Sixteen candles, divided eight and eight in two towering candelabras, flanked, on the stage of Aeolian Hall, Manhattan, the sleek black bulk of a pianoforte. An audience waited, marveling, expectant. The stage grew dark. An attendant appeared, tiptoed to the candelabras, lit each candle in turn with a glimmering taper. Scarce breathed the audience now, so grave, so holy, was the sight. A young woman in a rose-colored frock suddenly detached herself from the gloom, stood bowing in the soft-lustre before her instrument. She was Marie Leschetizky, final wife of the late Theodor Leschetizky, famed Viennese music teacher,* about to make...
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