Critic (having allowed time for his remarks to sink in). [215] ]Now what would you say if I were to suggest that I give you a few lessons—say a couple. I would charge you a guinea and a half each: lessons of half-an-hour, you know.
Artist (looking wildly round). If you were to suggest such a thing—of course, you haven’t done so yet—but if you were to suggest it....
Critic (with most un-German suavity). Of course, when I said “lessons,” I used entirely the wrong word. What I meant was hints and suggestions. Mere indications. A passing on of a tradition—passing it on, you understand, from Debussy to yourself. Not everyone, I need scarcely say, has heard Debussy play. If you were to play Debussy as I know he should be played, you would be one of the first to do so in Berlin, and I in my paper should record the fact.
Artist. I see. Yes, I do see. I think that perhaps you are right. You believe I could—I am rather at a loss for a word—you believe I could, shall we say “absorb,” the tradition in a couple of lessons?
Critic. I don’t see why you shouldn’t, though, of course, I may decide—I mean, we may agree—that a third lesson is necessary. Shall we have our first lesson now?
Artist (now quite at his ease, slyly). Lesson? You mean my first “hint,” “suggestion,” “indication.” Right-o.... Let’s get along with it.
They are friends: they understand each other. Within twenty-four hours three guineas pass from the pocket of the artist to the pocket of the critic, and, in due time, half-a-dozen lines of praise, golden-guinea praise, appear in the critic’s paper.
After all, how simple, how friendly, how altogether right and jovial!
You may think the artist a fool to pay so much for so little, but, really, you are quite wrong. It isn’t “so [216] ]little.” It is a good deal. Those half-dozen lines, in the old pre-war days, would help to secure valuable engagements not only in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and the scores of large towns that lie in between, but also in London, Manchester, Bradford, Leeds; in Paris, Lyons, Rouen, Marseilles, Bordeaux, Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp. But not in Germany. Germany knows better. Not in Mannheim, Cologne, Hanover, Dresden. The secrets of Berlin were known in all the cities and towns of Germany some years before the war, and the playful little habits of the critics of that most wonderful city were looked at askance ... were looked at askance ... were looked at askance and imitated. And the imitators had for their secret motto: Honi soit.
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