File:Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 145 June to November 1922 (1922) (14765717985).jpg

Identifier: harpersnew145various (find matches)
Title: Harper's New Monthly Magazine Volume 145 June to November 1922
Year: 1922 (1920s)
Authors: various
Subjects:
Publisher: New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers
Contributing Library: Brigham Young University-Idaho, David O. McKay Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Brigham Young University-Idaho

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ing instruments.Luca leaned his head back, his eyesclosed, his breath short and loud, his facepale, with veins swollen on the temples,and his senses were dim in an anaes-thesia. Rap! rap! Maestro Hicks stood atthe conductors desk, twisting his greatmustaches, and turning his head fromone side to the other, until the house wasquiet. Luca sat up with stupid eyes. Theauditorium gaped dark and prodigious;the lights at the music stands glaredmistily under their shades. Movinglike a mechanism, he rested his bassoonagainst his knee. Rap! rap! The baton nodded and atittering of violins began the act. Thecurtain rose. While the tenor Rufflno sang his ariaLuca sought to rescue himself. I am afool, and there is nothing. He tried toput his grief to sleep with the repeatedphrase, as one may be tranquillized by achangeless rhythm. There is nothing! Nothing! Noth-ing save ... He stiffened, andthrew his glaring eyes to the desertedbox, and in its dark recess saw in aphantasm the two heads pressed to-
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Drawn by Denman Fink THE BOLDNESS OF THE MAN BESIDE HER STARTLED EEH Vol. CXLV: No.—869—73 .578 HARPERS MONTHLY MAGAZINE gether, one thrust back and moving alittle, the other perfectly still. I am a fool, and there is nothing.Luca threw his head high, and blas-phemed at the visions that moved beforehim. His spirit lay in the water of apoisonous apathy. Miei signori . . . On the stageRigoletto was crying for Gilda, hisdaughter; and as the old tune movedsweetly with the English horn at thirds,a cry of beauty and pain arose in Lucasbosom. He groaned mournful phrasesof opera. 0 mio dolore. The ache in him wentcrooning. Oh my sorrow, he said again, andhis head low so that his comrades mightnot see his tears. He is looking for his low B flat—helost it fifteen years ago, the clarinetistsaid. On the stage Rigoletto was lamentingwith Gilda, his daughter. Piangi, piangi, janciulla As thebaritone voice raised the melody, andthe clarinets entered on the second barwith the sweetest of thirds

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