I have always said -- and shall continue to repeat long after my demise -- that there is no such thing as truth in art (that is, no single or absolute truth).
The truth of Chopin, that prodigious creator, is not the truth of Mozart, that luxurious musician, whose writing is imperishable scintillation; neither is Gluck's truth that of Pergolesi; nor is the truth of Liszt that of Haydn, which when all is said, is very lucky.
If there be such a thing as one artistic truth, where does it begin? Who is the master who possesses it in its entirety? Is it Palestrina? Is it Bach? Is it Wagner?