He wrote operas, and no sooner did he have
the synopsis of a story, but he would invite — or rather summon — a
crowd of his friends to his house and read it aloud to them. Not for
criticism. For applause. When the complete poem was written,the friends
had to come again, and hear that read aloud. Then he would publish the
poem, sometimes years before the music that went with it was written.
He played the piano like a composer, in the worst sense of what that
implies, and he would sit down at the piano before parties that
included some of the finest pianists of his time, and play for them, by
the hour, his own music, needless to say. He had a composer's voice.
And he would invite eminent vocalists to his house, and sing them his
operas, taking all the parts.
他写歌剧，才刚提出一章情节的梗概，他就会邀请，或更乐于传召一群朋友到府，向他们高声宣读：不为批评指正，但求掌声鼓动。当全诗完稿，朋友们还得二进府，再听全文朗读。几次三番后，他要交付出版了，这离他开笔时有时竟有数载只隔。和职业的作曲家一样，虽感怀伤情于心，却难舒言达意于指，然他还可直面当年最高超的演奏家，飘然端坐琴前，为之献曲半时辰；他的歌喉也是作曲家级的--还向邀约来访的歌唱家献唱亲谱的乐剧，一饰多角，一幕不落。
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