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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Franz Liszt, by James Huneker.
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<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Franz Liszt, by James Huneker

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Title: Franz Liszt

Author: James Huneker

Release Date: May 21, 2012 [EBook #39754]

Language: English

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</pre>





<p class="halftitle">FRANZ LISZT</p>


<div class="figcenter p4" style="width: 430px;">
<a name="The_Youthful_Liszt" id="The_Youthful_Liszt"></a>
<a href="images/oir_008h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_008.jpg" width="430" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">The Youthful Liszt</p>
</div>

<h1>
FRANZ LISZT</h1>

<p class="p2 center">BY<br />
<big>JAMES HUNEKER</big></p>

<p class="center p2"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</i></p>

<p class="center p4">NEW YORK
<br />
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br />
1911</p>




<p class="center p4">
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY<br />
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p>
<p class="center p2"><span class="smcap">Published September, 1911</span></p>

<div class="p4 figcenter" style="width: 136px;">
<img src="images/colophon.jpg" width="136" height="150" class="plain" alt="" />
</div>




<p class="center p4">
TO<br />
HENRY T. FINCK</p>

<p class="center p4">
"<i><b>Génie oblige.</b></i>"&mdash;<span class="smcap">F. Liszt</span>
</p>




<h2>CONTENTS</h2>



<div>
<table class="tdr" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<tr><td><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td align="left">&nbsp;</td><td><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td>I.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Liszt: The Real and Legendary</span></td><td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>II.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Aspects of His Art and Character</span></td><td><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>III.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The B-minor Sonata and Other Piano Pieces</span></td><td><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>IV.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">At Rome, Weimar, Budapest</span></td><td><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>V.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">As Composer</span></td><td><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>VI.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mirrored by His Contemporaries</span></td><td><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>VII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">In the Footsteps of Liszt</span></td><td><a href="#Page_327">327</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>VIII.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Liszt Pupils and Lisztiana</span></td><td><a href="#Page_353">353</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>IX.</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Modern Pianoforte Virtuosi</span></td><td><a href="#Page_418">418</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Instead of a Preface</span></td><td><a href="#Page_439">439</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Index</span></td><td><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td></tr>
</table></div>




<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>



<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
<tr><td>The Youthful Liszt</td><td align="right"><a href="#The_Youthful_Liszt"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td>&nbsp;</td><td align="right"><small>FACING PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt's Birthplace, Raiding</td><td align="right"><a href="#Raiding">8</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Adam Liszt&mdash;Liszt's father</td><td align="right"><a href="#Adam_Liszt">12</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Anna Liszt&mdash;Liszt's mother</td><td align="right"><a href="#Anna_Liszt">12</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Daniel Liszt&mdash;Son of Liszt</td><td align="right"><a href="#Daniel_Liszt">16</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Blandine Ollivier&mdash;Daughter of Liszt</td><td align="right"><a href="#Blandine_Ollivier">16</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Cosima von Bülow&mdash;Daughter of Liszt</td><td align="right"><a href="#Cosima">20</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt, about 1850</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszt_1850">36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt at the piano</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszt_piano">40</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>The Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein</td><td align="right"><a href="#Sayn-Wittgenstein">50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>A Matinée at Liszt's</td><td align="right"><a href="#Matinee">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Countess Marie d'Agoult</td><td align="right"><a href="#Marie_dAgoult">80</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt in his atelier at Weimar</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszt_atelier">100</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Pauline Apel&mdash;Liszt's Housekeeper at Weimar</td><td align="right"><a href="#Pauline_Apel">328</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt and His Scholars, 1884</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszt_scholars">358</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Liszt's Hand</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszts_Hand">404</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>Last Picture of Liszt, 1886, Aged Seventy-five Years</td><td align="right"><a href="#Liszt_1886">416</a></td></tr>
<tr><td>The Final Liszt Circle at Weimar&mdash;Liszt at the Upper Window</td><td align="right"><a href="#Final_circle">436</a></td></tr>
</table></div>



<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
<h2>I<br />

LISZT: THE REAL AND
LEGENDARY</h2>


<h3>I</h3>

<p>Franz Liszt remarked to a disciple of his:
"Once Liszt helped Wagner, but who now will
help Liszt?" This was said in 1874, when Liszt
was well advanced in years, when his fame as
piano virtuoso and his name as composer were
wellnigh eclipsed by the growing glory of Wagner&mdash;truly
a glory he had helped to create. In youth,
an Orpheus pursued by the musical Maenads
of Europe, in old age Liszt was a Merlin dealing
in white magic, still followed by the Viviens. The
story of his career is as romantic as any by Balzac.
And the end of it all&mdash;after a half century
and more of fire and flowers, of proud, brilliant
music-making&mdash;was tragical. A gentle King
Lear (without the consolation of a Cordelia), following
with resignation the conquering chariot
of a man, his daughter's husband, who owed him
so much, and, despite criticism, bravely acknowledged
his debt, thus faithful to the end (he once
declared that by Wagner he would stand or fall),
Franz Liszt died a quarter of a century ago at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
Bayreuth, not as Liszt the Conqueror, but a
world-weary pilgrim, petted and flattered when
young, neglected as the star of Wagner arose on
the horizon. If only Liszt could have experienced
the success of poverty as did Wagner.
But the usual malevolent fairy of the fable endowed
him with all the gifts but poverty, and
that capricious old Pantaloon, the Time-Spirit,
had his joke in the lonesome latter years. As
regards his place in the musical pantheon, this
erst-while comet is now a fixed star, and his feet
set upon the white throne. There is no longer
a Liszt case; his music has fallen into critical
perspective; but there is still a Liszt case, psychologically
speaking. Whether he was an
archangel of light, a Bernini of tones, or, as Jean-Christophe
describes him, "The noble priest,
the circus-rider, neo-classical and vagabond, a
mixture in equal doses of real and false nobility,"
is a question that will be answered according to
one's temperament. That he was the captain
of the new German music, a pianist without equal,
a conductor of distinction, one who had helped to
make the orchestra and its leaders what they
are to-day; that he was a writer, a reformer of
church music, a man of the noblest impulses and
ideals, generous, selfless, and an artist to his fingertips&mdash;these
are the commonplaces of musical
history. As a personality he was an apparition;
only Paganini had so electrified Europe. A
<i lang="fr">charmeur</i>, his love adventures border on the legendary;
indeed, are largely legend. As amorous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>
as a guitar, if we are to believe the romancers,
the real Liszt was a man of intellect, a deeply
religious soul; in middle years contemplative,
even ascetic. His youthful extravagances, inseparable
from his gipsy-like genius, and without
a father to guide him, were remembered in
Germany long after he had left the concert-platform.
His successes, artistic and social&mdash;especially
the predilection for him of princesses and
noble dames&mdash;raised about his ears a nest of pernicious
scandal-hornets. Had he not run away
with Countess D'Agoult, the wife of a nobleman!
Had he not openly lived with a married princess
at Weimar, and under the patronage of the
Grand Duke and Duchess and the Grand Duchess
Maria Pawlowna, sister of the Czar of all the
Russias! Besides, he was a Roman Catholic,
and that didn't please such prim persons as
Mendelssohn and Hiller, not to mention his own
fellow-countryman, Joseph Joachim. Germany
set the fashion in abusing Liszt. He had too
much success for one man, and as a composer he
must be made an example of; the services he rendered
in defending the music of the insurgent
Wagner was but another black mark against his
character. And when Wagner did at last succeed,
Liszt's share in the triumph was speedily
forgotten. The truth is, he paid the penalty for
being a cosmopolitan. He was the first cosmopolitan
in music. In Germany he was abused
as a Magyar, in Hungary for his Teutonic tendencies&mdash;he
never learned his mother tongue&mdash;in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span>
Paris for not being French born; here one
recalls the Stendhal case.</p>

<p>But he introduced into the musty academic atmosphere
of musical Europe a strong, fresh breeze
from the Hungarian <span lang="hu"><i>puzta</i></span>; this wandering piano-player
of Hungarian-Austrian blood, a genuine
cosmopolite, taught music a new charm, the charm
of the unexpected, the improvised. The freedom
of Beethoven in his later works, and of Chopin in
all his music, became the principal factor in the
style of Liszt. Music must have the shape of
an improvisation. In the Hungarian rhapsodies,
the majority of which begin in a mosque, and
end in a tavern, are the extremes of his system.
His orchestral and vocal works, the two symphonies,
the masses and oratorios and symphonic
poems, are full of dignity, poetic feeling, religious
spirit, and a largeness of accent and manner
though too often lacking in architectonic; yet
the gipsy glance and gipsy voice lurk behind
many a pious or pompous bar. Apart from his
invention of a new form&mdash;or, rather, the condensation
and revisal of an old one, the symphonic
poem&mdash;Liszt's greatest contribution to
art is the wild, truant, rhapsodic, extempore
element he infused into modern music; nature in
her most reckless, untrammelled moods he interpreted
with fidelity. But the drummers in the
line of moral gasolene who controlled criticism
in Germany refused to see Liszt except as an
ex-piano virtuoso with the morals of a fly and
a perverter of art. Even the piquant triangle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
in his piano-concerto was suspected as possibly
suggesting the usual situation of French comedy.</p>

<p>The Liszt-Wagner question no longer presents
any difficulties to the fair-minded. It is a simple
one; men still living know that Wagner, to reach
his musical apogee, to reach his public, had to
lean heavily on the musical genius and individual
inspiration of Liszt. The later Wagner
would not have existed&mdash;as we now know
him&mdash;without first traversing the garden of
Liszt. This is not a theory but a fact. Beethoven,
as Philip Hale has pointed out, is the
last of the very great composers; there is nothing
new since Beethoven, though plenty of persuasive
personalities, much delving in mole-runs,
many "new paths," leading nowhere, and much
self-advertising. With its big drum and cymbals,
its mouthing or melting phrases, its startling
situations, its scarlet waistcoats, its hair-oil
and harlots, its treacle and thunder, the Romantic
movement swept over the map of Europe,
irresistible, contemptuous to its adversaries, and
boasting a wonderful array of names. Schumann
and Chopin, Berlioz and Liszt, Wagner&mdash;in
a class by himself&mdash;are a few that may
be cited; not to mention Victor Hugo, Delacroix,
Gautier, Alfred de Musset, Stendhal. Georg
Brandes assigns to Liszt a prominent place
among the Romantics. But Beethoven still
stood, stands to-day, four square to the universe.
Wagner construed Beethoven to suit his own
grammar. Why, for example, Berlioz should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
have been puzzled (or have pretended to) over
the first page of the Tristan and Isolde prelude
is itself puzzling; the Frenchman was a deeply
versed Beethoven student. If he had looked
at the first page of the piano sonata in C minor&mdash;the
Pathetic, so-called&mdash;the enigma of the
Wagnerian phraseology would have been solved;
there, in a few lines, is the kernel of this music-drama.
This only proves Wagner's Shakesperian
faculty of assimilation and his extraordinary
gift in developing an idea (consider
what he made of the theme of Chopin's C
minor study, the Revolutionary, which he boldly
annexed for the opening measures of the prelude
to Act II of Tristan and Isolde); he borrowed
his ideas whenever and wherever he saw
fit. His indebtedness to Liszt was great, but
equally so to Weber, Marschner, and Beethoven;
his indebtedness to Berlioz ended with the externals
of orchestration. Both Liszt and Wagner
learned from Berlioz in this respect. Nevertheless,
how useless to compare Liszt to Berlioz or
Berlioz to Wagner. As well compare a ruby to
an opal, an emerald to a ruby. Each of these
three composers has his individual excellences.
The music of all three suffers from an excess of
profile. We call Liszt and Wagner the leaders
of the moderns, but their aims and methods were
radically different. Wagner asserted the supremacy
of the drama over tone, and then, inconsistently,
set himself down to write the most
emotionally eloquent music that was ever conceived;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
Liszt always harped on the dramatic, on
the poetic, and seldom employed words, believing
that the function of instrumental music is to
convey in an ideal manner a poetic impression.
In this he was the most thorough-going of poetic
composers, as much so in the orchestral domain
as was Chopin in his pianoforte compositions.
Since Wagner's music-plays are no longer a novelty
"the long submerged trail of Liszt is making
its appearance," as Ernest Newman happily
states the case. But to be truthful, the music of
both Liszt and Wagner is already a little old-fashioned.
The music-drama is not precisely
in a rosy condition to-day. Opera is the weakest
of forms at best, the human voice inevitably limits
the art, and we are beginning to wonder what
all the Wagnerian menagerie, the birds, dragons,
dogs, snakes, swans, toads, dwarfs, giants, horses,
and monsters generally, have to do with music.
The music of the future is already the music of
the past. The Wagner poems are uncouth, cumbersome
machines. We long for a breath of
humanity, and it is difficult to find it outside of
Tristan and Isolde or <span lang="de">Die Meistersinger</span>. Alas!
for the enduring quality of operatic music. Nothing
stales like theatre music. The rainbow vision
of a synthesis of the Seven Arts has faded
forever. In the not far distant future Wagner
will gain, rather than lose, by being played in the
concert-room; that, at least, would dodge the
ominously barren stretches of the Ring, and the
early operas. The Button-Moulder awaits at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
cross-roads of time all operatic music, even as he
waited for Peer Gynt. And the New Zealander
is already alive, though young, who will visit
Europe to attend the last piano-recital: that
species of entertainment invented by Liszt, and
by him described in a letter to the Princess Belgiojoso
as colloquies of music and ennui. He
was the first pianist to show his profile on the
concert stage, his famous <i>profil d'ivoire</i>; before
Liszt pianists either faced the audience or sat
with their back to the public.</p>

<p>The Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein&mdash;one naturally
drops into the Almanac de Gotha when
writing of the friends of Liszt&mdash;averred that
Liszt had launched his musical spear further into
the future than Wagner. She was a lady of firm
opinions, who admired Berlioz as much as she
loathed Wagner. But could she have foreseen
that Richard Strauss, Parsifal-like, had caught
the whizzing lance of the Klingsor of Weimar,
what would she have said? Put the riddle to
contemporary critics of Richard II&mdash;who has,
at least, thrown off the influence of Liszt and
Wagner, although he too frequently takes snap-shots
at the sublime in his scores. Otherwise,
you can no more keep Liszt's name out of the
music of to-day than could good Mr. Dick the
head of King Charles from the pages of his memorial.</p>

<p>His musical imagination was versatile, his
impressionability so lively that he translated into
tone his voyages, pictures, poems&mdash;Dante,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
Goethe, Heine, Lamartine, Obermann, (Senancour),
even Sainte-Beuve (<span lang="fr">Les Consolations</span>,)
legends, and the cypress-haunted fountains of
the Villa d' Este (Tivoli); not to mention canvases
by Raphael, Mickelangelo, and the uninspired
frescoes of Kaulbach. All was grist that
came to his musical mill.</p>

<p>In a moment of self-forgetfulness, Wagner
praised the music of Liszt in superlative terms.
No need of quotation; the correspondence, a
classic, is open to all. That the symphonic poem
was secretly antipathetic to Wagner is the bald
truth. After all his rhapsodic utterances concerning
the symphonies and poems of Liszt&mdash;from
which he borrowed many a sparkling jewel
to adorn some corner in his giant frescoes&mdash;he
said in 1877, "In instrumental music I am a
<i lang="fr">réactionnaire</i>, a conservative. I dislike everything
that requires verbal explanations beyond
the actual sounds." And he, the most copious of
commentators concerning his own music, in
which almost every other bar is labelled with a
leading motive! To this Liszt wittily answered&mdash;in
an unpublished letter (1878)&mdash;that leading
motives are comfortable inventions, as a composer
does not have to search for a new melody.
But what boots leading motives&mdash;as old as the
hills and Johann Sebastian Bach&mdash;or symphonic
poems nowadays? There is no Wagner, there
is no Liszt question. After the unbinding of the
classic forms the turbulent torrent is become the
new danger. Who shall dam its speed! Brahms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
or Reger? The formal formlessness of the new
school has placed Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner
on the shelf, almost as remotely as are Haydn,
Mozart, and Beethoven. The symphonic poem
is now a monster of appalling lengths, thereby,
as Mr. Krehbiel suggests, defeating its chiefest
reason for existence, its brevity. The foam and
fireworks of the impressionistic school, Debussy,
Dukas, and Ravel, and the rest, are enjoyable;
the piano music of Debussy has the iridescence
of a spider's web touched by the fire of the setting
sun; his orchestra is a jewelled conflagration.
But he stems like the others, the Russians
included, from Liszt. Charpentier and his followers
are Wagner <i lang="fr">à la coule</i>. Where it will all
end no man dare predict. But Mr. Newman is
right in the matter of programme-music. It has
come to stay, modified as it may be in the future.
Too many bricks and mortar, the lust of the ear
as well as of the eye, glutted by the materialistic
machinery of the Wagner music-drama, have
driven the lovers of music-for-music's-sake
back to Beethoven; or, in extreme cases, to
novel forms wherein vigourous affirmations are
dreaded as much as an eight-bar melody; for
those meticulous temperaments that recoil from
clangourous chord, there are the misty tonalities
of Debussy or the verse of Paul Verlaine.
However, the aquarelles and pastels and landscapes
of Debussy or Ravel were invented by
<i lang="de">Urvater</i> Liszt&mdash;caricatured by Wagner in the
person of Wotan; all the impressionistic school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
may be traced to him as its fountain-head. Think
of the little sceneries scattered through his piano
music, particularly in his Years of Pilgrimage;
or of the storm and stress of the Dante Sonata.
The romanticism of Liszt was, like so many of
his contemporaries, a state of soul, a condition of
exalted or morbid sensibility. But it could not
be said of him as it could of all the Men of Fine
Shades&mdash;Chateaubriand, Heine, Stendhal, Benjamin
Constant, Sainte-Beuve&mdash;that they were
only men of feeling in their art, and decidedly
the reverse in their conduct. Liszt was a pattern
of chivalry, and if he seems at times as indulging
too much in the Grand Manner set it down
to his surroundings, to his temperament. The
idols of his younger years were Bonaparte and
Byron, Goethe and Chateaubriand, while in the
background hovered the prime corrupter of the
nineteenth century and the father of Romanticism,
J. J. Rousseau.</p>


<h3>II</h3>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Raiding" name="Raiding"></a>
<a href="images/oir_027h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_027.jpg" width="550" height="358" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Liszt's Birthplace, Raiding</p>
</div>

<p>The year 1811 was the year of the great comet.
Its wine is said to have been of a richness;
some well-known men were born, beginning with
Thackeray and John Bright; Napoleon's son, the
unhappy Duc de Reichstadt, first saw the light
that year, as did Jules Dupré, Théophile Gautier,
and Franz Liszt. There will be no disputes concerning
the date of his birth, October 22d, as was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
the case with Chopin. His ancestors, according
to a lengthy family register, were originally noble;
but the father of Franz, Adam Liszt, was a
manager of the Esterhazy estates in Hungary at
the time his only son and child was born. He
was very musical, knew Joseph Haydn, and was
an admirer of Hummel, his music and playing.
The mother's maiden name was Anna Lager
(or Laager), a native of lower Austria, with German
blood in her veins. The mixed blood of
her son might prove a source of interest to
Havelock Ellis in his studies of heredity and
genius. If Liszt was French in the early years
of his manhood, he was decidedly German the
latter half of his life. The Magyar only came
out on the keyboard, and in his compositions.
She was of a happy and extremely vivacious
nature, cheerful in her old age, and contented
to educate her three grandchildren later in life.
The name Liszt would be meal or flour in
English; so that Frank Flour might have been
his unromantic cognomen; a difference from
Liszt Ferencz, with its accompanying battle-cry
of <i lang="hu">Eljen!</i> In his son Adam Liszt hoped to
realise his own frustrated musical dreams. A
prodigy of a prodigious sort, the comet and the
talent of Franz were mixed up by the superstitious.
Some gipsy predicted that the lad would
return to his native village rich, honoured, and
in a glass house (coach). This he did. In
Oedenburg, during the summer of 1903, I
visited at an hour or so distant, the town of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
Eisenstadt and the village of Raiding (or
Reiding). In the latter is the house where
Liszt was born. The place, which can hardly
have changed much since the boyhood of Liszt,
is called Dobrjan in Hungarian. I confess I
was not impressed, and was glad to get back
to Oedenburg and civilisation. In this latter
spot there is a striking statue of the composer.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;">
<a id="Anna_Liszt" name="Anna_Liszt"></a>
<a href="images/oir_033ah.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_033a.jpg" width="326" height="450" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Anna Liszt</big><br />Liszt's Mother</p>
</div>

<p>It is a thrice-told tale that several estimable
Hungarian magnates raised a purse for the boy,
sent him with his father to Vienna, where he
studied the piano with the pedagogue Carl
Czerny, that indefatigable fabricator of finger-studies,
and in theory with Salieri. He was
kissed by the aged Beethoven on the forehead&mdash;Wotan
saluting young Siegfried&mdash;though
Schindler, <i lang="fr">ami de</i> Beethoven, as he dubbed himself,
denied this significant historical fact. But
later Schindler pitched into Liszt for his Beethoven
interpretations, hotly swearing that they
were the epitome of unmusical taste. The old
order changeth, though not old prejudices.
Liszt waxed in size, technique, wisdom. Soon
he was given up as hopelessly in advance of his
teachers. Wherever he appeared they hailed
him as a second Hummel, a second Beethoven.
And he improvised. That settled his fate. He
would surely become a composer. He went to
Paris, was known as <i lang="fr">le petit Litz</i>, and received
everywhere. He became the rage, though he
was refused admission to the Conservatoire,
probably because he displayed too much talent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
for a boy. He composed an opera, Don Sancho,
the score of which has luckily disappeared.
Then an event big with consequences was experienced
by the youth&mdash;he lost his father in 1827.
(His mother survived her husband until 1866.)
He gave up concert performances as too precarious,
and manfully began teaching in Paris.
The revolution started his pulse to beating, and
he composed a revolutionary symphony. He
became a lover of humanity, a socialist, a follower
of Saint-Simon, even of the impossible
Père Prosper Enfantin. His friend and adviser
was Lamenais, whose <span lang="fr">Paroles d'un Croyant</span>
had estranged him from Rome. A wonderful,
unhappy man. Liszt read poetry and philosophy,
absorbed all the fashionable frenzied formulas
and associated with the Romanticists.
He met Chopin, and they became as twin
brethren. François Mignet, author of A History
of the French Revolution, said to the Princess
Cristina Belgiojoso of Liszt: "In the brain of
this young man reigns great confusion." No
wonder. He was playing the piano, composing,
teaching, studying the philosophers, and
mingling with enthusiastic idealists who burnt
their straw before they moulded their bricks.
As Francis Hackett wrote of the late Lord
Acton, Liszt suffered from "intellectual log-jam."
But the current of events soon released
him.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;">
<a id="Adam_Liszt" name="Adam_Liszt"></a>
<a href="images/oir_033bh.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_033b.jpg" width="319" height="451" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Adam Liszt</big><br />Liszt's Father</p>
</div>

<p>He met the Countess d'Agoult in the brilliant
whirl of his artistic success. She was beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
accomplished, though her contemporaries declare
she was not of a truthful nature. She
was born Marie Sophie de Flavigny, at Frankfort-on-Main
in 1805. Her father was the Vicomte
de Flavigny, who had married the daughter
of Simon Moritz Bethmann, a rich banker, originally
from Amsterdam and a reformed Hebrew.
She had literary ability, was proud of having
once seen Goethe, and in 1827 she married
Comte Charles d'Agoult. But social sedition
was in the air. The misunderstood woman&mdash;no
new thing&mdash;was the fashion. George Sand was
changing her lovers with every new book she
wrote, and Madame, the Countess d'Agoult&mdash;to
whom Chopin dedicated his first group of
Etudes&mdash;began to write, began to yearn for
fame and adventures. Liszt appeared. He seems
to have been the pursued. Anyhow, they eloped.
In honour he couldn't desert the woman, and they
made Geneva their temporary home. She had
in her own right 20,000 francs a year income;
it cost Liszt exactly 300,000 francs annually
to keep up an establishment such as the
lady had been accustomed to&mdash;he earned this,
a tidy amount, for those days, by playing the
piano all over Europe. Madame d'Agoult bore
him three children: Blandine, Cosima, and Daniel.
The first named married Emile Ollivier,
Napoleon's war minister&mdash;still living at the
present writing&mdash;in 1857. She died in 1862.
Cosima married Hans von Bülow, her father's
favourite pupil, in 1857; later she went off with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
Richard Wagner, married him, to her father's
despair&mdash;principally because she had renounced
her religion in so doing&mdash;and to-day is Wagner's
widow. Daniel Liszt, his father's hope, died
December, 1859, at the age of twenty. Liszt
had legitimatised the birth of his children, had
educated them, had dowered his daughters, and
they proved all three a source of sorrow.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 334px;">
<a id="Blandine_Ollivier" name="Blandine_Ollivier"></a>
<a href="images/oir_039ah.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_039a.jpg" width="334" height="450" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Blandine Ollivier</big><br />Daughter of Liszt</p>
</div>

<p>He quarrelled with the D'Agoult and they
parted bad friends. Under the pen name of
Daniel Stern she attacked Liszt in her souvenirs
and novels. He forgave her. They met in
Paris once, in the year 1860. He gently told her
that the title of the souvenirs should have been
"<span lang="fr">Poses et Mensonges</span>." She wept. Tragic comedians,
both. They were bored with one another;
their union recalls the profound reflection of Flaubert,
that Emma Bovary found in adultery
all the platitudes of marriage. Perhaps other
ladies had supervened. Like Byron, Liszt was
the sentimental hero of the day, a Chateaubriand
René of the keyboard. Balzac put him in a book,
so did George Sand. All the painters and sculptors,
Delaroche and Ary Scheffer among others
made his portrait. Nevertheless, his head was
not turned, and when, after an exile of a few
years, Thalberg had conquered Paris in his absence,
he returned and engaged in an ivory duel,
at the end worsting his rival. Thalberg was the
first pianist in Europe, contended every one.
And the Belgiojoso calmly remarked that Liszt
was the only one. After witnessing the Paderewski<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
worship of yesterday nothing related of
Liszt should surprise us.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 333px;">
<a id="Daniel_Liszt" name="Daniel_Liszt"></a>
<a href="images/oir_039bh.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_039b.jpg" width="333" height="450" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Daniel Liszt</big><br />Son of Liszt</p>
</div>

<p>In the meantime, Paganini, had set his brain
seething. Chopin, Paganini and Berlioz were
the predominating artistic influences in his life;
from the first he appreciated the exotic, learned
the resources of the instrument, and the value of
national folk-song flavour; from the second he
gained the inspiration for his transcendental technique;
from the third, orchestral colour and the
"new paths" were indicated to his ambitious
spirit. He never tired, he always said there
would be plenty of time to loaf in eternity. His
pictures were everywhere, he became a kind of
Flying Hungarian to the sentimental Sentas of
those times. He told Judith Gautier that the
women loved themselves in him. Modest man!
What charm was in his playing an army of auditors
have told us. Heine called Thalberg a
king, Liszt a prophet, Chopin a poet, Herz
an advocate, Kalkbrenner a minstrel, Madame
Pleyel a Sibyl, and Doehler&mdash;a pianist. Scudo
wrote that Thalberg's scales were like pearls on
velvet, the scales of Liszt the same, but the velvet
was hot! Louis Ehlert, no mean observer,
said he possessed a quality that neither Tausig
nor any virtuoso before or succeeding him ever
boasted&mdash;the nearest approach, perhaps, was
Rubinstein&mdash;namely: a spontaneous control of
passion that approximated in its power to nature ... and
an incommensurable nature was his.
He was one among a dozen artists who made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
Europe interesting during the past century. Slim,
handsome in youth, brown of hair and blue-eyed,
with the years he grew none the less picturesque;
his mane was white, his eyes became
blue-gray, his pleasant baritone voice a brumming
bass. There is a portrait in the National
Gallery by Lorenzo Lotto, of Prothonotary
Giuliano, that suggests him, and in the Burne-Jones
picture, Merlin and Vivien, there is certainly
a transcript of his features. A statue by
Foyatier in the Louvre, of Spartacus, is really the
head of the pianist. As Abbé he was none the
less fascinating; for his admirers he wore his
<i>soutane</i> with a difference.</p>

<p>Useless to relate the Thousand-and-One
Nights of music, triumphs, and intrigues in his
life. When the Countess d'Agoult returned to
her family a council, presided over by her husband's
brother, exonerated the pianist, and his
behaviour was pronounced to be that of a gentleman!
Surely the Comic Muse must have chuckled
at this. Like Wagner, Franz Liszt was a
Tragic Comedian of prime order. He knew to
the full the value of his electric personality. Sincere
in art, he could play the grand seignior, the
actor, the priest, and diplomat at will. Pose he
had to, else abandon the profession of piano
virtuoso. But he bitterly objected to playing the
rôle of a performing poodle, and once publicly
insulted the Czar, who dared to talk while the
greatest pianist in the world played. He finally
grew tired of Paris, of public life. He had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
loved by such various types of women as George
Sand&mdash;re-christened by Baudelaire as the Prudhomme
of immorality; delightful epigram!&mdash;by
Marie Du Plessis, the Lady of the Camellias,
and by that astounding adventuress, Lola
Montez. How many others only a Leporello
catalogue would show.</p>

<p>His third artistic period began in 1847, his sojourn
at Weimar. It was the most attractive
and fruitful of all. From 1848 to 1861 the musical
centre of Germany was this little town immortalised
by Goethe. There the world flocked
to hear the first performance of Lohengrin, and
other Wagner operas. A circle consisting of
Raff, Von Bülow, Tausig, Cornelius, Joseph
Joachim, Schumann, Robert Franz, Litolff,
Dionys Pruckner, William Mason, Lassen, with
Berlioz and Rubinstein and Brahms (in 1854)
and Remenyi as occasional visitors, to mention
a tithe of famous names, surrounded Liszt. His
elective affinity&mdash;in Goethe's phrase&mdash;was the
Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, who with her child
had deserted the usual brutal and indifferent
husband&mdash;in fashionable romances. Her influence
upon Liszt's character has been disputed, but
unwarrantably. She occasionally forced him to
do the wrong thing, as in the case of the ending
of the Dante symphony; <i>vide</i>, the new Wagner
Autobiography. Together they wrote his chief
literary works, the study of Chopin&mdash;the princess
supplying the feverish local colour, and the book
on Hungarian gipsy music, which contains a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
veiled attack on the Jews, for which Liszt was
blamed. The Sayn-Wittgenstein was an intense,
narrow nature&mdash;she has been called a
"slightly vulgar aristocrat," and one of her peculiarities
was seeing in almost every one of artistic
or intellectual prominence Hebraic traits or lineaments.
Years before the Geyer and the Leipsic
<i lang="de">Judengasse</i> story came out she unhesitatingly
pronounced Richard Wagner of Semitic origin;
she also had her doubts about Berlioz and others.
The Lisztian theory of gipsy music consists, as
Dannreuther says, in the merit of a laboured attempt
to prove the existence of something like a
gipsy epic in terms of music, the fact being that
Hungarian gipsies merely play Hungarian popular
tunes in a fantastic and exciting manner, but
have no music that can properly be called their
own. Liszt was a facile, picturesque writer and
did more with his pen for Wagner than Wagner's
own turbid writings. But a great writer he was
not&mdash;many-sided as he was. It was unkind,
however, on the part of Wagner to say to a friend
that Cosima had more brains than her father.
If she has, Bayreuth since her husband's death
hasn't proved it. Wagner, when he uttered this,
was probably in the ferment of a new passion,
having quite recovered from his supposedly
eternal love for Mathilde Wesendonck.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 504px;">
<a id="Cosima" name="Cosima"></a>
<a href="images/oir_045h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_045.jpg" width="504" height="500" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Cosima von Bülow</big><br />Daughter of Liszt</p>
</div>

<p>A masterful woman the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein,
though far from beautiful, she so controlled
and ordered Liszt's life that he quite shed
his bohemian skin, composed much, and as Kapellmeister<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
produced many novelties of the new
school. They lived on a hill in a house called
the Altenburg, not a very princely abode, and
there Liszt accomplished the major portion of
his works for orchestra, his masses and piano
concertos. There, too, Richard Wagner, a revolutionist,
wanted by the Dresden police, came
in 1849&mdash;from May 19th to 24th&mdash;disguised,
carrying a forged passport, poor, miserable.
Liszt secured him lodgings, and gave him a banquet
at the Altenburg attended by Tausig, Von
Bülow, Gille, Draeseke, Gottschalg, and others,
nineteen in all. Wagner behaved badly, insulted
his host and guests. He was left in solitude
until Liszt insisted on his apologising for
his rude manners&mdash;which he did with a bad
grace. John F. Runciman has said that Liszt
ought to have done even more for Wagner than
he did&mdash;or words to that effect; just so, and
there is no doubt that the noble man has put
the world in his debt by piloting the music-dramatist
into safe harbour; but while ingratitude
is no crime according to Nietzsche (who,
quite illogically, reproached Wagner for <i>his</i> ingratitude)
there seems a limit to amiability, and
in Liszt's case his amiability amounted to weakness.
He could never say "No" to Wagner (nor
to a pretty woman). He understood and forgave
the Mime nature in Wagner for the sake
of his Siegfried side. There was no Mime in
Liszt, nothing small nor hateful, although he
could at times play the benevolent, ironic Mephisto.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
And in his art he mirrored the quality
to perfection&mdash;the Mephistopheles of his Faust
Symphony.</p>

<p>Intrigues pursued him in his capacity as court
musical director. The Princess Maria-Pawlowna
died June, 1859; the following October
Princess Marie, daughter of Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein,
married the Prince Hohenlohe, and
Liszt, after the opera by Peter Cornelius was
hissed, resigned his post. He remembered
Goethe and his resignation, caused by a trained
dog, at the same theatre. But he didn't leave
Weimar until August 17, 1861, joining the princess
at Rome. The scandal of the attempted
marriage there is told in another chapter. Again
the eyes of the world were riveted upon Liszt.
His very warts became notorious. Some say that
Cardinal Antonelli, instigated by Polish relatives
of the princess, upset the affair when the
pair were literally on the eve of approaching the
altar; some believe that the wily Liszt had set in
motion the machinery; but the truth is that at the
advice of the Cardinal Prince Hohenlohe, his
closest friend, the marriage scheme was dropped.
When the husband of the princess died there
was no further talk of matrimony. Instead, Liszt
took minor orders, concentrated his attention
on church music, and henceforth spent his year
between Rome, Weimar, and Budapest. He
hoped for a position at the Papal court analogous
to the one he had held at Weimar; but the appointment
of music-director at St. Peter's was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
never made. To Weimar he had returned (1869)
at the cordial invitation of the archduke, who
allotted to his use a little house in the park, the
<i lang="de">Hofgärtnerei</i>. There every summer he received
pupils from all parts of the world, gratuitously
advising them, helping them from his impoverished
purse, and, incidentally, being admired by
a new generation of musical enthusiasts, particularly
those of the feminine gender. There
were lots of scandals, and the worthy burghers
of the town shook their heads at the goings-on
of the <i lang="de">Lisztianer</i>. The old man fell under many
influences, some of them sinister. He seldom
saw Richard or Cosima Wagner, though he attended
the opening of Bayreuth in 1876. On
that occasion Wagner publicly paid a magnificent
tribute to the genius and noble friendship of
Liszt. It atoned for a wilderness of previous
neglect and ingratitude.</p>

<p>With Wagner's death in 1883 his hold on
mundane matters began to relax. He taught, he
travelled, he never failed to pay the princess an
annual visit at Rome. She had immured herself,
behind curtained windows and to the light of
waxen tapers led the life of a mystic, also smoked
the blackest of cigars. She became a theologian
in petticoats and wrote numerous inutile books
about pin-points in matters ecclesiastical. No
doubt she still loved Liszt, for she set a spy on
him at Weimar and thus kept herself informed
as to how much cognac he daily consumed, how
many pretty girls had asked for a lock of his silvery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
hair, also the name of the latest aspirant
to his affections.</p>

<p>What a brilliant coterie of budding artists surrounded
him: D'Albert, Urspruch, Geza Zichy,
Friedheim, Joseffy, Rosenthal, Reisenauer, Grieg,
Edward MacDowell, Burmeister, Stavenhagen,
Sofie Menter, Toni Raab, Nikisch, Weingartner,
Siloti, Laura Kahrer, Sauer, Adele Aus der Ohe,
Moszkowski, Scharwenka, Pachmann, Saint-Saëns,
Rubinstein&mdash;the latter not as pupil&mdash;Borodin,
Van der Stucken, and other distinguished
names in the annals of compositions and piano
playing. Liszt's health broke down, but he persisted
in visiting London in the early summer of
1886, where he was received as a demi-god by
Queen Victoria and the musical world; he had
been earlier in Paris where a mass of his was
sung with success. His money affairs were in a
tangle; once in receipt of an income that had
enabled him to throw money away to any whining
humbug, he complained at the last that he
had no home of his own, no income&mdash;he had
not been too shrewd in his dealings with music
publishers&mdash;and very little cash for travelling
expenses. The princess needed her own rents,
and Liszt was never a charity pensioner. During
the Altenburg years, the <i lang="de">Glanzzeit</i> at Weimar,
her income had sufficed for both, as Liszt was
earning no money from concert-tours. But at
the end, despite his devoted disciples, he was the
very picture of a deserted, desolate old hero. And
he had given away fortunes, had played fortunes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
at benefit-concerts into the coffers of cities overtaken
by fire or flood. Surely, the seamy side of
success. "<i lang="de">Wer aber wird nun Liszt helfen?</i>"
This half humorous, half pathetic cry of his had
its tragic significance.</p>

<p>Liszt last touched the keyboard July 19, 1886,
at Colpach, Luxemburg, the castle of Munkaçzy,
the Hungarian painter. Feeble as he must have
been there was a supernatural aureole about his
music that caused his hearers to weep. (Fancy
the pianoforte inciting to tears!) He played his
favourite <span lang="de">Liebestraum</span>, the <span lang="fr">Chant Polonais</span> from
the "<span lang="fr">Glanes de Woronice</span>" (the Polish estate
of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein) and the sixteenth
of his <span lang="fr">Soirées de Vienne</span>. He went on to
Bayreuth, in company with a persistent young
Parisian lady&mdash;the paramount passion not quite
extinguished&mdash;attended a performance of Tristan
and Isolde, through which he slept from absolute
exhaustion; though he did not fail to acknowledge
in company with Cosima Wagner the
applause at the end. He went at once to bed never
to leave it alive. He died of lung trouble on the
night of July 31st or the early hour of August 1,
1886, and his last word is said to have been
"Tristan." He was buried, in haste&mdash;that he
might not interfere with the current Wagner
festival&mdash;and, no doubt, is mourned at leisure.
His princess survived him a year; this sounds
more romantic than it is. [Madame d'Agoult
had died in 1876.] A new terror was added to
death by the ugly tomb of the dead man, designed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
by his grandson, Siegfried Wagner; said to be a
composer as well as an amateur architect. Victories
usually resemble each other; it is defeat
alone that wears an individual physiognomy.
Liszt, with all his optimism, did not hesitate to
speak of his career as a failure. But what a
magnificent failure! "To die and to die young&mdash;what
happiness," was a favourite phrase of his.</p>


<h3>III</h3>

<p>"While remaining itself obscure," wrote George
Moore of <span lang="fr">L'Education Sentimentale</span>, by Flaubert,
"this novel has given birth to a numerous literature.
The Rougon-Macquart series is nothing
but <span lang="fr">L'Education Sentimentale</span> re-written into
twenty volumes by a prodigious journalist&mdash;twenty
huge balloons which bob about the streets,
sometimes getting clear of the housetops. Maupassant
cut it into numberless walking-sticks;
Goncourt took the descriptive passages and
turned them into Passy rhapsodies. The book
has been a treasure cavern known to forty thieves,
whence all have found riches and fame. The
original spirit has proved too strong for general
consumption, but, watered and prepared, it has
had the largest sale ever known."</p>

<p>This particular passage is suited to the case of
Liszt. Despite his obligations to Beethoven,
Chopin and Berlioz&mdash;as, indeed, Flaubert owed
something to Chateaubriand, Bossuet, and Balzac&mdash;he
invented a new form, the symphonic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
poem, invented a musical phrase, novel in shape
and gait, perfected the leading motive, employed
poetic ideas instead of the antique and academic
cut and dried square-toed themes&mdash;and was
ruthlessly plundered almost before the ink was
dry on his manuscript, and without due acknowledgment
of the original source. So it came to
pass that the music of the future, lock, stock,
and barrel, first manufactured by Liszt, travelled
into the porches of the public ears from the scores
of Wagner, Raff, Cornelius, Saint-Saëns, Tschaikowsky,
Rimsky-Korsakoff, Borodin, and minor
Russian composers and a half-hundred besides
of the new men, beginning with the name of
Richard Strauss&mdash;that most extraordinary personality
of latter-day music. And Liszt sat in
Weimar and smiled and waited and waited and
smiled; and if he has achieved paradise by this
time he is still smiling and waiting. He often
boasted that storms were his <i>métier</i>, meaning their
tonal reproduction in orchestral form or on the
keyboard&mdash;but I suspect that patience was his
cardinal virtue.</p>

<p>Henry James once wrote of the human soul
and it made me think of Liszt: "A romantic,
moonlighted landscape, with woods and mountains
and dim distances, visited by strange winds
and murmurs." Liszt's music often evokes the
golden opium-haunted prose of De Quincy;
it is at once sensual and rhetorical. It also has
its sonorous platitudes, unheavenly lengths, and
barbaric yawps.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>

<p>Despite his marked leaning toward the classic
(Raphael, Correggio, Mickelangelo, and those
frigid, colourless Germans, Kaulbach, Cornelius,
Schadow, not to mention the sweetly romantic
Ary Scheffer and the sentimental Delaroche), by
temperament Liszt was a lover of the grotesque,
the baroque, the eccentric, even the morbid. He
often declared that it was his pet ambition to
give a piano recital in the <i lang="fr">Salon Carré</i> of the
Louvre, where, surrounded by the canvases of
Da Vinci, Raphael, Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto,
Rembrandt, Veronese, and others of the
immortal choir, he might make music never to
be forgotten. In reality, he would have played
with more effect if the pictures had been painted
by Salvator Rosa, El Greco, Hell-Fire Breughel,
Callot, Orcagna (the Dance of Death at Pisa),
Matthew Grünwald; or among the moderns,
Gustave Doré, the macabre Wiertz of Brussels,
Edward Munch, Matisse or Picasso. Ugliness
mingled with voluptuousness, piety doubted by
devilry, the quaint and the horrible, the satanic
and the angelic, these states of soul (and
body) appealed to Liszt quite as much as they
did to Berlioz. They are all the apex of delirious
romanticism;&mdash;now as dead as the classicism
that preceded and produced it&mdash;of the
seeking after recondite sensations and expressing
them by means of the eloquent, versatile
orchestral apparatus. Think what rôles Death
and Lust play in the over-strained art of the
Romantics (the "hairy romantic" as Thackeray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
called Berlioz, and no doubt Liszt, for he
met him in London); what bombast, what
sonorous pomp and pageantry, what sighing
sensuousness, what brilliant martial spirit&mdash;they
are all to be found in Liszt. In musical
irony he never had but one match, Chopin&mdash;until
Richard Strauss; Berlioz was also an
adept in this disquieting mood. Liszt makes a
direct appeal to the nerves, he has the trick of
getting atmosphere with a few bars; and even if
his great solo sonata has been called "The Invitation
to Hissing and Stamping" (thus named by
Gumprecht, a blind critic of Berlin, about 1854)
the work itself is a mine of musical treasures,
and a most dramatic sonata&mdash;that is if one
accepts Liszt's definition of the form. Here
we recall Cabaner's music&mdash;as reported by Mr.
Moore&mdash;"the music that might be considered
by Wagner as a little too advanced, but which
Liszt would not fail to understand."</p>

<p>Liszt's music is virile and homophonic, despite
its chromatic complexities. Instead of lacking
in thematic invention he was, perhaps, a
trifle too facile, too Italianate; he shook too
many melodies from his sleeve to be always
fresh; in a word, he composed too much. Architecturally
his work recalls at times the fantastic
Kremlin, or the Taj Mahal, or&mdash;as
in the Graner Mass&mdash;a strange perversion of
the gothic. Liszt was less the master-builder
than the painter; color, not form, was his
stronger side. And like Chateaubriand his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
music is an interminglement of religious with
moods of sensuality. An authority has written
that his essays in counterpoint are perhaps
more successful than those of Berlioz, though
his fugue subjects are equally artificial; and
he fails to make the most of them (but couldn't
the same be said of Beethoven, or of the contrapuntal
Reger?). Both the French and Hungarian
masters seem to have concocted rather
than have composed their fugues. All of which
is the eternal rule of thumb over again. The
age of the fugue, like the age of manufactured
miracles, is forever past. If you don't care for
the fugal passages and part-writing in the Graner
Mass or in the organ music, then there is nothing
more to be said. Charles Lamb inveighed against
concertos and instrumental music because, as he
wrote, "words are something; but to gaze on
empty frames, and to be forced to make the pictures
for yourself ... to invent extempore tragedies
is to answer the vague gestures of an inexplicable
rambling mime." This unimaginative
condition is the precise one from which suffered
so many early and too many later critics of
Liszt's original music. If you are not in the
mood poetical, whether lyric, heroic, or epic, then
go to some other composer. And I protest against
the parenthetical position allotted him by musical
commentators, mostly of the Bayreuth brood.
The Wagner family saw to it that the mighty
Richard should be furnished with an appropriate
artistic pedigree; Beethoven and Gluck were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
called his precursors. Liszt is not a transitional
composer, except that all great composers are a
link in the unending chain. But, though he
helped Wagner to his later ideas and style, he
had nothing whatever to do with the Wagnerian
music-drama or the Wagnerian attitude toward
art. Berlioz, Liszt, and Wagner are all three as
different in conception and texture as Handel
and Haydn and Mozart; yet many say Handel
and Haydn, or, worse still, Mozart and Beethoven.
Absurd and unjust bracketings by the
fat-minded unmusical.</p>

<p>In musicianship Liszt had no contemporary
who could pretend to tie his shoe-strings, with
the possible exception of Felix Mendelssohn.
And in one particular he ranks next to Bach and
Beethoven&mdash;in rhythmic invention; after Bach
and Beethoven, Liszt stands nearest as regards
the variety of his rhythms. His Eastern blood&mdash;the
Magyar came from Asia&mdash;may account for
this rhythmic versatility. It is a point not to
be overlooked in future estimates of the composer.</p>

<p>How then account for the rather indifferent
fashion with which the Liszt compositions are
received by the musical public, not only here,
but in Europe? This year (1911) the festivals
in honor of the Master's Centenary may revive
interest in his music and, perhaps, open the ears
of the present generation to the fact that Strauss,
Debussy and others are not as original as they
sound. But I fear that Liszt, like any other dead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
composer&mdash;save the few giants, Bach, Mozart
and Beethoven&mdash;will be played as a matter of
course, sometimes from piety, sometimes because
certain dates bob up on the calendar. His
piano music, the most grateful ever written, will
die hard, yet die it will.</p>

<p>Musicians should never forget Liszt, who, as
was the case with Henry Irving and the English
speaking actors, was the first to give musicians
a social standing and prestige; before his time
a pianist, violinist, organist, singer, was hardly
superior to a lackey. Liszt was the aristocrat
of his art; his essential nobility of soul, coupled
with his flaming genius, made him that. And
he came from a cottage that seemed like a peasant's.
A point for your anarch in art.</p>

<p>Whatever the fluctuations of the chameleon of
the Seven Arts, the best music will be always
beautiful; beautiful with the old or the new
beauty. Ugliness for the sheer sake of ugliness
never endures; but one must be able to define
modern beauty, else find oneself in the predicament
of those deaf ones who could not or would
not hear the beauty of Wagner; or those blind
ones who would not or could not see the characteristic
truth and beauty in the pictures of
Edouard Manet. The sting and glamour of the
Liszt orchestral music has compelling quality.
Probably one of the most eloquent tributes paid
to music is the following, and by a critic of pictorial
art, Mr. D. S. MacColl, now keeper of the
Wallace Collection in London. He wrote:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>

<p>"An art that came out of the old world two
centuries ago with a few chants, love-songs, and
dances, that a century ago was still tied to the
words of a mass or an opera, or threading little
dance movements together in a 'suite,' became,
in the last century, this extraordinary debauch,
in which the man who has never seen a battle,
loved a woman, or worshipped a god may not
only ideally but through the response of his nerves
and pulses to immediate rhythmical attack, enjoy
the ghosts of struggle, rapture and exaltation
with a volume and intricacy, an anguish, a triumph,
an irresponsibility unheard of. An amplified
pattern of action and emotion is given;
each man fits to it the images he will."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p>




<h2>II<br />

ASPECTS OF HIS ART AND
CHARACTER</h2>


<h3>I<br />

LISZT AND THE LADIES</h3>

<p>The feminine friendships of Franz Liszt
gained for him as much notoriety as his music
making. To the average public he was a compound
of Casanova, Byron and Goethe, and to
this mixture could have been added the name of
Stendhal. Liszt's love affairs, Liszt's children,
Liszt's perilous escapes from daggers, pistols and
poisons were the subjects of conversation in Europe
three-quarters of a century ago, as earlier
Byron was both hero and black-sheep in the current
gossip of his time. And as Liszt was in the
public eye and ubiquitous&mdash;he travelled rapidly
over Europe in a post-chaise, often giving two
concerts in one day at different places&mdash;he became
a sort of legendary figure, a musical Don
Juan. He was not unmindful of the value of
advertisement, so the legend grew with the years.
That his reputation for gallantry was hugely exaggerated
it is hardly necessary to add; a man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
who, accomplished as much as he, whether author,
pianoforte virtuoso or composer, could have
hardly had much idle time on his hands for the
devil to dip into; and then his correspondence.
He wrote or dictated literally thousands of letters.
He was an ideal letter-writer. No one went unanswered,
and a fairly good biography might be
evolved from the many volumes of his correspondence.
Nevertheless he did find time for
much philandering, and for the cultivation of
numerous platonic friendships. But the witty
characterisation of Madame Plater holds good of
Liszt. She said one day to Chopin: "If I were
young and pretty, my little Chopin, I would take
thee for husband, Ferdinand Hiller for friend,
and Liszt for lover." This was in 1833, when
Liszt was twenty-two years of age and the witticism
definitely places Liszt in the sentimental
hierarchy.</p>

<p>La Mara, an indefatigable and enthusiastic
collector of anecdotes about unusual folk, has
just published a book, <span lang="de">Liszt und die Frauen</span>. It
deals with twenty-six friends of Liszt and does
not lean heavily on scandal as an attractive adjunct;
indeed La Mara (Marie Lipsius) sees musical
life through rose-coloured spectacles, and
Liszt is one of her gods. For her he is more
sinned against than sinning, more pursued than
pursuer; his angelic wings grow in size on his
shoulders while you watch. Only a few of the
ladies, titled and otherwise, mentioned in this
book enjoyed the fleeting affection of the pianist-composer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
Whatever else he might have been,
Liszt was not a vulgar gallant. Over his swiftest
passing intrigues he contrived to throw an
air of mystery. In sooth, he was an idealist and
romanticist. No one ever heard him boast his
conquests.</p>

<p>Did Liszt ever love? It has been questioned
by some of his biographers. His first passion,
however, seems to have been genuine, as genuine
as his love for his mother and for his children; he
proved more admirable as a father than he would
have been as a husband. In 1823 as "<span lang="fr">le petit
Litz</span>" he had set all musical Paris wondering.
When his father died in 1827 he gave lessons there
like any everyday pianoforte pedagogue because
he needed money for the support of his mother.
Among his aristocratic pupils was Caroline de
Saint-Criq, the daughter of the Minister of Commerce,
Count de Saint-Criq. It must have been
truly a love in the clouds. Caroline was motherless.
She was, as Liszt later declared, "a woman
ideally good." Her father did not enjoy the prospect
of a son-in-law who gave music lessons, and
the intimacy suddenly snapped. But Liszt never
forgot her; she became his mystic Beatrice, for
her and to her he composed and dedicated a song;
and even meeting her at Pau in 1844, just sixteen
years after their rupture, did not create the disenchantment
usual in such cases. Berlioz, too,
sought an early love when old, and in his eyes
she was as she always had been; Stendhal burst
into tears on seeing again Angela Pietagrua after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
eleven years absence. Verily art is a sentimental
antiseptic.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;">
<a id="Liszt_1850" name="Liszt_1850"></a>
<a href="images/oir_063h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_063.jpg" width="359" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Liszt, about 1850</p>
</div>

<p>Caroline de Saint-Criq had married like the
dutiful daughter she was, and Liszt's heart by
1844 was not only battle-scarred but a cemetery
of memories. She died in 1874. They had corresponded
for years, and at the moment of their
youthful parting, caused by a cruel and extremely
sensible father, they made a promise to recall
each other's names at the hour of the daily
angelus. Liszt averred that he kept his promise.
The name of the lyric he wrote for her is:
"<span lang="fr">Je voudrais m'évanouir comme la pourpre du
soir</span>" ("<span lang="de">Ich möchte hingehn wie das Abendrot</span>").</p>

<p>Before the affair began with the Countess
d'Agoult, afterward the mother of his three children,
Liszt enjoyed an interlude with the Countess
Adèle Laprunarède. It was the year of the
revolution, 1830, and the profound despondency
into which he had been cast by his unhappy love
for Caroline was cured, as his mother sagely remarked,
by the sound of cannon. He became a
fast friend of Countess Adèle and followed her
to her home in the Alps, there, as he jestingly said,
to pursue their studies in style in the French language.
It must not be forgotten that the Count,
her husband, was their companion. But Paris
wagged its myriad tongues all the same. Liszt's
affiliation with Countess Louis Plater, born Gräfin
Brzostowska, the <span lang="pl">Pani Kasztelanowa</span> (or
lady castellan in English; no wonder he wrote
such chromatic music later, these dissonantal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
names must have been an inspiration) was purely
platonic, as were the majority of his friendships
with the sex. But he dearly loved a princess, and
the sharp eyes of Miss Amy Fay noted that his
bow when meeting a woman of rank was a trifle
too profound. (See her admirable Music Study
in Germany.) The truth is that Liszt was a
courtier. He was reared in aristocratic surroundings,
and he took to luxury as would a cat.
With the cannon booming in Paris he sketched
the plan of his Revolutionary Symphony, but
he continued to visit the aristocracy. In 1831
at Stuttgart his friend Frédéric Chopin wrote
a "revolutionary" study (in C minor, opus 10)
on hearing of Warsaw's downfall. Wagner rang
incendiary church bells during the revolutionary
days at Dresden in May 1849. Brave gestures, as
our French friends would put it, and none the
less lasting. Liszt's symphony is lost, but its
themes may have bobbed up in his Faust and
Dante symphonies. Who remembers the Warsaw
of 1831 except Chopin lovers? And the rebellious
spirit of Wagner's bell-ringing passed
over into his Tetralogy. Nothing is negligible
to an artist, not even a "gesture." Naturally
there is no reference to the incident in his autobiography.
If you are to take Wagner at his
word he was a mere looker-on in Dresden during
what Bakounine contemptuously called "a
petty insurrection." Nietzsche was right&mdash;great
men are to be distrusted when they write of
themselves.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>

<p>With the Madame d'Agoult and Princess Wittgenstein
episodes we are not concerned just now.
So much has been written in this two-voiced fugue
in the symphony of Liszt's life that it is difficult
to disentangle the truth from the fable. La
Mara is sympathetic, though not particularly
enlightening. Of more interest, because of
the comparative mystery of the affair, is the
friendship between George Sand and Liszt.
Naturally La Mara, sentimentalist that she is,
denies a liaison. She errs. There was a brief
love passage. But Liszt escaped the fate of De
Musset and Chopin. Balzac speaks of the matter
in his novel Béatrix, in which George Sand
is depicted as Camille Maupin, the Countess
d'Agoult as Béatrix, Gustave Planché as Claude
Vignon, and Liszt as Conti. Furthermore, the
D'Agoult was jealous of Madame Sand, doubly
jealous of her as a friend of Liszt and as a writer
of genius. Read the D'Agoult's novel, written
after her parting with Liszt, and see how in this
Nélida she imitates the <span lang="fr">Elle et Lui</span>. That she
hated George Sand, after a pretended friendship,
cannot be doubted; we have her own words as
witnesses. In My Literary Life, by Madame Edmond
Adam (Juliette Lamber), she said of George
Sand to the author: "Her lovers are to her a piece
of chalk, with which she scratches on the black-board.
When she has finished she crushes the
chalk under her foot, and there remains but the
dust, which is quickly blown away." "How
is it, my esteemed and beloved friend, you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
never forgiven?" sadly asked Madame Adam.
"Because the wound has not healed yet. Conscious
that I had put my whole life and soul
into my love for Liszt she tried to take him
away from me."</p>

<p>One would suppose from the above that
Liszt was faithful to Madame d'Agoult or that
George Sand had separated the runaway couple,
whereas in reality Liszt knew George Sand before
he met the D'Agoult. What Madame Sand said
of Liszt as a gallant can hardly be paraphrased
in English. She was not very flattering. Perhaps
George Sand was a reason why the relations between
Chopin and Liszt cooled; the latter said:
"Our lady loves had quarrelled, and as good
cavaliers we were in duty bound to side with
them." Chopin said: "We are friends, we were
comrades." Liszt told Dr. Niecks: "There was
a cessation of intimacy, but no enmity. I left
Paris soon after, and never saw him again." It
was at the beginning of 1840 that Liszt went
to Chopin's apartment accompanied by a companion.
Chopin was absent. On his return he
became furious on learning of the visit. No wonder.
Who was the lady in the case? It could
have been Marie, it might have been George
Sand, and probably it was some new fancy.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Liszt_piano" name="Liszt_piano"></a>
<a href="images/oir_069h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_069.jpg" width="550" height="360" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><small><i>After an oil painting by J. Danhauser</i></small><br />
Victor Hugo&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Paganini&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Rossini
<br />Dumas&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;George Sand&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Countess d'Agoult<br />
<big>Liszt at the Piano</big></p>
</div>

<p>More adventurous were Liszt's affairs with
Marguerite Gautier, the lady of the camellias,
the consumptive heroine of the Dumas play, as
related by Jules Janin, and with the more notorious
Lola Montez, who had to leave Munich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
to escape the wrath of the honest burghers. The
king had humoured too much the lady's extravagant
habits. She fell in love with Liszt, who
had parted with his Marie in 1844, and went with
him to Constantinople. Where they separated
no one knows. It was not destined to be other
than a fickle passion on both sides, not without
its romantic aspects for romantically inclined
persons. Probably the closest graze with hatred
and revenge ever experienced by Liszt was the
Olga Janina episode. Polish and high born,
rich, it is said, she adored Liszt, studied with
him, followed him from Weimar to Rome, from
Rome to Budapest, bored him, shocked him as
an abbé and scandalised ecclesiastical Rome by
her mad behaviour; finally she attempted to stab
him, and, failing, took a dose of poison. She
didn't die, but lived to compose a malicious and
clever book, <span lang="fr">Souvenirs d'une Cosaque</span> (written
at Paris and Karentec, March to September,
published by the <span lang="fr">Libraire Internationale</span>, 1875,
now out of print), and signed "Robert Franz."
Poor old Liszt is mercilessly dissected, and his
admiring circle at Weimar slashed by a vigourous
pen. In truth, despite the falsity of the picture,
Olga Janina wrote much more incisively,
with more personal colour and temperament,
than did Countess d'Agoult, who also caricatured
Liszt in her Nélida (as "Guermann"), and the
good Liszt wrote to his princess: "Janina was
not evil, only exalted." [I have heard it whispered
that the attempt on Liszt's life at Rome<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
was a melodramatic affair, concocted by his princess,
who was jealous of the Janina girl, with the
aid of the pianist's valet.]</p>

<p>La Mara shows to us twenty-six portraits in
her Liszt and the Ladies; they include Princess
Cristina Belgiojoso, Pauline Viardot-Garcia, Caroline
Unger-Sabatier, Marie Camille Pleyel,
Charlotte von Hagn, Bettina von Arnim, Marie
von Mouchanoff-Kalergis, Rosalie, Countess
Sauerma, a niece of Spohr and an accomplished
harp player; the Grand Duchess of Saxony,
Maria Pawlowna, and her successor, Sophie,
Grand Duchess of Weimar, both patronesses of
Liszt; the Princess Wittgenstein, Emilie Merian-Genast,
Agnes Street Klindworth, Jessie Hillebrand
Laussot, Sofie Menter, the greatest of his
women pupils; the Countess Wolkenstein and
Bülow, Elpis Melena, Fanny, the Princess Rospigliosi,
the Baroness Olga Meyendorff (this lady
enjoyed to an extraordinary degree the confidence
of Liszt. At Weimar she was held in
high esteem by him&mdash;and hated by his pupils),
and Nadine Helbig&mdash;Princess Nadine Schahawskoy.
Madame Helbig was born in 1847 and
went to Rome the first time in 1865. She became
a Liszt pupil and a fervent propagandist.
Her crayon sketch drawing of the venerable master
is excellent. In her possession is a drawing by
Ingres, who met Liszt in Rome, 1839, when the
pianist was twenty-eight years of age. We learn
that Liszt never attempted "poetry" with the
exception of a couplet which he sent to the egregious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
Bettina von Arnim. It runs thus, and it
consoles us with its crackling consonants for
the discontinuance of further poetic flights on the
part of its creator:</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Ich kraxele auf der Leiter<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Und komme doch nicht weiter."</span>
</div></div>


<h3>II<br />
A FAMOUS FRIENDSHIP</h3>

<p>The perennial interest of the world in the
friendships of famous men and women is proved
by the never-ceasing publication of books concerning
them. Of George Sand and her lovers
how much has been written. George Eliot and
Lewes, Madame de Récamier and Chateaubriand,
Goethe and his affinities, Chopin and
George Sand, Liszt and the Countess d'Agoult,
Wagner and Mathilde&mdash;a voluminous index
might be made of the classic and romantic <i>liaisons</i>
that have excited curiosity from the time when
the memory of man runneth not to the contrary
down to yesteryear. Although Franz Liszt, great
piano virtuoso, great composer, great man, has
been dead since 1886, and the Princess Carolyne
Sayn-Wittgenstein since 1887, volumes are still
written about their friendship. Indeed, in any
collection of letters written by Liszt, or to him,
the name of the princess is bound to appear.
She was the veritable muse of the Hungarian,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>
and when her influence upon him as a composer
is considered it will not do to say, as many critics
have said, that she was a stumbling-block in
his career. The reverse is the truth.</p>

<p>The most recent contributions to Liszt literature
are the letters between Franz Liszt and
Carl Alexander, Archduke of Weimar; <span lang="de">Aus der
Glanzzeit der Weimarer Altenburg</span>, by the fecund
La Mara; and Franz Liszt, by August Göllerich,
a former pupil of the master. To this
we might add the little-known bundle of letters
by Adelheid von Schorn, <span lang="fr">Franz Liszt et la Princesse
de Sayn-Wittgenstein</span>, (translated into
French), a perfect mine of gossip. Miss von
Schorn remained in Weimar after the princess
left the Athens-on-the-Ilm for Rome and corresponded
with her, telling of Liszt's doings,
never failing to record new flirtations and making
herself generally useful to the venerable composer.
When attacked by his last illness at Colpach,
where he had gone to visit Munkacszy,
the painter, Miss von Schorn went to Bayreuth
to look after him. There, at the door of his
bed-chamber, she was refused admittance, Madame
Cosima Wagner, through a servant, telling
her that the daughter and grand-daughters of
Franz Liszt would care for him. The truth is
that Madame Wagner had always detested the
Princess Wittgenstein and saw in the Weimar
lady one of her emissaries. Miss Von Schorn
left Bayreuth deeply aggrieved. After Liszt's
death her correspondence with the princess abruptly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
ceased. She tells all this in her book.
Even Liszt had shown her his door at Weimar
several years before he died. He detested
gossips and geese, he often declared.</p>

<p>The interest displayed by the world artistic
has always centred about the episode of the projected
marriage between the princess and Liszt.
A dozen versions of the interrupted ceremony
have been printed. Bayreuth, which never loved
Weimar&mdash;that is, the Wagner family and the
Wittgenstein faction&mdash;has said some disagreeable
things, not hesitating to insinuate that Liszt
himself was more pleased than otherwise when
Pope Pius IX forbade the nuptials. Liszt biographers
side with their idol&mdash;who once said of
his former son-in-law, Hans von Bülow, that he
had no talent as a married man. He might have
lived to repeat the epigram if he had married the
princess. Decidedly, Liszt was not made for
stepping in double-harness.</p>

<p>Liszt, the most fascinating pianist in Europe,
had been the most pursued male on the Continent,
and his meeting with the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein
at Kieff, Russia, in February, 1847,
was really his salvation. He was then about
thirty-six years old, in all the glory of his art and
of his extraordinary virility. The princess, who
was born in 1819, was living on her estate at
Woronice, on the edge of the Russian steppes.
She was nevertheless of Polish blood, the daughter
of Peter von Iwanowski, a rich landowner,
and of Pauline Podoska, an original, eccentric,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
cultivated woman and a traveller. In 1836 she
married the Prince Nikolaus Sayn-Wittgenstein,
a Russian millionaire and adjutant to the Czar.
It was from the first a miserable failure, this marriage.
The bride, intellectual, sensitive, full of the
Polish love of art, above all of music, could not
long endure the raw dragoon, dissipated gambler
and hard liver into whose arms she had been
pushed by her ambitious father. She made a retreat
to Woronice with her infant daughter and
spent laborious days and nights in the study
of philosophy, the arts, sciences, and religion.
The collision of two such natures as Carolyne
and Liszt led to some magnificent romantic and
emotional fireworks.</p>

<p>We learn in reading the newly published letters
between Liszt and the Grand Duke Carl
Alexander of Weimar that the pianist had visited
Weimar for the first time in 1841. The furore
he created was historic. The reigning family&mdash;doubtless
bored to death in the charming, placid
little city&mdash;welcomed Liszt as a distraction.
The Archduchess Maria Pawlovna, the sister of
the Czar of Russia and mother of the later
Kaiserin Augusta, admired Liszt, and so did the
Archduke Carl. He was covered with jewels
and orders. The upshot was that after a visit
in 1842 Liszt was invited to the office of General
Music Director of Weimar. This offer he accepted
and in 1844 he began his duties. Carl
Alexander had married the Princess Sophie of
Holland, and therefore Liszt had a strong party<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
in his favour at court. That he needed royal
favour will be seen when we recall that in 1850 he
produced an opera by a banished socialist, one
Richard Wagner, the opera Lohengrin. He also
needed court protection when in 1848 he
brought to Weimar the runaway wife of Prince
Wittgenstein. The lady placed herself under
the friendly wing of Archduchess Maria Pawlovna,
who interceded in vain with the Czar in behalf
of an abused, unhappy woman. Nikolaus
Wittgenstein began divorce proceedings. His
wife was ordered back to her Woronice estate by
imperial decree. She refused to go and her fortune
was greatly curtailed by confiscation. She
loved Liszt. She saw that in the glitter of this
roving comet there was the stuff out of which
fixed stars are fashioned, and she lived near him
at Weimar from 1848 to 1861.</p>

<p>This was the brilliant period of musical Weimar.
The illusion that the times of Goethe and
Schiller were come again was indulged in by other
than sentimental people. Princess Carolyne
held a veritable court at the Altenburg, a large,
roomy so-called palazzo on the Jena post-road,
just across the muddy creek they call the River
Ilm. The present writer when he last visited
Weimar found the house very much reduced from
its former glories. It looked commonplace and
hardly like the spot where Liszt wrote his symphonic
poems, planned new musical forms and
the reformation of church music; where came
Berlioz, Thackeray, George Eliot, and George<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
Henry Lewes, not to mention a number of distinguished
poets, philosophers, dramatists, composers,
and aristocratic folk. Carolyne corresponded
with all the great men of her day, beginning
with Humboldt. The idea of the Goethe
Foundation was born at that time. It was a
veritable decade of golden years that Weimar
lived; but there were evidences about 1858 that
Liszt's rule was weakening, and after the performance
of his pupil's opera, The Barber of Bagdad,
by Peter Cornelius, December 15, 1858,
he resigned as Kapellmeister. Dinglested's intrigues
hurt his unselfish nature and a single
hiss had disturbed him into a resignation. The
daughter of Princess Wittgenstein married in
1859 Prince Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, and in
1861 the Altenburg was closed and the princess
went to Rome to see the Pope.</p>

<p>At the Vatican the princess was well received.
She was an ardent Catholic and was known to
be an author of religious works. Pius IX bade
her arise when she fell weeping at his feet asking
for justice. She presented her case. She had
been delivered into matrimony at the age of seventeen,
knowing nothing of life, of love, of her
husband. Wouldn't his Holiness dissolve the
original chains so that she could marry the man of
her election? The Pope was amiable. He knew
and admired Liszt. He had the matter investigated.
After all it was an enforced marriage to
a heretic, this odious Wittgenstein union; and
then came the desired permission. Carolyne,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
Princess of Sayn-Wittgenstein, born Ivanovska,
was a free woman. Delighted, she lost no time;
Liszt was told to reach Rome by the evening of
October 21, 1861, the eve of his fiftieth birthday.
The ceremony was to take place at the Church of
San Carlo, on the Corso, at 6 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span> of October 22.</p>

<p>What really happened the night of the 21st
after Liszt arrived no one truly knows but the
principals. Lina Ramann tells her tale, La
Mara hers, Göllerich his; Eugen Segnitz in his
pamphlet, <span lang="de">Franz Liszt und Rom</span>, has a very conservative
account; but they all concur if not in
details at least in the main fact, that powerful,
unknown machinery was set in motion at the
Vatican, that the Holy Father had rescinded
his permission pending a renewed examination
of the case. The blow fell at the twelfth hour.
The church was decorated and a youth asked the
reason for all the candles and bravery of the
altars. He was told that Princess Wittgenstein
was to marry "her piano player" the next morning.
The news was brought by the boy to his
father, M. Calm-Podoska, a cousin of Carolyne,
who, with the aid of Cardinal Catarani and the
Princess Odescalchi, begged a hearing at the
Vatican. Cardinal Antonelli sent the messenger
bearing the fatal information. The princess was
as one dead. It was the end of her earthly
ambitions.</p>

<p>How did Liszt bear the disappointment? At
this juncture the fine haze of legend intervenes.
His daughter Cosima has said (in a number of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
the <i lang="de">Bayreuther Blätter</i>) that he had left Weimar
for Rome remarking that he felt as if going to a
funeral. Other and malicious folk have pretended
to see in the melodramatic situation the
fine Hungarian hand of Liszt. He was glad, so
it was averred, to get rid of the marriage and the
princess at the same stroke of the clock. Had she
not been nicknamed <span lang="de">"Fürstin Hinter-Liszt"</span> because
of the way she followed him from town to
town when he was giving concerts? But Antonelli
was a friend of the princess as well as an
intimate of Liszt. We doubt not that Liszt came
to Rome in good faith. In common with the
princess he accepted the interruption as a sign
from on high, and even when in 1864 Prince Wittgenstein
died the marriage idea was not seriously
revived. Carolyne asked Liszt to devote his
genius to the Church. In 1865 he assumed
minor orders and became an abbé.</p>

<p>Pius IX, a lover of music, had on July 11,
1863, visited Liszt at the Dominican cloister
of Monte Mario, and to the Hungarian's accompaniment
had sung in his sweet-toned musical
voice. Liszt was called his Palestrina, but alas!
in the churchly music of Liszt Rome has never
betrayed more than a passing interest; and to-day
Pius X is ultra-Gregorian. Liszt, like a
musical Moses, saw the promised land but did
not enter it.</p>

<p>The friendship of the princess and Liszt never
abated. He divided his days between Weimar,
Rome, and Budapest (from 1876 in the latter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
city), and she wrote tirelessly in Rome books on
theology, mysticism, and Church history. She
was a great and generally good force in the life
of Liszt, who was, she said, a lazy, careless
man, though he left over thirteen hundred compositions.
Women are insatiable.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 411px;">
<a id="Sayn-Wittgenstein" name="Sayn-Wittgenstein"></a>
<a href="images/oir_081h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_081.jpg" width="411" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">The Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein</p>
</div>


<h3>III<br />
LATER BIOGRAPHERS</h3>

<p>The future bibliographer of Liszt literature
has a heavy task in store for him, for books about
the great Hungarian composer are multiplying
apace. Liszt the dazzling virtuoso has long been
a theme with variations, and is, we suspect, a
theme nearly exhausted; but Liszt as tone poet,
Liszt as song writer, as composer for the pianoforte,
as <span lang="fr">littérateur</span>, the man, the wickedest of
Don Juans, the ecclesiastic&mdash;these and a dozen
other studies of the most protean musician of the
last century have been appearing ever since the
publication of Lina Ramann's vast and sentimental
biography. Instead of there being a lack
of material for a new book there is an embarrassment,
not always of riches, from industrious pens,
though few are of value. The Liszt pupils have
had their say, and their pupils are beginning to
intone the psalmody of uncritical praise. Liszt
the romantic, magnificent, magnanimous, supernal,
is set to the same old harmonies, until the
reader, tired of the gabble and gush, longs for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
biographer who will riddle the various legends
and once and for all prove that Liszt was not
perfection, even if he was the fascinating Admirable
Crichton of his times.</p>

<p>Yet, and the fact sets us wondering over the
mutability of fame, the Liszt propaganda is not
flourishing. Richard Burmeister, a well known
pupil and admirer of the master in Berlin has
assured us that while Liszt is heard in all
the concerts in Germany, the public is lukewarm;
Richard Strauss is more eagerly heard.
Liszt's familiar remark, "I can wait," provoked
from the authority above mentioned the answer,
"Perhaps he has waited too long." We are inclined
to disagree with this dictum. Liszt once
had musical and unmusical Europe at his feet.
His success was called comet-like, probably because
he was born in the comet year 1811, also
because his hair was long and his technique transcendentally
brilliant. His critical compositions
were received with less approval. That such
an artist of the keyboard could be also a successor
to Beethoven was an idea mocked at by
the conservative Leipsic school. Besides, he
came in such a questionable guise as a <i lang="de">Symphoniker</i>.
A piano concerto with a triangle in the
score (the E flat), compositions for full orchestra
which were called symphonic poems, lyrics without
a tune, that pretended to follow the curve of
the words; finally church music, solemn masses
through which stalked the apparition of the
haughty Magyar chieftain, accompanied by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
echoes of the gipsies on the <span lang="hu">putzta</span> (the Graner
Mass); it was too much for ears attuned to the
suave, melodious Mendelssohn. Indeed the entire
Neo-German school was too exotic for Germany.
Berlioz, a half mad Frenchman; Richard
Wagner, a crazy revolutionist, a fugitive from
Saxony; and the Hungarian Liszt, half French,
wholly diabolic&mdash;of such were the uncanny ingredients
of the new music. And then were there
not Liszt and his Princess Wittgenstein at Weimar,
and the crew of pupils, courtiers and bohemians
who collected at the Altenburg? Decidedly
these people would never do, even though
patronised by royalty. George Eliot and her
man Friday, proper British persons, were rather
shocked when they visited Weimar.</p>

<p>Liszt survived it all and enjoyed, notwithstanding
the opposition of Ferdinand Hiller,
Joseph Joachim, the Schumanns, later Brahms
and Hanslick, the pleasure of hearing his greater
works played, understood, and applauded.</p>

<p>Looking backward in an impartial manner it
cannot be said that the Liszt compositions have
unduly suffered from the proverbial neglect of
genius. A Liszt orchestral number, if not imperative,
is a matter of course at most symphony
concerts. The piano music is done to death,
especially the Hungarian Rhapsodies. Liszt has
been ranged; the indebtedness of modern music
to his pioneer efforts has been duly credited.
We know that the Faust and Dante symphonies
(which might have been called symphonic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
poems) are forerunners not only of much of
Wagner, but of the later group from Saint-Saëns
to Richard Strauss. Why, then, the inevitable
wail from the Lisztians that the Liszt music is
not heard? Christus and the other oratorios
and the masses might be heard oftener, and
there are many of the sacred compositions yet
unsung that would make some critics sit up.
No, we are lovers of Liszt, but the martyrdom
motive has been sounded too often. In a
double sense a reaction is bound to come.
The true Liszt is to emerge from the
clouds of legend, and Liszt the composer will
be definitely placed. A little disappointment
will result in both camps; the camp of the ultra-Liszt
worshippers, which sets him in line with
Beethoven and above Wagner, and the camp of
the anti-Lisztians, which refuses him even the
credit of having written a bar of original music.
How Wagner would have rapped the knuckles
of these latter; how he would have told them
what he wrote to Liszt: "<span lang="de">Ich bezeichne dich
als Schöpfer meiner jetzigen Stellung. Wenn
ich komponiere und instrumentiere&mdash;denke ich
immer nur an dich ... deine drei letzten Partituren
sollen mich wieder zum Musiker weihen
für den Beginn meines zweiten Aktes [Siegfried],
denn dies Studium einleiten soll.</span>"</p>

<p>Did Wagner mean it all? At least, he couldn't
deny what is simply a matter of dates. Liszt
preceded Wagner. Otherwise how explain that
yawning chasm between Lohengrin and Tristan?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
Liszt, an original stylist and a profounder
musical nature than Berlioz, had intervened.
Nevertheless Liszt learned much from Berlioz,
and it is quite beside the mark to question
the greater creative power of Wagner over both
the Frenchman and the Hungarian. Wagner,
like the Roman conquerors, annexed many
provinces and made them his own. Let us drop
these futile comparisons. Liszt was as supreme
in his domain as Wagner in his; only the German
had the more popular domain. His culture was
intensive, that of Liszt extensive. The tragedy
was that Liszt lived to hear himself denounced
as an imitator of Wagner; butchered to make a
Bayreuth holiday. The day after his death in
1886 the news went abroad in Bayreuth that the
"father-in-law of Wagner" had died; that his
funeral might disturb the success of the current
music festival! Liszt, who had begun his career
with a kiss from Beethoven; Liszt, whose name
was a flaring meteor in the sky of music when
Wagner was starving in Paris; Liszt the path-breaker,
meeting the usual fate of such a Moses,
who never conquered the soil of the promised
land, the initiator, at the last buried in foreign
soil (he loathed Bayreuth and the Wagnerians)
and known as the father-in-law of the man who
eloped with his daughter and had borrowed of
him everything from money to musical ideas.
The gods must dearly love their sport.</p>

<p>The new books devoted to Liszt, his life and
his music, are by Julius Kapp, August Göllerich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
(in German), Jean Chantavoine and Calvocoressi
(in French), and A. W. Gottschalg's Franz
Liszt in Weimar, a diary full of reminiscences.
These works, ponderous in the case of the Germans,
represent the vanguard of the literature
that is due the anniversary year. To M. Chantavoine
may be awarded the merit of the most symmetrically
told tale; however, he need not have
repeated Janka Wohl's doubtful <i>mot</i> attributed
to Liszt apropos of priestly celibacy: "Gregory
VII was a great philanthropist." This reflects
on the Princess Wittgenstein, and Liszt, most
chivalric of men, would never have said anything
that might present her in the light of pursuing
him with matrimonial designs. That she
did is not to be denied. Dr. Kapp is often
severe on his hero. Is any man ever a hero to
his biographer? He does not glorify his subject,
and for the amiable weakness displayed by Liszt
for princesses and other noble dames Dr. Kapp
is sharp. The compositions are fairly judged,
neither in the superlative key, nor condescendingly,
as being of mere historic interest. There
are over thirteen hundred, of which about four
hundred are original. Liszt wrote too much, although
he was a better self-critic than was Rubinstein.
New details of the quarrel with the
Schumanns are given. The gifted pair do not
emerge exactly in an agreeable light. Liszt it
was who first made known the piano music of
Robert Schumann. Clara Schumann, with the
true Wieck provinciality, was jealous of Liszt's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
influence over Robert. Then came the disturbing
spectre of Wagner, and Schumann could not
forgive Liszt for helping the music of the future
to a hearing at Weimar. The rift widened.
Liszt made a joke of it, but he was hurt by
Schumann's ingratitude. Alas! he was to be
later hurt by Wagner, by Joachim, by Brahms.
He dedicated his B-minor sonata to Schumann,
and Schumann dedicated to him his noble Fantaisie
in C. After Schumann's death his widow
brought out an edition of this fantaisie with
the dedication omitted. The old-fashioned lady
neither forgot nor forgave.</p>

<p>We consider the Kapp biography solid. The
best portrait of Liszt may be found in that clever
and amusing novel by Von Wolzogen, Kraftmayr.
The Göllerich book chiefly consists of
a chain of anecdotes in which the author is a
prominent figure. Herr Kapp in a footnote attacks
Herr Göllerich, denying that he was much
with Liszt. How these Liszt pupils love each
other! Joseffy&mdash;who was with the master two
summers at Weimar, though he never relinquished
his proud title of Tausig scholar&mdash;when the
younger brilliant stars Rosenthal, first a Joseffy
pupil, Sauer, and others cynically twitted him
about his admiration of Liszt's playing&mdash;over
seventy, at the time Rosenthal was with him&mdash;Joseffy
answered: "He was the unique pianist."
"But you were very young when you heard him"
(1869), they retorted. "Yes, and Liszt was ten
years younger too," replied the witty Joseffy.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>

<p>Göllerich relates the story of the American
girl who threw stones at the window of the Hoffgartnerei,
Liszt's residence in Weimar, and when
the master appeared above called out: "I've
come all the way from America to hear you play."
"Come up," said the aged magician, "I'll play
for you." He did so, much to the scandal of
the Liszt pupils assembled for daily worship.
The anecdotes of Tausig and the stolen score
of the Faust symphony (Liszt generously stated
that the score was overlooked), are also set
forth in the Göllerich book.</p>

