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Beyond this room came the salon, with its two grand pianos side by side. This is the master's teaching and recital room, and here are various massive pieces of richly carved furniture. Mme. Busoni called our attention to the elaborate chandelier in old silver, of exquisite workmanship, which, she said, had cost her a long search to find.
Technique and the artist: that is a question, of interest to the student of every art, which was brought home to me with unusual emphasis the other afternoon, as I sat in the Queen's Hall, and listened to Ysaye and Busoni. Are we always quite certain what we mean when we speak of an artist?
"Every criminal says the same thing." "Poverty" "Pshaw!" said Busoni disdainfully; "poverty may make a man beg, steal a loaf of bread at a baker's door, but not cause him to open a secretary in a house supposed to be inhabited.
"I am neither the Abbe Busoni nor Lord Wilmore," said Monte Cristo; "think again, do you not recollect me?" Those was a magic effect in the count's words, which once more revived the exhausted powers of the miserable man. "Yes, indeed," said he; "I think I have seen you and known you formerly." "Yes, Caderousse, you have seen me; you knew me once."
Ferruccio Benvenuto Busoni was born at Empoli, near Florence, Italy, April 1, 1866. His father was a clarinetist and his mother whose maiden name was Weiss, indicating her German ancestry was an excellent pianist. His first teachers were his parents. So pronounced was his talent that he made his début at the age of eight in Vienna, Austria.
"Have I the honor of addressing the Abbe Busoni?" asked the visitor. "Yes, sir," replied the abbe; "and you are the person whom M. de Boville, formerly an inspector of prisons, sends to me from the prefect of police?" "Exactly, sir." "One of the agents appointed to secure the safety of Paris?" "Yes, sir" replied the stranger with a slight hesitation, and blushing.
"Ah, good-evening, my dear M. Caderousse," said Monte Cristo; "what are you doing here, at such an hour?" "The Abbe Busoni!" exclaimed Caderousse; and, not knowing how this strange apparition could have entered when he had bolted the doors, he let fall his bunch of keys, and remained motionless and stupefied.
I was told Busoni was exceedingly difficult to approach, and the only way I could see him was to call at his house quite unannounced, when I might have the good fortune to find him at home and willing to see me.
He has investigated the 'how' and 'why' of every detail, and what he has to say about the violin is the utterance of a big musician, one who has mastered the instrument." And Theodore Spiering, solo artist and conductor, as a teacher has that wider horizon which has justified the statement made that "he is animated by the thoughts and ideals which stimulate a Godowsky or Busoni."
"And I am very glad you recognize me, dear M. Caderousse; it proves you have a good memory, for it must be about ten years since we last met." This calmness of Busoni, combined with his irony and boldness, staggered Caderousse. "The abbe, the abbe!" murmured he, clinching his fists, and his teeth chattering. "So you would rob the Count of Monte Cristo?" continued the false abbe.
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