Life of Liszt by Louis Nohl - HTML preview

APPENDIX.

A LETTER FROM LISZT’S FATHER.

The Harmonicon, an English musical journal, of June, 1824, contains the following interesting letter, addressed to its editor by Liszt’s father:

PARIS, 1824.

SIR:—The expressions which you frequently employed in speaking of my son have been so flattering, that I can not but be sensible of your kindness, and therefore take this opportunity of testifying my gratitude. I must say, that I by no means anticipated the high degree of success with which he was honored by the public of Paris, and above all, was not prepared for the comparison, by no means advantageous, which they were pleased to draw between the rising talents of my son, and those of our great Mozart. I recognize in this amiable exaggeration that spirit of French politeness, the boast of which I have all my life been accustomed to hear, and my son will think himself most happy, if hereafter he shall have the good fortune to share some degree of celebrity with the masters of the German school, though he must remain at a very humble distance from him whom it glories in placing at its head.

You must however allow me, Sir, to make a few observations upon the following expression that occurred in one of your journals: “The parents of young Liszt are poor, and he supports them by the product of his talents.”

Fortune, it is true, has not loaded me with her favors, yet I have no reason to complain of her neglect. For the space of twenty-three years I have been in the service of Prince Esterhazy, where I filled the situation of steward of part of his sheep-farms. The immense income of this prince, and the noble and generous manner in which he acts toward those who have the good fortune to belong to any of his establishments, have long since placed me in that aurea mediocritas so happily described by the Latin poet.

Having observed in my only son, from a very early age, a decided predilection for music, and having from my youth cultivated the art as an amateur, I myself, for the space of three years, superintended his first musical education with that constancy and perseverance which form one of the characteristic traits of our nation. I afterward placed him for eighteen months under the instruction of Messrs. Salieri and Czerny, from the first of whom he received lessons in harmony and counter-point, and from the second, instruction on the piano-forte, and to both of whom he is indebted for their kind care and attention. I am happy to be thus able publicly to render them the homage of my grateful acknowledgments.

I came to Paris with the permission of the prince, and by the advice of my friends, in order to perfect my son’s talents, by affording him an opportunity of hearing the numerous artists whom this capital contains, and of cultivating the French language, of which he has already some general idea; a language which justly lays claim to the title of being that of Europe. At the same time, I have not neglected to take advantage of the eagerness testified by the Parisians to hear his performance, in order to indemnify myself for the expenses necessarily attendant upon a long journey, and the removal of my whole family.

Accept my best acknowledgments, and believe me, etc.,

ADAM LISZT.

Accompanying this letter is the following editorial comment:

“The young Francis Liszt, with his father, arrived in London last month, and has exhibited his talents to many people of rank, and to some of the most distinguished professors of this metropolis, who all agree in considering him as a performer that would be ranked very high, even were he arrived at full manhood, and therefore a most surprising instance of precocious talent at so early an age as twelve. He executes the most difficult of the modern piano-forte music without the smallest apparent effort, and plays at sight things that very few masters would venture upon, until they had given to them a little private study. But his extemporaneous performances are the most remarkable. Upon any subject that is proposed to him he improvises with the fancy and method of a deliberating composer, and with the correctness of an experienced contrapuntist. His hand is not unusually large, but is amazingly strong, and his touch has all the vigor of maturity. He has reached the usual growth of boys of his age, and possesses an open, intelligent and agreeable countenance, with a frankness, but at the same time a propriety of manner, that indicates a good temper and a correct understanding.”

LISZT’S ONE OPERA.

