"Last of the Truly Civilized"

When debonair Count Guido Chigi-Saracini was a young music student in Florence, his teachers called him "the piano smasher." Often enough, when he came to a difficult passage, he could only bang his fists down on the keyboard in frustration and rage. After a try at composing, with little more success, he decided to take his music at one remove, pay for it rather than make it himself.' Today, after 40 years of footing bills, 70-year-old Count Chigi-Saracini has a good claim to the title of Italy's No. 1 music patron. The slim, white-haired nobleman has remodeled his vast, 800-year-old palazzo in Siena to house a concert hall and theater, gathered together one of Europe's finest music libraries. On the count's payroll are the topnotch Siena quintet (now known as the Quintette Chigiana), the choirmaster of Siena's newly organized town choir, the visiting artists who perform each winter in the Chigi-underwritten concert season. Each fall, moreover, the count backs Siena's big' week-long festival of Italian music.

But the count's favorite project is his 28-year-old Chigi Musical Academy, a summer school designed to give young musicians the finishing touches they need before they make their concert debuts. To staff his academy, the count hires some of Europe's finest teachers, turns over to them 27 of the Palazzo Chigi-Saracini's 80 rooms. This summer, some 250 youngsters from 30 countries are playing, singing and waving batons in the palazzo's luxurious galleries and chambers. By month's end, the 70 most talented of them will have started an intensive two-month course under such topnotch musicians as Violinist-Composer Georges Enesco, Guitarist Andres Segovia and Conductor Paul van Kampen. In September, a score or more of the best students will have Chigi-sponsored debuts.

While the academy is in session, the count pops in & out of classrooms complimenting and encouraging his young artists. "I am always working towards a greater success and appreciation for my creatures," he says. He has never sought government aid for his projects ("I want no bureaucracy here ; I think of my work as a hymn to art").

His proteges repay him with respectful veneration. On his rounds last week, the count listened for a while to the singing of a young Swedish soprano. To show his approbation, he bowed low, kissed her hand and then bounded on to the next gallery. Said the young soprano: "He is the last of the truly civilized men."

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