Life — November 23, 1922 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ever playing a note. That was my secret. None more diligent than I at the rehearsals in that preliminary din which is called “tuning”; then the noise of my tremendous A boomed full and clear above the A’s of all others. But when they began the Concerto in B minor, my A was silent. So was my G. So, indeed, was my F, For there were four other ‘cellists, each more competent than I to render the Concerto in B minor. I sat there, sawing vigorous- ly with my bow, fiercely gripping the instrument with my knees (for it is one of the major worries of the ‘cello that unless you grip it very fiercely, it is liable at any moment to elude your grip and slide away over the left knee), my eye on the conductor, thoroughly enjoying the noise and the excitement, but never, except by accident, producing a note myself. I turned over the pages when other men did, and sometimes I would actually follow the music, for now and then we would come to a land-mark, like ALLARGAN- DO, where I would move my bow in a very large-minded manner, or STRINGENDO, when I would saw very stringently; and that was fun. It was anxious work occasionally, when the conductor rapped with his stick and said, “ ‘Cellos only, please.” Then I would arrange to have a broken string or some other misfor- tune, or simply hide behind the other ‘cellists (who were large men), while they practiced the difficult pas- sage marked Con Spirito. So passed six happy musical months. * ok * Then theze began an influenza epi- demic. For two or three weeks all the ‘cellists but one survived (for they were large men). But one day Tarrived punctually for practice, and found no other ’cellist on parade. I sounded my famous A, and looked about me hopefully. No ’cellist ap- peared, Surely one would arrive soon. I sounded my A again, as in the plains of Siberia some lonely elk lifts up his head and calls across the waste to his mate, and is answered not. We began the Concerto in B min- or. I sawed bravely, my eye on the conductor. I did more. I even played a note or two. On almost Teacher: Little Girl: every page I selected, far ahead, some plain straightforward long- drawn note; and when it came I let them have it, loud and clear. . * * * But the conductor had his eye on me, We came to the difficult passage marked Con Spirito. To this pas- sage I was unable to contribute a single note. The conductor rapped with his baton. Silence fell. “ *CELLOS ONLY, PLEASE,” he said. All eyes were on the ’cellos. The only ’cello made no sound— no sound whatever. + <2 * That is why it is for sale. A.P. A. Where were you born? I wasn’t born at all, I have a stepmother. All I Know Is What I Read in the Paper. Mr. Hughes says the Dardanelles should be kept open. Years ago it is said an American sailing ship come pretty near going through there. * * * When Congressman Herrick from my home state of Oklahoma heard them arguing over these Dardanelles, he said it was all right to keep them open during the week but that he was for closing them on Sunday. ** * I see they let Lloyd George out in England. I never saw it fail— when a man starts selling his mem- oirs he is about through. Will Rogers. comicbooks.com