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
the beautiful fetes at Compiegne, where anybody of any distinction in
any branch of art or literature was invited. Hatzfeldt led the
conversation to some evenings when Strauss played his waltzes with an
entrain, a sentiment that no one else has ever attained, and to
Offenbach and his melodies--one evening particularly when he had
improvised a song for the Empress--he couldn't quite remember it.
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