When I hear one of old Sebastian Bach's glorious fugues in the midst of all these fantasias, I accept it as a kind of musical peace-offering; not that I am completely reconciled, for it is usually taken 'Prestissimo.' Here as elsewhere I miss the right 'Tempi,' and look in vain for the traditions of my youth. That tearing speed which sweeps away many a little note; that spinning out of an Andante until it becomes an Adagio, an 'Andante con moto,' in which there is no 'moto' at all, an 'Allegro comodo' which is anything but comfortable - all such anomalies mar my enjoyment.