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Stevenson, Robert Louis

"Essays Of Travel"

Some of them, too, are welcome as the flowers in
May for their own sake; some of them may have a human voice; some may
have that magic which transforms a wooden box into a song-bird, and
what we jeeringly call a fiddle into what we mention with respect as
a violin. From that grinding lilt, with which the blind man, seeking
pence, accompanies the beat of paddle wheels across the ferry, there
is surely a difference rather of kind than of degree to that
unearthly voice of singing that bewails and praises the destiny of
man at the touch of the true virtuoso. Even that you may perhaps
enjoy; and if you do so you will own it impossible to enjoy it more
keenly than here, IM SCHNEE DER ALPEN. A hyacinth in a pot, a
handful of primroses packed in moss, or a piece of music by some one
who knows the way to the heart of a violin, are things that, in this
invariable sameness of the snows and frosty air, surprise you like an
adventure. It is droll, moreover, to compare the respect with which
the invalids attend a concert, and the ready contempt with which they
greet the dinner-time performers. Singing which they would hear with
real enthusiasm - possibly with tears - from a corner of a drawing-
room, is listened to with laughter when it is offered by an unknown
professional and no money has been taken at the door.


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