Liszt's Expression in Playing. Liszt on Conservatories. Ordeal of
Liszt's Lessons. Liszt's Kindness.
WEIMAR, _June 19, 1873_.
In Liszt I can at last say that my ideal in _something_ has been
realized. He goes far beyond all that I expected. Anything so perfectly
beautiful as he looks when he sits at the piano I never saw, and yet he
is almost an old man now.[E] I enjoy him as I would an exquisite work of
art. His personal magnetism is immense, and I can scarcely bear it when
he plays. He can make me cry all he chooses, and that is saying a good
deal, because I've heard so much music, and _never_ have been affected
by it. Even Joachim, whom I think divine, never moved me. When Liszt
plays anything pathetic, it sounds as if he had been through everything,
and opens all one's wounds afresh. All that one has ever suffered comes
before one again. Who was it that I heard say once, that years ago he
saw Clara Schumann sitting in tears near the platform, during one of
Liszt's performances?--Liszt knows well the influence he has on people,
for he always fixes his eyes on some one of us when he plays, and I
believe he tries to wring our hearts. When he plays a passage, and goes
_pearling_ down the key-board, he often looks over at me and smiles, to
see whether I am appreciating it.
But I doubt if he feels any particular emotion himself, when he is
piercing you through with his rendering. He is simply hearing every
tone, knowing exactly what effect he wishes to produce and how to do it.
In fact, he is practically two persons in one--the listener and the
performer. But what immense self-command that implies! No matter how
fast he plays you always feel that there is "plenty of time"--no need to
be anxious! You might as well try to move one of the pyramids as fluster
_him_. Tausig possessed this repose in a technical way, and his touch
was marvellous; but he never drew the tears to your eyes. He could not
wind himself through all the subtle labyrinths of the heart as Liszt
does.
Liszt does such bewitching little things! The other day, for instance,
Fräulein Gaul was playing something to him, and in it were two runs, and
after each run two staccato chords. She did them most beautifully, and
struck the chords immediately after. "No, no," said Liszt, "after you
make a run you must wait a minute before you strike the chords, as if in
admiration of your own performance. You must pause, as if to say, 'How
nicely I did that.'" Then he sat down and made a run himself, waited a
second, and then struck the two chords in the treble, saying as he did
so "Bra-_vo_," and then he played again, struck the other chord, and
said again "Bra-_vo_," and positively, it was as if the piano had softly
applauded! That is the way he plays everything. It seems as if the piano
were speaking with a _human_ tongue.
Our class has swelled to about a dozen persons now, and a good many
others come and play to him once or twice and then go. As I wrote to L.
the other day, that dear little scholar of Henselt, Fräulein Kahrer, was
one, but she only stayed three days. She was a most interesting little
creature, and told some funny stories about Henselt, who she says has a
most violent temper, and is very severe. She said that one day he was
giving a lesson to Princess Katherina (whoever that is), and he was so
enraged over her playing that he snatched away the music, and dashed it
to the ground. The Princess, however, did not lose her equanimity, but
folded her arms and said, "Who shall pick it up?" And he had to bend and
restore it to its place.
I've never seen Liszt look angry but once, but then he was terrific.
Like a lion! It was one day when a student from the Stuttgardt
conservatory attempted to play the Sonata Appassionata. He had a good
deal of technique, and a moderately good conception of it, but still he
was totally inadequate to the work--and indeed, only a _mighty_ artist
like Tausig or Bülow ought to attempt to play it. It was a hot
afternoon, and the clouds had been gathering for a storm. As the
Stuttgardter played the opening notes of the sonata, the tree-tops
suddenly waved wildly, and a low growl of thunder was heard muttering in
the distance. "Ah," said Liszt, who was standing at the window, with his
delicate quickness of perception, "a fitting accompaniment." (You know
Beethoven wrote the Appassionata one night when he was caught in a
thunder-storm.) If Liszt had only played it himself, the whole thing
would have been like a poem. But he walked up and down the room and
forced himself to listen, though he could scarcely bear it, I could see.
A few times he pushed the student aside and played a few bars himself,
and we saw the passion leap up into his face like a glare of sheet
lightning. Anything so magnificent as it was, the little that he _did_
play, and the startling individuality of his conception, I never heard
or imagined. I felt as if I did not know whether I were "in the body or
out of the body."--GLORIOUS BEING! He is a two-edged sword that cuts
through everything.
The Stuttgardter made some such glaring mistakes, not in the notes, but
in rhythm, etc., that at last Liszt burst out with, "You come from
Stuttgardt, and play like _that_!" and then he went on in a tirade
against conservatories and teachers in general. He was like a
thunder-storm himself. He frowned, and bent his head, and his long hair
fell over his face, while the poor Stuttgardter sat there like a beaten
hound. Oh, it was awful! If it had been I, I think I should have
withered entirely away, for Liszt is always so amiable that the contrast
was all the stronger.--"_Aber das geht Sie nichts an_ (But this does not
concern you)," said he, in a conciliatory tone, suddenly stopping
himself and smiling. "_Spielen Sie weiter_ (Play on)."--He meant that it
was not at the student but at the conservatories that he had been angry.
