A Hundred Other Women
I certainly do hope he plays some Schumann.
Other Women
What beautiful hands! I could kiss them!
(The Great Pianist, throwing back his head, strikes the massive opening chords of a Beethoven sonata. There is a sudden hush and each note is heard clearly. The tempo of the first movement, which begins after a grand pause, is allegro con brio, and the first subject is given out in a sparkling cascade of sound. But, despite the buoyancy of the music, there is an unmistakable undercurrent of melancholy in the playing. The audience doesn’t fail to notice it.)
The Virgin
Oh, perfect! I could love him! Paderewski played it like a fox trot. What poetry he puts into it! I can see a soldier lover marching off to war.
One of the Critics
The ass is dragging it. Doesn’t con brio mean—well, what the devil does it mean? I forget. I must look it up before I write the notice. Somehow, brio suggests cheese. Anyhow, Pachmann plays it a damn sight faster. It’s safe to say that, at all events.
The Married Woman