Iole

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“The little things,” he continued, delicately perforating the atmosphere as though selecting a diatom.
Published May, 1905
oes anybody remember the opera of The Inca , and that heartbreaking episode where the Court Undertaker, in a morbid desire to increase his professional skill, deliberately accomplishes the destruction of his middle-aged relatives in order to inter them for the sake of practise?
If I recollect, his dismal confession runs something like this:
“It was in a bleak November
When I slew them, I remember,
As I caught them unawares
Drinking tea in rocking-chairs.”
And so he talked them to death, the subject being “What Really is Art?” Afterward he was sorry—
“The squeak of a door,