Kreisler also played the piano wonderfully. I remember one enchanting evening when we were invited to dinner in New York by Iolanda Irion, the Hungarian-born wife of the director of Steinway and herself a pianist. There were about twenty people; I remember the famous Polish tenor Jan Kiepura. My wife, Thérèse, was sitting next to Kreisler and diligently filling his plate. Suddenly Mme. Kreisler, seated at the opposite end of the table, cried out, “Thérèse, stop killing my Fritz!” She watched everything like a hawk! Later, to smooth over the outburst, Mme. Kreisler turned to me. “Please take Fritz to the other room. Ask him to play the piano, he likes to do that.” I took Kreisler to the room, which had a first-class Steinway. He sat down and played a waltz. Turning to me in delight, he said, “Nathan, this is my life. Here’s what I love: good light music, the divine waltzes of Strauss, Lanner . . . “ And suddenly he began improvising on the theme from the slow movement of Brahms’s violin concerto. I had never heard a more astonishing improvisation in my life! It mixed different style: Beethoven, and something from the Russian symphonies, and Biedermeier, all so cleverly crafted that you couldn’t tell from where he took what. I listened in awe, holding my breath. << less