Chapter 11

I sat to the left of the King at dinner. He seemed very melancholy, and told me that never in his life had he had such a painful experience as he had this afternoon. A few days ago a quite young soldier had struck his superior officer and had been sentenced to death. The King said: "He is to be shot to-morrow in the barracks near the park, and this afternoon his poor mother, accompanied by the priest, came to the palace to make a last and supreme effort to obtain pardon. His mother clung to my knees and wept her soul out: 'He is my only child and only nineteen years old--too young to die. Take me instead. _Sono vecchia, egli tanto giovine!_' ['I am old, and he so young!'] The priest added that the boy had always been such a good son--kind and gentle to his mother--and begged that he should be pardoned." The King repeated all this with tears in his good eyes.

"I am sure that your Majesty did pardon him. Did you not?"

"No," he said, "though it broke my heart to refuse. In military affairs one must not interfere with the discipline."

"But this one," I urged, tearfully; "could there not be extenuating circumstances? Do pardon him, your Majesty. Just think what that would mean for the poor mother."

But the King, true to his ideas of military discipline, said: "No! He is condemned to die. He must die."

The King could not shake off the impression this interview had made on him, and J., who passed the evening in the smoking-room with his Majesty, said that he never saw the King so depressed as he was this evening.

The Queen came up to me directly after dinner, saying: "What _were_ you and the King talking about? You both looked so serious and sad."

I told her.

She said, "The King has such a good heart."

The thought of the poor young fellow who was to be shot kept me awake, and I thought at five o'clock that I heard the report of guns, but I was not sure. My imagination was so keen that I could have pictured anything to myself.

The first thing the King said to me at luncheon was, "Did you hear this morning?"

I told him I heard something, but I dreaded to think what it might have meant.

"Alas!" he said, as his eyes filled with tears, "it is too true, I hate to think of it."

We left Monza at three o'clock this afternoon, I cannot tell you how kind their Majesties were to me! The Queen kissed me good-by and said, "_Au revoir à Rome_."

The King gave me his arm and went down the steps of the grand staircase of the principal entrance with me and put me himself in the landau. "You do not know what an honor this is," said Signor Peruzzi--as if I did not appreciate it!

We drove to the station in state and traveled in the royal compartment to Milan.... We intended to leave for Rome and home this evening, but I feel too tired to do anything but send to you these few lines and go to bed.

To-morrow night will find us in the Palazzo Tittoni, where the children already have arrived.

ROME, _January, 1885_.

Dear Aunt Maria,--Just now we are reveling in Liszt. Rome is wild over him, and one leaves no stone unturned in order to meet him. Fortunate are those who have even a glimpse of him, and thrice blessed are those who _know_ and hear him. He is the prince of musicians--in fact, he is treated like a prince. He always has the precedence over every one; even Ambassadors--so tenacious of their rights--give them up without hesitation. Every one is happy to pay this homage to genius.

We met him the first time at M. de Schlözer's dinner. Schlözer, with his usual tact, plied him well with good food, gave him the best of wines and a superlative cigar. (Liszt is a great epicure and an inveterate smoker.) M. de Schlözer never mentioned the word "music," but made Liszt talk, and that was just the thing Liszt wanted to do, until, seeing that he was not expected to play, he was crazy to get to the piano. Finally he could not resist, and said to Schlözer, "Do play something for me!"

"Never!" said Schlözer. "I would not dare."

Then Liszt turned to me and asked me to sing. I also said, "I would not dare." Whereupon he said, "Well, since no one will do anything, I will play myself."

(The Minghettis, von Keudell, and Count Arco, Schlözer's secretary, were the guests.)

How divinely he played! He seemed to be inspired. Certainly the enthusiastic and sympathetic listeners were worthy to be his audience.

"Do you still sing Massenet?" he said to me. "Do you recollect my dining with you in Paris, and your singing those exquisite songs?"

"Recollect it!" I cried. "How do you think I could ever forget?"

"Will you not sing? I will accompany you," he said. "Have you any of Massenet's songs?"

