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Claire's second choice was one of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words," a quieter measure this time, sweet and flowing, and giving opportunity for a world of delicate phrasing.
Who sees and distinguishes the varied blossoming of the many kinds of grain and grasses that are waving in every field? And yet here is a beauty as distinct and delicate as can be found in some of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words" blossomings so odd, delicate, and evanescent as to suggest a child's dream of a flower.
She did a little high-art needle-work, played Mendelssohn's Lieder, sang three French chansons which her husband liked, slept, and drank orange pekoe. In the consumption of this last article Mrs. Tempest was as bad as a dram-drinker.
They sauntered in presently, but Marilyn was already at the piano playing softly a bit from the Angel Chorus, a snatch of Handel's Largo, a Chopin Nocturne, one of Mendelssohn's songs without words. The two came in hilariously, the young man pretending to lean heavily on the girl, and finding much occasion to hold her hands, a performance to which she seemed to be not at all averse.
Oftentimes there were real riots. But we heard there for the first time the overture of Manfred, Mendelssohn's Symphony in A minor, and the overture to Tannhauser. The modern French school found the doors in the Rue Bergère closed to them, but they were welcomed with open arms at the Chaussée d'Antin. Among them were Reber, Gounod, and Gouvy, and even beginners like Georges Bizet and myself.
Again he recurred to his box, and would open it to show me the translation of Mendelssohn's Life; or, if that did not interest me, he begged of me to take my choice from among a few books he had with him; perhaps one of them might amuse me on my journey, for he knew I was a reading young gentleman. I could not refuse him. As he opened the packet of books, I saw one directed to Mr.
Barnard's collection in general inclined to the severely classical, but we disinterred from the heap a few lighter works of an old-fashioned kind, including a volume of Mendelssohn's Lieder ohne Worte, and with one of these Miss Bellingham made trial of her skill, playing it with excellent taste and quite adequate execution.
"Buckingham Palace, April 24, 1847." An occurrence at the Birmingham festival throws a clear light on Mendelssohn's presence of mind, and on his faculty of instant concentration. On the last day, among other things, one of Handel's anthems was given.
"We don't want to be excused," said Chris mutinously "Do stop, Rupert! Cinders doesn't like it." Rupert, however, was already crashing through Mendelssohn's Wedding March, and turned a deaf ear. She picked the discontented one up to comfort him, and as she did so Trevor moved up to her. He stood beside her for a few seconds, stroking the dog's soft head.
Then the wheezy old organ struck up Mendelssohn's wedding march, and the major puffed out his chest and stumped down the aisle with his bride, while Tom followed with his, looking round with proud and happy eyes.
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