Their eyes blazed like miniature suns shooting forth
sparks of a thousand different hues. It seemed as if the very music
itself came from the expression of their faces. And on, on, on, came the
intoxicating strains, increasing in volume and excellence until I
imagined that all heaven had broken loose in one great effort to charm
my feeble senses, and then with a thunderous climax it ceased instantly,
the musicians smiled and bowed pleasantly to one another, and then
resumed their former attitudes.
No mortal's pen could describe my ecstasy while listening to the music
produced by this body of--I must say heavenly creatures. There was
something strange and analogous about it, too, that seemed to recall a
mysterious dream or vision I had once passed through. Whether it was
caused by the music or the kindly expressions of love for one another on
the faces of the players I know not, but nevertheless great tears
spontaneously rolled down my cheeks, the first I ever recollect having
shed, and at the conclusion of the piece I remained transfixed to the
spot for several minutes in deep cogitation.
Once more, however, my inquiring nature aroused me and I walked over
toward the leader. His face was turned slightly in another direction, so
I decided to step up on the platform, get squarely in front of him and
look straight into his eyes. So with a light movement I sprang for the
rostrum. But instead of reaching it my foot and head struck--not the
platform but solid wall, and a second later I found myself in a heap on
the ground.
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