CHAPTER XIX.

Liszt's Drawing-room. An Artist's Walking Party. Liszt'sTeaching.

WEIMAR,May 29, 1873.

I am having the most heavenly time in Weimar, studying with Liszt, and sometimes I can scarcely realize that I am at that summit of my ambition, to behispupil! It was the Baroness von S.'s letter that secured it for me, I am sure. He is so overrun with people, that I think it is a wonder he is civil to anybody, but he is the most amiable man I ever knew, though hecanbe dreadful, too, when he chooses, and he understands how to put people outside his door in as short a space of time as it can be done. I go to him three times a week. At home Liszt doesn't wear his long abbé's coat, but a short one, in which he looks much more artistic. His figure is remarkably slight, but his head is most imposing.—It issodelicious in that room of his! It was all furnished and put in order for him by the Grand Duchess herself. The walls are pale gray, with a gilded border running round the room, or rather two rooms, which are divided, but not separated, by crimson curtains. The furniture is crimson, and everything is socomfortable—such a contrast to German bareness and stiffness generally. A splendid grand piano stands in one window (he receives a new one every year). The other window isalways wide open, and looks out on the park. There is a dove-cote just opposite the window, and the doves promenade up and down on the roof of it, and fly about, and sometimes whirr down on the sill itself. That pleases Liszt. His writing-table is beautifully fitted up with things that all match. Everything is in bronze—ink-stand, paper-weight, match-box, etc., and there is always a lighted candle standing on it by which he and the gentlemen can light their cigars. There is a carpet on the floor, a rarity in Germany, and Liszt generally walks about, and smokes, and mutters (he can never be said totalk), and calls upon one or other of us to play. From time to time he will sit down and play himself where a passage does not suit him, and when he is in good spirits he makes little jests all the time. His playing was a complete revelation to me, and has given me an entirely new insight into music. You cannot conceive, without hearing him, how poetic he is, or the thousandnuancesthat he can throw into the simplest thing, and he is equally great on all sides. From the zephyr to the tempest, the whole scale is equally at his command.

But Liszt is not at all like a master, and cannot be treated like one. He is a monarch, and when he extends his royal sceptre you can sit down and play to him. You never can ask him to play anything for you, no matter how much you're dying to hear it. If he is in the mood he will play, if not, you must content yourself with a few remarks. You cannot even offer to play yourself. You lay your notes on the table, so he can see that youwantto play, and sit down. Hetakes a turn up and down the room, looks at the music, and if the piece interests him, he will call upon you. We bring the same piece to him but once, and but once play it through.

Yesterday I had prepared for him hisAu Bord d'une Source. I was nervous and played badly. He was not to be put out, however, but acted as if he thought I had played charmingly, and then he sat down and played the whole piece himself, oh,soexquisitely! It made me feel like a wood-chopper. The notes just seemed to ripple off his fingers' ends with scarce any perceptible motion. As he neared the close I remarked that that funny little expression came over his face which he always has when he means to surprise you, and he suddenly took an unexpected chord and extemporized a poetical little end, quite different from the written one.—Do you wonder that people go distracted over him?

Weimar is a lovely little place, and there are most beautiful walks all about. Ascension being a holiday here, all we pianists made up a walking party out to Tiefurt, about two miles distant. We went in the afternoon and returned in the evening. The walk lay through the woods, and was perfectly exquisite the whole way. As we came back in the evening the nightingales were singing, and I could not help wishing that P. were there to hear them, as he has such a passion for birds. There are cuckoos here, too, and you hear them calling "cuckoo, cuckoo." Metzdorf and I danced on the hard road, to the edification of all the others. In Tiefurt we partook of a magnificent collationconsisting of a mug of beer, brown bread and sausage! Some of the party preferred coffee, among whom was Metzdorf, who made us laugh by sticking the coffee-pot into his inside coat pocket as soon as he had poured out his first cup, in order to make sure that the others didn't take more than their share; he would coolly take it out, help himself, and put it back again. The servant who waited got frightened, and thought he was going to steal it. Afterwards when we were playing games and wanted the door shut, the host came and opened it, and would not allow us to shut it, because he said we might carry off something! How's that!

———

WEIMAR,June 6, 1873.

When I first came there were only five of us who studied with Liszt, but lately a good many others have been there. Day before yesterday there came a young lady who was a pupil of Henselt in St. Petersburg. She is immensely talented, only seventeen years old, and her name is Laura Kahrer. It is a very rare thing to see a pupil of Henselt, for it is very difficult to get lessons from him. He stands next to Liszt. This Laura Kahrer plays everything that ever was heard of, and she played a fugue of her own composition the other day that was really vigorous and good. I was quite astonished to hear how she had worked it up. She has made a grand concert tour in Russia. I never saw such a hand as she had. She could bend it backwards till it looked like the palm of her hand turnedinside out. She was an interesting little creature, with dark eyes and hair, and one could see by her Turkish necklace and numerous bangles that she had been making money. She played with the greatestaplomb, though her touch had a certain roughness about it to my ear. She did not carry me away, but I have not heard many pieces from her.

However, all playing sounds barren by the side of Liszt, forhisis the living, breathing impersonation of poetry, passion, grace, wit, coquetry, daring, tenderness and every other fascinating attribute that you can think of! I'm ready to hang myself half the time when I've been to him. Oh, he is the most phenomenal being in every respect! All that you've heard of him would never give you an idea of him. In short, he represents the whole scale of human emotion. He is a many-sided prism, and reflects back the light in all colours, no matter how you look at him. His pupilsadorehim, as in fact everybody else does, but it is impossible to do otherwise with a person whose genius flashes out of him all the time so, and whose character is so winning.

One day this week, when we were with Liszt, he was in such high spirits that it was as if he had suddenly become twenty years younger. A student from the Stuttgardt conservatory played a Liszt Concerto. His name is V., and he is dreadfully nervous. Liszt kept up a little running fire of satire all the time he was playing, but in a good-natured way. I shouldn't have minded it if it had been I. In fact, I think it would have inspired me; but poor V. hardly knew whetherhe was on his head or on his feet. It was too funny. Everything that Liszt says is so striking. For instance, in one place where V. was playing the melody rather feebly, Liszt suddenly took his seat at the piano and said, "WhenIplay, I always play for the people in the gallery [by the gallery he meant the cock-loft, where the rabble always sit, and where the places cost next to nothing], so that those persons who pay only five groschens for their seat also hear something." Then he began, and I wish you could have heard him! The sound didn't seem to be veryloud, but it was penetrating and far-reaching. When he had finished, he raised one hand in the air, and you seemed to see all the people in the gallery drinking in the sound. That is the way Liszt teaches you. He presents anideato you, and it takes fast hold of your mind and sticks there. Music is such a real, visible thing to him, that he always has a symbol, instantly, in the material world to express his idea. One day, when I was playing, I made too much movement with my hand in a rotatory sort of a passage where it was difficult to avoid it. "Keep your hand still, Fräulein," said Liszt; "don't make omelette." I couldn't help laughing, it hit me on the head so nicely. He is far too sparing of his playing, unfortunately, and, like Tausig, only sits down and plays a few bars at a time, generally. It is dreadful when he stops, just as you are at the height of your enjoyment, but he is so thoroughlyblaséthat he doesn't care to show off, and doesn't like to have any one pay him a compliment. Even at the court it annoyed him so that the Grand Duchess toldpeople to take no notice when he rose from the piano.

