Weingartner's reminiscences of Liszt throw many interesting lights on
the personality of that great composer and greatest of teachers. The
gathering of famous artists at his house are well described, and his own
mannerisms excellently portrayed. His playing was always marked by the
ripest perfection of touch. He did not incline to the impetuous power of
his youthful days, but sat almost without motion before the keyboard.
His hands glided quietly over the keys, and produced the warm, magnetic
stream of tone almost without effort.
His criticism of others was short, but always to the point. His praise
would be given heartily, and without reserve, while blame was always
concealed in some kindly circumlocution. Once, when a pretty young lady
played a Chopin ballade in execrable fashion, he could not contain
ejaculations of disgust as he walked excitedly about the room. At the
end, however, he went to her kindly, laid his hand gently on her hair,
kissed her forehead, and murmured, "Marry soon, dear child--adieu."
Another young lady once turned the tables on the composer. It was the
famous Ingeborg von Bronsart, who came to him when eighteen years
old, in the full bloom of her fair Northern beauty. Liszt asked her
to play,inwardly fearing that this was to be one more of the petted
incompetents. But when she played a Bach fugue for him, with the utmost
brilliancy, he could not contain his admiration. "Wonderful," he cried,
"but you certainly didn't look like it." "I should hope I didn't look
like a Bach fugue," was the swift retort, and the two became lifelong
friends.