She was a singer of European fame and unblemished reputation, watched over not only by a jealous husband, but by a maniacal admirer, whose name was on every lip, and whose madness consisted in hoping that he would end by discovering, at least, if not a flaw in her blameless conduct, an indiscretion that would place her at his mercy. This fact was so well known that Lizst trembled for her safety. She had arrived from a neighboring watering-place, and was as innocent as she was unsuspicious of evil. He convinced her that her disguise was ill-advised, and after a tête-à-tête breakfast, persuaded her to return whence she came before there was a chance of her being recognized. She made him promise to go and see her; but Lizst, with his innate dislike to anything that approached melodrama, refrained from so doing. Two years later, while he was leading a hermit's life at Monte-Mario, she reappeared in the same manner, and sang to him his own "Ave Maria." "De façon à damner un saint," he said; "it will never be sung like that again.” "Was it Malibran? " queried feminine curiosity.

"Malibran, indeed! she was dead." "Jenny Lind, then?"

"Still more dead for me, for I never had the honor of her especial favor. She, to whom I refer, was a child's soul in woman's garban angelic purity!" "And afterwards what became of her?" "She died," said the abbé, with unwonted emotion.

by the current. The soul of the artist should be as the solitary rock; surrounded, sometimes submerged, by the waters, but immovable. Only thus may he hope to retain his originality, and to rescue from amid the tempests of life the ideal he has in view."

Madame d'Agoult, in the zenith of her brilliant beauty, her mind steeped with the sophisms of the romanticism that was in vogue in her time, chose to pose as Lizst's Egeria; and one day, in his presence, compared herself to Beatrix, and dilated on the ennobling influence of woman. Lizst exclaimed sharply, in the presence of Louis de Ronchaud, "You are mistaken, it is the Dantes who create the Beatrixes; the real Beatrixes die at eighteen, and nothing is ever heard of them."

When the headstrong folly, of which Lizst was rather the victim than the initiator, had separated the brilliant mondaine from her family and her world, it was Lizst who persuaded her to try to fill the void in her existence by literature. Her first attempt was "prettily written, full of esprit and grace." But the glory of George Sand cost the Comtesse d'Agoult many a bitter tear. It deprived her of sleep, and Daniel Stern would never have arisen had it not been for the existence of George Sand, "which would have been a pity," said Lizst. Madame d'Agoult contrived to make a breach between her literary rival and Lizst, and attempted to create one between the latter and Balzac. After the publication of "Beatrix, ou les The name of the ladies, who, more or Amours Forcés," Madame d'Agoult, delless, en tout bien, tout honneur, grouped uged in tears, reproached Lizst with his themselves round the great man's chariot-"dreadful friends." "Here is Balzac," wheels, is legion. she said, "writing a novel about me, cry"The restless soul of this strange being me down, and making me ridiculous ing," says Madame Wohl, "was ever in search of the ideal we call happiness, that is to say, of the unattainable; in the heart of woman, on the heights of art, in the mystic gloom of churches. . . . What were those struggles that preceded the quiet monastic calm he often sought within monastic walls? Was he flying from himself, or from others?"

for all time. It is an infamous thing, an abomination; you must call him to account. Your honor as well as mine is at stake." Lizst did not believe in any reference to himself, and was as disinclined to cut Balzac's throat as to assume the responsibility of Madame d'Agoult's conduct. He therefore asked the afflicted one if "her name was to be found in the The compiler of these "Souvenirs," book, or her address, with the number of with a filial fanaticism that is both whim- her door?" "No." "Then why these sical and touching, avers that Lizst was tears? By what right do you assume that not adapted for family life, because " "his you are attacked?' You have but to hearth was the world; altars were dedi- read the infamous book. See how I am cated to him wheresoever he trod, and the treated. What an insolent skit on my incense that was burned before him blind-person and my life!" "Que celui qui est ed him to the charms of home life." morveux se mouche. Let him whom the Lizst's view of the subject was naturally a cap fits wear it. If you keep silent, not more virile one. "We must never," he said, “allow ourselves to be dragged along

