“’Why, Mr. Paderewski, you did not play this piece the same as you did when I heard you before,’

“‘I assure you I intended to,’ was the reply.

“’Oh, it isn’t necessary to play it always the same way; you are not a machine,’ said the lady.

“This reply aroused his artist-nature.

“’It is just because I am an artist that I ought at all times to play in the same way.  I have thought out the conception of that piece, and am in duty bound to express my ideal as nearly as possible each time I perform it.’

“Paderewski instructs, as he does everything else, with magnificent generosity.  He takes no account of time.  I would come to him for a stipulated half-hour, but the lesson would continue indefinitely, until we were both forced to stop from sheer exhaustion.  I have studied with him at various times.  One summer especially stands out in my memory, when I had a lesson almost every day.”

Speaking of the rarely beautiful character of Paderewski’s piano compositions, Mr. Stojowski said: 

“I feel that the ignorance of this music among piano teachers and students is a crying shame.  What modern piano sonata have we to-day, to compare with his?  I know of none.  And the songs—­are they not wonderful!  I love the man and his music so much that I am doing what lies in my power to make these compositions better known.  There is need of pioneer work in this matter, and I am glad to do some of it.”

II

ERNEST SCHELLING

THE HAND OF A PIANIST

As I sat in the luxurious salon of the apartments near the Park, where Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Schelling were spending the winter, sounds of vigorous piano practise floated out to me from a distant chamber.  It was unusual music, and seemed to harmonize with the somewhat Oriental atmosphere and coloring of the music-room, with its heavily beamed ceiling of old silver, its paintings and tapestries.

The playing ceased and soon the artist appeared, greeting the visitor with genial friendliness of manner.  He was accompanied by the “lord of the manor,” a beautiful white bull terrier, with coat as white as snow.  This important personage at once curled himself up in the most comfortable arm-chair, a quiet, profound observer of all that passed.  In the midst of some preliminary chat, the charming hostess entered and poured tea for us.

The talk soon turned upon the subject in which I was deeply interested—­the technical training of a pianist.