The Decticus: his Instrument 



the sibilations of the straw threw into relief 

 the bleating of the swollen stalks. I stood 

 amazed at the onion-stern symphony. Very 

 much so must the shepherds of the eclogue 

 have gone to work, avena tenui; very much 

 so must the bridal epithalamium have been 

 sung in the Reindeer period. 



Yes, the simple melody of my Corsican 

 youngsters, a real humming of Bees on the 

 rosemaries, has left a lasting trace in my 

 memory. I can hear it now. It taught me 

 the value of the rustic pipes, once so con- 

 stantly celebrated in a literature that is now 

 old-fashioned. How far removed are we 

 from those simple joys! To charm the 

 populace in these days you need ophicleides, 

 saxhorns, trombones, cornets, every imagina- 

 ble sort of brass, with big drums and little 

 drums and, to beat time, a gun-shot. That's 

 what progress does. 



Three-and-twenty centuries ago, Greece 

 assembled at Delphi for the festivals of the 

 sun, Phoebus with the golden locks. Thrilled 

 with religious emotion she listened to the 

 Hymn of Apollo, a melody of a few lines, 

 barely supported here and there by a scanty 

 chord on the flute and cithara. Hailed as a 

 masterpiece, the sacred song was engraved 

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