On the same day that Liszt was in such high good-humour, a strange lady and her husband were there who had made a long journey to Weimar, in the hope of hearing him play. She waited patiently for a long time through the lesson, and at last Liszt took compassion on her, and sat down with his favourite remark that "the young ladies played a great deal better than he did, but he would try his best to imitate them," and then played something of his own so wonderfully, that when he had finished we all stood there like posts, feeling that there wasnothingto be said. But he, as if he feared we might burst out into eulogy, got up instantly and went over to a friend of his who was standing there, and who lives on an estate near Weimar, and said, in the most commonplace tone imaginable, "By the way, how about those eggs? Are you going to send me some?" It seems to be not only a profound bore to him, but really a sort of sensitiveness on his part. How he can bear to hearusplay, I cannot imagine. It must grate on his ear terribly, I think, because everythingmustsound expressionless to him in comparison with his own marvellous conception. I assure you, no matter how beautifully we play any piece, the minute Liszt plays it, you would scarcely recognize it! His touch and his peculiar use of the pedal are two secrets of his playing, and then he seems to dive down in the most hidden thoughts of the composer, and fetch them up to the surface, so that they gleam out at you one by one, like stars!

The more I see and hear Liszt, the more I am lost in amazement! I can neither eat nor sleep on those days that I go to him. All my musical studies till now have been a mere going to school, a preparation for him. I often think of what Tausig said once: "Oh, compared with Liszt, we other artists are all blockheads." I did not believe it at the time, but I've seen the truth of it, and in studying Liszt's playing, I can see where Tausig got many of his own wonderful peculiarities. I think he was the most like Liszt of all the army that have had the privilege of his instruction.—I began this letter on Sunday, and it is now Tuesday. Yesterday I went to Liszt, and found that Bülow had just arrived. None of the other scholars had come, for a wonder, and I was just going away, when Liszt came out, asked me to come in a moment, and introduced me to Bülow. There I was, all alone with these two great artists in Liszt'ssalon! Wasn'tthata situation? I only stayed a few minutes, of course, though I should have liked to spend hours, but our conversation was in the highest degree amusing while Iwasthere. Bülow had just returned from his grand concert tour, and had been in London for the first time. In a few months he had given one hundred and twenty concerts! He is a fascinating creature, too, like all these master artists, but entirely different from Liszt, being small, quick, and airy in his movements, and having one of the boldest and proudest foreheads I ever saw. He looks like strength of will personified. Liszt gazed at "his Hans," as he calls him, with the fondest pride, and seemed perfectlyhappy over his arrival. It was like his beautiful courtesy to call me in and introduce me to Bülow instead of letting me go away. He thought I had come to play to him, and was unwilling to have me take that trouble for nothing, though he must have wished me in Jericho. You would think I paid him a hundred dollars a lesson, instead ofhiscondescending to sacrifice his valuable time tomefor nothing.

Liszt's Expression in Playing. Liszt on Conservatories.Ordeal of Liszt's Lessons. Liszt's Kindness.

WEIMAR,June 19, 1873.

In Liszt I can at last say that my ideal insomethinghas been realized. He goes far beyond all that I expected. Anything so perfectly beautiful as he looks when he sits at the piano I never saw, and yet he is almost an old man now.[E]I enjoy him as I would an exquisite work of art. His personal magnetism is immense, and I can scarcely bear it when he plays. He can make me cry all he chooses, and that is saying a good deal, because I've heard so much music, andneverhave been affected by it. Even Joachim, whom I think divine, never moved me. When Liszt plays anything pathetic, it sounds as if he had been through everything, and opens all one's wounds afresh. All that one has ever suffered comes before one again. Who was it that I heard say once, that years ago he saw Clara Schumann sitting in tears near the platform, during one of Liszt's performances?—Liszt knows well the influence he has on people, for he always fixes his eyes on some one of us when he plays, and I believe he tries to wring our hearts. When he plays a passage, and goespearlingdown the key-board, he often looks over at me and smiles, to see whether I am appreciating it.

But I doubt if he feels any particular emotion himself, when he is piercing you through with his rendering. He is simply hearing every tone, knowing exactly what effect he wishes to produce and how to do it. In fact, he is practically two persons in one—the listener and the performer. But what immense self-command that implies! No matter how fast he plays you always feel that there is "plenty of time"—no need to be anxious! You might as well try to move one of the pyramids as flusterhim. Tausig possessed this repose in a technical way, and his touch was marvellous; but he never drew the tears to your eyes. He could not wind himself through all the subtle labyrinths of the heart as Liszt does.

Liszt does such bewitching little things! The other day, for instance, Fräulein Gaul was playing something to him, and in it were two runs, and after each run two staccato chords. She did them most beautifully, and struck the chords immediately after. "No, no," said Liszt, "after you make a run you must wait a minute before you strike the chords, as if in admiration of your own performance. You must pause, as if to say, 'How nicely I did that.'" Then he sat down and made a run himself, waited a second, and then struck the two chords in the treble, saying as he did so "Bra-vo," and then he played again, struck the other chord, and said again "Bra-vo," and positively, it was as if the piano had softly applauded! That is the way he plays everything. It seems as if the piano were speaking with ahumantongue.

Our class has swelled to about a dozen persons now,and a good many others come and play to him once or twice and then go. As I wrote to L. the other day, that dear little scholar of Henselt, Fräulein Kahrer, was one, but she only stayed three days. She was a most interesting little creature, and told some funny stories about Henselt, who she says has a most violent temper, and is very severe. She said that one day he was giving a lesson to Princess Katherina (whoever that is), and he was so enraged over her playing that he snatched away the music, and dashed it to the ground. The Princess, however, did not lose her equanimity, but folded her arms and said, "Who shall pick it up?" And he had to bend and restore it to its place.

I've never seen Liszt look angry but once, but then he was terrific. Like a lion! It was one day when a student from the Stuttgardt conservatory attempted to play the Sonata Appassionata. He had a good deal of technique, and a moderately good conception of it, but still he was totally inadequate to the work—and indeed, only amightyartist like Tausig or Bülow ought to attempt to play it. It was a hot afternoon, and the clouds had been gathering for a storm. As the Stuttgardter played the opening notes of the sonata, the tree-tops suddenly waved wildly, and a low growl of thunder was heard muttering in the distance. "Ah," said Liszt, who was standing at the window, with his delicate quickness of perception, "a fitting accompaniment." (You know Beethoven wrote the Appassionata one night when he was caught in a thunder-storm.) If Liszt had only played it himself,the whole thing would have been like a poem. But he walked up and down the room and forced himself to listen, though he could scarcely bear it, I could see. A few times he pushed the student aside and played a few bars himself, and we saw the passion leap up into his face like a glare of sheet lightning. Anything so magnificent as it was, the little that hedidplay, and the startling individuality of his conception, I never heard or imagined. I felt as if I did not know whether I were "in the body or out of the body."—Glorious Being!He is a two-edged sword that cuts through everything.

