The sun. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1833-1916, 1903-07-12

to drown much silly chatter, and again 1t
was in actual concerts, where people paid
money to hear music and listened to it. But
all that was long time ago, before became
a viola player in the back row"
But is it a joy?"
"Yes," answered the aged viola, hseye
lighting with a rekindled fame of happi-
ness. 1T makes a musician glad. 1t fills
a composer with rapture. Berlioz said that
no one who had not had the experience
could comprehend the ecstasy OF playing
on an orchestra That is what he called
it; and he was right. The orchestra is a
great complex instrument, upon which
the skilled conductor works his will. DO
you remember what Tom Moore said about
writing poem?"
"No, father. never heard OF Tom Moore. '
Il forgot you are an American. We'll,
Tom Moore was an Irishmnn and poet.
He said that tho planning Of apoem wasa
most delicious FOOLS paradise, but that
the celebrating of the plan was worse than
the expulsion from Eden. Now 1t ia pretty
much the same with a musician. The
working out Of themes and the weaving
OF harmonies, while one is lying back in
an easy chair and smoking a cigar. are
fools paradise. The ruling of rcd ink
lines on a sheet Of 24-staff score paper and
fitting your themes and your harmonies
to the chorus OF the many-voiced orchestra
is a labor, which even Berlioz, master Ct
Instrumentation, admitted was ex!iausting
But, that labor once ended. away go the
shackles. on to the copyist to have the
parts written out for the band Then come
the rehearsals. Composer faces orchestra.
sentient human thing, ready to work
his unheard wonders into living entities, 10
hurl them into vibrating air and through
II into pulsating human hearts. This lis
my dream. the child Of my fancy know
her, for she is full of love and loveliness,'
says the composer. One by one he reveals
TO the musicians the beauties Of his work,
They understand him. these men Of strings
and wood and brass Or he thinks they do.
They do his bidding, and he hears the sounds
which till then were only plant 0ms haunting
his secret soul Do you think that ia joy?"
"Oh, yes, father, that is a Joy indeed"
But that is not the end" continued the
aged viola "There in yet the public per-
Torrance The composer mounts the con-
ductors stand and says to the audience
by that very act Here Ia my music, made
of my blood, the blood OF my heart OF heart
l arm going TO play il for you, who made
it And l am going to play 1t on think
ing, living, thrObbing human instrument,
the orchestrs' That il a great thing to
say, but il is what every composer says
when he rises to conduct his own work
The Joy of II is almost too much for some
Julien, whose music wnr but tinkllng brass
and twiddling string, used to sink e1-
hausted into his chair at tn" close OF each
number. Berlioz enjoyed the experiences
with fierce JOY, which Swinburne would
have called keen like pain How he
gloated over the Hungarians when they
heard with disappointment his mild intro
duction Of their pet Racoczy Indulo! How
he laughed in his sleeve at them as he
thought OF the forte he WAS going to give
them little later. And how he thrilled
with rapture when that forte came and the
hall filed with indescribable noises and
his friend, Mr.. Howarth, raved in his box
like one possessedl"
And what OF the conductor who d.
reefs the performance Of some other mans
work. father2"
my son, his state depends upon tho
depth and constituencies Of his own nat
ure How rnuch does he perceivse How