Wagner was his god, yet no
sooner would somebody else express admiration for Wagner
music than he would offer to show that all the good things in the
works of the famous German were merely so many paraphrased
plagiarisms from the compositions of other men. He possessed a
phenomenal memory. He seemed to remember every note in every
opera, symphony, oratorio, or concerto that anybody ever
mentioned, and there was not a piece of music by a celebrated
man but he was ready to "prove" that it had been stolen from some
other celebrated man
His invective was particularly violent when he spoke of those
Jewish immigrants in the musical profession whose success had
extended beyond the East Side. He could never mention without a
jeer or some coarse epithet the name of a Madison Street boy, a
violinist, who was then attracting attention in Europe and who
was booked for a series of concerts before the best audiences in
the United States
He was a passionate phrase-maker. Indeed, it would have been
difficult to determine which afforded him more pleasure--his
self-laudations or the colorful, pungent, often preposterous
language in which they were clothed
"I am writing something with hot tears in it," I once heard him
brag.
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