FRANCIS LISZT.
It is especially desirable that the materials for the biography of a man of genius—a great artist, poet or scholar, should be ample, embracing even the most trivial details. We often remain in ignorance of the real character of a celebrated person, because we cannot possess ourselves of any faithful history of those circumstances of his life, which always exert a vast influence, and have perhaps chiefly contributed to render him what he is.
The position now occupied by Liszt, makes a notice of his life particularly interesting. In the prime of manhood, he is already acknowledged to be the first pianist of the age. Europe, in all its length and breadth, is filled with his fame. He belongs to the whole world. Who takes so little interest in the progress of art, in our day, as to be inattentive to the note of triumph borne on the winds through Germany, France, and England? But it is not enough for the heedful listener that all is now light and enthusiasm; he would look back into years past, and catch the dull echo of the murmurings of envy and jealousy. He would admire and bless the artist’s firmness and constancy, the energy of soul that persevered against all discouragements—that bore with the toil of study—and struggled onward, though burdened and weary, till the goal at last was reached, and labor crowned by success. To all who sympathize with him, it will be interesting briefly to observe his progress.
Francis Liszt was born on the twenty-second of October, 1811, in Reiding, a village not far from Oedenburg, in Hungary. Theyear of his birth was remarkable for the appearance of a comet; a fact which did not fail to impress the mind of his father, Adam Liszt. He looked upon the phenomenon as a sign of his son’s future eminence. This superstition of a fond parent may meet with some indulgence, when it is recollected how Goëthe himself, who seemed in general most at home on earth, commenced his confessions of “Poetry and Truth.”
Adam Liszt was in the service of Prince Esterhazy; and was so excellent a musician, that he could rank high as a virtuoso among the connoisseurs. His instrument also was the piano: and with his splendid execution, had he come forward, he might have obtained no small reputation. But he preferred to remain unknown, having no desire to acquire celebrity for himself. All his ambition and his hopes centered in his son. Often, when he had been playing, while the boy listened, absorbed profoundly, to the melody he drew from the instrument, he would seize the happy moment to impress the young listener with his counsels. “My son,” he would say, “you are destined to realize the glorious ideal that has shone in vain before my youth. In youthatis to reach its fulfilment, which I have myself but faintly conceived. In you shall my genius grow up, and bear fruit; I shall renew my youth in you, even after I am laid in the grave.”
Such prophetic words call to recollection the poor woman in Genoa, who held her son upon her knees, and talked to him of heavenly visions. “Nicolo,” said she to the boy, “an angel came to me last night, and told me thou should’t be one of the greatest performers of thy time.” That boy was Paganini. How wonderfully has the prophecy been fulfilled—both in Paganini and Liszt!
Before it bursts forth in its full splendor, genius shows itself in gleams and at intervals, revealed often by a word or look. The observing father, the tender mother, are usually first to discern it while unrecognized by others; and to anticipate, from slight intimations, the future greatness of the child.
With more than a parent’s joy did Adam Liszt observe the firstgerm of his boy’s talent. He placed the small fingers on the keys; played simple tunes—which were readily imitated; he saw that all would be according to his wish! These exercises were commenced when the little Francis was six years old; at the age of nine he played for the first time in public at Oedenburg, Ries’ Concerto, in three flats; and at the conclusion extemporized afantaisie. The boy improvised without difficulty the most strikingrhythmen, the most surprising cadences. The spectators were struck with surprise and admiration, and tears of joy bedewed the happy father’s cheeks. All wondered at the genius of the young performer; his friends embraced and praised him; Prince Esterhazy put fifty ducats into his little hand, and gave him a warm recommendation to all the noble patrons of music in Hungary. This was thefirststep in his career; but one so important that he could no more go back.
