Autumn 1963 • Vol. XXV No. 4 FictionOctober 1, 1963 |

To a Tenor Dying Old

John Stewart Carter TO A TENOR DYING OLDA FEW YEARS AGO I BEGAN TO SEE A PICTURE IN MY MIND'S EYE, and for a long time it puzzled me because I could not tell where it came from. I might have seen such a picture in a gallery somewhere. It may even be a relatively well-known painting, for I see it in oils, as it were, and very distinctly. But I could not have seen either the actual occurrence shown or any of the details. What I see, I could not have remembered, even though it hovers uneasily on the fluttered edges of remembrance and is more real than much I have seen, much I have remembered. It is a big impressionist picture. A careful one. It shows the vaulting height of the Galleria in Milan. Bars of bright, wintery sunshine drift from the open wings and end, illumi- nating the canvas to the point where the shop windows begin along the sides. These windows-of antique stores, picture galleries, goldsmiths-are done with jeweled strokes of high color and are lighted by the lamps within

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Fifty-Fifty

By Leonard Wolf

John Stewart Carter TO A TENOR DYING OLDA FEW YEARS AGO I BEGAN TO SEE A PICTURE IN MY MIND'S EYE, and for a long time it puzzled me because […]

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