A German correspondent of the Harmonicon sent that paper the following account of the performance of Liszt’s Opera, “Don Sancho,” on Oct. 18, 1825, at the Academie Royale de Musique, Paris:

“The extraordinary youth, the composer of this opera, has but just entered his thirteenth year. He has been acknowledged by some of the first connoisseurs of Germany and France to merit a place among the principal pianists of Europe; nay, some have gone so far as to say that he yields the palm to Hummel only, whose immense talent as an improvisatore undoubtedly stands as yet alone and unrivaled. But the youthful Liszt is also a composer and gifted with the talent of improvisation in a high degree. Aware of this, and wishing early—we trust not too soon—to develop his talents, the admirers of the youthful compatriot of Mozart desired him to try his strength on a wider field; they procured a poem adapted, as they supposed, to his powers. He has for some time been diligently engaged upon it, and the present is the result of his labors. * * * *

“The subject of the opera is taken from a tale of Florian, entitled ‘Don Sancho,’ one of the feeblest of all this author’s works. It is a kind of allegory, in which Love appears in person, armed with his bow and arrows. The little god is the lord and master of an almost inaccessible castle, the gate of which can be entered only by two and two at a time. The drawbridge is never let down, save to a knight accompanied by his lady. Elvira, persecuted by one whom she detests, and who is attempted to be forced upon her as a husband, disguises herself as a knight, and finding a favorable moment for escape, sallies forth alone from the castle of the King, her father. In the midst of a forest she meets with Don Sancho, who, being in quest of adventures, is desirous of entering into conversation with the unknown. Piqued at being answered only in monosyllables, he finds means to excite a quarrel. A combat ensues. Elvira, as every child could have foreseen, is vanquished. She sinks to the earth and her helmet falling off discovers the features of a beauteous female. The victor is on his knees before his lovely foe; Elvira no longer merits that title. She also is in love with Don Sancho at first sight. But a fearful storm comes on, and they hasten to the Castle of Love (Le Chateau d’ Amour) which is seen in the distance. On the way they are encountered by Rostubalde—for such is the name of the odious rival—who wishes to prevent their entrance into the castle. Don Sancho rushes upon him but is wounded; Elvira avenges the wound of her lover by the death of Rostubalde. At length the two lovers are at the gates of the castle. The winged god appears upon one of the towers. ‘Open to us,’ cries Elvira, ‘we are two faithful ones who love, and will love forever.’ At this magic word ‘ever,’ the gates fly open. Cupid with a single touch heals the wound of Don Sancho. Elvira returns with him to the court of the good-natured King, her father, who asks not a word of explanation relative to the absence of his blooming daughter from her home, but hastens to unite the two lovers.

“In the outline here given of this dull and insipid pastoral, will, with a very few exceptions, be found the general story of the opera in question. The principal change is that of the person of Rostubalde into an enchanter, of the name of Alidor; but even this resource, such as it is, the authors have turned but to little account. In a word, we consider our young artist as dragged to the earth by the dead weight of this mass, which he has attempted in vain to leaven by his genius.

“But we must now speak of the music. The overture contains many happy motives, and passages of great beauty and effect. If it fails in being strongly characteristic, we should impute the fault in a great measure to the subject. An overture should be the preface to the work, but what must be the preface to a work without interest! Among the airs, the most admired was that of the Magician, and above all, two romances, one sung by Don Sancho and the other by the Page. Many of the orchestral parts are treated with a vigor and intelligence which would do honor to composers long disciplined in their art.

“Upon a cool and dispassionate view of the whole composition, we must remark, that the young Liszt ought to view this, his first dramatic work, only in the light of an experiment on the extent of his powers. Mozart was only twelve years of age when he composed his ‘Finta Semplice’ for the theater of Vienna. The distance is immense indeed between that essay and his ‘Don Giovanni’; but the question is whether he would ever have created the latter wondrous opera, if his first steps in the career of excellence had been inhumanly arrested.”

BIHARY.

A review of Liszt’s “Bohemiens” which appeared in the London Athenæum of 1859 gives the following interesting sketch of Bihary, the gypsy virtuoso:

