A slight thrill ran through Alwyn's nerves,--he felt as though he were on the giddy verge of some great and unexpected joy,--his heart beat quickly and his eyes grew dim. Mastering the strange emotion with an effort, he was reluctantly beginning to think it was time to take his leave, when Heliobas, who had been watching him intently, spoke in a cheerful, friendly tone: "Now that we have had our serious talk out, Mr. Alwyn, suppose you come with me and hear the Ange-Demon of music at St. James's Hall? Will you? He can bestow upon you a perfect benediction of sweet sound,--a benediction not to be despised in this workaday world of clamor,--and out of all the exquisite symbols of Heaven offered to us on earth, Music, I think, is the grandest and best."
"I will go with you wherever you please," replied Alwyn, glad of any excuse that gave him more of the attractive Chaldean's company,--"But what Ange-Demon are you speaking of?"
"Sarasate,--or 'Sarah Sayty,' as some of the clear Britishers call him--" laughed Heliobas, putting on his overcoat as he spoke; "the 'Spanish fiddler,' as the crabbed musical critics define him when they want to be contemptuous, which they do pretty often. These, together with the literary 'oracles,' have their special cliques, --their little chalked out circles, in which they, like tranced geese, stand cackling, unable to move beyond the marked narrow limit. As there are fools to be found who have the ignorance, as well as the effrontery, to declare that the obfuscated, ill- expressed, and ephemeral productions of Browning are equal, if not superior, to the clear, majestic, matchless, and immortal utterances of Shakespeare,--ye gods! the force of asinine braying can no further go than this! ... even so there are similar fools who say that the cold, correct, student-like playing of Joachim is superior to that of Sarasate. But come and judge for yourself,--if you have never heard him, it will be a sort of musical revelation to you,--he is not so much a violinist, as a human violin played by some invisible sprite of song. London listens to him, but doesn't know quite what to make of him,--he is a riddle that only poets can read. If we start now, we shall be just in time,--I have two stalls. Shall we go?"
Alwyn needed no second invitation,--he was passionately fond of music,--his interest was aroused, his curiosity excited,-- moreover, whatever the fine taste of Heliobas pronounced as good must, he felt sure, be super-excellent. In a few minutes they had left the hotel together, and were walking briskly toward Piccadilly, their singularly handsome faces and stately figures causing many a passer-by to glance after them admiringly, and murmur sotto voce, "Splendid-looking fellows! ... not English!" For though Englishmen are second to none in mere muscular strength and symmetry of form, it is a fact worth noting, that if any one possessing poetic distinction of look, or picturesque and animated grace of bearing, be seen suddenly among the more or less monotonously uniform crowd in the streets of London, he or she is pretty sure to be set down, rightly or wrongly, as "NOT English." Is not this rather a pity?--for England!