A Belgian soldier had a vision during the last German attack. He saw the whole earth, uprooted, dancing madly and monotonously to the music of Igor Stravinsky. Thus terrific, thus awful a genius does the Stravinsky of today appear to a handful of those who pretend to understand him.
His Petrushka was the beginning—a master's tale of an individual tragedy made fittingly little to suit a puppet.
His Sacre du Printemps came next. To some people it was just a crazy progression of noises. But to others it was the primitive cry of a great...
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