When absorbed in his religious enthusiasm, Liszt composed only Masses; being unable, in the tumult of his feelings, to attain to anything like self-possession or a calm activity. From the dominion of this kind of madness he was delivered by another——love. He loved a lady of high rank—loved with the same ardor with which his soul embraced everything, and yielded himself wholly to the new passion. His love was unhappy; what suffering must it not have caused him! He became misanthropical. He shut himself up for weeks together, confiding his complaints and his pains only to the keys of his instrument. Those only who have thus suffered, can fully understand his condition at this time.
His personal history at this period is almost as obscure and involved as his genius itself; but it is said that he composed nothing except plans of Masses. Ere long, however, the elasticity of his temperament not only bore him out of his depression, but carried him to the opposite extreme; and he became for a time the votary of sense. St. Simonian sentiments took root and budded in his breast; to ripen all—came the Revolution. Liszt was carried away by the excitement of the people; by the visions of Freedom. He was animated by enthusiastic admiration of what he beheld; he felt an impulse musico-political, if so it might be called. He longed to produce in art all that he saw of stirring importance in the world; to fix the experience of those tumultuous days in the expression of music; to concentrate the feelings of many hearts, and give the people a Revolutionary Symphony, in the same manner as Beethoven had conceived and represented his battle of Vittoria. Does some narrow mind ask why he did not execute this grand thought? Those who know what were the circumstances—what repose, and abstraction from exciting scenes without, were necessary for the conception and creation of such a work, will wonder at the artist for having imagined it; will admire him for the thought, and not condemn him because it was not completed. Had the requisite rest and leisure been his, he would then also, undoubtedly, have realized the lofty ideal at which he aimed.
After this, the writings of George Sand, or Madame Dudevant, took complete hold of his fancy. Not less wholly did he yield his soul to Paganini, by whom he was quite carried into enthusiasm. He used to say to Madame Sand, as to his other intimate friends, that he found in Paganini’s playing on the violin something indefinite, inexpressible, which he always sought to attain on the piano.
We must take occasion here to speak of Liszt’s relations to some modern pianists; and for this purpose avail ourselves of the criticism of the celebrated Fétis, in the “Revue Musicale Belge.” As an illustration of some remarks on the subject of art and artists, he mentions Clementi, the first who introduced an elegant and brilliant style on the piano, the model of a thoroughly cultivated technik,—of natural and spirited combination; of rounded periods. We see that he drew the attention of his contemporaries upon himself, that he exhibited himself to them as an exemplar, and prescribed the classic form of the bravour sonata, as Joseph Haydn had invented that of the harmonious sonata. If we view him in this splendor, when his fame spread everywhere without bounds, and the best pianists of his time were laid under the necessity of imitating him, we must regard him as the inventor; and yet he only perfected the ideas of others, and has displayed taste rather than genius. The proper inventor was Emanuel Bach, who presented Germany with sixty concertos. He gave to the sonata a harmonious as well as a brilliant side, which was particularly cultivated by Haydn and Clementi. Emanuel Bach appeared with this accomplishment before 1740; sixty years later it was exercised, not originated, by Dussek, Cramer, and Steibelt; and Clementi’s manner improved it while he added modifications of his own.
The art of those worthy men exercised itself in the circle of the softer feelings. Their only aim was to please the ear and move the heart. They sought not to paint the vehement emotions; the forms of art were to possess rather a soothing and restraining power.
These ideas took another direction, when Mozart gave to instrumental music a character of passionate, dramatic expression. The ultimate object of this new path was not understood at first, and it met the disapprobation of those accustomed to the old way, who saw in this mingling of changeful feelings more matter for blame than praise. Mozart’s composition for the piano, full of expression, energy, and harmony, had to struggle long in rivalship with the light and elegant style of Clementi; then came to his aid the passionate fiery imagination—owning no rule but that of genius—of Beethoven, and the adherents of the new school increased from day to day. This powerful imagination, for the first time, showed the untenableness of stereotype forms in the new path. Beethoven, full of deep admiration for the glorious creations of Mozart, at first followed in the steps of that great master; but he soon indulged himself in freer and bolder flights. He gave new turns to the accustomed passages, bestowing much care on the completeness of harmony; greatly increased the dissonances, and hesitated not to introduce unions of accords and transitions till then unheard of, yet which at this day appear to us so simple and natural.
The issue of these combinations was an entire change in the fingering, which was many times assailed by the scholars of Cramer and Clementi. Only the Viennese school adopted the alteration, and therefore took, in this respect, the first place in art. To this we owe the progress and the present elevation of piano music. Beethoven’s works were still regarded by the pianists as too grave for a large and mixed public, and were given up to professed connoisseurs. They—the players—attained their end more readily by pleasing compositions, in the execution of which Hummel gave them a new study. A virtuoso of the first rank in that day, he stood also high as a composer; yet can he in no way be compared with Beethoven, either in boldness or originality; he was only a man of taste and of solid attainment. Under his hands a certain fine manner was cultivated, in which he knew how to introduce brilliant figures with singular effect.
We find it necessary to explain the history and progress of piano music as early as 1807, to enable us to determine the position and work of Liszt. Fifteen years had passed since Mozart’s death, and already we see his form and method three times changed. For ten years Hummel governed the manner of playing. In the course of this time, C. M. von Weber gave new movements of dramatic expression. In his piano music, he showed a glowing but wild and ill-regulated genius. Both artists and publishers were afraid to produce his compositions. Only his “Freischutz” snatched his name from the oblivion into which it had fallen.
In 1817, arose a new composer for the piano, of great merit, a virtuoso, who seemed born to give piano-playing a new direction. It was Moscheles. Bolder and more brilliant, more general and energetic in passages and figures than Hummel, he introduced new and tasteful embellishments; his variations on the “Alexander March” were examples in this kind for many skilful pianists. Afterwards he enlarged his style, and gave it more scope and elevation; for example, in his “Fantasies” upon Irish songs. Not less praise did he win in his graver compositions; his concertos showed a deep knowledge of harmony, as well as of dramatic feeling. These gradually rose to his “Concert Fantastique” and “Pathétique,” two works as remarkable for groundwork as for expression. The “Etudes” begun with Cramer, were enlarged with Moscheles. He gave them a higher and more refined form, and may therefore be regarded as having given in those “Etudes” the first impulse of importance. Moscheles was at this height of his fame, when, as has been mentioned, the boy Francis Liszt came to Paris, and was received with so much enthusiasm in all circles. He stood, indeed, remarks Fétis, beyond gainsaying, high in his technical cultivation; but he wanted that, which, besides his remarkable and interesting personnel, could be produced to the world as an abiding and decisive mark; in a word, his wild, fiery, eccentric genius wanted the peculiar school which exhibited itself and him as a definite epoch in the history of art. His early compositions were full of difficulties; from all the figures shone the fire that blazed around the productions of the youthful artist. Those who asked for schools and industry in this wildly luxuriant natural garden, were sure to be disappointed.
At this time suddenly appeared Thalberg in Paris, and produced such an impression as no pianist had before him. Not that in playing he could have surpassed, or even equalled Liszt; but he had the tact to seize upon a happy idea, which was at once understood. This related to the filling up of the keys in the space between the hands. (See Revue, etc.)