259.—SARCASM.
Porpora, the most celebrated singing master of all time, lived and flourished in the last century. He it was who had no less a person than young Haydn as pupil, and Haydn paid for his tuition in acting as valet for the tyrannical old teacher. How many students of to-day would black their teacher's shoes to pay for their tuition?
Porpora was very quick of tongue, and he did not spare even his intimate friends and his best pupils. As a specimen of his sarcasm we may quote the following:—
He one day visited a certain German monastery, and the monks, being proud of the skill of their organist, begged him to stay to service and give them his verdict. He remained, and at the close of the service they were eager to hear his testimony as to the organist's ability.
"Well—" began Porpora.
"Well," interrupted the prior, "he is a clever man, isn't he? and likewise a good man, quite pure and simple."
"Oh! as to his simplicity," Porpora hastened to remark—"as to his simplicity, I readily perceived that; he even carries it so far that his left hand knoweth not what his right hand doeth!"
Alas, poor anecdotes! How many times they have to do duty in the world. It is not enough to pass through one life, but they must be reincarnated by succeeding story tellers, generation after generation. Or are the musicians to blame? Is it their lack of originality? Witness the following from a late paper:—
"The French composer, Massenet, had accepted an invitation to dinner; the hostess begged him to listen to her daughter's playing. When she had finished, he was, of course, asked for his judgment; and he, with the earnest face of a weighty critic, declared that the young lady was a perfect Christian. 'Why?' 'Because she follows strictly the teaching of the New Testament: 'Let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth.'"