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Melomaniacs   By: (1857-1921)

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Transcriber's Note: This e book contains a number of unusual accents. The caron diacritic, which looks like a little v, used over r and c, is represented as [vr] and [vc].

MELOMANIACS

[Illustration]

JAMES HUNEKER

MELOMANIACS

BY

JAMES HUNEKER

Come, let us march against the powers of heaven, And set black streamers in the firmament, To signify the slaughter of the Gods.

Marlowe

NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1902

Copyright, 1902, by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

All rights reserved

PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1902

University Press:

JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

TO

PHILIP HALE

CONTENTS Page

THE LORD'S PRAYER IN B 1

A SON OF LISZT 11

A CHOPIN OF THE GUTTER 19

THE PIPER OF DREAMS 31

AN EMOTIONAL ACROBAT 63

ISOLDE'S MOTHER 73

THE RIM OF FINER ISSUES 99

AN IBSEN GIRL 118

TANNHÄUSER'S CHOICE 141

THE RED HEADED PIANO PLAYER 158

BRYNHILD'S IMMOLATION 172

THE QUEST OF THE ELUSIVE 183

AN INVOLUNTARY INSURGENT 196

HUNDING'S WIFE 206

THE CORRIDOR OF TIME 224

AVATAR 240

THE WEGSTAFFES GIVE A MUSICALE 255

THE IRON VIRGIN 268

DUSK OF THE GODS 280

SIEGFRIED'S DEATH 294

INTERMEZZO 307

A SPINNER OF SILENCE 315

THE DISENCHANTED SYMPHONY 324

MUSIC THE CONQUEROR 347

MELOMANIACS

THE LORD'S PRAYER IN B

At the close of the first day they brought Baruch into the great Hall of the Oblates, sometime called the Hall of the Unexpected. The young man walked with eyes downcast. Aloft in the vast spaces the swinging domes of light made more reddish his curly beard, deepened the hollows on either side of his sweetly pointed nose, and accented the determined corners of his firmly modelled lips. He was dressed in a simple tunic and wore no Talith; and as he slowly moved up the wide aisle the Grand Inquisitor, visibly annoyed by the resemblance, said to his famulus, "The heretic dares to imitate the Master." He crossed himself and shuddered.

Mendoza abated not his reserve as he drew near the long table before the Throne. Like a quarry that is at last hemmed in, the Jew was quickly surrounded by a half thousand black robed monks. The silence sick, profound, and awful was punctuated by the low, sullen tapping of a drum. Its droning sound reminded the prisoner of life blood dripping from some single pore; the tone was B, and its insistent, muffled, funereal blow at rhythmic intervals would in time have worn away rock. Mendoza felt a prevision of his fate; being a musician he knew of music's woes and warnings. And he lifted eyes for the first time since his arrest in a gloomy, star lit street of Lisbon.

He saw bleached, shaven faces in a half circle; they seemed like skulls fastened on black dummies so immobile their expression, so deadly staring their eyes... Continue reading book >>




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