In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 19

For _la bonne bouche_ she gave us a Swedish peasant song, which was simply bewitching. Her high notes were exquisitely pure, the lower ones I thought weak; but that might have been owing to the good dinner she had eaten--at least she said so.

There is a musical phenomenon here just now in the shape of an American negro; he is blind and idiotic, but has a most extraordinary intelligence for music. All his senses seem to have been concentrated in this one sense. Prince and Princess Metternich, Auber, and ourselves went to his concert. Auber said, "Cet idiot, noir et aveugle, est vraiment merveilleux." Blind Tom had learned his _repertoire_ entirely by ear; therefore it was very limited, as he could only remember what he had heard played a few days before. His memory did not last long. He was wonderful.

Not only could he execute well, but he could imitate any one's mannerisms and their way of playing. The impresario came forward, saying, "I am told that Monsieur Auber is in the audience. May I dare to ask him to come up and play something?" Auber said he thought he should die of fright. We all urged him, for the curiosity of the thing, to play something of his new opera, which no one as yet had heard, therefore no one could have known it.

Auber mounted the platform, amid the enthusiastic applause of the audience, and performed his solo. Then Blind Tom sat down and played it after him so accurately, with the same staccato, old-fas.h.i.+oned touch of Auber, that no one could have told whether Auber was still at the piano.

Auber returned and bowed to the wildly excited public and to us. He said, "This is my first appearance as a pianist, and my last."

Prince Metternich, inspired by Auber's pluck, followed his example, and mounting the stage rattled off one of his _own fiery_, das.h.i.+ng waltzes, which Blind Tom repeated in the Prince's particular manner. After the concert we went into the artist's room to speak with the impresario, and found poor Tom banging his head against the wall like the idiot he was.

Auber remarked, "C'est humiliant pour nous autres."

PARIS, _June, 1867._

DEAR M.,--The famous pianist Liszt, the new Abbe, is pervading Paris just now, and is, I think, very pleased to be a priestly lion, taking his success as a matter of course. There are a succession of dinners in his honor, where he does ample honor to the food, and is in no way bashful about his appet.i.te.

He does a great deal of beaming, he has (as some one said) "so much countenance."

He dined with us the other night, the Metternichs, and twenty-five other people, among whom were Auber and Ma.s.senet.

In the boudoir, before dinner, he spied a ma.n.u.script which Auber had brought that afternoon. He took it up, looked at it, and said, "C'est tres joli!" and laid it down again. When we went in to dinner, and after his cigar in the conservatory (he is a great smoker), he went to the piano and played the "_joli_" little thing of Auber's. Was that not wonderful, that he could remember it all the time during the dinner? He seemed only to have glanced at it, and yet he could play it like that off from memory.

He is so kind and good, especially to struggling artists, trying to help them in every way. He seemed extraordinarily amiable that evening, for he sat down at the piano without being asked and played a great many of his compositions--quite an unusual thing for him to do! One has generally to tease and beg him, and then he refuses. But I think, when he heard Ma.s.senet improvising at one of the pianos he was inspired, and he put himself at the other (we have two grand pianos), and they played divinely, both of them improvising. He is by far the finest pianist I have ever heard, and has a very seductive way of looking at you while playing, as if he was only playing for you, and when he smiles you simply go to pieces. I don't wonder he is such a lady-killer, and that no woman can resist him; even my father-in-law stayed in the salon, being completely hypnotized by Liszt, who ought to consider this as one of his greatest triumphs, if he only knew.

I sang some of Ma.s.senet's songs, accompanied, of course, by Ma.s.senet.

Liszt was most attentive and most enthusiastic. He said Ma.s.senet had a great future, and he complimented me on my singing, especially my phrasing and expression.

I wonder if the story be true that he was engaged to be married to Princess Wittgenstein, and on the day of the wedding, when the bridal- dress was ready to be put on, she got a letter from her fiance (can any one imagine Liszt as a fiance) saying that he had taken holy orders that very morning.

They say that she bore it very well and wrote a sweet letter to him. It sounds rather unnatural; but one can believe anything from a person who was under Liszt's influence. He has the most wonderful magnetism. His appearance is certainly original as you see him in his _soutane_, his long hair, and his numerous moles, that stand out in profile, whichever way he turns his broad face.

But one forgets everything when one hears him play. He is now fifty-five years old. I invited him to go to the Conservatoire with me in the box which Auber had given me for last Sunday's concert. I inclose his letter of acceptance. (See page 164.)

Auber often gives me his box, which holds six people, and I have the pleasure of making four people happy. Auber sits in the back and generally dozes. We are all crowded together like sardines. Auber, being the director of the Conservatoire, has, of course, the best box, except the Imperial one, which is always empty.

