But of all this there was nothing on that Friday
and Saturday in October. Orchestra Hall audiences are not,
as a rule, wildly demonstrative. They were no exception.
They listened attentively, appreciatively. They talked,
critically and favorably, on the way home. They applauded
generously. They behaved as an Orchestra Hall audience
always behaves, and would behave, even if it were confronted
with a composite Elman-Kreisler-Ysaye soloist. Theodore's
playing was, as a whole, perhaps the worst of his career.
Not that he did not rise to magnificent heights at times.
But it was what is known as uneven playing. He was torn
emotionally, nervously, mentally. His playing showed it.
Fanny, seated in the auditorium, her hands clasped tight,
her heart hammering, had a sense of unreality as she waited
for Theodore to appear from the little door at the left. He
was to play after the intermission. Fanny had arrived late,
with Theodore, that Friday afternoon. She felt she could
not sit through the first part of the program.
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