Liszt honored me by coming to my reception, brought by M. de Keudell—Liszt is always brought. Imagine the delight of my friends who came thus unexpectedly on the great Master. They made a circle around him, trying to edge near enough to get a word with him. He was extremely amiable and seemed pleased to create this manifestation of admiration. (Can one ever have enough?) There are two young musical geniuses here at the Villa Medici, both premier prix de Rome. One is Gabriel Pierné, surnamed "Le Bébé" because he is so small and looks so boyish—he really does not seem over fourteen years of age—and another, Paul Vidal, who is as good a pianist as Pierné, but not such a promising composer.
I asked Liszt if he would allow these two young artists to play some of their compositions for him. Liszt kindly consented, and the appointed day found them all in the salon. Liszt was enchanted (so he said); but how many times has he said, clapping the delighted artist on the shoulder, "Mon cher, vous avez un très grand talent.... Vous irez loin; vous arriverez," a great phrase! And then he would sit down at the piano, saying with a smile, "Do you play this?" and play it and crush him to atoms, and they would depart, having la mort dans l'âme, and overwhelmed with their imperfections. Instead of encouraging them, he discouraged them, poor fellows! Speaking of young artists in general, he said once, "Il n'y a personne qui apprécie comme moi les bonnes intentions, mais je n'en aime pas toujours les resultats."
You may believe that my artistic soul is full of joy when I can collect about me such artists as Liszt, Grieg, Sgambati, Pierné, Vidal, Mme. Helbig, and Countess Gigliucci, not to mention the Queen's Gentilhomme de la reine (Marquis Villamarina), who has the most delicious barytone voice I have ever heard—but he seems to think as little of this divine gift as if it were his umbrella. Vera (the singing-master) was prevented from coming to-day to the Queen's lesson, and Signor Marchetti replaced him. He is a very well-known composer, and has written an opera called "Ruy Blas," which has had quite a success here in Italy. The Queen and I sing a duet from it which is really charming.
Baron Renzis had some theatricals at his pretty villa in Piazza Indipendenza, in which Nina acted the principal rôle, in "L'été de St.-Martin." Senateur Alfieri (son of the celebrated Alfieri) took the part of the uncle. One of the thirteen pictures Lenbach painted of Nina was put on the stage and afterward brought before the curtain, but it created no enthusiasm—people did not think it did her justice.
One actor (a young Frenchman) had such a stage-fright that when he had to say this phrase (it was all he had to say), "Le peintre vous a diablement flattée," he said, "Le diable vous a peintrement flattée," which caused a roar of laughter and hurt Lenbach's feelings....
Massenet has just sent a complete collection of his songs—all six. I like the first two best—"Poëme d'Avril" and "Poëme de Souvenir." This last he dedicated to me. There stands on the title-page, "Madame, Vous avez si gracieusement protege le Poëme d'Avril...", etc. The "Poëme d'Hiver," "Poëme d'Octobre," and "Poëme d'Amour" have pretty things in them, but they are far from being so complete as the first ones. Massenet wrote the date of its composition on each title-page, and a few bars of music.
I took them to the Queen, and we looked them over together. She was enchanted, and thought them the most graceful and refined things she had ever heard. She said, "I envy you having them."
"Would your Majesty like to have some?" I asked.
"Yes, indeed; very much," she replied. "But I could never sing them. You would have to teach me how. They suit your voice, but would they mine? No one can sing them as you do."
"I learnt them with Massenet; that is why," I replied.