<p>But he, the darling of the gods, fortune fairly
pursuing him from cradle to grave, nevertheless
the existence of this genius was far from happy.
His closing years were melancholy. The centre
of the new musical life and beloved by all, he
was a lonely, homeless, disappointed man. His
daughter Cosima, a dweller among memories
only, said that the music of her father did not
exist for her; Weimar had been swallowed by
Bayreuth, and the crowning sorrow for Liszt
lovers is the tomb of Liszt at Bayreuth. It
should be in his beloved Weimar. He lies in
the shadow of his dear friend Wagner, he, the
"father-in-law of Wagner." Pascal was right;
no matter the comedy, the end of life is always
tragic. Perhaps if the tragedy had come to
Franz Liszt earlier he might have profited by
the uses of adversity, as did Richard Wagner,
and thus have achieved the very stars.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>




<h2>III<br />

THE B-MINOR SONATA AND
OTHER PIANO PIECES</h2>


<h3>I</h3>

<p>When Franz Liszt nearly three quarters of a
century ago made some suggestions to the Erard
piano manufacturers on the score of increased
sonority in their instruments, he sounded the
tocsin of realism. It had been foreshadowed
in Clementi's Gradus, and its intellectual resultant,
the Beethoven sonata, but the material
side had been hardly realised. Chopin, who
sang the swan-song of idealism in surpassingly
sweet tones, was by nature unfitted to wrestle
with the problem. The arpeggio principle had
its attractions for the gifted Pole, who used it in
the most novel combinations and dared the impossible
in extended harmonies. But the rich
glow of idealism was over it all&mdash;a glow not
then sicklied by the impertinences and affectations
of the Herz-Parisian school; despite the
morbidities and occasional dandyisms of Chopin's
style he was, in the main, manly and sincere.
Thalberg, who pushed to its limits scale playing
and made an embroidered variant the end and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>
not a means of piano playing&mdash;Thalberg, aristocratic
and refined, lacked dramatic blood.
With him the well-sounding took precedence of
the eternal verities of expression. Touch, tone,
technique, were his trinity of gods.</p>

<p>Thalberg was not the path-breaker; this was
left for that dazzling Hungarian who flashed his
scimitar at the doors of Leipsic and drove back
cackling to their nests the whole brood of old
women professors&mdash;a respectable crowd, which
swore by the letter of the law and sniffed at the
spirit. Poverty, chastity, and obedience were the
obligatory vows insisted upon by the pedants of
Leipsic; to attain this triune perfection one
had to become poor in imagination, obedient to
dull, musty precedent, and chaste in finger exercises.
What wonder, when the dashing young
fellow from Raiding shouted his uncouth challenge
to ears plugged by prejudice, a wail went
forth and the beginning of the end seemed at
hand. Thalberg went under. Chopin never
competed, but stood, a slightly astonished spectator,
at the edge of the fray. He saw his own
gossamer music turned into a weapon of offence;
his polonaises were so many cleaving battle-axes,
and perforce he had to confess that all this
carnage of tone unnerved him. Liszt was the
warrior, not he.</p>

<p>Schumann did all he could by word and note,
and to-day, thanks to Liszt and his followers,
any other style of piano playing would seem
old-fashioned. Occasionally an idealist like the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
unique De Pachmann astonishes us by his
marvellous play, but he is a solitary survivor
of a once powerful school and not the representative
of an existing method. There is no
gainsaying that it was a fascinating style, and
modern giants of the keyboard might often
pattern with advantage after the rococoisms of
the idealists; but as a school pure and simple
it is of the past. We moderns are as eclectic
as the Bolognese. We have a craze for selection,
for variety, for adaptation; hence a pianist
of to-day must include many styles in his performance,
but the keynote, the foundation, is
realism, a sometimes harsh realism that drives to
despair the apostles of the beautiful in music and
often forces them to lingering retrospection. To
all is not given the power to summon spirits from
the vasty deep, and thus we have viewed many
times the mortifying spectacle of a Liszt pupil
staggering about under the mantle of his master,
a world too heavy for his attenuated artistic
frame. With all this the path was blazed by the
Magyar and we may now explore with impunity
its once trackless region.</p>

<p>Modern piano playing differs from the playing
of fifty years ago principally in the character of
touch attack. As we all know, the hand, forearm
and upper arm are important factors now
in tone production where formerly the fingertips
were considered the prime utility. Triceps
muscles rule the big tonal effects in our times.
Liszt discovered their value. The Viennese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>
pianos certainly influenced Mozart, Cramer and
others in their styles; just as Clementi inaugurated
his reforms by writing a series of studies and
then building himself a piano to make them possible
of performance. With variety of touch&mdash;tone-colour&mdash;the
old rapid pearly passage,
withal graceful school of Vienna, vanished; it
was absorbed by the new technique. Clementi,
Beethoven, Liszt, Schumann, forced to the utmost
the orchestral development of the piano.
Power, sonority, dynamic variety and novel
manipulation of the pedals, combined with a
technique that included Bach part playing and
demanded the most sensational pyrotechnical
flights over the keyboard&mdash;these were a few of
the signs of the new school. In the giddiness
superinduced by indulging in this heady new
wine an artistic intoxication ensued that was for
the moment harmful to a pure interpretation of
the classics, which were mangled by the young
vandals who had enlisted under Liszt's victorious
standard. Colour, only colour, all the rest
is but music! was the motto of those bold
youths, who had never heard of Paul Verlaine.</p>

<p>But time has mellowed them, robbed their
playing of its too dangerous quality, and when the
last of the Liszt pupils gives his&mdash;or her&mdash;last
recital we may wonder at the charges of exaggerated
realism. Indeed, tempered realism is
now the watchword. The flamboyancy which
grew out of Tausig's attempt to let loose the
Wagnerian Valkyrie on the keyboard has been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
toned down into a more sober, grateful colouring.
The scarlet waistcoat of the Romantic school is
outworn; the brutal brilliancies and exaggerated
orchestral effects of the realists are beginning to
be regarded with suspicion. We comprehend
the possibilities of the instrument and our own
aural limitations. Wagner on the piano is absurd,
just as absurd as were Donizetti and Rossini.
A Liszt operatic transcription is as nearly
obsolete as a Thalberg paraphrase. (Which
should you prefer hearing, the Norma of Thalberg
or the Lucia of Liszt? Both in their different
ways are clever but&mdash;outmoded.) Bold is
the man to-day who plays either in public.</p>

<p>With Alkan the old virtuoso technique ends.
The nuance is ruler now. The reign of noise
is past. In modern music sonority, brilliancy
are present, but the nuance is inevitable, not
alone tonal but expressive nuance. Infinite
shadings are to be heard where before were only
piano, forte, and mezzo-forte. Chopin and Liszt
and Tausig did much for the nuance; Joseffy
taught America the nuance, as Rubinstein revealed
to us the potency of his golden tones.
"<span lang="fr">Pas la couleur, rien que la nuance,</span>" sang Verlaine;
and without nuance the piano is a box of
wood, wire and steel, a coffin wherein is buried
the soul of music.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>


<h3>II</h3>

<p>"The remembrance of his playing consoles
me for being no longer young." This sentence,
charmingly phrased, as it is charming in sentiment,
could have been written by no other than
Camille Saint-Saëns. He refers to Liszt, and he
is perhaps better qualified to speak of Liszt than
most musicians or critics. His adoration is perfectly
comprehensible; to him Liszt is the protagonist
of the school that threw off the fetters
of the classical form (only to hamper itself with
the extravagances of the romantics). They all
come from Berlioz, the violent protestation of
Saint-Saëns to the contrary notwithstanding.
However this much may be urged in the favour
of the Parisian composer; a great movement like
the romantic in music, painting, and literature
simultaneously appeared in a half dozen countries.
It was in the air and evidently catching.
Goethe summed up the literary revolution in his
accustomed Olympian manner, saying to Eckermann:
"They all come from Chateaubriand."
This is sound criticism; for in the writings of the
author of Atala, and The Genius of Christianity
may be found the germ-plasm of all the later artistic
disorder; the fierce colour, bizarrerie, morbid
extravagance, introspective analysis&mdash;which
in the case of Amiel touched a brooding melancholy.
Stendhal was the unwilling forerunner
of the movement that captivated the sensitive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
imagination of Franz Liszt, as it later undoubtedly
prompted the orphic impulses of Richard
Wagner.</p>

<p>Saint-Saëns sets great store on Liszt's original
compositions, and I am sure when the empty
operatic paraphrases and rhapsodies are forgotten
the true Liszt will shine the brighter. How
tinkling are the Hungarian rhapsodies&mdash;now
become café entertainment. And how the old
bones do rattle. We smile at the generation that
could adore The Battle of Prague, the Herz
Variations, the Kalkbrenner Fantasias, but the
next generation will wonder at us for having so
long tolerated this drunken gipsy, who dances
to fiddle and cymbalom accompaniment. He
is too loud for polite nerves. Technically, the
Liszt arrangements are brilliant and effective
for dinner music. One may show off with them,
make much noise and a reputation for virtuosity,
that would be quickly shattered if a Bach fugue
were selected as a text. One Chopin Mazurka
contains more music than all of the rhapsodies,
which I firmly contend are but overdressed pretenders
to Magyar blood. Liszt's pompous introductions,
spun-out scales, and transcendental
technical feats are not precisely in key with the
native wood-note wild of genuine Hungarian folk-music.
A visit to Hungary will prove this statement.
Gustav Mahler was right in affirming
that too much gipsy has blurred the outlines of
real Magyar music.</p>

<p>I need not speak of Liszt's admirable transcriptions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
of songs by Schubert, Schumann,
Franz, Mendelssohn, and others; they served
their purpose in making publicly known these
compositions and are witnesses to the man's
geniality, cleverness and charm. I wish only to
speak of the compositions for solo piano composed
by Liszt Ferencz of Raiding, Hungaria.
Many I salute with the <i lang="hu">eljen!</i> of patriotic enthusiasm,
and I particularly delight in quizzing the
Liszt-rhapsody fanatic as to his knowledge of
the Etudes&mdash;those wonderful continuations of
the Chopin studies&mdash;of his acquaintance with
the <span lang="fr">Années de Pèlerinage</span>, of the <span lang="fr">Valse Oubliée</span>,
of the <span lang="fr">Valse Impromptu</span>, of the Sonnets after
Petrarch, of the Nocturnes, of the F-sharp Impromptu
of <span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span>&mdash;that étude of which most
pianists never heard; of the Apparitions, the
Legends, the Ballades, the brilliant Mazurka,
the Elegier, the <span lang="fr">Harmonies Péstiques et Religieuses</span>,
or the <span lang="it">Concerto Patetico</span> <i>à la</i> Burmeister,
and of numerous other pieces that contain
enough music to float into glory&mdash;as Philip
Hale would say&mdash;a dozen composers in this
decade of the new century. [It was Max Bendix
who so wittily characterised the A-major concerto
as "Donizetti with Orchestra." Liszt was
very often Italianate.]</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Matinee" name="Matinee"></a>
<a href="images/oir_099h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_099.jpg" width="550" height="368" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><small><i>After a lithograph by Kriehuber in the N. Y. Public Library</i></small><br />
Kriehuber&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Berlioz&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Czerny&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Liszt&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ernst<br />
<big>A Matinée at Liszt's</big></p>
</div>

<p>The eminently pianistic quality of Liszt's original
music commends it to every pianist. Joseffy
once said that the B-minor sonata was one of
those compositions that plays itself, it lies so
beautifully for the hand. For me no work of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
Liszt with the possible exception of the studies,
is as interesting as this same fantaisie that masquerades
as a sonata in H <i>moll</i>. Agreeing with
those who declare that they find few traces of the
sonata form in the structure of this composition,
and also with those critics who assert the
word to be an organic amplification of the old,
obsolete form, and that Liszt has taken Beethoven's
last sonata period as a starting-point
and made a plunge into futurity&mdash;agreeing with
these warring factions, thereby choking off the
contingency of a spirited argument, I repeat that I
find the B minor of Liszt truly fascinating music.</p>

<p>What a tremendously dramatic work it is! It
stirs the blood. It is intense. It is complex.
The opening bars are truly Lisztian. The gloom,
the harmonic haze, from which emerges that bold
theme in octaves (the descending octaves Wagner
recalled when he wrote his Wotan theme); the
leap from the G to the A sharp below&mdash;how
Liszt has made this and the succeeding intervals
his own. Power there is, sardonic power, as in
the opening phrase of the E-flat piano concerto,
so cynically mocking. How incisively the composer
traps your consciousness in the next theme
of the sonata, with its four knocking D's. What
follows is like a drama enacted in the netherworld.
Is there a composer who paints the infernal,
the macabre, with more suggestive realism
than Liszt? Berlioz possessed the gift above
all, except Liszt; Raff can compass the grisly,
and also Saint-Saëns; but thin sharp flames hover<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
about the brass, wood and shrieking strings in
the Lisztian orchestra.</p>

<p>The chorale, usually the meat of a Liszt composition,
now appears and proclaims the religious
belief of the composer in dogmatic accents, and
our convictions are swept along until after that
outburst in C major, when follows the insincerity
of it in the harmonic sequences. Here it surely is
not a whole-heart belief but only a theatrical attitudinising;
after the faint return of the opening
motive is heard the sigh of sentiment, of passion,
of abandonment, which engender the suspicion
that when Liszt was not kneeling before a crucifix
he was to a woman. He blends piety and
passion in the most mystically amorous fashion;
with the cantando expressivo in D, begins some
lovely music, secular in spirit, mayhap intended
by its creator for reredos and pyx.</p>

<p>But the rustle of silken attire is back of every
bar; sensuous imagery, a faint perfume of femininity
lurks in each cadence and trill. Ah!
naughty Abbé have a care. After all thy tonsures
and chorales, thy credos and sackcloth,
wilt thou admit the Evil One in the guise of a
melody, in whose chromatic intervals lie dimpled
cheek and sunny tress! Wilt thou allow her to
make away with spiritual resolutions! Vade,
retro me Sathanas! And behold it is accomplished.
The bold theme so eloquently proclaimed
at the outset is solemnly sounded with
choric pomp and power. Then the hue and cry
of diminished sevenths begins, and this tonal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
panorama with its swirl of intoxicating colours
moves kaleidoscopically onward. Again the
devil tempts the musical St. Anthony, this time
in octaves and in A major; he momentarily succumbs,
but that good old family chorale is repeated,
and even if its orthodoxy is faulty in spots
it serves its purpose; the Evil One is routed and
early piety breaks forth in an alarming fugue
which, like that domestic ailment, is happily
short-winded. Another flank movement of the
"ewig Weibliche," this time in the seductive
key of B major, made mock of by the strong man
of music who, in the stretta quasi presto, views
his early disorder with grim and contrapuntal
glee. He shakes it from him, and in the triolen
of the bass frames it as a picture to weep or rage
over.</p>

<p>All this leads to a prestissimo finale of startling
splendour. Nothing more exciting is there in
the literature of the piano. It is brilliantly captivating,
and Liszt the Magnificent is stamped
on every bar. What gorgeous swing, and how
the very bases of the earth seem to tremble
at the sledge-hammer blows from the cyclopean
fist of this musical Attila. Then follow a few
bars of that Beethoven-like andante, a moving
return to the early themes, and softly the first
lento descends to the subterranean caverns
whence it emerged, a Magyar Wotan majestically
vanishing into the bowels of a Gehenna;
then a true Liszt chord-sequence and a stillness
in B major. The sonata in B minor displays<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
all of Liszt's power and weakness. It is
rhapsodic, it is too long&mdash;infernal, not "heavenly
lengths"&mdash;it is full of nobility, a drastic intellectuality,
and a sonorous brilliancy. To deny it
a commanding position in the pantheon of piano
music would be folly. And interpreted by an
artist versed in the Liszt traditions, such as
Arthur Friedheim, this work compasses at times
the sublime.</p>

<p>It is not my intention to claim your attention
for the remainder of the original compositions;
that were indeed a terrible strain on your patience.
In the <span lang="fr">Années de Pèlerinage</span>, redolent of Vergilian
meadows, soft summer airs shimmering
through every bar, what is more delicious except
<span lang="fr">Au Bord d'une Source</span>? Is the latter not exquisitely
idyllic? Surely in those years of pilgrimage
through Switzerland, Italy, France, Liszt
garnered much that was good and beautiful and
without the taint of the salon or concert platform.
The two Polonaises recapture the heroic
and sorrowing spirit of Sarmatia. The first in E
is a perennial favourite; I always hear its martial
theme as a pattern reversed of the first theme in
the A-flat Polonaise of Chopin. But the second
Liszt Polonaise in C minor is the more poetic of
the pair; possibly that is the reason why it is so
seldom played.</p>

<p>Away from the glare of gaslight this extraordinary
Hungarian aspired after the noblest things.
In the atmosphere of the salons, of the Papal
court, and concert room, Liszt was hardly so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
admirable a character. I know of certain cries
calling to heaven to witness that he was anointed
of the Lord (which he was not); that if he had
cut and run to sanctuary to escape two or more
women we might never have heard of Liszt the
Abbé. One penalty undergone by genius is its
pursuit by gibes and glossaries. Liszt was no
exception to this rule. Like Ibsen and Maeterlinck
he has had many things read into his music,
mysticism not forgotten. Perhaps the best estimate
of him is the purely human one. He
was made up of the usual pleasing and unpleasing
compound of faults and virtues, as is any
great man, not born of a book.</p>

<p>The Mephisto Valse from Lenau's Faust, in
addition to its biting broad humour and satanic
suggestiveness, contains one of the most voluptuous
episodes outside of the Tristan score. That
halting, languourous, syncopated, theme in D
flat is marvellously expressive, and the poco allegretto
seems to have struck the fancy of Wagner,
who did not hesitate to appropriate motives
from his esteemed father-in-law when the desire
overtook him. He certainly considered Kundry
Liszt-wise before fabricating her scream in Parsifal.</p>

<p>Liszt's life was a sequence of triumphs, his
sympathies were almost boundless, yet he found
time to work unfalteringly and despite myriad
temptations his spiritual nature was never wholly
submerged. I wish, however, that he had not
invented the piano recital and the Liszt pupil.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p>


<h3>III</h3>

<p>I possess, and value as a curiosity, a copy
of Liszt's Etudes, Opus 1. The edition is rare
and the plates have been destroyed. Written
when Liszt was fresh from the tutelage of Carl
Czerny, they show decided traces of his schooling.
They are not difficult for fingers inured to modern
methods. When I first bought them I knew
not the <span lang="fr">Etudes d'Execution Transcendentale</span>, and
when I encountered the latter I exclaimed at the
composer's cleverness. The Hungarian has
taken his opus 1 and dressed it up in the most
bewildering technical fashion. He gave these
studies appropriate names, and even to-day they
require a tremendous technique to do them justice.
The most remarkable of the set&mdash;the one
in F minor No. 10&mdash;Liszt left nameless, and
like a peak it rears its head skyward, while about
it cluster its more graceful fellows: <span lang="it">Ricordanza</span>,
<span lang="fr">Feux-follets, Harmonies du Soir (Chasse-neige</span>,
and <span lang="fr">Paysage</span>). The Mazeppa is a symphonic
poem in miniature. What a superb contribution
to piano literature is Liszt's. These twelve
incomparable studies, the three effective <span lang="fr">Etudes
de Concert</span> (several quite Chopinish in style and
technique), the murmuring <span lang="de">Waldesrauschen</span>, the
sparkling <span lang="de">Gnomenreigen</span>, the stormy <span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span>,
the poetic <span lang="fr">Au Lac de Wallenstadt</span> and <span lang="fr">Au Bord
d'une Source</span>, have they not all tremendously
developed the technical resources of the instrument?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
And to play them one must have fingers
of steel, a brain on fire, a heart bubbling with
chivalric force; what a comet-like pianist he was,
this Magyar, who swept European skies, who
transformed the still small voice of Chopin into
a veritable hurricane. Nevertheless, we cannot
imagine a Liszt without a Chopin preceding him.</p>

<p>But, Liszt lost, the piano would lose its most
dashing cavalier; while his freedom, fantasy, and
fire are admirable correctives of the platitudes
of the Hummel-Czerny-Mendelssohn school.
Liszt won from his instrument an orchestral quality.
He advanced by great wing-strokes toward
perfection, and deprived of his music we should
miss colour, sonority, richness of tinting, and
dramatic and dynamic contrasts. He has had a
great following. Tausig was the first to feel his
influence, and if he had lived longer would have
beaten out a personal style of his own. Of the
two we prefer Liszt's version of the Paganini
studies to Schumann's. The Campanella is a
favourite of well equipped virtuosi.</p>

<p>In my study of Chopin reference is made to
Chopin's obligations to Liszt. I prefer now to
quote a famous authority on the subject, no less a
critic than Professor Frederick Niecks, whose
biography of Chopin is, thus far, the superior of
all. He writes: "As at one time all ameliorations
in the theory and practice of music were
ascribed to Guido of Arezzo, so it is nowadays the
fashion to ascribe all improvements and extensions
of the pianoforte technique to Liszt, who,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
more than any other pianist, drew upon himself
the admiration of the world, and through his
pupils continued to make his presence felt even
after the close of his career as a virtuoso. But
the cause of this false opinion is to be sought not
so much in the fact that the brilliancy of his
artistic personality threw all his contemporaries
into the shade, as in that other fact, that he
gathered up into one web the many threads new
and old which he found floating about during
the years of his development. The difference
between Liszt and Chopin lies in this, that the
basis of the former's art is universality, that of
the latter's, individuality. Of the fingering of
the one we may say that it is a system, of that
of the other that it is a manner. Probably we
have here also touched on the cause of Liszt's
success and Chopin's want of success as a
teacher."</p>

<p>Niecks does not deny that Liszt influenced
Chopin. In volume 1 of his Frederick Chopin,
he declares that "The artist who contributed the
largest quotum of force to this impulse was
probably Liszt, whose fiery passions, indomitable
energy, soaring enthusiasm, universal tastes and
capacity of assimilation, mark him out as the
opposite of Chopin. But, although the latter
was undoubtedly stimulated by Liszt's style of
playing the piano and of writing for this instrument,
it is not so certain as Miss L. Ramann,
Liszt's biographer, thinks, that this master's influence
can be discovered in many passages of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
Chopin's music which are distinguished by a
fiery and passionate expression, and resemble
rather a strong, swelling torrent than a gently
gliding rivulet. She instances Nos. 9 and 12 of
<span lang="fr">Douze Etudes</span>, Op. 10; Nos. 11 and 12 of
<span lang="fr">Douze Etudes</span>, Op. 25; No. 24 of <span lang="fr">Vingt Quatre
Préludes</span>, Op. 28; Premier Scherzo, Op. 20;
Polonaise in A-flat Major, Op. 32. All these
compositions, we are told, exhibit Liszt's style
and mode of feeling. Now the works composed
by Chopin before he came to Paris and got acquainted
with Liszt, comprise not only a sonata,
a trio, two concertos, variations, polonaises,
waltzes, mazurkas, one or more nocturnes, etc.,
but also&mdash;and this is for the question under
consideration of great importance&mdash;most of, if
not all, the studies of Op. 10 (Sowinski says that
Chopin brought with him to Paris the MS. of
the first book of his studies) and some of Op. 25;
and these works prove decisively the inconclusiveness
of the lady's argument. The twelfth
study of Opus 10 (composed in September, 1831)
invalidates all she says about fire, passion, and
rushing torrents. In fact, no cogent reason can
be given why the works mentioned by her should
not be the outcome of unaided development.
[That is to say, development not aided in the way
indicated by Miss Ramann.] The first Scherzo
alone might make us pause and ask whether the
new features that present themselves in it ought
not to be fathered on Liszt. But seeing that
Chopin evolved so much, why should he not also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
have evolved this? Moreover, we must keep in
mind that Liszt had, up to 1831, composed almost
nothing of what in after years was considered
either by him or others of much moment,
and that his pianoforte style had first to pass
through the state of fermentation into which
Paganini's playing had precipitated it (in the
spring of 1831) before it was formed; on the
other hand, Chopin arrived in Paris with his
portfolios full of masterpieces, and in possession
of a style of his own as a player of his instrument
as well as a writer for it. That both learned from
each other cannot be doubted; but the exact
gain of each is less easily determinable. Nevertheless,
I think I may venture to assert that whatever
may be the extent of Chopin's indebtedness
to Liszt, the latter's indebtedness to the former
is greater. The tracing of an influence in the
works of a man of genius, who, of course, neither
slavishly imitates nor flagrantly appropriates, is
one of the most difficult tasks. If Miss Ramann
had first noted the works produced by the two
composers in question before their acquaintance
began, and had carefully examined Chopin's
early productions with a view to ascertain his
capability of growth, she would have come to another
conclusion, or, at least have spoken less
confidently."</p>

<p>To the above no exception may be taken except
the reference to the B-minor Scherzo as
possibly having been suggested by Liszt. For
me it is most characteristic of Chopin in its perverse,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
even morbid, ironical humour, its original
figuration; who but Chopin could have conceived
that lyrical episode! Liszt, doubtless, was the
first who introduced interlocking octaves instead
of the chromatic scale at the close; Tausig followed
his example. But there the matter ended.
Once when Chopin heard that Liszt intended to
write an account of his concerts for the <i lang="fr">Gazette
Musicale</i>, he said: "He will give me a little kingdom
in his empire." This remark casts much
illumination on the relations of the two men.
Liszt was the broader minded of the two; Chopin,
as Niecks points out, forgave but never forgot.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p>




<h2>IV<br />

AT ROME, WEIMAR, BUDAPEST</h2>


<h3>I<br />

ROME</h3>

<p>The Roman candle has attracted many spiritual
moths. Goethe, Humboldt, Platen, Winckelmann,
Thorwaldsen, Gregorovius and Liszt&mdash;to
mention only the first at hand&mdash;fluttered to
Rome and ascribe to it much of their finer productivity.
For Franz Liszt it was a loadstone
of double power&mdash;the ideality of the place attracted
him and its religion anchored his spiritual
restlessness.</p>

<p>Liszt liked a broad soul-margin to his life.
Heine touched on this side of Liszt's character
when he wrote of him: "Speculation has the
greatest fascination for him; and still more than
with the interests of his art is he engrossed with
all manner of rival philosophical investigations
which are occupied with the solution of all great
questions of heaven and earth. For long he
was an ardent upholder of the beautiful Saint-Simonian
idea of the world. Later the spiritualistic
or rather vaporous thoughts of Ballanche
enveloped him in their midst; now he is enthusiastic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
over the Republican-Catholic dogmas of a
Lamennais who has hoisted his Jacobin cap on
the cross.... Heaven knows in what mental
stall he will find his next hobby-horse!" This
was written in 1837, and only two years afterward
Liszt paid his first visit to Rome.</p>

<p>Based on letters and diaries of Liszt, Gregorovius,
Ad. Stahr, Fanny Lewald, W. Allmers,
Cardinal Wiseman, Jul. Schnorr von Carolsfeld,
and Eugen Segnitz, a study of Franz Liszt
in Rome may be made.</p>

<p>The time spent in the Eternal City was unquestionably
an important one in Liszt's life
and worthy of the detailed attention given it.
Rome in 1839 presented a contradictory picture.
Contrasted to the pomp of the Vatican were the
unprincipled conditions of the city itself. Bands
of robbers infested it and the surroundings, making
it as unsafe as an English highway during
the glorious but rather frisky times of Jonathan
Wild and his agile confrères. So, for instance,
Massocia and his band kidnapped the pupils
of the seminary in Albano, and when the demanded
ransom was not forthcoming defiantly
strung up these innocents on trees flanking the
gateways of Rome. So, too, the political freedom
of the city found a concession in the privilege
of Cardinal Consalvi, who permitted foreign
papers of every political party to be read
openly; while the papal edict declared null and
void all contracts closed between Christian and
Hebrew.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>

<p>In matters of art things were not much
better. The censor swung his axe in a most irresponsible
and, now to us, laughable manner.
Overbeck's Holy Family was condemned because
the feet of the Madonna in it were too
bare; Thorwaldsen's Day and Night was offensive
in its nudeness; Raphael's art was an
eyesore, and the same discriminating mind,
Padre Piazza, would have liked to consign to
the flames all philosophical books.</p>

<p>The musical taste and standard was not elevating
at this time. Piccini, Paisiello, Cimarosa,
Sacchini, Anfossi, Sarti, Righini, Paer, and
Rossini wrote purely for the sensual enjoyment
of the people.</p>

<p>Even the behaviour of the masses in theatres
was defined by an edict issued by Leo XII.
Any poor devil caught wearing his hat in the
theatre was shown the door; if an actor interpolated
either gesture or word not provided for
in the prompt-book he was sent to the galleys
for five years; the carrying of weapons in places
of amusement was punishable with life sentence
in the galleys, and wounding another during a
row earned a death verdict for the unfortunate
one; applause and hisses were rewarded by a
prison term from two months to half a year.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 417px;">
<a id="Marie_dAgoult" name="Marie_dAgoult"></a>
<a href="images/oir_115h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_115.jpg" width="417" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Countess Marie d'Agoult</p>
</div>

<p>Liszt's first visit to Rome occurred in 1839,
and in company with the Countess d'Agoult.
A strange mating this had been. Her salon
was the meeting-place where enthusiastic persons
foregathered&mdash;æsthetes, artists, and politicians.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
Liszt became a member of this circle, and the
impressionable young man of twenty-three was
as so much wax in the hands of this sensation-mongering
woman six years his senior. Against
Liszt's wishes she had followed him to Berne,
and there is plenty of evidence at hand that he
assumed the inevitable responsibilities with good
grace and treated her as his wife, but evidently
not entirely to her satisfaction. She fancied herself
the muse of the young genius; but the wings
of the young eagle she had patronized soon out-stripped
her.</p>

<p>Their years of wandering were noteworthy.
From Paris to Berne and Geneva; then two
trips back to Paris, where Liszt fought his keyboard
duel with Thalberg. They rested awhile
at Nohant, entertained by George Sand, which
they forsook for Lake Como, some flying trips
to Milan and eventually Venice. It happened
to be the year of the Danube flood&mdash;1837&mdash;and
the call for help sent Liszt to Vienna where
he gave benefit concerts for the sufferers. This
accomplished, the pair returned to Venice and
threaded their way to Rome by way of Lugano,
Genoa, and Florence.</p>

<p>Originally Liszt had no intention of concertising
on this trip; but he excused his appearances
on the concert platforms in the Italian
cities: "I did not wish to forget my trade
entirely."</p>

<p>The condition of music of the day in Italy
held out no inducements or illusions to him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
He writes Berlioz that he wished to make the
acquaintance of the principal Italian cities and
really could hope for no benefiting influence
from these flighty stops. But there was another
reason why he was so little influenced, and it
was simply that Italy of the day had nothing
of great musical interest to offer Liszt.</p>

<p>His first public appearance in Rome was
in January, 1839. Francilla Pixis-Göhringer,
adopted daughter of his friend Pixis and pupil
of Sonntag and Malibran, gave a concert at
this time, and it was here that Liszt assisted.
After that the Romans did what ever so many
had done before them&mdash;threw wide their doors
to the artist Liszt. Thus encouraged he dared
give serious recitals in face of all the Roman
musical flippancy. He defied public taste and
craving and gave a series of what he called in
a letter to the Princess Belgiojoso "<span lang="fr">soliloques
musicaux</span>"; in these he assumed the rôle of
a musical Louis XIV, and politely said:
"<span lang="fr">le concert c'est moi!</span>" He quotes one of his
programmes:</p>

<p>1. Overture to William Tell, performed by
Mr. Liszt.</p>

<p>2. Fantaisie on reminiscences of <span lang="it">Puritani</span>,
composed and performed by the above named.</p>

<p>3. Studies and Fragments, composed and
performed by the same.</p>

<p>4. Improvisation on a given theme&mdash;still by
the same. That is all.</p>

<p>This was really nothing more than a forerunner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
of the present piano-recital. Liszt was
the first one who ventured an evening of piano
compositions without fearing the disgust of an
audience. From his accounts they behaved
very well indeed, and applauded and chatted
only at the proper time.</p>

<p>Liszt, realising that he had nothing to learn
from the living Italians, turned to their dead;
and for such studies his first visit to Rome
was especially propitious. Gregory XIV, had
opened the Etruscan Museum but two years
before and was stocking it with the treasures
which were being unearthed in the old cities
of Etruria. The same pope also enlarged the
Vatican library and took active interest in the
mural decorations of these newly added ten
rooms. The painters Overbeck, Cornelius, and
Veit were kept actively employed in this city,
and the influence of their work was not a
trifling one on the painter colony. The diplomat
Von Bunsen and the Cardinals Mezzofanti
and Mai exerted their influences to spread
general culture.</p>

<p>An interesting one of Liszt's friendships, dating
from this time, is that with Jean Auguste Dominique
Ingres, director of the French Académie.
Strolling under the oaks of the Villa Medici,
Ingres would disentangle for his younger friend
the confusion of impressions gathered in his
wanderings among Rome's art treasures. Himself
a music lover and a musician&mdash;he played
the violin in the theatre orchestra of his native<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
place, Montauban, at some performances of
Gluck's operas&mdash;Ingres admired Haydn, Mozart,
Beethoven, and above all Gluck, upon
whom he looked as the musical successor to
Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Under
such sympathetic and intelligent guidance Liszt's
admiration for the other arts became ordered.
After a day among the forest of statues he
would coax his friend to take up the violin, and
Liszt writes almost enthusiastically of his Beethoven
interpretations.</p>

<p>It is entirely within reason to argue that we
owe to this new viewpoint such of Liszt's compositions
as were inspired by works of the other
arts. Such, to name a few, were the <span lang="it">Sposalizio</span>
and <span lang="it">Il Penseroso</span>&mdash;by Raphael and Michelangelo&mdash;<span lang="de">Die
Hunnenschlacht</span>&mdash;Kaulbach&mdash;and
<span lang="fr">Danse Macabre</span>&mdash;after Andrea Orcagna. That
Liszt was susceptible to such impressions, even
before, is proven by his essay <span lang="de">Die Heilige Cäcelia</span>
by Raphael, written earlier than this Roman trip;
but under Ingres' hints his width of vision was
extended, and he began to find alluring parallels
between the fine arts&mdash;his comprehension of
Mozart and Beethoven grew with his acquaintance
of the works of Raphael and Michelangelo.
He compared Giovanni da Pisa, Fra Beato,
and Francia with Allegri, Marcello, and Palestrina;
Titian with Rossini!</p>

<p>What attracted Liszt principally during his
first stay at Rome was the religion of art, as
it had attracted Goethe before him. Segnitz<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
quotes against this attitude the one of Berlioz,
whom the ruins of Rome touched slightly, as did
Palestrina's church music. He found the latter
devoid of religious sentiment, and in this verdict
he was joined by none less than Mendelssohn.</p>

<p>The surroundings, the atmosphere of Rome,
appealed to Liszt, and under them his individuality
thrived and asserted itself. The scattered
and often hurried impressions of this first
visit ordered themselves gradually, but the composite
whole deflected his life's currents into the
one steady and broad stream of art. Like
Goethe, he might have regarded his first day at
Rome as the one of his second birth, as the one
on which his true self came to light. The Via
Sacra by which he left Rome led him into the
forum of the art world.</p>

<p>In June, 1839, after a stay of five months,
Liszt, accompanied by the Countess d'Agoult,
left Rome for the baths at Lucca. The elusive
peace he was tracking escaped him here, and
he wandered to the little fishing village San
Rossore. In November of the same year he
parted company with Italy&mdash;and also with the
countess. The D'Agoult had romantic ideas
of their union, in which the inevitable responsibilities
of this sort of thing played no part.
Segnitz regards the entire affair as having been
a most unfortunate one for Liszt, and believes
that the latter only saved himself and his entire
artistic future by separating from the countess.
The years of contact had formed no spiritual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
ties between them and the rupture was inevitable.</p>

<p>With her three children d'Agoult started for
Paris there to visit Liszt's mother; later, through
Liszt's intervention, a complete reconciliation
with her family was effected. Although after the
death of her mother the countess inherited a fortune,
Liszt continued to support the children.</p>

<p>Leaving San Rossore the artist began his
public life in earnest. It was the beginning of
his virtuoso period and Vienna was the starting-point
of his triumphal tournée across Europe.
This period was an important one for development
of piano playing, placing the latter on a
much higher artistic plane than it had been;
in it Liszt also inaugurated a new phase of the
possibilities of concert giving. It was the time
in which he fought both friend and enemy, fought
without quarter for the cause of art.</p>

<p>As a composer Liszt, during his first stay in
Italy, 1837-40, was far from active. The <span lang="fr">Fantaisie
quasi Sonata après une lecture de Dante</span>
and the twelve <span lang="fr">Etudes d'exécution transcendante</span>
both came to life at Lake Como. There
were besides the Chromatic Galop and the pieces
<span lang="it">Sposalizio, Il Penseroso</span> and <span lang="it">Tre Sonetti di Petrarca</span>,
which became part of the <span lang="fr">Années de
Pèlerinage (Italie)</span>. His first song, with piano
accompaniment, Angiolin dal biondo crin, dates
from these days. The balance of this time was
devoted to making arrangements of melodies
by Mercadante, Donizetti, and Rossini, and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
finishing the piano transcriptions of the Beethoven
symphonies. These and a few others
about cover his list of compositions and arrangements.</p>


<h3>II</h3>

<p>Immediately after Liszt's separation from the
Countess d'Agoult began a period of restless
activity for him. The eight nomadic years during
which he wandered up and down Europe,
playing constantly in public, are the ones in
which his virtuosity flourished. To-day we are
inclined to mock at the mere mention of Liszt
the virtuoso&mdash;we have heard far too much of
his achievements, achievements behind which
the real Liszt has become a warped and unrecognizable
personality. But it was a remarkable
tour nevertheless, and so wholesale a lesson
in musical interpretation as Europe had never
had before. Whenever and wherever he smote the
keyboard the old-fashioned clay idols of piano
playing were shattered, and however much it
was attempted to patch them the pieces would
not quite fit. Liszt struck the death-blow to
unemotional playing, but he destroyed only to
create anew: he erected ideals of interpretation
which are still honored.</p>

<p>When he accepted the Weimar post of Hofkapellmeister
in 1847&mdash;he had <i>en passant</i> in
a term, lasting from December, 1843, to February
of the following year, conducted eight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
successful concerts in Weimar&mdash;it looked as
if his wild spirit of travel had dissipated itself:
<i lang="de">ausgetobt</i>, as the Germans say.</p>

<p>With scarcely any time modulation this versatile
genius began his career of Hofkapellmeister,
in which he topsy-turvied traditions
and roused Weimar from the lethargy into
which it had fallen with the fading of that wonderful
Goethe circle. At this point the influence
of woman is again made manifest.</p>

<p>Gregorovius, the great antiquarian, gives us
a few glimpses of her in his <span lang="de">Römischen Tagebüchern</span>.
He admits that her personality was
repulsive to him, but that she fairly sputtered
spirituality. Also that she wrote an article
about the Sixtine Chapel for the <i lang="fr">Revue du
Monde Catholique</i>&mdash;"a brilliant article: all
fireworks, like her speech"; finally, that "she is
writing an essay on friendship."</p>

<p>When the possibility of marriage with the
Princess went up into thin air Liszt began contemplating
a permanent residence in Rome.
Here he could live more independently and
privately than in Germany, and this was desirable,
since he still had some musical problems
to solve. First of all, he turned to his
legend of the Holy Elizabeth, completing that;
then <span lang="de">Der Sonnen-Hymnus des heiligen Franziskus
von Assisi</span> was written, to say nothing of
a composition for organ and trombone composed
for one of his Weimar adherents. Frequent
excursions and work so consumed his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
hours that soon we find him complaining as
bitterly about the lack of time in Rome as in
Weimar.</p>

<p>Rome of this time was still "outside of Italy":
the reverse side of the Papal medallions showed
Daniel in the lion's den and Pope Pio Nono
immersed in mysticism. The social features
were important. Segnitz mentions "<span lang="de">die Kölnische
Patrizierin Frau Sibylle Mertens-Schaaffhausen</span>,
Peter Cornelius, <span lang="de">die Dame Schopenhauer</span>,"
the Ottilie of Goethe. Besides the
artists Catel and Nerenz there was Frau von
Schwarz, who attracted Liszt. She boasted
friendship with Garibaldi, and her salon was
a meeting-place of the intellectual multitude.
Liszt seems to have been king pin everywhere,
and it is refreshing to read the curt, unsentimental
impression of him retailed by Gregorovius:
"I have met Liszt," wrote the latter; "remarkable,
demoniac appearance; tall, slender, long
hair. Frau von Schwarz believes he is burned
out, that only the walls of him remain, wherein
a small ghostly flame flits." To add to the list
of notables: the painter Lindemann-Frommel;
the Prussian representatives, Graf Arnim and
Kurt von Schlözer; King Louis I, of Bavaria,
and the artists Riedel, Schweinfurt, Passini, and
Feuerbach the philosopher.</p>

<p>Naturally Liszt participated in the prominent
church festivals and was affected by their
glamour; it even roused him to sentimental utterance.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>

<p>Germany and the thoughts of it could not
lure him away from Rome, nor could the summer
heat drive him out. The Holy Elizabeth
was completed by August 10, 1862, and with it
he had finished the greater part of his work as
composer. Never did he lose interest in German
art movements, and was ever ready with advice
and suggestions.</p>

<p>A severe shock, one which sent him to bed,
came to him about the middle of September of
this year, when his youngest daughter, Blandine
Ollivier, the wife of Louis Napoleon's war
minister, Emile Ollivier, died. Liszt turned to
religion and to his art for consolation; he slaved
away at the Christus oratorio and wrote two
psalms and the instrumental <span lang="de">Evocatio in der
Sixtinischen Kapelle</span>. Invitations from London,
Weimar, and Budapest could not budge him
from Rome; deeper and deeper he became interested
in the wonders and beauties of his religion.</p>

<p>The following year&mdash;1863&mdash;finds him hard
at work as ever. His oratorio is not achieving
great progress, but he is revising his piano arrangements
of the Beethoven Symphonies. In
the spring he changes his quarters and moves
into the Cloister Madonna del Rosario, in which
he had been offered several rooms. These new
lodgings enchant him. Situated on the Monte
Mario, the site commanded a view of Rome and
the Campagna, the Albano Mountains and the
River Tiber. So Signor Commendatore Liszt,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
the friend of Padre Theiner, is living in a cloister
and the religious germs begin to sprout in this
quiet surrounding. Liszt esteemed the priest
highly as an educated man and admired his
personality. Gregorovius, on the other hand,
could pump up no liking at all for the hermit-like
Padre, discovered him dry and judged his
writings and philosophy as dry, archaic stuff.</p>

<p>In Italian politics and Italian music Liszt
found nothing to attract him. The latter was
crude, as regards composition, and generally
resolved itself into <span lang="de">Drehorgel-Lyrik</span>. The piano
was at that time not an Italian object of
furniture, and in the churches they still served
up operatic music with the thinnest religious
varnish. In the salons one seldom heard good
music, so that Liszt, through his pupils Sgambati,
Berta, and others was able to work some
reform in these matters.</p>

<p>On July 11, 1862, the tongue of all Rome
was wagging: Pope Pius IX had paid Liszt a
visit at the Cloister Santa Maria del Rosario.
Liszt recounts that His Holiness had stayed with
him about half an hour, during which time the
pianist had played for him on the harmonium
and on the little working piano. After that the
Pope had spoken earnestly to him and begged
him to strive for the heavenly, even in earthly
matters, and to prepare himself for the eternal
sounding harmonies by means of the passing
earthly ones.</p>

<p>Liszt was the first artist who had been honored<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>
thus. A few days later the Pope granted
him an audience in the Vatican, when he presented
Liszt with a cameo of the Madonna.</p>

<p>Segnitz quotes from two of Liszt's letters in
which he voices his religious sentiments, and
hopes that eventually his bones may rest in
Roman earth.</p>

<p>Rather a remarkable phase of Liszt now was
that he tried with might and main to live
down and forget his so-called "<span lang="de">Glanzperiode</span>,"
the one of his virtuosity. An invitation from
Cologne and also one from St. Petersburg to
play and display once more "that entrancing
tone which he could coax out of the keys"
aroused his wrath. He asks, is he never to be
taken more seriously than as a pianist, is he
not worthy of recognition as a musician, a composer?
On the other hand, nothing flattered
him as much as when an Amsterdam society
performed his <span lang="de">Graner Messe</span> and sent him a
diploma of honorary membership. Furthermore,
he derived much encouragement from an
article in the <i lang="de">Neue Zeitschrift für Musik</i>, written
by Heinrich Porges, in which Liszt's compositions
were seriously discussed.</p>

<p>Liszt found time to revise the four Psalms, 13&mdash;this
was his favourite one&mdash;18, 23, 137; and
during this year he also composed for the piano
Alleluja, Ave Maria,<span lang="de"> Waldesrauschen, Gnomenreigen</span>,
the two legends, <span lang="de">Die Vogelpredigt</span> and
<span lang="de">Der heilige Franz von Paula auf den Wogen
schreitend</span>; then the organ variations on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
Bach theme <span lang="de">Weinen, klagen, sorgen, zagen</span>, and
the <span lang="de">Papsthymus</span>. He again took up his former
project of making piano arrangements of the
Beethoven quartets.</p>

<p class="break">The year after this one was remarkable for
the facts that Liszt was coaxed to play in public
on the occasion of a benefit for the Peter's
Pence, and that he participated in the Karlsruhe
music festival. He left Rome in August and
journeyed first to St. Tropez to visit his daughter's
grave; then to Karlsruhe. After this he
went to Munich and visited Hans and Cosima
von Bülow on the way to Weimar. Finally a
trip to Paris to see his aged mother, and he returned
to Rome at the end of October. Besides
working on his oratorio and making some piano
transcriptions, he composed only two new numbers,
a litany for organ and a chorus with organ
accompaniment.</p>

<p>Two public appearances in Rome as pianist
occurred during the spring of 1865, and then,
to the surprise of many, on April 25, Liszt took
minor orders of priesthood, forsook the Cloister
and made his abode in the Vatican next to
the rooms of his priestly friend Monseigneur
Hohenlohe.</p>

<p>Gregorovius writes of this appearance of
Liszt as the virtuoso: "He played <span lang="de">Die Aufforderung
zum Tanz</span> and <span lang="de">Erlkönig</span>&mdash;a queer
adieu to the world. No one suspected that
already he carried his abbé's socks in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span>
pockets.... Now he wears the cloaklet of
the abbé, lives in the Vatican, and, as Schlözer
tells me, is happy and healthy. This is the end
of the genial virtuoso, the personality of a sovereign.
I am glad that I heard Liszt play once
more, he and his instrument seemed to be grown
together&mdash;a piano-centaur."</p>

<p>As we look back at the step now and are
able to weigh the gradual influence which asserted
itself on Liszt the act seems to have been
an inevitable one. At the time, however, it was
more or less unexpected.</p>

<p>He assures Breitkopf &amp; Härtel that his old
weakness for composition has not deserted him,
that he must commit to paper some of the wonderful
things which were spooking about in his
head. And the public? Well, it regretted that
Liszt was wasting his time writing such dreadful
"<span lang="de">Tonwirrwarr</span>." Liszt smiled ironically&mdash;and
continued to compose.</p>

<p>His patriotism sent him travelling once more&mdash;this
year to Pesth, where he conducted his
arrangement of the Rakoczy March and the
Divine Comedy. He returned to Rome and
learned that his friend Hohenlohe was about
to be made cardinal, an event which had its
bearing on his stay in the Vatican.</p>

<p>Liszt moved back to the Cloister after Hohenlohe
had given up his quarters in the Vatican
for a cardinal's house. This year&mdash;1866&mdash;is
also a record of travel. After he had conducted
his Dante Symphony in Rome&mdash;and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
the natives found it "inspired but formless"&mdash;he
went to Paris to witness a performance of
his Mass. Report had preceded him that he
was physically a wreck, and he delighted in
showing himself to prove the falsehood of the
rumour. And partly to display his mental activity
he began theological studies, so that he
might pass his examination and take higher
orders.</p>

<p>In addition to his Paris trip he also wandered
to Amsterdam to hear his Mass once more. Immediately
after his return to Rome he completed
the Christus oratorio and began work on the
arrangements of the Beethoven quartets. He
soon found that he had attacked an impossible
task. "I failed where Tausig succeeded," he
lamented; and then explained that Tausig had
been wise enough to select only such movements
as were available for the piano.</p>

<p class="break">His compositions this year were not very
numerous&mdash;some piano extracts out of his oratorio
and sketches for the Hungarian Coronation
Mass. Politics were throwing up dense
clouds of dust in Rome, the Papal secular power
was petering out, and in consequence Liszt, who
hated politics, was compelled to change his residence
again, moving this time to the old cloister
Santa Francesca Romana. Here he met his
friends weekly on Friday mornings, and besides
animated conversation there was much
chamber music to be heard.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>

<p>The Hungarian Mass was finished early in
1867, and Liszt went to Pesth, where he conducted
it with much success when Francis
Joseph was made King of Hungary. Then he
appeared at the Wartburg Festival, and on his
return trip stopped at Lucerne to greet Wagner.
After a short stay at Munich, with Cosima and
Hans von Bülow, he found himself once more in
Rome and was allowed a few months of rest.
Besides the Hungarian Mass he composed this
year a Funeral March on the occasion of Maximilian
of Mexico's death&mdash;it appeared later
as the sixth of the third collection: <span lang="fr">Années de
Pèlerinage</span>. His piano transcriptions were confined
to works by Verdi and Von Bülow, and as
a souvenir of the days passed with Wagner at
Triebschen he transcribed Isolde's <span lang="de">Liebestod</span>.</p>

<p>The social features of his stay in Rome were
becoming unbearable, and Liszt could only command
privacy by being rude to the persistent
ones. Several little excursions out of Rome during
the spring were followed by a long journey
in the summer with his friend Abbé Solfanelli.
First to a place of pilgrimage; then to
the city of Liszt's patron saint, Assisi, and from
there to Loreto. When Liszt re-entered Rome
he found the social life so exigent that he was
driven to the stillness of the Campagna, and
lived for some time in the Villa d'Este. This&mdash;1868&mdash;was
his last year at Rome, for the
middle of January of the following year found
him settled in Weimar again. Although he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
still spared many years in which to work, yet
the eve of his life was upon him. If he had
hoped to find finally in Weimar homely rest and
peace he was doomed to disappointment. He
remained a wanderer to the end of his days.</p>

<p>There remains to be made a mention of his
compositions during his last year at Rome.
Principal among these was the Requiem dedicated
to the memory of his deceased mother and
his two children, Daniel and Blandine; then
three church compositions and the epilogue to
his Tasso, <span lang="fr">Le Triomphe du Tasse</span>, and the
usual transcriptions for the piano.</p>

<p>Whether or not Liszt's interest in matters religious
abated is not made very clear. So much
is certain that his plans for taking higher orders
came to nothing. Was the Church after all a disappointment
to him? One recalls his childish
delight when first he was created Abbé. Then he
wrote Hohenlohe: "They tell me that I wear
my <i>soutane</i> as though I always had worn one."</p>

<p class="break">The Hungarian Government elected the Abbé
honorary president of the <span lang="de">Landes Musikakademie</span>
in 1873. This gave Liszt's wanderings still
a third objective point, Budapest.</p>

<p>In Weimar his time was now devoted more to
teaching than to composing, and the Liszt pupils
began to sprout by the gross. The absurd sentimentality
which clings about this period has
never been condemned sufficiently. Read this
entry in the note-book of Gregorovius and draw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
at least a few of your own conclusions: "Dined
with Liszt at Weimar. He was very lovable,
made up to me and hoped at parting that I
would give him my confidence. This would be
very difficult, as we have not one point in common.
He has grown very old; his face is all
wrinkled; yet his animation is very attractive.
The Countess Tolstoy told me yesterday that
an American lady living here had stripped the
covering off a chair on which Liszt had sat, had
had it framed and now it hung on her wall.
She related this to Liszt, who at first seemed
indignant and then asked if it were really true!
If such a man does not despise mankind then
one must give him great credit for it."</p>

<p>Still Liszt fluttered to Rome from time to
time. "If it had not been for music I should
have devoted myself entirely to the church and
would have become a Franciscan; It is in error
that I am accused of becoming a 'frivolous
Abbé' because of external reasons. On the contrary,
it was my most innermost wish which led
me to join the church that I wished to serve"
he said.</p>

<p>During these later visits he took up his abode
in the Hotel d'Alibert. His rooms were furnished
as plainly as possible&mdash;in the one a bed
and a writing-desk, and the second one, his reception
and class-room, held a grand piano.
Some of his pupils lived at the same hotel&mdash;Stradal,
Ansorge, Göllerich, Burmeister, Stavenhagen,
and Mademoiselle Cognetti.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>

<p>Liszt's daily mode of life is rather intimately
described. He arose at four in the morning
and began composing, which he continued until
seven. His pupils would drop in to greet him
and be dismissed kindly with a cigar. After
a second breakfast he attended early mass in
the San Carlo Church, where he was accompanied
by Stradal; then back to his rooms, and
after an hour's rest he would work or pay some
visits.</p>

<p>His noon meal was taken regularly with the
Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, who now lived a
retired life and devoted herself to religious
studies. These visits brought to Liszt much
peace and to the Princess happiness; they were
still devoted to each other. After this meal
Liszt returned to his quarters and rested. Only
on every other day he taught. The pupil played
the composition of his own choice and Liszt's
criticisms would follow. Muddy playing drove
him frantic, and he often told his pupils to
"wash their dirty linen at home"! He taught
liberal use of the pedal, but with utmost discretion.
The one thing he could not abide was
pedantic performance: "Among artists there is
not the division of professors and non-professors.
They are only artists&mdash;or they are not."</p>

<p>Occasionally he would play for a small assembly&mdash;once
he favoured the few with the D-flat
Etude, and the crossing left hand struck false
notes repeatedly. He played the piece to the
end, and then atoned for his bulls by adding an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
improvisation on the theme which moved the
assembly to tears!</p>

<p>During these class hours a small circle of intimate
ones was usually invited. The Princess
Wittgenstein was noticeably absent; but there
were the Princess Minghetti, the Countess Reviczy&mdash;to
whom the Fifth Rhapsody is dedicated&mdash;and
several barons and artists&mdash;Alma
Tadema among the latter. Depend upon it,
wherever Liszt pitched his tent there were some
titles in the neighbourhood. From two until six
in the afternoon these lessons lasted. Then
the small audience withdrew and Liszt played
cards with his pupils for one hour.</p>

<p>About eight in the evening Liszt would take
himself to the house of the Princess Wittgenstein
and sup with her. This meal consisted
principally of ham, says the biographer, and
Hungarian red wine. By nine he had usually
retired.</p>

<p>Stradal seems to have been one of his favourites
and accompanied Liszt on some of his little
excursions to the beloved cloisters, San Onofrio
and Monte Mario, then into the Valle dell' Inferno.
Here under the Tasso oak Liszt spoke
of the life of the great poet and compared his
own fate to that of Tasso. "They will not carry
me in triumph across the Capitol, but the time
will come when my works will be acknowledged.
This will happen too late for me&mdash;I shall not
be among you any more," he said. Not an untrue
prophecy.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Liszt_atelier" name="Liszt_atelier"></a>
<a href="images/oir_137h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_137.jpg" width="550" height="346" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Liszt in His Atelier at Weimar</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>During these trips he gave alms freely. His
servant Mischka filled Liszt's right vest pocket
with <i>lire</i> and the other one with <i>soldi</i> every morning.
And Liszt always strewed about the silver
pieces, returning to his astonished servant with
the pocket full of copper coins untouched.</p>

<p>Rudolf Louis, another Liszt biographer, tells
an amusing story which fits in the time when
Pius the Ninth visited Liszt in the cloister.
While most of the living composers contented
themselves with envying Liszt, old Rossini tried
to turn the incident to his own advantage. He
begged Liszt to use his influence in securing
the admission of female voices in service of the
church because he&mdash;Rossini&mdash;did not care to
hear his churchly compositions sung by croaking
boys' voices! Of course nothing came of
this request.</p>

<p>The incident itself&mdash;the Pope's visit to Liszt&mdash;caused
much gossip at the time. It was even
reported that Pio Nono had called Liszt "his
Palestrina."</p>

<p>M. Louis also makes a point which most
Wagner biographers seem to have overlooked
in their hurry to make Richard appear a very
moral man, namely, that the little Von Bülow-Cosima-Wagner
affair did not please Papa Liszt
at all. Truce was patched up only in 1873,
when Liszt's "Christus" performance at Weimar
was witnessed by Wagner. Bayreuth of '76 cemented
the friendship once more.</p>

<p>Read this paragraph from the pen of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
cynical Gregorovius; it refers to the Roman
performance of the Dante Symphony in the Galleria
Dantesca when the Abbé reaped an aftermath
of homage: "The Ladies of Paradise
(?!) poured flowers on him from above; Frau
L. almost murdered him with a big laurel
wreath! But the Romans criticised the music
severely as being formless. There is inspiration
in it, but it does not reach(?!). Liszt left
for Paris. The day before his departure I
breakfasted with him at Tolstoy's; he played
for a solid hour and allowed himself to be persuaded
to do this by the young Princess Nadine
Hellbig&mdash;Princess Shahawskoy&mdash;a woman of
remarkably colossal figure, but also of remarkable
intelligence."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>




<h2>V<br />

AS COMPOSER</h2>


<p>Richard Wagner wrote to Liszt July 20,
1856, concerning his symphonic poems:</p>

<p>"With your symphonic poems I am now
quite familiar. They are the only music I have
anything to do with at present, as I cannot
think of doing any work of my own while undergoing
medical treatment. Every day I read
one or the other of your scores, just as I would
read a poem, easily and without hindrance.
Then I feel every time as if I had dived into a
crystalline depth, there to be all alone by myself,
having left all the world behind, to live for
an hour my own proper life. Refreshed and
invigorated, I then come to the surface again,
full of longing for your personal presence. Yes,
my friend, <i>you have the power! You have the
power!</i>"</p>

<p>And later (December 6, 1856): "I feel thoroughly
contemptible as a musician, whereas you,
as I have now convinced myself, are the greatest
musician of all times." Wagner, too, could be
generous and flattering. He had praised the
piano sonata; Mazeppa and Orpheus were his
favourites among the symphonic poems.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>

<p>Camille Saint-Saëns was more discriminating
in his admiration; he said:</p>

<p>"Persons interested in things musical may
perhaps recall a concert given many years ago
in the hall of the Théâtre Italien, Paris, under
the direction of the author of this article. The
programme was composed entirely of the orchestral
work of Franz Liszt, whom the world
persists in calling a great pianist, in order to
avoid acknowledging him as one of the greatest
composers of our time. This concert was considerably
discussed in the musical world, strictly
speaking, and in a lesser degree by the general
public. Liszt as a composer seemed to many
to be the equal of Ingres as a violinist, or
Thiers as an astronomer. However, the public,
who would have come in throngs to hear Liszt
play ten bars on the piano, as might be expected,
manifested very little desire to hear the
Dante Symphony, the <i lang="fr">Berges à la crèche</i> and
<i lang="fr">Les Mages</i>, symphonic parts of <i>Christus</i>, and
other compositions which, coming from one less
illustrious, but playing the piano fairly well,
would have surely aroused some curiosity. We
must also state that the concert was not well advertised.
While the "Spanish Student" monopolized
all the advertising space and posters
possible, the Liszt concert had to be satisfied
with a brief notice and could not, at any price,
take its place among the theatre notices.</p>

<p>"Several days later, a pianist giving a concert
at the Italien, obtained this favour. Theatres<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
surely offer inexplicable mysteries to simple mortals.
The name of Liszt appeared here and
there in large type on the top row of certain posters,
where the human eye could see it only by
the aid of the telescope. But, nevertheless, our
concert was given, and not to an empty hall.
The musical press, at our appeal, kindly assisted;
but the importance of the works on which
they were invited to express an opinion seemed to
escape them entirely. They considered, in general,
that the music of Liszt was well written,
free from certain peculiarities they expected to
find in it, and that it did not lack a certain
charm. That was all.</p>

<p>"If such had been my opinion of the works
of Liszt, I certainly should not have taken the
trouble to gather together a large orchestra and
rehearse two weeks for a concert. Moreover, I
should like to say a few words of these works,
so little known, whose future seems so bright.
It is not long since orchestral music was confined
to but two forms&mdash;the symphony and the
overture. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven had
never written anything else; who would have
dared to do other than they? Neither Weber,
Mendelssohn, Schubert, nor Schumann. Liszt
did dare."</p>

<p>Liszt understood that to introduce new forms
he must cause a necessity to be felt, in a word,
produce a motive for them. He resolutely entered
on the path which Beethoven, with the
Pastoral and Choral Symphonies, and Berlioz,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
with the <span lang="fr">Symphonie Fantastique</span> and Harold in
Italy, had suggested rather than opened, for they
had enlarged the compass of the symphony, but
had not transformed it, and it was Liszt who
created the symphonic poem.</p>

<p>This brilliant and fecund creation will be to
posterity one of Liszt's greatest titles to glory,
and when time shall have effaced the luminous
trace of this greatest pianist who has ever lived
it will inscribe on the roll of honour the name of
the emancipator of instrumental music.</p>

<p>Liszt not only introduced into the musical
world the symphonic poem, he developed it himself;
and in his own twelve poems he has shown
the chief forms in which it can be clothed.</p>

<p>Before taking up the works themselves, let us
consider the form of which it is the soul, the principle
of programme music.</p>

<p>To many, programme music is a necessarily
inferior <i>genre</i>. Much has been written on this
subject that cannot be understood. Is the music,
in itself, good or bad? That is the point. The
fact of its being "programme" or not makes it
neither better not worse. It is exactly the same
in painting, where the subject of the picture,
which is everything to the vulgar mind, is nothing
or little to the artist. The reproach against
music, of expressing nothing in itself without the
aid of words, applies equally to painting.</p>

<p>To the artist, programme music is only a pretext
to enter upon new ways, and new effects
demand new means, which, by the way, is very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
little desired by orchestra leaders and kapellmeisters
who, above all, love ease and tranquil
existence. I should not be surprised to discover
that the resistance to works of which we speak
comes not from the public, but from orchestra
leaders, little anxious to cope with the difficulties
of every nature which they contain. However,
I will not affirm it.</p>

<p>The compositions to which Liszt gave the name
symphonic poem are twelve in number:</p>

<p>
1. <span lang="fr">Ce qu'on entend sur la montagne</span>, after Victor Hugo.<br />
2. Tasso, Lamento and Trionfo.<br />
3. <span lang="fr">Les Preludes</span>, after Lamartine.<br />
4. <span lang="fr">Orphée</span>.<br />
5. <span lang="fr">Prométhée</span>.<br />
6. Mazeppa.<br />
7. <span lang="de">Fest-Klänge</span>.<br />
8. <span lang="fr">Héroïde funèbre</span>.<br />
9. Hungaria.<br />
10. Hamlet.<br />
11. <span lang="fr">La bataille des Huns</span>, after Kaulbach.<br />
12. <span lang="fr">L'idéal</span>, after Schiller.<br />
</p>

<p>The symphonic poem in the form in which
Liszt has given it to us, is ordinarily an ensemble
of different movements depending on each other,
and flowing from a principal ideal, blending into
each other, and forming one composition. The
plan of the musical poem thus understood may
vary infinitely. To obtain a great unity, and at
the same time the greatest variety possible, Liszt
most often chooses a musical phrase, which he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
transforms by means of artifices of rhythm, to
give it the most diverse aspects and cause it to
serve as an expression of the most varied sentiments.
This is one of the usual methods of
Richard Wagner, and, in my opinion, it is the
only one common to the two composers. In
style, in use of harmonic resources and instrumentation,
they differ as widely as two contemporary
artists could differ, and yet really belong to the
same school.</p>


<h3>THE BERG SYMPHONY</h3>

<p>"<span lang="fr">Ce qu'on entend sur la montagne</span>"&mdash;or,
as it is more familiarly known, "<span lang="de">Die Bergsymphonie</span>"&mdash;is
ranked among the earliest of Liszt's
symphonic works. The first sketches of this
symphonic poem were made as early as 1833-35,
but they were not orchestrated until 1849, and
the composition had its first hearing in Weimar
in 1853.</p>

<p>A German enthusiast says this work is the first
towering peak of a mountain chain, and that
here already&mdash;in the first of the list of Symphonic
Poems&mdash;the mastery of the composer
is indubitably revealed. The subject is not a
flippant one, by any means: it touches on the
relation of man to nature&mdash;<span lang="de">das Welträtsel</span>.
Inspiration came directly from Victor Hugo's
poem, "<span lang="fr">Ce qu'on entend sur la montagne.</span>" The
subject is that of Nature's perfection contrasted
to Man's misery:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Die Welt ist volkommen überall,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wo der Mensch nicht hinkommt mit seiner Qual.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Only when one withdraws from the hurdy-gurdy
trend of life, only from the height of mountain
does one see Truth in perspective. This
is "What one hears on the Mountain."</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">

<span class="i0">Zuerst vermorr'ner, unermess'ner Lärm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Undeutlich wie der Wind in dichten Bäumen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Voll klarer Tone, süssen Lispelns, sanft<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wie'n Abendlied, und stark wie Waffenklirren.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Es war ein Tönen, tief und unausprechlich,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Das flutend Kreise zog rings um die Welt<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Und durch die Himmel ...<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Die Welt, Gehüllt in diese Symphonie,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Schwamm wie in Luft, so in der Harmonie.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>This is the key-note to the introductory measures
of Liszt's work. Out of the sombre roll of
the drum&mdash;which continues as a ground tone&mdash;the
different instruments assert themselves.
Muted strings imitate the rush of the sea; horns
and woodwind hint at the battling of elements in
chaos, while the violins and harp swerve peacefully
aloft in arpeggios. The oboe chants <span lang="de">sanft
wie'n Abendlied</span>, the beautiful melody of peaceful
idyllic nature. After this impression becomes
a mood Liszt resumes the poetic narrative
and individualises the two voices:</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Vom Meer die eine; wie ein Sang von Ruhm und Glück,<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Die and're hob von uns'rer Erde sich,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sie war voll Trauer: das Geräusch der Menschen.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>The voice of Man is the first to be heard. It
obtrudes itself even while the violins are preaching
earthly peace, and eventually embroils them
in its cry of discontent. All this over the pedal
point of worldly noises.</p>

<p>There is a sudden pause, and in the succeeding
maestoso episode the second voice is heard&mdash;Nature's
Hymn:</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Der prächt'ge Ocean ...<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Liess eine friedliche frohe Stimme hören,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sang, wie die Harfe singt in Sion's Tempeln,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Und pries der Schöpfung Schönheit.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Here there is composure and serenity, which
diminishes to a tender piano in string harmonics.
But in the woodwind a dissenting theme appears
from time to time: Man and his torments invade
this sanctity of peace. His cry grows louder,
and one hears in it the anguish of the pursued
one. The strings forsake their tranquil harmonics
and resolve themselves into a troublous
tremolo, while the clarinettes, in a new theme,
question this intrusion. Meanwhile the misery
of Man gains the upper hand, and in the following
Allegro con moto there sounds all the
fury of a wild chase:</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ein Weinen, Kreischen, Schmähen and Verfluchen<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Und Hohn und Lästerung und wüst' Geschrei<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Taucht aus des Menschenlärmes Wirbelwogen.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>The orchestra is in tumult, relieved only by a
cry of agony coming from Man; even the sea<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
theme is tossed about, and the Motif of Nature
appears in mangled form. This fury lashes itself
out by its own violence, and after the strings
once more echo the cry of despair all is silent.
Two light blows of the tam-tam suggest the fear
which follows upon such a display of tempestuous
terror.</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">... warum man hier ist, was<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Der Zweck von allem diesen endlich,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Und warum Gott ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bestandig einet zu des Liedes Masston<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sang der Natur mit seiner Menschen Schreinen.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>This <span lang="de">Warum</span> is asked dismally, and as an answer
the theme of Nature reappears in its brightest
garb. Question and answer succeed each
other, and are stilled by the recurring cry of
Man until a final Why is followed by a full stop.</p>

<p>The poet, weary of this restlessness, is searching
for the consolation of quietude; and here&mdash;as
might be expected of Liszt&mdash;comes the
thought of religion shown by the Andante religioso.
It is here, too, in the realm of religious
peace that the two antagonistic voices are reconciled;
they interweave, cross and are melted, one
in the other.</p>

<p>This, the most intricate and longest part of the
score, was employed by Liszt to show his instrumental
mastery. The two principal themes&mdash;the
two voices&mdash;are made to adjust with great
skill, and are then sounded simultaneously to
prove their striving after unity.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p>

<p>The poet is almost convinced of this equalisation,
when, without warning and with the force
of the full orchestra, brilliantly employed, a new
theme appears. This is repeated with even
greater frenzy of utterance, and usurps the theme
of Man and that of Nature. The whole is the
idea of Faith, at which the poet now has arrived.
A deep satisfaction silences every sound&mdash;the
clashing of the elements ceases and the last sigh
breathes itself out. Once more the plaintive
"Why" is heard, and resolves itself in a reminiscence
of Man's fury. The trumpets quiet
all by intoning that sacrosanct Andante religioso,
which concludes in a mysterious chord
through which the notes of the harp thread themselves.
The theme of Nature's Hymn returns
pizzicato in the basses, and is answered by harp
arpeggios and chords in the brass. A few taps
of the tympani, with which the composition ends,
give the ring of finality.</p>

<p>Arthur Hahn believes that this symphonic
poem offers a solution to the discord of the universe;
that the ending with the two tympani taps
and the hollow preceding chords suggest a possible
return of the storm. Liszt made numerous
sketches for this work two decades before its
composition.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>


<h3>TASSO</h3>

<p>For the Weimar centennial anniversary of
Goethe's birth, August 28, 1849, Liszt composed
his <span lang="it">Tasso: Lamento e Trionfo</span>. And this stands
second in order of his symphonic poems. At
the Weimar festival the work preceded Goethe's
Tasso, being played as an overture.</p>

<p>When the first part of this Tasso symphonic
poem was written&mdash;there are two parts, as you
will see later&mdash;Liszt was not yet bold as a symphonic
poet, for he thought it necessary to define
the meaning of his work in words and thus explain
his music.</p>

<p>Liszt's preface to Tasso is as follows: "I
wished to define the contrast expressed in the
title of the work, and it was my object to describe
the grand antithesis of the genius, ill-used
and misunderstood in life, but in death surrounded
with a halo of glory whose rays were to
penetrate the hearts of his persecutors. Tasso
loved and suffered in Ferrara, was avenged in
Rome, and lives to this day in the popular songs
of Venice. These three viewpoints are inseparably
connected with his career. To render them
musically I invoke his mighty shadow, as he
wanders by the lagoons of Venice, proud and
sad in countenance, or watching the feasts at
Ferrara, where his master-works were created.
I followed him to Rome, the Eternal City, which
bestowed upon him the crown of glory, and in
him canonised the martyr and the poet.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p>

<p>"<span lang="it">Lamento e Trionfo</span>&mdash;these are the contrasts
in the fate of the poet, of whom it was said
that, although the curse might rest upon his life,
a blessing could not be wanting from his grave.
In order to give to my idea the authority of living
fact, I borrowed the form of my tone picture
from reality, and chose for its theme a melody
to which, three centuries after the poet's
death, I have heard Venetian gondoliers sing
the first strophes of his Jerusalem:</p>

<div class="poem" lang="it"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Canto l'armi pietose e'l Capitano,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Che'l gran Sepolcro liberò di Cristo.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"The motif itself has a slow, plaintive cadence
of monotonous mourning; the gondoliers, however,
by drawling certain notes, give it a peculiar
colouring, and the mournfully drawn out tones,
heard at a distance, produce an effect not dissimilar
to the reflection of long stripes of fading
light upon a mirror of water. This song once
made a profound impression on me, and when I
attempted to illustrate Tasso musically, it recurred
to me with such imperative force that I
made it the chief motif for my composition.</p>

<p>"The Venetian melody is so replete with inconsolable
mourning, with bitter sorrow, that it
suffices to portray Tasso's soul, and again it
yields to the brilliant deceits of the world, to the
illusive, smooth coquetry of those smiles whose
slow poison brought on the fearful catastrophe,
for which there seemed to be no earthly recompense,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>
but which was eventually, clothed in a
mantle of brighter purple than that of Alfonso."</p>

<p>Following this came&mdash;in later years, it is true&mdash;a
strange denial from Liszt himself. He admitted
that when finally his Tasso composition
began to take form Byron's Tasso was
nearer his heart and thoughts than Goethe's.
"I cannot deny," he writes, "that when I received
the order for an overture to Goethe's
drama the chief and commanding influence on
the form of my work was the respectful sympathy
with which Byron treated the manes of the great
poet."</p>

<p>Naturally this influence could not have extended
beyond the Lamento since Byron's poem
is only the Lament of Tasso, and has no share
in the Trionfo. Now the anti-programmites
could make a very strong case out of this incident,
and probably would have done so long
before this if they had known or thought about
it. But then this question of the fallibility of
programme music is an eternal one. Was it
not the late Thayer, constantly haunting detail
and in turn haunted by it, who could not abide
Beethoven's Coriolanus in his youth because
he only knew the Shakespeare drama and could
not fit the Beethoven overture to it simply because
it would not be fitted? And now some
commentators declare that Beethoven must have
known the Shakespeare work, that he could not
have found his inspiration in the forgotten play
of Von Collin.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>

<p>Liszt's Tasso opens with a descending octaved
theme in C minor, meant to depict the depressed
mood and oppressed station of the poet. Wagner
has made mention of Liszt's particular aptitude
for making such musical moments pregnant
with meaning. Here it expresses the tragedy of
the poet's life, and a second theme is his agonised
cry. Gradually this impatience is fanned
to fury, and culminates in a wild outbreak of
pain. The tragic first theme, now given fortissimo
by the full orchestra and long sustained,
spreads its shadow over all. The characteristic
rehearsal of the themes concludes the introduction
to the work.</p>

<p>With an adagio the principal motif is heard in
full for the first time; it is the boat song of the
Venetian gondoliers, and embraces in part the
first tragic theme with which the composition
opened. You recall what Liszt said about the
expressiveness of this sombre song. He has
heightened its gloom by the moody orchestration
in which he has embedded it.</p>

<p>As a contrast comes the belief in self which
forces its way to the soul of the poet, and this
comes to our ears in the form of the noble main
theme&mdash;the Tasso motif&mdash;which now sounds
brilliantly in major. These two moods relieve
one another, as they might in the mind of any
brooding mortal, especially a poet.</p>

<p>The next picture is Tasso at the court of Ferrara.
The courtly life is sketched in a minuet-like
allegro and a courteous subsidiary. How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
aptly Tasso is carried away by the surrounding
splendour we hear when the Tasso theme sounds
in the character of the gay minuet. This theme
becomes more and more impassioned, the poet
has raised his eyes to Leonore, and the inevitable
calamity precipitates itself with the recurrence
of the wild and frantic burst of rage and
fury.</p>

<div class="poem" lang="de"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Alles ist dahin! Nur eines bleibt:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Die Thräne hat uns die Natur verliehen,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Den Schrei des Schmerzes, wenn der Mann zuletzt<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Es nicht mehr trägt.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>With this, the first half of the first part of the
work closes.</p>

<p>The second half concerns itself with the poet's
transfiguration. His physical self has been sacrificed,
but the world has taken up his cause and
celebrates his works.</p>

<p>A short pause separates the two divisions.
Now the glorious allegro has an upward swing,
the former dragging rhythms are spurned along
impetuously. The Tasso theme is glorified, the
public enthusiasm grows apace, and runs to a
tremendous climax in the presto. Then there
sounds a sudden silence&mdash;the public pulse has
ceased for a moment&mdash;followed by a hymn,
built on the Tasso theme. The entire orchestra
intones this, every figure is one of jubilation, save
the four double basses which recall the rhythm
of the former theme of misery; but&mdash;notice the
logic of the composer&mdash;its resemblance is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
a distant one, and it is heard only in the lowest
of the strings. So this composition concludes.</p>

<p>The Epilogue to the Tasso symphonic poem
was written many years afterward. Liszt called
it <span lang="fr">Le Triomphe funèbre du Tasse</span>, and its first
performance was under Leopold Damrosch in
New York in 1877. The subject must have pursued
Liszt through most of his life, and he seems
to have felt a certain affinity with the dead poet.
We all know that the public denied him credit
for his compositions.</p>

<p>Göllerich in his Liszt biography mentions that
once during his stay in Italy the composer, in a
covered wagon, had himself driven slowly over
the course along which the corpse of Tasso had
been taken. And of this incident he is supposed
to have said: "I suffered the sad poetry of this
journey in the hopes that one day the bloody
irony of vain apotheosis may be spared every
poet and artist who has been ill-treated during
life. Rest to the dead!"</p>

<p>The analysis of this work is short and precise.
The musical programme is simple. It opens
with a cry of distressful mourning, while from
the distance the cortège approaches. A reminiscence
of the Tasso theme is recognisable in
this pompous approach and the mood changes
to one of triumph. In the midst of all this the
public adoration is mingled with its tears, and
the two climax in the Tasso motive.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>


<h3><span lang="fr">LES PRELUDES</span></h3>

<p>The third of Liszt's symphonic poems, <span lang="fr">Les
Préludes</span>, was sketched as early as 1845, but not
produced until 1854, and then in Weimar. Lamartine's
<span lang="fr">Meditations Poétiques</span> set the bells
tolling in Liszt's mind, and he wrote <span lang="fr">Les Préludes</span>.
"What is life but a series of preludes to
that unknown song whose initial solemn note is
tolled by Death? The enchanted dawn of every
life is love; but where is the destiny on whose first
delicious joys some storm does not break?&mdash;a
storm whose deadly blast disperses youth's illusions,
whose fatal bolt consumes its altar. And
what soul thus cruelly bruised, when the tempest
rolls away, seeks not to rest its memories in the
calm of rural life? Yet man allows himself not
long to taste the kindly quiet which first attracted
him to Nature's lap; but when the trumpet
gives the signal he hastens to danger's post,
whatever be the fight which draws him to its lists,
that in the strife he may once more regain full
knowledge of himself and all his strength."</p>

<p>Corresponding to the first line of the programme
the composition opens promisingly with
an ascending figure in the strings, followed by
some mysterious chords. Liszt had that wonderful
knack&mdash;which he shared with Beethoven
and Wagner&mdash;of getting atmosphere immediately
at the first announcement. Gradually he
achieves a climax with this device, and now he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
has pictured the character&mdash;his hero&mdash;in defiant
possession of full manhood.</p>

<p>"The enchanted dawn of every life is love"
reads the line, and the music grows sentimental.
That well-known horn melody occurs here, a
theme almost the character of a folk-song; then
the mood becomes even more tranquil until&mdash;</p>

<p>"But where is the destiny on whose first delicious
joys some storm does not break?&mdash;a
storm whose deadly blast disperses youth's illusions,
whose fatal bolt consumes its altar."
Here was one of those episodes on which Liszt
doted, a place where he could unloose all his orchestral
technique, piling his climaxes furiously
high.</p>

<p>"And what soul thus cruelly bruised, when
the tempest rolls away, seeks not to rest its memories
in the pleasant calm of rural life?" There
was nothing else for Liszt to do but to write the
usual pastoral peace dignified by Handel and
Watteau.</p>

<p>"Yet man allowed himself not long to taste the
kindly quiet which first attracted him to Nature's
lap; but when the trumpet gives the signal he
hastens to danger's post, whatever be the fight
which draws him to its lists, that in the strife he
may once more regain full knowledge of himself
and all his strength." The martial call of the
trumpets and the majestic strife is made much of.
Liszt tortures his peaceful motives into expressing
war, and welds the entire incident into a stirring
one.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p>

<p>Logically, he concludes the work by recalling
the theme of his hero upon whose life he has
preluded so tunefully.</p>


<h3>ORPHEUS</h3>

<p>Of the origin of his Orpheus Liszt writes:
"Some years ago, when preparing Gluck's Orpheus
for production, I could not restrain my imagination
from straying away from the simple
version that the great master had made of the
subject, but turned to that Orpheus whose name
hovers majestically and full of harmony about
the Greek myths. It recalled that Etruscan vase
in the Louvre which represents the poet-musician
crowned with the mystic kingly wreath; draped
in a star-studded mantle, his fine slender fingers
are plucking the lyre strings, while his lips are
liberating godly words and song. The very
stones seem moved to hearing, and from adamant
hearts stinging, burning tears are loosing themselves.
The beasts of the forests stand enchanted,
and the coarse noise of man is besieged into silence.
The song of birds is hushed; the melodious
coursing of the brook halts; the rude laughter
of joy gives way to a trembling awe before these
sounds, which reveal to man universal harmonies,
the gentle power of art and the brilliancy of
their glory."</p>

<p>The "dull and prosaic formula"&mdash;so some
English critic put it&mdash;differs in this work from
that of most of the others of Liszt's symphonic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
poems. The short cutting themes are absent
and sharp contrasts are generally avoided; the
music flows rather in a broad melodic stream,
serene but magnificent. It is rather difficult to
fit a detailed programme to the composition, and
the general outline is not so sharply dented with
incidents as some of the others.</p>

<p>Again atmosphere is evoked and the mood
achieved by the lyre preluding of the poet. Then
the voice of Orpheus rises with majestic calm,
and swells to a climax which is typical of the majestic
splendour of art. This sweeps all sounds
of opposition before it and leaves in its trail
awe-stricken man. It is with this mood that the
work closes in a marvellous progression of chords,
harmonies daring for their day.</p>


<h3>PROMETHEUS</h3>

<p>The same general plan of conception and interpretation,
but of course much more heroic, has
Liszt employed in the next symphonic poem,
Prometheus. It is a noble figure that Liszt
has translated into music, the Titan. The ideas
he meant to convey may be summed up in "<span lang="de">Ein
tiefer Schmerz, der durch trotzbietendes Ausharren
triumphiert</span>." Immediately at the opening
the swirl of the struggle is upon us, and the first
theme is the defiance of the Titan&mdash;a noble yet
obstinate melody. The god is chained to the
rock to great orchestral tumult. His efforts to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
break the manacles incite further musical riot,
and then comes the wail of helpless misery:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" lang="de">
<span class="i0">O Mutter, du Heil'ge! O Aether,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lichtquell des All's!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seh, welch Unrecht ich erdulde!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>This recitative leads into a furious burst when
the shackled one clenches his fists and threatens
all Godhead. Even Zeus is defied:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" lang="de">
<span class="i0">Und mag er schleudern seines feurigen Blitzes Loh'n,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In weissen Schneesturms Ungewittern, in Donnerhall<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Der unterirdischen Tiefe werwirren mischen das All:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nichts dessen wird mir beugen!<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Then arises the belief in a deliverer, a faith
motif which is one of those heartfelt inventions
of the melodic Liszt. After this the struggle continues.
Magnificently, the god, believing in his
own obstinate will for freedom, the composition
concludes on this supreme note.</p>


