uld assemble, and men and women of note
felt so much at home there, that they would just lay down their laurel
wreaths and wipe off their war-paint, before they came in, and move
about as if they were ordinary mortals. They ate and drank too, as if
anxious to show their appreciation of Mrs. Benson's table; she certainly
made a point of placing the best of nectar and ambrosia before the gods,
her guests. And the chef saw to it, that the menus should be worded with
due regard to historical truth. I recollect one occasion when he had
introduced "Cotelettes a la Charles Dickens" on the programme.

"You had better change that," said Mrs. Benson, "and put 'a la
Thackeray'; he is dining with us to-night."

"Oh, madam," protested the chef, "surely you don't mean that; everybody
would at once recognise them as 'Cotelettes a la Dickens.'"

Dinner was usually followed by the most perfect music, for the gods
loved to play to one another, and it needed no pressure to induce a
Joachim to open his violin-case, or to lead the pianist of the day
straight to the piano. But on one occasion, I forget why, there was some
difficulty with Madame Schumann; she had certainly not taken one or two
broad hints to the effect that she was wanted. I was, to be sure
erroneously, supposed to be devoid of all shyness, and was therefore
deputed to get her to the piano. I had known her years ago when, as a
girl, she came to Leipsic with her father, and I remember exchanging
knowing winks with my sisters behind old Wieck's back, when he held
forth about his unique and incomparable method of teaching, as
exemplified in his daughters Clara and Marie. He had a queer way of
putting it, but he was certainly not far wrong in his estimate of the
method and its results.

When I asked Madame Schumann whether she was inclined to play, I was
very badly received. She was "particularly disinclined," so I changed
the conversation. But presently--quite by chance to be sure--I mentioned
her husband's "Carnaval." "There is one part," I said, "which I
particularly love: the 'March of the Davidsbuendler,' you know. If I
could only hear you play just that page or two!"

"Page or two indeed," she said, boiling over with indignation. "Wenn man
den Carnaval spielt, spielt man ihn ganz!" (If you play the "Carnival,"
you play it from beginning to end.)

And an instant afterwards she was at the piano, throwing her whole soul
into that wonderful piece of tone-painting.

Eliz