iest
moments of her life. Either to put me more at ease or to show me off,
she asked me to play something for my father. There is only one
thing in the world that can make music, at all times and under all
circumstances, up to its general standard; that is a hand-organ, or
one of its variations. I went to the piano and played something in
a listless, half-hearted way. I simply was not in the mood. I was
wondering, while playing, when my mother would dismiss me and let me
go; but my father was so enthusiastic in his praise that he touched my
vanity--which was great--and more than that; he displayed that sincere
appreciation which always arouses an artist to his best effort, and,
too, in an unexplainable manner, makes him feel like shedding tears.
I showed my gratitude by playing for him a Chopin waltz with all the
feeling that was in me. When I had finished, my mother's eyes were
glistening with tears; my father stepped across the room, seized me in
his arms, and squeezed me to his breast. I am certain that for that
moment he was proud to be my father. He sat and held me standing
between his knees while he talked to my mother. I, in the mean
time, examined him with more curiosity, perhaps, than politeness. I
interrupted the conversation by asking: "Mother, is he going to stay
with us now?" I found it impossible to frame the word "father"; it
was too new to me; so I asked the question through my mother. Without
waiting for her to speak, my father answered: "I've got to go back to
New York this afternoon, but I'm coming to see you again." I turned
abruptly and went over to my mother, and almost in a whisper reminded
her that I had an appointment which I should not miss; to my pleasant
surprise she said that she would give me something to eat at once so
that I might go. She went out of the room and I began to gather from
off the piano the music I needed. When I had finished, my father, who
had been watching me, asked: "Are you going?" I replied: "Yes, sir,
I've got to go to practice for a concert." He spoke some words of
advice to me about being a good boy and taking care of my mother when
I grew up, and added that he was going to send me something nice from
New York. My mother called, and I said good-bye to him and went out. I
saw him only once after that.

I quickly swallowed down what my mother had put on the table for me,
seized my cap and music, and hurried off to my teacher's house. On the
way I could think of nothin