In 1837, Liszt felt the earnest desire of poetical spirits, to visit the great world. The swan also spreads her silver wings, and sails southward, towards the land of beauty and song; of art and antiquity—towards Italy. That is peculiarly the land of song; it is well known how the heart there opens to, and welcomes all that bears the name of music. From Milan to Venice, from Florence to Naples, a dazzling flame of enthusiasm surrounded the artist. In all these places Liszt gave concerts, which were attended by crowded audiences. He abode some time in Rome, to the delight of the people; and the walls of the Engelsburgh resounded to the echo of his renown. External nature seemed to smile upon him: he himself says, he was wonderfully benefited by the pure air and the cloudless sky. He had not in a long time enjoyed such health and serenity. And his compositions have the same purity and clearness as the atmosphere. There originated those grand and marvellous transpositions, of which mention is made above; there were written his “Nuits de Pausilippe.” One may ask himself, if out of all these does not breathe a kind of classic repose—elevating the feelings and inspiring a calm delight, like the pure beauty of a moonlight heaven in that lovely land! Our artist confesses that he, at this period, passed beyond the time of wild exuberance in feeling—of stormy restlessness, of mystical fantasy; and that he owed the clearing up of his spirit to the country and nature around him. Thus composed, he went to Germany, Carlsruhe, Munich, Stuttgart; in short, all the principal cities of southern Germany heard his magical performance with astonishment. All the journals and papers held but one language respecting him—that of enthusiastic admiration. But in the midst of this appreciation and these honors, the longing to revisit home was awakened in his breast. One morning he sprang suddenly out of bed, and ordered his horse to be got ready. What to him was the applause, the homage of strangers! he longed to be again where he had been first seen and heard. “For Hungary!” This impatience was the pure desire of a grateful heart.
Liszt did not deceive himself. How he was received, how he was valued, all Hungary can witness. It is impossible to describe the joy with which he was welcomed by old and young, high and low; by artists and critics, even to the highest in the land. He was the loved theme of all tongues. Mothers told their children how the “little Francis” had become another Emperor Francis in the kingdom of art; how he had made himself so great and famous; and how he could play a whole book full of strange and beautiful stories on the piano. He gave concerts—first in Vienna, then in Pesth—not to promote his own interest, but for the benefit of the poor, who had met with severe losses by the inundation; and for young artists, to enable them to prosecute their studies.
The noble and generous philanthropy of this conduct made a proper impression upon his countrymen. Two cities, Pesth and Oedenburg, created him an honorary citizen; a patent of nobility was solicited for him by the Comitat of Oedenburg; and the “Sword of Honor,” according to Hungarian custom, was presented to him with due solemnities. This episode deserves particularly to be noticed. The following account is taken from an authentic journal:
“The national feeling of the Magyars is well known; and proud are they of that star of the first magnitude, which arose out of their nation. Over the countries of Germany the fame of the Hungarian Liszt came to them, before they had as yet an opportunity of admiring him. The Danube was swelled by rains; Pesth was inundated; thousands were mourning the loss of friends and relations, or of all their property. During his absence in Milan, Liszt learned that many of his countrymen were suffering from want. His resolution was taken. The smiling heaven of Italy—the dolce far niente of southern life—could not detain him. The following morning he had quitted Milan, and was on his way to Vienna. He performed for the benefit of those who had suffered by the inundation of Pesth. His art was the horn of plenty, from which streamed blessings for the unfortunate. Eighteen months afterwards he came to Pesth—not as the artist in search of pecuniary advantage—but as a Magyar. He played for the Hungarian National Theatre; for the Musical Society; for the poor of Pesth, and the poor in Oedenburg; always before crowded houses; and the proceeds, full 100,000 francs, were appropriated to those purposes and those institutions. Who can wonder that admiration and pride should rise to enthusiasm in the breasts of his grateful countrymen? The distinguished artist—the noble-hearted man—deserved it all! In the theatre, in the street—Liszt was everywhere greeted with acclamations and vivats. He was complimented by serenades; garlands were thrown to him; in short, the population of Pesth neglected nothing to manifest their respect, gratitude, and affection.
“But these honors, which might have been paid to any other artist of high distinction, did not satisfy them. They resolved to bind him forever to the Hungarian nation, from which he had sprung. He was therefore made an honorary citizen of Pesth and Oedenburg, and a deputation of persons of consideration informed him that a patent of nobility had been asked for him from the Emperor and King. A still closer bond, however, was desired. The token of manly honor in Hungary is the sword; every Magyar has the right to wear a sword, and avails himself of that right. It was determined that their celebrated countryman should be presented with the Hungarian sword of honor. The noblemen appeared at the theatre in the rich costume they usually wear before the Emperor, and presented Liszt, amid thunders of applause from the whole assembled people, with a costly sword of honor. In receiving this, he was expected to enter into a solemn engagement to bind himself forever to the Hungarian people, and to reside in Hungary.”