The high commendations he received, were far from encouraging idleness in the young artist. On the contrary, they caused him to look into himself, and to contemplate earnestly the steep height he had to climb, if he would justify all these large expectations. The youth of Francis, therefore, was laborious and full of trouble. That noble ambition, which fills every great soul, was often a torment to him. The struggles of the spirit weakened the body; and sickness interrupted his exertions. This state of things brought about in him that delicate, nervous sensibility which renders the artist susceptible to all impressions; so that his excitable fancy is wrought upon by every idea or object. Vague religious feelings, sometimes pleasing, sometimes melancholy, took possession of him; his soul was divided between study and prayer. As the boy Goëthe, in his naive devotion, kindled pastilles on his father’s desk, and watched the incense rise heavenward, the boy Liszt was absorbed in the mystical philosophy of a Jacob Böhme, and walked with his imagination among apocalyptical visions. He thought he grew thereby stronger for his art, and more susceptible to the impression and power of dreams. He wandered, uncertain in religion as in art, often starting back shudderingly as he hovered over the infinite abyss.
These boyish visions—he was then from ten to twelve years old—were not without influence upon his genius in after life. Let us trace in some measure the poetry of his progress, striving to throw the torch of fancy over his moments of romance. It is a task of importance, to analyze such a mind!
After the concert in Oedenburg, Adam Liszt proceeded with his son to Presburg. His success was the same, or even greater; for by means of the Counts Amaden and Zapary, the father obtained for six years a salary of six hundred florins, to enable him to give the boy suitable instruction and cultivation. A journey to Vienna, and a residence there for the purpose of study, were now in his power. This was soon accomplished. Both father and son went to Vienna; and Carl Czerny conducted the boy’s lessons on the piano. Nothing better could have been done to perfect him in thetechnik. Those who know what skilful pianists have come forth from that school, and that a Liszt was now the pupil, if they bear in mind the merits of the teacher and those of the scholar, will know how to estimate the result.
Here were added also his higher studies under Salieri; his diligent exercise in counterpoint; in the strict compositions of church music; of partition and reading. Eighteen months passed in such labors. Francis often knew not if it was night or day, so absorbed was he in his studies. He never shrank from the most tedious labors, nor from any task requiring the most intense application: ever anxious to win a smile of pleasure from his grave though gentle master, though he could not satisfy himself. It might indeed be said that he pursued music with a species of obstinacy. By way of recreation and encouragement amidst such exertions, his father arranged in Vienna a concert, in which the product, as it were, of eighteen toilsome months was to be exhibited.
At this concert, all the nobility and the musicalélite, of Vienna were present; among them Beethoven. For that hour, Beethoven forgot his own sad lot, his own abiding sorrow, and in his earnest, laconic manner gave his encouragement and applause to theyouthful artist. How happy would the great man have felt, with what delight would he have pressed that young artist to his wildly throbbing heart, could he have foreseen that Francis Liszt would be the most earnest worshipper of his lofty genius, the most admirable and judicious interpreter of his ideas!
In truth, the deep veneration Liszt now cherishes for Beethoven and his works, is the best and most certain evidence of his own spiritual depth. The history of all time has proved that a great mind can only be discerned and estimated at its full value by a kindred one. Liszt’s appreciation of Beethoven is an indication of his own superiority as an artist. It may truly be said, this admiration and love are without parallel. Where is to be found one like him, whose whole being, productive, creative, combining—forming—expansive—has so passed into that of his exemplar, and lives on, not in slavish imitation, but with free and kindred impulse—working with the same will?
But to return to Vienna. We see our young artist for the first time in this old imperial musical capital; we hear repeated and stunning applauses poured in his ears, and see him return modest and astonished to the quiet chamber where he pursues his studies. For him an important period had come; and he looked abroad on the new world that opened upon him, not in hope of gaining praise or gold, but amidst incitements to strive after the full development of his genius. At last he tore himself from the arms of his kind, parental friend, Salieri; closed in his loving heart a solemn, melancholy farewell look from Beethoven, and hastened to his father at Paris.
It was to be expected, theConservatoirewould receive one so gifted with open arms; would rejoice to number him among its pupils. But Francis Liszt was a stranger: Cherubini therefore treated him with chilling neglect, though he himself had been received in a foreign land! While theConservatoireshut the door against the wonderful boy, all the saloons of Paris opened theirs to him with enthusiastic welcome. Everywhere he was fêted, caressed, applauded. All the world was mad about thefair blue-eyed lad, on whose high forehead already began to appear the impress of inspiration. He played in the Palais Royal before the Duke of Orleans, and became the rage! A dangerous rock was before the youthful adventurer; ask we if he sailed safely past it, in spite of the storms of court-favor, and the shoals of self-love? Scholars, artists, wealth, beauty, aristocracy, all did homage to him; no soirée was complete without him; the gifted, proud boy was the idol of the day. The world flattered; his father admonished; and Francis obeyed the warning parental voice. He pursued the path his own energy had opened, with unwearied zeal. After a year’s residence in Paris, he went over to London, where he was received with the same enthusiasm, expressed according to the national temperament of the English.
