And the orchestra was doing its share with the same joy as the dancers, as though it too had paid its way in for the pleasure of playing. Carl explained that practically none of its members had ever taken a music lesson, none of them knew anything about the theory of music.
“They’ve just got instinct and rhythm—and, well, what else do they need?” he ended with a smile.
Mimi had never known that anything like this existed before. Over it all there was a primitive note, a freedom from inhibitions that gave grace and ecstasy to the dancers and the musicians. It exhilarated one and made him forget the stuffiness and dimness of the hall and the sometimes fetid smells which arose as the dance went on. She knew that here was something original—she could not explain it nor could she tell how or why she felt that here was a vital and living thing. She only knew it had a vibrant, warming quality, and that was enough.
“Remember Dunbar’s lines?” Carl asked. Without waiting for a reply he recited them softly:
“Cripple Joe, de ole rheumatic, danced that flo’ frum side to middle. Throwed away his crutch an’ hopped it, what’s rheumatics ’gainst a fiddle? Eldah Thompson got so tickled dat he lak to los’ his grace, Had to take bofe feet an’ hold ’em, so’s to keep ’em in deir place, An’ de Christuns an’ de sinnahs got so mixed up on dat flo’, Dat I don’t see how dey’s pahted ef de trump had chonced to blow.”
She smiled appreciatively at the quotation.
“It does just that to you,” she remarked. “I’m seeing better every day just what you mean.” …