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Updated: June 2, 2025
Now up, stay there. E and F. Not so good, is it? F is always a hard one. Now, try the half-tone. That's right, nothing difficult about it. Now, pianissimo, AH AH. Now, swell it, AH AH. Again, follow my hand. Now, carry it down. Anybody ever tell you anything about your breathing?" "Mr. Larsen says I have an unusually long breath," Thea replied with spirit. Harsanyi smiled.
I miss it when you don't." The two men left the Auditorium Building together. Harsanyi walked home. Even a short talk with Thomas always stimulated him. As he walked he was recalling an evening they once spent together in Cincinnati.
He wore a blue coat and no cuffs. After Dr. Archie and Thea sat down on a slippery leather couch, the minister asked for an outline of Thea's plans. Dr. Archie explained that she meant to study piano with Andor Harsanyi; that they had already seen him, that Thea had played for him and he said he would be glad to teach her. Mr.
Thea drew back her shoulders, relaxed them instinctively, and sang. When she finished the aria, Harsanyi beckoned her nearer. "Sing AH AH for me, as I indicate." He kept his right hand on the keyboard and put his left to her throat, placing the tips of his delicate fingers over her larynx. "Again, until your breath is gone. Trill between the two tones, always; good! Again; excellent!
When she finished, Harsanyi sprang from his chair and dropped lightly upon his toes, a kind of ENTRE-CHAT that he sometimes executed when he formed a sudden resolution, or when he was about to follow a pure intuition, against reason.
My friends here tell me Harsanyi is the best." "Oh, very likely! I have heard him play with Thomas. You Western people do things on a big scale. There are half a dozen teachers that I should think However, you know what you want." Mr. Larsen showed his contempt for such extravagant standards by a shrug. He felt that Dr. Archie was trying to impress him.
"Ever since I came. I had to get a position of some kind," Thea explained, flushing, "and the preacher took me on. He runs the choir himself. He knew my father, and I guess he took me to oblige." Harsanyi tapped the tablecloth with the ends of his fingers. "But why did you never tell us? Why are you so reticent with us?" Thea looked shyly at him from under her brows.
She went through the story of her shameful bridal feast and into the Walhall' music, which she always sang so nobly, and the entrance of the one-eyed stranger: Mrs. Harsanyi glanced at her husband, wondering whether the singer on the stage could not feel his commanding glance. On came the CRESCENDO: Harsanyi touched his wife's arm softly.
Miss Cather, almost alone among her peers in this decade, understands that human character for its own sake has a claim upon human interest, surprisingly irrespective of the moral or intellectual qualities which of course condition and shape it. "Her secret?" says Harsanyi of Thea Kronborg in The Song of the Lark. "It is every artist's secret ... passion. It is an open secret, and perfectly safe.
As she had never paid more than ten dollars for a coat before, that seemed to her a large price. It was very heavy and not very warm, ornamented with a showy pattern in black disks, and trimmed around the collar and the edges with some kind of black wool that "crocked" badly in snow or rain. It was lined with a cotton stuff called "farmer's satin." Mrs. Harsanyi was one woman in a thousand.
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