Off for Italy
And then at last the day came when Philip was to start on his travels,
and everybody was trying so hard to bear up and be cheerful that there
was quite an air of false gayety about the household. Only one member
of the family seemed to be indifferent about Philip’s departure, and
this was his cousin Marion, who had returned the week before from her
visit to Scotland, where she had been flattered and made so much of for
her beauty and accomplishments that her silly head was quite turned.
She was deeply chagrined on her return to find that Philip, instead
of herself, was the central figure in the family circle. She had the
greatest admiration for Lord Ashden, and felt a respect for his rank
and title which amounted almost to veneration. She was secretly quite
enraged that he should have selected this boy, whose parentage on one
side was, to say the least, decidedly obscure, and should have paid him
so much attention.
“I wonder what Lord Ashden can be thinking of,” she said, with flashing
eyes, to her younger sisters, who were disposed, on her first return
home, to regard her with a kind of admiring awe. “I suppose Philip
asked Lord Ashden to take him abroad with him, and of course he is far
too good-natured to refuse.”
“Oh, no, indeed,” the truthful Rose was obliged to reply. “He did
not, indeed, Marion; for when Aunt Delia told him of Lord Ashden’s
invitation, he was as much surprised as we were.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Marion, tossing her head; “you all seem to think
that Philip is as innocent as a lamb. He may be as stupid as one,
that I will grant you,” and Marion laughed unpleasantly at her own
witticism. Rose echoed the laugh, although rather faintly, and she was
glad that Lillie had been called from the room, and so had not heard
Marion’s ill-natured remark.
As for Philip, his thoughts were too full of other things to notice
his cousin Marion’s behavior very much. He had always been a sincere
admirer of her beauty and cleverness, but the first evening of her
return he decided that, after all, Lillie was far the sweeter and
more lovable of the two girls; and even Rose, he thought, who was
rather plain and freckled, had a much more amiable expression than her
handsome elder sister.
When the time came to say good-by, and Philip was going about with
rather a sad smile, shaking hands and embracing the dear friends who
had made his stay at the rectory such a happy one, he noticed that
Marion seemed to hold back, and he tried not to care, although he
flushed painfully as he went toward her, holding out his hand.
“Good-by, Marion,” he said; “I am so sorry that I am leaving just as
you have come back to Lowdown.”
She made no reply, and held out a limp, reluctant hand. “Good-by,” she
said coldly at last, as he waited hesitatingly for a word.
Philip gave her a swift glance, and then, overcoming his shyness, he
said impulsively:
“Oh, Marion, is that all you can say--not--not just one word to wish me
success with my music?”
His voice trembled a little, and his cousin could not resist the
pleading in his eyes. She dropped her own, saying rather more
graciously:
“Yes, oh, yes, of course I wish you good luck. I am very glad that
you are to have such a fine chance to see something of the world, and
I hope--that is--I am sure that you will try to be a credit to the
family.”
Just then the carriage from Ashden arrived, bringing Lord Ashden, who
had been detained at the last moment, so that there was just time for
Philip to jump in beside him, and the horses started off on a run to
the railroad station.
Philip stood up on the seat of the carriage, waving his cap; he kept
his eyes fastened upon Aunt Delia, who was keeping her promise not to
cry, by laughing hysterically at the frantic efforts of poor Dash to
escape from her arms and follow his young master. And then a turn in
the road hid the carriage and the little swaying figure from the sight
of the group on the rectory steps, and Mr. Seldon put his arm gently
around his wife, saying:
“How I wish that our Philip could see his boy to-day! Do you notice how
like his father the dear boy grows?”
As for Philip, he was very grave and silent during the journey to
London, but the first glimpse of the great city aroused all his
enthusiasm, and he chattered and laughed and asked questions as they
were being driven to the hotel, while Lord Ashden leaned back in
the cab, pleased and diverted by the boy’s exclamations of interest
and pleasure. As for Philip himself, it was pleasure enough to be
travelling alone with a man like Lord Ashden, for whom, from the first
moment of meeting him on that memorable day in the woods, he had
cherished a sort of rapturous admiration, which was something very
different from his cousin Marion’s silly veneration for rank. Indeed,
he was still far too innocent of the world’s ways to be conscious
of the value placed on high position; and Lord Ashden, sick of the
insincerity and shallowness of the people whom he met in society, found
a large measure of the happiness which he had thought to have lost
forever, in the society of this true-hearted boy.
They spent only one night in London, starting the next day for the
Continent. It had been their intention to go on at once to Italy, but
Lord Ashden was detained in Paris by important business for more than a
month, and this was a period of constant wonder and delight to Philip.
