On August 12, Moscheles records:
"I was deeply moved when I saw the statue of Beethoven unveiled, the more so because Hähnel has obtained an admirable likeness of the immortal composer. Another tumult and uproar at the table d'hôte in the 'Stern' Hotel. I sat near Bachez, Fischof and Vesque, Liszt in all his glory, a suite of ladies and gentlemen in attendance on him, Lola Montez among the former."
At the banquet after the unveiling of Beethoven's statue at Bonn, Moscheles records:
"Immediately after the king's health had been proposed, Wolff, the improvisatore, gave a toast which he called the 'Trefoil.' It was to represent the perfect chord—Spohr the key-note, Liszt the connecting link between all parties, the third, Professor Breidenstein, the dominant leading all things to a happy solution. (Universal applause.) Spohr proposes the health of the Queen of England, Dr. Wolff that of Professor Hähnel, the sculptor of the monument, and also that of the brass founder. Liszt proposes Prince Albert; a professor with a stentorian voice is laughed and coughed down—people will not listen to him; and then ensued a series of most disgraceful scenes which originated thus: Liszt spoke rather abstrusely upon the subject of the festival. 'Here all nations are met to pay honour to the master. May they live and prosper—the Dutch, the English, the Viennese—who have made a pilgrimage hither!' Upon this Chelard gets up in a passion, and screams out to Liszt, 'Vous avez oublié les Français.'
"Many voices break in, a regular tumult ensues, some for, some against the speaker. At last Liszt makes himself heard, but in trying to exculpate himself seems to get entangled deeper and deeper in a labyrinth of words, seeking to convince his hearers that he had lived fifteen years among Frenchmen, and would certainly not intentionally speak slightingly of them. The contending parties, however, become more uproarious, many leave their seats, the din becomes deafening and the ladies pale with fright. The fête is interrupted for a full hour, Dr. Wolff, mounting a table, tries to speak, but is hooted down three or four times, and at last quits the room, glad to escape the babel of tongues. Knots of people are seen disputing in every part of the great salon, and, the confusion increasing, the cause of dispute is lost sight of. The French and English journalists mingle in this fray, by complaining of omissions of all sorts on the part of the festival committee. When the tumult threatens to become serious the landlord hits upon the bright idea of making the band play its loudest, and this drowns the noise of the brawlers, who adjourned to the open air.
"The waiters once more resumed their services, although many of the guests, especially ladies, had vanished. The contending groups outside showed their bad taste and ridiculous selfishness, for Vivier and some Frenchmen got Liszt among them, and reproached him in a most shameful way. G. ran from party to party, adding fuel to the fire; Chorley was attacked by a French journalist; M. J. J. (Jules Janin) would have it that the English gentleman, Wentworth Dilke, was a German who had slighted him; I stepped in between the two, so as at least to put an end to this unfair controversy. I tried as well as I could to soothe these overwrought minds, and pronounced funeral orations over those who had perished in this tempest of words. I alone remained shot proof and neutral, so also did my Viennese friends. By 6 o'clock in the evening I became almost deaf from the noise, and was glad to escape."
DWIGHT
John S. Dwight, the Boston musical critic, in an article on Dr. von Bülow, written while travelling in Germany with a friend, relates the following interview with Liszt:
"It was in Berlin, in the winter of 1861, that we had the privilege of meeting and hearing Bülow. We were enjoying our first and only interview with Liszt, who had come for a day or two to the old Hôtel de Brandebourg, where we were living that winter. On the sofa sat his daughter, Mrs. von Bülow, bearing his unmistakable impress upon her features; the welcome was cordial, and the conversation on the part of both of them was lively and most interesting; chiefly of course it was about music, artists, etc., and nothing delighted us more than the hearty appreciation which Liszt expressed of Robert Franz, then, strange as it may seem, but very little recognised in Germany. Of some other composers he seemed inclined to speak ironically and even bitterly, as if smarting under some disappointment—perhaps at the unreceptive mood of the Berliners toward his own symphonic poems, to whose glories Bülow had been labouring to convert them.