Sheppard_Charles_Auchester.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
^^ may say anything. think have
grown fair myself. strange to con-
fess, is it ? you are my friend, to yon
should confess anything. have been with
a spirit-angel no wonder am fresh.
have been in no wonder am fair.
felt myself grow better, hour by hour.
left you with hiin when his arms
were round me ; when be kissed me ; when
his tenderness oppressed me ^I felt raised
to . heart ever was so pure, so
overflowing with the light of .
can only believe have been in , and
have fallen here; not that he has left me,
and must follow him to find -liim. will
not follow yet, my friend have much to
do that he has left me."
" you will not leave us ' but
more, because you loved him, and made
^^ ^o not ^tVvw^ift ' he yirw
.
193
anything but happy. think
and envy, aiid hatred and
^nger, and care, and eee them painted upon
[other faces, feel that he must have tasted
to liave made himself so happy
here. can fancy a single ta^te of ,
, lasting a whole life long."
was his taste of , as a foretaste
even to me! had she indeed never
learned the secret of his memory? or had
itlie turned, indeed, its darkness into light?
^^ wish to hear about the last."
** know nearly as much as do, or
: as can tell you. remember the music
jovL heard last night? was the last be
wrote, and found it, and saved it, and had
done with it what you heard."
' cannot descant on death-beds ; it is
the only theme which dare believe, if
were to touch, would scare me at my dying
hour. will not tampw with those scenes,
but console myself by remindingt that if the
time had been, and that too lately, when
upon brain fell the light in fever and
the 8un in fire, tlie time was over; and
painless deaf to the farewells of
dying nmsic -he indeed could not be said
to suffer death.
liTor did he to suffer it, as he had
said. crown, that piercing with its
fiery (harm unfelt^ had pressed into his
brow the death-sting, should also crown
with its ita/r-fiowers the waking unto life.
" remember what you said, '.
, that he needed a ^ companion for
his earthly hours.' tried to be his com-
panion ^he allowed me to be so; and one
f the last times he spoke, he said, *
for giving you to me.'"
echo reaches me from the summer
night of sadness and still communion : of
pamon''9 slumber by the dead. is now
years ago, but never was any love so
fresh to the spirit it enchanted, as is the en-
chantment of this sorrow, still mine own.
8o be it ever mine, till all shall be for ei^er !
am in , and again at home.
changes have swept the earth ; know
of none within myself. all con-
vulsions the music whispers to me tJiat mu-
tie is, ought to believe in its existence,
for it is my own life, and the life of the living
round me. is still at work, but not
alone in hope ; sometimes in the midst of
triumph. tell me shall never grow
rich, but with my violin shall never be
poor. have more than enough for every-
thing, as far as myself am concerned ; and
as for those love, there is not one who
prospers not, even by means of music.
has been three years in .
name, enfolded in another name, brought
the whole force of music to his feet. is
not 3asy to procure lessons of the yoong
processor, who can only afford twentv min-
utes to the most exacting pupil. is still
less easy to hear him play in public ; for he
has a will of his own, and will only play
what he likes, and only what he likes to the
people he likes ; for he is a bit of a oynio,
and does not believe half so much as do,
that music is making way. married his
first feminine pupil ^a girl of almost fabu-
lous beauty. believe he gave her half a
dozen lessons before the crisis, not any after-
wards ; and know that he was seventeen
and she fifteen years of age, at the time they
married. whole nature is spent upon
her, but she is kind enough to like me,' and
thus sometimes receive an invitation,
which should accept did they reside in the
moon.
have other friends.
two seasons, more satisfactory than brilliant,
retired from the stage. the
time she danced, her name was scarcely
whispered, believe she was even feared in
her spiritual exaltation pf her art ; but no
sooner had she left the lights than all critics
and contemporaries discovered her excel-
lences. was wooed with the white-
flower garlands of the purest honor, with
the gold so few despise, to return and re-
sume her career, now certain fame; but she
was never won, and have since made clear
to myself that she only danced in public
until she had raised a certain capital, fot
you will only find her now in her graceful
drawing-room where is most se-
cluded, surrounded by the most graceful and
loveliest of the children of the peerage.
one but . ^her stage and pro-
fessional name prepares the little rarities
for transplantation into the -garden, or
rehearses the quadrille for the of
's birthnight-ball. believe -
mark, as she is known still to me, or even
, might have had many homes if she
had chosen homes where she could not
but have felt at home. was even im-
portunate that she should live with her in
. was excessively
indignant at being refused herself ^and there
have been worthy gentlemen, shades not to
be evoked or recognized, who would h&ve
been very than^ul to be allowed to dream
of that pale brow veiled, those clear eyes
downcast, those tapering fingers, twined in
theirs: but , like myself, will never
marry.