In the year 1824, both father and son returned to Paris, and the energies of Francis were particularly employed upon an opera—“Don Sancho, or the Palace of Love,” which was produced in 1825 in the Royal Academy of music, with great applause, and highly esteemed by the connoisseurs. Our artist was then fourteen years old. Adolph Nourrit led him upon the stage, at the call for his appearance, amid thunders of applause. Rudolph Kreutzer, then director of the orchestra, embraced him with transport.
After these exertions and excitements, a time came again when Francis gave himself up to religious enthusiasm. In order to divert his thoughts by new objects, his father resolved upon short excursions into the Departments, and even a longer one to England; but the lad’s indisposition gained the upper hand, and they were obliged to take refuge in Boulogne for the sea-bathing. Here Francis lost his father. This mournful event, which caused the affectionate boy such deep affliction, naturally had a depressing influence upon his genius. He indulged freely his melancholy visions and sad fancies, which now presented themselves under the solemn aspect of religion, now assumed the colors of romance. He longed continually for some remote solitude, in which without interruption he might nurse his fantastic musings.
Probably never poet or artist was called upon thus to suffer.But the vigor of his mind was shown in his gradual self-recovery even after such wanderings; only by much discipline could he be restored to repose and serenity. And by an acquaintance with literature, and the philosophical sciences of the day, his views in art were enlarged, no less than those of life and the world. New wants, new claims, new inquiries opened upon him. He sought as it were a back-ground, against which he could appoint the true place and dimensions of art.
While his mind thus improved, and his conceptions enlarged—while step by step he advanced—his spirit more and more cleared—purified—exalted—the worst that can happen to a man earnest to fulfil his duty befel him also; enemies rose up; he became the object of envy; and their hate began to work its purposes in secret. But of this we will be silent. The murmurs of enmity have long been hushed, and an artist, particularly, is born to endure such things. Let us turn rather to those other days which exercised a singular influence on his excitable mind.
When absorbed in his religious enthusiasm, Liszt composed only Masses; being unable, in the tumult of his feelings, to attain to anything like self-possession or a calm activity. From the dominion of this kind of madness he was delivered by another——love. He loved a lady of high rank—loved with the same ardor with which his soul embraced everything, and yielded himself wholly to the new passion. His love was unhappy; what suffering must it not have caused him! He became misanthropical. He shut himself up for weeks together, confiding his complaints and his pains only to the keys of his instrument. Those only who have thus suffered, can fully understand his condition at this time.
His personal history at this period is almost as obscure and involved as his genius itself; but it is said that he composed nothing except plans of Masses. Ere long, however, the elasticity of his temperament not only bore him out of his depression, but carried him to the opposite extreme; and he became for a time the votary of sense. St. Simonian sentiments took root and budded in his breast; to ripen all—came the Revolution. Lisztwas carried away by the excitement of the people; by the visions of Freedom. He was animated by enthusiastic admiration of what he beheld; he felt an impulsemusico-political, if so it might be called. He longed to produce in art all that he saw of stirring importance in the world; to fix the experience of those tumultuous days in the expression of music; to concentrate the feelings of many hearts, and give the people a Revolutionary Symphony, in the same manner as Beethoven had conceived and represented his battle of Vittoria. Does some narrow mind ask why he did not execute this grand thought? Those who know what were the circumstances—what repose, and abstraction from exciting scenes without, were necessary for the conception and creation of such a work, will wonder at the artist for having imagined it; will admire him for the thought, and not condemn him because it was not completed. Had the requisite rest and leisure been his, he wouldthenalso, undoubtedly, have realized the lofty ideal at which he aimed.
After this, the writings of George Sand, or Madame Dudevant, took complete hold of his fancy. Not less wholly did he yield his soul to Paganini, by whom he was quite carried into enthusiasm. He used to say to Madame Sand, as to his other intimate friends, that he found in Paganini’s playing on the violin something indefinite, inexpressible, which he always sought to attain on the piano.
