Untamable Animals and Men—An Interesting Test—Attempt to Refine a Gypsy—The Boy Josy—Bought from the Gypsies—His Advent in Liszt’s Salon—Thalberg’s Astonishment—Adopted by the Master—Attempts to Educate him—A Hopeless Task—Josy becomes a Fop—His Insolence and Conceit—Liszt Despondent—Josy goes to the Conservatory—Worse and Worse—Sent to the Black Forest—No better—Liszt’s Encounter with a Traveling Band—Josy’s Brother Intercedes for his Return—Liszt Consents—Great Joy—Josy Settles at Debrezin—Violinist in a Gypsy Band—Letter to Liszt—His Love and Devotion.
IT is well known that there are animals who are never tamable for any length of time and it is none the less interesting to know that an untamableness of nature just as absolute is a human characteristic, and belongs to beings of our own kind, who inconsistently throw away all the benefactions and blessings of a fixed existence and culture, content to secure the inexhaustible bounty of nature and enjoy the simplest form of human existence. It is that people “which draws water from every stream of earth and eats bread from all its furrows.” Liszt, who had found the way to them by his earnest desire to witness their actual life, has given us an illustration of this feature of their untamableness and contempt for all our blessings of culture, which, when closely considered, leads us to reflect upon the real nature of our culture. In parts it is very amusing and again it is almost pathetically humorous, revealing to us the nature of human existence in all its varying moods. We may observe this from a psychological standpoint and thus save ourselves the necessity of character-description.
Would not continual kindness of treatment at last overcome this innate wantonness of the gypsy nature? Might not one by carefully fostering their music, that exotic plant, that special gift of theirs, so brilliant in its first radiance, develop it to a fuller growth in the atmosphere of civilization and improve its beauty? These were the questions which for a long time had impressed themselves upon the manly feelings and the kindly spirit of the great artist, as well as upon his deep concern for and earnest sympathy with all true and genuine things and with the immortal nature of all the spontaneous outgrowths of his art.
It was in Paris, about the beginning of 1840, and at a time also when Liszt’s attention was not much given to the gypsies, that one morning his dear friend, Count Sandor Teleky, came in, accompanied by a twelve-year-old lad, in a hussar jacket and broad laced trowsers, with dark brown complexion, wildly waving hair, a bold look, and a demeanor as haughty as if he were about to challenge all the kings of the world. He had a violin in his hands. “See,” said the Count, as he pushed the lad toward him by the shoulders, “I bring you a present.” Great was the astonishment of all the guests at a scene so strange for Frenchmen to witness. Among these guests was that great artist, who was at that time, notwithstanding Liszt’s abilities, called in Paris, “the greatest,” until one who had closely watched the rivalry between them settled it in a word: “Thalberg is the first but Liszt is the only one.” It was Thalberg who could not refrain from asking what he intended to do with this gift.
Liszt himself was surprised. He had not thought for a long time of the wish he had expressed, when in Hungary, of finding a young gypsy with a talent for the violin which he might further develop, but he guessed as soon as he looked upon this slim, nervous and evidently quarrelsome little being that his desire for a young “Cygan” and countryman had been gratified. In fact, the Count on leaving Hungary had left instructions on his estates, since they had sought in vain while he was there, that in the event of finding such a young man he should be sent direct to Paris. The impetuous youngster, whom he now introduced to Liszt, had been discovered a short time before on his possessions, and had been purchased and forwarded to him as a token of friendly affection.
Liszt kept the boy continually near him and naturally took keen pleasure in watching the development of his emotions and humors amid his new surroundings. Insolence was the strongest characteristic of his nature, and it displayed itself in the most diverse ways, by a thousand naive and childish frivolities. To steal out of greediness, to continually hug the women, to break every object whose mechanism he did not understand, were very inconvenient but natural faults which might have corrected themselves. It was not easy, however, to deal with them as they continually broke out in new directions. In these circles which included acute psychological observers, like Balzac and George Sand, “Josy” soon became a little lion and his private concerts kept his purse well filled. The money which came in so abundantly he flung away recklessly and with all the prodigality of a magnate. The first object of his attention was the adorning of his own little person. His coquetry was beyond belief and even went so far as affected vanity. He must always have plenty of beautiful little canes, breast-pins and watch-chains by him, and of various kinds. His cravats and vests could not be too showy in colors and no hair-dresser was too good to curl his locks. To become an Adonis was the great problem of his existence, but in his attempt to solve it, one pang gnawed at his heart and poisoned his peace. In contrast with those about him, his complexion was so brown and yellow! He thought that by the active application of soap and oil, such as he had seen employed with great success in acquiring that enviable possession, a beautiful color, he could overcome his misfortunes, and he continually provided himself with them. He visited the best shops and bought everything he thought would answer for that purpose, always throwing down five franc pieces, for he was much too fine a gentleman to take any change.
