, and ravaged by the fearful ennui of eternal high-class
music. They entered in dozens and scores, and they kept on entering, and as
they gazed inimically at each other, fingering their instruments, their
pale faces seemed to be asking: "Why should it be necessary to collect so
many of us in order to prove that just one single human being can play the
violin? We can all play the violin, or something else just as good. And we
have all been geniuses in our time."

In strong contrast to their fatigued and disastrous indifference was the
demeanour of a considerable group of demonstrators in the gallery. This
body had crossed the Seine from the sacred Quarter, and, not owning a
wardrobe sufficiently impressive to entitle it to ask for free seats, it
had paid for its seats. Hence naturally its seats were the worst in the
hall. But the group did not care. It was capable of exciting itself about
high-class music. Moreover it had, for that night, an article of religious
faith, to wit, that Musa was the greatest violinist that had ever lived or
ever could live, and it was determined to prove this article of faith by
sheer force of hands and feet. Therefore it was very happy, and just a
little noisy.

In the main part of the hall the audience could be divided into two
species, one less numerous than the other. First, the devotees of music,
who went to nearly every concert, extremely knowing, extremely blase,
extremely disdainful and fastidious, with precise views about every musical
composition, every conductor, and every performer; weary of melodious
nights at which the same melodies were ever heard, but addicted to them, as
some people are addicted to vices equally deleterious. These devotees would
have had trouble with their conscience or their instincts had they not, by
coming to the concert, put themselves in a position to affirm exactly and
positively what manner of a performer Musa was. They had no hope of being
pleased by him. Indeed they knew beforehand that he was yet another false
star, but they had to ascertain the truth for themselves, because--you
see--there was a slight chance that he might be a genuine star, in which
case their careers would have been ruined had they not been able to say to
succeeding generations: "I was at his first concert. It was a memorable,"
etc. etc. They were an emaciated tribe, and in fact had the air of mummies
temporarily revived and escaped out of museums. They were shabby, but not
with