Giant’s Bread · Book III · IV · Chapter 3 4 2

II

The production of The Princess in the Tower has been forgotten by now. It came at an unfortunate time, since war broke out only about three weeks later.

At the time it was what is called “well received.” Certain critics waxed a little sarcastic over this “new school of young musicians” who thought they could revolutionize all existing ideas. Others praised it with sincerity as a work of great promise, though immature. But one and all spoke enthusiastically of the perfect beauty and artistry of the whole performance. Everyone “went to Holborn, such miles out of the way, dear, but really worth it” to see the attractive fantastic drama, and “that wonderful new singer, Jane Harding. Her face, dear, is simply wonderful⁠—quite medieval. It wouldn’t be the same without her!” It was a triumph for Jane, though a triumph that was short lived. On the fifth day she was forced to retire from the cast.

Sebastian was summoned by telephone at an hour when Vernon would not be there. Jane met him with such a radiant smile that he thought at first that his fears were not going to be realized.

“It’s no good, Sebastian. Mary Lloyd must go on with it. She’s not too bad, considering. As a matter of fact, she’s got a better voice than I have and she’s quite nice-looking.”

“H’m, I was afraid Hershall would say that. I’d like to see him myself.”

“Yes, he wants to see you. Not that there’s anything to be done, I’m afraid.”

“What do you mean? Nothing to be done?”

“It’s gone, my child. Gone for good. Hershall’s too honest to hold out any real hope. He says of course you never can be absolutely sure. It might come back with rest, etcetera, etcetera. He said it very well, and then I looked at him and laughed⁠—and then he had to look shamefaced and own up. He was relieved, I think, at the way I took it.”

“But Jane, darling Jane⁠ ⁠…”

“Oh! don’t mind so much, Sebastian. Please don’t. It’s so much easier if you don’t. It’s been a gamble, you know, all along⁠—my voice was never really strong enough. I gambled with it. So far I won⁠—now, I’ve lost. Well, there it is! One must be a good gambler and not let the hands twitch. Isn’t that what they say at Monte Carlo?”

“Does Vernon know?”

“Yes, he’s most awfully upset. He loved my voice. He’s really quite brokenhearted about it.”

“But he doesn’t know that⁠—”

“That if I had waited two days, and not sung on the opening night of his opera, it would have been all right? No, he doesn’t know that. And if you are loyal to me, Sebastian, he never will.”

“I shan’t make promises. I think he ought to know.”

“No, because really it’s unwarrantable what I’ve done! I’ve laid him under an obligation to me without his knowledge. That’s a thing one shouldn’t do. It isn’t fair. If I had gone to Vernon and told him what Hershall said, do you suppose he would ever have consented to let me sing? He’d have prevented me by main force. It would be the meanest and cruellest thing in the world to go to Vernon now and say: ‘See what I have done for you!’ Snivelling and asking for sympathy and gratitude ladled out in a soup plate.”

Sebastian was silent.

“Come now, my dear, agree.”

“Yes,” said Sebastian at last. “You’re right. What you did was unethical. You did it without Vernon’s knowledge, and it’s got to be kept from him now. But oh! Jane darling, why did you? Is Vernon’s music worth it?”

“It will be⁠—some day.”

“Is that why you did it?”

Jane shook her head.

“I thought not.”

There was a pause. Sebastian said:

“What will you do now, Jane?”

“Possibly teach. Possibly go on the stage. I don’t know. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always cook.”

They both laughed, but Jane was very near tears.

She looked across the table at Sebastian and then suddenly rose and came and knelt down beside him. She laid her head down on his shoulder and he put his arm round her.

“Oh! Sebastian⁠ ⁠… Sebastian⁠ ⁠…”

“Poor old Jane!”

“I pretend I don’t mind⁠—but I do⁠ ⁠… I do. I loved singing. I loved it, loved it, loved it.⁠ ⁠… That lovely Whitsuntide music of Solveig. I shall never sing it again.”

“I know. Why were you such a fool, Jane?”

“I don’t know. Sheer idiocy.”

“If you had the choice again⁠—”

“I’d do the same thing again.”

A silence. Then Jane lifted her head and said:

“Do you remember saying, Sebastian, that I had great ‘driving power’? That nothing would turn me aside? And I said that I might be more easily turned aside than you thought. That between Vernon and me, I should go to the wall.”

Sebastian said: “Things are queer.”

Jane slipped down on the floor beside him, her hand still in his.

“You can be clever,” said Sebastian, breaking the silence. “You can have the brains to foresee things, and the wits to plan things and the force to succeed, but with all the cleverness in the world you can’t avoid suffering some way or another. That’s what’s so odd. I know I’ve got brains, I know I’ll get to the top of anything I undertake. I’m not like Vernon. Vernon will either be a heaven-sent genius, or else he’ll be an idle dissipated young man. He’s got a gift if he’s got anything, I’ve got ability. And yet with all the ability in the world, I can’t prevent myself getting hurt.”

“No one can.”

“One might, perhaps, if one gave up one’s whole life to it. If you pursued safety and nothing but safety, you’d get your wings singed, perhaps, but that would be all. You’d build a nice smooth wall and hide yourself inside it.”

“You’re thinking of somebody in particular? Who?”

“Just a fancy. The future Mrs. George Chetwynd if you want to be exact.”

“Nell? Do you think Nell has the strength of character to shut herself out from life?”

“Oh, Nell has got an enormous power of developing protective colouring. Some species have.” He paused, then went on. “Jane, have you ever heard from⁠—Joe?”

“Yes, my dear, twice.”

“What did she say?”

“Very little. Just what fun everything was, and how she was enjoying herself, and how splendid one felt when one had had the courage to defy convention.” She paused and then added, “She’s not happy, Sebastian.”

“You think not?”

“I’m sure of it.”

There was a long silence. Two unhappy faces looked into the empty fireplace. Outside taxis hooted as they sped rapidly down the Embankment. Life went on.⁠ ⁠…