LESCHETIZKY AND MARK HAMBOURG
To attend the class when the best pupils play is a delightful and interesting experience. The diary, already quoted, contains an account of one such occasion:—"Now began the really exciting part of the evening, for it was little Mark Hambourg's turn. He marched up to the piano and sat down as usual, with a jerk, looking like a juvenile thundercloud. They went right through the Hummel Septet together (Professor taking the second piano part) in such perfect sympathy that one could hardly distinguish one from the other. Mark excelled himself to-night and put every one else in the shade. There seems to be nothing he cannot do, and his electricity is absolutely phenomenal. When he stopped, we burst into a storm of applause, but, grim little hero that he is, he was off into the dining-room almost before we began to clap. Professor turned round to us and murmured, 'he has a future—he can play.' The salon was quite dark except where Professor sat at the piano. He looked most strange. The light from above caught the silver in his hair and made his head sparkle every time he moved. His eyes gleamed like two red-brown balls, and though he was absolutely motionless you could see he was quivering with intensity."
"It was the last class this year, and in spite of Madame Donnimirska's protests that there was not enough to go round, Professor insisted on several of us staying to supper. We were all too excited and exhausted to eat much, but he was as gay and lively as if he had just got up, instead of having given a four hours' class; and some of the boys had to stay and play billiards with him. They are probably at it still, for it is only 3 a.m."
The class is cosmopolitan. A patchwork of nationalities, where no one element permanently prevails. Held in an Austrian city, there are but few Austrians there; at present Americans in great numbers, a few English, many Russians and Poles, one or two French, Germans, an occasional Italian or Swede, a sprinkling of the Balkan nations, rarely a Greek or a Spaniard. This motley crew interests Leschetizky immensely. He catalogues them all, and knows by the country whence the specimen hails what its gifts are likely to be.
From the English he expects good musicians, good workers, and bad executants; doing by work what the Slav does by instinct; their heads serving them better than their hearts.
The Americans he finds more spontaneous. Accustomed to keep all their faculties in readiness for the unexpected, their perceptions are quick, and they possess considerable technical facility. They study perhaps more for the sake of being up to date than for the love of music.
The Russians stand first in Leschetizky's opinion. United to a prodigious technique, they have passion, dramatic power, elemental force, and extraordinary vitality. Turbulent natures, difficult to keep within bounds, but making wonderful players when they have the patience to endure to the end.
The Pole, less strong and rugged than the Russian, leans more to the poetical side of music. Originality is to be found in all he does; refinement, an exquisite tenderness, and instinctive rhythm.