A masterful woman the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, though far from
beautiful, she so controlled and ordered Liszt's life that he quite shed
his bohemian skin, composed much, and as Kapellmeister produced many
novelties of the new school. They lived on a hill in a house called the
Altenburg, not a very princely abode, and there Liszt accomplished the
major portion of his works for orchestra, his masses and piano
concertos. There, too, Richard Wagner, a revolutionist, wanted by the
Dresden police, came in 1849--from May 19th to 24th--disguised, carrying
a forged passport, poor, miserable. Liszt secured him lodgings, and gave
him a banquet at the Altenburg attended by Tausig, Von Buelow, Gille,
Draeseke, Gottschalg, and others, nineteen in all. Wagner behaved badly,
insulted his host and guests. He was left in solitude until Liszt
insisted on his apologising for his rude manners--which he did with a
bad grace. John F. Runciman has said that Liszt ought to have done even
more for Wagner than he did--or words to that effect; just so, and there
is no doubt that the noble man has put the world in his debt by piloting
the music-dramatist into safe harbour; but while ingratitude is no crime
according to Nietzsche (who, quite illogically, reproached Wagner for
_his_ ingratitude) there seems a limit to amiability, and in Liszt's
case his amiability amounted to weakness. He could never say "No" to
Wagner (nor to a pretty woman). He understood and forgave the Mime
nature in Wagner for the sake of his Siegfried side. There was no Mime
in Liszt, nothing small nor hateful, although he could at times play the
benevolent, ironic Mephisto. And in his art he mirrored the quality to
perfection--the Mephistopheles of his Faust Symphony.
Intrigues pursued him in his capacity as court musical director. The
Princess Maria-Pawlowna died June, 1859; the following October Princess
Marie, daughter of Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein, married the Prince
Hohenlohe, and Liszt, after the opera by Peter Cornelius was hissed,
resigned his post. He remembered Goethe and his resignation, caused by a
trained dog, at the same theatre. But he didn't leave Weimar until
August 17, 1861, joining the princess at Rome. The scandal of the
attempted marriage there is told in another chapter. Again the eyes of
the world were riveted upon Liszt. His very warts became notorious. Some
say that Cardinal Antonelli, instigated by Polish relatives of the
princess, upset the affair when the pair were literally on the eve of
approaching the altar; some believe that the wily Liszt had set in
motion the machinery; but the truth is that at the advice of the
Cardinal Prince Hohenlohe, his closest friend, the marriage scheme was
dropped. When the husband of the princess died there was no further talk
of matrimony. Instead, Liszt took minor orders, concentrated his
attention on church music, and henceforth spent his year between Rome,
Weimar, and Budapest. He hoped for a position at the Papal court
analogous to the one he had held at Weimar; but the appointment of
music-director at St. Peter's was never made. To Weimar he had returned
(1869) at the cordial invitation of the archduke, who allotted to his
use a little house in the park, the _Hofgaertnerei_. There every summer
he received pupils from all parts of the world, gratuitously advising
them, helping them from his impoverished purse, and, incidentally, being
admired by a new generation of musical enthusiasts, particularly those
of the feminine gender. There were lots of scandals, and the worthy
burghers of the town shook their heads at the goings-on of the
_Lisztianer_. The old man fell under many influences, some of them
sinister. He seldom saw Richard or Cosima Wagner, though he attended the
opening of Bayreuth in 1876. On that occasion Wagner publicly paid a
magnificent tribute to the genius and noble friendship of Liszt. It
atoned for a wilderness of previous neglect and ingratitude.
With Wagner's death in 1883 his hold on mundane matters began to relax.
He taught, he travelled, he never failed to pay the princess an annual
visit at Rome. She had immured herself, behind curtained windows and to
the light of waxen tapers led the life of a mystic, also smoked the
blackest of cigars. She became a theologian in petticoats and wrote
numerous inutile books about pin-points in matters ecclesiastical. No
doubt she still loved Liszt, for she set a spy on him at Weimar and thus
kept herself informed as to how much cognac he daily consumed, how many
pretty girls had asked for a lock of his silvery hair, also the name of
the latest aspirant to his affections.
What a brilliant coterie of budding artists surrounded him: D'Albert,
Urspruch, Geza Zichy, Friedheim, Joseffy, Rosenthal, Reisenauer, Grieg,
Edward MacDowell, Burmeister, Stavenhagen, Sofie Menter, Toni Raab,
Nikisch, Weingartner, Siloti, Laura Kahrer, Sauer, Adele Aus der Ohe,
Moszkowski, Scharwenka, Pachmann, Saint-Saens, Rubinstein--the latter
not as pupil--Borodin, Van der Stucken, and other distinguished names in
the annals of compositions and piano playing. Liszt's health broke down,
but he persisted in visiting London in the early summer of 1886, where
he was received as a demi-god by Queen Victoria and the musical world;
he had been earlier in Paris where a mass of his was sung with success.
His money affairs were in a tangle; once in receipt of an income that
had enabled him to throw money away to any whining humbug, he complained
at the last that he had no home of his own, no income--he had not been
too shrewd in his dealings with music publishers--and very little cash
for travelling expenses. The princess needed her own rents, and Liszt
was never a charity pensioner. During the Altenburg years, the
_Glanzzeit_ at Weimar, her income had sufficed for both, as Liszt was
earning no money from concert-tours. But at the end, despite his devoted
disciples, he was the very picture of a deserted, desolate old hero. And
he had given away fortunes, had played fortunes at benefit-concerts
into the coffers of cities overtaken by fire or flood. Surely, the
seamy side of success. "_Wer aber wird nun Liszt helfen?_" This half
humorous, half pathetic cry of his had its tragic significance.
Liszt last touched the keyboard July 19, 1886, at Colpach, Luxemburg,
the castle of Munkaczy, the Hungarian painter. Feeble as he must have
been there was a supernatural aureole about his music that caused his
hearers to weep. (Fancy the pianoforte inciting to tears!) He played his
favourite Liebestraum, the Chant Polonais from the "Glanes de Woronice"
(the Polish estate of the Princess Sayn-Wittgenstein) and the sixteenth
of his Soirees de Vienne. He went on to Bayreuth, in company with a
persistent young Parisian lady--the paramount passion not quite
extinguished--attended a performance of Tristan and Isolde, through
which he slept from absolute exhaustion; though he did not fail to
acknowledge in company with Cosima Wagner the applause at the end. He
went at once to bed never to leave it alive. He died of lung trouble on
the night of July 31st or the early hour of August 1, 1886, and his last
word is said to have been "Tristan." He was buried, in haste--that he
might not interfere with the current Wagner festival--and, no doubt, is
mourned at leisure. His princess survived him a year; this sounds more
romantic than it is. [Madame d'Agoult had died in 1876.] A new terror
was added to death by the ugly tomb of the dead man, designed by his
grandson, Siegfried Wagner; said to be a composer as well as an amateur
architect. Victories usually resemble each other; it is defeat alone
that wears an individual physiognomy. Liszt, with all his optimism, did
not hesitate to speak of his career as a failure. But what a magnificent
failure! "To die and to die young--what happiness," was a favourite
phrase of his.