e of the noise and
bustle of one of the busiest quarters of Paris. The studio itself, we
were told, had formerly belonged to the painter Decamps, and some of the
pictures and furnishings were once his. A fine portrait of Pugno, life
size, filling the whole space above the piano, claimed our attention. He
kindly rose, as we admired the painting, and sought a photograph copy.
When it was found--the last one he possessed--he presented it with his
compliments.

We spoke of Mlle. Boulanger's work in composition, a subject which
seemed deeply to interest M. Pugno.

"Yes, she is writing an opera; in fact we are writing it together; the
text is from a story of d'Annunzio. I will jot down the title for you."

Taking a paper which I held in my hand, he wrote,

_"La Ville Morte, 4 Acts de d'Annuncio; Musique de Nadia Boulanger et
Raoul Pugno"_

"You will certainly have it performed in America, when it is finished; I
will tell them so," I said.

The great pianist smiled blandly and accepted the suggestion with
evident satisfaction.

"Yes, we will come to America and see the work performed, when it is
completed," he said.

With many expressions of appreciation we took our leave of the Oriental
studio and its distinguished occupants; and, as we regained the busy,
noisy rue de Clicy, we said to ourselves that we had just lived through
one of the most unique experiences of our stay in Paris.

* * * * *

(The above is the last interview ever taken from this great French
artist, who passed away a few months later.)

* * * * *

The following items concerning M. Pugno's manner of teaching and
personal traits, were given me by Mme. Germaine Schnitzer, the
accomplished French pianist and the master's most gifted pupil.

"Pugno had played the piano almost from infancy, and in early youth had
taken several piano prizes. Later, however, he gave much more of his
time to the organ, to the seeming neglect of the former instrument. How
his serious attention was reverted to the piano happened in this wise.
It was announced that Edward Grieg, the noted Norwegian, was coming to
Paris. Pugno was one day looking over his piano Concerto which had
recently appeared. 'Why don't you play the work for the composer when
he comes?' asked a friend. 'I am no pianist,' objected Pugno. 'Why not?'
said his friend; 'you know enough about the piano, and there are still
four weeks in which