Marwin, Lord Ashden’s confidential servant, was an experienced
traveller, and in his care Philip visited the places that he and Miss
Acton had tried to see in imagination in the long, quiet evenings
at Lowdown, when Aunt Delia had talked to them of her own extensive
travels throughout Europe. Philip recognized several of the places
which he now visited, from Mrs. Seldon’s graphic description of them.
Marvin was an intelligent guide, and his running commentary upon what
they saw was listened to by his young charge with flattering attention.
Lord Ashden was not able to go about very much, and the sights of Paris
were not novelties to him; but every evening he drew from Philip a
description of his day’s adventure.
“Is this the very best day of all?” he would say, as the boy’s bright,
expressive face appeared at his door.
“Oh, yes, sir, the very, very best of all,” would be the answer he was
always sure of receiving. The certainty of finding ready sympathy
made the boy willing to speak freely of his thoughts and emotions, and
Lord Ashden, who had the gift of drawing people out, sometimes led him
on, after hearing an account of the places he had seen, to talk of
thoughts, hopes, and desires that he had never spoken of to any one.
It was on a morning after one of these conversations that Lord Ashden
announced his intention of taking Philip himself to see some pictures.
They were not in a public gallery, but were the choice private
collection of a distinguished patron of art, who occasionally threw
open his gallery to an appreciative public. There was no one present
but themselves when they first entered the room and walked about,
examining the pictures at leisure. There was a curious mingling of
ancient and modern art, but to Philip’s undistinguishing eye, all
of them were beautiful, and he listened entranced while his friend
explained the subject of one and another of his own favorites.
“Oh, my dear boy!” he exclaimed suddenly, after giving a most
entertaining account of the “Barmecides’ Feast,” which hung before
them, “how vividly all this talk about pictures reminds me of your
father!”
He knew quite well that this was a subject of which his companion
never grew weary, and it was the subject, too, which always drew this
strangely assorted pair more closely together. They sat down on a bench
in a quiet corner, and many a visitor to the gallery that morning
lingered to admire the tall, distinguished-looking Englishman who was
talking with such earnestness to the beautiful, fair-haired boy, who
with eager, upturned face looked almost like one of the young angels in
a celebrated picture which hung just above his head.
This was but one of many happy days of intimate companionship and
sight-seeing, and Philip, even with Italy in prospect, turned his
back upon the gay French capital with a long sigh of regret. When
they reached Rome they found that the famous teacher whose advice
Lord Ashden had come so far to seek for Philip had left, a few months
before, to take charge of a large conservatory at Milan. They decided
not to follow him at once, however, for Lord Ashden was anxious that
Philip should see something of the Eternal City before settling down to
work and study. He himself was guide this time, and he took the boy to
palaces and picture galleries, to cathedrals and studios and concerts,
until Philip was scarcely able to sleep at night, for thinking of the
wonder and the beauty of it all; and then his wise and kind guide
planned that they should spend a day or two at Naples, which they
passed drifting about on the beautiful bay, and so when Philip was
quite rested again, they travelled on by easy stages to Milan.
Signor Marini was such an exceedingly busy man that it was several days
before he could make time to have Philip brought to the conservatory.
The great teacher was very fond of Lord Ashden, and would have gone out
of his way to have done him a favor, but he was rather sceptical about
Philip’s playing; he had had several rather unfortunate experiences
with child musicians, and was sceptical about infant prodigies in
general. Moreover, he assured his friend that if the Angel Gabriel
should have come down from heaven to take lessons from him just at this
time, he could not have complied with his request.
“You understand,” he said in his quick, Italian way, “I can no longer
teach any one--not the greatest violinist living. I am too busy and
too old--and my conservatory, the management of it, the routine, it is
enough; but you may bring your boy, ah, yes, I will find for him the
best teacher in Milan.”
“Ah, signor,” said Lord Ashden, disappointed, “I had hoped that you
would take the boy yourself.”
“Quite impossible!” said the teacher, shaking his head, “but, as I
said, bring the boy, and we will see.”
Fortunately, Philip did not realize the importance of the ordeal
through which he was to pass, when one morning at breakfast Lord Ashden
said quietly:
“I want you to bring your violin, and come with me this morning to play
for an old friend of mine, who may be able to give you some valuable
advice about your music.”
