Evelyn Innes | Page 8

But on referring to the music, Mr. Innes
discovered a better one. "From the twelfth to the fifteenth century,
writers," he said, "did not consider their music as moderns do. Now we
watch the effect of a chord, a combination of notes heard at the same
moment, the top note of which is the tune, but the older writers used
their skill in divining musical phrases which could be followed
simultaneously, each one going logically its own way, irrespective of
some temporary clashing. They considered their music horizontally, as
the parts went on; we consider it vertically, each chord producing its
impression in turn. To them all the parts were of equal importance.
Their music was a purely decorative interweaving of melodies. Now we
have a tune with accompanying parts."
"What a wonderful knowledge of music your father has, Miss Innes!"

"Yes, father reads old MSS. that no one else can decipher."
"These discords happened," Mr. Innes said, as he went to the
harpsichord, "when a composition was based upon some old plain song
melody, the notes of which could not be altered. Then the musician did
not scruple to write in one of the other parts the same note altered by a
sharp or flat to suit the passing requirement of the musical phrase
allotted to that part. You could thus have together, say an F natural in
one part and an F sharp in another. This to modern ears, not trained to
understanding the meaning of the two parts, is intolerable."
While he spoke of the relative fineness of the ancient and modern ear,
maintaining that the reason ancient singers could sing without an
accompaniment was that they were trained to sing from the monochord,
Owen considered the figure of this tall, fair girl, and wondered if she
would elect to remain with her father, playing the viola da gamba in
Dulwich, or bolt with a manager--that was what generally happened.
Her father was a most interesting old man, a genius in his way, but just
such an one as might prove his daughter's ruin. He would keep her
singing the old music, perhaps marry her to a clerk, and she would be a
fat, prosaic mother of three in five years.
However this might be, he, Owen, was interested in her voice, and, if
he had never met Georgina, he might have liked this girl. It would be
better that he should take her away than that she should go away with a
manager who would rob and beat her. But, if he were to take her away,
he would be tied to her; it would be like marrying her. Far better stick
to married women, and he remembered his epigram of last night. It was
at Lady. Ascott's dinner-party, the conversation had turned on marriage,
and its necessity had been questioned. "But, of course, marriage is
necessary," he had answered. "You can't have husbands without
marriage, and if there were no husbands, who would look after our
mistresses?" A lot of hypocrites had chosen to look shocked; Georgina
had said it was a horrid remark and had hardly spoken to him all the
evening; and this afternoon she had said she should not come and see
him any more--she was afraid her husband suspected, her children were
growing up, etc. When women cease to care for one, how importunate

their consciences are! A little terror took him, and he wondered if he
were about to lose Georgina, or if she were only trying to make him
jealous. Perhaps he could not do better than make her jealous. For that
purpose this young girl was just the thing.
Moreover, he was interested in the revival of Palestrina at St. Joseph's,
and he liked Ferrabosco's pavane. He would like to have a harpsichord;
even if he did not play on it much, it would be a beautiful,
characteristic piece of furniture.... And it would be a good idea to ask
Mr. Innes to bring all his queer instruments to Berkeley Square, and
give a concert to-morrow night after his dinner-party. His friends had
bored him with Hungarian bands, and the improvisations the bands had
been improvising for the last ten years, and he saw no reason why he
should not bore them, just for a change, with Mr. Innes.
At this moment his reflections were interrupted by Mr. Innes, who
wanted to know if he did not agree with him regarding the necessity for
the re-introduction of the monochord, if the sixteenth century masses
were ever to be sung again properly. All this was old story to Evelyn.
In a sort of dream, through a sort of mist, she saw the embroidered
waistcoat and the gold moustache, and when the small, grey, smiling
eyes were raised from her father's face