The Stuttgardter made some such glaring mistakes, not in the notes, but in rhythm, etc., that at last Liszt burst out with, "You come from Stuttgardt, and play likethat!" and then he went on in a tirade against conservatories and teachers in general. He was like a thunder-storm himself. He frowned, and bent his head, and his long hair fell over his face, while the poor Stuttgardter sat there like a beaten hound. Oh, it was awful! If it had been I, I think I should have withered entirely away, for Liszt is always so amiable that the contrast was all the stronger.—"Aber das geht Sie nichts an(But this does not concern you)," said he, in a conciliatory tone, suddenly stopping himself and smiling. "Spielen Sie weiter(Play on)."—He meant that it was not at the student but at the conservatories that he had been angry.

Liszt hasn't the nervous irritability common to artists, but on the contrary his disposition is the most exquisite and tranquil in the world. We have been there incessantly,and I've never seen him ruffled except two or three times, and then he was tired and not himself, and it was a most transient thing. When I think what a little savage Tausig often was, and how cuttingly sarcastic Kullak could be at times, I am astonished that Liszt so rarely loses his temper. He has the power of turning the best side of every one outward, and also the most marvellous and instant appreciation of what that side is. If there isanythingin you, you may be sure that Liszt will know it. Whether he chooses to let you think he does, may, however, be another matter.

———

WEIMAR,July 15, 1873.

Liszt is such an immense, inspiring force that one has to try and stride forward with him at double rate, even if with double expenditure, too! To-day I'm more dead than alive, as we had a lesson from him yesterday that lasted four hours. There were twenty artists present, all of whom were anxious to play, and as he was in high good-humour, he played ever so much himself in between. It was perfectly magnificent, but exhausting and exciting to the last degree. When I come home from the lessons I fling myself on the sofa, and feel as if I never wanted to get up again. It is a fearful day's work every time I go to him. First, four hours' practice in the morning. Then a nervous, anxious feeling that takes away my appetite, and prevents me from eating my dinner. And then several hours at Liszt's, where one succession of concertos, fantasias, and all sorts of tremendous things are played. You never know before whom you must play there, forit is the musical headquarters of the world. Directors of conservatories, composers, artists, aristocrats, all come in, and you have to bear the brunt of it as best you can. The first month I was here, when there were only five of us, it was quite another matter, but now the room is crowded every time.

Liszt gave a matinee the other day at which I played a "Soirée de Vienne," by Tausig—awfully hard, but very brilliant and peculiar. I don't know how I ever got through it, for I had only been studying it a few days, and didn't even know it by heart, nor had I played it to Liszt. He only told me the evening before, too, about eight o'clock—"To-morrow I give a matinee; bring your Soirée de Vienne." I rushed home and practiced till ten, and then I got up early the next morning and practiced a few hours. The matinee was at eleven o'clock. First, Liszt played himself, then a young lady sang several songs, then there was a piece for piano and flute played by Liszt and a flutist, and then I came. I was just as frightened as I could be! Metzdorf (my Russian friend) and Urspruch sat down by me to give me courage, and to turn the leaves, but Liszt insisted upon turning himself, and stood behind me and did it in his dexterous way. He says it is an art to turn the leaves properly! He wassokind, and whenever I did anything well he would call out "charmant!" to encourage me. It is considered a great compliment to be asked to play at a matinee, and I don't know why Liszt paid it to me at the expense of others who were there who play far better than I do—among them a young lady from Norway, lately come, who is a mostsuperbpianist. Shewas a pupil of Kullak's, too, but it is four years since she left him, and she has been concertizing a good deal. Yesterday she played Schumann's A minor concerto magnificently. I was surprised that Liszt had not selected her, but one can never tell what to expect from Liszt. With him "nothing is to be presumed on or despaired of"—as the proverb says. He is so full of moods and phases that you have to have a very sharp perception even to begin to understand him, and he can cut you all up fine without your ever guessing it. He rarely mortifies any one by an open snub, but what is perhaps worse, he manages to let the rest of the class know what he is thinking while the poor victim remains quite in darkness about it!—Yes, he can do very cruel things.

After all, though, people generally have their own assurance to thank, or their own want of tact, when they do not get on with Liszt. If they go to him full of themselves, or expecting to make an impression onhim, or merely for the sake of saying they have been with him, instead of presenting themselves to sit at his feet in humility, as they ought, and learn whatever he is willing to impart—he soon finds it out, and treats them accordingly. Some one once asked Liszt, what he would have been had he not been a musician. "The first diplomat in Europe," was the reply. With this Machiavellian bent it is not surprising that he sometimes indulges himself in playing off the conceited or the obtuse for the benefit of the bystanders. But the realbasisof his nature is compassion.The bruised reed he does not break, nor the humble and docile heart despise!

Fräulein Gaul tells a characteristic story about the "Meister," as we call Liszt. When she first came to him a year or two ago, she brought him one day Chopin's B flat minor Scherzo—one of those stock pieces that every artistmustlearn, and that has also been thrummed to death by countless tyros. Liszt looked at it, and to her fright and dismay cried out in a fit of impatience, "No, Iwon'thear it!" and dashed it angrily into the corner. The next day he went to see her, apologized for his outburst of temper, and said that as a penance for it he would force himself to give her not one, but two or three lessons on the Scherzo, and in the most minute and careful manner—which accordingly he did! Fancy any music teacher you ever heard of, so humbling himself to a little girl of fifteen, and then remember that Tausig, the greatest of modern virtuosi, said of Liszt, "No mortal can measure himself with Liszt. He dwells upon a solitary height."

But you need not fear that I am "giving up American standards" because I reverence Liszt so boundlessly. Everything is topsy-turvy in Europe according toourmoral ideas, and they don't have what we call "men" over here. But theydohave artists that we cannot approach! It is as a Master in Art that I look at and write of Liszt, and his mere presence is to his pupils such stimulus and joy, that when I leavehimI shall feel I have left the best part of my life behind!

Liszt's Compositions. His Playing and Teaching of Beethoven.His "Effects" in Piano-playing. Excursionto Jena. A New Music Master.

WEIMAR,July 24, 1873.