, too, that glorious
friend of mine, must have a little corner.
was who carried to
the news of 's death ^herself heart-
broken who bound up that bleeding heart.
is , whose secretive and
peculiar generosity so permeates the heart
of music in , that no true musician
is ever actually poor. is
.
who, disdainiDg sabscription-lists, steps un-
seen throagh every embarrassment where
those languish who are too ] or too
humble to complain, and leaves that behind
her which re-assnres and re-establishes, by
the magic of charity, strewn from her artist-
hand. is , who discerns
the temporality of art to be that which is as
inevitable as its spiritual necessity ; who yet
ministers to its uttermost spiritual apprecia*
tion by her patronage of the highest only.
is vou see, wherever music
is to be heard, with her noble brow and
sublimely beneficent eyes, her careless cos-
tume, and music-beaming lips ; but yon can-
not know, as do, what it is to have her for
a friend.
certainly lost caste by re^
ceiving and entertaining as she did .
; for both when was dancing
before the public, and had done with so
dancing. would insist upon
her appearing at every party or assembly
6he gave, whether with her father^s sanction
or without, nobody knew. be introduced
to a ballet-girl, or even a dancing-lady, at
the same table or upon the same carpet with
barristers and baronets, with golden-hearted
bankers, and ^^eamest^^ men of letters
she certainly lost caste by her resolute un-
conventionalism, did my friend -
rence 1 then, as she said to me, **
in life does it matter about losing caste with
people who have no caste to lose?"
writes to me continually, and her house is
my home in . have never been
able to make her confess that she sent me
my violin ; but know she did, for her in-
terest in me can onlv be explained on that
ground, and there is tnat look upon her face,
whenever play, which assures me of some-
thing associated in her mind and memory
with my playing that is not itself music.
also corresponds with
; and sees us too ; but no one,
seeing her, would believe her to be childless
and alone : she is more beautiful than ever,
and not less calm more loving and more
beloved.
had , a concert-
player, at our very last festival. was
exactly like the young who-iiS^
me, and should not have been able to be*
lieve him older but for his companion, a
young ladyj who sat below him in the audi-
ence, and at whom could only gaze.
was , no longer a child,
but still a prodigy, for she has the finest
voice, it is said, in . one will
hear it, however, for , who adopted
her eight years ago, makes her life the lif'
of a princess, or as very few princesses^ curt
be ; he works for her, he saves for her, anii
has already made her rich. say ho
will marry her by and by. may be so,
but do not myself believe it
the house in which died,
and rising as from the ashes of his tomb, is
another house which holds his name, and
will ever hold it to be immortal. and
daughters of his own are there of his land,
his race, his genius ^those whom music has
" called " and " chosen " from the children
of humanity. grandeur of the institu-
tion its stupendous scale, its intention, its
consummation, afford, to the inaagination
that enshrines him, the only monument that
would not insult his name. is that
temple without its priestess ^that altar with-
out its angel. who devoted the wealth
of his wisdom to that work gave up the
treasure of her life besides, and has conse-
crated herself to the superintendence.
the she would be adored
but that she is too much loved as children
love too much at home there to be feared.
hold her as my passion forever; she makes
my old years young in memory, and to everj
new morning of my life her name is
another name-^not dearer, but as deai
she is indissolubly connected; and if 1
reserve my hearths first purity, it is to them
owe it.
write no more. desired to treat
of specifically, should not have writ-
ten at all ; for that theme demands a tongue
beyond the tongues of men and angels a
voice that is no more heard. if one
faithful spirit find an echo in my expression,
to his beating heart for music, his inward
song of praise, it is not in vain that write,
that what have written is written.