now he has had to cover only relatively
short stretches of the road. Indeed, it is here a question more of a delicate, gentle
walk than of a voyage or excursion, more of a subtle circular stroll than a forced
march; and therefore he justly, as well as wisely, declines to enter the house of
joy and refreshment, and he takes his leave. All serious people who read this will
certainly accord him affluent applause for his fine decision and goodwill. Did I not,
as much as an hour ago, take the opportunity of announcing a young songstress? Now
she enters.
Enters, that is, at a ground-level window.
For now I returned from the forest recess to the highway, and there I heard——
But stop! Relax in brief respite. Writers who understand their profession take the
same as easily as possible. From time to time they like to lay their pens aside a
while. Uninterrupted writing fatigues, like digging.
What I heard from the ground-level window was the most delicious, fresh folk or opera
song, a matutinal banquet of sound, a morning concert, which entered my astonished
ears completely free of charge. A young girl, still a schoolgirl, but slim already
and tall, was standing in her bright dress at a drab suburban window, and this girl
was singing out and up into the blue air simply ecstatically. Most agreeably surprised,
and enchanted by the unexpected song, I stood a little to the side lest I might disturb
the singer and rob myself both of my attendance and of my pleasure. The song which
the little one sang seemed to be of a cheerful and delicious nature; the notes had
the very sound itself of young innocent joy in life and in love; they flew, like angel
figures wearing the snow-white plumage of delight, up into the heavens, whence they
seemed to fall down again and to die smiling. It was like dying from affliction, dying
perhaps also from too delicate a delight, like a too exultant loving and living and
a powerlessness to live any more because of a too rich and beautiful vision of life,
so that to some extent its tender thought, overflowing with joy and love, rushing
exuberantly into being, seemed to fall over itself and break itself in pieces. When
the girl has finished her simple but rich and charming song, her melodious Mozartian
or shepherd girl’s aria, I went up to her, greeted her, asked her for permission to
congratulate her on her beautiful voice, and complimented her on her extraordinarily
spiritual performance. The little songstress, who looked like a doe, or a sort of
antelope in girl’s form, looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes full of question
and surprise. She had a very delicate, gentle face, and she gave me a captivating
and polite smile. “To you,” I said to her, “if you know how to train carefully and
tend your beautiful, young, and rich voice, a process which will require your own
intelligence as well as that of others, belongs a brilliant future and a great career;
for to me you seem, I frankly and honestly confess, to be the great operatic singer
of the future in person! You are obviously clever, you are tender and supple, and
you possess, if my suppositions do not entirely deceive me, a most decidedly courageous
soul. You have fire, and an evident nobility of heart; this I just heard in the song
which you sang so beautifully and really well. You have talent, but more: you have
indubitably genius! And now I speak no vain and untrue words. I take it upon myself
therefore to ask you to pay very special attention to your noble gift, to preserve
it from deformity, mutilation, and thoughtless premature exhaustion. At present, I
can only tell you in all sincerity that you sing exceedingly well, and that this is
something very serious; for it means much; it means above all that you will be expected
industriously to sing a little bit further every day. Practice and sing with wise,
beautiful moderation. The extent and scope of
short stretches of the road. Indeed, it is here a question more of a delicate, gentle
walk than of a voyage or excursion, more of a subtle circular stroll than a forced
march; and therefore he justly, as well as wisely, declines to enter the house of
joy and refreshment, and he takes his leave. All serious people who read this will
certainly accord him affluent applause for his fine decision and goodwill. Did I not,
as much as an hour ago, take the opportunity of announcing a young songstress? Now
she enters.
Enters, that is, at a ground-level window.
For now I returned from the forest recess to the highway, and there I heard——
But stop! Relax in brief respite. Writers who understand their profession take the
same as easily as possible. From time to time they like to lay their pens aside a
while. Uninterrupted writing fatigues, like digging.
What I heard from the ground-level window was the most delicious, fresh folk or opera
song, a matutinal banquet of sound, a morning concert, which entered my astonished
ears completely free of charge. A young girl, still a schoolgirl, but slim already
and tall, was standing in her bright dress at a drab suburban window, and this girl
was singing out and up into the blue air simply ecstatically. Most agreeably surprised,
and enchanted by the unexpected song, I stood a little to the side lest I might disturb
the singer and rob myself both of my attendance and of my pleasure. The song which
the little one sang seemed to be of a cheerful and delicious nature; the notes had
the very sound itself of young innocent joy in life and in love; they flew, like angel
figures wearing the snow-white plumage of delight, up into the heavens, whence they
seemed to fall down again and to die smiling. It was like dying from affliction, dying
perhaps also from too delicate a delight, like a too exultant loving and living and
a powerlessness to live any more because of a too rich and beautiful vision of life,
so that to some extent its tender thought, overflowing with joy and love, rushing
exuberantly into being, seemed to fall over itself and break itself in pieces. When
the girl has finished her simple but rich and charming song, her melodious Mozartian
or shepherd girl’s aria, I went up to her, greeted her, asked her for permission to
congratulate her on her beautiful voice, and complimented her on her extraordinarily
spiritual performance. The little songstress, who looked like a doe, or a sort of
antelope in girl’s form, looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes full of question
and surprise. She had a very delicate, gentle face, and she gave me a captivating
and polite smile. “To you,” I said to her, “if you know how to train carefully and
tend your beautiful, young, and rich voice, a process which will require your own
intelligence as well as that of others, belongs a brilliant future and a great career;
for to me you seem, I frankly and honestly confess, to be the great operatic singer
of the future in person! You are obviously clever, you are tender and supple, and
you possess, if my suppositions do not entirely deceive me, a most decidedly courageous
soul. You have fire, and an evident nobility of heart; this I just heard in the song
which you sang so beautifully and really well. You have talent, but more: you have
indubitably genius! And now I speak no vain and untrue words. I take it upon myself
therefore to ask you to pay very special attention to your noble gift, to preserve
it from deformity, mutilation, and thoughtless premature exhaustion. At present, I
can only tell you in all sincerity that you sing exceedingly well, and that this is
something very serious; for it means much; it means above all that you will be expected
industriously to sing a little bit further every day. Practice and sing with wise,
beautiful moderation. The extent and scope of
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