Instantly through the weaving of the violins
the voices of the wood instruments began to break out. The contest
between the two came quickly to its climax. The strings were forced back
and back, wailing an ineffective protest against the shrilling advance
of the woods. A solitary 'cello made dogged resistance, knowing its
cause hopeless, but determined to sell life as dearly as possible. But
the 'cello, too, went down and for a bar or two the flutes and oboes
sang a paean of victory. Too soon. Upon them, like a tidal wave, swept
down a hurricane of brasses and shook the hall with its resonant
thunders.
That was the moment our artist at the piano had been waiting for. His
heavy figure straightened up; it seemed to swell to monstrous
proportions, forcing orchestra and leader out of the vision and
consciousness of his listeners. His face now was all eloquence. A divine
wrath almost made his eyes blaze as he prepared to hurl himself at the
silent, yet quivering instrument. His huge hands hovered over the
keyboard ready to fall and destroy. His eyes ran over the keys as if
searching for the vulnerable, for the vital spot.
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