n about ten, and he
some twenty years older. I think I never knew anybody so calculated to
fascinate man, woman, or child. He generally spoke in French, which I
did not understand, but I had to listen to every word. His voice alone
held me spell-bound; it rose and fell like a big wave, and I could tell
that something unusual was going on; that voice was evidently scattering
thought as the big wave scatters spray, and those clear-cut features of
his were each in turn accentuating and emphasising his words. His grand
leonine mane fascinated me as it started from the lofty forehead, and
bounded Niagara-like with one leap to the nape of the neck.

My early recollections of his playing are rather limited. As a boy I was
mainly impressed by his long chord-grasping fingers, contrasting as they
did with my father's small, velvety hand. To _see_ him play was quite as
much as I could do, without particularly attending to what he played, to
watch his hands fly up from one set of notes and pounce down on another,
and generally to lie in wait for the outward manifestations of his
genius. Later on I grew accustomed to the grand young man's ways, and
just knelt at his shrine as everybody else did.

My father was not the least outspoken of his admirers. In the early days
he mentions him as "that rare art-phenomenon," and tells how "he played
Hummel's Septet with the most perfect execution, storming occasionally
like a Titan, but still in the main free from extravagance." Later on,
at the Musical Festival held in Bonn, he describes him as "the absolute
monarch, by virtue of his princely gifts, outshining all else."

Half a century ago playing _a quatre mains_ was much more popular than
it is now; more pieces were written and more pianoforte arrangements
were made for two performers. The full-fledged pianist of to-day thinks
he is quite able to do the work of two, and sees no reason why he should
share the keyboard with another; so he prefers to keep the whole
function in his own hands. Formerly he was satisfied to give a concert;
the very word implied concerted action of several artists; now he
announces the one-man show called a Recital, in which he stars and
shines by himself. He scorns assistance, for he wishes it to be
understood that he can get through the most formidable programme without
breaking down, and that he can rely on his ironclad instrument to hold
out with him and lead him triumphantly to the finale.

Well, the great