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Updated: June 15, 2025
"I really didn't come to Munich to talk politics, of which I know nothing whatever." Falbe nodded. "That is what I have said to you before," he remarked. "You are the most happy-go-lucky of the nations. Did he speak of England?" "Yes, of his beloved England," said Michael. "He was extremely cordial about our relations." "Good. I like that," said Falbe briskly.
The Prime Minister is going to make a statement on Monday. There have been Cabinet meetings going on all day." She looked at him in silence. "And what do you think?" she asked. Quite suddenly, at her question, Michael found himself facing it, even as, when the final catastrophe was more remote, he had faced it with Falbe.
"I was talking to Arthur Lagden about them," said Falbe, naming a prominent critic of the day, "and he would hardly believe that they were an Opus I., or that Michael had not been studying music technically for years instead of six months. But that's the odd thing about Mike; he's so mature."
And he began the soft repetition of chord-quavers with which it opened. Then after stumbling wretchedly through two lines of it, he suddenly forgot himself and Falbe, and the squealing unresponsive notes. He heard them no more, absorbed in the knowledge of what he meant by them, of the mood which they produced in him.
Nor was there the slightest embarrassment in their meeting! it was clear that there was not the least difficulty either for him or her in being natural, which, as usually happens, was the complete solution. "That is good of you to come," he said, meeting her almost at the door. "My mother has been looking forward to your visit. Mother dear, here is Miss Falbe."
Falbe laughed. "Very well indeed," he said. "Now for 'Good King Wenceslas. Wasn't it " "Yes; I got awfully interested over it, Hermann. I thought I would try and work it up into a few variations." "Let's hear," said Falbe. This was a vastly different affair.
They were the people who understood; they did not go to the opera as a be-diamonded interlude between a dinner and a dance; they came to this dreadful little town, the discomforts of which, the utter provinciality of which was transformed into the air of the heavenly Jerusalem, as Hermann Falbe had said, because their souls were fed here with wine and manna.
"You have probably heard of her; she is the Miss Falbe who made such a sensation in London last season by her singing." The old outlook, the old traditions were beginning to come to the surface again in poor Lady Ashbridge's mind. "Oh, my dear!" she said. "A singer! That would vex your father terribly. Fancy the daughter of a Miss Tracy becoming a singer.
The last one was taxing to the fingers, but Michael's big hands banged out the octave scale in the bass with wonderful ease, and Falbe gave a great guffaw of pleasure at the rollicking conclusion. "Write them all down," he said, "and try if you can hear it singing half a dozen more. If you can, write them down also, and give me leave to play the lot at my concert in January." Michael gasped.
Then without pause they began the set of German songs Brahms, Schubert, Schumann with which the recital opened. And for one moment, before he lost himself in the ecstasy of hearing, Michael found himself registering the fact that Sylvia Falbe had one of the most charming faces he had ever seen. The next he was swallowed up in melody.
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