And what are you playing?”—“At the moment? Mostly Brahms. A little Beethoven.”—“No Bach?” He pinched his lips again: “Bach? I don’t like him very much. I find him dry, too…calculated. Sterile, so to speak, very beautiful, of course, but soulless. I prefer Romantic music, it sometimes overwhelms me, yes, it takes me far beyond myself.”—“I’m not sure I share your opinion of Bach. But I’ll happily accept your invitation.” The idea in fact bored me profoundly, but I didn’t want to offend him.
