Unfinished Portraits: Stories of Musicians and Artists

As they walked along the road he hummed contentedly to himself, speaking now and then a word to the boy. "What makes one Bach great, makes all. Remember, my child, Reinken is gr...

Giorgione laughed harshly. "Fled as a bird," he said gayly, "a bird that was snared." He hummed a few bars of the song and stopped, his gaze fixed on vacancy. A great shudder br...

"A piece of tissue-paper," he murmured. He had extracted a small comb from one of his pockets. He regarded it thoughtfully. "If I had one little piece of paper--" He looked abou...

"And now it is the people--they will not let him go," murmured the choirmaster despairingly. "Each Sunday he must play--every motet and aria and choral--and he is ninety-nine. M...

I am lying in a great chamber of the castle. The house is still. The guests have creaked to their rooms. The last hoarse voice is hushed. When I played for them below, my finger...

KATE WETHERILL A PILLAR OF SALT THE SON OF A FIDDLER UNCLE WILLIAM SIMEON TETLOW'S SHADOW HAPPY ISLAND MR. ACHILLES THE TASTE OF APPLES THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE AUNT JANE THE IBS...

Journeys to Italy and to the Netherlands had intervened. Pirkheimer's velvet purse had been dipped into again and again. Commissions without number had been executed for him--ri...