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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
123
XXVI.
Of
late,
I
have
been
wishing
for
music.
An
odd
chance
gratified
my
desire.
I
had
to
go
into
Exeter
yesterday.
I
got
there
about
sunset,
transacted
my
business,
and
turned
to
walk
home
again
through
the
warm
twilight.
In
Southernhay,
as
I
was
passing
a
house
of
which
the
ground-floor
windows
stood
open,
there
sounded
the
notes
of
a
piano--chords
touched
by
a
skilful
hand.
I
checked
my
step,
hoping,
and
in
a
minute
or
two
the
musician
began
to
play
that
nocturne
of
Chopin
which
I
love
best--I
don't
know
how
to
name
it.
My
heart
leapt.
There
I
stood
in
the
thickening
dusk,
the
glorious
sounds
floating
about
me;
and
I
trembled
with
very
ecstasy
of
enjoyment.
When
silence
came,
I
waited
in
the
hope
of
another
piece,
but
nothing
followed,
and
so
I
went
my
way.
It
is
well
for
me
that
I
cannot
hear
music
when
I
will;
assuredly
I
should
not
have
such
intense
pleasure
as
comes
to
me
now
and
then
by
haphazard.
As
I
walked
on,
forgetting
all
about
the
distance,
and
reaching
home
before
I
knew
I
was
half
way
there,
I
felt
gratitude
to
my
unknown
benefactor--a
state
of
mind
I
have
often
experienced
in
the
days
long
gone
by.
It
happened
at
times--not
in
my
barest
days,
but
in
those
of
decent
poverty--that
some
one
in
the
house
where
I
lodged
played
the
piano--and
how
it
rejoiced
me
when
this
came
to
pass!
I
say
"played
the
piano"--a
phrase
that
covers
much.
For
my
own
part,
I
was
very
tolerant;
anything
that
could
by
the
largest
interpretation
be
called
music,
I
welcomed
and
was
thankful;
for
even
"five-finger
exercises"
I
found,
at
moments,
better
than
nothing.
For
it
was
when
I
was
labouring
at
my
desk
that
the
notes
of
the
instrument
were
grateful
and
helpful
to
me.
Some
men,
I
believe,
would
have
been
driven
frantic
under
the
circumstances;
to
me,
anything
like
a
musical
sound
always
came
as
a
godsend;
it
tuned
my
thoughts;
it
made
the
words
flow.
Even
the
street
organs
put
me
in
a
happy
mood;
I
owe
many
a
page
to
them--written
when
I
should
else
have
been
sunk
in
bilious
gloom.
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