We must take occasion here to speak of Liszt’s relations to some modern pianists; and for this purpose avail ourselves of the criticism of the celebrated Fétis, in the “Revue Musicale Belge.” As an illustration of some remarks on the subject of art and artists, he mentions Clementi, the first who introduced an elegant and brilliant style on the piano, the model of a thoroughly cultivatedtechnik,—of natural and spirited combination; of rounded periods. We see that he drew the attention of his contemporaries upon himself, that he exhibited himself to them as an exemplar, and prescribed the classic form of the bravour sonata, as Joseph Haydn had invented that of the harmonious sonata. Ifwe view him in this splendor, when his fame spread everywhere without bounds, and the best pianists of his time were laid under the necessity of imitating him, we must regard him as the inventor; and yet he only perfected the ideas of others, and has displayed taste rather than genius. The proper inventor was Emanuel Bach, who presented Germany with sixty concertos. He gave to the sonata a harmonious as well as a brilliant side, which was particularly cultivated by Haydn and Clementi. Emanuel Bach appeared with this accomplishment before 1740; sixty years later it was exercised, not originated, by Dussek, Cramer, and Steibelt; and Clementi’s manner improved it while he added modifications of his own.
The art of those worthy men exercised itself in the circle of the softer feelings. Their only aim was to please the ear and move the heart. They sought not to paint the vehement emotions; the forms of art were to possess rather a soothing and restraining power.
These ideas took another direction, when Mozart gave to instrumental music a character of passionate, dramatic expression. The ultimate object of this new path was not understood at first, and it met the disapprobation of those accustomed to the old way, who saw in this mingling of changeful feelings more matter for blame than praise. Mozart’s composition for the piano, full of expression, energy, and harmony, had to struggle long in rivalship with the light and elegant style of Clementi; then came to his aid the passionate fiery imagination—owning no rule but that of genius—of Beethoven, and the adherents of the new school increased from day to day. This powerful imagination, for the first time, showed the untenableness of stereotype forms in the new path. Beethoven, full of deep admiration for the glorious creations of Mozart, at first followed in the steps of that great master; but he soon indulged himself in freer and bolder flights. He gave new turns to the accustomed passages, bestowing much care on the completeness of harmony; greatly increased the dissonances, and hesitated not to introduce unions of accords and transitionstill then unheard of, yet which at this day appear to us so simple and natural.
The issue of these combinations was an entire change in the fingering, which was many times assailed by the scholars of Cramer and Clementi. Only the Viennese school adopted the alteration, and therefore took, in this respect, the first place in art. To this we owe the progress and the present elevation of piano music. Beethoven’s works were still regarded by the pianists as too grave for a large and mixed public, and were given up to professed connoisseurs. They—the players—attained their end more readily by pleasing compositions, in the execution of which Hummel gave them a new study. Avirtuosoof the first rank in that day, he stood also high as a composer; yet can he in no way be compared with Beethoven, either in boldness or originality; he was only a man of taste and of solid attainment. Under his hands a certain fine manner was cultivated, in which he knew how to introduce brilliant figures with singular effect.
We find it necessary to explain the history and progress of piano music as early as 1807, to enable us to determine the position and work of Liszt. Fifteen years had passed since Mozart’s death, and already we see his form and method three times changed. For ten years Hummel governed the manner of playing. In the course of this time, C. M. von Weber gave new movements of dramatic expression. In his piano music, he showed a glowing but wild and ill-regulated genius. Both artists and publishers were afraid to produce his compositions. Only his “Freischutz” snatched his name from the oblivion into which it had fallen.
