Par 1 p. 17 The critic I liked best to sit next to was an ill-dressed young man with a large red beard. His name was Shaw—George Bernard Shaw. I heard him once utter the word p. 18 "monkey" when Vladimir de Pachmann was making antics at the piano, and I was deeply shocked. De Pachmann, in my estimation, was a genius to whom everything was permissible, and I could not bear to have him ridiculed. Shortly before, he had made a sensationally successful début at one of Mr. Wihlelm Ganz's orchestral concerts [in 1882], and everyone was talking not only of his playing, but of the reply he had made to a lady at a fashionable reception. It was customary, of course, to address all foreigners in the style established by Mr. Podsnap, namely, with great emphasis on each word for their better understanding. [Mr. Podsnap was a character in Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens; the character was an example of the fossil gentry, stiff-starched and extremely proper.]

Par 2 "And what," said the lady very slowly and distinctly, "does Mouseer de Pachmann think of London?"

Par 3 The response was immediate and extremely rapid.

Par 4 "Zat iss not ze question, Madame. Vot does London sink of de Pachmann? Zat iss ze question!"

Par 5 What impudence, said everybody. But his fame as an eccentric dated from that day and has always paralleled his fame as an artist.

Par 6 p. 73 My time was free during the week between the two concerts [in 1895]. I went about Berlin and made a number of friends. One day, as I sat at Bechstein's large warerooms, trying the concert grand on which I was to play, I heard a stealthy footstep behind me and suddenly felt my eyes covered with two hands. "Who is it?" said an unknown voice in German. The hands were removed. I turned in great surprise, and there stood a little bearded gentleman, dressed in a very tight frock coat. He bowed. "De Pachmann," he said. That is the way I met this eccentric genius whose acquaintance I kept although I saw him only seldom.

Par 7 p. 135 Curiously enough, this incident [involving Hans Richter's wearing a dressing gown which had been worn by Wagner] was exactly paralleled when, some years later, I had occasion to call on that eccentric genius of the keyboard, Vladimir de Pachmann, whom James Huneker liked to call "the great Chopinzee".

Par 8 Pachmann said, "I wish to show you something very interesting."

Par 9 He left the room and returned a moment later attired in a dirty old dressing gown, much too tight for his chubby form.

Par 10 "This dressing gown," he told me, "belonged to Chopin. It makes you cry, n'est ce pas?"