The English novelist visited Liszt at Weimar in 1854 and records some
pleasing recollections:
"About the middle of September the theatre opened. We went to hear
Ernani. Liszt looked splendid as he conducted the opera. The grand
outline of his face and floating hair was seen to advantage, as
they were thrown into the dark relief by the stage lamps. Liszt's
conversation is charming. I never met a person whose manner of telling a
story was so piquant. The last evening but one that he called on us,
wishing to express his pleasure in G----'s article about him, he very
ingeniously conveyed that expression in a story about Spontini and
Berlioz. Spontini visited Paris while Liszt was living there and
haunted the opera--a stiff, self-important personage, with high shirt
collars--the least attractive individual imaginable. Liszt turned up his
own collars and swelled out his person, so as to give us a vivid idea of
the man. Every one would have been glad to get out of Spontini's way;
indeed, elsewhere 'on feignait de le croire mort'; but at Paris, as he
was a member of the Institute, it was necessary to recognise his
existence.
"Liszt met him at Erard's more than once. On one of these occasions
Liszt observed to him that Berlioz was a great admirer of his
(Spontini), whereupon Spontini burst into a terrible invective against
Berlioz as a man who, with the like of him, was ruining art, etc.
Shortly after the Vestale was performed and forthwith appeared an
enthusiastic article by Berlioz on Spontini's music. The next time Liszt
met him of the high collars he said: 'You see I was not wrong in what I
said about Berlioz's admiration of you.' Spontini swelled in his collars
and replied, 'Monsieur, Berlioz a du talent comme critique.' Liszt's
replies were always felicitous and characteristic. Talking of Madame
d'Agoult he told us that when her novel, Nelida, appeared in which Liszt
himself is pilloried as a delinquent, he asked her, 'Mais pourquoi
avez-vous tellement maltraite ce pauvre Lehmann?' The first time we were
asked to breakfast at his house, the Altenburg, we were shown into the
garden, where in a salon formed by the overarching trees dejeuner
was sent out. We found Hoffmann von Fallersleben, the lyric poet,
Dr. Schade, a Gelehrter, and Cornelius. Presently came a Herr or
Doctor Raff, a musician, who had recently published a volume called
Wagnerfrage. Soon after we were joined by Liszt and the Princess
Marie, an elegant, gentle-looking girl of seventeen, and at last by
the Princess Wittgenstein, with her nephew, Prince Eugene, and a young
French artist, a pupil of Scheffer.
"The princess was tastefully dressed in a morning robe of some
semi-transparent white material, lined with orange colour, which formed
the bordering and ornament of the sleeves, a black lace jacket and a
piquant cap on the summit of her comb, and trimmed with violet colour.
When the cigars came, Hoffmann was requested to read some of his poetry,
and he gave us a bacchanalian poem with great spirit. I sat next to
Liszt, and my great delight was in watching him and in observing the
sweetness of his expression. Genius, benevolence, and tenderness beam
from his whole countenance, and his manners are in perfect harmony with
it. Then came the thing I had longed for--his playing. I sat near him so
that I could see both his hands and face. For the first time in my life
I beheld real inspiration--for the first time I heard the true tones of
the piano. He played one of his own compositions, one of a series of
religious fantasies. There was nothing strange or excessive about his
manner. His manipulation of the instrument was quiet and easy, and his
face was simply grand--the lips compressed and the head thrown a little
backward. When the music expressed quiet rapture or devotion a smile
flitted over his features; when it was triumphant the nostrils dilated.
There was nothing petty or egotistic to mar the picture. Why did not
Scheffer paint him thus, instead of representing him as one of the three
Magi? But it just occurs to me that Scheffer's idea was a sublime one.
There are the two aged men who have spent their lives in trying to
unravel the destinies of the world, and who are looking for the
Deliverer--for the light from on high. Their young fellow seeker, having
the fresh inspiration of early life, is the first to discern the herald
star, and his ecstasy reveals it to his companions. In this young Magi
Scheffer has given a portrait of Liszt; but even here, where he might be
expected to idealise unrestrainedly, he falls short of the original. It
is curious that Liszt's face is the type that one sees in all Scheffer's
pictures--at least in all I have seen.
"In a little room which terminates the suite at the Altenburg there is a
portrait of Liszt, also by Scheffer--the same of which the engraving is
familiar to every one. This little room is filled with memorials of
Liszt's triumphs and the worship his divine talent has won. It was
arranged for him by the princess, in conjunction with the Arnims, in
honour of his birthday. There is a medallion of him by Schwanthaler, a
bust by an Italian artist, also a medallion by Rietschl--very fine--and
cabinets full of jewels and precious things--the gifts of the great. In
the music salon stand Beethoven's and Mozart's pianos. Beethoven's was a
present from Broadwood, and has a Latin inscription intimating that it
was presented as a tribute to his illustrious genius. One evening Liszt
came to dine with us at the Erbprinz, and introduced M. Rubinstein, a
young Russian, who is about to have an opera of his performed at
Weimar."