Walter Bache Solati Reisenauer Carl V. Lachmund
Mrs. Scott-Siddons Harry Waller
The Final Liszt Circle at Weimar
(Liszt at the upper window)
It may be assumed that the sex which can boast among its members such names as Jane Austen, George Sand, George Eliot, novelists; Vigée Lebrun, Mary Cassatt, Cecilia Beaux, and Berthe Morisot, painters; Sonia Kovalevsky, mathematician; Madame Curie, science; Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Christina Rossetti, poetry, would not fail in the reproductive art of pianoforte playing. Clara Schumann was an unexcelled interpreter of her husband's music; Sofie Menter the most masculine of Liszt's feminine choir; Essipoff unparalleled as a Chopin player; Carreño has a man's head, man's fingers, and woman's heart; Fannie Bloomfield Zeisler, an artist of singular intensity and strong personality—these women have admirably contributed to the history of their art and need not fear comparisons on the score of sex.
How far will the pursuit of technic go, and what will be the effect upon the mechanical future of the instrument? It is both a thankless and a dangerous task to prophesy; but it seems that technic quâ technic has ventured as far as it dare. Witness the astounding arrangements made by the ingenious Godowsky, the grafting of two Chopin studies, both hands autonomous, racing at full speed! The thing is monstrous—yet effective; but that way musical madness lies. The Janko keyboard, a sort of ivory toboggan-slide, permitted the performance of incredible difficulties; glissandi in chromatic tenths! But who in the name of Apollo cares to hear chromatic tenths sliding pell-mell down-hill! Music is music, and a man or woman must make it, not alone an instrument. The tendency now is toward the fabrication of a more sensitive, vibrating sounding-board. Quality, not brutal quantity, is the desideratum. This, with the more responsive and elastic keyboard action of the day, which permits all manner of finger nuance, will tell upon the future of the pianoforte. Machine music has usurped our virtuosity; but it can never reign in the stead of the human artist. And therefore we now demand more of the spiritual and less of the technical from our pianists. Music is the gainer thereby, and the old-time cacophonous concerto for pianoforte and orchestra will, we hope, be relegated to the limbo of things inutile. The pianoforte was originally an intimate instrument, and it will surely go back, though glorified by experience, to its first, dignified estate.
I have written more fully of the pianists that I have had the good fortune to hear with my own ears. This is what is called impressionistic criticism. Academic criticism may be loosely defined as the expression of another's opinion. It has decided historic interest. In a word, the former tells how much you enjoyed a work of art, whether creative or interpretive; the latter what some other fellow liked. So, accept these sketches as a mingling of the two methods, with perhaps a disproportionate stress laid upon the personal element—the most important factor, after all, in criticism.
INSTEAD OF A PREFACE
This book, projected in 1902, was at that time announced as a biography of Liszt. However, a few tentative attacks upon the vast amount of raw material soon convinced me that to write the ideal life of the Hungarian a man must be plentifully endowed with time and patience. I preferred, therefore, to study certain aspects of Liszt's art and character; and as I never heard him play I have summoned here many competent witnesses to my aid. Hence the numerous contradictions and repetitions, arguments for and against Liszt in the foregoing volume, frankly sought for, rather than avoided. The personality, or, strictly speaking, the various personalities of Liszt are so mystifying that they would require the professional services of a half-dozen psychologists to untangle their complex web. As to his art, I have quoted from many conflicting authorities, hoping that the reader will evolve from the perhaps confusing pattern an authentic image of the man and his music. And all the biographies I have seen—Lina Ramann's, despite its violent parti pris, is the most complete (an urquell for its successors)—read like glorified time-tables. Now, no man is a hero to his biographer, but the practice of jotting down unimportant happenings makes your hero very small potatoes indeed. An appalling number of pages are devoted to the arrival and departure of the master at or from Weimar, Rome, or Budapest. "Liszt left Rome for Budapest at 8.30 A. M., accompanied by his favourite pupil Herr Fingers," etc.; or, "Liszt returned to Weimar at 9 P. M., and was met at the station by the Baroness W. and Professor Handgelenk." A more condensed method is better, though it may lack interest for the passionate Liszt admirers. As for the chronicling of small-beer, I hope I have provided sufficient anecdotes to satisfy the most inveterate of scandal-mongers. I may add that for over a quarter of a century I have been collecting Lisztiana; not to mention the almost innumerable conversations and interviews I have enjoyed with friends and pupils of Liszt.
I wish to acknowledge the help and sympathy of: Camille Saint-Saëns, Frederick Niecks, Rafael Joseffy, the late Anton Seidl, Felix Weingartner, Arthur Friedheim, Richard Burmeister, Henry T. Finck, Philip Hale, W. F. Apthorp, the late Edward Dannreuther, Frank Van der Stucken, August Spanuth, Emil Sauer, Moritz Rosenthal, Eugen d'Albert, Amy Fay, Rosa Newmarch, Jaroslaw de Zielinski, the late Edward A. MacDowell, John Kautz, of Albany (who first suggested to me the magnitude of Liszt's contribution to the art of rhythms), Charles A. Ellis, of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and Edward E. Ziegler. I am also particularly indebted to the following publications for their courtesy in the matter of reproduction of various articles: Scribner's Magazine, New York Sun, Evening Post, Herald, Times, The Etude, Everybody's Magazine, and The Musical Courier.