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Updated: September 11, 2025
Dengremont was compared with Sarasate and Wilhelmj, but all that could be said about him was that he might have developed into a player of their rank. As it was, he disappointed his admirers, and died while still quite young.
Speaking of strings that 'snap, reminds me that the first time I heard Sarasate play the Saint-Saëns concerto, at Frankfort, he twice forgot his place and stopped. They brought him the music, he began for the third time and then the E string snapped! I do not think any other than Sarasate could have carried off these successive mishaps and brought his concert to a triumphant conclusion.
Sarasate e il suo Violino! there they were, the two companions; master and servant king and subject. The one, a lithe, active looking man of handsome, somewhat serious countenance and absorbed expression, the other, a mere frame of wood with four strings deftly knotted across it, in which cunningly contrived little bit of mechanism was imprisoned the intangible, yet living Spirit of Sound.
"Mildred plays Beethoven beautifully. My daughter loves music. She plays the violin better than anybody you ever heard in your life." "Well, she must play very well indeed, for I've heard Sarasate and " "If Mildred would only practise," and she pressed her daughter to play something for me. "I haven't got my keys they're upstairs. No, mother ... leave me alone; I'm thinking of other things."
Everything that people cannot quite understand is called CLAP-TRAP in England; as for instance the matchless violin-playing of Sarasate; the tempestuous splendor of Rubinstein; the wailing throb of passion in Hollmann's violoncello this is, according to the London press, CLAP-TRAP; while the coldly correct performances of Joachim and the 'icily-null' renderings of Charles Halle are voted 'magnificent' and 'full of colour. But to return to yourself.
She would return to America where, of course, they would live and get her clothes ready, and then he would come, and they would be married a big wedding, with descriptions in the newspapers. They would have a big house, and he would play at concerts as she had once heard Sarasate play in New York and every one would stand on tiptoe to see him. She sat proud and conspicuous in the front row.
As there are fools to be found who have the ignorance, as well as the effrontery, to declare that the obfuscated, ill- expressed, and ephemeral productions of Browning are equal, if not superior, to the clear, majestic, matchless, and immortal utterances of Shakespeare, ye gods! the force of asinine braying can no further go than this! ... even so there are similar fools who say that the cold, correct, student-like playing of Joachim is superior to that of Sarasate.
At this, unfortunately, being a little nervous and overstrained by the long pleading, she laughed. "Oh, Dick!" she cried. "Swinburne and Sarasate two single gentlemen rolled into one!" Now there is nothing that a boy or for that matter, a man dislikes so much as laughter when he is making a declaration of love.
Ingolby asked coolly. "I know there was catastrophe, the tumblings of avalanches, but the voice that cried-the soul of a lover, was it?" The Romany's lips showed an ugly grimace. "It was the soul of one that betrayed a lover, going to eternal tortures." Ingolby laughed carelessly. "It was a fine bit of work. Sarasate would have been proud of his fiddle if he could have heard.
"Of course I want to know you, my dear," cried Mrs. Struthers in a round rolling voice that matched her bold feathers and her brazen wig. "I want to know everybody who's young and interesting and charming. And the Duke tells me you like music didn't you, Duke? You're a pianist yourself, I believe? Well, do you want to hear Sarasate play tomorrow evening at my house?
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