In 1817, arose a new composer for the piano, of great merit, avirtuoso, who seemed born to give piano-playing a new direction. It was Moscheles. Bolder and more brilliant, more general and energetic in passages and figures than Hummel, he introduced new and tasteful embellishments; his variations on the “Alexander March” were examples in this kind for many skilful pianists. Afterwards he enlarged his style, and gave it more scope andelevation; for example, in his “Fantasies” upon Irish songs. Not less praise did he win in his graver compositions; his concertos showed a deep knowledge of harmony, as well as of dramatic feeling. These gradually rose to his “Concert Fantastique” and “Pathétique,” two works as remarkable for groundwork as for expression. The “Etudes” begun with Cramer, were enlarged with Moscheles. He gave them a higher and more refined form, and may therefore be regarded as having given in those “Etudes” the first impulse of importance. Moscheles was at this height of his fame, when, as has been mentioned, the boy Francis Liszt came to Paris, and was received with so much enthusiasm in all circles. He stood, indeed, remarks Fétis, beyond gainsaying, high in his technical cultivation; but he wanted that, which, besides his remarkable and interestingpersonnel, could be produced to the world as an abiding and decisive mark; in a word, his wild, fiery, eccentric genius wanted the peculiar school which exhibited itself and him as a definite epoch in the history of art. His early compositions were full of difficulties; from all the figures shone the fire that blazed around the productions of the youthful artist. Those who asked for schools and industry in this wildly luxuriant natural garden, were sure to be disappointed.
At this time suddenly appeared Thalberg in Paris, and produced such an impression as no pianist had before him. Not that in playing he could have surpassed, or even equalled Liszt; but he had the tact to seize upon a happy idea, which was at once understood. This related to the filling up of the keys in the space between the hands. (See Revue, etc.)
This innovation was not altogether suffered to pass as such; it was asserted that Beethoven had already availed himself of these means in his sonatas; and blame was now cast upon the very exaggeration which gave a certain uniformity, perhaps more, to the structure and effect of his compositions. This view is only made prominent in order to obtain for Liszt the proper point of sight, from which to measure his reaction, and the gigantic height he gained.
Liszt had already left Paris, when Thalberg appeared there, but the rumor of his success and triumph reached his ears. It caused him sleepless nights. Let us imagine the feelings of an artist, conscious of his own power, knowing himself without a rival, yet seeing another suddenly elevated in popular opinion to an equality with him—perhaps generally judged to be his superior! Liszt felt that wrong had been done him, and hastened back to Paris. Thalberg was no longer there; but there was a division of opinion and judgment among the Parisians, as once there had been between the Gluckists and Piccinists. The talk was now of Lisztians and Thalbergians; strife ran high between the parties; and to observe it and hear their disputes was the most interesting amusement of the fashionable world. Liszt did not this time go before the public, to become acquainted, perhaps, only with his own enthusiastic partisans; but indulged his speculations in solitude. His clear spirit could discover the folly and worthlessness of popular idolatry, and scorn to win it by means he felt to be unworthy his genius.
Three years passed, in which the name of Liszt was but seldom, and at intervals, heard. The lives of gifted men seem to need such pauses to prepare for a full development of what is within them. The electric fluid must be gathered in secret, before the lightning of genius can break on the dazzled eyes of men, and its thunder amaze the world.
What he did during this interval, says Fétis, few know, notwithstanding the enthusiasm he everywhere excited. The charming “Lucia fantaisie,” and the wonderful combination offantasiesupon “Robert the Devil”—give but incomplete evidence of his employment. Even those who heard him improvise at the concert at Liege an admirable capriccio on a thema to all appearance barren, given him by the audience; those who heard his performance,prima vista, of the most difficult passages in accumulated pieces from illegible manuscripts, which he executed with so much readiness as to astonish the authors themselves, and with infinite ease; those who know how many great compositions areimpressed on his memory, so that he can execute any one of them at any moment; those who know him for the most complete musician of our time, and the most gifted in his way; even they have no idea of the thorough change which took place in his creative power during the three years spent by him in retirement.
Fétis goes on, in his philosophical manner, to explain how the doings of Thalberg, suggesting new combinations to the mind of our artist, already busy with improvements, wrought a change in him, and impelled him upon a path that was quite his own. The victory was accomplished; and triumphantly could the question now be answered—“Is Liszt also distinguished as a composer?”
Liszt has recorded his new views, and the forms invented by him, in an immense work, entitled “Three years of wandering.” The first part contains recollections of Switzerland, the second recollections of Italy, the third of Germany. Fétis says, “I was indulged by the artist with a hearing of some portions of it; and must do him the justice to say, that these displayed most uncommon attainments in art. Perhaps it will be said, when the work appears, that the composer has had the orchestra more in view than the piano—yet I know not if this objection is not praise rather than blame. However it may be, I will not forestall the judgment of competent critics by recording my simple impressions. I merely quote the ‘Etudes d’execution transcendante,’ which have particularly led me to this long exposition,” &c.
