very short time "_le petit Liszt_"
was the great Paris sensation. The old _noblesse_ tried to spoil him
with flattery, the Duchesse de Berri drugged him with bonbons, the
Duke of Orleans called him the "little Mozart." He gave private
concerts, at which Herz, Moscheles, Lafont, and De Beriot, assisted.
Rossini would sit by his side at the piano, and applaud. He was a
"miracle." The company never tired of extolling his "nerve, fougue et
originalite," while the ladies who petted and caressed him after each
performance, were delighted at his simple and graceful carriage, the
elegance of his language, and the perfect breeding and propriety of
his demeanor.

He was only twelve when he played for the first time at the Italian
Opera, and one of those singular incidents which remind one of
Paganini's triumphs occurred. At the close of a _bravura cadenza_, the
band forgot to come in, so absorbed were the musicians in watching the
young prodigy. Their failure was worth a dozen successes to Liszt. The
ball of the marvellous was fairly set rolling. Gall, the inventor of
phrenology, took a cast of the little Liszt's skull; Talma, the
tragedian, embraced him openly with effusion; and the misanthropic
Marquis de Noailles became his mentor, and initiated him into the art
of painting.

In 1824 Liszt, then thirteen years old, came with his father to
England; his mother returned to Austria. He went down to Windsor to
see George IV., who was delighted with him, and Liszt, speaking of him
to me, said: "I was very young at the time, but I remember the king
very well--a fine, pompous-looking gentleman." George IV. went to
Drury Lane on purpose to hear the boy, and commanded an encore. Liszt
was also heard in the theatre at Manchester, and in several private
houses.

On his return to France, people noticed a change in him. He was now
fourteen, grave, serious, often pre-occupied, already a little tired
of praise, and excessively tired of being called "le petit Liszt." His
vision began to take a wider sweep. The relation between art and
religion exercised him. His mind was naturally devout. Thomas a Kempis
was his constant companion. "Rejoice in nothing but a good deed;"
"Through labor to rest, through combat to victory;" "The glory which
men give and take is transitory," these and like phrases were already
deeply engraven on the fleshly tablets of his heart. Amid all his
glowing triumphs he was developing a curious disinclination to appear