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Page 78
The Egyptian's buoyant humor had dismissed the whole matter in another
moment. He opened his violin-case, lovingly caressing the instrument
as he took it out. Then he tucked it fondly under his chin, and
resumed his walking. The delicately potent wine warbled through his
nerves, and tinted memory with imagination.
The bow, traversing the strings, drew forth from them a sweet and
plaintive note, like the tender remonstrance of a neglected friend. No
language says so much in so short space as music, nor will, till we
banish those dead bones, consonants, and adopt the pure vowel speech
of infants and angels.
"Ay, long have we been apart, my beloved one, and much have I needed
thee!" murmured Manetho. "I yearned for thy soothing and refreshing
voice; yea, death walked near me, because thou, my preserver, wast not
by to guard me. But, rejoice! all is again well with us,--the hour of
our triumph is near!"
The fine instrument responded, carolling forth an exquisite p�an,--an
ascending scale, mounting to a breathless ecstasy, and falling in
slower melody along gliding waves of fortunate sound. The player drank
each perfect note, till his pulses beat in unison with the rhythm. His
violin and he were wedded lovers since his youth, nor had discord ever
come between them.
"Two little children weaving flower-chains for each other in the
grass. I said, 'The one that first comes to me shall be mine!' And the
little maiden arose, leaving her brother among the flowers. So one was
taken and the other left. But, behold! the brother has come to play
with his sister once more!"
Again the music--a divine philosopher's stone--touched the theme into
fine-spun golden harmony. The dusky kitchen, with its one dull lamp
glimmering on the table, broadened with marble floors, and sprang
aloft in airy arches! Twinkling stars hung between the columns,
burning with a fragrance like flowers. It was a summer morning, just
before sunrise. The clear faces of children peeped from violet-strewn
recesses where they had passed the night; and, as their sweet eyes
met, they shouted for joy, and ran to embrace one another.
"Oh! my beloved," softly burst forth the Egyptian, "how blessed are we
to-night!" He touched the strings to a measured tune, following with a
minuet-step up and down the floor. A fantastic spectacle! for as he
passed and repassed the lamp, an elastic shadow crept noiselessly
behind him, dodged beneath his feet, and anon outstretched itself like
a sudden pit yawning before him. "This night repays the dreary years
that lie behind. How have I outlasted them! What had I fallen on the
very threshold of requital?--all I had hoped and labored for, a
failure!"
Here paused the tune and the dance, and arose a weird dirge of
compassion over what might have been! So moving was it, the player
himself was melted. His dark nature showed its fairest side,--sensitive
refinement, grace of expression, flowing ease of manner. Quick was he in
fancy, emotional, soft and strong, gentle and fiery. In this hour he
bloomed, like some night-flowering plant, of perfume sweet but
poisonous. This was Manetho's apogee!
Again his humor changed, and he became playful and frivolous. Had old
Nurse in the corner been little more personable, he might have caught
her round the waist, and forced her to tread a wild measure with him.
But this unfolding of his faculties in the shower of good fortune had
refined his �sthetic susceptibility. The withered, disfigured woman
was no partner for him!
She sat, following, with the intentness of her single eye, his every
motion, her head swaying in unconscious sympathy. Although her body
sat so stiff and awkward in the chimney-seat, her spirit, inspired
with the grace of love, was dancing with Manetho's. But the body kept
its place, knowing that erelong he too must come to rest. In the light
of a vivid recollection, the long tract between fades and
foreshortens, till only the Then and the Now are notable. However, the
light will pale, the dusty miles outstretch their length once more,
and the pilgrim find himself wearier than ever.
But meanwhile the clergyman floats hither and thither like a wreath of
black smoke blown about by a draught of air. One might have expected
to see him all at once vanish up the wide-mouthed chimney. The music
seems to emanate less from the instrument than from the player; it
interprets and colors every motion and expression. His chanting and
his playing answer and supplement each other, like strophe and
antistrophe.
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