Liszt is going away to-day. He was to have left several days ago, but the Emperor of Austria or Russia (I don't know which), came to visit the Grand Duke, and of course Liszt was obliged to be on hand and to spend a day with them. He is such a grandee himself that kings and emperors are quite matters of course to him. Never was a man so courted and spoiled as he! The Grand Duchess herself frequently visits him. But he never allows anyone to ask him to play, and even she doesn't venture it. That is the only point in which one sees Liszt's sense of his own greatness; otherwise his manner is remarkably unassuming.

Liszt will be gone until the middle of August, and I shall be thankful to have a few weeks of repose, and to be able to study more quietly. With him one is at high pressure all the time, and I have gained a good many more ideas from him than I can work up in a hurry. In fact, Liszt has revealed to me an entirely new idea of piano-playing. He is a wonderfulcomposer, by the way, and that is what I was unprepared for in him. His oratorio ofChristuswas brought out here this summer, and many strangers and celebrities came to hear it, Wagneramong others. It was magnificent, and one of the noblest, and decidedly the grandest oratorio that I ever heard. I've never had time to write home about it, for I felt that it required a dissertation in itself to do it justice. I wish it could be performed in Boston, for his orchestral and choral works, I am sorry to say, make their way very slowly in Germany. "Liszt helped Wagner," said he to me, sadly, "but who will help Liszt? though, compared with Opera it is as much harder for Oratorio to conquer a place as it is for a pianist to achieve success when compared to a singer." So he feels as if things were against him, though his heart and soul are so bound up in sacred music, that he told me it had become to him "the only thing worth living for." He really seems to care almost nothing for his piano-playing or for his piano compositions.

And yet, what beauty is there in those compositions! In Berlin I had always been taught that Liszt was a would-be composer, that he could not write a melody, that he had no originality, and that his compositions were merely glitter to dazzle the eyes of the public. How unjust and untrue have I found all these assertions to be! Here I have an opportunity of hearing his piano worksen masse, and day by day (since all the young artists are playing them), and my previous ideas have been entirely reversed. If Liszt isanything, he isoriginal. One can see that at a glance, simply by imagining his music taken out. Where is there anything that would fill its place? When artists wish to make an "effect" and stir up the public—"to fuse the leaden thousands," as Chopin expressed it—whatdo they play?Liszt!—Not only is his music brilliant—not only does he pour this wealth of pearls and diamonds down the key-board, but his pieces rise to great climaxes, are grandiose in style, overleap all boundaries, and whirl you away with the vehemence of passion. Then what lightness of touch in the lessermorceaux, where he is often the acme of tenderness, grace and fairy-like sportiveness, while in the melancholy ones, what subtle feeling after the emotions curled up in the remote corners of the heart! They are so rich in harmony, so weird, so wild, that when you hear them you are like a sea-weed cast upon the bosom of the ocean. And then what could be more deep and poetic than Liszt's transcriptions of Schubert's and Wagner's songs? They are altogether exquisite. Finally, Liszt's compositions stand the severest test of merit. Theywearwell. You can play them a long time and never weary of them. In short, they embrace every elementexceptthe classic, and the question is, whether these airy or intense ideas that appeal to you through their veils of shimmer and sheen are not a sort of classics in their own way!

Liszt's Christus is arranged for piano for four hands, and I wish I had it, and also Bülow's great edition of Beethoven's sonatas—Oh! you cannotconceiveanything like Liszt's playing of Beethoven. Whenheplays a sonata it is as if the composition rose from the dead and stood transfigured before you. You ask yourself, "DidIever play that?" But it bores him so dreadfully to hear the sonatas, that though I've heard him teach a good many, I haven't had the courageto bring him one. I suppose he is sick of the sound of them, or perhaps it is because he feels obliged to be conscientious in teaching Beethoven!

When one of the young pianists brings Liszt a sonata, he puts on an expression of resignation and generally begins a half protest which he afterward thinks better of.—"Well, go on," he will say, and then he proceeds to be very strict. He always teaches Beethoven with notes, which shows how scrupulous he is about him, for, of course, he knows all the sonatas by heart. He has Bülow's edition, which he opens and lays on the end of the grand piano. Then as he walks up and down he can stop and refer to it and point out passages, as they are being played, to the rest of the class. Bülow probably got many of his ideas from Liszt. One day when Mr. Orth was playing the Allegro of the Sonata Op. 110, Liszt insisted upon having it done in a particular way, and made him go back and repeat it over and over again. One line of it is particularly hard. Liszt made every one in the class sit down and try it. Most of them failed, which amused him.—"Ah, yes," said he, laughing, "when I once begin to play the pedagogue I am not to be outdone!" and then he related as an illustration of his "pedagogism" a little anecdote of a former pupil of his, now an eminent artist. "I liked young M. very much," said he. "He played beautifully, but he was inclined to be lazy and to take things easily. One morning he brought me Chopin's E minor concerto, and he rather skimmed over that difficult passage in the middle of the first movement as if he hadn't taken thetrouble really to study it. His execution was not clean. So I thought I would give him a lesson, and I kept him playing those two pages over and over for an hour or two until he had mastered them. His arms must have been ready to break when he got through! At the next lesson there was no M. I sent to know why he did not appear. He replied that he had been out hunting and had hurt his arm so that he could not play. At the lesson following he accordingly presented himself with his arm in a sling. But I always suspected it was a stratagem on his part to avoid playing, and that nothing really ailed him. He had had enough for one while," added Liszt, with a mischievous smile.

On Monday I had a most delightful tête-à-tête with Liszt, quite by chance. I had occasion to call upon him for something, and, strange to say, he was alone, sitting by his table and writing. Generally all sorts of people are up there. He insisted upon my staying a while, and we had the most amusing and entertaining conversation imaginable. It was the first time I ever heard Liszt really talk, for he contents himself mostly with making little jests. He is full ofesprit. We were speaking of the faculty of mimicry, and he told me such a funny little anecdote about Chopin. He said that when he and Chopin were young together, somebody told him that Chopin had a remarkable talent for mimicry, and so he said to Chopin, "Come round to my rooms this evening and show off this talent of yours." So Chopin came. He had purchased a blonde wig ("I was very blonde at that time," saidLiszt), which he put on, and got himself up in one of Liszt's suits. Presently an acquaintance of Liszt's came in, Chopin went to meet him instead of Liszt, and took off his voice and manner so perfectly, that the man actually mistook him for Liszt, and made an appointment with him for the next day—"and there I was in the room," said Liszt. Wasn't that remarkable?