We have found it necessary to follow this writer so far, because his remarks help to develop the personal history of Liszt, and to place his individuality with regard to art in a strong light. Fétis is, besides, such a well known and universally respected authority in the higher musical studies, that he will be gladly listened to in his observations on a genius so remarkable.
Those who venture to deny Liszt a general talent for composition, will find they have measured him by false and inapplicable rules. The foundation of composition is Imagination, the living, powerful creative faculty. Let us take only those works which show most clearly Liszt’s art, and the subtlety of his spirit—theTranspositions[11]of Beethoven’s symphonies, and the songs of Schubert. It cannot be doubted that a power of imagination has here been displayed by him, such as would not be needed for another original work.
Liszt in these has not merely copied; he has emulated with creative power; and so successfully that there is a second birth. These transpositions, grand in the symphonies, tender in the songs—are the culminating point of musical plastic power. It is impossible to particularize the expression with more subtlety; to express the spirit more accurately and fully. Therein lies a brilliant conception of harmonious completeness, that fills the heart and soul alike, when those spiritual graces press upon them. In truth, one should only hear that genesis of pastoral symphony—those wonderful pictures, called into life by the powerful and magic touch of Liszt. Any other virtuoso, were he the most accomplished and excellent of players, would have given us, instead of divine poetry, only massive, or at best, tasteful prose!
In 1837, Liszt felt the earnest desire of poetical spirits, to visit the great world. The swan also spreads her silver wings, and sails southward, towards the land of beauty and song; of art and antiquity—towards Italy. That is peculiarly the land of song; it is well known how the heart there opens to, and welcomes all that bears the name of music. From Milan to Venice, from Florence to Naples, a dazzling flame of enthusiasm surrounded the artist. In all these places Liszt gave concerts, which were attended by crowded audiences. He abode some time in Rome, to the delight of the people; and the walls of the Engelsburgh resounded to the echo of his renown. External nature seemed to smile upon him: he himself says, he was wonderfully benefited by the pure air and the cloudless sky. He had not in a long time enjoyed such health and serenity. And his compositionshave the same purity and clearness as the atmosphere. There originated those grand and marvellous transpositions, of which mention is made above; there were written his “Nuits de Pausilippe.” One may ask himself, if out of all these does not breathe a kind of classic repose—elevating the feelings and inspiring a calm delight, like the pure beauty of a moonlight heaven in that lovely land! Our artist confesses that he, at this period, passed beyond the time of wild exuberance in feeling—of stormy restlessness, of mystical fantasy; and that he owed the clearing up of his spirit to the country and nature around him. Thus composed, he went to Germany, Carlsruhe, Munich, Stuttgart; in short, all the principal cities of southern Germany heard his magical performance with astonishment. All the journals and papers held but one language respecting him—that of enthusiastic admiration. But in the midst of this appreciation and these honors, the longing to revisit home was awakened in his breast. One morning he sprang suddenly out of bed, and ordered his horse to be got ready. What to him was the applause, the homage of strangers! he longed to be again where he had been first seen and heard. “For Hungary!” This impatience was the pure desire of a grateful heart.
Liszt did not deceive himself. How he was received, how he was valued, all Hungary can witness. It is impossible to describe the joy with which he was welcomed by old and young, high and low; by artists and critics, even to the highest in the land. He was the loved theme of all tongues. Mothers told their children how the “little Francis” had become another Emperor Francis in the kingdom of art; how he had made himself so great and famous; and how he could play a whole book full of strange and beautiful stories on the piano. He gave concerts—first in Vienna, then in Pesth—not to promote his own interest, but for the benefit of the poor, who had met with severe losses by the inundation; and for young artists, to enable them to prosecute their studies.
