Alphonse de Sterny! The name in those days exercised an enchantment
that was mingled with awe upon the ears of every one, be he artist or
amateur, who cared for music. In our coldly critical times we can form
no idea of the insane idolatry that was addressed, during the decade of
the fifties to one or two piano virtuosos. De Sterny was among the most
famous of these. The Sterny craze appeared like an epidemic in every
town where he gave his concerts. At the same time the riddle of his
power was hard to solve. His envious contemporaries asserted bluntly
that he owed his triumphs not so much to the artistic excellence of his
playing as to his agreeable person and gracious manners. He was the
perfection of a _homme a succes_. Gloved and cravated with just
precision enough for elegance, sufficiently careless to appear
distinguished, ready and malicious enough to pass for witty, dissipated
and extravagant enough to be credited with genius, he was also very
handsome, wore his hair parted low in the middle of his forehead, and
always dressed with quiet correctness in the latest fashion but one, as
became a person of the best gentility, avoiding all artist
eccentricities. His conversation was amusing, his manners
unimpeachable. He was the natural son of a French diplomat, called
himself de Sterny after his birthplace, and had inherited an income of
twenty-five thousand francs, as the world knew; from an Italian
princess--as the world did not know. His piano playing was beautifully
finished, a shower of pearls, a chain of flowers, with a masterly
balanced technique, carried out in a dignified execution, never one
false note, never any vulgar pounding.
Certainly the great Hungarian pianist, to whose performance a handful
of false notes belonged as part of the effect, was wont to remark
bitingly that "de Sterny played like a countess." But de Sterny, to
whom the speech was brought by kind friends, only smiled amiably, and
continued, at least in the beginning of his career, to delicately
caress an instrument which the other pianists maltreated, and
electrified a public satiated with musical orgies, by his moderation.
He moved almost exclusively in the best social circles, yet he always
showed himself ready to do a service for a fellow artist.
Altogether he was, when Gesa first became acquainted with him, a
perfectly shallow, perfectly selfish, uncommonly talented, very
good-humored, very vain man who loved to hear himself talked about.
Charlatan he only became later, in order to maintain himself upon the
pedestal whither public adulation had driven him. The pedestal was too
high! Many another might have found himself growing dizzy up there.
He loved to patronize, and for that reason did not content himself with
pressing Gesa's hands, but gave him his address, and invited him to
call upon him next morning at the Hotel de Flandres, "so that we can
talk over your future," said he, cheeringly. Then he was very amiable
to the other artists assembled in the green-room, then he held out his
hand to Delileo, over whose cheeks the tears were running down, then he
clapped the debutant on the shoulder, wished him "good luck!" and
disappeared.
At the little artist supper, which the manager had arranged for the
performers, Gesa sat, ate not a mouthful, and spoke not a word. With
pale cheeks and fixed eyes he gazed before him into the future,--a
future in which the trees bore golden leaves, and their fruit sparkled
like diamonds--a future in which dust and mold were unknown things,
where forms of radiant beauty wandered among thickets of thornless
roses, and the laurel trees bowed before him.
In those days Gesa von Zuylen's eyes were not contracted like the eyes
of a wild beast that shuns the light; they were wide open, like a young
eagle's whom the sun itself does not blind.