The once celebrated musical publisher and director of the Parisian
Italian Opera season gives the following description of Danton's
statuette of Liszt, which was exhibited in the Paris salon half a
century ago:
"The pianist is seated before a piano, which he is about to destroy
under him. His fingers multiply at the ends of his hands; I should think
so--Danton made him ten at each hand. His hair like a willow floats over
his shoulders. One would say that he is whistling. Now for the account.
Liszt saw the statue, and made a grimace. He found that the sculptor had
exaggerated the length of his hair. It was a criticism really pulled by
the hair. Danton knew it.
"But after Liszt had gone he went again to work and made immediately a
second statuette. In this, one only sees a head of hair (the pianist is
seen from the back) always seated before the piano. The head of hair,
which makes one think of a man hidden behind, plays the piano absolutely
like the first model. All the rest is the same."
Leon Escudier also relates an incident at one of Henri Herz's concerts:
"A piece for four pianos was to be played. Herz knew how to choose his
competitors. The three other pianists were Thalberg, Liszt, and
Moscheles. The room was crowded, as may be imagined. The audience was
calm at first; but not without slight manifestations of impatience quite
natural under the circumstances. They did not consider the regrettable
habit that Liszt had, at this epoch, to make people wait for him.
Punctuality, however, is the politeness of kings, and Liszt was a king
of the piano. Briefly, the pianists gave up waiting for Liszt; but this
resolution was not taken without a little confusion in the artists'
room. The musical parts were changed at the piano, and they were going
to play a trio instead of a quatour, when Liszt appeared. It was time!
They were about to commence without him. While the four virtuosi seated
themselves they perceived that the musical parts were not the same which
belonged to them. In the confusion which preceded their installation
the parts got mixed, and No. 1 had before his eyes the part of No. 3;
the No. 2 had No. 1, and so on. What was to be done?--rise and rearrange
the parts! The public was already disappointed by the prolonged waiting
that they had experienced. They murmured. The four virtuosi looked at
each other sternly, not daring to rise, when Herz took a heroic
resolution, exclaiming: 'Courage! Allons toujours!' And he gave the
signal in passing his fingers over the keyboard. The others played, and
the four great pianists improvised each the part of the other. The
public did not notice the change, and finished by applauding loudly."