"I have nothing with me to-night. I never dreamt of singing," I answered.

Schlözer said: "That is no obstacle. I will send a servant to your house directly to fetch the music." And in a very short time the music was in my hands.

Then Liszt sat down and, turning over the pages, found what he wanted, and I sang. Schlözer was radiantly happy. There was not one disturbing element. Every one was as appreciative as he was himself--those who listened as well as those who performed.

Liszt was at his best; I mean that he could not have been better. Knowing that Count Arco sang, he insisted on hearing him. Arco at first declined, but finally yielded--there was no resisting the arch-charmer. Liszt played the "_Suoni la tromba_" (Arco's _cheval de bataille_), by heart, of course, singing himself, to help the timid singer, and adding variations on the piano.

Liszt was in such high spirits that we would not have been surprised if he had danced a jig. He threw his long hair back from his forehead, as if to throw care to the winds. Later he spread his large hands over the keyboard in protest and said, "_No more from me_, but we must hear Schlözer before we go." Therefore Schlözer was obliged to play. He can only improvise, as you know. Liszt sat by his side and played a helpful bass.

Schlözer ordered some champagne, and we all drank one another's healths. It was after one o'clock when we bade our host adieu. Johan and I took Liszt in our carriage and left him at his apartment in the Via Margutta on our way home.

We saw a great deal of him afterward, and he dined with us twice. The first time we asked Grieg, the Norwegian genius, thinking it would please Liszt to meet him. Perhaps this was a mistake. However, it was a most interesting evening. Mrs. Grieg sang charmingly (Grieg's songs, of course); and Liszt, with his hands folded in front of him, was lost in thought--or was he asleep? Let us say he _dozed_--only waking up to clap his hands and cry "Brava!" But it was perfectly wonderful when he read at sight a concerto of Grieg's, in manuscript, which Grieg had brought with him. Liszt played it off as if he had known it all his life, reading all the orchestra parts. Both these great artists were enchanted with each other, but after a while Liszt became tired of music and asked if we could not have a game of whist. To play a banal game of whist with Liszt seemed a sacrilege, but we played, all the same. I was very _distraite_, seeing Grieg and his wife (who do not play cards) wandering restlessly around the room, and sometimes I put on an ace when a two would have done the deed.

Liszt plays the piano better than he plays whist. I don't know how many times he revoked. Every one pretended not to notice, and we paid up at the finish without a murmur. He was delighted to win four lire and something, and counted out the small change quite conscientiously. Johan drove him home--a very tired and sleepy Liszt--and only left him at the sill of his door.

I received a very queer letter the day Liszt dined here. I copy it for you. It was from the Princess W----, a lady whose friendship he renounced when he took holy orders.

I hear that you are going to have the Master (_le Maître_) to dine at your house. I beg of you to see that he does not sit in a draught of air, or that the cigar he will smoke will not be too strong, and the coffee he drinks will be weak, for he cannot sleep after, and please see that he is brought safely to his apartment.

Yours, etc., etc.

* * * * *

All these instructions were carried out to the letter. On another occasion Liszt wrote to me that he would bring some of his songs to try over at five o'clock. I inclose his letter. What a chance, thought I, for me to give pleasure to some of my friends who I knew were longing to see him. Although he had said _entre nous_ in his letter, and I knew that he really wanted to look through the songs alone with me, I could not resist the temptation--though it was such rank disobedience--and said to them: "Liszt is coming to me at five o'clock. If you would like to hear him, and consent to be hidden behind a door, I will invite you." They all accepted with rapture, and were assembled in the little _salon_ before the time appointed. The door was left open and a large screen placed before it.

Johan fetched Liszt in our carriage, as he always does. I received him and the book of _Lieder_, which he brought with him. (Only Johan and Nina were present.) He opened the book at "_Comment disaient ils?_"--one of his most beautiful songs, which has an exquisite but very difficult accompaniment. He played with fairy fingers, and we went over it several times. I could see the screen swerving and waving about; but Liszt's back was turned, so he could not see it.

After we had finished tea was served, and then he said, "Have you heard my 'Rigoletto'?"