<h3>MAZEPPA</h3>

<p>The sixth of Liszt's symphonic poems, Mazeppa,
has done more than any other to earn for
its composer the disparaging comment that his
piano music was orchestral and his orchestral
music <span lang="de">Klaviermässig</span>. This Solomon judgment
usually proceeds from the wise ones, who are
aware that the first form of Liszt's Mazeppa
was a piano étude which appeared somewhere
toward the end of 1830.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p>

<p>Liszt's orchestral version of Mazeppa was
completed the middle of last century and had its
first hearing at Weimar in 1854. Naturally this
is a work of much greater proportion than the
original piano étude; it is, as some one has said,
in the same ratio as is a panoramic picture to a
preliminary sketch.</p>

<p>The story of the Cossack hetman has inspired
poets and at least one painter. Horace Vernet&mdash;who,
as Heine said, painted everything hastily,
almost after the manner of a maker of pamphlets&mdash;put
the subject on canvas twice; the Russian,
Bulgarin, made a novel of it; Voltaire mentioned
the incident in his History of Charles the Twelfth;
Byron moulded the tale into rhyme, as did Victor
Hugo&mdash;and the latter poem was used by Liszt
for the outline for his composition.</p>

<p>The amorous Mazeppa was of noble birth&mdash;so
runs the tale. But while he was page to Jan
Casimir, King of Poland, he intrigued with
Theresia the young wife of a Podolian count.
Their love was discovered and the count had the
page lashed to a wild horse&mdash;<i lang="fr">un cheval farouche</i>,
as Voltaire has it&mdash;which was turned loose.</p>

<p>From all accounts the beast did not allow grass
to grow under its hoofs, but lashed out with the
envious speed of the wind. It so happened that
the horse was "a noble steed, a Tartar of the
Ukraine breed." Therefore it headed for the
Ukraine, which woolly country it reached with
its burden; then it promptly dropped dead.</p>

<p>Mazeppa was unhanded or unhorsed by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
friendly Cossack and nursed back to happiness.
Soon he grew in stature and in power, becoming
an Ukraine prince; as the latter he fought against
Russia at Pultowa.</p>

<p>That is the skeleton of the legend. Liszt has
begun his musical tale at the point when Mazeppa
is corded to the furious steed, and with a cry it is
off. This opens the composition; there follow
the galloping triplets to mark the flight of the
beast, irregular and wild. Trees and mountains
seem to whirl by them&mdash;this is represented by
a vertiginous tremolo figure, against which a descending
theme sounds and seems to give perspective
to the swirling landscape.</p>

<p>When the prisoner stirs convulsively in the
agony of his plight, the horse bounds forward
even more recklessly. The fury of the ride continues,
increases, until Mazeppa loses consciousness
and mists becloud his senses. Now and
again pictures appear before his eyes an instant
as in a dream fantastic.</p>

<p>Gradually, as an accompaniment to the thundering
hoof falls, the passing earth sounds as a
mighty melody to the delirious one. The entire
plain seems to ring with song, pitying Mazeppa
in his suffering.</p>

<p>The horse continues to plunge and blood pours
from the wounds of the prisoner. Before his eyes
the lights dance and the themes return distorted.
The goal is reached when the steed breaks down,
overcome with the killing fatigue of its three days'
ride. It pants its last, and a plaintive andante<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
pictures the groaning of the bound Mazeppa; this
dies away in the basses.</p>

<p>Now the musician soars away in the ether.
When he returns to us it is with an allegro of
trumpet calls. Mazeppa has been made a prince
in the interim and is now leading the warriors of
the steppe who freed him. These fanfares lead
to a triumphal march, which is the last division
of the composition. Local colour is logically
brought in by the introduction of a Cossack
march; the Mazeppa theme is jubilantly shared
by trumpet calls, and the motif of his sufferings
appears transformed as a melody of victory&mdash;all
this in barbaric rhythms.</p>

<p>In form the work is free; two general divisions
are about as much as it yields to the formal dissector.
It follows the poem, and, having been
written to the poem, that is really all the sequence
demanded by logic.</p>

<p>Liszt was decidedly at a disadvantage as a composer
when he lacked a programme. Usually in
composing his purpose was so distinct, the music
measuring itself so neatly against the logic of
the programme, that his symphonic compositions
should be most easily comprehended by an audience.</p>


<h3>FESTKLÄNGE</h3>

<p>There is no definite programme to Liszt's
<span lang="de">Festklänge</span>. Several probing ones have been hot
on the trail of such a thing. Pohl knew but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
would not tell. He wrote: "This work is the
most intimate of the entire group. It stands in
close relation with some personal experiences of
the composer&mdash;something which we will not define
more clearly here. For this reason Liszt
himself has offered no elucidation to the work,
and we must respect his silence. The mood of
the work is '<span lang="de">Festlich</span>'&mdash;it is the rejoicing after
a victory of&mdash;the heart."</p>

<p>This is mysterious and sentimental enough to
satisfy any conservatory maiden. But Liszt died
eventually, and then Pohl intimates that the incident
which this composition was meant to glorify
was the marriage of Liszt with the Princess
Sayn-Wittgenstein&mdash;a marriage which never
came off.</p>

<p>Philip Hale has taken up the question in his
interesting Boston Symphony Programme Notes,
and summons several witnesses: "Brendel said
that this symphonic poem is a sphinx that no one
can understand. Mr. Barry, who takes a peculiarly
serious view of all things musical, claims
that Festival Sounds, Sounds of Festivity or
Echoes of a Festival is the portrayal in music of
scenes that illustrate some great national festival;
that the introduction, with its fanfares, gives rise
to strong feelings of expectation. There is a
proclamation, 'The festival has begun,' and he
sees the reception of guests in procession. The
event is great and national&mdash;a coronation&mdash;something
surely of a royal character; and there
is holiday making until the 'tender, recitative-like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
period' hints at a love scene; guests, somewhat
stiff and formal, move in the dance; in the
finale the first subject takes the form of a national
anthem.</p>

<p>"Some have thought that Liszt composed the
piece in honour of the fiftieth anniversary of the
entrance into Weimar of his friend and patroness
Maria Paulowna, sister of the Czar Nicholas I,
Grand Duchess of Weimar. The anniversary
was celebrated with pomp November 9, 1854, as
half a century before the noble dame was greeted
with Schiller's lyric festival play <span lang="de">Die Huldigung
der Künste</span>.</p>

<p>"This explanation is plausible; but Lina Ramann
assures us that <span lang="de">Festklänge</span> was intended
by Liszt as the wedding music for himself and
the Princess Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein; that
in 1851 it seemed as though the obstacles to the
union would disappear; that this music was composed
as 'a song of triumph over hostile machinations';
'bitterness and anguish are forgotten
in proud rejoicing'; the introduced 'Polonaise'
pictures the brilliant mind of the Polish princess."</p>

<p>When this symphonic poem was first played in
Vienna there were distributed handbills written
by "Herr K.," that the hearers might find reasonable
pleasure in the music. One of the sentences
goes bounding through the universe as follows:
"A great universal and popular festival
calls within its magic circle an agitated crowd,
joy on the brow, heaven in the breast."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>

<p>In whichever class you choose to place the
<span lang="de">Festklänge</span>&mdash;whether in that of a higher grade
of wedding music or as music incidental to some
national event&mdash;you are apt to find contradictions
in the music itself. So it is most reasonable
to waive the entire question of a programme
here, and take the music at its word. It
must be admitted that this composition is not
among Liszt's great ones; the big swing is missing
and honesty compels the acknowledgment
that much of it is blank bombast, some of it
tawdry.</p>

<p>The introductory allegro is devoted to some
tympani thumps&mdash;à la Meyerbeer&mdash;and some
blaring fanfares which terminate in a loud, blatant
theme.</p>

<p>Then comes the andante with the principal
subject of the work, meant to be impressive, but
failing in its purpose. The mood changes and
grows humourous, which again is contrasted by
the following rather melancholy allegretto. This
latter spot would serve to knock some of the festival
programme ideas into a cocked hat.</p>

<p>The work eventually launches into a polonaise,
and until the close Liszt busies himself with varying
the character and rhythms of the foregoing
themes. Finally the martial prevails again, decorated
with fanfares, and thus the composition
closes.</p>

<p><span lang="de">Festklänge</span> had its first performance at Weimar
in 1854; but the composer made some
changes in the later edition that appeared in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
1861, and this version is the one usually played
to-day.</p>

<p>A Liszt work which we seldom hear is "<span lang="de">Chöre
zu Herder's 'Entfesselte Prometheus,'</span>" which
was composed and performed in Weimar in 1850.</p>

<p>On August 25 of that year there was a monument
unveiled to Johann Gottfried Herder in
Weimar, and the memory of the "apostle of humanity"
was also celebrated in the theatre. This
accounts for the composition of the symphonic
poem Prometheus, which served as an overture
to these choruses, written for voices and orchestra.
Richard Pohl has put the latter into shape for
solitary performance in the concert room.</p>

<p>Prometheus sits manacled on the rock, but the
fury of his rebellion is over. Resolutely he awaits
the decree of fate. At this point the Liszt work
takes up the narrative. The Titan is soliloquising,
while man, aided by the gift of fire, is calmly
possessing the world. The elemental spirits look
enviously at the power of man and turn to Prometheus
with plaints; the Daughters of the Sea
lament that the holy peace of the sea is disturbed
by man, who sails the water imperiously. Prometheus
answers Okeanus philosophically that
everything belongs to every one.</p>

<p>Then the chorus of the Tritons glorifies the socialistic
Titan with "<span lang="de">Heil Prometheus</span>." This
dies away to make room for the grumbling of All-Mother
Erda and her dryads, who bring charge
against the fire giver. An answer comes from
the bucolic chorus of reapers and their brothers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
the vintagers, who chant the praise of "Monsieur"
Bacchus.</p>

<p>From the under world comes the sound of
strife, and Hercules arises as victor. Prometheus
recognises him as the liberator, and the
Sandow of mythology breaks the Titan's fetters
and slays the hovering eagle of Zeus. The freed
Prometheus turns to the rocks on which he has
sat prisoner so long and asks that in gratitude
for his liberty a paradise arise there. Pallas
Athene respects the wish, and out of the naked
rock sprouts an olive tree.</p>

<p>A chorus of the Invisible Ones invites Prometheus
to attend before the throne of Themis. She
intercedes in his behalf against his accusers, and
the Chorus of Humanity celebrates her judgment
in the hymn which closes "<span lang="de">Heil Prometheus!
Der Menschheit Heil!</span>" Some of the thematic
material for these choruses and orchestral interludes
is borrowed from the symphonic poem
Prometheus.</p>

<p>Liszt wrote a preface to <span lang="fr">Héroïde Funèbre</span>, his
eighth poem (1849-1850; 1856.) Among other
things he declares that "Everything may change
in human societies&mdash;manners and cult, laws and
ideas; sorrow remains always one and the same,
it remains what it has been from the beginning
of time. It is for art to throw its transfiguring
veil over the tomb of the brave&mdash;to encircle with
its golden halo the dead and the dying, in order
that they may be envied by the living." Liszt
incorporated with this poem a fragment from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
his Revolutionary Symphony outlined in 1830.
Hungaria (1854; 1857) and Hamlet (1858; 1861)
the ninth and tenth poems are not of marked
interest or novel character&mdash;that is when compared
to their predecessors. There is a so-called
poem, From the Cradle to the Grave, the thirteenth
in the series, one which did not take seriously.
It is quite brief. But let us consider the
eleventh and twelfth of the series.</p>


<h3>THE BATTLE OF THE HUNS</h3>

<p>Liszt's <span lang="de">Hunnenschlacht</span> was suggested by Wilhelm
von Kaulbach's mural painting in the staircase-hall
of the New Museum in Berlin. It was
conceived in Munich in November, 1856, and
written in 1857. When completed, it was put
into rehearsal at Weimar in October, 1857, and
performed in April, 1858. Its first performance
in Boston, was under Mr. Theodore Thomas in
1872.</p>

<p>The picture which suggested this composition
to Liszt shows the city of Rome in the background;
before it is a battle-field, strewn with
corpses which are seen to be gradually reviving,
rising up, and rallying, while among them wander
wailing and lamenting women. At the heads
of two ghostly armies are respectively Attila&mdash;borne
aloft on a shield by Huns, and wielding a
scourge&mdash;and Theodoric with his two sons, behind
whom is raised the banner of the cross.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p>

<p>The composition is perfectly free in form; one
noteworthy feature being the interweaving of the
choral <span lang="la">Crux Fidelis</span> with themes of the composer's
own invention. The score bears no dedication.</p>


<h3><span lang="de">DIE IDEALE</span></h3>

<p><span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> was projected in the summer of
1856, but it was composed in 1857. The first
performance was at Weimar, September 5, 1857,
on the occasion of unveiling the Goethe-Schiller
monument. The first performance in Boston was
by Theodore Thomas's orchestra, October 6,
1870. The symphonic poem was played here
at a Symphony Concert on January 26, 1889.</p>

<p>The argument of Schiller's poem, <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>,
first published in the <i lang="de">Musenalmanach</i> of 1796, has
thus been presented: "The sweet belief in the
dream-created beings of youth passes away; what
once was divine and beautiful, after which we
strove ardently, and which we embraced lovingly
with heart and mind, becomes the prey of hard
reality; already midway the boon companions&mdash;love,
fortune, fame, and truth&mdash;leave us one
after another, and only friendship and activity
remain with us as loving comforters." Lord Lytton
characterised the poem as an "elegy on departed
youth."</p>

<p>Yet Liszt departed from the spirit of the elegy,
for in a note to the concluding section of the work,
the Apotheosis, he says: "The holding fast and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
at the same time the continual realising of the
ideal is the highest aim of our life. In this sense
I ventured to supplement Schiller's poem by a
jubilantly emphasising resumption of the motives
of the first section in the closing Apotheosis."
Mr. Niecks, in his comments on this symphonic
poem, adds: "To support his view and justify
the alteration, Liszt might have referred to Jean
Paul Richter's judgment, that the conclusion of
the poem, pointing as it does for consolation to
friendship and activity, comforts but scantily and
unpoetically. Indeed, Schiller himself called the
conclusion of the poem tame, but explained that
it was a faithful picture of human life, adding:
'I wished to dismiss the reader with this feeling
of tranquil contentment.' That, apart from poetical
considerations, Liszt acted wisely as a
musician in making the alteration will be easily
understood and readily admitted. Among the
verses quoted by the composer, there are eight
which were omitted by Schiller in the ultimate
amended form of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>. The order of succession,
however, is not the same as in the poem;
what is 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 with Liszt is 1, 4, 3, 2, 5 with
Schiller. The musician seized the emotional possibilities
of the original, but disregarded the logical
sequence. And there are many things which
the tone poet who works after the word poet not
only may but must disregard. As the two arts
differ in their nature, the one can be only an imperfect
translator of the other; but they can be
more than translators&mdash;namely, commentators.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
Liszt accordingly does not follow the poem word
for word, but interprets the feelings which it suggests,
'feelings which almost all of us have felt in
the progress of life.' Indeed, programme and
music can never quite coincide; they are like two
disks that partly cover each other, partly overlap
and fall short. Liszt's <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> is no exception.
Therefore it may not be out of place to warn the
hearer, although this is less necessary in the present
case than in others, against forming 'a grossly
material conception of the programme,' against
'an abstractly logical interpretation which allows
itself to be deceived by the outside, by what presents
itself to the first glance, disdains the mediation
of the imagination.'"</p>

<p>Mr. Hale gives some interesting facts about the
composition.</p>

<p>Liszt and Princess Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein
were both ill in the spring of 1857, and the
letters written by Liszt to her during this period
are of singular interest. Yet Liszt went about
and conducted performances until he suffered
from an abscess in a leg and was obliged to lie in
bed. On the 30th of January Liszt had written
to a woman, the anonymous "Friend": "For
Easter I shall have finished <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> (symphony
in three movements)"; and in March he wrote
the princess that he was dreaming of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>.
In May he went to Aix-la-Chapelle to conduct
at a music festival, and in July he returned to that
town for medical treatment. He wrote the princess
(July 23) that he had completed the indications,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
the "nuances," of the score that morning,
and he wished her to see that the copyist should
prepare the parts immediately&mdash;six first violins,
six second violins, four violas, and five
double basses.</p>

<p>The performance at Weimar excited neither
fierce opposition nor warm appreciation. Liszt
conducted the work at Prague, March 11, 1858,
and it appears from a letter to the Princess that
he made cuts and alterations in the score after
the performance. Hans von Bülow produced
<span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> at Berlin in 1859, and the performance
stirred up strife. Bülow thought the work too
long for the opening piece, and preferred to put
it in the second part. Then he changed his mind;
he remembered that Liszt's <span lang="de">Festklänge</span> was at the
end of a concert the year before in Berlin, and that
many of the audience found it convenient to leave
the hall for the cloak-room during the performance.
A few days later he wrote that he would
put it at the end of the first part: "My first rehearsal
lasted four hours. The parts of <span lang="de">Die
Ideale</span> are very badly copied. It is a magnificent
work, and the form is splendid. In this respect
I prefer it to Tasso, to The Preludes, and to other
symphonic poems. It has given me an enormous
pleasure&mdash;I was happier than I have been for
a long time. Apropos&mdash;a passage, where the
basses and the trombones give the theme of the
Allegro, a passage that is found several times in
the parts is cut out in the printed score." Ramagn
names 1859 as the date of publication,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
while others say the score was published in 1858.
"I have left this passage as it is in the arts; for I
find it excellent, and the additional length of time
in performance will be hardly appreciable. It
will go, I swear it!" The concert was on January
14, 1859, and when some hissed after the
performance of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>, Bülow asked them
to leave the hall. A sensation was made by
this "maiden speech," as it was called. (See
the pamphlet, <span lang="de">Hans v. Bülow und die Berliner
Kritik</span>, Berlin, 1859, and Bülow's <span lang="de">Briefe</span>, vol. iii.
pp. 202, 203, 205, 206, Leipsic, 1898.) Bülow
was cool as a cucumber, and directed the next
piece, Introduction to Lohengrin, as though nothing
had happened. The Princess of Prussia left
her box, for it was nine o'clock, the hour of tea;
but there was no explosion till after the concert,
when Bülow was abused roundly by newspaper
article and word of mouth. He had promised
to play two piano pieces at a Domchoir concert
the 22d, and it was understood that he would
then be hissed and hooted. The report sold all
the seats and standing places. Never had he
played so well, and instead of a scandalous exhibition
of disapproval there was the heartiest
applause. Liszt conducted <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> at Bülow's
concert in Berlin on February 27 of that year,
and there was then not a suspicion of opposition
to work or composer.</p>

<p>Bülow after the first performance at Berlin advised
Liszt to cut out the very last measures. "I
love especially the thirds in the kettle-drums, as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
new and bold invention&mdash;but I find them a little
too ear-boxing for cowardly ears.... I know
positively that these eight last drumbeats have
especially determined or rather emboldened the
opposition to manifestation. And so, if you do
not find positive cowardice in my request&mdash;put
these two measures on my back&mdash;do as though
I had had the impertinence to add them as my
own. I almost implore this of you!"</p>

<p>In 1863 Bülow sent Louis Köhler his latest
photograph, "<span lang="fr">Souvenir du 14 janvier, 1859</span>." It
represents him standing, baton in hand; on a
conductor's desk is the score of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>, and
there is this inscription to Liszt: "'<i lang="la">Sub hoc signo
vici, nec vincere desistam.</i>' to his Master, his artistic
Ideal, with thanks and veneration out of a
full heart. Hans v. Bülow, Berlin, October 22,
1863." Liszt wrote Bülow from Budapest (January
3, 1873): "You know I profess not to collect
photographs, and in my house portraits do not
serve as ornaments. At Rome I had only two
in my chamber; yours&mdash;that of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>, '<i lang="la">Sub
hoc signo vici, nec vincere desistam</i>'&mdash;was one of
them."</p>

<p>It appears that others wished to tinker the
score of this symphonic poem. Bülow wrote the
Princess Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein (February
10, 1859) that he had anticipated the permission
of Liszt, and had sent <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> to Leopold
Damrosch, who would have the parts copied and
produce the work in the course of the month at
Breslau. Carl Tausig produced <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
Vienna for the first time, February 24, 1861, and
in a letter written before the performance to
Liszt he said: "I shall conduct <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> wholly
according to your wish, yet I am not at all pleased
with Damrosch's variante; my own are more
plausible, ... and Cornelius has strengthened
me in my belief." When <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> was performed
again at Vienna, in 1880, at a concert of
the Society of Music Friends, led by the composer,
Eduard Hanslick based his criticism on the
"witty answer" made by Berthold Auerbach to
a noble dame who asked him what he thought of
Liszt's compositions. He answered by putting
another question: "What would you think if
Ludwig Devrient, after he had played Shakespeare,
Schiller, and Goethe with the complete
mastery of genius, had said to himself in his fiftieth
year: 'Why should I not be able also to
write what I play so admirably? I'll be no longer
a play actor; henceforth I'll be a tragic poet'?"</p>

<p><span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> was performed for the first time in
England at a concert at the Crystal Palace, April
16, 1881, with August Manns conductor.</p>

<p>This is C. A. Barry's answer to the question,
Why was Liszt obliged to invent the term symphonic
poem?</p>

<p>It may be explained that finding the symphonic
form, as by rule established, inadequate for the
purposes of <i>poetic</i> music, which has for its aim
the reproduction and re-enforcement of the emotional
essence of dramatic scenes, as they are embodied
in poems or pictures, he felt himself constrained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
to adopt certain divergences from the
prescribed symphonic form, and, for the new art-form
thus created, was consequently obliged to
invent a more appropriate title than that of "symphony,"
the formal conditions of which this
would not fulfil. The inadequateness of the old
symphonic form for translating into music imaginative
conceptions arising from poems or pictures,
and which necessarily must be presented
in a fixed order, lies in its "recapitulation" section.
This Liszt has dropped; and the necessity
of so doing is apparent. Hence he has been
charged with formlessness. In justification,
therefore, of his mode of procedure, it may be
pointed out to those of his critics who regard every
divergence from the established form as tending
to formlessness, that the form which he has
devised for his symphonic poems in the main differs
less from the established form than at first
sight appears. A comparison of the established
form of the so-called classical period with that devised
by Liszt will make this apparent.</p>

<p>The former may be described as consisting of
(1) the exposition of the principal subjects; (2)
their development; and (3) their recapitulation.
For this Liszt has substituted (1) exposition,
(2) development, and (3) further development;
or, as Wagner has tersely expressed it, "nothing
else but that which is demanded by the subject
and its expressible development." Thus, though
from sheer necessity, rigid formality has been sacrificed
to truthfulness, unity and consistency are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
as fully maintained as upon the old system, but
by a different method, the reasonableness of
which cannot be disputed.</p>


<h3>A FAUST SYMPHONY</h3>

<p>Franz Liszt as a composer was born too soon.
Others plucked from his amiable grasp the fruits
of his originality. When Stendhal declared in
1830 that it would take the world fifty years to
comprehend his analytic genius he was a prophet,
indeed, for about 1880, his work was felt by
writers of that period, Paul Bourget and the
rest, and lived again in their pages. But poor,
wonderful Liszt, Liszt whose piano playing set
his contemporaries to dancing the same mad
measure we recognise in these days, Liszt the
composer had to knock unanswered at many
critical doors for a bare recognition of his extraordinary
merits.</p>

<p>One man, a poor, struggling devil, a genius of
the footlights, wrote him encouraging words, not
failing to ask for a dollar by way of compensating
postscript. Richard Wagner discerned the great
musician behind the virtuoso in Liszt, discerned
it so well that, fearing others would not, he appropriated
in a purely fraternal manner any of
Liszt's harmonic, melodic, and orchestral ideas
that happened to suit him. So heavily indebted
was he to the big-hearted Hungarian that he
married his daughter Cosima, thus keeping in
the family a "Sacred Fount"&mdash;as Henry James<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
would say&mdash;of inspiration. Wagner not only
borrowed Liszt's purse, but also his themes.</p>

<p>Nothing interests the world less than artistic
plagiarism. If the filching be but cleverly done,
the setting of the stolen gems individual, who
cares for the real creator! He may go hang, or
else visit Bayreuth and enjoy the large dramatic
style in which his themes are presented. Liszt
preferred the latter way; besides, Wagner was
his son-in-law. A story is told that Wagner, appreciating
the humour of his <i>Alberich</i>-like explorations
in the Liszt scores, sat with his father-in-law
at the first Ring rehearsals in 1876, and when
Sieglinde's dream words "<span lang="de">Kehrte der Vater nun
heim</span>" began, Wagner nudged Liszt, exclaiming:
"Now, papa, comes a theme which I got from
you." "All right," was the ironic answer, "then
one will at least hear it."</p>

<p>This theme, which may be found on page 179
of Kleinmichael's piano score, appears at the beginning
of Liszt's Faust Symphony. Wagner had
heard it at a festival of the <span lang="de">Allgemeiner Deutscher
Musik Verein</span> in 1861. He liked it so well that
he cried aloud: "Music furnishes us with much
that is beautiful, but this music is divinely beautiful!"</p>

<p>Liszt was already a revolutionist when Wagner
published his sonata Op. 1, with its echoes
of Haydn and Mozart. The Revolutionary
Symphony still survives in part in Liszt's eighth
symphonic poem. These two early works when
compared show who was the real path breaker.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
Compare Orpheus and Tristan and Isolde; the
Faust Symphony and Tristan; <span lang="fr">Bénédiction de
Dieu</span> and Isolde's <span lang="de">Liebestod</span>; <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span> and <span lang="de">Der
Ring&mdash;Das Rheingold</span> in particular; Invocation
and Parsifal; Battle of the Huns and Kundry-Ritt;
The Legend of Saint Elizabeth and
Parsifal, Excelsior and Parsifal.</p>

<p>The principal theme of the Faust Symphony
may be heard in <span lang="de">Die Walküre</span>, and one of its most
characteristic themes appears, note for note, as
the "glance" motive in Tristan. The Gretchen
motive in Wagner's <span lang="de">Eine Faust Ouverture</span> is derived
from Liszt, and the opening theme of the
Parsifal prelude follows closely the earlier written
Excelsior of Liszt.</p>

<p>All this to reassure timid souls who suspect
Liszt of pilfering. In William Mason's Memories
of a Musical Life is a letter sent to the American
pianist, bearing date of December 14, 1854,
in which the writer, Liszt, says, "Quite recently
I have written a long symphony in three parts,
called Faust [without text or vocal parts] in which
the <i>horrible</i> measures 7-8, 7-4, 5-4 alternate with
common time and 3-4." And Liszt had already
finished his Dante Symphony. Wagner finished
the full score of Rheingold in 1854, that of <span lang="de">Die
Walküre</span> in 1856; the last act of Tristan was
ended in 1859. The published correspondence
of the two men prove that Wagner studied the
manuscripts of Liszt's symphonic poems carefully,
and, as we must acknowledge, with wonderful
assimilative discrimination. Liszt was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
loser, the world of dramatic music the gainer
thereby.</p>

<p>Knowing these details we need not be surprised
at the Wagnerian&mdash;alas, it may be the first in the
field who wins!&mdash;colour, themes, traits of instrumentation,
individual treatment of harmonic progressions
that abound in the symphony which Mr.
Paur read for us so sympathetically. For example,
one astounding transposition&mdash;let us give
the theft a polite musical name&mdash;occurs in the
second, the Gretchen, movement where Siegfried,
disguised as Hagen, appears in the Liszt orchestra
near the close.</p>

<p>You rub your eyes as you hear the fateful
chords, enveloped in the peculiar green and sinister
light we so admire in Gotterdämmerung.
Even the atmosphere is abducted by Wagner.
It is all magnificent, this Nietzsche-like seizure
of the weaker by the stronger man.</p>

<p>To search further for these parallelisms might
prove disquieting. Suffice to say that the beginnings
of Wagner from Rienzi to Parsifal may be
found deposited nugget-wise in this Lisztian Golconda.
The true history of Liszt as composer
has yet to be written; his marvellous versatility&mdash;he
overflowed in every department of his art&mdash;his
industry are memorable. Richard Wagner's
dozen music-dramas, ten volumes of prose polemics
and occasional orchestral pieces make no
better showing when compared to the labours of
his brain-and-money-banker, Franz Liszt.</p>

<p>Nor was Wagner the only one of the Forty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
Thieves who visited this Ali Baba cavern. If
Liszt learned much from Chopin, Meyerbeer&mdash;the
duo from the fourth act of Huguenots is in
the Gretchen section&mdash;and Berlioz, the younger
men, Tschaikowsky, Rubinstein, and Richard
Strauss, have simply polished white and bare the
ribs of the grand old mastodon of Weimar.</p>

<p>Faust is not a symphony. (Query: What is
the symphonic archetype?) Rather is it a congeries
of symphonic moods, structurally united
by emotional intimacy and occasional thematic
concourse. The movements are respectively labelled
Faust, Gretchen, and Mephistopheles, the
task, an impossibly tremendous one, being the
embodiment in tones of the general characteristics
of Goethe's poetic-philosophic master-work.</p>

<p>Therefore, discarding critical crutches, it is
best to hear the composition primarily as absolute
music. We know that it is in C minor; that
the four leading motives may typify intellectual
doubt, striving, longing, and pride&mdash;the last in
a triumphant E major; that the Gretchen music&mdash;too
lengthy&mdash;is replete with maidenly sweetness
overshadowed by the masculine passion of
Faust (and also his theme); that in the Mephistopheles
Liszt appears in his most characteristic
pose&mdash;Abbé's robe tucked up, Pan's hoofs showing,
and the air charged with cynical mockeries
and travesties of sacred love and ideals (themes
are topsy-turvied à la Berlioz); and that at the
close this devil's dance is transformed by the great
comedian-composer into a mystic chant with music<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
celestial in its white-robed purities; Goethe's
words, "<span lang="de">Alles Vergängliche</span>," ending with the
consoling "<span lang="de">Das Ewig weiblich zieht uns hinan</span>."</p>

<p>But the genius of it all! The indescribable
blending of the sensuous, the mystic, the diabolic;
the master grasp on the psychologic development&mdash;and
the imaginative musical handling of
themes in which every form, fugal, lyric, symphonic,
latter-day poetic-symphonic, is juggled
with in Liszt's transcendental manner. The Richard
Strauss scores are structurally more complex,
while, as painters, Wagner, Tschaikowski, and
Strauss outpoint Liszt at times. But he is
<span lang="de">Heervater</span> Wotan the Wise, or, to use a still more
expressive German term, he is the <span lang="de">Urquell</span> of
young music, of musical anarchy&mdash;an anarchy
that traces a spiritual air-route above certain
social tendencies of this century.</p>

<p>Nevertheless it must be confessed that there
are some dreary moments in the Faust.</p>


<h3>SYMPHONY AFTER DANTE'S <span lang="it">DIVINA
COMMEDIA</span></h3>

<p>The first sketches of this symphony were made
during Liszt's stay at the country house of the
Princess Carolyne Sayn-Wittgenstein at Woronice,
October, 1847&mdash;February, 1848. The
symphony was finished in 1855, and the score
was published in 1858. The first performance
was at Dresden on November 7, 1857, under the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
direction of Wilhelm Fischer. The first part,
Inferno, was produced in Boston at a Philharmonic
Concert, Mr. Listemann conductor, November
19, 1880. The whole symphony was
performed at Boston at a Symphony Concert,
Mr. Gericke conductor, February 27, 1886.</p>

<p>The work is scored for 3 flutes (one interchangeable
with piccolo), 2 oboes, cor anglais, 2
clarinets, bass clarinet, 2 bassoons, 4 horns, 2
trumpets, 3 trombones, bass tuba, 2 sets of kettle-drums,
cymbals, bass drum, gong, 2 harps, harmonium,
strings, and chorus of female voices.
The score is dedicated to Wagner: "As Virgil
led Dante, so hast thou led me through the mysterious
regions of tone-worlds drunk with life.
From the depths of my heart I cry to thee: '<span lang="it">Tu
se lo mio maestro, e 'l mio autore!</span>' and dedicate
in unalterable love this work. Weimar, Easter,
'59."</p>

<p><i>I. Inferno: Lento, 4-4.</i></p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza" lang="it">
<span class="i0">Per me si va nella città dolente:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Per me si va nell' eterno dolore:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Per me si va tra la perduta gente!<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Through me the way is to the city dolent;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through me the way is to eternal dole;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through me the way among the people lost.<br /></span>
</div>
<span class="i8">&mdash;<i>Longfellow.</i><br /></span>
</div>

<p>These words, read by Dante as he looked at
the gate of hell, are thundered out by trombones,
tuba, double basses, etc.; and immediately after
trumpets and horn make the dreadful proclamation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
(C-sharp minor): "<span lang="it">Lasciate ogni speranza,
voi ch' entrate</span>" ("All hope abandon, ye who
enter in.") Liszt has written the Italian lines
under the theme in the score. The two "Hell motives"
follow, the first a descending chromatic
passage in the lower strings against roll of drums,
the second given to bassoons and violas. There
is illustration of Dante's lines that describe the
"sighs, complaints, and ululations loud":&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Languages diverse, horrible dialects,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Accents of anger, words of agony,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And voices high and hoarse, with sound of hands,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Made up a tumult that goes whirling on<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forever in that air forever black,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even as the sand doth, when the whirlwind breathes.<br /></span>
</div>
<span class="i8">&mdash;<i>Longfellow.</i><br /></span>
</div>

<p>The Allegro frenetico, 2-2, in the development
paints the madness of despair, the rage of the
damned. Again there is the cry, "All hope abandon"
(trumpets, horns, trombones, tuba). There
is a lull in the orchestral storm. Quasi Andante,
5-4. Harps, flutes, violins, a recitative of bass
clarinet and two clarinets lead to the episode of
Francesca da Rimini and Paolo. The cor anglais
sings the lamentation:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There is no greater sorrow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than to be mindful of the happy time<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In misery.<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Before the 'cello takes up the melody sung by the
clarinet, the <span lang="it">Lasciate</span> theme is heard (muted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
horn, solo,) and then in three tempo, Andante
amoroso, 7-4, comes the love duet, which ends
with the <span lang="it">Lasciate</span> motive. A harp cadenza
brings the return to the first allegro tempo, in
which the <span lang="it">Lasciate</span> theme in combination with
the two Hell motives is developed with grotesque
and infernal orchestration. There is this remark
in the score: "This whole passage should be understood
as sardonic, blasphemous laughter and
most sharply defined as such." After the repetition
of nearly the whole of the opening section
of the allegro the <span lang="it">Lasciate</span> theme is heard <i>fff</i>.</p>

<p><i>II. Purgatorio and Magnificat.</i> The section
movement begins Andante con moto, D major,
4-4. According to the composer there is the
suggestion of a vessel that sails slowly over an
unruffled sea. The stars begin to glitter, there is
a cloudless sky, there is a mystic stillness. Over
a rolling figuration is a melody first for horn, then
oboe, the Meditation motive. This period is
repeated a half-tone higher. The Prayer theme
is sung by 'cello, then by first violin. There
is illustration of Dante's tenth canto, and especially
of the passage where the sinners call to
remembrance the good that they did not accomplish.
This remorseful and penitent looking-back
and the hope in the future inspired Liszt,
according to his commentator, Richard Pohl, to
a fugue based on a most complicated theme.
After this fugue the gentle Prayer and Repentance
melodies are heard. Harp chords established
the rhythm of the Magnificat (three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
flutes ascending in chords of E-flat). This
motive goes through sundry modulations. And
now an unseen chorus of women, accompanied
by harmonium, sings, "<span lang="la">Magnificat anima mea
Dominum et exultavit spiritus meus, in Deo salutari
meo</span>" (My soul doth magnify the Lord, and
my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour). A
solo voice, that of the Mater Gloriosa, repeats the
song. A short choral passage leads to "Hosanna
Halleluja." The final harmonies are supposed
to illustrate the passage in the twenty-first canto
of the Paradiso:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">I saw rear'd up,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In colour like to sun-illumined gold,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So lofty was the summit; down whose steps<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I saw the splendours in such multitude<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Descending, every light in heaven, methought,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was shed thence.<br /></span>
</div>
<span class="i8">&mdash;<i>H. F. Cary.</i><br /></span>
</div>

<p>The "Hosanna" is again heard, and the symphony
ends in soft harmonies (B major) with the
first Magnificat theme.</p>

<p>Liszt wrote to Wagner, June 2, 1855: "Then
you are reading Dante? He is excellent company
for you. I, on my part, shall furnish a kind
of commentary to his work. For a long time I
had in my head a Dante symphony, and in the
course of this year it is to be finished. There
are to be three movements, 'Hell,' 'Purgatory,'
and 'Paradise,' the two first purely instrumental,
the last with chorus."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>

<p>Wagner wrote in reply a long letter from London:
"That 'Hell' and 'Purgatory' will succeed
I do not call into question for a moment, but as
to 'Paradise' I have some doubts, which you confirm
by saying that your plan includes choruses.
In the Ninth Symphony the last choral movement
is decidedly the weakest part, although it is historically
important, because it discloses to us in a
very naïve manner the difficulties of a real musician
who does not know how (after hell and purgatory)
he is to describe paradise. About this
paradise, dearest Franz, there is in reality a considerable
difficulty, and he who confirms this
opinion is, curiously enough, Dante himself, the
singer of Paradise, which in his 'Divine Comedy'
also is decidedly the weakest part." And then
Wagner wrote at length concerning Dante, Christianity,
Buddhism, and other matters. "But,
perhaps, you will succeed better, and as you are
going to paint a <i>tone</i> picture, I might almost predict
your success, for music is essentially the artistic,
original image of the world. For the initiated
no error is here possible. Only about the
'Paradise,' and especially about the choruses, I
feel some friendly anxiety."</p>

<p>The next performance of the symphony in Boston
was May 1, 1903, again under the direction of
Mr. Gericke. Mr. Philip Hale furnished the
notes for the analytical programme. Richard
Pohl, whose critical annotations were prompted
and approved by Liszt, points out that a composer
worthy of a theme like Faust must be something<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
more than a tone-composer: his concern
ought to be with something that neither the word
with its concrete definiteness can express, nor
form and colour can actually realise, and this
something is the world of the profoundest and
most intimate feelings that unveil themselves to
man's mind only in tones. None but the tone
poet can render the fundamental moods. But in
order to seize them in their totality, he must abstract
from the material moments of Dante's
epic, and can at most allude to few of them.
On the other hand, he must also abstract from
the dramatic and philosophical elements. These
were Liszt's views on the treatment of the subject.</p>

<p>The Dante idea had obsessed Liszt for years.
In 1847 he had planned musical illustrations of
certain scenes from the epic with the aid of the
newly-invented Diorama. This plan was never
carried out. The Fantasia quasi-sonata for
pianoforte (<span lang="fr">Années de Pèlerinage</span>), suggested by a
poem of Victor Hugo, "<span lang="fr">Après une lecture de
Dante</span>," is presumably a sketch; it is full of fuliginous
grandeur and whirling rhythms. Composed
of imagination and impulse, his mind saturated
with contemporary literature, Liszt's genius,
as Dannreuther declares, was one that could
hardly express itself save through some other
imaginative medium. He devoted his extraordinary
mastery of instrumental technique to the
purposes of illustrative expression; and, adds the
authority cited, he was now and then inclined to
do so in a manner that tends to reduce his music<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
to the level of decorative scene painting or <i>affresco</i>
work. But the unenthusiastic critic admits that
there are episodes of sublimity and great beauty
in the Dante Symphony. The influence of Berlioz
is not marked in this work.</p>


<h3>WEINGARTNER'S AND RUBINSTEIN'S
CRITICISMS</h3>

<p>In his The Symphony Since Beethoven, Felix
Weingartner, renowned as a conductor and composer,
has said some pertinent things of the Liszt
symphonic works. It must not be forgotten that
he was a pupil of the Hungarian composer. He
has been discussing Beethoven's first Leonora
overture and continues thus:</p>

<p>"The same defects that mark the <span lang="de">Ideale</span> mark
Liszt's <span lang="de">Bergsymphonie</span>, and, in spite of some
beauties, his Tasso. Some other of his orchestral
works, as Hamlet, Prometheus, <span lang="fr">Héroïde Funèbre</span>,
are inferior through weakness of invention. An
improvisatore style, often passing into dismemberment,
is peculiar to most of Liszt's compositions.
I might say that while Brahms is characterised
by a musing reflective element, in Liszt a
rhapsodical element has the upper hand, and can
be felt as a disturbing element in his weaker
works. Masterpieces, besides those already mentioned,
are the Hungaria, <span lang="de">Festklänge</span> the <span lang="de">Hunnenschlacht</span>,
a fanciful piece of elementary weird
power; <span lang="fr">Les Préludes</span>, and, above all, the two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
great symphonies to Faust and Dante's Divine
Comedy. The Faust Symphony intends not at
all to embody musically Goethe's poem, but gives,
as its title indicates, three character figures, Faust,
Gretchen and Mephistopheles. The art and fancy
with which Liszt here makes and develops
psychologic, dramatic variation of a theme are
shown in the third movement. Mephistopheles,
the 'spirit that denies,' 'for all that does arise
deserves to perish,' is the principle of the piece.</p>

<p>"Hence, Liszt could not give it a theme of its
own, but built up the whole movement out of
caricatures of previous themes referring specially
to Faust; and it is only stupid lack of comprehension
that brought against Liszt, in a still higher
degree than against Berlioz, the reproach of poverty
of invention. I ask if our old masters made
great movements by the manifold variation of
themes of a few bars, ought the like to be forbidden
to a composer when a recognisably poetic
thought is the moving spring? Does not invention
belong to such characteristic variation? And
just this movement reveals to us most clearly
Liszt's profound knowledge of the real nature of
music. When the hellish Devil's brood has grown
to the most appalling power, then, hovering in the
clouds of glory, the main theme of the Gretchen
movement appears in its original, untouched
beauty. Against it the might of the devil is shattered,
and sinks back into nothing. The poet
might let Gretchen sink, nay, become a criminal;
the musician, in obedience to the ideal, noble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
character of his art, preserves for her a form of
light. Powerful trombone calls resound through
the dying hell-music, a male chorus begins softly
Goethe's sublime words of the chorus mysticus,
'All that is transient is emblem alone,' and in
the clearly recognised notes of the Gretchen theme
a tenor voice continues, 'The ever-womanly
draweth us up!' This tenor voice may be identified
with Goethe's Doctor Marianus; we may
imagine Gretchen glorified into the Mater Gloriosa,
and recall Faust's words when he beholds
Gretchen's image in the vanishing clouds:</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">'Like some fair soul, the lovely form ascends,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, not dissolving, rises to the skies<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And draws away the best within me with it.'<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"So, in great compositions, golden threads spun
from sunshine move between the music and the
inspiring poetry, light and swaying, adorning
both arts, fettering neither.</p>

<p>"Perhaps with still more unity and power than
the Faust Symphony is the tone poem to Dante's
Divine Comedy, with its thrilling representations
of the torments of hell and the 'purgatorio,'
gradually rising in higher and higher spheres of
feeling. In these works Liszt gave us the best
he could give. They mark the summit of his
creative power, and the ripest fruit of that style
of programme music that is artistically justified,
since Berlioz.</p>

<p>"Outside of these two symphonies Liszt's orchestral
works consist of only one movement and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
as you know, are entitled Symphonic Poems. The
title is extremely happy, and seems to lay down
the law, perhaps the only law that a composition
must follow if it has any raison d'être. Let it be
a 'poem,' that is, let it grow out of a poetic idea,
an inspiration of the soul, which remains either
unspoken or communicated to the public by the
title and programme; but let it also be 'symphonic,'
which here is synonymous with 'musical.'
Let it have a form, either one derived from
the classic masters, or a new one that grows out of
the contents and is adapted to them. Formlessness
in art is always censurable and in music can
never win pardon by a programme or by 'what
the composer was thinking.' Liszt's symphonic
works show a great first step on a new path. Whoever
wishes to follow it must, before all things,
be careful not to imitate Liszt's weakness, a frequently
remarkable disjointed conception, nor to
make it a law, but to write compositions which
are more than musical illustrations to programmes."</p>

<p>Rubinstein, though he had been intimate with
Liszt at Weimar, and profiting by his advice,
made no concealment of his aversion to the compositions.
In his "Conversation on Music" he
said: "Liszt's career as a composer from 1853
is, according to my idea, a very disappointing
one. In every one of his compositions 'one
marks design and is displeased.' We find programme
music carried to the extreme, also continual
posing&mdash;in his church music before God,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span>
in his orchestral music works before the public,
in his transcriptions of songs before the composers,
in his Hungarian rhapsodies before the
gipsies&mdash;in short, always and everywhere posing.</p>

<p>"'<span lang="fr">Dans les arts il faut faire grand</span>' was his
usual dictum, therefore the affectation in his
work. His fashion for creating something new&mdash;<span lang="fr">à
tout prix</span>&mdash;caused him to form entire compositions
out of a simple theme.... So: the
sonata form&mdash;to set this aside means to extemporise
a fantasia that is however not a symphony,
not a sonata, not a concerto. Architecture is
nearest allied to music in its fundamental principles&mdash;can
a formless house or church or any
other building be imagined? Or a structure,
where the façade is a church, another part of the
structure a railway station, another part a floral
pavilion, and still another part a manufactory,
and so on? Hence lack of form in music is improvisation,
yes, borders almost on digression.
Symphonic poems (so he calls his orchestral
works) are supposed to be another new form of
art&mdash;whether a necessity and vital enough to
live, time, as in the case of Wagner's Music-Drama,
must teach us. His orchestral instrumentation
exhibits the same mastery as that of
Berlioz and Wagner, even bears their stamp;
with that, however, it is to be remembered that
his pianoforte is the <i>Orchestra-Pianoforte</i> and his
orchestra the <i>Pianoforte-Orchestra</i>, for the orchestral
composition sounds like an instrumented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
pianoforte composition. All in all I see in
Berlioz, Wagner, and Liszt, the Virtuoso-Composer,
and I would be glad to believe that their
'breaking all bounds' may be an advantage to
the coming genius. In the sense, however, of
specifically musical creation I can recognise neither
one of them as a composer&mdash;and, in addition
to this, I have noticed so far that all three
of them are wanting in the chief charm of creation&mdash;the
naïve&mdash;that stamp of geniality and,
at the same time, that proof that genius after all
is a child of humanity. Their influence on the
composers of the day is great, but as I believe
unhealthy."</p>


<h3>THE RHAPSODIES</h3>

<p>Liszt wrote fifteen compositions for the pianoforte,
to which he gave the name of <span lang="fr">Rhapsodies
Hongroises</span>; they are based on national Magyar
melodies. Of these he, assisted by Franz Doppler,
scored six for orchestra. There is considerable
confusion between the pianoforte set and
the orchestral transcriptions, in the matter of
numbering. Some of the orchestral transcriptions,
too, are transposed to different keys from
the originals. Here are the lists of both sets.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p>

<h4><span class="smcap">Original Set, for Pianoforte.</span></h4>

<blockquote>


<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Original Set">
<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td>In E-flat major, dedicated to E. Zerdahely.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td>In C-sharp minor and F-sharp major, dedicated to Count Ladislas Teleki.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td>In B-flat major, dedicated to Count Leo Festetics.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td>In E-flat major, dedicated to Count Casimir Eszterházy.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td><i lang="fr">Héroïde élégiaque</i>, in E minor, dedicated to Countess Sidonie Reviczky.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td>In D-flat major, dedicated to Count Antoine d'Apponyi.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII.</td><td>In D minor, dedicated to Baron Fery Orczy.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td><td>In F-sharp minor, dedicated to M. A. d'Augusz.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX.</td><td><i lang="fr">Le Carnaval de Pesth</i>, in E-flat major, dedicated to H. W. Ernst.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">X.</td><td><i>Preludio</i>, in E major, dedicated to Egressy Bény.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI.</td><td>In A minor, dedicated to Baron Fery Orczy.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII.</td><td>In C-sharp minor, dedicated to Joseph Joachim.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td><td>In A minor, dedicated to Count Leo Festetics.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td><td>In F minor, dedicated to Hans von Bülow.</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">XV.</td><td><i lang="de">Rákóczy Marsch</i>, in A minor.</td></tr>
</table></div>

</blockquote>

<h4><span class="smcap">Orchestral Set.</span></h4>

<blockquote>


<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Orchestral Set">
<tr><td align="right">I.</td><td align="left">In F minor</td><td>(No. 14 of the original set).</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">II.</td><td align="left">Transposed to D minor</td><td>(No. 12&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">III.</td><td align="left">Transposed to D major</td><td>(No. 6&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV.</td><td align="left">Transposed to D minor and G major</td><td>(No. 2&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">V.</td><td align="left">In E minor</td><td>(No. 5&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI.</td><td align="left"><i lang="de"><span class="gesperrt">Pesther</span> Carneval</i>, transposed to D major</td><td>(No. 9&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;"&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;).</td></tr>
</table></div>
</blockquote>

<p>The dedications remain the same as in the
original set.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>


<h4>AUGUST SPANUTH'S ANALYSIS</h4>

<p>August Spanuth, now the editor of the <i lang="de">Signale</i>
in Berlin, wrote <i>inter alia</i> of the Rhapsodies in his
edition prepared for the Ditsons:</p>

<p>"After Liszt's memorable visit to his native
country in 1840 he freely submitted to the influence
of the gipsy music. The catholicity of his
musical taste, due to his very sensitive and receptive
nature as well as his cosmopolitan life, would
have enabled him to usurp the musical characteristics
of any nation, no matter how uncouth, and
work wonders with them. His versatility and
resourcefulness in regard to form seemed to be
inexhaustible, and he would certainly have been
able to write some interesting fantasias on Hungarian
themes had his affection for that country
been only acquired instead of inborn. Fortunately
his heart was in the task, and Liszt's
Hungarian Rhapsodies not only rank among his
most powerful and convincing works, but must
also be counted as superior specimens of national
music in general. It does not involve an injustice
toward Haydn, Beethoven, and Schubert,
who occasionally affected Hungarian peculiarities
in their compositions, to state that it was
Liszt who with his rhapsodies and kindred compositions
started a new era of Hungarian music.
'Tunes' which heretofore served to amuse a motley
crowd at the czardas on the '<span lang="hu">Puszta</span>' have
through Liszt been successfully introduced into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
legitimate music. And most wonderful of all,
he has not hesitated to preserve all the drastic and
coarse effects of the gipsy band without ever leaning
toward vulgarity. Who, before Franz Liszt,
would have dreamed of employing cymbal-effects
in legitimate piano playing? Liszt, such is
the power of artistic transfiguration, imitates the
cymbal to perfection and yet does not mar the illusion
of refinement; while, on the other hand,
the cymbal as a solo instrument must still impress
us as primitive and rude. Liszt did not conceive
the Hungarian music with his outer ear alone, as
most of his numerous imitators did. They caught
but the outline, some rhythmical features and
some stereotyped ornaments; but Liszt was able
to penetrate to the very source of it, he carried
the key to its secret in his Hungarian temperament.</p>

<p>"To speak of Hungarian folk-songs is hardly
permissible since a song includes the words as
well as the music. Hungary is a polyglot country,
and a song belonging through its words, as
well as its notes, to the vast majority of the inhabitants
is therefore an impossibility. The Magyars,
of course, claim to be the only genuine Hungarians,
and since they settled there almost a
thousand years ago and are still indisputably the
dominating race of the country, their claim may
remain uncontested. Even the fact that the Magyars
are but half of the total of a strange mixture,
made up of heterogeneous elements, would
not necessarily render invalid any pretension that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
their songs are the genuine Hungarian songs. But
the proud Magyar will admit that Hungarian
music is first and foremost gipsy music, Hungarian
gipsy music. How much the Magyars have
originally contributed to this music does not appear
to be clear. Perhaps more research may
lead to other results, but the now generally accepted
conjecture gives the rhythmic features to
the Magyars and the characteristic ornaments to
the gipsies. It will probably not be denied that
this presumption looks more like a compromise
than the fruit of thorough scientific investigation.
Furthermore, rhythm and ornaments are in Hungarian
music so closely knit that it seems incomprehensible
that they should have originated as
characteristic features of two races so widely divergent.
If this is so, however, we may hope
that out of our own negro melodies and the songs
of other elements of our population real American
folk-music will yet after centuries develop,
though it is to be feared that neither the negroes
nor other inhabitants of the United States will
be in a position to preserve sufficient naïveté,
indispensable for the production of real folk-music.
Otherwise the analogon is promising,
the despised gipsy taking socially about the same
position in Hungary as our own negro here.</p>

<p>"The Hungarian music as known to-day will
impress everybody as a unit; so much so that its
restrictions are obvious, and likely to produce a
monotonous effect if too much of it is offered.
Above all, this music is purely instrumental and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
therefore different from all other folk-music. It
is based, though not exclusively, on a peculiar
scale, the harmonic minor scale with an augmented
fourth. Some commentators read this
scale differently by starting at the dominant.
Thus it appears as a major scale with a diminished
second and a minor sixth, a sort of major-minor
mode. The latter scale can be found on
the last page of Liszt's Fifteenth Rhapsody, where
it runs from <i>a</i> to <i>a</i>, thus: <i>a</i>, <i>b</i>-flat, <i>c</i>-sharp, <i>d</i>, <i>e</i>, <i>f</i>,
<i>g</i>-sharp and <i>a</i>. But for every scale of this construction
a dozen of the former may be gathered
in the Rhapsodies. While the notes are identical
in both, the effect upon the ear is different,
according to the starting note, just as the descending
melodic minor scale is <i>de facto</i> the same
as the relative major scale, but not in its effect.
The austerity and acidity of the altered harmonic
minor scale is the chief characteristic of the melodious
and harmonic elements of Hungarian
music. Imbued with a plaintive and melancholy
flavour this mode will always be recognised
as the gipsy kind. To revel in sombre melodies
seems to be one half of the purpose of Hungarian
music, and in logical opposition a frolicsome gaiety
the other half. In the regular czardas, a rustic
dance at the wayside inn on the <span lang="hu">Puszta</span>, the
melancholy <i lang="hu">lassan</i> alternates in well-proportioned
intervals with the extravagant and boisterous
<i lang="hu">friska</i>. The rhythm may be said to be a sort of
spite-rhythm, very decisive in most cases, but
most of the time in syncopation. This rhythm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
proves conclusively that the origin of Hungarian
music is instrumental, for even in cantabile
periods, where the melody follows a more dreamy
vein, the syncopations are seldom missing in the
accompaniment. At every point one is reminded
that the dance was father to this music, a dance
of unconventional movements where the dancer
seems to avoid the step which one expected him
to take, and instead substitutes a queer but graceful
jerk. Where actual jerks in the melody would
be inopportune, the ornaments are at hand and
help to prevent every semblance of conventionality.</p>

<p>"Liszt, of course, has widened the scope of
these ornamental features considerably. His fertility
in applying such ornaments to each and
every musical thought he is spinning is stupendous.
In all his nineteen rhapsodies&mdash;the Twentieth
Rhapsody is still in manuscript&mdash;the style,
form, constructive idea, and application of these
ornaments are different, but every one is characteristic
not only of Hungarian music in general,
but of the rhapsody in particular.</p>

<p>"Both the syncopated rhythm and the rich
ornamentation which naturally necessitate a frequent
tempo rubato help to avoid the monotony
which might result from the fact that Hungarian
music moves in even rhythm only. Four-quarter
and two-quarter time prevail throughout, while
three-quarter and six-eight do not seem to fit in
the rhythmic design of Hungarian music. Attempts
have been made to introduce uneven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
rhythm, but they were not successful. Where
three-quarter and similar rhythm appears, the
Hungarian spirit evaporates. Much more variety
is available regarding the tempo, the original
<i lang="hu">lassan</i> and <i lang="hu">friska</i> not being indispensable.
A moderate and graceful <i>allegretto</i> is frequently
used by Liszt, and he also graduates the speed of
the brilliant finales as well as the languor of the
introductions of his Rhapsodies."</p>


<h3>AS SONG WRITER</h3>

<p>"It is not known exactly when Liszt began to
compose songs," writes Henry T. Finck in his
volume on Songs and Song Writers. "The best
of them belong to the Weimar period, when he
was in the full maturity of his creative power.
There are stories of songs inspired by love while
he lived in Paris; and he certainly did write six
settings of French songs, chiefly by Victor Hugo.
These he prepared for the press in 1842. While
less original in melody and modulation than the
best of his German songs, they have a distinct
French esprit and elegance which attest his power
of assimilation and his cosmopolitanism. These
French songs, fortunately for his German admirers,
were translated by Cornelius. Italian
leanings are betrayed by his choice of poems by
Petrarca and Bocella; but, as already intimated
his favourite poets are Germans: Goethe, Schiller,
Heine, Hoffmann von Fallersleben, Uhland,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>
Rückert and others. Goethe&mdash;who could not
even understand Schubert, and to whom Liszt's
music would have been pure Chinese&mdash;is favoured
by settings of <span lang="de">Mignon's Lied (Kennst du
das Land), Es war ein König in Thule, Der du
von dem Himmel bist, Ueber allen Gipfeln ist
Ruh, Wer nie sein Brod mit Thränen äss, Freudvoll
und Leidvoll</span> (two versions).</p>

<p>"Mignon was the second of his German songs,
and it is the most deeply emotional of all the settings
of that famous poem. Longing is its keynote;
longing for blue-skyed Italy, with its orange
groves, marble treasures and other delights.
One of the things which Wagner admired in
Liszt's music was 'the inspired definiteness of
musical conception' which enabled him to concentrate
his thought and feeling in so pregnant
a way that one felt inclined to exclaim after a few
bars: 'Enough, I have it all.' The opening
bar of <span lang="de">Mignon's Lied</span> thus seems to condense the
longing of the whole song; yet, as the music proceeds,
we find it is only a prelude to a wealth of
musical detail which colours and intensifies every
word and wish of the poem.</p>

<p>"All of the six settings of Goethe poems are
gems, and Dr. Hueffer quite properly gave each
of them a place in his collection of Twenty Liszt
Songs. Concerning the Wanderer's Night Song
(<span lang="de">Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh</span>), Dr. Hueffer has
well said that Liszt has rendered the heavenly
calm of the poem by his wonderful harmonies in
a manner which alone would secure him a place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
among the great masters of German song. 'Particularly
the modulation from G major back into
the original E major at the close of the piece is of
surprising beauty.'</p>

<p>"For composers of musical lyrics Schiller wrote
much fewer available poems than Goethe. But
Schubert owed to him one of his finest songs, The
Maiden's Lament, and next to him as an illustrator
of Schiller I feel inclined to place Liszt, who
is at his best in his settings of three poems from
William Tell, The Fisher Boy, The Shepherd
and The Alpine Hunter. Liszt, like Schubert,
favours poems which bring a scene or a story vividly
before the mind's eye, and he loves to write
music which mirrors these pictorial features.
Schubert's <span lang="de">Mullerlieder</span> seemed to have exhausted
the possible ways of depicting in music the
movements of the waters&mdash;but listen to the rippling
arpeggios in Liszt's Fisher Boy, embodying
the acquisitions of modern pianistic technic.
The shepherd's song brings before our eyes and
ears the flower meadows and the brooks of the
peaceful Alpine world in summer, while the song
of the hunter gives us dissolving views of destructive
avalanches and appalling precipices, with
sudden glimpses, through cloud rifts, of meadows
and hamlets at dizzy depths below. Wagner
himself, in the grandest mountain and cloud
scenes of the Walküre and Siegfried, has not written
more superbly dissonant and appropriate
dramatic music than has Liszt in this exciting
song."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>

<p>The King of Thule and Lorely are masterpieces
and contain in essence all the dramatic
lyricism of modern writers, Strauss included.</p>


<h3>PIANO AND ORCHESTRA</h3>

<h4>CONCERTO FOR PIANO AND ORCHESTRA, No. 1,
IN E FLAT</h4>

<p>This, the better known of Liszt's two pianoforte
concertos, is constructed along the general
lines of the symphonic poem&mdash;a species of free
orchestral composition which Liszt himself gave
to the world. The score embraces four sections
arranged like the four movements of a symphony,
although their internal development is of so free
a nature, and they are merged one into another
in such away as to give to the work as a whole
the character of one long movement developed
from several fundamental themes and sundry
subsidiaries derived therefrom. The first of these
themes [this is the theme to which Liszt used
to sing, "<span lang="de">Das versteht ihr alle nicht!</span>" but, according
to Von Bülow and Ramann, "<span lang="de">Ihr könnt
alle nichts!</span>"] appears at the outset, being given
out by the strings with interrupting chords of
wood-wind and brass allegro maestoso leading at
once to an elaborate cadenza for the pianoforte.
The second theme, which marks the beginning of
the second section&mdash;in B major, Quasi adagio
and 12-8 (4-4) time&mdash;is announced by the
deeper strings (muted) to be taken up by the solo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
instrument over flowing left-hand arpeggios. A
long trill for the pianoforte, embellished by expressive
melodies from sundry instruments of the
orchestra, leads to the third section&mdash;in F-flat
minor, allegretto vivace and 3-4 time&mdash;whereupon
the strings give out a sparkling scherzo
theme which the solo instrument proceeds to develop
capriciously. This section closes with a
pianissimo cadenza for the pianoforte following
which a rhapsodical passage (Allegro animato)
leads to the finale&mdash;in E-flat major, Allegro marziale
animato and 4-4 time&mdash;in which the second
theme reappears transformed into a spirited
march.</p>

<p>The concerto was composed in 1848, revised
in 1853, and published in 1857. It was performed
for the first time at Weimar during the
Berlioz week, February 16, 1855, when Liszt was
the pianist and Berlioz conducted the orchestra.
It is dedicated to Henri Litolff.</p>

<p>Liszt wrote at some length concerning this
concerto in a letter to Eduard Liszt, dated Weimar,
March 26, 1857:</p>

<p>"The fourth movement of the concerto from
the Allegro marziale corresponds with the second
movement, Adagio. It is only an urgent recapitulation
of the earlier subject-matter with
quickened, livelier rhythm, and contains no new
motive, as will be clear to you by a glance through
the score. This kind of <i>binding together</i> and
rounding off a whole piece at its close is somewhat
my own, but it is quite maintained and justified<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
from the stand-point of musical form. The
trombones and basses take up the second part of
the motive of the Adagio (B major). The pianoforte
figure which follows is no other than the
reproduction of the motive which was given in the
Adagio by flute and clarinet, just as the concluding
passage is a Variante and working up in the
major of the motive of the Scherzo, until finally
the first motive on the dominant pedal B-flat,
with a shake-accompaniment, comes in and concludes
the whole.</p>

<p>"The Scherzo in E-flat minor, from the point
where the triangle begins, I employed for the effect
of contrast.</p>

<p>"As regards the triangle I do not deny that it
may give offence, especially if struck too strong
and not precisely. A preconceived disinclination
and objection to instruments of percussion
prevails, somewhat justified by the frequent misuse
of them. And few conductors are circumspect
enough to bring out the rhythmic element
in them, without the raw addition of a coarse
noisiness, in works in which they are deliberately
employed according to the intention of the composer.
The dynamic and rhythmic spicing and
enhancement, which are effected by the instruments
of percussion, would in more cases be much
more effectually produced by the careful trying
and proportioning of insertions and additions of
that kind. But musicians who wish to appear
serious and solid prefer to treat the instruments of
percussion <i lang="fr">en canaille</i>, which must not make their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
appearance in the seemly company of the symphony.
They also bitterly deplore inwardly
that Beethoven allowed himself to be seduced
into using the big drum and triangle in the Finale
of the Ninth Symphony. Of Berlioz, Wagner,
and my humble self, it is no wonder that 'like
draws to like,' and, as we are treated as impotent
<i lang="fr">canaille</i> amongst musicians, it is quite natural
that we should be on good terms with the <i lang="fr">canaille</i>
among the instruments. Certainly here, as in
all else, it is the right thing to seize upon and hold
fast [the] mass of harmony. In face of the most
wise proscription of the learned critics I shall,
however, continue to employ instruments of percussion,
and think I shall yet win for them some
effects little known."</p>

<p>"This eulogy of the triangle," Mr. Philip
Hale says, "was inspired by the opposition in Vienna
when Pruckner played the concerto in that
city (season of 1856-57). Hanslick cursed the
work by characterising it as a 'Triangle Concerto,'
and for some years the concerto was therefore
held to be impossible. It was not played
again in Vienna until 1869, when Sophie Menter
paid no attention to the advice of the learned and
her well-wishers. Lina Ramann tells the story.
Rubinstein, who happened to be there, said to
her: 'You are not going to be so crazy as to play
this concerto? No one has yet had any luck with
it in Vienna.' Bösendorfer, who represented the
Philharmonic Society, warned her against it.
To which Sofie replied coolly in her Munich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
German: '<span lang="de">Wenn i dös nit spielen kann, speil i
goar nit&mdash;i muss ja nit in Wien spielen</span>' ('if I
can't play it, I don't play at all&mdash;I must not play
in Vienna'). She did play it, and with great
success.</p>

<p>"Yet the triangle is an old and esteemed instrument.
In the eighteenth century it was still
furnished with metal rings, as was its forbear,
the sistrum. The triangle is pictured honourably
in the second part of Michael Prätorius' '<span lang="la">Syntagma
musicum</span>' (Part II., plate xxii., Wolffenbüttel,
1618). Haydn used it in his military
symphony, Schumann in the first movement of
his B-flat symphony; and how well Auber understood
its charm!"</p>


<h4>CONCERTO FOR PIANO, NO. 2, IN A MAJOR</h4>

<p>This concerto, as well as the one in E-flat, was
probably composed in 1848. It was revised in
1856 and in 1861, and published in 1863. It is
dedicated to Hans von Bronsart, by whom it was
played for the first time January 7, 1857, at Weimar.</p>

<p>The autograph manuscript of this concerto
bore the title, "<span lang="fr">Concert Symphonique</span>," and, as
Mr. Apthorp once remarked, "The work might
be called a symphonic poem for pianoforte and
orchestra, with the title, 'The Life and Adventures
of a Melody.'"</p>

<p>The concerto is in one movement. The first
and chief theme binds the various episodes into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
an organic whole. Adagio sostenuto assai, A
major, 3-4. The first theme is announced at
once by wood-wind instruments. It is a moaning
and wailing theme, accompanied by harmonies
shifting in tonality. The pianoforte gives in
arpeggios the first transformation of this musical
thought and in massive chords the second transformation.
The horn begins a new and dreamy
song. After a short cadenza of the solo instrument
a more brilliant theme in D minor is introduced
and developed by both pianoforte and
orchestra. A powerful crescendo (pianoforte
alternating with string and wood-wind instruments)
leads to a scherzo-like section of the concerto,
Allegro agitato assai, B-flat minor, 6-8.
A side motive fortissimo (pianoforte) leads to a
quiet middle section. Allegro moderato, which is
built substantially on the chief theme (solo
'cello). A subsidiary theme, introduced by the
pianoforte, is continued by flute and oboe, and
there is a return to the first motive. A pianoforte
cadenza leads to a new tempo. Allegro deciso,
in which rhythms of already noted themes
are combined, and a new theme appears (violas
and 'cellos), which at last leads back to the tempo
of the quasi-scherzo. But let us use the words
of Mr. Apthorp rather than a dry analytical
sketch: 'From this point onward the concerto
is one unbroken series of kaleidoscopic effects
of the most brilliant and ever-changing description;
of musical form, of musical coherence even,
there is less and less. It is as if some magician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
in some huge cave, the walls of which were covered
with glistening stalactites and flashing jewels,
were revealing his fill of all the wonders of
colour, brilliancy, and dazzling light his wand
could command. Never has even Liszt rioted
more unreservedly in fitful orgies of flashing
colour. It is monstrous, formless, whimsical,
and fantastic, if you will; but it is also magical
and gorgeous as anything in the Arabian Nights.
It is its very daring and audacity that save it.
And ever and anon the first wailing melody, with
its unearthly chromatic harmony, returns in one
shape or another, as if it were the dazzled neophyte
to whom the magician Liszt were showing
all these splendours, while initiating it into the
mysteries of the world of magic, until it, too, becomes
magical, and possessed of the power of
working wonders by black art.'</p>


<h3>THE DANCE OF DEATH</h3>

<p>Liszt's <span lang="de">Todtentanz</span> is a tremendous work. This
set of daring variations had not been heard in
New York since Franz Rummel played them
years ago, under the baton of the late Leopold
Damrosch, although d'Albert, Siloti and Alexander
Lambert have had them on their programmes&mdash;in
each case some circumstance prevented
our hearing them here. Harold Bauer
played them with the Boston Symphony, both in
Boston and Brooklyn, and Philip Hale, in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
admirable notes on these concerts, has written
in part: "Liszt was thrilled by a fresco in
the Campo Santo of Pisa, when he sojourned
there in 1838 and 1839. This fresco, The Triumph
of Death, was for many years attributed
to a Florentine, Andrea Orcagna, but some insist
that it was painted by Pietro and Ambrogio
Lorenzetti."</p>

<p>The right of this fantastical fresco portrays a
group of men and women, who, with dogs and
falcons, appear to be back from the chase, or they
may be sitting as in Boccaccio's garden. They
are sumptuously dressed. A minstrel and a damsel
sing to them, while cupids flutter about and
wave torches. But Death flies swiftly toward
them, a fearsome woman, with hair streaming
wildly, with clawed hands. She is bat-winged,
and her clothing is stiff with mire. She swings
a scythe, eager to end the joy and delight of the
world. Corpses lie in a heap at her feet&mdash;corpses
of kings, queens, cardinals, warriors, the
great ones of the earth, whose souls, in the shape
of new born babes, rise out of them. "Angels
like gay butterflies" are ready to receive the righteous,
who fold their hands in prayer; demons
welcome the damned, who shrink back with horror.
The devils, who are as beasts of prey or
loathsome reptiles, fight for souls; the angels rise
to heaven with the saved; the demons drag their
victims to a burning mountain and throw them
into the flames. And next this heap of corpses
is a crowd of beggars, cripples, miserable ones,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
who beg Death to end their woe; but they do not
interest her. A rock separates this scene from
another, the chase. Gallant lords and noble
dames are on horseback, and hunters with dogs
and falcons follow in their train. They come
upon three open graves, in which lie three
princes in different stages of decay. An aged
monk on crutches, possibly the Saint Macarius,
points to this <i lang="la">memento mori</i>. They talk gaily,
although one of them holds his nose. Only one
of the party, a woman, rests her head on her
hand and shows a sorrowful face. On mountain
heights above are hermits, who have reached
through abstinence and meditation the highest
state of human existence. One milks a doe while
squirrels play about him; another sits and reads;
a third looks into a valley that is rank with
death. And, according to tradition, the faces in
this fresco are portraits of the painter's contemporaries.</p>

<p>How such a scene must have appealed to Liszt
is easily comprehensible, and he put it into musical
form by taking a dour Dies Irae theme and
putting it through the several variations of the
emotions akin to the sardonic. The composer
himself referred to the work as "a monstrosity,"
and he must have realised full well that it would
stick in the crop of the philistines. And it has.
But Von Bülow stood godfather to the work and
dared criticism by playing it.</p>

<p>As a work it is absolutely unconventional and
follows no distinct programme, as does the Saint-Saëns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
"clever cemetery farce." Its opening is
gloomily impressive and the orchestration fearfully
bold. The piano in it is put to various uses,
with a fill of <i>glissandi</i> matching the diabolic
mood. The cadenzas might be dispensed with,
but, after all, the piece was written by Liszt, and
cadenzas were a part of his nature. But to take
this work lightly is to jest with values. The
theme itself is far too great to be depreciated and
the treatments of it are marvellous. Our ears
rebel a bit that the several variations were not
joined&mdash;which they might easily have been&mdash;and
then the work would sound more <i>en bloc</i>.
But, notwithstanding, it is one of the most striking
of Liszt's piano compositions.</p>


<h3>BURMEISTER ARRANGEMENTS</h3>

<p>Richard Burmeister made an arrangement of
Liszt's <span lang="fr">Concerto Pathétique</span> in E minor by changing
its original form for two pianos into a concerto
for piano solo with orchestral accompaniment.
Until now the original has remained almost an
unknown composition; partly for the reason
that it needed for a performance two first rank
piano virtuosi to master the extreme technical
difficulties and partly that Liszt had chosen for
it such a rhapsodical and whimsical form as
to make it an absolutely ineffective concert piece.
Even Hans von Bülow tried in a new edition to
improve some passages by making them more
consistent, but without success.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>

<p>However, as the concerto contains pathetic
musical ideas, among the best Liszt conceived
and is of too much value to be lost, Mr. Burmeister
ventured to give it a form by which he
hopes to make it as popular as the famous E-flat
major concerto by the same composer. The task
was a rather risky one, as some radical changes
had to be made and the character of the composition
preserved.</p>

<p>To employ a comparison, Mr. Burmeister cut
the concerto like a beautiful but badly tuned bell
into pieces and melted and moulded it again
into a new form. Some passages had to change
places, some others to be omitted, others again
repeated and enlarged. Mr. Burmeister went
even so far as to add some of his own passages&mdash;for
instance, a cadence at the beginning of the
piano part, the end of the slow movement and a
short fugato introducing the finale. As to the
new form, the result now comes very near to a
restoration of the old classical form: Allegro&mdash;Andante&mdash;Allegro.</p>

<p>Mr. Burmeister has also made a very effective
welding of Liszt's diabolic Mephisto Waltz
for piano and orchestra which he has successfully
played in Germany. He also arranged the
Fifth Hungarian Rhapsody for piano and orchestra
(<span lang="fr">Héroïde&mdash;Elégiaque</span>). To Mr. Burmeister
I am indebted for valuable information regarding
his beloved master Liszt, with whom he
studied in Weimar, Rome and Budapest.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p>


<h3>THE OPERATIC PARAPHRASES</h3>

<p>"It is commonly assumed that the first musician
who made a concert speech of the kind now
so much in vogue was Hans von Bülow," says
Mr. Finck. "Probably he was the first who
made such speeches frequently, and he doubtless
made the longest on record, when, on March 28,
1892, he harangued a Philharmonic audience in
Berlin on Beethoven and Bismarck; this address
covers three pages of Bülow's invaluable <span lang="de">Briefe
und Schriften</span>. The first concert speech, however,
was made by that many-sided innovator,
Franz Liszt, who tells about it in an amusing letter
he wrote from Milan to the Paris <i lang="fr">Gazette
Musicale</i>, in 1837. It was about this time that
he originated the custom of giving 'piano recitals,'
as he called them; that is, monologues by
the solo pianist, without assisting artist or orchestra.
In Italy, where he first took to this
habit, it was particularly risky, because the Italians
cared for little besides operatic pomp, vocal
display, and strongly spiced musical effect. For
pianists, in particular, they had little or no use.
In those days (and times have not changed), a
pianist travelling in Italy was wise if, in the words
of Liszt, he 'pined for the sun rather than for
fame, and sought repose rather than gold.'</p>

<p>"He succeeded, nevertheless, in making the
Italians interested in piano playing, but he had
to stoop to conquer. When he played one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
his own études, a gentleman in the pit called out
that he had come to the theatre to be entertained
and not to hear a 'studio.' Liszt thereupon improvised
fantasias on Italian operatic melodies,
which aroused tumultuous enthusiasm. He also
asked the audiences, after the fashion of the time,
to suggest themes for him to improvise on or topics
for him to illustrate in tones. One auditor
suggested the Milan Cathedral, another the railway,
while a third sent up a paper asking Liszt
to discuss on the piano the question: 'Is it better
to marry or remain a bachelor?' This was a little
too much even for the pianist, who was destined
to become the supreme master of programme
music, so he made a speech. To cite
his own words: 'As I could only have answered
this question after a long pause, I preferred to recall
to the audience the words of a wise man:
"Whatever you do, marry or remain single, you
will be sure to regret it." You see, my friend,
that I have found a splendid means of rendering
a concert cheerful when ennui makes it rather a
cool duty than a pleasure. Was I wrong to say
my <i lang="it">Anch'io</i> in this land of improvisation?'</p>

<p>"The operatic fantasias which Liszt first improvised
for the Italians found great favour in
other countries; so much so that eager publishers
used to follow him from city to city, begging
him to put them on paper, and allow them to
print them. There are thirty-six of these fantasias
in all, ranging from Sonnambula and Lucia to
the operas of Meyerbeer, Verdi, and Wagner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
It has been the fashion among critics to sneer at
them, but, as Saint-Saëns has said, there is much
pedantry and prejudice in these sneers. In structure
they are as artistic as the overtures to such
operas as Zampa, Euryanthe, and Tannhäuser,
which likewise are 'practically nothing but fantasias
on the operas which they introduce.' Berlioz
was the first to point out how, in these pieces,
Liszt actually improves on the originals; in the
Robert the Devil fantasia, for instance, his ingenious
way of combining the Bertram aria of the
third act with the aria of the ballet of nuns produced
an 'indescribable dramatic effect.' What
is more, these fantasias contain much of Liszt's
own genius, not to speak of his wonderful pianistic
idiom. He scattered his own pearls and
diamonds among them lavishly."</p>


<h3>THE ETUDES</h3>

<p>The late Edward Dannreuther, who changed
his opinion of Liszt, wrote a short introduction
to his edition of the Transcendental Studies
(Augener &amp; Co.) which is of interest.</p>

<p>"The Etudes, which head the thematic catalogue
of Liszt's works, show, better than anything
else, the transformation his style has undergone;
and for this reason it may be well to trace
the growth of some of them. <span lang="fr">Etudes en douze
exercices, par François Liszt</span>, Op. 1, were published
at Marseilles in 1827. They were written<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
during the previous year, Liszt being then under
sixteen. The second set of Etudes, <span lang="fr">dédiées a
Monsieur Charles Czerny</span>, appeared in 1839, but
were cancelled; and the <span lang="fr">Etudes d'exécution
transcendante</span>, again dedicated to Czerny, "<span lang="fr">en
témoignage de reconnaissance et de respectueuse
amitié de son élève</span>," appeared in 1852. The now
cancelled copy of the Etudes which Schumann
had before him in 1839, when he wrote his brilliant
article, shows these studies to be more extravagant
and, in some instances, technically
more difficult than even the final version. The
germs of both the new versions are to be seen in
the Op. 1 of 1827. Schumann transcribed a
couple of bars from the beginning of Nos. 1, 5, 9,
and 11, from both the new and old copies, and
offered a few of his swift and apt comments.
The various changes in these Etudes may be
taken to represent the history of the pianoforte
during the last half of the nineteenth century,
from the 'Viennese Square' to the concert grand,
from Czerny's <span lang="de">Schule der Geläufigkeit</span> to Liszt's
<span lang="fr">Danse macabre</span>. Czerny might have written the
original exercise No. 1, but it would not have been
so shapely a thing as Liszt's final version. The
difference between the two versions of No. 1 is,
however, considerably less than that which separates
Nos. 2, 3, and 4 from their predecessors.
If the earlier and the later versions of No. 3 in F
and No. 4 in D minor were signed by different
composers, the resemblance between them would
hardly attract notice. Of No. 2 little remains as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
it stood at first. Instead of a reduction there is
an increase (38 to 102) in the number of bars.
Some harmonic commonplaces which disfigure
the original, as, for instance, the detour to C
(bars 9-16), have been removed. The remainder
is enlarged, so as to allow of more extensive modulation,
and thus to avoid redundancy. A short
introduction and a coda are added, and the diction
throughout is thrown into high relief. <span lang="fr">Paysage</span>,
No. 3 in F, has been subjected to further
alteration since Schumann wrote about it. In
his article he commends the second version as
being more interesting than the first, and points
to a change of movement from square to triple
time, and to the melody which is superadded, as
improvements. On the other hand he calls an
episode in A major 'comparatively trivial,' and
this, it may be noticed, is omitted in the final
version. As it now stands, the piece is a test
study for pianists who aim at refinement of style,
tone, and touch. The Etude entitled Mazeppa
is particularly characteristic of Liszt's power of
endurance at the instrument, and it exhibits the
gradual growth of his manner, from pianoforte
exercises to symphonic poems in the manner of
Berlioz. It was this Etude, together perhaps
with Nos. 7 (Vision), 8 (<span lang="de">Wilde Jagd</span>), and 12
(<span lang="fr">Chasse-neige</span>), that induced Schumann to speak
of the entire set as <span lang="de">Wahre Sturm- und Graus-Etuden</span>
(Studies of storm and dread), studies for,
at the most, ten or twelve players in the world.
The original of No. 5, in B flat, is a mere trifle,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
in the manner of J. B. Cramer&mdash;the final version
entitled <span lang="fr">Feux follets</span> is one of the most remarkable
transformations extant, and perhaps
the best study of the entire series, consistent in
point of musical design and full of delicate technical
contrivances. <span lang="it">Ricordanza</span>, No. 9, and
<span lang="fr">Harmonies du soir</span>, No. 11, may be grouped together
as showing how a musical <span lang="de">Stimmungsbild</span>
(a picture of a mood or an expression of sentiment)
can be evoked from rather trite beginnings.
Schumann speaks of the melody in E major,
which occurs in the middle of the latter piece, as
"the most sincerely felt"; and in the last version
it is much improved. Both pieces, <span lang="it">Ricordanza</span>
and <span lang="fr">Harmonies du soir</span>, show to perfection the
sonority of the instrument in its various aspects.
The latter piece, <span lang="fr">Harmonies du soir</span> in the first,
as well as in the final version, appears as a kind
of Nocturne. No. 10, again, begins as though it
were Czerny's (<i>a</i>) and in the cancelled edition
is developed into an Etude of almost insuperable
difficulty (<i>b</i>). As finally rewritten, this study is
possible to play and well worth playing (<i>c</i>).</p>

