s savour
our poets often made much of; leaving out the god in whose worship they
were indulging. This childishness our country has not yet succeeded in
getting rid of. So even to-day, when we fail to see the truth of
religion, we seek in its observance an artistic gratification. So, also,
much of our patriotism is not service of the mother-land, but the luxury
of bringing ourselves into a desirable attitude of mind toward the
country.

PART VI

(28) _European Music_

When I was in Brighton I once went to hear some Prima Donna. I forget
her name. It may have been Madame Neilson or Madame Albani. Never before
had I come across such an extraordinary command over the voice. Even our
best singers cannot hide their sense of effort; nor are they ashamed to
bring out, as best they can, top notes or bass notes beyond their proper
register. In our country the understanding portion of the audience think
no harm in keeping the performance up to standard by dint of their own
imagination. For the same reason they do not mind any harshness of voice
or uncouthness of gesture in the exponent of a perfectly formed melody;
on the contrary, they seem sometimes to be of opinion that such minor
external defects serve better to set off the internal perfection of the
composition,--as with the outward poverty of the Great Ascetic,
Mahadeva, whose divinity shines forth naked.

This feeling seems entirely wanting in Europe. There, outward
embellishment must be perfect in every detail, and the least defect
stands shamed and unable to face the public gaze. In our musical
gatherings nothing is thought of spending half-an-hour in tuning up the
_Tanpuras_, or hammering into tone the drums, little and big. In Europe
such duties are performed beforehand, behind the scenes, for all that
comes in front must be faultless. There is thus no room for any weak
spot in the singer's voice. In our country a correct and artistic
exposition[44] of the melody is the main object, thereon is concentrated
all the effort. In Europe the voice is the object of culture, and with
it they perform impossibilities. In our country the virtuoso is
satisfied if he has heard the song; in Europe, they go to hear the
singer.

That is what I saw that day in Brighton. To me it was as good as a
circus. But, admire the performance as I did, I could not appreciate the
song. I could hardly keep from laughing when some of the _cadenzas_
imitated the warbling of birds.