Your account of that incomparable meister we both, I dare say, equally admire, awakened in me Liszt's greatness as artist, and still more, if I may say so, the greatness of his nature and character, so richly endowed with so many generous and noble instincts; and I recall with delight to my mind our pleasant walks in the Schlossgarten, where we visited Klindworth in his modest apartments; the supper at the Hotel zum Erbprinzen, where Liszt wished to get acquainted with the card-game "preference," which I had to show him; our visits to the Schloss, in the ground floor of which we listened to Liszt's divine playing and afterward got invited to dine up-stairs with the Princess Wittgenstein and her charming daughter. I believe you had already left Weimar when Professor Adolf Marx came from Berlin to visit Liszt and brought with him the score of his new oratorio. Marx wished to say a few words about its performance to Liszt before the first rehearsal, but was much disappointed, as he told me, not to find an appropriate moment to speak with the meister, whose attention was constantly taken up by his pupils. On the day of the rehearsal, Marx, who was sitting next to me, again expressed his regret at not having found an opportunity to talk the matter over with Liszt. Shortly after the rehearsal had commenced I felt several times Marx's elbows, which, giving way to his enthusiasm, came in close and sensible contact with mine. At last he exclaimed: "Liszt guesses my most secret thoughts and intentions in my own composition!" ...
Let me, dear Dr. Mason, assure you what real and intense enjoyment I experienced by the perusal of your "Musical Memories," and beg to thank you from all my heart for giving me the possibility of recalling once over again those dear and ever-present reminiscences of a bygone but ever-delightful time in my life. It is seldom one can read in a biography a description like yours, which expresses in a few words, with so much reality, truthfulness, and impartiality, the characteristics of a whole series of well-known artists. Finally, you will ask: "Stranger, who art thou?" I will not, like Lohengrin, make a mystery of it, but answer your question: I wanted to become what you are now! After my return from Weimar, however, where I had been for a time Liszt's pupil, I entered into Russian state service, remaining, nevertheless, during my whole life, though a dilettante, a great and fervent admirer of that art, and a real artist in my heart. I sign, with veneration to your person, Dr. Mason, and have the honor to remain,
Yours very truly,
Adolph Stange.
BERLIOZ IN WEIMAR
Hector Berlioz came to Weimar occasionally, and I remember particularly one of his visits, which took place in May, 1854. He was famous as an orchestral conductor, and I saw him in this capacity in a concert the program of which consisted exclusively of his own compositions. These were especially attractive on account of their magnificent orchestral coloring. In this regard he was certainly wonderful, and produced many gorgeous effects. His masterly skill and intelligence in the treatment and development of his themes were also everywhere apparent. Every detail received careful attention, and the result was admirable.
Not long afterward he gave a similar concert in the Leipsic Gewandhaus Hall, on which occasion the Weimar contingent was of course present. There was no need of our services as claqueurs, however, for the hall was crowded and the audience demonstrative.
Schubert was spontaneous and inspired, and thus stands in contrast to Berlioz. Melody gushed from Schubert at such a rate, and musical ideas crowded upon each other so rapidly, that he did not take time to work up his compositions. There are a few which he elaborated with care, but they are the exceptions, and emphasize the general spontaneity of his work. If he had constructive power,—and certain passages in his work show that he had,—he nevertheless failed to make adequate use of it. His music is charming and delightful on account of its melodious freshness and naïveté. It appeals directly to the heart. The only drawback is his servile adherence to conventionalities, such, for instance, as the old method of invariably repeating every section of a movement.
Beethoven stands as the model of constructive power and emotional expression in happy equipoise. Both the head and the heart are satisfactorily employed, and in his orchestral treatment they find full expression. This is true of all of his concerted works; but his weak point is manifested in his pianoforte compositions, especially in the sonatas, which are not idiomatic of the instrument for which they were written. It is not intended to find fault with the music per se. It is simply to say that his ideas are all orchestrally conceived, and as they are not in the nature of the pianoforte, that instrument is inadequate to their true expression. The sonatas are not pianistic, idiomatic—klaviermässig. Had he written them for orchestra, we would have had thirty-two symphonies.
Chopin's compositions are the very essence and consummation of the piano, and he is, therefore, the pianoforte composer par excellence. On the other hand, his orchestral work is weak and incompetent, as, for example, the accompaniment to his concertos and some other pieces.