Domestic fiction; Short stories; Suburban life -- Fiction
It was as difficult to distribute the various facts of the whole effect,
as to identify one's self. I had only a public and general consciousness
of the delight given by the harmony of hues in the parquet below; and
concerning the orchestra I had at first no distinct impression save of
the three hundred and thirty violin-bows held erect like standing wheat
at one motion of the director's wand, and then falling as if with the
next he swept them down. Afterwards files of men with horns, and other
files of men with drums and cymbals, discovered themselves; while far
above all, certain laborious figures pumped or ground with incessant
obeisance at the apparatus supplying the organ with wind.
What helped, more than anything else, to restore you your dispersed and
wandering individuality was the singing of Parepa-Rosa, as she triumphed
over the harmonious rivalry of the orchestra. There was something in
the generous amplitude and robust cheerfulness of this great artist that
accorded well with the ideal of the occasion; she was in herself a great
musical festival; and one felt, as she floated down the stage with
her far-spreading white draperies, and swept the audience a colossal
courtesy, that here was the embodied genius of the Jubilee. I do not
trust myself to speak particularly of her singing, for I have the
natural modesty of people who know nothing about music, and I have not
at command the phraseology of those who pretend to understand it; but I
say that her voice filled the whole edifice with delicious melody, that
it soothed and composed and utterly enchanted, that, though two hundred
violins accompanied her, the greater sweetness of her note prevailed
over all, like a mighty will commanding many. What a sublime ovation for
her when a hundred thousand hands thundered their acclaim! A victorious
general, an accepted lover, a successful young author,--these know a
measure of bliss, I dare say; but in one throb, the singer's heart, as
it leaps in exultation at the loud delight of her applausive thousands,
must out-enjoy them all. Let me lay these poor little artificial flowers
of rhetoric at the feet of the divine singer, as a faint token of
gratitude and eloquent intention.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account