Before I left New Zealand I secured an engagement to play the violin at a concert hall where the district assembled to applaud the talent of youthful pianoforte players and maidens2 who had cultivated voices. I was engaged to play violin solos, accompanied by the piano, and to perform suitable tripping melodies for old feet when the parents danced after the entertainment.
One night, when I was hurrying back to my rooms after the dance, sick at heart (for, believe me, I do not tell you of my many aspirations3 and the disappointments of those days), I heard a wheezy voice behind me call: “Hi! you, Mr Violinist.” I immediately turned, and an old gentleman with a benevolent5, cheerful face stood puffing6 and smiling at me. “Pray excuse my interruption,” he said as he bowed; then he continued: “Ah, my dear boy, you are a real musician and play your instrument as though you have a soul; you remind me of my own youthful days, when I played the violin, by special command, to Queen Victoria.” Hearing this, I at once became inwardly attentive7. I had several manuscript songs that I wanted to get published, and no publisher in New Zealand or Australia would look at them unless I paid for the expense of engraving8, so, not knowing what influence the old fellow might have, I speedily got into conversation with him—not from ambitious motives9 only, for he seemed a kind-hearted and intellectual old man, and therefore commanded my respect as well as my hopes. Inviting10 me into an hotel, he offered me a drink, and seemed very much surprised when I asked for “shandy gaff,” which is a mixture of ginger-beer and light ale. I flushed slightly and reordered whisky at his suggestion, and, though it tasted like kava and paraffin oil mixed, I bravely took sips11 of it, while the old chap told me of his violin engagements and the praise accorded him by the musical critic of The Times and by personages in the royal courts of Europe. As I listened, and nodded approval and surprise, I observed him carefully.
He was innocent looking, with a cheery round face and eyes that were small, but vivacious12 and blue; his hat was neither a tall hat nor a bowler13: it had a small rim14, which gave it that clerical contour which seems to be worn especially to allay15 any suspicion that might fall on its owner. I would not reflect upon the appearance of this gentleman so much if it were not that his appearance helped him enormously. I am not going to be hard upon him either; notwithstanding his sins, he was at heart a kindly16 man; but Nature had mixed his dough17 with too much yeast18, so that his aspirations to do well rose far beyond the range of his intellect and solid, commercial honesty. This was a fact that helped me considerably19; for this commonplace failing of our race, shown in him, put me on my guard in the future and saved me much pain and many misfortunes in after days. I do not mean to be sarcastic20 in the foregoing remarks, though it may sound like it. I only intend to convey to those who have not experienced much the fact that all individual types of good and bad men you meet in civilised lands are just teachers in the university; that you must face, if you are not blessed with wealth, and go off to seek it. They give you experience, and make you a critic of your race, so that you can know and appreciate goodness, if in your lifetime you are fortunate enough to meet it. They also teach you to be lenient22 in your judgment23 of others, and by comparisons and pondering over their sins you will recognise your own.
Though the old fellow tried to impress me with his greatness, and praised my many virtues24, I instinctively25 felt that I did not possess them. I also noticed that, though he told me that he had just arrived at Christchurch to give lectures to increase the funds for orphanage26 children, his fancy waistcoat had been brushed to death and looked shabby. This fact damped both my hopes and vanity; for I perceived that his praise of my violin-playing was inspired by very much the same feeling that made me repeatedly nod polite approval over his erstwhile fame in the royal courts and concerts of Great Britain. In short, we were both hard up for something that we needed, and saw that we could help each other by being polite and awaiting events.
I was young, and he was grey and old, and possibly had been a really good man in his day, till the soulful melody of heart-beats, called life, had gradually resolved itself into a minor28 key, and that drama of grey hairs and a wheezy voice that praised my youthful melodies in that saloon bar off the main road in Christchurch, New Zealand. He fingered about in his pocket, and I at once ordered him another drink, and inspired with bravery, through his shabby waistcoat, I boldly called for shandy gaff and pushed the whisky aside. We were now, by observation of each other’s deficiencies, brothers, and though Queen Victoria’s praise of his talent still lingered in my memory, I noticed that he gave a sigh of relief as I paid for the next drink, and at once I felt that we were at last equals. I will not weary you with any more details, but on the way home that night he walked beside me, and I agreed to be the solo violinist at the lectures which he was about to give in various halls that he was hiring. I was not to get a specified29 salary, but was to receive, which was better still, he said, shares in the collection and in the tickets sold, after the bulk of the proceeds had been put by for the New Zealand orphanages30.
Next morning he called at my rooms at the time appointed. By daylight my clothes did not look as affluent31 as they did by gaslight. In a moment he noticed this and without any overture32 said: “Put your hat on, my boy, and come to my tailor’s and get fitted out.” I was astonished to hear him say this, and, not thinking my prospective33 abilities in his service might deserve such kindness, my best instincts got the momentary34 upper hand of those inclinations35 which are usually the strongest in men who have endeavoured to earn their livelihood36 by musical accomplishments37. So I at first demurred38, and then, overjoyed, went with him to his tailor, who lived not a half-mile off. He even bought me india-rubber cuffs39, and the day before the first lecture came off I looked as well dressed as anyone in the district.
