The birds of passage sometimes came with a very distinct
intention to criticise; but if they did not readily understand the
learned deductions, they went away fascinated by what the professor had
shown them of his brilliant changes into every type of the repertory
which he held up as a model. Enthusiasm soon triumphed over prejudice.
Envy, alone, persisted in hostility.
These meetings were genuine artistic feasts. They were held at night, at
the same hour as the theatres, and no play was preferable to them in the
eyes of the truly initiated. They were a transcendent manifestation of
all that is most elevated, which art can produce.
Here is an extract from a newspaper, which I find among the notes sent
me:
"I heard him repeat, one evening, 'Iphigenia's Dream,' at the request of
his audience. All were held trembling, breathless by that worn and yet
sovereign voice. We were amazed to find ourselves yielding to such a
spell; there was no splendor and no theatric illusion. _Iphigenia_ was a
teacher in a black frock coat; the orchestra was a piano striking, here
and there, an unexpected modulation; this was all the illusion--and the
hall was silent, every heart throbbed, tears flowed from every eye. And
then, when the tale was told, cries of enthusiasm arose, as if
_Iphigenia_, in person, had told us her terrors."
These lines are signed "Laurentius." I am very glad to come across them
just as I am giving vent to my own feelings.
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