Most of the pupils who come back for a periodic polish receive the privilege of friendship, and Leschetizky is quite hurt if they dare to raise the question of payment: "Am I not your friend, then? Why do you bring me this?"
LESCHETIZKY AT CARLSBAD
Everything concerning the students is of interest to him. He likes to know how they live, how they spend their day, who they see apart from their musical life—not in the least from a sense of domestic responsibility towards them, but rather from a certain naïve, childlike curiosity, a desire to know all about everything that comes his way.
Few people realise in what an inspiring atmosphere a great teacher's life is passed. The centre of an ever-changing stream of ardent young natures, filled with high aspiration, he is always in contact with the human being at its noblest and happiest, when life is still a fairy-tale, tinged with the promise of a marvellous future. Bound up in the service of their art, confident of reaching the goal they have promised themselves, these boys and girls form a constant inspiration to those who dwell in their midst, and make every other world seem prosaic and dull beside their own. Living in such a circle and finding therein all the novelty he needs, Leschetizky sees little of outside society now.
Though he is seventy-five he can still tire out most of his friends. He seems to possess an inexhaustible power of renewing his energies and remaining eternally young. Day after day, giving out the nervous force of two ordinary people, he yet holds a fund in reserve.
After the day's work is over he can entertain a table-full of people for several hours in the evening, begin to play billiards at midnight, go to bed at 3 or 4 a.m., and turn up fresh for the lesson next morning at 12. After breakfast it is his habit to go out for an hour or so with his dog, not so much for the sake of exercise as to calm and refresh his mind. He does nothing special to keep himself elastic and vigorous; gymnastics, he says, are excellent in theory, but what intelligent person could possibly put them into practice? "Imagine wasting twenty minutes a day shooting out one's arms and legs into positions nobody uses in every-day life!"
About four o'clock the lessons are over, and the Professor is ready for dinner; afterwards he usually goes to some café in the town, and often, if there are no billiards or cards at home, stays there chatting and smoking till long after midnight. The thought of a quiet evening at home fills him with dismay. Brilliantly-lit halls, bright colours, laughter, and gaiety are the very breath of life to him. He explores every form of entertainment, serious or frivolous, that he can find. He even enjoys a crowd.
When he was in London one of his greatest pleasures was to ride into the City on the top of an omnibus, watching the life of the streets as he went. He liked the turmoil and the stir and the endless vista of new faces.
Yet he loves outdoor life. Often in the summer-time he and some of his favourite pupils make long excursions together, and spend delightful hours on the hills, far away from the noise of the town; and there for awhile, sitting idle beneath the lights and shades of the beeches, they listen to the whispering of the stirring branches. In winter there are sleigh-rides, the skaters to watch, and festivals to be kept both at home and abroad.