DOI article:
Makower, Stanley V.: Chopin Op. 47
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0255
By Stanley V. Makower 251
Some one began to wave his glass, and to hum tempo di valse :
“ Sweet Oceana,
I’d give the world to gain her,
She’s fair as any flower in the fields to see.”
He hesitated ; trying to recall the words, with a confused look
on his face, when another continued :
“ I may be a duffer,
The scorn of men I’d suffer,
So long as Oceana won’t look down on me.”
The last line was sung as a chorus by the whole party.
The wine had flowed freely, and the utmost conviviality and
good humour reigned. They began to talk of Oceana’s last
appearance at the Ambassadeurs, when her yellow dress had been
pronounced a triumph, and the French papers had declared
that the long rows of yellow gas lamps had “ quivered with
sympathy.”
One man alone did not seem to share the enthusiasm of the
rest.
He sat a little apart from them, running his shrivelled fingers
abstractedly up and down the stem of his glass.
“ You look gloomy,” said one.
“I look what I am,” he said, quietly ; “nearly twice as old as
most of you here.” And he leaned his bald head heavily on his
hand as he looked at the group of faces around him.
A feeble protest was raised by one or two who, without wishing
to go into the details of age all round the table, were of opinion
that his theory was not to be supported. The host tapped him
mysteriously
Some one began to wave his glass, and to hum tempo di valse :
“ Sweet Oceana,
I’d give the world to gain her,
She’s fair as any flower in the fields to see.”
He hesitated ; trying to recall the words, with a confused look
on his face, when another continued :
“ I may be a duffer,
The scorn of men I’d suffer,
So long as Oceana won’t look down on me.”
The last line was sung as a chorus by the whole party.
The wine had flowed freely, and the utmost conviviality and
good humour reigned. They began to talk of Oceana’s last
appearance at the Ambassadeurs, when her yellow dress had been
pronounced a triumph, and the French papers had declared
that the long rows of yellow gas lamps had “ quivered with
sympathy.”
One man alone did not seem to share the enthusiasm of the
rest.
He sat a little apart from them, running his shrivelled fingers
abstractedly up and down the stem of his glass.
“ You look gloomy,” said one.
“I look what I am,” he said, quietly ; “nearly twice as old as
most of you here.” And he leaned his bald head heavily on his
hand as he looked at the group of faces around him.
A feeble protest was raised by one or two who, without wishing
to go into the details of age all round the table, were of opinion
that his theory was not to be supported. The host tapped him
mysteriously