'Thank you, masters,' said Dilke after a short silence.
The Abbot looked grave. 'It seems,' he said, 'it seems to me that we have a possibility on one side and something not so far from a fact on the other.'
'We'll find that possibility is closed,' said Morley, quietly now. 'But if it had ever come to fruition, we'd have had something immense. And even if not... A composer belongs to the world and to posterity; a singer by comparison can reach only a few and his voice dies with him, leaving no record behind except in the words of those who heard him. My regrets, masters, but it's true. It's true.' His voice tailed off.
Viaventosa had followed part of this. He nodded, frowning, his eyes shut.
'But are we faced with a choice?' asked Dilke. 'Surely Anvil can be composer and singer by turns?'
Morley said, 'An active career as singer has always in effect ruled out serious composition.'
'But an active career with violin or piano-forte hasn't always.'
'Conceded. What of it?'
'Anvil may be the first exception,' said Dilke, with a quick glance at the Abbot. 'Another possibility, eh?'
'We need none of your Jesuitries tonight, Father.'
'That'll do.' The Abbot's troubled look-perhaps it had never been more than a look-was gone. He poured himself claret with a small flourish. 'You've put your case, Sebastian, and I commend you most strongly for your moderation. Yes, I do. But you could scarcely have argued otherwise. The decision is clear. Anvil goes to the surgeon as soon as the formalities are complete.'
Morley shrugged his broad shoulders. After a moment he said, 'Certain of those formalities may not be simple matters of form. The boy's father is of high condition.'
'A London merchantman, with an older son near marrying age,' said Dilke. 'Uh, what of it, master?'
'This of it: he will know, or will soon discover, that boys chosen for this treatment are normally of low parentage. He may see the proposal as a slur upon him, and his consent is of course required by law.'
'True,' said the Abbot: 'Clerk Anvil's case is in that way somewhat exceptional, but then so are his talents. He will be celebrated and rich before very long. That should carry weight with the father. And if not, as a pious man, which I myself know him to be, he'll have in mind his duty to God. Or can easily be put in mind of it.'
'There'll be no difficulty, my lord,' said Dilke, carefully choosing a sweetmeat from the silver bowl before him.
Later the Abbot said privately to Mirabilis, 'If I may ask you, Fritz—do you think we were right?'
'In what respect?'
'The decision about Anvil's future isn't an ordinary one, you see. There can be no going back afterwards.'
'No indeed, my lord, but I still don't quite understand.'
'It's simply that not even the wisest of us is infallible. Suppose that in a few years Anvil's powers decline. There was such a case—at any rate, if it should so turn out, what do we say to ourselves then?'
'What you have just said, that none of us is infallible. Let me put your mind at peace, my lord. There are these, these declines you mention, but they're very rare, too rare to be allowed for, and your duty to music and to God is too great. No, whatever should happen, anybody who knows the full truth must see that you were right in your decision.'
'Thank you, dear Fritz, that's what I wanted to hear.'
Later yet, Lawrence escorted his master's two guests across the quadrangle to the gate and assisted them into the small four-wheeled carriage that was waiting there. Mirabilis gave the man a sixpence-he enjoyed overtipping on his travels-and watched him and his lantern disappear. All St Cecilia's, all that could be seen, was dark. The driver whipped up his horse and they moved off between the tall hedgerows. The going was quiet, quiet enough for Mirabilis to be able to hear without difficulty the little rapid snorts and sniffs coining from his companion. They held a familiar message, and experience suggested that it should be heeded without undue delay.
'A pleasant and distinguished evening,' said Mirabilis with an air of contentment.
Further sniffs and snorts.
'That young priest, Dilke: I must confess I didn't care for him at first, but he has more depth than I suspected.'
'H'm. H'm.'
'Does something trouble you, Wolfgang?' Parts of marriage must be rather like this, thought Mirabilis.
'No. Nothing.'
'Tell old Fritz about it.'
Viaventosa was a fat bewigged shape in the watery moonlight. 'There's a boy asleep somewhere in that place,' he squeaked after a moment. 'An ordinary English boy, with all his boyish dreams. No doubt he pictures himself journeying to Mexico to win the hand of the Emperor's daughter, or rescuing a Christian princess from the Turks...'
'No doubt he does, Wolfgang.'
'And steps are about to be taken which will confound those dreams for ever.'
'Really, very few English boys can hope to win the-'
'Please, Fritz. His youth is to vanish, with his manhood, and his humanity. He'll be what we are, a gelding,