After breakfast, accordingly, they drove for several miles through the
older portion of the city, and at last the carriage drew up before
a dingy door in what had been an ancient palace. They were ushered
without delay to the private office of the maestro, a little, wiry,
keen-eyed old man, in a greasy smoking-jacket, and smelling strongly of
tobacco. He looked at Philip sharply from under his shaggy eyebrows,
remarking with a kind of grunt, in Italian:
“Handsome, like his father,” for Signor Marini remembered the young
English artist who had been travelling with Lord Ashden during his
last visit to Italy, and who had dabbled a little in music, as he said
himself, “while he waited for the first coat of paint to dry on his
canvases.”
In fact, the old man was so full of reminiscences that Lord Ashden was
obliged at last to remind him of the real object of the visit.
“Ah, yes,” grunted the music teacher rather ungraciously. “The boy may
play.”
Philip, who had been examining some rare and beautiful musical
instruments which were in the room, opened his violin case at once and
stood, bow in hand, looking inquiringly from Lord Ashden to Signor
Marini, with a simple desire to know their pleasure and an utter
absence of embarrassment or nervousness which rather surprised the
Italian.
“What shall I play, sir?” asked the boy, and the teacher named a rather
difficult _étude_ which, fortunately for Philip, he had been practising
within the week.
The maestro pretended at first not to be listening very attentively;
indeed, he yawned once or twice and walked to the window, where he
stood drumming noiselessly upon the pane with his dirty fingers; but,
after a little, he began to listen more attentively, and when the first
few wailing notes of the violin had melted into the very passionate
intensity of the second measure of the composition, he wheeled suddenly
around, sat down with his arms folded on the back of a chair, and
listened with unbroken attention to the end.
When Philip had finished playing he laid his violin down carefully on
the table and turned toward Lord Ashden with an inquiring smile as
though he would have said:
“Was it all right, my friend?”
Lord Ashden did not reply, but he looked at Signor Marini with an
amused smile. The whole expression of the latter’s face had changed,
and presently he said to Philip:
“Come here, my boy.”
Philip went over to him at once, with a pretty, respectful inclination
of the head, which seemed to please the old man. He asked him a few
short, rapid questions about his practising, his instrument, and his
plans for the future.
“You have formed some rather bad habits in your playing,” he said.
“They can only be corrected by very hard work.” He paused a moment
with his glittering eyes fixed upon the boy’s upturned face. “Tell me,
are you willing to work hard, very hard? to practise all day, and, if
necessary, all night, too? Are you willing to give up everything--pay
attention now to what I am saying--to give up _everything_ for your
art?” And, as Philip nodded gravely, fixing his earnest eyes full upon
the old man’s face, the latter got up from his chair, which he pushed
away from him with so much violence that it fell over on the floor.
“Very well,” he said, “I believe you; when can you begin--at once?”
Then, turning to Lord Ashden, he held out his hand. The latter was
smiling in spite of himself, as he said, trying to speak seriously:
“And what about the teacher for the boy, of whom you spoke?”
The old music teacher smiled a little grimly.
“My friend,” he said, “I will take the boy myself, provided you will
consent to his living in my house, so that he may give me all his time
for the practice he so much needs. No, no thanks. Think it over, and
when you have decided send the boy to me.”
And so it was arranged that Philip was to be left behind in Milan for
a year while Lord Ashden went to Egypt with some friends, but not
before he had assured himself that the boy would be quite happy in the
household of Signor Marini, who, in spite of his peculiarities, had a
very kind and generous nature, while his fat and rather stupid wife was
overflowing with good-nature. They promised to do all in their power to
make Philip as happy and comfortable as he could be under such altered
conditions, and they kept their word; it must be confessed, however,
that the boy suffered a great deal for the first month or two from that
most unbearable of all complaints, homesickness; but after that he did
not have much time to think of his friends in England, or indeed of
anything else, for he soon became completely absorbed in conquering the
difficulties of exercises and studies.
Signor Marini was a stern taskmaster, and it was a peculiarity of his
that he seldom praised or encouraged his pupils; sometimes, however,
when Philip had conquered a difficult passage, his teacher would
give expression to his satisfaction in a kind of grunt which Philip
soon grew to look for and to value as the highest kind of praise. Nor
did his teacher make much reply to Lord Ashden’s frequent letters of
inquiry concerning his pupil’s progress.
“You know I told you that I did not believe much in precocious
children,” he wrote once, “but Philip I believe is something more than
that. If I did not believe that he had a future before him, I should
certainly not be spending so much time upon his training.”
And with this assurance Lord Ashden was obliged to be content, and
although the year of separation from Philip was harder for him than for
the boy, he waited patiently, believing the life in Milan to be just
what his young charge needed.