Grieg played some of his latest compositions, which were perfectly exquisite, and played them as only he can. He was full of fun, and told us of an American songstress who had been one of those who had "got in." She insisted on singing for him "Jeg elsker dig" and made a cadenza of her own at the end. He said Mrs. Grieg almost fainted, and that his own hair had not finished standing on end ever since. He played this awful cadenza for us, and I must say it was ridiculous. Mrs. Grieg sings delightfully—nothing but Grieg, of course. She has not a strong voice, but sings with exquisite pathos and charm.
Grieg loves to talk of his rude behavior and dwell with pleasure on his brusque speeches. He said a young American lady asked him to teach her one of his songs, and after she had sung it he turned round on the piano-stool and said:
"Are you singing for your living?"
"No," she answered, "I sing for my pleasure."
"Don't you think that dancing would be pleasanter?" he asked.
It was evident that they saw us go with regret; we certainly left them with regret. They looked, as they stood there together waving farewell, like two little gray elves; she with her short gray dress and short gray hair; and he with his long gray coat and long gray hair—a Grieg study in gray.
STOCKHOLM, September, 1894.
Dear L.,—Just as I was going to get a little rest, who should come to Stockholm but the Prince of Naples? I begged him to give us one evening before he left, which he promised to do. He seemed as glad to see us as we were to see him.
"What would your Highness like best," I asked him, "an official dinner followed by a reception, or a little dinner with a dance?"
"Oh, madame, the little dinner and a little dance, by all means."