ming of guitars and to the shrill cries of a dozen Gipsy girls, her
Vivan los Sevillanos
y Sevillanas!
would flame into life; even the cradle-songs and celebrations of the Virgin Mary would make their true effect.
There is a place for hearing music as well as a time, and I have sworn a vow that if I can only listen to music in the concert hall I shall hear it no more . . . unless, like the ladies, I may be permitted to choose my own conductor and enjoy the delights of Dirigentenliebe, and here the ladies hold me at a disadvantage, for Alice Delysia and Pola Negri do not wave the baton with the authentic gesture of Arthur Nikisch and Thomas Beecham. To return to my theorem, let me particularize: why do you enjoy l'Après-midi d'un faune more when it is presented as a ballet than when it is performed in the concert hall? Because the music is played in a suggestive atmosphere, the action and the colours and the lights supplying the place inadequately filled in the concert hall by the program notes, which are rustled and turned while the flute purls softly. The ideal spot, however, in which to listen to