<p>"No. 12 also has been recast and much manipulated,
but there is no mending of weak timber.
We must also mention <span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span>, an Etude in E
minor cancelled and entirely rewritten; three
<span lang="fr">Etudes de concert</span> (the second of which has already
been mentioned as Chopinesque); and two
fine Etudes, much later in date and of moderate
difficulty, <span lang="de">Waldesrauschen</span> and <span lang="de">Gnomentanz</span>.
The Paganini Studies, <i>i.e.</i>, transcriptions in rivalry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
with Schumann of certain Caprices for
the violin by Paganini, and far superior to Schumann's,
do not call for detailed comment. They
were several times rewritten (final edition, 1852)
as Liszt, the virtuoso, came to distinguish between
proper pianoforte effects and mere haphazard
bravura."</p>

<p>The first version of the <span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span> was a contribution
to Fétis' and Moscheles' <span lang="fr">Méthode des Méthodes</span>,
Paris, 1842, where it is designated <span lang="fr">Morceau
de Salon&mdash;Etude de Perfectionnement</span>.
The second version, Berlin, 1852, was presented
as "<span lang="fr">entièrement revue et corrigée par l'Auteur</span>"
and called <span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span> (<i>i.e.</i> in a rage, or in a fit of
temper). It exceeds the first version by 28 bars
and is a striking improvement, showing the
growth of Liszt's technic and his constant
effort to be emphatic and to avoid commonplace.</p>

<p>No pianist can afford to ignore Liszt's
Etudes&mdash;he may disparage them if he chooses,
but he ought to be able to play them properly.
We play the three B's, Bach, Beethoven, Brahms,
each from a somewhat different point of view.
But these great men have this in common, that
in each case, yet in a different degree, when we
play their music we address the hearer's intellect
rather than his nervous sensibility&mdash;though
the latter is never excluded. With Liszt and his
pupils the appeal is, often and without disguise,
rather an appeal to the hearer's nerves; but the
methods employed are, in the master's case at
least, so very clever, and altogether <i lang="fr">hors ligne</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
that a musician's intelligence, too, may be delighted
and stimulated.</p>

<p>Of the B-minor sonata Dannreuther has written:</p>

<p>"The work is a curious compound of true genius
and empty rhetoric, which contains enough
of genuine impulse and originality in the themes
of the opening section, and of suave charm in the
melody of the section that stands for the slow
movement, to secure the hearer's attention. Signs
of weakness occur only in the centre, where, according
to his wont, Liszt seems unable to resist
the temptation to tear passion to tatters and
strain oratory to bombast. None the less the Sonata
is an interesting study, eminently successful
in parts, and well worthy the attention of
pianists.</p>

<p>"Two Ballades, a Berceuse, a <span lang="fr">Valse-impromptu</span>,
a Mazurka, and two Polonaises sink irretrievably
if compared with Chopin's pieces similarly
entitled. The <span lang="de">Scherzo und Marsch</span> in D minor,
an inordinately difficult and somewhat dry
piece, falls short of its aim. Two legends, St.
Francis of Assisi preaching to the birds, a clever
and delicate piece, and St. Francis of Paula stepping
on the waves, a kind of Etude, are examples
of picturesque and decorous programme music.</p>

<p>"Liszt was also a master in the notation of pianoforte
music&mdash;a very difficult matter indeed,
and one in which even Chopin frequently erred.
His method of notation coincides in the main
with that of Beethoven, Berlioz, Wagner, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
Brahms. Let the player accurately play what
is set down and the result will be satisfactory.
The perspicuity of certain pages of Liszt's mature
pianoforte pieces, such as the first two sets
of <span lang="fr">Années de pèlerinage</span>, Consolations, Sonata in
B minor, the Concertos, the <span lang="fr">Danse macabre</span>, and
the <span lang="fr">Rhapsodies hongroises</span>, cannot be surpassed.
His notation often represents a condensed score,
and every rest not absolutely necessary is avoided;
again, no attempt is made to get a semblance of an
agreement between the rhythmic division of the
bar and the freedom of certain rapid ornamental
passages, but, on the other hand, everything
essential to the rendering of accent or melody,
to the position of the hands on the keyboard,
to the details of special fingering and special
pedalling, is faithfully recorded. Thus the most
complex difficulties, as in the <span lang="fr">Fantaisies Dramatiques</span>,
and even apparently uncontrollable
effects of <i>tempo rubato</i>, as in the first fifteen Rhapsodies
or the Etude <span lang="it">Ricordanza</span>, or the <span lang="it">Tre Sonetti
di Petrarca</span>, are so closely indicated that the
particular effect intended cannot be mistaken."</p>


<h3>THE MASSES AND THE PSALMS</h3>

<p>In his studies of Liszt's religious music, contributed
to the Oxford History of Music, Edward
Dannreuther, then no longer a partisan of
Liszt, said of his mass:</p>

<p>"Among Liszt's many contributions to the
répertoire of Catholic church music the Missa<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
solemnis, known as the <span lang="de">Graner Festmesse</span>, is the
most conspicuous. Written to order in 1855,
performed at the Consecration of the Basilica
at Gran, in Hungary, in 1856, it was Liszt's first
serious effort in the way of church music proper,
and shows him at his best in so far as personal
energy and high aim are concerned. 'More
prayed than composed,' he said, in 1856, when he
wanted to smooth the way for it in Wagner's estimation&mdash;'more
criticised than heard,' when it
failed to please in the Church of St. Eustache,
in Paris, in 1866. It certainly is an interesting
and, in many ways, a remarkable work.</p>

<p>"Liszt's instincts led him to perceive that the
Catholic service, which makes a strong appeal to
the senses, as well as to the emotions, was eminently
suited to musical illustration. He thought
his chance lay in the fact that the function assigned
to music in the ceremonial is mainly decorative,
and that it would be possible to develop
still further its emotional side. The Church
employs music to enforce and embellish the
Word. But the expansion of music is always
controlled and in some sense limited by the
Word&mdash;for the prescribed words are not subject
to change. Liszt, however, came to interpret
the Catholic ritual in a histrionic spirit, and
tried to make his music reproduce the words not
only as <i lang="la">ancilla theologica et ecclesiastica</i>, but also
as <i lang="la">ancilla dramaturgica</i>. The influence of Wagner's
operatic method, as it appears in Tannhäuser,
Lohengrin, and Das Rheingold, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
abundantly evident; but the result of this influence
is more curious than convincing. By the
application of Wagner's system of Leitmotive to
the text of the mass, Liszt succeeded in establishing
some similarity between different movements,
and so approached uniformity of diction. It
will be seen, for example, that his way of identifying
the motive of the Gloria with that of the
Resurrexit and that of the Hosanna, or the motive
of the Sanctus and the Christie Eleison with
that of the Benedictus, and also his way of repeating
the principal preceding motives in the
'Dona nobis pacem,' especially the restatement,
at its close, of the powerful motive of the Credo,
has given to the work a musical unity which is
not always in very clear accordance with the text.</p>

<p>"In the Hungarian Coronation Mass (<span lang="de">Ungarische
Krönungsmesse</span>, 1866-7) Liszt aimed at
characteristic national colour, and tried to attain
it by persistently putting forward some of the
melodic formulæ common to music of the Hungarian
type which occurs in the national Rakoczy
March and in numberless popular tunes&mdash;or
an emphatic melisma known to everybody
through the famous Rhapsodies. From beginning
to end the popular Hungarian element is
represented by devices of this kind in a manner
which is always ingenious and well suited to the
requirements of a national audience.</p>

<p>"But the style of the entire Mass is as incongruous
as a gipsy musician in a church vestment&mdash;doubly
strange to students of the present day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
who in Liszt's Rhapsodies and Brahms' <span lang="de">Ungarische
Tänze</span> have become familiar with the rhythmical
and melodic phrases of the Hungarian
gipsy idiom, and who all along have known them
in their most mundane aspect. Apart, however,
from its incongruities of style, the Offertorium
is a shapely composition with a distinct stamp
of its own.</p>

<p>"Liszt's manner of writing for solo and choral
voices is generally practical and effective. The
voice-parts are carefully written so as to lessen
the difficulties of intonation which the many far-fetched
modulations involve, and are skilfully
disposed in point of sonority. The orchestration,
always efficient, is frequently rich and beautiful."</p>

<p>The opinion on this work, expressed in the
<i lang="de">Tageblatt</i> by Dr. Leopold Schmidt (who used to
be an uncompromising opponent of Liszt), is illuminative
of the present status of the Liszt cult:</p>

<p>"The <span lang="de">Graner Messe</span> is the older of Liszt's two
Hungarian festival masses, and was composed in
1855. The dispute as to its significance has lost
its point in these days of emancipation from the
embarrassments and prejudices of a former generation.
In church music, as in everything else,
we now allow every writer to express his personality,
and a personality with the poetic qualities
of Liszt wins our sympathies at the outset....
The dramatic insistence on diverse details diminishes
the grandeur of the style; this method is
out of place here, and is no adequate substitute
for the might of the older form-language. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
the other peculiar traits of Liszt we find here: the
pictorial element, the unconsciously theatrical
(Wagner's influence is strongly felt), and the preponderating
of the instrumental over the vocal.
Nevertheless, the <span lang="de">Graner Messe</span> is probably
Liszt's most important and most personal creation.
The touching entreaty of the Kyrie, the
beginning of the Gloria with its fabulously pictorial
effect, the F-sharp major part of the Credo
are beauties of a high order. The final portions
are less inspired, the impression is weakened; but
we learn to love this work for many tender lyric
passages, for the original treatment of the text,
and the genuine piety which pervades and ennobles
it." This mass was sung at the Worcester
festival in 1909 under the conductorship of
Arthur Mees.</p>

<p>In St. Elisabeth, which is published as a concert
oratorio, Dannreuther thinks that Liszt
has produced something like an opera sacra.
Lina Ramann said that when the work was performed
with scenic accessories it came as a surprise
to the composer. He took his cue from the
order of Moritz v. Schwindt's frescoes, which
illustrate the history of Elisabeth of Hungary in
the restored hall of the Wartburg at Eisenach
and planned six scenes for which Otto Roquette
furnished the verse. The scenes are: the arrival
of the child from Hungary&mdash;a bright sunny picture;
the rose miracle&mdash;a forest and garden
scene; the Crusaders&mdash;a picture of Medæival
pageantry; Elisabeth's expulsion from the Wartburg&mdash;a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span>
stormy nocturne; Elisabeth's death,
solemn burial, and canonisation. Five sections
belong to the dramatic presentation of the story.
The sixth and last, the burial and canonisation,
is an instrumental movement which serves as a
prologue. The leitmotive, five in number, consist
of melodies of a popular type.</p>

<p>William J. Henderson, who can hardly be accused
of being a <span lang="de">Lisztianer</span>, wrote of the St. Elisabeth&mdash;after
a performance some years ago in
Brooklyn at the Academy of Music, under the
conductorship of Walter Hall&mdash;as follows:</p>

<p>"To the great majority of the hearers, and to
most of the performers, the work must have been
a novelty, and had the attraction of curiosity.
It is an early attempt at that dramatic narration,
with an illusive 'atmosphere' supplied by the orchestra,
which has been so extensively practised
since its composition. If Liszt had had the advantage
of his own experiment, and of the subsequent
failures and successes of other composers
in the same attempt, no doubt his work would
have been more uniformly successful. As it is,
no work which is heard in New York but once
in twenty years can be called a popular success.
It is true that it is worth a hearing oftener than
that. True, also, that in Prague, with the advantage
of costumes and scenery, it had a 'run'
of some sixty nights. There is a strongly patriotic
Magyar strain both in the book and in the
music, which would account for popular success
in Hungary, if not in Bohemia. But it must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span>
owned that the orchestral introduction is tedious,
and much of the music of the first part a very dry
recitative. In this respect, however, the work
acquires strength by going. The Crusaders'
March, which ends the first part, is so effective
an orchestral number that it is odd it should
never be done in the concert room. In the second
part, much of the music allotted to Elisabeth
is melodious and pathetic, the funeral scene and
the funeral march are effective ensemble writing,
and the last series of choruses, largely of churchly
'plain song' for the voices with elaborate orchestral
embroidery, are impressive and even
majestic."</p>

<p>In 1834 Liszt wrote to the <i lang="fr">Gazette Musicale</i> and
described his own and Berlioz's ideal of romantic
religious music thus: "For want of a better term
we may well call the new music Humanitarian.
It must be devotional, strong, and drastic, uniting&mdash;on
a colossal scale&mdash;the theatre and the
church, dramatic and sacred, superb and simple,
fiery and free, stormy and calm, translucent and
emotional." Berlioz played up to this romantic
programme even better than Liszt. Need we adduce
the tremendous Requiem! Liszt's <span lang="de">Graner-messe</span>
follows a close second.</p>

<p>Even if Liszt's bias was essentially histrionic
his oratorio Christus (1863-1873) is his largest
and most sustained effort and the magnum opus
of his later years; you may quite agree with
Dannreuther that its conception is Roman Catholic,
devotional, and contemplative in a Roman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
Catholic sense both in style and intended effect.
It contains nothing that is not in some way connected
with the Catholic ritual or the Catholic
spirit; and, more than any other work of its composer,
continues our critic, recognises and obeys
the restrictions imposed by the surroundings of
the Church service. The March of the Three
Kings was inspired by a picture in the Cologne
Cathedral. The Beatitudes and the Stabat Mater
Dolorosa contain pathetic and poignant writing.</p>

<p>"Liszt's Thirteenth Psalm is of especial importance,
because the epoch-making ecclesiastical
music of the great composer is as yet so little
known in America," declares Mr. Finck. "This
is the real music of the future for the church, and
it is inspired as few things are in the whole range
of music. Liszt himself considered it one of his
master-works. In one of his letters to Brendel,
he says that it 'is one of those I have worked out
most fully, and contains two fugue movements
and a couple of passages which were written with
tears of blood.' He had reason to write with
tears of blood; he had given to the world a new
orchestral form, had found new paths for sacred
music, had done more as a missionary for his art
than any other three masters, yet contemporaneous
criticism was as bitter against him as if he
had been an invading Hun. To him the Psalmist's
words, 'How long shall they that hate me,
be exalted against me?' had a meaning which
could indeed be recorded only in 'tears of
blood.' There is a pathos in this psalm that one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
would seek for in vain in any other sacred work
since Bach's St. Matthew's Passion. Liszt himself
has well described it in the letter referred to
(vol. II, p. 72): 'Were any one of my more recent
works likely to be performed at a concert with
orchestra and chorus, I would recommend this
psalm. Its poetic subject welled up plenteously
out of my soul; and besides I feel as if the musical
form did not roam about beyond the given
tradition. It requires a lyrical tenor; in his song
he must be able to pray, to sigh, and lament, to
become exalted, pacified, and biblically inspired.
Orchestra and chorus, too, have great demands
made upon them. Superficial or ordinarily careful
study would not suffice.'"</p>

<p>This superb psalm, performed at the recent
Birmingham Musical Festival, recalls to an English
critic an interesting comment of the composer's
in regard to that particular work. When Sir
Alexander Mackenzie met Liszt in Florence several
years ago, Sir Alexander said he was glad
to tell him (Liszt) that a performance of his Thirteenth
Psalm had been announced in England.
A grim smile passed over the face of the great
composer as he replied: "<span lang="de">O Herr, wie lang</span>?"
("O Lord, how long?"), the opening words of
the psalm.</p>

<p>Mr. Richard Aldrich writes of the Angelus as
follows:</p>

<p>"The little Angelus of Liszt is one of the very
few pieces of chamber music that he composed&mdash;his
genius was more at home upon the pianoforte,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>
in the orchestra and in the massive effects
of choral singing. This piece has the character
suggested in its subtitle: 'Prayer to the Guardian
Angels,' and is an expression of the deeply
religious, mystical side of his nature that led him
to take holy orders in the Church of Rome. It
was originally written for a string quartet, but
the master added a fifth part for contrabass for
a performance of it given in London in 1884 by
a large string orchestra under the direction of his
pupil, Walter Bache. It is given this afternoon
in this form. The sense of yearning, of aspiration
and of spiritual elevation toward celestial
things is what the composer has aimed to embody
in the music. After brief preluding on the muted
strings (without the contrabass) the first violins
take up a sustained cantabile that soon rises to
a fervent climax, fortissimo, and breaking into
triplets reaches the highest positions on the first
violin, accompanied by full and vibrant harmony
on the other instruments, as though publishing
feelings of the utmost exaltation. There is a
pause and the piece ends with the quiet feeling
in which it began."</p>

<p>"A most welcome novelty is the Chorus of Angels,
composed by Liszt in 1849 for the celebration
of the hundredth birthday of Goethe," said
Mr. Finck. "It is a setting of some of the most
mystical lines in Faust, originally written for mixed
voices and pianoforte, and subsequently arranged
for women's voices and harp. Mr. Damrosch
used Zoellner's arrangement for choir and orchestra,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
and in this version it proved to be one of the
most ethereal and fascinating of Liszt's creations.</p>

<p>"Now that Mr. Damrosch has begun to explore
the stores of Liszt's choral music he will
doubtless bring to light many more of these hidden
treasures. In doing so he will simply follow
in the footsteps of his father, who was one of
Liszt's dearest friends, and who steadily preached
his gospel in New York. Of this good work an
interesting illustration is given in the eighth volume
of Liszt's letters, issued a few weeks ago by
Breitkopf &amp; Härtel. On December 27, 1876,
Liszt wrote to Leopold Damrosch:</p>

<blockquote><p>"'<span class="smcap">Esteemed Friend</span>: A few days ago I sent
you the score of my <span lang="fr">Triomphe funèbre du Tasse</span>.
This funeral ode came into my mind on the street
of Tasso's Lament and Triumph, in which I often
walk on the way to my residence on the
Monte Mario. The enclosed commentary on it&mdash;based
on the Tasso biography of Pier Antonio
Serassi&mdash;I beg you to print on your concert programme
in a good English translation.</p>

<p>"'I trust that this work may be received in
New York with the same favor that has been accorded
to some of my other compositions. Amid
the incessant European fault-finding, the American
kindness gives me some consolation. Once
more, I thank my esteemed friend Damrosch for
his admirable interpretations of my works, and
remain his cordially devoted</p>

<p class="sig">
"'<span class="smcap">Franz Liszt</span>.'"<br />
</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p>


<h3>THE RAKOCZY MARCH</h3>

<p>When Prince Franz Rakoczy II (1676-1735),
with his young wife, the Princess Amalie Caroline
of Hesse, made his state entry into his capital of
Eperjes, his favourite musician, the court violinist
Michael Barna, composed a march in honour
of the illustrious pair and performed it with his
orchestra. This march had originally a festive
character, but was revised by Barna. He had
heard that his noble patron, after having made
peace with the Emperor Leopold I in 1711, was,
in spite of the general amnesty, again planning a
national rising against the Austrian house. Barna
flung himself at the prince's feet and with tears
in his eyes, cried "O gracious Prince, you abandon
happiness to chase nothing!" To touch his
master's heart he took his violin and played the
revised melody with which he had welcomed the
prince, then happy and in the zenith of his power.
Rakoczy died in Turkey, where he, with some
faithful followers, among them the gipsy chief
Barna, lived in exile.</p>

<p>This Rakoczy March, full of passion, temperament,
sorrow, and pain, soon became popular
among the music loving gipsies as well as among
the Hungarian people. The first copy of the
Rakoczy March came from Carl Vaczek, of Jaszo,
in Hungary, who died in 1828, aged ninety-three.
Vaczek was a prominent dilettante in
music, who had often appeared as flautist before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
the Vienna Court, and enjoyed the reputation of
a great musical scholar. Vaczek heard the Rakoczy
March from a granddaughter of Michael
Barna, a gipsy girl of the name of Panna Czinka,
who was famous in her time for her beauty and
her noble violin playing throughout all Hungary.
Vaczek wrote down the composition and handed
the manuscript to the violinist Ruzsitska. He
used the <span lang="de">Rakoczy Lied</span> as the basis of a greater
work by extending the original melody by a
march and a "battle music." All three parts
formed a united whole.</p>

<p>The original melody composed by Michael
Barna remained, however, the one preferred by
the Hungarian people. In the Berlioz transcription
the composition of Ruzsitska was partially
employed. Berlioz worked together the original
melody; that is, the <span lang="de">Rakoczy Lied</span> proper, and
the battle music of Ruzsitska and placed them
in his <span lang="fr">Damnation de Faust</span>.</p>

<p>The Rakoczy March owes its greatest publicity
to the above named Panna Czinka. The gipsy
girl's great talent as a violinist was recognised
by her patron, Joann von Lanyi, who had her
educated in the Upper Hungarian city of Rozsnyo,
where as a pupil of a German kapellmeister
she received adequate musical instruction.
When she was fifteen she married a gipsy, who
was favourably known as the player of the viola
de gamba in Hungary. With her husband and
his two brothers, who also were good musicians,
she travelled through all Hungary and attracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
great attention, especially by the Rakoczy March.
Later her orchestra, over which she presided till
her death, consisted only of her sons. Her favourite
instrument, a noble Amati, which had
been presented to her by the Archbishop of
Czaky, was, in compliance with her wishes expressed
in life, buried with her.</p>

<p>The Rakoczy March has meanwhile undergone
countless revisions, of which the most important
is beyond doubt that of Berlioz.</p>

<p>Berlioz composed this march while in Hungary,
and had it performed there. Its first performance
at Pesth led to a scene of excitement
which is one of the best-remembered incidents in
Berlioz's life. In consequence of its success,
Berlioz was asked to leave the original score in
Pesth, which he did; requesting, however, to be
furnished with a copy without the Coda, as he
intended to rewrite that section. The new Coda
is the one always played now, the old one having
indeed disappeared.</p>

<p>Liszt's arrangement of the same march, it may
be remembered, led to a debate in the Hungarian
Diet, in which M. Tisza spoke of the march as
the work of Franz Rakoczy II. He was wrong;
and so was Berlioz mistaken in saying that it is
by an unknown composer. Its real author, according
to a statement quoted by Liszt's biographer,
Miss Ramann, was a military band master
named Scholl. Liszt had really made his transcription
in 1840, but refrained, out of respect for
Berlioz, from publishing it till 1870.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p>




<h2>VI<br />

MIRRORED BY HIS CONTEMPORARIES</h2>


<h3>VON LENZ</h3>

<p>The Russian councillor and the author of the
well-known work, <span lang="fr">Beethoven et Ses Trois Styles</span>,
has contributed quite a small library of articles
on Liszt, but as it is impossible to quote all of
them, we select the following, which refers more
particularly to his own intimacy and first acquaintance
with the great musician:</p>

<p>"In 1828 I had come to Paris, at the age of
nineteen, to continue my studies there, and, moreover,
as before, to take lessons on the piano; now,
however, with Kalkbrenner. Kalkbrenner was
a man of Hebrew extraction, born in Berlin; and
in Paris under Charles X he was the Joconde of
the drawing-room piano. Kalkbrenner was a
Knight of the Legion of Honour, and the fair
Camille Mock, afterward Madame Pleyel, who
was not indifferent to Chopin or Liszt, was the
favourite pupil of the irresistible Kalkbrenner.
I heard her, between Kalkbrenner and Onslow,
play in the sextuor of the last named composer
at the house of Baron Trémont, a tame musical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
Mæcenas of that day in Paris. She played the
piano as a pretty Parisian wears an elegant shoe.
Nevertheless I was in danger of becoming Kalkbrenner's
pupil, but my stars and Liszt willed it
otherwise. Already on the way to Kalkbrenner
(who plays a note of his now?), I came to the
boulevards, and read on the theatre bills of the
day, which had much attraction for me, the announcement
of an extra concert to be given by
Liszt at the Conservatoire (it was in November),
with the piano concerto of Beethoven, in E flat,
at the head. At that time Beethoven was, and
not in Paris only, a Paracelsus in the concert
room. I only knew this much of him, that I had
been very much afraid of the very black-looking
notes in his D-major trio and choral fantasia,
which I had once and again looked over in a
music shop of my native town, Riga, in which
there was much more done in business than in
music.</p>

<p>"If any one had told me as I stood there innocently,
and learned from the factotum that there
were such things as piano concertos by Beethoven,
that I should ever write six volumes in
German and two in French on Beethoven! I had
heard of a septet, but the musician who wrote that
was called J. N. Hummel.</p>

<p>"From the bill on the boulevards I concluded,
however, that anyone who could play a concerto
of Beethoven in public must be a very wonderful
fellow, and of quite a different breed from Kalkbrenner,
the composer of the fantasia, Effusio<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
Musica. That this Effusio was mere rubbish I
already understood, young and heedless though
I was.</p>

<p>"In this way, on the then faithful boulevards of
Paris, I met for the first time in my life the name
of Liszt, which was to fill the world. This bill of
the concert was destined to exert an important influence
on my life. I can still see, after so many
years, the colours of the important paper&mdash;thick
monster letters on a yellow ground&mdash;the
fashionable colour at the time in Paris. I went
straight to Schlesinger's, then the musical exchange
of Paris, Rue Richelieu.</p>

<p>"'Where does Mr. Liszt live?' I asked, and
pronounced it Litz, for the Parisians have never
got any further with the name of Liszt than Litz.</p>

<p>"The address of Liszt was Rue Montholon;
they gave it me at Schlesinger's without hesitation.
But when I asked the price of <i>Litz</i>, and
expressed my wish to take lessons from him, they
all laughed at me, and the shopmen behind the
counters tittered, and all said at once, 'He never
gives a lesson; he is no professor of the piano!'</p>

<p>"I felt that I must have asked something very
foolish. But the answer, no professor of the piano,
pleased me nevertheless, and I went straightway
to the Rue Montholon.</p>

<p>"Liszt was at home. That was a great rarity,
said his mother, an excellent woman with a true
German heart, who pleased me very much; her
Franz was almost always in church, and no longer
occupied himself with music at all. Those were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
the days when Liszt wished to become a Saint-Simonist.
It was a great time, and Paris the
centre of the world. There lived Rossini and
Cherubini, also Auber, Halévy, Berlioz and the
great violinist, Baillot; the poet, Victor Hugo,
had lately published his Orientales, and Lamartine
was recovering from the exertion of his
<span lang="fr">Méditations Poétiques</span>. Georges Sand was not
yet fairly discovered; Chopin not yet in Paris.
Marie Taglioni danced tragedies at the Grand
Opéra; Habeneck, a German conductor, directed
the picked orchestra of the Conservatoire,
where the Parisians, a year after Beethoven's
death, for the first time heard something of him.
Malibran and Sontag sang at the Italian Opéra
the Tournament duet in Tancredi. It was in
the winter of 1828-9 Baillot played quartets;
Rossini gave his <span lang="fr">Guillaume Tell</span> in the spring.</p>

<p>"In Liszt I found a thin, pale-looking young
man, with infinitively attractive features. He
was lounging, deep in thought, lost in himself on
a broad sofa, and smoking a long Turkish pipe,
with three pianos standing around him. He made
not the slightest movement on my entrance, but
rather appeared not to notice me at all. When I
explained to him that my family had directed
me to Kalkbrenner, but I came to him because he
wished to play a concerto by Beethoven in public,
he seemed to smile. But it was only as the
glitter of a dagger in the sun.</p>

<p>"'Play me something,' he said, with indescribable
satire, which, however, had nothing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
wound in it, just as no harm is done by summer
lightning.</p>

<p>"'I play the sonata for the left hand (<span lang="fr">pour la
main gauche principale</span>), by Kalkbrenner,' I said,
and thought I had said something correct.</p>

<p>"'That I will not hear; I don't know it, and
don't wish to,' he answered, with increased satire
and suppressed scorn.</p>

<p>"I felt that I was playing a pitiful part&mdash;doing
penance, perhaps, for others, for Parisians;
but I said to myself, the more I looked at this
young man, that this Parisian (for such he seemed
to be by his whole appearance) must be a genius,
and I would not without further skirmishes be
beaten off the field. I went with modest but firm
step to the piano standing nearest to me.</p>

<p>"'Not that one,' cried Liszt, without in the
least changing his half reclining position on the
sofa; 'there, to that other one.'</p>

<p>"I stepped to the second piano. At that time
I was absorbed in the '<span lang="de">Aufforderung zum Tanz</span>';
I had married it for love two years before, and
we were still in our honeymoon. I came from
Riga, where, after the unexampled success of the
'<span lang="de">Freischütz</span>,' we had reached the piano compositions
of Weber, which did not happen till long
after in Paris, where the <span lang="de">Freischütz</span> was called
<span lang="fr">Robin des Bois</span>(!). I learnt from good masters.
When I tried to play the first three A-flats of the
<span lang="de">Aufforderung</span>, the instrument gave no sound.
What was the matter? I played forcibly, and
the notes sounded quite piano. I seemed to myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
quite laughable, but without taking any notice
I went bravely on to the first entry of the
chords; then Liszt rose, stepped up to me, took
my right hand without more ado off the instrument,
and asked:</p>

<p>"'What is that? That begins well!'</p>

<p>"'I should think so,' I said; 'that is by Weber.'</p>

<p>"'Has he written for the piano, too?' he asked
with astonishment. 'We only know here the
<span lang="fr">Robin des Bois</span>.'</p>

<p>"'Certainly he has written for the piano, and
more finely than any one!' was my equally astonished
answer. 'I have in my trunk,' I added,
'two polonaises, two rondos, four sets of variations,
four solo sonatas, one which I learned with
Wehrstaedt, in Geneva, which contains the whole
of Switzerland, and is incredibly beautiful; there
all the fair women smile at once. It is in A flat.
You can have no idea how beautiful it is! Nobody
has written so for the piano, you may believe
me.'</p>

<p>"I spoke from my heart, and with such conviction
that I made a visible impression on Liszt.
He answered in a winning tone: 'Now, pray bring
me all that out of your trunk and I will give you
lessons for the first time in my life, because you
have introduced me to Weber on the piano, and
also were not frightened at this heavy instrument.
I ordered it on purpose, so as to have played ten
scales when I had played one. It is an altogether
impracticable piano. It was a sorry joke
of mine. But why did you talk about Kalkbrenner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
and a sonata by him for the left hand?
But now play me that thing of yours that begins
so seriously. There, that is one of the finest
instruments in Paris&mdash;there, where you were
going to sit down first.'</p>

<p>"Now I played with all my heart the '<span lang="de">Aufforderung</span>,'
but only the melody marked <span lang="de">wiegend</span>,
in two parts. Liszt was charmed with
the composition. 'Now bring that,' he said;
'I must have a turn at that!'</p>

<p>"At our first lesson Liszt could not tear himself
away from the piece. He repeated single
parts again and again, sought increased effects,
gave the second part of the minor in octaves and
was inexhaustible in praise of Weber. With
Weber's sonata in A flat Liszt was perfectly delighted.
I had studied it in much love with Wehrstaedt
at Geneva, and gave it throughout in the
spirit of the thing. This Liszt testified by the
way in which he listened, by lively gestures and
movements, by exclamations about the beauty of
the composition, so that we worked at it with
both our heads! This great romantic poem for
the piano begins, as is well known, with a tremolo
of the bass on A flat. Never had a sonata
opened in such a manner! It is as sunshine
over the enchanted grove in which the action
takes place. The restlessness of my master became
so great over the first part of this allegro
that even before its close he pushed me aside with
the words, 'Wait! wait! What is that? I must
go at that myself!' Such an experience one had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span>
never met with. Imagine a genius like Liszt,
twenty years old, for the first time in the presence
of such a master composition of Weber, before
the apparition of this knight in golden armour!</p>

<p>"He tried his first part over and over again
with the most various intentions. At the passage
in the dominant (E flat) at the close of the first
part (a passage, properly speaking, the sonata
has not; one might call it a charming clarinet
phrase interwoven with the idea) Liszt said, 'It
is marked legato. Now, would not one do it
better <i>pp.</i> and staccato? Yet there is a leggieramente
as well." He experimented in all directions.
In this way it was given me to observe
how one genius looks upon another and appreciates
him for himself.</p>

<p>"'Now what is the second part of the first allegro
like?' asked Liszt, and looked at it. It
seemed to me simply impossible that any one
could read at sight this thematic development,
with octaves piled one on another for whole pages.</p>

<p>"'This is very difficult,' said Liszt, 'yet harder
still is the coda,' and the combining of the whole
in this close, here at this centrifugal figure (thirteenth
bar before the end). The passage (in
the second part, naturally in the original key of
A flat), moreover, we must not play staccato;
that would be somewhat affected; but we must
also not play it legato; it is too thin for that.
We'll do it spiccato; let us swim between the
two waters.'</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>

<p>"If I had wondered at the fire and life, the
pervading passion in the delivery of the first part
by Liszt, I was absolutely astonished in the second
part at his triumphant repose and certainty,
and the self-control with which he reserved all
his force for the last attack. 'So young, and so
wise!' I said to myself, and was bewildered, absorbed,
discouraged.</p>

<p>"In the andante of the sonata I learned in the
first four bars more from Liszt than in years from
my former good teachers. 'You must give out
this opening just as Baillot plays a quartet; the
accompanying parts consist of the detached semiquavers,
but Baillot's parts are very good, and
yours must not be worse. You have a good
hand, and can learn it. Try it, it is not easy; one
might move stones with it. I can just imagine
how the hussars of the piano tear it to pieces!
I shall never forget that it is through you I have
learned to know the sonata. Now you shall
learn something from me; I will tell you all I
know about our instrument.'</p>

<p>"The demi-semiquaver figure in the bass (at
the thirty-fifth bar of this andante) is heard only
too often given out as a 'passage' for the left
hand; the figure should be delivered caressingly&mdash;it
should be an amorous violoncello solo. In
this manner Liszt played it, but gave out in fearful
majesty the outbursts of octaves on the second
subject in C major, that Henselt calls the 'Ten
Commandments'&mdash;an excellent designation.
And now, as for menuetto capriccioso and rondo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
of the sonata. How shall I describe what Liszt
made of these genial movements on a first acquaintance?
How he treated the clarinet solo
in the trio of the menuetto, and the winding of
the rondo? How Liszt glorified Weber on the
piano; how like an Alexander he marched in
triumphant procession with Weber (especially
in the '<span lang="de">Concertstück</span>') through Europe, the world
knows, and future times will speak of it."</p>


<h3>BERLIOZ</h3>

<p>In the preface to Berlioz's published Correspondence,
is the following account of Liszt's
evenings with the great French composer and his
first wife:</p>

<p>"The first years of their married life were full
of both hardship and charm. The new establishment,
the revenues of which amounted, to begin
with, to a lump sum of 300 francs, was migratory&mdash;at
one time in the Rue Neuve Saint-Marc,
at another at Montmartre, and then in a
certain Rue Saint-Denis of which it is impossible
now to find trace. Liszt lived in the Rue de
Province, and paid frequent visits to the young
couple; they spent many evenings together, when
the great pianist would play Beethoven's sonatas
in the dark, in order to produce a greater impression.
In his turn, Berlioz took up the cudgels
for his friend in the newspapers to which
he was accustomed to contribute&mdash;the <i lang="fr">Correspondent</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
the <i lang="fr">Revue Européenne</i> and, lastly, the
<i lang="fr">Débats</i>. How angry he became when the volatile
Parisians attempted to espouse the cause of
Thalberg against his rival! A lion showing his
teeth could not have appeared more formidable.
Death to him who dared to say Liszt was not the
first pianist of all time, past, present, and to come!
And when the critic enunciated any musical
axiom as being beyond discussion, he really
thought it so, for he never went against his own
convictions, and bore himself in regard to mediocrities
with a contempt savouring of rudeness.
Liszt after all gave him back measure for measure,
transcribing the <span lang="fr">Symphonie Fantastique</span>,
and playing at the numerous concerts which the
young maestro gave during the winter with ever
increasing success."</p>

<p>In 1830, after many repeated failures Berlioz
won the much coveted "Prix de Rome" at the
Paris Conservatoire, which entitled him to reside
three years in Italy at the expense of the
French Government. Before he started for the
musical land of promise, Berlioz gave two concerts,
and relates in his Memoirs the circumstances
under which he first became acquainted
with Liszt:</p>

<p>"On the day before the concert I received a
visit from Liszt, whom I had never yet seen. I
spoke to him of Goethe's Faust, which he was
obliged to confess he had not read, but about
which he soon became as enthusiastic as myself.
We were strongly attracted to one another, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
our friendship has increased in warmth and depth
ever since. He was present at the concert, and
excited general attention by his applause and enthusiasm."</p>

<p>When Berlioz gave his first concert in Paris,
after his return from Italy, he wrote:</p>

<p>"Weber's <span lang="de">Concertstück</span>, played by Liszt with
the overpowering vehemence which he always
puts into it, obtained a splendid success. Indeed
I so far forgot myself, in my enthusiasm for Liszt,
as publicly to embrace him on the stage&mdash;a stupid
impropriety which might have covered us
both with ridicule had the spectators been disposed
to laugh."</p>

<p>Liszt's and Berlioz's intimacy was renewed at
Prague, as will be seen from the composer's
account:</p>

<p>"I gave six concerts at Prague, either in the
theatre or in Sophie's concert room. At the latter
I remember to have had the delight of performing
my symphony of Romeo and Juliet for
Liszt for the first time. Several movements of
the work were already known in Prague....</p>

<p>"That day, having already encored several
pieces, the public called for another, which the
band implored me not to repeat; but as the
shouts continued Mr. Mildner took out his watch,
and held it up to show that the hour was too far
advanced to allow of the orchestra remaining
till the end of the concert if the piece was played
a second time, since there was an opera at 7
o'clock. This clever pantomime saved us. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
the end of the séance, just as I was begging Liszt
to serve as my interpreter, and thank the excellent
singers, who had been devoting themselves
to the careful study of my choruses for the last
three weeks and had sung them so bravely, he
was interrupted by them with an inverse proposal.
Having exchanged a few words with
them in German, he turned to me and said:
'My commission is changed; these gentlemen
rather desire me to thank you for the pleasure
you have given them in allowing them to perform
your work, and to express their delight at
your evident satisfaction.'"</p>

<p>At a banquet in honour of Berlioz the composer
says:</p>

<p>"Liszt was unanimously chosen to make the
presentation speech instead of the chairman, who
had not sufficient acquaintance with the French
language. At the first toast he made me, in the
name of the assembly, an address at least a
quarter of an hour long, with a warmth of spirit,
an abundance of ideas and a choice of expressions,
which excited the envy of the orators present,
and by which I was profoundly touched.
Unhappily, if he spoke well, he also drank well&mdash;the
treacherous cup inaugurated by the convives
held such floods of champagne that all
Liszt's eloquence made shipwreck in it. Belloni
and I were still in the streets of Prague at 2
o'clock in the morning persuading him to wait
for daylight before exchanging shots at two paces
with a Bohemian who had drunk better than himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
When day came we were not without anxiety
about Liszt, whose concert was to take place
at noon. At half-past eleven he was still sleeping;
at last some one awoke him; he jumped into a
cab, reached the hall, was received with three
rounds of applause and played as I believe he has
never played in his life before."</p>

<p>Berlioz, in his <span lang="fr">À Travers Chants</span>, relates the
following incident:</p>

<p>"One day Liszt was playing the adagio of
Beethoven's sonata in C-sharp minor before a little
circle of friends, of which I formed part, and
followed the manner he had then adopted to gain
the applause of the fashionable world. Instead
of those long sustained notes, and instead of strict
uniformity of rhythm, he overlaid it with trills
and the tremolo. I suffered cruelly, I must confess&mdash;more
than I have ever suffered in hearing
our wretched cantatrices embroider the grand
air in the '<span lang="de">Freischütz</span>'; for to this torture was
added my distress at seeing an artist of his stamp
falling into the snare which, as a rule, only besets
mediocrities. But what was to be done? Liszt
was then like a child, who when he stumbles, likes
to have no notice taken, but picks himself up
without a word and cries if anybody holds him
out a hand. He had picked himself up splendidly.
A few years afterward one of those men of
heart and soul that artists are always happy to
come across (Mr. Legouvé), had invited a small
party of friends&mdash;I was one of them.</p>

<p>"Liszt came during the evening, and finding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
the conversation engaged on the valuable piece
by Weber, and why when he played it at a recent
concert he had received a rather sorry reception,
he went to the piano to reply in this manner to
Weber's antagonists. The argument was unanswerable,
and we were obliged to acknowledge that
a work of genius was misunderstood. As he
was about to finish, the lamp which lighted the
apartment appeared very soon to go out; one of
us was going to relight it: 'Leave it alone,' I said
to him; 'if he will play the adagio of Beethoven's
sonata in C-sharp minor this twilight will not
spoil it.'</p>

<p>"'Willingly,' said Liszt; 'but put the lights
out altogether; cover the fire that the obscurity
may be more complete.' Then, in the midst of
darkness, after a moment's pause, rose in its
sublime simplicity the noble elegy he had once so
strangely disfigured; not a note, not an accent was
added to the notes and the accents of the author.
It was the shade of Beethoven, conjured up by the
virtuoso to whose voice we were listening. We
all trembled in silence, and when the last chord
had sounded no one spoke&mdash;we were in tears."</p>

<p>Berlioz in a letter to Liszt wrote as follows to
the pianist on his playing:</p>

<p>"On my return from Heckingen I stayed some
days longer at Stuttgart, a prey to new perplexities.
You, my dear Liszt, know nothing of these
uncertainties; it matters little to you whether the
town to which you go has a good orchestra, whether
the theatre be open or the manager place it at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
your disposal, etc. Of what use indeed would
such information be to you? With a slight modification
of the famous mot of Louis XIV you
may say with confidence, I myself am orchestra,
chorus, and conductor. I make my piano dream
or sing at pleasure, re-echo with exulting harmonies
and rival the most skilful bow in swiftness.
Neither theatre, nor long rehearsals, for
I want neither musicians nor music.</p>

<p>"Give me a large room and a grand piano, and
I am at once master of a great audience. I have
but to appear before it to be overwhelmed with
applause. My memory awakens, my fingers
give birth to dazzling fantasias, which call forth
enthusiastic acclamations. I have but to play
Schubert's Ave Maria or Beethoven's Adelaïde
to draw every heart to myself, and make each
one hold his breath. The silence speaks; admiration
is intense and profound. Then come
the fiery shells, a veritable bouquet of grand fireworks,
the acclamations of the public, flowers
and wreaths showered upon the priest of harmony
as he sits quivering on his tripod, beautiful young
women kissing the hem of his garment with tears
of sacred frenzy; the sincere homage of the serious,
the feverish applause forced from the envious,
the intent faces, the narrow hearts amazed
at their own expansiveness. And perhaps next
day the inspired young genius departs, leaving
behind him a trail of dazzling glory and enthusiasm.
It is a dream! It is one of those golden
dreams inspired by the name of Liszt or Paganini.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
But the composer who, like myself, must
travel to make his work known, has, on the contrary,
to nerve himself to a task which is never
ending, still beginning, and always unpleasant."</p>

<p>The well-known dramatist, Scribe, once wrote
a libretto for Berlioz, but in consequence of some
difficulty with the director of the Paris Grand
Opéra he demanded the return of the work, and
handed it over to Gounod, who subsequently wrote
the music. Berlioz devotes some space to these
proceedings in his Memoirs, and in the course of
his remarks says:</p>

<p>"When I saw Scribe, on my return to Paris, he
seemed slightly confused at having accepted my
offer, and taken back my poem. 'But, as you
know,' said he, '<span lang="fr">Il faut que le prêtre vive de
l'autêl.</span>' Poor fellow! he could not, in fact, have
waited; he has only some 200,000 or 300,000 per
annum, a house in town, three country houses
etc. Liszt made a capital pun when I repeated
Scribe's speech to him. 'Yes,' said he, 'by his
hotel'&mdash;comparing Scribe to an innkeeper."</p>


<h3>D'ORTIGUE</h3>

<p>D'Ortigue, who is better known as a theorist
than a composer and musical critic, was a great
admirer of Liszt, as may be seen by the following
extract from his writings:</p>

<p>"Beethoven is for Liszt a god, before whom he
bows his head. He considered him as a deliverer
whose arrival in the musical realm has been illustrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
through the liberty of poetical thought,
and through the abolishing of old dominating habits.
Oh, one must be present when he begins
with one of those melodies, one of those posies
which have long been called symphonies! One
must see his eyes when he opens them as if receiving
an inspiration from above, and when he
fixes them gloomily on the ground. One must
see him, hear him, and be silent.</p>

<p>"We feel here only too well how weak is the
expression of our imagination. He conquers everything
but his nerves; his head, hands and
whole body are in violent motion; in one word,
you see a dreadfully nervous man agitatedly
playing his piano!"</p>


<h3>BLAZE DE BURY</h3>

<p>Baron Blaze de Bury, in a musical feuilleton
contributed to the <i lang="fr">Revue des Deux Mondes</i>, no
doubt more in fun than ill feeling, wrote as follows
on Liszt and his Hungarian sword:</p>

<p>"We must have dancers, songstresses, and pianists.
We have enthusiasm and gold for their
tour de force. We abandon Petrarch in the
streets to bring Essler to the Capitol; we suffer
Beethoven and Weber to die of hunger, to give
a sword of honor to Mr. Liszt."</p>

<p>Liszt was furious when this met his eye, and
wrote immediately a long letter to the editor of
the <i lang="fr">Revue</i>, of which the following is the essential
passage:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>

<p>"The sword which has been given to me at
Pesth is a reward awarded by a nation under a
national form. In Hungary&mdash;in this country of
ancient and chivalrous manners&mdash;the sword has
a patriotic significance. It is the sign of manhood
par excellence; it is the arm of all men who
have the right to carry arms. While six out of
the most remarkable men of my country presented
it to me, with the unanimous acclamations
of my compatriots, it was to acknowledge me
again as a Hungarian after an absence of fifteen
years."</p>


<h3>OSCAR COMMETTANT</h3>

<p>Oscar Commettant, in one of his works, gives
the following satirical sketch of Liszt in the
height of his popularity in the Parisian concert
rooms:</p>

<p>"A certain great pianist, who is as clever a manager
as he is an admirable executant, pays women
at a rate of 25 frs. per concert to pretend to faint
away with pleasure in the middle of a fantasia
taken at such a rapid pace that it would have been
humanly impossible to finish it. The pianist
abruptly left his instrument to rush to the assistance
of the poor fainting lady, while everybody
in the room believed that, but for that accident,
the prodigious pianist would have completed the
greatest of miracles. It happened one night that
a woman paid to faint forgot her cue and fell fast
asleep. The pianist was performing Weber's
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span>. Reckoning on the fainting of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
female to interrupt the finale of the piece, he took
it in an impossible time. What could he do in
such a perplexing cause? Stumble and trip like
a vulgar pianist, or pretend to be stopped by a defective
memory? No; he simply played the part which
the faintress (excuse the word) ought to
have acted, and fainted away himself. People
crowded around the pianist, who had become
doubly phenomenal through his electric execution,
and his frail and susceptible organization.
They carried him out into the greenroom. The
men applauded as if they meant to bring down
the ceiling; the women waved their handkerchiefs
to manifest their enthusiasm, and the
faintress, on waking, fainted, perhaps really, with
despair of not having pretended to faint."</p>


<h3>LEON ESCUDIER</h3>

<p>The once celebrated musical publisher and
director of the Parisian Italian Opera season
gives the following description of Danton's statuette
of Liszt, which was exhibited in the Paris
salon half a century ago:</p>

<p>"The pianist is seated before a piano, which he
is about to destroy under him. His fingers multiply
at the ends of his hands; I should think so&mdash;Danton
made him ten at each hand. His hair
like a willow floats over his shoulders. One
would say that he is whistling. Now for the account.
Liszt saw the statue, and made a grimace.
He found that the sculptor had exaggerated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
the length of his hair. It was a criticism
really pulled by the hair. Danton knew it.</p>

<p>"But after Liszt had gone he went again to work
and made immediately a second statuette. In
this, one only sees a head of hair (the pianist is
seen from the back) always seated before the piano.
The head of hair, which makes one think
of a man hidden behind, plays the piano absolutely
like the first model. All the rest is the same."</p>

<p>Leon Escudier also relates an incident at one
of Henri Herz's concerts:</p>

<p>"A piece for four pianos was to be played.
Herz knew how to choose his competitors. The
three other pianists were Thalberg, Liszt, and
Moscheles. The room was crowded, as may be
imagined. The audience was calm at first; but
not without slight manifestations of impatience
quite natural under the circumstances. They
did not consider the regrettable habit that Liszt
had, at this epoch, to make people wait for him.
Punctuality, however, is the politeness of kings,
and Liszt was a king of the piano. Briefly, the
pianists gave up waiting for Liszt; but this resolution
was not taken without a little confusion
in the artists' room. The musical parts were
changed at the piano, and they were going to play
a trio instead of a quatour, when Liszt appeared.
It was time! They were about to commence
without him. While the four virtuosi seated
themselves they perceived that the musical parts
were not the same which belonged to them. In
the confusion which preceded their installation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
the parts got mixed, and No. 1 had before his
eyes the part of No. 3; the No. 2 had No. 1, and
so on. What was to be done?&mdash;rise and rearrange
the parts! The public was already disappointed
by the prolonged waiting that they had
experienced. They murmured. The four virtuosi
looked at each other sternly, not daring to
rise, when Herz took a heroic resolution, exclaiming:
'<span lang="fr">Courage! Allons toujours!</span>' And he gave
the signal in passing his fingers over the keyboard.
The others played, and the four great pianists
improvised each the part of the other. The public
did not notice the change, and finished by applauding
loudly."</p>


<h3>MOSENTHAL</h3>

<p>Anton Rubinstein's librettist, in some reminiscences
of his collaborateur says:</p>

<p>"It must have been in 1840 that I saw Rubinstein
for the first time, when scarcely ten years
old; he had travelled in Paris with his teacher,
and plucked his first laurels with his childish
hands. It was then that Franz Liszt, hearing
the boy play, and becoming acquainted with his
first compositions, with noble enthusiasm proclaimed
him the sole inheritor of his fame. The
prediction has been fulfilled; already in the fulness
of his activity, Liszt recognised in Rubinstein
a rival on equal footing with himself, and
since he has ceased to appear before the public
he has greeted Rubinstein as the sole ruler in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
the realm of pianists. When Rubinstein was
director of the Musical Society in Vienna, 1876,
and the élite of the friends of art gathered every
week in his hospitable house, I once had the
rare pleasure of hearing him and Liszt play, not
only successively during the same evening, but
also together on the piano. The question, which
of the two surpassed the other, recalled the old
problem whether Goethe or Schiller is the greatest
German poet. But when they both sat down
to play a new concerto by Rubinstein, which
Liszt, with incredible intuition, read at sight, it
was really as good as a play to watch the gray-haired
master, as, smiling good-naturedly, he
followed his young artist, and allowed himself,
as if on purpose, to be surpassed in fervor and
enthusiastic powers."</p>


<h3>MOSCHELES</h3>

<p>There are several allusions to Liszt in Moscheles'
Diary. Liszt visited London in 1840,
and Moscheles records:</p>

<p>"At one of the Philharmonic Concerts he
played three of my studies quite admirably.
Faultless in the way of execution, by his talent
he has completely metamorphosed these pieces;
they have become more his studies than mine.
With all that they please me, and I shouldn't like
to hear them played in any other way by him.
The Paganini studies too were uncommonly interesting
to me. He does anything he chooses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
and does it admirably; and those hands raised
aloft in the air come down but seldom, wonderfully
seldom, upon a wrong note. 'His conversation
is always brilliant,' adds Mrs. Moscheles.
'It is occasionally dashed with satire or spiced
with humour. The other day he brought me
his portrait, with his <span lang="fr">hommages respectueux</span> written
underneath; and what was the best "hommage"
of all he sat down to the piano, and played
me the Erl King, the Ave Maria and a charming
Hungarian piece.'"</p>

<p>Liszt was again in London in 1841, and Moscheles
records that at the Philharmonic Society's
concert, on July 14:</p>

<p>"The attention of the audience was entirely
centred upon Liszt. When he came forward to
play in Hummel's septet one was prepared to be
staggered, but only heard the well-known piece
which he plays with the most perfect execution,
storming occasionally like a Titan, but still in
the main free from extravagance; for the distinguishing
mark of Liszt's mind and genius is that
he knows perfectly the capability of the audience
and the style of music he brings before them, and
uses his powers, which are equal to everything,
merely as a means of eliciting the most varied
kinds of effects."</p>

<p>Mrs. Moscheles, in some supplementary notes
to her husband's Diary, says:</p>

<p>"Liszt and Moscheles were heard several times
together in the Preciosa variations, on which
Moscheles remarks: 'It seemed to me that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
were sitting together on Pegasus.' When Moscheles
showed him his F-sharp and D-minor
studies, which he had written for Michetti's
Beethoven Album, Liszt, in spite of their intricacies
and difficulties, played them admirably at
sight. He was a constant visitor at Moscheles'
house, often dropping in unexpectedly; and many
an evening was spent under the double fascination
of his splendid playing and brilliant conversation.
The other day he told us: 'I have played
a duet with Cramer; I was the poisoned mushroom,
and I had at my side my antidote of milk.'"</p>

<p>Moscheles attended the Beethoven Festival at
Bonn, in 1845, and on August 10 recorded in his
Diary:</p>

<p>"I am at the <span lang="fr">Hôtel de l'Étoile d'Or</span>, where are
to be found all the crowned heads of music&mdash;brown,
gray or bald. This is a rendezvous for
all ladies, old and young, fanatics for music, all
art judges, German and French reviewers and
English reporters; lastly, the abode of Liszt, the
absolute monarch, by virtue of his princely gifts,
outshining all else.... I have already seen and
spoken to colleagues from all the four quarters
of the globe; I was also with Liszt, who had his
hands full of business, and was surrounded with
secretaries and masters of ceremonies, while Chorley
sat quietly ensconced in the corner of a sofa.
Liszt too kissed me; then a few hurried and confused
words passed between us, and I did not see
him again until I met him afterwards in the concert
room."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>

<p>On August 12, Moscheles records:</p>

<p>"I was deeply moved when I saw the statue of
Beethoven unveiled, the more so because Hähnel
has obtained an admirable likeness of the immortal
composer. Another tumult and uproar
at the table d'hôte in the 'Stern' Hotel. I sat
near Bachez, Fischof and Vesque, Liszt in all
his glory, a suite of ladies and gentlemen in attendance
on him, Lola Montez among the former."</p>

<p>At the banquet after the unveiling of Beethoven's
statue at Bonn, Moscheles records:</p>

<p>"Immediately after the king's health had been
proposed, Wolff, the improvisatore, gave a toast
which he called the 'Trefoil.' It was to represent
the perfect chord&mdash;Spohr the key-note,
Liszt the connecting link between all parties, the
third, Professor Breidenstein, the dominant
leading all things to a happy solution. (Universal
applause.) Spohr proposes the health of
the Queen of England, Dr. Wolff that of Professor
Hähnel, the sculptor of the monument, and
also that of the brass founder. Liszt proposes
Prince Albert; a professor with a stentorian voice
is laughed and coughed down&mdash;people will not
listen to him; and then ensued a series of most
disgraceful scenes which originated thus: Liszt
spoke rather abstrusely upon the subject of the
festival. 'Here all nations are met to pay honour
to the master. May they live and prosper&mdash;the
Dutch, the English, the Viennese&mdash;who have
made a pilgrimage hither!' Upon this Chelard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
gets up in a passion, and screams out to Liszt,
'<span lang="fr">Vous avez oublié les Français.</span>'</p>

<p>"Many voices break in, a regular tumult ensues,
some for, some against the speaker. At
last Liszt makes himself heard, but in trying to
exculpate himself seems to get entangled deeper
and deeper in a labyrinth of words, seeking to
convince his hearers that he had lived fifteen
years among Frenchmen, and would certainly
not intentionally speak slightingly of them. The
contending parties, however, become more uproarious,
many leave their seats, the din becomes
deafening and the ladies pale with fright. The fête
is interrupted for a full hour, Dr. Wolff, mounting
a table, tries to speak, but is hooted down
three or four times, and at last quits the room,
glad to escape the babel of tongues. Knots of
people are seen disputing in every part of the great
salon, and, the confusion increasing, the cause
of dispute is lost sight of. The French and English
journalists mingle in this fray, by complaining
of omissions of all sorts on the part of the
festival committee. When the tumult threatens
to become serious the landlord hits upon the
bright idea of making the band play its loudest,
and this drowns the noise of the brawlers, who
adjourned to the open air.</p>

<p>"The waiters once more resumed their services,
although many of the guests, especially
ladies, had vanished. The contending groups outside
showed their bad taste and ridiculous selfishness,
for Vivier and some Frenchmen got Liszt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
among them, and reproached him in a most
shameful way. G. ran from party to party, adding
fuel to the fire; Chorley was attacked by a
French journalist; M. J. J. (Jules Janin) would
have it that the English gentleman, Wentworth
Dilke, was a German who had slighted him; I
stepped in between the two, so as at least to put
an end to this unfair controversy. I tried as well
as I could to soothe these overwrought minds,
and pronounced funeral orations over those who
had perished in this tempest of words. I alone
remained shot proof and neutral, so also did my
Viennese friends. By 6 o'clock in the evening
I became almost deaf from the noise, and was
glad to escape."</p>


<h3>DWIGHT</h3>

<p>John S. Dwight, the Boston musical critic, in an
article on Dr. von Bülow, written while travelling
in Germany with a friend, relates the following
interview with Liszt:</p>

<p>"It was in Berlin, in the winter of 1861, that
we had the privilege of meeting and hearing
Bülow. We were enjoying our first and only
interview with Liszt, who had come for a day or
two to the old <span lang="fr">Hôtel de Brandebourg</span>, where we
were living that winter. On the sofa sat his
daughter, Mrs. von Bülow, bearing his unmistakable
impress upon her features; the welcome
was cordial, and the conversation on the part of
both of them was lively and most interesting;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>
chiefly of course it was about music, artists, etc.,
and nothing delighted us more than the hearty
appreciation which Liszt expressed of Robert
Franz, then, strange as it may seem, but very little
recognised in Germany. Of some other composers
he seemed inclined to speak ironically
and even bitterly, as if smarting under some disappointment&mdash;perhaps
at the unreceptive mood
of the Berliners toward his own symphonic
poems, to whose glories Bülow had been labouring
to convert them.</p>

<p>"Before we had a chance to hint of one hope
long deferred, that of hearing Liszt play, he
asked, 'Have you heard Bülow?' alluding to
him more than once as the pianist to be heard&mdash;his
representative and heir, on whom his mantle
had verily fallen. Thinking it possible that there
was some new grand composition by some one of
his young disciples to be brought out, and that
he had come to Berlin to stand godfather, as it
were, to that, we modestly ventured to inquire.
He smilingly replied, 'No; I am here literally as
godfather, having come to the christening of my
grandchild.' Presently the conversation was interrupted
by a rap at the door, and in came with
lively step a little man, who threw open the furs
in which he was buried, Berlin fashion, and approached
the presence, bowed his head to the
paternal laying on of hands, and we were introduced
to Von Bülow."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>


<h3>HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN</h3>

<p>The author of the charming fairy tales, which
are still admired by young as well as old people,
in his usual graceful style, gives a description of
a Liszt concert in 1840:</p>

<p>"In Hamburg, at the City of London Hotel,
Liszt gave a concert. In a few minutes the hall
was crowded. I came too late, but I got the best
place&mdash;close upon the orchestra, where the
piano stood&mdash;for I was brought up by a back
staircase. Liszt is one of the kings in the realm
of music. My guide brought me to him, as I
have said, up a back stair, and I am not ashamed
to acknowledge this. The hall&mdash;even the side
rooms&mdash;beamed with lights, gold chains and
diamonds. Near me, on a sofa, reclined a young
Jewess, stout and overdressed. She looked like
a walrus with a fan. Grave Hamburg merchants
stood crowded together, as if they had important
business 'on 'Change' to transact. A smile rested
on their lips, as though they had just sold 'paper'
and won enormously. The Orpheus of mythology
could move stones and trees by his playing.
The new Liszt-Orpheus had actually electrified
them before he played. Celebrity, with its
mighty prestige, had opened the eyes and ears
of the people. It seemed as if they recognised
and felt already what was to follow. I myself felt
in the beaming of those many flashing eyes, and
that expectant throbbing of the heart, the approach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>
of the great genius who with bold hands
had fixed the limits of his art in our time. London,
that great capital of machinery, or Hamburg,
the trade emporium of Europe, is where one
should hear Liszt for the first time; there time
and place harmonise; and in Hamburg I was to
hear him. An electric shock seemed to thrill
the hall as Liszt entered. Most of the ladies rose.
A sunbeam flashed across each face, as though
every eye were seeing a dear, beloved friend. I
stood quite close to the artist. He is a slight
young man. Long, dark hair surrounded the
pale face. He bowed and seated himself at the
instrument. Liszt's whole appearance and his
mobility immediately indicate one of those personalities
toward which one is attracted solely
by their individuality. As he sat at the piano
the first impression of his individuality and the
trace of strong passions upon his pale countenance
made me imagine that he might be a demon
banished into the instrument from which the
tones streamed forth. They came from his blood;
from his thoughts; he was a demon who had to
free his soul by playing; he was under the torture;
his blood flowed, and his nerves quivered. But
as he played the demonia disappeared. I saw the
pale countenance assume a nobler, more beautiful
expression. The divine soul flashed from
his eyes, from every feature; he grew handsome&mdash;handsome
as life and inspiration can make one.
His <span lang="fr">Valse Infernale</span> is more than a daguerreotype
from Meyerbeer's Robert. We do not stand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
before and gaze upon the well-known picture.
No, we transport ourselves into the midst of it.
We gaze deep into the very abyss, and discover
new, whirling forms. It did not seem to be the
strings of a piano that were sounding. No, every
tone was like an echoing drop of water. Any one
who admires the technic of art must bow before
Liszt; he that is charmed with the genial, the
divine gift, bows still lower. The Orpheus of
our day has made tones sound through the great
capital of machinery and a Copenhagener has
said that 'his fingers are simply railroads and
steam engines.' His genius is more powerful to
bring together the great minds of the world than
all the railroads on earth. The Orpheus of our
day has preached music in the trade emporium
of Europe, and (at least for a moment) the people
believed the gospel. The spirit's gold has a truer
ring than that of the world. People often use the
expression 'a sea of sound' without being conscious
of its significance, and such it is that
streams from the piano at which Liszt sits. The
instrument appears to be changed into a whole
orchestra. This is accomplished by ten fingers,
which possess a power of execution that might
be termed superhuman. They are guided by a
mighty genius. It is a sea of sound, which in its
very agitation is a mirror for the life task of each
burning heart. I have met politicians who, at
Liszt's playing, conceived that peaceful citizens
at the sound of the Marseillaise might be so carried
away that they might seize their guns and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
rush forth from hearths and homes to fight for
an idea! I have seen quiet Copenhageners,
with Danish autumnal coolness in their veins,
become political bacchantes at his playing. The
mathematician has grown giddy at the echoing
fingers and the reckoning of the sounds. Young
disciples of Hegel (and among those the really
gifted and not merely the light-headed, who at the
mere galvanic stream of philosophy make a mental
grimace) perceived in this sea of music the
wave-like advances of knowledge toward the
shore of perfection. The poet found the rein of
his heart's whole lyric, or the rich garment of
his boldest delineation. The traveller (yes, I
conclude with myself) receives musical pictures
of what he sees or will see. I heard his playing
as it were an overture to my journey. I heard
how my heart throbbed and bled on my leaving
home. I heard the farewell of the waves&mdash;the
waves that I should only hear again on the cliffs
of Terracina. Organ tones seemed to sound
from Germany's old cathedrals. The glaciers
rolled from the Alpine hills, and Italy danced in
carnival dresses, and struck with her wooden
sword while she thought in her heart of Cæsar,
Horace and Raphael. Vesuvius and Ætna
burned. The trumpet of judgment resounded
from the hills of Greece, where the old gods are
dead. Tones that I knew not&mdash;tones for which
I have no words&mdash;pointed to the East, the home
of fancy, the poet's second fatherland. When
Liszt had done playing the flowers rained down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
on him. Young, pretty girls, old ladies, who
had once been pretty girls, too, threw their bouquets.
He had indeed thrown a thousand bouquets
into their hearts and brain.</p>

<p>"From Hamburg Liszt was to fly to London,
there to strew new tone-bouquets, there to breathe
poetry over material working day life. Happy
man! who can thus travel throughout his whole
life, always to see people in their spiritual Sunday
dress&mdash;yea, even in the wedding garment of
inspiration. Shall I often meet him? That was
my last thought, and chance willed it that we
meet on a journey at a spot where I and my readers
would least expect it&mdash;met, became friends,
and again separated. But that belongs to the
last chapter of this journey. He now went to
the city of Victoria&mdash;I to that of Gregory the
Sixteenth."</p>


<h3>HEINE</h3>

<p>There are several reminiscences of Liszt to be
found in the collected works of the great German
author. Heine, writing in 1844 at Paris, says:</p>

<p>"When I some time ago heard of the marvellous
excitement which broke out in Germany, and
more particularly in Berlin, when Liszt showed
himself there, I shrugged my shoulders and
thought quiet, Sabbath-like Germany does not
want to lose the opportunity of indulging in a
little 'permitted' commotion; it longs to stretch
its sleep-stiffened limbs, and my Philistines on
the banks of the Spree are fond of tickling them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>selves
into enthusiasm, while one declaims after
the other, 'Love, ruler of gods and men!' It does
not matter to them, thought I, what the row is
about, so long as it is a row, whether it is called
George Herwegh (the "Iron Lark"), Fanny Essler
or Franz Liszt. If Herwegh be forbidden we
turn to the politically 'safe' and uncompromising
Liszt. So thought I, so I explained to myself
the Liszt mania; and I accepted it as a sign
of the want of political freedom on the other side
of the Rhine. But I was in error, which I recognised
for the first time at the Italian Opera
House where Liszt gave his first concert, and before
an assembly which is best described as the
élite of society here. They were, anyhow, wide-awake
Parisians: people familiar with the greatest
celebrities of modern times, totally blasé and
preoccupied men, who had 'done to death' all
things in the world, art included; women equally
'done up' by having danced the polka the whole
winter through. Truly it was no German sentimental,
Berlin-emotional audience before which
Liszt played&mdash;quite alone, or rather accompanied
only by his genius. And yet, what an electrically
powerful effect his mere appearance produced!
What a storm of applause greeted him!
How many bouquets were flung at his feet! It
was an impressive sight to see with what imperturbable
self-possession the great conqueror
allowed the flowers to rain upon him and then,
at last, graciously smiling, selected a red camellia
and stuck it in his buttonhole. And this he did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>
in the presence of several young soldiers just arrived
from Africa, where it did not rain flowers but
leaden bullets, and they were decorated with the
red camellias of their own heroes' blood, without
receiving any particular notice either here for
it. Strange, thought I, these Parisians have seen
Napoleon, who was obliged to supply them with
one battle after another to retain their attention&mdash;these
receive our Franz Liszt with acclamation!
And what acclamation!&mdash;a positive frenzy,
never before known in the annals of furore."</p>

<p>Heine relates the following curious conversation
he had with a medical man about Liszt:</p>

<p>"A physician whose specialty is woman, whom
I questioned as to the fascination which Liszt exercises
on his public, smiled very strangely, and
at the same time spoke of magnetism, galvanism,
and electricity, of contagion in a sultry hall, filled
with innumerable wax-lights, and some hundred
perfumed and perspiring people, of histrionic
epilepsy, of the phenomenon of tickling, of musical
cantharides, and other unmentionable matters,
which, I think, have to do with the mysteries of
the <span lang="la">bona dea</span>; the solution of the question, however,
does not lie perhaps so strangely deep, but
on a very prosaic surface. I am sometimes inclined
to think that the whole witchery might
be explained thus&mdash;namely, that nobody in this
world knows so well how to organise his successes,
or rather their mise en scène, as Franz
Liszt. In this art he is a genius, a Philadelphia,
a Bosco, a Houdin&mdash;yea, a Meyerbeer. The most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>
distinguished persons serve him gratis as compères,
and his hired enthusiasts are drilled in an
exemplary way."</p>

<p>This amusing anecdote about Liszt and the
once famous tenor, Rubini, is also told by Heine:</p>

<p>"The celebrated singer had undertaken a tour
with Franz Liszt, sharing expenses and profits.
The great pianist took Signor Belloni about with
him everywhere (the entrepreneur in general of
his reputation), and to him was left the whole of
the business management. When, however, all
accounts had been settled up, and Signor Belloni
presented his little bill, what was Rubini's horror
to find that among the mutual expenses there
appeared sundry considerable items for 'laurel
wreaths,' 'bouquets,' 'laudatory poems,' and
suchlike 'ovation expenses.'</p>

<p>"The naïve singer had, in his innocence, imagined
that he had been granted these tokens of public
favour solely on account of his lovely voice. He
flew into a great rage, and swore he would not
pay for the bouquets which probably contained
the most expensive camellias."</p>

<p>That Heine could appreciate Liszt seriously,
these extracts testify sufficiently:</p>

<p>"He (Liszt) is indisputably the artist in Paris
who finds the most unlimited enthusiasm as well
as the most zealous opponents. It is a characteristic
sign that no one speaks of him with indifference.
Without power no one in this world
can excite either favourable or hostile passions.
One must possess fire to excite men to hatred as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>
well as to love. That which testifies especially
for Liszt is the complete esteem with which even
his enemies speak of his personal worth. He is a
man of whimsical but noble character, unselfish
and without deceit. Especially remarkable are
his spiritual proclivities; he has great taste for
speculative ideas, and he takes even more interest
in the essays of the various schools which
occupy themselves with the solution of the problems
of heaven and earth than in his art itself.
It is, however, praiseworthy, this indefatigable
yearning after light and divinity; it is a proof of
his taste for the holy, for the religious....</p>

<p>"Yes, Franz Liszt, the pianist of genius, whose
playing often appears to me as the melodious
agony of a spectral world, is again here, and giving
concerts which exercise a charm which borders
on the fabulous. By his side all piano players,
with the exception of Chopin, the Raphael of
the piano, are as nothing. In fact, with the exception
of this last named artist alone, all the
other piano players whom we hear in countless
concerts are only piano players; their only merit
is the dexterity with which they handle the machine
of wood and wire. With Liszt, on the contrary,
the people think no more about the 'difficulty
overcome'; the piano disappears, the music
is revealed. In this respect has Liszt, since I
last heard him, made the most astonishing progress.
With this advantage he combines now a
reposed manner, which I failed to perceive in him
formerly. If, for example, he played a storm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>
on the piano we saw the lightning flicker about
his features; his limbs fluttered as with the blast
of a storm, and his long locks of hair dripped as
with real showers of rain. Now when he plays
the most violent storm he seems exalted above it,
like the traveller who stands on the summit of an
Alp while the tempest rages in the valley; the
clouds lie deep below him, the lightning curls like
snakes at his feet, but his head is uplifted smilingly
into the pure ether."</p>

<p>The following remarks on Liszt, to be found
in Heine's letters to his friends, are also interesting:</p>

<p>"That such a restless head, driven and perplexed
by all the needs and doctrines of his time,
feeling compelled to trouble himself about all the
necessities of humanity, and eagerly sticking his
nose into all the pots in which the good God brews
the future&mdash;that Franz Liszt can be no quiet
piano player for tranquil townfolks and good-natured
night-caps is self-evident. When he sits
down at the piano, and has stroked his hair back
over his forehead several times, and begins to
improvise, he often storms away right madly over
the ivory keys, and there rings out a wilderness
of heaven-height thought, amid which here and
there the sweetest flowers diffuse their fragrance,
so that one is at once troubled and beatified, but
troubled most."</p>

<p>To another he writes:</p>

<p>"I confess to you, much as I love Liszt, his
music does not operate agreeably upon my mind;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
the more so that I am a Sunday child, and also
see the spectres which others only hear; since,
as you know, at every tone which the hand strikes
upon the keyboard the corresponding tone figure
rises in my mind; in short, since music becomes
visible to my inward eye. My brain still reels at
the recollection of the concert in which I last heard
Liszt play. It was in a concert for the unfortunate
Italians, in the hotel of that beautiful, noble,
and suffering princess, who so beautifully represents
her material and her spiritual fatherland,
to wit, Italy and Heaven. (You surely have seen
her in Paris, that ideal form, which yet is but the
prison in which the holiest angel-soul has been
imprisoned; but this prison is so beautiful that
every one lingers before it as if enchanted, and
gazes at it with astonishment.) It was at a concert
for the benefit of the unhappy Italians where
I last heard Liszt, during the past winter, play,
I know not what, but I could swear he varied
upon themes from the Apocalypse. At first I
could not quite distinctly see them, the four mystical
beasts; I only heard their voices, especially
the roaring of the lion and the screaming of the
eagle. The ox with the book in his hand I saw
clearly enough. Best of all, he played the Valley
of Jehoshaphat. There were lists as at a tournament,
and for spectators the risen people, pale
as the grave and trembling, crowded round the
immense space. First galloped Satan into the
lists, in black harness, on a milk-white steed.
Slowly rode behind him Death on his pale horse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
At last Christ appeared, in golden armour, on a
black horse, and with His holy lance He first
thrust Satan to the ground, and then Death, and
the spectators shouted. Tumultuous applause
followed the playing of the valiant Liszt, who left
his seat exhausted and bowed before the ladies.
About the lips of the fairest played that melancholy
smile."</p>

<p>Heine also relates:</p>

<p>"On one occasion two Hungarian countesses,
to get his snuff-box, threw each other down upon
the ground and fought till they were exhausted!"</p>


<h3>CAROLINE BAUER</h3>

<p>The lady whose revelations in her <span lang="fr">Mémoires</span>
about various royal and princely personages
furnished the contributors of "Society" papers
with a large amount of "copy" at the time of its
publication, writes as follows concerning Liszt's
intimacy with Prince Lichnowsky in 1844:</p>

<p>"I had heard a great deal in Ratibor of mad
Prince Felix Lichnowsky, who lived at his neighbouring
country seat, and who furnished an
abundant daily supply for the scandal-mongers
of the town. Six years before that time the prince
had quitted the Prussian service, owing to his
debts and other irregularities, and had gone to
Spain to evade his unhappy creditors, and to offer
his ward to the Pretender, Don Carlos. Three
years afterward he had returned from Spain with
the rank of Carlist brigadier-general, and now he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>
lived in his hermitage, near Ratibor, by no means
a pious hermit. And then, one evening, shortly
before the commencement of the '<span lang="de">Letzter Waffengang</span>,'
when I was already dressed in my costume,
the prince stood before me behind the scanty
wings of the Ratibor stage, to renew his acquaintance
with me. He had aged, his checkered life
not having passed over him without leaving traces;
but he was still the same elegant, arrogant libertine
he was at Prague, of whom a journalist
wrote: 'Prince Felix Lichnowsky, like Prince
Pückler, belongs to those dandies, roués, lions
who attract the attention of the multitude at any
cost by their contempt of men, their triviality,
impudence, liaisons, horses, and duels; a kind of
modern Alcibiades, every dog cutting the tail of
another dog.' Within the first five minutes I
learned from the prince's lips: 'My friend Liszt
has lately been living with me at my hermitage
for several weeks, and we have led a very agreeable
life together.' Yes, indeed, in Ratibor, the
people related the wildest stories of this pasha
life! The following forenoon the prince invited
us to a <span lang="fr">déjeûner à la fourchette</span> at his 'hermitage,'
as he liked to call it. We inspected the
park, which contained many fine trees; I tried
the glorious 'grand' which Liszt had consecrated.
But I was not to rise from the table without having
had a new skirmish with my prince from
Prague&mdash;<span lang="fr">preux chevalier</span>. The conversation
turned about Director Nachtigall, and suddenly
Lichnowsky said roughly:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p>

<p>"'Just fancy, this Nachtigall had the impudence
to call here and invite my friend Liszt to
play upon his miserable Ratibor stage. A Liszt,
and my guest, to play in Ratibor, and with a
Nachtigall&mdash;unheard of! You may imagine that
I gave this Nachtigall a becoming answer.'</p>

<p>"The bit stuck in my mouth, and, trembling
with indignation, I said sharply:</p>

<p>"'My prince, am I not your guest, too? And
do not I play in Ratibor, and with a Nachtigall?
If your friend Liszt had done nothing worse here
than play the piano in Ratibor he would not have
degraded himself in any way.'</p>

<p>"'Ah! the town gossip of Ratibor has your
ear, too, I see!' Lichnowsky said, with a scornful
smile. 'But of course we are not going to
quarrel.'"</p>

<p>Caroline Bauer also relates in her <span lang="fr">Mémoires</span>
the following anecdote about Liszt and the
haughty Princess Metternich:</p>

<p>"Liszt had been introduced to the princess and
paid her a visit in Vienna. He was received and
ushered into the drawing-room, in which the
princess was holding a lively conversation with
another lady. A condescending nod of the head
was responded to the bow of the world-renowned
artist; a gracious movement of the head invited
him to be seated. In vain the proud and spoiled
man waited to be introduced to the visitor, and
to have an opportunity of joining in the conversation.
The princess quietly continued to converse
with the lady as if Franz Liszt were not in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span>
existence at all, at least not in her salon. At last
she asked him in a cool and off-hand manner:</p>

<p>"'Did you do a good stroke of business at the
concert you gave in Italy?'</p>

<p>"'Princess,' he replied coldly, 'I am a musician,
and not a man of business.'</p>

<p>"The artist bowed stiffly and instantly left.</p>

<p>"Soon after this Prince Metternich proved
himself to be as perfect a gentleman as he was a
diplomatist. At Liszt's first concert in Vienna
he went to him and, entering the artist's room,
cordially pressed his hands before everybody,
and, with a gracious smile, said softly:</p>

<p>"'I trust you will pardon my wife for a slip
of the tongue the other day; you know what
women are!'"</p>


<h3>FANNY KEMBLE</h3>

<p>Mrs. Kemble, in her chatty book, Records of
Later Life, relates a pleasant incident in September,
1842:</p>

<p>"Our temporary fellowship with Liszt procured
for us a delightful participation in a tribute
of admiration from the citizen workmen of
Coblentz, that was what the French call <span lang="fr">saisissant</span>.
We were sitting all in our hotel drawing-room
together, the maestro, as usual, smoking his long
pipe, when a sudden burst of music made us
throw open the window and go out on the balcony,
when Liszt was greeted by a magnificent
chorus of nearly two hundred men's voices. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
sang to perfection, each with his small sheet of
music and his sheltered light in his hand; and
the performance, which was the only one of the
sort I ever heard, gave a wonderful impression
of the musical capacity of the only really musical
nation in the world."</p>

<p>Mrs. Kemble also gives her impression of
Liszt at Munich in 1870:</p>

<p>"I had gone to the theatre at Munich, where
I was staying, to hear Wagner's opera of the
Rheingold, with my daughter and her husband.
We had already taken our places, when S. exclaimed
to me, 'There is Liszt.' The increased
age, the clerical dress had effected but little
change in the striking general appearance, which
my daughter (who had never seen him since 1842,
when she was quite a child) recognised immediately.
I went round to his box, and, recalling
myself to his memory, begged him to come to
ours, and let me present my daughter to him.
He very good-naturedly did so, and the next day
called upon us at our hotel and sat with us a long
time. His conversation on matters of art (Wagner's
music which he and we had listened to the
evening before) and literature was curiously cautious
and guarded, and every expression of opinion
given with extreme reserve, instead of the uncompromising
fearlessness of his earlier years;
and the Abbé was indeed quite another from the
Liszt of our summer on the Rhine of 1842."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p>


<h3>LOLA MONTEZ</h3>

<p>The once notorious actress, who, after a series
of adventures caused some uproar at Munich,
met Liszt during his travels in Germany, and
her biographer relates how they divided honours
at Dresden in 1842.</p>

<p>"Through the management of influential
friends an opening was made for her at the Royal
Theatre at Dresden, where she met the celebrated
pianist, Franz Liszt, who was then creating
such a furore that when he dropped his
pocket handkerchief it was seized by the ladies
and torn into rags, which they divided among
themselves&mdash;each being but too happy to get so
much as a scrap which had belonged to the great
artist. The furore created by Lola Montez' appearance
at the theatre in Dresden was quite as
great among the gentlemen as was Liszt's among
the ladies."</p>

<p>Lola Montez, during the last few years of her
life, devoted herself to lecturing in various European
cities, and the following is extracted from
a published one entitled, "The Wits and Women
of Paris":</p>

<p>"There was a gifted and fashionable lady (the
Countess of Agoult), herself an accomplished
authoress, concerning whom and George Sand
a curious tale is told. They were great friends,
and the celebrated pianist Liszt was the admirer
of both. Things went on smoothly for some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span>
time, all <span lang="fr">couleur de rose</span>, when one fine day Liszt
and George Sand disappeared suddenly from
Paris, having taken it into their heads to make
the tour of Switzerland for the summer together.
Great was the indignation of the fair countess at
this double desertion; and when they returned to
Paris Madame d'Agoult went to George Sand
and immediately challenged the great writer to
a duel, the weapons to be finger-nails, etc. Poor
Liszt ran out of the room and locked himself up
in a dark closet till the deadly affray was ended,
and then made his body over in charge to a friend,
to be preserved, as he said, for the remaining assailant.
Madame d'Agoult was married to a
bookworm, who cared for naught else but his
library; he did not know even the number of
children he possessed, and so little the old
philosopher cared about the matter that when a
stranger came to the house he invariably, at the
appearance of the family, said: 'Allow me to present
to you my wife's children'; all this with the
blandest smile and most contented air."</p>

<p>Lola Montez also says in her lecture:</p>

<p>"I once asked George Sand which she thought
the greatest pianist, Liszt or Thalberg. She replied,
'Liszt is the greatest, but there is only one
Thalberg. If I were to attempt to give an idea
of the difference between Liszt and Thalberg, I
should say that Thalberg is like the clear, placid
flow of a deep, grand river; while Liszt is the
same tide foaming and bubbling and dashing on
like a cataract.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p>


