236.—TO MAKE A PLAYER PLAY.
When, after a life of application and artistic strivings, success crowns a composer's labors and he has reached the climax of fame and achieved a financial competence, who can blame him for taking a rest from the work of composition and the worry of conducting? This was the case with Rossini and Lulli. Each came to be regarded as the most prominent operatic composer of his time, and each after accumulating a fortune retired to private life.
Lulli was an excellent violinist, but so fatal was success upon his musical interests that he even laid aside his violin: He would not keep a fiddle in the house, nor could he be prevailed upon to touch such a thing. But a certain French noble determined to hear Lulli play once more, and hit upon the following plan. He had one of his servants take up a violin and attempt to play one day when Lulli was present. The man made more noise than music and the effect was so exasperating to the composer that he snatched the offending instrument from the servant and, to soothe his disturbed nerves, proceeded to play in his own charming manner for quite a time. The company that was present were of course delighted with the ruse.
Perhaps this plan might be recommended to those who have so much trouble in getting Mr. A. or Miss B. to perform for their friends, when upon being invited to use the instrument they proclaim their utter disability. A wish to show their superior abilities might produce the desired result, even where the spirit of accommodation and courtesy is absent.