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What he saw was a composite woman with flushed cheeks and soliciting eyes, becomingly gowned and hatted to the masculine judgment. On the walls, heavily frescoed in the German style, he read, in Gothic letters: "Wer liebt nicht Wein, Weib, and Gesang, Er bleibt ein Narr sein Leben lang." The waiter brought the sandwiches and beer, yet he did not eat.
Man tanzt, man schwätzt, man kocht, man trinkt, man liebt: Nun sage mir, wo es was Besseres giebt? might serve popularly as the Greek's notion of the occupations of the gods when they were not quarreling with each other; and no wonder, for he simply peopled Olympus with exaggerated counterparts of himself and his fellows.
And now I am again in the streets of the city, rattling with the racing flotilla of things awheel. What is song beside the soft melody of your smile? Normandy is in the night air ... "man lacht, man lebt, man liebt und man küsst wo's Küsse giebt" ... and we and all the world are young.
This pretty mazurka is charmingly sung and played by Marcella Sembrich in the singing lesson of "The Barber of Seville." There are several mazurkas in the list. Most of these songs are mediocre. Poland's Dirge is an exception, and so is Horsemen Before the Battle. "Was ein junges Madchen liebt" has a short introduction, in which the reminiscence hunter may find a true bit of "Meistersinger" color.
What he saw was a composite woman with flushed cheeks and soliciting eyes, becomingly gowned and hatted to the masculine judgment. On the walls, heavily frescoed in the German style, he read, in Gothic letters: "Wer liebt nicht Wein, Weib, and Gesang, Er bleibt ein Narr sein Leben lang." The waiter brought the sandwiches and beer, yet he did not eat.
I ought to have told them they were sinners; I ought to have told them they were reckless; I ought to have told them by what a narrow chance they had escaped the just punishment of their iniquity, and instead of that I found myself stretching out hands that were at once seized and kissed, and merely saying with a cheerful smile, "Nun Kinder, liebt Euch, und seid brav."
For the moment, but it is probably not for long, we have the advantage in the knowledge bred of experience. The German comes from the forest, loves the forest. "Kein Yolk ist so innig mit seinem Wald erwachsen wie das Deutsche, keines liebt den Wald so sehr."
I sang "Ein Jungling liebt ein Maedchen," of Schumann, and when I came to the line, "Und wem das just passieret, dem bricht das Herz entzwei," I heard a mournful sigh. It came from the Benjamin of the flock, a very young officer, who sat with his hands over his face sobbing audibly. What chord had I struck? Was his the heart that was breaking entzwei?
What he saw was a composite woman with flushed cheeks and soliciting eyes, becomingly gowned and hatted to the masculine judgment. On the walls, heavily frescoed in the German style, he read, in Gothic letters: "Wer liebt nicht Wein, Weib, and Gesang, Er bleibt ein Narr sein Leben lang." The waiter brought the sandwiches and beer, yet he did not eat.
Finally she asked, "Have you ever read that poem of Heine's 'Ein Jungling liebt ein Madchen, Die hat einen Andern erwahlt?" "Oh, yes," he answered; then they were silent again. Finally Corydon nerved herself to yet another effort. "Mr. Harding," she said, "will you come a little nearer, please. I have something very important to say to you."
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