Evelyn Innes

Evelyn Innes, by George Moore

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Title: Evelyn Innes
Author: George Moore
Release Date: August 17, 2004 [EBook #13201]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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BENN'S ESSEX LIBRARY
Edited by Edward G. Hawke, M.A.

EVELYN INNES

GEORGE MOORE

First published 1898
Reprinted (Essex Library) 1929
To Arthur Symons and W.B. Yeats Two contemporary writers with
whom I am in sympathy
CHAPTER ONE
The thin winter day had died early, and at four o'clock it was dark night
in the long room in which Mr. Innes gave his concerts of early music.
An Elizabethan virginal had come to him to be repaired, and he had
worked all the afternoon, and when overtaken by the dusk, he had
impatiently sought a candle end, lit it, and placed it so that its light fell
upon the jacks.... Only one more remained to be adjusted. He picked it
up, touched the quill and dropped it into its place, rapidly tuned the
instrument, and ran his fingers over the keys.
Iron-grey hair hung in thick locks over his forehead, and, shining
through their shadows, his eyes drew attention from the rest of his face,
so that none noticed at first the small and firmly cut nose, nor the
scanty growth of beard twisted to a point by a movement habitual to the
weak, white hand. His face was in his eyes: they reflected the flame of
faith and of mission; they were the eyes of one whom fate had thrown
on an obscure wayside of dreams, the face of a dreamer and
propagandist of old-time music and its instruments. He sat at the
virginal, like one who loved its old design and sweet tone, in such strict
keeping with the music he was playing--a piece by W. Byrd, "John,
come kiss me now"--and when it was finished, his fingers strayed into
another, "Nancie," by Thomas Morley. His hands moved over the
keyboard softly, as if they loved it, and his thoughts, though deep in the

gentle music, entertained casual admiration of the sixteenth century
organ, which had lately come into his possession, and which he could
see at the end of the room on a slightly raised platform. Its beautiful
shape, and the shape of the old instruments, vaguely perceived, lent an
enchantment to the darkness. In the corner was a viola da gamba, and
against the walls a harpsichord and a clavichord.
Above the virginal on which Mr. Innes was playing there hung a
portrait of a woman, and, happening to look up, a sudden memory
came upon him, and he began to play an aria out of Don Giovanni. But
he stopped before many bars, and holding the candle end high, so that
he could see the face, continued the melody with his right hand. To see
her lips and to strike the notes was almost like hearing her sing it again.
Her voice came to him through many years, from the first evening he
had heard her sing at La Scala. Then he was a young man spending a
holiday in Italy, and she had made his fortune for the time by singing
one of his songs. They were married in Italy, and at the end of some
months they had gone to Paris and to Brussels, where Mrs. Innes had
engagements to fulfil. It was in Brussels that she had lost her voice. For
a long while it was believed that she might recover it, but these hopes
proved illusory, and, in trying to regain what she had lost irrevocably,
the money she had earned dwindled to a last few hundred pounds. The
Innes had returned to London, and, with a baby-daughter, settled in
Dulwich. Mr. Innes accepted the post of organist at St. Joseph's, the
parish church in Southwark, and Mrs. Innes had begun her singing
classes.
Her reputation as a singer favoured her, and an aptitude for teaching
enabled her to maintain, for many years, a distinguished position in the
musical world. Mr. Innes's abilities contributed to their success, and he
might have become a famous London organist if he had devoted
himself to the instrument. But one day seeing in a book the words
"viola d'amore," he fancied he would like to possess an instrument with
such a name. The instrument demanded the music that had been written
for it.