The noble and generous philanthropy of this conduct made a proper impression upon his countrymen. Two cities, Pesth andOedenburg, created him an honorary citizen; a patent of nobility was solicited for him by the Comitat of Oedenburg; and the “Sword of Honor,” according to Hungarian custom, was presented to him with due solemnities. This episode deserves particularly to be noticed. The following account is taken from an authentic journal:
“The national feeling of theMagyarsis well known; and proud are they of that star of the first magnitude, which arose out of their nation. Over the countries of Germany the fame of the Hungarian Liszt came to them, before they had as yet an opportunity of admiring him. The Danube was swelled by rains; Pesth was inundated; thousands were mourning the loss of friends and relations, or of all their property. During his absence in Milan, Liszt learned that many of his countrymen were suffering from want. His resolution was taken. The smiling heaven of Italy—thedolce far nienteof southern life—could not detain him. The following morning he had quitted Milan, and was on his way to Vienna. He performed for the benefit of those who had suffered by the inundation of Pesth. His art was the horn of plenty, from which streamed blessings for the unfortunate. Eighteen months afterwards he came to Pesth—not as the artist in search of pecuniary advantage—but as a Magyar. He played for the Hungarian National Theatre; for the Musical Society; for the poor of Pesth, and the poor in Oedenburg; always before crowded houses; and the proceeds, full 100,000 francs, were appropriated to those purposes and those institutions. Who can wonder that admiration and pride should rise to enthusiasm in the breasts of his grateful countrymen? The distinguished artist—the noble-hearted man—deserved it all! In the theatre, in the street—Liszt was everywhere greeted with acclamations and vivats. He was complimented by serenades; garlands were thrown to him; in short, the population of Pesth neglected nothing to manifest their respect, gratitude, and affection.
“But these honors, which might have been paid to any other artist of high distinction, did not satisfy them. They resolved tobind him forever to the Hungarian nation, from which he had sprung. He was therefore made an honorary citizen of Pesth and Oedenburg, and a deputation of persons of consideration informed him that a patent of nobility had been asked for him from the Emperor and King. A still closer bond, however, was desired. The token of manly honor in Hungary is the sword; every Magyar has the right to wear a sword, and avails himself of that right. It was determined that their celebrated countryman should be presented with the Hungarian sword of honor. The noblemen appeared at the theatre in the rich costume they usually wear before the Emperor, and presented Liszt, amid thunders of applause from the whole assembled people, with a costly sword of honor. In receiving this, he was expected to enter into a solemn engagementto bind himself forever to the Hungarian people, and to reside in Hungary.”
In the autumn of 1840, Liszt went from Paris, where he had been for some time, to the north of Germany, and particularly to Hamburg. Here also, where the people are colder and less impulsive, his reception was the same as it had been elsewhere, wherever his admirable performance had been heard. He saw even adversaries silenced and ashamed; and enemies converted into the warmest friends, who were loudest in his praise. To show Liszt’s power of memory and his intimate knowledge of the best pieces of music, it is only necessary to mention one instance among many. One evening in public he was requested to select and perform one of Beethoven’s sonatas. He announced his willingness to play, and desired that the piece might be chosen. “Sonata quasi fantasia,” cried some one. Liszt consented; did he go to fetch the work? No—he played it at once from memory!
From Hamburg Liszt went to London. Enthusiasm, applause, sympathy, met him everywhere; he was courted by all. In fourteen days he gave nine concerts. He spared no exertion to fulfil expectation and satisfy his friends. Here a misfortune overtook him; he lost, through the carelessness of an agent, the proceeds of three hundred concerts. Imagine the feelings of the artist,exhausted both in mind and body, at the receipt of this disastrous news! But he knew that his true riches lay in his art; and that it was his best support. With a cheerful spirit, notwithstanding his reverses, he left the British Islands, to return to the banks of the Seine. From Paris, where he played for the Beethoven monument, and won universal applause by hisRobert-fantaisies, he went a second time to Hamburg, to shine the brightest star in the north German firmament. The deepest admiration, the silent throb of heartfelt enjoyment, greeted his appearance. Thence he went to Kiel; where, immediately on his arrival, and as it were on the wing, he gave a concert, proceeding to embark for Copenhagen. He played not less than seven times before the court: and here, as among the Parisians, commanded unbounded admiration. The citizens thronged to the concerts, impelled by curiosity, and returned home full of enthusiasm for the great performer. Once more he went back to Hamburg, and thence to the Rhine. What an agreeable entertainment was prepared for him, under the purple clusters of those vineyards, the reader may presently judge.