"Yes," I said, "but not by you."

"Well," he said, "I will play it for you. Your piano is better than the one I have. It is a pleasure to play on it."

The screen, now alive with emotion, almost tipped over. After "Rigoletto" he played "_Les soirées de Vienne_," and this time the screen actually did topple over and exposed to view the group of ladies huddled behind it. I shuddered to think how the Master would take this horrible treachery.

He took it better than I expected--in fact, he laughed outright. The ladies came forward and were presented to him, and were delighted. I am sure that Liszt was, too; at any rate, he laughed so much at my ruse and contrition that the tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his pocket-handkerchief, which had an embroidered "F.L." in the corner. This he left behind, and I kept it as a souvenir.

Some days after this there was a large dinner given by the German Ambassador (Herr von Keudell) for the Princess Frederick Carl. Liszt and many others, including ourselves, were present. The Ambassador allowed the gentlemen only a short time to smoke; he gave them good but small cigars. I do not know how the great Master liked this, for he is a fervent smoker. However, as _le charbonnier est maître chez lui_, our host had his way and the music commenced, as he wished, very soon after dinner. Both the Ambassador and his wife are perfect pianists.

They play four-hand pieces on two pianos. On this occasion, to do honor to the famous composer, they grappled with a formidable work by Liszt, called "Mazeppa." (I fancy that Liszt is a little like Rossini, who used to say, "_Jouez pour moi toute autre chose que ma musique_.") Mazeppa's wild scampering over the two keyboards made our hair stand on end, but the Master dozed off in peaceful slumber and only waked up and cried "Bravo!" when Mazeppa had finished careering and the two pianists were wiping their perspiring brows. Liszt begged the Princess to whistle, and opened his book of _Lieder_ at "_Es muss ein wunderbares sein_" (a lovely song) and said, "Can you whistle that?" Yes, she could; and did it very carefully and in a _wunderbares_ manner. Liszt was astonished and delighted.

Then Liszt played. Each time I hear him I say, "Never has he played like this." How can a person surpass himself? Liszt does. He had the music of "_Comment disaient ils?_" in the same book and begged me to sing it. "Do you think," he said, "you could add this little cadenza at the end?" And he played it for me.

"I think so," I said. "It does not seem very difficult," and hummed it.

"I had better write it for you," he said, "so that you will not forget it." And he took out his visiting-card and wrote it on the back. (I send it to you.)

Liszt is not always as amiable as this. He resents people counting on his playing. When Baroness K. inveigled him into promising to take tea with her because he knew her father, she, on his accepting, invited a lot of friends, holding out hopes that Liszt would play. She pushed the piano into the middle of the room--no one could have possibly failed to see it. Every one was on the _qui vive_ when Liszt arrived, and breathless with anticipation. Liszt, who had had many surprises of this sort, I imagine, saw the situation at a glance. After several people had been presented to him, Liszt, with his most captivating smile, said to the hostess:

"_Où est votre piano, chère madame?_" and looked all about for the piano, though it was within an inch of his nose.

"Oh, Monseigneur! Would you, really...?" advancing toward the piano triumphantly. "You are too kind. I never should have dared to ask you." And, waving her hand toward it, "_Here_ is the piano!"

"Ah," said Liszt, who loves a joke, "_c'est vrai. Je voulais y poser mon chapeau_."

Very crestfallen, but undaunted, the Baroness cried, "But, Monseigneur, you will not refuse, if only to play a scale--merely to _touch_ the piano!"

But Liszt, as unkind as she was tactless, answered, coldly, "Madame, I never play my scales in the afternoon," and turned his back on her and talked with Madame Helbig.

As they stood there together, he and Madame Helbig, one could not see very much difference between them. She is as tall as Liszt, wears her hair short, and is attired in a long water-proof which looks like a soutane; and he wears his hair long, and is attired in a long soutane which looks like a water-proof. As regards their clothes, the only noticeable difference was that her gown was buttoned down the front and his was not. Both have the same broad and urbane smile.

