in the technique-developing machines that encumbered the
stage, and vigorously proceeded to exercise his fingers, wrists, and
forearms, he all the while feebly nodding, while two other attendants
flapped him at intervals with bladders to keep him from going to sleep.
Again my right-hand neighbor, who appeared to be loquacious, informed me
that the Gospadin's mercenary great-grandchildren kept him awake in this
manner and thus forced him to play eighteen hours a day. What a cruelty,
I thought, but just then a few muffled chords aroused me from my
thoughts and I directed all my attention to the stage, for the
performance had at last begun.

Never shall I forget the curious sensation I experienced when the aged
prodigy began the performance of the first number, his own remarkable
arrangement for piano solo of the Bach concerto in D minor for three
pianos, and I instantly discovered that the instrument on which he
played had organ pedals attached, otherwise some of the effects he
produced could not have been even hinted at. His touch was weird, his
technique indescribable, and one no longer listened to the piano, but to
one of those instruments of Eastern origin in which glass and metal are
extensively used. The quality of tone emanating from the piano was
_brittle_, so to speak; in a word, sounded so thin, sharp, and at times
so wavering as to suggest the idea that it might at any moment break.
And then it made me indescribably nervous to see his talon-like fingers
threading their way through the mazes of the concerto, which was a tax
on any player, and though the three piano parts were but faintly
reproduced, the arrangement showed ability and musicianship in the
handling of it. But a vague, far-away sort of a feeling pervaded the
whole performance, which left me at the end rather more dazed than
otherwise.

During the uproarious applause that followed my neighbor again remarked
to me that though the old man did not appear to be as much exhausted as
he had anticipated, still he feared the worst from this great strain of
his appearing before such a public and under such exciting
circumstances, and then becoming confidential he whispered to me that
the agents for the Paul von Janko keyboard had approached the venerable
pianist, but after inspecting the invention the latter had replied
wearily that he was too old to begin "tobogganing" now. My neighbor
seemed to be amused at this joke, and not until the orchestra had begun