In the romantic Thirties, and in Paris, men thought otherwise. In the freedom of that society Liszt’s personality received its stamp. In Paris he remained after the tour of the world which he made in childhood, on which Beethoven had kissed him; and in Paris he learned the elegance of a man of the world, and a depth of pantheistic thought. These were his two opposite poles. And very soon this mental culture raised him far above all his contemporaries in his profession; Chopin alone was worthy to be placed at his side. It was a good preparation for those triumphs of virtuosity that were soon to come, which were to transform him from a delicate Parisian into a European citizen. The splendour of virtuosity lay like the eternal sun over Paris. From time to time something would happen to cast even that splendour into the shade. In the twenties came Moscheles; then the wonders of the little Liszt; and now the appearance of Thalberg. Thalberg, the natural son of a prince, a ravishing and brilliant person, a cavalier through and through, came to Paris in 1835 and took her by storm. He had a luxuriant, fascinating execution, in which the silken glitter was that of the _fontaine lumineuse_; and he had besides the peculiarity of holding the middle melody supported by the pedal, both hands taking part, while they enfolded it in arabesques of chords. In the rivalry with him Liszt was the complete and foursquare man: no longer the “petit Litz,” standing on the height of the time, but the mature Liszt, with his “profil d’ivoire,” who left the time far behind. Liszt and Thalberg were both _gentlemen_. They never showed such animosity as their respective partisans, who split Paris as once it had been split by the Gluckists and the Piccinists. But their rivalry had nevertheless something dramatic in it, and in it lay a regard for piano-culture never yet seen. The crisis of the struggle was reached on the 31st of March 1837, when the Princess Belgioso ventured to invite both Liszt and Thalberg to a benefit-concert, at which the price of the tickets, forty francs, was proportioned to the character of the company. Hitherto each had performed on his own account; and each had been applauded for himself. Both came; and both played. The following conversation gives the decision of the audience--“Thalberg est le premier pianiste du monde!” “Et Liszt?” “Liszt, Liszt est--le seul!” It seemed a drawn match. But meanwhile the depth of Liszt’s artistic character was conquering though unobserved. Liszt had in an article severely censured the empty compositions of Thalberg. Fétis, the musical historian, took the other side, and maintained strongly that not Liszt but Thalberg was the man of the new school. A few years only had to pass, when people grew sick of playing Thalberg. The broader humanity of Liszt’s art had won the victory over external glitter in popular dress--a victory