debut_ at a concert at Vienna with
the most flattering applause. At this day the amateur would give much to
hear exactly how such men as Meyerbeer, and Hummel, and Clementi played,
and to compare them with Thalberg, Gottschalk, and Satter. It is
impossible to say in what respects Meyerbeer may have fallen behind or
surpassed these accomplished executants; but certain it is, that, in the
beginning of the present century, and while scarce out of his teens, the
favorite pupil of the Abbe Vogler was the favorite pianist of the Vienna
public.

Yet, after all his triumphs in the concert-room, he yearned for the
greater triumphs of the stage, and leaving the piano to his renowned
successors, Chopin and Liszt, he turned again to composing. He wrote an
opera called "The Two Caliphs," which, like his previous effort, was
replete with strange harmonies, very sparing in melody, and met with the
same (lack of) success. The celebrated Metternich--an authority in Art
as well as in diplomacy--was present at the production of "The Two
Caliphs," but only once ventured to applaud. The old master, Vogler, and
the dearer friend, Von Weber, still encouraged the young composer with
their approbation, and only blamed a stupid audience that would not
discern the beauties appreciable by their sharper ears.

Meyerbeer had good sense, and with a modesty perhaps more unusual in a
musician than in any one else, he was disposed rather to blame himself
than the public. A prominent amateur composer of Vienna--Salieri by
name--advised him to go to Italy; and to Venice, as the nearest point,
he hastened without delay.

In these days of universal travel, when every tourist can talk glibly of
the different theatres and composers of the Old World, it seems almost
incredible that a young man of wealth and taste like Meyerbeer should
not have visited Italy till almost forced to do so. Yet such was the
case. Meyerbeer was a man of one idea, and that idea was music. No
journey which had any other object possessed attractions for him. To the
influences of history, to the grandeur of that land which should not be
named without an almost holy veneration, he was quite indifferent. It
was not the Caesars that drew him to Italy, nor the Popes, nor the
Raphaels, nor the Michel Angelos,--it was Rossini and the modern opera.

At that time the composer of "Semiramide" was at the height of his
popularity, and Meyerbeer heard "Tancredi," and for the first time felt
the