The remaining span of Berlioz’ life was outwardly more peaceful and happy.  He continued to travel and compose.  Everywhere he went he was honored and admired.

Among his later compositions were the Te Deum, “Childhood of Christ,” “Lelio,” “Beatrice and Benedict” and “The Trojans.”

At last, after what he called thirty years of slavery, he was able to resign his post of critic.  “Thanks to ‘The Trojans,’ the wretched quill driver is free!”

A touching episode, told in his vivid way, was the meeting, late in life, with his adored Estelle of the pink shoes.  He called on her and found a quiet widow, who had lost both husband and children.  They had a poignant hour of reminiscence and corresponded for some time afterwards.

Hector Berlioz passed away March 8, 1869.  The French Institute sent a deputation, the band of the National Guard played selections from his Funeral Symphony; on the casket lay wreaths from the Saint Cecilia Society, from the youths of Hungary, from Russian nobles and from the town of Grenoble, his old home.

The music of Berlioz is conceived on large lines, in broad masses of tone color, with new harmonies and imposing effects.  He won a noble place in art through many trials and hardships.  His music is the expression, the reflection of the mental struggles of a most intense nature.  The future will surely witness a greater appreciation of its merits than has up to now been accorded it.

XIV

FRANZ LISZT

Franz Liszt, in his day the king of pianists, a composer whose compositions still glow and burn with the fire he breathed into them; Liszt the diplomat, courtier, man of the world—­always a conqueror!  How difficult to tell, in a few pages, the story of a life so complex and absorbing!

A storm outside:  but all was warmth and simple comfort in the large sitting-room of a steward’s cottage belonging to the small estate of Raiding, in Hungary.

It was evening and father Liszt, after the labors of the day were over, could call these precious hours his own.  He was now at the old piano, for with him music was a passion.  He used all his leisure time for study and had some knowledge of most instruments.  He had taught himself the piano, indeed under the circumstances had become quite proficient on it.  To-night he was playing something of Haydn, for he greatly venerated that master.  Adam Liszt made a striking figure as he sat there, his fine head, with its mass of light hair, thrown back, his stern features softened by the music he was making.

At a table near sat his wife, her dark head with its glossy braids bent over her sewing.  Hers was a sweet, kindly face, and she endeared herself to every one by her simple, unassuming manners.

Quite near the old piano stood little Franz, not yet six.  He was absolutely absorbed in the music.  The fair curls fell about his childish face and his deep blue eyes were raised to his father, as though the latter were some sort of magician, creating all this beauty.