<h3>MRS. ELLET</h3>

<p>This lady, in an account of an autumn holiday
on the Rhine, relates:</p>

<p>"Liszt, with his wonted kindness, had offered
to give a concert in Cologne, the proceeds of
which were to be appropriated to the completion
of the Cathedral; the Rhenish <span lang="de">Liedertafel</span> resolved
to bring him with due pomp from the
island of Nonnenwerth, near Bonn, where he had
been for some days. A steamboat was hired expressly
for this purpose, and conveyed a numerous
company to Nonnenwerth at 11 in the morning.
The <span lang="de">Liedertafel</span> then greeted the artist,
who stood on the shore, by singing a morning
salute, accompanied by the firing of cannons and
loud hurrahs. They then marched with wind-instruments
in advance to the now empty chapel
of the cloister of Nonnenwerth, where they sang,
and thence to Rolandseck, where an elegant dinner
was prepared for the company. All eyes
were fixed on Liszt; all hearts were turned to
him. He proposed a toast in honour of his entertainers;
and at the conclusion of his speech
observed with justice that nowhere in the world
could any club be found like the <span lang="de">Liedertafel</span> in
Germany. When the banquet was over they
returned to Nonnenwerth, where a crowd of people
from the surrounding country was assembled.
The universal wish to hear Liszt was so evident
that he was induced to send for a piano to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
brought into the chapel, and to gratify the assembly&mdash;listening
and rapt with delight&mdash;by
a display of his transcendent powers. The desolate
halls of the chapel once more resounded with
the stir and voices of life. Not even the nuns, we
will venture to say, who in former times used here
to offer up prayers to heaven, were impressed
with a deeper sense of the heavenly than was this
somewhat worldly assembly by the magnificent
music of Liszt, that seemed indeed to disclose
things beyond this earth. At 7 o'clock the <span lang="de">Liedertafel</span>,
with Liszt at their head, marched on their
return, and went on board the steamboat, which
was decorated with coloured flags, amid peals
of cannon. It was 9, and quite dark, when they
approached their landing. Rockets were sent
up from the boat, and a continued stream of coloured
fireworks, so that as the city rose before
them from the bosom of the Rhine the boat
seemed enveloped in a circle of brilliant flame
which threw its reflection far over the waters.
Music and hurrahs greeted our artist on shore;
all Cologne was assembled to give him the splendid
welcome which in other times only monarchs
received. Slowly the procession of the <span lang="de">Liedertafel</span>
moved through the multitude to the hotel,
where again and again shouts and cheers testified
the joy of the people at the arrival of their
distinguished guest."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>


<h3>MINASI</h3>

<p>Minasi, the once popular painter, who sketched
a portrait of Thalberg during his first sojourn in
London, also wrote an account of an interesting
conversation about Liszt:</p>

<p>"The purpose of my requesting an introduction
to M. Thalberg was, first, to be acquainted
with a man of his genius; and next, to request
the favour of his sitting for his portrait, executed
in a new style with pen and ink. His total freedom
from all ceremony and affectation perfectly
charmed me. He appointed the next morning
at 9 for his first sitting; and in my eagerness to
commence my task, and make one of my best
studies, I was in his breakfast room a quarter
of an hour before my time. While he was taking
his breakfast I addressed him in my own
language; and when he answered me with a most
beautiful accent I was delighted beyond measure.
I felt doubly at home with him. Since then I
find that he is a perfect scholar, possessing, with
his finished pronunciation, a great propriety of
conception.</p>

<p>"While I was putting on paper the outlines
of his profile (a striking feature of his face), I
inquired whether he was acquainted with my
friend Liszt in Paris. He remarked that Liszt
had disgraced himself with all impartial persons
by writing against him with violent acrimony in
the public prints; and which act he himself acknowledged<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
was the result of professional jealousy.
I was the more grieved to hear this, because
I had entertained the highest respect for
Liszt, who, as I told Thalberg, would never have
demeaned himself had his father been living;
whose last words to his son were: 'My son, you
have always conducted yourself well; but I fear,
after my death, some designing knave will lay
hold of and make a dupe of you. Take care, my
dear son, with whom you associate.' In one
instance, Liszt met Thalberg, and proposed that
they should play a duet in public, and that
he (Liszt) should appoint the time. Thalberg's
answer was: '<span lang="fr">Je n'aime pas d'être accompagné</span>,'
which greatly amused the Parisians. Upon another
occasion, Liszt made free to tell Thalberg
that he did not admire his compositions. Thalberg
replied: 'Since you do not like my compositions,
Liszt, I do not like yours.'</p>

<p>"To the honour of Liszt, however, it should be
stated that, having called upon Thalberg, he acknowledged
his errors, making him a solemn
promise never to offend in the same manner, adding
that the cause of his attack upon him arose
from jealousy of his rival's high talents, which
made him the idol of the Parisians, and by
whom he was received with the greatest enthusiasm.
Thalberg dismissed the subject with me,
by doing justice to himself as a public performer;
at the same time declaring that Liszt is
one of the greatest pianists in Europe, and he
concluded with the following generous admission:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span>
'Nevertheless, after all that has passed
between us, I think Liszt would do anything to
oblige me.'"</p>


<h3>MACREADY</h3>

<p>The once popular novelist, the Countess of
Blessington, on May 31, 1840, invited many distinguished
personages to her London house to
meet Liszt, and among those who came were
Lord Normanby, Lord Canterbury, Lord Houghton
(then Mr. Monckton Milnes), Chorley, Rubini,
Stuart Wortley, Palgrave Simpson, and Macready,
the famous tragedian. Liszt played several
times during the evening, and created an
impression on all those present, especially on
Macready, who notes in his diary:</p>

<p>"Liszt, the most marvellous pianist I ever
heard; I do not know when I have been so excited."</p>


<h3>AN ANONYMOUS GERMAN ADMIRER</h3>

<p>The following recollections of Liszt's first visit
to Stuttgart were published in a periodical many
years ago. Though they appeared without any
signature, the author seems to have been on intimate
terms with the great musician:</p>

<p>"Liszt played several times at court, for which
he received all possible distinctions which the
King of Wurtemberg could confer upon an artist.
The list of honours was exhausted when the royal
princesses wished to hear once more this magician<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
of the piano keys quite privately in their own
apartments. Liszt, our truly chivalric artist,
accepted with delight such an invitation, expecting
less to show himself as an artist than to express
his thanks for the many honours received.
It must have been rare enjoyment for a royal
family which recognised in art only a graceful
pastime and a delightful intoxication of the sense,
with an agreeable excitement of the sentiments;
for no artist in the world understands better than
Liszt how to survey at a glance the character and
the most hidden recesses in the hearts of his audience.
This very fact is the cause of his wonderful
effects, and will secure them to him always.
He played on that occasion Weber's <span lang="fr">Invitation
à la Valse</span>, with his own effectual, free, final
cadenza, his Chromatic Galop (which causes all
nerves to vibrate), and a few of his transcriptions
of Schubert's songs&mdash;those genuine pearls, the
richness and colouring of which none can show
so well as himself, being a unique and most perfect
master of the art of touch. And, finally, in
order to show something at least of his immense
bravura, he played a little concert piece. The
most gracious words of acknowledgment were
showered upon him. Liszt, enraptured by the
truly heavenly eyes of one of the princesses,
which, rendered still more beautiful by a singular
moisture, were fixed upon him, declared
his happiness in thus being able to express his
thanks for the many honours conferred upon
him.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>

<p>"Among all the princes of Europe, however,
there is none so little inclined to accept of services
without remuneration as the King of Wurtemberg.
This is one of the many chivalric
traits in the character of that monarch; no other
rewards artists in such royal style. On the next
morning I was with Liszt, each of us smoking a
real Havana comfortably on one end of the sofa.
Liszt was telling me of his last visit to court, when
one of its servants entered. He placed a roll of
150 ducats in gold upon the table, and presenting
Liszt with an open receipt, asked him to sign
it. Liszt read: 'Received for playing,' etc. Aloud,
and in a tone of astonishment, Liszt repeated the
words, 'Received for my playing?' and, rising
with that peculiar aristocratic grace, he says in
a mild, condescending tone: 'For my playing&mdash;am
I to sign this document? My friend, I imagine
some clerk of the court treasury has
written this scrawl.' Upon which the servant,
interrupting, said that it had been written by
Herr Tagel, Counsellor of Court and Director
of the Court Treasury. 'Well,' said Liszt, 'take
back the receipt and money, and tell' (raising
his voice) 'the counsellor from me, that neither
king nor emperor can pay an artist for his playing&mdash;only,
perchance, for his lost time, and'
(with haughty indignation) 'that the counsellor
is a blockhead if he does not comprehend that.
For your trouble, my friend,' (giving him 5 ducats)
'take this trifle.'"</p>

<p>The writer goes on to say:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p>

<p>"The servant, in utter astonishment, knew not
what to answer, and looked at me. But Liszt's
slight figure was erect, his finely cut lips were
compressed, his head was boldly thrown back,
so that his thick hair fell far down on his shoulders;
his nostrils were expanding, the lightning
of his keen and brilliant eye was gleaming, his
arms were folded, and he showed all his usual
indications of inward commotion. Knowing,
therefore, that Liszt had by that document been
touched in his most sensitive point, and that this
was nothing more nor less than a small battle in
his great contest for the social position and rights
of artists&mdash;a contest which, when a boy of fifteen
years, he had already taken up&mdash;I was well
aware of the impossibility of changing his mind
for the present, and therefore remained silent,
while the discomfited lackey retired with many
low bows, taking money and scroll with him.
Whether he really delivered the message I know
not; but I was still with Liszt when he reappeared
and, laying the money upon the table, gave Liszt
a large sealed letter, which read as follows:
'The undersigned officer of the Treasury of
Court, commanded by His Majesty the King,
begs Dr. Liszt to accept, as a small compensation
for his lost time with the princesses, the sum
of 150 ducats.' Liszt handed me the paper, and
with a silent glance I interrogated him in return.
It is an old fact that the soul is always most
clearly reflected in homely features, and I distinctly
read in his face reconciliation and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
kindest feeling again. He sat down and wrote
on a scrap of paper with pencil: 'Received from
the Royal Treasury 150 ducats&mdash;Franz Liszt,'
and gave it to the servant very politely, accompanied
by another rich gift. There was never
afterward any further allusion to the affair.</p>

<p>"The price of admission to Liszt's concerts
was unusually high, so that they could only be
frequented by the wealthier classes. At a party
the conversation fell upon the subject, and it was
regretted that for such a reason many teachers
and scholars, in spite of their great anxiety to
hear the great master, were prevented from doing
so. I told Liszt this, and he answered: 'Well,
arrange a concert for them, only charge as much
or as little as you think proper, and let me know
when and what I shall play. Immediately a committee
was formed, and a concert for teachers
and scholars only arranged, to which the price
of admission amounted to only 18 kreutzers
(about sixpence). Quantities of tickets were
sold, and immense galleries had to be erected in
the large hall. Liszt viewed with delight the
juvenile multitude, whose enthusiasm knew no
bounds, and I never heard him play more beautifully.
With a delighted heart he stood amid a
shower of flowers which thousands of little hands
were strewing for him, and when at last six veritable
little angels approached in order to thank
him, he embraced them with tears in his eyes&mdash;not
heeding the fact that the grown-up people
were appropriating his gloves, handkerchief, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
all they could get hold of, tearing them up into
a thousand bits to keep in remembrance of him.
On the next morning we brought him the proceeds
of the concert (nearly 1,000 florins). He declared
that he had felt happier at that concert than
ever before, and that nothing could induce him
to accept the money, with which the committee
might do as they pleased, and if, after so much
delight, they did not wish really to hurt his feelings
he would beg of them never to mention that
money to him again. It was appropriated to a
Liszt Fund, which will continue to exist forever,
and a poor teacher's son, on going to college, is
destined to receive the first interest.</p>

<p>"Liszt was once at my house, when a woman
was announced to whom I was in the habit of
giving quarterly a certain sum for her support.
It being a few days before the usual time, she gave
as an excuse (it was November) the hard times.
While providing for her I told Liszt in an under-tone
that she was an honest but very indigent
widow of a painter, deceased in his prime, to
whom an number of brother artists were giving
regular contributions in order to enable her to
get along with her two small children. I confess,
while telling him this, I hoped that Liszt,
whose liberality and willingness to do good had
almost become proverbial, would ask me to add
something in his name, and was, therefore, surprised
to see him apparently indifferent, for he
answered nothing and continued looking down in
silence. After a few days, however, the widow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
reappeared, her heart overflowing with thankfulness
and her eyes filled with tears of joy, for she
and her children had at the expense of a man
whose name she was not permitted to know, received
beautiful and new winter clothing, while
kitchen and cellar had been stored with every
necessary for the coming winter. Now all this
had been arranged by the landlady of a certain
hotel, at which Liszt was then stopping. A piano
maker, who had not the means to erect a factory,
needed but to convince Liszt of his rare ability,
and immediately he had at his command over
80,000 frs. This man is now dead, and Liszt
never had received a farthing of that money
back."</p>


<h3>GEORGE ELIOT</h3>

<p>The English novelist visited Liszt at Weimar
in 1854 and records some pleasing recollections:</p>

<p>"About the middle of September the theatre
opened. We went to hear Ernani. Liszt looked
splendid as he conducted the opera. The grand
outline of his face and floating hair was seen to
advantage, as they were thrown into the dark
relief by the stage lamps. Liszt's conversation is
charming. I never met a person whose manner of
telling a story was so piquant. The last evening
but one that he called on us, wishing to express
his pleasure in G&mdash;&mdash;'s article about him,
he very ingeniously conveyed that expression in
a story about Spontini and Berlioz. Spontini
visited Paris while Liszt was living there and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span>
haunted the opera&mdash;a stiff, self-important personage,
with high shirt collars&mdash;the least attractive
individual imaginable. Liszt turned up
his own collars and swelled out his person, so as to
give us a vivid idea of the man. Every one would
have been glad to get out of Spontini's way; indeed,
elsewhere '<span lang="fr">on feignait de le croire mort</span>';
but at Paris, as he was a member of the Institute,
it was necessary to recognise his existence.</p>

<p>"Liszt met him at Erard's more than once.
On one of these occasions Liszt observed to him
that Berlioz was a great admirer of his (Spontini),
whereupon Spontini burst into a terrible
invective against Berlioz as a man who, with
the like of him, was ruining art, etc. Shortly
after the Vestale was performed and forthwith
appeared an enthusiastic article by Berlioz on
Spontini's music. The next time Liszt met him
of the high collars he said: 'You see I was not
wrong in what I said about Berlioz's admiration
of you.' Spontini swelled in his collars and replied,
'<span lang="fr">Monsieur, Berlioz a du talent comme
critique.</span>' Liszt's replies were always felicitous
and characteristic. Talking of Madame d'Agoult
he told us that when her novel, Nélida, appeared
in which Liszt himself is pilloried as a delinquent,
he asked her, '<span lang="fr">Mais pourquoi avez-vous tellement
maltraité ce pauvre Lehmann?</span>' The first
time we were asked to breakfast at his house, the
Altenburg, we were shown into the garden, where
in a salon formed by the overarching trees <span lang="fr">déjeûner</span>
was sent out. We found Hoffmann von<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
Fallersleben, the lyric poet, Dr. Schade, a Gelehrter,
and Cornelius. Presently came a Herr
or Doctor Raff, a musician, who had recently
published a volume called <span lang="de">Wagnerfrage</span>. Soon
after we were joined by Liszt and the Princess
Marie, an elegant, gentle-looking girl of seventeen,
and at last by the Princess Wittgenstein,
with her nephew, Prince Eugene, and a young
French artist, a pupil of Scheffer.</p>

<p>"The princess was tastefully dressed in a morning
robe of some semi-transparent white material,
lined with orange colour, which formed the bordering
and ornament of the sleeves, a black lace
jacket and a piquant cap on the summit of her
comb, and trimmed with violet colour. When
the cigars came, Hoffmann was requested to read
some of his poetry, and he gave us a bacchanalian
poem with great spirit. I sat next to Liszt, and
my great delight was in watching him and in
observing the sweetness of his expression. Genius,
benevolence, and tenderness beam from his
whole countenance, and his manners are in perfect
harmony with it. Then came the thing I had
longed for&mdash;his playing. I sat near him so that
I could see both his hands and face. For the
first time in my life I beheld real inspiration&mdash;for
the first time I heard the true tones of the piano.
He played one of his own compositions,
one of a series of religious fantasies. There was
nothing strange or excessive about his manner.
His manipulation of the instrument was quiet
and easy, and his face was simply grand&mdash;the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>
lips compressed and the head thrown a little backward.
When the music expressed quiet rapture
or devotion a smile flitted over his features; when
it was triumphant the nostrils dilated. There
was nothing petty or egotistic to mar the picture.
Why did not Scheffer paint him thus, instead of
representing him as one of the three Magi? But
it just occurs to me that Scheffer's idea was a
sublime one. There are the two aged men who
have spent their lives in trying to unravel the
destinies of the world, and who are looking for
the Deliverer&mdash;for the light from on high. Their
young fellow seeker, having the fresh inspiration
of early life, is the first to discern the herald star,
and his ecstasy reveals it to his companions. In
this young Magi Scheffer has given a portrait of
Liszt; but even here, where he might be expected
to idealise unrestrainedly, he falls short of the
original. It is curious that Liszt's face is the
type that one sees in all Scheffer's pictures&mdash;at
least in all I have seen.</p>

<p>"In a little room which terminates the suite
at the Altenburg there is a portrait of Liszt, also
by Scheffer&mdash;the same of which the engraving
is familiar to every one. This little room is filled
with memorials of Liszt's triumphs and the worship
his divine talent has won. It was arranged
for him by the princess, in conjunction with the
Arnims, in honour of his birthday. There is a
medallion of him by Schwanthaler, a bust by an
Italian artist, also a medallion by Rietschl&mdash;very
fine&mdash;and cabinets full of jewels and precious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
things&mdash;the gifts of the great. In the
music salon stand Beethoven's and Mozart's
pianos. Beethoven's was a present from Broadwood,
and has a Latin inscription intimating that
it was presented as a tribute to his illustrious
genius. One evening Liszt came to dine with
us at the Erbprinz, and introduced M. Rubinstein,
a young Russian, who is about to have an
opera of his performed at Weimar."</p>


<h3>AN ANONYMOUS LADY ADMIRER</h3>

<p>This lady relates a touching incident about
Liszt and a young music mistress:</p>

<p>"Liszt was still at Weimar, and no one could
venture to encroach upon his scant leisure by a
letter of introduction. I saw him constantly at
the mid-day table d'hôte. His strange, impressive
figure as he sat at the head of the table was
a sight to remember; the brilliant eyes that flashed
like diamonds, the long hair, in those days only
iron gray, the sensitive mouth, the extraordinary
play of expression, once seen, could never
fade from memory. Everything, indeed, about
him was phenomenal&mdash;physiognomy, appearance,
mental gifts; last, but not least, amiability
of character and an almost morbid terror of inflicting
pain. This characteristic, of course, led
him into many embarrassments, at the same time
into the committal of thousands of kind actions;
often at the sacrifice of time, peace of mind, and,
without doubt, intellectual achievements.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span></p>

<p>"As I proposed to spend some months at Weimar,
I engaged a music mistress, one of Liszt's
former pupils, whom I will call Fräulein Marie.
'I will myself introduce you to the Herr Doctor,'
she said. 'To his pupils he refuses nothing.'
I must add that Fräulein Marie was in better
circumstances than most German teachers of
music. She had, I believe, some small means of
her own, and belonged to a very well-to-do family.
The poor girl, who was, as I soon found out,
desperately in love with her master, got up a
charming little fête champêtre in his honour and
my own. A carriage was ordered, picnic baskets
packed, and one brilliant summer afternoon
hostess and guests started for Tieffurt. The
party consisted of Liszt, Fräulein Marie, a violinist
of the other sex, a young lady pianist from
a neighbouring town, and myself. Liszt's geniality
and readiness to enter into the spirit of the
occasion were delightful to witness. The places
of honour were assigned to the English stranger
and the violinist, Liszt insisting on seating a pupil
on each side, on the opposite seat of the carriage,
not in the least disconcerted by such narrow accommodation.
Thus, chatting and laughing, all
of us in holiday mood, we reached the pretty park
and chateau of Tieffurt.</p>

<p>"As the evening was cool, we supped inside the
little restaurant, and here a grievous disappointment
awaited our hostess. Tieffurt is celebrated
for its trout; indeed this delicacy is as much an
attraction to many visitors as its literary and artistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span>
associations. But although trout had been
ordered by letter beforehand none was forthcoming
wherewith to fête the Maestro. Fräulein
Marie was in tears. Liszt's gaiety and affection,
however, put everything right. He cut brown
bread and butter for the two girls, and made them
little sandwiches with the excellent cold <span lang="de">wurst</span>.
'<span lang="de">Ah, das schmeckt so gut</span>,' they cried, as they
thanked him adoringly. He told stories; he
made the rest do the same. '<span lang="de">Erzählen von Erfurt</span>'
(tell us Erfurt news), he said to the young
lady guest. The moments passed all too rapidly.
Then in the clear delicious twilight we drove back
to Weimar, his pupils kissing his hands reverentially
as he quitted us. So far all had been
bright, joyous, transparent; but I soon discovered
that this charming girl, who possessed the
vivacity of a French woman, combined with the
<span lang="de">schwärmerei</span> or sentimentality of a Teutonic
maiden, was rendered deeply unhappy by her
love for Liszt.</p>

<p>"He was at that time enmeshed in the toils
of another and far less guileless passion. Whilst
to his gentle and innocent pupil he could accord
only the affection of a loving and sympathetic
friend and master, there were other women about
him. Fräulein Marie's hapless sentiment could
never discredit either herself or its object, but it
occasioned a good deal of embarrassment and
wretchedness, as we shall see. A few days after
this gay al fresco tea she came to me in great
distress, begging me forthwith to deliver a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
note into the master's hand. I was reluctantly
obliged to delegate the delicate mission to a hired
messenger. Ill would it have become a stranger
to interfere in these imbroglios. Moreover, at
that very time Liszt had, as I have hinted, a love
affair on his hands&mdash;had, in fact, momentarily
succumbed to the influence of one of those women
who were his evil genius. Just ten years later
I revisited Weimar, and my first inquiry of common
friends was after my sweet young music
mistress. 'Fräulein Marie! Alas!' replied my
informant, 'the poor girl has long been in a
<span lang="fr">maison de santé</span>.' Her love for Liszt ended in
loss of reason."</p>


<h3>LADY BLANCHE MURPHY</h3>

<p>Lady Blanche gives an interesting account of
Liszt's sojourn at the Monastery on Monte Mario
in 1862, shortly after he became an abbé of the
Roman Catholic Church. After describing the
scenery of the place she says: "Here Liszt had
taken up his abode, renting two bare white-walled
rooms for the summer, where he looked
far more at home than among the splendours of
the prelate's reception room or the feminine elegancies
of the princess' boudoir. He seemed happier,
too&mdash;more cheerful, and light-hearted. He
said he meant to be a hermit this summer, and
the good Dominican lay brother attended to all
his creature comforts, while he could solace himself
by hearing the daily mass said in the early<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span>
morning in the little chapel, into which he could
step at any moment. His piano stood in one
corner of his little cell, his writing table was piled
with books and music, and besides these there
was nothing of interest in the room. The window
looked out upon one of the most glorious
views of the world. Here Liszt seemed quite
another being. He talked gaily, and suddenly
started up, volunteering to play for us&mdash;a thing,
many of his best friends said, they had not known
him do for years.</p>

<p>"It was all his own, yet, though peculiar, the
sound did not resemble the sobbing music, the
weird chords, his fingers had drawn forth from
the keys as he played among conventional people
in conventional evening gatherings. There
was a freshness, a springiness, in to-day's performance
which suited the place and hour, and
that visit to the hermit-artist was indeed a fitting
leave-taking for us who were so entranced with
his pure, strong genius. Still, the artist had not
forgotten to initiate us into one of the secrets of
his simple retreat. The Dominicans of some
remote mountain convent had kindly sent him
a present of some wonderful liqueur&mdash;one of
those impossible beverages associated in one's
mind with Hebe's golden cups of flowing nectar,
rather than with any commonplace drink. Liszt
insisted upon our tasting this: green Chartreuse
was nothing to it and we scarcely did more than
taste. And this was the last time we saw him,
this king-artist. It was a great privilege, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
perhaps he, of all living artists we had come
across, is the only one who could not disappoint
one's ideal of him."</p>


<h3>KARL KIRKENBUHL</h3>

<p>This author, in his <span lang="de">Federzeichnungen aus
Rom</span>, describes a visit to Liszt in 1867:</p>

<p>"The building in which Liszt resides in Rome
is of unpretending appearance; it is, and fancy
may have pictured such a place as Liszt's 'Sans
Souci,' a melancholy, plain little monastery. But
by its position this quiet abode is so favoured
that probably few homes in the wide world can
be compared to it. Situated upon the old Via
Sacra, it is the nearest neighbour of the Forum
Romanum, while its windows look toward the
Capitol, the ruins of the Palatine Palace and the
Colosseum. In such a situation a life of contemplation
is forced upon one. I mounted a few
steps leading to the open door of the monastery,
and all at once grew uncertain what to do, for I
saw before me a handsome staircase adorned with
pillars, such as I should not have expected from
the poor exterior of the building. Had not a
notice in the form of a visiting-card over the large
door at the top of the stairs met my eye, I should
have considered it necessary to make further inquiries.
As it was, however, I was able to gain
from the card itself the information I needed.
I approached and read: 'L'Abbé Franz Liszt.'
So, really an Abbé! A visiting-card half supplies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
the place of an autopsy. After I arranged my
necktie and pulled on my gloves more tightly,
I courageously grasped the green cord that summoned
the porter. Two servants, not in tail
coat, it is true, but clad in irreproachable black,
received me; one hastened to carry in my card,
while the other helped me off with my topcoat.</p>

<p>"My ideas of a genuine monkish life suffered
a rude shock. Wherefore two servants before
the cell of a monk; or if attendant spirits, why
were they not, according to monastic rules, simply
lay brothers?</p>

<p>"But I had not long to puzzle my brains with
these obtrusive questions, for I was presently
plunged into still greater mental confusion. The
messenger who had gone to announce me returned
and ushered me in with a notification that
Signor Abbate requested me to await a moment
in&mdash;the drawing-room! Yes, actually a drawing-room,
in the most elegant acceptation of the
word. It wanted nothing either of the requisites
for northern comfort or of the contrivances
demanded by the climate of Rome, though glaring
luxury appeared scrupulously avoided.</p>

<p>"I stood then in the saloon of the Commendatore
Liszt! Abbé and Commander! The correct
employment of the domestic titles rendered
the first interview much more easy than it otherwise
would have been. I was by no means so
inquisitorial in my survey as to be able to give
a Walter Scott-like description of Liszt's salon.
Darkness, moreover, prevailed in the large apartment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
as, according to Italian usage and necessity,
the window shutters were closed against the
rays of the morning sun. I was attracted by
the album table in the middle of the apartment
more than aught else. Upon it lay chiefly Italian
works of a religious nature in votive bindings.
That Liszt here, too, as Abbate, lives in the midst
of creative spirits is proved by these dedicatory
offerings.</p>

<p>"The door was opened and the well-known
artistic figure advanced in a friendly manner
toward me. That the skilful fingers of the great
pianist pressed the hand of me, a simple writer,
is a fact, which, for the completeness of my narrative,
must not remain unmentioned. The first
and most immediate impression produced on
me by Liszt's appearance was that of surprising
youthfulness. Even the unmistakably grizzling,
though still thick, long, flowing hair,
which the scissors of the tonsure have not
dared to touch, detracts but little from the
heart entrancing charm of his unusual individuality.
Of fretfulness, satiety, monkish abnegation,
and so on, there is not a trace to
be detected in the feature of Liszt's interesting
and characteristic head. And just as little
as we find Liszt in a monk's cell do we find
him in a monk's cowl. The black soutane sits
no less elegantly on him than, in its time, the
dress coat. Those who look upon Liszt as a
riddle will most decidedly not find the solution
of it in his outward appearance.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p>

<p>"After interchanging a few words of greeting,
we proceeded to the workroom. After compelling
me to take an arm-chair, Liszt seated himself
at the large writing-table, apologising to me by
stating that he had a letter to despatch in a hurry.
Upon this, too, lay a great many things, nearly all
pertaining more to the Abbé than the artist. But
neatly written sheets of music showed that musical
production formed part of the master's daily
occupations. The comfortable room bore generally
the unmistakable stamp of a room for study,
of an artist's workshop. The letter and the address
were quickly finished, and handed to the
attendant to seal and transmit. I mentioned the
report connecting his approaching journey with
the grand festival of joy and peace, the Coronation
in Hungary. The popular maestro took this
opportunity of giving me a detailed history of his
Coronation Mass. He said that in the Prince-Primate
Scitovsky he had possessed a most kind
patron. In course of a joyous repast, as on
many other occasions, the Prelate had given lively
and hopeful utterance to the wish of his heart
that he might yet be able to place the crown
upon the head of his beloved king, and at the
same time he called upon Liszt, in an unusually
flattering and cordial manner, to compose the
Coronation Mass, but it must be short, very short,
as the entire ceremony would take about six
hours.</p>

<p>"Liszt was unable to resist this amiable request,
he said, and, drinking a glass of fiery<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>
Tokay, gave a promise that he would endeavour
to produce some 'Essence of Tokay.' After his
return to Rome he immediately set about the
sketch. But the prospect of the desired agreement
between the Emperor and the Hungarians
had, meanwhile, become overcast, and his work
remained a mere sketch. Some months ago,
however, he was pressed by his Hungarian friends
to proceed, and so he finished the mass. It was
a question whether it would be performed on the
day of the Coronation, since there was a condition
that the monarch should bring his own
orchestra with him. Liszt said he was perfectly
neutral, and in no way wished to run
counter to the just ambition of others; for,
however the Abbé might be decried as ambitious,
he added, with a smile, he was not so
after all."</p>

<p class="break">In course of this open-hearted statement Liszt
touched upon his relations to the present Prince-Primate
of Hungary, and let fall a remark which
is the more interesting because it throws a light
upon his position in and toward Rome. The
Abbé-Maestro said then that he had entered
on a correspondence regarding his retirement
from the diocese of the Prince of the Church,
who had in the interim been raised to the dignity
of Primate, and had every reason to believe that
he enjoyed the Prelate's favour. He needed,
however, a special letter of dismissal in order to
be received into the personal lists of the Roman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
clergy; to this Liszt remarked, parenthetically,
were limited all his clerical qualities.</p>

<p class="break">"I do not know more exactly what rights and
duties are connected with the insertion of his
name in the catalogue of the Roman clergy,
though it appears that the nexus into which Liszt
has entered toward the clerical world is rather
an outward than a deep and inward one.</p>

<p>"The cigar, which did not look, between the
lips of the great musician, as if it had been treated
with particular gentleness or care, had gone out.
Liszt got up to reach the matches. While he was
again lighting the narcotic weed he directed my
attention to the pretty statuette of St. Elisabeth,
which had attracted my gaze when I entered the
room. It represents the kind-hearted Landgravine
at the moment the miracle of roses is taking
place. It required no great power of combination
to connect this graceful form, as an ovational
gift, with Liszt's oratorio of St. Elisabeth.
The popular master named the German hand
which had fashioned the marble and offered it
to him. He was thus led to speak of his oratorio,
and of the Wartburg Festival, for which it was
originally intended, and at which it was given,
but not until after Hungary had enjoyed the first
performance. He spoke also of what he had
done at the Grand Ducal Court. I was peculiarly
touched by his reminiscences, how he had
entered the service of a German prince, how he
had 'knocked about' for several years at Weimar,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
'without doing anything worth naming.'
how his Prince had respected and distinguished
him, and had probably never suspected that a
permanent sojourn could result from Liszt's trip
to Rome.</p>

<p>"Here, where he moved in only a small circle&mdash;said
Liszt, with marked emphasis, and again
referring to the importance Rome possessed for
him&mdash;here he found the long desired leisure for
work. His Elisabeth, he said, had here sprung
into existence, and also his oratorio of Petrus.
He had, moreover, he remarked, notions which
it would take him three years of thorough hard
work to carry out.</p>

<p>"He certainly knew, the Abbé-Maestro continued,
referring to his art-gospel, that here and
there things which in other places had met with
some response had been hissed, but he had no
more hope for applause than he feared censure.
He followed, he said, the path he considered the
right one, and could say that he had consistently
pursued the direction he had once taken. The
only rule he adopted in the production of his
works, as far as he had full power, was that
of not compromising his friends or of exposing
them to the disfavour of the public. Solely for
this reason he had thought it incumbent on him,
for instance, to refuse to send a highly esteemed
colleague the score of his Elisabeth, in spite of
two applications.</p>

<p>"I expressed to my friendly host my delight
at his good health and vigour, prognosticating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
a long continuance of fruitful activity. 'Oh!
yes, I am quite satisfied with my state of health,'
answered the master, 'though my legs will no
longer render me their old service.' At the same
time, in an access of boisterous merriment, he
gave the upper part of his right thigh so hard a
slap that I could not consider his regret particularly
sincere.</p>

<p>"Another of my remarks was directed to the
incomparable site of his abode, which alone might
make a middling poet produce great epic or elegiac
poetry. 'I live quietly and agreeably,' was
the reply, 'both here and at Monte Mario, where
there are a few rooms at my service, with a splendid
view over the city, the Tiber and the hills.'
And not to remain my debtor for the ocular proof
of what he said, at least as far as regarded his
town residence, he opened a window and gazed
silently with me on the overpowering seriousness
of the ruined site.</p>

<p>"The amiable maestro then conducted me rapidly
through two smaller rooms, one of which was
his simple bed-chamber, to a wooden outhouse
with a small window, through which were to be
seen the Colosseum, in all its gigantic proportions,
and the triumphal arch of Constantine close by,
overtowered by Mount Coelius, now silent.</p>

<p>"'A splendid balcony might be erected here,'
observed Liszt, 'but the poor Franciscan monk
has no money for such a purpose!'</p>

<p>"Having returned to his study, I thought the
time had arrived for bringing my first visit to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
termination. The thanks conveyed in my words
on taking leave were warm and sincere. I carried
with me out of that quiet dwelling the conviction
that in Liszt the true artist far outweighs the
virtuoso and the monk, and that only such persons
as formerly snobbishly shook their heads
because Winkelmann took service and found an
asylum with a cardinal, can scoff and make small
jokes on Liszt's cell and monkish cowl."</p>


<h3>B. W. H.</h3>

<p>An American lady who signs herself "B. W.
H.," and wrote some reminiscences of the great
musician at Weimar in 1877, calls her contribution
An Hour Passed with Liszt:</p>

<p>"How much more some of us get than we deserve!
A pleasure has come to us unsought.
It came knocking at our door seeking entrance
and we simply did not turn it away. It happened
in this fashion: A friend had been visiting Liszt
in Weimar and happened to mention us to the
great master, who promised us a gracious reception
should we ever appear there. To Weimar
then we came, and the gracious reception
we certainly had, to our satisfaction and lasting
remembrance.</p>

<p>"After sending our cards, and receiving permission
to present ourselves at an appointed and
early hour, we drove to the small, cosy house occupied
by Liszt when here, on the outskirts of the
garden of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span>
ushered by his Italian valet into a comfortable,
cosy, home-like apartment, where we sat awaiting
the great man's appearance. Wide casements
opened upon a stretch of lawn and noble
old trees; easy-chairs and writing-tables; MS.
music, with the pen lying carelessly beside it;
masses of music piled up on the floor, a row of
books there, too; a grand piano and an upright
one; a low dish of roses on the table; a carpet,
which is not taken for granted here as with us&mdash;altogether
the easy, friendly look of a cottage
drawing-room at home, where people have a
happy use of pleasant things.</p>

<p>"He entered the room after a few minutes and
greeted us with a charming amiability, for which
we inwardly blessed the absent friend. Of course
everybody knows how he looks&mdash;tall, thin, with
long white hair; a long, black, robe-like coat,
being an abbé; long, slight, sensitive hands; a
manner used to courts, and a smile and grace rare
in a man approaching seventy. He spoke of
Anna Mehlig, and of several young artists just
beginning their career, whom we personally
know. Very graciously he mentioned Miss Cecilia
Gaul, of Baltimore; spoke kindly of Miss
Anna Bock, one of the youngest and most diligent
of artists, and most forcibly perhaps of Carl Hermann,
like Anna Mehlig, a pupil in the Stuttgart
Conservatory, 'There is something in the young
man,' he said with emphasis. So he chatted in
the most genial way of things great and small,
as if he were not one of the world's geniuses, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span>
we two little insignificant nobodies sitting before
him, overcome with a consciousness of his
greatness and our nothingness, yet quite happy
and at ease, as every one must be who comes
within the sphere of his gracious kindliness.</p>

<p>"Suddenly he rose and went to his writing-table,
and, with one of his long, sweet smiles,
so attractive in a man of his age&mdash;but why
shouldn't a man know how to smile long, sweet
smiles who has had innumerable thrilling romantic
experiences with the sex that has always
adored him?&mdash;he took a bunch of roses from a
glass on his table and brought it to us. Whether
to kiss his hand or fall on our knees we did not
quite know; but, America being less given than
many lands to emotional demonstration, we
smiled back with composure, and appeared, no
doubt, as if we were accustomed from earliest
youth to distinguished marks of favour from the
world's great ones.</p>

<p>"But the truth is we were not. And these
roses which stood on Liszt's writing-table by his
MS. music, presented by the hand that has made
him famous, are already pressing and will be kept
among our penates, except one, perhaps, that will
be distributed leaf by leaf to hero-worshipping
friends, with date and appropriate inscriptions
on the sheet where it rests. How amiable he was,
indeed! The roses were much, but something
was to come. The <span lang="de">Meister</span> played to us. For
this we had not even dared to hope during our
first visit. No one, of course, ever asks him to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span>
play, and whether he does or not depends wholly
on his mood. It was beautiful to sit there close
by him, the soft lawns and trees, framed by the
open casement, making a background for the
tall figure, the long, peculiar hands wandering
over the keys, the face full of intellect and power.
And how he smiles as he plays! We fancied at
first in our own simplicity that he was smiling
at us, but later it seemed merely the music in his
soul illuminating his countenance. His whole
face changes and gleams, and grows majestic,
revealing the master-spirit as his hands caress
while they master the keys. With harrowing experiences
of the difficulty of Liszt's compositions,
we anticipated, as he began, something that
would thunder and crash and teach us what
pigmies we were; but as an exquisitely soft melody
filled the room, and tones came like whispers
to our hearts, and a theme drawn with a tender,
magical touch brought pictures and dreams of
the past before us, we actually forgot where we
were, forgot that the white-haired man was the
famous Liszt, forgot to speak as the last faint
chord died away, and sat in utter silence, quite
lost to our surroundings, with unseeing eyes gazing
out through the casement.</p>

<p>"At last he rose, took our hands kindly, and
said, 'That is how I play when I am suffering
from a cold as at present.' We asked if he had
been improvising, or if what he played was already
printed. 'It was only a little nocturne,'
he said. 'It sounded like a sweet remembrance.'<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>
'And was that,' he replied cordially. Then fearing
to disturb him too long, and feeling we had
been crowned with favours, we made our adieux,
receiving a kind invitation to come the following
day and hear the young artists who cluster around
him here, some of whom he informed us played
'<span lang="de">famos</span>.' And after we had left him he followed
us out to the stairway to repeat his invitation and
say another gracious word or two. And we went
off to drive through Weimar, and only half observed
its pleasant homely streets, its flat, uninteresting,
yet friendly aspect, its really charming
park&mdash;so Lisztified we were, as a friend calls
our state of mind. The place has, indeed, little
to charm the stranger now, except the memories
of Goethe and Schiller and all the famous literary
stars who once made it glorious, and the presence
of Liszt."</p>

<p>The lives of musicians are, in general, so devoid
of extraordinary incident, that the relation
of them is calculated more to instruct than amuse.</p>

<p>That of Liszt, however, was an exception to the
rule. His adventures seemed to have been so
many and so various as almost to encourage a
belief that in describing them his literary admirers
often used the pen of romance.</p>

<p>The last letter that Liszt indited with his own
pen is addressed to Frau Sofie Menter, and is
dated Bayreuth, July 3, 1886. What proved to
be almost a death-bed epistle runs as follows:</p>

<p>"To-morrow, after the religious marriage of
my granddaughter Daniela von Bülow to Professor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
Henry Thode (art-historian), I betake myself
to my excellent friends the Munkacsys, Château
Colpach, Grand Duchy of Luxemburg. On
the 20th July I shall be back here again for the
first 7-8 performances of the <span lang="de">Festspiel</span>; then alas!
I must put myself under the, to me, very disagreeable
cure at Kissingen, and in September an
operation for the eyes is impending for me with
Gräfe at Halle. For a month past I have been
quite unable to read, and almost unable to write,
with much labour, a couple of lines. Two secretaries
kindly help me by reading to me and writing
letters at my dictation. How delightful it
would be to me, dear friend, to visit you at your
fairy castle at Itter! But I do not see any opportunity
of doing so at present. Perhaps you
will come to Bayreuth, where, from July 20th to
the 7th August, will be staying your sincere
friend F. Liszt."</p>

<p>The master was spared the infliction of the
cure he dreaded at Kissingen, and Frau Menter
did not meet him at Bayreuth, for on July 31st
Liszt died, what to him must have been a pleasant
death, after witnessing the greatest work
of the poet-composer whom he had done so much
to befriend&mdash;Richard Wagner's <span lang="de">Tristan und
Isolde</span>.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p>


<h3>ERNEST LEGOUVÉ</h3>

<p>"I am about to make a very bold profession of
faith&mdash;I adore the piano! All the jests at its
expense, all the anathemas that are heaped upon
it, are as revolting to me as so many acts of ingratitude,
I might say as so many absurdities.</p>

<p>"To me the piano is one of the domestic lares,
one of our household gods. It is, thanks to it,
and it alone, that we have for ourselves and in
our homes the most poetic and the most personal
of all the arts&mdash;music. What is it that brings
into our dwellings an echo of the Conservatory
concerts? What is it that gives us the opera at
our own firesides? What is it that unites four,
five or six harmonious voices in the interpretation
of a masterpiece of vocal music, as the trio
of Don Juan, the quartet of Moses, or the finale
of the Barber of Seville? The piano, and the
piano alone. Were the piano to be abolished
how could you have the exquisite joy of hearing
Faure in your own chamber? I say Faure, but
I might say Taffanel, Gillet, all the instrumentalists,
for all instruments are its tributaries. They
all have need of it; it alone needs none.</p>

<p>"Auber said to me one day: 'What I admire,
perhaps, most in Beethoven are some of his sonatas,
because in them his thought shows clearly
in all its pure beauty, unencumbered by the ornaments
of orchestral riches.' But for what instrument
were the sonatas of Beethoven composed?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>
For the piano. I cannot forget that the
entire work of Chopin was written for the piano.
Besides, it is the confidant of the man of genius,
of all that he does not write. Ah! if the piano
of Weber might repeat what the author of <span lang="de">Der
Freischütz</span> has spoken to it alone! And, greatest
superiority of all, the piano is of all the instruments
the only one that is progressive.</p>

<p>"A Stradivarius and an Amati remain superior
to all the violins of to-day, and it is not certain
that the horn, the flute and the hautbois have not
lost as much as they have gained with all the
present superabundance of keys and pistons.
The piano only has always gained in its transformations,
and every one of its enlargements,
adding something to its power of expression, has
enabled it to improve even the interpretation of
the old masters.</p>

<p>"One day when Thalberg was playing at my
home a sonata of Mozart on a Pleyel piano, Berlioz
said to me: 'Ah! if Mozart were with us,
he would hear his admirable andante as he sung
it to himself in his breast!'</p>

<p>"One of my most precious musical memories is,
then, to have not only known but to have associated
with and to have enjoyed in intimacy the
three great triumvirs of the piano&mdash;Liszt, Thalberg,
and Chopin. The arrival of Thalberg in
Paris was a revelation, I could willingly say a revolution.
I know only Paganini, whose appearance
produced the same mélange of enthusiasm
and astonishment. Both excited the same feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
that one experiences in the presence of the
unknown, the mysterious, the unexplainable.
I attended Paganini's first concert (it was at the
Opera) in company with De Beriot. De Beriot
held in his hand a copy of the piece that Paganini
was to play. 'This man is a charlatan,' he said
to me, 'he cannot execute what is printed here,
because it is not executable.' Paganini began.
I listened to the music and watched De Beriot attentively.
All at once he exclaimed to himself,
'Ah! the rascal, I understand! He has modified
the tuning of his instrument.'</p>

<p>"There was a like surprise at Thalberg's first
concert. It was at the <span lang="fr">Théâtre des Italiens</span>, in
the daytime, in the public foyer. I attended in
company with Julius Benedict, who was, it was
said, Weber's only piano pupil. I shall never
forget his stupefaction, his amazement. Leaning
feverishly toward the instrument, to which
we were very near, his eyes fastened upon those
fingers that seemed to him like so many magicians,
he could hardly believe his eyes or his
ears. For him, as De Beriot, there had been in
the printed works of Thalberg something which
he could not explain. Only the secret this time
was not in the instrument, but in the performer.
It was not this time the strings that were changed,
it was the fingers.</p>

<p>"A new method of fingering enabled Thalberg
to cause the piano to express what it had never
expressed before. Benedict's emotion was all
the more intense that the poor fellow chanced to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>
be in a very unique frame of mind and heart.
His young wife, whom he worshipped, had departed
that morning to join her parents at Naples.
The separation was to last only for less than six
months, but he was profoundly sad, and it was
to distract his mind that I had taken him to the
concert. But once there, there took place in
him the strangest amalgamation of the husband
and the pianist. At once despairing and enchanted,
he reminded me of the man in Rabelais
who, hearing the church bells ring out, at almost
the same moment, the baptism of his son and the
funeral service of his wife, wept with one eye and
laughed with the other. Benedict would break
forth into exclamations both comical and touching.
He went from his wife to Thalberg and
from Thalberg to his wife. 'Ah! dear Adele,
this is frightful!' he would exclaim in one breath,
and with the next, 'Ah! dear Thalberg, that
is delightful!' I have still ringing in my ears
the original duo that he sang that day to himself.</p>

<p>"Thalberg's triumph irritated Liszt profoundly.
It was not envy. He was incapable of any low
sentiment. His was the rage of a dethroned
king. He called Thalberg's school disdainfully
the Thumb school. But he was not a man to
yield his place without defending himself, and
there ensued between them a strife that was all
the more striking that the antithesis between the
two men was as great as the difference in their
talents.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p>

<p>"Liszt's attitude at the piano, like that of a pythoness,
has been remarked again and again.
Constantly tossing back his long hair, his lips
quivering, his nostrils palpitating, he swept the
auditorium with the glance of a smiling master.
He had some little trick of the comedian in his
manner, but he was not that. He was a Hungarian;
a Hungarian in two aspects, at once
Magyar and Tzigane. True son of the race
that dances to the clanking of its spurs. His
countrymen understood him well when they sent
him as a testimonial of honour an enormous
sabre.</p>

<p>"There was nothing of the kind about Thalberg.
He was the gentleman artist, a perfect union of
talent and propriety. He seemed to have taken
it for his rule to be the exact opposite of his rival.
He entered noiselessly; I might almost say without
displacing the air. After a dignified greeting
that seemed a trifle cold in manner, he seated
himself at the piano as though upon an ordinary
chair. The piece began, not a gesture, not a
change of countenance! not a glance toward the
audience! If the applause was enthusiastic, a
respectful inclination of the head was his only response.
His emotion, which was very profound,
as I have had more than one proof, betrayed itself
only by a violent rush of blood to the head,
colouring his ears, his face and his neck. Liszt
seemed seized with inspiration from the beginning;
with the first note he gave himself up to his talent
without reserve, as prodigals throw their money<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
from the window without counting it, and however
long was the piece his inspired fervour never
flagged.</p>

<p>"Thalberg began slowly, quietly, calmly, but
with a calm that thrilled. Under those notes so
seemingly tranquil one felt the coming storm.
Little by little the movement quickened, the expression
became more accentuated, and by a
series of gradual crescendos he held one breathless
until a final explosion swept the audience
with an emotion indescribable.</p>

<p>"I had the rare good fortune to hear these two
great artists on the same day, in the same salon,
at an interval of a quarter of an hour, at a concert
given by the Princess Belgiojoso for the Poles.
There was then revealed to me palpably, clearly,
the characteristic difference in their talent. Liszt
was incontestably the more artistic, the more vibrant,
the more electric. He had tones of a delicacy
that made one think of the almost inaudible
tinkling of tiny spangles or the faint explosion of
sparks of fire. Never have fingers bounded so
lightly over the piano. But at the same time
his nervosity caused him to produce sometimes
effects a trifle hard, a trifle harsh. I shall never
forget that, after a piece in which Liszt, carried
away by his fury, had come down very hard upon
the keys, the sweet and charming Pleyel approached
the instrument and gazed with an expression
of pity upon the strings. 'What are
you doing, my dear friend?' I asked, laughing.
'I am looking at the field of battle,' he responded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
in a melancholy tone; 'I am counting
the wounded and the dead.'</p>

<p>"Thalberg never pounded. What constituted
his superiority, what made the pleasure of hearing
him play a luxury to the ear, was pure <i>tone</i>.
I have never heard such another, so full, so
round, so soft, so velvety, so sweet, and still so
strong! How shall I say it? The voice of Alboni.</p>

<p>"At this concert in hearing Liszt I felt myself
in an atmosphere charged with electricity and
quivering with lightning. In hearing Thalberg
I seemed to be floating in a sea of purest light.
The contrast between their characters was not
less than between their talent. I had a striking
proof of it with regard to Chopin.</p>

<p>"It is not possible to compare any one with
Chopin, because he resembled no one. Everything
about him pertained only to himself. He
had his own tone, his own touch. All the great
artists have executed and still execute the works
of Chopin with great ability, but in reality only
Chopin has played Chopin. But he never appeared
in public concerts nor in large halls. He
liked only select audiences and limited gatherings,
just as he would use no other piano than a
Pleyel, nor have any other tuner than Frederic.
We, fanatics that we were, were indignant at his
reserve; we demanded that the public should hear
him; and one day in one of those fine flights of
enthusiasm that have caused me to make more
than one blunder I wrote in Schlesinger's <i lang="fr">Gazette Musicale</i>:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
'Let Chopin plunge boldly into the
stream, let him announce a grand <span lang="fr">soirée musicale</span>
and the next day when the eternal question shall
arise, "Who is the greater pianist to-day, Liszt
or Thalberg?" the public will answer with us,
"It is Chopin."'</p>

<p>"To be frank, I had done better not to have
written that article. I should have recalled my
friendly relations with the two others. Liszt
would have nothing to do with me for more than
two months. But the day after the one on which
my article appeared Thalberg was at my door at
ten in the morning. He stretched out his hand
as he entered, saying, 'Bravo! your article is
only just.'</p>

<p>"At last their rivalry, which in reality had never
been more than emulation, assumed a more accentuated,
a more striking form. Until then no
pianist had ventured to play in the hall of a large
theatre with an auditorium of 1,200 or 1,500.
Thalberg, impelled by his successes, announced
a concert in the <span lang="fr">Théâtre des Italiens</span>, not in the
foyer, but in the main auditorium. He played
for the first time his Moses, and his success was
a triumph.</p>

<p>"Liszt, somewhat piqued, saw in Thalberg's
triumph a defiance, and he announced a concert
at the Opera. For his battle horse he took Weber's
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span>. I was at the concert. He
placed a box at my disposal, requesting that I
should give an account of the evening in the
<i lang="fr">Gazette Musicale</i>. I arrived full of hope and joy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span>
A first glance over the hall checked my ardour
a trifle. There were many, very many, present,
but here and there were empty spaces that disquieted
me. My fears were not without reason.
It was a half success. Between numbers I encountered
Berlioz, with whom I exchanged my
painful impressions, and I returned home quite
tormented over the article I was to write. The
next day I had hardly seated myself at my table
when I received a letter from Liszt. I am happy
to reproduce here the principal part of that letter,
for it discloses an unknown Liszt, a modest
Liszt. Yes, modest! It only half astonished
me, for a certain circumstance had revealed this
Liszt to me once before. It was at Scheffer's,
who was painting his portrait. When posing
Liszt assumed an air of inspiration. Scheffer,
with his surpassing brusqueness, said to him:
'The devil, Liszt! Don't put on the airs of a
man of genius with me. You know well enough
that I am not fooled by it.'</p>

<p>"What response did Liszt make to these rude
words? He was silent a moment, then going up
to Scheffer he said: 'You are right, my dear
friend. But pardon me; you do not know how
it spoils one to have been an infant prodigy.'
This response seemed to me absolutely delicious
in its sweet simplicity&mdash;I might say in its humility.
The letter that I give below has the same
character:</p>

<p>"'You have shown me of late an affection so
comprehensive that I ask your permission to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
speak as a friend to a friend. Yes, my dear
Legouvé, it is as to a friend that I am about to
confess to you a weakness. I am very glad that
it is you who are to write of my concert yesterday,
and I venture to ask you to remain silent
for this time, and for this time only, concerning
the defective side of my talent.'</p>

<p>"Is it possible, I ask, to make a more difficult
avowal with more delicacy or greater frankness?
Do we know many of the great artists capable
of writing 'the defective side of my talent'?</p>

<p>"I sent him immediately the following response:</p>

<p>"'No, my dear friend, I will not do what you
ask! No, I will not maintain silence concerning
the defective side of your talent, for the very simple
reason that you never displayed greater talent
than yesterday. Heaven defend me from denying
the coldness of the public, or from proclaiming
your triumph when you have not triumphed!
That would be unworthy of you, and, permit me
to add, of me. But what was it that happened?
and why this half failure? Ah! blunderer that
you were, what a strategic error you committed!
Instead of placing the orchestra back of you, as
at the Conservatory, so as to bring you directly
in contact with your audience, and to establish
between you and them an electric current, you
cut the wire; you left this terrible orchestra in
its usual place. You played across I know not
how many violins, violoncellos, horns, and trombones,
and the voice of your instrument, to reach
us, had to pass through all that warring orchestra!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>
And you are astonished at the result! But,
my dear friend, how was it two months ago at
the Conservatory that with the same piece you
produced such a wonderful effect? It was because
that, in front alone, with the orchestra behind
you, you appeared like a cavalry colonel
at the head of his regiment, his horse in full gallop,
his sabre in hand, leading on his soldiers,
whose enthusiasm was only the accompaniment
of his own. At the Opera the colonel abandoned
his place at the head of his regiment, and placed
himself at its rear. Fine cause for surprise that
your tones did not reach us resounding and vibrant!
This is what happened, my dear friend,
and this is what I shall say, and I shall add that
there was no one but Liszt in the world who could
have produced under such conditions the effect
that you produced. For in reality your failure
would have been a great success for any other
than you.</p>

<p>"'With this, wretched strategist, I send you a
cordial pressure of the hand, and begin my article.'</p>

<p>"The following Sunday my article appeared, and
I had the great pleasure to have satisfied him."</p>


<h3>ROBERT SCHUMANN ON LISZT'S PLAYING</h3>

<p>"Liszt is now [1840] probably about thirty years
old. Every one knows well that he was a child
phenomenon; how he was early transplanted to
foreign lands; that his name afterward appeared<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span>
here and there among the most distinguished;
that then the rumour of it occasionally died away,
until Paganini appeared, inciting the youth to
new endeavours; and that he suddenly appeared
in Vienna two years ago, rousing the imperial
city to enthusiasm. Thus he appeared among
us of late, already honoured, with the highest
honours that can be bestowed on an artist, and
his fame already established.</p>

<p>"The first concert, on the 17th, was a remarkable
one. The multitudinous audience was so
crowded together that even the hall looked altered.
The orchestra was also filled with listeners,
and among them&mdash;Liszt.</p>

<p>"He began with the Scherzo and Finale of Beethoven's
Pastoral Symphony. The selection was
capricious enough, and on many accounts not
happy. At home, in a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, a highly careful
transcription may lead one almost to forget the
orchestra; but in a large hall, in the same place
where we have been accustomed to hear the
symphony played frequently and perfectly by
the orchestra, the weakness of the pianoforte is
striking, and the more so the more an attempt
is made to represent masses in their strength.
Let it be understood, with all this, we had heard
the master of the instrument; people were satisfied;
they at least, had seen him shake his mane.
To hold to the same illustration, the lion presently
began to show himself more powerful.
This was in a fantasia on themes by Pacini,
which he played in a most remarkable manner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
But I would sacrifice all the astonishing, the audacious
bravura that he displayed here for the
sake of the magical tenderness that he expressed
in the following étude. With the sole exception
of Chopin, as I have already said, I know not
one who equals him in this quality. He closed
with the well-known Chromatic Gallop; and as
the applause this elicited was endless, he also
played his equally well-known bravura waltz.</p>

<p>"Fatigue and indisposition prevented the artist
from giving the concert promised for the next
day. In the meantime a musical festival was
prepared for him, that will never be forgotten by
Liszt himself or the others present. The giver
of the festival (Felix Mendelssohn) had selected
for performance some compositions unknown to
his guest: Franz Schubert's symphony (in C);
his own psalm, As the Hart Pants; the overture,
A Calm Sea and a Prosperous Voyage; three
choruses from St. Paul; and, to close with, the
D-minor concerto for three pianos by Sebastian
Bach. This was played by Liszt, Mendelssohn,
and Hiller. It seemed as though nothing had
been prepared, but all improvised instantaneously.
Those were three such happy musical
hours as years do not always bring. At the end
Liszt played alone, and wonderfully.</p>

<p>"Liszt's most genial performance was yet to come&mdash;Weber's
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span>, which he played at his
second concert. Virtuoso and public seemed to
be in the freshest mood possible on that evening,
and the enthusiasm before and after his playing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>
exceeded anything hitherto known here. Although
Liszt grasped the piece, from the beginning,
with such force and grandeur of expression
that an attack on a battle-field would seem to be
in question, yet he carried this on with continually
increasing power, until the passage where
the player seemed to stand at the summit of the
orchestra, leading it forward in triumph. Here,
indeed, he resembled that great commander to
whom he has been compared, and the tempestuous
applause that greeted him was not unlike an
adoring "<span lang="fr">Vive l'Empereur!</span>" He then played
a fantasia on themes from the Huguenots, the
Ave Maria and Serenade, and, at the request of
the public, the Erl-King of Schubert. But the
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span> was the crown of his performances
on this evening."</p>


<h3>LISZT IN RUSSIA</h3>

<p>"Liszt visited Russia for the first time in 1842,"
writes Rose Newmarch. "I do not know whether
this journey was part of the original scheme of
his great two years' tour on the continent (1840-1842),
or if he only yielded to the pressing invitations
of several influential Russian friends.
Early in 1839, among the many concerts which
he gave in Rome, none was more brilliant than
the recital organised by the famous Russian amateur,
Count Bielgorsky, at the house of Prince
Galitsin, Governor-General of Moscow, who was
wintering in the Italian capital. During the fol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>lowing
year, Liszt spent three days at Ems, where
he was presented to the Empress Alexandra
Feodorovna, to whom he played every evening
during his brief visit. The Empress was fascinated
by his genius, and enjoined him to visit
Russia without delay.</p>

<p>"The phenomenal success of the twenty-two
concerts which Liszt gave in Berlin during the
winter of 1841-1842, soon became a subject of
gossip in Petersburg, and his arrival was awaited
with unprecedented excitement. He reached
the capital early in April, and was almost immediately
presented to Nicholas I. On entering
the audience chamber, the Emperor, ignoring
the presence of numerous generals and high
officials who were awaiting an audience, went
straight to Liszt saying, "Monsieur Liszt, I am
delighted to see you in Petersburg," and immediately
engaged him in conversation. A day
or two later, on the 8th of April, Liszt gave his
first concert in the Salle de la Noblesse, before
an audience of three thousand people. This
concert was both a novel and an important event
in Russia. Not only was it the first recital ever
heard there&mdash;for before Liszt's day, no single
artist had attempted to hold the public attention
by the spell of his own unaided gifts&mdash;but it was
also the first tie in a close and lasting bond between
the great virtuoso and the Russian people.
In after years, no one was quicker to discern the
attractive qualities of Russian music, nor more
assiduous in its propagation than Franz Liszt.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p>

<p>"In the memoirs of contemporary Russian writers
there are many interesting references to
Liszt's first appearance in Petersburg. Not only
do these reminiscences show the extraordinary
glamour and interest which invested the personality
of the master; they throw some light upon
social life in Russia during the first half of the
century.</p>

<p>"The brilliant audience which flocked to the
Salle de la Noblesse to hear Liszt, numbered no
greater enthusiasts than the two young students
of the School of Jurisprudence, Stassov and
Serov. Both were destined to attain celebrity
in after-life; the former as a great critic, and the
chief upholder of national art; the latter, as the
composer of at least one popular opera, and the
leading exponent of the Wagnerian doctrines in
Russia. Stassov's reminiscences are highly picturesque.
We seem actually to see the familiar
figure of the pianist as he entered the magnificent
Hall of the Nobility, leaning on the arm of Count
Bielgorsky, an "elderly Adonis" and typical
dandy of the forties. Bielgorsky was somewhat
inclined to obesity, moved slowly, and stared at
the elegant assemblage with prominent, short-sighted
eyes. His hair was brushed back and
curled, after the model of the Apollo Belvedere,
while he wore an enormous white cravat. Liszt
also wore a white cravat, and over it the Order of
the Golden Spur, bestowed upon him a short
time previously by the Pope. He was further
adorned with various other orders suspended by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
chains from the lapels of his dress coat. But that
which struck the Russians most was the great
mane of fair hair reaching almost to his shoulders.
Outside the priesthood, no Russian would
have ventured on such a style of hair-dressing.
Such dishevelment had been sternly discountenanced
since the time of Peter the Great. Stassov,
afterward one of the warmest admirers of
Liszt, both as man and musician, was not altogether
favourably impressed by this first sight
of the virtuoso. "He was very thin, stooped a
great deal, and though I had read much about
his famous 'Florentine profile' and his likeness
to Dante, I did not find his face beautiful. I
was not pleased with his mania for decking himself
with orders, and afterwards I was as little
prepossessed by his somewhat affected demeanour
to those who came in contact with him."</p>

<p>"After the first hush of intense curiosity, the entire
assembly began to discuss Liszt in a subdued
murmur. Stassov, who sat close to Glinka
and a well-known pianist&mdash;Madame Palibin&mdash;caught
the following conversation. Madame
Palibin inquired if Glinka had already heard
Liszt. He replied that he had met him the night
before at Count Bielgorsky's reception. 'Well,
what did you think of him?' Glinka answered,
without a moment's hesitation, that sometimes
Liszt played divinely&mdash;like no one else in the
world; at other times atrociously, with exaggerated
emphasis, dragging the 'tempi,' and
adding&mdash;even to the music of Chopin, Beethoven,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
and Bach&mdash;tasteless embellishments of
his own. 'I was horribly scandalised,' says
Stassov. 'What! Did our "mediocre" Russian
musician' (this was Stassov's first sight of
Glinka, and a short time before the appearance
of Russlane and Lioudmilla) 'venture thus to
criticise the great genius Liszt, who had turned
the heads of all Europe!' Madame Palibin, too,
seemed to disapprove of Glinka's criticism, and
said laughingly, '<span lang="fr">Allons donc, tout cela, ce n'est
que rivalité de métier!</span>' Glinka smiled urbanely,
shrugged his shoulders, and replied, 'As you
please.'</p>

<p>"At this moment Liszt mounted the platform,
and, pulling his dog-skin gloves from his shapely
white hands, tossed them carelessly on the floor.
Then, after acknowledging the thunderous applause&mdash;such
as had not been heard in Russia
for over a century&mdash;he seated himself at the
piano. There was a silence as though the whole
audience had been turned to stone, and Liszt,
without any prelude, began the opening bars of
the overture to William Tell. Criticism, curiosity,
speculation, all were forgotten in the wonderful
enchantment of the performance. Among
other things, he played his fantasia on Don Juan,
his arrangements of Adelaïde, and The Erl King,
and wound up the recital with his showy <span lang="fr">Galop
Chromatique</span>.</p>

<p>"'After the concert,' says Stassov, 'Serov and
I were like madmen. We scarcely exchanged a
word, but hurried home, each to write down his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
impressions, dreams, and raptures. But we both
vowed to keep the anniversary of this day sacred
for ever, and never, while life lasted, to forget a
single incident of it. We were like men in love,
or bewitched. What wonder? Never before
had we come face to face with such a gifted, impassioned,
almost demoniacal personality as that
of Liszt, who seemed alternately to let loose the
forces of the whirlwind, or to carry us away on a
flood of tenderness, grace, and beauty.'</p>

<p>"Serov felt even more strongly the fascination
of Liszt's genius. The same evening he sent to
Stassov the following record of his impressions:
'First, let me congratulate you on your initiation
into the great mysteries of art, and then&mdash;let
me think a little. It is two hours since I left the
Hall, and I am still beside myself. Where am
I? Am I dreaming, or under a spell? Have I
indeed heard Liszt? I expected great things
from all the accounts I had heard, and still more
from a kind of inward conviction&mdash;but how far
the reality surpassed my expectations! Happy,
indeed, are we to be living in 1842, at the same
time as such an artist! Fortunate, indeed, that
we have been privileged to hear him! I am
gushing a great deal&mdash;too much for me, but I
cannot contain myself. Bear with me in this lyrical
crisis until I can express myself calmly....
What a festival it has been! How different everything
looks in God's world to-day! And all this
is the work of one man and his playing! What a
power is music! I cannot collect my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
thoughts&mdash;my whole being seems in a state of abnormal
tension, of confused rapture!'</p>

<p>"Do we experience this exaltation nowadays?
I think not. Rarely do we partake of the insane
root. Are there no more enchanters like Liszt?
Or has the capacity of such enthusiasm and expansion
passed away for ever with the white
stocks, the '<span lang="fr">coiffure à l'Apollon Belvédère</span>' and
the frank emotionalism of the early Victorian
period?"</p>


<h3>LISZT IN ENGLAND</h3>

<p>"The visits of great musicians to our shores
have furnished much interesting material to the
musical historian," wrote the <i>Musical Times</i>.
"Those of Mozart and Haydn, for instance, have
been fully and ably treated by the late Carl Ferdinand
Pohl, in two volumes which have never been
translated, as they deserve to be, into the English
language. No less interesting are the sojournings
in London and the provinces of Spohr,
Weber, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Berlioz, Verdi,
and Wagner. 'The King of Pianists' has not
hitherto received the attention due to him in
this respect, and the following chit-chat upon his
English experiences is offered as a small contribution
to the existing biographical information concerning
a great man.</p>

<p>"Franz was a boy of twelve years of age, when
he made his first appearance in London in the year
1824. At that time Rossini shone as the bright
particular star in the London musical firmament.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
The composer of <span lang="it">Il Barbiere</span> actually gave concerts.
'Persons desirous of obtaining tickets
are requested to send their names to Signor Rossini,
90, Quadrant [Regent Street], 'so the advertisements
stated. It was therefore thought desirable
to postpone the appearance of the little
Hungarian pianist until after Rossini had finished
his music-makings.</p>

<p>"The first appearance of Liszt in England was
of a semi-private nature. On June 5, 1824, the
Annual Festival of the Royal Society of Musicians
took place. The account of the dinner
given in the <i>Morning Post</i> contains the following
information:</p>

<p>"'Master Liszt (a youth from Hungary) performed
on a Grand Pianoforte with an improved
action, invented by Sebastian Erard, the celebrated
Harp-maker, of very great power and
brilliancy of tone.</p>

<p>"'To do justice to the performance of Master
Liszt is totally out of our power; his execution,
taste, expression, genius, and wonderful extemporary
playing, defy any written description.
He must be heard to be duly appreciated.'</p>

<p>"Among those who heard Master Liszt was a
certain Master Wesley (Samuel Sebastian of that
ilk), who, as a Chapel Royal Chorister, took part
in the glees sung at that festive board. The
<i>Quarterly Musical Magazine and Review</i> of 1824
(p. 241) thus referred to the young pianist's performance:</p>

<p>"'We heard this youth first at the dinner of
the Royal Society of Musicians, where he extemporised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
for about twenty minutes before that
judgmatical audience of professors and their
friends.'</p>

<p>"The announcement of Liszt's concert appeared
in the <i>Morning Post</i> in these terms:</p>

<p class="center">"'NEW ARGYLL ROOMS</p>

<p>"'Master Liszt, aged twelve years, a native of
Hungary ... respectfully informs the Nobility,
Gentry, and the Public in general, that his Benefit
Concert will take place this evening, June 21,
1824, to commence at half-past 8 precisely, when
he will perform on Sebastian Erard's new patent
Grand Pianoforte, a Concerto by Hummel, New
variations by Winkhler, and play extempore on a
written Thema, which Master Liszt will request
any person of the company to give him....</p>

<p>"'Leader, Mr. Mori. Conductor, Sir George
Smart. Tickets, half-a-guinea each, to be had
of Master Liszt, 18, Great Marlborough Street.'</p>

<p>"In an account of the concert the <i>Morning Post</i>
said: 'Notwithstanding the <i>contrary motions</i>
which occurred on Monday night of Pasta's benefit
and a Grand Rout given by Prince Leopold,
there was a numerous attendance.' The
musicians present included Clementi, J. B. Cramer,
Ries, Neate, Kalkbrenner, and Cipriani Potter,
all of whom 'rewarded Master Liszt with
repeated <i>bravos</i>.' The programme included an
air with variations by Czerny, played by Liszt,
who also took part in <span lang="it">Di Tanti Palpiti</span>, performed
'as a concertante with Signor Vimercati on his
little mandolin with uncommon spirit.' The remainder<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span>
of the <i>Morning Post</i> notice may be
quoted in full:</p>

<p>"'Sir G. Smart (who conducted the Concert)
invited any person in the company to oblige
Master Liszt with a Thema, on which he would
work (as the phrase is) extemporaneously. Here
an interesting pause took place; at length a lady
named Zitti, Zitti. The little fellow, though not
very well acquainted with the air, sat down and
roved about the instrument, occasionally touching
a few bars of the melody, then taking it as a
subject for a transient fugue; but the best part
of this performance was that wherein he introduced
the air with his right hand, while the left
swept the keys chromatically; then he crossed
over his right hand, played the subject with the
left, while the right hand descended by semi-tones
to the bottom of the instrument! It is
needless to add, that his efforts were crowned
with the most brilliant success.'</p>

<p>"Liszt took part in two grand miscellaneous
concerts given at the Theatre Royal, Manchester,
on the 2d and 4th of August, the other chief attraction
being The Infant Lyra, a prodigy harpist
'<i>not</i> four years old,' and nine years younger
than the juvenile Hungarian pianist. The programme
included 'an extempore fantasia on
Erard's new patent grand pianoforte of seven
octaves by Master Liszt, who will respectfully
request a written thema from any person present.'
The advertisement of the second concert included
the following:</p>

<p>"'Master Liszt being about to return to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
Continent where he is eagerly expected in consequence
of his astonishing talents, and the Infant
Lyra being on his way to London, the only opportunity
which can occur for the inhabitants of
Manchester to hear them has been seized by Mr.
Ward; and to afford every possible advantage
to the Voices and Instruments, he has so constructed
the Orchestra, that the Harp, and
Piano-Forte will be satisfactorily heard in every
part of the house.'</p>

<p>"The young gentleman was honoured with a
'command' to perform before King George the
Fourth at Windsor Castle. In the words of
the <i>Windsor Express</i> of July 31, 1824:</p>

<p>"'On Thursday evening, young Lizt (<i>sic</i>), the
celebrated juvenile performer on the pianoforte,
was introduced to the King at Windsor by Prince
Esterhazy. In the course of the evening he
played several pieces of Handel's and Mozart's
upon the piano, which he executed in a style to
draw forth the plaudits of His Majesty and the
company present.'</p>

<p>"In the following year (1825), Master Liszt
paid his second visit to England and again appeared
in Manchester.</p>

<p>"At his third visit (in 1827), he made the acquaintance
of the late Charles Salaman, two
years his senior, who heard Liszt play Hummel's
Concerto. In his pleasantly-written recollections
of pianists of the past (<i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>,
September, 1901), Mr. Salaman says:</p>

<p>"'Very shortly afterwards&mdash;just before Liszt's
morning concert, for which my father had purchased<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
tickets from his father&mdash;we became acquainted.
I visited him and his father at their
lodgings in Frith Street, Soho, and young Liszt
came to early family dinner at my home. He was
a very charmingly natural and unaffected boy,
and I have never forgotten his joyful exclamation,
'Oh, gooseberry pie!' when his favourite dish
was put upon the table. We had a good deal of
music together on that memorable afternoon,
reading several duets. Liszt played some of his
recently published Etudes, Op. 6, a copy of which
he gave me, and in which he wrote specially for
me an amended version of the sixth study, Molto
agitato.'</p>

<p>"Here is the programme of the morning concert
above referred to:</p>

<blockquote>
<p class="programme">
NEW ARGYLL ROOMS</p>
<p class="programme">
MASTER LISZT<br />
Has the honour to inform the Nobility, Gentry, and his<br />
Friends, that his<br />
MORNING CONCERT<br />
will take place at the above rooms on<br />
<span class="smcap">Saturday, June 9, 1827</span></p>

<p class="programme p2"><span class="smcap">Part I</span></p>

<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td>Overture to <i lang="fr">Les Deux Journées</i>, arranged by <i>Mr. Moscheles</i> for four performers on two Grand Piano Fortes, Mr. <span class="smcap">Beale</span>, Master <span class="smcap">Liszt</span>, Mr. <span class="smcap">Martin</span>, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Wigley</span></td><td align="right"><i>Cherubini</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Aria, Mr. <span class="smcap">Begrez</span></td><td align="right"><i>Beethoven</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Fantasia, Harp, on Irish Airs, Mr. <span class="smcap">Labarre</span></td><td align="right"><i>Labarre</i></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td>Duetto, Miss <span class="smcap">Grant</span> (<i>Pupil of Mr. CRIVELLI at the Royal Academy of Music</i>) and Signor <span class="smcap">Torri</span></td><td align="right"><i>Rossini</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Concerto (MS.), Piano Forte, with Orchestral Accompaniments, Master <span class="smcap">Liszt</span></td><td style="white-space: nowrap" align="right"><i>Master Liszt</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Song, Miss <span class="smcap">Stephens</span>.</td><td align="right">&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td>Solo, French Horn, Mr. <span class="smcap">G. Schunke</span></td><td style="white-space: nowrap" align="right"><i>G. Schuncke</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Aria, Miss <span class="smcap">Betts</span></td><td align="right"><i>Rossini</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Duetto, Miss <span class="smcap">Fanny Ayton</span> and Mr. <span class="smcap">Begrez</span>, "<span lang="it">Amor! possente nome</span>"</td><td align="right"><i>Rossini</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Fantasia, Violin, Mr. <span class="smcap">Mori</span></td><td align="right">&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td>Scena, Mr. <span class="smcap">Braham</span></td><td align="right"><i>Zingarelli</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Extempore Fantasia on a given subject, Master <span class="smcap">Liszt</span>.</td><td align="right">&nbsp;</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p class="programme p2"><span class="smcap">Part II</span>
</p>

<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td>Quartet for Voice, Harp, Piano Forte, and Violin, Miss <span class="smcap">Stephens</span>, Mr. <span class="smcap">Labarre</span>, Master <span class="smcap">Liszt</span>, and Mr. <span class="smcap">Mori</span></td><td style="white-space: nowrap" align="right"><i>Moscheles and Mayseder</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Aria, Miss <span class="smcap">Fanny Ayton</span>, "<span lang="it">Una voce poco fa</span>"</td><td align="right"><i>Rossini</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Solo, Guitar, Mr. <span class="smcap">Huerta</span></td><td align="right"><i>Huerta</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Duet, Miss Stephens and Mr. <span class="smcap">Braham</span>.</td><td align="right">&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td>Song, Miss <span class="smcap">Love</span>, "Had I a heart."</td><td align="right">&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td>Fantasia, Flute, Master <span class="smcap">Minasi</span></td><td align="right"><i>Master Minasi</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Song, Miss <span class="smcap">Grant</span>, "The Nightingale"</td><td align="right"><i>Crivelli</i></td></tr>
<tr><td>Brilliant Variations on "Rule Britannia," Master <span class="smcap">Liszt</span></td><td align="right"><i>Master Liszt</i></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p class="programme p2">Leader, <span class="smcap">Mr. Mori</span> &nbsp; Conductor, Mr. Schuncke</p>

<p class="programme p2">
THE CONCERT WILL COMMENCE AT HALF-PAST ONE O'CLOCK<br />
PRECISELY</p>

<p class="programme p2">
Tickets, Half-a-Guinea each, to be had of Mr. <span class="smcap">Liszt</span>, 46,<br />
Great Marlborough Street, and at all the principal<br />
Music Shops.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p>

<p>"Thirteen years elapsed before Liszt again
favoured us with his presence. He had in the
meantime passed from boyhood to manhood,
from having been a prodigy to becoming a mature
artist. The year was 1840&mdash;an important
one, as we shall presently see. He appeared, for
the first time, at the Philharmonic Concert of
May 11, 1840, which was conducted by Sir Henry
Bishop. Liszt played his own version of Weber's
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span> in which, according to a contemporary
account, 'passages were doubled, tripled,
inverted, and <i>transmogrified</i> in all sorts of ways.'
Be this as it may, the Philharmonic Directors
showed their appreciation of his performance by
a presentation, an account of which appeared in
a snappy and short-lived paper called the <i>Musical
Journal</i>. Here is the extract:</p>

<p>"'Liszt has been presented by the Philharmonic
Society with an elegant silver breakfast service,
for doing that which would cause every young
student to receive a severe reprimand&mdash;viz.,
thumping and partially destroying two very fine
pianofortes. The Society has given this to Mr.
Liszt as a <i>compliment</i> for performing at two of its
concerts <i>gratuitously</i>! Whenever did they present
an Englishman with a <i>silver breakfast service</i>
for gratuitous performances?'</p>

<p>"The foregoing is written in the strain which
characterised the attitude of a section of the
musical press towards the great pianist. His
use of the word 'Recitals' appears to have been
as a red rag to those roaring bulls. The familiar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
term owes its origin to Liszt's performances.
The late Willert Beale records that his father,
Frederick Beale, invented the designation, and
that it was much discussed before being finally
adopted. The advertisement reads thus:</p>

<p class="center">"'LISZT'S PIANOFORTE RECITALS</p>

<p>"'M. Liszt will give at Two o'clock on Tuesday
morning, June 9, 1840, <span class="smcap">RECITALS</span> on the <span class="smcap">PIANOFORTE</span>
of the following works:&mdash;No. 1. Scherzo
and Finale from Beethoven's Pastorale Symphony.
No. 2. Serenade, by Schubert. No. 3.
Ave Maria, by Schubert. No. 4. Hexameron.
No. 5. Neapolitan Tarentelles. No. 6. <span lang="fr">Grand
Galop Chromatique.</span> Tickets 10s. 6d. each; reserved
seats, near the Pianoforte, 21s.'</p>

<p>"The 'Recitals'&mdash;the plural form of the term
will be noticed&mdash;took place at the Hanover
Square Rooms, and the piece entitled Hexameron
(a set of variations on the grand march in
<span lang="it">I Puritani</span>) was the composition of the following
sextet of pianists: Thalberg, Chopin, Herz,
Czerny, Pixis, and Liszt, not exactly 'a <i>singular</i>
production,' as the <i>Musical World</i> remarked,
but 'an uncommon one.' In connection with
the 'Recitals,' Mr. Salaman may be quoted:</p>

<p>"'I did not hear Liszt again until his visit to
London in 1840, when he puzzled the musical
public by announcing "Pianoforte Recitals."
This now commonly accepted term had never
previously been used, and people asked, "What
does he mean? How can any one <i>recite</i> upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>
the pianoforte?" At these recitals, Liszt, after
performing a piece set down in his programme,
would leave the platform, and, descending into
the body of the room, where the benches were so
arranged as to allow free locomotion, would move
about among his auditors and converse with
his friends, with the gracious condescension of a
prince, until he felt disposed to return to the
piano.'</p>

<p>"The <i>Musical World</i> referred to the 'Recitals'
as 'this curious exhibition'; that the performance
was 'little short of a miracle'; and that
the Hexameron contained 'some difficulties of
inconceivable outrageousness.' Another specimen
of critical insight may be quoted&mdash;it refers
to Liszt's participation in a concert given by
John Parry:</p>

<p>"'On being unanimously recalled, he tore the
National Anthem to ribbons, and thereby fogged
the glory he had just achieved. Let him eschew
such hyper-erudite monstrosities&mdash;let him stick
to the 'recital' of sane and sanative music, and
he will attain a reputation above all contemporary
musical <i>mono</i>-facturers&mdash;and what is more,
deserve it.'</p>

<p>"In the autumn of the same year (1840), Liszt
formed one of a concert-party, organised by
Lavenu, in a tour in the south of England. The
party included John Parry, the composer of
Wanted, a Governess, and the comic man of the
Lavenu troup. Like Mendelssohn, Liszt seems
to have taken to the jocose Parry, and he quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>
entered into the fun of the fair. For instance,
at Bath, 'in addition to the pieces announced
in the bills, Liszt played an accompaniment to
John Parry's Inchape Bell, sung by the author, in
which he introduced an extemporaneous storm,
which had a most terrific effect.' We can well
believe it. This storm was not 'a local disturbance,'
as meteorologists would say, but it
followed the party wherever they went, and it was
doubtless received with thunderous applause.</p>

<p>"In November, a second and more extended
tour, also under Lavenu's auspices, was undertaken,
and the journey embraced the great provincial
towns of England, Ireland, and Scotland.
The preliminary announcement was couched in
terms more or less pungent:</p>

<p>"'Mr. Lavenu with his <span lang="fr">corps musicale</span> will enter
the <i>lists</i> again on the 23d instant, when it is to
be hoped the <i>list</i>less provinces will <i>list</i>en with
more attention than on his last experiment, or he
will have en<i>list</i>ed his talented <i>list</i> to very little
purpose.'</p>

