d me. When Liszt plays anything pathetic, it
sounds as if he had been through everything, and opens all one's
wounds afresh. All that one has ever suffered comes before one
again. Who was it that I heard say once, that years ago he saw
Clara Schumann sitting in tears near the platform during one of
Liszt's performances? Liszt knows well the influence he has on
people, for he always fixes his eyes on some one of us when he
plays, and I believe he tries to wring our hearts. When he plays a
passage and goes pearling down the keyboard, he often looks over
at me and smiles, to see whether I am appreciating it.

But I doubt if he feels any particular emotion himself when he is
piercing you through with his rendering. He is simply hearing every
tone, knowing exactly what effect he wishes to produce and just how
to do it. In fact, he is practically two persons in one--the
listener and the performer. But what immense self-command that
implies! No matter how fast he plays you always feel that there is
"plenty of time"--no need to be anxious! You might as well try to
move one of the pyramids as fluster him. Tausig possessed this
repose in a technical way, and his touch was marvelous; but he
never drew the tears to your eyes. He could not wind himself
through all the subtle labyrinths of the heart as Liszt does. Liszt
does such bewitching little things! The other day, for instance,
Fraulein Gaul was playing something to him, and in it were two
runs, and after each run two staccato chords. She did them most
beautifully and struck the chords immediately after. "No, no," said
Liszt; "after you make a run you must wait a minute before you
strike the chords, as if in admiration of your own performance. You
must pause, as if to say, 'How nicely I did that!'" Then he sat
down and made a run himself, waited a second, and then struck the
two chords in the treble, saying as he did so, "Bravo!" and then he
played again, struck the other chord and said again, "Bravo!" and
positively, it was as if the piano had softly applauded.

Liszt hasn't the nervous irritability common to artists, but on the
contrary his disposition is the most exquisite and tranquil in the
world. We have been there incessantly and I've never seen him
ruffled except two or three times, and then he was