Whittier, feeling that he did not belong to this new order
of things, retired to a quiet little inn at West Ossipee, in the White
Mountains.
It was now that Professor John K. Paine, the musical composer,
introduced a new element into the Shoals life. One morning he walked
into Mrs. Thaxter's parlor with a large folio under his arm and said, "I
am going to play you one of Beethoven's sonatas, for I think you will
like it." Mrs. Thaxter was not quite sure that she would, but listened
attentively. There had been a good deal of music before, in a small way;
pupils of Eichberg playing on the violin with piano accompaniment, and
even Eichberg himself,--which was quite a treat, though a single violin
can never express a wide range of musical ideas. Beethoven's music she
had also heard indifferently performed by young lady amateurs; but this
was another affair.
Professor Paine is rather an organist than a pianist, and does not
pretend to rare technical skill; but what is much better, he understands
the music as only players like Rubinstein and Von Bulow can understand
it, and he brought out the meaning with such joyous fullness as even the
master himself might have been pleased to hear. It was a revelation to
Celia Thaxter: it was easy to see there was no affectation in her
enjoyment; neither did she lack words to express her delight. "Mr.
Paine," said a classical gentleman who was present, "your playing
reminds me of what Cicero said of Caesar's Commentaries, that a fool
might think he could improve on it, but a wise man would not like to
try.
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