THIRTY-THREETHE island Liszt had rented in the Rhine was of elongated diamond shape, its sides smoothed by the waters. It had always been and was still a fortress, although now the turrets of its small, ancient castle stood unmanned, the keep had been turned into a studio, and no pitch- and fire-throwers lined its battlements. It presently defended not river pirates, but Liszt’s privacy.
Liszt sent a boat for me late in the afternoon. I was received, with ceremony and many signs of honor, by a seneschal, and my expectations of a Bohemian household had to be abandoned. The maid confided that Meinherr would be pleased if I wore my loveliest gown. A lackey at the door announced that Meinherr would receive me in the drawing room at eight. When, arrayed in my best, I descended the curving stai
