The essays of Elia . harsh and tremble, however, for my misapplication of the simplestterms of that which I disclaim. While I profess my ignor-ance, I scarce know what to say I am ignorant of. I hate,perhaps, by misnomers. Sostenuto and adagio standin the like relation of obscurity to me ; and Sol, Fa, Mi,Re, is as conjuring as Baralipton. It is hard to stand alone in an age like this—(con-stituted to the quick and critical perception of allharmonious combinations, I verily believe, beyond allpreceding ages, since Jubal stumbled upon the gamut),to remain, as it were, singly unim
The essays of Elia . harsh and tremble, however, for my misapplication of the simplestterms of that which I disclaim. While I profess my ignor-ance, I scarce know what to say I am ignorant of. I hate,perhaps, by misnomers. Sostenuto and adagio standin the like relation of obscurity to me ; and Sol, Fa, Mi,Re, is as conjuring as Baralipton. It is hard to stand alone in an age like this—(con-stituted to the quick and critical perception of allharmonious combinations, I verily believe, beyond allpreceding ages, since Jubal stumbled upon the gamut),to remain, as it were, singly unimpressible to the magicinfluences of an art, which is said to have such an especialstroke at soothing, elevating, and refining the passions.—Yet, rather than break the candid current of my confes-sions, I must avow to you that I have received a greatdeal more pain than pleasure from this so cried-upfaculty. I am constitutionally susceptible of noises. A carpen-ters hammer in a warm summer noon will fret me into 64. THRUMMING ON MY FRIEND AS PLflNO. A CHAPTER ON EARS more than midsummer madness. But those unconnected,unset, sounds are nothing to the measured malice ofmusic. The ear is passive to those single strokes;willingly enduring stripes while it hath no task to music it cannot be passive. It will strive—mine atleast will—spite of its inaptitude, to thrid the maze;like an unskilled eye painfully poring upon have sat through an Italian Opera, till, for sheer painand inexplicable anguish, I have rushed out into thenoisiest places of the crowded streets, to solace myselfwith sounds which I was not obliged to follow, and getrid of the distracting torment of endless, fruitless, barren,attention! I take refuge in the unpretending assem-blage of honest common-life sounds;—and the purgatoryof the Enraged Musician becomes my paradise. I have sat at an Oratorio (that profanation of thepurposes of the cheerful playhouse) watching the facesof the auditor
Size: 1314px × 1902px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorlambchar, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1910
