the programme was Beethoven's
Seventh Symphony. This work, as is well known, is rather long, and so,
at the end of the third movement, I turned and looked at Barber to see
if he was asleep. But his eyes were wide open, feverish, almost glaring;
he was twining and untwining his fingers and muttering excitedly.
Throughout the fourth movement he continued to talk incoherently.

"Shut up!" I whispered fiercely. "Just see if you can't keep quiet, or
we shall be put out."

I was indeed very much annoyed, and some people near by were turning in
their chairs and frowning.--

I do not know whether he heard what I said: I had no chance to talk to
him. The applause had hardly died away at the end of the symphony when a
singer appeared on the stage. Who he was, or what music he sang, I am
utterly unable to say; but if he is still alive it is impossible that he
should have forgotten what I relate. If I do not remember him, it is
because all else is swallowed up for me in that extraordinary event.

Scarcely had the orchestra ceased preluding and the singer brought out
the first notes of his song, than Barber slowly rose from his seat.

"That man is not an artist," he said in a loud and perfectly final
voice, "I will sing myself."

"Sit down, for God's sake!--The management--the police"--

Some words like these I gasped, foreseeing the terrible scandal which
would ensue, and I caught him by the arm. But he shook himself free
without any difficulty, without even a glance at me, and walked up the
aisle and across the front of the house toward the little stairs at the
side which led up to the platform. By this time the entire audience was
aware that something untoward was happening. There were a few cries of
"Sit down! Put him out!" An usher hastened up as Barber was about to
mount the steps.

Then a strange thing happened.

As the usher drew near, crying out angrily, I saw Barber turn and look
at him. It was not, as I remember, a fixed look or a determined look; it
was the kind of untroubled careless glance a man might cast over his
shoulder who heard a dog bark. I saw the usher pause, grow pale and
shamefaced feel like a servant who has made a mistake; he made a
profound bow and then--yes, he actually dropped on his knees. All the
people saw that. They saw Barber mount the platform, the musicians
cease, the singer and the conductor give way before him. But never a
word was said--there was a perfect hush. And yet, so far as m