One of the last dinners with Liszt before he left Rome was at the Duke and Duchess Sermonetas'--the Minghettis, the Keudells, Schlözer, and ourselves. Lenbach, the celebrated painter, was invited, but forgot all about the invitation until long after the dinner. Then he hurriedly donned a _redingote_ and appeared, flurried and distressed. Liszt was in one of his most delightful moods, and began improvising a tarantella, and Madame Minghetti jumped up suddenly and started to dance. Schlözer, catching the spirit of it, joined her. Who ever would have thought that the sedate German Minister to the Pope could have been so giddy! He knelt down, clapping his hands and snapping his fingers to imitate castanets. Madame Minghetti, though a grandmother, danced like a girl of sixteen, and Liszt at the piano played with Neapolitan gaiety! It was a moment never to be forgotten. Keudell's kind eyes beamed with joy. Lenbach looked over his spectacles and forgot his usual sarcastic smile. We all stood in an enchanted circle, clapping our hands in rhythmical measure.

Our good friend Ludolf, as Liszt's ambassador, asked the abbé--who has a great respect for "the powers that be"--to a beautiful dinner, to which we were invited, the Minghettis, the Keudells, and four others--making twelve in all. Madame Minghetti accepted for herself, but excused her husband, who she said was not to be in Rome that evening. Count Ludolf asked M. de Pitteurs (the Belgian Minister) to fill Minghetti's place.

Five minutes before dinner was announced, in came Madame Minghetti with Monsieur Minghetti.

"What!" cried the Count. "I did not expect _you_! Why did you not send me word that you were coming? We shall be thirteen at table, and that will never do."

Both M. and Mme. Minghetti were very much embarrassed.

"There is nothing easier," answered Signor Minghetti. "I can go home."

You may imagine that this was not very pleasant for the great Minghetti, who had probably never had such an experience in all his life.

Count Arco, seeing the situation, and as a solution to the difficulty, went across the street to the club, thinking that some one could be found. Fortunately, he succeeded, and you may be sure the emergency guest was only too delighted to make the fourteenth at _that_ table.

The Minghettis kindly and magnanimously overlooked the Count's want of tact.

Liszt, as if he wished to make us forget this untimely incident, played after dinner as he had never played before. But nothing could suppress Count Ludolf--never mind where the _plats_ were, his feet continued to get into them. Right in the middle of Liszt's most exquisite playing our irrepressible host said, in a loud voice:

"If any one wishes to have a game of whist, there are tables in the other room."

Liszt stopped short, but, seeing all our hands raised in holy horror at the thought of exchanging him for a game of whist, consented amiably to remain at the piano.

Liszt honored me by coming to my reception, brought by M. de Keudell--Liszt is always brought. Imagine the delight of my friends who came thus unexpectedly on the great Master. They made a circle around him, trying to edge near enough to get a word with him. He was extremely amiable and seemed pleased to create this manifestation of admiration. (Can one ever have enough?) There are two young musical geniuses here at the Villa Medici, both _premier prix de Rome_. One is Gabriel Pierné, surnamed "_Le Bébé_" because he is so small and looks so boyish--he really does not seem over fourteen years of age--and another, Paul Vidal, who is as good a pianist as Pierné, but not such a promising composer.

I asked Liszt if he would allow these two young artists to play some of their compositions for him. Liszt kindly consented, and the appointed day found them all in the _salon_. Liszt was enchanted (so he said); but how many times has he said, clapping the delighted artist on the shoulder, "_Mon cher, vous avez un très grand talent.... Vous irez loin; vous arriverez_," a great phrase! And then he would sit down at the piano, saying with a smile, "Do you play this?" and play it and crush him to atoms, and they would depart, having _la mort dans l'âme_, and overwhelmed with their imperfections. Instead of encouraging them, he discouraged them, poor fellows! Speaking of young artists in general, he said once, "_Il n'y a personne qui apprécie comme moi les bonnes intentions, mais je n'en aime pas toujours les resultats_."

