Pianists: The Undeniable Romantic

Slowly, solemnly Artur Rubinstein unfurled his arms and began to play the familiar melody. His nobly sloping brow tilted heavenward, his wispy white hair swirled about his dome like a wreath of cumulo-cirrus, his milky blue eyes shuttered in repose. Then, suddenly, everything went haywire. His left hand skittered out of control, his right did nip-ups. Harmonies collided, the tempo skidded and stumbled. Rubinstein did not bat an eye. His family and friends, huddled around the Steinway in a Manhattan hotel room, laughed heartily.


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