It soon became impossible to do anything with him. In all the friendly circles of his adopted father, he swelled about, a full flown dandy. On the eve of taking his journey to Spain, Liszt gave him over to the violin professor of the Paris Conservatory. He promised to give the utmost attention to his astonishing musical talent, while the superintendent of a school, in which meanwhile the boy was placed, undertook to cultivate him mentally and morally. All accounts from him, however, more and more confirmed Liszt’s doubts of the success of these educational schemes. In music it was specially useless to try and keep him within any practical bounds. He had the utmost contempt for everything that he did not know, and without directly asserting it, in his own estimation he was convinced of his superiority to everything about him. Like a genuine “savage” he was interested only in his own pleasures, his own violin and his own music, and had no desire for anything else.
When Count Teleky brought him in, in his Hungarian gypsy costume, he had still his own violin. Upon this little wooden shell, poorly glued together, covered with strings which seemed better adapted for hanging oneself than for playing, he played even then the liveliest dances with remarkable aplomb and unsurpassed vigor. His perceptions never failed him and he played very willingly. He could perform for hours partly by ear and partly improvising and was very reluctant to make use of the melodies which he had heard among his associates. For the most part they were dull and insipid to him, but he was very partial to the melodies which he had heard Liszt play many times, and he would often regale his own audience with them, ornamenting them, however, in such a droll fashion that they never failed to set every one in a cheerful mood. As soon, however, as he was obliged to undertake actual study, he became refractory and would have nothing to do with it. No one could convince him that his own methods were not finer than any they could teach him and he lived in the fullest conviction that he was the victim of barbarous coercion whenever his teacher in the least complained that he was unwilling to be instructed by him.
As might have been expected, Liszt soon heard that Josy grew larger but did not change otherwise; that he made no progress, and that nothing could be done with him. With his personal weakness for these singular people, he looked upon the zig-zag letters of the boy which showed the type of oriental exaggeration, as a proof of his industry. He sent word to him to meet him in Strasburg. When he first arrived he did not think of the boy, but when he stepped from his carriage he suddenly felt a violent hand-shake and was almost suffocated in the embraces of a strange young man. It took some time before he could recognize in this elegant young gentleman, clad in Parisian fashion, his little untamed, harum-scarum gypsy of the moors. Only the curved nose, the Asiatic eyes and the dark skin, in spite of all the French cosmetics and soaps, were the same. The self-conceit also was left, for when Liszt suddenly exclaimed: “Why, Josy, you look like a young gentleman,” not in the least disconcerted and with the mien of an hidalgo, he replied, “Yes, because I am one.” In his new costume he also preserved his lofty style and grandeur of demeanor, and after that it was difficult for the “father” to believe that the inflexible gypsy nature could be restrained within the limits of civilization and keep a designated course. Still he would not allow his convictions to defeat his hopes so soon. He thought that perhaps woods and fields would have a better influence upon the boy than the great city and he consigned him to an excellent musician in Germany, on the edge of the Black Forest. This retreat, which withdrew him from the atmosphere of the great city and the danger of continual fresh corruption, interfering with the growth of what little virtuous aptitude he had by nature, Liszt hoped would lead yet to the amelioration of the wild creature.
Not long after he was in Vienna and heard of a new gypsy band. He went one evening to the “Zeiferl,” where they played, to see whether it was worth the trouble to make their acquaintance. Not one of the company expected to find a face they knew in the band and for that reason they were surprised at the commotion which Liszt’s entrance occasioned. A slim young fellow rushed out of the troupe, fell at his feet and embraced his knees with the most passionate gestures. At the same instant he was surrounded by the whole troupe, who without further ado, overwhelmed him by kissing his hand and expressions of gratitude, of which he did not understand a syllable. After much trouble he discovered that the one who had thrown himself at his feet with such an enthusiastic “Elyen Liszt,” was an older brother of Josy’s. He had been inquiring among Liszt’s friends and related, boasting and sobbing at the same time, all that had been done for the benefit of the poor sold boy, which did not prevent him, however, from timidly intimating how glad they would be to see him and have him again.
