DOI Artikel:
Makower, Stanley V.: Chopin Op. 47
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.38746#0260
256 Chopin Op. 47
fingers a breeze blows them about, tossing them into endless
patterns, until a cloud of rose leaves is about the knight, and the
lawns are strewn with soft petals.
He turns his head to the window, and as he raises his vizor, the
twilight that falls upon his armour quickens to points of ruddy
gold.
Dimmer and dimmer grow the lights that flash from the
jewelled horse, as he rides away followed by the army of shadows,
and all is dark.
The sound of the running of innumerable small feet and of muffled
laughter comes now from the wood. Elves tear up and down
in front of the castle, which is all black save where a light
burns in the window of the princess. The laughter grows to
shrieks as they come in thousands, leaping and dancing fran-
tically in mimicry of the knight’s dance. An elf mounted
on a rabbit scampers up and down the lawn, and each time
that he passes under the window of the princess, the light
flickers.
Suddenly a gust of wind raises the dead leaves in the wood, so
that they are whirled aloft higher and higher in front of the
castle, rushing and crackling. They hit one another, tossed
hither and thither in their passage through the air until the wind
drops and they tumble, flying helter-skelter, jostling one another,
whispering, fluttering down to the ground.
Far in the distance the tramp of hoofs, trample of hoofs.
Dawn begins to glimmer. As the hoofs come nearer the
noise of the elves grows fainter. They scamper off to the
wood to bar the knight’s way. They pinch and scratch and
bite him, they tug at his helmet until it falls from his head,
but he presses onward : nearer, nearer, until the sunbeam
strikes the window of the princess, from which something
waves
fingers a breeze blows them about, tossing them into endless
patterns, until a cloud of rose leaves is about the knight, and the
lawns are strewn with soft petals.
He turns his head to the window, and as he raises his vizor, the
twilight that falls upon his armour quickens to points of ruddy
gold.
Dimmer and dimmer grow the lights that flash from the
jewelled horse, as he rides away followed by the army of shadows,
and all is dark.
The sound of the running of innumerable small feet and of muffled
laughter comes now from the wood. Elves tear up and down
in front of the castle, which is all black save where a light
burns in the window of the princess. The laughter grows to
shrieks as they come in thousands, leaping and dancing fran-
tically in mimicry of the knight’s dance. An elf mounted
on a rabbit scampers up and down the lawn, and each time
that he passes under the window of the princess, the light
flickers.
Suddenly a gust of wind raises the dead leaves in the wood, so
that they are whirled aloft higher and higher in front of the
castle, rushing and crackling. They hit one another, tossed
hither and thither in their passage through the air until the wind
drops and they tumble, flying helter-skelter, jostling one another,
whispering, fluttering down to the ground.
Far in the distance the tramp of hoofs, trample of hoofs.
Dawn begins to glimmer. As the hoofs come nearer the
noise of the elves grows fainter. They scamper off to the
wood to bar the knight’s way. They pinch and scratch and
bite him, they tug at his helmet until it falls from his head,
but he presses onward : nearer, nearer, until the sunbeam
strikes the window of the princess, from which something
waves