This author, in his Federzeichnungen aus Rom, describes a visit to Liszt
in 1867:
"The building in which Liszt resides in Rome is of unpretending
appearance; it is, and fancy may have pictured such a place as Liszt's
'Sans Souci,' a melancholy, plain little monastery. But by its position
this quiet abode is so favoured that probably few homes in the wide
world can be compared to it. Situated upon the old Via Sacra, it is the
nearest neighbour of the Forum Romanum, while its windows look toward
the Capitol, the ruins of the Palatine Palace and the Colosseum. In such
a situation a life of contemplation is forced upon one. I mounted a few
steps leading to the open door of the monastery, and all at once grew
uncertain what to do, for I saw before me a handsome staircase adorned
with pillars, such as I should not have expected from the poor exterior
of the building. Had not a notice in the form of a visiting-card over
the large door at the top of the stairs met my eye, I should have
considered it necessary to make further inquiries. As it was, however, I
was able to gain from the card itself the information I needed. I
approached and read: 'L'Abbe Franz Liszt.' So, really an Abbe! A
visiting-card half supplies the place of an autopsy. After I arranged
my necktie and pulled on my gloves more tightly, I courageously grasped
the green cord that summoned the porter. Two servants, not in tail coat,
it is true, but clad in irreproachable black, received me; one hastened
to carry in my card, while the other helped me off with my topcoat.
"My ideas of a genuine monkish life suffered a rude shock. Wherefore two
servants before the cell of a monk; or if attendant spirits, why were
they not, according to monastic rules, simply lay brothers?
"But I had not long to puzzle my brains with these obtrusive questions,
for I was presently plunged into still greater mental confusion. The
messenger who had gone to announce me returned and ushered me in with a
notification that Signor Abbate requested me to await a moment in--the
drawing-room! Yes, actually a drawing-room, in the most elegant
acceptation of the word. It wanted nothing either of the requisites for
northern comfort or of the contrivances demanded by the climate of Rome,
though glaring luxury appeared scrupulously avoided.
"I stood then in the saloon of the Commendatore Liszt! Abbe and
Commander! The correct employment of the domestic titles rendered the
first interview much more easy than it otherwise would have been. I was
by no means so inquisitorial in my survey as to be able to give a Walter
Scott-like description of Liszt's salon. Darkness, moreover, prevailed
in the large apartment, as, according to Italian usage and necessity,
the window shutters were closed against the rays of the morning sun. I
was attracted by the album table in the middle of the apartment more
than aught else. Upon it lay chiefly Italian works of a religious nature
in votive bindings. That Liszt here, too, as Abbate, lives in the midst
of creative spirits is proved by these dedicatory offerings.
"The door was opened and the well-known artistic figure advanced in a
friendly manner toward me. That the skilful fingers of the great pianist
pressed the hand of me, a simple writer, is a fact, which, for the
completeness of my narrative, must not remain unmentioned. The first and
most immediate impression produced on me by Liszt's appearance was that
of surprising youthfulness. Even the unmistakably grizzling, though
still thick, long, flowing hair, which the scissors of the tonsure have
not dared to touch, detracts but little from the heart entrancing charm
of his unusual individuality. Of fretfulness, satiety, monkish
abnegation, and so on, there is not a trace to be detected in the
feature of Liszt's interesting and characteristic head. And just as
little as we find Liszt in a monk's cell do we find him in a monk's
cowl. The black soutane sits no less elegantly on him than, in its time,
the dress coat. Those who look upon Liszt as a riddle will most
decidedly not find the solution of it in his outward appearance.
"After interchanging a few words of greeting, we proceeded to the
workroom. After compelling me to take an arm-chair, Liszt seated himself
at the large writing-table, apologising to me by stating that he had a
letter to despatch in a hurry. Upon this, too, lay a great many things,
nearly all pertaining more to the Abbe than the artist. But neatly
written sheets of music showed that musical production formed part of
the master's daily occupations. The comfortable room bore generally the
unmistakable stamp of a room for study, of an artist's workshop. The
letter and the address were quickly finished, and handed to the
attendant to seal and transmit. I mentioned the report connecting his
approaching journey with the grand festival of joy and peace, the
Coronation in Hungary. The popular maestro took this opportunity of
giving me a detailed history of his Coronation Mass. He said that in the
Prince-Primate Scitovsky he had possessed a most kind patron. In course
of a joyous repast, as on many other occasions, the Prelate had given
lively and hopeful utterance to the wish of his heart that he might yet
be able to place the crown upon the head of his beloved king, and at the
same time he called upon Liszt, in an unusually flattering and cordial
manner, to compose the Coronation Mass, but it must be short, very
short, as the entire ceremony would take about six hours.
