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Question 1
Excerpt from The Musician's Daughter
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
How does paragraph 1 fit into the narrative structure of the excerpt?
Your Answer: Option(s)
Correct Answer: Option(s) A
Rationale
Paragraph 1 establishes the setting and the reason the narrator's family came to the palace.
The opening paragraph sets the stage for the narrative by introducing the location—Esterhaza—and the context of the family's visit, indicating the significance of the concert and the protagonist's early memories linked to it. This foundation is crucial for understanding the atmosphere and events that unfold in the subsequent paragraphs.
A) Paragraph 1 establishes the setting and the reason the narrator's family came to the palace.
This choice accurately reflects the primary function of the first paragraph, as it describes the palace's grandeur and the occasion of the concert, thereby providing a clear context for the narrator's memories and experiences during that time.
B) Paragraph 1 provides details about the narrator's feelings about the events of the evening.
While the paragraph conveys some emotions related to the narrator's experience, its main focus is on establishing the setting and context rather than detailing feelings. Emotional responses develop more fully in later paragraphs.
C) Paragraph 1 includes background about a conflict that arose from the narrator's feelings about fashion.
This option misinterprets the content of the first paragraph, which does not introduce any conflict regarding fashion. Instead, it primarily describes the setting and the family's arrival at the concert, without mentioning any disputes or tensions related to clothing.
D) Paragraph 1 describes the narrator's father and his performance at the concert.
Although the father is mentioned, the first paragraph does not focus on his performance. Rather, it emphasizes the setting and the family's attendance at the concert, with further details about the father and the performance appearing later in the text.
Conclusion
The first paragraph effectively establishes the setting and context of the narrator's experience in Esterhaza, providing an essential backdrop for the unfolding narrative. By situating the reader in the magnificent palace and the significance of the concert, it lays the groundwork for the emotional and sensory details that follow, enhancing the overall understanding of the narrator's recollections.
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Question 2
Excerpt from The Musician's Daughter
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
The rooms were very grand. How would the meaning of this sentence be changed if the word 'grand' were replaced with 'large'?
Your Answer: Option(s)
Correct Answer: Option(s) A
Rationale
The sentence would describe the size of the room but not their magnificence.
Replacing "grand" with "large" shifts the focus from the overall impressive quality and beauty of the rooms to merely their physical size. "Grand" encompasses a sense of elegance and richness that "large" lacks, thereby diminishing the intended connotation of splendor.
A) The sentence would describe the size of the room but not their magnificence.
This choice accurately reflects the change in meaning that occurs when "grand" is replaced with "large." While "large" indicates the physical dimensions of the rooms, it does not convey the grandeur and opulence implied by the original term. Thus, the aesthetic quality is lost in the substitution.
B) The sentence would provide information about the historical period in which these rooms were used.
This option is incorrect because the term "grand" does not specifically reference the historical period. While grand rooms may suggest a certain style or era, the word itself does not communicate any direct information regarding the time period. The focus is on the impression of the rooms rather than their historical context.
C) The sentence would offer insight into the particular decorations of the rooms but not the dimensions.
This choice misinterprets the original meaning. The word "grand" implies a sense of overall splendor and elegance, not just decoration. The replacement with "large" shifts away from decoration to size without necessarily providing insight into the aesthetic details.
D) The sentence would refer to the number of people the rooms would accommodate.
This option is misleading as neither "grand" nor "large" inherently addresses the capacity of the rooms. While larger rooms may accommodate more people, the original sentence focuses on the impression of grandeur rather than functionality or capacity.
Conclusion
The sentence's meaning significantly changes when "grand" is replaced with "large," as the latter simply denotes size without conveying the elegance and richness associated with the former. The choice A effectively captures this shift, highlighting how the essence of the description transforms from magnificence to mere spatial dimensions. Other options fail to address the core implications of grandeur, focusing instead on unrelated aspects.
