[Illustration: Liszt's Birthplace, Raiding]
The year 1811 was the year of the great comet. Its wine is said to have
been of a richness; some well-known men were born, beginning with
Thackeray and John Bright; Napoleon's son, the unhappy Duc de
Reichstadt, first saw the light that year, as did Jules Dupre, Theophile
Gautier, and Franz Liszt. There will be no disputes concerning the date
of his birth, October 22d, as was the case with Chopin. His ancestors,
according to a lengthy family register, were originally noble; but the
father of Franz, Adam Liszt, was a manager of the Esterhazy estates in
Hungary at the time his only son and child was born. He was very
musical, knew Joseph Haydn, and was an admirer of Hummel, his music and
playing. The mother's maiden name was Anna Lager (or Laager), a native
of lower Austria, with German blood in her veins. The mixed blood of her
son might prove a source of interest to Havelock Ellis in his studies of
heredity and genius. If Liszt was French in the early years of his
manhood, he was decidedly German the latter half of his life. The Magyar
only came out on the keyboard, and in his compositions. She was of a
happy and extremely vivacious nature, cheerful in her old age, and
contented to educate her three grandchildren later in life. The name
Liszt would be meal or flour in English; so that Frank Flour might have
been his unromantic cognomen; a difference from Liszt Ferencz,
with its accompanying battle-cry of _Eljen!_ In his son Adam Liszt
hoped to realise his own frustrated musical dreams. A prodigy of
a prodigious sort, the comet and the talent of Franz were mixed up by the
superstitious. Some gipsy predicted that the lad would return to his
native village rich, honoured, and in a glass house (coach). This he
did. In Oedenburg, during the summer of 1903, I visited at an hour or
so distant, the town of Eisenstadt and the village of Raiding (or
Reiding). In the latter is the house where Liszt was born. The place,
which can hardly have changed much since the boyhood of Liszt, is called
Dobrjan in Hungarian. I confess I was not impressed, and was glad to get
back to Oedenburg and civilisation. In this latter spot there is a
striking statue of the composer.
[Illustration: Anna Liszt