The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
Science
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 68, June, 1863: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Also one may go to a concert as a conductor with a single musical
friend. By conductor I do not mean escort, but a magnetic conductor,
rapture conductor, a fit medium through which to convey away his
delight, so that he shall not become surcharged and explode. He does not
take you for your pleasure, nor for his own, but for use. He desires
some one to whom he can from time to time express his opinions and his
enthusiasms, sure of an attentive listener,--since nothing is so
pleasant as to see one's views welcomed. Now you cannot pretend that in
such a case your listening is thoroughly honest. You are receptive of
theories, criticisms, and reminiscences; but you would not like to be
obliged to pass an examination on them afterwards. You do, it must be
confessed, sometimes, in the midst of eloquent dissertations, strike out
into little flowery by-paths of your own, quite foreign to the grand
paved-ways along which your friend supposes he is so kind as to be
leading you. But however digressive your mind may be, do not suffer your
eyes to digress. Whatever may be the intensity of your _ennui_, endeavor
to preserve an animated expression, and your success is complete. This
is all that is necessary. You will never be called upon for notes or
comments. Your little escapades will never be detected. It is not your
opinions that were sought, nor your education that was to be furthered.
You were only an escape-pipe, and your mission ceased when the soul of
song fled and the gas was turned off. This, too, is all that can justly
be demanded. Minister, lecturer, singer, no one has any right to ask of
his audience anything more than opportunity,--the externals of
attention. All the rest is his own look-out. If you prepossess your mind
with a theme, you do not give him an even chance. You must offer him in
the beginning a _tabula rasa_,--a fair field,--and then it is his
business to go in and win your attention; and if he cannot, let him pay
the costs, for the fault is his own.
This also is torture, but its name is Zoar, a little one.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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