66

George Sand.

even your best friends - supposing you | haustible, "for his heart, like a church, have any left-will give it a thought. was open to all humanity." What a mistake it would be to call attention to yourself by a quarrel with a novelist! That would be a recognition of the faithfulness of the supposed portrait. I mean to do better than that; I will make you both acquainted." So Balzac was invited to meet the future Daniel Stern at a little dinner at a restaurant she consented to grace. He talked, with even more than his usual charm, for three hours at a stretch, and Madame d'Agoult's anger melted like summer snows she could even forgive him for choosing his subjects where he happened to light upon them. Lizst, who, when asked if he had written his life, replied gravely that "it had been enough to live it," had the same reason for not reading novels; he lived a perpetual romance, but he made an exception in favor of the bone of contention. A glance at the incriminated book provoked his admiration of the intuitiveness peculiar to the genius of Balzac. To cite his own words:

Madame de Rochfide is a portrait by a master hand. It is so minute a photography that I who thought I knew by heart a woman who sought notoriety as others shrink from it I was dumbfounded, and felt that I knew her better after the perusal of this wonderful book. Madame d'Agoult was the most learned woman in all that appertained to the toilet, whom I have ever met; Balzac had taken note of that characteristic trait. She was hurt, because she wished to be taken

seriously, both as an Egeria and an esprit fort. But after she had made the acquaintance of Balzac, she unbent so far as to feel flattered at having served as a model for a masterpiece.

It is significant of the impression left on Lizst by certain chapters of his life, that being asked what he thought of the movement that tended to emancipate the Roman Catholic clergy of their vows of celibacy, he replied, after an eloquent pause: "Gregory VII. was a great philanthropist."

VI.

But wide as were the sympathies of this cosmopolitan par excellence, Lizst may be accounted a better patriot than many a brilliant Hungarian orator, if facts count more than words, although he has been taunted with ignorance of his native tongue. He was born on 22nd October, 1811, in the town of Raiding, the capital of a province in which the German element has ever predominated. Yet, although the circumstances of his education had alienated him from his native soil, his love for his country was never weakened, and he strove to assimilate himself to his people. He tried repeatedly to learn Hungarian, but in vain, for to the European philologist this idiom presents as many difficulties as its kindred Eastern tongues. Lizst could not speak the language of his forefathers, but he could hear, and thrill in response to, the cry of national distress, which summoned him from rest at Venice to work on behalf of the ill-fated Danubian districts that had tions of 1837. been submerged by the terrible inunda

Oh! my wild and far-off country [he wrote about this time to a friend], my beloved and unknown friends, my great, my noble family. Thy cry of agony has recalled me to thee, and, pierced to the heart by thy voice, I lowly bend my head, shamed that I can so long have forgotten thee.

Ten concerts given in Vienna resulted in a golden harvest for the relief fund. This was the beginning of an uninterrupted series of benefits he conferred on Hungary. He not only gave lavishly evhis door, his arms, and his purse to his ery time he returned thither, but he opened compatriots, wheresoever he encountered

them.

The "Rapsodies Hongroises" [says Maher martial, as well as her lyric, aspect; her dame Wohl] bring Hungary before us under sufferings, her hopes, her mighty spirit, all that goes to form the basis of a temperament which, being at the same time supine, heedless and fantastic, eludes analysis. . . . The 'Rapsodies" find an echo all the world over.

...

