DOI article:
Makower, Stanley V.: Three Reflections
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.25498#0124
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Three Reflections
in which he had recited the lines. But before the last syllable
had fallen from his lips a change came over his face, one of those
changes that reveal the intrusion of an unexpected emotion into
the mind of the speaker, an emotion that sweeps everything
before it.
The wave of the hand died away, and the arm fell a little
helplessly to his side. All the fierceness fled from his face, and
into his eyes came an almost despairing look mingled with one of
fear, as if a shadow had suddenly risen by his side. With the
articulation of those two words some undercurrent of his life rose
to the top and drowned his self-assurance so that he sat there
broken, transfigured, silent. And whereas before he had seemed
only sordid, tawdry, fugitive, he was now exalted, inexplicable,
eternal, touched to beauty by the stroke of humanity which had
felled him.
As we made our way to the street I could scarcely believe that
this was the same man. Behind the seat which we had left sat
the young man, motionless as before, with his head in his hands,
conspicuous amid the bustle and movement that was round him.
In the corner of the room two Spaniards were quarrelling over a
game of chess.
Who shall guess what chained the youth’s head to his hands ?
Shall a man presume to explain what made the Spaniards to
quarrel, or why that garrulous actor was struck dumb ? And how
came it that for many days and nights I was haunted by this
fragment of the actor’s rambling speech, “ Ophelia had left some
flowers in her hair too” ?
Do
Three Reflections
in which he had recited the lines. But before the last syllable
had fallen from his lips a change came over his face, one of those
changes that reveal the intrusion of an unexpected emotion into
the mind of the speaker, an emotion that sweeps everything
before it.
The wave of the hand died away, and the arm fell a little
helplessly to his side. All the fierceness fled from his face, and
into his eyes came an almost despairing look mingled with one of
fear, as if a shadow had suddenly risen by his side. With the
articulation of those two words some undercurrent of his life rose
to the top and drowned his self-assurance so that he sat there
broken, transfigured, silent. And whereas before he had seemed
only sordid, tawdry, fugitive, he was now exalted, inexplicable,
eternal, touched to beauty by the stroke of humanity which had
felled him.
As we made our way to the street I could scarcely believe that
this was the same man. Behind the seat which we had left sat
the young man, motionless as before, with his head in his hands,
conspicuous amid the bustle and movement that was round him.
In the corner of the room two Spaniards were quarrelling over a
game of chess.
Who shall guess what chained the youth’s head to his hands ?
Shall a man presume to explain what made the Spaniards to
quarrel, or why that garrulous actor was struck dumb ? And how
came it that for many days and nights I was haunted by this
fragment of the actor’s rambling speech, “ Ophelia had left some
flowers in her hair too” ?
Do