You may believe that my artistic soul is full of joy when I can collect about me such artists as Liszt, Grieg, Sgambati, Pierné, Vidal, Mme. Helbig, and Countess Gigliucci, not to mention the Queen's _Gentilhomme de la reine_ (Marquis Villamarina), who has the most delicious barytone voice I have ever heard--but he seems to think as little of this divine gift as if it were his umbrella. Vera (the singing-master) was prevented from coming to-day to the Queen's lesson, and Signor Marchetti replaced him. He is a very well-known composer, and has written an opera called "Ruy Blas," which has had quite a success here in Italy. The Queen and I sing a duet from it which is really charming.

Baron Renzis had some theatricals at his pretty villa in Piazza Indipendenza, in which Nina acted the principal _rôle_, in "L'été de St.-Martin." Senateur Alfieri (son of the celebrated Alfieri) took the part of the uncle. One of the thirteen pictures Lenbach painted of Nina was put on the stage and afterward brought before the curtain, but it created no enthusiasm--people did not think it did her justice.

One actor (a young Frenchman) had such a stage-fright that when he had to say this phrase (it was all he had to say), "_Le peintre vous a diablement flattée_," he said, "_Le diable vous a peintrement flattée_," which caused a roar of laughter and hurt Lenbach's feelings....

Massenet has just sent a complete collection of his songs--all six. I like the first two best--"_Poëme d'Avril_" and "_Poëme de Souvenir_." This last he dedicated to me. There stands on the title-page, "_Madame, Vous avez si gracieusement protege le Poëme d'Avril_...", etc. The "_Poëme d'Hiver_," "_Poëme d'Octobre_," and "_Poëme d'Amour_" have pretty things in them, but they are far from being so complete as the first ones. Massenet wrote the date of its composition on each title-page, and a few bars of music.

I took them to the Queen, and we looked them over together. She was enchanted, and thought them the most graceful and refined things she had ever heard. She said, "I envy you having them."

"Would your Majesty like to have some?" I asked.

"Yes, indeed; very much," she replied. "But I could never sing them. You would have to teach me how. They suit your voice, but would they mine? No one can sing them as you do."

"I learnt them with Massenet; that is why," I replied.

I wrote to Massenet and begged him to send the same collection to the Queen, as she had been so delighted with his songs, and added, "Don't forget to put your name, the dates, and a bar or two of music just like what you sent to me."

Most amiably he did what I asked for, and the Queen was more than pleased, and immediately thanked him through the Marquise Villamarina.

Massenet has become a great celebrity now. Twenty years ago, when he was struggling to get on in Paris, Auber and I helped him. I used to pay him five francs an hour for copying manuscripts. Now one pays twenty francs _just to look at him_!

Mr. Morgan, of London, has hired our good friend George Wurts's magnificent apartment in the relic-covered Palazzo Antici-Mattei. Wurts is secretary to the American Legation in Petersburg, but comes occasionally to see his friends in Rome, who all welcome him with delight. Mr. Morgan gives beautiful dinners, and, although he has as many fires as he can possibly have, the huge rooms are freezingly cold, and sometimes we sit wrapped in our mantles.

ROME, _1st of January, 1886_.

My dear Aunt,--All Johan's and my most affectionate greetings: "May the year which commences to-day bring you every joy." I am selfish enough to wish that it will bring _us_ the joy of seeing you. You promised to make us a visit. Why not this spring?

It is six o'clock. I am sitting in my dressing-gown and feeling good for nothing. The diplomatic reception this afternoon was as brilliant as the others which I have described so often. The Queen was, _if possible_, more beautiful and gracious than ever. (I think the same each time I see her.) Every eye followed her. Does there exist in the world a more complete and lovely woman? To-day the Queen's dress was exquisite--a white satin covered with paillettes and beads, the court train of blue velvet heavily embroidered in silver. The tiara of diamonds, with great upward-pointed shaped pearls which her Majesty wore, was the King's New-year gift. "My Christmas present," the Queen told me.

The King seemed more talkative than usual; he spoke a long time with each person and smiled and laughed continually. Politics must be _easy_--like honors in whist. There is evidently no trouble in that quarter.

_March._