"Liszt was unable to resist this amiable request, he said, and, drinking
a glass of fiery Tokay, gave a promise that he would endeavour to
produce some 'Essence of Tokay.' After his return to Rome he immediately
set about the sketch. But the prospect of the desired agreement between
the Emperor and the Hungarians had, meanwhile, become overcast, and his
work remained a mere sketch. Some months ago, however, he was pressed by
his Hungarian friends to proceed, and so he finished the mass. It was a
question whether it would be performed on the day of the Coronation,
since there was a condition that the monarch should bring his own
orchestra with him. Liszt said he was perfectly neutral, and in no way
wished to run counter to the just ambition of others; for, however the
Abbe might be decried as ambitious, he added, with a smile, he was not
so after all."
* * * * *
In course of this open-hearted statement Liszt touched upon his
relations to the present Prince-Primate of Hungary, and let fall a
remark which is the more interesting because it throws a light upon his
position in and toward Rome. The Abbe-Maestro said then that he had
entered on a correspondence regarding his retirement from the diocese of
the Prince of the Church, who had in the interim been raised to the
dignity of Primate, and had every reason to believe that he enjoyed the
Prelate's favour. He needed, however, a special letter of dismissal in
order to be received into the personal lists of the Roman clergy; to
this Liszt remarked, parenthetically, were limited all his clerical
qualities.
* * * * *
"I do not know more exactly what rights and duties are connected with
the insertion of his name in the catalogue of the Roman clergy, though
it appears that the nexus into which Liszt has entered toward the
clerical world is rather an outward than a deep and inward one.
"The cigar, which did not look, between the lips of the great musician,
as if it had been treated with particular gentleness or care, had gone
out. Liszt got up to reach the matches. While he was again lighting the
narcotic weed he directed my attention to the pretty statuette of St.
Elisabeth, which had attracted my gaze when I entered the room. It
represents the kind-hearted Landgravine at the moment the miracle of
roses is taking place. It required no great power of combination to
connect this graceful form, as an ovational gift, with Liszt's oratorio
of St. Elisabeth. The popular master named the German hand which had
fashioned the marble and offered it to him. He was thus led to speak of
his oratorio, and of the Wartburg Festival, for which it was originally
intended, and at which it was given, but not until after Hungary had
enjoyed the first performance. He spoke also of what he had done at the
Grand Ducal Court. I was peculiarly touched by his reminiscences, how he
had entered the service of a German prince, how he had 'knocked about'
for several years at Weimar, 'without doing anything worth naming.' how
his Prince had respected and distinguished him, and had probably never
suspected that a permanent sojourn could result from Liszt's trip to
Rome.
"Here, where he moved in only a small circle--said Liszt, with marked
emphasis, and again referring to the importance Rome possessed for
him--here he found the long desired leisure for work. His Elisabeth, he
said, had here sprung into existence, and also his oratorio of Petrus.
He had, moreover, he remarked, notions which it would take him three
years of thorough hard work to carry out.
"He certainly knew, the Abbe-Maestro continued, referring to his
art-gospel, that here and there things which in other places had met
with some response had been hissed, but he had no more hope for applause
than he feared censure. He followed, he said, the path he considered the
right one, and could say that he had consistently pursued the direction
he had once taken. The only rule he adopted in the production of his
works, as far as he had full power, was that of not compromising his
friends or of exposing them to the disfavour of the public. Solely for
this reason he had thought it incumbent on him, for instance, to refuse
to send a highly esteemed colleague the score of his Elisabeth, in spite
of two applications.
"I expressed to my friendly host my delight at his good health and
vigour, prognosticating a long continuance of fruitful activity. 'Oh!
yes, I am quite satisfied with my state of health,' answered the master,
'though my legs will no longer render me their old service.' At the same
time, in an access of boisterous merriment, he gave the upper part of
his right thigh so hard a slap that I could not consider his regret
particularly sincere.
"Another of my remarks was directed to the incomparable site of his
abode, which alone might make a middling poet produce great epic or
elegiac poetry. 'I live quietly and agreeably,' was the reply, 'both
here and at Monte Mario, where there are a few rooms at my service, with
a splendid view over the city, the Tiber and the hills.' And not to
remain my debtor for the ocular proof of what he said, at least as far
as regarded his town residence, he opened a window and gazed silently
with me on the overpowering seriousness of the ruined site.
"The amiable maestro then conducted me rapidly through two smaller
rooms, one of which was his simple bed-chamber, to a wooden outhouse
with a small window, through which were to be seen the Colosseum, in all
its gigantic proportions, and the triumphal arch of Constantine close
by, overtowered by Mount Coelius, now silent.
"'A splendid balcony might be erected here,' observed Liszt, 'but the
poor Franciscan monk has no money for such a purpose!'
"Having returned to his study, I thought the time had arrived for
bringing my first visit to a termination. The thanks conveyed in my
words on taking leave were warm and sincere. I carried with me out of
that quiet dwelling the conviction that in Liszt the true artist far
outweighs the virtuoso and the monk, and that only such persons as
formerly snobbishly shook their heads because Winkelmann took service
and found an asylum with a cardinal, can scoff and make small jokes on
Liszt's cell and monkish cowl."