face they could distinguish, and it affected them very much. The piano
was engagingly open and music littered about, but he apparently didn't
see it. He talked politics, and a good deal about pictures with some
artists who were present.

[Illustration: Franz Liszt.]

I did hear him play many years later in London. We were again lunching
together, at the house of a mutual friend, who was not at all musical.
There wasn't even a piano in the house, but she had one brought in for
the occasion. When I arrived rather early, the day of the party, I found
the mistress of the house, aided by Count Hatzfeldt, then German
ambassador to England, busily engaged in transforming her drawing-room.
The grand piano, which had been standing well out toward the middle of
the room, open, with music on it (I dare say some of Liszt's own--but I
didn't have time to examine), was being pushed back into a corner, all
the music hidden away, and the instrument covered with photographs,
vases of flowers, statuettes, heavy books, all the things one doesn't
habitually put on pianos. I was quite puzzled, but Hatzfeldt, who was a
great friend of Liszt's and knew all his peculiarities, when consulted
by Madame A. as to what she could do to induce Liszt to play, had
answered: "Begin by putting the piano in the furthest, darkest corner of
the room, and put all sorts of heavy things on it. Then he won't think
you have asked him in the hope of hearing him play, and perhaps we can
persuade him." The arrangements were just finished as the rest of the
company arrived. We were not a large party, and the talk was pleasant
enough. Liszt looked much older, so colourless, his skin like ivory,
but he seemed just as animated and interested in everything. After
luncheon, when they were smoking (all of us together, no one went into
the smoking-room), he and Hatzfeldt began talking about the Empire and