curtain to make the necessary excuses. So the tenor went forward and said:—
"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to zay zat Madame N ees a leetle hoarse zees evening."
Peals of laughter greeted this announcement; the tenor looked puzzled, and, thinking the people had misunderstood him, he roared out:—
"I zay zat Madame N ees a leetle hoarse zees evening!"
This was greeted by another explosion of mirth; then, to cap this lucid explanation, some one in the gallery roared out, "Then if she is a little horse why not trot her out?" That explained to the puzzled tenor the cause of the laughter and he was then able to join in the fun.
Another instance of a musician's English failing him at a crucial moment was when, some years ago, Paderewski played in Boston with the Nikisch orchestra. One of the orchestral soloists became very much excited at the private rehearsal, and stood up and made a little speech to the orchestra, fairly glowing with patriotic pride: "You see, Paderewski—my countryman—a Pole—he is like Cæsar—'He came, he saw, he enquired!'"
209.—ORIGINAL TAPESTRY.
"I was not rich enough to buy good pictures, so I made myself some tapestry such as I am sure every one cannot have." The tapestry in question was truly such as few could have and still fewer could manufacture; for it was Haydn that spoke and the hangings referred to consisted of over forty compositions in canon form, mounted and hung in his bedroom in the way customary for paintings and engravings. Had it been some composers we might think it a monumental exhibition of vanity or pride in their own abilities, but Haydn's nature was hardly of that kind.
