For a long time I earnestly wished to meet with some one who
could play the great Sonata in B flat (Op. 106) as it should be
played. At length my wish was gratified--but by a person who came
from a camp wherein those doctrines do NOT prevail. Franz Liszt,
also, gratified my longing to hear Bach. No doubt Bach has been
assiduously cultivated by Liszt's opponents; they esteem Bach for
teaching purposes, since a smooth and mild manner of execution
apparently accords better with his music than "modern effect," or
Beethovenian strenuousness (Drastik).

I once asked one of the best-reputed older musicians, a friend
and companion of Mendelssohn (whom I have already mentioned
apropos of the tempo di menuetto of the eighth symphony),
[Footnote: Ferdinand Hiller] to play the eighth Prelude and Fugue
from the first part of "Das Wohltemperirte Clavier" (E flat
minor), a piece which has always had a magical attraction for me.
[Footnote: i.e. Prelude VIII., from Part I. of Bach's 48 Preludes
and Fugues.] He very kindly complied, and I must confess that I
have rarely been so much taken by surprise. Certainly, there was
no trace here of sombre German gothicism and all that old-
fashioned stuff; under the hands of my friend, the piece ran
along the keyboard with a degree of "Greek serenity" that left me
at a loss whither to turn; in my innocence I deemed myself
transported to a neo-hellenic synagogue, from the musical cultus
of which all old testamentary accentuations had been most
elegantly eliminated. This singular performance still tingled in
my ears, when at length I begged Liszt for once to cleanse my
musical soul of the painful impression: he played the fourth
Prelude and Fugue (C sharp minor). Now, I knew what to expect
from Liszt at the piano; but I had not expected anything like