FROM the time that the eyes of the "old" lion" began to fail him, Madame Wohl But those who have not heard them acted as his secretary. Strange missives played by Lizst himself can form no concep of adulation and invitation pursued him tion of their true value, or of the magical The fire and the from every quarter of the globe; letters power they possess. begging for autographs were so frequent sweetness of Tokai wine are inherent in those that he was obliged to publish a notice in languorous melopées, in their bold and electric the newspapers to the effect that he could from the national lyre unroll the whole scale The melodies culled haphazard no longer accede to the demands on his of its sentiment-meditation, sorrows of love, pen. Demands on his purse were even sad joys of community of misfortune, yearninore numerous, but his charity was inex-ings of the patriot, a despair which is but

rhythm.

another name for the nostalgia of liberty, im- | unscrupulous spoliator; while to genuine planted in the heart of a people who have Liberals he is and must always remain a bled for years in slavery. Then, by de- truly great statesman whose slight blemgrees, the rhythm quickens, it becomes sud-ishes of character cannot dim the lustre den, rugged and abrupt, but is ever of an of his genius or sully the purity of his intoxicating melody. Gaiety takes the lead, contagious fire thrills the dancers, they patriotism. So when that intelligent perseek and flee, they grasp and elude each son known as "the general reader " asks other; delirium seizes upon the feverish souls for a book about Cavour, he can make that are drawn into the whirlwind of the mad, sure of getting what he wants for his delicious music, a delirium which cul- money by first finding out the author's minates in the wild cry of fury and delight bias. Then he will feel like the good that breaks forth now and again from the lips Whig in "Obiter Dicta" who sits down of the dancer, be he either prince or peasant, to his Macaulay comfortably, knowing the a shrill note of passionate vibration that, Tories are going to have a time of it. like the sound of a fanfare, electrifies the

masses.

When the Magyar people heard those strains, they must have felt that the artist was verily blood of their blood, and that, although his lips did not speak their language, from his soul came its divinest accents. Lizst's scope was too wide and all-embracing for his patriotism to exclude humanitarianism, or rather, his humanitarianism included patriotism. The peculiar national inspiration of a certain portion of his work, while it endows it for us aliens with an exquisite and exotic charm, but marks it as an especial chapter in a a great whole. Lizst's work (we do not merely refer to the seven hundred and more compositions to which a discerning posterity may either concede or refuse the dignity of being written for all time) Lizst's work in its entirety belongs to civilized humanity. Peradventure he may never again, as a composer, be interpreted by an executant of his own calibre, for "now I say," as said Sir Ector to dead Launcelot, "thou wert never matched of earthly knight's hand." His claim to im mortality is writ in the musical history of our century, in his nobly wielded influence on its development, in his never-ceasing effort for the best and highest.

PAUL SYLVESTER.

From The Westminster Review.
COUNT CAVOUR.

-

But if biographers-particularly biog raphers who have taken part in the struggles they describe, and are still throbbing with the excitement of the affray — are generally hero-worshippers or iconoclasts, there is no reason why the historian, viewing the conflict at a certain distance of time, should not rise above party prejudices, and tell the unvarnished truth as far as his knowledge and insight permit. Such an historian of modern Italy has not yet presented himself. It is little more than a quarter of a century since the great founder of Italian independence was called away in the heat of the conflict; but nothing that rises to the dignity of history has yet been written on the life and times of Camillo Cavour.

We are far from undervaluing the many contributions to the general sum of knowl edge on this important and interesting subject. There is life-color and reality in the narratives of the men who have had personal intercourse with this celebrated character. A little anecdote of familiar conversation when all ceremony is laid aside brings his portrait more vividly before us than will pages of analytical description by a cold-blooded critic of a later date.

In these narratives we see the living Cavour before us in secret conference with his colleagues, rubbing his hands with a smile of conscious strength, or holding forth in the Chamber with good-humored irony or passionate declamation. The cold-blooded critic, however, has his uses, and it will be the duty these narratives, as well as to search the of that impartial personage to winnow lives and correspondence of Cavour's contemporaries which throw side lights on his personality. But he will find his best and most reliable source of information for every occurrence in his history, and also for the study of his character, in his vast correspondence. Up to the present, many incidents of his life were shrouded in darkness or but partially revealed; it