<p>"Liszt again appeared in London in 1841, and
took the town by storm. Musical critics of the
present day may be glad to enlarge their vocabulary
from the following notice, which appeared
in the columns of the <i>Musical World</i> of sixty
years ago:</p>

<p>"'M. Liszt's Recitals.&mdash;We walk through this
world in the midst of so many wonders, that our
senses become indifferent to the most amazing
things: light and life, the ocean, the forest, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
voice and flight of the pigmy lark, are unheeded
commonplaces; and it is only when some comet,
some giant, some tiger-tamer, some new Niagara,
some winged being (mental or bodily, and unclassed
in the science of ornithology) appears,
that our obdurate faculties are roused into the
consciousness that miracles do exist. Of the miracle
genus is M. Liszt, the Polyphemus of the
pianoforte&mdash;the Aurora Borealis of musical
effulgence&mdash;the Niagara of thundering harmonies!
His rapidity of execution, his power, his
delicacy, his Briareus-handed chords, and the extraordinary
volume of sound he wrests from the
instrument, are each and all philosophies in their
way that might well puzzle all but a philosopher
to unriddle and explain.'</p>

<p>"Shortly before the 'recitals' above referred
to, Liszt was thrown out of a carriage, and the
accident resulted in a sprained wrist. At the
performance, he apologised in French to the
audience 'for his inability to play all the pieces
advertised.'</p>

<p>"It is strange, but true, that no less than <i>forty-five</i>
years had come and gone before Liszt again
set foot on Albion's shores. In the year 1886,
aged seventy-five, he came again, and charmed
everybody with the geniality of his presence.</p>

<p>"It was at the invitation of the late Mr. Henry
Littleton (then head of the firm of Novello &amp; Co.)
that Liszt paid his last visit to England in 1886.
The great pianist arrived on May 3, and remained
under Mr. Littleton's hospitable roof at Westwood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span>
House, Sydenham, during the whole of his
sojourn in this country. The events of those
seventeen days were a series of triumphs to the
grand old man of pianists. A command visit
to Windsor Castle, when he played to Queen
Victoria; dining with the Prince and Princess
of Wales at Marlborough House; a visit to the
Baroness Burdett Coutts; attending performances
of his oratorio St. Elisabeth (conducted
by Sir, then Mr. A. C. Mackenzie) at St. James's
Hall and the Crystal Palace; concerts of Chev.
Leonard E. Bach; the Royal Amateur Orchestral
Society (when he was seated next to the king,
then Prince of Wales); Monday Popular; pianoforte
recitals by Mr. Frederic Lamond and Herr
Stavenhagen; a visit to the Royal Academy of
Music; in addition to receptions given by his
devoted pupil and attached friend, the late
Walter Bache at the Grosvenor Gallery, and the
'at homes' of his host and hostess at Westwood
House.</p>

<p>"As an indication of the general interest
aroused by the coming of Liszt, <i>Punch</i> burst
forth in the following strain:</p>

<p>"'A Brilliant Variation.&mdash;Mr. and Mrs. Littleton's
reception of the Abbé Franz Liszt, at
Westwood House, Saturday night last, was an
event never to be forgotten. But it was not until
all the Great 'uns had left the Littletons that the
Greatest of them all sat at the piano in the midst
of a cosy and select circle, and then, when <i>Mr.
P-nch</i> had put on his Liszt slippers ... but to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
say more were a breach of hospitality. Suffice it
that on taking up his sharp-and-flat candlestick
in a perfectly natural manner the Abbé, embracing
<i>Mr. P-nch</i>, sobbed out, "This is the Abbé'ist
evening I've ever had. <span lang="fr">Au plaisir!</span>"&mdash;(<i>Extract
from a Distinguished Guest's Diary. Privately
communicated.</i>)'</p>

<p>"Although he was in his seventy-sixth year at
the time of this, his last sojourn in England, his
pianoforte technic astonished those who were
capable to form an opinion, and who were amazed
that he did not 'smash the pianoforte, like his
pupils!' He was immensely gratified at his
visit, and in parting with Mr. Alfred and Mr.
Augustus Littleton, at Calais, he said: 'If I
should live two years longer I will certainly visit
England again!' But alas! a little more than
three months after he had said 'Good-bye' to
these friends, Franz Liszt closed his long, eventful,
and truly artistic career at Bayreuth on
July 31, 1886. Professor Niecks said, 'Liszt
has lived a noble life. Let us honour his memory.'"</p>


<h3>EDVARD GRIEG</h3>

<p>Grieg himself played his piano concerto at a
Leipsic Gewandhaus concert in 1879, but it had
already been heard in the same hall as early as
February 22, 1872, when Miss Erika Lie played
it, and the work was announced as new and "in
manuscript." Before this time Grieg had shown<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>
the concerto to Liszt. The story is told in a letter
of Grieg quoted in Henry T. Finck's biography
of the composer:</p>

<p>"I had fortunately just received the manuscript
of my pianoforte concerto from Leipsic,
and took it with me. Besides myself there were
present Winding, Sgambati, and a German Liszt-ite
whose name I do not know, but who goes so
far in the aping of his idol that he even wears
the gown of an abbé; add to these a Chevalier
de Concilium and some young ladies of the kind
that would like to eat Liszt, skin, hair, and all,
their adulation is simply comical.... Winding
and I were very anxious to see if he would really
play my concerto at sight. I, for my part, considered
it impossible; not so Liszt. 'Will you
play?' he asked, and I made haste to reply:
'No, I cannot' (you know I have never practised
it). Then Liszt took the manuscript, went to
the piano, and said to the assembled guests, with
his characteristic smile, 'Very well, then, I will
show you that I also cannot.' With that he began.
I admit that he took the first part of the
concerto too fast, and the beginning consequently
sounded helter-skelter; but later on, when I had
a chance to indicate the tempo, he played as only
he can play. It is significant that he played the
cadenza, the most difficult part, best of all. His
demeanour is worth any price to see. Not content
with playing, he at the same time converses
and makes comments, addressing a bright remark
now to one, now to another of the assembled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
guests, nodding significantly to the right
or left, particularly when something pleases him.
In the adagio, and still more in the finale, he
reached a climax both as to his playing and the
praise he had to bestow.</p>

<p>"A really divine episode I must not forget.
Toward the end of the finale the second theme is,
as you may remember, repeated in a mighty fortissimo.
In the very last measures, when in the
first triplets the first tone is changed in the orchestra
from G sharp to G, while the pianoforte,
in a mighty scale passage, rushes wildly through
the whole reach of the keyboard, he suddenly
stopped, rose up to his full height, left the piano,
and, with big theatric strides and arms uplifted,
walked across the large cloister hall, at the same
time literally roaring the theme. When he got
to the G in question, he stretched out his arms
imperiously and exclaimed: 'G, G, not G sharp!
Splendid! That is the real Swedish Banko!' to
which he added very softly, as in a parenthesis:
'Smetana sent me a sample the other day.' He
went back to the piano, repeated the whole
strophe, and finished. In conclusion, he handed
me the manuscript and said, in a peculiarly cordial
tone: '<span lang="de">Fahren Sie fort; ich sage Ihnen, Sie
haben das Zeug dazu, und&mdash;lassen Sie sich
nicht abschrecken!</span>' ('Keep steadily on; I tell
you, you have the capability, and&mdash;do not let
them intimidate you!')</p>

<p>"This final admonition was of tremendous importance
to me; there was something in it that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
seemed to give it an air of sanctification. At
times when disappointment and bitterness are
in store for me, I shall recall his words, and the
remembrance of that hour will have a wonderful
power to uphold me in days of adversity."</p>


<h3>RICHARD HOFFMAN'S RECOLLECTIONS</h3>

<p>"I think it was in 1840 or 1841, in Manchester,
that I first heard Liszt, then a young man of
twenty-eight," wrote the late Richard Hoffman
in <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>. "At that time he
played only bravura piano compositions, such as
the Hexameron and Hungarian March of Schubert,
in C minor, arranged by himself. I recollect
his curious appearance, his tall, lank figure,
buttoned up in a frock coat, very much embroidered
with braid, and his long, light hair
brushed straight down below his collar. He was
not at that time a general favourite in England,
and I remember that on this occasion there was
rather a poor house. A criticism of this concert
which I have preserved from the <i>Manchester
Morning Post</i> will give an idea of his wonderful
playing. After some introduction it goes on
to say: 'He played with velocity and impetuosity
indescribable, and yet with a facile grace and
pliancy that made his efforts seem rather like the
flight of thought than the result of mechanical
exertion, thus investing his execution with a character
more mental than physical, and making
genius give elevation to art. One of the most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
electrifying points of his performance was the
introduction of a sequence of thirds in scales,
descending with unexampled rapidity; and another,
the volume of tone which he rolled forth
in the execution of a double shake. The rapture
of the audience knew no bounds,' etc. I fancied
I saw the piano shake and tremble under the
force of his blows in the Hungarian March. I
regret that I never had an opportunity of hearing
him later in life, when I am sure I should
have had more pleasure both in his playing and
his programmes. He had appeared some sixteen
years before in Manchester, in 1824, as a youthful
phenomenon, in an engagement made for
him by Mr. Andrew Ward, my father's partner.
He stayed at his house while there, as the following
letter specifies; both letters form part of a
correspondence between Mr. Ward and the elder
Liszt on this matter.</p>

<blockquote><p class="letterhead">
"'<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>July 29, 1824</i>.<br />
</p>

<p>"'<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>: In answer to your letter of the
27th inst. I beg to inform you that I wish my Son
to play as follows: viz:&mdash;At the first concert, a
grand Concerto for the Piano Forte with orchestral
accompaniment composed by Hummel, and
the Fall of Paris also with grand orchestral accompaniment
composed by Moscheles.</p>

<p>"'At the 2d Concert&mdash;Variations with orchestral
accompaniments composed by Charles
Czerni, and afterwards an Extempore Fantasia
on a written Thema which Master Liszt will respectfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
request any person of the Company to
give him.</p>

<p>"'We intend to start to-morrow afternoon at
three o'clock by the Telegraph Coach from the
White Horse Fetter lane, and as we are entire
strangers to Manchester it will be very agreeable
to us if you will send some one to meet us.</p>

<p>"'M. Erard's pianoforte will be in your town
on Sunday morning as I shall be glad for my son
to play upon that instrument.</p>

<p>
"'I remain, Dear Sir,</p>
<p class="quotsig">
"'Yr. very humble Servant,<br />
"'<span class="smcap">Liszt.</span>'</p></blockquote>

<blockquote><p class="center">
"'<span class="smcap">15 Gt. Marlborough Street</span>,</p>
<p class="letterhead">
"'<i>July 22, 1824.</i></p>

<p>"'Mr. Liszt presents his compliments to Mr.
Roe and begs to say, that the terms upon which
he will take his son to Manchester to play at the
concerts of the second and fourth of August next
will be as follows:</p>

<p>"'Mr. Liszt is to receive one hundred pounds
and be provided with board and lodgings in Mr.
Ward's house during his stay in Manchester for
his son and himself, and Mr. Liszt will pay the
travelling expenses to and from Manchester.'"</p></blockquote><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p>


<h3>HENRY REEVES</h3>

<p>In Henry Reeves's biography I found this about
Liszt:</p>

<p>"Liszt had already played a great fantasia of
his own, and Beethoven's Twenty-seventh Sonata
in the former part of the concert. After this latter
piece he gasped with emotion as I took his
hand and thanked him for the divine energy he
had shed forth. At last I managed to pierce the
crowd, and I sat in the orchestra before the
Duchesse de Rauzan's box, talking to her Grace
and Madame de Circourt, who was there. My
chair was on the same board as Liszt's piano
when the final piece began. It was a duet for
two instruments, beginning with Mendelssohn's
<span lang="fr">Chants sans Paroles</span> and proceeding to a work
of Liszt's. We had already passed that delicious
chime of the Song Written in a Gondola, and the
gay tendrils of sound in another lighter piece,
which always reminded me of an Italian vine,
when Mrs. Handley played it to us. As the closing
strains began I saw Liszt's countenance assume
that agony of expression, mingled with radiant
smiles of joy, which I never saw in any other
human face except in the paintings of our Saviour
by some of the early masters; his hands rushed
over the keys, the floor on which I sat shook like
a wire, and the whole audience were wrapped in
sound, when the hand and frame of the artist
gave way. He fainted in the arms of the friend
who was turning over for him, and we bore him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
out in a strong fit of hysterics. The effect of this
scene was really dreadful. The whole room sat
breathless with fear, till Hiller came forward and
announced that Liszt was already restored to
consciousness and was comparatively well again.
As I handed Madame de Circourt to her carriage
we both trembled like poplar leaves, and I
tremble scarcely less as I write."</p>


<h3>LISZT'S CONVERSION</h3>

<p>"Have you read the story of Liszt's conversion
as told by Emile Bergerat in <span lang="fr">Le Livre de Caliban</span>?"
asks Philip Hale. "I do not remember
to have seen it in English, and in the dearth of
musical news the story may amuse. I shall not
attempt to translate it literally, or even English
it with a watchful eye on Bergerat's individuality.
This is a paraphrase, not even a pale,
literal translation of a brilliant original.</p>

<p class="center">
<span class="smcap">The Conversion<br />
of<br />
The Abbé Liszt</span>
</p>

<p>"And so he will not play any more.</p>

<p>"Well, a pianist cannot keep on playing forever,
and if Liszt had not promised to stop, the Pope
would never have pardoned him&mdash;no, never.
For the pianist turned priest because he was remorseful,
horror-stricken at the thought of his
abuse of the piano. His conversion is a matter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
history. When one takes Orders, he swears to
renounce Satan, his gauds and his works&mdash;that
is to say, the piano.</p>

<p>"If he should play he'd be a renegade. Of
course he longs to touch the keys. His daddy-long-legs-fingers
itch, and he doesn't know what
to do with them. But an apostate? Perish the
thought! And apostasy grins at him; lurks in
the metronome with its flicflac. Here's what I
call a dramatic situation.</p>

<p>"Wretched Abbé! Never more will you smash
white or black keys; never more will you dance
on the angry pedals; O never, never more! Do
you not hear the croaking of Poe's raven?
Never again, O Father, will you tire the rosewood!
Good-bye to tumbling scales and pyrotechnical
arpeggios! Thus must you do penance.
The president of the Immortals does not
love piano playing. He scowls on pianists. He
condemns them to thump throughout eternity.
In Dante's hell there is a dumb piano, and Lucifer
sees to it that they practice without ceasing.</p>

<p>"I am naturally tender-hearted, but I approve
of this eternal punishment.</p>

<p>"Yes, Father Liszt, because the piano is not in
the scheme of Nature. Even in Society the fewer
the pianos the greater the merriment. If the
piano were really a thing in Nature the good Lord
would have taken at least ten minutes of the
seven days and designed a model. But the piano
never occurred to Him. Now, as everything,
existing or to exist, was foreseen by him, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
part of Him (that is, according to the dogma), I
am inclined to think He was afraid of the piano.
He recoiled at the responsibility of creating it.
And yet the machine exists!</p>

<p>"A syllogism leads us to declare that the piano
is an after-thought. Of whom? Why, Satan of
course. A grim joke of Satan. The piano is the
enemy of man. Liszt finally discovered this,
though he was just a little late. So he will only
go to Purgatory, and in Purgatory there are no
dumb pianos. But there are organs without
pipes, without bellows, and many have pulled
the stops in vain for centuries. I earnestly beseech
you, my Father, to accumulate indulgences.</p>

<p>"They tell many stories about the conversions
of Abbé Liszt, and how he found out that the
piano is the enemy of humanity. Lo, here is the
truth. He once gave a concert in a town where
there were many dogs. He was then exceedingly
absent-minded; he mistook the date and appeared
the night before. Extraordinary to relate,
there was no one in the hall, although the concert
was announced for the next day! Liszt sat
down nevertheless, and played for his own amusement.
The effect was prodigious, as George
Sand told us in her <span lang="fr">Lettres d'un Voyageur</span>. The
dogs ran to the noise&mdash;curs, water spaniels,
poodles, greyhounds&mdash;all the dogs, including
the yellow outcast. They all howled fearfully,
and they would fain have fleshed their teeth in
the pianist.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span></p>

<p>"Then Liszt reasoned&mdash;in his fashion: 'Since
the dog is the friend of man, if he abominates the
piano it is because his instinct tells him, "the piano
is my friend's enemy!"' Professor Jevons
might not have approved the conclusion, but
Liszt saw no flaw.</p>

<p>"And then a sculptor wished to make a statue
of Liszt. He hewed him as he sat before a piano,
and he included the instrument. It was naturally
a grand piano, one lent by Madame Erard
expressly for the occasion. Liszt went to the
studio, saw the clay, and turned green.</p>

<p>"'Where did you get such a ghastly idea?' he
asked, and his voice trembled. 'You represent
me as playing a music coffin.'</p>

<p>"'What's that? I have copied nature. Is not
the shape exact?'</p>

<p>"'Horribly,' said Liszt. 'And thus, thus shall
I appear to posterity! I shall be seen hanging
by my nails to this funereal box, a virtuoso, ferocious,
with dishevelled hair, raising the dead and
digging a grave at the same time! The idea puts
me in a cold sweat!'</p>

<p>"The sculptor smiled. 'I can substitute an
upright.'</p>

<p>"'Then I should seem to be scratching a mummy
case. They would take me for an Egyptologist
at his sacrilegious work.'</p>

<p>"Homeward he fled. In his own room he arranged
the mirrors so that he could see himself
in all positions while he was plying his hellish
trade. And then salvation came to him. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
saw that the machine was demoniacal, that it recalled
nothing in the fauna or the flora of the good
Lord, that the sculptor was right, that the piano
had the appearance of the sure box, in which
occurs vague metempsychosis, that is if the box
only had a jaw. He was horror-stricken at his
past life. Frightened, his soul tormented by
doubt, it seemed to him that from under the
eighty-five molars, which he snatched hurriedly
from the shrieking piano, Astaroth darted his
tongue. He ran to Rome and threw himself at
the Pope's feet, imploring exorcism.</p>

<p>"The confession lasted three days and three
nights. The possessed could not get to an end.
There were crimes which the Pope himself knew
nothing about, which he had never heard mentioned,
professional crimes, crimes peculiar to
pianists, horrid crimes in keys natural and unnatural!
This confession is still celebrated.</p>

<p>"'Holy Father,' cried the wretch, 'you do not,
you cannot know everything! There are pianists
and pianists. You believe that the piano,
as diabolical as it is, whether it be a Pleyel or an
Erard, cannot give out more noise than it holds.
You believe that he who makes it exhibit in full
its terrible proportions is the strongest, and that
piano playing has human limitations. Alas,
alas! You say to yourself when in an apartment
house of seven stories the seven tenants give
notice simultaneously to the trembling landlord,
it makes no difference whether the cause of the
desperate flight is named Saint-Saëns, Pugno or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
Chabrier. The tenants run because the piano
gives forth all that is inside of it, and the inanimate
is acutely animate. How Your Holiness is
deceived. There's a still lower depth!'</p>

<p>"Liszt smote his breast thrice, and continued:
'I know a man (or is it indeed a human being?)
who never quitted the sonorous coffin until the
entire street in which he raged had emigrated.
And yet he had only ten fingers on his hands, as
you and I, and never did he use his toes. This
monster, Holy Father, is at your feet!'</p>

<p>"Pius IX shivered with fright. 'Go on, my
son, the mercy of God is unbounded.'</p>

<p>"Then Liszt accused himself:</p>

<p>"Of having by Sabbatic concerts driven the
half of civilised Europe mad, while the other
half returned to Chopin and Thalberg.</p>

<p>"('There's Rubinstein,' said Pius, and he
smiled.) Liszt pretended not to hear him, and
he continued:</p>

<p>"'My Father, I have encouraged the trade in
shrill mahogany, noisy rosewood and shrieking
ebony in the five parts of the acoustic world, so
that at this very moment there is not a single
ajoupa or a single thatched hut among savages
that is without a piano. Even wild men are beginning
to manufacture pianos, and they give
them as wedding gifts to their daughters.'</p>

<p>"('Just as it is in Europe,' said the Pope.)</p>

<p>"'And also,' added Liszt, 'with instructions
how to use them. <span lang="la">Mea culpa!</span>'</p>

<p>"Then he confessed that apes unable to scramble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>
through a scale were rare in virgin forests;
that travellers told of elephants who played with
their trunks the Carnival of Venice variations;
and it was he, Franz Liszt, that had served them
as a model. The plague of universal "<span lang="fr">pianisme</span>"
had spread from pole to pole. <span lang="la">Mea culpa! Mea
culpa!</span></p>

<p>"Overcome with shame, he wished to finish his
confession at the piano. But Pius IX had anticipated
him. There was no piano in the Vatican.
In all Christendom, the Pope was the only one
without a boxed harp.</p>

<p>"'Ah! you are indeed the Pope!' cried Liszt
as he knelt before him.</p>

<p>"A little after this Liszt took Orders. They
that speak without intelligence started the rumour
that it was at La Trappe. But at La
Trappe there is a piano, and Liszt swore to the
Holy Father that he would never touch one.</p>

<p>"To-day the world breathes freely. The monster
has been disarmed and exorcised.</p>

<p>"Now when Liszt sees a piano he approaches it
with curiosity and asks the use of that singular
article of furniture.</p>

<p>"It is true there's one in his room, but he keeps
his cassocks in it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p>




<h2>VII<br />
IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF LISZT</h2>


<h3>I<br />
WEIMAR</h3>


<p>After rambling over Weimar and burrowing
in the Liszt museum, one feels tempted to pronounce
Liszt the happiest of composers, as Yeats
calls William Morris the happiest poet. A career
without parallel, a victorious general at the head
of his ivory army; a lodestone for men and
women; a poet, diplomat, ecclesiastic, man of the
world, with the sunny nature of a child, loved by
all, envious of no one&mdash;surely the fates forgot
to spin evil threads at the cradle of Franz Liszt.
And he was not a happy man for all that.
He, too, like Friedrich Nietzsche had dæmonic
fantasy; but for him it was a gift, for the other a
curse. Music is a liberation, and Nietzsche of
all men would have benefited by its healing powers.</p>

<p>In Weimar Liszt walked and talked, smoked
strong cigars, played, prayed&mdash;for he never
missed early mass&mdash;and composed. His old
housekeeper, Frau Pauline Apel, still a hale
woman, shows, with loving care, the memorials<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
in the little museum on the first floor of the <span lang="de">Wohnhaus</span>,
which stands in the gardens of the beautiful
ducal park.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 457px;">
<a id="Pauline_Apel" name="Pauline_Apel"></a>
<a href="images/oir_367h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_367.jpg" width="457" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption"><big>Pauline Apel</big><br />Liszt's housekeeper at Weimar</p>
</div>

<p>Here Goethe and Schiller once promenaded in
a company that has become historic. And cannot
Weimar lay claim to a <span lang="de">Tannhäuser</span> performance
as early as 1849, the Lohengrin production
in 1850, and the Flying Dutchman in 1853? What
a collection of musical manuscripts, trophies,
jewels, pictures, orders, letters&mdash;I saw one from
Charles Baudelaire to Liszt&mdash;and testimonials
from all over the globe, which accumulated during
the career of this extraordinary man!</p>

<p>The Steinway grand pianoforte, once so dearly
prized by the master, has been taken away to
make room for the many cases containing precious
gifts from sovereigns, the scores of the
Christus, Faust Symphony, Orpheus, Hungaria,
Berg Symphony, <span lang="de">Totentanz</span>, and <span lang="de">Festklänge</span>. But
the old instrument upon which he played years
ago still stands in one of the rooms. Marble
casts of Liszt's, Beethoven's, and Chopin's hands
are on view; also Liszt's hand firmly clasping the
slender fingers of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein.
Like Chopin, Liszt attracted princesses as sugar
buzzing flies.</p>

<p class="break">There is a new Weimar&mdash;not so wonderful
as the two old Weimars&mdash;the Weimar of Anna
Amalia and Karl August, of Goethe, Wieland,
Herder, and Schiller, Johanna Schopenhauer
and her sullen son Arthur, the pessimistic philosopher&mdash;and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>
not the old Weimar of Franz
Liszt and his brilliant cohort of disciples; nevertheless,
a new Weimar, its intellectual rallying-point
the home of Elisabeth Foerster-Nietzsche,
the tiny and lovable sister of the great dead poet-philosopher,
Friedrich Nietzsche.</p>

<p>To drift into this delightful Thuringian town;
to stop at some curious old inn with an eighteenth
century name like the Hotel Zum Elephant; to
walk slowly under the trees of the ducal park,
catching on one side a glimpse of Goethe's garden
house, on the other Liszt's summer home, where
gathered the most renowned musicians of the
globe&mdash;these and many other sights and reminiscences
will interest the passionate pilgrim&mdash;interest
and thrill. If he be bent upon exploring
the past glories of the Goethe régime there are
bountiful opportunities; the Goethe residence,
the superb Goethe and Schiller archives, the
ducal library, the garden house, the Belvidere&mdash;here
we may retrace all the steps of that noble,
calm Greek existence from robust young manhood
to the very chamber wherein the octogenarian
uttered his last cry of "More light!" a cry
that not only symbolised his entire career, but has
served since as a watchword for poetry, science,
and philosophy.</p>

<p>If you are musical, is there not the venerable
opera-house wherein more than a half century
ago Lohengrin, thanks to the incredible friendship
and labour of Franz Liszt, was first given
a hearing? And this same opera-house&mdash;now no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
more&mdash;is a theatre that fairly exhales memories
of historic performances and unique dramatic
artists. Once Goethe resigned because against
his earnest protest a performing dog was allowed
to appear upon the classic boards which first saw
the masterpieces of Goethe and Schiller.</p>

<p>But the new Weimar! During the last decade
whether the spot has a renewed fascination for
the artistic Germans or because of its increased
commercial activities, Weimar has worn another
and a brighter face. The young Grand Duke
Ernst, while never displaying a marked preference
for intellectual pursuits, is a liberal ruler,
as befits his blood.</p>

<p>Great impetus has been given to manufacturing
interests, and the city is near enough to Berlin
to benefit by both its distance and proximity.
Naturally, the older and conservative inhabitants
are horrified by the swift invasion of unsightly
chimneys, of country disappearing before the
steady encroachment of railroads, mills, foundries,
and other unpicturesque but very useful
buildings. And the country about Weimar is
famed for its picturesque quality&mdash;Jena, Tiefurt,
Upper Weimar, Erfurt, museums, castles,
monuments, belvideres, wayside inns, wonderful
roads overhung by great aged trees. But other
days, other ways.</p>

<p>Weimar has awakened and is no longer proud
to figure merely as a museum of antiquities.
With this material growth there has arisen a fresh
movement in the stagnant waters of poetic and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span>
artistic memories&mdash;new ideas, new faces, new
paths, new names. It is a useless, though not
altogether an unpleasant theme, to speculate
upon the different Weimar we would behold if
Richard Wagner's original plan had been put
into execution as to the location of his theatre.
Most certainly Bayreuth would be a much duller
town than it is to-day&mdash;and that is saying much.
But emburgessed prejudices were too much for
Wagner, and a stuffy Bavarian village won his
preference, thereby becoming historical.</p>

<p>However, Weimar is not abashed or cast down.
A cluster of history-making names are hers, and
who knows, fifty years hence she may be proud
to recall the days when one Richard Strauss was
her local Kapellmeister and that within her
municipal precincts died a great poetic soul, the
optimistic philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche.</p>

<p>Now, Weimar is the residence and the resort
of a brilliant group of poets, dramatists, novelists,
musicians, painters, sculptors, and actors.
Professor Hans Olde, who presides over the imposing
art galleries and art school, has gathered
about him an enthusiastic host of young painters
and art students.</p>

<p>There have been recently two notable exhibitions,
respectively devoted to the works of the
sculptor-painter, Max Klinger, and the French
sculptor, Auguste Rodin. Nor is the new artistic
leaven confined to the plastic arts. Ernst
von Wildenbruch, a world-known novelist and
dramatist (since dead); Baron Detlev von Liliencron,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>
one of Germany's most gifted lyric poets;
Richard Dehmel, a poet of the revolutionary
order, whose work favourably compares with the
productions of the Parisian symbolists; Paul
Ernst, poet; Johannes Schlaf, who a few years
ago with Arno Holz blazoned the way in Berlin
for Gerhart Hauptmann and the young realists&mdash;Schlaf
is the author of several powerful novels
and plays; Count Kessler, a cultured and ardent
patron of the fine arts and literature, and Professor
van de Velde, whose influence on architecture
and the industrial arts has been great, and the
American painter Gari Melchers, are all in the
Weimar circle.</p>

<p>In the summer Conrad Ansorge, a man not
unknown to the New York musical public, gathers
around him in pious imitation of his former
master, Liszt, a class of ambitious pianists. A
former resident of New York, Max Vogrich,
pianist and composer, has taken up his residence
at Weimar. In its opera-house, which
boasts an excellent company of singers, actors,
and a good orchestra, the première of Vogrich's
opera Buddha occurred in 1903. Gordon Craig,
the son of Ellen Terry, often visits the city, where
his scheme for the technical reform of the stage&mdash;lighting,
scenery, costumes, and colours&mdash;was
eagerly appreciated, as it was in Berlin, by
Otto Brahm, director of the Lessing Theatre.
Mr. Craig is looked upon as an advanced spirit
in Germany. I wish I could praise without critical
reservation the two new statues of Shakespeare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
and Liszt which stand in the park; but
neither one is of consummate workmanship or
conception.</p>

<p>When I received the amiable "command" of
Elisabeth Foerster-Nietzsche, bidding me call
at a fixed hour on a certain day, I was quite conscious
of the honour; only the true believers set
foot within that artistic and altogether charming
Mecca at the top of the Luisenstrasse.</p>

<p>The lofty and richly decorated room where repose
the precious mementos of the dead thinker
is a singularly attractive one&mdash;it is a true abode
of culture. Here Nietzsche died in 1900; here
he was wheeled out upon the adjacent balcony,
from which he had a surprising view of the hilly
and delectable countryside.</p>

<p>His sister and devoted biographer is a comely
little lady, vivacious, intellectual, bright of cheek
and eye, a creature of fire and enthusiasm, more
Gallic than German. I could well believe in the
legend of the Polish Nietzskys, from whom the
philosopher claimed descent, after listening to
her spirited discussion of matters that pertained
to her dead brother. His memory with her is an
abidingly beautiful one. She says "my poor
brother" with the accents of one speaking of the
vanished gods.</p>

<p>His sister showed me all her treasures&mdash;many
manuscripts of early and still unpublished studies;
his original music, for he composed much
during his intimacy with Richard Wagner; the
grand pianoforte with which he soothed his tortured<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span>
nerves; the stately bust executed by Max
Klinger; the painful portrait etched by Hans
Olde, and many other souvenirs.</p>

<p>Mrs. Foerster-Nietzsche, who once lived in
South America&mdash;she speaks English, French,
and Italian fluently&mdash;assured me that she sincerely
regretted the premature publication in
English of The Case of the Wagner. This book,
so terribly personal, is a record of the disenchanting
experiences of a shattered friendship.</p>

<p>Madame Foerster spoke most feelingly of Cosima
Wagner and deplored the rupture of their intimate
relations. "A marvellous woman! a fascinating
woman!" she said several times. What
with her correspondence in every land, the publication
of the bulky biography and the constant
editing of unpublished essays, letters and memorabilia,
this rare sister of a great man is, so it
seems to me, overtaxing her energies. The Nietzsche
bibliography has assumed formidable proportions,
yet she is conversant with all of it. A
second Henrietta Renan, I thought, as I took a
regretful leave of this very remarkable woman,
not daring to ask her when Nietzsche's unpublished
autobiography, <span lang="la">Ecce Homo</span>, would be given
to the world. (This was written in 1904; <span lang="la">Ecce
Homo</span> has appeared in the meantime.)</p>

<p>Later, down in the low-ceilinged café of the
Hotel zum Elephant, I overheard a group of citizens,
officers, merchants&mdash;all cronies&mdash;discussing
Weimar. Nietzsche's name was mentioned,
and one knight of this round table&mdash;a gigantic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
officer with a button head&mdash;contemptuously exclaimed:&mdash;"<span lang="de">Nietzsche
Rauch!</span>" (smoke). Yes,
but what a world-compelling vapour is his that
now winds in fantastic spirals over the romantic
hills and valleys of the new Weimar and thence
about the entire civilised globe! Friedrich Nietzsche,
because of his fiery poetic spirit and ecstatic
pantheism, might be called the Percy Bysshe
Shelley of philosophers.</p>


<h3>II<br />

BUDAPEST</h3>

<p>My first evening in Budapest was a cascade
of surprises. The ride down from Vienna is not
cheery until the cathedral and palace of the primate
is reached, at Gran, a superb edifice, challenging
the valley of the Danube. Interminable
prairies, recalling the traits of our Western country,
swam around the busy little train until this
residence of the spiritual lord of Hungary was
passed. After that the scenery as far as Orsova,
Belgrade, and the Iron Gates is legendary in its
beauty.</p>

<p>To hear the real Hungarian gipsy on his own
heath has been long my ambition. In New York
he is often a domesticated fowl, with aliens in his
company. But in Budapest! My hopes were
high. The combination of that peppery food,
paprika gulyas, was also an item not to be overlooked.
I soon found an establishment where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
the music is the best in Hungary, the cooking of
the hottest. After the usual distracting tuning
the band splashed into a fierce prelude.</p>

<p>Fancy coming thousands of miles to hear the
original of all the cakewalks and eat a preparation
that might have been turned out from a
Mexican restaurant! It was too much. It took
exactly four Czardas and the Rakoczy march to
convince me that I was not dreaming of Manhattan
Beach.</p>

<p>But this particular band was excellent. Finding
that some of the listeners only wished for
gipsy music, the leader played the most frantically
bacchanalian in his repertory. Not more than
eight men made up the ensemble! And such an
ensemble. It seemed to be the ideal definition
of anarchy&mdash;unity in variety. Not even a Richard
Strauss score gives the idea of vertical and
horizontal music&mdash;heard at every point of the
compass, issuing from the bowels of the earth,
pouring down upon one's head like a Tyrolean
thunderstorm. Every voice was independent,
and syncopated as were the rhythms. There
was no raggedness in attack or cessation.</p>

<p>Like a streak of jagged, blistering lightning,
a tone would dart from the double bass to the
very scroll of the fiddles. In mad pursuit, over
a country black as Servian politics went the cymbalom,
closely followed by two clarinets&mdash;in B
and E flat. The treble pipe was played by a
jeweller in disguise&mdash;he must have been a jeweller,
so fond was he of ornamentation and cataracts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
of pearly tones. He made a trelliswork behind
which he attacked his foes, the string players.
In the midst of all this melodic chaos the leader,
cradling his fiddle like something alive, swayed
as sways a tall tree in the gale. Then he left the
podium and hat in hand collected white pieces
and <i>kronen</i>. It was disenchanting.</p>

<p>The tone of the band was more resilient, more
brilliant than the bands we hear in America.
And there were more heart, fire, swing and dash
in their playing. The sapping melancholy of
the <span lang="hu">Lassan</span> and the diabolic vigour of the <span lang="hu">Friska</span>
are things that I shall never forget. These gipsies
have an instinctive sense of tempo. Their
allegretto is a genuine allegretto. They play rag-time
music with true rhythmic appreciation for
the reason that its metrical structure is grateful
to them.</p>

<p>In Paris the cakewalk is a thing of misunderstood,
misapplied accents. The Budapest version
of the Rakoczy march is a revelation. No
wonder Berlioz borrowed it. The tempo is a
wild quickstep; there is no majestic breadth, so
suggestive of military pomp or the grandeur of a
warlike race. Instead, the music defiled by in
crazy squads, men breathlessly clinging to the
saddles of their maddened steeds; above them
hung the haze of battle, and the hoarse shouting
of the warriors was heard. Five minutes more
of this excitement and heart disease might have
supervened. Five minutes later I saw the band
grinning over their tips, drinking and looking absolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
incapable of ever playing such stirring
and hyperbolical music.</p>

<p>After these winged enchantments I was glad
enough to wander next morning in the Hungarian
Museum, following the history of this proud and
glorious nation, in its armour, its weapons, its
trophies of war and its banners captured from the
Saracen. Such mementos re-create a race. In
the picture gallery, a modest one, there are some
interesting Munkaczys and several Makarts; also
many specimens of Hungarian art by Kovacs,
Zichy (a member of a noble and talented family),
Székely, and Michael Zichy's cartoon illustrations
to Mádach's The Tragedy of Mankind.</p>

<p>Munkaczy's portrait of Franz Liszt is muddy
and bituminous. Two original aquarelles by
Doré were presented by Liszt. I was surprised
to find in the modern <span lang="de">Saal</span> the Sphynx of Franz
Stuck, a sensational and gruesome canvas, which
made a stir at the time of first hanging in the
Munich Secession exhibition. Budapest purchased
it; also a very characteristic Segantini,
an excellent Otto Sinding, and Hans Makart's
Dejanira. A beautiful marble of Rodin's marks
the progressive taste of this artistic capital.</p>

<p>It would seem that even for a municipality of
New York's magnitude the erection of such a
Hall of Justice and such a Parliament building
would be a tax beyond its purse. Budapest is
not a rich city, but these two public buildings,
veritable palaces, gorgeously decorated, proclaim
her as a highly civilised centre. The opera-house,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
which seats only 1,100, is the most perfectly
appointed in the world; its stage apparatus
is better than Bayreuth's. And the natural
position of the place is unique. From the ramparts
of the royal palace in Buda&mdash;old Ofen&mdash;your
eye, promise-crammed, sweeps a series
of fascinating façades, churches, palaces, generous
embankments, while between its walls the
Danube flows torrentially down to the mysterious
lands where murder is admired and thrones
are playthings.</p>

<p>In the Liszt museum is the old, bucolic pianino
upon which his childish hands first rested at Raiding
(Dobrjàn), his birthplace. His baton; the
cast of his hand and of Chopin's and the famous
piano of Beethoven, at which most of the immortal
sonatas were composed, and upon which
Liszt Ferencz played for the great composer
shortly before his death in 1827. The little piano
has no string, but the Beethoven&mdash;a Broadwood
&amp; Sons, Golden Square, London, so the fall-board
reads&mdash;is full of jangling wires, the keys
black with age. Liszt presented it to his countrymen&mdash;he
greatly loved Budapest and taught
several months every winter at the Academy of
Music in the spacious Andrassy strasse.</p>

<p>A harp, said to have been the instrument most
affected by Marie Antoinette, did not give me the
thrill historic which all right-minded Yankees
should experience in strange lands. I would
rather see a real live tornado in Kansas than
shake hands with the ghost of Napoleon.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span></p>


<h3>III<br />

ROME</h3>

<p>The pianoforte virtuoso, Richard Burmeister,
and one of Liszt's genuine "pet" pupils, advised
me to look at Liszt's hotel in the Vicolo Alibert,
Rome. It is still there, an old-fashioned place,
Hotel Alibert, up an alley-like street off the Via
Babuino, near the Piazza del Popolo. But it is
shorn of its interest for melomaniacs, as the view
commanding the Pincio no longer exists. One
night sufficed me, though the manager smilingly
assured me that he could show the room wherein
Liszt slept and studied. A big warehouse blocks
the outlook on the Pincio; indeed the part of the
hotel Liszt inhabited no longer stands. But at
Tivoli, at the Villa d'Este, with its glorious vistas
of the Campagna and Rome, there surely would
be memories of the master. The Sunday I took
the steam-tramway was a threatening one; before
Bagni was reached a solid sheet of water
poured from an implacable leaden sky. It was
not a cheerful prospect for a Liszt-hunter. Arrived
at Tivoli, I waited in the Caffé d'Italia
hoping for better weather. An old grand pianoforte,
the veriest rattletrap stood in the eating
salle; but upon its keys had rested many times
the magic-breeding fingers of Liszt. Often, with
a band of students or with guests he would walk
down from the villa and while waiting for their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span>
carriages he would jestingly sweep the keyboard.
At the Villa d'Este itself the cypresses, cascades,
terraces, and mysterious avenues of green were
enveloped in a hopeless fog. It was the mistiest
spot I ever visited. Heaven and earth, seemingly,
met in fluid embrace to give me a watery welcome.
Where was Liszt's abode is a Marianite
convent. I was not permitted to visit his old
room which is now the superior's. It was at the
top of the old building, for wherever Liszt lived
he enjoyed a vast landscape. I could discover
but one person who remembered the Abbate; the
conciêrge. And his memories were scanty. I
wandered disconsolately through the rain, my
mood splenetic. So much for fame. I bitterly
reflected in the melancholy, weedy, moss-infested
walks of the garden.</p>

<p>As I attempted to point out to our little party
the particular window from which Liszt saw the
miraculous Italian world, I stepped on a slimy
green rock and stretched my length in the humid
mud. There was a deep, a respectful silence as
I was helped to my feet&mdash;the gravity of the surroundings,
the solemnity of our recollections
choked all levity; though I saw signs of impending
apoplexy on several faces. To relieve
the strain I sternly bade our guide retire to an
adjacent bosky retreat and there roar to his
heart's content. He did. So did we all. The
spell broken we returned to the "Sirene" opposite
the entrance to the famous Tivoli water-falls
and there with Chianti and spaghetti tried<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>
to forget the morning's disappointments. But
even there sadness was invoked by the sight of a
plaster bust of Liszt lying forlorn in the wet grass.
The head waiter tried to sell it for twenty liri;
but it was too big to carry; besides its nose was
missing. He said that the original was somewhere
in Tivoli.</p>

<p>Sgambati in Rome keeps green the memory
of the master in his annual recitals; but of the
churchly compositions no one I encountered had
ever heard. At Santa Francesca Romana, adjoining
the Forum, Liszt once took up his
abode; there I saw in the cloister an aged
grand pianoforte upon which he had played
in a concert given at the Church of Santa Maria
Maggiore many years ago. About an hour
from Rome is the Oratory of the Madonna del
Rosario on Monte Mario. There Liszt lived and
composed in 1863. But his sacred music is
never sung in any of the churches; the noble
Graner Mass is still unheard in Rome. Even
the Holy Father refers to the dead Hungarian
genius as, "<span lang="it">il compositore Tedesco!</span>" It was
different in the days of Pius IX, when Liszt's
music was favoured at the Vatican. Is it not related
that Pio Nono bestowed upon the great pianist
the honour of hearing his confession at the
time he became an abbé? And did he not after
four or five hours of worldly reminiscences, cry
out despairingly to his celebrated penitent:</p>

<p>"Basta, Caro Liszt! Your memory is marvellous.
Now go play the remainder of your sins<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>
upon the pianoforte." They say that Liszt's
playing on that occasion was simply enchanting&mdash;and
he did not cease until far into the night.</p>

<p>Liszt's various stopping-places in and around
Rome were: Vicolo de Greci (No. 43), Hotel
Alibert, Vicolo Alibert, opposite Via del Babuino;
Villa d'Este with Cardinal Hohenlohe,
also at the Vatican; in 1866 at Monte Mario,
Kloster Madonna del Rosario, Kloster Santa
Francesca Romana, the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein
first resided in the Via del Babuino, later
(1881) at the Hotel Malaro. Monsignor Kennedy
of the American College shows the grand
piano upon which Liszt once played there.</p>

<p>Perhaps Rome, at a superficial glance, still
affects the American as it did Taine a half century
ago, as a provincial city, sprawled to unnecessary
lengths over its seven hills, and, despite
the smartness of its new quarters, far from
suggesting a <span lang="de">Weltstadt</span>, as does, for example,
bustling, shining Berlin or mundane Paris. But
not for her superb and imperial indifference are
the seductive spells of operatic Venice or the romantic
glamour of Florence. She can proudly
say "<span lang="fr">La ville c'est moi!</span>" She is not a city, but
the city of cities, and it needs but twenty-four
hours' submergence in her atmosphere to make
one a slave at her eternal chariot wheels. The
New York cockney, devoted to his cult of the
modern&mdash;hotels, baths, cafés and luxurious theatres&mdash;soon
wearies of Rome. He prefers Paris
or Naples. Hasn't some one said, "See Naples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>
and die&mdash;of its smells?" As an inexperienced
traveller I know of no city on the globe where
you formulate an expression of like or dislike so
quickly. You are Rome's foe or friend within
five minutes after you leave its dingy railway
station. And it is hardly necessary to add that
its newer quarters, pretentious, cold, hard and
showy, are quite negligible. One does not go to
Rome to seek the glazed comforts of Brooklyn.</p>

<p>The usual manner of approaching the Holy
Father is to go around to the American Embassy
and harry the good-tempered secretary into a
promise of an invitation card, that is, if you are
not acquainted in clerical circles. I was not long
in Rome before I discovered that both Mgr. Kennedy
and Mgr. Merry del Val were at Frascati
enjoying a hard-earned vacation. So I dismissed
the ghost of the idea and pursued my pagan worship
at the Museo Vaticano. Then the heavy
hoofs of three hundred pilgrims invaded the peace
of the quiet Hotel Fischer up in the Via Sallustiana.
They had come from Cologne and the
vicinity of the Upper Rhine, bearing Peter's
pence, wearing queer clothes and good-natured
smiles. They tramped the streets and churches
of Rome, did these commonplace, pious folk.
They burrowed in the Catacombs and ate their
meals, men and women alike, with such a hearty
gnashing of teeth, such a rude appetite, that one
envied their vitality, their faith, their wholesale
air of having accomplished the conquest of Rome.</p>

<p>Their schedule, evidently prepared with great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span>
forethought and one that went absolutely to
pieces when put to the test of practical operation,
was wrangled over at each meal, where the Teutonic
clans foregathered in full force. The third
day I heard of a projected audience at the Vatican.
These people had come to Rome to see the
Pope. Big-boned and giantlike Monsignor Pick
visited the hotel daily, and once after I saw him
in conference with Signor Fischer I asked him
if it were possible&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"Of course," responded the wily Fischer, "anything
is possible in Rome." Wear evening dress?
Nonsense! That was in the more exacting days
of Leo XIII. The present Pope is a democrat.
He hates vain show. Perhaps he has absorbed
some of the Anglo-Saxon antipathy to seeing
evening dress on a male during daylight. But
the ladies wear veils. All the morning of October
5 the hotel was full of eager Italians selling veils
to the German ladies.</p>

<p>Carriages blocked the streets and almost
stretched four square around the Palazzo Margherita.
There was noise. There were explosive
sounds when bargains were driven. Then, after
the vendors of saints' pictures, crosses, rosary
beads&mdash;chiefly gentlemen of Oriental persuasion,
comical as it may seem&mdash;we drove off in
high feather nearly four hundred strong. I had
secured from Monsignor Pick through the offices
of my amiable host a parti-hued badge with a
cross and the motto, "<span lang="de">Coeln&mdash;Rom.</span>, 1905,"
which, interpreted, meant "Cologne&mdash;Rome." I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
felt like singing "<span lang="de">Nach Rom</span>," after the fashion
of the Wagnerians in act II of <span lang="de">Tannhäuser</span>, but
contented myself with abusing my coachman for
his slow driving. It was all as exciting as a first
night at the opera.</p>

<p>The rendezvous was the Campo Santo dei
Tedeschi, which, with its adjoining church of
Santa Maria della Pieta, was donated to the Germans
by Pius VI as a burying-ground. There
I met my companions of the dining-room, and
after a stern-looking German priest with the bearing
of an officer interrogated me I was permitted
to join the pilgrims. What at first had been a
thing of no value was now become a matter of
life and death.</p>

<p>After standing above the dust and buried bones
of illustrious and forgotten Germans we went into
the church and were cooled by an address in
German from a worthy cleric whose name I
cannot recall. I remember that he told us that
we were to meet the Vicar of Christ, a man like
ourselves. He emphasised strangely, so it appeared
to me, the humanity of the great prelate
before whom we were bidden that gloomy autumnal
afternoon. And then, after intoning a
Te Deum, we filed out in pairs, first the women,
then the men, along the naked stones until we
reached the end of the Via delle Fundamenta.
The pilgrims wore their everyday clothes. One
even saw the short cloak and the green <span lang="de">jägerhut</span>.
We left our umbrellas at a garderobe; its business
that day was a thriving one. We mounted innumerable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>
staircases. We entered the Sala Regia,
our destination&mdash;I had hoped for the more
noble and spacious Sala Ducale.</p>

<p>Three o'clock was the hour set for the audience;
but His Holiness was closeted with a
French ecclesiastical eminence and there was a
delay of nearly an hour. We spent it in staring
at the sacred and profane frescoes of Daniele da
Volterra, Vasari, Salviati and Zucchari staring at
each other. The women, despite their Italian
veils, looked hopelessly Teutonic, the men clumsy
and ill at ease. There were uncouth and guttural
noises. Conversation proceeded amain.
Some boasted of being heavily laden with rosaries
and crucifixes, for all desired the blessing of the
Holy Father. One man, a young German-American
priest from the Middle West, almost
staggered beneath a load of pious emblems. The
guilty feelings which had assailed me as I passed
the watchful gaze of the Swiss Guards began to
wear off. The Sala Regia bore an unfamiliar
aspect, though I had been haunting it and the
adjacent Sistine Chapel daily for the previous
month. An aura, coming I knew not whence,
surrounded us. The awkward pilgrims, with
their daily manners, almost faded away, and
when at last a murmur went up, "The Holy
Father! the Holy Father! He approaches!" a
vast sigh of relief was exhaled. The tension had
become unpleasant.</p>

<p>We were ranged on either side, the women to
the right, the men to the left of the throne, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>
was an ordinary looking tribune. It must be
confessed that later the fair sex were vigorously
elbowed to the rear. In America the women
would have been well to the front, but the dear
old Fatherland indulges in no such new fangled
ideas of sex equality. So the polite male pilgrims
by superior strength usurped all the good
places. A tall, handsome man in evening
clothes&mdash;solitary in this respect, with the exception
of the Pope's body suite&mdash;patrolled the
floor, obsequiously followed by the Suiss in their
hideous garb&mdash;a murrain on Michelangelo's
taste if he designed such hideous uniforms! I
fancied that he was no less than a prince of the
royal blood, so masterly was his bearing. When
I discovered that he was the Roman correspondent
of a well-known North German gazette my
respect for the newspaper man abroad was vastly
increased. The power of the press&mdash;&mdash;!</p>

<p>"His Holiness comes!" was announced, and
this time it was not a false alarm. From a gallery
facing the Sistine Chapel entered the inevitable
Swiss Guards; followed the officers of the
Papal household, grave and reverend seigniors;
a knot of ecclesiastics, all wearing purple; Monsignor
Pick, the Papal prothonotary and a man
of might in business affairs; then a few stragglers&mdash;anonymous
persons, stout, bald, officials&mdash;and
finally Pope Pius X.</p>

<p>He was attired in pure white, even to the sash
that compassed his plump little figure. A cross
depended from his neck. He immediately and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span>
in the most matter of fact fashion held out his
hand to be kissed. I noted the whiteness of the
nervous hand tendered me, bearing the ring of
Peter, a large, square emerald surrounded by
diamonds. Though seventy, the Pope looks ten
years younger. He is slightly under medium
height. His hair is white, his complexion dark
red, veined, and not very healthy. He seems to
need fresh air and exercise; the great gardens of
the Vatican are no compensation for this man of
sorrows, homesick for the sultry lagoons and
stretches of gleaming waters in his old diocese
of Venice. If the human in him could call out
it would voice Venice, not the Vatican. The
flesh of his face is what the painters call "ecclesiastical
flesh," large in grain. His nose broad,
unaristocratic, his brows strong and harmonious.
His eyes may be brown, but they seemed black
and brilliant and piercing. He moved with silent
alertness. An active, well-preserved man, though
he achieved the Biblical three-score and ten in
June, 1905. I noted, too, with satisfaction, the
shapely ears, artistic ears, musical ears, their
lobes freely detached. A certain resemblance to
Pius IX there is; he is not so amiable as was
that good-tempered Pope who was nicknamed
by his intimate friend, the Abbé Liszt, <i lang="it">Pia Nina</i>,
because of his musical proclivities. Altogether,
I found another than the Pope I had expected.
This, then, was that exile&mdash;an exile, yet in his
native land; a prisoner in sight of the city of
which he is the spiritual ruler; a prince over all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>
principalities and dominions, yet withal a feeble
old man, whose life might be imperilled if he
ventured into the streets of Rome.</p>

<p>The Pope had now finished his circle of pilgrims
and stood at the other end of the Sala.
With him stood his chamberlains and ecclesiastics.
Suddenly a voice from the balcony, which
I saw for the first time, bade us come nearer.
I was thunder-struck. This was back to the
prose of life with a vengeance. We obeyed instructions.
A narrow aisle was made, with the
Pope in the middle perspective. Then the voice,
which I discovered by this time issued from the
mouth of a bearded person behind a huge, glittering
camera, cried out in peremptory and true
photographer style:&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>"One, two, three! Thank your Holiness."</p>

<p>And so we were photographed. In the Vatican
and photographed! Old Rome has her surprises
for the patronising visitors from the New
World. It was too business-like for me, and I
would have gone away, but I couldn't, as the
audience had only begun. The Pope went to
his throne and received the heads of the pilgrims.
A certain presumptuous American told him that
the church musical revolution was not much appreciated
in America. He also asked, rash person
that he was, why an example was not set at
St. Peter's itself, where the previous Sunday he
had heard, and to his horror, a florid mass by
Milozzi, as florid and operatic as any he had been
forced to endure in New York before the new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>
order of things. A discreet poke in the ribs enlightened
him to the fact that at a general audience
such questions are not in good taste.</p>

<p>The Pope spoke a few words in a ringing barytone
voice. He said that he loved Germany,
loved its Emperor; that every morning his second
prayer was for Germany&mdash;his first, was it for
the hundredth wandering sheep of the flock,
France? That he did not explain. He blessed
us, and his singing voice proved singularly rich,
resonant and pure in intonation for an old man.
Decidedly Pius X is musical; he plays the pianoforte
it is said, with taste. The pilgrims thundered
the Te Deum a second time, with such
pious fervour that the venerable walls of the
Sala Regia shook with their lung vibrations.
Then the Papal suite followed the sacred figure
out of the chamber and the buzzing began. The
women wanted to know&mdash;and indignant were
their inflections&mdash;why a certain lady attired in
scarlet, hat and all, was permitted within the
sacred precincts. The men hurried, jostling
each other, for their precious umbrellas. The
umbrella in Germany is the symbol of the mediæval
sword. We broke ranks and tumbled into
the now sunny daylight, many going on the wings
of thirst to the Piazza Santi Apostoli, which, notwithstanding
its venerable name, has amber medicine
for parched German gullets.</p>

<p>Pius X is a democratic man. He may be seen
by the faithful at any time. He has organised
a number of athletic clubs for young Romans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>
taking a keen interest in their doings. He is an
impulsive man and has many enemies in his own
household. He has expressed his intention of
ridding Rome of its superfluous monks, those unattached
ones who make life a burden by their
importunings and beggaries in Rome.</p>

<p>His personal energy was expressed while I was
in Rome by his very spirited rebuke to some members
of the athletic clubs at an audience in the
Vatican. There was some disorder while the
Pontiff spoke. He fixed a noisy group with an
angry glance:&mdash;"Those who do not wish to hear
me&mdash;well, there is the open door!"</p>

<p>Another incident, and one I neglected to relate
in its proper place;&mdash;As Pius proceeded
along the line of kneeling figures during the German
audience he encountered a little, jolly-looking
priest, evidently known to him. A smile,
benign, witty, delicately humourous, appeared
on his lips. For a moment he seemed more Celt
than Latin. There was no hint of the sardonic
smile which is said to have crossed the faces of
Roman augurs. It was merely a friendly recognition
tempered by humility, as if he meant to
ask:&mdash;"Why do you need my blessing, friend?"
And it was the most human smile that I would
imagine worn by a Pope. It told me more of his
character than even did his meek and resigned
pose when the official photographer of the Vatican
called out his sonorous "<span lang="it">Una, due, tre!</span>"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span></p>




<h2>VIII<br />

LISZT PUPILS AND LISZTIANA</h2>


<p>Here is a list of the pupils who studied with
Liszt. There are doubtless a thousand more
who claim to have been under his tutelage but
as he is dead he can't call them liars. All who
played in Weimar were not genuine pupils. This
collection of names has been gleaned from various
sources. It is by no means infallible. Many
of them are dead. No attempt is made to denote
their nationalities, only sex and alphabetical
order is employed. <i lang="fr">Place aux dames.</i></p>

<p>Vilma Barga Abranyi, Anderwood, Baronne
Angwez, Julia Banholzer, Bartlett, Stefanie
Busch, Alice Bechtel, Berger, Robertine Bersen-Gothenberg,
Ida Bloch, Charlotte Blume-Ahrens,
Anna Bock, Bödinghausen, Valerie
Boissier-Gasparin, Marianne Brandt, Antonie
Bregenzer, Marie Breidenstein, Elisabeth Brendel-Trautmann,
Ingeborg Bronsart-Stark, Emma
Brückmann, Burmester, Louisa Cognetti,
Descy, Wilhelmine Döring, Victoria Drewing,
Pauline Endry, Pauline Fichtner Erdmannsdörfer,
Hermine Esinger, Anna Mehlig-Falk,
Amy Fay, Anna Fiebinger, Fischer, Margarethe
Fokke, Stefanie Forster, Hermine Frank, H.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>
von Friedländer, Vilma von Friedenlieb, Stephanie
von Fryderyey, Hirschfeld-Gärtner, Anna
Gáll, Cecilia Gaul, Kathi Gaul, Ida Seelmuyden,
Geyser, Gilbreth, Goodwin, Gower, Amalie
Greipel-Golz, Margit Groschmied, Emma Grossfurth,
Ilona Grunn, Emma Guttmann von
Hadeln, Adele Hastings, Piroska Hary, Howard,
Heidenreich, Nadine von Helbig (née Princesse
Schakovskoy), Gertrud Herzer, Hippins, Hodoly,
Höltze, Aline Hundt, Marie Trautmann Jaell,
Olga Janina (Marquise Cezano), Jeapp, Jeppe,
Julia Jerusalem, Clothilde Jeschke, Helene
Kähler, Anna Kastner, Clemence Kautz-Kreutzer,
Kettwitz, Johanna Klinkerfuss-Schulz, Emma
Koch, Roza Koderle, Manda Von Kontsky,
Kovnatzka, Emestine Kramer, Klara Krause,
Julia Rivé King, Louisè Krausz, Josefine
Krautwald, Isabella Kulissay, Natalie Kupisch,
Marie La Mara (Lipsius), Adèle Laprunarède
(Duchesse de Fleury), Vicomtesse de La Rochefoucauld,
Julie Laurier, Leu Ouscher, Elsa
Levinson, Ottilie Lichterfeld, Hedwig von Liszt,
Hermine Lüders, Ella Máday, Sarah Magnus-Heinze,
Marie von Majewska-Sokal, Martini,
Sofie Menter, Emilie Merian Genast, Emma
Mettler, Olga de Meyendorff (née Princesse
Gortschakoff), Miekleser, Von Milde-Agthe,
Henrietta Mildner, Comtesse de Miramont, Ella
Modritzky, Marie Mösner, De Montgolfier, Eugenie
Müller-Katalin, Herminie de Musset, Ida
Nagy, Gizella Neumann, Iren Nobel, Adele Aus
der Ohe, Sophie Olsen, Paramanoff, Gizella<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>
Paszthony-Voigt de Leitersberg, Dory Petersen,
Sophie Pflughaupt-Stehepin, Jessie Pinney-Baldwin,
Marie Pleyel-Mock, Pohl-Eyth, Toni Raab,
Lina Ramann, Kätchen von Ranuschewitsch,
Laura Rappoldi-Kahrer, Duchesse de Rauzan,
Ilonka von Ravacz, Gertrud Remmert, Martha
Remmert, Auguste Rennenbaum, Klara Riess,
Anna Rigo, Anna Rilke, Rosenstock, M. von
Sabinin, Comtesse Carolyne Saint-Criq d'Artignan
(Liszt's first love), Gräfin Sauerma, Louise
Schärnack, Lina Scheuer, Lina Schmalhausen,
Marie Schnobel, Agnes Schöler, Adelheid von
Schorn, Anna Schuck, Elly Schulze, Irma
Schwarz, Arma Senkrah (Harkness), Caroline
Montigny-Remaury (Serres), Siegenfeld, Paula
Söckeland, Ella Solomonson, Sothman, Elsa
Sonntag, Spater, Anna Spiering, H. Stärk, Anna
Stahr, Helene Stahr, Margarethe Stern-Herr,
Neally Stevens, Von Stvicowich, Hilda Tegernström,
Vera von Timanoff, Iwanka Valeska,
Vial, Pauline Viardot-Garcia, Hortense Voigt,
Pauline von Voros, Ida Volkmann, Josephine
Ware, Rosa Wappenhaus, Ella Wassemer, Olga
Wein-Vaszilievitz, Weishemer, Margarethe Wild,
Etelka Willheim-Illoffsky, Winslow, Janka Wohl,
Johanna Wenzel-Zarembska.</p>

<p>Among the men were: Cornel Abranyi, Leo
d'Ageni, Eugen d'Albert, Isaac Albeniz, C. B.
Alkan, Nikolaus Almasy, F. Altschul, Conrad
Ansorge, Emil Bach, Walter Bache, Carl Baermann,
Albert Morris Bagby, Josef Bahnert, Johann
Butka, Antonio Bazzini, J. von Beliczay,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
Franz Bendel, Rudolf Bensey, Theodore Ritter,
Wilhelm Berger, Arthur Bird, Adolf Blassmann,
Bernhard Boekelmann, Alexander Borodin,
Louis Brassin, Frederick Boscovitz, Franz Brendel,
Emil Brodhag, Hans von Bronsart, Hans
von Bülow, Buonamici, Burgmein (Ricordi),
Richard Burmeister, Louis Coenen, Herman
Cohen ("Puzzi"), Chop, Peter Cornelius, Bernhard
Cossmann, Leopold Damrosch, William
Dayas, Ludwig Dingeldey, D' Ma Sudda-Bey,
Felix Draeseke, Von Dunkirky, Paul Eckhoff,
Theodore Eisenhauer, Imre Elbert, Max Erdsmannsdörfer,
Henri Falcke, August Fischer, C.
Fischer, L. A. Fischer, Sandor Forray, Freymond,
Arthur Friedheim, W. Fritze, Ferencz Gaal,
Paul Geisler, Josef Gierl, Henri von Gobbi, August
Göllerich, Karl Göpfurt, Edward Götze,
Karl Götze, Adalbert von Goldschmidt, Bela Gosztonyi,
A. W. Gottschlag, L. Grünberger, Guglielmi,
Luigi Gulli, Guricks, Arthur Hahn, Ludwig
Hartmann, Rudolf Hackert, Harry Hatch,
J. Hatton, Hermann, Carl Hermann, Josef
Huber, Augustus Hyllested, S. Jadassohn, Alfred
Jaell, Josef Joachim, Rafael Joseffy, Ivanow-Ippolitoff,
Aladar Jukasz, Louis Jungmann,
Emerich Kastner, Keler, Berthold Kellermann,
Baron Von Keudell, Wilhelm Kienzl, Edwin
Klahre, Karl Klindworth, Julius Kniese, Louis
Köhler, Martin Krause, Gustav Krausz, Bela
Kristinkovics, Franz Kroll, Karl Von Lachmund,
Alexander Lambert, Frederick Lamond, Siegfried
Langaard, Eduard Lassen, W. Waugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span>
Lauder, Georg Leitert, Graf de Leutze, Wilhelm
Von Lenz, Otto Lessmann, Emil Liebling, Georg
Liebling, Saul Liebling, Karlo Lippi, Louis
Lönen, Joseph Lomba, Heinrich Lutter, Louis
Mass, Gyula Major, Hugo Mansfeldt, L. Marek,
William Mason, Edward MacDowell, Richard
Metzdortf, Baron Meyendorff, Max Meyer,
Meyer-Olbersleben, E. Von Michalowich, Mihlberg,
F. Von Milde, Michael Moszonyi, Moriz
Moszkowski, J. Vianna da Motta, Felix Mottl,
Franz Müller, Müller-Hartung, Johann Müller,
Paul Müller, Nikol Nelisoff, Otto Neitzel, Arthur
Nikisch, Ludwig Nohl, John Orth, F. Pezzini,
Robert Pflughaupt, Max Pinner, William Piutti,
Richard Pohl, Karl Pohlig, Pollack, Heinrich
Porges, Wilhem Posse, Silas G. Pratt, Dionys
Prückner, Graf Pückler, Joachim Raff, S. Ratzenberger,
Karoly Rausch, Alfred Reisenauer,
Edward Remenyi, Alfonso Rendano, Julius
Reulke, Edward Reuss, Hermann Richter,
Julius Richter, Karl Riedel, F. W. Riesberg,
Rimsky-Korsakoff, Karl Ritter, Hermann Ritter,
Moriz Rosenthal, Bertrand Roth, Louis Rothfeld,
Joseph Rubinstein, Nikolaus Rubinstein,
Camille Saint-Saëns, Max van de Sandt, Emil
Sauer, Xaver Scharwenka, Hermann Scholtz,
Bruno Schrader, F. Schreiber, Karl Schroeder,
Max Schuler, H. Schwarz, Max Seifriz, Alexander
Seroff, Franz Servais, Giovanni Sgambati,
William H. Sherwood, Rudolf Sieber, Alexander
Siloti, Edmund Singer, Otto Singer, Antol Sipos,
Friederich Smetana, Goswin Söckeland, Wilhelm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>
Speidel, F. Spiro, F. Stade, L. Stark, Ludwig
Stasny, Adolph Stange, Bernhard Stavenhagen,
Eduard Stein, August Stradal, Frank Van der
Stucken, Arpad Szendy, Ladislas Tarnowski,
Karl Tausig, E. Telbicz, Otto Tiersch, Anton
Urspruch, Baron Vegh, Rudolf Viole, Vital, Jean
Voigt, Voss, Henry Waller, Felix Weingartner,
Weissheimer, Westphalen, Joseph Wieniawsky,
Alexander Winterberger, Theador de Witt, Peter
Wolf, Jules Zarembsky, Van Zeyl, Geza Zichy
(famous one-armed Hungarian pianist), Hermann
Zopff, Johannes Zschocher, Stephen
Thoman, Louis Messemaekers, Robert Freund.
And how many more?</p>

<p>All the names above mentioned were not pianists.
Some were composers, later celebrated,
conductors, violinists&mdash;Joachim and Remenyi,
and Van Der Stucken, for example&mdash;harpists,
even musical critics who went to Liszt for musical
advice, advice that he gave with a royal prodigality.
He never received money for his lessons.
"Am I a piano teacher?" he would thunder if
a pupil came to him with faulty technic.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Liszt_scholars" name="Liszt_scholars"></a>
<a href="images/oir_399h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_399.jpg" width="550" height="350" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Frl. Paraninoff&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Frau Friedheim&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Mannsfeldt<br />
Rosenthal&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Frl. Drewing&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Liszt<br />
Liebling&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Silotti&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Friedheim&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sauer&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Reisenauer&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Gottschalg<br />
<big>Liszt and His Scholars, 1884</big></p>
</div>

<p>What became of Part Third of the Liszt Piano
Method? It was spirited away and has never
been heard of since. In his Franz Liszt in
Weimar, the late A. W. Gottschalg discusses the
mystery. A pupil, a woman, is said to have been
the delinquent. The Method, as far as it goes
is not a work of supreme importance. Liszt
was not a pedagogue, and abhorred technical
drudgery.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span></p>

<p>As to the legend of his numerous children, we
can only repeat Mark Twain's witticism concerning
a false report of his death&mdash;the report
has been much exaggerated. At one time or another
Alexander Winterberger, a pupil (since dead),
the late Anton Seidl, Servais, Arthur Friedheim,
and many others have been called "sons of
Liszt." And I have heard of several ladies who&mdash;possibly
thinking it might improve their technic&mdash;made
the claim of paternity. At one time
in Weimar, Friedheim smilingly assured me,
there was a craze to be suspected an offspring
of the Grand Old Man&mdash;who like Wotan had
his Valkyrie brood. When Eugen d'Albert first
played for Liszt he was saluted by him as the
"Second Tausig." That settled his paternity.
Immediately it was hinted that he greatly resembled
Karl Tausig, and although his real
father was a French dance composer&mdash;do you
remember the <span lang="fr">Peri Valse</span>?&mdash;everyone stuck to
the Tausig legend. I wonder what the mothers
of these young Lisztians thought of their sons'
tact and delicacy?</p>

<p>Liszt denied that Thalberg was the natural
son of Prince Dietrichstein of Vienna, as was
commonly believed. To Göllerich he said that
his early rival was the son of an Englishman.
Richard Burmeister told me when Servais visited
Weimar the Lisztian circle was agitated
because of the remarkable resemblance the Belgian
bore to the venerable Abbé. At the whist-table&mdash;the
game was a favourite one with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>
Master&mdash;some tactless person bluntly put the
question to Liszt as to the supposed relationship.
He fell into a rage and growlingly answered:
"<span lang="de">Ich kenne seine Mutter nur durch Correspondenz,
und so was kann man nicht durch Correspondenz
abmachen.</span>" Then the game was resumed.</p>

<p>Liszt admired the brilliant talents of the young
Nietzsche, but he distrusted his future. Nietzsche
disliked the pianist and said of him in one
of his aphorisms: "Liszt the first representative
of all musicians, but no musician. He was the
prince, not the statesman. The conglomerate of
a hundred musicians' souls, but not enough of a
personality to cast his own shadow upon them."
In his Roving Expeditions of an Inopportune
Philosopher, Nietzsche even condescends to a
pun on Liszt as a piano teacher: "Liszt, or the
school of running&mdash;after women" (<span lang="de">Schule der
Geläufigkeit</span>).</p>


<h3>TAUSIG</h3>

<p>Over a quarter of a century has passed since
the death of Karl Tausig, a time long enough
to dim the glory of the mere virtuoso. Many are
still living who have heard him play, and can recall
the deep impressions which his performances
made on his hearers. Whoever not only knew
Karl Tausig at the piano, but had studied his
genuinely artistic nature, still retains a living
image of him. He stands before us in all his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>
youth, for he died early, before he had reached
the middle point of life; he counted thirty years
at the time of his death, when his great heart, inspired
with a love for all beauty, ceased to beat;
when those hands, <i lang="de">Tes mains de bronze et des
diamants</i>, as Liszt named them in a letter to his
pupil and friend, grew stiff in death.</p>

<p>It was through many wanderings and perplexities
that Karl Tausig rose to the height which he
reached in the last years of his life. A friendless
childhood was followed by a period of <i lang="de">Sturm und
Drang</i>, till the dross had been purged away and
the pure gold of his being displayed. The essence
of his playing was warm objectivity; he
let every masterpiece come before us in its own
individuality; the most perfect virtuosity, his
incomparable surmounting of all technical means
of expression, was to him only the means, never
the end. Paradoxical as it may appear, there
never was, before or since, so great a virtuoso who
was less a virtuoso. Hence the career of a virtuoso
did not satisfy him; he strove for higher ends,
and apart from his ceaseless culture of the intellect,
his profound studies in all fields of science
and the devotion which he gave to philosophy,
mathematics, and the natural sciences, what he
achieved in the field of music possesses a special
interest, as he regarded it as merely a preparation
for comprehensive creative activity. Some of these
compositions are still found in the programmes
of all celebrated pianists, while the arrangements
that he made for pedagogic purposes occupy a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>
prominent place in the courses of all conservatories.</p>

<p>Karl Tausig came to Berlin in the beginning
of the sixties. Alois Tausig, his father, a distinguished
piano teacher at Warsaw, who had directed
the early education of the son, whom he
survived by more than a decade, had already
presented him to Liszt at Weimar. Liszt at once
took the liveliest interest in the astonishing talents
of the boy and made him a member of his
household at Altenburg, at Weimar, where this
prince in the realm of art kept his court with
the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, surrounded by
a train of young artists, to which Hans von Bülow,
Karl Klindworth, Peter Cornelius (to name
only a few) belonged. With all these Karl Tausig
formed intimate friendships, especially with
Cornelius, who was nearest to him in age. An
active correspondence was carried on between
them, even when their paths of life separated
them. Tausig next went to Wagner at Zürich,
and the meeting confirmed him in his enthusiasm
for the master's creations and developed
that combativeness for the works and artistic
struggles of Wagner which resulted in the arrangement
of orchestral concerts in Vienna exclusively
for Wagner's compositions, a very hazardous
venture at that period. He directed them
in person, and gave all his savings and all his
youthful power to them without gaining the success
that was hoped for. The master himself,
when he came to Vienna for the rehearsals of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span>
first performances of <span lang="de">Tristan und Isolde</span>, had
sad experiences; his young friend stood gallantly
by his side, but the performance did not take
place. Vienna was then a sterile soil for Wagner's
works and designs. Tausig returned in
anger to Berlin, where he quickly became an important
figure and a life-giving centre of a circle
of interesting men. He founded a conservatory
that was sought by pupils from all over the
world, and where teachers like Louis Ehlert and
Adolf Jensen gave instruction. When Richard
Wagner came to Berlin in 1870 with a project for
erecting a theatre of his own for the performance
of the Nibelungen Ring it was Tausig who took
it up with ardent zeal, to which the master bore
honourable testimony in his account of the performance.</p>

<p>In July, 1871, Tausig visited Liszt at Weimar
and accompanied him to Leipsic, where
Liszt's grand mass was performed in St. Thomas'
Church by the Riedle Society. After the performance
he fell sick. A cold, it was said, prostrated
him. In truth he had the seeds of death
in him, which Wagner, in his inscription for the
tomb of his young friend, expressed by the words,
"Ripe for death!" The Countess Krockow and
Frau von Moukanoff, who on the report of his
being attacked by typhus hastened to discharge
the duties of a Samaritan by his sick-bed in the
hospital, did all that careful nursing and devoted
love could do, but in vain, and on July 17 Karl
Tausig breathed his last.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span></p>

<p>His remains were carried from Leipsic to Berlin,
and were interred in the new cemetery in the
Belle Alliance Strasse. During the funeral ceremony
a great storm burst forth, and the roll
of the thunder mingled with the strains of the
Funeral March from the Eroica which the Symphony
Orchestra performed at his grave. Friends
erected a simple memorial. An obelisk of rough-hewn
syenite bears his portrait, modelled in relief
by Gustav Blaesar. Unfortunately wind and
weather in the course of years injured the marble
of the relief, so that its destruction at an early
period was probable, and the same friends substituted
a bronze casting for the marble, which
on the twenty-fifth anniversary of his death was
adorned with flowers by loving hands.</p>

<p>Karl Tausig represents the very opposite pole
in "pianism" to Thalberg; he was fire and flame
incarnate, he united all the digital excellencies
of the aristocratic Thalberg, including his supreme
and classic calm to a temperament that,
like a comet, traversed artistic Europe and fired
it with enthusiastic ideals. If Karl Tausig had
only possessed the creative gift in any proportion
to his genius for reproduction he would have been
a giant composer. As a pianist he has never had
his equal. With Liszt's fire and Bülow's intellectuality
he nevertheless transcended them both
in the possession of a subtle something that defied
analysis. We see it in his fugitive compositions
that revel on technical heights hitherto unscaled.
Tausig had a force, a virility combined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span>
with a mental insight, that made him peer of all
pianists. It is acknowledged by all who heard
him that his technic outshone all others; he had
the whispering and crystalline pianissimo of
Joseffy, the liquidity of Thalberg's touch, with
the resistless power of a Rubinstein.</p>

<p>He literally killed himself playing the piano;
his vivid nature felt so keenly in reproducing the
beautiful and glorious thoughts of Bach, Beethoven
and Chopin, and, like a sabre that was too
keen for its own scabbard, he wore himself out
from nervous exhaustion. Tausig was many-sided,
and the philosophical bent of his mind may
be seen in the few fragments of original music
he has vouchsafed us. Take a Thalberg operatic
fantaisie and a paraphrase of Tausig's, say
of Tristan and Isolde, and compare them; then
one can readily gauge the vast strides piano music
has taken. Touch pure and singing was the
Thalbergian ideal. Touch dramatic, full of
variety, is the Tausig ideal. One is vocal, the
other instrumental, and both seem to fulfill their
ideals. Tausig had a hundred touches; from a
feathery murmur to an explosive crash he commanded
the entire orchestra of contrasts. Thalberg
was the cultivated gentleman of the drawing-room,
elegiac, but one who never felt profoundly
(glance at his étude on repeated notes). Elegant
always, jocose never. Tausig was a child of the
nineteenth century, full of its ideals, its aimless
strivings, its restlessness, its unfaith and desperately
sceptical tone. If he had only lived he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>
would have left an imprint on our modern musical
life as deep as Franz Liszt, whose pupil he
was. Richard Wagner was his god and he strove
much for him and his mighty creations.</p>


<h3>ROSENTHAL</h3>

<p>"You, I presume, do not wish for biographical
details&mdash;of my appearances as a boy in Vienna
and later in St. Petersburg, of my early studies
with Joseffy and later with Liszt," asked the
great virtuoso. "You would like to hear something
about Liszt? As a man or as an artist? You
know I was with him ten years, and can flatter
myself that I have known him intimately. As a
man, I can well say I have never met any one so
good and noble as he. Every one knows of his
ever-ready helpfulness toward struggling artists,
of his constant willingness to further the cause
of charity. And when was there ever such a
friend? I need only refer you to the correspondence
between him and Wagner, published a
year ago, for proof of his claims to highest distinction
in that oft-abused capacity. One is not
only compelled to admire the untiring efforts to
assist Wagner in every way that are evidenced
in nearly each one of his letters, but one is also
obliged to appreciate such acts for which no
other documents exist than the history of music
in our day. The fact alone that Liszt, who had
every stage of Germany open to him if he had
so wished, never composed an opera, but used<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>
his influence rather in behalf of Wagner's works,
speaks fully as eloquently as the many letters
that attest his active friendship. For Liszt the
artist, my love and admiration are equally great.
Even in his inferior works can be discovered
the stamp of his genius. Do you know the Polonaise,
by Tschaïkowsky, transcribed by him? Is
it not a remarkable effort for an old gentleman
of seventy-two? And the third Mephisto Waltz
for piano? Certain compositions of his, such
as <span lang="fr">Les Prèludes</span>, <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>, Tasso, the Hungarian
Rhapsodies, and some of the songs and
transcriptions for piano, will unquestionably continue
to be performed and enjoyed for many,
many years to come.</p>

<p>"You ask how he played? As no one before
him, and as no one probably will ever again. I
remember when I first went to him as a boy&mdash;he
was in Rome at the time&mdash;he used to play
for me in the evening by the hour&mdash;nocturnes
by Chopin, études of his own&mdash;all of a soft,
dreamy nature that caused me to open my eyes
in wonder at the marvellous delicacy and finish
of his touch. The embellishments were like a
cobweb&mdash;so fine&mdash;or like the texture of costliest
lace. I thought, after what I had heard in
Vienna, that nothing further would astonish me
in the direction of digital dexterity, having studied
with Joseffy, the greatest master of that art.
But Liszt was more wonderful than anybody I
had ever known, and he had further surprises in
store for me. I had never heard him play anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span>
requiring force, and, in view of his advanced
age, took for granted that he had fallen off from
what he once had been."</p>


<h3>ARTHUR FRIEDHEIM</h3>

<p>Arthur Friedheim was born of German parentage
in St. Petersburg, October 26, 1859. He
lost his father in early youth, but was carefully
reared by an excellent mother. His musical
studies were begun in his eighth year, and his
progress was so rapid that he was enabled to make
his artistic début before the St. Petersburg public
in the following year by playing Field's A-flat
major concerto. He created a still greater sensation,
however, after another twelve months had
elapsed, with his performance of Weber's difficult
piano concerto, reaping general admiration for
his work. Despite these successes, the youth was
then submitted to a thorough university education,
and in 1877 passed his academical examination
with great honours. But now the musical
promptings of his warm artist soul, no longer
able to endure this restraint, having revived,
Friedheim with all his energy again devoted himself
to his musical advancement, including the
study of composition, and it proved a severe blow,
indeed, to him when his family soon afterward
met with reverses, in losing their estates, thus
robbing the young artist of his cheery home surroundings.</p>

<p>From this time Friedheim's artistic wanderings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>
began, and fulfilling a long cherished desire,
he, with his mother, first paid a visit to that master
of masters, Franz Liszt. Then he went to
Dresden, continuing in the composition of an
opera begun at St. Petersburg, entitled The Last
Days of Pompeii. In order to acquire the necessary
routine he accepted a position as conductor
of operas for several years, when an irresistible
force once more led his steps toward Weimar,
where, after he had produced the most favourable
impression by the performance of his own
piano concerto, with Liszt at a second piano, he
took up his permanent abode with the master,
accompanying him to Rome and Naples. Meantime
Friedheim concertised in Cairo, Alexandria,
and Paris, also visiting London in 1882. At the
request of Camille Saint-Saëns fragments of his
works were produced during his stay in Paris.</p>

<p>Friedheim next went to Vienna, where his concerts
met with brilliant success, and later on to
Northern Germany, where his renown as a great
pianist became firmly established. He enjoyed
positive triumphs in Berlin, Leipsic and Carlsruhe.
Friedheim's technic, his tone, touch, marvellous
certainty, unequalled force and endurance,
his broad expression and that rare gift&mdash;a style
in the grand manner&mdash;are the qualities that have
universally received enthusiastic praise. In later
years he travelled extensively, and more particularly
in 1884 to 1886, in Germany. In 1887
he conducted a series of concerts in Leipsic, in
1888 he revisited London, in 1889 he made a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>
tour through Russia and Poland; a second tour
through Russia was made in 1890, including
Bohemia, Austria, and Galicia, while in 1891 he
played numerous engagements in Germany and
also in London, whence he came to this country
to fulfil a very short engagement.</p>

<p>Albert Morris Bagby wrote as follows in his
article, "Some Pupils of Liszt," in the <i>Century</i>
about twenty years ago:</p>

