On Dec. 23, one of the great talents of the music world fell silent. Victor Borge, a pianist, comedian and conductor, died at his home in Greenwich, Conn. He was 91.

        Several generations of music lovers have grown up with Mr. Borge's musical gags, which combined comedy with virtuoso pianism. He entertained some 12 million people and held the record for Broadway's longest running one-man show (849 performances) for his Comedy in Music.

Borge

        Born Borge Rosenbaum in Copenhagen on Jan. 3, 1909, he was a prodigy and studied to be a classical pianist. But by his 20s he had developed a successful parody act. When the Germans invaded Denmark, Mr. Borge, who had skewered Hitler in his routines and was also Jewish, was in danger. He was performing in Sweden when the Germans invaded Denmark in 1940. He was able to flee to the United States.

        Signs of his elegant pianism were still evident when he visited the Cincinnati Pops at Riverbend in June 1999. But his fans will remember him most for the quick wit that spawned hilarious routines such as “Phonetic Punctuation.”

        In his Cincinnati show, the audience started howling before he could finish: “The first piano consisted of one big key. It was not until someone invented the cracks ... ”

        He routinely embarrassed latecomers with “You haven't missed anything (pause). I came from Copenhagen, and I got here before you.”

        Although he shared the stage with the occasional soprano or his son and “straight man,” Ronald, the piano remained his most important partner.

        “People realize that I am a musician,” he said. “What charms them is they have belly laughter all evening, and when it is all over, they know that I haven't exhausted myself because I can play much more than I do.”

        Here are excerpts from a conversation with Mr. Borge just before his final visit to Cincinnati, when he was 90.

        At the time, his second wife, Sanna Borge, was ill, but he was still performing 60 shows a year. Mrs. Borge died in September.

        Question: Are you still falling off of piano benches?

        Answer: No, only a few times have I done it (laughs). When I was 8 years old, I was in a concert hall in Copenhagen, listening to a very famous Russian pianist playing the Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto, the one that begins with the chords (he sings) boom, boom, boom all over the piano.

        They gave him a polished bench to sit on. Lo and behold, with the third chord he slid off the bench! (he laughs heartily). It was terrible; he almost broke his arm, he had to give up, and he was frightened. But it made such an impression on me that I couldn't resist doing it!

        Q: Does classical music take itself too seriously?

        A: I don't think it's the music; I think it's a matter of the interpreter — and the listener. You can have the world's greatest pianist play Bach, for instance, and the listener will fall asleep. And others will consider it a wonderful love affair.

        Q: Aside from the comedy, I admire your piano playing.

        A: Well, they are two different things. It's like the train that has to have tracks to run on. My sense of humor has to run on music.

        Q: How many years have you been in show business?

A: That depends on what you call show business. I started as a child. When I was taken to family affairs, I was always placed at the piano after dinner, and then I had to play.

        I would fool them. I would make up improvisations, and say this is a Beethoven sonata that I've just found, or a Rachmaninoff thing (laughs) and they would say that was their favorite piece. Only my father was aware of the swindle.

        Q: Were your parents musical?

        A: My father was a musician. He played the violin for 35 years in the Royal Danish Orchestra in Copenhagen. My mother played piano, but not professionally. She loved piano music, and she played Debussy and Chopin.

        My father died in 1930, and my mother was in a hospital when the Germans invaded Denmark, and did not know about it. I happened to be in Stockholm on a guest appearance, and my brother called me to tell me my mother was deathly ill. Three weeks later she died. I came to America in 1940.

        Q: How did you find work when you arrived in this country?

        A: I've always been extremely lucky, whether I was born under a lucky star, or vice versa (laughs). I had hardly been in the country a couple of months, when I was on Bing Crosby's (Kraft Music Hall) radio program, in spite of the fact that I couldn't speak English at all.

        Some of my Danish routines had been translated to English, and I was reading them in front of the microphone without knowing what I was saying.

        Q: Has your audience changed over 60 years?

        A: Actually no. I don't think people have changed that much. They still have hair and glasses and shoes — whether they have high or low heels is a matter of taste....I have found that no matter how many years I go back, the audience reacts exactly the same way to what I do.

        Q: Have you played many times with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra?

        A: I've played many times with the orchestra, but not for a long, long time. (Cincinnati) was one of my favorite places to play and I loved the orchestra. I remember Thor Johnson (CSO music director 1947-58).

        I was on tour once, many years ago, and the orchestra was on tour. In one of the smaller towns I had a night free, and I went to hear Thor Johnson and the orchestra.

        They had a very, very heavy classical program. The audience, who was not used to that kind of music, just sat like in church, and listened to that thing. I felt a little sorry for them.

        Then they did an encore, the waltz from Swan Lake or something. I have never seen anything like it; they stood up in their seats and applauded and screamed and yelled. I swear. Isn't that funny?

        Q: Who are your favorite pianists of the past?

        A: I can name 20. Ignaz Friedman was one of my favorites, and (Sergei) Rachmaninoff. I spoke to (Rachmaninoff) once on the telephone. I was doing one of my television shows, and I asked him for permission to do a short version of the Second Concerto. He was very kind and said the way you play, you can do anything you want with my music. I almost dropped the telephone!

        Q: What makes you laugh?

        A: Anything that I find funny, and (laughs) when I really laugh, I can't stop. That's terrible (laughs). I don't laugh at myself — I laugh at the reaction. I laugh at the audience. If I hear a certain voice, a woman or a man you can hear through the masses, that can kill me (laughs).

        Q: How many more years will you be entertaining people?

        A: I have no idea. If you had asked me that when I was 8 years old, I couldn't have answered, either. I do it because while I'm on the stage and traveling and getting a little away from the sadness and thoughts (of his wife's illness), it occupies my mind a little bit.

        Q: How would you like to be remembered someday?

        A: I don't know. I don't work to be remembered. How long can you be remembered, unless you are Jesus or Einstein or some extraordinary genius?

        Q: But your comedy is one of a kind.

        A: I think you are right, and that is why I have always been a one-man show. Because it is unique in its construction, and the fact that you have to be a fairly good musician makes it difficult to copy.

        Q: Do you have perfect pitch?

        A: No. But I have a good appetite (laughs).

        Say hello to all my good old friends down there.

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