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Authors: Aubrey Flegg
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heplayed his encore, the laughter got into his fingers and they danced on the fingerboard.
Three times he was called back. He pleaded with Madame Helena to be allowed to play again, but she was adamant. In the end she just took his violin from him and pushed him out for his final bow. She heard the wave of clapping break, saw Izaac’s last bow, and without waiting for him, gathered her scarves and proceeded towards the Green Room. She had a thing or two to tell him about his vibrato. At that moment there came a roar of laughter from the auditorium. Madame Helena turned, but all she saw was Izaac lunging through the door from the stage, a broad grin on his face.
The following morning, Madame Helena’s maid, Hanna, had been sent out to buy the morning papers and had stacked them neatly on the side of her mistress’s breakfast tray. Helena ran her eye over the front page of the Neue Zeitung while she buttered her roll, postponing the reviews until she had both hands free to open the papers. ‘ Food Shortages Ease ,’ was the banner heading. Beside it was a short column about a young comedian. Sliding that paper to one side, she looked at the Tages Bladt ; its headline reported on a meeting of a new political party in Munich that seemed to be upsetting the Communists , but she didn’t mind upsetting the Communists. She was about to read further when she noticed that the comedian had made it onto the first page again. She read the first line and her heart nearly stopped. ‘ Prodigy violinist Izaac …’
Hanna heard her mistress’s shriek from the kitchen and came running. She found her enveloped in as many newspapers as she normally wore scarves.
‘Listen to this, Hanna,’ she commanded as she read from the paper. ‘Infant prodigy entertains audience with duck dance …’ She raised her eyes, saucer wide, to the mystified Hanna. ‘Oh, Izaac, how could you do this to me?’ Papers flew and Hannarescued sheets on demand as Helena plunged after the serious reviews that were always hidden on the inner pages. Little by little she relaxed. ‘ Superb technique for one so … pure musicianship … a credit to his teacher .’ Then a gratifying mention of the great Madame Stronski. Hanna, who had been worrying about where she had put the smelling salts, relaxed too. ‘ A bit too heavy on the vibrato …’ Yes, she had been going to tackle him on that when he had careered off the stage, but there was more to come. She read on in trepidation: excellent reviews, but one and all critical about Izaac’s behaviour after his encore. ‘ Vienna expects her young performers to behave with decorum in the halloed precincts of the concert hall, where the ghosts of the great composers linger yet .’ Even while she cringed for Izaac, Madame Stronski couldn’t entirely suppress a little snort of laughter. ‘Stuffy old fuddy-duddies,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Mozart would have loved it.’ She rather wished she had seen exactly what the little monkey had done.
Izaac was hanging his head as Madame Helena whirled around him like a Dervish, berating him about his fooling on stage.
‘Izaac Abrahams, what … did … you … do?’ Louise, who knew only too well what he had done, was quite glad of the protection of her picture frame. She was already feeling guilty for having been so ready to laugh at Izaac’s antics.
‘I did my duck act,’ he whispered.
‘Your duck act!’ He made to show her. ‘No! I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know about it. I particularly never want to hear about it again. You are never, ever, to put on one of your little performances on stage again. You have disgraced me, and apparently the whole musical profession in the process. I don’t know, in the circumstances, if you evendeserve to hear what the reviews actually say. However …’ Now, walking up and down, Madame told him about the reviews, as if reading him his school report. Musicianship: excellent. Technical ability: good.
Three times he was called back. He pleaded with Madame Helena to be allowed to play again, but she was adamant. In the end she just took his violin from him and pushed him out for his final bow. She heard the wave of clapping break, saw Izaac’s last bow, and without waiting for him, gathered her scarves and proceeded towards the Green Room. She had a thing or two to tell him about his vibrato. At that moment there came a roar of laughter from the auditorium. Madame Helena turned, but all she saw was Izaac lunging through the door from the stage, a broad grin on his face.
The following morning, Madame Helena’s maid, Hanna, had been sent out to buy the morning papers and had stacked them neatly on the side of her mistress’s breakfast tray. Helena ran her eye over the front page of the Neue Zeitung while she buttered her roll, postponing the reviews until she had both hands free to open the papers. ‘ Food Shortages Ease ,’ was the banner heading. Beside it was a short column about a young comedian. Sliding that paper to one side, she looked at the Tages Bladt ; its headline reported on a meeting of a new political party in Munich that seemed to be upsetting the Communists , but she didn’t mind upsetting the Communists. She was about to read further when she noticed that the comedian had made it onto the first page again. She read the first line and her heart nearly stopped. ‘ Prodigy violinist Izaac …’
Hanna heard her mistress’s shriek from the kitchen and came running. She found her enveloped in as many newspapers as she normally wore scarves.
‘Listen to this, Hanna,’ she commanded as she read from the paper. ‘Infant prodigy entertains audience with duck dance …’ She raised her eyes, saucer wide, to the mystified Hanna. ‘Oh, Izaac, how could you do this to me?’ Papers flew and Hannarescued sheets on demand as Helena plunged after the serious reviews that were always hidden on the inner pages. Little by little she relaxed. ‘ Superb technique for one so … pure musicianship … a credit to his teacher .’ Then a gratifying mention of the great Madame Stronski. Hanna, who had been worrying about where she had put the smelling salts, relaxed too. ‘ A bit too heavy on the vibrato …’ Yes, she had been going to tackle him on that when he had careered off the stage, but there was more to come. She read on in trepidation: excellent reviews, but one and all critical about Izaac’s behaviour after his encore. ‘ Vienna expects her young performers to behave with decorum in the halloed precincts of the concert hall, where the ghosts of the great composers linger yet .’ Even while she cringed for Izaac, Madame Stronski couldn’t entirely suppress a little snort of laughter. ‘Stuffy old fuddy-duddies,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Mozart would have loved it.’ She rather wished she had seen exactly what the little monkey had done.
Izaac was hanging his head as Madame Helena whirled around him like a Dervish, berating him about his fooling on stage.
‘Izaac Abrahams, what … did … you … do?’ Louise, who knew only too well what he had done, was quite glad of the protection of her picture frame. She was already feeling guilty for having been so ready to laugh at Izaac’s antics.
‘I did my duck act,’ he whispered.
‘Your duck act!’ He made to show her. ‘No! I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know about it. I particularly never want to hear about it again. You are never, ever, to put on one of your little performances on stage again. You have disgraced me, and apparently the whole musical profession in the process. I don’t know, in the circumstances, if you evendeserve to hear what the reviews actually say. However …’ Now, walking up and down, Madame told him about the reviews, as if reading him his school report. Musicianship: excellent. Technical ability: good.
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