is only now we have a full collection of in neighboring States with which Piedthe productions of that wonderful letter- mont pretended to be on amicable terms. writer, who sometimes penned thirty-five We have heard innumerable denials of epistles in the day. The correspondence, friends, assertions of enemies, explanawith the long biographical introduction, tions and proofs - which were sometimes makes five quarto volumes. This of like the proofs of the identity of Jack course does not include all the letters ex- Cade's father, the bricklayer, with the tant written by Cavour. Some friends Earl of March's son: "Sir, he made a refuse to yield their treasures to the pub- chimney in my father's house, and the lic eye; and some letters, the editor, using bricks are alive to prove it so deny it a wise discretion, chose to suppress wholly not!" or in part; not he is careful to inform usbecause they could hurt the count's reputation, but because his cutting criticisms, often hastily penned in moments of extreme irritation, might hurt the feelings of some living persons.

This sort of controversy continued after the stirring events which had called forth such excitement had become a part of history. But at last, the smoke of battle being dispersed, the atmosphere has become more clear; a spirit of historic investigation has begun to be applied in the later works on the revolution, and the correspondence of the chief actors in it is being given to the public. Now, at last, we know the particulars of the secret negotiations with the other governments, the working of the national party throughout the peninsula, the dissensions in the Liberal camp; and the full extent of Cavour's sins in all these transactions, as

In this correspondence of varied interests, as the writer's life was varied and full of interest, his character and history are told. In those hastily written confidential letters to friends, colleagues, subordinates, protégés, we see the true reflection of Camillo Cavour in all the changing moods of his complex nature, which was inscrutable to the outer world. He was enthusiastic, yet calculating; frank and confiding, yet shrewd, and at times sus-related by honest opponents like Guerzoni, picious; warm-hearted and benevolent, but sarcastic and severe; courteous and amiable, but subject, occasionally, to violent gusts of temper; bold and fearless sometimes, sometimes cautious.

"You have all the qualities of a great statesman," said Manzoni; "you are generally prudent, but at need you can be imprudent." His deep-rooted faith in political freedom, his contempt for martial law and all arbitrary modes of ruling, were in a sense contradicted by his determination that his influence should be paramount in the Cabinet even as a subordinate.

"With this little man I do like Louis Philippe I reign but do not govern," said the premier. Yet, when at the head of affairs and urged by a friend to assume more authority in a difficult crisis, he replied: "I have no faith in dictatorships; I am the son of Liberty; to her I owe everything that I am." Accompanied by such commanding abilities, his self-confidence and decision were helpful rather than hurtful to the public weal. If it were a fault,

We cannot wish the fault undone,
The issue being so proper.

The accusation from which Cavour's reputation has suffered most was duplicity. He was said to be an untrustworthy schemer, intriguing to hatch conspiracies

honest adherents like Chiala, and, better than all, in the letters of the honest statesman himself, who, however diplomatic with enemies, concealed nothing from his friends and partisans. "I frankly confess," he said, in that light humorous vein which often relieved him when he was weighted with care - "I frankly confess that I am less scrupulous than you (in political matters); and though I have a right to jeopardize my own soul for the sake of my country, I know I have not an equal right to drag the souls of my friends to perdition along with me."

It is not without an effort that a biographer can conquer his natural instinct of tenderness for the reputation of his dead hero. The characters traced by the hand now cold, no longer able to defend its owner from unjust aspersions, make a mute appeal to the heart of the writer and rouse his chivalrous sentiments. This being the natural state of the biographical mind, Cav. Chiala deserves credit for his mode of treating the man of his own party and his own time. Having compared his narrative with those of others unfriendly to Cavour - as, for instance, Guerzoni's able "Life of Garibaldi ”. we do not find any discrepancy as to facts.