Question 3
Excerpt from The Musician's Daughter
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
What technique does the author use to reveal the narrator's perspective about the ladies at the concert?
Your Answer: Option(s)
Correct Answer: Option(s) A
Rationale
She compares the ladies to perfectly decorated dolls.
This comparison vividly illustrates the narrator's perception of the ladies at the concert as artfully crafted and artificial, emphasizing their flawless appearance and the effort taken to achieve it. By likening them to dolls, the author conveys the narrator's awe and fascination while simultaneously hinting at the superficiality of their beauty.
A) She compares the ladies to perfectly decorated dolls.
This choice directly reflects the narrator's perspective, as the comparison highlights how the ladies' meticulously crafted appearances evoke a sense of wonder and admiration. The use of "dolls" suggests an artificiality that underscores the elaborate efforts made to achieve their looks, reinforcing the narrator's impression of their beauty as both enchanting and staged.
B) She repeats descriptive words to show the ladies' perfection.
While repetition can enhance writing, the excerpt does not rely heavily on this technique to convey the ladies' beauty. Instead, the author uses vivid imagery and comparisons to paint a picture of the scene. Therefore, this choice does not accurately capture how the narrator's perspective is revealed.
C) She exaggerates the appearance of the ladies.
Although the narrator expresses admiration, there is no significant exaggeration present in the description. The portrayal remains grounded in observable details, such as the use of white lead and the extravagant hairstyles, rather than presenting an unrealistic or hyperbolic view of the ladies' appearances.
D) She describes two extremes of the ladies' dresses.
This option suggests a contrast that is not evident in the passage. The focus is more on the overall extravagance and artistry of the ladies' appearances rather than on contrasting styles or extremes. Thus, this choice does not accurately reflect the technique used to reveal the narrator's perspective.
Conclusion
The author's choice to compare the ladies to perfectly decorated dolls effectively conveys the narrator's admiration and fascination. This technique emphasizes their artificial beauty, suggesting both allure and superficiality, which deepens the reader's understanding of the narrator's perspective and the societal norms surrounding beauty at the time.
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Question 4
Excerpt from The Musician's Daughter
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
sselect two of the four details from the excerpt into the chart to show which main idea each supports. 1. The narrator is imaginative. 2. The narrator is observant.
Your Answer: Option(s)
Correct Answer: Option(s) A, B
Rationale
The narrator thinks the director looks like the music and notices the candlelight reflected off the violin.
These details highlight the narrator's imaginative and observant nature as they interpret the scene around them in creative ways, showcasing their ability to connect visual elements to the music and the emotions of the moment.
A) The narrator thinks the director looks like the music.
This detail emphasizes the narrator's imaginative perspective, as they personify the conductor's actions, suggesting a deep engagement with the music and the overall atmosphere of the concert. This imaginative interpretation illustrates how the narrator perceives the relationship between the conductor and the music, enhancing their experience.
B) The narrator notices the candlelight reflected off the violin.
This observation demonstrates the narrator's keen attention to detail, capturing the beauty of the scene with a focus on the interplay of light and the violin. Such careful observation indicates a heightened awareness of their surroundings, reinforcing the idea that the narrator is not only present but fully engaged in the experience.
C) The narrator stands to the side while the ladies pass by.
While this detail provides context about the narrator's physical position during the concert, it does not specifically highlight their imaginative or observant qualities. Instead, it simply describes their vantage point without further insight into their perception or thoughts.
D) The narrator has a new dress for the concert.
This statement relates to the narrator's personal experience but does not illustrate their imaginative or observant nature. It merely indicates that the narrator is part of the event, lacking any deeper reflection on the environment or the artistic aspects of the concert.
Conclusion
The selected details, "the narrator thinks the director looks like the music" and "the narrator notices the candlelight reflected off the violin," effectively support the main ideas of imagination and observation. Together, they reveal how the narrator engages with their surroundings, perceiving deeper meanings and beauty in the concert experience, thus enriching the narrative.
