And, indeed, that
was not the way to understand. It seems to me, at least, in my
great ignorance, that one can not understand music unless he is
humble toward it, and consents, if need be, not to understand.
When one is quiescent, submissive, opens the ears of the mind,
and demands of them nothing more than the hearing--when the
rising waters of question retire to their bed, and individuality
is still, then the dews and rains of music, finding the way clear
for them, soak and sink through the sands of the mind, down, far
down, below the thinking-place, down to the region of music,
which is the hidden workshop of the soul, the place where lies
ready the divine material for man to go making withal.
Weary at last with vain effort, she ceased to endeavor, and in a
little while was herself being molded by the music unconsciously
received to the further understanding of it. It wrought in her
mind pictures, not thoughts. It is possible, however, my later
knowledge may affect my description of what Mary then saw with
her mind's eye.
First there was a crowd in slow, then rapid movement. Arose cries
and entreaties. Came hurried motions, disruption, and running
feet. A pause followed. Then woke a lively melody, changing to
the prayer of some soul too grateful to find words. Next came a
bar or two of what seemed calm, lovely speech, then a few slowly
delivered chords, and all was still.
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