Indeed, as we have already remarked, Cavour's own letters are his best witnesses; they lay bare his soul in all its greatness and weakness, and we rejoice to

find that our estimate of him was a true | in his country, induced him to adopt their one; his nobility far outbalances his de- own weapons to foil them. That a noble fects. His objects were great and his gentleman should have entered into such motives pure, so that even when he errs a contest may be a matter of regret, but he holds the reader's sympathy more the trickster whom he has outmanœuvred strongly perhaps than if he were a more has surely no right to complain. The circumspect man careful of his reputation. peace between Piedmont and Naples at "I shall lose all my popularity in Pied the time of the Garibaldian descent on mont," he said sadly when he had signed Sicily was a hollow mockery; the relations the secret treaty for the cession of Nice were "strained" to the utmost; and the and Savoy; and he confessed with a Neapolitan minister at Turin was regarded charming frankness that his popularity simply as a spy. Cavour's honest nature was dear to him. On another critical revolted at the rôle he had to play in the occasion, when he exclaimed: "Perish my negotiations at that time, a rôle forced name, perish my fame, so that Italy be upon him by the great powers who would made! we feel that the cry must have not hear of his breaking the peace of come from the depth of his passionate Europe, and for whatever insincerities enheart, and sent a thrill of electric fire to tered into those transactions they were to the hearts of those who were in sympathy blame. "I have all the diplomatic corps with him. down upon me, Hudson excepted," he wrote at this juncture. And even England, who applauded Garibaldi and sent him aid with her left hand, with her powerful right held Cavour back from giving legitimate assistance to his distressed countrymen in the south.

It must be conceded that political honor and private honor did not mean one and the same thing to Cavour as to Azeglio. Though in private dealings scrupulously upright and delicate, regardless of all personal interests where the interest of the State was concerned, he practised diplo matic arts with the representatives of the tyrannic governments whose principles were hostile to his, and who he knew were laboring to overthrow him and his principles. He received and welcomed the fugitives, good and bad, from those countries; and, to carry out the aims he had in view, he tolerated and made use of persons whose characters he despised; he gave secret countenance to the revolutionary movements in the States of the Church and the kingdom of Naples while still at peace with those governments. This is a true bill, but there are extenuating circumstances; how far those circumstances justified Cavour is a question for every reader to decide for himself after he has examined the evidence, which cannot be fairly summed up in a brief notice. We cannot forbear remarking, however, that though a rigid moralist like Massimo d' Azeglio might condemn him, the charge of doubleness from the Papal and Neapolitan courts is exceedingly amusing. We have ample proof that Cavour had not at first aimed at the overthrow of the petty princes, much less of the Papal power; he desired a league or federation, for the expulsion of the foreigner, and the granting of liberal constitutions such as Piedmont enjoyed. By degrees he became convinced of the impossibility of any such arrangement. The tyranny which those princes practised on their own' subjects, and their unscrupulous intrigues for the destruction of liberty

He

Cavour has some points of resemblance to Lord Palmerston, for whom he had a warm admiration. In his great physical strength, animal spirits, sociability, hopefulness, a courage which rose to meet any difficulty, a just estimate of other men's merits, and an absence of all political rancor, he recalls the English statesman. could hit hard and unsparingly in the fight, but he never pressed a vanquished adversary or bore ill-will for any length of time. When he had given offence he was in haste to apologize, and to forgive if he were offended or injured. He possessed, in fact, that generosity, mixed with a vein of tenderness, which belongs to a very strong manly character.

Camillo Benso, second son of the Marquis Cavour, was born August 10, 1810, of an ancient Piedmontese family on the father's side, while on the mother's side he had French Huguenot blood in his veins. In 1820 he entered the Military Academy, where he passed some years of his boyhood, in which he showed no great inclination for study, save only for mathematics, for which he evinced a real talent. The Marquis Cavour wished to place his son at court as a page, and Prince Carlo Alberto said he was most anxious to have about him this " charming Camillo, who gave so much promise for the future." But the pleasure was not mutual. The boy's independent, indomitable nature was ill adapted for a courtier's office; notwithstanding the affection which his royal