A memory I cherish of those days is David Popper’s concert in 1905 in celebration of his fortieth jubilee on the concert stage as one of the all-time great figures in ‘cello-playing. I cherish it not only for the obvious reason of hero-worship: Popper was the greatest pre-Casals exponent of his instrument and was my teacher in quartet playing. (…) I cherish this memory mostly, however, for the one and only glimpse it afforded me of the vanished heroic days of virtuosity when the lionized player actually and authentically improvised his cadenzas in front of his rapt listeners. I know for certain that on this occasion the older master, white strands of hair crowning his boldly handsome features and his compelling eyes flashing, elaborated and extended a cadenza for the Konzertstück of his own composition (whose framework I admit was preorganized) during several breathless minutes catching fire from his own fire, piling those chromatic sequences of tremolo-chains (in sixth and intermediary thirds) one on top of the other, creating a suspenseful excitement that one was almost painfully aware of and that gave way to a sense of release as he reached the dominant chord that led back to the piece proper. It was a moment the like of which I have never since experienced in a concert hall. << less