essional exhibitions of the
highest order, the relations of our whole party were those of the
friendliest and merriest tourists and _compagnons de voyage_.
Nothing could exceed the charm of our delightful travelling through
that lovely scenery, and sojourning in those pleasant picturesque
antique towns, where the fine concerts of our two artists enchanted
us even more, from personal sympathy, than the most enthusiastic
audiences who thronged to hear them.

Liszt was at this time a young man, in the very perfection of his
extraordinary talent, and at the height of his great celebrity. He
was extremely handsome; his features were finely chiselled, and the
expression of his face, especially when under the inspiration of
playing, strikingly grand and commanding.

Of all the pianists that I have ever heard, and I have heard all the
most celebrated of my time, he was undoubtedly the first for fire,
power, and brilliancy of execution. His style, which was strictly
original, and an innovation upon all that had preceded it, may be
called the "Sturm und Drang," or seven-leagued-boot style of playing
on the piano; and in listening to him, it was difficult to believe
that he had no more than the average number of fingers, or that they
were of the average length,--but that, indeed, they were not; he had
stretched his hands like a pair of kid gloves, and accomplished the
most incredible distances, while executing, in the interval between
them, inconceivable musical feats with his three middle fingers.
None of his musical contemporaries, Moscheles, Mendelssohn, Chopin,
nor his more immediate rival, Thalberg, ever produced anything like
the volcanic sort of musical effect which he did, perfect eruptions,
earthquakes, tornadoes of sound, such as I never heard any piano
utter but under his touch. But though he was undoubtedly a more
amazing performer than any I ever listened to, his peculiar
eccentricities were so inextricably interwoven with the whole mode
and manner of his performances that, in spite of the many imitators
they have inspired, he could by no means be regarded as the founder
of anything deserving the name of a school of piano-playing. M.
Rubinstein, I presume, in our own day, represents Liszt's peculiar
genius better than any one else.

The close, concise, crowded, and somewhat