I am the maddest and most
sea-lost soul on board. Take Miss West. I am beginning to admire
her. Why, I know not, unless it be because she is so abominably
healthy. And yet, it is this very health of her, the absence of any
shred of degenerative genius, that prevents her from being great . .
. for instance, in her music.
A number of times, now, I have come in during the day to listen to
her playing. The piano is good, and her teaching has evidently been
of the best. To my astonishment I learn that she is a graduate of
Bryn Mawr, and that her father took a degree from old Bowdoin long
ago. And yet she lacks in her music.
Her touch is masterful. She has the firmness and weight (without
sharpness or pounding) of a man's playing--the strength and surety
that most women lack and that some women know they lack. When she
makes a slip she is ruthless with herself, and replays until the
difficulty is overcome. And she is quick to overcome it.
Yes, and there is a sort of temperament in her work, but there is no
sentiment, no fire.
Pages:
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204