“Next we come to John Bihary, who seems to have been ‘the highest expression’ of the gypsy virtuoso,—a brilliant player, courted at all the courts and royally repaid for his playing:—a man as impudent as an Italian tenore of the worst class. Bihary lived in our own time, for he gave a performance before Maria Louisa in 1814, and there made himself so remarkable by his undisguised admiration of one of the Imperial Princesses present, that his hostess found it necessary to rebuke his audacious eyes. The violinist was called up and was asked if he was a married man. His answer was ‘Yes;’ and that his wife was with him in Vienna. On this he was bidden to present her forthwith. Bihary’s wife was sent for on the spot. A striking looking and still young woman, magnificently attired in the gypsy dress, was brought. On receiving her, the Empress said to Bihary, that since heaven had given him so beautiful and faithful a helpmate, he was inexcusable in being so sensitive to the beauty of any princess, recommended to him more propriety for the future, and after paying marked compliments to Eve (Bihary’s wife), caused fifty ducats to be given to her, and sent the pair home in one of the court carriages. A second anecdote concerning Bihary is little less characteristic of manners. About the year 1824 a carriage accident disabled him for life. With true gypsy improvidence he had laid by nothing for a rainy day, and could hardly toil through the least important part in the band of which he had been the king. In this fallen estate it chanced that he fell in at a tavern with some Hungarian noblemen, who had known him in his days of court splendor and insolence. He was prevailed on to play slowly one or two of the very easy pieces of national music which he had yet power to master. His arm was soon tired. On his stopping, one of his princely auditors bound it up in bank-notes. Bihary died in 1827.”

THE HUNGARIAN GYPSY MUSIC.

“The Hungarian gypsy merely plays Hungarian; he sings little or not at all; and what is his principal instrument, and at the same time the principal instrument of the Hungarian popular music? It is the dulcimer or cimbalo. This instrument, consisting of a triangular wooden frame, with a bottom and sounding board, over which wires by twos or threes are stretched upon bridges, which are struck with two wooden hammers, covered on the upper part with cloth or leather, is peculiarly fitted to infuse into the little gypsy orchestra that palpitating, feverish, tremulous essence, by which the performance of a Magyar nota gains so much. With this are associated the string quartet, together with the contra-basso and also quite willingly the clarinet. On the contrary all other instruments, as oböes, flutes, fagotti, horns, trumpets, etc., are entirely excluded from a Hungarian gypsy orchestra.

“What does the gypsy produce with these instruments? Is his music, is the popular instrumental music any mere dance music? Essentially, perhaps; but ere the dancing mood begins, ere joy and appetite for pleasure hurry the Magyar ember into dance and play, and make him forget himself, he must first, in the slow, sustained tones of a Lassu (Adagio) in the minor, pour out his complainings, roll away the sighs which hold his soul imprisoned in a melancholy gloom. Not suddenly can his soul plunge into the fresh major tones of his national dances; nay, he often clings to the dear minor mood after his sadness is supposed to have given place to idle joy and pleasure. The kind of music which we would here indicate is called in general Csardas. This signifies both the dance itself and the dance music; and as every Hungarian dance is preceded by an introductory Lassu, this also is included in the term. The Lassu, soaring beyond the possibility of being represented as a dance, is usually followed by a Frisded, or Allegretto, of a quicker movement, but usually kept also in the minor, yet shaped already to the dance, but only for the solo dance of men. If the Magyar ember allows himself to be drawn away from his sombre mood into a dance, it is at first only a solo dance; self-satisfied, he spins round in a circle and as yet covets not an object for his love; only when the third part in this psychological economy of the dance, with its quick, strong strokes, has hurried him completely out of himself, does he begin to know no moderation and no goal. His eye sparkles, his feet stamp, like those of an untamed horse. To think, it is good that a man do not remain alone, and to grasp at a maiden, are one act, and he begins with her that wild, unbridled dance, which is called Csardas in the narrower sense of the word, or by way of distinction, Friss (i. e., Allegro, Presto). Already in the Lassu, the dull brooding in which the soul of the Magyar ember swims, is crossed by some occasional gleams of enthusiasm; but in the Frisded the dark clouds of sadness begin first to break away, and the Friss tears away entirely the thin veil which yet lay on his soul and left him in a self-contented solitude. Now no repose is longer to be thought of; from melancholy it becomes impetuous passion; from pain unbounded pleasure; in short, his Me, delivered from itself, riots and storms away until his feet refuse their service.”—Neue Zeitschrift fuer Musik.

HEINE ON LISZT.

“That such a restless head, driven and perplexed by all the needs and doctrines of his time, feeling the necessity of troubling himself about all the necessities of humanity, and eagerly sticking his nose into all the pots in which the good God brews the future, that Franz Liszt can be no still piano-forte player for tranquil townsfolks and good-natured nightcaps 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-high thoughts, amid which, here and there, the sweetest flowers diffuse their fragrance, so that one is at once troubled and beatified, but troubled most.

