The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1902-11-16

bit of silver in his mouth. and when he
rubbed his cheek produced a sound resem-
bling a babbling brook.
1 noted, in particular. one guitar which
seemed to be the most curious and compli-
Gated of them all. Its player affected a
frightened air and touched IL only now
and then. when he produced the mellowed
cry of a far-off owl. Another native beat
the strings with a piece of steel or other
metal, and l thought l heard the breakers
laundering against a rocky coast. Beat of
drums. now so tender that my ear de-
SPARED of catching the tune. executed on
the edge of a tam-tam with the finger tips.
Suddenly, without any warning, a furioso
lasting less than two seconds. perhaps. all
the lutte string vibrating. echoed by tam
tam resonance hat sounded like the heavy
tread of elephants over hollow ground, or
the dull noise of a subterranean river maxi
ing its way to the earth's belly. After two
seconds the former musical silence ensued
again. A young Brahmin, with the torso
of a Greek god. the eyes of a fascinating,
Merchandising woman, held in his lap,
between his crossed legs, an earthenware
pot. common, ordinary. needlessly ugly, a
II COItTdSL 10 the grandeur OF the
rest of the instruments
He played the pot to perfection, producing
now deep. now clear, sharp notes, like the
clatter of hail. 1t was done without SEEM
ing effort. by uncovering the mouth of the
pot, or else pressing it against his naked
breast.
Then one of the guitars broke the tuneful
silence to play a solo. We heard a pas
sionate, full toned song, a song of love and
suffering, rhapsody such as a lorn maid
might address to the MOON or to Venus.
The tom-toms playing the accompaniment
never drowned the motif which was a
vibrating, sonorous appeal to the heart.
There is no music in France, or Italy, or
Germany, or any other civilized land, So
called, that can approach this for warmth,
for truth for the expression of human joy
and woes and mystery and exaltation. With
intermozzos of melodious harmonies, when
all played together, each guitar was heard
in solos tinged with melancholy. For the
native hearers this meant moments of
mysterious delight, of inexplicable trans
port. AS for myself. the music had no Sc
crets. l took 1t to be the expression of the
nervous longings of a people, separated
AAoAi oo W a Sbo ultukC OuA, VII tuc
whole, not unlike ourselves. Our gypsies
indulge in similar musical phraseology,
only that their art, brutal withal, leans to-
wards extravaganza.
Would you like to hear the children"
asked her ~ladyship.
1 nodded eagerly.
A troop Of boys appeared in silk gowns
so beautiful and original as to beggar de-
scription. I felt sorry for these young
children, whose eyes are too big and whose
cheeks are too hollow. They sang like
automatons with broken, dying voices.
Their leader, a man in a gold turban,
played on a strange instrument. He directed
the exercises by hypnotism, looked at the
boys like a serpent about to magnetic a
little bird. He electrified them and, 1 am
sure, breaks the mechanism of their feeble
threats at will.
Their songs were al in moll, addressed
to an offended goddess" said the vicereine.
Towards the close of the concert a cele-
brated native singer appeared, a young fell
low of twenty-five or ~twenty-four, Of fine
physique, with a beautiful, manly face, a
singer as well as an actor. AS he settled
down on the carpet the vicereine gave me
a synopsis Of his performance. He was
to play the tragedy of a young girl Tilted
by her lover.
The singer remained motionless on the
carpet for some time, as if preparing for
his role. Suddenly his looks changed, his
eyes flashed fire and he began to sing in a
voice whose sharp "timbre'' recalled the
bagpipe. On the whole neither his singing
nor acting was calculated to impress a
cultured white man favorably.
The orchestra and the singers are the
private property of a Sultan in the neigh
borhood, who lent them to their ex-
cellencies. Ordinarily they are heard only
within the walls Of his great palace, where
absolute silence reigns, though hundreds
of servants glide through the endless
rooms and corridors eager to serve their
master.
How totally different from our own must
be the ideas of this prince. how different
his conception of the cares and respon-
sibilities of life, of love and death!
Indian music. my friends, is a wonder
full key TO Indian character.
PIERRE LOTT.
! Delhi, India, Oct. l., 1902.