Part 15 (2/2)
”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 baccha.n.a.lian 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 wors.h.i.+p 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 ill.u.s.trious 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.”
AN ANONYMOUS LADY ADMIRER
This lady relates a touching incident about Liszt and a young music mistress:
”Liszt was still at Weimar, and no one could venture to encroach upon his scant leisure by a letter of introduction. I saw him constantly at the mid-day table d'hote. His strange, impressive figure as he sat at the head of the table was a sight to remember; the brilliant eyes that flashed like diamonds, the long hair, in those days only iron gray, the sensitive mouth, the extraordinary play of expression, once seen, could never fade from memory. Everything, indeed, about him was phenomenal--physiognomy, appearance, mental gifts; last, but not least, amiability of character and an almost morbid terror of inflicting pain.
This characteristic, of course, led him into many embarra.s.sments, at the same time into the committal of thousands of kind actions; often at the sacrifice of time, peace of mind, and, without doubt, intellectual achievements.
”As I proposed to spend some months at Weimar, I engaged a music mistress, one of Liszt's former pupils, whom I will call Fraulein Marie.
'I will myself introduce you to the Herr Doctor,' she said. 'To his pupils he refuses nothing.' I must add that Fraulein Marie was in better circ.u.mstances than most German teachers of music. She had, I believe, some small means of her own, and belonged to a very well-to-do family.
The poor girl, who was, as I soon found out, desperately in love with her master, got up a charming little fete champetre in his honour and my own. A carriage was ordered, picnic baskets packed, and one brilliant summer afternoon hostess and guests started for Tieffurt. The party consisted of Liszt, Fraulein Marie, a violinist of the other s.e.x, a young lady pianist from a neighbouring town, and myself. Liszt's geniality and readiness to enter into the spirit of the occasion were delightful to witness. The places of honour were a.s.signed to the English stranger and the violinist, Liszt insisting on seating a pupil on each side, on the opposite seat of the carriage, not in the least disconcerted by such narrow accommodation. Thus, chatting and laughing, all of us in holiday mood, we reached the pretty park and chateau of Tieffurt.
”As the evening was cool, we supped inside the little restaurant, and here a grievous disappointment awaited our hostess. Tieffurt is celebrated for its trout; indeed this delicacy is as much an attraction to many visitors as its literary and artistic a.s.sociations. But although trout had been ordered by letter beforehand none was forthcoming wherewith to fete the Maestro. Fraulein Marie was in tears.
Liszt's gaiety and affection, however, put everything right. He cut brown bread and b.u.t.ter for the two girls, and made them little sandwiches with the excellent cold wurst. 'Ah, das schmeckt so gut,'
they cried, as they thanked him adoringly. He told stories; he made the rest do the same. 'Erzahlen von Erfurt' (tell us Erfurt news), he said to the young lady guest. The moments pa.s.sed all too rapidly. Then in the clear delicious twilight we drove back to Weimar, his pupils kissing his hands reverentially as he quitted us. So far all had been bright, joyous, transparent; but I soon discovered that this charming girl, who possessed the vivacity of a French woman, combined with the schwarmerei or sentimentality of a Teutonic maiden, was rendered deeply unhappy by her love for Liszt.
”He was at that time enmeshed in the toils of another and far less guileless pa.s.sion. Whilst to his gentle and innocent pupil he could accord only the affection of a loving and sympathetic friend and master, there were other women about him. Fraulein Marie's hapless sentiment could never discredit either herself or its object, but it occasioned a good deal of embarra.s.sment and wretchedness, as we shall see. A few days after this gay al fresco tea she came to me in great distress, begging me forthwith to deliver a little note into the master's hand. I was reluctantly obliged to delegate the delicate mission to a hired messenger. Ill would it have become a stranger to interfere in these imbroglios. Moreover, at that very time Liszt had, as I have hinted, a love affair on his hands--had, in fact, momentarily succ.u.mbed to the influence of one of those women who were his evil genius. Just ten years later I revisited Weimar, and my first inquiry of common friends was after my sweet young music mistress. 'Fraulein Marie! Alas!' replied my informant, 'the poor girl has long been in a maison de sante.' Her love for Liszt ended in loss of reason.”
LADY BLANCHE MURPHY
Lady Blanche gives an interesting account of Liszt's sojourn at the Monastery on Monte Mario in 1862, shortly after he became an abbe of the Roman Catholic Church. After describing the scenery of the place she says: ”Here Liszt had taken up his abode, renting two bare white-walled rooms for the summer, where he looked far more at home than among the splendours of the prelate's reception room or the feminine elegancies of the princess' boudoir. He seemed happier, too--more cheerful, and light-hearted. He said he meant to be a hermit this summer, and the good Dominican lay brother attended to all his creature comforts, while he could solace himself by hearing the daily ma.s.s said in the early morning in the little chapel, into which he could step at any moment.
His piano stood in one corner of his little cell, his writing table was piled with books and music, and besides these there was nothing of interest in the room. The window looked out upon one of the most glorious views of the world. Here Liszt seemed quite another being. He talked gaily, and suddenly started up, volunteering to play for us--a thing, many of his best friends said, they had not known him do for years.
”It was all his own, yet, though peculiar, the sound did not resemble the sobbing music, the weird chords, his fingers had drawn forth from the keys as he played among conventional people in conventional evening gatherings. There was a freshness, a springiness, in to-day's performance which suited the place and hour, and that visit to the hermit-artist was indeed a fitting leave-taking for us who were so entranced with his pure, strong genius. Still, the artist had not forgotten to initiate us into one of the secrets of his simple retreat.
The Dominicans of some remote mountain convent had kindly sent him a present of some wonderful liqueur--one of those impossible beverages a.s.sociated in one's mind with Hebe's golden cups of flowing nectar, rather than with any commonplace drink. Liszt insisted upon our tasting this: green Chartreuse was nothing to it and we scarcely did more than taste. And this was the last time we saw him, this king-artist. It was a great privilege, and perhaps he, of all living artists we had come across, is the only one who could not disappoint one's ideal of him.”
KARL KIRKENBUHL
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.
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