Nouvellettes of the musicians

by E. F. Ellet

After the concert in Oedenburg, Adam Liszt proceeded with his son to Presburg. His success was the same, or even greater; for by means of the Counts Amaden and Zapary, the father obtained for six years a salary of six hundred florins, to enable him to give the boy suitable instruction and cultivation. A journey to Vienna, and a residence there for the purpose of study, were now in his power. This was soon accomplished. Both father and son went to Vienna; and Carl Czerny conducted the boy’s lessons on the piano. Nothing better could have been done to perfect him in the technik. Those who know what skilful pianists have come forth from that school, and that a Liszt was now the pupil, if they bear in mind the merits of the teacher and those of the scholar, will know how to estimate the result.

Here were added also his higher studies under Salieri; his diligent exercise in counterpoint; in the strict compositions of church music; of partition and reading. Eighteen months passed in such labors. Francis often knew not if it was night or day, so absorbed was he in his studies. He never shrank from the most tedious labors, nor from any task requiring the most intense application: ever anxious to win a smile of pleasure from his grave though gentle master, though he could not satisfy himself. It might indeed be said that he pursued music with a species of obstinacy. By way of recreation and encouragement amidst such exertions, his father arranged in Vienna a concert, in which the product, as it were, of eighteen toilsome months was to be exhibited.

At this concert, all the nobility and the musical élite, of Vienna were present; among them Beethoven. For that hour, Beethoven forgot his own sad lot, his own abiding sorrow, and in his earnest, laconic manner gave his encouragement and applause to the youthful artist. How happy would the great man have felt, with what delight would he have pressed that young artist to his wildly throbbing heart, could he have foreseen that Francis Liszt would be the most earnest worshipper of his lofty genius, the most admirable and judicious interpreter of his ideas!

In truth, the deep veneration Liszt now cherishes for Beethoven and his works, is the best and most certain evidence of his own spiritual depth. The history of all time has proved that a great mind can only be discerned and estimated at its full value by a kindred one. Liszt’s appreciation of Beethoven is an indication of his own superiority as an artist. It may truly be said, this admiration and love are without parallel. Where is to be found one like him, whose whole being, productive, creative, combining—forming—expansive—has so passed into that of his exemplar, and lives on, not in slavish imitation, but with free and kindred impulse—working with the same will?

But to return to Vienna. We see our young artist for the first time in this old imperial musical capital; we hear repeated and stunning applauses poured in his ears, and see him return modest and astonished to the quiet chamber where he pursues his studies. For him an important period had come; and he looked abroad on the new world that opened upon him, not in hope of gaining praise or gold, but amidst incitements to strive after the full development of his genius. At last he tore himself from the arms of his kind, parental friend, Salieri; closed in his loving heart a solemn, melancholy farewell look from Beethoven, and hastened to his father at Paris.

It was to be expected, the Conservatoire would receive one so gifted with open arms; would rejoice to number him among its pupils. But Francis Liszt was a stranger: Cherubini therefore treated him with chilling neglect, though he himself had been received in a foreign land! While the Conservatoire shut the door against the wonderful boy, all the saloons of Paris opened theirs to him with enthusiastic welcome. Everywhere he was fêted, caressed, applauded. All the world was mad about the fair blue-eyed lad, on whose high forehead already began to appear the impress of inspiration. He played in the Palais Royal before the Duke of Orleans, and became the rage! A dangerous rock was before the youthful adventurer; ask we if he sailed safely past it, in spite of the storms of court-favor, and the shoals of self-love? Scholars, artists, wealth, beauty, aristocracy, all did homage to him; no soirée was complete without him; the gifted, proud boy was the idol of the day. The world flattered; his father admonished; and Francis obeyed the warning parental voice. He pursued the path his own energy had opened, with unwearied zeal. After a year’s residence in Paris, he went over to London, where he was received with the same enthusiasm, expressed according to the national temperament of the English.

In the year 1824, both father and son returned to Paris, and the energies of Francis were particularly employed upon an opera—“Don Sancho, or the Palace of Love,” which was produced in 1825 in the Royal Academy of music, with great applause, and highly esteemed by the connoisseurs. Our artist was then fourteen years old. Adolph Nourrit led him upon the stage, at the call for his appearance, amid thunders of applause. Rudolph Kreutzer, then director of the orchestra, embraced him with transport.

After these exertions and excitements, a time came again when Francis gave himself up to religious enthusiasm. In order to divert his thoughts by new objects, his father resolved upon short excursions into the Departments, and even a longer one to England; but the lad’s indisposition gained the upper hand, and they were obliged to take refuge in Boulogne for the sea-bathing. Here Francis lost his father. This mournful event, which caused the affectionate boy such deep affliction, naturally had a depressing influence upon his genius. He indulged freely his melancholy visions and sad fancies, which now presented themselves under the solemn aspect of religion, now assumed the colors of romance. He longed continually for some remote solitude, in which without interruption he might nurse his fantastic musings.

Probably never poet or artist was called upon thus to suffer. But the vigor of his mind was shown in his gradual self-recovery even after such wanderings; only by much discipline could he be restored to repose and serenity. And by an acquaintance with literature, and the philosophical sciences of the day, his views in art were enlarged, no less than those of life and the world. New wants, new claims, new inquiries opened upon him. He sought as it were a back-ground, against which he could appoint the true place and dimensions of art.

While his mind thus improved, and his conceptions enlarged—while step by step he advanced—his spirit more and more cleared—purified—exalted—the worst that can happen to a man earnest to fulfil his duty befel him also; enemies rose up; he became the object of envy; and their hate began to work its purposes in secret. But of this we will be silent. The murmurs of enmity have long been hushed, and an artist, particularly, is born to endure such things. Let us turn rather to those other days which exercised a singular influence on his excitable mind.