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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
They
spoiled
the
music
just
the
same
,
with
their
antics
and
unrealities
.
"
"
But
don
’
t
you
like
Barillo
’
s
voice
?
"
Ruth
asked
.
"
He
is
next
to
Caruso
,
they
say
.
"
"
Of
course
I
liked
him
,
and
I
liked
Tetralani
even
better
.
Her
voice
is
exquisite
—
or
at
least
I
think
so
.
"
"
But
,
but
—
"
Ruth
stammered
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
what
you
mean
,
then
.
You
admire
their
voices
,
yet
say
they
spoiled
the
music
.
"
"
Precisely
that
.
I
’
d
give
anything
to
hear
them
in
concert
,
and
I
’
d
give
even
a
bit
more
not
to
hear
them
when
the
orchestra
is
playing
.
I
’
m
afraid
I
am
a
hopeless
realist
.
Great
singers
are
not
great
actors
.
To
hear
Barillo
sing
a
love
passage
with
the
voice
of
an
angel
,
and
to
hear
Tetralani
reply
like
another
angel
,
and
to
hear
it
all
accompanied
by
a
perfect
orgy
of
glowing
and
colorful
music
—
is
ravishing
,
most
ravishing
.
I
do
not
admit
it
.
I
assert
it
.
But
the
whole
effect
is
spoiled
when
I
look
at
them
—
at
Tetralani
,
five
feet
ten
in
her
stocking
feet
and
weighing
a
hundred
and
ninety
pounds
,
and
at
Barillo
,
a
scant
five
feet
four
,
greasy
-
featured
,
with
the
chest
of
a
squat
,
undersized
blacksmith
,
and
at
the
pair
of
them
,
attitudinizing
,
clasping
their
breasts
,
flinging
their
arms
in
the
air
like
demented
creatures
in
an
asylum
;
and
when
I
am
expected
to
accept
all
this
as
the
faithful
illusion
of
a
love
-
scene
between
a
slender
and
beautiful
princess
and
a
handsome
,
romantic
,
young
prince
—
why
,
I
can
’
t
accept
it
,
that
’
s
all
.
It
’
s
rot
;
it
’
s
absurd
;
it
’
s
unreal
.
That
’
s
what
’
s
the
matter
with
it
.
It
’
s
not
real
.
Don
’
t
tell
me
that
anybody
in
this
world
ever
made
love
that
way
.
Why
,
if
I
’
d
made
love
to
you
in
such
fashion
,
you
’
d
have
boxed
my
ears
.
"
"
But
you
misunderstand
,
"
Ruth
protested
.
"
Every
form
of
art
has
its
limitations
.
"
(
She
was
busy
recalling
a
lecture
she
had
heard
at
the
university
on
the
conventions
of
the
arts
.
)
"
In
painting
there
are
only
two
dimensions
to
the
canvas
,
yet
you
accept
the
illusion
of
three
dimensions
which
the
art
of
a
painter
enables
him
to
throw
into
the
canvas
.
In
writing
,
again
,
the
author
must
be
omnipotent
.
You
accept
as
perfectly
legitimate
the
author
’
s
account
of
the
secret
thoughts
of
the
heroine
,
and
yet
all
the
time
you
know
that
the
heroine
was
alone
when
thinking
these
thoughts
,
and
that
neither
the
author
nor
any
one
else
was
capable
of
hearing
them
.
And
so
with
the
stage
,
with
sculpture
,
with
opera
,
with
every
art
form
.
Certain
irreconcilable
things
must
be
accepted
.
"
"
Yes
,
I
understood
that
,
"
Martin
answered
.
"
All
the
arts
have
their
conventions
.
"
(
Ruth
was
surprised
at
his
use
of
the
word
.
It
was
as
if
he
had
studied
at
the
university
himself
,
instead
of
being
ill
-
equipped
from
browsing
at
haphazard
through
the
books
in
the
library
.
)
"
But
even
the
conventions
must
be
real
.
Trees
,
painted
on
flat
cardboard
and
stuck
up
on
each
side
of
the
stage
,
we
accept
as
a
forest
.
It
is
a
real
enough
convention
.
But
,
on
the
other
hand
,
we
would
not
accept
a
sea
scene
as
a
forest
.
We
can
’
t
do
it
.
It
violates
our
senses
.
Nor
would
you
,
or
,
rather
,
should
you
,
accept
the
ravings
and
writhings
and
agonized
contortions
of
those
two
lunatics
to
-
night
as
a
convincing
portrayal
of
love
.
"
"
But
you
don
’
t
hold
yourself
superior
to
all
the
judges
of
music
?
"
she
protested
.
"
No
,
no
,
not
for
a
moment
.
I
merely
maintain
my
right
as
an
individual
.
I
have
just
been
telling
you
what
I
think
,
in
order
to
explain
why
the
elephantine
gambols
of
Madame
Tetralani
spoil
the
orchestra
for
me
.
The
world
’
s
judges
of
music
may
all
be
right
.
But
I
am
I
,
and
I
won
’
t
subordinate
my
taste
to
the
unanimous
judgment
of
mankind
.
If
I
don
’
t
like
a
thing
,
I
don
’
t
like
it
,
that
’
s
all
;
and
there
is
no
reason
under
the
sun
why
I
should
ape
a
liking
for
it
just
because
the
majority
of
my
fellow
-
creatures
like
it
,
or
make
believe
they
like
it
.
I
can
’
t
follow
the
fashions
in
the
things
I
like
or
dislike
.
"
"
But
music
,
you
know
,
is
a
matter
of
training
,
"
Ruth
argued
;
"
and
opera
is
even
more
a
matter
of
training
.
May
it
not
be
—
"
