Liszt’s reputation in this country as a pianoforte composer has hitherto
rested, in the main, upon his brilliant and popular operatic fantasies,
a few of his études, and his unique and world-famous Hungarian
rhapsodies; all of which, though effective and by no means to be
despised, are, after all, only the bright bubbles tossed off in playful
mood from the surface of his genius, like the globules that rise from
the sparkling champagne.
That there is a deeper, more serious, and far more important vein of
strictly original work of his, which has as yet scarcely been
discovered, still less exploited, few persons, even among the musicians
themselves, seem to be aware. Of course, in the large cities, his
orchestral works—that is to say, some of them—have been occasionally
given and his concertos have become fairly well known; but elsewhere he
is chiefly known as the leading manufacturer of musical pyrotechnics,
the inventor of the best pianistic sky-rockets and the best articles in
tonal thunder and lightning thus far put upon the world’s market. But
the fact is that his future fame as a creative musician is destined to
stand upon a much firmer and more lasting basis—namely, that of the
original work referred to; and I believe in a much higher niche in the
temple of art than it at present occupies.
Among these original works, and forming an important and distinct
division of them, peculiar to itself both in form and subject matter,
the “Poetic and Religious Harmonies” claim our attention. These were
written under rather singular circumstances.
All through his life, from early boyhood, Liszt was subject to
occasional moods of intense religious fervor,—devotional paroxysms, one
might almost call them,—sweeping over him like a tidal wave,
submerging, for the time, all other thoughts and impulses, and then
receding, to leave him about where they found him. Their transitory and
spasmodic nature has led many to believe that they were not real, but
assumed, simulated hypocritically for effect, or for a purpose; as, for
example, to escape the importunate claims of his several mistresses.
But those who knew him best are inclined to make allowance for his
impulsive, erratic, unbalanced temperament, his undeveloped oriental
nature, half barbaric in spite of its immense and manifold powers, and
to concede that, while they lasted, they were very genuine and very
profound. Under this impelling force he was several times on the point
of giving up his worldly career and devoting himself to a monastic life,
and was only restrained by the efforts of his many friends and admirers.
In 1856 came the last and most enduring of these impulses, and, in
obedience to it, he abandoned his life as a concert artist, which, for
phenomenal success, has never had a parallel before or since, retired
into rigorous seclusion in the Vatican at Rome, where he was the guest
and pupil of the Pope himself, and devoted nearly five consecutive years
to religious study and contemplation, receiving the title of Abbé in the
Catholic Church, which he retained till his death, and writing a
considerable number of compositions, all of a distinctively religious
character, all based upon religious themes, either incidents narrated in
the Scriptures, or in the lives of the saints, or subjective experiences
connected with his own spiritual life and development.
Among these, his great “Legend of St. Elizabeth” is preëminent, and this
series of nine poetic and religious harmonies; each a complete
composition, having no connection with the others except in its general
character, bearing a special title indicating its nature and subject.
Some of them are of very great musical worth and importance, and are
among his best productions, notably, the No. 3, Book 2, entitled “The
Benediction of God in the Solitude.” It is one of the subjective,
emotional compositions referred to, giving us a glimpse into the heart
life of the composer during this epoch of profound and intense religious
experience.
It opens with a subdued but strongly emotional, ’cello-like theme in the
left hand, expressing the first discontent and vague longings of a soul
whose best aspirations and highest needs have found no real satisfaction
in worldly things, yet which has no certain grasp, no safe reliance on
any life beyond and above the present; a soul adrift on the dark ocean
of doubt and skepticism, with no guiding star of hope, no beacon-light
of promise, not even the compass of faith in things unseen by which to
shape its course. This mood grows steadily in intensity, through the
successive stages of unrest, agitation, distress, despair, to an
overpowering climax. Then it is followed by a short, quiet movement in D
major, literally imitating the tranquil strain of the organ and the
distant sound of cathedral bells; thus symbolizing the promises and
proffered consolations of the Church; then a period of grave pondering,
of thoughtful examination and introspection, and then the first theme
repeats, but with less vehement treatment, in a gentle though still
agitated mood, like a recapitulation of his former state from a newly
acquired standpoint, a softened memory of the old, stormy, desperate
mood.
The work closes with a tranquil, flowing movement, a complete inundation
of the spirit by a flood of that “peace which passeth understanding,”
the benediction of God in the solitude. He has found, as he believes,
safety, rest, and reconciliation with divine law and will. This closing
strain, in its reposeful happiness, forms a fitting and most beautiful
ending to this serious, ideally suggestive composition.
Other numbers of this set are almost equally interesting, but I have not
space for more of them. This one will serve as a good example, and I may
add that it was regarded by Liszt himself as the best of his piano
compositions.
A little French poem from Liszt’s own pen, which stands as motto at the
head of this music, sums up its significance. I append a nearly literal
translation.
“Whence comes, O my God, this sweet peace that surrounds
My glad heart? And this faith that within me abounds?
To me who, uncertain, in anguish of mind,
On an ocean of doubt tossed about by each wind,
Was seeking for truth in the dreams of the sage,
And for peace, among hearts that were chafing with rage.
A sudden—there flashed on my soul from above
A vision of glorified heavenly love;
It seemed that an age and a world passed away
And I rise, a new man, to enjoy a new day.”