Yet not by their poor malediction can
Souls be so lost but that Eternal Love
May be brought back while hope hath life in man.
’Tis true that one who sets himself above
The Holy Church, and dies beneath its ban
(Even though he had repented at the last),
Outside this Mount must unadmitted rove
Thirty times longer than the term had been
Of his presumptuous contumacy past,
Unless good prayers a shorter penance win.
See now what power thou hast to make me glad:
Report of me to my good Constance bear,
How thou saw’st me, and what I’ve told thee add;
For much it profits us what they do there.”
ON MUSIC.
Harmony and melody—which have an equal share in the effects produced by sound—find their original type, it may be, in the double nature of the universe, and of human destiny considered socially and individually. Harmony, like the external world and its moving masses, presents us with various parts, linked together and arranged so as to subserve one and the same end. Regular and measured in its movement as the celestial orbs, no deviation is allowable even in its boldest flight. An almighty will seems to have bound it to magnificence and grandeur, restricting its freedom to the latitude of the laws whose expression it is. But melody is thoroughly moral, and consequently free. It is the heart’s utterance, and follows and renders its emotions faithfully. When brilliant, it recalls our joys; when sweet and lingering, it portrays our rare and delicious intervals of repose. It sighs for our disquietudes and sways beneath our sorrows, like a friend who shares them. Would it reproduce the sad and vague yearnings which by turns agitate and soothe the soul of man?—its songs are as dreamy as his chimeras. Melody is but one thought at a time, but—mobile and rapid—it renders all thoughts in succession and tells the tale of a complete destiny. Harmony, with its grand effects, seems made to appeal to assembled men; melody, to transport the memory in solitude. Words may of course be adapted to a piece of pure harmony; but they are only accessory. When melody is associated with human speech, they rival one another in charm and in power. Speech is, indeed, the heart’s expression; but melody remains its accent.—Madame Swetchine.
FLEURANGE.
BY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF “A SISTER’S STORY.”
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.
PART SECOND
THE TRIAL.
XXVIII.
More than twenty-four hours had elapsed. Fleurange was already far away, and the incidents of the preceding days only seemed like a succession of troubled dreams. The conversation she heard on the terrace between the count and his mother, that which she herself had with the latter, her interview with George at San Miniato, the mysterious bouquet in the evening, and the sudden reappearance of Felix the next day—all these remembrances came back, one by one, but were all effaced by that of the farewell which succeeded them.