In the autumn of 1840, Liszt went from Paris, where he had been for some time, to the north of Germany, and particularly to Hamburg. Here also, where the people are colder and less impulsive, his reception was the same as it had been elsewhere, wherever his admirable performance had been heard. He saw even adversaries silenced and ashamed; and enemies converted into the warmest friends, who were loudest in his praise. To show Liszt’s power of memory and his intimate knowledge of the best pieces of music, it is only necessary to mention one instance among many. One evening in public he was requested to select and perform one of Beethoven’s sonatas. He announced his willingness to play, and desired that the piece might be chosen. “Sonata quasi fantasia,” cried some one. Liszt consented; did he go to fetch the work? No—he played it at once from memory!
From Hamburg Liszt went to London. Enthusiasm, applause, sympathy, met him everywhere; he was courted by all. In fourteen days he gave nine concerts. He spared no exertion to fulfil expectation and satisfy his friends. Here a misfortune overtook him; he lost, through the carelessness of an agent, the proceeds of three hundred concerts. Imagine the feelings of the artist, exhausted both in mind and body, at the receipt of this disastrous news! But he knew that his true riches lay in his art; and that it was his best support. With a cheerful spirit, notwithstanding his reverses, he left the British Islands, to return to the banks of the Seine. From Paris, where he played for the Beethoven monument, and won universal applause by his Robert-fantaisies, he went a second time to Hamburg, to shine the brightest star in the north German firmament. The deepest admiration, the silent throb of heartfelt enjoyment, greeted his appearance. Thence he went to Kiel; where, immediately on his arrival, and as it were on the wing, he gave a concert, proceeding to embark for Copenhagen. He played not less than seven times before the court: and here, as among the Parisians, commanded unbounded admiration. The citizens thronged to the concerts, impelled by curiosity, and returned home full of enthusiasm for the great performer. Once more he went back to Hamburg, and thence to the Rhine. What an agreeable entertainment was prepared for him, under the purple clusters of those vineyards, the reader may presently judge.
After Liszt, with his wonted kindness, had offered to give a concert in Cologne, the proceeds of which were to be appropriated to the completion of the Cathedral, the Rhenish “Liedertafel,”[12] resolved to bring him with due pomp from the island of Nonnenwerth, near Bonn, where he had been for some days. This was on the twenty-second of August, 1841. A steamboat was hired expressly for this purpose, and conveyed a numerous company to Nonnenwerth at eleven in the morning. The “Liedertafel” then greeted the artist, who stood on the shore, by singing a morning salute, accompanied by the firing of cannon, and loud huzzas. They then marched, with wind instruments in advance, to the now empty chapel of the cloister of Nonnenwerth, where again they sang; and thence to Rolandseck, where an elegant dinner was prepared for the company. All eyes were fixed upon Liszt; all hearts were turned to him. He proposed a toast in honor of his entertainers, and at the conclusion of his speech observed with justice that nowhere in the world could any club be found like the “Liedertafel” in Germany. When the banquet was over they returned to Nonnenwerth, where a crowd of people from the surrounding country was assembled. The universal wish to hear Liszt was so evident that he was induced to send for a piano, to be brought into the chapel: and to gratify the assembly—listening, and rapt with delight—by a display of his transcendan powers. The desolate halls of the chapel once more resounded with the stir and voices of life. Not even the nuns, we will venture to say, who in former times used here to send up prayers to heaven, were impressed with a deeper sense of the heavenly, than was this somewhat worldly assembly by the magnificent music of Liszt, that seemed indeed to disclose things beyond this earth. At seven o’clock, the “Liedertafel,” with Liszt at their head, marched on their return, and went on board the steamboat, which was decorated with colored flags, amid peals of cannon. It was nine, and quite dark, when they approached their landing. Rockets were sent up from the boat, and a continual stream of colored fireworks; so that as the city rose before them from the bosom of the Rhine, the boat seemed enveloped in a circle of brilliant flame, which threw its reflection far over the waters. Music and huzzas greeted our artist on shore; and all Cologne was assembled to give him the splendid welcome, which in other times only monarchs received. Slowly the procession of the “Liedertafel” moved through the multitude to the hotel, where again and again, shouts and cheers testified the joy of the people at the arrival of their distinguished guest.
With the above illustration of the enthusiasm with which Liszt is received among those who know how to appreciate him, we end this brief sketch of his life.