"My Lord," groaned Mr. Quelson, "they have gone to that infernal Gregorian chant-cricket match; wait till I get hold of that Palestrina McVickar!"
The committee left in a bad humor on the next train, and the principal of Brahms Institute gave his class a vacation. Hereafter he will do his own examining.
XX
A WONDER CHILD
A recent event in the musical world of Laputa has been of such extraordinary moment as to warrant me in making some communication of same to your valuable sheet, and although in these days of electricity one might reasonably imagine the cable would have outstripped me, still by careful examination of American newspapers I find only meagre mention of the remarkable musical occurrence that shook all Laputa to its centre last month. As you know, we pride ourselves on being a thoroughly musical nation; our symphony concert programs and our operatic repertory contain all the novelties that are extant. To be sure, we are a little conservative in our tastes and relish Mozart, and, must it be confessed, even Haydn; but, on the other hand, we have a penchant for the Neo-Russian school and hope some day to found a trans-Asiatic band of composers whose names will probably be as hard as their harmonies are to European and American ears.
The event I speak of transcends anything in the prodigy line that we have ever encountered, for while we have been deluged with boy pianists, infant violinists, and baby singers, ad nauseam, still it must be confessed that a centenarian piano virtuoso who would make his début before a curious audience on his hundredth birthday was a novelty indeed, particularly as the aged artist in question had been studying diligently for some ninety-five years under the best masters (and with what opportunities!) and would also on this most auspicious occasion conduct an orchestral composition of his own, a Marche Funèbre à la Tartare, for the first time in public. This, then, I repeat, was a prodigy that promised to throw completely in the shade all competitors, in addition to its being an event that had no historical precedence in the annals of music.
With what burning curiosity the night of the concert was awaited I need not describe, nor of the papers teeming with anecdotes of the venerable virtuoso whose name betrayed his Asiatic origin. His great-grandchildren (who were also his managers) announced in their prospectus that their great-grandfather had never played in public before, and with, of course, the exception of his early masters, had never even played for anybody outside of his own family circle. Born in 1788, he first studied technics with the famous Clementi and harmony with Albrechtsberger. His parents early imbued him (by the aid of a club) with the idea of the extreme importance of time and its value, if rightfully used, in furthering technique. So, from five hours a day in the beginning he actually succeeded in practising eighteen hours out of the twenty-four, which commendable practice (literally) he continued in his later life.
Although he had only studied with one master, the Gospadin Bundelcund, as he was named, had been on intimate terms with all the great virtuosi of his day, and had heard Beethoven, Steibelt, Czerny, Woelfl, Kalkbrenner, Cramer, Hummel, Field, Hiller, Chopin, Mendelssohn, Liszt, Henselt, and also many minor lights of pianism whose names have almost faded from memory. Always a man of great simplicity and modesty, he retired more and more amidst his studies the older he grew, and even after his marriage he could not be induced to play in public, for his ideal was a lofty one, and though his children, and even his grandchildren, often urged him to make his début, he was inflexible on the subject. His great-grandchildren, however, were shrewd, and, taking advantage of the aged pianist's increasing senility, they finally succeeded in making him promise to play at a grand concert, to be given at the capital of Laputa, and, despite his many remonstrances, he at last consented.