DOI Artikel:
Harland, Henry: Tirala-tirala...
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27805#0069
Tirala-tirala . . .
By Henry Harland
I wonder what the secret of it is—why that little fragment of a
musical phrase has always had this instant, irresistible power to
move me. The tune of which it formed a part I have never
heard ; whether it was a merry tune or a sad tune, a pretty tune
or a stupid one, I have no means of guessing. A sequence of six
notes, like six words taken from the middle of a sentence, it stands
quite by itself, detached, fortuitous. If I were to pick it out for
you on the piano, you would scoff at it; you would tell me that it
is altogether pointless and unsuggestive—that any six notes, struck
at haphazard, would signify as much. And I certainly could not,
with the least show of reason, maintain the contrary. I could only
wonder the more why it has always had, for me, this very singular
charm. As when I was a child, so now, alter all these years, it is
a sort of talisman in my hands, a thing to conjure with. I have
but to breathe it never so softly to myself, and (if I choose) the
actual world melts away, and I am journeying on wings in
dreamland. Whether I choose or not, it always thrills my heart
with responsive echoes, it always wakes a sad, sweet emotion.
*
* #
I remember quite clearly the day when I first heard it; quite
By Henry Harland
I wonder what the secret of it is—why that little fragment of a
musical phrase has always had this instant, irresistible power to
move me. The tune of which it formed a part I have never
heard ; whether it was a merry tune or a sad tune, a pretty tune
or a stupid one, I have no means of guessing. A sequence of six
notes, like six words taken from the middle of a sentence, it stands
quite by itself, detached, fortuitous. If I were to pick it out for
you on the piano, you would scoff at it; you would tell me that it
is altogether pointless and unsuggestive—that any six notes, struck
at haphazard, would signify as much. And I certainly could not,
with the least show of reason, maintain the contrary. I could only
wonder the more why it has always had, for me, this very singular
charm. As when I was a child, so now, alter all these years, it is
a sort of talisman in my hands, a thing to conjure with. I have
but to breathe it never so softly to myself, and (if I choose) the
actual world melts away, and I am journeying on wings in
dreamland. Whether I choose or not, it always thrills my heart
with responsive echoes, it always wakes a sad, sweet emotion.
*
* #
I remember quite clearly the day when I first heard it; quite