<p>"Friedheim! What delightful musical memories
and happy recollections are the rare days
spent together in Weimar that name excites!
D'Albert left there before my time, and though
I met him on his flying visits to Weimar, I generally
think of him as I first saw him, seated at
a piano on the concert platform.</p>

<p>"One late afternoon in August, 1885, Liszt
stood before a wide-open window of his salon on
the second floor of the court gardener's residence
in Weimar, and his thoughtful gaze wandered
out beyond the long row of hothouses and narrow
beds of rare shrubs to the rich leafy growth which
shaded the glorious park inclosing this modest
home. He was in a serene state of mind after
an hour at whist in which he had won the rubber,
and now, while his young companions were putting
the card-tables and chairs back into their
accustomed places about the room, he stood
silent and alone. Any one of us would have given
more than 'a penny for his thoughts,' a fact
which he probably divined, for, without turning
his head, he said; 'Friedheim did indeed play<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>
beautifully!' referring to the young pianist's
performance of his A major concerto that afternoon
in the class lesson.</p>

<p>"'And the accompaniment was magnificently
done, too!' added one of the small party.</p>

<p>"'Ah!' exclaimed the master, with an animated
look and gesture which implied, 'that
goes without saying.' 'Friedheim,' said he, and
lifted his hand with a proud sweep to indicate
his estimation of his favourite pupil, who had
supplied the orchestral part on a second piano.
After Friedheim's triumphal début at Leipsic in
the spring of 1884, Liszt was so much gratified
that he expressed with unwonted warmth his
belief that the young man would yet become the
greatest piano virtuoso of the age. He was then
just twenty-four years old, and his career since
that event points toward the fulfilment of the
prophecy.</p>

<p>"Arthur Friedheim is the most individual performer
I have ever heard. A very few executants
equal him in mere finger dexterity, but he
surpasses them all in his gigantic strength at the
instrument and in marvellous clearness and brilliancy.
At times he plays with the unbridled
impetuosity of a cyclone; and even while apparently
dealing the piano mighty blows, which from
other hands would sound forced and discordant,
they never cease to be melodious. This musical,
penetrating quality of touch is the chief charm of
Friedheim's playing. He makes the piano sing,
but its voice is full and sonorous. If he plays a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>
pianissimo passage the effect is as clear and sweet
as a perfectly attuned silver bell, and his graduated
increase or diminution of tone is the acme of
artistic finish. No living pianist performs Liszt's
compositions so well as Friedheim. This fact
was unanimously mentioned by the critics upon
his first appearance in Berlin in a 'Liszt concert,'
in conjunction with the fear that he would
not succeed as an interpreter of Beethoven and
Chopin; which, however, the new virtuoso has
since proved groundless. Friedheim is one of
the most enjoyable and inspiriting of the great
pianists. His playing of Liszt's second rhapsody
produces an electric shock; and once heard
from him <span lang="it">La Campanella</span> remains in the memory
an ineffaceable tone poem. To me he has made
likewise indelible Chopin's lovely D-flat major
prelude.</p>

<p>"Friedheim is of medium height and weight;
has regular, clear-cut features, dark brown eyes,
and hair pushed straight back from a high, broad
forehead and falling over his coat collar, artist
fashion. In his street dress, with a bronze velvet
jacket, great soft felt hat and a gold medallion
portrait of Liszt worn as a scarf pin, he is the
typical musician. His resemblance to the early
pictures of Liszt is as marked as that of D'Albert
to Tausig. He was born and bred in St. Petersburg,
though his parents are German. I know
nothing of his early instructors, but it is sufficient
to say that he was at least nine years with Liszt.
Fortune favoured him with a relative of unusual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>
mental power who has made his advancement
her life work. To these zealous mothers of
musicians the world is indebted for some of the
greatest artistic achievements of every time and
period. There are many celebrated instances
where application is almost entirely lacking or
fluctuating in the child of genius, and the mother
supplied the deficiency of character until the
artist was fully developed, and steadiness of
purpose had become routine with him. One
evening I was sitting with Friedheim and his
mother in one of those charming restaurant
gardens which abound in Weimar when we were
joined by two of the <span lang="de">Lisztianer</span>, convivial spirits
who led a happy-go-lucky existence. 'Come,
Arthur,' said one, 'we will go to the "Armbrust"
for a few minutes&mdash;music there to-night. Will
be right back, Mrs. Friedheim.' 'No,' replied
the mother, pleasantly, 'Arthur remains with me
this evening.' 'But, mother, we will be gone
only a few minutes, and I have already practiced
seven hours to-day,' entreated the son. 'Yes,
dear child, and you must practice seven more to-morrow.
I think you had better remain with
me,' responded his parent. Friedheim good-naturedly
assented to his mother's speech, for
the nocturnal merry-makings of a certain clique
of divers artists at the 'Hotel zum Elephanten'
were too well-known to risk denial."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span></p>


<h3>JOSEFFY</h3>

<p>Descent counts for much in matters artistic as
well as in the breeding of racehorses. "Tell me
who the master is and I will describe for you the
pupil," cry some theorists who might be called
extremists. How many to-day know the name
of Anton Rubinstein's master? Yet the pedagogue
Villoing laid the foundation of the great
Russian pianist's musical education, an education
completed by the genial Franz Liszt. In the
case, however, of Rafael Joseffy he was a famous
pupil of a famous master. There are some critics
who claim that Karl Tausig represents the
highest development of piano playing in this
century of piano-playing heroes. His musical
temperament so finely fibred, his muscular
system like steel thrice tempered is duplicated
in his pupil, who, at an age when boys are
gazing at the world across the threshold of Toy-land,
was an accredited artist, a virtuoso in
knee-breeches!</p>

<p>Rafael Joseffy stands to-day for all that is exquisite
and poetic in the domain of the piano.
His touch is original, his manipulation of the
mechanism of the instrument unapproachable,
a virtuoso among virtuosi, and the beauty of his
tone, its velvety, aristocratic quality, so free from
any suspicion of harshness or brutality, gives him
a unique position in the music-loving world. There
is magic in his attack, magic and moonlight in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>
his playing of a Chopin nocturne, and brilliancy&mdash;a
meteor-like brilliancy&mdash;in his performance
of a Liszt concerto.</p>

<p>This rare combination of the virtuoso and the
poet places Joseffy outside the pale of popular
"pianism." From Tausig he inherited his keen
and severe sense of rhythm; from his native
country, Hungary, he absorbed brilliancy and
colour sense. When Joseffy was young he delighted
in the exhibition of his fabulous technic,
but he has mellowed, he has matured, and superimposed
upon the brilliancies of his ardent
youth are the thoughtful interpretations of the
intellectual artist. He is a classical pianist par
excellence, and his readings of Bach, Beethoven,
Schumann, and Brahms are authoritative and
final. To the sensitive finish he now unites a
breadth of tone and feeling, and you may gauge
the catholicity of the man by his love for both
Chopin and Brahms.</p>

<p>There you have Joseffy, an interpreter of
Brahms and Chopin! No need to expatiate
further on his versatility! His style has undergone
during the past five years a thorough purification.
He has successfully combated the
temptation of excess in colour, of the too lusty
exuberance in the use of his material, of abuse of
the purely decorative side of his art. Touching
the finer rim of the issues of his day Joseffy emulates
the French poet, Paul Verlaine, in his devotion
to the nuance, to the shade within shade
that may be expressed on the keyboard of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>
piano. Yet his play never lacks the robust ring,
the virile accent. He is no mere pianissimist,
striving for effects of the miniaturist; rather in
his grasp of the musical content of a composition
does he reveal his acuity and fine spiritual temper.</p>


<h3>OSCAR BERINGER</h3>

<p>"To Franz Liszt, who towers high above all
his predecessors, must be given pride of place.</p>

<p>"In 1870 I had the good fortune to go with Tausig
to the Beethoven Festival held at Weimar by
the <span lang="de">Allgemeiner Musik Verein</span>, and there I met
Liszt for the first time. I had the opportunity
of learning to know him from every point of view,
as pianist, conductor, composer, and, in his
private capacity, as a man&mdash;and every aspect
seemed to me equally magnificent.</p>

<p>"His remarkable personality had an indescribable
fascination, which made itself felt at
once by all who came into contact with him.
This wonderful magnetism and power to charm
all sorts and conditions of men was illustrated in
a delightful way. He was walking down Regent
Street one day, on his way to his concert at the
St. James' Hall. As he passed the cab-rank, he
was recognised, and the cabbies as one man took
off their hats and gave three rousing cheers for
'The Habby Liszt.' The man who can evoke
the enthusiasm of a London cabby, except by
paying him treble his fare, is indeed unique and
inimitable!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p>

<p>"As a Conductor, the musical world owes him
an undying debt of gratitude for having been the
first to produce Wagner's Lohengrin, and to revive
<span lang="de">Tannhäuser</span> in the face of the opprobrium
heaped upon this work by the whole of the European
press. It was he, too, who first produced
Berlioz's Benvenuto Cellini and many other
works, which, though neglected and improperly
understood at that time, have since come into
their kingdom and received due recognition.</p>

<p>"As a Composer, I do not think that Liszt has
hitherto been esteemed as highly as he deserves.
If only for having invented the symphonic poem,
which was an absolutely new form of orchestral
composition, he has merited the highest honours;
while his pre-eminence is still undisputed in the
bravura style of pianoforte works, without one
or more of which no pianoforte recital seems complete.
The same compliment is not paid his
orchestral works, which are performed far too
rarely.</p>

<p>"Words cannot describe him as a Pianist&mdash;he
was incomparable and unapproachable."</p>


<h3>CLARA NOVELLO</h3>

<p>There are interesting anecdotes of great
musicians. Rossini was her intimate friend and
adviser for years. In Paris she knew Chopin,
who came to the house often and would only play
for them if "<span lang="fr">la petite</span> Clara would recite Peter
Piper Picked." She remembered waltzing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>
his and Thalberg's playing. Later, when she
was studying in Milan and knew Liszt, she sang
at one of his concerts when no one else would do
so, because he had offended the Milanese by a
pungent newspaper article. He gave her courage
to have a tooth out by playing Weber's <span lang="de">Concertstück</span>.
She remembered hearing Paganini
play when that arch-trickster took out a pair of
scissors and cut three of the strings of his violin
so that they hung down loose, and on the fourth
performed his Witches' Dance, so that "the lights
seemed to turn blue."</p>


<h3>BIZET</h3>

<p>We are not accustomed to thinking of the composer
of Carmen as a pianist, but the following
anecdote from the <i>London Musical Standard</i>
throws new light upon the subject:</p>

<p>"It may not be generally known that the French
composer, Bizet, possessed to a very high degree
two artistic qualities: a brilliant technique and
an extraordinary skill in score reading. On various
occasions he gave proof of this great ability.
One of the most interesting is the following:</p>

<p>"Bizet's fellow-countryman, the composer Halévy,
who filled the position of secretary to the
Academy of Fine Arts in Paris, had gathered a
few of his friends at his house for a little supper.
In the circle were Liszt and Bizet. After they
had finished their repast, the company went to
the host's music room. Gathered around the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>
fireplace, which increased the charm or comfort,
and with cigars and coffee, the guests gave themselves
up to an animated conversation; finally
Liszt seated himself at the piano. The famous
master played one of his compositions which
was unknown to those present. He overcame
its tremendous difficulties with the customary
audacity and strength. A storm of applause
followed the brilliant execution. Liszt ended
with a brilliant passage which seemed absolutely
impossible to mortal fingers. Every one pressed
around the great pianist, shaking his hands enthusiastically
and admiring not only his unequalled
playing, but praising also the clever
composition, which could have been written only
by so masterful a composer.</p>

<p>"'Yes,' replied Liszt, 'the piece is difficult,
terribly difficult, and in all Europe I know only
two pianists who are able to play it with the interpretation
which belongs to it, and in the tempo
which I have used, Von Bülow and myself!'</p>

<p>"Halévy, with whom Bizet had studied, had
also joined the circle around the piano and complimented
the master. Suddenly turning to the
young Bizet, whose fine memory and ability he
well knew, he said:</p>

<p>"'Did you notice that passage?' He accompanied
the question with a few chords which
sketched the passage in question, which had
aroused his attention. Accepting the implied invitation,
Bizet took his place at the piano, and,
without the slightest hesitation, repeated the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span>
passage which had drawn out the admiration of
his teacher.</p>

<p>"Liszt observed the clever youngster with astonishment,
while Halévy, smiling slyly, could
scarcely suppress his joy over Liszt's surprise.</p>

<p>"'Just wait a moment, young man, just wait!'
said Liszt, interrupting. 'I have the manuscript
with me. It will help your memory.'</p>

<p>"The manuscript was quickly brought, and
placed upon the piano rack. Bizet, to the general
astonishment, immediately took up the difficult
piece, and played it through to the final
chord with a verve and rapidity which no one
had expected from him. Not once was there a
sign of weakness or hesitation. An enthusiastic
and long clapping of hands followed the playing.
Halévy continued to smile, enjoying to the full
the triumph of his favourite pupil.</p>

<p>"But Liszt, who always rose to an occasion and
was never chary of praise for others, stepped to
the young man's side after the wave of applause
had subsided, pressed his hand in a friendly manner,
and said with irresistible kindness, 'My
young friend, up to the present time I believed
that there were only two men capable of overcoming
the tremendous difficulties which I wrote
in that piece, but I deceived myself&mdash;there are
three of us; and I must add, in order to be just,
that the youngest of us is perhaps the cleverest
and the most brilliant.'"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span></p>


<h3>SGAMBATI</h3>

<p>"One of the pioneers of classical music in Italy,
and one of its most talented composers of chamber
music and in symphonic forms, is Giovanni
Sgambati, born in Rome, May 18, 1843," writes
Edward Burlingame Hill, in the <i>Etude</i>. "His
father was a lawyer; his mother, an Englishwoman,
was the daughter of Joseph Gott, the English
sculptor. There had been some idea of making
a lawyer of young Sgambati, but the intensity
of his interest in music and his obvious talent
precluded the idea of any other career. When he
was but six years old, his father died, and he
went with his mother to live in Trevii, in Umbria,
where she soon married again. Even at this early
age he played in public, sang contralto solos in
church, and also conducted small orchestras.
When a little older he studied the piano, harmony
and composition with Natalucci, a pupil of Zingarelli,
a famous teacher at the Naples conservatory.
He returned in 1860 to Rome, where he became
at once popular as a pianist, in spite of the severity
of his programmes, for he played the works
of Beethoven, Chopin and Schumann, and the
fugues of Bach and Handel. Many of these
works were entirely unknown to Italian audiences;
he thus became an ardent propagandist of the
best literature of the piano. His next teacher
was Professor Aldega, master of the Capella Liberiana
of Santa Maria Maggiore. He was on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span>
the point of leaving for Germany for further study
when Liszt came to Rome, became interested in
Sgambati and took him in charge for special instruction
in the mysteries of higher piano playing.
He soon became the leading exponent of
the Liszt school of technic and interpretation.
Sgambati was the soloist in a famous series of
classical chamber music concerts inaugurated in
Rome by Ramaciotti; he was (as mentioned before)
the first interpreter of the works of Schumann,
who in the years 1862-63 was virtually
unknown in Italy. Later he began to give orchestral
concerts at which the symphonies and concertos
of the German masters were given for the
first time. In 1866, when the Dante Gallery
was inaugurated, Liszt chose Sgambati to conduct
his Dante symphony. On this occasion Beethoven's
Eroica symphony was given for the first
time in Rome.</p>

<p>"In 1869, he travelled in Germany with Liszt,
meeting many musicians of note, among them
Wagner, Rubinstein, and Saint-Saëns, hearing
The Rhinegold at Munich. Wagner, in particular,
became so much interested in Sgambati's
compositions that he secured a publisher
for them by his emphatic recommendations. On
returning to Rome, Sgambati founded a free
piano class at the Academy of St. Cecilia, since
adopted as a part of its regular course of instruction.
In 1878, he became professor of the piano
at the Academy, and at present is its director.
In 1896, he founded the <span lang="it">Nuova Società Musicale
Romana</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> (the Roman New Musical Society) for
increasing interest in Wagnerian opera. Sgambati
has been an occasional visitor to foreign
cities, notably London and Paris, both in the
capacity of pianist and as conductor; he has led
performances of his symphonies in various Italian
cities, and at concerts where the presence of royalty
lent distinction to the audience.</p>

<p>"Miss Bettina Walker, a pupil of Sgambati in
1879, gives a most delightful picture of Sgambati
in her book, My Musical Experiences. A
few extracts may assist in forming an idea of his
personality. 'He then played three or four
pieces of Liszt's, winding up the whole with a
splendid reading of Bach's Chromatic Fantasy.
In everything that he played, Sgambati far exceeded
all that I could have anticipated. His
lovely, elastic touch, the weight and yet the softness
of his wrist staccato, the swing and go of his
rhythmic beat, the colouring rich and warm, and
yet most exquisitely delicate, and over all the
atmosphere of grace, the charm and the repose
which perfect mastery alone can give'&mdash;'But
to return to the relation of my studies with Sgambati.
He gave me the scales to practice in thirds,
and arpeggios in the diminished sevenths, for raising
the fingers from the keyboard&mdash;recommending
these as the best possible daily drills for the
fingers. He also gave me some guidance in the
first book of Kullak's octave-studies and he tried
to initiate me into the elastic swing and movement
of the wrist, so important in the octave-playing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span>
of modern compositions. Sgambati's playing
of Liszt was, now that I compare him with many
others whom I have since heard, more poetical
than any. In the sudden fortissimi so characteristic
of the school his tone was always rich and
full, never wooden or shrill; while his pianissimi
were so subtle and delicate, and the nuances, the
touches of beauty, were fraught with a sighing,
lingering, quite inimitable sweetness, which one
could compare to nothing more material than
the many hues where sky and ocean seem to melt
and blend, in a dream of tender ecstasy, along
the coast-line between Baia and Naples.'"</p>


<h3>BACHE</h3>

<p>Walter Bache died April, 1888, and the London
<i>Figaro</i> gives the following sketch of this
artist:</p>

<p>"The awfully sudden death of poor Walter
Bache on Monday night sent a shock through the
whole of the London world of music. Some of
his most intimate friends were present at the final
popular concert on that evening, but none of
them knew anything at all of the death. We
have it on the authority of a member of his family
that not even those whom he held most dear
were in the slightest degree aware that he was in
any danger. Only a few days ago he was present
at a concert in St. James' Hall. But it seems
he caught a chill. Next day he became worse,
the cold doubtless settled upon his lungs, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span>
third day he died. Notification of the death did
not reach even the daily papers until midnight.
The obituary writers were then certainly not assisted
by Sir George Grove, who, in the thousands
of pages which form the four gigantic volumes
of his so-called Dictionary of Musicians,
could not spare a paragraph to narrate the story
of the life of one who for a quarter of a century
has been a central figure of English musical
life, and who from his gentleness, his gifts and
his son-like affection for his master Liszt will
shine as a bright picture in the pages of English
musical history.</p>

<p>"We need not go very deeply into the history
of Walter Bache's life. He was born in June,
1842, at Birmingham, and was the son of an Unitarian
minister. From his birth till his death
two special points stand out boldly in his career.
Until his 'prodigy' brother Edward died in
1858 he was taught only by Stimpson, of Birmingham.
The death of his brother was the first
great incident of his life. His own education was
then more thoroughly cared for than before, and
he was sent to Leipsic, where, under Plaidy,
Moscheles, Richter (not the conductor) and
Hauptman, he was a fellow student of Sullivan,
Carl Rosa, J. F. Barnett and Franklin Taylor.
All five boys have since become eminent,
but each one in a totally different line, and, indeed,
it may fairly be said that to a great extent
the Leipsic class of that period held the fortunes
of modern musical England. When the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>
class broke up in 1861 Bache travelled in Italy,
and in 1862 at his meeting with Liszt occurred
the second great incident in his career. From
that time Liszt and Bache were fast friends. But
Bache to the day of his death never aspired to be
more than the pupil of his master.</p>

<p>"Teach he must do for daily bread, but compose
he would not, as he knew he could not surpass
Liszt, although all his savings were devoted
to the Liszt propaganda. It is not for us, standing
as we do on the brink of the grave of a good
man, to determine whether he was right or wrong.
It will suffice that Walter Bache's devotion to
Liszt was one of the most beautiful and the most
sentimental things of a musically material age.
Liszt rewarded him on his last visit to London
by attending a reception which Bache, at great
expense, gave in his honour at the Grosvenor
Gallery. Bache is now dead; a blameless and a
useful life cut short in its very prime."</p>


<h3>RUBINSTEIN</h3>

<p>"Antoine Rubinstein, of whom no one in Paris
had ever heard before, for this great artist had
the coquettish temerity to disdain the assistance
of the press, and no advance notice, none at all,
you understand, had announced his apparition,"
has written Saint-Saëns, "made his appearance in
his concerto in G major, with orchestra, in the
lovely Herz concert room, so novel in construction
and so elegant in aspect, of which one can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span>
no more avail himself to-day. Useless to say,
there was not a single paying hearer in the room,
but next morning, nevertheless, the artist was
celebrated, and at the second concert there was
a prodigious jam. I was there at the second concert,
and at the first notes I was overthrown and
chained to the car of the conqueror.</p>

<p>"Concerts followed one another, and I did not
miss a single one. Some one proposed to present
me to the great artist, but in spite of his youth
(he was then twenty-eight), and in spite of his
reputation for urbanity, he awakened in me a
horrible timidity; the idea of being near him, of
addressing a word to him, terrified me profoundly.
It was only at his second coming to Paris, a year
later, that I dared to brave his presence. The
ice between us two was quickly broken. I acquired
his friendship in deciphering upon his
own piano the orchestral score of his Ocean Symphony.
I read very well then, and his symphonic
music, written large and black, was not very
difficult to read.</p>

<p>"From this day a lively sympathy united us; the
simplicity and evident sincerity of my admiration
touched him. We were together assiduously,
often played together for four hands, subjected
to rude tests the piano which served as
our field of battle, without regard to the ears of
our hearers. It was a good time! We made
music with passion simply for the sake of making
it, and we never had enough. I was so happy
to have encountered an artist who was wholly an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span>
artist, exempt from the littleness which sometimes
makes so bad a barrier around great talent.
He came back every winter, and always enlarged
his success and consolidated our friendship."</p>


<h3>VIARDOT-GARCIA</h3>

<p>With the exception of the Bachs, who were
noted musicians for six generations, and the Viennese
branch of the Strauss dynasty, there is perhaps
no musical family that affords a more interesting
illustration of heredity in a special talent
than the Garcias. The elder Garcia, who
was born in 1775, was not only a great tenor and
teacher, but a prolific composer of operas. His
two famous daughters also became composers,
as well as singers. Madame Viardot (who died in
1910) was so lucky as to be able to base her operettas
on librettos written by Turgenev. Liszt
said of her that "in all that concerns method and
execution, feeling and expression, it would be
hard to find a name worthy to be mentioned with
that of Malibran's sister," and Wagner was
amazed and delighted when she sang the Isolde
music in a whole act of his Tristan at sight.
She studied the piano with Liszt and played brilliantly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span></p>


<h3>LISZT AS A FREEMASON</h3>

<p>Memorial tablets have been placed on each of
the two houses at Weimar in which Liszt used
to reside. He first lived at the Altenburg and
later on at the <span lang="de">Hofgärtnerei</span>. The act of piety
was undertaken by the <span lang="de">Allgemeiner Deutscher
Musikverein</span>, of which organisation Liszt was the
president up to the time of his death.</p>

<p>It has been asserted that Liszt was a Freemason
after his consecration as a priest. This has been
contradicted, but the following from the <i>Freemason's
Journal</i> appears to settle the question:</p>

<p>"On the 31st of July last one of the greatest
artists and men departed at Bayreuth for the
eternal east, who had proved himself a worthy
member of our brotherhood by his deeds through
his whole eventful life. It is Brother Franz
Liszt, on whose grave we deposit an acacia
branch. Millions of florins Franz Liszt had
earned on his triumphal career&mdash;for others. His
art, his time, his life, were given to those who
claimed it. Thus he journeyed, a living embodiment
of the St. Simonism to which he once belonged,
through his earthly pilgrimage. Brother
Franz Liszt was admitted into the brotherhood
in the year 1844, at the lodge 'Unity' ('<span lang="de">Zur Einigkeit</span>'),
in Frankfort-on-the-Main, by George
Kloss, with the composer, W. Ch. Speyer as witness,
and in the presence of Felix von Lichnowsky.
He was promoted to the second degree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>
in a lodge at Berlin, and elected master in 1870,
as member of the lodge '<span lang="de">Zur Einigkeit</span>,' in
Budapest. Since 1845 he was also honorary
member of the L. <span lang="la">Modestia cum Libertate</span> at
Zurich. If there ever was a Freemason in favour
with Pope Pius IX it was Franz Liszt, created
abbé in 1865 in Rome."</p>


<h3>A LISZT SON?</h3>

<p>A letter from Paris to the Vienna <i>Monday Review</i>
says that in the salon of the Champ de Mars
a picture is on exhibition, called Italian Bagpiper.
While its artistic points are hardly worthy
of special mention the striking resemblance of
this work by Michael Vallet to the facial traits of
Franz Liszt puzzled the jury not a little, and will
doubtless create much interest among the visitors
of the gallery. The model for the subject was
a boat-hand of Genoa named Angelo Giocati-Buonaventi,
fifty-six years of age. It was while
strolling about the Genoese wharves that Vallet
noticed the sparse form of Angelo, whose beardless
face recalled to him at once Franz Liszt's.</p>

<p>Angelo consented willingly to pose for the
piper, but all questions as to his family extraction
were answered with a laconic <span lang="it">Chi lo sa?</span>
Vallet, by making inquiries in other directions,
learned that Angelo came originally from Albano.
He took a trip to that place, and after the lapse
of a few days wrote a friend in Paris: "Found!
Found! The surmise regarding my Angelo is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span>
correct. This boathand is without any doubt
a son of Countess d'Agoult, whose relations with
Franz Liszt are known throughout the world, and
was born here in the year 1834. I found a picture
of the countess in the home of a sister-in-law
of a lately deceased peasant woman, Giocati-Buonaventi.
This latter was the nurse and later
the woman who had the motherly care of my
Angelo...."</p>

<p>It happened that at the same time, as if to
corroborate Vallet's statement, the <i lang="fr">Review de
Paris</i> published an interesting correspondence
between Georges Sand and Countess d'Agoult.
The latter writes from Albano under date of
June 9, 1839: "It was our intention to present
our respects to the Sultan this summer, but our
trip to Constantinople came to naught. A little
fellow that I had the caprice to bring here into
the world prevented the carrying out of the plan.
The boy promises to be a beauty. One of the
handsomest women of Palestrina furnishes the
milk for his nourishment. It is to be regretted
that Franz has again one of his fits of melancholy.
[She speaks of Liszt repeatedly in this letter,
giving him the pet name <i lang="fr">crétin</i>.] The thought
of being father to <i>three</i> little children seems to depress
his mind...."</p>

<p>The three children being accounted for, the
story of Vallet regarding Angelo has no foundation
in fact, and we would not even mention it
if it was not making the rounds of the Continental
press.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span></p>


<h3>LISZT ON VIRTUOSITY</h3>

<p>In these days of virtuosity let us hear what
Liszt, the master of all virtuosi, says:</p>

<p>"What, then, makes the virtuoso on an instrument?"
asks the master, and we gain on this
occasion the most comprehensive and the most
decisive information on the point ourselves. Is
he really a mere spiritless machine? Do his
hands only attend to the office of a double winch
on a street organ? Has he to dispense with his
brain and with his feelings in his mechanical execution
of the prescribed performance? Has he
to supply the ear only with a photograph of the
object before him? Such representations bring
him to the somewhat proud remark: "We know
too well how many amongst those who enjoy
great praise, unable to translate even to the letter
the original that is on the desk before them,
degrade its sense, carrying on the art as a trade,
and not understanding even the trade itself. However
victorious a counterfeit may be, it does not
destroy the power of the real authors and poet
virtuosi; they are for those who are 'called' to
an extent of which a degraded public, under an
illegitimate and ignorant 'dominion,' has no
idea. You hear the rolling of the thunder, the
roaring of the lion, the far-spreading sound of
man's strength. For the words virtuosity and
virtus are derived from the Latin 'vir'; the execution
of both is an act of manly power," says<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span>
he, and characterises now his 'artist' as follows:
"The virtuoso is not a mason, who, with the
chisel in his hand, faithfully and conscientiously
cuts his stone after the design of the architect.
He is not a passive tool that reproduces feeling
and thought without adding himself. He is not
the more or less experienced reader of works that
have no margin for his notes, and which make
no paragraph necessary between the lines.
These spiritedly written musical works are in
reality for the virtuoso only the tragic and touching
putting-in-scene of feelings; he is called upon
to let these speak, weep, sing, sigh&mdash;to render
these to his own consciousness. He creates in
this way like the composer himself, for he must
embrace in himself those passions which he, in
their complete brilliancy, has to bring to light.
He breathes life into the lethargic body, infuses
it with fire, and enlivens it with the pulse of
gracefulness and charm. He changes the clayey
form into a living being, penetrating it with the
spark which Prometheus snatched from the flash
of Jupiter. He must make this form wander in
transparent ether; he must arm it with a thousand
winged arms; he must unfold scent and
blossom and breathe into it the breath of life.
Of all artists the virtuoso reveals perhaps most
immediately the overpowering forces of the god
who, in glowing embraces of the proud muse, allures
every hidden secret."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span></p>


<h3>LISZT'S FAVOURITE PIANO</h3>

<p class="center">LETTER FROM DR. FRANZ LISZT</p>

<p class="letterhead">
"<span class="smcap">Weimar</span>, <i>November, 1883</i>.<br />
</p>

<p>
"<span class="smcap">Mr. Steinway</span>:<br />
</p>

<p>"<i>Most Esteemed Sir</i>: Again I owe you many
and special thanks. The new Steinway Grand is
a glorious masterpiece in power, sonority, singing
quality, and perfect harmonic effects, affording
delight even to my old piano-weary fingers. Ever
continuing success remains a beautiful attribute
of the world-renowned firm of Steinway &amp; Sons.
In your letter, highly esteemed sir, you mention
some new features in the Grand Piano, <i>viz.</i>, the
vibrating body being bent into form out of one
continuous piece, and that portion of the strings
heretofore lying dormant being now a part of
and thus incorporated as partial tones into the
foundation tones. Their utility is emphatically
guaranteed by the name of the inventor. Owing
to my ignorance of the mechanism of piano construction
I can but praise the magnificent <i>result</i>
in the 'volume and quality of sound.' In relation
to the use of your welcome tone-sustaining
pedal I inclose two examples: <span lang="fr">Danse des
Sylphes</span>, by Berlioz, and No. 3 of my Consolations.
I have to-day noted down only the introductory
bars of both pieces, with this proviso,
that, if you desire it, I shall gladly complete the
whole transcription, with exact adaptation of
your tone-sustaining pedal.</p>

<p class="quotsig">
"Very respectfully and gratefully,<br />
"<span class="smcap">F. Liszt.</span>"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p>


<h3>LISZT AS TEACHER</h3>

<p>"While Liszt has been immensely written
about as pianist and composer, sufficient stress
has not been laid upon what the world owes him
as a teacher of pianoforte playing," writes Amy
Fay. "During his life-time Liszt despised the
name of 'piano-teacher,' and never suffered himself
to be regarded as such. 'I am no <span lang="fr">Professeur
du Piano</span>,' he scornfully remarked one day in
the class at Weimar, and if any one approached
him as a 'teacher' he instantly put the unfortunate
offender outside of his door.</p>

<p>"I was once a witness of his haughty treatment
of a Leipsic pupil of the fair sex, who came to
him one day and asked him 'to give her a few lessons.'
He instantly drew himself up and replied
in the most cutting tone:</p>

<p>"'I do not give lessons on the piano; and,' he
added with a bow, in which grace and sarcasm
were combined, 'you really don't need me as a
teacher.'</p>

<p>"There was a dead silence for a minute, and
then the poor girl, not knowing what to do or say,
backed herself out of the room. Liszt, turning to
the class, said:</p>

<p>"'That is the way people fly in my face, by
dozens! They seem to think I am there only to
give them lessons on the piano. I have to get
rid of them, for I am no Professor of the Piano.
This girl did not play badly, either,' concluded he,
half ashamed of himself for his treatment of her.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span></p>

<p>"For my part, I was awfully sorry for the girl,
and I was tempted to run after her and bring her
back, and intercede with Liszt to take her; but
I was a new-comer myself, and did not quite dare
to brave the lion in his den. Later, I would have
done it, for the girl was really very talented, and
it was a mere want of tact on her part in her manner
of approaching Liszt which precipitated her
defeat. She brought him Chopin's F minor concerto,
and played the middle movement of it,
Liszt standing up and thundering out the orchestral
accompaniment, tremolo, in the bass of the
piano. I wondered it did not put the girl out,
but she persisted bravely to the end, and did
not break down, as I expected she would.</p>

<p>"She came at an inopportune moment, for
there were only five of us in the room, and we
were having a most entertaining time with Liszt,
that lovely June afternoon, and he did not feel
disposed to be interrupted by a stranger. In
spite of himself, he could not help doing justice
to her talent, saying: 'She did not play at all
badly.' This, however, the poor girl never knew.
She probably wept briny tears of disappointment
when she returned to her hotel.</p>

<p>"While Liszt resented being called a 'piano-teacher,'
he nevertheless <i>was one</i>, in the higher
sense of the term. It was the difference between
the scientific college professor of genius and the
ordinary school-teacher which distinguished him
from the rank and file of musical instructors.</p>

<p>"Nobody could be more appreciative of talent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span>
than Liszt was&mdash;even of talent which was not of
the first order&mdash;and I was often amazed to see the
trouble he would give himself with some industrious
young girl who had worked hard over
big compositions like Schumann's Carnival, or
Chopin's sonatas. At one of the musical gatherings
at the Frauleins' Stahr (music-teachers in
Weimar, to whose simple home Liszt liked to
come) I have heard him accompany on a second
piano Chopin's E minor concerto, which was
technically well played, by a girl of nineteen from
the Stuttgart Conservatory.</p>

<p>"It was a contrast to see this young girl, with
her rosy cheeks, big brown eyes, and healthy,
everyday sort of talent, at one piano, and Liszt,
the colossal artist, at the other.</p>

<p>"He was then sixty-three years old, but the fire
of youth burned in him still. Like his successor,
Paderewski, Liszt sat erect, and never bent his
proud head over the 'stupid keys,' as he called
them, even deprecating his pupils' doing so. He
was very picturesque, with his lofty and ideal
forehead thrown back, and his magnificent iron-gray
hair falling in thick masses upon his neck.
The most divine expression came over his face
when he began to play the opening measures of
the accompaniment, and I shall never forget the
concentration and intensity he put into them if
I live to be a hundred! The nobility and absolute
'selflessness' of Liszt's playing had to be
heard to be understood. There was something
about his tone that made you weep, it was so
apart from earth and so ethereal!"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span></p>


<h3>VON BÜLOW CRITICISES</h3>

<p>"I look forward eagerly," Bülow wrote to a
friend, "to your Chopin, that immortal romanticist
par excellence, whose mazurkas alone are a
monument more enduring than metal. Never
will this great, deep, sincere, and at the same time
tender and passionate poet become antiquated.
On the contrary, as musical culture increases,
he will appear in a much brighter light than
to-day, when only the popular Chopin is in
vogue, whereas the more aristocratic, manly
Chopin, the poet of the last two scherzi, the
last two ballads, the barcarole, the polonaise-fantaisie,
the nocturnes, Op. 9, No. 3; Op. 48;
Op. 55, No. 2, etc., still awaits the interpreters
who have entered into his spirit and among whom,
if God grants me life, I should like to have the
pride of counting myself.</p>

<p>"You know from my introduction to the études
how highly I esteem Chopin. In his pieces we
find Lenau, Byron, Musset, Lamartine, and at
the same time all sorts of heathen Apollo priests.
You shall learn through me to love him dearly.</p>

<p>"We must grant Chopin the great distinction
of having in his works fixed the boundaries between
piano and orchestral music, which other
romanticists, notably Robert Schumann, confused,
to the detriment of both.</p>

<p>"There are two Chopins&mdash;one an aristocrat,
the other democratic."</p>

<p>Concerning the mazurka, Op. 50, No. 1, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span>
said: "In this mazurka there is dancing, singing,
gesticulating.</p>

<p>"Chopin's pupils issued in Paris an edition of
his works. Chopin's pupils are, however, as
unreliable as the girls who pose as Liszt's pupils.
Use the Klindworth edition.</p>

<p>"Liszt's ballads and polonaises have proved
most strikingly that it was possible after Chopin
to write ballads and polonaises. In the polonaises
in particular Liszt opened many new points
of view for the widening and spiritualising of that
form, quite apart from the individual peculiarities
of his productions, which put in place of the
national Polish colour an entirely new element,
thus making possible the filling out of this form
with new contents."</p>

<p>In one of his essays Bülow indignantly attacks
the current notion that Liszt's pieces are all unplayable
except by concert pianists: "Some day
I shall make a list of all of Liszt's pieces for piano
which most amateurs will find much easier to master
and digest than the chaff of Thalberg or the
wheat of Henselt or Chopin. But it seems that
the name of Liszt as composer for the piano has
become associated inseparably with the words 'inexecutable,'
and making 'colossal demands.' It is
a harmless prejudice of the ignorant, like many
others, but for all that none the less objectionable.</p>

<p>"Liszt does not represent virtuosity as distinguished
from music&mdash;very far from it.</p>

<p>"The Liszt ballade in B minor is equal in poetic
content to Chopin's ballades."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span></p>

<p>Concerning Liszt's <span lang="de">Irrlichter</span> and <span lang="de">Gnomenreigen</span>,
he said: "I wish the inspired master had
written more pieces like these, which are as perfect
as any song without words by Mendelssohn."</p>


<h3>WEINGARTNER AND LISZT</h3>

<p>Weingartner's reminiscences of Liszt throw
many interesting lights on the personality of that
great composer and greatest of teachers. The
gathering of famous artists at his house are well
described, and his own mannerisms excellently
portrayed. His playing was always marked by
the ripest perfection of touch. He did not incline
to the impetuous power of his youthful days,
but sat almost without motion before the keyboard.
His hands glided quietly over the keys,
and produced the warm, magnetic stream of tone
almost without effort.</p>

<p>His criticism of others was short, but always to
the point. His praise would be given heartily,
and without reserve, while blame was always
concealed in some kindly circumlocution. Once,
when a pretty young lady played a Chopin ballade
in execrable fashion, he could not contain
ejaculations of disgust as he walked excitedly
about the room. At the end, however, he went
to her kindly, laid his hand gently on her hair,
kissed her forehead, and murmured, "Marry
soon, dear child&mdash;adieu."</p>

<p>Another young lady once turned the tables on
the composer. It was the famous Ingeborg von<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span>
Bronsart, who came to him when eighteen years
old, in the full bloom of her fair Northern beauty.
Liszt asked her to play, inwardly fearing that
this was to be one more of the petted incompetents.
But when she played a Bach fugue for
him, with the utmost brilliancy, he could not contain
his admiration. "Wonderful," he cried,
"but you certainly didn't look like it." "I should
hope I didn't look like a Bach fugue," was the
swift retort, and the two became lifelong friends.</p>


<h3>AS ORGAN COMPOSER</h3>

<p>Liszt's importance in this field is not overlooked.</p>

<p>"In Germany, the land of seriousness, organ
music had acquired a character so heavy and so
uniformly contrapuntal that, by the middle of
last century, almost any decently trained Capellmeister
could produce a sonata dull enough to
be considered first-rate. There were, doubtless,
many protests in the shape of unorthodox works
which left no mark; but two great influences,
which are the earliest we need notice, came in the
shape of Liszt's Fantasia on the name of Bach
and Julius Reubke's Sonata on the Ninety-fourth
Psalm. Without minute analysis we may say
that the former, though not an entirely great
work, was at all events something entirely new.
It showed the possibility of freedom of form without
shapelessness, of fairly good counterpoint
without dulness, of the adaptation of piano technic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span>
to the organ in a way never before attempted;
and the whole work, brilliant and effective,
never outraged in the smallest degree the natural
dignity of the instrument."</p>


<h3>LISZT'S TECHNIC</h3>

<p>Rudolf Breithaupt thus wrote of the technical
elements in Liszt's playing in <i lang="de">Die Musik</i>:</p>

<p>"What we hear of Liszt's technic in his best
years, from 1825 to 1850, resembles a fairy tale.
As artists, Liszt and Paganini have almost become
legendary personages. In analysing Liszt's
command of the piano we find that it consists
first and foremost in the revelation of a mighty
personality rather than in the achievement of
unheard of technical feats. Though his admirers
will not believe it, technic has advanced since
his day. Tausig excelled him in exactness and
brilliancy; Von Bülow was a greater master of
interpretation: Rubinstein went beyond him in
power and in richness of tone-colour, through
his consummate use of the pedal. Even contemporary
artists, <i>e.g.</i>, Carreño, d'Albert, Busoni,
and in part, Godowsky, are technically equal to
Liszt in his best days, and in certain details, owing
to the improved mechanism of the piano,
even his superior.</p>

<p>"It is time to do away with the fetich of Liszt's
technic. It was mighty as an expression of his
potent personality, mighty in its domination of all
instrumental forms, mighty in its full command<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span>
of all registers and positions. But I believe that
if the Liszt of former days&mdash;not the old man
whose fingers did not always obey his will, but
the young, vigorous Titan of the early nineteenth
century&mdash;were to play for us now, we should be
as little edified as we should probably be by the
singing of Jenny Lind or by the playing of Paganini.
Exaggeration finds no more fruitful field
than the chronicling of the feats of noted artists.</p>

<p>"We hear, for instance, much of Liszt's hand,
of its vampire-like clutch, of its uncanny, spidery
power of extension&mdash;as a child I firmly believed
that he could reach two octaves without difficulty.
These stories are all fables. His fingers
were long and regular, the thumb abnormally
long; a more than usual flexibility of muscles
and sinews gave him the power of spanning a
twelfth. Klindworth tells us that he did some
things with his left thumb that one was led to believe
it twice the length of an ordinary thumb.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 326px;">
<a id="Liszts_Hand" name="Liszts_Hand"></a>
<a href="images/oir_447h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_447.jpg" width="326" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Liszt's Hand</p>
</div>

<p>"What chiefly distinguished Liszt's technic was
the absolute freedom of his arms. The secret
lay in the unconstrained swinging movement of
the arm from the raised shoulder, the bringing
out of the tone through the impact of the full
elastic mass on the keys, a thorough command
and use of the freely rolling forearm. He had the
gift for which all strove, the rhythmic dance of
the members concerned&mdash;the springing arm, the
springing hand, the springing finger. He played
by weight&mdash;by a swinging and a hurling of weight
from a loosened shoulder that had nothing in common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span>
with what is known as finger manipulation.
It was by a direct transfer of strength from back
and shoulders to fingers, which explains the high
position of hands and fingers.</p>

<p>"At the time of his most brilliant period as
virtuoso he paid no attention to technic and its
means; his temperament was the reverse of analytical&mdash;what
he wished to do he did without
concerning himself as to the how or why. Later
in life he did attempt to give some practical suggestions
in technic, but these were of but doubtful
worth. A genius is not always to be trusted
when it comes to theoretical explanation of what
he does more by instinct than by calculation.</p>

<p>"His power over an audience was such that
he had only to place his hands on the keyboard
to awaken storms of applause. Even his pauses
had life and movement, for his hands spoke in
animated gesture, while his Jupiter-like head,
with its mane of flowing hair, exercised an almost
hypnotic effect on his entranced listeners.</p>

<p>"From a professional stand-point his execution
was not always flawless. His great rival, Thalberg,
had greater equality of touch in scales and
runs; in what was then known as the <span lang="fr">jeu perle</span>
(literally, pearly playing) his art was also finer.
Liszt frequently struck false notes&mdash;but ears
were closed to such faults; his hearers appeared
not to notice them. These spots on the sun are
mentioned only to put an end once for all to the
foolish stories that are still current about Liszt's
wonderful technic. This greatest of all reproductive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span>
artists was but a man, and often erred,
though in a large and characteristic fashion.</p>

<p>"Liszt's technic is the typical technic of the
modern grand piano (<span lang="de">Hammerklavier</span>). He knew
well the nature of the instrument, its old-fashioned
single-tone effects on the one hand, its
full harmonic power and polyphonic capabilities
on the other. While to his predecessors it was
simply a medium for musical purposes, under his
hands it was a means of expression for himself,
a revelation of his ardent temperament. In comparison
with the contracted five-finger positions
of the classical technic, its broken chords and
arpeggios, Liszt's technic had the advantage of
a fuller, freer flow, of greater fulness of tone and
increased brilliancy. Chopin has discovered more
original forms; his style of writing is far more
delicate and graceful; his individual note is certainly
more musical, but his technic is special
in its character; it lacks the broad sweep that
gives Liszt's technic its peculiar freedom and
adaptability to the instrument.</p>

<p>"Take Schumann and Brahms also, and compare
their manner of writing for the piano with
Liszt's. Both have written much that is noble
and beautiful considered as music, but so clumsily
put on the instrument that it is unduly difficult
for the player. With Liszt, however, no matter
what the difficulty of the means may be, they are
always precisely adapted to the end in view, and
everything he writes sounds well. It is no merely
theoretical combination, but meant to be played<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span>
on the piano, and is in strict accordance with
the nature of the instrument. The player finds
nothing laboriously put together and requiring
study for its disentanglement. Liszt considers
the structure of the hand, and assigns it tasks
suited to its capabilities.</p>

<p>"Among the distinctively original features of
Liszt's technic are the bold outline, the large
form, the imitative effects of organ and clavier,
the orchestral timbre it imparts to the piano. We
thank him also for the use of the thumb in the
declamation of pathetic cantilena, for a breadth
of melodic characterisation which resembles that
of the horn and violoncello, for the imitation of
brass instruments, for the great advance in all
sorts of tremolos, trills and vibratos, which serve
to give colour and intensity to moments of climax.
His finger passages are not merely empty runs,
but are like high lights in a picture; his cadenzas
fairly sparkle like comet trains and are never
introduced for display alone. They are preparatory,
transitional or conclusive in character; they
point contrasts, they heighten dramatic climaxes.
His scales and arpeggios have nothing in common
with the stiff monotony of the Czerny school of
playing; they express feeling, they give emotional
variety, they embellish a melody with ineffable
grace. He often supplies them with thirds and
sixths, which fill out their meagre outlines and
furnish support to hands and fingers.</p>

<p>"In his octave technic Liszt has embodied all
the elementary power and wildness of his nature.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span>
His octaves rage in chromatic and diatonic scales,
in broken chords and arpeggios, up and down,
hither and thither, like zigzag flashes of lightning.
Here he is seen at his boldest, <i>e.g.</i>, in his Orage,
<span lang="de">Totentanz</span>, Mazeppa, Don Juan fantasia, VI
Rhapsody, etc. In the trill, too, he has given us
such novel forms as the simple trill with single
fingers of each hand, the trill in double thirds
in both hands, the octave trill&mdash;all serving to
intensify the introduction or close of the salient
divisions of a composition.</p>

<p>"From Liszt dates the placing of a melody in
the fullest and most ringing register of the piano&mdash;that
corresponding to the tenor or baritone
compass of voice; also the division of the accompaniment
between the two hands and the extension
of hand-crossing technic. To him we owe
exactness in the fixing of tempo, the careful designation
of signs for dynamics and expression,
the use of three staves instead of two for the sake
of greater clearness of notation, as well as the
modern installation of the pedal.</p>

<p>"In short, Liszt is not only the creator of the
art of piano playing as we have it to-day, but
his is the strongest musical influence in modern
musical culture. But granting this, those thinkers
who declare this influence not unmixed with
harm are not altogether wrong. It is not the
fault of genius, however, that undesirable consequences
follow in its wake. It is also my opinion
that it will do no harm to retrace our steps
and revive the more simple times when there was
less piano playing and more music."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span></p>


<h3>BUSONI</h3>

<p>Busoni is preparing a complete edition of
Liszt's compositions, to be published by Breitkopf
&amp; Härtel. Concerning the studies, which
are to appear in three volumes, he says:</p>

<p>"These études, a work which occupied Franz
Liszt from childhood on up to manhood, we believe
should be put at the head of his piano compositions.
There are three reasons for this: the
first is the fact that the études were the first of
his works to be published; the second is that
in Liszt's own catalogue of his works (Themat.
Verz. Br. H. 1855), he puts the études at the very
beginning; and the third and most patent is that
these works in their entirety reflect as do no
others Liszt's pianistic personality in the bud,
shoot, and flower.</p>

<p>"These fifty-eight piano pieces alone would
serve to place Liszt in the ranks of the greatest
piano composers since Beethoven&mdash;Chopin,
Schumann, Alkan, and Brahms; but proof of his
superiority over these is found in his complete
works, of which the études are only a small part.</p>

<p>"They afford a picture of him in manifold lights
and poses, giving us an opportunity to know and
observe him in the different phases of his character:
the diabolic as well as the religious&mdash;those
who acknowledge God do not make light
of the devil&mdash;the refined and the animated; now
as an illustrative interpreter of every style and
again as a marvellous transformation artist who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span>
can with convincing mimicry don the costume
of any country. This collection consists of a
work for piano which contains within its circumference
every phase, nation, and epoch of musical
expression from Palestrina to Parsifal, whereby
Liszt shows himself as a creator of twofold
character&mdash;both subjective and objective."</p>


<h3>LISZT AS A PIANOFORTE WRITER</h3>

<p>"Nothing is easier than to estimate Liszt the
pianist, nothing more difficult than to estimate
Liszt the composer. As to Liszt the pianist, old
and young, conservatives and progressives, not
excepting the keyboard specialists, are perfectly
agreed that he was unique, unsurpassed, and unsurpassable,"
says Professor Niecks. "As to Liszt
the composer, on the other hand, opinions differ
widely and multifariously&mdash;from the attribution
of superlative genius to the denial of the least
talent. This diversity arises from partisanship,
individuality of taste, and the various conceptions
formed of the nature of creative power.
Those, however, who call Liszt a composer without
talent confess themselves either ignorant of
his achievements, or incapable of distinguishing
good from bad and of duly apportioning praise
and blame. Those, on the other hand, who call
Liszt a creative genius should not omit to observe
and state that his genius was qualitatively unlike
the genius of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven,
Mendelssohn, and Schumann. With him the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span>
creative impulse was, in the main, and, as a
rule, an intellectual impulse. With the great
masters mentioned, the impulse was of a general
origin, all the faculties co-operating. While with
them the composition was always spontaneous,
being, however great the travail, a birth, not a
making; with Liszt it was often reflective, the
solution of a problem, an experiment, a caprice,
a defiance of conventional respectability, or a
device for the dumfounding and electrification
of the gaping multitude. In short, Liszt was to
a larger extent inventive than creative. The
foregoing remarks do not pretend to be more
than a suggestive attempt at explaining the inexplicable
differences of creative power. That
Liszt could be spontaneous and in the best sense
creative, he has proved by whole compositions,
and more frequently by parts of compositions.
That has to be noted; as well as that his love of
experimenting and scorn for the familiar, not to
mention the commonplace, led him often to turn
his back on the beautiful and to embrace the
ugly.</p>

<p>"As a composer of pianoforte music, Liszt's
merits are more generally acknowledged than as
a composer of any other kind. Here indeed his
position is a commanding one. We should be
obliged to regard him with respect, admiration, and
gratitude, even if his compositions were æsthetically
altogether a failure. For they incorporate
an original pianoforte style, a style that won new
resources from the instrument, and opened new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span>
possibilities to the composer for it, and the player
on it. The French Revolution of 1830 aroused
Liszt from a state of lethargy. A year after
this political revolution, there occurred an event
that brought about in him an artistic revolution.
This event was the appearance of Paganini
in Paris. The wonderful performances of the
unique violin virtuoso revealed to him new ideas.
He now began to form that pianoforte style which
combined, as it were, the excellences of all the
other instruments, individually and collectively.
Liszt himself called the process "the orchestration
of the pianoforte." But before the transformation
could be consummated, other influences
had to be brought to bear on the architect.
The influence of Chopin, who appeared in Paris
soon after Paganini, must have been great, but
was too subtle and partial to be easily gauged.
It is different with Berlioz, whose influence on
Liszt was palpable and general, affecting every
branch of his art-practice. Thalberg has at least
the merit of having by his enormous success in
1836 stimulated Liszt to put forth his whole
strength.</p>

<p>"The vast mass of Liszt's pianoforte compositions
is divisible first into two classes&mdash;the entirely
original compositions, and the compositions
based to a more or less extent on foreign
matter. The latter class consist of transcriptions
of songs (Schubert, Beethoven, Mendelssohn,
Franz, etc.), symphonies and overtures (Berlioz,
Beethoven, Rossini, Wagner, etc.), and operatic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span>
themes (from Rossini and Bellini to Wagner and
Verdi), and of fifteen Hungarian rhapsodies;
the former consists of studies, brilliant virtuosic
pieces, musical poems, secular and sacred, picturesque,
lyrical, etc. (such as <span lang="fr">Années de Pélerinage,
Harmonies, poétiques et religieuses</span>, Consolations,
the legends, <span lang="fr">St. François d'Assise: La
Prédication aux oiseaux</span>, and <span lang="fr">St. François de
Paule marchant sur les flots</span>, etc.), and one
work in sonata form, but not the conventional sonata
form. Although not unfrequently leaving
something to be desired in the matter of discretion,
his transcriptions of songs are justly famous
masterpieces. Marvellous in the reproduction
of orchestral effects are the transcriptions of
symphonies and overtures. The operatic transcriptions
(Illustrations, Fantasies), into which
the <i lang="de">geistreiche</i> Liszt put a great deal of his own,
do not now enjoy the popularity they once enjoyed;
the present age has lost some of its love
for musical fireworks and the tricking-out and
transmogrification by an artist of other artists'
ideas. The Hungarian Rhapsodies, on the other
hand, which are still more fantasias on the adopted
matter than the operatic transcriptions, continue
to be favourites of the <i>virtuosi</i> and the public.</p>

<p>"As to the original compositions, they are very
unequal in artistic value. Many of them, however,
are undoubtedly of the greatest beauty, and
stand whatever test may be applied to them.
No one would think of numbering with these exquisite
perfect things the imposing sonata. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span>
cannot be placed by the side of the sonatas of
Beethoven, whose ideal and formative power
Liszt lacked. Nevertheless it is impossible for
the unprejudiced not to recognise in it a noble
effort of a highly-gifted and ardently-striving
mind. Technically, instead of three or four self-contained
separate movements, we have there a
long uninterrupted series of continuous movements,
in which, however, we can distinguish
three complexes corresponding to the three movements
of the orthodox sonata. The Andante
Sostenuto and Quasi Adagio form the simpler
middle complex. Although some of the features
of the orthodox sonata structure are discernible
in Liszt's works, most of them are absent
from it or irrecognisably veiled. The most
novel and characteristic features are the unity
and the evolution by metamorphosis of the
thematic material&mdash;that is to say, the motives
of the first complex reappear in the following
ones, and are metamorphosed not only in the
later but also in the first. Nothing could characterise
the inequality of Liszt's compositions
better than the fact that it is possible to draw up
a programme of them wholly irreproachable,
admirable, and delightful, and equally possible
to draw up one wholly objectionable, abhorrent,
and distressful. All in all, Liszt is a most remarkable
and interesting and, at the same time,
an epoch-making personality, one that will remain
for long yet a living force in music, and for
ever a striking figure in the history of the art."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span></p>


<h3>SMETANA</h3>

<p>Frederick Smetana, the greatest of Bohemian
composers, founded in the year 1848 the institute
which he conducted for the teaching of the
piano in Prague. In this year it was that the
composition for piano named <span lang="fr">Morceaux Caractéristiques</span>,
he dedicated to Liszt (which dedication
Liszt accepted with the greatest cordiality,
writing him a most complimentary letter),
was the means of his becoming personally acquainted
with Liszt, whom he until this time
only knew by report. He obtained for the young
composer an introduction to the publisher Kistner,
in Leipsic, who brought out his six piano
pieces called <span lang="de">Stammbuchblaetter</span>.</p>


<h3>RIMSKY-KORSAKOFF</h3>

<p>"Of all the Slav composers Rimsky-Korsakoff
is perhaps the most charming, and as a musician
the most remarkable," writes the music-critic of
the <i lang="fr">Mercure de France</i>. "He has not been
equalled by any of his compatriots in the art of
handling timbres, and in this art the Russian
school has been long distinguished. In this respect
he is descended directly from Liszt, whose
orchestra he adopted and from whom he borrowed
many an old effect. His inspiration is
sometimes exquisite; the inexhaustible transformation
of his themes is always most intelligent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span>
or interesting. As all the other Russians, he sins
in the development of ideas through the lack of
cohesion, of sustained enchainment, and especially
through the lack of true polyphony. The
influence of Berlioz and of Liszt is not less striking
in his manner of composition. Sadko comes
from Liszt's <span lang="fr">Ce qu'on entend sur la montagne</span>,
Antar and Scheherazade at the same time from
Harold and the Faust symphony. The Oriental
monody seems to throw a spell over Rimsky-Korsakoff
which spreads over all his works a sort
of 'local colour,' underlined here by the chosen
subjects. In Scheherazade, it must be said, the
benzoin of Arabia sends forth here and there
the sickening empyreuma of the pastilles of the
harem. In the second and the third movements
of Antar the composer has approached nearest
true musical superiority. The descriptive, almost
dramatic, intention is realised there with an unusual
sureness, and, if the brand of Liszt remains
ineffaceable, the ease of construction, the breadth
and the co-ordinated progressions of combinations
mark a mastery and an originality that are
rarely found among the composers of the far
North, and that no one has ever possessed among
the 'five.'</p>

<p class="break">"Chopin's well-known saying in regard to
Liszt, when he heard that the latter was going
to write a notice of his concert, tells more," says
Professor Niecks, "than whole volumes. These
are the words: <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span>'<span lang="fr">Il me donnera un petit royaume
dans son empire</span>,' which were said to Ernest
Legouvé by Chopin. Now here is another side-light
on Chopin and his opinion of the great
virtuoso. He is referring to Liszt's notice of
some concert, apparently at Cologne. He is
amused at the 'fifteen hundred men counted, at
the president of the Phil [harmonic] and his carriage,
etc.,' and he feels sure that Liszt will
'some day be a deputy, or king of Abyssinia, or
of the Congo; his melodies (themes), however,
will rest alongside the two volumes of German
poetry'&mdash;two volumes which did not seem destined,
apparently, to achieve immortality."</p>


<h3>HIS PORTRAITS</h3>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;">
<a id="Liszt_1886" name="Liszt_1886"></a>
<a href="images/oir_461h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_461.jpg" width="359" height="550" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Last Picture of Liszt, 1886, Aged Seventy-five Years</p>
</div>

<p>Many artists have immortalised "that profile
of ivory." They are, Ingres who was a friend
of Liszt, and of whom he always had a tender
recollection; in his best days it was Kaulbach
and Lenbach. William Kaulbach's portrait is
celebrated for the grand look; the chivalrous
and fine-gentleman character of the artist is expressed
in it in a masterly way. Not less remarkable
is a marble bust by the famous Bartolini,
souvenir of the master's visit to Florence in 1838.
The painter Leyraud shows us Liszt at the time
when he took orders. He depicts him as a thin,
thoughtful man, leaning against a piano, his
arms crossed, and looking at the world from the
height of his wisdom. David d'Angers has made
a very fine medallion of him. "We have several<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span>
portraits by Kriehuber, one, among others&mdash;Liszt
in a travelling cloak&mdash;drawn hurriedly while
Liszt, surrounded by friends seeing him off, was
shaking hands all round. Tilgner sculptured a
bust of him two years ago at Vienna; and Baron
Joukovsky painted his portrait. Our great Munkàcsy,
who beautified the last moments of the
master's life, painted him seated at the piano.
Boehm, the celebrated Hungarian sculptor, has
just made his bust in London. Then we have
at Budapest, at the entrance to the opera house,
a splendid statue, chiselled by our young artist
Strobl. It wants finish, but on the other
hand admirably renders Liszt's features and expression.
And lastly, we have one by Wolkof, on
the stove of a friend of Liszt's," adds Janka Wohl.
There are so many more that they defy classification.
The Munkàcsy is not attractive, but
the sketch made by Ingres at Rome in 1839 is a
very happy interpretation of the still youthful
virtuoso. The Kriehuber lithograph is a famous
study of perennial interest. Then there are the
portraits by the American Healey and the Italian
Stella, excellent though not master-works. In
the Lenbach portrait the eyes look like incandescent
grapes.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span></p>




<h2>IX<br />

MODERN PIANOFORTE VIRTUOSI</h2>


<p>Artistic pianoforte playing is no longer rare.
The once jealously guarded secrets of the masters
have become the property of conservatories.
Self-playing instruments perform technical miracles,
and are valuable inasmuch as they interest
a number of persons who would otherwise avoid
music as an ineluctable mystery. Furthermore,
the unerring ease with which these machines despatch
the most appalling difficulties has turned
the current toward what is significant in a musical
performance: touch, phrasing, interpretation.
While a child's hand may set spinning the Don
Juan Fantasie of Liszt, no mechanical appliance
yet contrived can play a Chopin ballade or the
Schumann concerto as they should be played.</p>

<p>I mention purposely these cunning inventions
because I do not think that they have
harmed the public interest in pianoforte recitals;
rather have they stimulated it. Never before
has the standard of execution and interpretation
been so high. The giant wave of virtuosity that
broke over Europe in the middle of the nineteenth
century has not yet receded. A new artist on the
keyboard is eagerly heard and discussed. If he
be a Paderewski or a Joseffy, he is the centre of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span>
a huge admiration. The days of Liszt were renewed
when Paderewski made his tours in America.
Therefore, it is not an exaggeration to say
that not until now has good playing been so little
of a rarity.</p>

<p>But a hundred years ago matters were different.
It was in 1839 that Franz Liszt gave the
first genuine pianoforte recital, and, possessing
a striking profile, he boldly presented it to his
audiences; before that pianists either faced or
sat with their backs to the public. No matter
what avenue of music the student travels, he
will be sure to encounter the figure of Liszt.
Yet neither Liszt nor Chopin was without artistic
ancestors. That they stemmed from the great
central tree of European music; that they at first
were swept down the main current, later controlled
it, are facts that to-day are the commonplaces
of the schools; though a few decades ago
those who could see no salvation outside of German
music-making, be it never so conventional,
failed to recognise the real significance of either
Liszt or Chopin. Both men gave Europe new
forms, a new harmonic system, and in Liszt's
case his originality was so marked that from
Wagner to Tschaïkowsky and the Russians, from
Cornelius to Richard Strauss, Arnold Schoenberg
and the still newer men, all helped themselves at
his royal banquet; some, like Wagner, a great
genius, taking away all they needed, others glad
to catch the very crumbs that fell. But the innovators
in form have not always proved supreme<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span>
creators. In the case of Wagner the plumed and
serried phrases of Liszt recall the rôle played by
Marlowe in regard to Shakespeare.</p>

<p>Liszt's very power, muscular, compelling, set
pianoforte manufacturers to experimenting. A
new instrument was literally made for him, an instrument
that could thunder like an orchestra,
sing like a voice, or whisper like a harp. Liszt
could proudly boast, "<span lang="fr">le piano&mdash;c'est moi!</span>"
With it he needed no orchestra, no singers, no
scenery. It was his stage, and upon its wires he
told the stories of the operas, sang the beautiful,
and then novel, lieder of Schubert and Schumann,
revealed the mastery of Beethoven, the poetry
of Chopin, and Bach's magical mathematics.
He, too, set Europe ablaze; even Paganini was
forgotten, and the gentlemanly Thalberg with
his gentlemanly playing suddenly became insipid
to true music lovers. Liszt was called a
charlatan, and doubtless partially deserved the
appellation, in the sense that he very often played
for effect's sake, for the sake of dazzling the
groundlings. His tone was massive, his touch
coloured by a thousand shades of feeling, his
technic impeccable, his fire and fury bewildering.</p>

<p>And if Liszt affected his contemporaries, he
also trained his successors, Tausig, Von Bülow,
and Rubinstein&mdash;the latter was never an actual
pupil, though he profited by Liszt's advice and
regarded him as a model. Karl Tausig, the
greatest virtuoso after Liszt and his equal at
many points, died prematurely. Never had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span>
world heard such controlled, plastic, and objective
interpretations. His iron will had drilled
his Slavic temperament so that his playing was,
as Joseffy says, "a series of perfectly painted
pictures." His technic, according to those who
heard him, was perfection. He was the one
pianist <span lang="fr">sans peur et sans reproche</span>. All schools
were at his call. Chopin was revived when he
played; and he was the first to hail the rising
star of Brahms&mdash;not critically, as did Schumann,
but practically, by putting his name on his
eclectic programmes. Mr. Albert Ross Parsons,
the well-known New York pianist, critic, and
pedagogue, once told the present writer that Tausig's
playing evoked the image of some magnificent
mountain. "And Joseffy?" was asked&mdash;for
Joseffy was Tausig's favourite pupil. "The
lovely mist that enveloped the mountain at dusk,"
was Mr. Parsons's happy answer. Since then
Joseffy has condensed this mist into something
more solid, while remaining quite as beautiful.</p>

<p>Rubinstein I heard play his series of historical
recitals, seven in all; better still, I heard him
perform the feat twice. I regret that it was not
thrice. If ever there was a heaven-storming
genius, it was Anton Rubinstein. Nicolas Rubinstein
was a wonderful artist; but the fire that
flickered and flamed in the playing of Anton was
not in evidence in the work of his brother. You
felt in listening to Anton that the piece he happened
to be playing was heard by you for the first
time&mdash;the creative element in his nature was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span>
strong. It seemed no longer reproductive art.
The same thing has been said of Liszt. Often
arbitrary in his very subjective readings, Rubinstein
never failed to interest. He had an overpowering
sort of magnetism that crossed the
stage and enveloped his audience with a gripping
power. His touch, to again quote Joseffy, was
like that of a French horn. It sang with a mellow
thunder. An impressionist in the best sense
of that misunderstood expression, he was the reverse
of his rival and colleague, Hans von Bülow.</p>

<p>The brother-in-law, <span lang="fr">à la main gauche</span>, of that
Brother of Dragons, Richard Wagner, Von Bülow
was hardly appreciated during his first visit to
America in 1876-77. Rubinstein had preceded
him by three seasons and we were loath to believe
that the rather dry, angular touch and clear-cut
phrasing of the little, irritable Hans were revelations
from on high. Nevertheless, Von Bülow,
the mighty scholar, opened new views for us by
his Beethoven and Bach playing. The analyst
in him ruled. Not a colourist, but a master of
black and white, he exposed the minutest meanings
of the composer that he presented. He was
the first to introduce Tschaïkowsky's brilliant
and clangorous B-flat minor concerto. Of his
Chopin performances, I retain only the memory
of the D-flat Nocturne. That was exquisite, and
all the more surprising coming from a man of Von
Bülow's pedantic nature. His last visit to this
country, several decades ago, was better appreciated,
but I found his playing almost insupportable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span>
He had withered in tone and style, a
mummy of his former alert self.</p>

<p>The latter-day generation of virtuosi owe as
much to Liszt as did the famous trinity, Tausig,
Rubinstein, Von Bülow. Many of them studied
with the old wizard at Rome, Budapest, and Weimar;
some with his pupils; all have absorbed
his traditions. It would be as impossible to keep
Liszt out of your playing&mdash;out of your fingers,
forearms, biceps, and triceps,&mdash;as it would be
to return to the naïve manner of an Emmanuel
Bach or a Scarlatti. Modern pianoforte-playing
spells Liszt.</p>

<p>After Von Bülow a much more naturally gifted
pianist visited the United States, Rafael Joseffy.
It was in 1879 that old Chickering Hall witnessed
his triumph, a triumph many times repeated
later in Steinway Hall, Carnegie Hall, the Metropolitan
Opera House, and throughout America.
At first Joseffy was called the Patti of the Pianoforte,
one of those facile, alliterative, meaningless
titles he never merited. He had the coloratura,
if you will, of a Patti, but he had something besides&mdash;brains
and a poetic temperament. Poetic
is a vague term that usually covers a weakness
in technic. There are different sorts of
poetry. There is the rich poetry of Paderewski,
the antic grace and delicious poetry of De Pachmann.
The Joseffian poetry is something else.
Its quality is more subtle, more recondite than
the poetry of the Polish or the Russian pianist.
Such miraculous finish, such crystalline tone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span>
had never before been heard until Joseffy appeared.
At first his playing was the purest pantheism&mdash;a
transfigured materialism, tone, and
technic raised to heights undreamed of. Years
later a new Joseffy was born. Stern self-discipline,
as was the case with Tausig, had won a
victory over his temperament as well as his fingers.
More restrained, less lush, his play is now
ruled by the keenest of intellects, while the old
silvery and sensuous charm has not vanished.
Some refused to accept the change. They did
not realise that for an artist to remain stationary
is decadence. They longed for graceful trifling,
for rose-coloured patterns, for swallow-like
flights across the keyboard, by a pair of the
most beautiful piano hands since Tausig's. In a
word, these people did not care for Brahms and
they did care very much for the Chopin Valse
in double notes. But the automatic piano has
outpointed every virtuoso except Rosenthal in
the matter of mere technic. So we enjoy our
Brahms from Joseffy, and when he plays Liszt
or Chopin, which he does in an ideal style, far
removed from the tumultuous thumpings of the
average virtuoso, we turn out in numbers to enjoy
and applaud him. His music has that indefinable
quality which vibrates from a Stradivarius
violin. His touch is like no other in the world,
and his readings of the classics are marked by
reverence and authority. In certain Chopin
numbers, such as the Berçeuse, the F-minor ballade,
the barcarolle, and the E-minor concerto,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span>
he has no peer. Equally lucid and lovely are his
performances of the B-flat major Brahms concerto
and the A-major concerto of Liszt. Joseffy
is unique.</p>

<p>There was an interregnum in the pianoforte
arena for a few years. Joseffy was reported as
having been discovered in the wilds above Tarrytown
playing two-voiced inventions of Bach, and
writing a new piano school. Arthur Friedheim
appeared and dazzled us with the B-minor Sonata
of Liszt. It was a wonder-breeding, thrilling
performance. Alfred Grünfeld, of Vienna, caracoled
across the keys in an amiably dashing style.
Rummel played earnestly. Ansorge also played
earnestly. Edmund Neupert delivered Grieg's
Concerto as no one before or since has done.
Pugno came from Paris, Rosenthal thundered;
Sauer, Stavenhagen, Siloti, Slivinski, Mark
Hambourg, Burmeister, Hyllested, Faelten, Sherwood,
Godowsky, Gabrilowitsch, Vogrich, Von
Sternberg, Jarvis, Richard Hoffmann, Boscovitz&mdash;to
go back some years; Alexander Lambert,
August Spanuth, Klahre, Lamond, Dohnanyi,
Busoni, Baerman, Saint-Saëns, Stojowski, Lhévinne,
Rudolph Ganz, MacDowell, Otto Hegner,
Josef Hofmann, Reisenauer&mdash;none of these
artists ever aroused such excitement as Paderewski,
though a more captivating and brilliant
Liszt player than Alfred Reisenauer has been
seldom heard.</p>

<p>It was about 1891 that I attended a rehearsal
at Carnegie Hall in which participated Ignace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span>
Jan Paderewski. The C-minor concerto of Saint-Saëns,
an effective though musically empty work,
was played. There is nothing in the composition
that will test a good pianist; but Paderewski
made much of the music. His tone was noble,
his technic adequate, his single-finger touch singing.
Above all, there was a romantic temperament
exposed; not morbid but robust. His
strange appearance, the golden aureoled head,
the shy attitude, were rather puzzling to public
and critic at his début. Not too much enthusiasm
was exhibited during the concert or next
morning in the newspapers. But the second
performance settled the question. A great artist
was revealed. His diffidence melted in the heat
of frantic applause. He played the Schumann
concerto, the F-minor concerto of Chopin, many
other concertos, all of Chopin's music, much of
Schumann, Beethoven, and Liszt. His recitals,
first given in the concert hall of Madison Square
Garden, so expanded in attendance that he
moved to Carnegie Hall. There, with only his
piano, Paderewski repeated the Liszt miracle.
And year after year. Never in America has a
public proved so insatiable in its desire to hear
a virtuoso. It is the same from New Orleans to
Seattle. Everywhere crowded halls, immense
enthusiasms. Now to set all this down to an
exotic personality, to occult magnetism, to sensationalism,
would be unfair to Paderewski and
to the critical discrimination of his audiences.
Many have gone to gaze upon him, but they remained<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span>
to listen. His solid attainments as a
musician, his clear, elevated style, his voluptuous,
caressing touch, his sometimes exaggerated
sentiment, his brilliancy, endurance, and dreamy
poetry&mdash;these qualities are real, not imaginary.</p>

<p>No more luscious touch has been heard since
Rubinstein's. Paderewski often lets his singing
fingers linger on a phrase; but as few pianists
alive, he can spin his tone, and so his yielding to
the temptation is a natural one. He is intellectual
and his readings of the classics are sane. Of
poetic temperament, he is at his best in Chopin,
not Beethoven. Eclectic is the best word to apply
to his interpretations. He plays programmes
from Bach to Liszt with commendable fidelity
and versatility. He has the power of rousing
his audience from a state of calm indifference to
wildest frenzy. How does he accomplish this?
He has not the technic of Rosenthal, nor that
pianist's brilliancy and power; he is not as subtle
as Joseffy, nor yet as plastic in his play; the morbid
witchery of De Pachmann is not his; yet no
one since Rubinstein&mdash;in America at least&mdash;can
create such climaxes of enthusiasm. Deny this or
that quality to Paderewski; go and with your own
ears and eyes hear and witness what we all have
heard and witnessed.</p>

<p>I once wrote a story in which a pianist figured
as a mesmeriser. He sat at his instrument in a
crowded, silent hall and worked his magic upon
the multitude. The scene modulates into madness.
People are transported. And in all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span>
rumour and storm, the master sits at the keyboard
but does <i>not</i> play. I assure you I have been at
Paderewski recitals where my judgments were in
abeyance, where my individuality was merged
in that of the mob, where I sat and wondered if
I really <i>heard</i>; or was Paderewski only going
through the motions and not actually touching
the keys? His is a static as well as a dramatic
art. The tone wells up from the instrument, is
not struck. It floats languorously in the air, it
seems to pause, transfixed in the air. The Sarmatian
melancholy of Paderewski, his deep sensibility,
his noble nature, are translated into the
music. Then with a smashing chord he sets us,
the prisoners of his tonal circle, free. Is this the
art of a hypnotiser? No one has so mastered the
trick, if trick it be.</p>

<p>But he is not all moonshine. The truth is,
Paderewski has a tone not as large as mellow.
His fortissimo chords have hitherto lacked the
foundational power and splendour of d'Albert's,
Busoni's, and Rosenthal's. His transition from
piano to forte is his best range, not the extremes
at either end of the dynamic scale. A healthy,
sunny tone it is at its best, very warm in colour.
In certain things of Chopin he is unapproachable.
He plays the F-minor concerto and the E-flat
minor scherzo&mdash;from the second Sonata&mdash;beautifully,
and if he is not so convincing in
the Beethoven sonatas, his interpretation of the
E-flat Emperor concerto is surprisingly free from
<span lang="it">morbidezza</span>; it is direct, manly, and musical. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span>
technic has gained since his advent in New York.
This he proved by the way he juggled with the
Brahms-Paganini variations; though they are
still the property of Moritz Rosenthal. He is
more interesting than most pianists because he
is more musical; he has more personal charm;
there is the feeling when you hear him that he is
a complete man, a harmonious artist, and this
feeling is very compelling.</p>

<p>The tricky elf that rocked the cradle of Vladimir
de Pachmann&mdash;a Russian virtuoso, born
in Odessa (1848), of a Jewish father and a Turkish
mother (he once said to me, "My father is a
Cantor, my mother a Turkey")&mdash;must have
enjoyed&mdash;not without a certain malicious peep
at the future&mdash;the idea of how much worriment
and sorrow it would cause the plump little black-haired
baby when he grew up and played the
pianoforte like the imp of genius he is. It is
nearly seventeen years since he paid his first visit
to us. His success, as in London, was achieved
after one recital. Such an exquisite touch, subtlety
of phrasing, and a technic that failed only
in broad, dynamic effects, had never before been
noted. Yet De Pachmann is in reality the product
of an old-fashioned school. He belongs to the
Hummel-Cramer group, which developed a pure
finger technic and a charming euphony, but
neglected the dramatic side of delivery. Tone
for tone's sake; absolute finesse in every figure;
scales that are as hot pearls on velvet; a perfect
trill; a cantilena like the voice; these, and repose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span>
of style, are the shibboleth of a tradition that was
best embodied in Thalberg&mdash;plus more tonal
power in Thalberg's case. Subjectivity enters
largely in this combination, for De Pachmann is
"modern," neurotic. His presentation of some
Chopin is positively morbid. He is, despite his
marked restrictions of physique and mentality,
a Chopin player par excellence. His fingers
strike the keys like tiny sweet mallets. His
scale passages are liquid, his octave playing
marvellous, but <span lang="fr">en miniature</span>&mdash;like everything
he attempts. To hear him in a Chopin polonaise
is to realise his limitations. But in the
larghetto of the F-minor concerto, in the nocturnes
and preludes&mdash;not of course the big one
in D minor&mdash;études, valses, ah! there is then
but one De Pachmann. He can be poetic and
capricious and elfish in the mazurkas; indeed, it
has been conceded that he is the master-interpreter
of these soul-dances. The volume of tone
that he draws from his instrument is not large,
but it is of a distinguished quality and very musical.
He has paws of velvet, and no matter what
the difficulty, he overcomes it without an effort.
I once called him the <i>pianissimist</i> because
of his special gift for filing tones to a whisper.
His pianissimo begins where other pianists end
theirs. Enchanting is the effect when he murmurs
in such studies as the F minor of Chopin
and the Concert study of Liszt of the same tonality;
or in mounting unisons as he breathlessly
weaves the wind through the last movement of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span>
Chopin's B-flat minor sonata. Less edifying
are De Pachmann's mannerisms. They are only
tolerated because of his exotic, lovely, and disquieting
music.</p>

<p>Of a different and a gigantic mould is the playing
of Moritz Rosenthal. He is a native of
Lemberg, in Galician Poland, a city that has
held among other artists, Marcella Sembrich and
Carl Mikuli, a pupil of Chopin and editor of an
edition of his works. When a mere child, twelve
years or so, Moritz walked from Lemberg to
Vienna to study with Joseffy. Even at that age he
had the iron will of a superman. He played for
Joseffy the E-minor concerto of Chopin, the
same work with which the youthful Joseffy years
before had won the heart of Tausig. Setting
aside Tausig&mdash;and this is only hearsay&mdash;the
world of "pianism" has never matched Rosenthal
for speed, power, endurance; nor is this all.
He is both musical and intellectual. He is a
doctor of philosophy, a bachelor of arts. He has
read everything, is a linguist, has travelled the
globe over, and in conversation his unerring memory
and brilliant wit set him as a man apart.
To top all these gifts, he plays his instrument
magnificently, overwhelmingly. He is the Napoleon,
the conqueror among virtuosi. His tone
is very sonorous, his touch singing, and he commands
the entire range of nuance from the rippling
fioritura of the Chopin barcarolle to the
cannon-like thunderings of the A-flat polonaise.
His octaves and chords baffle all critical experience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span>
and appraisement. As others play presto
in single notes, so he dashes off double notes,
thirds, sixths, and octaves. His Don Juan fantaisie,
part Liszt, part Mozart, is entirely Rosenthalian
in performance. He has composed at
his polyphonic forge a Humoreske. Its interweaving
of voices, their independence, the caprice
and audacity of it all are astounding. Tausig
had such a technic; yet surely Tausig had not
the brazen, thunderous climaxes of this broad-shouldered
young man! He is the epitome of
the orchestra and in a tonal duel with the orchestra
he has never been worsted. His interpretations
of the classics, of the romantics, are of a
superior order. He played the last sonatas of
Beethoven or the Schumann Carneval with equal
discrimination. His touch is crystal-like in its
clearness, therefore his tone lacks the sensuousness
of Paderewski and De Pachmann. But it
is a mistake to set him down as a mere unemotional
mechanician. He is in reality a Superman
among pianists.</p>

<p>Eugen d'Albert has played in America several
times, the first time in company with Sarasate,
the Spanish violin virtuoso. Liszt called d'Albert,
of whom he was very fond, the "second
Tausig." The Weimar master declared that the
little Eugen looked like, played like, his former
favourite, Karl Tausig. In his youth d'Albert
was as impetuous as a thunderbolt; now he is
more reflective than fiery, and he is often careless
in his technical work. Another pianist who has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span>
followed the lure of composition; but a great
virtuoso, a great interpreter of the classics. His
music suggests a close study of Brahms, and in
his piano concertos he is both Brahmsian and
Lisztian.</p>

<p>The first time I heard Saint-Saëns was in Paris
the year 1878. He played at the Trocadero
palace&mdash;it was the Exposition year&mdash;his clever
variations on a Beethoven theme for two pianos,
Madame Montigny-Remaury being his colleague.
In 1896 I attended the fiftieth anniversary of his
first public appearance. The affair took place
at a piano hall in Paris. And several years ago I
heard the veteran, full of years and honours, in
New York. He had changed but little. The
same supple style, siccant touch, and technical
mastery were present. Not so polished as Planté,
so fiery&mdash;or so noisy&mdash;as Pugno, Saint-Saëns
is a greater musician than either at the keyboard.
His playing is Gallic&mdash;which means it is
never sultry, emotional, and seldom poetic.
The French pianists make for clearness, delicacy,
symmetry; France never produced a Rubinstein,
nor does she cordially admire such volcanic artists.</p>

