Johan fetched Liszt in our carriage, as he always does.  I received him and the book of Lieder, which he brought with him. (Only Johan and Nina were present.) He opened the book at “Comment disaient ils?”—­one of his most beautiful songs, which has an exquisite but very difficult accompaniment.  He played with fairy fingers, and we went over it several times.  I could see the screen swerving and waving about; but Liszt’s back was turned, so he could not see it.

After we had finished tea was served, and then he said, “Have you heard my ’Rigoletto’?”

“Yes,” I said, “but not by you.”

“Well,” he said, “I will play it for you.  Your piano is better than the one I have.  It is a pleasure to play on it.”

The screen, now alive with emotion, almost tipped over.  After “Rigoletto” he played “Les soirees de Vienne,” and this time the screen actually did topple over and exposed to view the group of ladies huddled behind it.  I shuddered to think how the Master would take this horrible treachery.

He took it better than I expected—­in fact, he laughed outright.  The ladies came forward and were presented to him, and were delighted.  I am sure that Liszt was, too; at any rate, he laughed so much at my ruse and contrition that the tears rolled down his cheeks.  He wiped them away with his pocket-handkerchief, which had an embroidered “F.L.” in the corner.  This he left behind, and I kept it as a souvenir.

Some days after this there was a large dinner given by the German Ambassador (Herr von Keudell) for the Princess Frederick Carl.  Liszt and many others, including ourselves, were present.  The Ambassador allowed the gentlemen only a short time to smoke; he gave them good but small cigars.  I do not know how the great Master liked this, for he is a fervent smoker.  However, as le charbonnier est maitre chez lui, our host had his way and the music commenced, as he wished, very soon after dinner.  Both the Ambassador and his wife are perfect pianists.

They play four-hand pieces on two pianos.  On this occasion, to do honor to the famous composer, they grappled with a formidable work by Liszt, called “Mazeppa.” (I fancy that Liszt is a little like Rossini, who used to say, “Jouez pour moi toute autre chose que ma musique.”) Mazeppa’s wild scampering over the two keyboards made our hair stand on end, but the Master dozed off in peaceful slumber and only waked up and cried “Bravo!” when Mazeppa had finished careering and the two pianists were wiping their perspiring brows.  Liszt begged the Princess to whistle, and opened his book of Lieder at “Es muss ein wunderbares sein” (a lovely song) and said, “Can you whistle that?” Yes, she could; and did it very carefully and in a wunderbares manner.  Liszt was astonished and delighted.

Then Liszt played.  Each time I hear him I say, “Never has he played like this.”  How can a person surpass himself?  Liszt does.  He had the music of “Comment disaient ils?” in the same book and begged me to sing it.  “Do you think,” he said, “you could add this little cadenza at the end?” And he played it for me.