“I confess to you, much as I love Liszt, his music does not operate agreeably upon my mind; the more so that I am a Sunday child and also see the specters which others only hear; since, as you know, at every tone which the hand strikes upon the key-board 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 in a concert for the benefit of the unhappy Italians when I last heard Liszt, last 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 Jehosaphat. 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. At last Christ appeared, in golden armor, on a black horse, and with His holy lance He first thrust Satan to the ground, and then Death, and the spectators shouted.”

HEINRICH HEINE.

A LETTER FROM BERLIOZ TO LISZT.

The following is an extract from a letter written by Berlioz to Liszt in 1843, as it appears in the former’s “Musical Wandering through Germany:”

“Proudly you can exclaim, like Louis XIV, ‘I am the orchestra! I am the chorus! At my grand piano I sing, dream, rejoice, and it excels in its rapidity the nimblest bows. Like the orchestra, it has its whispering flutes and pealing horns, and without any preparation can, like that, breathe the evening breeze from its silvery clouds of magic chords and tender melodies. It requires no scenes, no decorations, no spacious stage; I need not weary myself with tedious rehearsals; I want neither a hundred, nor fifty, nor twenty assistants; I need not one, and can even do without music. A large hall, a grand piano, and I am master of a whole audience. Applause resounds through the room.’ When his memory awakens brilliant fantasies under his fingers, shouts of enthusiasm welcome them. Then he sings Schubert’s Ave Maria, or Beethoven’s Adelaide, and every heart bounds to meet him, every breath is hushed in agitated silence, in suppressed amazement. Then, high in air ascend the thundering strife and glittering finale of these mighty fireworks and the acclamations of the admiring public. Now, amid a shower of wreaths and blossoms, the priest of harmony ascends his golden tripod, beautiful maidens approach, to kiss with tears the hem of his garment; to him belongs the sincere admiration of earnest minds, as well as the involuntary homage of the envious; to him bend noble forms, to him bow hearts who do not comprehend their own emotions.

“And the next day, having poured forth the inexhaustible treasure of his inspiration, he hastens away, leaving behind him a glittering train of glory and enthusiasm. It is a dream! One of those golden dreams which one has when he is named Liszt or Paganini.”

HESSE’S CRITICISM OF LISZT.

Hesse, the famous German organist, after hearing Liszt play at Breslau, in 1859, recalls his playing sixteen years previously in the same place. He writes to the Breslauer Zeitung:

“On the 9th of May, a grand concert was arranged in the Schiesswerder Hall, by Herr Doctor Leopold Damrosch, in honor of, and with the cooperation of, the Court-Capellmeister Herr Doctor FRANZ LISZT. Liszt, the great, genial master of the piano-forte, who with his achievements on this instrument alarmed the world, gave eleven concerts here in Breslau in the year 1843, with ever increasing success. He electrified his hearers by such playing as no one had shown before. Whoever thought to give himself up to his playing with the calm and comfortable feeling that he would to the performances of Hummel and other masters, was greatly mistaken. Liszt transferred his moods to the piano. He screwed up the feelings of the hearer to a pitch of feverish excitement, but he allowed them also to subside occasionally. We were at that time so fortunate as to be daily in his presence and admire his magical play. His repertoire was multifarious; he played all masters.

“We will not waste words about his gigantic technique, his art of singing on the instrument, etc.; these are well-known things; thousands have heard him. But we can not forbear alluding to one composition; we mean his ‘Reminiscences from Don Juan,’ one of the most genial of piano pieces. We lament for any one who has not heard him play these reminiscences. The marble guest on horseback, the insinuating Don Juan with his La ci darem, the struggling and at last consenting Zerlina, the Champagne song, etc., all this did Liszt pass before our minds in such a way that we forgot Liszt, concert-hall and all; one awoke from the performance as from a blissful dream. Four times we heard this piece by him, and always with the same emotions.”

LISZT’S PRINCIPAL SCHOLARS.