Another evening I was there about twilight and Liszt sat at the piano looking through a new oratorio, which had just come out in Paris upon "Christus," the same subject that his own oratorio was on. He asked me to turn for him, and evidently was not interested, for he would skip whole pages and begin again, here and there. There was only a single lamp, andthatrather a dim one, so that the room was all in shadow, and Liszt wore his Merlin-like aspect. I asked him to tell me how he produced a certain effect he makes in his arrangement of the ballad in Wagner'sFlying Dutchman. He looked very "fin" as the French say, but did not reply. He never gives a direct answer to a direct question. "Ah," said I, "you won't tell." He smiled, and then immediately played the passage. It was a long arpeggio, and the effect he made was, as I had supposed, a pedal effect. He kept the pedal down throughout, and played the beginning of the passage in a grandrollingsort of manner, and then all the rest of it with a very pianissimo touch, and so lightly, that the continuity of the arpeggios was destroyed, and the notes seemed to be juststrewnin, as if you broke a wreath of flowers and scattered themaccording to your fancy. It is a most striking and beautiful effect, and I told him I didn't see how he ever thought of it. "Oh, I've invented a great many things," said he, indifferently—"this, for instance,"—and he began playing a double roll of octaves in chromatics in the bass of the piano. It was very grand, and made the room reverberate. "Magnificent," said I. "Did you ever hear me do a storm?" said he. "No." "Ah, you ought to hear me do a storm! Storms are myforte!" Then to himself between his teeth, while a weird look came into his eyes as if he could indeed rule the blast, "DaKRACHENdie Bäume(Thencrashthe trees!)"

How ardently I wished hewould"play a storm," but of course hedidn't, and he presently began to trifle over the keys in hisblaséstyle. I suppose he couldn't quite work himself up to the effort, but that look and tone told how Lisztwoulddo it.—Alas, that we poor mortals here below should share so often the fate of Moses, and have only a glimpse of the Promised Land, and that without the consolation of being Moses! But perhaps, after all, the vision is better than the reality. We see thewhole land, even if but at a distance, instead of being limited merely to the spot where our foot treads.

Once again I saw Liszt in a similar mood, though his expression was this timecomfortablyrather thanwildlydestructive. It was when Fräulein Remmertz was playing his E flat concerto to him. There were two grand pianos in the room, and she was sitting at one, and he at the other, accompanying and interpolating as he felt disposed. Finally they came to aplace where there were a series of passages beginning with both hands in the middle of the piano, and going in opposite directions to the ends of the key-board, ending each time in a short, sharp chord. "Alles zum Fenster hinaus werfen(Pitch everything out of the window)," said he, in a cozy, easy sort of way, and he began playing these passages and giving every chord a whack as if heweresplitting everything up and flinging it out, and that with such enjoyment, that you felt as if you'd like to bear a hand, too, in the work of general demolition! But I never shall forget Liszt's look as he so lazily proposed to "pitch everything out of the window." It reminded me of the expression of a big tabby-cat as it sits and purrs away, blinking its eyes and seemingly half asleep, when suddenly—!—! out it strikes with both its claws, and woe be to whatever is within its reach! Perhaps, after all, the secret of Liszt's fascination is this power of intense and wild emotion that you feel he possesses, together with the most perfect control over it.

Liszt sometimes strikes wrong notes when he plays, but it does not trouble him in the least. On the contrary, he rather enjoys it. He reminds me of one of the cabinet ministers in Berlin, of whom it is said that he has an amazing talent for making blunders, but a still more amazing one for getting out of them and covering them up. Of Liszt the first part of this is not true, for if he strikes a wrong note it is simply because he chooses to be careless. But the last part of it applies to him eminently. It always amuses him instead of disconcerting him when he comes downsquarelywrong, as it affords him an opportunity of displaying his ingenuity and giving things such a turn that the false note will appear simply a key leading to new and unexpected beauties. An accident of this kind happened to him in one of the Sunday matinees, when the room was full of distinguished people and of his pupils. He was rolling up the piano in arpeggios in a very grand manner indeed, when he struck a semi-tone short of the high note upon which he had intended to end. I caught my breath and wondered whether he was going to leave us like that, in mid-air, as it were, and the harmony unresolved, or whether he would be reduced to the humiliation of correcting himself like ordinary mortals, and taking the right chord. A half smile came over his face, as much as to say—"Don't fancy thatthislittle thing disturbs me,"—and he instantly went meandering down the piano in harmony with the false note he had struck, and then rolled deliberately up in a second grand sweep,thistime striking true. I never saw a more delicious piece of cleverness. It was so quick-witted and so exactly characteristic of Liszt. Instead of giving you a chance to say, "He has made a mistake," he forced you to say, "He has shown how to get out of a mistake."

Another day I heard him pass from one piece into another by making the finale of the first one play the part of prelude to the second. So exquisitely were the two woven together that you could hardly tell where the one left off and the other began.—Ah me!Sucha facile grace!Nobodywill ever equal him, with those rolling basses and those flowery trebles. Andthen his Adagios! When you hear him in one ofthose, you feel that his playing has got to that point when it is purified from all earthly dross and is an exhalation of the soul that mounts straight to heaven.

———

WEIMAR,August 8, 1873.

The other day we all made an excursion to Jena, which is about three hours' drive from here. We went in carriages in a long train, and pulled up at a hotel named The Bear. There we took our second breakfast. There was to be a concert at five in a church, where some of Liszt's music was to be performed. After breakfast we went to the church, where Liszt met us, and the rehearsal took place. After the rehearsal we went to dinner. We had three long tables which Liszt arranged to suit himself, his own place being in the middle. He always manages every little detail with the greatest tact, and is very particular never to let two ladies or two gentlemen sit together, but always alternately a lady and a gentleman. "Immer eine bunte Reihe machen(Always have a little variety)," said he. The dinner was a very entertaining one to me, because I could converse with Liszt and hear all he said, as he was nearly opposite me. I was in very high spirits that day, and as Kellerman, Bendix and Urspruch were all near me, too, we had endless fun. We had new potatoes for dinner, boiled with their skins on, and Liszt threw one at me, and I caught it. There was another young artist there from Brussels named Gurickx, whom I didn't know, becausehe spoke only French, and as I do not speak it, we had never exchanged words in the class. I wasn't paying any attention to him, therefore, when suddenly my left-hand neighbour touched my arm. I looked round and he handed me a flower made of bread "from Monsieur Gurickx." I wish you could have seen it! It had the effect of a tube rose. Every little leaf and petal was as delicately turned as if nature herself had done it. The bread was fresh, and Gurickx had worked it between his fingers to the consistency of clay, and then modelled these little flowers which he stuck on to a stem. It was so artistically done, and it was such a dainty little thing to do, that I saw at once that he was interesting and that he possessed that marvellous French taste.

Since then we have become very good friends, and he is teaching me to speak French. He plays beautifully, and was trained in the famous Brussels conservatory, of which Dupont is the head. Servais also got his musical education there. They both advise me to go there for a year, as Dupont is a very great master indeed, and Brussels is the very home and centre of art and taste of every description—a "little Paris"—but more earnest, more German. Gurickx went through the art-school in Brussels as well as the conservatory, so that he paints as well as plays, and he had quite a struggle with himself to decide to which art he should devote himself. His style is the grandiose and fiery. Rubinstein is his model, and he plays Liszt's Rhapsodies as I never heard any one else. He brings out all their power, brilliancy and careering wildness, and makes the greatest sensation ofthem. Such tremendous sweeping chords! Liszt himself doesn't play the chords as well as Gurickx;—perhaps because he does not care now to exert the strength.

