“ ‘I am by no means certain about that,’ said my Mentor. ‘Even I myself, who am thoroughly initiated, lose some of the finest phrases. One must know by a sort of intuition how to discover the sentiments of the composer, just as a gourmet selects the carp’s tongue, while a vulgar person polishes the bones. Wherein do you think consists the charm of instrumental music?’ “ ‘In the selection of a choice melody,’ I replied, ‘and the happy association of such harmony as shall lend it force and beauty; just as in a picture the true artist so marshals his lights and colours as to give power of expression to his composition.’ “ ‘You are quite wrong,’ said he; ‘such notions are at least a century old. Nowadays the charm of music consists in the agility of the performer’s hands, in the shaggy vegetable-looking growth of the insect who manipulates the sonorous tool. It is undeniable that the harmony and sweetness of instrumental music lies in the nervous appearance of the animal who wakes the articulation of his instrument, in the colour of his skin, roll of his eyes, and the curious manner in which he curves his spine round the violoncello. We are about to listen to one of those profound artists who give a mystic, and at the same time lucid, rendering of the vague harmony that breathes in the moods and passions of life.’ “ ‘Oh, bother!’ I said, ‘such fine affairs will be far beyond my dull comprehension. No matter, lead on, my curiosity exceeds my discretion.’ “May-bug introduced me into the open calyx of a _Datura fastuosa_, richly decorated for an instrumental concert, to which one could only gain admittance by paying a very high price. The assembly was even more brilliant than that of the Academy. A number of insects were ranged round an instrument with a very long tail, from which were to be drawn prodigies of harmony by the feet of a famous centipede. “After waiting two hours the artists at last arrived; the Centipede seated himself before his instrument, and looking calmly round at all present, a profound silence was at once established. The piece opened with a succession of thunder peals rolling on from the lowest to the highest notes on the board. The performer then addressed himself, though I thought regretfully, to some of the medium keys, after which {116} commenced a vague slow adagio of an undistinguishable measure, rendered still more confusing by graces of manipulation. The air was poor, but what matters the poorness of the stuff when it is so covered with embroidering as to become invisible? This was only a prelude to give a foretaste of the piece. As there were many thunderings and preliminary canterings over the keys—reminding one of a horse getting into form for a great leap—I fancied that something grand would follow; yet it was quite the contrary. The dark foreboding cloud of the introduction cleared away, and was succeeded by a popular ballet-tune, a brisk lively air, which seemed to dance gaily over the green turf.