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Question 5
Excerpt from The Musician's Daughter
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
by Susanne Dunlap
I thought a lot, at the beginning, about my father playing the violin. I still remember the first time I ever saw a concert. I was very small, and we had just come to Esterhaza, a magnificent palace in Sopron, Hungary, when the prince's household moved there from his winter palace, at Eisenstadt, near Vienna. I think it may have been the first concert Papa took part in there. I had a new dress for the occasion, and Mama looked beautiful. I don't think Toby was born yet, or if he was, he was a small baby and stayed in our rooms with a nurse.
The palace at Esterháza was so new that it still smelled of raw wood and paint. The rooms were very grand. I had never seen so many candles in one place before. And they were expensive wax candles, not foul-smelling tallow. We stood to the side to watch the fine ladies enter. I thought they looked like dolls; their faces were so perfect. Later my mother told me that they painted them with white lead to make their skin artificially smooth and pale, and then rubbed rouge into their cheeks and lips, and drew lines of charcoal around their eyes so they would appear larger. And the headdresses-in those days the fashion was to have hair that towered up, stuck into place with diamond combs, with ribbons and pearls festooned around. And no matter what color it was naturally, ladies powdered their hair to snowy whiteness, so that the light of the candies was magnified by the glow from the people themselves.
And the men, too, were powdered and patched. Their gold buttons and lace were almost as gaudy as the ladies' finery. But the enormous panniers that held the ladies' skirts out to the side so far that they had to move sideways through doorways fascinated me most of all. I could barely be persuaded to turn my eyes to the orchestra when the concert started.
We were not seated with the guests. In fact, I think we were tucked away in an anteroom. The door was open so we could see through, and everyone pushed me forward to let me watch my father, who looked up now and again from the music and gave me a quick smile. The candlelight danced over the rich wood of his violin, the beautiful Italian instrument, an old Amati, that my grandfather had given him. Kapellmeister Haydn-who was also my godfather-sat at the harpsichord, smiling broadly all the time, waving one hand in the air to direct, then putting it back on the keys and instead using his head, bobbing and nodding to bring the winds in, or to indicate the entrance for the cellos. He looked like the music, 1 remember thinking. I wish I could bring that particular sound to my mind, but it has since blended with countless, other concert. I'll always remember what it looked like, though. The light shimmering glow of everything and everyone.
Which aspect of the evening does the narrator claim she finds most captivating?
Your Answer: Option(s)
Correct Answer: Option(s) A
Rationale
The style of the ladies' skirts.
The narrator expresses a particular fascination with the ladies' skirts, highlighting their visual appeal and significance during the evening event. This detail captures the overall atmosphere and aesthetic that the narrator finds most enchanting.
A) the style of the ladies' skirts
The narrator is captivated by the skirts, indicating their importance in her perception of the evening's elegance. This choice resonates with her appreciation for fashion and the beauty it brings to the occasion.
B) her godfather's nodding head
While the narrator may note her godfather's presence, his nodding head does not evoke the same sense of charm or captivation as the skirts. It serves more as a background detail rather than a focal point of interest or beauty.
C) her father's antique violin
Though the antique violin may hold sentimental value and contribute to the ambiance, it does not capture the narrator's attention as vividly as the skirts. The instrument's significance pales in comparison to the visual allure of the ladies' attire.
D) the elegance of the headdresses
The headdresses may be elegant, but they do not hold the narrator's primary fascination. While they contribute to the overall aesthetic, it is the skirts that truly captivate her interest and imagination.
Conclusion
Ultimately, the narrator's interest lies in the style of the ladies' skirts, which resonates with her aesthetic sensibilities and adds to the enchanting atmosphere of the evening. Other details, while relevant, do not capture her attention in the same way, underscoring the powerful impact that fashion can have on one's experience and emotions during special events.
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