Liszt hasn't the nervous irritability common to artists, but on the
contrary his disposition is the most exquisite and tranquil in the
world. We have been there incessantly, and I've never seen him ruffled
except two or three times, and then he was tired and not himself, and it
was a most transient thing. When I think what a little savage Tausig
often was, and how cuttingly sarcastic Kullak could be at times, I am
astonished that Liszt so rarely loses his temper. He has the power of
turning the best side of every one outward, and also the most marvellous
and instant appreciation of what that side is. If there is _anything_ in
you, you may be sure that Liszt will know it. Whether he chooses to let
you think he does, may, however, be another matter.
* * *
WEIMAR, _July 15, 1873_.
Liszt is such an immense, inspiring force that one has to try and stride
forward with him at double rate, even if with double expenditure, too!
To-day I'm more dead than alive, as we had a lesson from him yesterday
that lasted four hours. There were twenty artists present, all of whom
were anxious to play, and as he was in high good-humour, he played ever
so much himself in between. It was perfectly magnificent, but exhausting
and exciting to the last degree. When I come home from the lessons I
fling myself on the sofa, and feel as if I never wanted to get up again.
It is a fearful day's work every time I go to him. First, four hours'
practice in the morning. Then a nervous, anxious feeling that takes away
my appetite, and prevents me from eating my dinner. And then several
hours at Liszt's, where one succession of concertos, fantasias, and all
sorts of tremendous things are played. You never know before whom you
must play there, for it is the musical headquarters of the world.
Directors of conservatories, composers, artists, aristocrats, all come
in, and you have to bear the brunt of it as best you can. The first
month I was here, when there were only five of us, it was quite another
matter, but now the room is crowded every time.
Liszt gave a matinee the other day at which I played a "Soirée de
Vienne," by Tausig--awfully hard, but very brilliant and peculiar. I
don't know how I ever got through it, for I had only been studying it a
few days, and didn't even know it by heart, nor had I played it to
Liszt. He only told me the evening before, too, about eight
o'clock--"To-morrow I give a matinee; bring your Soirée de Vienne." I
rushed home and practiced till ten, and then I got up early the next
morning and practiced a few hours. The matinee was at eleven o'clock.
First, Liszt played himself, then a young lady sang several songs, then
there was a piece for piano and flute played by Liszt and a flutist, and
then I came. I was just as frightened as I could be! Metzdorf (my
Russian friend) and Urspruch sat down by me to give me courage, and to
turn the leaves, but Liszt insisted upon turning himself, and stood
behind me and did it in his dexterous way. He says it is an art to turn
the leaves properly! He was _so_ kind, and whenever I did anything well
he would call out "_charmant!_" to encourage me. It is considered a
great compliment to be asked to play at a matinee, and I don't know why
Liszt paid it to me at the expense of others who were there who play far
better than I do--among them a young lady from Norway, lately come, who
is a most _superb_ pianist. She was a pupil of Kullak's, too, but it is
four years since she left him, and she has been concertizing a good
deal. Yesterday she played Schumann's A minor concerto magnificently. I
was surprised that Liszt had not selected her, but one can never tell
what to expect from Liszt. With him "nothing is to be presumed on or
despaired of"--as the proverb says. He is so full of moods and phases
that you have to have a very sharp perception even to begin to
understand him, and he can cut you all up fine without your ever
guessing it. He rarely mortifies any one by an open snub, but what is
perhaps worse, he manages to let the rest of the class know what he is
thinking while the poor victim remains quite in darkness about it!--Yes,
he can do very cruel things.
After all, though, people generally have their own assurance to thank,
or their own want of tact, when they do not get on with Liszt. If they
go to him full of themselves, or expecting to make an impression on
_him_, or merely for the sake of saying they have been with him, instead
of presenting themselves to sit at his feet in humility, as they ought,
and learn whatever he is willing to impart--he soon finds it out, and
treats them accordingly. Some one once asked Liszt, what he would have
been had he not been a musician. "The first diplomat in Europe," was the
reply. With this Machiavellian bent it is not surprising that he
sometimes indulges himself in playing off the conceited or the obtuse
for the benefit of the bystanders. But the real _basis_ of his nature is
compassion. _The bruised reed he does not break, nor the humble and
docile heart despise!_
Fräulein Gaul tells a characteristic story about the "Meister," as we
call Liszt. When she first came to him a year or two ago, she brought
him one day Chopin's B flat minor Scherzo--one of those stock pieces
that every artist _must_ learn, and that has also been thrummed to death
by countless tyros. Liszt looked at it, and to her fright and dismay
cried out in a fit of impatience, "No, I _won't_ hear it!" and dashed it
angrily into the corner. The next day he went to see her, apologized for
his outburst of temper, and said that as a penance for it he would force
himself to give her not one, but two or three lessons on the Scherzo,
and in the most minute and careful manner--which accordingly he did!
Fancy any music teacher you ever heard of, so humbling himself to a
little girl of fifteen, and then remember that Tausig, the greatest of
modern virtuosi, said of Liszt, "No mortal can measure himself with
Liszt. He dwells upon a solitary height."
But you need not fear that I am "giving up American standards" because I
reverence Liszt so boundlessly. Everything is topsy-turvy in Europe
according to _our_ moral ideas, and they don't have what we call "men"
over here. But they _do_ have artists that we cannot approach! It is as
a Master in Art that I look at and write of Liszt, and his mere presence
is to his pupils such stimulus and joy, that when I leave _him_ I shall
feel I have left the best part of my life behind!