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The almost infinite and infinitely-varied beauties collected in this treasure-trove denominated Vingt-quatre Preludes could only be done justice to by a minute analysis, for which, however, there is no room here. I must content myself with a word or two about a few of them, picked out at random. No. 4 is a little poem the exquisitely-sweet languid pensiveness of which defies description.
There was a moment when it seemed that master and pupil would have to part, but timely concessions to genius paved the way to dutiful submission, and years afterward the great master dedicated to the rigid disciplinarian of his boyhood his "Vingt-quatre Grandes Études" in affectionate remembrance.
"C'est bien vingt-quatre, madame," said the driver, as if to help her. "Oui ça va bien," she replied, but still hesitating. Esther had turned at sound of her voice just in time to see her gather her silver fox closer about her neck, clutch her red morocco pochette against her chest and enter the shop. The taxi, with a little "cling" of the meter, shot off down the hill.
L'un, dans lequel il lui faisoit connoître la contrée qui alloit être le but de la conquête, étoit une description de la Terre-Sainte; et comme il avoit demeuré vingt-quatre ans dans cette contrée en qualité de missionnaire et de prédicateur, peu de gens pouvoient alléguer autant de droits que lui pour en parler.
As a contrast to No. 7, and in conclusion leaving several aerial flights and other charming conceptions undiscussed I will yet mention the octave study, No. 10, which is a real pandemonium; for a while holier sounds intervene, but finally hell prevails. The genesis of the Vingt-quatre Preludes, Op. 28, published in September, 1839, I have tried to elucidate in the twenty-first chapter.
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