In these days of virtuosity let us hear what Liszt, the master of all
virtuosi, says:
"What, then, makes the virtuoso on an instrument?" asks the master, and
we gain on this occasion the most comprehensive and the most decisive
information on the point ourselves. Is he really a mere spiritless
machine? Do his hands only attend to the office of a double winch on a
street organ? Has he to dispense with his brain and with his feelings in
his mechanical execution of the prescribed performance? Has he to supply
the ear only with a photograph of the object before him? Such
representations bring him to the somewhat proud remark: "We know too
well how many amongst those who enjoy great praise, unable to translate
even to the letter the original that is on the desk before them, degrade
its sense, carrying on the art as a trade, and not understanding even
the trade itself. However victorious a counterfeit may be, it does not
destroy the power of the real authors and poet virtuosi; they are for
those who are 'called' to an extent of which a degraded public, under an
illegitimate and ignorant 'dominion,' has no idea. You hear the rolling
of the thunder, the roaring of the lion, the far-spreading sound of
man's strength. For the words virtuosity and virtus are derived from the
Latin 'vir'; the execution of both is an act of manly power," says he,
and characterises now his 'artist' as follows: "The virtuoso is not a
mason, who, with the chisel in his hand, faithfully and conscientiously
cuts his stone after the design of the architect. He is not a passive
tool that reproduces feeling and thought without adding himself. He is
not the more or less experienced reader of works that have no margin for
his notes, and which make no paragraph necessary between the lines.
These spiritedly written musical works are in reality for the virtuoso
only the tragic and touching putting-in-scene of feelings; he is called
upon to let these speak, weep, sing, sigh--to render these to his own
consciousness. He creates in this way like the composer himself, for he
must embrace in himself those passions which he, in their complete
brilliancy, has to bring to light. He breathes life into the lethargic
body, infuses it with fire, and enlivens it with the pulse of
gracefulness and charm. He changes the clayey form into a living being,
penetrating it with the spark which Prometheus snatched from the flash
of Jupiter. He must make this form wander in transparent ether; he must
arm it with a thousand winged arms; he must unfold scent and blossom and
breathe into it the breath of life. Of all artists the virtuoso reveals
perhaps most immediately the overpowering forces of the god who, in
glowing embraces of the proud muse, allures every hidden secret."