omething
like compassion that this music should never sound from off the
death-pale paper. I wrote two lines to Liszt; his answer was the news
that preparations for the performance were being made on the largest
scale the limited means of Weimar would permit. Everything that men
and circumstances could do was done in order to make the work
understood. . . . Errors and misconceptions impeded the desired
success. What was to be done to supply what was wanted, so as to
further the true understanding on all sides, and with it the ultimate
success of the work? Liszt saw it at once and did it. He gave to the
public his own impression of the work in a manner the convincing
eloquence and overpowering efficacy of which remain unequalled.
Success was his reward, and with this success he now approaches me,
saying: 'Behold, we have come so far, now create us a new work that we
may go still further.'"

LISZT.

In a letter written to Franz von Schober, the poet and writer, and the
intimate friend of Schubert, in 1840, Liszt says: "Most affectionate
remembrances to Kriehuber. His two portraits of me have been copied in
London. They are without doubt the best."

Joseph Kriehuber, whose fine drawing of Liszt at the piano, playing
Beethoven's C sharp minor sonata to some friends, we reproduce, was a
Viennese artist of great talent, who made many excellent portraits in
pencil, lithography, water-colours, and miniatures. In this work,
Kriehuber has introduced a portrait of himself seated at the left of
the pianist, with pencil and sketchbook in hand. Behind the piano
stands Berlioz, and next him is Czerny, the celebrated music teacher
and composer, and the teacher of Liszt.

[Illustration: A Morning with Liszt. From drawing by Joseph Kriehuber.]

We will quote here an interesting letter, written from Paris by Liszt
to Czerny. At this time Liszt was but seventeen years old.

"MY VERY DEAR MASTER:--When I think of all the immense obligations
under which I am placed toward you, and at the same time consider how
long I have left you without a sign of remembrance, I am perfectly
ashamed and miserable, and in despair of ever being forgiven by you!
'Yes,' I said to myself, with a deep feeling of bitterness, 'I am an
ungrateful fellow, I have forgotten my benefactor, I have forgotten
that good master to whom I owe both my talent and my success.' . . .
At these words a tear starts to my eyes, and I assure you that no
rep