The orchestra played Wagner's overture to "Tannhauser." The applause was not as enthusiastic as Liszt thought it ought to be, so he stood up in the box, and with his great hands clapped so violently that the whole audience turned toward him, and, recognizing him (indeed, it would have been difficult not to recognize him, such a striking figure as he is), began clapping their hands for him. He cried, "Bis!" And the audience in chorus shouted, "Bis!" And the orchestra repeated the whole overture. Then the audience turned again to Liszt and screamed, "Vive Liszt!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: FAC-SIMILE OF LISZT LETTER

Madame,

Permettez-moi de venir vous remercier demain au Conservatoire de votre gracieuse invitation dont je serai charme de profiter.

Mille respectueux hommages,

F. Listz

Dimanche matin.]

Auber said such a thing had never been seen or heard before in the annals of these severe and cla.s.sical concerts. People quite lost their heads, and Auber, being afraid that there would be a demonstration at the _sortie_, advised us to leave before the end.

I think Liszt was very pleased with his afternoon.

The sovereigns are working themselves to death, and almost killing their attendants. Prince Radzivill said, speaking of the King of Prussia: "I would have liked him better if he had stayed at home. He has to be ready every morning at half-past eight, and is often up till three in the morning." Radzivill and the others not only have to go to all the b.a.l.l.s, but they must attend all the various civil, military, and charitable functions, and then the Exposition takes a lot of time and energy.

Prince Umberto is here from Italy. When Princess Metternich asked him how long he was going to stay he answered, with a toss of his head toward Italy, "Cela depend des circonstances. Les affaires vont tres mal la-bas."

Aunt M---- says she wishes you had been at a matinee which Baroness Nathaniel Rothschild gave this afternoon at her beautiful new palace in the Faubourg St.-Honore. At the entrance there were ten servants in gorgeous livery, and a _huissier_ who rattled his mace down on the pavement as each guest pa.s.sed. There was, besides all the elite of Paris, an Archduke of Austria. I sang the "Ave Maria" of Gounod, accompanied by Madame Norman Neruda, an Austrian violiniste, the best woman violinist in the world. Baroness Rothschild played the piano part.

PARIS, _May 29, 1867._

DEAR M.,--The Metternichs' big ball last night was a splendid affair, the finest of the many fine b.a.l.l.s. We were invited for ten o'clock, and about half-past ten every one was there.

The Emperor and Empress came at eleven o'clock. Waldteufel, with full orchestra, was already playing in the ballroom of the emba.s.sy, which was beautifully decorated. At twelve o'clock the doors, or rather all the windows that had been made into doors, were opened into the new ballroom, which the Princess Metternich, with her wonderful taste and the help of Monsieur Alphand, had constructed in the garden, and which had transformed the emba.s.sy into a thousand-and-one-nights' palace.

The ballroom was a marvel; the walls were hung with lilac and pink satin, and the immense chandelier was one ma.s.s of candles and flowers; from each panel in the room there were suspended baskets of flowers and plants, and between the panels were mirrors which reflected the thousands of candles.

One would never have recognized the garden; it was transformed into a green glade; all the paths were covered with fresh gra.s.s sod, making it look like a vast lawn; cl.u.s.ters of plants and palms seemed to be growing everywhere, as if native to the soil; flower-beds by the hundreds; mysterious grottos loomed out of the background, and wonderful vistas with a cleverly painted perspective. At the same moment that their Majesties entered this wonderful ballroom, which no one had dreamed of, the famous Johann Strauss, brought from Vienna especially for this occasion, stood waiting with uplifted baton and struck up the "Blue Danube," heard for the first time in Paris.

When their Majesties approached the huge plate-gla.s.s window opening into the garden a full-fledged cascade fell over the stucco rocks, and powerful Bengal lights, red and green, made a most magical effect: the water looked like a torrent of fiery lava _en miniature_. It was thrilling.

No one thought of dancing; every one wanted to listen to the waltz. And how Strauss played it!... With what fire and _entrain!_ We had thought Waldteufel perfect; but when you heard Strauss you said to yourself you had never heard a waltz before. The musicians were partly hidden by gigantic palmettos, plants, and pots of flowers arranged in the most attractive way. But he!--Johann Strauss!--stood well in front, looking very handsome, very Austrian, and very pleased with himself.

Then came the _quadrille d'honneur_. The Emperor danced with the Queen of Belgium, the Crown Prince of Prussia with the Empress, the King of Belgium with the Princess Mathilde, the Prince Leuchtenberg with the Princess Metternich.