After 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 “Liedertafel,”[12]resolved to bring him with due pomp from the island of Nonnenwerth, near Bonn, where he had been for some days. This was on the twenty-second of August, 1841. A steamboat was hired expressly for this purpose, and conveyed a numerous company to Nonnenwerth at eleven in the morning. The “Liedertafel” then greeted the artist, who stood on the shore, by singing a morning salute, accompanied by the firing of cannon, and loud huzzas. They then marched, with wind instruments in advance, to the now empty chapel of the cloister of Nonnenwerth, where again they sang; and thence to Rolandseck, where an elegant dinner was prepared for the company. All eyes were fixed upon Liszt; all hearts were turned to him. He proposed a toast in honor ofhis entertainers, and at the conclusion of his speech observed with justice that nowhere in the world could any club be found like the “Liedertafel” 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 brought into the chapel: and to gratify the assembly—listening, and rapt with delight—by a display of his transcendan 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 send 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 seven o’clock, the “Liedertafel,” with Liszt at their head, marched on their return, and went on board the steamboat, which was decorated with colored flags, amid peals of cannon. It was nine, and quite dark, when they approached their landing. Rockets were sent up from the boat, and a continual stream of colored 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 huzzas greeted our artist on shore; and all Cologne was assembled to give him the splendid welcome, which in other times only monarchs received. Slowly the procession of the “Liedertafel” 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.
With the above illustration of the enthusiasm with which Liszt is received among those who know how to appreciate him, we end this brief sketch of his life.
In the personal conversation of Liszt, there is nothing eccentric or bizarre, as is often found with celebrated artists. He isattentive, cordial, takes an interest in general subjects of conversation, and is affable to all. Only where his dignity as an artist is concerned, does he show that imposing manner, of earnestness bordering on severity or gloom, which has been noticed as belonging to him. He speaks with a measured propriety of his own performances; hears every opinion respecting it with careful attention, but will never depart from what tends to the development of his own ideas in art. He yields as much as justice requires to the critics, but will never permit them to mould him by their judgment. “As I have begun, and carried on thus far, I will complete,” said he once. The original artist must live out his own system.
Liszt commonly speaks quickly, rapidly, and abruptly; he often hesitates in his speech, from the want of words. His mind is so active, his perceptions so quick, that it is difficult to find ready expression; and while thus embarrassed, his countenance assumes a fixed, stern look, the brow contracted as if in anger. But when any one helps him out with a word, he smiles, and nodding his head, replies “yes—yes”—moving his head while listening, and waiting for what the other will say. In social intercourse he is thoroughly at his ease, and seems to forget that he is at all distinguished. He always shows himself ready to comply with the most timidly expressed wish that he should play for a dance; but it pleases him well when his wild, originalGaloppe chromatiquecannot be danced by. “It will not do;” he will say. “It will not give up the place where it belongs.”
Liszt’s whole physiognomy is of the Hungarian character; his thick fair brown hair falls in masses on his neck, where it is cut off short; his features are all strongly marked; his eyes rather long than large, bright and deepset, shadowed by dark eyebrows. His look is penetrating, and has something in it of conscious superiority; yet though it may occasion uneasiness to the object, it has too much mildness to inspire fear. All the portraits represent him too strong and stout. Liszt is of a slight and thin figure; his shoulders are drawn up from constant playing, but his hands aredelicate and well proportioned; seeing them, one can hardly understand how he can play such things as the Symphonies and the Robert-Fantaisies. In this respect, he has something that might be calledPaganinish; unbounded energy of spirit, and indomitable strength of will—developed in the most delicate physical organization. In short, the whole appearance of Liszt betokens, to the most casual observer, the indwelling of that high and wonderful genius, before which the world has bowed in reverential acknowledgment. His entrance into the concert-room generally draws from the assembly—particularly from the ladies—the exclamation, “Ah! what an interesting man! What an interesting figure!”
FOOTNOTES:[11]Uebertragungen.[12]A musical club.
[11]Uebertragungen.
[11]Uebertragungen.
[12]A musical club.
[12]A musical club.