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"That was only thrown off in the intervals of business... but do you sing?" "Yes." "Oh! sing us something," urged Marya Dmitrievna. Varvara Pavlovna pushed her hair back off her glowing cheeks and gave her head a little shake. "Our voices ought to go well together," she observed, turning to Panshin; "let us sing a duet. Do you know Son geloso, or La ci darem or Mira la bianca luna?"
He hummed: La ci darem la mano La la lala la la. He turned into Cumberland street and, going on some paces, halted in the lee of the station wall. No-one. Meade's timberyard. Piled balks. Ruins and tenements. With careful tread he passed over a hopscotch court with its forgotten pickeystone. Not a sinner. Near the timberyard a squatted child at marbles, alone, shooting the taw with a cunnythumb.
Percival Pellew walked slowly in the opposite direction in a brown study, leaving his thumbs in his armholes, and playing la ci darem with his fingers on his waistcoat. He played it twice or thrice before he stopped to knock a phenomenal ash off his cigar. Then he spoke, and what he said was "Pooh!" The story does not know why he said "Pooh!"
Do you know 'Son geloso, or 'La ci darem, or 'Mira la bianca luna?" "I used to sing 'Mira la bianca luna," answered Panshine; but it was a long time ago. I have forgotten it now." "Never mind, we will hum it over first by way of experiment. Let me come there." Varvara Pavlovna sat down to the piano. Panshine stood by her side.
"No more have I," said Julia. "But don't you think it's perhaps time you gave me back my hands?" "La ci darem la mano," said the barrister, "the merest moment more! I have so few friends," he added. "I thought it was considered such a bad account of a young man to have no friends," observed Julia. "O, but I have crowds of friends!" cried Gideon. "That's not what I mean.
'I admit the moment is not well chosen; but I have no friends to speak of. 'No more have I, said Julia. 'But don't you think it's perhaps time you gave me back my hands? 'La ci darem la mano, said the barrister, 'the merest moment more! I have so few friends, he added. 'I thought it was considered such a bad account of a young man to have no friends, observed Julia.
It is true that Florestan's whole applause was expressed in nothing but a happy smile, and the remark that the variations might have been written by Beethoven or Franz Schubert, had either of these been a piano virtuoso; but how surprised he was when, turning to the title-page, he read 'La ci darem la mano, varié pour le piano-forte, par Frederic Chopin, Ouvre 2, and with what astonishment we both cried out, 'An Opus 2! How our faces glowed as we wondered, exclaiming, 'That is something reasonable once more!
La ci darem with J. C. Doyle, she said, and Love's Old Sweet Song. Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Rather stale smell that incense leaves next day. Like foul flowerwater. Would you like the window open a little? She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking: What time is the funeral? Eleven, I think, he answered. I didn't see the paper.
Moreover, his praise of Chopin is always pitched in such a high key that it would seem as if praise could no higher go. It was he who first proclaimed Chopin's genius authoritatively, and to this fact he often referred subsequently, with special pride. The very first article in his volumes of criticisms is devoted to Chopin's variations on "La Ci Darem'," published as "opus 2."
Dramatic music, in the sense that Mozart's music, and Wagner's, is dramatic, it is not. There is not the slightest attempt at characterisation not even such small characterisation as Mozart secured in his "La ci darem," with Zerlina's little fluttering, agitated phrases.