The news from his teacher was not satisfactory, so all hope must be given up of making a rational artist out of this gypsy musician. Liszt could no longer force an organization which was at utter variance with the temperament of our society and culture. Will any one contend that the European world has anything better to offer to such a branch dissevered from its stem, than the joys of nature, to which our culture had perhaps gradually made him wholly insensible? So he allowed this “son of the wilderness” to come to Vienna in order that he might again join his companions, if he so wished. His rapture at seeing them was boundless. They feared he would go mad, but the elasticity of such nerves knows no limits. Although in his foolish moments he had wished for another complexion he now was conscious that he could no longer disown his race. No sooner were they reunited than the band disappeared from the city with the purpose of showing the lost child to his father again. From the very first moment, Josy had shown himself more intolerable than ever, and with many passionate expressions of gratitude begged to be allowed to return at once and forever to his people. So they parted, after his friends had filled his purse with a little contribution which the haughty little fellow squandered upon a colossal banquet given to his brethren in spite of all protestations and the farewell supper besides, which had been provided for him.
Did he ever see him again, this most perverse of all his countless scholars, on the edge of the wood, with his violin, smoking, playing or only dreaming, as Lenau has pictured “the three gypsies?”
Some years later, in 1857, Liszt’s volume made its appearance. A German translation of it by P. Cornelius appeared in Pesth, in 1861. It contained a letter from Debrezin, in Hungary, signed: “Sarai Josef, or the Gypsy Josy in the principal orchestra of Boka Karoly.” A notice of the volume had appeared in the Debrezin Sonntagsblatt, and so Josy writes the following which shows that culture had had some influence upon him: “Since I have become the father of a family and acquired a restful spirit and clear understanding, I reflect with sadness that in my youth I might have had the good fortune, under Your Highness’ protection and patronage, of an introduction to the great world and of artistic cultivation, but for my incorrigible perversity and aversion to all that was noble, elevated and artistic. But it was impossible, and you are richly rewarded by my own and my brother’s request, since a worthless gypsy fellow, whom it was impossible to develop into an artist, is sent home again. In a word, I realize that I have buried my future, but it could not have been otherwise. But as you openly desire, at the close of your narrative, to hear something of me, I take this opportunity to humbly inform you that here in Debrezin, my home, I am serving as an ordinary gypsy in the orchestra, among my companions, and am a favorite with the public since I still play the violin tolerably well.”
He had also married a gypsy of the same place, and the year before had a son, who was christened with Liszt’s most precious name of Franz. He says: “I am so bold as to select Your Highness as godfather. We prolonged the christening with a lively entertainment, pledging the godfather in a far away foreign land with high swinging cups.” He added that the most precious recollections of him were impressed upon his heart and that a portrait of “His Highness,” which he once took away from Paris with him, should be preserved in his humble abode as long as he lived and should be consigned to his posterity as a sacred relic.
“Poverty often hangs the soul with rags and leaves it bare of everything that graces and warms,” says Goethe, but in this case we see that where nature has no other needs than those which can be satisfied without trouble, the saying is not true and the appreciation of a benefit conferred is, so to speak, a higher moral attribute, a culture in itself. If a want of gratitude be the first sign of liberty and self-dependence, then this “ordinary gypsy,” Sarai Josy, might quietly say: “We barbarians are still better men.” Gratitude was the distinction of his person as that haughtiness which has clung to them through centuries of misery and privation in all countries of the world is the distinction of his race. Could culture have given such a distinction to this Josy? We doubt it and offer as an illustration the beautiful saying of our great Fichte, in the address to the German people, that delight in the good is rooted in man. In fact we have observed it in this Josy. The loss of all the beautiful gifts of culture did not give him a moment’s concern. That he had “buried his future” was to him simply a thing that could not have been avoided, but the spirit of goodness and love which alone can add happiness and blessing to culture, once experienced by him, was never forgotten. As long as he lived and even after he was gone, the picture of his benefactor would be preserved as a “holy relic.” This one incident reveals to us the real character of our master, who in this respect inherited the traits of Mozart.