But to return to Jena. After dinner Liszt said, "Now we'll go to Paradise." So we put on our things, and proceeded to walk along the river to a place called Paradise, on account of its loveliness. We passed the University, on one corner of which is a tablet with "W. von Goethe" written against the wall of the room which Goethe occupied. It seemed strange to me to be passing the room of my beloved Goethe, with our equally beloved Liszt!—This walk along the river was enchanting. The current was very rapid, and the willows were all blowing in the breeze. There is an odd triangular-shaped hill that rises on one side very boldly and abruptly, called the Fox's Head. The way was under a double row of tall trees, which met at the top and formed a green arch over our heads. It was all breeze and freshness, and the sunlight struck picturesquely aslant the hill-sides. I started to walk with Liszt, but he was so surrounded that it was difficult to get near him, so I walked instead with an interesting young artist named O., who was at once extraordinarily ugly and extremely clever.

After our walk we went to the concert, which was lovely, and then at seven we were all invited to tea at the house of a friend of Liszt's. He was a very tall man, and he had a very tall and hospitable daughter, nearly as big as himself, who received us very cordially. The tea was all laid on tables in the garden, and the sausages were cooking over a fire made on the grounds.We sat down pell-mell, anywhere, I next to Liszt, who kept putting things on my plate. When supper was over he retreated to a little summer house with some of his friends, to smoke. We sauntered round the grass plat in front of it until Liszt called us to come in and sit by him, which we did until he was ready to go.

I've heard of a new music master lately. When my friend Miss B. was here, she told me that she had met a "Herr Director Deppe" in Berlin, after I left, and had told him all about me and my struggle to conquer the piano. He seemed very much interested and said, "O, if she had only come to me!Iwould have helped her," and from all I can hear I think he must be the man for me. He is interested in Sherwood, who used to talk to me about him last winter. Sherwood says he is wholly disinterested and devoted to art, and lives entirely in music, and that he is a noble-hearted man, and the "most musical person he ever met." Sherwood often wavers between him and Kullak, and Deppe would like to teach Sherwood if he could, simply out of interest for him.—Deppe has a pupil whom he has trained entirely himself, and whom he is going to bring out next winter. Sherwood says he never heard anything so beautiful as her playing. She is spending the summer near Deppe, and he hears her play the programme she is going to give in Berlin next winter, every day. Think what immense certainty that must give!

Liszt's Playing. Tausig. Excursion to Sondershausen.

WEIMAR,August 23, 1873.

Liszt has returned from his trip, and I have played to him twice this week, and am to go again on Monday. He praised me very much on Tuesday, and said I played admirably. I knew he was pleased, because whenever he corrected me he would say, "Nein, Kindchen" in such a gentle way! "Kind" is the German for child, and "Kindchen" is a diminutive, and whenever he calls you that you can tell he has a leaning toward you.

This week is the first time that I have been able to play to him without being nervous, or that my fingers have felt warm and natural. It has been a fearful ordeal, truly, to play there, for not only was Liszt himself present, but such a crowd of artists, all ready to pick flaws in your playing, and to say, "She hasn't got much talent." I am so glad that I stayed until Liszt's return, for now the rush is over, and he has much more time for those of us who are left, and plays a great deal more himself. Yesterday he played us a study of Paganini's, arranged by himself, and also his Campanella. I longed for M., as she is so fond of the Campanella. Liszt gave it with a velvety softness, clearness, brilliancy and pearliness of touch that was inimitable. And oh, his grace!Nobodycan comparewith him! Everybody else sounds heavy beside him!

However, I have felt some comfort in knowing that it is not Liszt's genius alone that makes him such a player. He has gone through such technical studies as no one else has except Tausig, perhaps. He plays everything under the sun in the way ofEtuden—has played them, I mean. On Tuesday I got him talking about the composers who were the fashion when he was a young fellow in Paris—Kalkbrenner, Herz, etc.—and I asked him if he could not play us something by Kalkbrenner. "O yes! I must have a few things of Kalkbrenner's in my head still," and then he played part of a concerto. Afterward he went on to speak of Herz, and said: "I'll play you a little study of Herz's that is infamously hard. It is a stupid little theme," and then he played the theme, "butnowpay attention." Then he played the study itself. It was a most hazardous thing, where the hands kept crossing continually with great rapidity, and striking notes in the most difficult positions. It made us all laugh; and Liszt hit the notes every time, though it was disgustingly hard, and as he said himself, "he used to get all in a heat over it." He had evidently studied it so well that he could never forget it. He went on to speak of Moscheles and of his compositions. He said that when between thirty and forty years of age, Moscheles played superbly, but as he grew older he became too old-womanish and set in his ways—and then he took off Moscheles, and played his Etuden in his style. It was very funny. But it showed howLiszt has studiedeverything, and the universality of his knowledge, for he knows Tausig's and Rubinstein's studies as well as Kalkbrenner and Herz. There cannot be many persons in the world who keep up with the whole range of musical literature as he does.

Liszt loved Tausig as his own child, and is always delighted when we play any of his music. His death was an awful blow to Liszt, for he used to say, "He will be the inheritor of my playing." I suppose he thought he would live again in him, for he always says, "Never did such talent come under my hands." I would give anything to have seen them together, for Tausig was a wonderfully clever and captivating man, and I can imagine he must have fascinated Liszt. They say he was the naughtiest boy that ever was heard of, and caused Liszt no end of trouble and vexation; but he always forgave him, and after the vexation was past Liszt would pat him on the head and say, "Carlchen, entweder wirst du ein grosser Lump oder ein grosser Meister(You'll turn out either a great blockhead or a great master)." That is Liszt all over. He is so indulgent that in consideration of talent he will forgive anything.

Tausig's father, who was himself a music-master, took him to Liszt when he was fourteen years old, hoping that Liszt would receive the little marvel as a pupil and protégé.

But Liszt would not even hear the boy play. "I have had," he declared positively, "enough of child prodigies. They never come to much." Tausig's father apparently acquiesced in the reply, but while he andLiszt were drinking wine and smoking together, he managed to smuggle the child on to the piano-stool behind Liszt, and signed to him to begin to play. The little Tausig plunged into Chopin's A flat Polonaise with such fire and boldness that Liszt turned his eagle head, and after a few bars cried, "I take him!" I heard Liszt say once that he could not endure child prodigies. "I have no time," said he, "for these artistsdieWERDENsollen(thatareto be)!"

———

WEIMAR,September 9, 1873.

