Soon after the accident , Kreisler was at our house for lunch. I wanted to distract him, so I asked, “Meister, back in Russia I owned your recording of Cottenet’s ‘Meditation’. Who is that composer? I’ve never heard of him.” Kreisler grew animated. “Oh, that’s my old friend, an Englishman who lives in America. I haven’t performed that piece in a long time.” He asked for a violin. I gave him one, and I could see that it was hard for him to handle. He didn’t know how to put his finger on F. “Is this F?” he asked me. But then he played a bit from the half-forgotten piece. Even in that condition he was the unique Kreisler, his musicianship full of charm and grace. Now one could play little piece the way Kreisler did. People don’t appreciate those salon bonbons any more, because performers don’t know how to put a finish and gloss on them, they only see notes – fast or slow. But when Kreisler took up those miniatures, every note spoke. << less