Once, and once only, he sang a song at our concerts; standing forth
without embarrassment, his great stature somewhat humped, his long
arms frequently extended, his Kalmuck head thrown backward. It was a
suitable piece of music, as deep as a cow's bellow and wild like the
White Sea. He was struck and charmed by the freedom and sociality of
our manners. At home, he said, no one on a journey would speak to
him, but those with whom he would not care to speak; thus
unconsciously involving himself in the condemnation of his
countrymen. But Russia was soon to be changed; the ice of the Neva
was softening under the sun of civilisation; the new ideas, 'WIE EINE
FEINE VIOLINE,' were audible among the big empty drum notes of
Imperial diplomacy; and he looked to see a great revival, though with
a somewhat indistinct and childish hope.
We had a father and son who made a pair of Jacks-of-all-trades. It
was the son who sang the 'Death of Nelson' under such contrarious
circumstances. He was by trade a shearer of ship plates; but he
could touch the organ, and led two choirs, and played the flute and
piccolo in a professional string band.
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