On the morning before the first lecture at the Suburban40 Hall I strolled down the main road and to my astonishment41 saw my name in large type on big white bills. If I remember aright, this is how the advertisement went: “Signor Safroni, the celebrated42 Italian violin virtuoso, has kindly consented to perform at the Orphanage Fund lectures”; and then followed an account of the lecturer’s philanthropic and stirring speeches on behalf of helpless children. At first I felt annoyed at this being done without my permission, for I had a kind of suspicion that the old lecturer thought more of himself than of the orphan27 children, and I did not want to be mixed up with anything that was likely to look shady, both for my own self-respect and my youthful principles. I at once sought my new employer and told him, as delicately as possible, that I did not care to be billed as a celebrated violinist from Italy, and, moreover, not so very far off was the very place where I had been playing. “My dear, dear boy,” he said, opening his eyes as though with amazement43, “you call yourself a violin-player and are afraid to be billed; you must be mad!”
“Well,” I answered, considerably mollified by the force of his arguments, “your bill says: ‘The Right Honourable44 S. Middleton will take the chair.’ How can I be both? And I know nothing about taking chairs either.” “Leave it all to me; all you’ve got to do is to play the violin and make money,” he said; and I went off, feeling a little guilty of ingratitude45, for I certainly had a good suit of clothes on, and my expectations, financially, seemed very good.
Before the concert night my employer canvassed46 the streets, and indeed the whole district, and sold some hundreds of tickets. Girls even stood at the mission rooms and church doors and sold his tickets; they were given special permission by the clergy47, because of the noble cause which my employer lectured upon.
When I arrived at the hall at the opening hour I saw a vast crowd waiting by the door. The old lecturer was with me and rubbed his hands as we went round to the back entrance to prepare for the concert. His personality was of the masterful kind, but, mustering48 up my courage, I at last said to him: “Shall I have to take the chair and make a speech?”—for I was still a little suspicious of my dual21 personality as an Italian violin virtuoso and the Right Honourable S. Middleton.
To my intense relief he patted me on the back and said: “Play the violin as well as you are able and I will do all the rest.” My feelings were relieved, and the thought of how much I should get from the shares of tickets sold cheered me up considerably. Before I proceed I may as well tell you that though he professed49 to lecture for the benefit of little children and was deeply “religious,” for he prayed so fervently50 before meals that I also prayed, out of sheer respect for his religious earnestness, as far as I knew he never paid one cent to any fund; neither did he pay for the halls that he hired, nor for the printing of his preposterous52 bills, nor for anything that became his.
There was a special dressing-room in this hall; it was like a box, and just at the side of the stage door. When the old lecturer was ready he gave the little door-boy twopence and told him to open the entrance to the hall and let the crowd in at the front; while the professor at the back groomed53 himself before his little pocket mirror and I combed my hair.
My heart began to beat a little faster than usual, for I heard the audience starting to stamp and cheer with impatience54 just behind the small door in front of me. The old rogue55 said hastily: “Go in and take the chair and I will walk in behind you.” “Perhaps you had better go first,” I said, and stepped aside. “No, no,” he responded quickly, in his masterful voice, and, not wishing to appear nervous the first night, I took a bold plunge56 and suddenly appeared before the vast crowd of bronzed faces that made up that New Zealand audience. Had it been an ordinary solo engagement I should have had something to do and so have been completely at my ease. But when the vast crowd rose in a body and cheered me, thinking that I had appeared first to make a preliminary speech, ere the great philanthropist lectured about cruelty to orphan children, and all the other lies on his bill, I felt very ill at ease, and could only bow repeatedly and gaze at the little door, hoping my employer would step on the stage. He did not appear, and I think I must have bowed several times after the last clapping hand had ceased among the smiling ladies in the front seats, who were gazing upon me with evident approval, and at last, bewildered, I stooped to open my violin-case. I was about to let the lecture go to the winds and start a solo when suddenly the door opened at the side of me and the professor stood bowing to the audience. They rose en masse and cheered him, as I nearly tumbled over my violin and sat in the little chair which was the only furniture of the platform.
I felt like one in a dream as I sat there twirling my fingers, watching the old fellow as his arms swayed and lifted with his grey head toward the ceiling, and in fervent51 tones he told the audience that the Right Honourable S. Middleton had been suddenly taken ill, and that I had kindly consented to take the chair, as well as perform solos on the violin. I have found out since that this ruse57 is a commonplace excuse for a one-man lecture and entertainment; it saves expenses, and is practised at lectures and concerts throughout the world. He was really a clever professional liar58, and the way he held his arms aloft and passionately59 pleaded for the helpless children touched the audience as though it throbbed60 with one large heart. It is a memory that I think would make the most credulous61 nature become sceptical when listening to shabbily dressed men who appeal for charity beyond their own immediate4 requirements. Though he had bought me a new suit—on credit I found out afterwards—he did not trouble much about his own clothes, but depended on the pathos62 of his voice and his grey hairs. I felt suspicious of the genuineness of his orphanage appeals, but as I sat there listening to him a sense of intense shame came over me, for I, as well as the whole audience, was touched by the pathos of his phrases and the descriptive figures which he gave of poor little starving orphans63 that had appealed for bread. Then, with his hands lifted to the ceiling, he held the whole crowd spellbound as he described a dying child’s last look and words in a London workhouse.