This week has been one of great excitement in Weimar, on account of the wedding of the son of the Grand Duke. All sorts of things have been going on, and the Emperor and Empress came on from Berlin. There have been a great many rehearsals at the theatre of different things that were played, and of course Liszt took a prominent part in the arrangement of the music. He directed the Ninth Symphony, and played twice himself with orchestral accompaniments. One of the pieces he played was Weber's Polonaise in E major, and the other was one of his own Rhapsodies Hongroises. Of these I was at the rehearsal. When he came out on the stage the applause was tremendous, and enough in itself to excite and electrify one. I was enchanted to have an opportunity to hear Liszt as a concert player. The director of the orchestra here is a beautiful pianist and composer himself, as well as a splendid conductor, but it was easy to seethat he had to get all his wits together to follow Liszt, who gave full rein to his imagination, and let thetempofluctuate as he felt inclined. As for Liszt, he scarcelylookedat the keys, and it was astounding to see his hands go rushing up and down the piano and perform passages of the utmost rapidity and difficulty, while his head was turned all the while towards the orchestra, and he kept up a running fire of remarks with them continually. "You violins, strike insharphere." "You trumpets, not too loud there," etc. He did everything with the most immenseaplomb, and without seeming to pay any attention to his hands, which moved of themselves as if they were independent beings and had their own brain and everything! He never did the same thing twice alike. If it were a scale the first time, he would make it in double or broken thirds the second, and so on, constantly surprising you with some new turn. While you were admiring the long roll of the wave, a sudden spray would be dashed over you, and make you catch your breath! No, never was there such a player! The nervous intensity of his touch takes right hold of you. When he had finished everybody shouted and clapped their hands like mad, and the orchestra kept up such afanfareof applause, that the din was quite overpowering. Liszt smiled and bowed, and walked off the stage indifferently, not giving himself the trouble to come back, and presently he quietly sat down in the parquet, and the rehearsal proceeded. The concert itself took place at the court, so that I did not hear it. Metzdorf was there, however, and he said that Lisztplayed fabulously, of course, but that he was not as inspired as he was in the morning, and did not make the same effect.

———

WEIMAR,September 15, 1873.

The other day an excursion was arranged to Sondershausen, a town about three hours' ride from Weimar in the cars. There was to be a concert there in honour of Liszt, and a whole programme of his music was to be performed. About half a dozen of the "Lisztianer"—as the Weimarese dub Liszt's pupils—agreed to go, I, of course, being one. Liszt himself, the Countess von X. and Count S. were to lead the party. The morning we started was one of those perfect autumnal days when it is a delight simply tolive.

After breakfast I hurried off to the station, where I met the others, everybody being in the highest spirits. Liszt and his titled friends travelled in a first class carriage by themselves. The rest of us went second class, in the next carriage behind. We were very gay indeed, and the time did not seem long till we arrived at Sondershausen, where we exchanged our seats in the cars for seats in an omnibus, and drove to the principal hotel. There were not sufficient accommodations for us all, owing to the number of strangers who had come to the festival, so Mrs. S. and I went to a smaller hotel in a more distant part of the town to engage rooms, intending to return and dine with Liszt and the rest. Just as our noisy vehicle clattered up to the inn and some of the gentlemen jumped out to arrange matters, the solemn strains of a chorale were heard froma church close by, with its grand and rolling organ accompaniment. Somehow it made me feel sad to hear it, and a sense of thetransitorinessof things came over me. It seemed like one of those voices from the other world that call to us now and then.

After we had engaged our rooms, we drove back to the hotel where Liszt was staying, and where we were to dine immediately. It was in the centre of the town, and directly opposite the palace, which rose boldly on a sort of eminence with great flights of stone steps sweeping down to the road on each side. It looked quite imposing. An avenue wound up the hill to the right of it. In the dining-room of the hotel a long table was spread and all the places were carefully set. My place was next Count S. and not far from Liszt. So I was very well seated. Everybody began talking at once the minute dinner was served, as they always do at table in Germany. Toward the close of it were the usual number of toasts in honour of Liszt, to which he responded in rather a bored sort of way. I don't wonder he gets tired of them, for it is always the same thing. He did not seem to be in his usual spirits, and had a fatigued air.

After dinner he said, "Now let us go and see Fräulein Fichtner." Fräulein Fichtner was the young lady who was going to play his concerto in A major at the concert that evening. She is a well-known pianist in Germany, and is both pretty and brilliant. We started in a procession, which is the way one always walks with Liszt. It reminds me of those snow-balls the boys roll up at home—the crowd gathers as it proceeds! Whenwe got to the house we entered an obscure corridor and began to find our way up a dark and narrow staircase. Some one struck a wax match. "Good!" called out Liszt, in his sonorous voice. "Leuchten Sie voraus(Light us up)." When we got to the top we pulled the bell and were let in by Fräulein Fichtner's mother. Fräulein Fichtner herself looked no ways dismayed at the number of her guests, though we had the air of coming to storm the house. She gaily produced all the chairs there were, and those who could not find a seat had to stand! She was in Weimar for a few days this summer. So we had all met her before, and I had once heard her play some duets by Schumann with Liszt, who enjoyed reading with "Pauline," as he calls her. It is to her that Raff has dedicated his exquisite "Maerchen(Fairy story)." She is a sparkling brunette, with a face full of intelligence. They say she writes charming little poems and is gifted in various ways. Not to tire her for the concert we only stayed about twenty minutes.

Going back, Liszt indulged in a little gracefulbadinageapropos of the concerto. You know he has written two concertos. The one in E flat is much played, but this one in A very rarely. It is exceedingly difficult and is one of the few of his compositions that it interests Liszt to know that people play. "I should write it otherwise if I wrote it now," he explained to me as we were walking along. "Some passages are very troublesome (haecklig) to execute. I was younger and less experienced when I composed it," he added, with one of those illuminating smiles "like the flash of a dagger in the sun," as Lenz says.

When we reached the hotel everybody went in to take a siesta—that "Mittags-Schlaf" which is law in Germany. I did not wish to sleep and felt like exploring the old town. So Count S. and I started on a walk. Sondershausen is a dreamy, sleepy place, with so little life about it that you hardly realize there are any people there at all. It is pleasantly situated, and gentle hills and undulations of land are all about it, but it seems as if the town had been dead for a long time and this were its grave over which one was quietly walking. We took the road that wound past the castle. It was embowered in trees, and behind the castle were gardens and conservatories. The road descended on the other side, and we followed it till we came unexpectedly upon a little circular park. Such a deserted, widowed little park it seemed! Not a soul did we encounter as we wandered through its paths. Bordering them were great quantities of berry-laden snow-berry bushes, of which I am very fond. The park had a sort of rank and unkempt aspect, as if it were abandoned to itself. The very stream that went through it flowed sluggishly along, and as if it hadn't any particular object in life.—I enjoyed it very much, and it was very restful to walk about it. One felt there the truth of R.'s favourite saying, "It doesn't make any difference.Nothingmakes any difference."

