We stayed as long as we dared, and, on being offered tea and cakes and urged to stay longer, we were shown, as a great privilege, the little summer-house at the bottom of the hill where Grieg retires when he wishes to compose, and where Mrs. Grieg or any other angel dare not to tread.  He has a grand Steinway.  This is about the only American thing which Grieg does not hate.  He said that he would have been a rich man if America had given him a royalty on his music, which is, as he said, played in every house in America.  They bemoaned that they were overrun by American lady reporters.  That was the reason they had put that notice on the gate—­to keep them off the premises.  They would beg, he said, “just to look at the garden and pluck a little ukrut [weed], and then go away and write all sorts of nonsense, as if they had dragged all my secrets out of me.  They are terrible,” he added, “your lady compatriots.”

[Illustration: 

FACSIMILE OF LETTER FROM GRIEG

    A LETTER FROM GRIEG
    [Translation.]

    CHRISTIANA, Nov. 30, 1891.

My wife’s and my own heartiest thanks for your kind telegram.  I received it eight days too late by a perfectly incomprehensible and unfortunate mistake, but the joy over your greeting was none the less therefor.  We remember so often and so willingly the beautiful time in Rome where you showed us so much kindness.  We hope and wish to have a glimpse of you at not a too distant day, perhaps in Stockholm.  With best greetings to your husband from us both.

    Your devoted

    EDWARD GRIEG.]

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.