A question after my own heart! My love of music has been a life-long affair. I was on the pianoforte as soon as I could reach the keys. At first I made only noise, but I thrilled in the making of it; when my tutor taught me melody, I took to it as a game. You could say I practiced, you could say I worked hard, but I knew nothing of that – I loved, I played. Later I had my pick of string instruments, and I fell for the deep voice of the violoncello.
If I had a favourite, it would be music for dancing: a whirling waltz, a leaping tarantella, a tango heady as the first kiss of champagne. And opera, always opera – whether it’s Wagner’s intricate, epic gesamtkunstwerk, or Verdi’s arias sung by jesters and courtesans. And though it wasn’t proper of me, I was soon seduced by the popular songs of music halls, no less evocative to me than Verdi’s.
The Neath’s only seduced me further. I’ll always sing along to the latest bawdy lyrics from Mahogany Hall, shared in a dockside pub, or in the Parlour of Virtue. And still I love a dance! Not only the waltz, but the fiery, impossible rhythms of the Elder Country. Still I love an opera. The Neath gave me, too, the Correspondence – our cloaked friend in the corner already spoke of its curves, its enchantments, it power to express true names – and ever since The Bell and The Candle, I’ve thrown myself into expanding Tristan Bagley’s Correspondent notation system. The music it makes is sublimity itself. I love, and I play, like a wonderful game.
Now, here’s a game. Of these three, who would you wed, who would you bed, and who would you behead? Mr Wines, His Amused Lordship, Lettice the Mercy.