Notes

Roland Hayes, Negro tenor, sang in Carnegie Hall last week with standing room sold out and severa! hundred people on the stage. The fact that Mr. Hayes is a consummate artist has never been disputed by critics, but his artistry is not obvious. Doubtless many of the people who weep when he sings and beat their palms red afterwards cannot recognize it. But the U. S. is at present preoccupied with the music of the Negro; Tenor Hayes has been swept into popularity on this wave of interest, and by paradox, his fame has made his worth recognized. Could he, some wonder, have achieved his phenomenal success simply on the merits of his voice? Samuel Chotzinoff in the New York World: "If Roland Hayes were a white man instead of a Negro, it is doubtful. , , ." Feodor Chaliapin sang the title role of Boito's Mefistofele at the Metropolitan for the 32nd time.

Fritz Kreisler in Berlin received a letter: "I know your generous gifts. But I have never received a penny. I must have 20,000 marks, and unless I receive them I shall kill you on Tuesday."

The New Orleans Civic Opera Company began its season with a performance of Carmen, starring Alice Gentle. In Manhattan a pianist kept his audience waiting for half an hour after his recital was billed to begin. When at last he entered, he began to thump the keys in an unmerciful manner, forcing his tone, letting his left hand get in front of his right and pouring out his music like beer carelessly dumped into a mug too small for it so that a turbulent foam froths over. And yet, by some strange madness in his playing he gave his technical vagaries the air of having been written for him by Wagner; he tumbled a sunset thunder-mountain into the fustian stalls of Carnegie Hall; he rocked the hearts of shriveled critics so that they swore no one who ever lived had an equal magic in his finger tips. He was Ignace Jan Paderewski,

Next day Ignacio Zuloaga's portrait of Paderewski (including a sky of Zuloaga mauve, a grand piano, the eagle of Poland, and some law books on a stool) was exhibited at the Reinhardt Galleries. Mrs. Paderewski inspected it, apologizing for the absence of her husband. He had bruised his finger in the recital, she explained, and was confined to his apartment under the care of a physician.