DOI article:
Makower, Stanley V.: Chopin Op. 47
DOI Page / Citation link: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0258
254 Chopin Op. 47
figure of a man, rising with his glass in his hand and stooping
forward to propose a toast swam before him.
Then he thought he heard a noise as of the opening of a piano,
which threw him back to his boyhood, and he fancied that he was
at home and that his mother was playing to him.
They were in the little sitting-room with its walls crowded with
faded photographs of Rome and Pompeii in black frames. His
mother sat at the piano with her back to him : her head was
slightly turned so that he could see her profile, and her forehead
and hair were lit up by the candle-light.
Divinely fair she looked. And as he listened he felt in his hands
the touch of that silken hair which he stroked every night before
he kissed her and went to bed.
He was sitting at some distance from her, wrapt in wonder, for
her music was like magic.
Then it seemed to him that he closed his eyes in an ecstacy.
Now it was early morning in a forest, and he was treading
noiselessly across the carpet of damp, decayed leaves, winding his
way in and out of the stems of tall trees, whose branches were
dashed with dew. And all the vigour of youth was in his limbs as
he walked joyously, breathing in the soft, moist air, and shaking his
head to toss back the thick lock of hair that fell over his eyes.
Now he had flung himself down at the edge of a wide pool and
was gazing on its motionless surface. Reflected in it he saw the
image of his own face, young and beautiful.
And he smiled. And a light breeze sent a quiver through the
forest making the leaves rustle faintly.
The spirit of youth burned quick within him ; and he was filled
with vague desire to do some great emprise. On the surface of
the pool before him, floated the image of tall, waving trees.
Then
figure of a man, rising with his glass in his hand and stooping
forward to propose a toast swam before him.
Then he thought he heard a noise as of the opening of a piano,
which threw him back to his boyhood, and he fancied that he was
at home and that his mother was playing to him.
They were in the little sitting-room with its walls crowded with
faded photographs of Rome and Pompeii in black frames. His
mother sat at the piano with her back to him : her head was
slightly turned so that he could see her profile, and her forehead
and hair were lit up by the candle-light.
Divinely fair she looked. And as he listened he felt in his hands
the touch of that silken hair which he stroked every night before
he kissed her and went to bed.
He was sitting at some distance from her, wrapt in wonder, for
her music was like magic.
Then it seemed to him that he closed his eyes in an ecstacy.
Now it was early morning in a forest, and he was treading
noiselessly across the carpet of damp, decayed leaves, winding his
way in and out of the stems of tall trees, whose branches were
dashed with dew. And all the vigour of youth was in his limbs as
he walked joyously, breathing in the soft, moist air, and shaking his
head to toss back the thick lock of hair that fell over his eyes.
Now he had flung himself down at the edge of a wide pool and
was gazing on its motionless surface. Reflected in it he saw the
image of his own face, young and beautiful.
And he smiled. And a light breeze sent a quiver through the
forest making the leaves rustle faintly.
The spirit of youth burned quick within him ; and he was filled
with vague desire to do some great emprise. On the surface of
the pool before him, floated the image of tall, waving trees.
Then