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Life is an opera and a grand opera. The tenor and the baritone fight for the soprano in the presence of the basso and the second voices, when it is not the soprano and the contralto who are fighting for the tenor, in the presence of the same basso and the same seconds. There are numerous choruses, many ballets, and the orchestration is excellent..'(...)
'God is the poet. The music is by Satan, a young maestro with a great future, who studied in the conservatory of heaven. Rival of Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, he could not endure the priority those classmates enjoyed in the distribution of the prizes. It may be, too, that their overtly sweet and mystic music was boring to his genius, which is essentially tragic. He started a rebellion, which was discovered in time, and he was expelled from the conservatory. The whole thing would have ended there, if God had not written a libretto for an opera, and thrown it aside, because he considered that type of entertainment unsuited to his eternity. Satan carried off the manuscript with him to hell. With the idea of showing that he was a better musician than the others--and perhaps to effect a reconciliation with heaven--he composed a score. As soon as he finished it, he took it to the Eternal Father.
'Lord,' he said to Him, 'I have not forgotton what I learned up here. Take this score, hear it, emend it, have it performed and if thou find it worthy of the heavenly heights, admit me and it at thy feet.'
'No, retorted the Lord, 'I will hear nothing.'
Satan went on supplicating with no better luck, until God, wearied and full of pity, consented to have the opera performed, but outside the precincts of heaven. He designed a special theater, this planet; and created a whole company with all the parts, first and second, choruses and ballet dancers.
'Hear some of the rehearsals!'
'No, I'll have nothing to do with the rehearsals. It's enough to have composed the libretto; I am quite willing to split with thee the author's royalties.'
That refusal was probably a mistake: from it resulted certain incongruities which a hearing would have detected and a friendly collaboration prevented. Indeed some places the words go to the right and the music to the left. And there are those who say that this is the beauty of the composition and keeps it from being monotonous, and in this way they explain the trio of Eden, the aria of Abel, the choruses of the guillotine and of slavery. Not infrequently the same plot situation is used over again and without sufficient reason. Certain motifs grow wearisome from repetition. There are obscure passages; the maestro makes too much use of the choral masses, which often drown out the words with their confused harmony. The orchestral parts, however, are handled with great skill. At least this is the opinion of the unprejudiced.
The friends of the maestro would have it that a better score would be hard to find. Occasionally one of them will admit that there are certain gaps here and there, but with the continued run of the opera no doubt these will be filled in and smoothed over, since the maestro does not refuse to emend his work where he finds it at variance with the sublime thought of the poet. The friends of the latter take a different view. They claim that the libretto has been sacrificed, that the score corrupts the sense of the words and that although it may be fine in some passages and contrived with art in others, it is absolutely unrelated, even contrary, to the spirit of the drama. The ridiculous, for example, does not exist in the text of the poet: it is an excrescence in imitation of the Merry Wives of Windsor. This point is contested by the Satanists with some appearance of reason. They say that at the time young Satan composed his grand opera neither this farce nor Shakespeare had been born. They go so far as to affirm that the English poet did nothing more than copy down the book with such art and felicity that he seems himself to be the author of the work; but, manifestly, he is a plagiarist."
"This piece," concluded the old tenor, "will last as long as the theater lasts--and there's no telling when it will be demolished as an act of astronomic expediency. The success of the production is increasing. Poet and musician receive their royalites with punctual regularity, but not in the same coin. The law of division is that of the Scriptures: 'Many are called, few are chosen.' God gets paid in gold, Satan in paper."
"Witty?" he shouted. Then he calmed himself: "My dear Santiago, I am not witty; I have a horror of wit. What I say is the truth, pure and ultimate. One day, when all the books have been burned as useless, there will be someone, maybe a tenor, most likely an Italian, who will teach this truth to men. All is music, my friend. In the beginning was the do, and the do became re, etc. This wineglass (he was filling it again), this wineglass is a brief refrain. You don't hear it? Neither do you hear wood or stone, but they're all part of the same opera..."
originally posted by: RAY1990
a reply to: zosimov
I'm not exactly a fan of the opera nor of classical music.
But for a good portion of my life a song has been my song, out of the thousands I could literally pull out of my mouth (and sing) this one has always been... Mine.
It's all a showing and one day you'll be knowing, but till then have a blast and take the good times as they last.
Music can be like poetry, it emulates us. We don't emulate it.
originally posted by: RAY1990
Not to be an arse or take up your thread but this came on my playlist and made me think of this thread.
If all of our past was played as a song, then our lives are the beat of the drum.
Love this. I do believe there is something to the quoted text in my OP. If all life is vibration, and all vibration is sound, well I suppose it could follow that "All is music". Thanks again for the input!
originally posted by: RAY1990
Made by God, played by the devil.