Count S. rattled on, but I didn't hear more than half of what he said. He is a pleasure-loving man of the world, fond of music, but a perfect materialist, and untroubled by the "souffle vers le beau" which torments so many people. At the same time he is appreciativeand very amusing, and one has no chance to indulge in melancholy withhim. We sauntered about till late in the afternoon, and then returned to the hotel for coffee before going to the concert, which began at seven. The concert hall was behind the palace and seemed to form a part of it. Liszt, the Countess von X., and Count S. sat in a box, aristocratic-fashion. The rest of us were in the parquet. I was amazed at the orchestra, which was very large and played gloriously. It seemed to me as fine as that of the Gewandhaus in Leipsic, though I suppose it cannot be.—"Why has no one ever mentioned this orchestra to me?" I asked of Kellermann, who sat next, "and how is it one finds such an orchestra in such a place?" "Oh," said he, "this orchestra is very celebrated, and the Prince of Sondershausen is a great patron of music." This is the way it is in Germany. Every now and then one has these surprises. You never know when you are going to stumble upon a jewel in the most out-of-the-way corner.

We were all greatly excited over Fräulein Fichtner's playing, and it seemed very jolly to be behind the scenes, as it were, and to have one of our own number performing. We applauded tremendously when she came out. She was not nervous in the least, but began with greataplomb, and played most beautifully. The concerto made a generally dazzling and difficult impression upon me, but did not "take hold" of me particularly. I do not know how Liszt was pleased with her rendering of it, for I had no opportunity of asking him. She also played his Fourteenth Rhapsodywith orchestral accompaniment in most bold and dashing style. Fräulein Fichtner is more in the bravura than in the sentimental line, and she has a certain breadth, grasp, and freshness. The last piece on the programme was Liszt's Choral Symphony, which was magnificent. The chorus came at the end of it, as in the Ninth Symphony. Mrs. S. said she was familiar with it from having heard Thomas's orchestra play it in New York.—That orchestra, by the way, from what I hear, seems to have developed into something remarkable. It is a great thing for the musical education of the country to have such an organization travelling every winter. And what a revelation is an orchestra the first time one hears it, even if it be but a poor one!—Music come bodily down from Heaven! And here in their musical darkness, the Americans in the provinces are having an orchestra of the very highest excellence burst upon them in full splendour. Whatcouldbe more American? They always have the best or none!

At nine o'clock in the evening the concert was over, and we all returned to the hotel for supper. We were all desperately hungry after so much music and enthusiasm. Everybody wanted to be helped at once, and the waiters were nearly distracted. Count S. sat next me and was very funny. He kept rapping the table like mad, but without any success. Finally he exclaimed, "Jetzt geh'ICHauf Jagd(NowI'mgoing hunting)!" and sprang up from his chair, rushed to the other end of the dining-room, possessed himself of some dishes the waiterswere helping, and returned in triumph. I couldn't help laughing, and he made a great many jokes at the expense of the waiters and everybody else. I could not hear any of Liszt's conversation, which I regretted, but he seemed in a quiet mood. I do not think he is the same when he is with aristocrats. He must be amongartiststo unsheathe his sword. When he is with "swells," he is all grace and polish. He seems only to toy with his genius for their amusement, and he is never serious. At least this is as far asmyobservation of him goes on the few occasions I have seen him in thebeau monde. The presence of the proud Countess von X. at Sondershausen kept him, as it were, at a distance from everybody else, and he was not overflowing with fun and gayety as he was at Jena. She, of course, did not go with us to see Fräulein Fichtner, which was fortunate. After supper one and all went to bed early, quite tired out with the day's excitement.

This haughty Countess, by the way, has always had a great fascination for me, because she looks like a woman who "has a history." I have often seen her at Liszt's matinees, and from what I hear of her, she is such a type of woman as I suppose only exists in Europe, and such as the heroines of foreign novels are modelled upon. She is a widow, and in appearance is about thirty-six or eight years old, of medium height, slight to thinness, but exceedingly graceful. She is always attired in black, and is utterly careless in dress, yet nothing can conceal her innate elegance of figure. Her face is pallid and her hair dark. She makes an impression of icy coldness and at the sametime of tropical heat. The pride of Lucifer to the world in general—entire abandonment to the individual. I meet her often in the park, as she walks along trailing her "sable garments like the night," and surrounded by her four beautiful boys—as Count S. says, "each handsomer than the other." They have such romantic faces! Dark eyes and dark curling hair. The eldest is about fourteen and the youngest five.

The little one is too lovely, with his brown curls hanging on his shoulders! I never shall forget the supercilious manner in which the Countess took out her eye-glass and looked me over as I passed her one day in the park. Weimar being such a "kleines Nest(little nest)," as Liszt calls it, every stranger is immediately remarked. She waited till I got close up, then deliberately put up this glass and scrutinized me from head to foot, then let it fall with a half-disdainful, half-indifferent air, as if the scrutiny did not reward the trouble.—I was so amused. Her arrogance piques all Weimar, and they never cease talking about her. I can never help wishing to see her in a fashionable toilet. If she is sodistinguéein rather less than ordinary dress, whatwouldshe be in a Parisian costume? I mean as to grace, for she is not pretty.—But as a psychological study, she is more interesting, perhaps, as she is. She always seems to me to be gradually going to wreck—a burnt-out volcano, with her own ashes settling down upon her and covering her up. She is very highly educated, and is preparing her eldest son for the university herself. What a subject she would have been for a Balzac!

We stayed over the next day in Sondershausen, as there was to be another orchestral concert—this time with a miscellaneous programme. Fräulein Fichtner had already departed, but the first violinist played Mendelssohn's famous concerto for violin.—Not in Wilhelmj's masterly style, but extremely well. We took the train for Weimar about five P. M. Going back I was in the carriage with Liszt. He sat opposite me, and gradually began to talk. The conversation turned upon Weitzmann, my former harmony teacher, who, you remember, was so determined to make me learn. Liszt remarked upon the extent of his knowledge and said, "If I were not so old I should like to go to school again to Weitzmann." He was talking to Weitzmann one day, he said, and Weitzmann proposed to him that he should write a canon. "I sat down and worked over it a good while, but finally gave it up.—I know not why, but I never had any success in writing canons. Weitzmann then sat down, and in half an hour had produced two excellent ones." He gave this as an instance of Weitzmann's readiness.—A canon, you know, is a sort of musical puzzle. The right hand plays the theme. The left hand takes it up a little later and imitates the right. The two interweave, and the theme forms the melody and the accompaniment at the same time, according as it is played by the right or left hand—something on the principle of singing rounds. The difficulty consists in avoiding monotony with this continual iteration of the theme, which can be brought on at different intervals, inverted, etc., at will. It seems to bemore a mathematical than a musical style of composition. I should suppose thatBachcould fire off canons without end! He developed it in every imaginable form.—Liszt, however, is of rather a different school!

We got back to Weimar about eight in the evening, and this delicious excursion, like all others,had to end. But the quiet old town, with its musical name and its great orchestra, will long remain in my memory.

Adieu, Sondershausen!

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