Leo Tolstoy,
Lucerne
(1857)
“ It was not a song, but the graceful, masterly sketch of a song. I could not comprehend what it was, but it was beautiful.Those voluptuous, soft chords of the guitar, that sweet, gentle melody, that solitary figure of the man in black, amid the fantastic environment of the dark lake, the gleaming moon, and the twin spires of the cathedral rising in majestic silence, and the black tops of the poplars, -- all was strange and perfectly beautiful, or at least seemed so to me.All the confused, arbitrary impressions of life suddenly became full of meaning and beauty. ”