The cotillon was led by Count Deym and Count Bergen, and they led it to perfection; there was not a hitch anywhere. Every one was animated and gay; certainly the music was inspiring enough to have made an Egyptian mummy get out of his sarcophagus and caper about. I danced with a German _Durchlaucht_, who, though far in the sear and yellow leaf, danced like a school-boy, standing for hours with his arm around my waist before venturing (he could only start when the tune commenced), counting one-- two--three under his breath, which made me, his partner, feel like a perfect fool. When at last he made up his mind to start nothing short of an earthquake could have stopped him. He hunched up his shoulders to his ears, arched his leg like a prancing horse, and off we went on our wild career, lurching into every couple on the floor, and b.u.mping into all the outsiders. When we were not careering together, he sat glued to his chair, refusing to dance. If any lady came up with a favor he would say, "I am a little out of breath; I will come and fetch you later." And then he would put the favor in his pocket and never go near her. He seized everything in the way of favors that came his way; some he gave to me, and the rest he took home to his small children.

I was glad, all the same, to have him for a partner, as, being a _Durchlaucht_, he was ent.i.tled to a seat in the front row, and I preferred prancing about with my _hochgeboren_ high-stepper to having to take a back seat in the third row with a minor _geboren_. After my partner and I had bounded about and b.u.t.ted into every living thing on the floor I brought him to anchor near his chair by clutching his Golden Fleece chain which hung around his neck. I felt like singing Tennyson's "Home I brought my warrior (half) dead." He was puffing and blowing, the perspiration glazing his face, his yellow hair matted on his forehead, and his mustaches all out of kilter.

I really felt sorry for him, and wondered why he exerted himself so much, when he could have been quietly seated watching others, or, better still, at home in bed.

The supper was served at one o'clock. Their Majesties the King and Queen of Belgium, Prince Alfred, the Prince and Princess of Prussia, the Prince of Saxe-Weimar, and all the other _gros bonnets_--too many to write about --went up-stairs through an avenue of plants and palms to a salon arranged especially for them where there were two large tables. The Emperor presided at one and the Empress at the other. Besides the _salle a manger_ and some smaller salons, two enormous tents were put up in the garden, which contained numerous tables, holding about ten people each, and lighted by ma.s.ses of candles and festooned with bright-colored Chinese lanterns. Prince Metternich told me later that the candles were replaced three times during the evening.

The favors for the cotillon were very pretty, most of them brought from Vienna. One of the prettiest was fans of gray wood with "Amba.s.sade d'Autriche, 28th May, 1867," painted in blue forget-me-nots.

We danced "till morning did appear," and it appeared only too soon. The cotillon finished at half-past five, and the daylight poured in, making us all look ghastly, especially my sear and yellow leaf, whose children must have wondered why papa _kam so spat nach hause_.

PARIS, _1867._

Last week, in the beautiful palace built by Egypt for the Exposition, there was arranged a sort of entertainment for the Viceroy, to which we were invited with the Prince and Princess Metternich. This palace is a large, square, white building of oriental ornamentation and architecture, with a courtyard in the center, where we were received by the Khedive and his suite. A fountain was playing in the middle of the courtyard of marble, surrounded by palmettos and plants of every description. A band of Turkish musicians were seated cross-legged in one of the corners playing on their weird instruments, and making what they seemed to think was music. We sat in low basket-chairs, our feet resting on the richest of oriental rugs, and admired the graceful movements of the dancing-girls, who had not more s.p.a.ce than an ordinary square rug to dance upon. There were also some jugglers, who performed the most marvelous and incomprehensible tricks with only an apparently transparent basket, from which they produced every imaginable object.

Coffee _a la Turque_ was served in small cups with their silver filigree undercup, and Turkish paste flavored with attar of roses, and nauseatingly sweet, was pa.s.sed about, with a gla.s.s of water to wash it down. Also cigarettes of every description were lavishly strewn on all the little tables, and hovering about us all the time were the thin-legged, turbaned black menials with baggy silk trousers and bright silk sashes.

Everything was so Oriental that, had I stayed there a little longer, I should not have been surprised to see myself sitting cross-legged on a divan smoking a _narghile_. I said as much as this to the Khedive, who said, in his funny pigeon-French-English, "Alas! Were it so!"

I cast my eyes down and put on my _sainte-ni-touche_ air, which at times I can a.s.sume, and as I looked at his Highness's dusky suite, who did not look over and above immaculate, in spite of the Mussulman's Mussulmania for was.h.i.+ng, I thanked my stars that it "were not so."

The interpreter who was on duty said to Prince Metternich: "Mussulmans drink no wine, nor does the Prophet allow them to eat off silver.