As he finished a great sigh echoed through the hall, as though it was one sound from a thousand hearts that were bursting with emotion. His voice ceased and he turned to me, and as I lifted the glass of water to his lips I noticed that he had tears in his eyes; for his imagination had carried him out of himself and touched him as well as me. Then I stood up and played a solo, after which I extemporised an accompaniment to a sacred song which he sang; for though he was old and sinful his voice was mellow64 and sweet.
He told me he was the last living member of the Old Christy Minstrels of London, and from his manner and general conversation I still believe that assertion of his was a true one. I asked him once to play the violin, but he would not do so, though he could play the banjo well.
I have never been so cheered by an audience as I was that night. I was called and recalled. I do not believe it was so much for my playing, or for the opinion of Italian royalty65 and the Queen of England on my “wonderful” playing—it was on the programme—as for my being thought a friend of that old lecturer on dying orphan children. For before we played the National Anthem66 he told them that I had consented to go with him through New Zealand and play solos purely67 for the sake of helping68 unhappy children, and that I was to receive no salary. I did not know how true it was when he said that, but I often think how fortunate I was not to have been arrested with him; for, though I was quite innocent, I believe that we were both liable to penal69 servitude for giving those charitable concerts.
Before the audience dispersed70 the lecturer made an extra collection, notwithstanding the fact that each member of the audience had paid one or two shillings for admittance, and given sixpence for a programme!
At the hall door, after all was over, he interviewed many of the ladies who sought a personal introduction; we also received many invitations to call at their homes, and my old employer seemed quite touched by the many sympathetic phrases they poured in his ears. When we were alone he stood under a lamp-post and counted out the collection, and though I lounged by him, and gave many hints, he did not offer me a portion, so I asked him for my share straight out. He had promised me some money just before the lecture. “I dare not give it to you,” he said. “I must first pay for the hall, the printing and the amount due to the orphanage; then, rest assured, my boy, you shall get your share.”
Next day he got fearfully drunk, and I became convinced that he was not genuine, though the night before I had left him thinking that I must be mistaken in my suspicions. The very boldness of his bills and his plans would have disarmed71 older men, and I was then only about twenty-one years of age. I had given my other job up and so, for the time being, I was compelled to stick to him. He rebuked72 me for not saying grace before my meals, and I discovered that he really was religious in the common sense of the term; we even had arguments together because I would not agree with all he said. He was extremely happy and sang to himself all day, rose at five o’clock every morning and splashed water all over the room as he washed, while I complained and begged for another hour’s rest. I felt envious73 and yet sorry for him, and myself too. When a man dimly realises his abjectness74 in the flesh he has begun to realise his divinity; the night of his mind, that was dark, becomes unclouded, and the stars glimmer75 forth76 only to sadden him. He does not feel any longer so ready to criticise77 the dark of his neighbour’s mind, which is still happy in that night of intellectual blindness which is such a blessing78 to men who inherit the heavens through an acute squint79. My swindling old employer rejoiced in this squint to an abnormal degree; he really did believe that he was a pious80 and good-living man. When I refused to work for him, and told him he was a rogue, he was so shocked that I even relented a little, and took his proffered81 hand when I said good-bye. He seemed to value my opinions, though he did not agree with them, and I honestly believe that, had he not had his religious aspirations to fall back upon, he would have fallen back upon himself and been a really good man.
When he left the district his creditors82 came down on me, and I had a lot of trouble to prevent myself being arrested. The tailor who had supplied my suit of clothes stopped me in the street; I lost my temper, and we nearly came to blows, and I was almost locked up. Next morning I called upon the tailor and told him the truth; he apologised for his remarks and refused to take more than half the money due for the clothes, which I paid him. I never saw the lecturer on orphanages again; and as it was years ago, and he was old then, I feel that he must have given his last lecture, closed his stage door for ever and gone away.
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1
virtuoso
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| n.精于某种艺术或乐器的专家，行家里手 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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11
sips
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| n.小口喝，一小口的量( sip的名词复数 )v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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12
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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15
allay
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| v.消除，减轻(恐惧、怀疑等) | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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yeast
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| n.酵母；酵母片；泡沫；v.发酵；起泡沫 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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orphanage
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| n.孤儿院 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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orphanages
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| 孤儿院( orphanage的名词复数 ) | |
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affluent
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| adj.富裕的，富有的，丰富的，富饶的 | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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livelihood
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| n.生计，谋生之道 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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demurred
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| v.表示异议，反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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44
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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45
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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46
canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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47
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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48
mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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49
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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51
fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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52
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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53
groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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55
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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56
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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credulous
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| adj.轻信的，易信的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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anthem
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| n.圣歌，赞美诗，颂歌 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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abjectness
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| 凄惨； 绝望； 卑鄙； 卑劣 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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77
criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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78
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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80
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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81
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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