tual....--MAETERLINCK.

Racah hated music. Even his father quoted with approval Theophile
Gautier's witticism about it being the most costly of noises. Racah, as
a boy, shouted under the windows of neighbors in whose rooms
string-music was heard of hot summer evenings. On every occasion his
nature testified to its lively abhorrence of tone, and once he was
violently thrust forth from a church by an excited sexton. Racah had
whistled derisively at the feebly executed voluntary of the organist. An
old friend of the family declared that the boy should be trained as a
music critic--he hated music so intensely. Racah's father would arch his
meagre eyebrows and crisply say, "My son shall become a priest." "But
even a priest must chaunt the mass; eh, what?"

The boy's sister had a piano and tried to play despite his violent
mockery. One afternoon, when the sun drove the town to its siesta, he
wandered into the room where stood the instrument. Moved by an automatic
impulse, the lad placed one finger on a treble key. He shuddered as it
tinkled under the pressure; then he struck the major third and held both
keys down, trembling, while drops of water formed under his eyes. He
hated the sound he made, but could not resist listening to it. Waves of
disgust rolled hotly over his heart, and he almost choked from the
large, bitter-tasting ball that rose in his throat. He then struck the
triad of C major in a clumsy way--a quarter of an hour later his family
found him in a syncope at the foot of the piano, and sent for a doctor.
Racah's eyes were open, but only the whites showed. The pulse was
strangely intermittent, the heart muffled, and the doctor set it down to
nervous prostration brought on by strenuous attendance at church. It was
Holy Week and Racah a pious boy.

He soon recovered, avoided the instrument, and kept his peace.... About
this time he began going out immediately after supper, remaining away
until midnight. This, coupled with a relaxation of religious zeal, drove
his pious father into a frenzy of disappointment. But being wise in old
age, he did not pester his son, especially as the pale, melancholy lad
bore on his face no signs of dissipation. These disappearances lasted
for over a year. Racah was chided by his mother, a large,
chicken-minded woman, who liked gossip and chocolate. He never answered
her, and on Sundays locked himself in his room. Once his sister listened
at the door and told her father that she hear