<p>Ossip Gabrilowitsch has been for me always
a sympathetic pianist. He has improved measurably
since his previous visits here. The poet
and the student still preponderate in his work;
he is more reflective than dramatic, though the
fiery Slav in him often peeps out, and if he does
not "drive the horses of Rubinstein," as Oscar
Bie once wrote, he is a virtuoso of high rank.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span>
The Bie phrase could be better applied to Mark
Hambourg, who sometimes is like a full-blooded
runaway horse with the bit between its teeth.
Hambourg has Slavic blood in his veins and
it courses hotly. He is an attractive player, a
younger Tausig&mdash;before Tausig taught himself
the value of repose and restraint. Recklessly
Hambourg attacks the instrument in a sort of
Rubinsteinian fury. Of late he has, it is said,
learned the lesson of self-control. His polyphony
is clearer, his tone, always big, is more sonorous
and individual. It was the veteran Dr. William
Mason who predicted Hambourg's future. Exuberance
and excess of power may be diverted
into musical channels&mdash;and these Mark Hambourg
has. It is not so easy to reverse the process
and build up a temperament where little naturally
exists.</p>

<p>Josef Hofmann, from a wonder child who influenced
two continents, has developed into an
artist who has attained perfection&mdash;a somewhat
cool perfection, it may be admitted. But what
a well-balanced touch, what a broad, euphonious
tone, what care in building climaxes or shading
his tone to mellifluous whisper! Musically he
is impregnable. His readings are free from extravagances,
his bearing dignified, and if we miss
the dramatic element in his play we are consoled
by the easy sweep, the intellectual grasp, and the
positively pleasure-giving quality of his touch.
Eclectic in style, Hofmann is the "young-old"
master of the pianoforte. And he is Polish in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span>
everything but Chopin. But well-bred! Perhaps
Rubinstein was right when he said, so is the
report&mdash;at Dresden, "Jozio will never have to
change his shirt at a recital as I did."</p>

<p>Harold Bauer is a great favourite in America
as well as in Paris. He has a quiet magnetism,
a mastery of technical resources, backed by sound
musicianship. He was a violinist before he became
a pianist; this fact may account for his rich
tone-quality&mdash;Bauer could even make an old-fashioned
"square" pianoforte discourse eloquently.
He, too, is an eclectic; all schools
appeal to him and his range is from Bach to
Cæsar Franck, both of whom he interprets with
reverence and authority. Bauer played Liszt's
Dance of Death in this country, creating thereby
a reputation for brilliant "pianism." The new
men, Lhévinne, Ganz, Scriabine, Stojowski, are
forging ahead, especially the first two, who are
virtuoso artists. The young Swiss, Ganz, is a very
attractive artist, apart from his technical attainments;
he is musical, and that is two-thirds of
the battle. Two men who once resided in America,
Ferrucio Busoni and Leopold Godowsky,
went abroad and conquered Europe. Busoni is
called the master-interpreter of Bach and Liszt;
the master-miniaturist is the title bestowed upon
the miracle-working Godowsky, whose velvety
touch and sensitive style have been better appreciated
in Europe than America.</p>

<p>The fair unfair sex has not lacked in representative
piano artists. Apart from the million<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span>
girls busily engaged in manipulating pedals, slaying
music and sleep at one fell moment, there is
a band of keyboard devotees that has earned
fame and fortune, and an honourable place in
the Walhalla of pianoforte playing. The modern
female pianist does not greatly vary from her
male rival except in muscular power, and even
in that Sofie Menter and Teresa Carreño have
vied with their ruder brethren. Pianists in
petticoats go back as far as Nanette Streicher
and come down to Paula Szalit, a girl who, it is
said, improvises fugues. Marie Pleyel, Madame
de Szymanowska&mdash;Goethe's friend at Marienbad,
in 1822&mdash;Clara Schumann, Arabella Goddard,
Sofie Menter, Annette Essipoff&mdash;once
Paderewski's adviser, and a former wife of Leschetitzky;
Marie Krebs, Ingeborg Bronsart,
Aline Hundt, Fannie Davies, Madeliene Schiller,
Julia Rivé-King, Helen Hopekirk, Nathalie
Janotha, Adele Margulies, the Douste Sisters,
Amy Fay, Dory Petersen, Cecilia Gaul, Madame
Paur, Madame Lhévinne, Antoinette Szumowska,
Adele Aus der Ohe, Cécile Chaminade,
Madame Montigny-Remaury, Madame Roger-Miclos,
Marie Torhilon-Buell, Augusta Cottlow,
Mrs. Arthur Friedheim, Laura Danzinger Rosebault,
Olga Samaroff, Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler&mdash;these
are a few well-known names before the
public during the past and in the present.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 550px;">
<a id="Final_circle" name="Final_circle"></a>
<a href="images/oir_483h.jpg" >
<img src="images/oir_483.jpg" width="550" height="366" alt="" />
</a>
<p class="caption">Walter Bache&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Solati&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Reisenauer&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Carl V. Lachmund<br />
Mrs. Scott-Siddons&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Harry Waller<br />
<big>The Final Liszt Circle at Weimar</big><br />(Liszt at the upper window)</p>
</div>

<p>It may be assumed that the sex which can boast
among its members such names as Jane Austen,
George Sand, George Eliot, novelists; Vigée Lebrun,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span>
Mary Cassatt, Cecilia Beaux, and Berthe
Morisot, painters; Sonia Kovalevsky, mathematician;
Madame Curie, science; Elizabeth Barrett
Browning and Christina Rossetti, poetry, would
not fail in the reproductive art of pianoforte playing.
Clara Schumann was an unexcelled interpreter
of her husband's music; Sofie Menter the
most masculine of Liszt's feminine choir; Essipoff
unparalleled as a Chopin player; Carreño has a
man's head, man's fingers, and woman's heart;
Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler, an artist of singular
intensity and strong personality&mdash;these women
have admirably contributed to the history of their
art and need not fear comparisons on the score
of sex.</p>

<p>How far will the pursuit of technic go, and
what will be the effect upon the mechanical future
of the instrument? It is both a thankless and a
dangerous task to prophesy; but it seems that
technic <i>quâ</i> technic has ventured as far as it dare.
Witness the astounding arrangements made by
the ingenious Godowsky, the grafting of two
Chopin studies, both hands autonomous, racing
at full speed! The thing is monstrous&mdash;yet
effective; but that way musical madness lies.
The Janko keyboard, a sort of ivory toboggan-slide,
permitted the performance of incredible
difficulties; glissandi in chromatic tenths! But
who in the name of Apollo cares to hear chromatic
tenths sliding pell-mell down-hill! Music
is music, and a man or woman must make it,
not alone an instrument. The tendency now is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span>
toward the fabrication of a more sensitive, vibrating
sounding-board. Quality, not brutal quantity,
is the desideratum. This, with the more responsive
and elastic keyboard action of the day,
which permits all manner of finger nuance, will
tell upon the future of the pianoforte. Machine
music has usurped our virtuosity; but it can
never reign in the stead of the human artist. And
therefore we now demand more of the spiritual
and less of the technical from our pianists. Music
is the gainer thereby, and the old-time cacophonous
concerto for pianoforte and orchestra will,
we hope, be relegated to the limbo of things inutile.
The pianoforte was originally an <i>intimate</i>
instrument, and it will surely go back, though
glorified by experience, to its first, dignified estate.</p>

<p>I have written more fully of the pianists that
I have had the good fortune to hear with my own
ears. This is what is called impressionistic
criticism. Academic criticism may be loosely defined
as the expression of another's opinion. It
has decided historic interest. In a word, the former
tells how much <i>you</i> enjoyed a work of art,
whether creative or interpretive; the latter what
some other fellow liked. So, accept these sketches
as a mingling of the two methods, with perhaps
a disproportionate stress laid upon the personal
element&mdash;the most important factor, after all,
in criticism.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span></p>




<h2>INSTEAD OF A PREFACE</h2>


<p>This book, projected in 1902, was at that time
announced as a biography of Liszt. However,
a few tentative attacks upon the vast amount of
raw material soon convinced me that to write the
ideal life of the Hungarian a man must be plentifully
endowed with time and patience. I preferred,
therefore, to study certain aspects of Liszt's
art and character; and as I never heard him
play I have summoned here many competent
witnesses to my aid. Hence the numerous contradictions
and repetitions, arguments for and
against Liszt in the foregoing volume, frankly
sought for, rather than avoided. The personality,
or, strictly speaking, the various personalities
of Liszt are so mystifying that they would
require the professional services of a half-dozen
psychologists to untangle their complex web. As
to his art, I have quoted from many conflicting
authorities, hoping that the reader will evolve
from the perhaps confusing pattern an authentic
image of the man and his music. And all the
biographies I have seen&mdash;Lina Ramann's, despite
its violent parti pris, is the most complete
(an <span lang="de">urquell</span> for its successors)&mdash;read like glorified
time-tables. Now, no man is a hero to his
biographer, but the practice of jotting down unimportant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span>
happenings makes your hero very
small potatoes indeed. An appalling number of
pages are devoted to the arrival and departure
of the master at or from Weimar, Rome, or
Budapest. "Liszt left Rome for Budapest at
8.30 <span class="smcap">A. M.</span>, accompanied by his favourite pupil
Herr Fingers," etc.; or, "Liszt returned to
Weimar at 9 <span class="smcap">P. M.</span>, and was met at the station
by the Baroness W. and Professor Handgelenk."
A more condensed method is better, though it
may lack interest for the passionate Liszt admirers.
As for the chronicling of small-beer, I
hope I have provided sufficient anecdotes to
satisfy the most inveterate of scandal-mongers.
I may add that for over a quarter of a century I
have been collecting Lisztiana; not to mention
the almost innumerable conversations and interviews
I have enjoyed with friends and pupils
of Liszt.</p>

<p>I wish to acknowledge the help and sympathy
of: Camille Saint-Saëns, Frederick Niecks, Rafael
Joseffy, the late Anton Seidl, Felix Weingartner,
Arthur Friedheim, Richard Burmeister, Henry
T. Finck, Philip Hale, W. F. Apthorp, the late
Edward Dannreuther, Frank Van der Stucken,
August Spanuth, Emil Sauer, Moritz Rosenthal,
Eugen d'Albert, Amy Fay, Rosa Newmarch,
Jaroslaw de Zielinski, the late Edward A. MacDowell,
John Kautz, of Albany (who first suggested
to me the magnitude of Liszt's contribution
to the art of rhythms), Charles A. Ellis,
of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and Edward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span>
E. Ziegler. I am also particularly indebted to
the following publications for their courtesy in
the matter of reproduction of various articles:
<i>Scribner's Magazine</i>, <i>New York Sun</i>, <i>Evening
Post</i>, <i>Herald</i>, <i>Times</i>, <i>The Etude</i>, <i>Everybody's
Magazine</i>, and <i>The Musical Courier</i>.</p>

<p>An exhaustive list of the compositions has yet
to be made, though Göllerich in his Franz Liszt
consumes fifty-five pages in enumerating the
works&mdash;compiled from Lina Ramann, Breitkopf
and Härtel, and Busoni&mdash;some of which
never saw the light of publication; such as the
opera Don Sancho, the Revolutionary Symphony,
<i>etcetera</i>; when Breitkopf and Härtel finish their
cataloguing no doubt the result will be more satisfactory.
The fact is that out of the known 1,300
compositions, only 400 are original and of these
latter how many are worth remembering? Liszt
wrote too much and too often for money. His
best efforts will survive, of course; but I do not
see the use of making a record of ephemeral pot-boilers.
It is the same with the bibliography.
I give the sources whenever I can of my information;
impossible, however, is it to credit the authorship
of all the flotsam and jetsam. Kapp in his
ponderous biography actually devotes twenty-seven
pages to the books, magazines, and newspapers
which have dealt with the theme, though
even his Teutonic industry has not rendered flawless
his drag-net.</p>

<p>Liszt was the most caricatured man in Europe
save Wagner and Louis Napoleon, and he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span>
painted, sculptured, and photographed oftener
than any operatic or circus celebrity who ever
sang or swung in the break-neck trapeze. Naturally
the choice of illustrations for this study
was narrowed down to a few types, with here and
there a novelty (dug up from some ancient album);
yet sufficient to reveal Liszt as boy, youth,
man; fascinating, dazzling, enigmatic artist,
comedian, abbé, rhapsodist, but ever the great-souled
Franz Liszt.</p>

<p class="sig">
J. H.
</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX">INDEX</a></h2>


<div>
Acton, Lord, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Adam, Madame Edmond. (See <a href="#Lamber_Juliette">Juliette Lamber</a>.)<br />
<br />
Adelaide (Beethoven's), <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br />
<br />
Albano, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Aldega, Professor, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Aldrich, Richard, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br />
<br />
Alkan, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>.<br />
<br />
Allegri, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Allmers, W., <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Altenburg, The (Liszt's house at Weimar), <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<br />
<br />
Amalia, Anna, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.<br />
<br />
Amalie Caroline, Princess of Hesse, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br />
<br />
Amiel, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br />
<br />
Andersen, Hans Christian, account of a Liszt concert, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>-<a href="#Page_234">234</a>.<br />
<br />
Anfossi, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Ansorge, Conrad (pupil), <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Antonelli, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.<br />
<br />
Apel, Frau Pauline (Liszt's housekeeper), <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">Après une lecture de Dante</span>" (Hugo), <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br />
<br />
Apthorp, W. F., <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">analysis of the Concerto in A major, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Arnim, Countess Bettina von, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Graf von, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Auber, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br />
<br />
Auerbach, Berthold, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Aufforderung zum Tanz</span> (Weber), <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br />
<br />
Augener &amp; Company, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br />
<br />
August, Karl, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="de">Aus der Glanzzeit der Weimaren Altenburg</span>" (La Mara), <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.<br />
<br />
Aus der Ohe, Adèle (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Austen, Jane, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Ave Maria (Schubert's), <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bach, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chevalier Leonard E., <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Bache, Walter (pupil), <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>-<a href="#Page_386">386</a>.<br />
<br />
Bachez, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Baerman, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Bagby, Albert Morris (pupil), <a href="#Page_370">370</a>.<br />
<br />
Baillot, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.<br />
<br />
Bakounine, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.<br />
<br />
Ballads (Chopin), <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>.<br />
<br />
Ballanche, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.<br />
<br />
Balzac, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
Barber of Bagdad (Cornelius), <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.<br />
<br />
Barcarolle (Chopin), <a href="#Page_424">424</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br />
<br />
Barna, Michael, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
Barnett, J. F., <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Barry, C. A., <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
Bartolini, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br />
<br />
Baudelaire, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.<br />
<br />
Bauer, Caroline, Reminiscences of, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>-<a href="#Page_244">244</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harold, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Beale, Frederick, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Willert, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.</span><br />
<br />
"Béatrix" (Balzac), <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
Beato, Fra, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Beethoven, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">festival at Bonn, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his piano, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">statue of, unveiled, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</span><br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">Beethoven et Ses Trois Styles</span>" (von Lenz), <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br />
<br />
Belgiojoso, Princess Cristina, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>.<br />
<br />
Belloni, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.<br />
<br />
Bendix, Max, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.<br />
<br />
Benedict, Julius, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span>Berceuse (Chopin), <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>.<br />
<br />
Bergerat, Emile, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
Beringer, Oscar, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.<br />
<br />
Berlioz, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">account of his friendship with Liszt, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-<a href="#Page_217">217</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to Liszt, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>-<a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Berne, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
<br />
Berta, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br />
<br />
Bethmann, Simon Maritz, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.<br />
<br />
Bie, Oscar, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
Bielgorsky, Count, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>.<br />
<br />
Birmingham Musical Festival, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br />
<br />
Bishop, Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br />
<br />
Bismarck, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br />
<br />
Bizet, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>-<a href="#Page_380">380</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Blackwood's Magazine</i>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br />
<br />
Blaze de Bury, Baron, article on Liszt, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.<br />
<br />
Blessington, Countess of, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Bocella, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br />
<br />
Bock, Anna, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br />
<br />
Borodin, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br />
<br />
Boscovitz, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Bösendorfer, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.<br />
<br />
Bossuet, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Bourget, Paul, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br />
<br />
Bovary, Emma, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br />
<br />
Brahm, Otto, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Brahms, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
Brandes, Georg, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.<br />
<br />
Breidenstein, Professor, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Breithaupt, Rudolf, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>.<br />
<br />
Breitkopf and Härtel, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>.<br />
<br />
Brendel, Franz (pupil), <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br />
<br />
Breughel, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="de">Briefe und Schriften</span>" (von Bülow), <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.<br />
<br />
Bright, John, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
Broadwood piano, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.<br />
<br />
Bronsart, Hans von (pupil), <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ingeborg von, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Bulgarin, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br />
<br />
Bülow, Daniela von, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hans von (Liszt's favorite pupil), <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>-<a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Appreciation of <span lang="de">Die Ideale</span>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Criticism of, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Bunsen, Von, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
Burmeister, Richard (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Burne-Jones, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br />
<br />
Busoni, Ferrucio, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.<br />
<br />
Byron, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cabaner, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br />
<br />
Callot, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Calvocoressi, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br />
<br />
Campo Santo of Pisa, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br />
<br />
Canterbury, Lord, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Carolsfield, J. Schnorr von, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Carreño, Teresa, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Casanova, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.<br />
<br />
Catarani, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br />
<br />
Catel, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Cezano, Marquise. (See <a href="#Janina_Olga">Olga Janina</a>.)<br />
<br />
Chamber music, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br />
<br />
Chaminade, Cécile, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Chantavoine, Jean, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br />
<br />
Charpentier, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Chateaubriand, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br />
<br />
Chelard, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Cherubini, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Chopin, Frédéric François, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>-<a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br />
<br />
Chorley, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Christophe, Jean; description of Liszt, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>.<br />
<br />
Church music, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.<br />
<br />
Cimarosa, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Circourt, Madame de, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
Clementi, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
Coblentz, Tribute from citizens of, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br />
<br />
Cognetti, Mademoiselle, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br />
<br />
Collin, Von, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span>Cologne, cathedral at, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.<br />
<br />
Colpach (Munkaçzy's castle in Luxemburg), <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br />
<br />
Commettant, Oscar, satirical sketch of, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.<br />
<br />
Concerto (Bach), <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.<br />
<br />
Concerto (Beethoven), <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.<br />
<br />
Concerto (Chopin), <a href="#Page_396">396</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>.<br />
<br />
Concerto (Tschaikowsky), <a href="#Page_422">422</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Concertstück</span> (Weber's), <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.<br />
<br />
Consalvi, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Constant, Benjamin, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
"Conversation on Music" (Rubinstein), <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.<br />
<br />
Coriolanus (Beethoven's), <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
<br />
Cornelius, Peter (pupil), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br />
<br />
Correggio, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
<i><span lang="fr">Correspondent</span>, The</i>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br />
<br />
<a id="Cosima_von_Bulow_Wagner"></a>Cosima von Bülow Wagner, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br />
<br />
Cottlow, Augusta, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Coutts, Baroness Burdett, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br />
<br />
Craig, Gordon, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Cramer, J. B., <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="la">Crux Fidelis</span> (choral), <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
<br />
Crystal Palace, London, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
Cymbal effects in piano-playing, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br />
<br />
Czaky, Archbishop of, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br />
<br />
Czerny, Carl, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>.<br />
<br />
Czinka, Pauna, a gypsy girl, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
D'Agoult, Comte Charles, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Countess (Marie Sophie de Flarigny), <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>-<a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>.</span><br />
<br />
D'Albert, Eugen (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.<br />
<br />
Damnation de Faust (Berlioz), <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
Damrosch, Leopold (pupil), <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br />
<br />
D'Angers, David, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br />
<br />
Dannreuther, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br />
<br />
Dante, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>-<a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">gallery (Rome), <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Danton, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.<br />
<br />
Danube flood, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
<br />
Danzinger-Rosebault, Laura, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Davies, Fannie, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Da Vinci, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
<i><span lang="fr">Debats</span>, The</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.<br />
<br />
De Beriot, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>.<br />
<br />
Debussy, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.<br />
<br />
Dehmel, Richard, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Delacroix, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.<br />
<br />
Delaroche, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
De Musset, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
De Pachmann, Vladimir, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>-<a href="#Page_431">431</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.<br />
<br />
De Quincy, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.<br />
<br />
Devrient, Ludwig, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
Dictionary of Musicians, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Dietrichstein, Prince, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Dilke, Wentworth, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br />
<br />
Dinglested, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.<br />
<br />
Diorama, The, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.<br />
<br />
Dobrjan (Liszt's birthplace). (See <a href="#Raiding2">Raiding</a>.)<br />
<br />
Doehler, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.<br />
<br />
Dohnanyi, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Don Carlos, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.<br />
<br />
Donizetti, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.<br />
<br />
Doppler, Franz, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.<br />
<br />
Doré, Gustave, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
D'Ortigue on Liszt, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.<br />
<br />
Douste sisters, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Draeseke, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br />
<br />
Dukas, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Du Plessis, Marie, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.<br />
<br />
Dupré, Jules, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
Dwight, John S. (Boston musical critic), interview with Liszt, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Eckermann, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.<br />
<br />
Edict of Louis XII, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">L'Education Sentimentale</span>" (Flaubert), <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Ehlert, Louis, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
El Greco, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Eliot, George, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weimar recollections of, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Ellet, Mrs., account of a Liszt concert in Cologne, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br />
<br />
Ellis, Havelock, <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br />
<br />
Enfantin, Père Prosper, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Eperjes, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span>Erard piano, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a>, <a href="#Page_323">323</a>.<br />
<br />
Ernani, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.<br />
<br />
Ernst, Paul, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Escudier, Leon, description of Danton's statuette of Liszt, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">incident at one of Henri Herz's concerts, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Essipoff, Annette, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Essler, Fanny, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.<br />
<br />
Esterhazy, Prince, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">estates, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Etruscan Museum, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Etude, The</i>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Etudes (Chopin), <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br />
<br />
Euryanthe, Overture to, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Faelten, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Fallersleben, Hoffmann von (lyric poet), <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br />
<br />
Fantasia (Bach), <a href="#Page_383">383</a>.<br />
<br />
Fantasia (Schumann), <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br />
<br />
Faure, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br />
<br />
Faust (Lenau's), <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br />
<br />
Faust Ouverture, Eine (Wagner's), <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.<br />
<br />
Fay, Amy, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Feodorovna, Empress Alexandra, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br />
<br />
Fétis and Moscheles, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br />
<br />
Feuerbach, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Fichtner, Pauline, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
<br />
Field, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Figaro, The</i> (London), <a href="#Page_384">384</a>.<br />
<br />
Finck, Henry T., <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.<br />
<br />
Fischer, Signor, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilhelm, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Fischof, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Flaubert, Gustave, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Flavigny, Vicomte de, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.<br />
<br />
Foyatier, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br />
<br />
Francia, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Francis Joseph, king of Hungary, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br />
<br />
Franck, Caesar, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.<br />
<br />
Franz, Robert, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>.<br />
<br />
Frederic (piano tuner), <a href="#Page_287">287</a>.<br />
<br />
"Frederick Chopin" (Niecks), <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Freemason's Journal, The</i>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Freischütz</span> (Weber's), <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.<br />
<br />
Friedheim, Arthur (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>-<a href="#Page_373">373</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mrs. Arthur, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Gabrilowitsch, Ossip, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
Galitsin, Prince (governor-general of Moscow), <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.<br />
<br />
Galleria Dantesca, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br />
<br />
Garcia, Viardot, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>.<br />
<br />
Garibaldi, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Gaul, Cecilia, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Gautier, Judith, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Marguerite, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Théophile, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Gauz, Rudolph, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.<br />
<br />
<i lang="fr">Gazette Musicale</i> (Paris), <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br />
<br />
Geneva, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
<br />
Genoa, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
<br />
George IV, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br />
<br />
Gericke (conductor), <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.<br />
<br />
Gervais, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Gille, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br />
<br />
Gillet, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br />
<br />
Giocati-Buonaventi, A., <a href="#Page_390">390</a>.<br />
<br />
Giorgione, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Glinka, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
Gluck, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Goddard, Arabella, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Godowsky, Leopold, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Goethe, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">foundation, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Goethe-Schiller monument, unveiling of, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
<br />
Göllerich, August (pupil and biographer), <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Goncourt, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Gott, Joseph, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Gottschalg, A. W. (pupil), <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Franz Liszt in Weimar," <a href="#Page_358">358</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Gounod, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br />
<br />
Gradus (Clementi), <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br />
<br />
Gräfe, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br />
<br />
Gran (Hungary), Basilica at, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>.<br />
<br />
Gregorovius, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br />
<br />
Gregory VII, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">XIV, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Grieg, Eduard, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano concerto, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>-<a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Grove, Sir George, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Grünfeld, Alfred, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span>Grünwald, Matthew, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Guido of Arezzo, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br />
<br />
Gumprecht, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Habeneck (conductor), <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Hackett, Francis, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Hagn, Charlotte von, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Hahn, Arthur, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.<br />
<br />
Hähnel, Professor, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Hale, Philip, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
Halévy, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>.<br />
<br />
Hall, Walter (conductor), <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.<br />
<br />
Hambourg, Mark, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>.<br />
<br />
Handel, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Handley, Mrs., <a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<br />
<br />
Hanslick, Eduard, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.<br />
<br />
Harold, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br />
<br />
Harmonic system, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br />
<br />
Hauptmann, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Hayden, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Haydn, Joseph, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>.<br />
<br />
Healey, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Hegel, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br />
<br />
Hegner, Otto, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Heine, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">reminiscences of Liszt, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>-<a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<a id="Helbig"></a>Helbig, Madame Nadine (Princess Nadine Schakovskoy) (pupil), <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>.<br />
<br />
Henderson, W. J., <a href="#Page_192">192</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on the St. Elisabeth Legend, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Henselt, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.<br />
<br />
Herder, Jonathan Gottfried, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.<br />
<br />
Hermann, Carl (pupil), <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br />
<br />
Herwegh, George, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.<br />
<br />
Herz, Henry, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br />
<br />
Herz-Parisian school, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br />
<br />
Hill, Edward Burlingame, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Hiller, Ferdinand, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
History of Charles XII (Voltaire), <a href="#Page_124">124</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of the French Revolution (François Mignet), <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Hoffman, Richard, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">recollections of Liszt, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>-<a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Hofgärtnerei</span>, The (Liszt's residence in Weimar), <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<br />
<br />
Hofmann, Josef, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>.<br />
<br />
Hohenlohe, Cardinal Prince, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br />
<br />
Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, Prince, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.<br />
<br />
Hopekirk, Helen, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Hotel d'Alibert (Liszt's residence in Rome), <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>.<br />
<br />
"Hour Passed with Liszt, An" (By B. W. H.), <a href="#Page_275">275</a>-<a href="#Page_279">279</a>.<br />
<br />
Hueffer, Dr., <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.<br />
<br />
Hugo, Victor, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Huguenots (Meyerbeer's), <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.<br />
<br />
Humboldt, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.<br />
<br />
Hummel, J. N., <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">concerto, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Hundt, Aline, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Hungarian Diet, debate in, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Museum (Budapest), <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Hyllested, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Ideale, Die</span> (Schiller), <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.<br />
<br />
Idealism, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br />
<br />
Ibsen, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br />
<br />
"Inchape Bell" (Parry), <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.<br />
<br />
Ingres, Jean Auguste Dominique, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Irving, Henry, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br />
<br />
Ivanowski, Peter von (father of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
James, Henry, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br />
<br />
Janin, Jules, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br />
<br />
<a id="Janina_Olga"></a>Janina, Olga (pupil), <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.<br />
<br />
Janko keyboard, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Janotha, Nathalie, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Jarvis, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Jensen, Adolf, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Joachim, Joseph (pupil), <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>.<br />
<br />
Joseffy, Rafael (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>-<a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br />
<br />
Jonkovsky, Baron, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Kahrer, Laura, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
<br />
Kalkbrenner, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>-<a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
Kapellmeister, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br />
<br />
Kapp, Julius, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br />
<br />
Karlsruhe (music festival at), <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span>Kaulbach, Wilhelm von, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br />
<br />
Kemble, Fanny, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">impression of Liszt, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Kennedy, Mgr., <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.<br />
<br />
Kessler, Count, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Kieff, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.<br />
<br />
Kindworth, Karl (pupil), <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.<br />
<br />
Kirkenbuhl, Karl, extracts from his "<span lang="de">Federzeichnungen aus Rom</span>," <a href="#Page_267">267</a>-<a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br />
<br />
Kissingen, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br />
<br />
Kistner (Leipsic publisher), <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br />
<br />
Klahre, Edwin (pupil), <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Kleinmichael's piano score, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br />
<br />
Klindworth, Agnes Street, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Klinger, Max, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>.<br />
<br />
Klinkerfuss, Johanna, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
<br />
Kloss, George, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<br />
<br />
Kohler, Louis (pupil), <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.<br />
<br />
Kovacs, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Kovalensky, Sonia, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Kraftmayr (Von Wolzogen), <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br />
<br />
Krebs, Marie, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Krehbiel, H. E., <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Kremlin, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br />
<br />
Kriehuber, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Krockow, Countess, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Kullak, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a id="La_Mara"></a>La Mara (Marie Lipsius) (pupil), <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br />
<br />
Lamartine, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.<br />
<br />
Lamb, Charles, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.<br />
<br />
<a id="Lamber_Juliette"></a>Lamber, Juliette, criticism of George Sand, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
Lambert, Alexander (pupil), <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Lamenais, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Lamond, Frederick, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Landes Musikakademie</span>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.<br />
<br />
Lanyi, Joann von, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
Laprunarède, Adèle (Duchesse de Fleury) (pupil), <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br />
<br />
Lassen, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.<br />
<br />
Laussot, Jessie Hillebrand, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Lavenu, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.<br />
<br />
Legouvé, Ernest, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comparison of Liszt and Thalberg's playing, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>-<a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Lehmann, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br />
<br />
Leipsic school, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.<br />
<br />
Lenau, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.<br />
<br />
Lenbach, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Lenz, Von (pupil), account of his acquaintance with Liszt, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>-<a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br />
<br />
Leonora Overture (Beethoven's), <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.<br />
<br />
Leo XII, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">XIII, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Leopold I, Emperor, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.<br />
<br />
Leschetitzky, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">Lettres d'un Voyageur</span>" (George Sand), <a href="#Page_322">322</a>.<br />
<br />
Leyrand, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br />
<br />
Lewald, Fanny, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Lewes, George Henry 43, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.<br />
<br />
Lhévinne, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Lichnowsky, Prince Felix, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>-<a href="#Page_243">243</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Liedertafel</span>, Rhenish, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br />
<br />
Lie, Erika, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>.<br />
<br />
Liliencron, Baron Detlev von, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.<br />
<br />
Lind, Jenny, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>.<br />
<br />
Lindemann-Frommel, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Liondmilla, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
Lipsius, Marie. (See <a href="#La_Mara">La Mara</a>.)<br />
<br />
Listemann (conductor), <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.<br />
<br />
Liszt, Adam, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anna Lager, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a id="Blandine"></a>Blandine, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cosima (see <a href="#Cosima_von_Bulow_Wagner">Cosima von Bülow Wagner</a>);</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Daniel, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Edward, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Liszt, Franz, abuse of, in Germany, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">affectation in his work, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">alters harmonic minor scale, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">amiability of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">amusing story of conversion, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>-<a href="#Page_326">326</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">anecdotes, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">appreciation of Saint-Saëns, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as a teacher, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as Abbé, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">biographers of, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">birth of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">birthplace of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">boyhood of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>-<a href="#Page_305">305</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Budapest, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">character of his music, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">children of, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">chivalry of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chopin's obligation to, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>-<a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comment on his 13th Psalm, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">comparison of established symphonic form with that devised by Liszt, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">compared with Wagner, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as composer, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>-<a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>-<a href="#Page_413">413</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">concerts of, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as conductor, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts at Aix-la-Chapelle, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts in Berlin, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts at Prague, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts at Pesth, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts in Rome, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conducts in Weimar, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conversation of, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">court musical director (Weimar), <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">creator of the symphonic poem, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">criticisms regarding, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>-<a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the Countess d'Agoult, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>-<a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">daily mode of life, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">death of, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dedications, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">description of his ideal of romantic religious music, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in England, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>-<a href="#Page_313">313</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fascinating personality of, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">feminine friendships of, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>-<a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fingering, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Freemason, <a href="#Page_389">389</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with Berlioz, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with Cardinal Prince Hohenlohe, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with Chopin, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friendship with Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Marguerite Gautier, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">generosity of, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">gifts from sovereigns, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">greatest contribution to art, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">hand of, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">illness of, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">impressionability of, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">improvisations of, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">indebtedness to Chopin, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of Berlioz, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of Chopin, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of gipsy music, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of Meyerbeer, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of Paganini, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">influence of Wagner, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ingratitude of Schumann, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on instruments of percussion, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">interest in German art, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">interest in Tausig, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">interpretation, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">interview with, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">intimacy with Prince Lichnowsky, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>-<a href="#Page_243">243</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">intrigues against, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">introduces interlocking octaves, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">introduces the piano recital, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Olga Janina, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">lack of appreciation of, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the Countess Adèle Laprunarède, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters of, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">literary work of, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in London, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>-<a href="#Page_313">313</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">loss of Piano Method, Part III, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">love affairs of, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>-<a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>-<a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Lola Montez, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">musical style of, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">musical imagination, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">notation, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">number of compositions, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">orchestral form, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">orchestral instrumentation, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">orchestral music of, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as organ composer, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">original compositions of, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on origin of his Tasso, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on origin of his Orpheus, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">parents of, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Paris, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">patience of, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pedalling, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pen picture of, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personal appearance, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personal characteristics, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pianoforte virtuoso, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano music of, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>-<a href="#Page_413">413</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano recitals, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>-<a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano reform, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano of, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_340">340</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the Countess Louis Plater, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">playing of, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>-<a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>-<a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">plays Weber's Sonatas, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">plays at Berlioz's, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Bizet's, <a href="#Page_379">379</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at court of Wurtemburg, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Karlsruhe, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Legouvé's, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Munkaçzy's, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Tolstoy's, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">at Windsor Castle, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">portraits of, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">prediction at birth of, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">predominating artistic influences, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">prophecy of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">public speaking of, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pupils of, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>-<a href="#Page_388">388</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">alphabetical list of pupils, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>-<a href="#Page_358">358</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">reading of, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">realism of, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">reformer of church music, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">religious fervor of, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>-<a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">residences in and around Rome, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">revolutionist, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">romanticism of, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Rome, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>-<a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>-<a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Russia, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>-<a href="#Page_300">300</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and Caroline de Saint-Criq, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and George Sand, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>-<a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>-<a href="#Page_51">51</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Schumann's indebtedness to, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as song writer, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>-<a href="#Page_168">168</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">started new era in Hungarian music, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">statues of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">success of, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as teacher, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>-<a href="#Page_397">397</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">technique of, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">temperament of, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tempo, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">testimonials, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">theological studies of, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">theory of gipsy music, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">thought his career a failure, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tirelessness of, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tomb of, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the triangle, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>-<a href="#Page_172">172</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">tribute by Wagner, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">variety of rhythms of, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">versatility of, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on virtuosity, <a href="#Page_392">392</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wagner's indebtedness to, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>-<a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wagner's praise, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">wanderings of, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>-<a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Weimar, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">writing for solo and choral voices, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Liszt, Franz&mdash;Works:<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Alleluja, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Angelus, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Apparitions, The, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ave Maria, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballad in B minor, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ballades, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Bénédiction de Dieu</span>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Berceuse, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="de">Chöre zu Herder's Entfesselte Prometheus</span>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chorus of Angels, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Concert Study, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Concertos, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>-<a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Concerto Pathétique</span> in E minor, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Concerto for piano and orchestra, No. 1, in E flat, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>-<a href="#Page_172">172</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Concerto for piano, No. 2, in A major (<span lang="fr">Concert Symphonique</span>), <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>-<a href="#Page_174">174</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Consolations, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Don Sancho, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Elegier, The, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Etudes, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>-<a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Etude in D flat, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Etude in F minor, No. 10, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Etudes de Concert</span> (three), <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Etudes d'execution transcendante</span> (twelve), <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Etudes en douze exercices</span>, Op. 1, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Etudes, second set of, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="la">Ab-Irato</span>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Au Bord d'une Source</span>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Au Lac de Wallenstadt</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Danse Macabre</span>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Feux-follets</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Gnomenreigen</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Harmonies du Soir</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Irrlichter</span>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Ricordanza</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Studies of Storm and Dread, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Vision, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Wilde Jagd</span>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Waldesrauschen</span>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Excelsior, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="de">Evocatio in der Sixtinischen Kapelle</span>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fantasias, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>-<a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Années de Pèlerinage</span>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fantasia on Don Juan, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Fantasia Dramatique</span>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fantasia on Reminiscences of <span lang="it">Puritani</span>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fantasia on Themes by Pacini, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Fantaisie quasi sonata après une lecture de Dante</span>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Il Penseroso</span>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">operatic fantasias, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lucia, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Sonnambula</span>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Sposalizio</span>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Tre Sonetti di Petrarca</span>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Funeral March on occasion of Maximilian of Mexico's death, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Galop Chromatique</span>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Glanes de Woronice</span>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harmonies, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Harmonies Péstiques et Religieuses</span>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="de">Heilige Cäcelia, Die</span> (essay), <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hungarian gipsy music, book on, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hungarian March, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Legends, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Legend of St. Elisabeth, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>-<a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">St. Francis of Assisi's Hymn to the Sun, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">St. Francis of Assisi Preaching to the Birds, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">St. Francis de Paula Stepping on the Waves, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Masses, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>-<a href="#Page_194">194</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"<span lang="de">Graner Festmesse</span>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hungarian Coronation Mass, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mazurkas, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mephisto, Waltz, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nocturnes, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oratorios, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oratorio of Christus, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oratorio of Petrus, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Organ variations on Bach themes, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">organ and trombone composition, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Piano arrangements, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Adelaide, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beethoven symphonies, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beethoven quartets, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Erlkönig</span>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Polonaises, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Psalms, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thirteenth Psalm, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rakoczy March, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>-<a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Requiem, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Rhapsodies Hongroises</span>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>-<a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">list of, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="de">Scherzo und Marsch</span> in D minor, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Serenade, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Soirées de Vienne</span>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sonata in B minor, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>-<a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Songs, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>-<a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sonnets after Petrarch, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Studies and fragments, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Study of Chopin, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Symphonic poems, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>-<a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">La bataille des Huns</span>, after Kaulbach (<span lang="de">Hunnenschlacht</span>), <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Ce qu'on Entend sur la montagne</span> (Berg Symphony), <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>-<a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="de">Fest-klänge</span>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>-<a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From the Cradle to the Grave, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hamlet, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Héroïde funèbre</span>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hungaria, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">L'Idéal</span>, after Schiller, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-<a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mazeppa, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>-<a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Orphée</span>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Les Préludes</span>, after Lamartine, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>-<a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Prométhée</span>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>,122, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="it">Tasso, Lamento and Trionfo</span>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>-<a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Le Triomphe funèbre du Tasse</span> (epilogue), <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Symphonies:</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dante Symphony, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>-<a href="#Page_155">155</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Faust Symphony, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>-<a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Revolutionary Symphony, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="de">Todtentanz</span>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>-<a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Transcriptions, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Isolde's <span lang="de">Liebestod</span>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Paganini studies, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Symphonie Fantastique</span>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><span lang="fr">Valse-impromptu</span>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span lang="fr">Valse Oubliée</span>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Liszt fund, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="de">Liszt und die Frauen</span>" (La Mara), <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Litolff, Henri, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.<br />
<br />
Littleton, Alfred, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Augustus, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Henry, <a href="#Page_311">311</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.</span><br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">Le Livre de Caliban</span>" (Bergerat), <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
Lohengrin (Wagner), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.<br />
<br />
Lorenzetti, Pietro and Ambrogio, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br />
<br />
Lotto, Lorenzo, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br />
<br />
Louis I, of Bavaria, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Louis, Rudolf (Liszt biographer), <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.<br />
<br />
Lytton, Lord, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
MacColl, D. S., tribute to music, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.<br />
<br />
MacDowell, Edward (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Mackenzie, Sir A. C., <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br />
<br />
Macready (tragedian), notes from diary of, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Madach, "The Tragedy of Mankind," <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Madonna del Rosario (cloister), <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.<br />
<br />
Maeterlinck, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.<br />
<br />
Mahler, Gustav, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.<br />
<br />
Mai, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
Maiden's Lament, The (Schubert's), <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br />
<br />
Makart, Hans, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Malibran, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Manet, Edouard, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.<br />
<br />
Manns, August, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
Marcello, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Margulies, Adele, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Marschner, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br />
<br />
Mason, Dr. William (pupil), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>.<br />
<br />
Massocia, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Matisse, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Maupassant, Guy de, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Maximilian of Mexico, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br />
<br />
Mazurka (Chopin), <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="fr">Meditations Poétiques</span> (Lamartine's), <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Mees, Arthur (conductor), <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br />
<br />
Mehlig, Anna, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Meistersinger, Die</span> (Wagner), <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.<br />
<br />
Melchers, Gari, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Melena, Elpis, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
"Memories of a Musical Life" (William Mason), <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.<br />
<br />
Mendelssohn, Felix, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Psalm, As the Hart Pants, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Songs without Words, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Menter, Sofie (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Mercadante, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.<br />
<br />
Merian-Genast, Emilie, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Merry del Val, Mgr., <a href="#Page_344">344</a>.<br />
<br />
Mertens-Schaaffhausen, Frau Sibylle, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="fr">Méthode des Méthodes</span>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.<br />
<br />
Metternich, Prince, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br />
<br />
Metternich Princess, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br />
<br />
Meyendorff, Baroness Olga de (pupil), <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Meyerbeer, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.<br />
<br />
Mezzofanti, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
Michelangelo, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Michetti's Beethoven Album, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.<br />
<br />
Mignet, François, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Mildner, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br />
<br />
Milnes, Monckton (Lord Houghton), <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Milozzi, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>.<br />
<br />
Minasi, account of conversation with Liszt, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>-<a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Minghetti, Princess, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
Mischka (Liszt's servant), <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.<br />
<br />
Mock, Camille. (See <a href="#Marie_Camille">Madame Pleyel</a>.)<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span><i>Monday Review, The</i> (Vienna), <a href="#Page_390">390</a>.<br />
<br />
Montauban, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Monte Mario, Dominican cloister of, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>.<br />
<br />
Montez, Lola, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">extracts from "Wits and Women of Paris," <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Montigny-Remaury, Madame, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Moore, George, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br />
<br />
Mori, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Morning Post</i> (Manchester), <a href="#Page_301">301</a>-<a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>.<br />
<br />
Morris, William, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.<br />
<br />
Moscheles, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">extracts from diary of, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>-<a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Mosenthal, comments on Liszt, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.<br />
<br />
Mouchanoff-Kalergis, Marie von, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Mozart, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his piano, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Müllerlieder</span> (Schubert's), <a href="#Page_167">167</a>.<br />
<br />
Munch, Edward, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Munkaczy, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">portrait of Liszt, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Murphy, Lady Blanche, account of Liszt's sojourn at Monte Mario in 1862, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>-<a href="#Page_267">267</a>.<br />
<br />
<i><span lang="de">Musenalmanach</span>, The</i>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Musical Journal</i> (London), <a href="#Page_307">307</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Standard, The</i>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Times</i> (London), <a href="#Page_300">300</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>World</i> (London), <a href="#Page_308">308</a>-<a href="#Page_310">310</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Musset, Alfred de, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>.<br />
<br />
"My Literary Life" (Madame Edmond Adam), <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Nachtigall (director), <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br />
<br />
Natalucci, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Neate, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
"Nélida" (by Countess d'Agoult), <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br />
<br />
Neo-German school, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.<br />
<br />
Nerenz, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
<i lang="de">Neue Zeitschrift für Musik</i>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.<br />
<br />
Neupert, Edmund, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Newmarch, Rose, on Liszt in Russia, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>-<a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br />
<br />
New museum, Berlin, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.<br />
<br />
Newman, Ernest, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Nicholas I, Emperor, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br />
<br />
Niecks, Dr. Frederick, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br />
<br />
Nietzsche, Friedrich, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>-<a href="#Page_335">335</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Elisabeth Foerster, <a href="#Page_329">329</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Nohant, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.<br />
<br />
Norma (Thalberg's), <a href="#Page_63">63</a><br />
<br />
Normanby, Lord, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Novello, Clara, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Obermann, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.<br />
<br />
Odescalchi, Princess, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.<br />
<br />
Olde, Professor Hans, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.<br />
<br />
Ollivier, Emile, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Emile. (See <a href="#Blandine">Blandine Liszt</a>.)</span><br />
<br />
Onslow, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br />
<br />
Orcagna, Andrea, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br />
<br />
Order of the Golden Spur, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>.<br />
<br />
Orpheus (Gluck's), <a href="#Page_121">121</a>.<br />
<br />
Overbeck, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
"Oxford History of Music," <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Pacini, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>.<br />
<br />
Paderewski, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>-<a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Paer, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Paganini, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>-<a href="#Page_284">284</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">caprices, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Paganini Studies (Schumann's), <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.<br />
<br />
Paisiello, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Palestrina, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Palibin, Madame, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="fr">Paroles d'un Croyant</span> (Lamenais), <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Parry, John, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>.<br />
<br />
Parsons, Albert Ross, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>.<br />
<br />
Passini, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Paur, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
<a id="Pavlovna_Grand_Duchess_Maria"></a>Pavlovna, Grand Duchess Maria, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.<br />
<br />
Pavlovna, Princess Maria, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.<br />
<br />
Petersen, Dory, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Petrarca, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br />
<br />
Philharmonic Society, London, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>.<br />
<br />
Pianoforte music, notation of, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.<br />
<br />
Piano-playing, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>-<a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.<br />
<br />
Picasso, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Piccini, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Pick, Mgr., <a href="#Page_345">345</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span>Pietagrua, Angela, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>.<br />
<br />
Pisa, Giovanni da, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Pius IX, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pius X, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">an audience with, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>-<a href="#Page_352">352</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Pixis, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br />
<br />
Pixis-Göhringer, Francilla, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.<br />
<br />
Plaidy, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Planché, Gustave, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.<br />
<br />
Planté, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
Plater, Countess Louis (Gräfin Brzostowska), witticism of, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br />
<br />
Pleyel, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">piano, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><a id="Marie_Camille"></a>Marie Camille, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Podoska, M. Calm, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pauline (mother of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Pohl, Carl Ferdinand, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Richard (pupil), <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Polonaise (Chopin), <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>.<br />
<br />
Porges, Heinrich (pupil), <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.<br />
<br />
Potter, Cipriani, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
Prätorius, Michael, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br />
<br />
Préludes (Chopin), <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br />
<br />
Programme music, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br />
<br />
Prückner, Dionys (pupil), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>.<br />
<br />
Pückler, Prince (pupil), <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.<br />
<br />
Pugna, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Punch</i> (London), <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Quarterly Musical Magazine and Review</i> (London), <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Raab, Toni, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
<br />
Raff Joachim (pupil), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br />
<br />
<a id="Raiding2"></a>Raiding (or Reiding), Liszt's birthplace, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_339">339</a>.<br />
<br />
Rakoczy, Prince Franz, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br />
<br />
Ramaciotti, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.<br />
<br />
Ramann, Lina (pupil and biographer), <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>-<a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br />
<br />
Raphael, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.<br />
<br />
Rauzan, Duchesse de, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<br />
<br />
Ravel, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.<br />
<br />
Realism, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.<br />
<br />
Récamier, Madame de, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br />
<br />
"Records of Later Life" (Kemble), <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.<br />
<br />
Reeves, Henry, extract from his biography, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>.<br />
<br />
Reger, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.<br />
<br />
Reichstadt, Duc de, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
Reisenauer, Alfred (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Rembrandt, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Remenyi, Edward (pupil), <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>.<br />
<br />
Reminiscences of Liszt:<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Andersen, Hans Christian, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>-<a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous German Admirer, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>-<a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous Lady Admirer, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>-<a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">B. W. H., <a href="#Page_275">275</a>-<a href="#Page_280">280</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bauer, Caroline, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>-<a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beringer, Oscar, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Berlioz, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>-<a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Commettant, Oscar, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">De Bury, Blaze, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">D'Ortigue, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dwight, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eliot, George, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>-<a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ellet, Mrs., <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Escudier, Leon, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>-<a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grieg, Eduard, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>-<a href="#Page_316">316</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heine, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>-<a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hoffman, Richard, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>-<a href="#Page_318">318</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kemble, Fanny, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kirkenbuhl, Karl, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>-<a href="#Page_275">275</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Legouvé, Ernest, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>-<a href="#Page_291">291</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Macready, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Minasi, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>-<a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Montez, Lola, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Moscheles, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>-<a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mosenthal, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Murphy, Lady Blanche, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>-<a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Novello, Clara, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Reeves, Henry, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>-<a href="#Page_320">320</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rosenthal, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>-<a href="#Page_368">368</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Schumann, Robert, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>-<a href="#Page_294">294</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Von Lenz, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>-<a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Weingartner, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Renan, Henrietta, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>.<br />
<br />
Requiem (Berlioz), <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.<br />
<br />
Reulke, Julius (pupil), <a href="#Page_401">401</a>.<br />
<br />
Reviczy, Countess, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
Revolutionary Study (Chopin's), <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.<br />
<br />
<i lang="fr">Revue des Deux Mondes</i>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i lang="fr">Européenne</i>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i lang="fr">du Monde Catholique</i>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>de Paris</i>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Richter, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jean Paul, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Riedel, Karl (pupil), <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Riedle Society, The, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Ries, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
Rietschl, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br />
<br />
Righini, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Rimsky-Korsakoff (pupil), <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>-<a href="#Page_416">416</a>.<br />
<br />
Ring, Nibelungen (Wagner), <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>-<a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Rivé-King, Julia, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Robert (Meyerbeer's), <a href="#Page_231">231</a><br />
<br />
Rodin, Auguste, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Roger-Miclos, Madame, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Roman New Musical Society, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.<br />
<br />
Romantic school, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.<br />
<br />
Romeo and Juliet (Berlioz), <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="de">Römischen Tagebüchern</span>" (Gregorovius), <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.<br />
<br />
Roquette, Otto, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br />
<br />
Rosa, Carl, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>; Salvator, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Rosenthal, Moriz (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>-<a href="#Page_429">429</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br />
<br />
Rospigliosi, Fanny, Princess, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Rossetti, Christina, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Rossini, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.<br />
<br />
Rougon-Macquart series, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.<br />
<br />
Rousseau, J. J., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
Royal Amateur Orchestral Society (London), <a href="#Page_312">312</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Society of Musicians (London), <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Rubini, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Rubinstein, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>-<a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>-<a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nicolas (pupil), <a href="#Page_421">421</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Rückert, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br />
<br />
Rummel, Franz, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Runciman, John F., <a href="#Page_21">21</a>.<br />
<br />
Russlane, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
Ruzsitska, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sacchini, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Sainte-Beuve, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.<br />
<br />
Saint-Criq, Comtesse Caroline de (pupil), <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.<br />
<br />
St. Matthew's Passion (Bach), <a href="#Page_195">195</a>.<br />
<br />
Saint-Saëns, Camille (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_369">369</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>, <a href="#Page_386">386</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>.<br />
<br />
Saint-Simon, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.<br />
<br />
Salaman, Charles, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>.<br />
<br />
Salieri, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.<br />
<br />
Salviati, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.<br />
<br />
Samaroff, Olga, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Sand, George, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Santa Francesca Romana, cloister, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.<br />
<br />
Sarasate, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>.<br />
<br />
Sarti, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Sauer, Emil (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Sauerma, Countess, Rosalie (pupil), <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
<a id="Sayn-Wittgenstein_PrincessI"></a>Sayn-Wittgenstein, Princess, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>-<a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>-<a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>-<a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>-<a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>.<br />
<br />
Scarlatti, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>.<br />
<br />
Schade, Dr., <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br />
<br />
Schadow, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Schakovskoy, Princess Nadine. (See <a href="#Helbig">Helbig</a>.)<br />
<br />
Scheffer, Ary, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>.<br />
<br />
Scherzo (Chopin), <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.<br />
<br />
Schiller, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>-<a href="#Page_330">330</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madeleine, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Schindler, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.<br />
<br />
Schlaf, Johannes, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Schlesinger's <span lang="fr">Gazette Musicale</span></i>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>.<br />
<br />
Schlözer, Kurt von, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.<br />
<br />
Schmidt, Dr. Leopold, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br />
<br />
Schoenberg, Arnold, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br />
<br />
Scholl (band master), <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br />
<br />
Schopenhauer, Arthur, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Johanna, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Schorn, Adelheid von (pupil), <a href="#Page_44">44</a>.<br />
<br />
Schubert, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Schule der Geläufigkeit</span>, (Czerny), <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.<br />
<br />
Schumann, Robert, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>, <a href="#Page_405">405</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_409">409</a>, <a href="#Page_418">418</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Liszt's playing, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>-<a href="#Page_294">294</a>;</span><br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clara, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Schwanthaler, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>.<br />
<br />
Schwarz, Frau von, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Schweinfurt, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.<br />
<br />
Schwindt, Moritz v., <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br />
<br />
Scriabine, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.<br />
<br />
Scribe, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.<br />
<br />
Scudo, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.<br />
<br />
Segantini, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Segnitz, Eugene, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.<br />
<br />
Seidl, Anton, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Sembrich, Marcella, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>.<br />
<br />
Serassi, Pier Antonio, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.<br />
<br />
Serov, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>.<br />
<br />
Servais, Franz (pupil), <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Sgambati, Giovanni (pupil), <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>-<a href="#Page_384">384</a>.<br />
<br />
Sherwood, William H. (pupil), <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Siloti, Alexander (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>.<br />
<br />
Simpson, Palgrave, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Sinding, Otto, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Slivinski, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Smart, Sir G., <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.<br />
<br />
Smetana, Frederick (pupil), <a href="#Page_414">414</a>.<br />
<br />
Society of Music Friends, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>.<br />
<br />
Solfanelli, Abbé, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.<br />
<br />
Sonata (Beethoven), <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>.<br />
<br />
Sonata (Wagner), <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br />
<br />
Sonata (Weber), <a href="#Page_207">207</a>-<a href="#Page_210">210</a>.<br />
<br />
"Songs and Song Writers" (H. T. Finck), <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br />
<br />
Sonntag, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Sophie, Princess, of Holland, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.<br />
<br />
"<span lang="fr">Souvenirs d'une Cosaque</span>" (Olga Janina), <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.<br />
<br />
Sowinski, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.<br />
<br />
Spanuth, August (analysis of the Hungarian Rhapsodies), <a href="#Page_160">160</a>-<a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Speyeras, W. C., <a href="#Page_389">389</a>.<br />
<br />
Spohr, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>.<br />
<br />
Spontini, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.<br />
<br />
Stahr, Ad., <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Stahr, Fräuleins, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>.<br />
<br />
Stassor (Russian critic), <a href="#Page_296">296</a>-<a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
Stavenhagen, Bernhard (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Steinway &amp; Sons, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>.<br />
<br />
Stella, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Stendhal, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.<br />
<br />
Stern, Daniel (pen name of the Countess d'Agoult), <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.<br />
<br />
Sternberg, von, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>.<br />
<br />
Stimson, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Stojowski, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>.<br />
<br />
Stradal, August (pupil), <a href="#Page_98">98</a>-<a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
Strauss, Richard, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>.<br />
<br />
Streicher, Nanette, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Strobl, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Studies (Chopin), <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Sullivan, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Beethoven), <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Berlioz), <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Haydn), <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Herold), <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Schubert), <a href="#Page_293">293</a>.<br />
<br />
Symphony (Schumann), <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br />
<br />
"Symphony Since Beethoven" (Weingartner), <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.<br />
<br />
Szalit, Paula, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Székely, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.<br />
<br />
Szumowska, Antoinette, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Szymanowska, Madame de, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tadema, Alma, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
Taffanel, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>.<br />
<br />
<i><span lang="de">Tageblatt</span>, The</i>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br />
<br />
Tagel (Wurtemburg counsellor of court), <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br />
<br />
Taglioni, Marie, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
Taine, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>.<br />
<br />
Taj Mahal, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br />
<br />
Tancredi, Tournament duet in, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Tannhäuser</span> (Wagner), <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>.<br />
<br />
Tasso, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
"Tasso" (Byron's), <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
<br />
"Tasso" (Goethe's), <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>.<br />
<br />
Tausig, Alois, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Karl (pupil), <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>-<a href="#Page_366">366</a>, <a href="#Page_374">374</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_424">424</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Taylor, Franklin, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>.<br />
<br />
Thackeray, W. M., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span>Thalberg, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>-<a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_308">308</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="fr">Théâtre des Italiens</span> (Paris), <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>.<br />
<br />
Theatre Royal (Manchester), <a href="#Page_303">303</a>.<br />
<br />
Theiner, Pater, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>.<br />
<br />
Thiers, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.<br />
<br />
Thode, Professor Henry, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br />
<br />
Thomas, Theodore, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.<br />
<br />
Thorwaldsen, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br />
<br />
Tilgner, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Tintoretto, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Tisza, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>.<br />
<br />
Titian, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.<br />
<br />
Tolstoy, Countess, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.<br />
<br />
Torhilon-Buell, Marie, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>.<br />
<br />
Trémont, Baron, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br />
<br />
Tristan and Isolde (Wagner), <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>.<br />
<br />
Triumph of Death (fresco), <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.<br />
<br />
Tschaikowsky, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_367">367</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>.<br />
<br />
Turgenev, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Uhland, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="de">Ungarische Tänze</span> (Brahms'), <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.<br />
<br />
Unger-Sabatier, Caroline, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Urspruch, Anton (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Vaczek, Carl, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>.<br />
<br />
Valle dell' Inferno, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br />
<br />
Vallet, Michael, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="fr">Valse-impromptu</span> (Chopin), <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.<br />
<br />
Van der Stucken (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>.<br />
<br />
Vasari, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.<br />
<br />
Vatican, The, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_342">342</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>.<br />
<br />
Veit, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
Velde, Professor van de, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.<br />
<br />
Verdi, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>.<br />
<br />
Verlaine, Paul, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>.<br />
<br />
Vernet, Horace, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br />
<br />
Veronese, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Vesque, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.<br />
<br />
Viardot-Garcia, Pauline, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Victoria, Queen, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br />
<br />
Viennese pianos, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.<br />
<br />
Villa d'Este, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>.<br />
<br />
Villa Medici, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.<br />
<br />
Vimercati, <a href="#Page_302">302</a>.<br />
<br />
Vivier, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br />
<br />
Vogrich, Max, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Opera Buddha, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Voltaire, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.<br />
<br />
Volterra, Daniele da, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.<br />
<br />
Wagner, Richard, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>-<a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>-<a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>-<a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>-<a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>-<a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_422">422</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Madame Richard (see <a href="#Cosima_von_Bulow_Wagner">Cosima von Bülow Wagner</a>);</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Siegfried, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>.</span><br />
<br />
"<span lang="de">Wagnerfrage</span>" (Raff), <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.<br />
<br />
Wales, Prince and Princess of, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>.<br />
<br />
Walker, Bettina, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"My Musical Experiences," <a href="#Page_383">383</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Ward, Andrew, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>.<br />
<br />
Wartburg festival, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.<br />
<br />
Watteau, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>.<br />
<br />
Weber, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>-<a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>.<br />
<br />
Wehrstaedt, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.<br />
<br />
Weimar, Duchess of, (see <a href="#Pavlovna_Grand_Duchess_Maria">Pavlovna</a>);<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ernst, Grand Duke, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grand Duke Carl Alexander of, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Weingartner, Felix (pupil), <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on Liszt's symphonic works, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>-<a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Wesendonck, Mathilde, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.<br />
<br />
Wesley, Samuel Sebastian, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>.<br />
<br />
Wieland, <a href="#Page_328">328</a>.<br />
<br />
Wiertz, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.<br />
<br />
Wild, Jonathan, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Wildenbruch, Ernst von, <a href="#Page_331">331</a>.<br />
<br />
William Tell, Overture to, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_298">298</a>.<br />
<br />
Winckelmann, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>.<br />
<br />
Winding, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Windsor Express</i> (London), <a href="#Page_304">304</a>.<br />
<br />
Winterberger, Alex. (pupil), <a href="#Page_359">359</a>.<br />
<br />
Wiseman, Cardinal, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.<br />
<br />
Wittgenstein, Princess, (see <a href="#Sayn-Wittgenstein_PrincessI">Sayn-Wittgenstein</a>);<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Prince Nikolaus, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Wohl, Janka, (pupil), <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span>Wolff, Dr., <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.<br />
<br />
Wolffenbüttel, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.<br />
<br />
Wolkenstein, Countess, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.<br />
<br />
Wolkof, <a href="#Page_417">417</a>.<br />
<br />
Wolzogen, Von, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.<br />
<br />
Worcester festival, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.<br />
<br />
Woronice (estate of Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein), <a href="#Page_45">45</a>-<a href="#Page_47">47</a>.<br />
<br />
Wortley, Stuart, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.<br />
<br />
Wurtemburg, King of, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Yeats, <a href="#Page_327">327</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Zampa, Overture to, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.<br />
<br />
Zeisler, Fannie Bloomfield, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>.<br />
<br />
Zichy, Geza (pupil), <a href="#Page_24">24</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Michael, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>.</span><br />
<br />
Zingarelli, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>.<br />
<br />
Zoellner, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>.<br />
<br />
Zucchari, <a href="#Page_347">347</a>.<br />
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span></p></div>
<hr class="full" />



<h2>BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER</h2>

<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Published by CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</span></p>



<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Books by James Huneker">
<tr><td><b>Franz Liszt.</b> Illustrated. 12mo. (<i>Postage extra</i>)</td><td align="right"><i>net</i>, $2.00</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Promenades of an Impressionist.</b> 12mo.</td><td align="right"><i>net</i>, $1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Egoists: A Book of Supermen.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right"><i>net</i>, $1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Iconoclasts: A Book of Dramatists.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right"><i>net</i>, $1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Overtones: A Book of Temperaments.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right"><i>net</i>, $1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Mezzotints in Modern Music.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right">$1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Chopin: The Man and His Music.</b> With Portrait. 12mo,</td><td align="right">$2.00</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Visionaries.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right">$1.50</td></tr>
<tr><td><b>Melomaniacs.</b> 12mo,</td><td align="right">$1.50</td></tr>
</table></div>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>PROMENADES</big><br />
<i>of an</i><br />
<big>IMPRESSIONIST</big></p>

<p class="adhead">$1.50 net</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Paul Cézanne&mdash;Rops the Etcher&mdash;Monticelli&mdash;Rodin&mdash;Eugene
Carrière&mdash;Degas&mdash;Botticelli&mdash;Six Spaniards&mdash;Chardin&mdash;Black
and White&mdash;Impressionism&mdash;A New Study of Watteau&mdash;Gauguin
and Toulouse-Lautrec&mdash;Literature and Art&mdash;Museum
Promenades.</p></blockquote>

<p>"The vivacity of Mr. Huneker's style sometimes tends to conceal
the judiciousness of his matter. His justly great reputation as a
journalist critic most people would attribute to his salient phrase.
To the present writer, the phrase goes for what it is worth&mdash;generally
it is eloquent and interpretative, again merely decorative&mdash;what
really counts is an experienced and unbiassed mind at ease with its
material. The criticism that can pass from Goya, the tempestuous,
that endless fount of facile enthusiasms, and do justice to the serene
talent of Fortuny is certainly catholic. In fact, Mr. Huneker is an
impressionist only in his aversion to the literary approach, and in a
somewhat wilful lack of system. This, too, often seems less temperamental
than a result of journalistic conditions, and of the dire need
of being entertaining.</p>

<p>"We like best such sober essays as those which analyze for us the
technical contributions of Cézanne and Rodin. Here, Mr. Huneker
is a real interpreter, and here his long experience of men and ways
in art counts for much. Charming, in the slighter vein, are such appreciations
as the Monticelli, and Chardin. Seasoned readers of
Mr. Huneker's earlier essays in musical and dramatic criticism will
naturally turn to the fantastic titles in this book. Such border-line
geniuses as Greco, Rops, Meryon, Gustave Moreau, John Martin, are
treated with especial gusto. We should like to have an appreciation
of Blake from this ardent searcher of fine eccentricities. In the main
the book is devoted to artists who have come into prominence since
1870, the French naturally predominating, but such precursors of
modern tendencies or influential spirits as Botticelli, Watteau,
Piranesi are included. Eleven 'Museum promenades,' chiefly in
the Low Countries and in Spain, are on the whole less interesting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span>
than the individual appreciations&mdash;necessarily so, but this category
embraces a capital sketch of Franz Hals at Haarlem, while the three
Spanish studies on the Prado Museum, Velasquez, and Greco at
Toledo, are quite of the best. From the Velasquez, we transcribe
one of many fine passages:</p>

<blockquote><p>"'His art is not correlated to the other arts. One does not
dream of music or poetry or sculpture or drama in front of
his pictures. One thinks of life and then of the beauty of
the paint. Velasquez is never rhetorical, nor does he paint
for the sake of making beautiful surfaces as often does
Titian. His practice is not art for art as much as art for
life. As a portraitist, Titian's is the only name to be coupled
with that of Velasquez. He neither flattered his sitters, as
did Van Dyck, nor mocked them like Goya. And consider
the mediocrities, the dull, ugly, royal persons he was forced
to paint! He has wrung the neck of banal eloquence, and
his prose, sober, rich, noble, sonorous, rhythmic, is, to my
taste, preferable to the exalted, versatile volubility and lofty
poetic tumblings in the azure of any school of painting.'</p></blockquote>

<p>"Here we see how winning Mr. Huneker's manner is and how insidious.
Unless you immediately react against that apparently
innocent word 'tumblings,' your faith in the grand style will begin
to disintegrate. It is this very sense of walking among pitfalls that
will make the book fascinating to a veteran reader. The young are
advised to temper it with an infusion of Sir Joshua Reynolds's 'Discourses,'
<i lang="la">quantum sufficit</i>."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Frank Jewett Mather, Jr.</span>, in <i>New
York Nation</i> and <i>Evening Post</i>.</p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>EGOISTS</big></p>

<p class="adhead"><i>A BOOK OF SUPERMEN</i><br />

<small><i>With Portrait and Fac-simile Reproductions</i></small></p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.50 net; <i>Postpaid</i> $1.65</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Stendhal&mdash;Baudelaire&mdash;Flaubert&mdash;Anatole
France&mdash;Huysmans&mdash;Barrès&mdash;Hello&mdash;Blake&mdash;Nietzsche&mdash;Ibsen&mdash;Max
Stirner.</p></blockquote>

<p>"The work of a man who knows his subject thoroughly and who
writes frankly and unconventionally."&mdash;<i>The Outlook.</i></p>

<p>"Stimulating, provocative of thought."&mdash;<i>The Forum.</i></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span></p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>ICONOCLASTS:</big><br />

A Book of Dramatists</p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.50 net</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Henrik Ibsen&mdash;August Strindberg&mdash;Henry Becque&mdash;Gerhart
Hauptmann&mdash;Paul Hervieu&mdash;The Quintessence of
Shaw&mdash;Maxim Gorky's <span lang="de">Nachtasyl</span>&mdash;Hermann Sudermann&mdash;Princess
Mathilde's Play&mdash;Duse and D'Annunzio&mdash;Villiers de
l'Isle Adam&mdash;Maurice Maeterlinck.</p></blockquote>

<p>"His style is a little jerky, but it is one of those rare styles in which
we are led to expect some significance, if not wit, in every sentence."&mdash;<span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>, in <i>London Daily News</i>.</p>

<p>"No other book in English has surveyed the whole field so comprehensively."&mdash;<i>The
Outlook.</i></p>

<p>"A capital book, lively, informing, suggestive."&mdash;<i>London Times Saturday Review.</i></p>

<p>"Eye-opening and mind-clarifying is Mr. Huneker's criticism;
... no one having read that opening essay in this volume
will lay it down until the final judgment upon Maurice Maeterlinck
is reached."&mdash;<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>OVERTONES:</big><br />

A Book of Temperaments</p>

<p class="adhead"><small><i>WITH FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT OF
RICHARD STRAUSS</i></small></p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.25 net</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: Richard Strauss&mdash;Parsifal: A Mystical Melodrama&mdash;Literary
Men who loved Music (Balzac, Turgenieff, Daudet,
etc.)&mdash;The Eternal Feminine&mdash;The Beethoven of French Prose&mdash;Nietzsche
the Rhapsodist&mdash;Anarchs of Art&mdash;After Wagner,
What?&mdash;Verdi and Boito.</p></blockquote>

<p>"The whole book is highly refreshing with its breadth of knowledge,
its catholicity of taste, and its inexhaustible energy."&mdash;<i>Saturday
Review, London.</i></p>

<p>"In some respects Mr. Huneker must be reckoned the most
brilliant of all living writers on matters musical."&mdash;<i>Academy, London.</i></p>

<p>"No modern musical critic has shown greater ingenuity in the
attempt to correlate the literary and musical tendencies of the nineteenth
century."&mdash;<i>Spectator, London.</i></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span></p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>MEZZOTINTS IN
MODERN MUSIC</big></p>

<p class="adhead">BRAHMS, TSCHAÏKOWSKY, CHOPIN,
RICHARD STRAUSS, LISZT
AND WAGNER</p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.50</p>

<p>"Mr. Huneker is, in the best sense, a critic; he listens to the
music and gives you his impressions as rapidly and in as few words
as possible; or he sketches the composers in fine, broad, sweeping
strokes with a magnificent disregard for unimportant details. And
as Mr. Huneker is, as I have said, a powerful personality, a man of
quick brain and an energetic imagination, a man of moods and temperament&mdash;a
string that vibrates and sings in response to music&mdash;we
get in these essays of his a distinctly original and very valuable
contribution to the world's tiny musical literature."&mdash;<span class="smcap">J. F. Runciman</span>, in <i>London Saturday Review</i>.</p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>MELOMANIACS</big></p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.50.</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: The Lord's Prayer in B&mdash;A Son of Liszt&mdash;A Chopin
of the Gutter&mdash;The Piper of Dreams&mdash;An Emotional Acrobat&mdash;Isolde's
Mother&mdash;The Rim of Finer Issues&mdash;An Ibsen Girl&mdash;<span lang="de">Tannhäuser</span>'s
Choice&mdash;The Red-Headed Piano Player&mdash;Brynhild's
Immolation&mdash;The Quest of the Elusive&mdash;An Involuntary
Insurgent&mdash;Hunding's Wife&mdash;The Corridor of Time&mdash;Avatar&mdash;The
Wegstaffes give a Musicale&mdash;The Iron Virgin&mdash;Dusk
of the Gods&mdash;Siegfried's Death&mdash;Intermezzo&mdash;A Spinner of
Silence&mdash;The Disenchanted Symphony&mdash;Music the Conqueror.</p></blockquote>

<p>"It would be difficult to sum up 'Melomaniacs' in a phrase.
Never did a book, in my opinion at any rate, exhibit greater contrasts,
not, perhaps, of strength and weakness, but of clearness and
obscurity. It is inexplicably uneven, as if the writer were perpetually
playing on the boundary line that divides sanity of thought from
intellectual chaos. There is method in the madness, but it is a
method of intangible ideas. Nevertheless, there is genius written
over a large portion of it, and to a musician the wealth of musical
imagination is a living spring of thought."&mdash;<span class="smcap">Harold E. Gorst</span>, in <i>London Saturday Review</i> (Dec. 8, 1906).</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span></p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>VISIONARIES</big></p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $1.50 net</p>

<blockquote><p><span class="smcap">Contents</span>: A Master of Cobwebs&mdash;The Eighth Deadly Sin&mdash;The
Purse of Aholibah&mdash;Rebels of the Moon&mdash;The Spiral Road&mdash;A
Mock Sun&mdash;Antichrist&mdash;The Eternal Duel&mdash;The Enchanted
Yodler&mdash;The Third Kingdom&mdash;The Haunted Harpsichord&mdash;The
Tragic Wall&mdash;A Sentimental Rebellion&mdash;Hall of the Missing
Footsteps&mdash;The Cursory Light&mdash;An Iron Fan&mdash;The Woman
Who Loved Chopin&mdash;The Tune of Time&mdash;Nada&mdash;Pan.</p></blockquote>

<p>"The author's style is sometimes grotesque in its desire both to
startle and to find true expression. He has not followed those great
novelists who write French a child may read and understand. He
calls the moon 'a spiritual gray wafer'; it faints in 'a red wind';
'truth beats at the bars of a man's bosom'; the sun is 'a sulphur-colored
cymbal'; a man moves with 'the jaunty grace of a young
elephant.' But even these oddities are significant and to be placed
high above the slipshod sequences of words that have done duty
till they are as meaningless as the imprint on a worn-out coin.</p>

<p>"Besides, in nearly every story the reader is arrested by the idea,
and only a little troubled now and then by an over-elaborate style.
If most of us are sane, the ideas cherished by these visionaries are
insane; but the imagination of the author so illuminates them that
we follow wondering and spellbound. In 'The Spiral Road' and
in some of the other stories both fantasy and narrative may be compared
with Hawthorne in his most unearthly moods. The younger
man has read his Nietzsche and has cast off his heritage of simple
morals. Hawthorne's Puritanism finds no echo in these modern
souls, all sceptical, wavering and unblessed. But Hawthorne's
splendor of vision and his power of sympathy with a tormented
mind do live again in the best of Mr. Huneker's stories."&mdash;<i>London Academy</i> (Feb. 3, 1906).</p>


<p class="adhead p4"><big>CHOPIN:</big><br />

The Man and His Music</p>

<p class="adhead"><small><i>WITH ETCHED PORTRAIT</i></small></p>

<p class="adhead">12mo. $2.00</p>

<p>"No pianist, amateur or professional, can rise from the perusal of
his pages without a deeper appreciation of the new forms of beauty
which Chopin has added, like so many species of orchids, to the
musical flora of the nineteenth century."&mdash;<i>The Nation.</i></p>

<p>"I think it not too much to predict that Mr. Huneker's estimate
of Chopin and his works is destined to be the permanent one. He
gives the reader the cream of the cream of all noteworthy previous
commentators, besides much that is wholly his own. He speaks at
once with modesty and authority, always with personal charm."&mdash;<i>Boston
Transcript.</i></p>


<p class="center p2">CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK</p>

<hr class="full" />

<div class="transnote">
<h2>Transcriber's Notes</h2>

<p>The illustrations (and captions in the text version) have been moved so that they do not break up
paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate. Thus the
page number of an illustration might not match the page number in the
List of Illustrations, and the order of illustrations may not be the
same in the List of Illustrations and in the book.</p>

<p>An advertisement listing books available from the author has been moved from the front of the book to the end, where it precedes full advertisements for the books; a heading thus duplicated ("BOOKS BY JAMES HUNEKER") has been removed.</p>

<p class="break">The text contains many inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation, which have been left unchanged.  In particular, Liszt's works are referred to inconsistently by their titles in various languages, and names of keys are inconsistently hyphenated (e.g. "A-flat" and "A flat").</p>

<p>Words in other languages were sometimes printed without their diacritics,
e.g. "Fraulein" for "Fräulein", and "czardas" for "czárdás". On page 13,
"Dobrjan" appears to have been printed with a diaeresis on the "j"; this
has been omitted, while the two other spellings used ("Dobrjàn" and
"Dobrjan") have been retained.</p>


<p class="break">Other inconsistencies include:</p>

<ul>

<li>Suiss and Swiss</li>

<li>Medæival and mediæval</li>

<li>Graner Messe and Graner-messe</li>

<li>Préludes and Preludes</li>

<li>Tschaikowski and Tschaikowsky</li>

<li>Belvédère and Belvedere</li>

<li>Berçeuse and Berceuse</li>

<li>d'exécution and d'execution</li>

<li>Débats and Debats</li>

<li>Fräuleins and Frauleins</li>

<li>Köhler and Kohler</li>

<li>Méditations and Meditations</li>

<li>Müllerlieder and Mullerlieder</li>

<li>leitmotive and Leitmotive</li>

<li>Prückner and Pruckner</li>

<li>Rákóczy and Rakoczy</li>

<li>Zürich and  Zurich</li>

<li>Mickelangelo and Michelangelo</li>

<li>Nadine Hellbig and Nadine Helbig</li>

<li>Munkácsy is spelled as Munkacsy, Munkaczy, Munkaçzy, Munkacszy, and Munkàcsy</li>

<li>any one and anyone</li>

<li>benefit concerts and benefit-concerts</li>

<li>boat-hand and boathand</li>

<li>Czerny and Czerni</li>

<li>concert room and concert-room</li>

<li>d' Este and d'Este</li>

<li>Danziger Rosebault and Danziger-Rosebault</li>

<li>e 'l and e'l</li>

<li>Erl King and Erl-King</li>

<li>ever ready and ever-ready</li>

<li>every one and everyone</li>

<li>Fest-klänge and Festklänge</li>

<li>Feux-follets and Feux follets</li>

<li>for ever and forever</li>

<li>half dozen and half-dozen</li>

<li>iron gray and iron-gray</li>

<li>key-note and keynote</li>

<li>Maria-Pawlowna, Maria Pawlowna, and Maria Paulowna</li>

<li>Merian-Genast and Merian Genast</li>

<li>music loving and music-loving</li>

<li>octave playing and octave-playing</li>

<li>opera house and opera-house</li>

<li>piano concerto and piano-concerto</li>

<li>Piano-Forte, Piano Forte, and pianoforte</li>

<li>piano player and piano-player</li>

<li>piano playing and piano-playing</li>

<li>piano recital and piano-recital</li>

<li>piano teacher and piano-teacher</li>

<li>pianoforte playing and pianoforte-playing</li>

<li>programme music and programme-music</li>

<li>puzta and putzta</li>

<li>quasi-sonata and quasi sonata</li>

<li>Ramann and Ramagn</li>

<li>rewritten and re-written</li>

<li>Rivé-King and Rivé King</li>

<li>three quarters and three-quarters</li>

<li>well known and well-known</li>

<li>what ever and whatever</li>

<li>wood-wind and woodwind</li>

<li>writing table and writing-table</li>
</ul>

<p class="break">Inconsistent punctuation in the sentence beginning "Masterpieces, besides those already" on p. 153 has been retained.</p>

<p>Some apparent errors have been retained:</p>

<ul><li>p. 17 extra comma ("Paganini, had set")</li>
<li>p. 34 extra comma ("a man who, accomplished") </li>
<li>p. 58 mis-spelling ("Hoffgartnerei")</li>
<li>p. 83 extra comma ("Gregory XIV, had opened")</li>
<li>p. 111 mis-spelling ("Bestandig")</li>
<li>p. 123 extra comma ("the god, believing in his own")</li>
<li>p. 144 mis-spelling ("Gotterdämmerung")</li>
<li>p. 204 mis-spelling ("infinitively")</li>
<li>p. 309 mis-spelling ("troup")</li>
<li>p. 341 full stop instead of comma ("much for fame. I bitterly")</li></ul>



<p class="break">Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have been corrected as follows:</p>

<ul>
<li>p. 27, comma changed to full stop (winds and murmurs.")</li>

<li>p. 74 "though" changed to "through" ("through his pupils continued")</li>

<li>p. 74 comma added to text ("whose fiery passions, indomitable energy")</li>

<li>p. 89, quotation mark added to text (outside of Italy":)</li>

<li>p. 98, "Madamoiselle" changed to "Mademoiselle" (Mademoiselle Cognetti)</li>

<li>p. 108, quotation mark removed from text ("same school.")</li>

<li>p. 149, "pentinent" changed to "penitent"</li>

<li>p. 152, "philsophical" changed to "philosophical"</li>

<li>p. 169, quotation mark removed from text ("a spirited march.")</li>

<li>p. 174, quotation mark removed from text ("wonders by black art.'")</li>

<li>p. 177, full stop changed to comma ("dispensed with,")</li>

<li>p. 199, "talent as a violonist" changed to "talent as a violinist"</li>

<li>p. 205, single quotation mark added to text ("'Freischütz,'")</li>

<li>p. 209, "Bailot's" changed to "Baillot's"</li>

<li>p. 212, "Liszt's and Berlioz intimacy" changed to "Liszt's and Berlioz's intimacy"</li>

<li>p. 214, "Listz was playing" changed to "Liszt was playing"</li>

<li>p. 219, "ooms:" changed to "rooms:"</li>

<li>p. 236, "genuis" changed to "genius"</li>

<li>p. 299, double quotation mark changed to single quotation mark ("grace, and beauty.'")</li>

<li>p. 299, "genuis" changed to "genius"</li>

<li>p. 302, double quotation mark changed to single quotation mark ("'as a concertante wit")</li>

<li>p. 351, full stop changed to comma ("he loved Germany,")</li>

<li>p. 356, comma added to text ("Adolf Blassmann,")</li>

<li>p. 358, full stop changed to comma ("Johannes Zschocher,")</li>

<li>p. 359, comma changed to full stop (""Second Tausig."")</li>

<li>p. 372, quotation mark added to text (""Friedheim is of medium height")</li>

<li>p. 422, "à la main gouche" changed to "à la main gauche"</li>

<li>p. 424, full stop changed to comma ("no other in the world,")</li>

<li>p. 441, "When" changed to "when" (when Breitkopf and Härtel finish)</li>

<li>p. 447, closing brackets added to text ("(Princess Nadine Schakovskoy)"</li>

<li>p. 447, "Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst" changed to "Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst"</li>

<li>p. 447, semi-colon changed to full stop ("Museum (Budapest), 338.")</li>

<li>p. 451, full stop changed to semi-colon ("Piano arrangements, 86;")</li>

<li>p. 451, comma added to text ("to the Grave, 132;")</li>

<li>p. 452, comma added to text ("Sofie (pupil), 24, 42,")</li>

<li>p. 453, comma added to text ("Paderewski, 16, 17, 418, 419,")</li>

<li>p. 455, "Niebelungen" changed to "Nibelungen"</li>

<li>p. 455, comma added to text ("Rosenthal, Moriz (pupil)")</li>

<li>p. 457, "Veldi" changed to "Velde"</li>

<li>p. 457, comma added to text ("Tristan and Isolde (Wagner),")</li>

<li>(Unnumbered advertisement) quotation mark added to text (""Here we see how winning")</li>
</ul>
</div>







<pre>





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