with his father, all the time conscious of the pleasure and pride being taken in his musical ability.

It was a pity that he could not play music for ever.

Chapter 12

The Christmas season was over, the parties had ended and once again Dangan had quietly returned to everyday life. The three older Wesley boys were busy packing for the next term at their respective schools. While Richard and William lined the bottom of their trunks with well-worn copies of the classics, Arthur filled the base of his trunk with music manuscripts, borrowed from his father.

Garrett was delighted with the progress his son had made. Buckleby had obviously not lost his touch as a teacher. Arthur would turn out to be a fine musician, that much was certain, and Garrett was already making plans for his further development. Of course, Ireland was already too small a stage for Garrett, and would be for Arthur in years to come. London would provide greater opportunities and a more appreciative audience. Better still, Paris, or even Vienna. Garrett reined in his flight of fancy with a self-deprecating smile. Whatever his talents, and whatever Arthur's promise, they could not hope to compare with the raw talent, and technical virtuosity of the musicians of Vienna. London maybe, but not Vienna.

So the seed was planted, and after the boys had returned to school Garrett was free to indulge his fancy.The more he thought about it, the more alluring the prospect of moving to London became.The violence that simmered in Ireland was getting worse. There was the ever-present burden of grinding poverty of the peasants, while among the middle classes Irish Catholics found themselves barred from all sorts of privileges and public offices. Increasingly their resentment was finding a voice and the downtrodden were daring to denounce in public the glaring iniquities of Irish society. There were arrests, but the terrible fate of Father Sheehy, who had been hanged, drawn and quartered ten years earlier for daring to speak up for the poor, was losing its effect. Their patience was exhausted and they turned to violence with bloody vengeance in their hearts. Land agents were now travelling the island in the company of armed guards, rightly fearing for their lives. It was only a matter of time, Garrett concluded, before the rebellious spirit of these wretched Irish, translated into open attacks on the aristocracy.

Then there was his growing frustration with the sheer provincialism of the place. Already the boys were picking up accents that placed their origins quite precisely, and Garrett knew well enough that if the process continued his family would be looked down on by London society. And that would be an intolerable burden, particularly for young Arthur, who lacked the wit and sophistication of his brothers. The boys would benefit from a better education, Anne would have a more exciting social life, and he would have a much bigger audience for his compositions. With that happy thought, he set about making his initial enquiries.