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From some reason, of which we are ignorant, Gerontius, instead of assuming the diadem, placed it on the head of his friend Maximus, who fixed his residence at Tarragona, while the active count pressed forwards, through the Pyrenees, to surprise the two emperors, Constantine and Constans, before they could prepare for their defence.
To-night I feel when you were playing 'Gerontius' I felt that that I must soon go. 'Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo' I felt as if somewhere that was being said to me." "Nigel!" "It's strange that I, who've always loved the sun, should be knocked over by the sun, isn't it? Strange that what one loves should destroy one!" "But but that's not true, Nigel.
The wife of Gerontius, who conjured him not to abandon her to a life of misery and disgrace, eagerly presented her neck to his sword; and the tragic scene was terminated by the death of the count himself, who, after three ineffectual strokes, drew a short dagger, and sheathed it in his heart.
The Dream of Gerontius is a poem that has been called "the happiest effort to represent the unseen world that has been made since the time of Dante." Those who are not interested in Newman's Episcopal or Catholic sermons or in his great theological treatises will find some of his best prose in the work known as The Idea of a University.
He was searching in his memory, was asking himself what that music expressed, what it meant to him. No longer was it banal. There was a sound in it, even played upon a piano, even heard in this night and this desolate place between two deserts, of the elemental. Bella Donna was playing that part of "The Dream of Gerontius" where the soul of man is dismissed to its Maker.
Earlier, and indeed later, Newman, besides plenty of serious verse, contributed to the Lyra Apostolica or written independently, was a graceful writer of verse trifles; but his largest and best poetical work, The Dream of Gerontius, was not produced till he was approaching old age, and had long passed the crisis of his career.
Chepstow's sitting-room at the Savoy was decorated with pink and green in pale hues which suited well her present scheme of colour. In it there was a little rosewood piano. Upon that piano's music-desk, on the following day, stood a copy of Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius," open at the following words: "Proficiscere, anima Christiana, de hoc mundo! Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul!
The programme, speaking generally, was a somewhat heavy and dull one, and the special new work, namely, Elgar's "Dream of Gerontius," was disappointing, in spite of its skilful construction, its splendid orchestration, and its conspicuous touches of character and originality. Mr.
Two of the books that she called her "bed-books" lay within easy reach of her hand. One was Newman's Dream of Gerontius, the other a volume of the Badminton Library. She chose the former and began to read. Towards two o'clock she heard a long-continued rustling. At first she supposed that her tired brain was still playing her tricks. But the rustling continued and grew louder.
Sometimes she wore a hat and said she had just come in. Sometimes, when he left her, she would say she was going out. But always the impression created was of a very lonely woman, with no engagements and apparently no friends, who passed the long summer days in solitude, playing generally "Gerontius" upon the little rosewood piano, or reading "The Scarlet Letter," or some sad or high-minded book.
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